People usually put these two subjects together in a phrase to identify the two subjects one should never discuss, lest argument ensue. Mailboxes have no such tender sensibilities, however, and this morning I had two forwards in my mail. One criticized Congress and concluded with a suggestion that we pass a law forbidding re-election unless the budget is balanced and the deficit is reduced. Trouble is, we would need Congress to pass that law—but never mind logic. The purpose of the email was only to vent, of course.

The other email criticized the Church, asserting that it is corruption within the Church hierarchy that is causing general widespread moral collapse—specifically, among bishops, and since bishops are corrupt, so are priests, and because priests are corrupt, so are the laity. A venting of righteous anger.

Both emails were condemnations. They had different senders, but they could have been the same sender, since both senders are Catholic and both are conservative. I’ve become so weary of this condemning anger by conservatives that I usually don’t even read it any more.

It isn’t that I’m not conservative—I am—but long ago I noted (and posted about it) that the nature of conservatism is to defend, and that’s a position that cannot be sustained indefinitely. It will fatigue the staunchest, most perseverant, and most patient among of us eventually. We constantly complain (“vent”) in order, I suppose, to relieve pressure. The alternative is to explode, a raisin in the sun sort of thing.

Conservatism is not overcome by the progressions of  “liberalism,” but by the exhaustion of conservatives. Defense is the most wearying activity there is.  I am tired. I don’t open such emails any more. I don’t write such things either. It isn’t that I’m following my Granny’s basic rule of good manners (If you can’t say something nice, say nothing at all); it’s just the pointlessness of it. Someone vents their anger on me, and then I must either carry their anger-baggage or pass it on, “forward” it to someone else.  So I choose to delete it with a one-word mental response: So? So what do you want me to do? Why are you telling me this? What, exactly, do you expect of me? Do you want me to forward this to my entire address book and do you think that if I do and you do and others do, we’ll all somehow stop the perpetual assault on Truth, Beauty, and Goodness? You could call this emotional and intellectual disengagement, you could call it withdrawal, or you could call it simply self-defense.

Judge anything by its fruit. What is the fruit of anger? Ultimately, it’s violence. At the moment, it’s verbal violence, but as anger grows and spreads, violence becomes more palpable. In politics, that violence becomes revolution. In religion, it becomes Protestantism. History has proved this fruit toxic. Revolution does not change the hearts of those in power, nor did Protestantism force the Church to obey the demands of Protestants. Anger begets only more anger, which increasingly becomes expressible only in violence. Like ISIS, for example. Or maybe the Reign of Terror. Or the Bolsheviks. Or—whatever.

There’s another characteristic of Righteous Rage that should be noted: It’s not just contagious; it’s also addictive. How sad for the revolutionaries in France when there was no one left to guillotine, and they had to go in search of more victims, anyone they could find—cloistered nuns, or anyone at all who did not share their bloodlust. The “holy warriors” of ISIS, I understand, have had to resort to beheading children. It is addictive.

Anger is natural, forgivable, and anger in defense of what is good, right, sacred, innocent—is even laudable. But it can be contagious and addictive, seductive, dishonest, unjust, and spiritually devastating. Perhaps fatigue is a blessing, a gift presented in the form of a delete key.