There are, as I have said, two conditions under which anger is aroused: first, if we think that we have received an injury — about this enough has been said; second, if we think that we have received it unjustly — about this something must now be said. Men judge some happenings to be unjust because they did not deserve them, some merely because they did not expect them. What is unexpected we count undeserved. And so we are mightily stirred by all that happens contrary to hope and expectation, and this is the only reason why in domestic affairs we are vexed by trifles, why in the case of friends we call neglect a wrong. “Why, then,” you query, “do the wrongs done by our enemies stir us?” Because we did not expect them, or at any rate not wrongs so serious. This, in turn, is due to excessive self-love. We decide that we ought not to be harmed even by our enemies; each one in his heart has the king’s point of view, and is willing to use license, but unwilling to suffer from it. And so it is either arrogance or ignorance that makes us prone to anger; for what is there surprising in wicked men’s practicing wicked deeds? Why is it strange if an enemy injures us, a friend offends us, a son errs, or a servant blunders? Fabius used to say that the excuse, “I did not think,” was the one most shameful for a commander; I think it most shameful for any man. Think of everything, expect everything; even in good characters some unevenness will appear. Human nature begets hearts that are deceitful, that are ungrateful, that are covetous, that are undutiful. When you are about to pass judgment on one single man’s character, reflect upon the general mass.
When you are about to rejoice most, you will have most to fear. When everything seems to you to be peaceful, the forces that will harm are not nonexistent, but inactive. Always believe that there will come some blow to strike you. No skipper is ever so reckless as to unfurl all his canvas without having his tackle in order for quickly shortening sail. Above all, bear this in mind, that the power of injury is vile and detestable and most unnatural for man, by whose kindness even fierce beasts are tamed. Look how elephants29 submit their necks to the yoke, how boys and women alike leap upon bulls30 and tread their backs unhurt, how serpents crawl in harmless course among our cups and over our laps, how gentle are the faces of bears and lions when their trainers are inside their cages, and how wild beasts fawn upon their keeper — we shall blush to have exchanged characters with the beasts31! To injure one’s country is a crime; consequently, also, to injure a fellow-citizen — for he is a part of the country, and if we reverence the whole, the parts are sacred — consequently to injure any man is a crime, for he is your fellow-citizen in the greater commonwealth. What if the hands should desire to harm the feet, or the eyes the hands? As all the members of the body are in harmony one with another because it is to the advantage of the whole that the individual members be unharmed, so mankind should spare the individual man, because all are born for a life of fellowship, and society can be kept unharmed only by the mutual protection and love of its parts. We would not crush even a viper or a water-snake or any other creature that harms by bite or sting if we could make them kindly in future, or keep them from being a source of danger to ourselves and others. Neither, therefore, shall we injure a man because he has done wrong, but in order to keep him from doing wrong, and his punishment shall never look to the past, but always to the future; for that course is not anger, but precaution. For if everyone whose nature is evil and depraved must be punished, punishment will exempt no one.