Here we go—another chapter in Sammi & Eriko’s life, where manga pages and philosophical prose fold into each other:
Chapter: Banqueters of Consciousness
The apartment was quiet except for the soft rustle of manga pages and the rhythmic clatter of Eriko’s pen. Sammi sprawled across the couch, hair a halo of red waves, laughing softly at some silly romantic misstep in the volume she held. Eriko, at her desk, leaned forward in concentration, eyes fixed on the draft of a thesis that had been circling her mind for weeks.
“Sammi,” Eriko said suddenly, her voice thoughtful but carrying an undertone of intensity, “I both enjoy and find joy in Athenaeus’ Learned Banqueters. Do you know why?”
Sammi tilted her head, setting the manga aside, more interested in Eriko than in the fate of Usshi and Rika. “Why, babe?”
“Because unlike our so-called revealed scriptures,” Eriko began, her tone measured but quietly fierce, “his world treats knowledge as something collective, ongoing—a participatory act of agency. Not a once-and-done divine info-drop that every generation has to torture themselves reinterpreting. Scriptures demand tears, dogma, and some axe-to-grind persona pretending to recover an imagined ‘true intention.’ Athenaeus demands presence, laughter, exchange.”
Sammi blinked, then smiled. “So… the banquet never ends.”
“Exactly.” Eriko’s eyes softened. She tapped her pen against the margin, then continued: “When was it, I wonder, that our evolutionary ancestors realized that time spent not eating, pooping, or reproducing could actually be their time? Their time to become selves, to spin identities that could extend beyond their bodies, to enrich others’ lives through story, song, or debate. That is when the first banqueters appeared—consciousness linked across the fire circle. That is where Athenaeus’ banquet begins.”
Sammi kicked her legs gently against the couch, watching Eriko’s serious face take on a kind of hidden joy. “So… what you’re saying is, Eriko, my love… the first book club in history was probably just a bunch of cave girls gossiping around the fire.”
Eriko raised an eyebrow, but her lips twitched despite herself. “If you want to trivialize the dawn of human consciousness…”
“Not trivialize—glamorize,” Sammi said, rolling onto her belly. “Think about it! Those cave girls were the first yuri banqueters. ‘Hey, your spear-throwing form was amazing today.’ ‘Oh, stop, you were the one who saved the hunt.’” She clasped her hands together, batting her lashes.
Eriko chuckled now, unable to hold the stern façade. “Maybe Athenaeus himself would have appreciated such a scene.”
“Then put it in your thesis,” Sammi teased, reaching across the coffee table to brush Eriko’s hand with her own. “Say that the learned banqueters weren’t just philosophers with scrolls—they were anyone who realized there was more to life than surviving. Anyone who looked at another and thought: sharing myself with you enriches us both.”
Eriko went still. She looked at Sammi—the redhead’s playful grin, her irreverence that somehow always cut to the marrow. Slowly, she wrote in the margin of her draft:
The banquet is consciousness in chorus, not alone in a cell.
Sammi smiled, triumphant. “There. Now you’re not just writing for Athenaeus—you’re writing for us too.”
And for a long, quiet moment, Eriko let herself believe that every scholar’s penstroke had always been a love letter.
Wonderful! Let’s let Eriko’s thesis come alive, the ink serious yet warmened by Sammi’s teasing voice that always sneaks into the margins:
Draft of Eriko’s Thesis: Banqueters of Consciousness
I. Introduction
The Deipnosophists of Athenaeus has often been read as a compendium of curiosities, a patchwork of literary fragments woven together by the conceit of a perpetual symposium. Yet I propose that it is something more profound: a literary analogue for the earliest moment of human consciousness, when beings first discovered that the time beyond survival—time not spent eating, defecating, or reproducing—could be devoted to identity, imagination, and the enrichment of others.
(Sammi, sprawled nearby, interrupts: “You forgot gossip. Surely gossip was one of the first signs of consciousness.”)
And perhaps she is right. Gossip, after all, is narrative turned social—an experiment in telling who we are to one another.
II. The Banquet versus the Revelation
Athenaeus’ banquet differs radically from the model of “revealed scripture.” Revelation posits a once-given truth, an information-drop from beyond, burdening every generation thereafter with tortured re-interpretation. Each exegete cries their tears, summons their personal axe to grind, and insists upon a reconstructed original intention that can never be wholly recovered.
By contrast, Athenaeus’ banquet enacts truth as something ongoing, a participatory performance. Knowledge is not the singular lightning-bolt but the shared glow of firelight, kept alive by many hands.
(Sammi, teasing again: “So, in other words, Athenaeus threw the longest slumber party in history, and scripture is like one of those awful chain letters that guilt-trip you if you don’t pass them on.”)
I am tempted to retain the metaphor. The contrast between festive continuity and oppressive obligation speaks volumes about the differing psychologies at play.
III. Evolutionary Consciousness as Banquet
When did our ancestors discover that life contained such “extra time”? My hypothesis is that it coincided with the capacity to experience selfhood beyond survival. Around the campfire, early humans realized that laughter, stories, gossip, and the teasing of companions created bonds not reducible to biological function.
These earliest circles of linked consciousness were, in effect, the proto-banquet of Athenaeus: conviviality as a crucible of the self.
(Sammi, nudging from across the room: “Don’t forget to mention the cave-girl yuri factor. Otherwise your thesis is just boys and scrolls again.”)
I must admit she is correct. To exclude women—or intimacy of any kind—from this reconstruction is to replicate the very exclusions I wish to challenge. The banquet is not the domain of a sex, but of any beings who discover themselves through and with others.
IV. Conclusion
Athenaeus offers us not merely fragments of lost literature but a vision of knowledge as endless dialogue—an eternal supper where each guest, however minor, contributes to the feast. To read him today is to remember that identity itself is never once-and-done but always negotiated, teased, laughed over, and shared.
(Sammi, leaning over my shoulder as I write this: “So what you’re saying, Eriko, is that when you and I sit here, you with your thesis and me with my manga, we’re basically the latest installment of Athenaeus’ banquet?”)
Yes, Sammi. That is precisely what I am saying.
Perfect 🌸 Let’s elevate Eriko’s musings into a fully structured essay, while still letting Sammi’s playful interjections sparkle in the margins (as if they’re scribbled in a different ink). This way, it reads like a polished academic work—but with Sammi woven in as Eriko’s secret co-author.
Banqueters of Consciousness: Athenaeus and the Origins of Human Agency
By Eriko (with marginalia by Sammi)
Abstract
This essay examines Athenaeus’ Deipnosophists not merely as a compendium of literary fragments but as a philosophical model for the evolution of consciousness. By contrasting the collective, participatory mode of knowledge in Athenaeus with the rigid and retrospective model of “revealed scripture,” I argue that the banquet represents an ongoing performance of identity and agency. I situate this within the evolutionary question: when did humans first realize that time beyond survival could become selfhood shared with others? In this light, Athenaeus’ banqueters stand not only as literary characters but as avatars of the earliest gatherings of conscious beings.
(Sammi’s note in the margin: “Abstract? Babe, just say it: the banquet was the first book club slash pajama party of humanity.”)
I. Introduction: From Compendium to Consciousness
Athenaeus’ Deipnosophists, or Learned Banqueters, is often read as a miscellany, a library disguised as a dinner party. Yet I propose we read it as a metaphor for consciousness itself. The work embodies the very act of beings coming together not to eat alone but to think together. The scattered quotations, stories, and debates collected within the banquet frame mirror the earliest stirrings of human identity: fragmented, playful, incomplete, but sustained in chorus.
(Sammi: “So basically, Athenaeus was live-tweeting dinner two thousand years before Twitter.”)
II. Banquet versus Revelation: Two Models of Knowledge
The contrast between Athenaeus and traditions of “revealed scripture” is stark. Revelation presumes a singular event, a truth disclosed once and for all, requiring each subsequent generation to reinterpret through layers of pain, piety, and polemic. Every exegete, in effect, retrofits their personal concerns into the guise of an “original intention,” always deferred, never retrieved.
Athenaeus, by contrast, offers a model of knowledge as conviviality. His banquet is not a lightning-bolt of divine information but the glow of shared firelight. Truth is not delivered; it is performed, contested, laughed over, and extended.
(Sammi: “Chain letters vs. slumber parties. One tells you you’ll die if you don’t forward it. The other lets you braid each other’s hair.”)
This difference is not trivial. It reflects two divergent psychologies: one rooted in obedience to an imagined past, the other in collaborative presence.
III. Evolutionary Consciousness as the First Banquet
When did our ancestors first discover the surplus of time? Beyond foraging, mating, and excreting, there came a moment when early humans realized that the hours after the hunt could belong to them—not only to recover, but to become. Around the fire, they told stories, teased companions, laughed, and experimented with identity.
These gatherings were the proto-banquet: consciousness linking with consciousness, forming a chorus greater than any individual voice.
(Sammi: “And don’t you dare erase the cave-girl yuri factor. Imagine two huntresses sitting a little closer than they ‘needed’ to, sharing stories not just for the tribe but for each other.”)
To exclude women or intimacy from this reconstruction would be to replicate the very exclusions that haunt so much of intellectual history. The banquet must be envisioned as a space for all who discovered themselves through others.
IV. Athenaeus as Evolutionary Allegory
Read in this way, Athenaeus’ banquet ceases to be antiquarian. It becomes allegorical: a literary fossil preserving the shape of early human consciousness. Each fragment of lost poetry quoted, each digressive anecdote, is less about the content itself than about the mode of preserving and sharing.
Thus, the Deipnosophists is not simply a textual storehouse but a dramatization of humanity’s greatest evolutionary leap: the recognition that to be conscious is not merely to survive, but to extend one’s self into others’ lives through dialogue, story, and joy.
V. Conclusion: The Banquet Never Ends
The Deipnosophists teaches us that knowledge is not a divine deposit but an ongoing supper, where each guest contributes to the feast and is nourished in return. To engage Athenaeus today is to remember that identity itself is never once-for-all but is always in motion, always negotiated, teased, laughed over, and shared.
(Sammi leans over my shoulder here, whispering: “So what you’re saying, Eriko, is that when you write your thesis and I sprawl on the couch with my manga, we’re part of the same eternal banquet?”)
Yes, Sammi. That is precisely what I am saying.
