Downame elaborates on the two ways that drinkers abuse themselves: “First by drunkenness, when by immoderate swilling and tipling they are deprived of the use of their reason, understanding, and memory; so as for the time, they become like unto beasts. Second, by excesse, when as they addict themselves to much drinking, and make it their usual practice to sit at the wine or strong drink.”75 While “drunkenness” and “excess” might seem synonymous to modern audiences, for Downame they are distinct. “Drunkenness” describes the phenomenon of overdrinking, regardless of how often—drunkenness produces, he says, substance-related problems (deprivation of “reason, understanding, and memory”). “Excess” denotes habitual overdrinking or compulsive use (a “usual practice” of excess, as men “sit at the wine or strong drink”). Thus, both singular drunkenness and habitual drinking are part of the dangers of alcohol. Addiction appears, Downame claims, when the drinker can no longer abstain: “They who addict themselves to this vice, doe finde it so sweet and pleasing to the flesh, that they are loath to part with it.”76
Downame’s concern for those addicts of alcohol stands in contrast to the widespread Galenic prescription of alcohol in promoting good health.77 Alcohol’s role in that regard was especially crucial since daily beverages such as beer and ale provided both clean water and calories to their consumers. Indeed, as Louise Hill Curth and Tanya M. Cassidy write, “Alcohol, consumed in moderation, was thought to be an important ally in the fight against disease. Ale, beer, and wine were all touted for their preservative properties.”78 Excessive and habitual drunkenness challenged the Galenic prescriptions for self care and provoked increasing concern from medical, legal, and religious authorities, prompting examination, as Jennifer Richards illuminates, of precisely what constituted “enough.”79 This concern is expressed not only in sermonizing writings but also in historical chronicles such as Holinshed’s, where he notes the role of beer in the English diet and the resulting “ale knightes so much addicted thereunto, that they will not cease from morow untyll even.”80
Addicted drinkers suffer, many writers argue, from disease. The daily bouts affect the drinkers’ brains, leading to greater toleration for alcohol. John Hoskins, in concert with his contemporaries, describes how wine gives “the braine a blow, that like a subtil wrastler, it may supplant the feet afterwards.”81 While these authors had none of the modern tools, such as brain-scan technology, that are available to twenty-first-century neurobiologists, they nevertheless anticipate modern research in their preoccupation with the drunken brain, as well as the drunken body. Further, these writers catalogue a set of diseases familiar to modern researchers and chronicled in Trotter and Rush’s work, cited above. The drinker, Downame and other critics of drunkenness argue, “is brought unto grievous diseases, as dropsies, gouts, palsies, apoplexie, and such like.”82 This catalogue of diseases appears in nearly all discussions of drunkenness in this genre of religious polemic.83 Drunkenness leads to such “diseases in the body of man, as apoplexies, falling sicknesses, palsies, dropsies, consumptions, giddinesse of the head, inflammation of the blood and liver, distemper of the brain, deprivation of the sense, and whatnot,” as the anonymous author of A looking glasse for drunkards (1627) writes.84
Of course, this language of disease does not indicate that early modern notions of diseased alcoholism map easily onto modern ones. To early modern writers, drunkenness is also a sign of errancy, not least because, as Roy Porter argues, “sickness was largely seen as personal, internal, and brought on by a faulty lifestyle…. Careful attention to all aspects of ‘regimen’ or lifestyle, would prevent ‘disease’ (literally ‘dis-ease’) in the first place.”85 Yet ultimately these authors find the language of vice and condemnation insufficient, an important point considering that later addiction studies label the early modern period as a strictly moralizing one in its descriptions of drunkenness. Wrestling with the agent behind the lure of drinking, reformers alternate between blaming the drinker and the power of alcohol. Ostensibly the “drunkard” brings this infirmity “upon himself.” Yet equally, in trying to account for the radical changes in a drinker’s condition, these writers turn to language on the overthrow of the subject: what had previously signaled dedicated commitment when directed at God indicates instead a form of slavery when linked to alcohol. As we learn in The odious, despicable, and dreadfull condition of a drunkard, “drunkards” suffer from a “slavish condition,” tied to the “tap-house.”86 The language of tyranny and enslavement illuminates the strange condition of drunkenness, in which a subject is both himself and not himself. Arguably “the outcome of weakness or self-indulgence on the part of the paradigmatically ‘free’ agent,” drunkenness resonates in these writings with a condition problematically deemed to be voluntary slavery, the socially and politically stigmatized failure of mastery on the part of an individual. “When a higher faculty of the free self falls subject to a lower faculty, or when the free self as a whole becomes hopelessly enamored of inferior, mundane pursuits,” Mary Nyquist writes, “ethico-spiritual ‘slavery’ is the inevitable result.”87 This peculiar notion of slavery’s voluntarism allows the drinker some agency: the addict is not a slave in a political or legal sense, but rather is reflexively attached and ravished by an object or activity of choice, becoming diseased and abused in the process.
In their complex invocations of drunkenness as a disease of body and spirit, these early modern theologians are at the heart of a historical irony: it is the largely religious preachers who explore the empirical connection between habitual drunkenness and a set of disorders linked, today, with alcoholism. Yet in the context of twentieth-century addiction discourse, these writers will be dismissed as ignorant moralizers, as proto-temperance fanatics, and as biased evangelicals, even as their writings anticipate modern medical definitions of addiction far more precisely than the work of their contemporary physicians. Physicians will eventually speak of drunkenness as disease, but not until fifty years after these religious writings. Notably, Dr. Everard Maynwaringe takes up the concern with drunkenness. In his Vita sana & longa the preservation of health and prolongation of life proposed and proved (1669), he writes “that drunkenness is a disease or sickness, will appear in that it hath all the requisites to constitute a disease, and is far distant from a state of health … the eyes do not see well, nor the ears hear well, nor the palate relish, etc. The speech faulters and is imperfect; the stomach perhaps vomites or nauseates; his legs fail … an unwholesome corpulency and … plentitude of body does follow: or a degenerate … and a decayed consumptive constitution … as well as imbecility of the nerves.”88 Maynwaringe, like the godly polemicists before him and modern researchers after, links excessive drunkenness to precisely those diseases that continue to be associated today with alcoholism. Indeed, as Jessica Warner has illuminated, these pamphlets directly anticipate the work by the addiction pioneers Trotter and Rush centuries later: “We ultimately owe our own habit of identifying heavy drinkers as addicts and alcoholism as a disease not to physicians but to the clergymen of preindustrial England.”89 This is because, she argues, “it is in the religious oratory of Stuart England that we find the key components of the idea that habitual drunkenness constitutes a progressive disease, the chief symptom of which is a loss of control over drinking behavior.”90 Yet, as Christopher C. H. Cook has argued, “under the influence of the Enlightenment, the vast interdisciplinary literature that surrounds addiction and alcohol studies has come to exclude theology.”91
Drinking and Good Fellowship
The embrace of one form of addiction, to God, and the censure of another, to alcohol, creates the appearance