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and the defect. He was thoroughly unsystematic and discontinuous. He indulges in no speculation to estab- lish or to fortify the theory. He employs the current tenets for the practical conduct of life. He had a broader comprehension than Zeno or Chrysippus. He was latitudinarian in his sentiments. He applauds the character, commends the ethical doctrines, and cites the maxims of Epicurus. He inclines to the large intelli- gence of the Peripatetics, and emulates the spiritual as- pirations of the Academics. Philosophy, in his concep- tion, was no abstract and recondite study, of service only in the closet : it was the rule of life in the midst of distractions and temptations, of uncertainties and dangers — a refuge for the troubled mind, a shelter from suspicion and envy, a defence against tyrainiy, and the balm of a serene conscience {l)e Beai. fit. xv).
Philosophy has been, since the Christian revelation, so distinct from religion, or so completely identified with it, that it is not easy to appreciate its character, its charms, and its value in those ages when it was the sole substitute for revealed truth — when from its dark, intricate, and insoluble problems could alone be expect- ed vague hopes and vaguer aspirations, where Christian- ity affords absolute assurance to all. By the cultivated and inquiring pagan, philosophy was pursued as the guide of life, the moderator of prosperity, the solace in adversity, the oracular response to the eager questions which the earnest heart and intelligent mind are ever asking about here and hereafter — about the world, its origin, and its governance ; about man, his duties and his destinies; about all that lies beyond the dark veil of death and the darker veil of birth. This is fully manifested in Seneca's invitation to Paulinus to seek "the shady spaces of divine philosophy" (i)e B7-ev, Vita, xix, 1, 2).
PhilosopliN' offered many inducements to its pursuit or its pretence under the early empire. It was a disci- pline of mind and heart to those of gentle disposition and refined tastes whose easy circumstances in life re- lieved them from the necessity of public or professional vocations. Hence philosophy grew into a fashion, and the fashion, like all fashions, moral or religious, was of- ten perverted into a cloak or a pretence.
Under the pressure of despotic rule, slight differences become symbols of political faith. At Rome, Stoicism associated itself with regrets for the republic, with a mild, inert aversion to the empire, or with a more de- cided antipathy to the emperor. Lord of himself, the Stoic asserted his independence of all control of man by governments or by fortune. The haughty pretension afforded little offence to the constituted powers. The sole sovereignty of the Stoic had its single throne with- in his own bosom. There he, too, was emperor; he cared for naught beyond. He had thus the credit of independence, without assuming the complexion of a conspirator or a revolutionary'. Every age illustrates the facility with which prevalent principles shrivel up into empty forms. Loud professions may disguise hol- low sentiments. Sentiments accordant with the profes- sions may be sincerely entertained, and yet produce nei- ther earnestness of feeling nor constancy of action. Men will more readilv die for their avowed faith than live for it. Genuine martyrs may be found wlio would scarce- ly practice what I hey die for. Their faith is in their profession — '•Cum verba eruperunt, adfectus ad consue- tudinem relabuntur" (Seuec. IM Brec. Vit. vi, 3). Of such was Seneca. Augustine's comment on his boast of independence may be applied to most of his virtues: "Adfuit scribcnti, viventi defuit" {De Civ, Dei, vi, x). To this danger he was peculiarly exposed. He was courtly in maimers and courtly in associations, amiable anil impressible in disposition, serene and averse to vio- lent emotions; of affectionate and placid temi)erament, rather than of deep and solid nature; vain rather than ambitious, and ever mindful of his own interest. His birth, his home intluences, his education, his vocation, ^is career, his experience in either fortune, led him to
deem that best which was most plausible or most se- cure. He was the son of a great rhetorician, brought up in the schools of the rhetoricians, destined for a rhetorician, winning early profit, distinction, and pro- motion by rhetorical disjilays. Rhetoric was the pas- sion of the time; he was not constituted to despise it. He declared, "Oratio sollicita philosophum non decet" {Ep. XYI, v, 4) ; yet his expression was always curious and surprising. He has given us the maxim, " Qualis vir, talis oratio." It may be justly inverted, Qualis oratio, talis vir.
All that remains of Seneca shows that he was noth- ing if not rhetorical. The tartness of expression, the compression of phrase, the fertility of fancy, the paradox of thought, were ever uppermost in his mind. These things did not make him false, but unreal. They did not make him insincere, but superficial. His predilec- tions were good, but evanescent in action. He had the fragility of the man who looks to form and fashion, not to substance. This may explain the contradictifin be- tween the ethical theory and the personal morality of Seneca. An instructive parallel, on a lower plane and with narrower exorbitancies, is furnished by the con- trast between the character and the Night Thoughts of Edward Young.