However mortals may speak of me (for I am not unaware how ill Folly is spoken of, even among the most foolish), yet that it is I—I alone, I say—who by my divine power gladden both gods and men, I think is sufficiently plain even from this argument: that the moment I came forth to speak before this most crowded assembly, suddenly a certain new gladness lit up the faces of all, and on a sudden their brows were cheered and they smiled.
I was born in the Fortunate Isles, where all things grow of their own accord, without plough, without tillage; there is no death there, no old age, no disease. In the gardens and meadows there was no asphodel, mallow, garlic, lupines, beans, and others of that kind, but mallow-blossom, costmary, amomum, malobathrum, and in short the very founts of all spices gushed forth on every side. This blessedness I was unwilling to leave, save to come and instruct you and to share with you these memorials of truth.
But before all else, this must be established: that no life can be pleasant without the support of Folly. And first of all, what is so foolish as Philautia, that is, to love oneself? And yet no one has, or can have, friends who is not first a friend to himself. This is the fount of all human pleasantness. Each is pleased with himself, each seems to himself charming, each to himself wise, and no one is ever unhappy except him who, agreeing with the Wise Man, has learned to despise himself.
I ask you, what life, what sweetness is there without Folly? Witness the saying of Sophocles, that most fortunate of poets: 'It is most blessed to know nothing.' Witness Christ himself in the Gospel, when he gives thanks to the Father because he has hidden these things from the wise and prudent, but revealed them to the little ones and to infants. And what are the little ones and infants but fools? So that, unless Folly were present, no one could speak, or say, or think anything pleasant.
For what is more foolish than for a king to knit his brow and dispute about the greatest matters—about laws, about the poverty or wealth of the people, about war and peace—if he has ever read those books which Plato composed, or those which Aristotle wrote on the Republic? If he should know that the life and opinion of a king differs by a whole heaven from that of the philosophers. Yet how many are there who, without any letters, with no philosophy, by a certain natural folly alone, or by the favor of fortune, have obtained kingdoms, and have governed them splendidly?
But now it is time to make an end of speaking, and to depart from you—although I know you wish for more. Remember, however, that these are the memorials of Folly, spoken about Folly, yet not foolishly, as no one may fail to recognize. This one thing I will add: if anyone thinks my speech has been too biting or too garrulous, let him consider, I pray, that it was not only Folly who spoke, but also a speech worthy of Folly. Unless perhaps you suppose that Socrates, speaking so much about himself, or Demosthenes, produced anything less resembling a Foolish oration.