Lucius Annaeus Seneca

I am glad to learn, through those who come from you, that you live on friendly terms with your slaves. This befits a sensible man and one who is well-educated. “They are slaves,” people declare. Nay, rather they are men. “Slaves,” you say. Nay, comrades. “Slaves,” you insist. Nay, they are unpretentious friends. “Slaves,” you retort. Nay, they are our fellow-slaves, if one reflects that Fortune has equal rights over slaves and free men alike.

That is why I smile at those who think it degrading for a man to dine with his slave. But why should it be degrading? It is only because purse-proud etiquette surrounds a householder at his dinner with a mob of standing slaves.

The master eats more than he can hold, and with monstrous greed loads his belly until it is stretched and at length ceases to do the work of a belly; so that he is at greater pains to discharge all the food than he was to stuff it down.

All this time the poor slaves may not move their lips, even to speak. The slightest murmur is repressed by the rod; even a chance sound - a cough, a sneeze, or a hiccup - is visited with the lash. There is a grievous penalty for the slightest breach of silence. All night long they must stand about, hungry and dumb.

The result of it all is that these slaves, who may not talk in their master’s presence, talk about their master. But the slaves of former days, who were permitted to converse not only in their master’s presence, but actually with him, whose mouths were not stitched up tight, were ready to bare their necks for their master, to bring upon their own heads any danger that threatened him.

They spoke at the dinner-table, but kept silence during torture; on such occasions the saying “he was killed by his own slaves” was not yet current.

But now we have too many slaves who are enemies. Yet when we acquired them they were not enemies; we make them enemies.

I shall pass over other cruel and inhuman conduct towards them; for we maltreat them, not as if they were men, but as if they were beasts of burden.

Some of them are assigned to carry the litter; others to support the master when he is staggering from too much wine; others to vomit for him, that he may have relief.

But I do not wish to involve myself in too large a question, and to discuss the treatment of slaves, towards whom we Romans are excessively haughty, cruel, and insulting. But this is the kernel of my advice: Treat your inferiors as you would be treated by your betters.

And as often as you reflect how much power you have over a slave, remember that your master has just as much power over you.

“But I have no master,” you say. You are still young; perhaps you will have one. Do you not know at what age Hecuba entered captivity, or Croesus, or the mother of Darius, or Plato, or Diogenes?

Associate with your slave on kindly, even on affable terms; let him talk with you, plan with you, live with you.

Remember that he whom you call your slave sprang from the same stock, is smiled upon by the same skies, and on equal terms with yourself breathes, lives, and dies. It is just as possible for you to see in him the free-born man as for him to see in you the slave.

Kindly remember that he whom you call your slave sprang from the same stock, is smiled upon by the same skies, and on equal terms with yourself breathes, lives, and dies.

Farewell.

Seneca