Classically Inclined

January 3, 2019

Learning from Seneca’s own marriage

Filed under: Research — lizgloyn @ 6:31 pm
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This is one of a series of posts designed to support students and teachers looking at the Love and Relationships unit of the OCR Classical Civilization A-level. You can find all the posts in the series by clicking on the OCR Seneca hashtag.

A major feature of Roman moral education was the use of exempla, from which we get our word ‘examples’. An exemplum was a biographical story which communicated some important moral lesson about what it meant to be a proper Roman – or, for Seneca’s purposes, an important Stoic truth. Seneca was very aware of the power of exempla, not least because of his father’s background in Roman controversiae and suasoriae, which relied heavily on the use of exempla as part of the fictitious cases that young men argued as part of their legal training. From the way that both Cassius Dio and Tacitus report his death, he seems to have deliberately framed his forced suicide in an effort to out-Socrates Socrates and make himself the go-to exemplum of a perfect philosophical death. (James Ker writes more about this in The Deaths of Seneca.)

Given that Seneca knows about the power of the exemplum, it’s not unreasonable to ask what he says about his own marriage and whether there are lessons here about what he thinks a good marriage should look like. One particularly moving passage comes from his description of his bedtime routine in On Anger 3.36.3-4:

I use this ability and every day I plead my case before myself. When the light has been taken away and my wife, my accomplice in my habit, becomes still, I examine my whole day, and I reflect upon my words and deeds; I hide nothing away from myself and pass nothing by. Why should I fear any of my mistakes, when I can say ‘take care that you don’t do this again; now I forgive you’?

As Seneca talks about his daily routine of scrutinising his conscience, he notes that his wife remains quiet so that he can concentrate on his process of reflection. She does this because she is familiar with her husband’s nightly ritual and respects it, presumably seeing in the value in it and supporting him in the process. Whether or not she is quiet because she is going through the same process, Seneca does not say; the word used, conscia, is usually translated to mean that she is aware of Seneca’s practice, but could also mean that she is a fellow participant in it.  The central point to draw from this vignette is that Seneca’s wife supports him in his pursuit of virtue. This links nicely back to the idea found in the fragments that the recognition of each other’s virtue and a shared journey towards reason is so important as the bedrock for marriage; what this passage of De Ira shows us is the way in which Seneca’s own relationship built on this critical principal.



December 11, 2018

Call for Papers: Musonius Rufus Workshop

Filed under: Research — lizgloyn @ 10:00 am
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Musonius Rufus Workshop
10.00-5.00, 12 April 2019
Room 102, Senate House,
University of London,
Malet Street, London, WC1E 7HU

Call for Papers:

The Roman Stoics have received renewed attention in recent years, both from scholars and from the wider public looking for guidance in everyday life. Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius are now being worked on and read in ways that would have few would have expected a couple of decades ago. Lesser known Stoics such as Hierocles and Cornutus have also benefitted from new studies and translations. The poor relation, though, is Musonius Rufus, who has not yet benefited from a similar resurgence in fortune.

To address this undeserved oversight, we invite proposals for papers for an informal workshop dedicated to Musonius. We welcome submissions relating to any aspect of his thought; possible themes could include philosophies of gender, adapting Stoicism for a Roman audience, politics and exile, the role of the sage, textual traditions, practice versus theory, methods of moral education, and asceticism, although these suggestions are offered as prompts rather than as limitations.

We hope that the workshop will offer an opportunity for those with interests in Musonius and Roman Stoicism more widely to come together, make new contacts, and think collectively about further research and publication collaborations.

We welcome submissions from people at any stage in their career, from doctoral students and early career researchers through to more established academics. We hope to be able to offer bursaries to those who might need financial assistance with travel or caring responsibilities in order to attend. The event will take place on the first floor of the University of London’s Senate House, which has lift access. If anyone has specific access or dietary requirements, please contact us and we will do our best to cater for them.

Abstracts should be no more than 500 words long. Presentations will be around 30 minutes long, and followed by discussion. The deadline for abstracts is 11th February 2019.

If you are unable to attend the workshop but would like to be kept informed of future developments, please do get in touch.

Abstracts and any questions should be sent to the organizers:

Dr Liz Gloyn (Liz.Gloyn at, Department of Classics, Royal Holloway, University of London
Dr John Sellars (John.Sellars at, Department of Philosophy, Royal Holloway, University of London

October 30, 2018

Gender equality and Stoicism

Filed under: Research — lizgloyn @ 11:24 am
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This is one of a series of posts designed to support students and teachers looking at the Love and Relationships unit of the OCR Classical Civilization A-level. You can find all the posts in the series by clicking on the OCR Seneca hashtag.

We’ve established that the Stoics believe it is possible to love another human without that leading to irrational behaviour. Now I want to think a little bit about why this matters in terms of gender equality.

While I wouldn’t go so far as to call the Stoics proto-feminist, they do hold one quite important belief – namely, that all people have the same capacity for virtue and the same ability to achieve virtue, regardless of their circumstances. In some ways, this is quite a radical proposition – contrast, for instance, Aristotle, who makes the case that those who have to work for a living will never be able to make full use of their reason (Politics 1258b and 1260b). That Epictetus, one of the most prolific Roman Stoics, was originally enslaved speaks to the way that the philosophy could occasionally transcend some rigid class boundaries.

This belief in the common human capacity for reason, the seed of the divine logos inside each and every person, meant that the Stoics held both men and women had the same capacity for achieving virtue. There was a recognition that social convention could mean women did not get the same opportunities to pursue that reason. In one particularly dry treatise, Musonius Rufus observes that we train male and female dogs and horses the same way and get the same outcomes, so if we train male and female humans differently, we have only ourselves to blame if they turn out differently (Discourse 4, ‘Should daughters receive the same education as sons?’). Equally, although the Stoics recognised that men and women had the same potential for virtue, they seem to have remained within very traditionally gendered social frameworks for how they might use and demonstrate that virtue; while in the same treatise, Musonius talks about human tasks being common to everyone, he uses examples of physical labour rather than allowing the possibility that women might go into the law or politics. Indeed, he explicitly says that being good at arguments would be pointless for women, since it won’t be any use in their lives!

We know that Seneca took the Stoics’ claim for the equal capacity of all humans to be virtuous on board. Two of his three earliest consolations are written to women, one of whom is is mother Helvia; he talks of the enjoyment he took in engaging with philosophical study with her, and urges her to return to her work as consolation for his absence in exile (Consolation to Helvia 17).

So we’re looking at a philosophy where women are seen as having the same moral potential as men – which means that the goalposts significantly shift when we are discussing marriage. We’re now not talking about the union of a superior intellectual being to an inferior one (again, a model that turns up in Aristotle), but of two equally competent individuals, who are much more likely to be Stoic disciples rather than Stoic sages.

October 11, 2018

The irrationality of the Stoic passions and what they believe

Filed under: Research — lizgloyn @ 8:38 am
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This post is one in a series designed to help students and teachers working with the OCR Classical Civilization A-level special subject Love and Relationships and its focus on Seneca. All these posts are tagged with OCR Seneca.

One reason that the Stoics thought that the passions were a problem for people, and needed to be replaced with the eupatheiai, was that they caused an irrational disturbance in the soul. This was grounded in the fact that the passions were caused by incorrect beliefs about what will make us happy.

A related Stoic theory that becomes relevant here is that of indifferents. The Stoics held that everything which wasn’t virtue or vice was an indifferent – that is, in and of itself, it was neither good nor bad. Health, wealth, poverty, sickness, fame, obscurity… these were neither things to chase after nor things to avoid per se. By Seneca’s time, the Stoics had modified this a bit to allow for the idea of preferred indifferents; that is, health was a preferred indifferent that you’d choose if all other things were equal, but it wasn’t in and of itself necessary for achieving virtue. The family and marriage falls into this same category: if the opportunity arises and all other things are equal, then marrying a spouse and starting a family are preferred indifferents, not least because they’re according to nature. (More on that in a future post.) But they’re not actually worth going for by themselves.

The problem with the passions is that they haven’t got to grips with this idea of indifferents. They arise from the false belief that, for instance, getting lots of money is going to make you happy, and so you behave in such a way that will get you lots of money, but not in a way that is in accordance with reason or is virtuous. Due to your irrational passion, you might cheat or swindle or bribe or take on degrading or immoral jobs or commit any one of a whole series of acts which are not virtuous and which are not in accordance with reason – all because of your mistaken belief that you will be happy if you have lots of money.

One immediate result of these passions is that you experience internal mental upheaval as a result of them. For instance, when you lose the large bet you’ve placed on the sure-fire tip in the chariot race, you will be distraught because of the money you have lost; if you win the bet, you will be excessively delighted, because you have got closer to your unattainable financial aims. The sage, by contrast, probably wouldn’t have placed a bet in the first place, since money is an indifferent and not to be chased after (not to mention that the sage would be fully aware that trusting anything to chance or fate has pretty good odds of losing what you’ve put down as a stake, and that that’s a game not really worth playing). The result of that internal upheaval, experienced on a daily basis, in various different ways and on the basis of multiple incorrect beliefs, is that you can never achieve internal balance or calm.

The significance of this is that the Stoics believe one of the things which characterises the sage is her equilibrium, or balance – she cannot be upset by things going wrong, from a train delay to being thrown in prison and worse, because she is in tune with perfect reason and thus understands either why what has just happened has no bearing on her virtue and her happiness, or why it is the most rational and suitable thing to have happened in the universal scheme of things. In order for the Stoic disciple to get closer to sagehood, he needs to correct some of his mistaken beliefs which generate the passions in him, so he stands a chance of achieving a balanced and calm inner state.

October 3, 2018

Understanding Stoic ideas about the emotions

Filed under: Research — lizgloyn @ 8:31 am
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In order to understand the framework within which Seneca places human relationships, we need to do a bit of exploration into how he understands the emotional bonds between people working. The first, and most important, thing to say is that the Stoics do not think that all emotions, as we would describe them, are bad things. However, they do have a very particular set of beliefs about emotions and emotional states, which are easily misunderstood.

The Stoics argue that, as proficientes, we are gripped with passions (pathē). These are irrational impulses founded on irrational beliefs which guide our behaviour. They are movements of the soul over which we have no control, precisely because they are irrational. Since the Stoics think that acting in accordance with reason is the highest good, you can see why they think living under the control of the passions is suboptimal. The four passions are appetite, fear, distress and pleasure, each driven by misguided beliefs about what we should want, what we should worry about, what should upset us and what we should enjoy.

The Stoics don’t say that we should get away from feeling emotions altogether, but instead argue we should extirpate or remove these irrational beliefs and the passions that go with them, and replace them with the eupatheiai or ‘good emotions’. These are based on the correct beliefs about what will make us happy (that is, acting in accordance with perfect reason); they are caution, volition and joy. There’s no need for a fourth emotion since the Stoic sage doesn’t need any way to feel distress or pain – she will be perfectly content whatever happens because she will be in tune with reason. (This isn’t the same as saying she won’t go ‘ouch’ if she pricks her finger, but that she won’t be emotionally upset if she loses her wallet.)

As you can see, this is a very different framework to thinking about emotional responses than we usually use, and it’s firmly grounded on whether or not your underlying beliefs about how to value and respond to certain things are correct or incorrect.

September 26, 2018

The difference between the Stoic sage and the Stoic disciple

Filed under: Research — lizgloyn @ 8:26 am
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One really important distinction to be aware of in Stoic theory is the line that the Stoics draw between the sage and the proficiens or disciple. This division has big knock-on effects for the practical application of Stoic ethics, and thus for how we read what Seneca says about relationships.

The Stoics saw the sage as someone who was living in perfect harmony with reason, and thus was perfectly happy. It’s worth noting that although you’ll often see references to the Stoic wise man, this should more accurately be translated as the wise person, since the Stoics believed women had exactly the same capacity as men to achieve virtue – more on this coming soon. The sage was the template for moral behaviour; they would always make the right decision and behave in the correct way because of the correct internal motivations whatever happened to them. This led to the rather odd position (which their rival school the Epicureans rather got at them for) that the sage would be happy even when being tortured, because physical pain would not affect her ability to be rational or virtuous.

The sage, being perfectly in control of their rational facilities, will always make the right decision and thus is morally perfect. However, the Stoics were realistic – the sage is also as rare as a phoenix (Alexander, De Fato 196.24–197.3, Long and Sedley 61N). They recognised that the likelihood of someone reaching sagehood was vanishingly small; although various people, including Socrates and Cato the Younger, were held up as examples of the Stoic sage, the Roman Stoics recognised that most people were not going to reach these levels of moral excellence.

The Stoics thus labelled the rest of us who are trying to live our lives according to the principles of Stoicism as proficientes, best translated as ‘tryers’ or ‘disciples’. The proficiens hasn’t got to grips with mastering their own reason yet, but they’re trying. They seek to clear their minds of anything that might draw them away from reason and clear it of irrational beliefs, but they’re still prone to making mistakes. The reassuring thing about this statement is that Seneca is quite clear that even the sage has to have gone through this process of making mistakes and getting it wrong in order to achieve sagehood; as he says in On Clemency 1.6.4, even in someone has reached the position of sagehood and is so secure that nothing can unbalance him, he has only got there through making mistakes.

So when Seneca is writing about relationships, he is writing with an audience of disciples in mind; he doesn’t need to write for the sage, because the sage’s own inner reason will always lead her to the correct decision. His writing is meant to help those striving towards virtue to identify the roadblocks in their journey and take action on them, fully in the knowledge that the overwhelming probability is that they’ll never get rid of all the obstacles between them and sagehood. The sage is an encouraging figure, a point of reference and a position to aspire to, and Seneca deploys him as an ideal in his writing. However, he never loses sight of the fact that the vast majority of people in relationships are actually going to be normal proficientes, each at their own stage on the path to virtue, struggling to make the best of things and act as rationally as their limited abilities will let them.


Long, A. A., and D. N. Sedley. 1987. The Hellenistic Philosophers. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

November 10, 2015

A seasonal Movember post on philosophical facial hair

Filed under: Research — lizgloyn @ 4:06 pm
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Tis the season for people to start doing extravagant things with their facial hair – yes, Movember is upon us. It will not surprise you to learn that the question of whether to beard or not to beard was also asked in antiquity, in particular in terms of whether a philosopher should have a beard or not. If you think of the statues of philosophers you see in museums, or at least the statues that are represented as being of philosophers, they tend to have a prolific growth of facial hair to their credit. For some in antiquity, possessing a beard was seen as a defining characteristic of being a philosopher – beardedness somehow became equated with possessing wisdom.

Alas for those currently cultivating their facial foliage, it turns out that the connection isn’t quite that simple. This post is a quick round-up of some things that the Roman Stoics have to say about what’s going on with beards, gender and wisdom.

The division between those with beards and those without isn’t just between the wise and non-wise – it’s also seen as a dividing line between men and women, although again, having a beard isn’t in and of itself enough to make you a man. Having a beard is described as natural or according to nature. The Stoics are very keen on the idea that if something is according to nature, then it’s also in accordance with virtue, which makes the deliberate distinction between men and women caused by facial hair something to be valued. In Musonius Rufus’ On Cutting The Hair (Discourse 21), he compares the beard to the crest of the cock or the mane of the lion. Epictetus uses the same imagery in Discourses 1.16.12, again to emphasise the difference between the male and the female of the species.

There are always those who aren’t so happy with their stubble, which turns out to be a sign of a deeper existential malaise. In Discourses 3.1, Epictetus critiques a young man for depilating himself and confusing the natural boundary between the genders. However, he then goes on to remind his victim that he is not human by virtue of his hair, but by virtue of his moral purpose (proairesis). While the young man’s attitude to his bodily hair is a symptom of his confusion about how the world works, he needs to do more than cultivate a healthy beard to address the underlying problem. Indeed, while Epictetus attacks the youth for his excessive personal care regime in this discourse, in Discourses 4.11 he expresses a different view – he would rather have an over-coiffured youth come to learn philosophy than one with ‘his moustache reaching down to his knees’, because at least he would be able to point the first student in the correct direction of what is good and beautiful (to kalon).

The Roman philosophers are also aware of the tension between the beard as an emblem of the philosopher and the fact that simply having a beard is not enough to make one a philosopher. Epictetus says that his beard and his rough cloak identify him as a philosopher to the young man attacked for depilation (3.1.24). He lists growing a beard, along with composing philosophical treatises, as one of the marks of philosophising which Epicurus demonstrated but attributed to the flesh (sarx) rather than his moral purpose (proairesis; Discourses 2.23.21). He implies that a philosopher should reject the threat of having his beard shaved, even if such an action could result in the philosopher’s decapitation (Discourses 1.2.27). Yet  in Discourses 4.8, he parallels philosophy to music and carpentry to illustrate that simply taking on the attire of a trade is not enough to make one a practitioner of that trade. The beard signals an affiliation with the philosophical life, but it holds no guarantee that its wearer will actually be living in accordance with that philosophy.

Epictetus’ comments reflect anxiety about balancing what is according to nature with the requirements of society and the line between acting like a philosopher and merely looking like one. Seneca makes a similar observation early in the Epistulae Morales, when he encourages his addressee Lucilius to continue with his philosophical studies (5.1-3). He draws a distinction between moral improvement and simply adopting the trappings of so-called philosophers; Lucilius should not deliberately present himself in a way that arouses comment. Among the things Seneca discourages him from are an outspoken hatred of silver, a bed put on the earth, messy dress sense, uncut hair – and a more unruly beard. The danger of this sort of thing is that it puts off precisely the people whom the philosophers want to reach most: the decision to look so out of step with the world around them means ‘ordinary’ people run a mile from any philosophy that seems to require them to behave so outlandishly.

Given the various attempts at facial hair that will be materialising over the coming months, and the varied range of responses they are sure to generate among the friends and acquaintances of Movember participants, I suspect the power of the beard to overstep the common boundaries of good taste is about to be tested to its limits once again. Perhaps we might bear in mind the warning that just to wear the beard isn’t the same as having the inner disposition associated with it. The Movember Foundation focuses on four key areas of men’s health – prostrate cancer, testicular cancer, poor mental health and physical inactivity. If you are participating in Movember, or somebody you know is, then take Seneca’s advice and think about the hidden ways in which you’re committed to improving those problems, which will last beyond the application of the razor on 1st December and the eventual donning of the charity Christmas jumper.

July 6, 2015

June is busting out all over…

Filed under: Research — lizgloyn @ 6:28 pm
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…and it’s taken me until July to blog about it. Such is the life of a new mum. I type this with infans in his sling, finally having the nap he has resisted all day, while I reflect upon the changes and developments that have happened in my life over the last twelve weeks.

Arguably the most significant of these is the arrival of the new small person, who is growing and thriving at a slightly alarming but very encouraging rate. We’ve all got the hang of the basics now, so it’s a matter of doing the day-to-day living, which is demanding but rather less intense than the first six weeks or so. That the final output of my maternity leave, when it finishes in September, should be a happy, cheerful and generally content baby looks like a goal that is on track.

However, I will happily own up to the fact that the itch to get back on with research work has already returned, reinforcing my personal conviction that a year’s worth of maternity leave would have had me climbing the walls. I’ve already been surprisingly productive – I finished off the science fiction piece, have done more work for the Family Archive project, and have sorted out the edits to an article about writing for the Companion to the World of Roman Women that started off as a series of blog posts on here.

Most importantly, however, last week I signed and posted back my contract with Cambridge University Press for a book provisionally entitled The Ethics of the Family in Seneca.

As you will probably have guessed, this is going to be the book version of my PhD thesis, and I’ve spent the time since submission in 2011 working on getting the manuscript into a good enough shape for publication. In fact, I’m still working on revising the manuscript, as those of you who follow me on Twitter will know, but now there’s an end date for the manuscript to be finished, and everything feels more… real.

When I graduated, I said that my life goals for the next few years were a baby, a book and abode. It looks like the most elusive of those three is finally getting closer. I may write more about the process of getting here at some stage, but right now, I’m going to go and help infans (who has woken up since I started writing this post) practice rolling onto his side.

March 16, 2015

Why calling Seneca a hypocrite isn’t very helpful

Filed under: Research — lizgloyn @ 8:52 am
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“There’s a review of Emily Wilson in today’s paper,” said G, waving a copy of the Observer.

“There’s a what?” I said, groggily, looking up from my yoghurt and about to rush off to church choir practice.

He passed the paper over, and lo and behold, it was a review of Emily Wilson’s Seneca: A Life, which in its online incarnation appears to have gained a new title – in the print edition of the Observer, the title is “A great Stoic and a serious hypocrite”, which sums up the attitude of the review rather better.

Reading the review had the effect of waking me up, mainly by making me rather cross. For several reasons. But the one G picked up on when he asked “so, is Seneca a hypocrite?” is the one on which I’m going to base this post. Seneca has had a long history of being accused of hypocrisy, starting in antiquity – Dio Cassius regales us with some particularly scandalous tales, including that bit about Seneca nearly bankrupting Britain by calling his loans in, and the usual ‘pandering to freedmen’ stuff that the Claudian period generates because Claudius actually set up a system of governmental officials who (shock horror!) weren’t senators. But Cassius Dio is writing at least a hundred years after Seneca’s death, and appears to assume that working the imperial system then was like working it in his period, when the political and moral ground had undergone some really big shifts. So that’s problem number one – the juicy evidence for Seneca’s hypocrisy comes from someone writing much later, with a bit of an axe to grind.

But the fair question remains of whether Seneca compromised his philosophical beliefs by working with Nero, and by retaining his status as a member of the senatorial elite. There are two good reasons grounded in Stoic doctrine that show attacking him on these grounds rather misses the point.

One. The Stoics had a doctrine of indifferents. That is, they said the only important thing was virtue. Everything else – good and ill health, good looks, wealth and poverty, marriage and bachelorhood, and, well, everything else – was an indifferent. Having or not having a particular indifferent did not make the slightest bit of difference to your ability to achieve virtue (and thus happiness). They complicated this a bit by then saying that some indifferents were preferred; that is, if everything was equal and your pursuit of virtue was not harmed by either choice, then it made sense to select one of the pair rather than the other. So if you had the choice between health and being poorly, for instance, you’d take health. Similarly, if you had the choice between wealth and poverty, you’d take wealth, providing the way of getting the money didn’t involve you doing something morally dubious (betraying a friend, for instance, or killing an innocent person). Stoicism doesn’t support a push towards compulsory poverty, like the later Franciscans or the earlier Cynics. The only ethically problematic thing about having money is becoming too dependent on it, forgetting that it’s an indifferent like any other, and starting to pursue it for its own sake.

But what, for instance, if your money came from, oooh, supporting a tyrant? And being part of that tyrant’s inner circle? Let us for a moment put aside the fact that Nero’s first few years of rule are generally credited with being not too bad, which sort of undermines the view that Seneca knew he was supporting a corrupt regime from the get-go. OK, there’s an ethical problem here – Seneca’s wealth and influence derives from his support of an emperor of dubious habits. Yet on what grounds would we call him a hypocrite? Hypocrisy is claiming to hold certain character traits and standards but not living up to them; hypocrisy is criticising other people for behaving in the way one happily does oneself. So we need to find evidence of Seneca presenting himself as morally superior to other people in his presentation of Stoic philosophy, and boom, there’s our evidence for hypocrisy.

But this is emphatically not what Seneca says anywhere in his extant work. The yardstick for moral achievement within Stoicism is the wise man or sage, who has got perfect grasp of reason, thus only makes rational decisions, and so is perfectly happy. The sage is famously rarer than a phoenix. Seneca never claims to be a wise man – in the On the Blessed Life, he explicitly says “I am not a wise man” (non sum sapiens). He never claims to have reached moral perfection. When he writes to his addressee Lucilius in the Moral Letters, he’s very careful never to claim ethical superiority – he has been doing this Stoicism thing for longer, which gives him a bit of an edge on knowing the material, but he’s still fallible and capable of making mistakes and irrational choices. When somebody is so open about his own moral faults and failings, even if not specifically the ones which revolve around his relationship with Nero, it’s a bit difficult to find the leverage to justify the charge of hypocrisy.

Basically, going back to this old chestnut as people have a depressing tendency to do demonstrates the importance of reading Seneca’s philosophical convictions against the historical background to get a better understanding of what’s going on in his actions and the decisions he makes. It’s not a neat answer, and it’s not a comfortably judgemental answer (because we all feel better when we can castigate someone else’s failings – well-known sayings about eyes, planks and motes come to mind). But it is one that recognises the complexity of the man and does him justice.

August 6, 2014

New publication: My family tree goes back to the Romans

Filed under: Research — lizgloyn @ 2:57 pm
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As those of you who follow me on Twitter will know, at the minute I am elbow-deep in assessing the revisions needed for chapter six of the book manuscript. I have just realised that I haven’t officially announced that a version of that chapter is already out in publication, as of a few months ago!

“My family tree goes back to the Romans: Seneca’s approach to the family in the Epistulae Morales” appears in Seneca Philosophus, a volume that came out of a conference in Paris about Seneca as a philosopher which I was unable to attend because – cheerful irony of ironies – it took place on the weekend of PhD graduation, so I kind of needed to be on another continent. However, I wrote to the conference organiser because I wanted sight of the paper she’d given, explaining what my interest was – and, lo and behold, she asked whether my book would be finished in time for consultation for the conference volume. As that was totally out of the range of possibility, I said so and sent her my Epistulae Morales chapter in PDF form instead. She then invited me to contribute it to the conference volume as it would make a good addition to the range of pieces talking about the letter collection.

Given that I had no idea how long it would take me to get the PhD into a book manuscript shape, I jumped at the chance to get some of my research out, and in a volume that contains some of the most significant scholars currently writing on Seneca, no less. So it’s out there, and in a book! Which is very exciting.

Of course, this now leaves me in a slightly perplexing place with what is now chapter six of the book manuscript. There are several discussions that didn’t make it into the Family Tree chapter, not least because of reasons of length, and because the argument that chapter makes had to stand alone rather than finish off the dissertation as a whole. I got some very good feedback on the Family Tree chapter as a stand-alone piece that I’m incorporating into the revised chapter six, but I’m also realising just how much I need to do in order to make sure that it does what I need it to do in terms of the overall book’s direction. It says a lot about the progress I’ve made over the last few years that I’m seeing so many different things I want to change and improve compared to the first time that I revised it – the only downside is that I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me. Never mind – the chapter is out there, if anyone wants to read it and get a head-start on the book!

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