Does Seneca's Advice Have a Modern Relevance?

Back in June 2024, I gave a talk at St Albans Cathedral, entitled, Marcus Aurelius, a Modern Thinker? I had been fascinated to learn that the sales of Marcus Aurelius's Meditations had skyrocketed from 12,000 copies in 2012 to 100,000 copies in 2019. Its popularity indicated a resurgence of interest in Stoicism that spans academic interest, popular culture, and practical self-help applications. This ancient Greek philosophy, founded around 300 BC, has found a remarkably receptive audience in the 21st century. So, when I came across a quote from another Roman philosopher, Seneca, this week, I decided to explore its modern relevance as well.

We are born under conditions which would be favourable to us if we did not abandon them. Nature willed that great instruments should not be required for living well: each man can procure happiness for himself. External goods are of little importance and have no great influence in either direction: prosperity does not elevate the wise man, nor does adversity depress him. For he has always striven to rely upon himself as much as possible and to derive all his pleasure from himself.* (De Vita Beata [On the Happy Life])

Lucius Annaeus Seneca the Younger, born around 4 BC in Córdoba, Spain, was a Roman statesman, dramatist, and one of the most prominent Stoic philosophers of his time. He served as an advisor to the emperor Nero, a role that brought him immense wealth and political influence but also exposed him to the dangers of the imperial court, leading eventually to his forced suicide in CE 65 on charges of conspiracy. His Dialogues have made him the primary source through which much of Stoic philosophy has been preserved and transmitted to the modern world. Seneca's passage is not a practical manual for everyday life so much as a powerful philosophical idea: a portrait of the sage as an impregnable fortress of the soul.

However, it can be argued that to treat its claims as literal, empirical truths is to overlook the complexity of human nature. We are not, and perhaps should not aspire to be, entirely self-sufficient islands. Our vulnerabilities to external goods and other people are also the source of our deepest connections, greatest loves, and most profound experiences of beauty and joy. Seneca's critique of our attachment to the external world is a vital antidote to mindless consumerism and frantic ambition, but his proposed cure—complete emotional detachment and self-derived pleasure—may, for most, be a cure that is more austere and less fulfilling than the life it seeks to perfect.

This passage by Seneca serves as a quintessential summary of Stoic ethics, centred on the core principles of self-sufficiency, the primacy of inner virtue, and the indifference of external circumstances. It is a powerful and aspirational piece of philosophy, but its validity rests on certain definitions of happiness and the self that are open to debate. A fair critique must acknowledge its profound strengths as a guide to inner resilience while also examining its potential limitations when confronted with the full spectrum of human experience and the realities of the external world. Yet, to ask whether Seneca's advice has modern relevance is to touch upon the very reason Stoicism has experienced such a remarkable resurgence in recent years. The answer is a resounding 'yes', though perhaps not in the pure, unadulterated form that Seneca himself might have prescribed.

The passage's greatest strength lies in its radical empowerment of the individual. By asserting that each person can procure happiness for himself or herself, Seneca places the ultimate source of well-being within our own control. This is a liberating and democratizing idea; it does not depend on birth, wealth, or fortune, but on the cultivation of one's own mind and character (take note, Andrew Mountbatten Windsor). The emphasis that 'great instruments' should not be required makes this philosophy accessible to everyone, regardless of their material circumstances.

Furthermore, the claim that the wise man is neither elevated by prosperity nor depressed by adversity offers a powerful model for resilience. In a world governed by chance, Seneca provides a blueprint for achieving a stable and unshakeable tranquillity. If one's happiness is derived from within, from the pursuit of virtue and wisdom, then it is immune 'to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune'. This focus on internal governance—the idea that we can choose our responses to events remains a cornerstone of modern cognitive behavioural therapy and a testament to the enduring practical wisdom of Stoicism. The image of the wise man, standing firm amidst the flux of external events, is deeply compelling.

While inspiring, Seneca's position becomes vulnerable when we scrutinise its core premises.

The argument hinges on a very specific definition of happiness. Seneca defines it as a state of inner tranquillity and virtue, derived solely from the self. This is, however, a reductive view of human flourishing. For many, happiness is inextricably linked to external goods and experiences: the joy of loving and being loved, the satisfaction of creating something beautiful, the pleasure of sensory experience, or the sense of security that comes from material comfort. By dismissing these as of little importance, Seneca is not so much proving their irrelevance as he is defining them out of the equation. He presents an ideal, but it is an ideal that asks us to amputate large parts of what makes us human.

The opening line that we are born under conditions which would be favourable to us if we did not abandon them is philosophically rich but practically problematic. It suggests that human suffering is largely self-inflicted through our misguided desires and attachments. While there is truth in this, it risks blaming the victim. What of those abandoned by society due to war, famine, or systemic injustice? Is the person born with a painful and debilitating condition abandoning their favourable nature? Seneca's focus on the internal realm can seem to gloss over the very real power that external, objective circumstances can have to crush the human spirit, regardless of its philosophical training.

The final, and perhaps most contentious, claim is that the wise man derives all his pleasure from himself. This posits a vision of the self as a sealed, autonomous unit. However, a more holistic, perhaps Aristotelian or modern psychological view, sees the self as fundamentally relational (see Iris Murdoch's position in the debate I drafted between her and Kant (https://timboatswain.wixsite.com/website/post/what-is-morality-1 ). Our identities, values, and even our capacity for internal reasoning are shaped by our interactions with others, our culture, and the world around us. The language we use to think, the concepts of virtue we aspire to, and the very notion of pleasure are all learned and developed in a social context. The sage who retreats entirely into the self for all pleasure is, in a sense, a contradiction, as their wisdom is a product of a lifetime of engagement with the external world they claim to have transcended.

It is precisely at the intersection of these profound strengths and these significant weaknesses that Seneca's modern relevance emerges. We do not turn to the Stoics in the twenty-first century because we wish to become emotionless sages, impervious to the loss of a loved one or indifferent to the beauty of a sunset. Rather, we turn to them because we are overwhelmed. We live in an age of unprecedented external stimulation, constant connectivity, and relentless social comparison. The modern world, with its algorithmic feed of curated perfection and its insatiable appetite for more: more possessions, more achievements, more validation. It is a machine perfectly designed to make us feel that we are never enough.

It is against this backdrop that Seneca's voice becomes not just relevant, but urgently necessary. His advice serves as a critical corrective to the excesses of modernity. When he argues that external goods are of little importance, he is not asking us to live in a barren cave; he is inviting us to question the frantic pursuit of status symbols and the exhausting performance of success. His philosophy offers a powerful antidote to the anxiety of keeping up with the Joneses, reminding us that the curated lives we scroll past on our screens are precisely the kind of external goods that have no power to make us wise or content.

The Stoic principle of focusing on what is within our control is the foundational insight of nearly every modern self-help and resilience program. When we are anxious about a job interview, a difficult conversation, or an uncertain future, Seneca's framework provides immediate, practical relief: we can control our preparation, our intention, and our response, but the outcome is external and, therefore, not a true measure of our worth. This is not a recipe for passivity, but for focused action unencumbered by the fear of results.

Ok, then, Seneca's passage is not a practical manual for everyday life so much as a powerful philosophical ideal: a portrait of the sage as an impregnable fortress of the soul. Its value is as a compass, not a map. It points us toward the importance of internal strength, resilience, and the danger of pinning our happiness on things beyond our control. However, to treat its claims as literal, empirical truths is to overlook the complexity of human nature. We are not, and perhaps should not aspire to be, entirely self-sufficient islands. Our vulnerabilities to external goods and other people are also the source of our deepest connections, greatest loves, and most profound experiences of beauty and joy. Seneca's critique of our attachment to the external world is a vital antidote to mindless consumerism and frantic ambition, but his proposed cure—complete emotional detachment and self-derived pleasure—may, for most, be a cure that is more austere and less fulfilling than the life it seeks to perfect.

The modern relevance of Seneca, then, lies not in a wholesale adoption of his ideal but in a selective and pragmatic integration. We can embrace his wisdom to build resilience against the slings and arrows of fortune and to cultivate a rich inner life that is not dependent on the whims of the external world. At the same time, we can honour our fundamental nature as social, relational beings, allowing ourselves to be vulnerable to love, open to joy, and connected to others. In this synthesis, Seneca is not the master of our lives, but a wise and bracing conversation partner, forever reminding us of the strength that lies within, even as we fully inhabit the beautiful, messy, and deeply relational world without.

*The Latin is:

Sub condicionibus nascimur quae nobis prosperae essent, nisi eas desereremus. Natura id voluit, ut ad bene vivendum magna instrumenta non requirerentur: unusquisque sibi ipse beatitudinem parare potest. Externa bona parvi sunt momenti neque multum in utramque partem valent: nec prosperitas sapientem extollit nec adversitas deprimit. Semper enim id egit ut quam maxime sibi ipse sufficeret omnemque voluptatem ex se ipso sumeret.