From Political Intrigue and Wealth Accumulation to a Burning Rome — One of the Greatest Stoics Didn’t Live by His Own Principles, and Perhaps That’s Why He Has the Most Important Lessons for Us
Great philosophers of ancient times are often celebrated not just for their teachings but for how they lived. Most of them truly embodied the virtues they preached. If they concluded that little is needed for a person to be truly happy, they avoided material wealth. This holds true for many thinkers who taught their followers to choose the “middle path,” a life without extremes, from Buddha to Epicurus. But what happens when we come across a great philosopher whose teachings starkly contrast with how he lived? Can someone be respected for their theory alone, even if they didn’t live it out in practice?
This is a big dilemma — and no one embodies it more than Seneca, one of the most famous Stoics.
This Roman philosopher is remembered as a great sage, a man who arguably brought Stoicism closer to people than anyone else. His writings — mostly letters — are still easily read today and are full of profound ideas. Seneca is the author of wise sayings like “As long as you live, keep learning how to live” and “Difficulties strengthen the mind as labor strengthens the body.” Without Seneca, the concept of Stoicism wouldn’t be nearly as refined, relatable, or influential as it is today. Just reading his sayings, you’d imagine a man who was honorable, moderate, strong, and resilient to every challenge and temptation. But that was not the real Seneca.
Seneca was, to put it mildly, a complex person. He was an ambitious politician, a businessman — one might even say an opportunist — morally very dubious, and above all, one of the wealthiest people in the Roman Empire!
Of course, power and wealth don’t necessarily have to stand in the way of a Stoic lifestyle. Just look at the greatest “philosopher-king” of all time, Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius, another renowned Stoic who truly lived by high moral standards. Seneca, as we’ll soon see, was quite the opposite.
Seneca’s Monument in Cordoba
He was born into a wealthy family in Cordoba, in today’s Andalusia, Spain. His parents were Roman immigrants. His father was a Roman knight (equites), known as a writer and a teacher of rhetoric. His mother Helvia also came from a very influential family.
We can’t say for sure what year Seneca was born, but it’s certain that he and Jesus Christ were almost the same age, both born in distant Roman provinces (though on opposite sides of the known world). Most historians agree that Seneca was born in 4 CE.
As a young boy, his family sent him to Rome, brought there by his aunt. By the age of five, he was already attending school, learning literature, grammar, and rhetoric — standard subjects of the time.
Early in life, he encountered Stoicism, which was very widespread in the Roman Empire. He didn’t immediately become a Stoic, but he was certainly familiar with the philosophy, along with other popular schools of thought of the time.
His family had big ambitions for him. Thanks to strong connections in Rome, the plan was to launch him into politics, a highly lucrative path. But things didn’t go smoothly. Seneca was quite sickly and had breathing problems — likely asthma. A friend advised him to become vegetarian, which he tried for about a year, but it didn’t help. At 20 — just when his political career should have been taking off — he became seriously ill with tuberculosis and was sent to Egypt for treatment, back to the same aunt who had brought him to Rome. He would remain there for ten long years.
Egypt’s dry, warm air was believed to help with respiratory problems. But that might not be the only reason for his relocation. The political atmosphere in 30s Rome was tense, especially under the autocratic rule of Emperor Caligula. Politics then was a dangerous game — assassinations were common, and heads rolled easily.
Seneca was just beginning to make waves in political circles and was gaining a reputation as an exceptionally eloquent speaker — something Caligula despised. Some sources even say Caligula ordered Seneca’s execution, but was convinced otherwise by those who claimed he was too sickly to be a threat. It’s plausible Seneca was sent to Egypt for both health and safety reasons.
Seneca himself didn’t write much about his time in Egypt — essentially his entire twenties — but it’s likely he found it frustrating to leave Rome, regardless of the reason.
When things calmed down, he returned to Rome with his aunt. Soon, he became a senator — not a major feat given his family’s wealth and connections.
Caligula, by then, had likely forgotten about the annoying young orator from ten years prior. In any case, he had bigger problems and would eventually be killed — fittingly for the world he helped create — by his own soldiers. In 41 CE, his uncle Claudius became emperor.
Was this a new golden age for the young senator Seneca? Not quite. Just when things seemed to be going well, problems arose again — mostly political, maybe a bit personal.
Emperor Claudius and Empress Messalina
Did the new emperor Claudius have something against Seneca? Not directly — but his wife, Empress Messalina, did. She accused Seneca of having an affair with Julia Livilla, the youngest sister of the late Emperor Caligula.
True? Possibly, but probably not. It’s more likely Messalina fabricated the affair. She was Claudius’s third wife and deeply obsessed with power, working hard to eliminate any rivals.
Such was life in ancient Rome — especially in politics. Betrayals and schemes were everywhere. It often seemed like everyone was plotting against everyone else for more power and wealth. Honestly, it’s not so different today — but Rome was a whole other level.
Seneca was now in trouble again. Both he and Julia were married at the time (Seneca to his first wife, Fabia, whom we know little about but who stayed with him for years). The punishment? Death.
Yes, the Senate sentenced him to death for an extramarital affair! Excessive? Absolutely. But in those days, senators were expected to maintain strict morality, and failure to do so could be severely punished — though not usually by execution. Clearly, this was a politically motivated move by Messalina.
Yet Seneca wasn’t executed. Emperor Claudius pardoned him and instead exiled him to the island of Corsica. Perhaps Claudius understood what Messalina was trying to achieve and decided to spare Seneca’s life.
So, Seneca was once again exiled, this time to Corsica, where he would spend eight years. It was during this period that he began writing seriously. His letters to his mother Helvia — devastated by his exile — stand out, especially one in which he reveals that just weeks before his banishment, his only son died (circumstances unknown).
Although life seemed to keep punishing him, Seneca never gave up on returning to Rome. In his letters, he wrote that he didn’t blame Claudius, knowing the emperor wasn’t behind it all.
His exile could easily have been permanent. Only a major shift in Rome could bring him back. Fortunately for Seneca — that shift came.
In 48 CE, a new scandal erupted. Empress Messalina was accused of plotting with prominent senator Gaius Silius, allegedly her lover, to overthrow Claudius.
At the time, Claudius was 58, Silius 35, Seneca 44, and Messalina 28.
Was Messalina really having an affair and plotting a coup? Hard to say — but Claudius had her beheaded. No pardon this time.
This was good news for Seneca. A few months later, Claudius remarried — to Agrippina the Younger, 33 years old, Claudius’s niece and the sister of the late Caligula. She had a son, Nero, whom Claudius adopted.
Agrippina respected Seneca and saw his talents. Not only did she persuade Claudius to recall him from exile, but she appointed him as Nero’s tutor and advisor.
Seneca returned to Rome for the second time in 49 CE. Nero was 12, and Seneca became his teacher. Claudius also had another biological son, Britannicus, born in 41 CE with Messalina.
Who would succeed Claudius? Nero, adopted but older, or Britannicus, younger but the biological son?
There wasn’t much time to decide — Claudius died on October 13, 54 CE, likely poisoned by Agrippina, possibly with tainted mushrooms. She wanted to ensure Nero became emperor, which he did.
Britannicus, Son of Claudius
It seems Rome was full of karma and death. Claudius had his wife Messalina killed; now his new wife, Agrippina, had possibly killed him.
Seneca had been Nero’s teacher for years and now became advisor to the emperor, even though Nero was only 16. Nero leaned heavily on Seneca early on. Seneca wrote his speeches, taught him how to rule — and at first, Nero was surprisingly popular.
Yes, the same Nero known for setting Rome on fire, playing music while the city burned, and other horrific deeds. But is that all true? We’ll come back to that — and to Seneca’s possible role.
Even though we remember Seneca as a great philosopher and Stoic, he was politically pragmatic — or more bluntly, he did whatever it took to survive and possibly profit from the chaos.
Take for example what happened just four months after Claudius’s death — Britannicus was poisoned during a dinnerattended by Nero and Agrippina. It’s likely they put the poison in his food. The boy died at age 14, removing a rival to Nero’s throne.
Seneca’s job? To calm the Senate and explain that Britannicus’s death didn’t signal the start of violence — but rather, its end (!).
It only got darker. Agrippina tried to control the empire through Nero, but as he matured, he saw her as a threat and had her murdered.
She was killed in her villa after surviving a previous attempt on her life (her sabotaged ship sank, but she swam ashore). Seneca? Once again, he was there to soothe the public and may have known about the plan, but did nothing — which is awful, given Agrippina had rescued him from exile.
Was Nero really the monstrous ruler Seneca defended? That’s debatable.
Much of what we know about Nero comes from anti-Nero propaganda that persisted for centuries after his death.
Yes, there was a massive fire in Rome in 64 CE that burned for nine days and destroyed about 70% of the city. Some say Nero started it to clear land for his palace. But today we know with certainty that Nero wasn’t even in Rome when the fire began — and he opened his palace to refugees.
The legend that Nero “fiddled while Rome burned” is probably just that — a legend.
Did he kill Britannicus? Did he kill his own mother?
All of that is uncertain. New evidence suggests that the common people actually liked Nero a great deal, while the elites despised him. Why, then, is there so much hatred and negativity surrounding Nero (after all, even today the very first thing most of us think of is that he “set Rome on fire”)? History is written by the victors, and by the fourth century the Roman Empire had officially embraced Christianity. At the dawn of the Common Era, however, Christianity was still a fragmented sect—one whose members Nero persecuted with particular ferocity.
So was everything just a lie? Not necessarily. The truth about Nero probably lies somewhere in the middle of the historical record. Documents indicate that, in the early years of his reign, he was genuinely popular; he devoted himself mainly to the arts, and he even passed a law allowing slaves to lodge complaints against cruel masters. Later, though, he became authoritarian and brutal. There is likely some truth to both views, and Seneca himself would ultimately be a witness to that shift—as we will soon see.
Seneca successfully weathered three ruthless Roman emperors—Caligula, Claudius and Nero. He not only “swam” skillfully in treacherous political waters; he became fabulously wealthy in the process. In fact, Seneca was one of the richest men in the entire Roman Empire.
He dabbled in all kinds of ventures, from real estate to maritime trade, and once he was truly rich he moved into money-lending, charging very high interest. All of this, plus a sizable family inheritance, brought him immense fortune.
How did it end, you ask? After reading this chronicle of first-century Roman brutality, it is not hard to guess.
It is the year 65. Seneca has already tried to retire on at least two occasions. Nero will not hear of it, even though the emperor—now twenty-seven—has largely stopped listening to him. That same year a conspiracy is hatched to assassinate Nero. The plot fails, but Nero immediately suspects those closest to him, including Seneca.
Although it is highly unlikely that Seneca was involved, Nero orders his execution—carried out in the Roman fashion: forced ritual suicide. Seneca accepted it stoically and opened his veins. Ironically, Nero would die in much the same way three years later, after a coup forced him to take his own life.
Reading about his turbulent life, many will wonder: Was Seneca truly a great philosopher? Oh yes—throughout Rome his works were renowned, and they are still widely read today. But he was obviously more than a philosopher; one could argue he was first a politician and businessman. In his letters from exile on Corsica we can read how he begs and flatters the authorities to take him back. There is no trace there of a Stoic’s unflinching acceptance of fate. Only in his later years, as his influence over Nero gradually waned, did Seneca turn inward, contemplating life and his own death. Only then did he slowly become what he may always have wanted to be—yet life, ambition and political intrigue had driven him in a very different direction.
His life did not include the quiet garden in which Epicurus lived—the same Epicurus Seneca often mentions. In his famous sayings we can see that he regretted many things. “It is not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste a lot of it,” he wrote, along with: “Begin at once to live, and count each separate day as a separate life.”
Many will dismiss him as a hypocrite, and his claims that he tried to steer Nero onto the right path—instilling Stoic virtues the emperor himself ignored—will matter little to them. They will also question his assertion that there is no reason a philosopher cannot be very wealthy. Yet it is worth noting that early Christians, who shared many points of contact with Stoicism, often spoke favorably of him; some Christian leaders even referred to him as “our Seneca.”
The more we learn about Seneca, the more fundamental questions arise. Can we separate the artist from the art?Paradoxically, Seneca may be more “real” precisely because of his imperfections—far more relatable than, say, Marcus Aurelius (who would reign decades later, from 161 to 180 CE), a figure who seems almost impossibly excellent, honorable and moderate.
Seneca understood what it means to be a Stoic—he literally perfected the definition, even though he himself could not fully attain it. We must consider the brutal era in which he lived: in the furnace of Roman politics, only the exceedingly pragmatic, calculating, shrewd—and wealthy—could survive. From childhood he was groomed for high office and played the game as best he could, striving to endure, to prosper, to create, even though it finally cost him his life. His wisdom endures, and his story compels us to ask ourselves: How faithfully do we live our ideals, and how much do we merely talk about them? Sometimes the challenges are too great to meet with unsullied honor. Sometimes we have to “sink low” to rise high, simply to stay alive. Does that make us bad people—or merely human?
It seems fitting to end with a Seneca quote that resonates deeply here:
“No man is more unhappy than he who never faces adversity, for he is not permitted to prove himself.”
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