Aging & Wisdom Quote by Bertolt Brecht

Brecht opens with a wink that quickly turns into a thesis. The first clause borrows the tone of dinner-table advice: mixing wines is a rookie error, a bourgeois faux pas that leads to headaches and embarrassment. Then he flips the register. The moral isn’t about taste; it’s about tradition. If the palate has rules, the mind shouldn’t. “Old and new wisdom” aren’t competing vintages but ingredients, and Brecht insists the blend can be stronger than the single-origin bottle.

The intent is polemical but sly: he smuggles an argument for intellectual hybridity through a metaphor that flatters the very class he often skewers. Brecht’s theater was built on collisions - folk songs against political slogans, ancient forms against modern crises, sentiment interrupted by analysis. In that light, the line reads like a defense of his method: take what survives from inherited moral knowledge, cut it with the hard-earned insights of the present, and refuse the false choice between reverence and rupture.

The subtext is also a warning against purism. “Old wisdom” can ossify into cliché or ideology; “new wisdom” can become fashionable certainty. Their mixture is “admirable” because it keeps both unstable, forcing scrutiny. In Brecht’s world - Weimar volatility, fascism’s rise, exile, the postwar struggle over what art is for - clean continuities are suspect. The joke about wine masks a serious claim: history doesn’t offer us a single vintage to drink. Survival, politically and artistically, depends on learning how to blend.