"In wine there is truth (In vino veritas)." - Pliny

Itchiness deepened as the Romans gathered for their nocturnal discussions, symposia, and banquets. Among the numerous morsels and flowing cups, a particular elixir held potent symbolic power: wine. Moderation was often endorsed, yet even Seneca, the Stoic philosopher, conceded that excessive consumption could foster 'the beatitude with which the soul dances and exclaims, "I am delivered from everything so clear-sighted and healthy."'

The crux of this duality lies in the famous Latin adage, "In vino veritas", often given as Pliny the Elder's interpretation. While Pliny likely wrote it down referencing a proverb far older than his own time, he effectively captured a persistent belief. "In wine, all truth is yielded up; what covereth... dieth," declared St. Chrysostom centuries later, echoing the same sentiment.

In Rome, the relaxed atmosphere induced by wine, whether of local Caelian fame or imported Greek delicacies, certainly loosened the social strictures. Romans sought connection, debated politics, or simply unwound, often explaining complex events or expressing deep feelings only when sufficiently relaxed. They might speak with greater candour about trivial embarrassments or fleeting desires, seemingly freed from the anxieties of polite society's falsehoods or cautious diplomacy. The philosopher would ponder; the citizen might reveal hidden grievances; the soldier could boast or lament freely.

Beyond the Roman Republic, this principle resonated. It explained the centuries-long association of moderate wine consumption with conviviality and social bonding across medieval Europe and into the Enlightenment. Thinkers from philosophers to critics drew upon it: the drunken philosopher might offer profound insights, the tavern chatter revealed pent-up public opinion. Voltaire quipped that "there are sages whose words are sensible, and fools whose words are forced," hinting perhaps at the unpredictability of unleashing guarded impulses.

However, the adage holds a complex truth. Alcohol disinhibits, yes, but it doesn't erase the underlying psychology or memory. The person speaking, consciously or subconsciously, might be attempting to manage their revealed state. What unfolds can be psychological projection – a relaxation where long-suppressed but harmless feelings emerge, or a manifestation of deeper anxieties. What is said could be a carefully crafted escape from the 'tyranny of the oughts'. Is the 'truth' they crave, the veritas, genuine, or the defenceless solipsism of intoxication?

History, rich with accounts of inspiration struck after a blazing night, speaks volumes. Yet, it also records the consequences of impaired judgment leading to foolish decisions, rash vows, or ruinous behaviour. Clever diplomatic blunders uttered under the influence later regretted; heartfelt confidences revealed later forgotten. It's the flip side of the efficient consensus-making machinery of large institutions and cultures – a pressure cooker where speaking one's distilled essence feels necessary yet dangerous to attempt. Wine strips away this protective layer momentarily, offering fleeting, unfiltered perspectives but never foolproof honesty.

In vino veritas. The wisdom lies in acknowledging that glimpses of truth can be glimpsed beneath the surface. Even Pliny understood – perhaps measured doses offered 'sweet communion'. But whether this constitutes a formula for profound revelation or simple, sloppy admission is ultimately still determined, perhaps slightly paradoxically, by the vessel itself (a glass of cold water perhaps?), and the individual light in the swirling glass. It's a potent metaphor for social interaction itself, the ways we shy away, the pressures that bind, and the rare moments when societal masks feel lifted, whether by great wine or another powerful force of loquacity – like the memes that swept through social media uncontrollably last week.