Agnes Callard on Anger – Econlib

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Intro. [Recording date: April 5th, 2021.]

Russ Roberts: Today is April 5th, 2021, and my guest is philosopher Agnes Callard of the University of Chicago. This is Agnes’s third appearance on EconTalk. She was last here in September of 2020 talking about aspiration.

I want to thank Plantronics for providing today’s guest with the Blackwater 5220 headset.

Agnes, welcome back to EconTalk.

Agnes Callard: Thank you.

Russ Roberts: Our topic for today is anger. I want to let parents listening with children know that we may get into some adult themes. If you’re one of those parents listening with children I’d love to hear if you care that I warn you in advance.


Russ Roberts: So, let’s get started.

Agnes, you argue that anger is a moral sense. What does that mean? What do you mean by that? Explain.

Agnes Callard: So, we don’t get angry just when there’s something we don’t like. That is, that’s not sufficient. Like, if I want a cupcake but I don’t have one, typically that’s not going to make me angry. I get angry when I think I don’t have something but I deserve it. So, anger is a response to the perception that the world is not as it ought to be. It’s a principled response, or at the very least it takes itself to be principled.

People who are angry tend to be ready with reasons to explain why they’re angry.

Russ Roberts: I’m fascinated by that summary–a very short summary–because I have found myself getting angry that COVID is still persisting. I find myself getting angry sometimes when it rains and I have something planned. Sometimes I get angry when it’s colder out than I anticipated. And, I find those responses to be somewhat irrational, and I fight against them. Do you think I should?

Agnes Callard: So, one thing we might do is take every instance of anger and plot it on a spectrum, and the spectrum would be the extent to which you’re able to provide a kind of rational backing for your anger.

My inclination is to think that people fight against their anger–and also the anger tends to be transitory when there’s very little of that rational backing available. So, if you’re angry that it’s raining, I don’t think it’s impossible to have a kind of proto-moral thought, almost like a half-thought: ‘It shouldn’t be raining,’ or ‘COVID should be over by now.’ Right?

So, but not all of the normative judgments that we’re inclined to make are ones that we would sort of stand by. And I think we view our anger as irrational precisely when we don’t on reflection stand by that judgment.

Russ Roberts: In Jewish thought–I think I have this right–anger is often described as a form of idolatry. And, I think that gets part of what we’re talking about, the idea being that: if you think you deserve to have a rain-free day you kind of put yourself at the center of the universe in a way that is, I mean, so irrational, because you understand, rationally, when you think about it that rain is useful for the world at large. You might even think rationally that the rain falls equally on the wicked and the just alike, which is a deeper statement about life than just rain.

But, certainly the idea that, when things go awry for me I’m somehow being violated–right?–I have a sense of moral indignity because I wanted control and I want it to turn out a certain way–is a form of self-centeredness that’s a little bit–I argue, whether you’re religious or not, I think you should perhaps think about pushing back against that as a moral response.

Agnes Callard: I think it’s fair to call that one a case of idolatry. But, notice you’re picking cases of anger that are bad cases. Right? And we don’t want to form our theory on the basis of those cases.

What I would say is that there’s something divine about anger: that anger is a way of sensing that the world is not merely a collection of empirical facts, but has a basic normative structure.

Now if you get that normative structure wrong and you center it on your own experience, that’s idolatry.

But, anger is also a form of worship and a way of apprehending the divine order. I mean, God gets angry in the Bible, right? He gets angry when Cain kills Abel. He hears the voice of Abel’s blood calling out to him from the ground, and hearing that sense is a moral sense. The way that he hears it is by getting angry.


Russ Roberts: So, let’s dig into that–not the question of whether God has emotions, which is an interesting question. We’ll put that out for another time. But, this idea that anger is a response to injustice, that’s the way I would summarize your claim here.

And, I’ve argued here on the program a number of times that anger is an unhealthy emotion, other than in a situation where you’re physically in danger.

If you are physically in danger, anger can be very powerful. Adrenalin kicks in. But, my suggestion has been in the past, and I want you to try to convince me otherwise, and I think you might be able to because you’re very convincing–I want you to convince me that–so, let me make my argument.

My argument is that emotional response to injustice that we’re talking about here is a loss of control of one’s rational self. It is a visceral, in your guts–viscera, meaning in your insides–it is a visceral, physical response. Literally it’s an impulsive response that you could argue one has no control over.

And my suggestion in the past has been that you should learn to control that: that that’s not a helpful response to vocalize.

You might not be able to help the visceral response, but to vocalize it, to put it into action, is a mistake because you’re giving up your rational sense and replacing it with an emotional sense. What are your thoughts on that?

Agnes Callard: So, I don’t agree. Though I think that that might be the right advice for some people some of the time.

I think that your advice is basically advice that would be good to everyone who is really fully self-sufficient and in no need of any kind of humility or moral education from others.

Um, so the way that I see it is that anger is a way of reaching out. It’s not always a good or productive way, but it is a sign that the person in the relevant situation is no longer self-sufficient.

So, some of what you say I think is quite right. The idea about the loss of control, I think that’s right. You’ve lost your ability to run your own life by yourself.

Now somebody who’s lost their ability to run their own life by themselves, you can tell them, ‘Learn to run that by yourself.’ Just ‘Get better at being self-sufficient.’

But I think that that’s sort of ignoring a reality for many of us, which is that we are not always self-sufficient; and there is not always some measure we can take to become that way.

Maybe–let me take a step back, though, and sort of explain where this kind of kind of loss of control comes from and why we’re susceptible to it. So, I think that–


Russ Roberts: What do you mean by self-sufficient in that context?

Agnes Callard: Yes. That’s exactly what I want to explain.

So, I think that we get through every day, really every moment of every day that involves choice, on the basis of principles. I think quite literally we’re living off of our principles, in the sense that: in order to choose to do one thing rather than another you have to have some sense that that thing is worth doing.

I said ‘only insofar as choice is involved,’ because some of our emotions and behavior are not under our control. Right? Some of our emotions and behavior are reflexive or habitual or–you know, you can drive somewhere and barely notice all the turns you took, right?

So, you know, it’s not the case that we’re always choosing, but we are sometimes choosing. We’re in fact often choosing, and we’re often sort of endorsing the things that we’re doing.

You can only do that if you see the thing that you’re doing as being in some sense valuable. So there’s a kind of value understructure that girds all of our lives, a sense that some things are meaningful and important and there are some principles that are worth adhering to.

So, people need that. Like, they deeply need it in the sense that they literally can’t move forward: like, they can’t physically move themselves one inch forward by choice without some kind of thought-structure like that.

Now, where does that structure come from, and, why do we have it, and, how does it stay in place is a huge mystery. And I spend a lot of my time thinking about that.

But, a big part of the answer to that question is other people, that is–we hold on to our values, our principles, or sense of what matters and what has meaning by way of the help of other people. So, we co-value things with them.

And, there are ways that other people can behave that make us–because we’re relying on their help, they can defect. They can decide not to help us. Right?

And there are ways that other people can behave that can make us lose our grip on our own principles.

That’s what I mean by saying we’re not self-sufficient.

And I think you get angry when you feel like you have lost a grip on this principle that is sort of deeply significant for you and is really in some way necessary for you to move forward.

And, I think that a lot of the ‘Don’t be angry’-advice is like saying to someone, ‘Don’t need other people. Just believe in your principles without any help from anybody else. Be totally independent. Be morally independent.’

Most of us are just not like that. We’re just not–I think there are some people who can do that, but it’s extremely rare. [?]


Russ Roberts: Well, that’s really a provocative summary.

I’m going to try to quote Gerard Manley Hopkins accurately from memory, which I messed up the last time I did this. I think he says–the poet–says, “What I do is me: for that I came.” You’re suggesting that how I go through the world is a reflection of who I am, how I see myself, and that to do that I have a mix of my underlying sense of self; but, Adam Smith-like, I’m constantly bouncing that off of people around me to get confirmation that I’m doing the right thing. I might be pushing a little bit to see whether there’s space for me to go somewhere a little different from the people around me without too much objection.

And, I certainly see that–using the metaphor I’ve used many times on the program with the dance floor–where you have to be aware, in prudence, of how your movements affect the people around you. I certainly see that in action.

In terms of principles, it’s a much more interesting and complicated web that you’re implying. For me you’re tying it into a form of tribalism and identity that I need the people around me to confirm my principles and my sense of self.

And, I want you to tell me I’m right, and then I want you to react to this philosopher I know who taught me about aspiration that says–and that’s you, for listeners who missed that previous episode–I want you to tell me how I integrate this vision of my daily action with your idea of aspiration, to aspire to something other than what I am now.

Agnes Callard: Yeah. Let me start with the last thing, which is that: aspiration is actually a great example of how valuation, the process of having values or something like that is like a social process. As I say in my book, we can’t come to new values–we don’t have the resources ourselves. And, we need to bounce off of other people in a variety of ways–through having mentors, through having heroes, through having people to compete with. Right? So, in fact, this conception of what it is to have the values fits pretty well with the claim that aspiration is a social process.

But, let me go back to the valuing being social. So, I’m coming to dislike the word ‘tribalism.’ Let me suggest a different word. The word I’d suggest is kinship. So, we stand in kinship relations to others.

I think it is true that the existence of those kinship relations is what gives rise to the vice know as ‘tribalism.’ But, it’s a little bit like the issue of taking a theory of anger and choosing as your only example me getting angry that it’s raining.

Like, you don’t want to create your theory of kinship on the basis of the phenomenon of tribalism. Tribalism is a kind of negative vicissitude of the phenomenon of kinship.

And I think yes, you’re absolutely right to bring up Smith. So, I think that this conception of how morality is social and that the social nature of morality is manifested in our feelings. But that’s not even strong enough. I want to say something like materialized in our feelings. Our feelings are the fact that morality is social.

I mean it’s not just Smith, right? There’s a whole sort of–you know, the moral sentimentalists of the 17th and 18th century, right? Shaftesbury, Hutchinson, Hume. All of these people were sort of noticing that morality is not just a matter of reason, that morality is housed in our feelings.

And, when we’re not doing philosophy on an everyday basis we are constantly sensitized to this fact. We take how other people feel about us as the most direct indication of, like, sort of how they stand to us morally.

Russ Roberts: Yeah. I like your kinship point. It’s a little bit to me like nationalism. Nationalism, I think–I’ve started to believe is probably a good thing. Nazism, not so much. That’s a bad manifestation of nationalism, but that doesn’t mean all nationalism should be rejected.

But, in terms of your definition of kinship, your mentioning of kinship, the way I would phrase it is–to make it even more attractive–is belonging. We want to belong, whether it’s to our family, our community, our country, our world. And, kinship is the healthy form of belonging, and tribalism may be the not so healthy. Although tribalism I think is important, again, in a sense when you’re under attack, although maybe kinship would suffice. Do you like that belonging idea?

Agnes Callard: Yeah. I mean it’s a question of how we phrase the complement. Like, is it wanting? we want to belong? we need to belong? we do simply belong? And I’m not sure how to fill it out.

But, yes, I think that that is right. The way that I’ve put it to myself–so, in Greek there’s this word ‘filia,’ which is translated, usually, friendship. Okay? But, it is much broader than friendship, because it would apply to the members of your family, which you would normally not call your your friends, right?

I mean, we could call them your friends, but the point is in English that’s like a bit odd; and in Greek it’s just normal to call them–and also like your fellow-citizens would be called your ‘filoi,’ your friends. We don’t have an English word for this, for ‘filia,’ but the way that I think of it is like my people. Like, the people that are mine. Which is like belonging.

Because there’s a bit–one use of ‘filos’ that I think is so interesting in the–I can’t remember whether it’s–I think it’s in the Iliad. It might be in the–but Odysseus talks to his own heart and he calls it ‘My dear heart, my filos heart,’ where what it really means is my own. He’s trying to brave and he like talks to his own heart. So, it’s sort of my own something, right?

So, we call other people ‘our own’ under certain circumstances. First and foremost the members of our family; but then there are lots of groups that we call our own. And yes, I think that that can be glossed–‘belonging’ would be another word for that.

And I think it’s hugely important for a variety of reasons, but the one that I am focusing on is: it is actually important for our ˆhaving a moral sensibility.

This kind of belonging is partly what constitutes our moral sensibility.

That’s not a good thing about us, by the way, that itself. It would be great if we just had independent moral sensibilities that were not so reliant on the people around us. And then we wouldn’t need to get angry, I think, if we were like that.

So, Socrates is someone who seems really not to get angry. He doesn’t seem to get angry at the Athenians for putting him to death. He has this amazing ability, this amazing equanimity. And so I’m sort of open to the thought that maybe somebody–there could be people who don’t get angry, and they might be admirable in a certain way.

But, it doesn’t follow from that, from the fact that there could be people who have that level of moral independence from others, that that’s a realistic prospect for most of us.


Russ Roberts: I want to try something different and see if you agree. For me, it took me a long time to realize that when someone expresses anger to me, my first emotional reaction is, ‘Oh, they don’t like me.’ But in fact, it often means something very different.

And when I can remember that it means something different, I don’t have to react to their anger with either my own anger back or my own loss of self. I just go, ‘That’s interesting. I’ve touched a nerve.’

And I think this dynamic of emotional response which I can misread as, ‘Oh, they’re angry at me‘–in fact, they’re angry sometimes at themselves. And their anger is a manifestation of that discomfort, or a manifestation that I’ve poked into a corner of their beliefs that is sensitive. What do you think of that?

Agnes Callard: Yes, I think that that’s right. So, you know, that people’s anger points are going to be precisely those principles where they feel like they’re most in need of other people’s help in sustaining them.

And so, at a societal level, you’re going to get anger around whatever principle we feel, we as a society feel most insecure about, too.

So, like, right now I would say, like, there is a lot of sensitivity around racism. Right? Maybe like five or 10 years ago there was more of it around sexism.

And, so that means that a lot of actions and behaviors can easily get swept into that moral sensitivity, and it’s because we don’t feel sure of our own principles.

So, I absolutely agree. That’s what it is to touch a nerve. And that’s–I think, you know, you shouldn’t intentionally do it, touch the nerve. I think like that’s a point of vulnerability and you can identify it. And there are positive and negative ways to deal with that situation, but we often do it without intending to, I think.

Russ Roberts: When you say you shouldn’t touch it, do you mean: I shouldn’t touch it in you? Or: you shouldn’t touch it in yourself? when you are being in a conversation, say?

Agnes Callard: I think that one shouldn’t intentionally provoke people.

Russ Roberts: Isn’t that your job as a philosopher?

Agnes Callard: Good. So, I think that this is like–there is a very, very fine line, and I don’t always walk it well, between provoking people in such a way that you make them feel like they lose hold of their moral sensibility on the one hand, and provoking them in such a way as to facilitate their inquiry into their own moral sensibility.

And that is so hard, right? And that, Socrates, for instance, walked that line, like, his whole life. And, at the end of his life he was put to death because people thought he was doing the other thing. Right? They thought that he was in a sense undermining social morality by calling the more principles of society in some ways into question. Whereas, really what he was trying to do is get people to have a better grip on those principles by inquiring into them. Right?

But, you’re absolutely right. It can be so hard to tell the difference between those two things.

But, nonetheless, I think if you can tell that what you’re doing is simply provocation, then I think you shouldn’t do it.

If the issue is: Should you perhaps be willing to risk engaging in provocation for the sake of philosophical inquiry, I think yes, it’s worth the risk.

Russ Roberts: I mean, it’s a great insight for me now that I think about it, because you know, I like to think of it as staying between sort of bomb-throwing–conversationally where I just want to annoy people, which I think is shameful and shouldn’t generally be done–versus educating, teaching, having an open conversation with an opportunity to learn for both parties.

I recently re-tweeted something, or responded to a tweet, and said it was provocative. That’s a compliment, to me. The person who I said that to sent me a direct message saying, ‘I provoked you? Sorry.’ And, I think he meant it. I wasn’t sure he was serious or tongue-in-cheek, but I think he was serious, because he sent it as a private message.

And he’s British.

I think people in–I think the English–provoking is rude. Whereas, in America, to me, the way I was raised in the workshops of the Department of Economics at the University of Chicago, that was what our job was. Our job was to provoke. Our job was to get people to think about something they hadn’t thought about before. And, it was often uncomfortable when I was on the receiving end of that as a presenter, but that was what it was about, and I would have called that honest inquiry.

But, I think you’re saying there’s a fine line between that and what we might call cruelty.

Agnes Callard: Yeah. I mean, I think you’re right. I don’t have a subtle view on which side of the line one should put the word ‘provoke’ or ‘provocation.’ I mean, if you think about it etymologically, it just means to call forth, or something like–provocare, so you could very well think of it in the positive way.

I just mean–I suppose the reason why I said that is I was saying it partly to myself. I do think I have some kinds of–I’m less–it’s not that I can’t be irritated or annoyed or made angry by what others do, but I am not–I don’t tend to be angered by the sorts of things that anger others, so I’m not predictably angered by what–people are not able to anger me by intentionally taking actions to anger me.

And, because of that, for a long time I was kind of blind to the thought that there was something bad that I would be doing if I was intentionally angering them. Like I so[?] didn’t see it. Only in the past couple of years have I come to see that it’s bad.

The main reason why it’s bad is that it distracts attention from inquiry. If people are angry, they’re not really listening to what you’re saying. And so, you have to somehow find a way to–like, the issue here, right, is that inquiring into norms sort of destabilizes them. And, wronging someone also destabilizes those norms. So, inquiry feels a lot like being wronged.

And,I think it’s important to acknowledge that it doesn’t necessarily feel positive. People will say–this is Socrates–they’re like, ‘I feel like you’re numbing me and you’re making it impossible for me to speak, and you’re hurting me. It feels like you’re hurting me somehow.’

And, I think it’s okay that it doesn’t necessarily feel good; but you don’t want to do it in such a way as to precisely raise up all the defenses that will make it difficult to inquire.

Russ Roberts: Well, I’ve had a handful of moments in my life–I suspect you do as well–where somebody says something to me that made me angry, about my own outlook on x, y, or z; and those conversations haunted me. There was something deep there that was challenging my own consistency or rationality. And, at some point in the future–at some point after that conversation, I realized: He was right. I was really inconsistent–I was a hypocrite, or I was being inconsistent, or my view was wrong. It was a violation of my principles; and my anger, as you said, was a response to that, a defense mechanism.

But it’s kind of like a barb, like a hook. It sticks in you and then it doesn’t easily come out. It persists like a thorn. And I think–I’m grateful for those–not at the moment, and there are some probably that just hurt me that weren’t productive. But some are productive.

Agnes Callard: Right. And, if you think about: ‘In virtue of what did those words stick into you and stick with you and be the sorts of things that you continued to reflect on?’ it’s probably the fact that you got angry, right?

So, anger was a kind of sign you gave yourself that this was of some significance. And, so being sort of cool and indifferent all the time and letting the words wash over you wouldn’t be the optimal mode of learning. In some sense your anger was an indication that you are not self-sufficient and that you needed this person’s input in order to move on, even if you couldn’t quite process it at the moment.


Russ Roberts: So, let’s go back full circle to our opening part of the conversation. This last part we’ve been talking about what I would call second person–how you should feel about causing anger in someone else. Let’s go back to our own first-person reaction that you just alluded to.

I wanted to go back to my claim that one can have an angry response to a challenge–say, an intellectual challenge like that–or a personal slight, which we’re going to come back to I hope at the end of this conversation. We’re going to talk about jealousy, so obviously there’s various things that the people we love can do to us that make us angry that aren’t about the principle–those sort of intellectual, philosophical kinship-things we’re talking about.

But, do you agree with me that when someone says something intellectually to me that I find offensive and it provokes anger, do you agree with me that one should notice the anger and try not to respond in kind? Or, do you think it’s okay to respond in kind and express similar outrage, say–because we haven’t used that word, but that’s another extreme form of anger that–a little bit like tribalism–it has a negative connotation, perhaps?

Agnes Callard: I think you should not get revenge. I basically think no one should ever get revenge. And, I think that anger does motivate us to revenge.

I think it’s nearly impossible not to seek revenge in some form, and so there is a question of what should you do all things considered, and then there’s the question of which of the realistic options should you pick. Right?

Nietzsche thinks you should do small revenges to get it out of your system, so you don’t do the big ones. That’s not, to me, an implausible piece of advice.

I do think that, like, maybe the bigger meta-point is that, for me, anyway, I have to learn again how to manage anger with respect to every relationship that I have. So, anger changes for me depending on who I’m in the relationship with.

Anger–the process of managing anger is really the process of restoring the relationship, and thereby the norm, to its healed positive state. Right? So, anger is a sign that there’s some kind of damage, both to the relationship and to the norm. And, how do you heal? Generally not by getting revenge–except maybe in some cases if Nietzsche is right.

But, how do you do it, like, with respect to a given person? Like, some people are such that–there’s one person who, like, I’m close to in my life who I’ve had to learn that when we are angry with each other, I just need to give him like a little bit of time, maybe like two hours or something, and he will sort of recover from it. But, trying to push through at that moment and have a conversation doesn’t get you anywhere. That’s incredibly frustrating for me because it’s not at all–my nature is like: Now when we’re most angry is when we have to deal with this.

And so, with that particular person the lesson is: I just sometimes have to just deal with the fact that the anger is going to sit there for a couple of hours.

That’s not true with everyone. Like, that’s this person, and I had to learn that. It took years to learn that.

So, I think that there couldn’t be a general theory–you know, a general theory of how you should respond to anger would be like a general theory of how to manage all relationships.

Russ Roberts: Right.


Russ Roberts: Well, let’s talk about revenge, because I think that’s a fascinating aspect of this. I think revenge is–the urge for revenge, which is a form of anger–and I think you say in your essay that Aristotle says that anger is a desire for revenge.

And, in this conversational motif we’re talking about, say, something–I make you angry, and you respond angrily to what I’ve said; and I think, ‘Ugh, I’m getting back at that,’ and I up my response to strike back at you.

An aspect we maybe haven’t emphasized enough–it’s embedded in your point about kinship and belonging–is insecurity: that often anger is a sign that–I said I struck a chord that challenged your beliefs, but it’s actually more like I’ve knocked a foundational thing out from under you, or vice versa, you’ve knocked something foundational out from under me; and it’s a recognition that I’m insecure. I’m trying to stand on three legs now, or one, and I don’t like that feeling. Right? No one does. Most people don’t, I think.

And so, my natural response is defensive. It’s like: I’m striking back and I need to hurt you back because you hurt me.

And, that in many settings of human history, is probably a good idea. ‘You’re attacking my castle, I better take care of you.’

But, I think in modern human relations, that’s probably not a good idea. And so, what I try to do when I feel myself getting angry is ask myself whether you have merely tapped into a form of my own insecurity, and therefore I need to look into my heart and say, ‘That’s okay.’ I don’t have to be right about everything. I don’t have to have every question answered. That’s absurd. And I don’t need to be angry about that anymore because it’s not really important. Excuse me–it is important, but it’s not a flaw.

Agnes Callard: Yeah. So, I think that there are–you know, people have different styles of responding to anger. And, one general style is: respond to anger, which is a condition of insecurity and destabilization, etc., and neediness by, in one way or other, making yourself–re-establishing the security and independence and self-sufficiency.

And, like, we’ve described two ways of doing that: one that you like a lot and the other that you strongly dislike. Revenge is an attempt to take matters into your own hands. So, it’s an attempt to be self-sufficient, to solve the problem of anger, the problem of neediness and dependence by–like, in the sort of [inaudible 00:35:40] case just kill the other person. If the other person is gone then they no longer represent a threat to my values. So, that’s one way to take matters into your own hands.

Another way to take matters into your own hands is to sort of detach and reflect and step back and de-emotionalize, right? And just, say, ‘I can sort of step back to a place of security behind myself where I’m like: Look, it’s okay. It’s not a big deal. I might not know this.’ That’s also a form of responding to anger by sort of insisting on self-sufficiency.

Those are two ways of responding to anger, and I tend to think that the second one, the one you like, is in fact in most contexts better. The first one, the revenge one, is destructive.

But, for me the most interesting thing is that those aren’t your only options. The menu isn’t between destructive and nice self-sufficiency.

So, what I try do when I’m angry is I try to ask for help. Because, if what is happening when I’m angry is that I am unstable and I am in need of something from another person, then the natural thing is not to try to make yourself not need something, but to ask for the help that you obviously need. Right?

The problem is that, like, when you’re angry the one person who can help you is the person that you least want to ask for help from. But, that’s my own go-to response to anger–is that if I’m angry with this person then I have to find a way to ask for their help. And, I’ll literally be, like, in emails–I’ll, like, send them emails saying, ‘Help! Please help me.’ I’ll, like, beg for their help.

And it’s taken me a while to get to that point of realizing that’s kind of the thing I tend to need to do. But, it may be that the reason I do that is I’m really pretty bad at that take-a-step-back, calm-yourself-down thing. That move just doesn’t–isn’t really available to me. Maybe if I could do that I wouldn’t do the help thing.

But, I also wonder about whether or not the sort of social response to anger that I have–to sort of acknowledge that you actually do need this other person and you can’t solve this problem on your own–whether there aren’t also just varieties of ways of doing that, too. And I’m interested to think about that problem, which I haven’t done.


Russ Roberts: So, I want to talk about jealousy and forgiveness in a minute, but before I do I want to take an intermediate step there and react to what you just said. [More to come, 38:17]

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