It is a far cry from the argumentative symposium of the day of Plato to the scientific expository symposium of today. It has slowly evolved, passing through such intermediate stages as the Literary Club of Samuel Johnson's time. And there has been likewise a great change in the nature of the subjects dwelt on, and in the atmosphere in which they are treated. In the days of Socrates, philosophy was distilled with the fumes of Hellenic wine, and the asperity of the argument was soothed by the strains of a girl flute player. Eros was discussed, according to Plato's Symposium, until the wee sma' hours, by which time, as usual, the steady-headed Socrates had drunk all of his comrades under the table, thereby winning the argument.

Ages went by, and then came the coffee house with its milder potation, but no less owlish frequenters. Mighty Johnson leveled with his catapultic shots his enemy's defense, and set himself up as the literary pope. Authors and books received the most attention in these clubs of the time, but Johnson saw fit to take a random shot at Berkley's "non-substantiality of matter" theory, and shook it with a mere foot blow.

And now there is the scientific symposium. "Symposium" is obviously a misnomer. No one drinks at the Union or enters unconventionally into the discussions with a clink of glasses and a Germanic "Hoch!" Such men as Raleigh and the Virginia planters have put an end to that-- not to mention men more notorious. The clear air of discussion is now clouded with thin blue smoke, so that such gatherings as that to be held tonight should be more aptly termed "smokosiums", and may the best man smoke the others out.

Whether we have put aside the old conviviality of the Greek to good advantage is debatable, but if our discussions are not as profound, they are at least more practical. Plato wrote of Eros; our time discusses water, which, after all, is a more comprehensible and certain subject for all of its vaporization and solidification.