How to do the right thing with Seneca

Part XXVII of the Ancient Wisdom for Modern Readers series

[Based on How to Do the Right Thing: An Ancient Guide to Treating People Fairly, by Seneca, translated by Robert Kaster. Full book series here.]

A sense of fairness is fundamental to human nature. From childhood onward, we instinctively cry out ‘That’s not fair!’ when confronted with perceived injustice. Modern primatologists like Frans de Waal have shown that this sense of fairness extends beyond humans to all social primates. What distinguishes humans is our ability to analyze unfairness and propose remedies.

In How to Do the Right Thing, part of Princeton Press’s Ancient Wisdom for Modern Readers series, Robert Kaster synthesizes Seneca’s writings on fairness and justice. Kaster draws primarily from three of Seneca’s works—On Benefits, On Mercy, and On Anger—while incorporating insights from On Tranquillity of Mind, On the Happy Life, On the Consistency of the Wise Person, and the Moral Epistles. The result is both a comprehensive survey of Seneca’s thought and an accessible introduction to Stoic philosophy.

Rather than following Seneca’s original texts, Kaster organizes his analysis around five aspects of fairness: (i) Striving for magnanimity; (ii) Being calm and thinking clearly; (iii) Judging oneself fairly; (iv) Doing right by others; (v) Being merciful. While this organization departs from Seneca’s original presentation, it effectively distills the Stoic components of fairness for modern readers.

Kaster establishes a fundamental Stoic principle in his introduction: “You cannot be fair and do right by others unless you sort yourself out first, and for a Stoic sorting yourself out begins and ends with your mind. The wise are not born but made.” Progress toward wisdom comes through cultivating magnanimity—literally ‘large mindedness’ (magnus animus in Latin). Magnanimity is a virtue, and for Seneca and the Stoics all virtues are unified, multiple aspects of the same fundamental thing, wisdom. Broadly speaking, virtue is the action of a rational mind in the act of making true judgments and arriving at right choices, given specific circumstances.

With that context in mind, let’s take a closer look at the text by way of a few highlights, accompanied by brief commentaries:

(i) Striving for magnanimity

Magnanimity—defined as a loftiness of spirit that enables calm endurance, disdains pettiness, and exhibits noble generosity—lies at the heart of Seneca’s analysis of fairness. This combination of qualities forms the foundation for treating others fairly.

“Even fortune’s gifts are pleasing when reason has blended and balanced them: it is reason that makes them agreeable, while the greedy get no satisfaction from them. Attalus used to use this metaphor: Have you ever seen a dog, jaws open wide, trying to snatch a bit of bread or meat its master has tossed? Whatever it gets, it immediately swallows whole and is always gaping hopefully for more. We’re the same way: whatever fortune tosses us as we wait we immediately swallow down without savoring, frantically intent on snatching more.” (Letter 72.8)

Drawing from his mentor Attalus, a respected Stoic philosopher, Seneca identifies insatiable greed as a root cause of unfairness and injustice. Like dogs snapping at scraps, we constantly hunger for whatever fortune offers.

The only counter to this attitude is reason, which allows us both to appreciate the gifts of fortune but also to assess them for what they are: preferred indifferents, in Stoic lingo, the sort of things that are not good or bad, but simply useful and pleasurable. The only thing that is truly good is our own good judgment, which precludes us from slipping into greediness.

“If you want a model, take Socrates, that long-suffering old man, buffeted by every sort of adversity, who was nonetheless unvanquished by poverty … and toil, including service endured under arms.… [He lived] either in war or under tyranny, or in a freedom crueler than wars and tyrants.” (Letter 104.27)

Famously, the Stoics recommended the use of role models as one way to improve our own character and judgment. And the Stoic role model par excellence was Socrates, the common father of the three major schools of antiquity other than Epicureanism: Platonism, Aristotelianism, and Stoicism. Socrates was nothing if not endowed with a great capacity for magnanimity.

Some of his last words, not at all coincidentally recorded by Epictetus at the very end of the Enchiridion, were: “Anytus and Meletus can kill me, but they cannot hurt me.” Anytus and Meletus where two of the three accusers (the other one being Lycon) who filed charges of impiety and corruption of the youth against Socrates. Socrates, of course, was condemned to death, but even so, he regarded the sentence as not being able to hurt him. Why not? Because the Athenians were about to kill his body, not to take over the only truly good thing he had: his judgment.

(ii) Being calm and thinking clearly

Magnanimity requires two interconnected prerequisites: a calm mind and clear thinking. This clarity helps us grasp a fundamental Stoic principle that Kaster distills: something can be ‘bad for me’ only if it represents an absence of virtue. All other things—whether pleasant or unpleasant, convenient or inconvenient—are merely ‘preferred’ or ‘dispreferred indifferents.’ For Stoics, good judgment alone constitutes true good, and bad judgment alone constitutes true evil. Why? Because everything else depends on judgment. As Epictetus puts it (Discourses 2.16), money for instance is neither good nor bad, what makes it so is how you use it, which in turn is a result of our judgment, what he calls our moral purpose.

“Repelled by others’ successes, despairing of its own, the mind grows furious with fortune, laments the times, withdraws into its recesses, and sulks at being punished, fed up and disgusted with itself.” (On Tranquillity of Mind, 2.11)

Unclear thinking leads us to blame fortune for setbacks, lament time’s passage, seek excessive pleasures, and ultimately despise ourselves. These reactions stem from misunderstanding the human condition. Fortune, lacking agency, deserves neither blame nor credit. Time’s passage, rather than being something to regret, is what gives life its meaning and demands our purposeful engagement. Pleasure is fine, but too much of it leads to pain and distracts us from the things that are truly important in life, like our relationships with others. Being disappointed with ourselves is useless: we did what we did, the only thing we can get from that are some learned lessons to prepare ourselves to do better in the future.

“If I ever want to be amused by a fool, I don’t have far to look—I laugh at myself. … No one sees that he is greedy or grasping. Yet the blind need a guide while we wander unattended and say, ‘I am not ambitious—but it’s impossible to live otherwise in Rome’; ‘I am not a spendthrift—but the city demands large outlays’; ‘I am inclined to anger—but it’s not my fault, I haven’t yet settled on a stable sort of life, my youth’s the cause.’ … The cause of distress lies not outside us but within … and because we do not know that we are ailing it is hard to find relief.” (Letter 50.2-4)

These insights reflect the Delphic maxim adopted by Socrates and the Stoics: ‘Know thyself.’ Our troubles often stem from insufficient self-knowledge—itself a product of unclear thinking that obstructs the path to a truly flourishing (eudaimonic) life.

(iii) Judging oneself fairly

The third component of fairness—balanced self-assessment—requires neither harsh self-criticism nor unwarranted self-praise.

“Here’s a particular obstacle: we’re quick to be pleased with ourselves. If we find someone to say we’re good, shrewd, righteous, we acknowledge the description’s truth. We’re not satisfied with measured praise: however thick a flatterer shamelessly lays it on, we take it as our due. … So it follows that we do not want to change, because we believe we are as good as can be. … [When Alexander was wounded in India he said] ‘Everyone swears that I am the son of Jupiter, but this wound cries out that I am human.’ Let’s do the same thing. As flattery tries to make us as stupid as it can, let’s say, ‘Sure, you say that I am shrewd, but I know how many useless things I lust for, how many harmful things I pray for. I do not even grasp the limit to be placed on food and drink, something even animals sense when they are full. I still do not know my own limits.’” (Letter 59.11-13)

While modern flatterers may not deify us as they did Alexander, we often succumb to exaggerated praise. Failure to recognize this tendency suggests a need for deeper self-examination.

“I exercise this jurisdiction daily and plead my case before myself. When the light has been removed and my wife has fallen silent, aware of this habit that’s now mine, I examine my entire day and go back over what I have done and said, hiding nothing from myself, passing nothing by. For why should I fear any consequence from my mistakes, when I am able to say, ‘See that you do not do it again—but now I forgive you.’” (On Anger, 3.36)

Seneca offers several paths to self-knowledge and better relationships. Beyond following role models, he recommends keeping a philosophical journal—a practice later exemplified by Marcus Aurelius's Meditations and endorsed by Epictetus in his Discourses (3.10).

The Stoics also advocated cultivating what Aristotle termed ‘friendships of virtue’—relationships with those who mirror our soul and gently challenge our ethical missteps. These rare friends serve as mutual guides in the pursuit of virtue, offering honest feedback when our moral compass wavers.

(iv) Doing right by others

The fourth element of fairness centers on our duty to others. The Stoics developed this through oikeiosis—the ‘appropriation’ of others' wellbeing into our own concerns. Unlike the Christian mandate to love one’s neighbor as oneself, this principle asks us to give others' interests equal weight with our own.

Our primary source for oikeiosis comes from Hierocles's Elements of Ethics, preserved by Stobaeus and referenced by Aulus Gellius in delightful Attic Nights. Hierocles envisioned concentric circles of concern expanding outward from the self through family, friends, fellow citizens, and ultimately embracing all humanity. He urged us to mentally contract these circles, elevating strangers to friends and friends to family. He went on to suggest to his readers to refer to other people as brother, sister, uncle, aunt, and so forth, even though we have no actual familial relationship with them. Because we are all members of the brother/sisterhood of humanity.

[Hierocles’s circles according to a modern reconstruction.]

“What is more unfair than hating someone who stepped on your foot in a crowd, or splashed you or shoved you in a direction you did not want to take? … When an injury is at issue, the fact that people did not know what they were doing is the very thing that exculpates them.” (On Benefits, 6.9)

The basic idea here is to cut people some slack, which instantly makes us more forgiving. Indeed, in On Anger Seneca goes through a lengthy list of reasonable excuses for people’s behaviors, not with the intention of minimizing faults, but aiming at developing the sort of charitable attitude that undercuts our anger at others, thus improving our conduct in the context of the human cosmopolis. Indeed, the next bit is from that essay, and makes the point very clearly and compellingly:

“It is unspeakably wrong to harm one’s homeland; therefore, it is unspeakably wrong to harm fellow-citizens, too, for they are part of the homeland—the parts are sacrosanct if the whole is worthy of our worship. Therefore it is unspeakably wrong to harm human beings too, for they are your fellow citizens in the cosmopolis. What if the hands wanted to harm the feet, the eyes the hands.” (On Anger, 2.31)

Notice the analogy between a nation-state, or an empire, and the cosmopolis. The first two, for the Stoics, are accidents of history, forever subject to changes and even dissolution. The cosmopolis is the only natural community comprising all of humanity, which is why Epictetus says that acting in the role of a cosmopolitan is the most important contribution we can make in life. Notice also the analogy between the cosmopolis and a body: just like hands are not supposed to harm feet, or eyes the hands, we are not supposed to harm other human beings, if we wish to live in agreement with nature.

(v) Being merciful

Mercy forms the final component of fairness. Seneca explored this theme extensively in On Mercy, written when he served as advisor to the young emperor Nero. The work emerged during a period of optimism, as Rome hoped its new ruler would surpass his predecessors, Caligula and Claudius.

Critics mischaracterize On Mercy as mere flattery of the new princeps, but even cursory examination reveals deeper purposes. While praising Nero’s potential, Seneca embeds subtle warnings throughout the text, cautioning against tyrannical impulses through pointed historical examples. More than once Seneca reminds Nero of the fate of some of his predecessors who did not show mercy toward others, basically saying “be careful how you behave or else.” It took a lot of guts to write in that manner to the most powerful man in the Mediterranean world.

“No philosophical school is kinder and gentler, nor more loving of humankind and more attentive to our common good, to the degree that its very purpose is to be useful, bring assistance, and consider the interests not only of its own members but of all people, individually and collectively.” (On Mercy, 5.3)

This description reveals Stoicism’s true nature: not a philosophy of emotional suppression, but one centered on philanthropia—the love of humanity. The school’s emphasis on fairness, mercy, and human connection remains powerfully relevant today.

[Previous installments: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XIX, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XXIV, XXV, XXVI.]