So let us abolish all such harangues as this: “No man in the bonds of drunkenness has power over his soul. As the very vats are burst by new wine, and as the dregs at the bottom are raised to the surface by the strength of the fermentation; so, when the wine effervesces, whatever lies hidden below is brought up and made visible. As a man overcome by liquor cannot keep down his food when he has over-indulged in wine, so he cannot keep back a secret either. He pours forth impartially both his own secrets and those of other persons.”
This, of course, is what commonly happens, but so does this—that we take counsel on serious subjects with those whom we know to be in the habit of drinking freely. Therefore, this proposition, which is laid down in the guise of a defense of Zeno’s syllogism, is false—that secrets are not entrusted to the habitual drunkard.
How much better it is to arraign drunkenness frankly and to expose its vices! For even the middling good man avoids them, not to mention the perfect sage, who is satisfied with slaking his thirst; the sage, even if now and then he is led on by good cheer which, for a friend’s sake, is carried somewhat too far, yet always stops short of drunkenness.
This, of course, is what commonly happens, but so does this—that we take counsel on serious subjects with those whom we know to be in the habit of drinking freely. Therefore, this proposition, which is laid down in the guise of a defense of Zeno’s syllogism, is false—that secrets are not entrusted to the habitual drunkard.
How much better it is to arraign drunkenness frankly and to expose its vices! For even the middling good man avoids them, not to mention the perfect sage, who is satisfied with slaking his thirst; the sage, even if now and then he is led on by good cheer which, for a friend’s sake, is carried somewhat too far, yet always stops short of drunkenness.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 83
Every age will have its moral busybodies, and while the targets of their wrath will shift with the current fashions, they will always insist upon ostracizing the offender for the slightest offense. It is so easy to dehumanize your neighbor by simply labeling him as a nasty racist, or as a capitalist pig, or as a miserable addict; the absolute villain is more convenient than the nuanced individual.
I think of a former student, who once thoughtlessly relieved himself behind a tree in the woods. A concerned citizen reported him, and so he found himself listed as a sex offender, since he had been within a certain distance of a school building.
I further think of a colleague who demanded that a secretary be fired, because she had confused a theological term in a letter she wrote on his behalf.
Once we have marked someone as “perverted” or “lazy”, we feel justified in ignoring any of their merits—and branding someone as a “drunk” is the cheapest rebuke of all.
I am completely aware of the nasty things that are likely to befall a man if he indulges too deeply, but, like Seneca, I refuse to engage in the histrionics of the slanderers. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, and sometimes folks will turn out for the better by raising their glasses in fellowship. As someone who works in academia, I can unfortunately confirm a nasty pattern, where most of us drink far too much, and most of us also point fingers far too often; I do not necessarily assume a connection between these two failings.
I am still old enough to remember when cocktails at work were socially acceptable, yet smoking a joint during lunch was the worst sort of depravity. Now the roles are reversed, and a speech about the evils of pot will be laughed down, while a lecture about booze has all the heads bobbing in agreement. I won’t even start with tobacco, which is currently about as dirty and wicked as it can get. Like that lady in the 1990’s used to yell, “Stop the insanity!”
There are perfectly good reasons to avoid addictions, of any sort, but conflating different vices is not one of them, especially when we merely reduce the matter to a fear of being thought untrustworthy. I am relieved to next find Seneca getting straight to the point.
Every age will have its moral busybodies, and while the targets of their wrath will shift with the current fashions, they will always insist upon ostracizing the offender for the slightest offense. It is so easy to dehumanize your neighbor by simply labeling him as a nasty racist, or as a capitalist pig, or as a miserable addict; the absolute villain is more convenient than the nuanced individual.
I think of a former student, who once thoughtlessly relieved himself behind a tree in the woods. A concerned citizen reported him, and so he found himself listed as a sex offender, since he had been within a certain distance of a school building.
I further think of a colleague who demanded that a secretary be fired, because she had confused a theological term in a letter she wrote on his behalf.
Once we have marked someone as “perverted” or “lazy”, we feel justified in ignoring any of their merits—and branding someone as a “drunk” is the cheapest rebuke of all.
I am completely aware of the nasty things that are likely to befall a man if he indulges too deeply, but, like Seneca, I refuse to engage in the histrionics of the slanderers. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, and sometimes folks will turn out for the better by raising their glasses in fellowship. As someone who works in academia, I can unfortunately confirm a nasty pattern, where most of us drink far too much, and most of us also point fingers far too often; I do not necessarily assume a connection between these two failings.
I am still old enough to remember when cocktails at work were socially acceptable, yet smoking a joint during lunch was the worst sort of depravity. Now the roles are reversed, and a speech about the evils of pot will be laughed down, while a lecture about booze has all the heads bobbing in agreement. I won’t even start with tobacco, which is currently about as dirty and wicked as it can get. Like that lady in the 1990’s used to yell, “Stop the insanity!”
There are perfectly good reasons to avoid addictions, of any sort, but conflating different vices is not one of them, especially when we merely reduce the matter to a fear of being thought untrustworthy. I am relieved to next find Seneca getting straight to the point.
—Reflection written in 12/2013
IMAGE: Nathaniel Currier, The Drunkard's Progress (c. 1846)
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