Achilles was famed as the strongest, swiftest warrior of whom the Greeks could sing, but in “The Iliad” he also indulged in one of the most famous snits in literature.

Achilles sulks in his tent after Agamemnon, who gives up a captured girl to escape the anger (and arrows) of Apollo, swipes Achilles’ fair-cheeked Briseis. Even as the Greeks are losing the battle for Troy, Achilles holds onto his state of sulk, staying in his tent until he hears his close friend, Patroclus, has been killed. After complaining a bit more about Agamemnon to his mother, he decides, “Ah well, for all our pain, let us bury what is past, and, as we must, master our feelings.” He grabs a sword and off he goes to master his feelings against the Trojans.

If only the emotional wounds of Maine politics healed as easily. In the last legislative session, there was, for instance, the sulking of the Senate Democrats, who addressed a letter to their party leader, John Baldacci, “To whom it may concern.” The governor wasn’t supportive of their plan to raise sales taxes and they apparently felt he wasn’t showing them sufficient respect. Legislative Republicans similarly said they felt slighted when the governor did not directly invite them to discussions about tax reform. But their sensitivities were really afflicted last week when the governor’s spokesman, Lee Umphrey, quipped of the out-of-session lawmakers, “even when they’re in the building, the building’s still empty.” An injured GOP Rep. Stephen Bowen responded with a scolding Thursday on this page, in which he also deplored quite a few of the governor’s other failings.

One longtime legislator observed of the political battlefield strewn with damaged self-esteem, “The Democrats who were offended and the Republicans who were offended seem to be the same groups of people who wouldn’t compromise on any of the tax reforms.” Compromising, of course, being offensive these days.

The rosy-fingered dawn of hurt feelings truly arrives, however, with the political-action committee Tax Cap Yes!, which is promoting the 1-percent cap on property taxes that will be on the November ballot. You might think it would be led by fed-up, fired-up taxpayers, but the impression I got from two of its leaders was that they were portraying themselves as aggrieved outsiders, though these GOP insiders are hardly that. By my count, Phil Harriman and Eric Cianchette mentioned a lack of respect shown to their organization five times during a 70-minute meeting. Mostly, they were referring to Gov. Agamemnon Baldacci, but the panoply of offenders also included the Legislature, Maine Municipal Association, local and county leaders, business groups and others.

“The attitude [from state government] is that we are the problem. We, the taxpayers,” says former state Sen. Harriman. “The arrogance is what gets me,” says Mr. Cianchette, a prominent businessman and cousin to Peter Cianchette, who lost the gubernatorial race to Mr. Baldacci. Eric Cianchette adds Maine cities could balance their budgets with fewer revenues if they really tried, “though they might have to stop paying their clerks $90,000 a year plus benefits.”

He also cheerfully admits that he hasn’t actually read the whole bill he is promoting. And the two agree with the state supreme court that part of the initiative is unconstitutional and say that if towns have trouble with it they’ll help change the law in the Legislature (so much for being outsiders). But details in the tax-cap question seem less important than the feeling that taxpayers are being wronged. “If there was a general recognition of the problem” by lawmakers, Mr. Harriman laments, “that would be different.”

Identifying yourself as a victim of an offense is the surest way these days to attract empathy and support, which tells you something about how the rest of us are feeling. National politicians know this and are regularly, if not automatically, outraged, appalled, hurt or shocked on our behalf. How they endure this pain and still manage to pull themselves together to attend a fund-raiser that evening is a mystery to me. Warriors, every one of them.

Of course there are exceptions. Vice President Dick Cheney growled the most honest expression of outrage I’ve heard in a long time last week in the Senate. His unlikely suggestion – unlikely even for a powerful member of Congress – to Sen. Pat Leahy was crude, but honest.

As political theater, a willingness to be offended by small slights and a minor lack of consideration is part of the show. The expression of deep, deep disappointment and hurt – not for yourself, of course, but for the voiceless multitudes – works especially well with a somber-faced chorus of those secondarily offended tsk-tsking in the background. These demonstrations of mock concern may have been the reason the photogenic steps of state capitols were invented.

The producers of these shows make a mistake, however, when they confuse the performing of outrage with the actual thing and refuse to compromise on, say, tax reform or – why not? – they sail a wave of offense at the imperfect workings of government.

Achilles had his heel, and those groups certain enough of their own pain to believe their put-on feelings of hurt do too.

Todd Benoit is the editorial page editor of the Bangor Daily News.