The ship-of-fools archetype – the concept of a poorly-led society as a ship that has a fool for a captain and more fools for its crew and passengers, and therefore is bound for disaster – goes back as far as Plato’s Republic. But that image received one of its most famous elaborations in a satirical poem, published in 1494 by a German humanist who saw European society sinking into all kinds of folly. While much has changed in the 500-plus years since Sebastian Brant set down his ideas in verse, the propensity of human beings to behave foolishly remains unchanged. Welcome to Das Narrenschiff – the Ship of Fools. All aboard!
Born in Strasbourg, to a family of innkeepers, Brant excelled in the study of philosophy and law at the University of Basel in Switzerland. His extensive reading in both classical and Christian texts nourished his composition of The Ship of Fools – a document that, with its sharp satirical edge and accompanying woodcuts dramatizing different kinds of foolery, immediately attracted a wide and appreciative audience.
Brant was writing in a time of great and dramatic change; Columbus had made his first voyage to the New World just two years before, and the Protestant Reformation would be revolutionizing ways of life and thought across once-all-Catholic Western Europe within just a couple of decades. Accordingly, this German humanist with a satirical bent found that there were even more subjects than usual to satirize – more fools whose folly he could discuss.
The diligence with which Brant is going to pursue his nautical metaphor throughout The Ship of Fools is apparent from the beginning; the cover of this Dover Books edition contains one of the 114 woodcut illustrations that originally accompanied the book’s publication. This illustration shows a wooden ship crammed with people who all wear a fool’s cap and bells; no one seems to be steering the ship, and the ship is flying a flag that reads “Ad Narragonia” – in Brant’s formulation, “To the Paradise of Fools.” So, if you’ve ever tried to warn a friend or family member that their poor decision-making is going to lead them to a “fool’s paradise,” Brant knows how you feel.
In the prologue to Das Narrenschiff, Brant wastes no time clearing the decks and stowing away the sails and cordage for his ship-of-fools’ voyage:
Hence I have pondered how a ship
Of fools I’d suitably equip –
A galley, brig, bark, skiff, or float,
A carrack, scow, dredge, racing-boat,
A sled, cart, barrow, carryall –
One vessel would be far too small
To carry all the fools I know,. (p. 57)
In compiling the passenger manifest for his ship-of-fools, Brant makes a point of including himself on the list. The very first chapter is titled “Of Useless Books,” and Brant assures the reader that “I’m the first one here you see/Because I like my library./Of splendid books I own no end,/But few that I can comprehend” (p. 62). In fact, I think Brant is being a bit too hard on himself; no doubt he comprehended quite well whatever was being discussed in whatever books he owned in his library.
But the point that Brant is trying to make is that a person with a large library can be conceited, self-important, intellectually arrogant – and he wants his readers to enjoy reading, and seek knowledge, without falling prey to intellectual pride. Otherwise, one risks experiencing, in a symbolic sense, the fate of King Midas from Greek mythology: “My ears are covered up for me;/If they were not, an ass I’d be” (p. 63).
From there, Brant goes on to examine the wide variety of foolishness of which foolish human beings are capable. I was not surprised to encounter Chapter 13, “Of Amours,” considering how closely the medieval church focused on sexual behaviour. In support of his claim that “Who sees too much of woman’s charms/His morals and his conscience harms” (p. 91), Brant invokes a wealth of classical personages undone by love in one way or another: Venus and Mars, Circe, Calypso, Dido, Medea, Pasiphaë, Phaedra, Scylla, Hyacinth, Sappho, the Sirens, Pan, Danaë, Echo, Thisbe, Atalanta, Bellerophon, and Ovid. Biblical examples also abound: David and Bathsheba, Samson and Delilah, and Joseph. Ach du Lieber, Herr Doktor Brant! You certainly did do your homework.
But ein Moment, bitte, Doctor Brant. Didn’t you have seven children? Didn’t you love them, and didn’t you love your wife who bore those children for you? Perhaps it’s a good thing that you saw and appreciated one woman’s charms.
Just as in “Of Amours,” Brant often seems anxious to demonstrate his scholarly bona fides. In Chapter 19, “Of Idle Talk,” he concludes with a rhyming couplet to the effect that “Silence is good, I always teach,/But better still is rightful speech” (p. 107). In support of that thesis, he cites some authorities that one might expect – Demosthenes of Athens, for example, famed for the way he overcame a speech impediment by giving speeches to the sea after filling his mouth with pebbles. But Brant also cites other authorities who might be lesser-known – Sotades of Maroneia, for example, when he writes that “Sotades few words spoke in vain,/Yet got to jail as though he’s slain” (p. 107).
It took a quick visit to Wikipedia for me to learn that Sotades, who was proficient in the “art” of writing obscene satires in verse, made the mistake of turning his poison pen against the Egyptian pharaoh Ptolemy II Philadelphus, and was jailed for it. This translation of The Ship of Fools has some helpful footnotes, but sometimes these footnotes do little more than provide the title for a religious or classical text that the contemporary reader may or may not have read. Sometimes, therefore, readers may have to do a bit more digging on their own.
Some of Brant’s reflections provide insights into the outlook or zeitgeist of the German society of his time. I liked it, for example, when Chapter 92 on “Presumptuousness of Pride” featured Brant indulging in an understandable bit of pride regarding the growth of higher learning in the German states; he notes that whereas “Once men thought learning could but ay/Be sought at Athens far away,” but then says how glad he is that, in his time, higher education is found “now here too on German ground” (p. 300). But there is Ärger im Paradies (trouble in paradise), as Brant feels obliged to report that “Our only failing’s love for wine,/To it we Germans do incline,/And good hard work is rarely done” (p. 300). Well, to be fair, those sweet white wines from the Rhine and Mosel are awfully good…
Translator Edwin Zeydel points out that Brant’s moralism was altogether based in prior authority, whether Biblical or classical; if divine authorities or great ancient thinkers said that something was bad, then that was good enough for him. Additionally, “While Luther, Zwingli, Erasmus, Reuchlin, and Hutten sought to dethrone existing authority, and to establish new standards, Brant revered and defended the accepted traditions” (pp. 7-8). I suppose that, if carriages had had bumper stickers back in the 15th century, Brant’s carriage might have had a bumper sticker reading Gott hat es gesagt, ich glaube es, und damit ist die Sache erledigt (“God said it, I believe it, and that settles it”).
Such considerations come to mind when reading Chapter 61, “Of Dancing,” wherein Brant writes that “dance and sin are one in kind,” and adds that “The dance by Satan was invented/When he devised the golden calf” (p. 204). Wirklich, Herr Doktor Brant? Really, Doctor Brant? Did not King David dance? Is his dancing not recorded in the Bible? Similarly, in Chapter 63, “Of Beggars,” Brant claims that “beggars very rarely [have to] fast” (p. 209). History records that the states of 15th-century Germany did not have a social-welfare system comparable to that of the modern and prosperous Bundesrepublik Deutschland (Federal Republic of Germany). A sense of Christian charity might bring to mind a realization that, in Brant’s time as in our own, some people who beg do so because they have no other recourse.
Brant also has his limitations in terms of religious ecumenism. He seems to have had no problem with an economic system that forced Jewish businessmen to lend money at interest, and denied them other career paths. To lend money at interest was considered “usury” by the church, and Brant’s only concern with regard to money-lending is if Christian businessmen engage in it! And he even calls for a renewed Crusade to “liberate” the Holy Land from Muslim control, notwithstanding all the bloodshed and cruelty and horror and futility of all those prior Crusades.
In fairness to Brant, however, I must mention that, when in later life he achieved political power, becoming chancellor of Strasbourg, he permitted Protestants to preach there, his conservative Catholicism notwithstanding. Considering the times of religious disputation in which he lived, even that degree of religious tolerance must be recognized.
Overall, now that we’re back in port, I find myself reflecting that The Ship of Fools makes for an interesting metaphorical voyage – sometimes interesting, sometimes troubling. In spite of the limitations of the author’s world-view, the work does provide a salutary reminder that we all have a predilection for foolish behaviour. If we can be aware of our own tendency to be foolish, then perhaps we can avoid taking a seat on the Narrenschiff the next time it embarks.