Many mistakenly think that the caduseus (or Staff of Hermes) is the symbol of medicine, but in fact the Staff of Asclepius is the correct medical symbol

As far as I can tell, there were two major objections to the health care bill that just passed the House. The first, coming from political conservatives and libertarians, objected to any government involvement at all. The second, coming from pro-life people of conscience, objected to the expansion of funding for abortion.

Obviously, the first group are most vocally dissatisfied. They’ve just plain lost.

As to the desires of the second group, it’s hard to say whether President Obama’s promised executive order will truly satisfy them. I suppose history will tell.

As for those who supported the bill, well, they speak as if this is a victory on the level of ending slavery or segregation. This bill has put an end to a great evil and has opened the door for a great good.

What fascinates me is how almost all the conversation about health care I’ve heard (and been involved with) in the past year is based in ideas of morality, of ethics. Almost none of it focused on the practical, concrete aspects of the bill. If someone disagreed with someone else about health care, that person wasn’t just wrong; he or she was bad, evil, a hater of the human race and all things American.

It’s about right and wrong – in a way

Now, I’m sure at least half of you will find something to disagree with on this blog. In fact, if you read long enough, it’s probably inevitable that I’ll say something that rubs you wrong or insults a principle that you hold dear. I know that’s the case with me: even the writers and friends I’m most like-minded with sometimes say or do things I consider downright stupid. And let’s face it, I’m no better than any of them.

But when these disagreements happen, even when we disagree about really serious moral issues like abortion or warfare or whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher, it’s critical to remember that it’s a person that I’m arguing with.

It’s a person who has reasons for his or her opinion. It’s a person who is trying to do and say what seems best to him or her. It’s a person, not an animal or a monster.

A person’s arguments can be wrong, or can lead to evil conclusions. But a person, in and of him- or herself, is never evil. So the goal of every argument is not to figure out who is right or wrong; an argument is not about judging a person. Instead, an argument helps us figure out what is right or wrong, what is good or bad, so that we can together follow what is good and avoid what is evil.

How to fight fairly

So, I find the quickest way to quiet my own anger when someone disagrees with me is to put myself in their shoes. Why, I ask myself – and sometimes the other person directly, does this person think that way?

This has a double benefit: first, it reminds me that this is another person and the goal is to find the truth together; second, it helps me see the strengths and weaknesses of their argument, so that I can see what’s right and wrong more clearly.

If I’m able to explore the question with them, it also lowers the level of anger and frustration. Even if nobody “wins” the argument, if we don’t walk away in perfect agreement, we at least have agreed to understand one another.

For the record

So, on health care: I’m for universal availability of health care; I’m against abortion (as well as other elective procedures) being included in basic health care; I don’t have a principled objection to government involvement, but I’m highly suspicious of our current governmental structures. I think the “health care exchange” is maybe the best part of the bill. I’m sure history will tell us what the worst part of the bill is.

There, I’ve said what I think. Feel free to disagree with my argument; just don’t dis my person – or anyone else’s, if you please.

You wouldn't like me when I'm angry...

It took up way too much of my time.

And, at certain points, I admit I lost my temper and wrote disrespectful things.

How to lose your temper

What happened? I mean, I’m the most friendly, even-keeled, rational guy I know … at least, of all the people who are typing on this keyboard right now.

What happened was that I took his critiques of my argument personally, as attacks against me. It’s a little ironic, because at times he did attack me personally; now, when someone says straight out, “You’re an idiot,” it’s easy to dismiss. The poor guy has obviously lost it.

But when he provided good evidence against my position, I said to myself, “You’re an idiot.” And a burning desire flared up in my belly: I wanted to shout back at him some incredibly sophisticated insult to put him in his place. Something like, “Oh yeah? Well you’re an idiot!”

My problem was that I was identifying a weakness in my argument with a weakness in myself. And, rather than acting to correct whatever weakness was there, I tried to blame the weakness on someone else.

Anger: vice? virtue? or passion?

I grew up thinking that anger was always wrong. I’d feel guilty just for feeling mad. Yet there really is such a thing as “righteous indignation”. The question is not so much what I’m feeling, as what I’m doing with those feelings.

Thomas Aquinas defines anger as “the desire to hurt another for the purpose of just vengeance.” (ST I-II q47 a1) By “just vengeance,” he means punishing someone for the harm they have done toward oneself. In other words, anger is the desire to punish a wrongdoer.

So, when I’m getting riled up, I have two questions I need to ask: first, what harm has been done to me? and second, what action would restore justice?

More often than not, I can stop at the first question. I could be imagining that the person is insulting me or means me harm. Or maybe the harm is completely unintentional, or worse, my own fault. The anger doesn’t always go away, but I know that I can’t take it out on someone else.

Calm anger with justice

On the rare occasion that someone really has harmed me unjustly, well, that’s when it’s tough. I feel like I simply want to hurt the other person. We all know that’s almost never the solution. The question is, can the harm be repaired? Can the person who hurt me make restitution? Can what is wrong be made right?

If so, then anger provides the energy and motivation to hold that person accountable – so long as I’m able to keep my anger focused on justice.

But if there’s nothing anyone can do to repair the damage, then the only thing to do is let go. Forgive, if the person apologizes. And accept the simple fact that life isn’t always fair.

Beating up a punching bag may be about as good as it gets. But it’s far far better than taking unjust vengeance. Two wrongs never equal a right.