Erasmus’s Letter to Sir Thomas More

5 min

IN my late travels from Italy into England, that I might not trifle away my time in the rehearsal of old wives' fables, I thought it more pertinent to employ my thoughts in reflecting upon some past studies, or calling to remembrance several of those highly learned, as well as smartly ingenious, friends I had here left behind, among whom you (dear Sir) were represented as the chief; whose memory, while absent at this distance, I respect with no less a complacency than I was wont while present to enjoy your more intimate conversation, which last afforded me the greatest satisfaction I could possibly hope for. Having therefore resolved to be a doing, and deeming that time improper for any serious concerns, I thought good to divert myself with drawing up a panegyrick upon Folly. How! what maggot (say you) put this in your head? Why, the first hint, Sir, was your own surname of More, which comes as near the literal sound of the word,* as you yourself are distant from the signification of it, and that in all men's judgments is vastly wide.

On my recent journey from Italy to England, I did not want to waste time retelling old wives' tales. Instead, I thought it better to reflect on some past studies or remember friends I had left behind here. These friends were both highly learned and brilliantly witty, and you, dear Sir, stood foremost among them. Remembering you from so far away gives me as much pleasure as your close company once did. Our conversations gave me the greatest satisfaction I could possibly hope for. So I resolved to keep busy, but thought the journey unsuitable for serious work. I therefore decided to amuse myself by writing a speech in praise of Folly. What! Whatever put such a strange idea into your head, you ask? Well, Sir, the first suggestion came from your own surname, More. Its sound is as close to the word* as you yourself are far from its meaning. And in everyone's judgment, that distance is very great indeed.

* Mwpia.

In the next place, I supposed that this kind of sporting wit would be by you more especially accepted of, by you, Sir, that are wont with this sort of jocose raillery (such as, if I mistake not, is neither dull nor impertinent) to be mightily pleased, and in your ordinary converse to approve yourself a Democritus junior: for truly, as you do from a singular vein of wit very much dissent from the common herd of mankind; so, by an incredible affability and pliableness of temper, you have the art of suiting your humour with all sorts of companies. I hope therefore you will not only readily accept of this rude essay as a token from your friend, but take it under your more immediate protection, as being dedicated to you, and by that tide adopted for yours, rather than to be fathered as my own. And it is a chance if there be wanting some quarrelsome persons that will shew their teeth, and pretend these fooleries are either too buffoon-like for a grave divine, or too satyrical for a meek christian, and so will exclaim against me as if I were vamping up some old farce, or acted anew the Lucian again with a peevish snarling at all things. But those who are offended at the lightness and pedantry of this subject, I would have them consider that I do not set myself for the first example of this kind, but that the same has been oft done by many considerable authors. For thus several ages since, Homer wrote of no more weighty a subject than of a war between the frogs and mice, Virgil of a gnat and a pudding-cake, and Ovid of a nut Polycrates commended the cruelty of Busiris; and Isocrates, that corrects him for this, did as much for the injustice of Glaucus. Favorinus extolled Thersites, and wrote in praise of a quartan ague. Synesius pleaded in behalf of baldness; and Lucian defended a sipping fly. Seneca drollingly related the deifying of Claudius; Plutarch the dialogue betwixt Gryllus and Ulysses; Lucian and Apuleius the story of an ass; and somebody else records the last will of a hog, of which St. Hierom makes mention. So that if they please, let themselves think the worst of me, and fancy to themselves that I was all this while a playing at push-pin, or riding astride on a hobby-horse. For how unjust is it, if when we allow different recreations to each particular course of life, we afford no diversion to studies; especially when trifles may be a whet to more serious thoughts, and comical matters may be so treated of, as that a reader of ordinary sense may possibly thence reap more advantage than from some more big and stately argument: as while one in a long-winded oration descants in commendation of rhetoric or philosophy, another in a fulsome harangue sets forth the praise of his nation, a third makes a zealous invitation to a holy war with the Turks, another confidently sets up for a fortune-teller, and a fifth states questions upon mere impertinences. But as nothing is more childish than to handle a serious subject in a loose, wanton style, so is there nothing more pleasant than so to treat of trifles, as to make them seem nothing less than what their name imports. As to what relates to myself, I must be forced to submit to the judgment of others; yet, except I am too partial to be judge in my own case, I am apt to believe I have praised Folly in such a manner as not to have deserved the name of fool for my pains. To reply now to the objection of satyricalness, wits have been always allowed this privilege, that they might be smart upon any transactions of life, if so be their liberty did not extend to railing; which makes me wonder at the tender-eared humour of this age, which will admit of no address without the prefatory repetition of all formal titles; nay, you may find some so preposterously devout, that they will sooner wink at the greatest affront against our Saviour, than be content that a prince, or a pope, should be nettled with the least joke or gird, especially in what relates to their ordinary customs. But he who so blames men's irregularities as to lash at no one particular person by name, does he (I say) seem to carp so properly as to teach and instruct? And if so, how am I concerned to make any farther excuse? Beside, he who in his strictures points indifferently at all, he seems not angry at one man, but at all vices.

Next, I thought you would be especially pleased with this playful wit, Sir. You take great pleasure in this kind of humorous teasing, which, unless I am mistaken, is neither dull nor irrelevant. In everyday conversation, you show yourself to be a Democritus junior. Your distinctive wit sets you far apart from the common herd of humanity. Yet your remarkable friendliness and easygoing nature let you adapt your humor to every kind of company. So I hope you will gladly accept this rough effort as a token of friendship. I also hope you will take it under your special protection. By being dedicated to you, it becomes your adopted child, rather than one I must claim as my own. There will probably be some quarrelsome people ready to bare their teeth. They will claim these fooleries are too clownish for a serious theologian or too satirical for a gentle Christian. They will denounce me as though I were patching up some old farce. Or they will say I am playing Lucian again, snapping and snarling at everything. But anyone offended by this subject's frivolity and learned nonsense should remember that I am not the first to attempt it. Many distinguished authors have often done the same. Ages ago, Homer wrote on nothing weightier than a war between frogs and mice. Virgil wrote about a gnat and a pudding-cake, and Ovid about a nut. Polycrates praised the cruelty of Busiris. Isocrates criticized him for doing so, yet offered similar praise for the injustice of Glaucus. Favorinus praised Thersites and wrote in praise of a quartan ague, a fever recurring every fourth day. Synesius argued in favor of baldness, and Lucian defended a fly sipping its drink. Seneca gave a comic account of Claudius becoming a god. Plutarch wrote the dialogue between Gryllus and Ulysses. Lucian and Apuleius told the story of an ass. Someone else recorded a hog's last will, which St. Hierom mentions. So let my critics think the worst of me, if they please. Let them imagine I spent all this time playing push-pin or riding a hobby-horse. We allow every other walk of life its own recreations. How unfair, then, to allow no recreation in scholarly work. Trifles may sharpen the mind for more serious thoughts. And comic subjects may be handled so that a reasonably sensible reader gains more from them than from grander arguments. One writer delivers a long-winded speech praising rhetoric or philosophy. Another heaps excessive praise on his own nation. A third zealously calls for a holy war against the Turks. Another confidently presents himself as a fortune-teller. A fifth debates utterly pointless questions. Nothing is more childish than treating a serious subject in a careless, frivolous style. Yet nothing is more delightful than treating trifles so that they seem anything but trifling. As for my own success, I must leave the judgment to others. Still, unless I am too biased to judge my own case, I believe I have praised Folly well enough. At least, I have not earned the name of fool for my trouble. Now, to answer the charge of excessive satire. Witty writers have always been allowed to make sharp remarks about any aspect of life, provided they stop short of abuse. So I wonder at this age's delicate ears. People will accept no form of address unless it begins by reciting all their formal titles. Indeed, some people's devotion is so absurdly misplaced that they would sooner overlook the greatest insult to our Saviour. Yet they cannot bear the slightest joke or jab at a prince or a pope, especially about their everyday practices. But suppose someone criticizes people's misconduct without attacking any particular person by name. Is that writer really finding fault, or rather teaching and instructing? If the writer is teaching, why should I need to offer any further defense? Besides, someone whose criticism falls equally on everyone seems angry not with any one person, but with all vices.

Therefore, if any singly complain they are particularly reflected upon, they do but betray their own guilt, at least their cowardice. Saint Hierom dealt in the same argument at a much freer and sharper rate; nay, and he did not sometimes refrain from naming the persons: whereas I have not only stifled the mentioning any one person, but have so tempered my style, as the ingenious reader will easily perceive I aimed at diversion rather than satire. Neither did I so far imitate Juvenal, as to rake into the sink of vices to procure a laughter, rather than create a hearty abhorrence. If there be any one that after all remains yet unsatisfied, let him at least consider that there may be good use made of being reprehended by Folly, which since we have feigned as speaking, we must keep up that character which is suitable to the person introduced.

So if anyone complains of being singled out, they only reveal their own guilt, or at least their cowardice. Saint Hierom addressed the same subject much more freely and sharply. Indeed, he sometimes even named names. I, however, have not named a single person. I have also softened my style so that any perceptive reader will easily see I aimed at amusement rather than satire. Nor have I followed Juvenal so far as to rake through the sewer of vice. That would provoke laughter rather than deep disgust. If anyone is still dissatisfied, let them at least consider that being corrected by Folly may do some good. Since we have imagined Folly speaking, we must keep her words true to her character.

But why do I trouble you, Sir, with this needless apology, you that are so peculiar a patron; as, though the cause itself be none of the best, you can at least give it the best protection. Farewell.

But why trouble you, sir, with this needless apology, when you are such a special patron? Though the cause itself may not be the best, you can at least give it the best protection. Farewell.