arts it is something far deeper.

Occasionally the satire runs somewhat off the line, when Stultitia
directly censures what Erasmus wishes to censure; for instance,
indulgences, silly belief in wonders, selfish worship of the saints; or
gamblers whom she, Folly, ought to praise; or the spirit of
systematizing and levelling, and the jealousy of the monks.

For contemporary readers the importance of the _Laus Stultitiae_ was, to
a great extent, in the direct satire. Its lasting value is in those
passages where we truly grant that folly is wisdom and the reverse.
Erasmus knows the aloofness of the ground of all things: all consistent
thinking out of the dogmas of faith leads to absurdity. Only look at the
theological quiddities of effete scholasticism. The apostles would not
have understood them: in the eyes of latter-day divines they would have
been fools. Holy Scripture itself sides with folly. 'The foolishness of
God is wiser than men,' says Saint Paul. 'But God hath chosen the
foolish things of the world.' 'It pleased God by the foolishness (of
preaching) to save them that believe.' Christ loved the simple-minded
and the ignorant: children, women, poor fishermen, nay, even such
animals as are farthest removed from vulpine cunning: the ass which he
wished to ride, the dove, the lamb, the sheep.

Here there is a great deal behind the seemingly light jest: 'Christian
religion seems in general to have some affinity with a certain sort of
folly'. Was it not thought the apostles were full of new wine? And did
not the judge say: 'Paul, thou art beside thyself'? When are we beside
ourselves? When the spirit breaks its fetters and tries to escape from
its prison and aspires to liberty. That is madness, but it is also
other-worldliness and the highest wisdom. True happiness is in
selflessness, in the furore of lovers, whom Plato calls happiest of all.
The more absolute love is, the greater and more rapturous is the frenzy.
Heavenly bliss itself is the greatest insanity; truly pious people enjoy
its shadow on earth already in their meditations.

Here Stultitia breaks off her discourse, apologizing in a few words in
case she may have been too petulant or talkative, and leaves the pulpit.
'So farewell, applaud, live happily, and drink, Moria's illustrious
initiates.'

It was an unrivalled feat of art even in these last chapters neither to
lose the light comical touch, nor to lapse into undisguised profanation.
It was only feas