On Friday, I attended the colloquium on Seneca’s Stoic Seafood by Robert Santucci, and I really enjoyed his passionate introduction of seafood’s influence on virtues, especially red mullets and oysters. An interesting point raised during the Q&A session was a comparison between Seneca’s perspective and traditional Chinese medicine. Coincidentally, I just recently addressed my tooth inflammation by consuming food regarded as capable of “quelling internal flames”, prompting me to delve into the connection between food and the body in both Seneca’s writings and ancient Chinese practices.
Before drawing the comparison, it’s important to recognize that Seneca’s primary concern is with virtue rather than health, which explains why he doesn’t delve deeply into physiological aspects. From what I gathered from the talk, the relationship between food and body is rather one-sided for Seneca. Oysters corrupt humans through their formless and easily digestible quality. Although he suggests that lazy people are more drawn to oysters, oysters still plant laziness in everyone who eats it.
On the other hand, traditional Chinese medicine emphasizes the interaction between an individual’s nature and the characteristics of the food. This approach recognizes that no food is universally good or bad; its impact varies based on each person’s constitution. This idea aligns somewhat with the concept of humors in Hippocratic medicine, linking physical health, mental well-being, and personality traits. For instance, my parents constantly said that I had an excess of the “fire” element as I grow up (that’s why I can withstand the cold but not the heat, get inflammation easily, and have short temper, according to them). Consequently, I should refrain from overeating foods like Chinese leek, beef, or lamb, which are considered to “heat” the body. Such foods, however, may be beneficial for individuals with a “weak/hollow” constitution. While the categorization of body types and food is not as simplistic as my parents imagined, the principle of a mutual selection between human and food deeply influences dietary choices even in the general public.
The way in which food affects the body is also different in Seneca and traditional Chinese medicine. For Seneca, food’s influence extends beyond mere sustenance, potentially affecting moral character and behavior. In his Epistles (Ep. 95.42), he illustrates how indulging in delicacies like mullets can foster boastfulness. Similarly, in his Natural Questions (NQ 3.18.6-7), he notes that an excessive focus on mullets can detract from fulfilling social and familial responsibilities, such as mourning the deceased. In Seneca’s view, food can become a moral risk, capable of diverting individuals from the path of virtue. Nevertheless, through adherence to Stoic principles, one can overcome these external temptations, affirming that food should not dictate one’s ethical state.
In contrast, traditional Chinese medicine approaches the influence of food on the body from an internal, elemental perspective. Foods are characterized by properties like heat or coldness, dryness or moisture, and their consumption is believed to impact the body’s internal balance, akin to chemical reaction. For example, in managing my tooth inflammation, believed to be caused by an excess of the “fire” element, I consumed “cold” and “mild” foods like cucumbers and chrysanthemum tea to restore equilibrium. This concept of balancing bodily elements, however, lacks direct scientific observation, leading to a growing ambivalence towards the efficacy of traditional Chinese medicine among the public in recent years. Even in my own experience, it’s unclear whether my recovery was due to the dietary adjustments or my body’s natural immune response.
Finally, traditional Chinese medicine also has a strong opinion on seafood. It is typically seen as a substance that can “grow/spur” certain conditions. This view may have its roots in empirical observations; for instance, the development of hives in some individuals after consuming seafood could have led ancient practitioners to associate these foods with the aggravation of certain illnesses or the recurrence of a previous ailment. Intriguingly, Seneca’s writings do not specifically address adverse reactions to seafood, which might have been a convincing argument of how seafood is inherently incompatible with “natura”. One plausible explanation for this absence is the geographical context of ancient Rome, which, being close to the sea, had access to fresh seafood. This might have reduced the occurrence of adverse reactions, such as allergies, which are more commonly associated with spoiled or improperly handled seafood. Conversely, in ancient China, most of the dynastic capitals were located inland, and the technology for preserving and transporting perishable foods like seafood was limited. This could explain why ancient Chinese practitioners advised moderation in seafood consumption, not out of concern for virtue but health hazards.
In conclusion, Seneca’s perspective on food provides an intriguing lens that could intersect with traditional Chinese medicine. For example, traditional Chinese medicine posits that individuals may naturally gravitate towards foods that mirror their constitutional properties, potentially aggravating any existing imbalances. Seneca might interpret this preference for certain foods also as a reflection of a person’s inclination toward particular actions or ethical dispositions. Such perspective could reveal how our natural preferences for food are intertwined with our character and life choices, helping us gain a more holistic insight of our existence.
