Too much and too little wine. Give him none, he cannot find

Hear now the wisdom of Blaise Pascal, the philosopher who wrestled with reason and faith, with flesh and spirit: “Too much and too little wine. Give him none, he cannot find truth; give him too much, the same.” This is no jest about drink alone, but a parable of balance, a mirror held up to the soul of man. For Pascal speaks not only of the cup that overflows, but of all things that tempt us to excess or denial. He reminds us that truth is not found in the barren desert of deprivation nor in the drowning flood of indulgence, but in the temperate stream where clarity flows.

The wine in his saying is both literal and symbolic. In small measure, it loosens the chains of fear, opens the heart to fellowship, and stirs the imagination. In this way, it may guide a man toward glimpses of truth, helping him to set aside the rigid mask of pride. Yet in excess, wine becomes a fog upon the mind, a tyrant that turns wisdom into folly and freedom into slavery. And in its complete absence—when joy and warmth are forever denied—life itself may grow barren, and the spirit may find no spark to pursue truth. Thus Pascal teaches that balance, not extremity, is the guardian of wisdom.

Think upon the tale of the ancient Greeks, who honored Dionysus, god of wine and revelry. They knew well that wine could bring both vision and ruin. In their symposia, where philosophers gathered to debate, the cup was shared, but not without measure. For a little loosened the tongue and sharpened the spirit, yet too much would turn dialogue to madness. The same substance that inspired poetry could also destroy reason. Their festivals themselves were lessons in Pascal’s wisdom: that man must learn to walk the narrow path between deprivation and excess.

History, too, gives us darker warnings. Consider Alexander the Great, whose greatness was undone not on the battlefield, but at the banquet hall. In his moments of drunken excess, decisions were made that cost the lives of his friends and the stability of his empire. Wine, which might have been a servant of joy, became his master, leading him further from truth. His story reminds us that the same gift which can uplift may also destroy if not tempered by restraint.

Yet Pascal’s insight reaches further still. Replace wine with any desire—wealth, power, pleasure, knowledge itself—and the lesson remains. Too little, and life is starved of joy, of growth, of vitality; too much, and the soul is corrupted, suffocated, blinded. Balance is the lamp that lights the way to truth. Without it, we stumble in darkness, whether of emptiness or of excess.

The teaching, O seekers of wisdom, is clear: do not despise the gifts of life, nor worship them. Partake of them as one who sips from a sacred cup—enough to nourish, enough to enliven, but never so much that the cup itself becomes your master. Let moderation guide your steps, for only then will your eyes remain clear enough to see truth.

Therefore, in your daily practice, watch your habits as a shepherd watches his flock. Ask yourself: Do I deny myself so fully that my spirit withers? Or do I indulge so greatly that my vision grows dim? Seek the middle way, the golden mean praised by the ancients, where discipline and joy embrace as companions. There, in the balance, truth awaits you—steady, radiant, and free from the distortions of both hunger and intoxication.

Thus, remember the words of Pascal: that in both the famine and the flood of wine, truth is lost. But in the gentle stream of moderation, it may be found, and those who drink of it wisely shall walk the path of clarity and peace.