Our Senators aren't drinking nearly enough wine in session, and it's bad for democracy

"You cannot know a man's true character until you have seen him democratized by wine." - Theognis of Megara

Imagine, for a moment, that you are a humble citizen of Athens in 500BCE, invited to a democratic assembly. Pericles is President and citizen-leader (yes, President, not Emperor!, elected and re-elected by the free men of Athens who had completed military service) but the night's proceedings are being led by the Symposiarch. 

Despite the fact that women, slaves, and foreigners have no say (80% of the city's population of 300,000), Athens has established a type of 'radical democracy', lubricated by non-other than the world's most democratizing substance: wine.

Like a fraternity brother making jungle juice, the Symposiarch had the important role of establishing the night's ratio of water to wine, in a large krater in the center of the room, for all to see. 

Wine would then served to all in pitchers -- the same amount at the same time, encourage a flow of conversation. Drinking the wine was an act of vulnerability - you could never know if the source was poisoned! - and it was also a great equalizer. Citizens present were granted both Parrhesia, protected free speech, and Isogoria, the right to speak and have their voice heard in public assembly. 

Greek, Roman and Etruscan symposiums followed slightly different customs, they agreed that the optimal reason for introducing alcohol to these animated discussions was to reach a state of thorein—a state of being "alert but relaxed." The poet Eubulus outlines the 3-krater rule in the comedy  Semele or Dionysus:

"For sensible men I prepare only three kraters: one for health (which they drink first), the second for love and pleasure, and the third for sleep. After the third one is drained, wise men go home. The fourth krater is not mine any more – it belongs to bad behaviour; the fifth is for shouting; the sixth is for rudeness and insults; the seventh is for fights; the eighth is for breaking the furniture; the ninth is for depression; the tenth is for madness and unconsciousness."