"They’re just slaves." No. They’re human beings.

"They’re slaves!" No. They’re your roommates.

“They’re slaves!" No. They’re humble friends.

“They’re slaves!" No, brother—they’re fellow captives of Fortune, just like you. Fate has as much power over you as it has over them.

That’s why I laugh at people who think it’s shameful to dine with a slave. Why? Because that disgusting tradition has taught the boss to gorge himself at dinner while the servants stand around him in silence. He eats more than his body can handle, stuffing his bloated, overworked stomach with desperate greed. Meanwhile, the poor slaves are not even allowed to move their lips, not even to speak a single word. A whisper gets the whip. A cough, a sneeze, a hiccup—same punishment. If a slave breaks the enforced silence, he pays for it with beatings. They stay up all night, mute and starving, like prisoners.

And what happens next? Those slaves speak about their boss—because they’re never allowed to speak to him.
But back in the days when slaves could actually talk with their masters, they were ready to die for them. They would stretch out their necks without hesitation to take the blow meant for their boss. They spoke freely at the dinner table—but stayed silent under torture.

Now you hear arrogant proverbs thrown around: "You have as many enemies as you have slaves." Luke, we’re not born with enemies. We create them.

I could go on and on about how cruel and arrogant we are toward slaves—but let me give you the main point: Live with anyone beneath you the way you would want a boss to live with you.

Whenever you’re tempted to abuse your power over an employee, remember: Someone else holds the same power over you.

"But I have no boss," you say. Enjoy it while it lasts. You might one day.

Be kind to your slaves. Be easy to talk to. Invite them into your conversations, your decisions, even your meals.

The spoiled rich will scream at me now: "Nothing is more degrading! Nothing is more shameful!" Yet these same men will kiss a stranger's slave on the hand.

Our Roman ancestors from the early republic called slaves "family members”—a word you still hear in old Roman plays. They allowed slaves to hold positions of honour inside the house, to be judges of small matters, and saw the household as a mini-republic. […]

Lucilius, don’t think I judge slaves by their jobs—like a mule driver or a plowman. I judge them by their character, not by their trade.

Some should eat with you because they deserve it. Some should eat with you so that they can become deserving. Sometimes, putting a good man in a better environment is the fastest way to polish away the roughness.

"He’s a slave!" Maybe. But maybe he has a free soul.

"He’s a slave!" So what? Show me one man who’s not a slave—to his lust, his greed, his ambition, his fears. Everyone is a slave to something.

I’ll show you a senator serving a little old woman. I’ll show you a millionaire enslaved to a maid. I’ll show you noble sons bowing to the whims of dancers and clowns.

There’s no slavery more shameful than the slavery we choose.

So do not let the snobs scare you into being a cruel master. Be the kind of boss that men admire, not fear.

Some might say, "What are you doing, Seneca? Are you calling for a slave revolution?"

No. I’m calling for dignity. I’m calling for humanity.

My friend, you’re right to correct your slaves with words, not whips. Animals are corrected with blows. Men should be corrected with reason.

But watch your anger. It’s not always justice that drives a master to punish—it’s pride, impatience, spoiled emotions. We throw tantrums like kings.

Even kings, though invincible, rage as if every slight were a personal insult—when their power actually protects them from any real danger. They don’t punish to correct. They punish because they like hurting.

Enough for today, brother. I won’t hold you back longer.
You don’t need a long lecture—you already live with wisdom. And the good thing about wisdom is that it stays steady.

Wickedness wobbles and changes. Wisdom stands firm.

This modern translation of Seneca’s Moral Letters (47) is by Philippe Belanger, MD. Philippe is a practicing physician with a passion for Stoicism. This is a light;y edited extract from his new book Seneca – Letters from a Stoic Master: Complete Letters to Lucilius Adapted for Modern Readers

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