The Stoic E-Book

Francis Caldwell Holland

• Herausgeber: Enhanced Media Publishing
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

Fabulous wealth, literary fame, exile, an amazing come back to the height of political power and a tragic ending – the life of Lucius Annaeus Seneca - aka Seneca the Younger or simply Seneca – is one of the great untold stories of Ancient Rome. In The Stoic, Francis Holland presents a riveting portrait of the prolific but mysterious Roman statesman and philosopher whose works remain popular and vital two thousand years later.

Leseprobe

THE STOIC:

A BIOGRAPHY OF SENECA

By Francis Caldwell Holland

The Stoic: A Biography of Seneca by Francis Caldwell Holland. First published as Seneca in 1920. This edition published by Enhanced Media, 2015.

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Printed in the United States of America.

First printing, 2015.

Enhanced Media Publishing.

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Table Of Contents

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CHAPTER I

MARCUS ANNAEUS SENECA AND SONS — CONTROVERSIAE — HELVIA — BATTLE OF THE BOOKS

CHAPTER II

EARLY YEARS AND EDUCATION — SOTION, ATTALUS, FABIANUS

CHAPTER III

THE PRINCIPATE OF CALIGULA, A.D. 37-42

CHAPTER IV

EXILE IN CORSICA, A.D. 4I-49

CHAPTER V

RETURN FROM EXILE — LAST YEARS OF CLAUDIUS, A.D. 48-54

CHAPTER VI

THE QUINQUENNIUM NERONIS, A.D. 54-59

CHAPTER VII

SENECA IN POWER

CHAPTER VIII

THE TRAGEDY OF BAIAE - INSTITUTION OF THE

CHAPTER IX

DECLINE OF SENECA'S INFLUENCE— DEATH OF BURRHUS AND OF OCTAVIA, A.D. 60-62

CHAPTER X

SENECA IN RETIREMENT— HIS FRIENDS AND OCCUPATIONS

CHAPTER XI

LETTER TO LUCILIUS ON AETNA — SENECA'S RICHES AND APOLOGIA

CHAPTER XII

THE CONSPIRACY OF PISO AND THE DEATH OF SENECA, A.D. 64-65

CHAPTER XIII

THE PHILOSOPHY OF SENECA

IMAGE GALLERY

CHAPTER I

MARCUS ANNAEUS SENECA AND SONS — CONTROVERSIAE — HELVIA — BATTLE OF THE BOOKS

A PLEASANT impression of the tranquil old age of Marcus Annaeus Seneca, the father of the philosopher, under the principate of Tiberius, is given in the dedications to his three sons, Novatus, Lucius Seneca, and Mela, which are prefixed to his five books of Controversiae. These Controversiae, which first came into fashion in the time of Cicero, were imaginary cases argued on one side and the other by the professors in the schools of rhetoric for the instruction of their pupils, or by the pupils in the presence and under the direction of their masters. They turned on disputable questions of ethics or law — a non-existent rule of law being generally assumed for the purpose of the pleadings — and the more dramatic and improbable the circumstances imagined by the rhetoricians, the more crowded with pupils were their schools, and the greater their consequent renown.

In the great days of the republic, when the sovereign power at Rome was vested ultimately in the various assemblies of her citizens, the faculty of swaying these assemblies by eloquence was almost the one necessary qualification for a successful career, yet it was not till the generation immediately preceding the establishment of the Empire that the art of rhetoric was taught systematically at Rome. Before that time a youth who looked forward to a forensic career would be introduced by his father to one of the celebrated orators of the day, whose methods he would study, whose pleadings he would never fail to attend, and to whom he would render what assistance he could. When rhetoric was first studied in Rome as an art, and for the training just described was substituted that of the schools, the causae there discussed were made to resemble as closely as possible the cases of the forum — the one bearing to the other the same sort of relation that the proceedings in political debating societies bear to the debates in the House of Commons.

But after the fall of the republic, when the orators who had numbered kings and nations among their clients, or had impeached proconsuls for the oppression of provinces, were succeeded by the delatores, who earned fame, indeed, and vast sums of money, but also the detestation of all honest men by bringing accusations against great senators whom the emperors wished to destroy, the rhetorical exercises of the schools became ever more and more remote from reality. The object of teachers and pupils alike was not to bring conviction to the minds of their hearers, but to win applause for their own cleverness. Rhetoric ceased to have an object outside itself — it became an art for art's sake. The triumph of the controversialists in these fantastic contests was the invention of the effective aphorisms, antitheses, or epigrams called sententiae, which were applauded for their pithiness or ingenuity, and easily retained in the memory. ‘Knowledge is the foundation of eloquence’ – ‘Rem tene, verba sequentur,’ wrote the elder Cato in the earliest Roman treatise on oratory. The rhetoricians of the schools seemed to reverse this maxim, and to believe eloquence to be the foundation of knowledge — so all-important a place did rhetoric hold in the later Roman scheme of education, and so remote from the real business of life and of the forum had their rhetorical exercises become. No one, as Tacitus wrote, in republican times attained great power without the aid of eloquence. Consequently, the attainment of linguistic mastery of expression was the chief aim of education, and so continued to be after the establishment of the Empire. In the grammatical course, which preceded that of rhetoric, boys were trained through the medium of classical poetry.

Marcus Annaeus Seneca is himself generally described in modern books as a rhetorician; but although he was intimate with the greatest masters of the art, attended their lectures and declamations with assiduity, and treasured their sententiae in his memory, there is no direct evidence that he himself ever taught in the schools. He came to Rome from his native Corduba in Spain as soon as the close of the civil wars allowed him to leave that colony, afterwards regretting that he had not been able to come sooner, since then he might have heard the living voice of Cicero.

His collection of Controversiae was made at the request of his sons who, anxious to know something of the character and style of the famous rhetors of the preceding generation, begged their father to tell them all he could remember on the subject. His memory had been famous in the days of his youth; and we cannot wonder that it was esteemed a prodigy if we may believe his assurance that he was then able to repeat without an error two thousand names in the right order after a single hearing.

But in his old age, he adds, it had become capricious; he could no longer count on its ready and immediate obedience to his will, but was obliged to wait its pleasure. For the events of his youth it was as strong as ever, but it could not retain what was in later years entrusted to its keeping; just as in a vessel already filled to which more water is added what is on the surface overflows and is lost, but what is below remains.

He applauds the desire of his sons to learn something of the eloquence of the past generation — in the first place, because the more numerous and various the models before them the less are they likely to become mere imitators; and, in the second place, because the age is degenerate, and because the art of rhetoric having reached its height about the time of Cicero had, according to the universal law of change, been declining ever since. In the days of freedom, so he continues, rhetorical exercises had a serious object, since by eloquence a man might reach the highest offices of the State; but, since the overthrow of the republic, this spur to effort had largely been withdrawn. He had heard all the great orators except Cicero, and the task of satisfying the praiseworthy curiosity of his sons by returning as it were to school in his old age, and bringing to light out of the caverns of his memory all that they contained of the declamations made in the schools by the celebrated rhetoricians of the past, would be to him a delightful labour. The publication of their witty sayings and ingenious subtleties would also incidentally have the useful effect of checking the unacknowledged plagiarisms of their degenerate successors.

The elder Seneca was a Roman of the old school, of equestrian rank, a lover of the past — orderly, austere, and methodical. His wife, Helvia, belonged to an influential provincial family, in which a severe simplicity was a tradition.

Like most mothers of distinguished men she was, if we may accept the description left of her by her son the philosopher, a woman of remarkable character and intelligence. Her husband, to whom any departure from old Roman customs and ideas was distasteful, was opposed to what we now call the higher education of women, and would not suffer her to devote much time to study, a circumstance regretted by her son, in whose judgment there were few on whom such opportunities would have been less likely to be wasted, or who in the little time actually allowed could have acquired so much.

He tells us that his mother took deep interest in his philosophical studies, while her delight in his society was inexhaustible; and, on the other hand, that the very sight of her always filled him with an almost boyish gaiety and gladness. After her widowhood, which succeeded within thirty days the death of the kindest of brothers, she administered with the utmost care and disinterestedness the inheritance of her three sons; refusing all personal advantage from it as if it had been another's, and giving as much care to its management as if it had been her own. In the same way the course of honours which two of her sons successfully pursued, and the fortunes they acquired, though giving her pleasure for their sake, were a source not of profit to herself, but of additional expense — so much better did she deem it to give than to receive.

Novatus, the eldest of the three sons of Marcus Seneca and Helvia, was adopted by his father's friend, Junius Gallio the rhetorician, by whose name he became known. He entered early on an official career, passing through all the official dignities till he became consul suffectus, after which he became Proconsul of Achaia in the year 52, where the accident of a riot, resulting in the appearance of Paul of Tarsus before his tribunal, immortalized a name which all the praises of his brother Seneca, who describes him as the most irresistibly charming man of his age, could not have rescued from oblivion. If we may trust his brother's description, he was indeed a man made to be loved. 'No one man,' writes the younger Seneca, with his usual rhetorical exaggeration, 'is so agreeable to another as Gallio to all who know him' — 'nemo enim mortalium uni tam dulcis est quam hic omnibus.'  'His courtesy and unstudied charm of manner win every heart, yet so modest is he that not only does he shrink from the very approaches of flattery, but listens with equal reluctance to the praises which his numerous excellences have really deserved.' 

The youngest brother Mela, to whom the second book of 'Controversies' is exclusively addressed, though described by his father as mentally the best endowed of the three, made an early resolution to content himself with his hereditary rank and, leaving the career of honours to his two accomplished brothers, to devote himself to a life of studious retirement. His father, though he did not conceal his own preference for an active career, acquiesced without much difficulty in this decision, declaring that he was ready, when his two elder sons had put out to sea, to keep the third in harbour. That Mela was his favourite son, and that this lack of ambition was a disappointment to one so enamoured of traditional ways as the elder Seneca, will seem probable to the reader of the dedication addressed to him; nor would he have been greatly consoled had he been able to foresee that this contempt for the ancient State dignities would not prevent his son from accumulating a large fortune as procurator of the imperial demesne under the principate of Nero.

The Senecas appear to have been a most united family. But whereas the father held the view common to old men in every age that the era of great men was over, and that in the new generation there was an unexampled dearth of talent and ability in every kind, the sons were believers in progress, with scant respect for authority, tradition, or national feeling.

The reminiscences of the Controversiae in which the father endeavours to convince his sons by description and quotation of the superiority of the past generation, were the outcome of this difference of view. In the preface of the last book he declares that they shall trouble him no longer. He owns he is weary of the subject. At first he thought it would be pleasant to summon up remembrance of things past and recall the best years of his life under the mild Augustus, but he now feels half ashamed, as if he attached too much importance to such studies. These exercises of ingenuity, he says, are well enough if taken lightly: take them too seriously and they disgust. He could not admire the modern rhetorician Musa, whom his sons had insisted on his accompanying them to hear. He thinks his style turgid and unnatural, declares the man has no sincerity, and, in spite of Mela's frowning disapproval —  licet Mela meus contrahat frontem — gives instances of what he means from the declamation he had heard. Clearly between father and sons, in spite of high mutual affection and respect, no agreement on these points was reached or possible.

The positions of the various controversialists in the 'battle of the books,' fought in the second half of the first century between the upholders of the classical tradition in writing and speaking and the new school, between ancient and modern ideas and standards, are admirably given in the dialogue De Oratoribus, generally ascribed to Tacitus. The dialogue is for all time a model of urbane controversy, in which the most complete difference of opinion is effectively expressed without a trace of acerbity or sarcasm. The views of the author are probably represented by the gentle Maternus, who, after Afer and Messala have pleaded the cause of the moderns and of the ancients respectively, takes a middle course.

He admits with Messala the fact of the decay of eloquence, but argues that this is the result of the change in the character of the times and in the nature of the government rather than of any decline in the abilities of men. Augustus, indeed, together with everything else, had pacified eloquence which could only flourish in turbulent times; but he suggests that eloquence was not of such importance that it was desirable that the times should be turbulent in order that it might flourish. He might have added that good art being the true representation of emotion, passion, or thought, which the artist has himself experienced either actually or through sympathy, it must change with the changing life of the day and cannot be limited by old conventions.

Original minds may not force their ideas into an ancient mould on pain of illustrating the couplet of Boileau: 'Voulant se redresser soi-meme on s'estropie, Et d'un original devient une copie.' When, however, we compare the graceful, easy flowing style of Livy, Cicero, and Virgil, their avoidance of over-emphasis or abrupt transitions, the rise and fall of their periods, and the even texture of their narrative, comparable to a good mountain road, which is never irksome to a traveller whatever the height to which it rises — when we compare this with the bold realism, the disregard for convention and tradition, the cosmopolitanism, and the striking but often isolated thoughts and aphorisms of Lucan and Tacitus and Juvenal, we can understand the extreme dislike which such admirers of antiquity in later generations as Quintilian or Aulus Gellius or Pronto felt for the younger Seneca, whom they rightly regarded as the chief author of this revolution in taste. The transition resembles, both in its nature and in the circumstance of the intervening revolution, that from the French encyclopaedists of the eighteenth century to Chateaubriand and Victor Hugo — a transition deplored by Sainte-Beuve, who might be called the Quintilian of the nineteenth century.

CHAPTER II

EARLY YEARS AND EDUCATION — SOTION, ATTALUS, FABIANUS

LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA, the second son of Marcus Seneca and Helvia, was born at Corduba about the commencement of the Christian era. He was living at Rome, as we have seen, with his parents and brothers in the days of Tiberius, and while still a boy was seized with a passion for those philosophical studies which were to be the chief interest of his life and his best title to fame. His earliest master in philosophy was Sotion, a native of Alexandria, under whose influence he 'thought nobly' for a time of the doctrines of Pythagoras.

From Sotion the Pythagorean, the young Seneca passed to the lecture-room of Attalus the Stoic, whose influence upon his life and ideas was of a more decisive character. Attalus is described by the elder Seneca as by far the acutest and most eloquent philosopher of his time.  We know nothing of his life, except that, having been cheated of his property by Sejanus, he consoled himself as a philosopher should by following the plough; but we know something of his mind by the many references to him and quotations from his sayings to be found in the works of his admiring pupil, Lucius Seneca.

The young enthusiast besieged, so he tells us, the door of Attalus' classroom; he was always the first to enter when it was opened, and the last to leave. Nor was this all. Attalus was a man of easy access, most friendly disposed towards his pupils, whose ingenuous advances he was ever ready to meet more than half-way.

The young Seneca would walk with him and draw him into discussion on subjects of perennial interest. It was Attalus, he tells us, who taught him to distinguish between reality and appearances, between the eloquence of truth and that of display, between intrinsic beauty and the empty sound of swelling words. He would pour contempt alike on luxury and on avarice; he would extol a chaste body, a sober table, a mind purified not only from unlawful but even from superfluous pleasures. He told his pupils that those who came to a philosopher's lectures merely as an agreeable way of passing the time, to hear and not to learn, to listen to eloquent phrases and ingenious conceits, without any intention of shaping anew the conduct of their life, would derive no profit from philosophy.

However transitory [Seneca afterwards wrote] might be on many the effect of such exhortations, yet the minds of the young being tender and impressionable, if the master is sincere and solely occupied with the good of his pupils his words will have lasting effects.

At all events [he adds] this was true in my case. My admiration for him was boundless, and when I heard him speak of the faults, the errors, and the evils of life, I often was moved with compassion for mankind, and he seemed to me more than human. [Ep. 108].

Under the influence of this teaching Seneca for a time lived a life of asceticism according to the strictest rule of the Stoics and, though it was not long before he reverted to a more ordinary way of life, there were some habits then contracted and some abstinences then resolved upon which he never abandoned. In the letter already quoted, written to Lucilius near the end of his life, after describing the teaching of Attains and his own youthful enthusiasm, he adds:

Something of all this remained with me, Lucilius. After the great original impulse had spent its force, I persevered in some fragments of that high enterprise. Thus I have abstained throughout my life from such delicacies as oysters and mushrooms. They are not food, but condiments, meant to stimulate a jaded appetite, and the delight of the gluttonous because they are easily swallowed and easily vomited. So, too, from that time onward I have never used ointment, believing that the best odour for the body is the absence of odour; never touched wine; and always avoided hot-air baths. To boil down the body and exhaust it by sweating always seemed to me a luxurious superfluity. From other renunciations I desisted; but I returned to what I had abandoned with a moderation that came much nearer to abstinence than self-indulgence — a moderation perhaps even more difficult in practice than total abstention, for certainly it is often easier to abandon a habit altogether than to keep it within modest bounds. [Ep. 108].

Another of Seneca's habits, dating probably from this time, which ought to win him some sympathy from Englishmen, was the daily cold bath all the year round, for which, as in one of his letters he tells us, he became known:

I, that famous cold-bather (Psychrolutes), who, on the first of January, used to disport myself in the moat; who used to celebrate the coming of the new year by leaping into the water brought down from the hills, just as others would celebrate it by some auspicious words spoken read or written, first transferred my camp to the Tiber, and lastly to this tub of mine which, when I am feeling my strongest and acting in perfect good faith with myself, is heated only by the sun. [Ep. 83].

Another master, whose memory was ever honoured by Seneca, and by whom at this time he was instructed, was the learned author Papirius Fabianus, an old friend of his father. Fabianus had acquired an early reputation as a rhetorician, having studied rhetoric under Blandus — the first man of equestrian rank to teach that art in Rome.

The elder Seneca describes his style in declamation as easy fluent and rapid, but lacking in vigour and incisiveness. He had succeeded so well, he tells us, in banishing such passions as anger or grief from his own breast that he had lost the power of representing them; and this in a rhetorician was a defect. But his critic had not long the opportunity of hearing him, for Fabianus soon transferred his allegiance from rhetoric to philosophy and natural science, and it was as a philosopher that he contributed to the education of the younger Seneca.

Fabianus was a copious author. His works are frequently cited by Pliny in the Natural History, and Lucius Seneca says of his philosophical writings that they were surpassed only by those of Cicero, Pollio, and Livy. He wrote in a level style and with a certain carelessness of diction that seemed to prove him more occupied with his matter than his manner. 'Too much attention to style,' replied Seneca to his correspondent Lucilius who had read on his recommendation a book of Fabianus and been much disappointed, 'does not become a philosopher who should be thinking of more important matters. How can a man defy fortune if he is nervous about words? Had you heard him, as I did, your admiration for the whole would have left you no leisure to criticise the parts. What though the calm progress of his discourse was interspersed by no sudden and striking reflections (‘subiti ictus sententiarum’), the very evenness of its flow had a charm of its own.'

There was nothing laboured about his eloquence; it accompanied him like a shadow without any effort on his part. You could see that he felt what he said or wrote; that his object was to show you what he admired and not to excite your admiration for himself. He was not slovenly in his use of words, but unconcerned; his sole interest was the profit of his hearers. Seneca ends his description by adding that Fabianus' lectures were admirably calculated to elevate the mind of a well-disposed youth and to spur him on to imitate so excellent an example, without causing him to despair of success.

Such were the instructors of the young Seneca under the principate of Tiberius. His health throughout life was delicate. While still young he was brought to great misery by an affection of the lungs, which he calls suspirium.

Wasted to a shadow [he afterwards wrote], I was often tempted to cut short my life, but the old age of the kindest of fathers still held me back. I reflected that I ought to consider not so much with what fortitude I could die, but how impossible it was that he could bear my loss with fortitude. Ther [...]