"Virtue," our opponent argues, "should be angry at what is wrong, just as she celebrates what is right." What would we think if he said virtue should be both small and great? Yet that's exactly what he means when he wants virtue to rise and fall with emotions. Joy over a good deed is noble and glorious. But anger at someone else's sin is petty and shows a narrow mind. Virtue will never stoop to copying vice while trying to stop it. She sees anger itself as deserving punishment, since anger is often worse than the wrongs it gets mad about. To rejoice and be glad — that's what virtue naturally does. Getting angry is beneath her dignity, just like mourning would be. Sorrow always goes with anger. And all anger ends in sorrow, either from regret or from failing to get what it wanted.
"Virtue," argues our adversary, "ought to be angry with what is base, just as she approves of what is honourable." What should we think if he said that virtue ought to be both mean and great; yet this is what he means, when he wants her to be raised and lowered, because joy at a good action is grand and glorious, while anger at another's sin is base and befits a narrow mind: and virtue will never be guilty of imitating vice while she is repressing it; she considers anger to deserve punishment for itself, since it often is even more criminal than the faults which which it is angry. To rejoice and be glad is the proper and natural function of virtue: it is as much beneath her dignity to be angry, as to mourn: now, sorrow is the companion of anger, and all anger ends in sorrow, either from remorse or from failure.