Posidonius pleads the cause of our master Zeno in the only possible way; but it cannot, I hold, be pleaded even in this way.
For Posidonius maintains that the word “drunken” is used in two ways—in the one case of a man who is loaded with wine and has no control over himself; in the other, of a man who is accustomed to get drunk, and is a slave to the habit.
Zeno, he says, meant the latter—the man who is accustomed to get drunk, not the man who is drunk; and no one would entrust to this person any secret, for it might be blabbed out when the man was in his cups.
This is a fallacy. For the first syllogism refers to him who is actually drunk and not to him who is about to get drunk. You will surely admit that there is a great difference between a man who is drunk and a drunkard. He who is actually drunk may be in this state for the first time and may not have the habit, while the drunkard is often free from drunkenness.
I therefore interpret the word in its usual meaning, especially since the syllogism is set up by a man who makes a business of the careful use of words, and who weighs his language.
Moreover, if this is what Zeno meant, and what he wished it to mean to us, he was trying to avail himself of an equivocal word in order to work in a fallacy; and no man ought to do this when truth is the object of inquiry.
For Posidonius maintains that the word “drunken” is used in two ways—in the one case of a man who is loaded with wine and has no control over himself; in the other, of a man who is accustomed to get drunk, and is a slave to the habit.
Zeno, he says, meant the latter—the man who is accustomed to get drunk, not the man who is drunk; and no one would entrust to this person any secret, for it might be blabbed out when the man was in his cups.
This is a fallacy. For the first syllogism refers to him who is actually drunk and not to him who is about to get drunk. You will surely admit that there is a great difference between a man who is drunk and a drunkard. He who is actually drunk may be in this state for the first time and may not have the habit, while the drunkard is often free from drunkenness.
I therefore interpret the word in its usual meaning, especially since the syllogism is set up by a man who makes a business of the careful use of words, and who weighs his language.
Moreover, if this is what Zeno meant, and what he wished it to mean to us, he was trying to avail himself of an equivocal word in order to work in a fallacy; and no man ought to do this when truth is the object of inquiry.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 83
Isn’t it just “common sense” to assume that a drunk can’t be trusted? Does it really matter if we aren’t actually able to define his condition, or if we can’t explain our standards of discretion? I fear such a path will only lead us to ever greater prejudices, which may well be popular, but are surely not reasonable.
As Seneca says, when the truth itself is at stake, we can’t afford to be sloppy. To be suspicious of intellectual posturing does not mean that we should have to settle for ambiguity; acting with confidence requires knowing with conviction.
The unfortunate fact is that Zeno’s argument, as it is worded, suffers from equivocation. Yes, in a casual conversation, we might take the meaning of certain terms for granted, or we are likely to skip over some steps of the demonstration, what the logicians call an enthymeme. When, however, there is a confusion about the question, or a decision will have serious consequences, it is best to take it slow; we will later be grateful for the discipline of patience.
Is the drunk someone who is intoxicated at the moment, or is the drunk someone who has a habitual inclination to liquor? It matters a great deal, because we could be talking about two people with very different dispositions, under very different circumstances. Sometimes a fellow acts foolishly, and so he is temporarily impaired. Sometimes a fellow feels the constant urge to reach for a bottle, and yet he has stayed sober for a whole decade. In either case, are we sure that he is incapable of keeping his word?
Zeno was probably referring to the latter instance, what we would now call an active alcoholic, where a continuous behavior can reflect a weakness of character: both intemperance and inconstancy are likely consequences of a failure to rule ourselves. Nevertheless, if there is a steadfast struggle to keep off the sauce, isn’t it likely to also go hand in hand with a commitment to integrity? The vice lies in the choice and the deed, not in the impulse and the temptation.
My own painful experiences with boozing have warned me against making any hasty generalizations, not because I want to hide behind excuses, but because I know precisely how careless judgments can end in careless actions. To be sensitive about the causes is not to justify the effects.
Isn’t it just “common sense” to assume that a drunk can’t be trusted? Does it really matter if we aren’t actually able to define his condition, or if we can’t explain our standards of discretion? I fear such a path will only lead us to ever greater prejudices, which may well be popular, but are surely not reasonable.
As Seneca says, when the truth itself is at stake, we can’t afford to be sloppy. To be suspicious of intellectual posturing does not mean that we should have to settle for ambiguity; acting with confidence requires knowing with conviction.
The unfortunate fact is that Zeno’s argument, as it is worded, suffers from equivocation. Yes, in a casual conversation, we might take the meaning of certain terms for granted, or we are likely to skip over some steps of the demonstration, what the logicians call an enthymeme. When, however, there is a confusion about the question, or a decision will have serious consequences, it is best to take it slow; we will later be grateful for the discipline of patience.
Is the drunk someone who is intoxicated at the moment, or is the drunk someone who has a habitual inclination to liquor? It matters a great deal, because we could be talking about two people with very different dispositions, under very different circumstances. Sometimes a fellow acts foolishly, and so he is temporarily impaired. Sometimes a fellow feels the constant urge to reach for a bottle, and yet he has stayed sober for a whole decade. In either case, are we sure that he is incapable of keeping his word?
Zeno was probably referring to the latter instance, what we would now call an active alcoholic, where a continuous behavior can reflect a weakness of character: both intemperance and inconstancy are likely consequences of a failure to rule ourselves. Nevertheless, if there is a steadfast struggle to keep off the sauce, isn’t it likely to also go hand in hand with a commitment to integrity? The vice lies in the choice and the deed, not in the impulse and the temptation.
My own painful experiences with boozing have warned me against making any hasty generalizations, not because I want to hide behind excuses, but because I know precisely how careless judgments can end in careless actions. To be sensitive about the causes is not to justify the effects.
—Reflection written in 12/2013
IMAGE: Anthony van Dyck, Drunken Silenus (c. 1620)
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