Seneca, Moral Letters 83.4

What is it, then, you ask, to which I have been giving my attention? I will tell you. A thought sticks in my mind, left over from yesterday—namely, what men of the greatest sagacity have meant when they have offered the most trifling and intricate proofs for problems of the greatest importance—proofs which may be true, but none the less resemble fallacies.
 
Zeno, that greatest of men, the revered founder of our brave and holy school of philosophy, wishes to discourage us from drunkenness. Listen, then, to his arguments proving that the good man will not get drunk: 
 
“No one entrusts a secret to a drunken man; but one will entrust a secret to a good man; therefore, the good man will not get drunk.” 
 
Mark how ridiculous Zeno is made when we set up a similar syllogism in contrast with his. There are many, but one will be enough: 

“No one entrusts a secret to a man when he is asleep; but one entrusts a secret to a good man; therefore, the good man does not go to sleep." 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 83 

 
As in the previous letter, Seneca remains critical of the scholar’s fixation on clever syllogisms. I am always headed for trouble when I begin with the conclusion I happen to prefer, and then I seek out some crafty wordplay to justify my smug presumption; it reminds me of a salesman I once knew who would adeptly hide scratches on used cars with a magic marker. 
 
While it is difficult for the disciple to challenge the orthodoxy of his creed, I don’t believe that Zeno expected us to blindly parrot the phrases of esteemed experts, just as constantly quoting Thomas Aquinas won’t make us any better as Christians. Logic ought to be precise, but language can get notoriously fuzzy, and I’m sure even Socrates fell back on a few vague arguments during his many debates. To question a proof is a very part of the progress, which no genuine philosopher could ever deny. 
 
To say that Zeno was right to condemn drunkenness does not mean that he was necessarily offering the best reasons as a defense. I am hardly an accomplished logician, yet I immediately pause at two aspects of this particular formulation: Shouldn’t we be clearer on how we define the term “drunk?” And is such a drunkenness, whatever we may mean by it, inevitably a source of being untrustworthy? 
 
Practically speaking, merely doubting a man’s reliability is no more likely to keep him on the wagon than it will teach him how to ride a bicycle. As my wife would say, “Is this really where you want to go with this?” Assuming we have even specified the nature of the vice, I can think of far more direct and compelling methods to get a fellow sober. 
 
We are fond of gossiping about anyone who raises a glass, and we apply the label of “alcoholic” almost as lazily as when we point our fingers at supposed “abusers” or “bigots”. There may well be something to it, and then it is a tragedy indeed, but far too often we are just grabbing for a convenient insult, a chance to look down our noses at someone. Casting so wide a net only numbs us to the truly crippling cases. 
 
“You can’t count on him. He drinks.” Would the same be true if he was still groggy after waking up from a nap? Or if he was jittery from six cups of coffee before lunch? Please do not think I am quibbling or being flippant: I sadly know what can happen when we judge in haste, or when we treat an insinuation as if it proved a causation. If we are going to address the problem of addiction, we can do far better than throwing around cheap platitudes. 

—Reflection written in 12/2013 

IMAGE: Giovanni Bellini, The Drunkenness of Noah (c. 1515)