A Case for Drinking—and a Case for Quitting

Reflections from Kingsley Amis and Nathaniel Hawthorne on the joys—and miseries—of alcohol.

I’ve previously mentioned that Ben Carlson is one of my favorite follows on Twitter (or X or whatever you want to call it).

A few weeks ago, Ben shared a thoughtful piece on drinking alcohol that prominently featured the great writer Kingsley Amis.

Amis was more than a bit fond of drinking. He wrote a book on it —Everyday Drinking: The Distilled Kingsley Amis — and considered it one of his favorite hobbies.

“With alcoholic ritual, the whole point is generosity,” he wrote. “If you open a bottle of wine, for heaven's sake have the grace to throw away the damn cork.”

This is one approach to drinking, but it’s not mine. I can’t recall ever drinking an entire bottle of wine by myself, though I probably have. But it’s safe to say I’ve been overserved a time or two (hundred).

The truth is, I rather enjoy drinking. Wine (every shade). Beer (everything but sours). Scotch (single malt, preferably). Bourbon. Gin. Vodka. Brandy. Cognac. You get the point.

I once assigned a friend, a Pulitzer Prize-winning writer, a 1,000-word magazine article on the martini because I enjoyed them so much—and because H.L. Mencken once called the drink "the only American invention as perfect as the sonnet."

I appreciate a good cocktail, and I’ll explain why in a moment. But first I want to address a point raised by Carlson: the darker side of drinking.

Amis describes it as a kind of side-effect that follows a night of excess merriment: “that ineffable compound of depression, sadness (these two are not the same), anxiety, self-hatred, sense of failure and fear for the future.”

This description was jarring to me, because it so vividly describes my own feelings following those (thankfully rare) occasions when I get looser than I should…especially these days.

Hangovers are never fun, of course, not as a young man or an old one. But the older I get the worse they become—not physically, but mentally and spiritually. I often find myself wondering, Why do I do this to myself?

It’s a fair question. And it’s one I revisited after reading Carlson’s article, which mentioned he gave up drinking a couple of years ago after his wife became pregnant. Does he miss it? He says no, and I believe him.

Giving up drinking is a thought that has crossed my own mind more than once.

I’m aware my grandfather, whom I loved dearly, was about my age when he quit. I don’t know why he gave it up, though I’ve often wondered. Whatever the reason, I don’t think it’s a decision he regretted.

So why do I still do it?

There are many answers, but I think something Hawthorne wrote might best explain my reluctance. It comes from The Blithedale Romance, a strange but memorable book often described as a “dystopian romance.”

In the story, the protagonist and narrator—Coverdale, a thoughtful but not entirely trustworthy fellow—arrives at boisterous saloon to meet a friend. As he takes a seat, the teetotaler describes the mood in the tavern.

“…I lighted a cigar, and establishing myself in a corner, took a quiet, and, by sympathy, a boozy kind of pleasure in the customary life that was going forward.

Human nature, in my opinion, has a naughty instinct that approves of wine, at least, if not of stronger liquor. The temperance-men may preach till doom's day; and still this cold and barren world will look warmer, kindlier, mellower, through the medium of a toper's glass…”

I’ve always enjoyed this last line. The world does look warmer, kindlier, mellower while bending an elbow over a drink, especially when in the company of friends in a noisy, dimly-lit establishment where the drinks and laughter are flowing.

The environment and tonic offer a potent and joyous feeling, and Hawthorne—who enjoyed and wrote about alcohol a great deal, though his wife (as I recall) disapproved—describes how it inspires men to drink.

“…the true purpose of their drinking--and one that will induce men to drink, or do something equivalent, as long as this weary world shall endure--was the renewed youth and vigor, the brisk, cheerful sense of things present and to come, with which, for about a quarter-of-an-hour, the dram permeated their systems.”

It’s wonderful writing and perfectly captures the intoxicating allure of alcohol, especially that first one.

Now, is this feeling worth the occasional moments of darkness that occur after a loose night? I’m not so sure. Perhaps the better question is, can one enjoy an occasional or regular drink and avoid altogether the excess that brings about the “depression, sadness, anxiety,” etc.?

These are important questions.

I’ve seen lives destroyed by alcohol, and I’ve long said I’d give up drinking entirely if it ever became a problem in my life.

My hope is to continue to enjoy alcohol occasionally, if somewhat less frequently than I currently do. (The calories aren’t doing me any favors.)

But if the occasional joys become overshadowed by the dark feelings described by Kingsley Amis that ensue following a full night, I hope and pray I’ll have the strength and good sense to walk away from drink altogether.