Mark Antony was a great man, a man of distinguished ability; but what ruined him and drove him into foreign habits and un-Roman vices, if it was not drunkenness and—no less potent than wine—love of Cleopatra?
This it was that made him an enemy of the state; this it was that rendered him no match for his enemies; this it was that made him cruel, when as he sat at table the heads of the leaders of the state were brought in; when amid the most elaborate feasts and royal luxury he would identify the faces and hands of men whom he had proscribed; when, though heavy with wine, he yet thirsted for blood.
It was intolerable that he was getting drunk while he did such things; how much more intolerable that he did these things while actually drunk!
Cruelty usually follows wine-bibbing; for a man’s soundness of mind is corrupted and made savage. Just as a lingering illness makes men querulous and irritable and drives them wild at the least crossing of their desires, so continued bouts of drunkenness bestialize the soul.
For when people are often beside themselves, the habit of madness lasts on, and the vices which liquor generated retain their power even when the liquor is gone.
This it was that made him an enemy of the state; this it was that rendered him no match for his enemies; this it was that made him cruel, when as he sat at table the heads of the leaders of the state were brought in; when amid the most elaborate feasts and royal luxury he would identify the faces and hands of men whom he had proscribed; when, though heavy with wine, he yet thirsted for blood.
It was intolerable that he was getting drunk while he did such things; how much more intolerable that he did these things while actually drunk!
Cruelty usually follows wine-bibbing; for a man’s soundness of mind is corrupted and made savage. Just as a lingering illness makes men querulous and irritable and drives them wild at the least crossing of their desires, so continued bouts of drunkenness bestialize the soul.
For when people are often beside themselves, the habit of madness lasts on, and the vices which liquor generated retain their power even when the liquor is gone.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 83
Instead of just saying that drunkenness will keep others from trusting us with their secrets, it might be far better to say that drunkenness will keep us from respecting our own dignity. Sometimes the addict may live in a grand house, surrounded by beautiful women, and flattered by a crowd of retainers, but his soul is rotting from the inside, and no extravagant diversions can ever save him from destroying himself.
I have long been baffled by the reverence offered to so many of the supposedly “great men” in history, when what I really saw was a series of object lessons about the dangers of avarice and pride. To Alexander, Caesar, and Napoleon I can also add the example of Mark Antony. While I have no doubt that they possessed great abilities, I can’t overlook how they were consumed by their desires, always longing for more and more. Even though I have never been a big fish, such urges sound oddly familiar.
Again, it was not his fixations on drink and sex that made Mark Antony a deeply flawed man, but rather that these weaknesses reflected a deeper confusion in his thinking, and they only served to further amplify his vices. I have many neighbors who are perfectly well-mannered during the day, and yet they start brawling after a line of shots at the pub. Despite my shy temperament, I once threw an ashtray at the bartender after binging on St. Patrick’s Day, for reasons I still do not entirely understand.
Intoxication feeds our resentments, and even when we are once again sober, those habits of bitterness and blame will continue to distort our judgments. In my own case, I’m not sure if I’m worse while blitzed or worse on the next day, because the shame merely compounds the despair and the rage. Those who have helped me to tame my demons will warn me about becoming a “dry drunk”, the fellow who hasn’t picked up in ages, but remains tied up in his “stinking thinking”.
Mark Antony and Cleopatra make me think of a couple from the old watering hole, who always started the night gazing into each other’s eyes, and always ended the night damning each other to hell. Nothing was ever good enough for them, because they had forgotten who they were meant to be.
Instead of just saying that drunkenness will keep others from trusting us with their secrets, it might be far better to say that drunkenness will keep us from respecting our own dignity. Sometimes the addict may live in a grand house, surrounded by beautiful women, and flattered by a crowd of retainers, but his soul is rotting from the inside, and no extravagant diversions can ever save him from destroying himself.
I have long been baffled by the reverence offered to so many of the supposedly “great men” in history, when what I really saw was a series of object lessons about the dangers of avarice and pride. To Alexander, Caesar, and Napoleon I can also add the example of Mark Antony. While I have no doubt that they possessed great abilities, I can’t overlook how they were consumed by their desires, always longing for more and more. Even though I have never been a big fish, such urges sound oddly familiar.
Again, it was not his fixations on drink and sex that made Mark Antony a deeply flawed man, but rather that these weaknesses reflected a deeper confusion in his thinking, and they only served to further amplify his vices. I have many neighbors who are perfectly well-mannered during the day, and yet they start brawling after a line of shots at the pub. Despite my shy temperament, I once threw an ashtray at the bartender after binging on St. Patrick’s Day, for reasons I still do not entirely understand.
Intoxication feeds our resentments, and even when we are once again sober, those habits of bitterness and blame will continue to distort our judgments. In my own case, I’m not sure if I’m worse while blitzed or worse on the next day, because the shame merely compounds the despair and the rage. Those who have helped me to tame my demons will warn me about becoming a “dry drunk”, the fellow who hasn’t picked up in ages, but remains tied up in his “stinking thinking”.
Mark Antony and Cleopatra make me think of a couple from the old watering hole, who always started the night gazing into each other’s eyes, and always ended the night damning each other to hell. Nothing was ever good enough for them, because they had forgotten who they were meant to be.
—Reflection written in 12/2013
IMAGE: Jacob Jordaens, Cleopatra's Feast (1653)
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