Philosophy of the Modern Era

Erasmus and More

In the northern countries, the Renaissance commenced later than in Italy, soon intertwining with the Reformation. However, there was a brief period at the very beginning of the 16th century when new knowledge rapidly spread through France, England, and Germany, remaining aloof from theological disputes. This Northern Renaissance differed significantly from its Italian counterpart in many respects. It was devoid of anarchism or amorality; on the contrary, it was associated with piety and civic virtue. Among the interests of the Northern Renaissance was the application of scientific research principles to the Bible and the creation of a more accurate text than the Vulgate. The Northern Renaissance was less dazzling but more substantive than its Italian predecessor, less preoccupied with personal scholarly glory and more concerned with disseminating knowledge as widely as possible.

Two individuals typify the Northern Renaissance: Erasmus and Thomas More. They were close friends and shared much in common. Both were erudite, although More was somewhat inferior in this regard; both despised scholastic philosophy; both sought internal reform within the Church but condemned the Protestant schism when it arose; both possessed sharp wit, a sense of humor, and outstanding literary talent. Before Luther’s revolt, they were the intellectual leaders of their time, but afterward, both camps became too tumultuous for such figures. More met a martyr’s death, while Erasmus lost all his influence.

Neither Erasmus nor More were philosophers in the strictest sense. The reason for my discussing them is that they illustrate the character of the pre-revolutionary era when the demand for moderate reform embraced broad circles, and the timid had not yet fled into the arms of reaction out of fear of extremists. Erasmus and More also embody a distaste for all that had been systematized in theology or philosophy, which characterized the reaction against scholasticism.

Erasmus (1466—1536) was born in Rotterdam. He was illegitimate; later, he crafted a rather romantic but far from truthful account of the circumstances of his birth. In reality, Erasmus’s father was a priest; he was not unfamiliar with scholarship and, in particular, knew Greek. In childhood, Erasmus lost his parents, and his guardians (apparently because they squandered his money) deceived and flattered him into becoming a monk at the monastery of Steyn—a step he regretted all his life. One of his guardians was a schoolteacher, but he knew Latin worse than Erasmus did in his school years; having received a letter written in Latin from the boy, the schoolteacher replied, “If you ever write so elegantly again, I ask you to accompany the letter with a commentary.”

In 1493, Erasmus became the secretary to the Bishop of Cambrai, who was the president of the Order of the Golden Fleece. This allowed Erasmus to leave the monastery and embark on a journey, although not to Italy, as he had hoped. At that time, he knew Greek very poorly but was a brilliant Latinist; his idol was Lorenzo Valla, who wrote a book on the elegance of the Latin language. In Erasmus’s eyes, Latin style was entirely compatible with true piety, a point he illustrated with examples from Augustine and Jerome, seemingly forgetting the dream in which the Lord condemned the latter for reading Cicero.

Erasmus spent some time at the University of Paris but found nothing useful there. This university had a glorious past—from the inception of scholasticism to Gerson and the conciliar movement—but by Erasmus’s time, the old disputes had degenerated into empty wordplay. The Thomists and Scotists, who were collectively referred to as the ancients, battled the Ockhamists, who were called the new or the termists. Ultimately, in 1482, they reconciled and united against the humanists, who had achieved notable successes in the extra-university circles of Paris. Erasmus loathed the scholastics, whose views he considered outdated and obsolete. In one letter, he recounts the effort it took to refrain from elegant or witty expressions when he sought to obtain a doctorate. He held no genuine love for any philosophy, not even for that of Plato and Aristotle, although it was wise to speak respectfully of the latter, as they were ancient.

In 1499, Erasmus visited England for the first time, where he enjoyed the custom of kissing girls. In England, he befriended Colet and More, who encouraged him to abandon literary trifles and engage in serious work. Colet lectured on the Bible without knowing Greek; Erasmus felt the desire to devote himself to biblical studies but believed he needed to master Greek for that purpose. Although Erasmus was too poor to hire a teacher, he began studying Greek after leaving England in early 1500; by the autumn of 1502, he was already proficient in the language, and when he traveled to Italy in 1506, he found that he had nothing to learn from the Italians. Erasmus decided to publish the works of St. Jerome and release the Greek text of the New Testament with a new Latin translation; both were accomplished in 1516. The discovery of errors in the Vulgate was later utilized for polemical purposes by the Protestants. Erasmus attempted to study ancient Hebrew but did not complete it.

The only book of Erasmus that still finds readers today is The Praise of Folly. The idea for the book arose in 1509 when he crossed the Alps on his way from Italy to England. The book was written in a short period in London, at the home of Thomas More, to whom it was humorously dedicated, playing on the resemblance, for “moros” means “fool” in Latin. The book is written as a monologue delivered by Folly herself; bubbling over with delight, she sings her own praises, and her speech is further enlivened by Holbein's illustrations. Folly encompasses all manifestations of human life, all classes and professions. Without folly, humanity would perish, for who could marry without becoming a fool? She advises, as an antidote to wisdom, “to marry a woman, a silly and foolish creature, yet amusing and charming, so that her foolishness might spice and sweeten the dreary seriousness of the male mind.” Who can be happy without being seduced by flattery or self-love? But such happiness is folly. The happiest people are those closest to a brutish state and devoid of reason. The highest happiness is that which rests on deception, for life is thus more pleasant: it is easier to be a king in one's imagination than in reality. Furthermore, Erasmus mocks national pride and professional vanity: almost all men of art and science are exceedingly vain and draw their happiness from their vanity.

In several instances, the satire gives way to denunciation, and Folly's speeches express Erasmus’s innermost thoughts; these passages concern ecclesiastical abuses. The sale of indulgences, in which priests “measure the duration of all souls in purgatory”; the veneration of saints, including the Virgin Mary, “whom the common people honor even more than her Son”; the theologians' disputes over the Trinity and the Incarnation; the doctrine of transubstantiation; scholastic sects; popes, cardinals, and bishops—all serve as targets for Erasmus's scathing mockery. The monastic orders, in particular, come under severe attack: they are described as a gathering of “mad idiots” who are far from any piety, “yet they are fully content with themselves.” They act as if religion consisted solely of trifling formalities: “How many knots a monk must wear on his shoe, what color his belt should be, what external signs must distinguish his clothing, from what fabric it is appropriate to sew it, how wide the belt should be,” and so on. It would not be hard to hear what they would say before the judgment of Christ. “Then one will display his belly, swollen from all kinds of fish. Another will boast of having touched money for fifty years only by first wrapping his fingers in a double glove.” But Christ will interrupt them: “From whence is this new breed of Jews? I acknowledge but one law as mine, and as for that, I hear nothing about it.” [“Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees… I have bequeathed unto you but one commandment—to love one another, and of that I hear nothing about it.”] Yet on earth, these people inspire fear, for through confession they know many secrets and often blurt them out when they get drunk.

Nor are the popes spared. The Supreme Pontiffs ought to emulate their Lord in humility and poverty. “Yet they rely on weapons and the sweet words mentioned by the Apostle Paul, which the popes have never lacked in their mercy, namely—on interdicts, on releasing subjects from their oaths, on repeated excommunications, on anathemas, on images of demons, and, finally, on those dreadful lightnings through which the souls of mortals are cast into the depths of Tartarus. The holy fathers strike those with these lightnings who, taught by the devil, attempt to diminish or appropriate the possessions of St. Peter.”

Such reflections prompt the thought that Erasmus ought to have embraced the Reformation, yet in reality, he took an opposing stance. The book concludes with a serious assertion that true religion is a form of Folly. Throughout the text, Erasmus distinguishes between two types of Folly—one that is celebrated ironically, and another that is earnestly extolled; the latter manifests in Christian simplicity. This admiration aligns perfectly with Erasmus's disdain for scholastic philosophy and learned doctors who were ignorant of classical Latin. However, this admiration harbors a deeper aspect. To the best of my knowledge, it constitutes the first literary expression of a viewpoint later articulated by Rousseau in the "Savoyard Vicar"—the view that true religion emanates from the heart rather than the intellect, and thus all complex theology is unnecessary. Over time, this perspective gained increasing traction, becoming nearly universally accepted among Protestants today. At its core, it represents a repudiation of Hellenistic intellectualism in favor of the Northern sentimentality.

During his second visit to England, Erasmus resided there for a full five years (1509—1514), splitting his time between London and Cambridge. He significantly influenced the development of English humanism. The educational system in English public schools remained almost as Erasmus would have deemed desirable until quite recently: a thorough grounding in Greek and Latin, encompassing not just translation but also composition in both verse and prose. Science, despite assuming a dominant role in the intellectual sphere from the seventeenth century onward, was regarded as unworthy of a gentleman's or a clergyman's attention; while the study of Plato was encouraged, it did not extend to the branches of knowledge that Plato himself deemed worthy of study. All of this aligns with the influence of Erasmus.

The Renaissance individuals exhibited an extraordinary curiosity; as Huizinga noted, "these minds could never quench their thirst for astonishing adventures, curious details, and rare and extraordinary phenomena." However, in the early stages, they sought all of this not in the real world but in ancient texts. As for Erasmus, he was interested in the real world but could not digest it in its raw state: it had to be presented in Latin or Greek form before he could assimilate it. Travelers' accounts were dismissed, while any marvel read in Pliny was taken at face value. Gradually, however, curiosity transitioned from literature to the actual world; people became interested in genuinely discovered savages and extraordinary animals rather than those described by classical authors. Caliban was borrowed from Montaigne, yet Montaigne's cannibals were derived from travelers' tales. Othello beheld "man-eaters, men with heads growing below their shoulders" with his own eyes, rather than borrowing them from antiquity.

Thus, the curiosity of the Renaissance evolved from the literary to the scientific. An avalanche of new facts overwhelmed people to the extent that, at first, they could do nothing but be swept along by the current. Ancient systems evidently proved inadequate; Aristotle's physics, Ptolemy's astronomy, and Galen's medicine were too narrow to accommodate the profound discoveries. Montaigne and Shakespeare were satisfied with the confusion: the marvel of the discovery process itself was delightful, while the system stood as its adversary. Only in the seventeenth century did the capacity for systematization reach the level of new knowledge about the real world. Yet all this diverges significantly from Erasmus, who was less interested in Columbus than in the Argonauts.

Erasmus was a writer to the core, hopelessly and militantly so. He authored the "Enchiridion militis christiani," which contained instructions for uneducated soldiers: they were urged to read the Bible, as well as Plato, Ambrose, Jerome, and Augustine. Erasmus compiled an extensive collection of Latin proverbs, which in subsequent editions was augmented with many Greek proverbs; his original intent was to enable people to write in Latin using conversational language. His book "Colloquies," aimed at teaching people to speak Latin about everyday matters, such as playing ball, enjoyed immense success. This likely proved more beneficial than we might currently recognize. Latin was the sole international language, drawing students from all over Western Europe to the University of Paris. It often happened that the only language two students could communicate in was Latin.

After the Reformation, Erasmus initially lived in Leuven, adhering to the purest Catholic orthodoxy, and later in Basel, which had become a Protestant city. Each faction sought to sway him to their side, but for a long time without success. As we have seen, Erasmus sharply criticized ecclesiastical abuses and the corruption of the papacy; in 1518, the very year Luther ignited his revolt, he published the satire "Julius Exclusus," depicting how Julius II futilely sought entry to heaven. However, Luther's ferocity repelled Erasmus, who loathed conflict. Ultimately, he aligned himself with the Catholic faction. In 1524, Erasmus wrote a book defending the principle of free will, which Luther rejected, following Augustine and even attributing to him statements he had never made. Luther responded with vitriol, further pushing Erasmus into the arms of reaction. From that point until his death, he gradually lost the remnants of his influence. Erasmus always belonged to the timid, and such individuals were no longer suited to the prevailing times. For honest individuals, the only genuine choice was martyrdom or victory. His friend Thomas More had to choose martyrdom, and Erasmus remarked, "How I wish that More had never associated with this dangerous affair and left the theological disputes to the theologians." Erasmus lived too long, into an era of new virtues and new vices—heroism and intolerance—that he could not acquire.

Thomas More (1478—1535), as a man, was far more charming than Erasmus, yet he significantly lagged behind him in the degree of influence he exerted on his contemporaries. More was a humanist and simultaneously a man of profound piety. In Oxford, he began studying Greek, an unusual pursuit at the time that aroused suspicion of his sympathies for Italian atheists. The university authorities and his father expressed strong disapproval, leading to More's withdrawal from the university. He then became captivated by Cartesian philosophy, led an ascetic life, and contemplated joining the order. He ultimately refrained from this step, apparently under Erasmus's influence, with whom he first met during this period. More's father was a lawyer, and he decided to dedicate himself to his father's profession. In 1504, More became a member of Parliament, where he led the opposition against Henry VII, who sought to impose new taxes. More's struggle was entirely successful, yet the king was enraged; he imprisoned More's father in the Tower, although he was released after paying a fine of 100 pounds sterling. After the king's death in 1509, More returned to legal practice and won the favor of Henry VIII. In 1514, More was knighted and served in several embassies. The king frequently invited him to court, but More never attended; eventually, the king himself came uninvited to dinner at More's home in Chelsea. More harbored no illusions about Henry VIII; when someone congratulated him on the king's favor, More replied, "If by the price of my head he could seize a castle in France, it would swiftly depart from my shoulders."

When Wolsey fell from grace, the king appointed More as chancellor in his stead. Contrary to established practice, he refused to accept any gifts from those who approached the royal court. Yet soon, More fell from favor, as the king resolved to divorce Catherine of Aragon to marry Anne Boleyn, and More stood firmly opposed to the divorce. This led to his resignation in 1532. How incorruptible More was while serving as chancellor is evident from the fact that after his resignation, he received only 100 pounds sterling in annual income. Disregarding More's convictions, the king invited him to the ceremony of his marriage to Anne Boleyn, but More declined the invitation. In 1534, the king secured the passage of the Act of Supremacy from Parliament, declaring him the head of the English church in place of the pope. Under this act, subjects were required to take the "Oath of Supremacy," which More refused to do; legally, this was considered merely a failure to report treason—a crime not punishable by death. However, it was proven through rather dubious witnesses that More had stated the Parliament had no right to proclaim Henry as head of the church; based on this testimony, More was found guilty of treason and beheaded. His property was bestowed upon Princess Elizabeth, who kept it until her death.

In our time, More is almost exclusively remembered as the author of "Utopia" (1518). Utopia is an island situated in the Southern Hemisphere, where everything unfolds in the best possible manner. By chance, it was visited by a sailor named Raphael Hythloday, who spent five years there and returned to England only to make known the wise institutions of Utopia.

In Utopia, as in Plato's "Republic," all property is held in common, for the welfare of society cannot exist where private property prevails; without communism, there can be no equality. In a conversation with Hythloday, More argues that communism will inevitably render people idle and destroy any respect for authority; but Raphael counters that anyone who has lived in Utopia would never arrive at such a conclusion.

Utopia contains fifty-four cities, all constructed according to the same plan, with one serving as the capital. All streets are uniformly twenty feet wide, and all private houses are identical, featuring one door leading to the street and another to the garden. The doors bear no locks, allowing anyone to enter any house. The roofs are flat. Every ten years, residents change homes, presumably to prevent any sense of ownership from arising. The villages host farms, each accommodating no fewer than forty individuals, including two slaves; each farm is managed by a father and mother of the family, elders endowed with wisdom. Chickens are raised not by hens, but in incubators (which were unknown in More's time). All Utopians dress alike, except that men's clothing differs from women's, and the attire of married individuals varies from that of the unmarried. Fashion never changes; summer clothing is indistinguishable from winter wear. While working, Utopians cover themselves with leather or hides that last for seven years. After work, they don woolen cloaks over their labor attire. All these cloaks are uniform in their natural woolen color. Each family produces its own garments.

Both men and women labor for six hours a day: three hours before lunch and three hours afterward. They all retire to bed at eight o'clock and sleep for eight hours. Early in the morning, lectures are delivered, attracting many listeners, though attendance is not mandatory. After dinner, an hour is devoted to leisure. Six hours of labor suffices entirely, for there are no idlers in Utopia, and no efforts are wasted on futile pursuits; as stated in "Utopia," among us, women, priests, the wealthy, servants, and beggars mostly contribute nothing useful, and the existence of the wealthy results in much labor expended on the production of useless luxury items; all of this is absent in Utopia. Occasionally, a surplus is detected, and the city authorities temporarily reduce the working day.

Certain individuals are selected for scholarly pursuits and are exempt from other labors, provided they justify the hopes placed in them. All high officials are elected from among the learned. The form of government is representative democracy, based on a multi-tiered election system; at the head stands a prince, elected for life but liable to be deposed for aspiring to tyranny.

Family life is patriarchal; married sons reside in their father's house and obey him, unless his mental faculties have weakened with age. If any family becomes overly populous, surplus children are allocated to another family. If an entire city becomes too crowded, part of its inhabitants is transferred to another city. Should all cities become excessively populated, a new city is founded on land left uncultivated. More says nothing about what to do if all arable land is occupied. Only slaves are permitted to slaughter cattle for meat, so that free citizens remain unaware of cruelty. Hospitals are established for the sick, so splendidly arranged that those suffering from ailments prefer to rest there rather than at home. Eating at home is allowed, but most citizens prefer to dine in public halls. All "dirty work" is performed by slaves, while cooking falls to the women, and older children serve the diners. Men sit on one bench, women on another; nursing mothers and all children under five occupy a special dining area. All mothers feed their own children. Children older than five, if too young to serve the diners, "stand here, in profound silence," while the older ones eat; they have no designated meal time and must be content with what is offered by those seated.

As for marriage, both men and women face severe punishment if they wed as non-virgins: the head of the household where the disgrace occurred incurs great dishonor, having carelessly neglected his duty. Before marrying, the bride and groom see each other naked; for no one buys a horse without first removing the saddle and harness, and marriage should be approached similarly. Divorce is allowed solely in cases of adultery or the "intolerably burdensome nature" of one party, but the guilty party cannot enter a new marriage. However, sometimes divorce is permitted simply because both parties desire it. Offenders against the marital union are punished with slavery.

Utopians engage in trade with other countries, primarily to acquire iron, which is lacking on the island. Trade also serves military purposes. Utopians have no aspirations for glory through warfare, yet all learn military arts—both men and women. They resort to war for three reasons: to defend their territory from invasion; to protect their ally's territory when it is under threat, and to liberate an oppressed people from tyranny. However, whenever possible, they conduct wars not themselves, but through mercenary soldiers. Utopians aim to place other nations in debt to them and allow them to repay their debts by providing mercenary soldiers. From military perspectives, Utopians deem it useful to maintain a reserve of gold and silver, as these can be utilized for the pay of foreign mercenaries. However, the Utopians themselves do not use money; they employ gold for crafting chamber pots and chains to bind slaves, thereby cultivating a contempt for gold. Pearls and diamonds serve as adornments for children, but never for adults. During wartime, Utopians promise enormous rewards to anyone who kills an enemy prince, and even greater rewards for those who capture him alive, or for him if he surrenders. They pity the masses of common people from the nation they are fighting, as they "know that these people go to war not of their own will, but driven by the madness of their rulers." Women fight alongside men, but only voluntarily. "They invent military machines with great skill." It can be concluded that Utopians' approach to war exhibits more prudence than heroism, although in times of necessity they display immense courage.

As for ethics, we learn that Utopians decisively lean toward the belief that happiness consists in pleasure. However, this view does not entail any immoral acts, for Utopians believe that after this life, rewards are assigned for virtue and punishments for vice. They are not ascetics and consider fasting foolishness. Among the Utopians, there exists a variety of religions, all enjoying full tolerance. Almost all believe in God and immortality; the few who reject this belief are not regarded as citizens and are excluded from political life, yet otherwise suffer no penalties. Certain holy individuals completely abstain from meat and marital pleasures; they are deemed holy but not wise. Women may also serve as priests, but only widows and those of advanced age. There are very few priests; they are honored but hold no power.

Slaves are citizens condemned for disgraceful deeds, or foreigners sentenced to death in their homeland, whom the Utopians have agreed to accept as slaves.

In cases of painful, incurable illness, the sufferer is urged to end their life by suicide, but if they refuse to do so, they are cared for diligently.

Raphael Hythloday recounts that he preached Christianity among the Utopians; many converted to this faith upon learning that Christ opposed private property. The significance of communism is constantly emphasized; nearly at the very end, Hythloday declares that "other states appear to be nothing more than a conspiracy of the wealthy, who advocate under the name and banner of the state for their personal interests."

The breadth of perspectives articulated in More's Utopia is striking in numerous respects. I do not refer merely to the advocacy of communism, a tradition that has permeated many religious movements. Rather, I highlight More’s discourse on war, religion, and religious tolerance, his condemnation of the senseless slaughter of animals (one of the most eloquent passages in the book is devoted to denouncing hunting), and his advocacy for humane criminal legislation. The work commences with an argument against the custom of punishing theft by death.

However, it must be acknowledged that life in More's Utopia, like in most other utopias, would likely be insufferably dull. For happiness, diversity is essential, yet within the confines of Utopia, it would be challenging to discover any semblance of variety.