In Praise of Folly
themselves of a meal's meat (which yet is all the vulgar understand by
his duty), unless they likewise restrain their passions, subdue their
anger, and mortify their pride; that the soul being thus disengaged
from the entanglement of the body, may have a better relish to spiritual
objects, and take an antepast of heaven. Thus (say they) in the holy
Eucharist, though the outward form and ceremonies are not wholly to be
despised, yet are these prejudicial, at least unprofitable, if as bare
signs only they are not accompanied with the thing signified, which is
_the body and blood of Christ_, whose death, till his second coming,
we are hereby to represent by the vanquishing and burying our vile
affections that they may arise to a newness of life, and be united first
to each other, then all to Christ.
These are the actions and meditations of the truly pious person; while
the vulgar place all their religion in crowding up close to the altar,
in listening to the words of the priest, and in being very circumspect
at the observance of each trifling ceremony. Nor is it in such cases
only as we have here given for instances, but through his whole course
of life, that the pious man, without any regard to the baser materials
of the body, spends himself wholly in a fixed intentness upon spiritual,
invisible, and eternal objects.
Now since these persons stand off, and keep at so wide a distance
between themselves, it is customary for them both to think each other
mad: and were I to give my opinion to which of the two the name does
most properly belong, I should, I confess, adjudge it to the religious;
of the reasonableness whereof you may be farther convinced if I proceed
to demonstrate what I formerly hinted at, namely, that that ultimate
happiness which religion proposes is no other than some sort of madness.
First, therefore, Plato dreamed somewhat of this nature when he tells
us that the madness of lovers was of all other dispositions of the body
most desirable; for he who is once thoroughly smitten with this passion,
lives no longer within himself, but has removed his soul to the same
place where he has settled his affections, and loses himself to find the
object he so much dotes upon: this straying now, and wandering of a
soul from its own mansion, what is it better than a plain transport of
madness? What else can be the meaning of those proverbial phrases, _non
est apua se_, he is not himself; _ad te redi_, recover yourself; and
_sibi redditus est_, he is come again to himself? And accordingly
as love is more hot and eager, so is the madness thence ensuing more
incurable, and yet more happy. Now what shall be that future happiness
of glorified saints, which pious souls here on earth so earnestly groan
for, but only that the spirit, as the more potent and prevalent victor,
shall over-master and swallow up the body; and that the more easily,
because while here below, the several members, by being mortified, and
kept in subjection, were the better prepared for this separating change;
and afterward the spirit itself shall be lost, and drowned in the abyss
of beatific vision, so as the whole man will be then perfectly beyond
all its own bounds, and be no otherwise happy than as transported
into ecstasy and wonder, it feels some unspeakable influence from
that omnipotent Being, which makes all things completely blessed, by
assimilating them to his own likeness. Now although this happiness be
then only consummated, when souls at the general resurrection shall be
re-united to their bodies, and both be clothed with immortality; yet
because a religious life is but a continued meditation upon, and as it
were a transcript of the joys of heaven, therefore to such persons there
is allowed some relish and foretaste of that pleasure here, which is
to be their reward hereafter. And although this indeed be but a small
pittance of satisfaction compared with that future inexhaustible
fountain of blessedness, yet does it abundantly over-balance all worldly
delights, were they all in conjunction set off to their best advantage;
so great is the precedency of spiritual things before corporeal, of
invisible before material and visible. This is what the apostle gives
an eloquent description of, where he says by way of encouragement, that
_eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of
man to conceive those things which God hath prepared for them that love
him_.
This likewise is that better part which Mary chose, which shall not be
taken from her, but perfected and completed by her mortal putting on
immortality.
Now those who are thus devoutly affected (though few there are so),
undergo somewhat of strange alteration, which very nearly approaches to
madness; they speak many things at an abrupt and incoherent rate, as if
they were actuated by some possessing demon; they make an inarticulate
noise, without any distinguishable sense or meaning; they sometimes
screw and distort their faces to uncouth and antic looks; at one time
beyond measure cheerful, then as immoderately sullen; now sobbing, then
laughing, and soon after sighing, as if they were perfectly distracted,
and out of their senses. If they have any sober intervals of coming
to themselves again, like St. Paul they then confess, that _they were
caught up they know not where, whether in the body, or out of the body,
they cannot tell_; as if they had been in a dead sleep or trance, they
remember nothing of what they have heard, seen, said, or done: this they
only know, that their past delusion was a most desirable happiness; that
therefore they bewail nothing more than the loss of it, nor wish for
any greater joy than the quick return of it, and more durable abode
for ever. And this (as I have said) is the foretaste or anticipation of
future blessedness.
But I doubt I have forgot myself, and have already transgressed the
bounds of modesty. However, if I have said anything too confidently or
impertinently, be pleased to consider that it was spoke by Folly, and
that under the person of a woman; yet at the same time remember the
applicableness of that Greek proverb:--
A fool oft speaks a seasonable truth.
Unless you will be so witty as to object that this makes no apology
for me, because the word _aunp_ signifies a man, not a woman, and
consequently my sex debars me from the benefit of that observation.
I perceive now, that, for a concluding treat, you expect a formal
epilogue, and the summing up of all in a brief recitation; but I will
assure you, you are grossly mistaken if you suppose that after such a
hodge-podge medley of speech I should be able to recollect anything I
have delivered. Beside, as it is an old proverb, _I hate a pot-companion
with a good memory_; so indeed I may as truly say, _I hate a hearer that
will carry any thing away with him_. Wherefore, in short:--
Farewell! live long, drink deep, be jolly,
Ye most illustrious votaries of folly!
A POEM ON THE FOREGOING WORK.
THERE'S ne'er a blade of honour in the town,
But if you chance to term him _fool_ and _clown_,
Straight _satisfaction_ cries, and then with speed
The time, the place, and rapier's length's decreed.
Prodigious fops, I'll swear, which can't agree
To be call'd what's their happiness to be:
Blest _Idiots!_
That in an humble sphere securely move,
And there the sweets of a safe _dulness_ prove,
Nor envy the proud heights of those who range above.
_Folly_, sure friend of a misguided will,
Affords a kind excuse for doing ill;
And _Socrates_, that prudent, thinking tool,
Had the gods lik'd him would have prov'd a _fool_.
Methinks our author, when without a flaw,
The graces of his mistress he does draw,
Wishes (if _Metempsychosis_ be true,
And souls do change their case, and act anew),
In his next life he only might aspire
To the few brains of some soft country squire,
Whose head with such like rudiments is fraught,
As in his youth his careful grannum taught.
And now (dear friend) how shall we to thy brow
Pay all those laurels which we justly owe?
For thou fresh honours to the work dost bring,
And to the theme: nor seems that pleasing thing,
Which he so well in _Latin_ has express'd,
Less comical in _English_ garments dress'd;
Thy sentences are all so clearly wrought,
And so exactly plac'd in every thought,
That, which is more oblig'd we scarce can see
The subject by thine author, or himself by thee.
FINIS