Key ideas: Satirical essay by Desiderius Erasmus (1466–1536), wirtten in 1509.
I emulate those ancients who, to avoid the unpopular name of philosophers, preferred to be called Sophists. Their study was to celebrate in eulogies the virtues of gods and of heroic men. Such a eulogy, therefore, you shall hear, but not of Hercules or Solon; rather of my own self—to wit, Folly...
Who, indeed, could portray me better than can I myself? ...
For my part, it has always been most satisfactory to speak “whatever pops into my head.”...
I am as you see me, that true disposer of good things whom the Latins call Stultitia and the Greeks Mωρία.
Now the Stoics believe that they are next-door neighbors to gods. But give me a triple Stoic, or a quadruple one, or, if you will, a Stoic multiplied by six hundred; if for this purpose he will not put off his beard, the ensign of wisdom (though displayed also by goats), yet he will certainly lay by his gravity, smooth his brow, renounce his rock-bound principles, and for a few minutes toy and talk nonsense.
As proof of this, there is extant that lovely tribute to me by Sophocles, who can never be sufficiently praised, “To know nothing affords the happiest life”; and he would be authority enough, but come, I will open the whole matter, step by step.
First of all, who does not know that the earliest period of a man’s life is by far the happiest for him and by far the most pleasant for all about him? What is it in children, that we should kiss them the way we do, and cuddle them, and fondle them—so that even an enemy would give aid to one of that age—except this enchantment of folly, which prudent nature carefully bestows on the newly born; so that by this pleasure, as a sort of prepayment, they win the favor of their nurses and parents and make these forget the pains of bringing them up....
And presently when lads grown larger begin, through experience and discipline, to have some smack of manhood, I am a liar if by the same token the brightness of their beauty does not fade, their quickness diminish, their wit lose its edge, their vigor slacken. The farther one gets from me, then, the less and less he lives, until molesta senectus (that is, irk-some old age) arrives, hateful to others, to be sure, but also and more so to itself...
I bring those who have one foot in the grave back to their infancy again, for as long as possible; so that the folk are not far off in speaking of them as “in their second childhood.”
For do you not see that the austere fellows who are buried in the study of philosophy, or condemned to difficult and wracking business, grow old even before they have been young—and this because by cares and continual hard driving of their brains they insensibly exhaust their spirits and dry up their radical moisture?
On the contrary, my morons are as plump and sleek as the hogs of Acarnania (as the saying is), with complexions well cared for, never feeling the touch of old age; unless, as rarely happens, they catch something by contagion from the wise—so true is it that the life of man is not destined to be in every respect happy.
First of all, you see with what foresight nature, the source and artificer of the human race, has made provision that this race shall never lack its seasoning of folly. For since, by the Stoic definitions, wisdom is no other than to be governed by reason, while folly is to be moved at the whim of the passions, Jupiter, to the end, obviously, that the life of mankind should not be sad and harsh, put in—how much more of passions than of reason?
Well, the proportions run about one pound to half an ounce. Besides, he imprisoned reason in a cramped corner of the head, and turned over all the rest of the body to the emotions.
How ineffective these philosophers are for the work of real life, the one and only Socrates himself, who was judged wisest by (not the wisest) oracle of Apollo, will serve for proof. When he tried to urge something, I know not what, in public, he hastily withdrew to the accompaniment of loud laughter from all quarters.
Yet Socrates was not altogether foolish in this one respect, that he repudiated the epithet “wise,” and gave it over to God; he also cherished the opinion that a wise man should abstain from meddling in the public business of the commonwealth.
To be sure, he ought rather to have admonished us that one who wishes to have a place in the ranks of men should abstain from wisdom itself. And then, what but his wisdom drove him, once he had been impeached, to drink the hemlock?
For while he disputed and reasoned of clouds and ideas, while he measured the feet of a flea, and marvelled at the voice of a gnat, he did not fathom the commonest concerns of life.
The wise man runs to books of the ancients and learns from them a merely verbal shrewdness. The fool arrives at true prudence, if I am not deceived, by addressing himself at once to the business and taking his chances. Homer seems to have seen this, for all that he was blind, when he said, “Even a fool is wise after a thing is done.”
There are two great obstacles to developing a knowledge of affairs—shame, which throws a smoke over the understanding, and fear, which, once danger has been sighted, dissuades from going through with an exploit.
Folly, with a grand gesture, frees us from both. Never to feel shame, to dare anything —few mortals know to what further blessings these will carry us!
Hence it appears that among mortals they who are zealous for wisdom are farthest from happiness, being by the same token fools twice over: that is, although they are born men, they then so far forget their own station as to hanker after the life of the immortal gods; and on the example of the Giants, with arts and sciences as their engines they wage war on nature.
So also those appear to be least unhappy who approach nearest to the temperament and simplicity of the beasts, nor ever undertake what is beyond man.
Come, let us not test this with Stoic enthymemes, when we can demonstrate it by a single plain example.
By the gods above, is there anything that is better off than that class of men whom we generally call morons, fools, halfwits, and zanies—the most beautiful names I know of!
You see, I am telling you what at first blush may seem silly and absurd but is true many times over. For first of all, these folk are free from all fear of death—and this fear, by Jove, is no piddling evil!
They are free from tortures of conscience.They are not frightened by tales of ghosts, or scared to death by specters and goblins. They are not tormented by dread of impending evils, and they are not blown up with hope of future good. In short, they are not vexed by the thousand cares to which this life is subject.
They do not feel shame or fear, they are not ambitious, they do not envy, they do not love. And finally, if they should approach even more closely to the irrationality of dumb animals they would not sin, according to the writers of theology...
Remember also that they are continually merry, they play, sing, and laugh; and what is more, they bring to others, wherever they may come, pleasure, jesting, sport, and laughter, as if they were created, by a merciful dispensation of the gods, for this one purpose—to drive away the sadness of human life.
Now the Christian church was founded on blood, strengthened by blood, and augmented by blood; yet nowadays they carry on Christ’s cause by the sword just as if He who defends His own by His own means had perished.
And although war is so cruel a business that it befits beasts and not men, so frantic that poets feign it is sent with evil purpose by the Furies, so pestilential that it brings with it a general blight upon morals, so iniquitous that it is usually conducted by the worst bandits, so impious that it has no accord with Christ, yet our popes, neglecting all their other concerns, make it their only task
Here you will see feeble old men assuming the strength of youth, not shocked by the expense or tired out by the labor, not at all discouraged, if only they may upset laws, religion, peace, and all humane usages, and turn them heels over head.
Learned sycophants will be ofund who will give to this manifest madness the names of zeal, piety, and fortitude, devising a way whereby it is possible for a man to whip out his sword, stick it into the guts of his brother, and nonetheless dwell in that supreme charity which, according to Christ’s precept, a Christian owes to his neighbor.