Letter 47: On master and slave
I am glad to learn, through those who come from you, that you live on friendly terms with your slaves. This befits a sensible and well-educated man like yourself.
"They are slaves," people declare.
Nay, rather they are men.
"Slaves!"
No, comrades.
"Slaves!"
No, they are unpretentious friends.
"Slaves!"
No, they are our fellow slaves, if one reflects that Fortune has equal rights over slaves and free men alike.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 47
I tend to avoid conversations about sexual morality, not because it doesn’t matter, but because the current climate is hardly conducive to employing the calm of reason when such turbulent passions have taken hold.
Similarly, I am hesitant to speak about slavery, not because it is irrelevant, but because the wounds of our recent American practice make it so difficult for us to avoid falling into violent arguments.
The sad fact remains, however, that slavery, as a social institution, has existed for the vast majority of human history, and still continues to exist in many parts of the world.
I also know it is not a popular thing to say, yet I believe that the chattel slavery we moderns rightly condemn has largely been replaced by a sort of wage slavery, where the bondage of some to others is merely pursued by different means.
Seneca writes to Lucilius about the treatment of slaves, and I imagine the rule was so firmly established in Rome that it was impossible to go about one’s business without facing that harsh reality. What this letter does, therefore, is not to advocate for a bloody revolution, but to seek a conversion of the heart.
Indeed, Seneca begins by referring to slavery in a particular sense, the way people are legally marked as the property of others, but he quickly expands his consideration to slavery in a much broader sense, the way we allow ourselves to be dominated by our circumstances.
As perverse as it is, the clever man knows how to diminish his enemy by denying his very humanity, and thereby depriving him of the dignity he deserves as a creature of reason and will. The only way around this, however much it offends the powers-that-be, is to say that this is first and foremost a person, not an employee, or a customer, or a taxpayer—or a slave.
If I can do this, and somehow manage not to get myself locked up for subversion, I have opened the gates to a life of justice.
If he is man, and not just a tool for my pleasure or profit, he is equal to me by nature. If she is the same as me in essence, we are made to work together, for the sake of one another. If we are all in this together, whatever our tribe or class, we are meant to be friends.
Do you vainly appeal to tradition, and breeding, and wealth, and the trappings of sophisticated “culture” as befitting barriers between the masters and the slaves?
It can’t get around the fact that Fortune, as guided by Providence, makes no such distinctions of privilege. Whatever our conditions, we will all face suffering and death, and so each of us is only as good as the content of his character.
I tend to avoid conversations about sexual morality, not because it doesn’t matter, but because the current climate is hardly conducive to employing the calm of reason when such turbulent passions have taken hold.
Similarly, I am hesitant to speak about slavery, not because it is irrelevant, but because the wounds of our recent American practice make it so difficult for us to avoid falling into violent arguments.
The sad fact remains, however, that slavery, as a social institution, has existed for the vast majority of human history, and still continues to exist in many parts of the world.
I also know it is not a popular thing to say, yet I believe that the chattel slavery we moderns rightly condemn has largely been replaced by a sort of wage slavery, where the bondage of some to others is merely pursued by different means.
Seneca writes to Lucilius about the treatment of slaves, and I imagine the rule was so firmly established in Rome that it was impossible to go about one’s business without facing that harsh reality. What this letter does, therefore, is not to advocate for a bloody revolution, but to seek a conversion of the heart.
Indeed, Seneca begins by referring to slavery in a particular sense, the way people are legally marked as the property of others, but he quickly expands his consideration to slavery in a much broader sense, the way we allow ourselves to be dominated by our circumstances.
As perverse as it is, the clever man knows how to diminish his enemy by denying his very humanity, and thereby depriving him of the dignity he deserves as a creature of reason and will. The only way around this, however much it offends the powers-that-be, is to say that this is first and foremost a person, not an employee, or a customer, or a taxpayer—or a slave.
If I can do this, and somehow manage not to get myself locked up for subversion, I have opened the gates to a life of justice.
If he is man, and not just a tool for my pleasure or profit, he is equal to me by nature. If she is the same as me in essence, we are made to work together, for the sake of one another. If we are all in this together, whatever our tribe or class, we are meant to be friends.
Do you vainly appeal to tradition, and breeding, and wealth, and the trappings of sophisticated “culture” as befitting barriers between the masters and the slaves?
It can’t get around the fact that Fortune, as guided by Providence, makes no such distinctions of privilege. Whatever our conditions, we will all face suffering and death, and so each of us is only as good as the content of his character.
If you were expecting Seneca to give some sort of convoluted defense for treating other human beings like convenient objects, I’m sorry you have been sorely disappointed.
—Reflection written in 3/2013
IMAGE: Charles William Bartlett, Captives in Rome (1888)
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