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SILVIA MONTIGLIO
554
short, traveling had long been the norm among aspiring wise men. The
one exception, according to Diogenes Laertius (2.22), was Socrates.
At the same time, the relationship between traveling and philosophy
was a complex and controversial one: is the kind of knowledge that one
earns through traveling conducive to wisdom? Much learning (polymathia)
was systematically contrasted with wisdom by philosophers before Aristotle,2 and traveling provided precisely the abundance of scattered and
erudite information that several philosophers regarded as mindless or
even immoral. In addition, going about the world could be perceived
as incompatible with the goal of mental focus, which called rather for a
relatively stationary lifestyle and even for physical immobility.3 Where
does Seneca stand in this debate? What is his position on the relationship
between traveling and wisdom?
Seneca explicitly connects traveling and philosophy (Ot. 5). In
defense of contemplation, he says that nature has provided us with a
curious mind (curiosum ingenium). It is enough for each of us to observe
how eager we are to know unknown things (quantam cupidinem habeat
ignota noscendi). This eagerness urges some to travel far, whatever the
risk, just for the sake of learning something secret and remote: "Navigant
quidam et labores peregrinationis longissimae una mercede perpetiuntur
cognoscendi aliquid abditum remotumque."4 As the motives for exploratory travels, cupido and curiositas are positive forces. Traveling for the
sake of knowledge is one of the activities that do justice to nature because
her beauty and greatness need spectators. The "spectatores of so many
great spectacles" (5.3) eventually turn their heads upwards and concentrate their movement in their eyes and heads (5.4). The eye becomes the
traveler: it "opens a road of investigation for itself" (5.5). Traveling is thus
the first step towards philosophical inquiry.5
Are we then to imagine that Seneca's aspiring wise man will travel to
faraway lands in order to learn remote things? Giovanna Garbarino, in a
comprehensive study of the theme of traveling in Seneca (1996), has argued
the opposite: Seneca dismisses traveling as frivolous and unnecessary even
when its goal is to acquire knowledge. She identifies three types of travel in
Seneca's writings-as risk and transgression, as evasion, and as a means of
broadening our horizons-but does not see any real contradiction between
2Cf. I. Hadot 1984, passim.
555
a positive and a negative evaluation of the activity and concludes that the
only philosophical use that Seneca makes of traveling is by drawing a moral
lesson from its incidents and nuisances. In her reading, the passage from the
De otio that celebrates "philosophical traveling" does not develop the motif
as fully as one would expect. She points out that the activity is mentioned
together with antiquarian erudition and the interest in fabulous tales, both
of which Seneca is far from associating with the quest for wisdom.
Paul Veyne's judgment is even more extreme. In his view the Stoic
wise man (Veyne makes no distinction between Seneca and other Stoics
in this regard) would hardly travel at all, except to serve his country.6 It is
beyond doubt that the ideal Stoic will embrace traveling (like any other
activity) if he is required to do so. In Epictetus' words (2.5.25), "to set sail
and take risks" might befall one as a cosmic necessity: one might have to
leave a place for the sake of the whole just as one might have to die early,
and everyone will have to leave the scene of life at some point to make
room for others. But Veyne assumes that our obedient citizen of the world
would not choose to leave home in order to satisfy his natural inclination
to increase his knowledge, his curiosum ingenium. A reconsideration of
the evidence will lead us to less clear-cut conclusions.
JOURNEYING IN THE WORLD
AND THE JOURNEY TO WISDOM
The early Stoics do not extol travel as a means of acquiring knowledge.
On the contrary, Cleanthes gathers men's ruinous ambitions, the pursuit
of fame, wealth, or pleasure, under the heading of traveling, to which he
opposes the knowledge of Zeus' law (SVF 1, 537.24-30). Traveling is not
even praised for promoting a cosmopolitan disposition. This may seem
surprising in light of Aristotle's statement: "one can see also in one's
wanderings that every man is near and dear to another" (EN 8.1.1155a
21-22). But Stoic cosmopolitanism is based on the recognition of reason
as the common denominator of humans, not on empirical observation.
There is no need to meet people from distant places in order to discover
one's kinship with them as rational beings.
For the early Stoics traveling is at best a neutral action. Chrysippus
(SVF 3, 501) lists traveling (apodemein) among the mesa, actions that reason
neither endorses nor condemns in themselves, together with speaking, asking,
6Veyne 2003, 93: "The sage might be the best navigator but he would not, I imagine,
navigate unless the well-being of his country demanded it."
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557
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559
The aspiring sage, then, will learn from Odysseus how to endure
the blows of fortune, not how to look around and explore new avenues
of knowledge. Traveling, even for the sake of discovery, would clash with
the imperative of caution, one of the "good affections" (eupatheiai) in
early Stoicism and a main characteristic of the sage, including Seneca's.'8
To be sure, Seneca's good man will have an energetic mind (cf., e.g., Vit.
3.3). He will act promptly, daringly, and even aggressively to carry out
whatever is required (cf., e.g., Ep. 74.32; 76.18; 82.18-19). He will be like
a soldier marching against so-called evils (Ep. 82.19: invadendum), at
times enduring a siege, at times courageously launching an attack on the
enemy's walls (Ep. 66.13) or embarking on the most dangerous expeditions (Ep. 96.5).19 But his courage is no adventurous rushing forward. It
is being able to meet dangers defiantly when they arise: "I disagree with
those who plunge into the midst of waves and fight every day against
difficulties with a great spirit because they value a stormy life. The wise
man will bear these things, not choose them; he will prefer to be at peace
than in a battle" (Ep. 28.7).20 Stoic fortitude is self-protective, "most
diligent to preserve itself" (Ep. 85.28: diligentissima in tutela sui fortitudo
est). It is not love of dangers (Ep. 85.28) or audacia (Ira 1.20.2). Rather,
it builds an unassailable fortress around us (Ep. 113.27). If we wrongly
use the term fortis for a gladiator, that is because of the limitations of
our language. Seneca does not agree that we should call fortis both
"the one who reasonably scorns accidental events" and "the one who
the soul's guide to its unearthly dwelling or as the music of the spheres (cf. Buffibre 1956,
473-81; Pepin 1991, 229), but also with Cicero's glamorization of the Sirens as the allurement of scientia and of Odysseus as the sapiens who preferred their call to his fatherland
(Fin. 5.49: "they promise knowledge, which unsurprisingly to a lover of wisdom was dearer
than his fatherland").
18Cf. SVF 3, 175; Seneca Ep. 22.7 ([The Stoics] cautiores quam fortiores sunt); 85.26
(cautio illum decet). On caution, cf. Long 1986 (1974), 244; Long and Sedley 1997 (1987),
vol. 1, 65 (with the sources). On the eupatheiai in the context of the Stoic ideal of apatheia,
cf. Frede 1986.
19On military images in Seneca, cf. Lavery 1980, 147-51. For a catalog, cf. ArmisenMarchetti 1989, 76-78; 94-97.
20As the parallel with Ep. 14.7-8 suggests, Seneca is recommending prudence in a
dangerous society. The sage "will never arouse the wrath of the powerful, on the contrary,
he will try to avoid it just like a storm during a navigation." The imagery is similar: the
temerariusgubernator despises threats (here represented by Scylla and Charybdis), whereas
the one who is cautior studies currents and winds and stays clear of whirling areas (for the
imagery, cf. also ibid. 15: "some ships are destroyed in the harbor; but what do you think
happens on the high seas?"). The passage from Ep. 28, however, has a broader area of application, for it is meant to illustrate the desirability of quiet places over crowded ones.
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SILVIA MONTIGLIO
unreasonably rushes out into dangers" (Ben. 2.34.4).21 The sage will be
as watchful as a scrupulous man who takes care of that which has been
confided to him (Tranq. 11.2).
The De tranquillitate animi employs metaphors of travel to describe
life-choices. When the state is unruly, you should devote more time to
leisure and study, "seek a harbor from time to time just as in a dangerous
navigation, and not wait until the affairs dismiss you but release yourself
from them first" (5.5). Drawing on a familiar image (cf., e.g., Lucretius
5.11-12), Seneca recommends the secure and straight course of philosophy
over the dangerous navigation that represents public life in unmanageable times (in ... tempus minus tractabile). The specification implies that
in better times one should not avoid the high seas of public life. But the
navigation would not be dangerous because the state would be manageable. Seneca's ideal lifestyle is then signified by a journey with little or no
risk. As he says elsewhere in the essay (9.3), those who spread their sails
wide are assailed by storms; one should restrict one's activities (cogendae
in artum res sunt) to protect oneself from fortune's weapons.
Accordingly, Seneca's trainee will refrain from actions altogether or
at least contain their scope. He will avoid the ones that are not necessary
("where no imperative duty summons us, actions should be prevented"
[Tranq. 13.1]); he will set limited goals for himself and stop before being
stopped by fortune: "you must put your hands to things that you can, or at
least hope to, bring to an end. You must leave aside things that continue
further than your action and do not stop where you intended" (Tranq.
6.4); "Nothing will free us as much from these mental fluctuations as
always setting a limit to a development. We ought not let fortune decide
where we stop, but to stop ourselves much earlier" (Tranq. 10.6). Seneca
even denies meaning to any action: "Let us abandon the pursuits that
are either impossible or difficult to accomplish and follow what is near
and goes along with our hope, but let us know that all these things are
equally superficial: they have different appearances from outside, but
from inside they are all vain" (Tranq. 10.5).22 Such a guarded person, all
intent as he is on staying within limits, is unlikely to venture on long and
dangerous journeys, whatever their goal. Indeed, elsewhere (Ep. 101.6)
21On this passage in the context of Seneca's discussion of the inopia sermonis, cf.
Setaioli 1988, chap. 1, esp. 17-18.
22
Such passages validate Rist's observation (1969, 248) that "Seneca seems to regard
freedom not so much as the opportunity to act as a state in which one cannot be forced
to act." Rist calls this ideal one of negative freedom. This negative concept of freedom as
non-acting is already Zeno's (cf. SVF 1, 218).
561
Seneca mentions navigationes longas among the activities that men foolishly plan without considering their impending death.
Seneca deems the avoidance of activity much more important to
achieving peace of mind than Plutarch does in his treatise On Tranquillity.
The difference comes to the fore in their respective interpretations of a
phrase from Democritus' own essay on the same topic (peri euthymies).
Plutarch criticizes Democritus for arguing that the man who seeks tranquillity should not engage in many things, either private or public (465c),
whereas Seneca endorses Democritus' phrase and wants to limit activity
to instances of imperative duty (13.1, cited above).
As the comparison with Plutarch suggests, Seneca's emphasis on the
avoidance of activity is not a stock theme. Rather, it could be related to
his own implication in politics (the essay was probably written before 62).
In the De tranquillitate animi, Seneca does not advocate withdrawal from
the public arena on principle, but only as a last resort, and he identifies
even the occupations of a private citizen as a form of public service. His
advocacy of cautious action or of inaction altogether could reflect his
own "dangerous navigation," his experience of political participation with
the arduous maneuvers that it involves. But at the same time, Seneca's
recommendations have a larger spectrum of reference (his addressee's
malaise has many facets, and ambivalence vis-a-vis engaging in politics
is only one of them), as is clearly illustrated by the broadening in the
application of the travel metaphor from the specific antithesis negotium/
otium to a general rule of life ("don't spread the sails wide if you don't
want to be hit by the winds!").
Traveling for the sake of knowledge clashes even more patently
with another mainstay of Seneca's moral ideal, that of domestica felicitas (Ep. 72.4; cf. also 9.15; 23.3; 94.53 and 64).23 "The Stoic sage," Veyne
writes, "puts into serious practice an ironic aphorism by Pascal: 'All of
mankind's unhappiness comes from a single thing-not knowing enough
to rest quietly in a room."'24 Though Seneca insists that one should be
able to stay "at home" inside under any circumstances, he also claims
that one cannot withdraw into otium if one keeps looking and moving
around (Ep. 69.1-2). In order to contain your soul (animum continere),
23Thedomestic image is more common in the letters (I have found only two instances
of it in the dialogues: Const. 15.5 [the wise man has a domus through the doors of which
fortune does not enter] and Vit. 4.4 [against desiring maiora domesticis]), perhaps in connection with Seneca's voluntary seclusion. Throughout the writing of them, he rarely left
Rome and eventually took to his room: cf. Griffin 1992 (1976), 93 and 358, n. 1. The ideal,
however, pervades Seneca's work (cf. also, e.g., Prov. 6.5; Const. 5.4 and 6; Tranq. 14.2).
24Veyne 2003, 79.
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SILVIA MONTIGLIO
you have to avoid exposure to voices and sights that would jeopardize
your tranquility, and in order to avoid such exposure, you had better stay
put if you can. For any movement in the world-not just a disorderly
one (errare)-rekindles your past desires: "each time that you move forward, during that very movement something will happen that will renew
your desires" (ibid. 2: "quotiens processeris, in ipso transitu aliqua quae
renovent cupiditates tuas tibi occurrent"). Moreover, each time that you
travel abroad you risk being taken farther than expected. It would have
been better for Lucilius not to leave his native Naples for Sicily (Ep.
19.5-6): "If only it had befallen you to grow old within the bounds of
your birth! If only fortune had not sent you on the deep! Rapid fortune,
a province, its administration, and whatever such things promise carried
you far from the sight of a healthy life. Then more tasks will take you
in, and from those even more: what will be the result?" Lucilius' social
promotion has caused him to travel and perhaps will cause him to travel
again and again. He may be taken on an endless journey.
The journey of discovery also risks being endless. In the passage
from the De otio in which Seneca expresses his admiration for those
who travel for knowledge's sake, he also presents the journey that aims
to find "something hidden and remote" as a longissima peregrinatio, the
end of which cannot be fixed with certainty: aliquid abditum remotumque
is no settled destination. And there may be another goal beyond, another
journey.25
The movement of the one who is progressing towards wisdom is the
opposite: he keeps going,26but the destination of his journey will not push
him beyond itself because wisdom "knows the confines of things" (Ep.
94.16). Of course, wisdom is no easy goal; few, if any, will reach it, and even
they only "late" (cf., e.g., Ep. 94.50). The journey to it, however, no matter
how arduous, is not an open search but the pursuit of a well-defined ideal
by means of well-defined exercises. Sapientia itself will show the way to the
one who is progressing (ibid.). Its goal is communicable (Ep. 6.4) and can
be pointed at with a finger (Ep. 71.4). Far from resembling the unpredictable and dangerous journeys out in the world, the philosophical journey
is a tutum iter (Ep. 31.9) along one road, the opposite of the crossing of
25The word-order in the phrase navigant ... remotumque emphasizes the length of
the journey. As Williams 2003, 87, on 5.2, perceptively notes, the "separation of the verbs
with extended polysyllables intervening suggests the arduous length of such voyages, the
final positioning of remotum their ultimate goal."
26On the proficiens as "a perfect philosophical counterpart to the active traveller,"
cf. Lavery 1980, 153. A list of passages containing the image of "the road to wisdom" is in
Armisen-Marchetti 1989, 88-89.
563
deserts, mountains, and straits:"One is the road that leads to wisdom, and
straight indeed. You will not go astray. Move on with firm steps ... You
will learn from reason towards which objects and in which way to go;
you will not fall upon things" (Ep. 37.4).27 The imperative destination of
the journey (quo eundum est: Vit. 1.3) shapes its course. It is true that the
traveler needs a guide because the road to wisdom is unknown to most
(ibid.).28But once he finds it, nothing on it is governed by chance. Just as
wisdom will not fall upon you (in te non incidet: Ep. 76.6), the traveler to
it will not fall upon things (non incidet rebus) as it happens to any other
traveler, including the one through life (Ep. 107.2: "The condition of life is
the same as that ... of a journey: some things will be thrown at you, some
will fall upon you [incident]"). To quote Veyne again, "moral progress is
not an adventure: we know where we are going."29
In addition, because wisdom is at home, the Stoic traveler can only
be homebound. He will learn to behave like Odysseus, to love family and
fatherland even in the midst of storms (Ep. 88.7). He will acquire the
same centripetal determination. The journey of life inevitably exposes us
to many happenings that shift the intended directions of our movements.
What shall we do? We shall rely on philosophy as on a star (Ep. 95.46) or
a helmsman (Ep.16.3; cf. 108.37) that will guide us to our internal home,
where we will stay whatever direction we will be forced to take.30
The centripetal nature of the journey to wisdom demands a highly
concentrated mental effort, a relentless vigilance (intentio) that will allow
the soul to become one and the learnt arts and precepts to fuse in it (Ep.
84.11). As Pierre Hadot puts it, "philosophy was a unique act which had
to be practiced at each instant, with constantly renewed attention, which
means constant tension and consciousness, as well as vigilance exercised
at every moment."31Traveling is a threat to intentio because it prevents
the mind from taking hold of itself. While Seneca, probably also based
on his own experience, acknowledges that moving around and changing
On the directness of the road to virtue, cf. also Ira 2.13.1-2.
1980, 154.
29Veyne 2003, 78. A similar description of the journey to wisdom is in ArmisenMarchetti 1989, 271: [the navigation of the proficiens] "s'est fix6e une direction dont elle ne
se laisse pas distraire." Garbarino 1996, 264, n. 2, cites Armisen-Marchetti, but she herself
does not discuss how Seneca's conception of the journey to wisdom affects his assessment
of traveling in the world.
30Lavery 1980, 154, beautifully summarizes a paradox in the Stoic metaphor of life
as a journey: "If all of life is a journey, the Stoic is always on the road; but, at the same
time, he is at home everywhere. The Stoic is a resident pilgrim."
31Hadot 2002, 138. Cf. also Foucault 1986, 51; Nussbaum 1994, 328, 340.
27
28Cf. Lavery
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between the behavior of the body and that of the mind. He sees a continuity rather than a contrast between the power of our bodies to travel
far (they are not stuck in the city) and the power of our minds to travel
even farther. The movement of the body prepares the movement of the
mind. In the passage from the De otio on traveling and contemplation,
Seneca does not fully exploit the motif. But in this passage (Ben. 6.23.6),
he develops it with elan.
The conflict between Seneca's conception of the journey to wisdom
and his admiration for extensive traveling can be detected even within
the same text. A large part of letter 104 is devoted to the condemnation
of traveling. As we have seen, Seneca dissociates wisdom from traveling
by mockingly alluding to the tradition of the educational journey (Ep.
104.19). He repeats that going places does not heal our soul; it only
provides us with new sights that retain our attention for a while (14).
But then he lists, and at some length, the discoveries that one can make:
"Traveling will inform you of other nations, it will show you new shapes
of mountains, unknown stretches of plains and valleys watered by perennial rivers; it will put under your observation the peculiar nature of some
rivers, whether it is the Nile that swells with its summer growth or the
Tigris that is snatched away from the eyes and after running through
invisible places returns in all its magnitude, or the Meander, a subject of
exercise and divertissement (exercitatio et ludus) for all the poets, entwined
with its many turnings and often running its course close to its own bed
and again bending away from it before it flows into itself. But otherwise,
traveling will make you neither better nor healthier" (15).
A sudden shift of voice occurs in this passage, similar to the one that
Catharine Edwards (1997, 33) has observed for letter 63. In that letter,
after chastising Lucilius for lamenting the death of a friend immoderately,
Seneca confesses: "I, who write this, am the one who has immoderately
lamented my dearest friend Annaeus Serenus" (14). The epistolary Seneca, Edwards argues, has multiple voices. He himself admits that except
for the sage, "no one plays the role of one man, but we are all multiple"
(Ep. 120.22). In letter 104, Seneca's voice shifts from stigmatizing the
ineffectiveness of traveling to embarking on an alluring journey. He is
himself transported by the distracting activity that he censures. Even
while he is claiming that traveling is unhealthy for the mind, he travels
in his own mind and closely follows the contours of the places he sees in
his imaginary journey, and it is not by chance that his fancy is captured
especially by rivers, with their surges, twists and turns, and in particular
by the Meander, whose serpentine shape visibly challenges the Stoic's
plea for a life governed by centripetal effort and treading upon one
567
unbending road. The Meander carries the traveling Seneca along its
sinuous banks and drives him farther away from his previous focus by
conjuring up poetry as sheer entertainment, a playful diversion (ludus)
that replicates the playfulness of the river itself (cf. H. f. 683-84: vagus /
Maeander undis ludit), a "meandering of the mind" away from the straight
path to wisdom.40 After this enraptured detour the traveler shifts voice
again to resume the role of an enemy of traveling and curtly repeats his
initial message, as if startled out of a reverie.
This text also represents literary practice as a form of travel. The
Meander is both a locus communis of poetic composition and a thread
that guides Seneca's own writing. Likewise, the comparison of the journey
in life with a trip to Syracuse (in Marc. 17) allows Seneca to travel in his
mind to the famed city and to put the many spectacles he sees before
his addressee's eyes in the same order as they would appear on a real
journey from the mainland: first (primum) the island separated from the
continent by a narrow strait, then Charybdis, then the spring Arethusa,
then the harbor, where Seneca's mind disembarks to venture into the city.
Seneca's eagerness to show each sight as he travels on (videbis, "you will
see," recurs five times between 17.2 and 17.4) sets the narrative tempo.
Traveling, reading, and writing are indeed intertwined in Seneca's
prose. At the beginning of letter 2, Seneca treats the same motif as in letter
104: "traveling does not heal your soul." He praises Lucilius because he
does not go about or restlessly change places (non discurris nec locorum
mutationibus inquietaris), for a self-possessed mind is stable and dwells at
ease with itself. Lucilius' reading habits, however, apparently are marked
by the same unrest that Seneca reproaches to the unfocused traveler. He
reads many books and from every literary genre, a practice that Seneca
describes with an image of travel: vagum. Unstructured travel is both a
behavioral equivalent to and a metaphor for dispersive reading.41This
40The Stoics, Seneca included, do not condemn poetry, provided that it has moral
relevance: cf. Mazzoli 1970, chap. 3; Nussbaum 1993. In a passage from Plutarch's Aud. poet.
(15D), discussed by Nussbaum (131), the correct way to approach poetry is described by
an image of straightness: one should behave like Odysseus tied to the mast of reason and
not be borne off course by pleasure. The poetic exercises on the Meander would hardly
lend themselves to this kind of "straight reasoning." They are mostly similes in which the
river is compared to winding courses of things or actions: for instance, Silius Italicus (7.139)
compares it to Hannibal's multiple and undecided planning, and Ovid (Met. 8.162-68) to
the labyrinth. Seneca himself compares the Meander to the Lethe (in H. f 683-84, cited
above). On the playfulness of the Meander, cf. also Ovid Met. 2.246 (Quique recurvatis
ludit Maeandros in undis).
41Cf. also Ep. 45.1, which employs the same metaphors.
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opening line of the ode) and lets the reins fall from his failing hand; the
ship loses its divine voice; and Orpheus stops singing while his lyre sleeps
(348). Orpheus' exceptional silence conveys his equally exceptional failure to control the cosmos and to elicit universal sympathy by his art.54
Orpheus is uncharacteristically unable to charm the rocks just as the Argo
is unable to fix them. The paralysis of his voice signifies the threat that
looms over the cosmos as the Argo is crossing through the Symplegades.
The loss of harmony between man and nature initiated by this passage
soon silences Orpheus forever: his severed head has no voice as it runs
down the Hebrus (631), again, contrary to mainstream tradition."55
Subsequent to the Argo's passage, traveling becomes the "natural"
mode of existence in a shifting landscape. Any number of insignificant
boats now wander the deep (368: altum . . . pererrat). Their pervasive
movement (per-errat) completes the dissolution of the cosmos by erasing
all the dividing lines (369: terminus omnis motus). The world is permeable,
less resisting, everywhere open to travel (372: pervius). It removes and
displaces its own components (371-74). This loss of unity results in the
relaxation of the very bonds that keep things together (375-76: Oceanus /
vincula rerum laxet), that is, in Stoic terms, in the undoing of the cosmos.56
With Ocean losing his tension, the earth spreads everywhere, immense
(376-77). The final disappearance of the sea marks the end of the world
in Stoic theory.57
54In Seneca's drama, Orpheus symbolizes the power of art to create a perfect accord
between man and nature: cf. Segal 1989. Orpheus' silence at the passage of the Symplegades
is all the more remarkable because in the Orphic Argonautica (680-711), it is Orpheus'
music that fixes the rocks: cf. Nishimura-Jensen 2000, 307.
55Cf., e.g., Ovid Met. 11.51-53; Silius Italicus 11.478-80; Virgil Georg. 4.525-27. More
references in Bomer 1980, 239, 250; Nagy 1990, 210-12. The episode of the singing head,
to be sure, is directly related to Orpheus' love for Eurydice, which Seneca does not mention. Nonetheless, the singing head is also a symbol of the eternal power of poetry over
physical death, a power that the voyage of the Argo has defeated. Orpheus is the second
of the Argonauts to die (after the pilot, Tiphys), and he dies entirely (cf. the emphatic non
rediturus at 633).
56On the metaphor of cosmic bonding, cf. Lapidge 1980 (though Seneca is not
discussed).
57Cf. Biondi 1988 (1984), 139. The end of the world consists in the prevailing of
the dry element, fire. Cf., e.g., Cicero Nat. deor. 2.118. More sources in SVF, s.v. ekpyrosis.
Nonetheless, Seneca is unsystematic: flood and conflagration are alternative ways of ending the cosmos (cf., e.g., N. Q. 3.28.6-7). Medea as a whole privileges fire in the process of
cosmic destruction because Medea is the daughter of the Sun, that is, a creature of fire. But
even in this play Seneca takes pains to balance the two elements by connecting Medea to
the sea (362-63) and by imagining that the fire that her poisons cause is fed, rather than
quenched, by water (889-90), an unrealistic detail absent from Euripides' and Ovid's accounts of her crime.
573
The incompatibility between navigation and the ideal of self-contentment comes to the fore in the so-called Dawn Song of Hercules furens in
which sailing brings disturbanceinto the picture of tranquillaquies (160) that
characterizes rural existence: "the sailor, uncertain of his life, entrusts the
sails to the winds, which fill their loose folds with their breath" (152-54). It
is true that sailing is not condemned in these lines. Far from putting an end
to pristine innocence and tranquility, as in the Argo ode, it counts among
the peaceful and carefree activities of country-life as opposed to the anxious pursuits of city-dwellers. Seneca has been inspired to mention sailing
by his model, the parodos of Euripides' Phaethon,58 which lists navigation
among the activities that the new day awakens along with tending cattle
and hunting. Seneca expands on Euripides: besides building a contrast
between peaceful and worrisome occupations, he develops the description
of the pastoral setting and adds fishing. But, curiously, while he expands on
Euripides he reduces the mention of sailing to less than three lines from the
entire strophe that it occupies in his model (Diggle 1970, 79-86).59 Seneca
minimizes the presence of sailing in his depiction of rural existence, and,
possibly, he even conflates or replaces this activity with fishing (which he
describes in much more detail).60 At the same time, his portrayal of the
sailor introduces a strong element of uncertainty suitable to prefiguring the
disruption that Hercules--whom this play casts as impatient of quiet-will
bring into the cosmos: the sailor is dubius vitae.61There is no equivalent of
dubius vitae in Euripides. Seneca, while minimizing the presence of sailing,
adds this anxious note. Ultimately, then, the function of traveling in this ode
matches its condemnation in Medea: it foreshadows cosmic upheaval.
Seneca's treatment of the Argonauts' expedition, however, is not
unambiguously negative. Columbus' son saw the reference to Ultima
Thule at the end as a prophecy of his father's discovery of the New
World.62 Several modern readers have followed in his footsteps: Seneca,
58Thissource was already identified by Wilamowitz: cf. Diggle 1970, 96-97, followed
by Rose 1985, 107, and by Billerbeck 1999, 242-44.
59Cf. Billerbeck 1999, 254 (on 152-58).
60Rose 1985, 111, maintains that the sailor and the fisherman are the same person,
based on the hic (rather than ille) at 154. But hic can be used to mark a transition. Moreover,
the fisherman is leaning from rocks on the shore (153-54); he is not at sea like the sailor.
The association of the two figures is however undeniable. As Billerbeck has pointed out
(1999, 254, at 152-58), the passage is reminiscent of Ovid Met. 13.920-23, a description of
various activities related to fishing.
61Cf.Rose 1985, 112. On Hercules' obsessive restlessness, cf. Galinsky 1972, chap. 8.
Nonetheless, the character is not at odds with the Stoic picture of the hero: cf. Billerbeck
1999, 29.
62Cf.Costa 1980 (1973), 379. Cf. also Motto and Clark 1993, 22.
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they argue, is envisioning not the end of the world but its expansion, not
the destruction of order but the prospect of new discoveries. Far from
watching a catastrophe, he is celebrating the unlimited freedom of human
power and the taming of nature.63
A progressive reading of the Argo ode is not sustainable. Both context and vocabulary leave no doubt that Seneca is retracing the inevitable
course towards the destruction of our cosmic order. But an undercurrent of
admiration for world discoveries can be detected in the text. A comparison
with Horace's treatment of the nefas Argonauticum in Carmina 1.3, which
Seneca doubtlessly had in mind,64highlights the latter's more ambivalent
interpretation of the theme. While Horace extends his condemnation of
seafaring to other manifestations of human inventiveness and ends his
ode with the gloomy vision of a giant-like attack on the sky,65 Seneca
ends his own with the captivating image of Ultima Thule. Charles Segal
(1989, 107) rightly perceives a dissonance between the beginning of the
song, the condemnation of Tiphys' daring, and its end, in which he even
reads "the optimism of limitless exploration." Martha Nussbaum (1994,
464-75) analyzes the dissonance in greater detail. It is curious, she notes,
that in an ode allegedly meant to denounce the voyage of the Argo and
the consequent spread of navigation, and to celebrate our forefathers
for living an innocent life at home, Seneca finds little inspiration to sing
about the latter. He even chooses a pejorative word, "lazy" (piger, 331),
to "praise" it. By contrast, the final strophe has an excited, vibrant pace.
Seneca seems to be carried away by the loathed prospect of discoveries
and removal of boundaries. Maria Grazia Bajoni (1996) likewise remarks
that the initial recognition of the nefas Argonauticum is not followed
by a total condemnation of it and takes the phrase laxare vincula (376)
positively to refer to the disclosure of a boundless universe. While this
reading does not fit the Stoic conception of the universe (there is no
boundless universe in Stoic thought), it captures the ode's ambivalence:
as we read about the revelation of new worlds, we are prone to forget
63Thestrongest advocates for a progressive reading of the ode are Lawall 1979, who
regards it as an expression of "happy optimism" (420 and passim) and Bajoni 1996, who
sees in its end the granting of unconditional freedom to human action (75). Morgante 1974,
21, also speaks of Seneca's "unshaken faith in future progress."
64The parallels between the two poems are numerous and specific: both identify
cosmic order with a separation of the elements (cf. in Horace, abscidit [21], Oceano dissociabili [22], non tangenda [24], semoti ... leti [32-33]; cf. also perrupit [36, of Hercules],
and audax [25, 27]). For more parallels, cf. Costa 1980 (1973).
65 Cf. Nisbet and Hubbard 1970, 40-45. Nisbet and Hubbard
provide a useful list of
Greek and Latin poems developing the topical theme of the folly of navigation.
575
that in Stoic terms the novi orbes can only exist after the disappearance
of this one, and instead our imagination is drawn to see new worlds
opening up within our own. We are left with the exalted vision of future
discoveries, beyond Ultima Thule.
One can read a specific reference to Roman imperialism into
this ode. As Cedric Littlewood argues (2004, 167-68), at the end "the
boundaries of the world are magnified to a Roman imperial scale." He
contrasts Seneca's prophecy of an unbounded world with Virgil's vision of
a bounded empire (Aeneid 1.287: imperium Oceano, famam qui terminet
astris) and concludes that the ode celebrates "the flawed sublimity of an
empire which refuses to observe Virgilian and Augustan boundaries."
Seneca's ambivalence vis-a-vis imperialistic expansion affects the
of
a long passage in the Consolatio ad Helviam (6.6-7.8) that juxlogic
taposes opposite representations of mobility and migration. Seneca has a
compelling argument against the fear of exile: "I find people who say that
in our spirit there is a natural impulse to change places and to transfer
residence. For man is endowed with a mind which is mobile and restless; it never stays within limits but spreads itself and sends its thoughts
everywhere, to known and unknown places, wandering, impatient of quiet
and most happy with novelty" (6.6). The theme of the mind's unlimited
journeying provides Seneca with a justification for our inborn need to
change places (though Seneca is not speaking in his own voice but reporting what others say: invenio qui dicant). Nevertheless, the recognition of
our soul's mobile disposition is immediately illustrated, not by a celebration of traveling but by a gloomy and vertiginous account of migratory
movements. Seneca's censure surfaces from a sweeping phrase: "through
inaccessible, unknown places, human inconstancy has tossed itself" (per
invia, per incognita versavit se humana levitas) (7.2).66 A list of displacements follows: "They have dragged sons, wives, and parents heavy with
old age. Some, driven about in long wandering, have not chosen a place
with judgment but occupied the closest one out of exhaustion; others
have established their rights in someone else's land with weapons; some
people, while seeking unknown places, have been swallowed by the sea,
some have settled down where they were left by a lack of means. And
not all have had the same reason for leaving their homeland and seeking another one: some have escaped the destruction of their land by the
enemy's forces and, deprived of their goods, have been thrust into the
66For a parallel, cf. Ep. 13.16 ("quam foeda sit hominum levitas cotidie nova vitae
fundamenta ponentium"). In this letter also, one manifestation of levitas is the preparation
for travels even in old age.
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goods of others; some have been expelled by civil war; others have left
to ease the pressure of overpopulation; others have been thrown out by
a plague or by repeated earthquakes or by some unbearable defect of a
barren soil; yet others have been tempted by the fame of a fertile land,
too highly praised." Our soul's intolerance of quiet suggests to Seneca
this dismal assessment of our movements in the world, marked by impiety (in the dragging of defenseless family members), violation (in the
appropriation of others' lands), destruction. The narrative's last word,
corrupit, spells out its mood.
The following development, however, culminates in an unqualified
celebration of the Roman empire. Seneca lists Antenor, Evander, and
Diomedes as examples of fugitives who founded new settlements, and he
remarks: "The Roman empire itself looks back to an exile as its founder,
a fugitive whose fatherland had been captured. With a few survivors, he
was seeking faraway lands, driven to Italy by necessity and fear of the
enemy. But then how many colonies these people have sent out to every
province! Wherever the Romans conquer, they dwell. They were willing to
put their names down for this change of place, and even old men, leaving
their altars, followed the settlers across the sea" (7.7). This appraisal of
the origin of Roman power reverses the negative judgment on migrations
that precedes it. The initial displacement, exile, is turned into the motor
(if not the precondition) for imperial expansion. Passivity and helplessness give way to a collective initiative in which even old men willingly
participate, in sharp contrast with the previous account of migrations in
which "parents heavy with old age" were dragged along.67 Seneca thus
suggests that the Roman empire, far from being hybristic, originates in
the predicament of exile and is the legitimate outgrowth of it.
Seneca's positive assessment of Roman imperialism is borne out by
his undisguised admiration for several Roman conquests and conquerors.
In the Consolatio ad Polybium, he wishes that Claudius may "open up
Britain" (13.2) and commends Tiberius' brother Drusus for his expedition
into the heart of Germany and for submitting "those most savage peoples"
to Roman rule (15.5). He evokes Drusus' conquest also in the Consolatio
ad Marciam (3.1) and with no polemical intent. Drusus "penetrated deeply
into Germany and fixed Roman standards where it was hardly known that
there were Romans at all." Caesar, too, was "wandering all over Britain
67 In the phrase "They were willing to put their names down for this change of place,
and even old men, leaving their altars, followed the settlers across the sea," "old men"
(singular in the Latin) occupies the emphatic final position.
577
and could not even contain his happiness within the ocean" (ibid. 14.3).
Why does Seneca approve of these expansionistic missions?
His expressions of sympathy for Claudius' project in the Consolatio ad Polybium (and, possibly, his praise of Drusus in the Consolatio
ad Marciam) sound like flattery.68Nonetheless, his overall treatment of
expansionistic traveling shows that political opportunism cannot be the
main motive behind his admiration for those expeditions. As we have
seen, his flattering account of Nero's mission to the sources of the Nile
in the Naturales Quaestiones emphasizes only its intellectual goal: Nero
is amantissimus veritatis. Seneca knows how to please an emperor for
his commitment to explorations while at the same time ignoring his
imperialistic aims.
Seneca's treatment of this particular mission could rather suggest
that he saw a strong interconnection between conquests and knowledge.
Even in the Argo ode from Medea, the condemnation of greedy traveling
is coupled with the vision of worlds beyond. Seneca seems to be grappling
with the question: "is it possible to advance our knowledge of the world
without advancing our claims over it?" He holds scientific progress, in
the sense of an ever increasing knowledge of nature's mysteries, as the
only good kind of progress, provided that no manipulation of nature
follows.69 But he also sees how difficult it is to protect that desirable
and never-ending acquisition of knowledge from utilitarian motives and
applications.
68The Consolatio ad Marciam contains the most appreciative picture of Tiberius,
perhaps in line with. Caligula's reversed tolerance towards the senate and his parallel
rehabilitation of the former emperor in 39: cf. Griffin 1992 (1976), 23. In this climate, a
praise of Tiberius' brother could please Caligula. On the other hand, Seneca's admiration
for Caesar's conquests may have been sincere and durable. Rudich 1997, 56-57, argues
that Seneca is not utterly unsympathetic to Caesar. Griffin (184) notes that in Ep. 94.65,
Caesar's negative ambition is illustrated only by the civil wars, which may indicate that
Seneca's position vis-a-vis the conquests remained positive. This is not certain, however,
because the appreciative statements all come from the Consolationes. Indeed, in the passage from the Naturales Quaestiones that condemns those who make use of the winds to
seek enemies across the sea, the main target could be Caesar for his expedition to Britain
(cf. Canfora 2000, 176-77), the same expedition mentioned in a positive light in the Consolatio ad Marciam.
69Cf., e.g., N. Q. 7.25.5: "veniet tempus quo posteri nostri tam aperta nescisse mirentur." On the relationship between science and ethics in the Naturales Quaestiones, cf.
De Vivo 1992; Parroni 2000. On progress in Seneca, cf. Morgante 1974, 19-33, with further
bibliography; De Vivo 1992, passim, esp. 88-89; Motto and Clark 1993, 21-39; Fedeli 2000.
Fedeli (44) maintains that Seneca does not systematically condemn human intervention
on nature. Although Marc. 18 suggests as much, the passage is isolated and its content
very general.
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579
CONCLUSIONS
We can now go back to Garbarino's and Veyne's interpretations. We shall
agree that Seneca's sage, and aspiring sage, will only feel compelled to
travel in order to serve his country (as Hercules also did, his country being
the entire world). Otherwise, traveling, even for the sake of knowledge, is
not a way towards wisdom and can even prevent its acquisition.73Seneca,
to be sure, exploits travel for moral reflection, but he puts any other lifeexperience (such as renting an apartment above noisy baths) to the same
use.74 His focus on the inner self clashes with the endorsement of travel as
a means of acquiring knowledge of the world because such knowledge is
(at best) inessential for self-improvement. But at the same time, on several
occasions Seneca shows admiration for exploratory traveling, so much
so that he even approves of imperialistic missions. More generally, he is
inconsistent in his assessment of human mobility: he stigmatizes restlessness, yet he praises our inborn urge to move about by connecting it with
the power of our mind to travel across the cosmos. In letter 79, the ascent
of a fabled mountain merges with the very vision of wisdom.
Griffin 1992 (1976), 223.
Pagin 1999, esp. 315. Further bibliography on the subject can be found in this
article. Cf. also Littlewood's reading of the end of the Argo ode in Medea (167-68).
73Mazzoli 1989, 1832, summarizing Ep. 28, says that in that text traveling neither
harms nor favors virtue. I think that this is true for the hypothetical sage (because virtue
can neither be lost nor increased) but not for the one making progress, whom traveling
distracts from his "centripetal journey."
74 Cf. Bellincioni 1978,114. On Seneca's habit of looking for morally profitable things
wherever he is, cf. Ep. 55.3.
71
72 Cf.
SILVIA MONTIGLIO
580
1997, 52.
581
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for more inclusiveness than this schematic distinction between erudition and wisdom could suggest.As GiancarloMazzoli has pointed out,
he praises the study of beneficial subjects even if it does not have an
immediate practicaleffect: "pursuingsalutarystudies is laudable,even
if they do not have practicalresults"(studiorumsalutariumetiamcitra
effectumlaudandatractatioest, Vit.20.1).80Seneca criticizesPosidonius
in letters 88 and 90, but at the end of letter 78, largely devoted to the
healingpower of study againstbad health,he endorsesPosidonius'claim
that "one day of an educatedman lasts longer than the longest life of the
ignorant"("unus dies hominum eruditorumplus patet quam imperitis
longissimaaetas":Ep. 78.28-29).
However, resortingto a doctrinaldebate is perhaps not the most
satisfactory way to explain Seneca's contradictory pronouncements
about travel because Seneca does not always speak as a Stoic. Catharine Edwards'concept of Seneca'spolyphonicself may be more helpful.
Seneca is playing different roles when he says different things about
travel, and none of those roles is more authoritativeor authenticthan
another.The voice that praises travel belongs to the Seneca involved in
worldly projects and particularlyfond of naturalwonders,whereas the
one whichstigmatizesthe activitybelongsto the inward-lookingsearcher
for happiness.This does not mean that there is no conflict,whichwould
be tantamountto privilegingone voice over the others as more truthful.81Rather,Seneca'smanifoldviews of travel are one expressionof his
tormentedversatility.82
UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN
e-mail: smontigl@wisc.edu
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