Besides, we forget who we are, we utter words that are halting and poorly enunciated, the glance is unsteady, the step falters, the head is dizzy, the very ceiling moves about as if a cyclone were whirling the whole house, and the stomach suffers torture when the wine generates gas and causes our very bowels to swell.
However, at the time, these troubles can be endured, so long as the man retains his natural strength; but what can he do when sleep impairs his powers, and when that which was drunkenness becomes indigestion?
Think of the calamities caused by drunkenness in a nation! This evil has betrayed to their enemies the most spirited and warlike races; this evil has made breaches in walls defended by the stubborn warfare of many years; this evil has forced under alien sway peoples who were utterly unyielding and defiant of the yoke; this evil has conquered by the wine cup those who in the field were invincible.
Alexander, whom I have just mentioned, passed through his many marches, his many battles, his many winter campaigns (through which he worked his way by overcoming disadvantages of time or place), the many rivers which flowed from unknown sources, and the many seas, all in safety; it was intemperance in drinking that laid him low, and the famous death-dealing bowl of Hercules.
What glory is there in carrying much liquor? When you have won the prize, and the other banqueters, sprawling asleep or vomiting, have declined your challenge to still other toasts; when you are the last survivor of the revels; when you have vanquished every one by your magnificent show of prowess and there is no man who has proved himself of so great capacity as you—you are vanquished by the cask.
However, at the time, these troubles can be endured, so long as the man retains his natural strength; but what can he do when sleep impairs his powers, and when that which was drunkenness becomes indigestion?
Think of the calamities caused by drunkenness in a nation! This evil has betrayed to their enemies the most spirited and warlike races; this evil has made breaches in walls defended by the stubborn warfare of many years; this evil has forced under alien sway peoples who were utterly unyielding and defiant of the yoke; this evil has conquered by the wine cup those who in the field were invincible.
Alexander, whom I have just mentioned, passed through his many marches, his many battles, his many winter campaigns (through which he worked his way by overcoming disadvantages of time or place), the many rivers which flowed from unknown sources, and the many seas, all in safety; it was intemperance in drinking that laid him low, and the famous death-dealing bowl of Hercules.
What glory is there in carrying much liquor? When you have won the prize, and the other banqueters, sprawling asleep or vomiting, have declined your challenge to still other toasts; when you are the last survivor of the revels; when you have vanquished every one by your magnificent show of prowess and there is no man who has proved himself of so great capacity as you—you are vanquished by the cask.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 83
I suspect that this sort of talk comes across as bitter and self-righteous preaching to those who have never struggled with an addiction, and only those who have come back from the edge can appreciate its wisdom.
It reminds of the old Twelve-Step saying, that religion is for the folks who are afraid of going to hell, and spirituality is for the folks who have already been there. We are quick to mock and to dismiss, until that one day, when we must cling to the lesson for dear life.
I should add a third category here, of those who know full well that they have a problem, but they aren’t prepared to admit it to others, let alone to themselves. They don’t just roll their eyes, they become outraged, and they cast blame at everyone and everything else.
I think of the many times I interpreted some innocent remark as an unforgivable critique of my character, merely because I was already so busy making cheap excuses for myself.
It won’t do to brush aside all the drunks and the junkies into some corner, well out of sight, since so very many of us, far more than anyone is willing to accept, are bound by destructive habits of dependence, a longing for those diversions that help us to avoid facing our bare essence.
Some fall into the drink or the drugs, while others turn to the pursuit of fame, or power, or sex, and we then find ourselves enslaved by those very things that we naively believed could set us free.
This is why I can now be grateful for a good rant about the dangers of the booze, or any sort of disordered attachment, for I regularly need to recall why my true happiness can only lie within.
There is the dramatic appeal of a raucous bender, or the seductive allure of a pretty face, or the bloated vanity of basking in attention, and yet these impressions are instantly scattered to the winds, if I can just be bothered to focus on what is genuinely true, good, and beautiful.
Describe the reality instead of being led about by the appearance. What became of me that last time I downed a fifth? How did it end when I tried to manipulate her affections? Did people notice me for doing something great, or was it actually for making an ass of myself?
Alexander performed some remarkable deeds, which makes it all the more pathetic that he managed to throw his life away on account of his unbridled passions. Though historians will debate endlessly about the details of his death, Seneca understood quite well why a life of debauchery is doomed to end poorly. If you insist that he was poisoned, consider how those who keep company with the wicked will find themselves at the mercy of the wicked.
Whether they drink from a bottle or gaze adoringly into a mirror, the boasting is soon replaced by weeping. Over here are the drunks in the gutter, and over there are the Caesars and the Napoleons, and all of them are in the clutches of their compulsions.
I suspect that this sort of talk comes across as bitter and self-righteous preaching to those who have never struggled with an addiction, and only those who have come back from the edge can appreciate its wisdom.
It reminds of the old Twelve-Step saying, that religion is for the folks who are afraid of going to hell, and spirituality is for the folks who have already been there. We are quick to mock and to dismiss, until that one day, when we must cling to the lesson for dear life.
I should add a third category here, of those who know full well that they have a problem, but they aren’t prepared to admit it to others, let alone to themselves. They don’t just roll their eyes, they become outraged, and they cast blame at everyone and everything else.
I think of the many times I interpreted some innocent remark as an unforgivable critique of my character, merely because I was already so busy making cheap excuses for myself.
It won’t do to brush aside all the drunks and the junkies into some corner, well out of sight, since so very many of us, far more than anyone is willing to accept, are bound by destructive habits of dependence, a longing for those diversions that help us to avoid facing our bare essence.
Some fall into the drink or the drugs, while others turn to the pursuit of fame, or power, or sex, and we then find ourselves enslaved by those very things that we naively believed could set us free.
This is why I can now be grateful for a good rant about the dangers of the booze, or any sort of disordered attachment, for I regularly need to recall why my true happiness can only lie within.
There is the dramatic appeal of a raucous bender, or the seductive allure of a pretty face, or the bloated vanity of basking in attention, and yet these impressions are instantly scattered to the winds, if I can just be bothered to focus on what is genuinely true, good, and beautiful.
Describe the reality instead of being led about by the appearance. What became of me that last time I downed a fifth? How did it end when I tried to manipulate her affections? Did people notice me for doing something great, or was it actually for making an ass of myself?
Alexander performed some remarkable deeds, which makes it all the more pathetic that he managed to throw his life away on account of his unbridled passions. Though historians will debate endlessly about the details of his death, Seneca understood quite well why a life of debauchery is doomed to end poorly. If you insist that he was poisoned, consider how those who keep company with the wicked will find themselves at the mercy of the wicked.
Whether they drink from a bottle or gaze adoringly into a mirror, the boasting is soon replaced by weeping. Over here are the drunks in the gutter, and over there are the Caesars and the Napoleons, and all of them are in the clutches of their compulsions.
—Reflection written in 12/2013
IMAGE: Karl von Piloty, Dying Alexander the Great Bids Farewell to His Army (c. 1886)
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