We have now succeeded, Novatus, in bringing composure to the mind; it either does not feel anger, or is superior to it. Let us now see how we may allay the anger of others. For we wish not merely to be healed ourselves, but also to heal.
We shall not venture to soothe the first burst of anger with words. It is both deaf and mad; we must give it room. Remedies are effective when the malady subsides. We do not tamper with the eyes when they are swollen — for in their stiff condition we are likely to irritate them by moving them — nor with other affected parts while they are inflamed. Rest is the cure in the first stages of illness. “How little,” you say, “is your remedy worth, if it quiets anger when it is subsiding of its own accord!” In the first place, it makes it subside all the more quickly; in the second, it prevents its recurrence; it will baffle, also, even the first outburst which it makes no effort to soothe, for it will remove all the weapons of revenge; it will feign anger in order that, posing thus as a helper and comrade of our resentment, it may have more influence in counsel; it will contrive delays, and will postpone immediate punishment by looking about for a heavier one. It will employ every artifice to give respite to the madness. If the victim grows violent, it will enforce on him a sense of shame or fear that he cannot resist; if calmer, it will introduce conversation that is either interesting or novel, and will divert him by stirring his desire for knowledge. There is a story that once a physician had to cure the daughter of a king, and yet could not without using the knife. And so, while he was gently dressing her swollen breast, he inserted a lance concealed in a sponge. The girl would have fought against the remedy openly applied, but because she did not expect it, she endured the pain. Some matters are cured only by deception.