Letter 83

[1] You order me to report each of my days to you, and indeed the whole of each one: you judge well of me if you think there is nothing in them that I would hide. This, certainly, is how we ought to live, as if we lived in plain sight; this is how we ought to think, as if someone could look into the innermost recesses of the heart — and someone can. For what good does it do that something be kept secret from a man? Nothing is closed to God; he is present in our minds and steps into the midst of our thoughts — and I say "steps in" as though he ever departed. [2] I shall do, then, what you order, and I shall gladly write to you what I am doing and in what order. I shall keep watch over myself at once, and — the most useful thing of all — I shall review my day. This is what makes us our worst: that no one looks back over his own life. We think about what we are going to do, and even that rarely; we do not think about what we have done. Yet the plan for the future comes from the past. [3] Today has been whole; no one has snatched any part of it from me. The entire day has been divided between my couch and reading; the smallest portion was given to bodily exercise, and on this account I give thanks to old age: it costs me little. When I have made a move, I am worn out; and weariness is the end of exercise even for the strongest. [4] You ask about my trainers? One is enough for me — Pharius, a boy, as you know, a likable one, but he will be exchanged: I am already looking for someone of more tender years. He, at any rate, says that he and I are in the same crisis [the same critical stage of life], since the teeth of both of us are falling out. But already I can scarcely keep up with him when he runs, and within a very few days I shall not be able to: see what daily exercise accomplishes. Quickly a great interval opens up between two people going in opposite directions: at the same moment he is climbing and I am descending, and you are not unaware how much faster the latter of these happens. I lied; for our time of life no longer descends but falls. [5] You ask, however, how today's contest turned out for us? What rarely happens with runners: we ran a sacred [drawn] heat. From this fatigue — more fatigue than exercise — I went down into the cold water: at my house this is called "not warm enough." I, that great cold-plunger who on the first of January used to salute the Euripus [the channel in the Campus Martius], who at the new year, just as I would set about reading, writing, or making a speech, used to inaugurate the year by leaping into the Aqua Virgo — I first transferred my camp to the Tiber, and then to this basin which, when I am at my strongest and everything is done in good faith, only the sun warms: I have not much left to make it a proper bath. [6] Then dry bread, and lunch without a table, after which the hands need no washing. I sleep very little. You know my habit: I take the briefest sleep and, as it were, merely unhitch the horses; it is enough for me to have stopped staying awake. Sometimes I know I have slept; sometimes I only suspect it. [7] Look, the shouting of the games is roaring around me; some sudden, universal cry strikes my ears, yet it does not shake my thinking loose, nor even interrupt it. I bear the din most patiently; many voices blended into one are to me like a wave, or like the wind lashing a forest, or any of the other things that make sound without meaning. [8] What is it, then, to which I have now turned my mind? I will tell you. There remains with me from yesterday a thought about what the most prudent men meant when they made the proofs of the greatest matters so flimsy and tangled — proofs which, even if true, nonetheless resemble lies. [9] Zeno, a very great man, the founder of this most valiant and most holy school, wishes to deter us from drunkenness. Hear, then, how he reasons that the good man will not become drunk: "No one entrusts confidential conversation to a drunken man, but one does entrust it to a good man; therefore the good man will not be drunk." Notice how he is made ridiculous by setting against it a similar argument (for it is enough to set down one out of many): "No one entrusts confidential conversation to a sleeping man, but one does entrust it to a good man; therefore the good man does not sleep." [10] In the one way it can be done, Posidonius pleads the case of our Zeno, but not even thus, in my opinion, can it be pleaded. For he says that "drunken" is spoken of in two ways: in one, when a person is heavy with wine and not in command of himself; in the other, if he is in the habit of getting drunk and is prone to this vice. He says that the man Zeno means is the one who is in the habit of getting drunk, not the one who is drunk; and that to this man no one would entrust secrets which he might blurt out through wine. [11] This is false; for that first argument takes in the man who is drunk, not the man who is going to be drunk. For you will grant that there is the greatest difference between a man who is drunk and a habitual drunkard: a man who is drunk can be so for the very first time and not have this vice, and a habitual drunkard can often be outside of drunkenness. And so I understand the word in the sense it usually signifies, especially when it is set down by a man who professes precision and weighs his words. Add now that, if Zeno understood this and did not want us to understand it, he sought through the ambiguity of a word a place for deception — which must not be done where truth is being sought. [12] But suppose, indeed, he meant this: what follows is false, namely that confidential conversation is not entrusted to one who is in the habit of getting drunk. For consider how many soldiers, not always sober, both general and tribune and centurion have charged with things that must be kept silent. Concerning that murder of Gaius Caesar — I mean the one who, after defeating Pompey, held the commonwealth — it was confided to Tillius Cimber as much as to Gaius Cassius. Cassius drank water his whole life; Tillius Cimber was both excessive in wine and quarrelsome. He himself joked about the matter: "Am I," he said, "to put up with anyone, I who cannot put up with wine?" [13] Let each man now name for himself those whom he knows to be ill trusted with wine but well trusted with conversation; yet I will report one example that occurs to me, lest it be lost. For life must be furnished with illustrious examples, and let us not always take refuge in old ones. [14] Lucius Piso, guardian of the city, was drunk from the moment he first became so. He used to spend the greater part of the night at banquets; he slept until roughly the sixth hour: that was his morning. Yet he administered his duty, in which the protection of the city was contained, most diligently. To him the deified Augustus gave secret commands, when he set him over Thrace, which he subdued; and so did Tiberius, when setting out for Campania, when he was leaving behind in the city many things both suspect and hateful. [15] I think that, because Piso's drunkenness had turned out well for him, he afterward made Cossus prefect of the city, a man serious and moderate, but sunk and soaked in wine, to such a degree that once, from a meeting of the Senate which he had entered straight from a banquet, he was carried out, overcome by an unwakeable sleep. Yet to this man Tiberius wrote many things in his own hand which he judged should not be entrusted even to his own servants: no secret, private or public, ever slipped from Cossus. [16] Therefore let us put aside those rhetorical displays: "The mind is not in its own power when bound by drunkenness: just as the very jars are burst by new wine, and whatever lies at the bottom the force of the heat throws up to the top, so when wine boils up, whatever lies hidden at the bottom is carried up and comes out into the open. Just as those loaded with unmixed wine cannot keep down their food when the wine overflows, so neither can they keep a secret; what is their own and what is another's they pour out alike." [17] But although this is wont to happen, so is the other: that with those whom we know to drink rather freely we deliberate about necessary matters; false, therefore, is this proposition put forward in the role of a defense — that no confidence is given to one who is in the habit of getting drunk. How much better it is to accuse drunkenness openly and to lay out its vices, which even a tolerable man would avoid, let alone the perfect and wise man, for whom it is enough to quench his thirst, and who, even if at some point shared good cheer, drawn out somewhat too long for a friend's sake, has urged him on, still stops short of drunkenness. [18] For we shall look later into whether the mind of the wise man is disturbed by too much wine and does the things drunkards usually do; meanwhile, if you wish to draw this conclusion — that the good man ought not to become drunk — why do you proceed by syllogisms? Say how base it is to pour into oneself more than one can hold and not to know the measure of one's own stomach; how many things drunks do at which the sober blush; that drunkenness is nothing other than voluntary madness. Extend that drunken state over several days: will you have any doubt that it is insanity? Even now it is no less insane, only briefer. [19] Recall the example of Alexander of Macedon, who ran through Clitus, dearest and most faithful to him, in the midst of a feast, and once he realized the crime, wished to die — certainly he ought to have. Drunkenness both kindles and lays bare every vice; it removes the shame that stands in the way of evil attempts; for more men abstain from forbidden acts out of shame at sinning than out of good will. [20] When too great a force of wine has taken possession of the mind, whatever evil lay hidden comes forth. Drunkenness does not create vices but drags them out: then the lustful man does not even wait for the bedroom, but grants his desires whatever they demand without delay; then the unchaste man confesses and publishes his disease; then the insolent man restrains neither tongue nor hand. Arrogance grows in the proud man, cruelty in the savage, malice in the spiteful; every vice is loosed and comes forth. [21] Add that ignorance of oneself, the uncertain and barely articulate words, the unsteady eyes, the wandering gait, the dizziness of the head, the very roofs seeming to move as though some whirlwind were spinning the whole house around, the torments of the stomach when the unmixed wine effervesces and distends the very entrails. At that time, however, it is somehow bearable while the man's strength is his own: what then, when he is spoiled by sleep, and what was drunkenness has become a hangover? [22] Think what disasters public drunkenness has produced: it has handed the fiercest and most warlike nations over to their enemies; it has thrown open walls defended through many years of stubborn war; it has driven the most defiant peoples, who refused the yoke, under another's command; it has tamed with wine those unconquered in battle. [23] Alexander, whom I just mentioned: so many journeys, so many battles, so many winters through which he had passed, having overcome the difficulties of times and places; so many rivers falling from unknown sources, so many seas — all let him through unharmed: it was intemperance in drinking, and that Herculean and fatal cup, that buried him. [24] What glory is there in holding a great deal? When the prize has been yours, and your toasts have been declined by men laid out in sleep and vomiting; when you have outlasted the whole banquet; when you have conquered everyone by magnificent prowess and no one has been so great a vessel for wine — you are conquered by the cask. [25] Mark Antony, a great man and of noble talent — what else ruined him and carried him over into foreign manners and un-Roman vices than drunkenness, and a love of Cleopatra no less potent than wine? This is what made him an enemy of the commonwealth; this is what rendered him no match for his enemies; this is what made him cruel, when the heads of the leading men of the state were brought in to him as he dined, when amid the most lavish feasts and royal luxuries he would examine the faces and hands of the proscribed, when, heavy with wine, he nonetheless thirsted for blood. It was intolerable that he got drunk while doing these things: how much more intolerable that he did these things in the very midst of drunkenness! [26] Cruelty generally follows wine-bibbing; for the soundness of the mind is corrupted and exasperated. Just as prolonged illnesses make men peevish and difficult and rabid at the slightest offense, so continual drunkenness makes minds savage; for since they are often not in their right minds, the habit of madness endures, and the vices conceived through wine have force even without it. [27] Say, then, why the wise man ought not to become drunk; show the ugliness of the thing and its mischief by facts, not by words. Which is easiest of all, prove that those things which are called pleasures are punishments once they have crossed the bounds of measure. For if you argue this — that the wise man is not made drunk by much wine and keeps a straight course even if he is tipsy — you may go on to conclude that he will not die though he drinks poison, will not sleep though he takes a sleeping draught, will not vomit up and expel whatever sticks in his entrails though he is given hellebore. But if his feet are weak, his tongue does not hold steady, what reason have you to judge that he is in part sober and in part drunk? Farewell.

You bid me give you an account of each separate day, and of the whole day too; so you must have a good opinion of me if you think that in these days of mine there is nothing to hide. At any rate, it is thus that we should live,—as if we lived in plain sight of all men; and it is thus that we should think,—as if there were someone who could look into our inmost souls; and there is one who can so look. For what avails it that something is hidden from man? Nothing is shut off from the sight of God. He is witness of our souls, and he comes into the very midst of our thoughts—comes into them, I say, as one who may at any time depart. I shall therefore do as you bid, and shall gladly inform you by letter what I am doing, and in what sequence. I shall keep watching myself continually, and—a most useful habit—shall review each day. For this is what makes us wicked: that no one of us looks back over his own life. Our thoughts are devoted only to what we are about to do. And yet our plans for the future always depend on the past. To-day has been unbroken; no one has filched the slightest part of it from me. The whole time has been divided between rest and reading. A brief space has been given over to bodily exercise, and on this ground I can thank old age—my exercise costs very little effort; as soon as I stir, I am tired. And weariness is the aim and end of exercise, no matter how strong one is. Do you ask who are my pacemakers? One is enough for me,—the slave Pharius, a pleasant fellow, as you know; but I shall exchange him for another. At my time of life I need one who is of still more tender years. Pharius, at any rate, says that he and I are at the same period of life; for we are both losing our teeth. Yet even now I can scarcely follow his pace as he runs, and within a very short time I shall not be able to follow him at all; so you see what profit we get from daily exercise. Very soon does a wide interval open between two persons who travel different ways. My slave is climbing up at the very moment when I am coming down, and you surely know how much quicker the latter is. Nay, I was wrong; for now my life is not coming down; it is falling outright. Do you ask, for all that, how our race resulted to-day? We raced to a tie,—something which rarely happens in a running contest. After tiring myself out in this way (for I cannot call it exercise), I took a cold bath; this, at my house, means just short of hot. I, the former cold-water enthusiast, who used to celebrate the new year by taking a plunge into the canal, who, just as naturally as I would set out to do some reading or writing, or to compose a speech, used to inaugurate the first of the year with a plunge into the Virgo aqueduct, have changed my allegiance, first to the Tiber, and then to my favourite tank, which is warmed only by the sun, at times when I am most robust and when there is not a flaw in my bodily processes. I have very little energy left for bathing. After the bath, some stale bread and breakfast without a table; no need to wash the hands after such a meal. Then comes a very short nap. You know my habit; I avail myself of a scanty bit of sleep,—unharnessing, as it were. For I am satisfied if I can just stop staying awake. Sometimes I know that I have slept; at other times, I have a mere suspicion. Lo, now the din of the Races sounds about me! My ears are smitten with sudden and general cheering. But this does not upset my thoughts or even break their continuity. I can endure an uproar with complete resignation. The medley of voices blended in one note sounds to me like the dashing of waves, or like the wind that lashes the tree-tops, or like any other sound which conveys no meaning. 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.” 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. But let us admit, indeed, that he meant what Posidonius says; even so, the conclusion is false,—that secrets are not entrusted to an habitual drunkard. Think how many soldiers who are not always sober have been entrusted by a general or a captain or a centurion with messages which might not be divulged! With regard to the notorious plot to murder Gaius Caesar,—I mean the Caesar who conquered Pompey and got control of the state,—Tillius Cimber was trusted with it no less than Gaius Cassius. Now Cassius throughout his life drank water; while Tillius Cimber was a sot as well as a brawler. Cimber himself alluded to this fact, saying: “I carry a master? I cannot carry my liquor!” So let each one call to mind those who, to his knowledge, can be ill trusted with wine, but well trusted with the spoken word; and yet one case occurs to my mind, which I shall relate, lest it fall into oblivion. For life should be provided with conspicuous illustrations. Let us not always be harking back to the dim past. Lucius Piso, the Director of Public Safety at Rome, was drunk from the very time of his appointment. He used to spend the greater part of the night at banquets, and would sleep until noon. That was the way he spent his morning hours. Nevertheless, he applied himself most diligently to his official duties, which included the guardianship of the city. Even the sainted Augustus trusted him with secret orders when he placed him in command of Thrace. Piso conquered that country. Tiberius, too, trusted him when he took his holiday in Campania, leaving behind him in the city many a critical matter that aroused both suspicion and hatred. I fancy that it was because Piso’s drunkenness turned out well for the Emperor that he appointed to the office of city prefect Cossus, a man of authority and balance, but so soaked and steeped in drink that once, at a meeting of the Senate, whither he had come after banqueting, he was overcome by a slumber from which he could not be roused, and had to be carried home. It was to this man that Tiberius sent many orders, written in his own hand,—orders which he believed he ought not to trust even to the officials of his household. Cossus never let a single secret slip out, whether personal or public. 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 defence 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. We shall investigate later the question whether the mind of the sage is upset by too much wine and commits follies like those of the toper; but meanwhile, if you wish to prove that a good man ought not to get drunk, why work it out by logic? Show how base it is to pour down more liquor than one can carry, and not to know the capacity of one’s own stomach; show how often the drunkard does things which make him blush when he is sober; state that drunkenness is nothing but a condition of insanity purposely assumed. Prolong the drunkard’s condition to several days; will you have any doubt about his madness? Even as it is, the madness is no less; it merely lasts a shorter time. Think of Alexander of Macedon, who stabbed Clitus, his dearest and most loyal friend, at a banquet; after Alexander understood what he had done, he wished to die, and assuredly he ought to have died. Drunkenness kindles and discloses every kind of vice, and removes the sense of shame that veils our evil undertakings. For more men abstain from forbidden actions because they are ashamed of sinning than because their inclinations are good. When the strength of wine has become too great and has gained control over the mind, every lurking evil comes forth from its hiding-place. Drunkenness does not create vice, it merely brings it into view; at such times the lustful man does not wait even for the privacy of a bedroom, but without postponement gives free play to the demands of his passions; at such times the unchaste man proclaims and publishes his malady; at such times your cross-grained fellow does not restrain his tongue or his hand. The haughty man increases his arrogance, the ruthless man his cruelty, the slanderer his spitefulness. Every vice is given free play and comes to the front. 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. 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. Therefore you should state why the wise man ought not to get drunk. Explain by facts, and not by mere words, the hideousness of the thing, and its haunting evils. Do that which is easiest of all—namely, demonstrate that what men call pleasures are punishments as soon as they have exceeded due bounds. For if you try to prove that the wise man can souse himself with much wine and yet keep his course straight, even though he be in his cups, you may go on to infer by syllogisms that he will not die if he swallows poison, that he will not sleep if he takes a sleeping-potion, that he will not vomit and reject the matter which clogs his stomach when you give him hellebore. But, when a man’s feet totter and his tongue is unsteady, what reason have you for believing that he is half sober and half drunk? Farewell.

[1] Singulos dies tibi meos et quidem totos indicari iubes:bene de me iudicas si nihil esse in illis putas quod abscondam. Sic certe vivendum est tamquam in conspectu vivamus, sic cogitandum tamquam aliquis in pectus intimum introspicere possit: et potest. Quid enim prodest ab homine aliquid esse secretum? nihil deo clusum est; interest animis nostris et cogitationibus medius intervenit -- sic 'intervenit' dico tamquam aliquando discedat. [2] Faciam ergo quod iubes, et quid agam et quo ordine libenter tibi scribam. Observabo me protinus et, quod est utilissimum, diem meum recognoscam. Hoc nos pessimos facit, quod nemo vitam suam respicit; quid facturi simus cogitamus, et id raro, quid fecerimus non cogitamus; atqui consilium futuri ex praeterito venit. [3] Hodiernus dies solidus est, nemo ex illo quicquam mihi eripuit; totus inter stratum lectionemque divisus est; minimum exercitationi corporis datum, et hoc nomine ago gratias senectuti: non magno mihi constat. Cum me movi, lassus sum; hic autem est exercitationis etiam fortissimis finis. [4] Progymnastas meos quaeris? unus mihi sufficit Pharius, puer, ut scis, amabilis, sed mutabitur: iam aliquem teneriorem quaero. Hic quidem ait nos eandem crisin habere, quia utrique dentes cadunt. Sed iam vix illum adsequor currentem et intra paucissimos dies non potero: vide quid exercitatio cotidiana proficiat. Cito magnum intervallum fit inter duos in diversum euntes: eodem tempore ille ascendit, ego descendo, nec ignoras quanto ex his velocius alterum fiat. Mentitus sum; iam enim aetas nostra non descendit sed cadit. [5] Quomodo tamen hodiernum certamen nobis cesserit quaeris? quod raro cursoribus evenit, hieran fecimus. Ab hac fatigatione magis quam exercitatione in frigidam descendi: hoc apud me vocatur parum calda. Ille tantus psychrolutes, qui kalendis Ianuariis euripum salutabam, qui anno novo quemadmodum legere, scribere, dicere aliquid, sic auspicabar in Virginem desilire, primum ad Tiberim transtuli castra, deinde ad hoc solium quod, cum fortissimus sum et omnia bona fide fiunt, sol temperat: non multum mihi ad balneum superest. [6] Panis deinde siccus et sine mensa prandium, post quod non sunt lavandae manus. Dormio minimum. Consuetudinem meam nosti: brevissimo somno utor et quasi interiungo; satis est mihi vigilare desisse; aliquando dormisse me scio, aliquando suspicor. [7] Ecce circensium obstrepit clamor; subita aliqua et universa voce feriuntur aures meae, nec cogitationem meam excutiunt, ne interrumpunt quidem. Fremitum patientissime fero; multae voces et in unum confusae pro fluctu mihi sunt aut vento silvam verberante et ceteris sine intellectu sonantibus. [8] Quid ergo est nunc cui animum adiecerim? dicam. Superest ex hesterno mihi cogitatio quid sibi voluerint prudentissimi viri qui rerum maximarum probationes levissimas et perplexas fecerint, quae ut sint verae, tamen mendacio similes sunt. [9] Vult nos ab ebrietate deterrere Zenon, vir maximus, huius sectae fortissimae ac sanctissimae conditor. Audi ergo quemadmodum colligat virum bonum non futurum ebrium: 'ebrio secretum sermonem nemo committit, viro autem bono committit; ergo vir bonus ebrius non erit'. Quemadmodum opposita interrogatione simili derideatur adtende (satis enim est unam ponere ex multis): 'dormienti nemo secretum sermonem committit, viro autem bono committit; vir bonus ergo non dormit'. [10] Quo uno modo potest Posidonius Zenonis nostri causam agit, sed ne sic quidem, ut existimo, agi potest. Ait enim 'ebrium' duobus modis dici, altero cum aliquis vino gravis est et inpos sui, altero si solet ebrius fieri et huic obnoxius vitio est; hunc a Zenone dici qui soleat fieri ebrius, non qui sit; huic autem neminem commissurum arcana quae per vinum eloqui possit. [11] Quod est falsum; prima enim illa interrogatio conplectitur eum qui est ebrius, non eum qui futurus est. Plurimum enim interesse concedes et inter ebrium et ebriosum: potest et qui ebrius est tunc primum esse nec habere hoc vitium, et qui ebriosus est saepe extra ebrietatem esse; itaque id intellego quod significari verbo isto solet, praesertim cum ab homine diligentiam professo ponatur et verba examinante. Adice nunc quod, si hoc intellexit Zenon et nos intellegere noluit, ambiguitate verbi quaesiit locum fraudi, quod faciendum non est ubi veritas quaeritur. [12] Sed sane hoc senserit: quod sequitur falsum est, ei qui soleat ebrius fieri non committi sermonem secretum. Cogita enim quam multis militibus non semper sobriis et imperator et tribunus et centurio tacenda mandaverint. De illa C. Caesaris caede, illius dico qui superato Pompeio rem publicam tenuit, tam creditum est Tillio Cimbro quam C. Cassio. Cassius tota vita aquam bibit, Tillius Cimber et nimius erat in vino et scordalus. In hanc rem iocatus est ipse: 'ego' inquit 'quemquam feram, qui vinum ferre non possum?'. [13] Sibi quisque nunc nominet eos quibus scit et vinum male credi et sermonem bene; unum tamen exemplum quod occurrit mihi referam, ne intercidat. Instruenda est enim vita exemplis inlustribus, nec semper confugiamus ad vetera. [14] L. Piso, urbis custos, ebrius ex quo semel factus est fuit. Maiorem noctis partem in convivio exigebat; usque in horam sextam fere dormiebat: hoc eius erat matutinum. Officium tamen suum, quo tutela urbis continebatur, diligentissime administravit. Huic et divus Augustus dedit secreta mandata, cum illum praeponeret Thraciae, quam perdomuit, et Tiberius proficiscens in Campaniam, cum multa in urbe et suspecta relinqueret et invisa. [15] Puto, quia bene illi cesserat Pisonis ebrietas, postea Cossum fecit urbis praefectum, virum gravem, moderatum, sed mersum vino et madentem, adeo ut ex senatu aliquando, in quem e convivio venerat, oppressus inexcitabili somno tolleretur. Huic tamen Tiberius multa sua manu scripsit quae committenda ne ministris quidem suis iudicabat: nullum Cosso aut privatum secretum aut publicum elapsum est. [16] Itaque declamationes istas de medio removeamus: 'non est animus in sua potestate ebrietate devinctus: quemadmodum musto dolia ipsa rumpuntur et omne quod in imo iacet in summam partem vis caloris eiectat, sic vino exaestuante quidquid in imo iacet abditum effertur et prodit in medium. Onerati mero quemadmodum non continent cibum vino redundante, ita ne secretum quidem; quod suum alienumque est pariter effundunt.' [17] Sed quamvis hoc soleat accidere, ita et illud solet, ut cum iis quos sciamus libentius bibere de rebus necessariis deliberemus; falsum ergo est hoc quod patrocinii loco ponitur, ei qui soleat ebrius fieri non dari tacitum. Quanto satius est aperte accusare ebrietatem et vitia eius exponere, quae etiam tolerabilis homo vitaverit, nedum perfectus ac sapiens, cui satis est sitim extinguere, qui, etiam si quando hortata est hilaritas aliena causa producta longius, tamen citra ebrietatem resistit. [18] Nam de illo videbimus, an sapientis animus nimio vino turbetur et faciat ebriis solita: interim, si hoc colligere vis, virum bonum non debere ebrium fieri, cur syllogismis agis? Dic quam turpe sit plus sibi ingerere quam capiat et stomachi sui non nosse mensuram, quam multa ebrii faciant quibus sobrii erubescant, nihil aliud esse ebrietatem quam voluntariam insaniam. Extende in plures dies illum ebrii habitum: numquid de furore dubitabis? nunc quoque non est minor sed brevior. [19] Refer Alexandri Macedonis exemplum, qui Clitum carissimum sibi ac fidelissimum inter epulas transfodit et intellecto facinore mori voluit, certe debuit. Omne vitium ebrietas et incendit et detegit, obstantem malis conatibus verecundiam removet; plures enim pudore peccandi quam bona voluntate prohibitis abstinent. [20] Ubi possedit animum nimia vis vini, quidquid mali latebat emergit. Non facit ebrietas vitia sed protrahit: tunc libidinosus ne cubiculum quidem expectat, sed cupiditatibus suis quantum petierunt sine dilatione permittit; tunc inpudicus morbum profitetur ac publicat; tunc petulans non linguam, non manum continet. Crescit insolenti superbia, crudelitas saevo, malignitas livido; omne vitium laxatur et prodit. [21] Adice illam ignorationem sui, dubia et parum explanata verba, incertos oculos, gradum errantem, vertiginem capitis, tecta ipsa mobilia velut aliquo turbine circumagente totam domum, stomachi tormenta cum effervescit merum ac viscera ipsa distendit. Tunc tamen utcumque tolerabile est, dum illi vis sua est: quid cum somno vitiatur et quae ebrietas fuit cruditas facta est? [22] Cogita quas clades ediderit publica ebrietas: haec acerrimas gentes bellicosasque hostibus tradidit, haec multorum annorum pertinaci bello defensa moenia patefecit, haec contumacissimos et iugum recusantes in alienum egit arbitrium, haec invictos acie mero domuit. [23] Alexandrum, cuius modo feci mentionem, tot itinera, tot proelia, tot hiemes per quas victa temporum locorumque difficultate transierat, tot flumina ex ignoto cadentia, tot maria tutum dimiserunt: intemperantia bibendi et ille Herculaneus ac fatalis scyphus condidit. [24] Quae gloria est capere multum? cum penes te palma fuerit et propinationes tuas strati somno ac vomitantes recusaverint, cum superstes toti convivio fueris, cum omnes viceris virtute magnifica et nemo vini tam capax fuerit, vinceris a dolio. [25] M. Antonium, magnum virum et ingeni nobilis, quae alia res perdidit et in externos mores ac vitia non Romana traiecit quam ebrietas nec minor vino Cleopatrae amor? Haec illum res hostem rei publicae, haec hostibus suis inparem reddidit; haec crudelem fecit, cum capita principum civitatis cenanti referrentur, cum inter apparatissimas epulas luxusque regales ora ac manus proscriptorum recognosceret, cum vino gravis sitiret tamen sanguinem. Intolerabile erat quod ebrius fiebat cum haec faceret: quanto intolerabilius quod haec in ipsa ebrietate faciebat! [26] Fere vinolentiam crudelitas sequitur; vitiatur enim exasperaturque sanitas mentis. Quemadmodum <morosos> difficilesque faciunt diutini morbi et ad minimam rabidos offensionem, ita ebrietates continuae efferant animos; nam cum saepe apud se non sint, consuetudo insaniae durat et vitia vino concepta etiam sine illo valent. [27] Dic ergo quare sapiens non debeat ebrius fieri; deformitatem rei et inportunitatem ostende rebus, non verbis. Quod facillimum est, proba istas quae voluptates vocantur, ubi transcenderunt modum, poenas esse. Nam si illud argumentaberis, sapientem multo vino non inebriari et retinere rectum tenorem etiam si temulentus sit, licet colligas nec veneno poto moriturum nec sopore sumpto dormiturum nec elleboro accepto quidquid in visceribus haerebit eiecturum deiecturumque. Sed si temptantur pedes, lingua non constat, quid est quare illum existimes in parte sobrium esse, in parte ebrium? Vale. Seneca the YoungerThe Latin Library The Classics Page