3. Therefore, mark my words; that forceful manner of speech, rapid and copious, is more suited to a mountebank than to a man who is discussing and teaching an important and serious subject. But I object just as strongly that he should drip out his words as that he should go at top speed; he should neither keep the ear on the stretch, nor deafen it. For that poverty-stricken and thin-spun style also makes the audience less attentive because they are weary of its stammering slowness; nevertheless, the word which has been long awaited sinks in more easily than the word which flits past us on the wing. Finally, people speak of "handing down" precepts to their pupils; but one is not "handing down" that which eludes the grasp. 4. Besides, speech that deals with the truth should be unadorned and plain. This popular style has nothing to do with the truth; its aim is to impress the common herd, to ravish heedless ears by its speed; it does not offer itself for discussion, but snatches itself away from discussion. But how can that speech govern others which cannot itself be governed? May I not also remark that all speech which is employed for the purpose of healing our minds, ought to sink into us? Remedies do not avail unless they remain in the system.--Seneca, Letter 40. translated by Richard Mott Gummere
In an unusually long letter, Seneca appears to be conveying a relatively simple claim: true (philosophical speech) should be "unadorned and plain" [quae veritati operam dat oratio incomposita esse debet et simplex.] He contrasts such speech with speech intended for the market place aimed at ordinary folk (who, it is thought, are impressed by verbal pyrotechnics and, as he makes clear later in the letter, respect different national styles). The contrast is not absolute because Seneca thinks the unadorned and plain speech is also apt for ordinary rhetoric iff the point is to convince the multitude of the truth! But he clearly thinks that's not generally the aim.
That true speech should be unadorned and plain/simple is, of course, a recurring trope in ages that reject scholasticism and rhetorical flourishes. (It is unusual to see its elitism acknowledged.) The aim of philosophical speech for Seneca is (a) not merely to convey the truth, but in so doing (b) heal minds, that is, to be part of a philosophical emendation; and (c) by taking hold of their minds to govern others [rapere...regere]. Somewhat confusingly, at first, for us, who are used to thinking that the patient's autonomy is central, Seneca treats true speech of the philosophical healer/magister as a locus for self-governance.
Thus, even true speech is a means of control of another. This point is made explicit, somewhat rarely, when we say of a demonstration or inference that it compels assent; at such points disagreement, however voluntary, is often thought to be irrational. If you accept the premises, then you must accept the conclusions, etc. To make others accept premises is, thus, a means of control. To be made to accept true premises and a conclusion is, thus, a rational form, perhaps, of subordination,.
So, on Seneca's conception, a healthy mind, one receptive toward the truth, is in some sense under the control of, let's say, the party of truth. I put it this way because for Seneca (recall and here), (i) truths belong to all of mankind, and (ii) one is -- this clearly inspired/anticipated Spinoza -- least individual (and most eternal) when one's mind is filled with truths/apt remedies.
There is a further feature of true philosophical speech that Seneca notes by way of a negative contrast (near the end of the letter). In the more spectacular and pyrotechnic style one must ignore the sense of shame that accompanies it and this can only be done by not listening to oneself speak. One would wish to criticize oneself if one would give oneself the opportunity.
Seneca suggests that being exposed regularly to one's own rhetorical fluff undermines this sense of shame in oneself. I am not entirely sure if Seneca thinks the poison is that one regularly hears oneself say silly stuff or that one regularly ends up suppressing the need for self-criticism in oneself (or both). Either way, Seneca clearly thinks that while a lack of shame facilitates one's complicity in spreading nonsense, it is the manifestation of a self-inflicted malady.*
It would be an anachronistic, of course, to treat Seneca as an anticipation of the now not uncommon thought that certain forms of public nonsense are instances/expressions of lack of mental health. I think the anachronism is only partially true here. Not because the concept mental health is absent in him, but because what Seneca would take to be a disposition or expression of a healthy and shame-sensitive mind is almost certainly not the statistical norm of health maintained by our clinicians.
Here I stop; for once briefer than Seneca.
*Not wholly self-inflicted, of course. For Seneca the routine exposure to nonsense and cruelty makes one more likely to embrace the malady.
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