Theory and practice did not entirely match up. Soon after Seneca composed De Beneficiis, trouble arose in the provinces that may have been partly exacerbated by his profiteering. In 60–61 in Britain the king of a native tribe, the Iceni, named Prasutagus, had died and had specified in his will that he wanted half his estate to go to his daughters. The Roman overseer ignored the request and seized the whole estate; the daughters were raped. Dio tells us that at this same delicate time, a group of Roman financiers, including Seneca, suddenly called in large loans that they had forced on the British natives in the hope of making a quick profit. This was an economic disaster, which reinforced the British people’s discomfort with being under the thumb of Rome. The story might be false: it does not appear in Tacitus, perhaps because he had reason to disbelieve it. But it is at least possible that Seneca may have been at least partly responsible for increasing the suffering and rage in this particular distant Roman province.
The British rebellion makes a fascinating counterpoint to Seneca’s discussion of gratitude and generosity, in particular to the issue of whether “benefits” from a despised patron must necessarily compromise the recipient’s freedom. The native king’s widow, Queen Boudica (Fig. 3.6), led her people in rebellion against Rome and gave brilliant and rousing speeches against the foreign overlords, who taxed them and threatened to take away their liberty and their identity: “But let us do our duty while we still remember what freedom is, to leave our children not just its name, but the reality…. Let’s go against them boldly, trusting fortune. Let’s show them that they are hares and foxes trying to rule over wolves!” (Dio 61). The rebellion was put down, and Boudica died (perhaps by suicide), but her insistence on autonomy and freedom from the external power of the Romans stands in marked and shaming contrast to Seneca’s pandering to Nero’s wishes.
Figure 3.6 Queen Boudica led her people (the British Iceni) in a failed attempt at rebellion against Roman rule—an uprising that apparently took place when rich moneylenders, including Seneca, suddenly called in their loans from Britain.
SPECTACLES OF POWER
“Like a Theater” (theatric more)40
It is tempting to defend Seneca’s compromised position in the court by arguing that he had no choice; after all, if he had spoken against any of Nero’s actions—including the murders of Britannicus and Agrippina—or been reluctant to defend them to the public, he would not have lasted long. Certainly, it would have taken enormous courage to back out of the hole. But it would surely have been possible, if Seneca had been able to live by his more defiant words about the ever-present availability of death. Megara, wife of Hercules in Seneca’s play of that name, stands up to the tyrant Lycus and declares, “If you can be forced, you don’t know how to die” (Hercules Furens 426). It took Seneca a long time to teach himself this lesson.
There was a strong contrast between Seneca’s position in Nero’s court and that of the most prominent other Stoic in government at the time: Thrasea Paetus. Thrasea was not a philosopher or writer but a politician and an aristocrat, a member of the Senate, who is presented, in both Tacitus and Dio, as a man of absolute integrity. He was the only one who expressed disapproval of the speech Seneca delivered to the Senate in defense of Nero’s killing of his mother: when it was delivered, Thrasea walked out (Tacitus 14.12). In Dio’s telling, Thrasea gave a very practical reason for not bowing to Nero’s will, namely that even those who flattered the emperor were likely to be killed anyway; why compromise oneself if safety is never guaranteed? “Why should one humiliate oneself for no reason, and then die like a slave, when it’s possible to pay the debt to nature like a free man? As for me, men will talk about me in the future; but those flatterers will never be spoken of, except to record the fact that they were put to death” (Dio 61.15.4). He would also declare, “Nero can kill me, but he cannot harm me.” The existence of Thrasea suggests at least the possibility of refusing to compromise under Nero—a possibility that Seneca manifestly did not take up. This is not the only time that Seneca looks rather shabby in comparison to Thrasea.
Thrasea’s integrity is associated particularly with his adamant opposition to the culture of falsehood and theatricality that Nero cultivated in his court. Seneca and Burrus tried in vain to restrain Nero’s more extravagant passions for sport and theater but realized it was impossible to stop him, so they tried to reduce the damage. For instance, when he was keen to try chariot racing, and also interested in singing the lyre on stage, they urged him to focus on the chariot racing and to do so in a quiet, private spot where he would not be seen (Tacitus 14.14). In fact, Seneca and Burrus had quite a good motive for promoting the chariot racing as much as possible, since it was an extremely dangerous activity. But the emperor survived.
Nero was not to be restrained from his desire to sing and act on stage, and it seems very unlikely that Seneca ever hoped he could be. It has been well noted that Nero not only acted himself but forced all those around him (with the notable exception of Thrasea) to become “actors in the audience,” playing the part of the good, appreciative spectator. Theatricality was the dominant mode of the age. The spectacular entertainments available to the Roman public included not only chariot racing, theater, and athletic displays but also, of course, gladiator fights in the Colosseum, in which men—usually prisoners of war or condemned criminals—were forced to fight to the death either against each other or against exotic wild animals (lions, elephants, bulls, tigers)—or both. The Games were hugely popular and had their own theatrical conventions, costumes, and props: the man with the net was known as the reticulator and the man with the sword was the gladiator.
Seneca has often been celebrated as one of the most humane voices from this most inhumane of historical periods in his hostility to gladiator fighting. He certainly does provide vivid and articulate accounts of how brutally cruel the practice was. In the mornings, Roman gladiatorial shows were usually carefully scripted theatrical performances, involving elaborate costumes, props, and weapons for the fighters and expensive wild animals to attack the humans. But during the lunch break, spectators were treated to a show that involved far less trouble for the organizers: condemned criminals were simply pushed into the arena and forced to kill one another. It is against this practice that Seneca’s greatest ire is aroused:
In the morning they throw the men to the lions and bears; at lunch-time, to the spectators. The audience demands that each person who has killed should face the one who will kill him in his turn; they keep the victor for another slaughter. The end of every fight is death; it’s enacted by sword and by fire. This happens when the arena is empty! You may say, “He’s a robber! He killed somebody!” And so, what follows? He deserves to suffer this punishment for his crime. But you, poor man, what did you do that you deserve to watch it?
(Epistle 7.5)
The passage is certainly a denunciation of the practice of having these criminals kill one another in public. But the central complaint Seneca raises against it is not that it is unfair on those killed; he suggests that they deserve all they get. Rather, it is damaging to those who watch and are brutalized by watching.