pleasure in another that is troublesome to himself? I think no one will say it that is not more foolish
than Folly. And yet, if you should exclude me, there’s no man but would be so far from enduring
another that he would stink in his own nostrils, be nauseated with his own actions, and himself
become odious to himself; forasmuch as Nature, in too many things rather a stepdame than a parent
to us, has imprinted that evil in men, especially such as have least judgment, that everyone repents
him of his own condition and admires that of others. Whence it comes to pass that all her gifts,
elegancy, and graces corrupt and perish. For what benefit is beauty, the greatest blessing of heaven,
if it be mixed with affectation? What youth, if corrupted with the severity of old age?
Lastly, what is that in the whole business of a man’s life he can do with any grace to himself or
others —for it is not so much a thing of art, as the very life of every action, that it be done with a
good mien —unless this my friend and companion, Self-love, be present with it? Nor does she
without cause supply me the place of a sister, since her whole endeavors are to act my part
everywhere. For what is more foolish than for a man to study nothing else than how to please
himself? To make himself the object of his own admiration? And yet, what is there that is either
delightful or taking, nay rather what not the contrary, that a man does against the hair? Take away
this salt of life, and the orator may even sit still with his action, the musician with all his division
will be able to please no man, the player be hissed off the stage, the poet and all his Muses ridiculous,
the painter with his art contemptible, and the physician with all his slip-slops go a-begging. Lastly,
you will be taken for an ugly fellow instead of youthful, and a beast instead of a wise man, a child
instead of eloquent, and instead of a well-bred man, a clown. So necessary a thing it is that everyone
flatter himself and commend himself to himself before he can be commended by others Lastly,
since it is the chief point of happiness “that a man is willing to be what he is,” you have further
abridged in this my Self-love, that no man is ashamed of his own face, no man of his own wit, no
man of his own parentage, no man of his own house, no man of his manner of living, not any man
of his own country; so that a Highlander has no desire to change with an Italian, a Thracian with
an Athenian, not a Scythian for the Fortunate Islands. O the singular care of Nature, that in so great
a variety of things has made all equal! Where she has been sometimes sparing of her gifts she has
recompensed it with the mote of self-love; though here, I must confess, I speak foolishly, it being
the greatest of all other her gifts: to say nothing that no great action was ever attempted without
my motion, or art brought to perfection without my help.
Is not war the very root and matter of all famed enterprises? And yet what more foolish than to
undertake it for I know what trifles, especially when both parties are sure to lose more than they
get by the bargain? For of those that are slain, not a word of them; and for the rest, when both sides
are close engaged “and the trumpets make an ugly noise,” what use of those wise men, I pray, that
are so exhausted with study that their thin, cold blood has scarce any spirits left? No, it must be
those blunt, fat fellows, that by how much the more they exceed in courage, fall short in
understanding. Unless perhaps one had rather choose Demosthenes for a soldier, who, following
the example of Archilochius, threw away his arms and betook him to his heels e’er he had scarce
seen his enemy; as ill a soldier, as happy an orator.
But counsel, you’ll say, is not of least concern in matters of war. In a general I grant it; but this
thing of warring is not part of philosophy, but managed by parasites, panders, thieves, cut-throats,
13
Desiderius Erasmus
In Praise of Folly
plowmen, sots, spendthrifts, and such other dregs of mankind, not philosophers; who how unapt
they are even for common converse, let Socrates, whom the oracle of Apollo, though not so wisely,
judged “the wisest of all men living,” be witness; who stepping up to speak somewhat, I know not
what, in public was forced to come down again well laughed at for his pains. Though yet in this he
was not altogether a fool, that he refused the appellation of wise, and returning it back to the oracle,
delivered his opinion that a wise man should abstain from meddling with public business; unless
perhaps he should have rather admonished us to beware of wisdom if we intended to be reckoned
among the number of men, there being nothing but his wisdom that first accused and afterwards
sentenced him to the drinking of his poisoned cup. For while, as you find him in Aristophanes,
philosophizing about clouds and ideas, measuring how far a flea could leap, and admitting that so
small a creature as a fly should make so great a buzz, he meddled not with anything that concerned
common life. But his master being in danger of his head, his scholar Plato is at hand, to wit that
famous patron, that being disturbed with the noise of the people, could not go through half his first
sentence. What should I speak of Theophrastus, who being about to make an oration, became as
dumb as if he had met a wolf in his way, which yet would have put courage in a man of war? Or
Isocrates, that was so cowhearted that he dared never attempt it? Or Tully, that great founder of
the Roman eloquence, that could never begin to speak without an odd kind of trembling, like a boy
that had got the hiccough; which Fabius interprets as an argument of a wise orator and one that was
sensible of what he was doing; and while he says it, does he not plainly confess that wisdom is a
great obstacle to the true management of business? What would become of them, think you, were
they to fight it out at blows that are so dead through fear when the contest is only with empty words?
And next to these is cried up, forsooth, that goodly sentence of Plato’s, “Happy is that commonwealth
where a philosopher is prince, or whose prince is addicted to philosophy.” When yet if you consult
historians, you’ll find no princes more pestilent to the commonwealth than where the empire has
fallen to some smatterer in philosophy or one given to letters. To the truth of which I think the
Catoes give sufficient credit; of whom the one was ever disturbing the peace of the commonwealth
with his hair-brained accusations; the other, while he too wisely vindicated its liberty, quite overthrew
it. Add to this the Bruti, Casii, nay Cicero himself, that was no less pernicious to the commonwealth
of Rome than was Demosthenes to that of Athens. Besides M. Antoninus (that I may give you one
instance that there was once one good empetor; for with much ado I can make it out) was become
burdensome and hated of his subjects upon no other score but that he was so great a philosopher.
But admitting him good, he did the commonwealth more hurt in leaving behind him such a son as
he did than ever he did it good by his own government. For these kind of men that are so given up
to the study of wisdom are generally most unfortunate, but chiefly in their children; Nature, it
seems, so providently ordering it, lest this mischief of wisdom should spread further among mankind.
For which reason it is manifest why Cicero’s son was so degenerate, and that wise Socrates’ children,
as one has well observed, were more like their mother than their father, that is to say, fools.
However this were to be born with, if only as to public employments they were “like a sow upon
a pair of organs,” were they anything more apt to discharge even the common offices of life. Invite
a wise man to a feast and he’ll spoil the company, either with morose silence or troublesome
disputes. Take him out to dance, and you’ll swear “a cow would have done it better.” Bring him
to the theatre, and his very looks are enough to spoil all, till like Cato he take an occasion of
14
Desiderius Erasmus
In Praise of Folly