Tag Archives: Political Philosophy

The author posing in front of the Kansas City skyline in July 2025.

The Wednesday Blog

This week, to conclude what I’ve been saying.—Click here to support the Wednesday Blog: https://www.patreon.com/sthosdkane—Sources:%5B1%5D “Signs,” Wednesday Blog 1.10.[2] “On Servant Leadership,” Wednesday Blog 6.15.[3] Percy Bysshe Shelley, “Ozymandias,” Poetry Foundation.


This week, to conclude what I’ve been saying.


I’ve said over the four years that I’ve been writing the Wednesday Blog weekly that I would stop writing this when it ceased to be fun. That’s a good rule for life overall that I’ve found: devote your life to things you love doing and keep them fun in the process. I tend to put on a very dry public face; a friend recently commented that I didn’t seem like one to scream or cheer at a concert, I affirmed that statement and demonstrated my own gentle “hurray!” to great amusement. This blog has changed with the times. It began as a project for me to write about things I enjoy outside of my research. I like to point to an early blog post all about my favorite state highway signs as a good example of this.[1] Yet I’ve found the topics I write about are changing, they’re becoming more academic, outlets where I can introduce some of the ideas I’m working on in my professional life and workshop them in a public forum. It’s a bald faced way of getting more readers to the Blog, I admit, yet so far, it’s worked.

I continue to cover politics here when I feel there’s a need to say something. Yet I’ve tried to balance what I’m writing to keep it positive, or at least to ensure that what I end up publishing suggests ways we can move forward out of the current crises we face. After all, there are enough writers out there pointing out the crises of the moment, some of us should be looking to the future to offer a light ahead that we all can reach for. This Spring, I was inspired by the commemorations in Boston of the 250th anniversary of the start of the American Revolution and the rallies for democracy here in Kansas City to focus that positive attention on popular action, the root of any good political system. I believe that government must act with the consent and full participation of the governed, and that through our elected representatives at all levels we ought to consider ourselves both governed and government. It sounds paradoxical, I know, and to an extent I believe that paradoxes are often a good thing. I devised one of my favorite phrases, “the extraordinary acts of ordinary people” to express this sentiment, that it is people acting out of the ordinary, out of what is considered ordered, which propels political change and keeps our politics fresh.[2] In 2023 one of the fads of the year on the internet was women asking men how often they think of the Roman Empire. I was asked this by one of my colleagues over lunch at the Nativity Parish School and remarked that because I was teaching the Romans at the time they were front of mind. Beyond this however, as much as I am familiar with the remains of the Empire, I am more drawn to the Republic and its ideals of popular government, even if they were never realized. The founders of the United States sought to model this federal republic on Roman models, yet they kept the Constitution they framed fresh for its day, an American constitution living in its ability to be amended to fit the changing times and passage of each generation rather than a Roman one deemed sacred through association with the old Republic’s gods and ancient institutions. Our republic is secular because for it to be sacred is to make it inviolate and unchanging, a monolith which will grow ever more distant from the people it was meant to govern, until like Shelley’s Ozymandias it is left as a mere pedestal of itself adrift in the sands of time.[3]

I want to stay a while longer with this phrase because I am so proud of it. To trumpet the extraordinary acts of ordinary people is to say that everyone has a voice and an impact upon the rest of us. In the first few years of the Wednesday Blog, my political essays tended to get lower readership across the board. I started writing the Blog in March 2021, a year after the January 6th insurrection showed how much the Republic was corrupted by the refusal to concede the 2020 election which caused that attack on the Capitol. I’ve seen a steady decline in political readership for my writing since the 2016 election, yet after 2020 that readership dropped off a cliff. American politics today is not a happy thing to write about, and at the moment it only seems to be getting worse. Yet by focusing less on the people in power and more on the people engaged for the common good I saw my readership grow on these political essays until they tended to be level with my other non-academic writing. A great inspiration for me here lies in the revolutionary era anthem Chester, sung by the New Englanders in the Continental Army and one of the older tunes in this country’s patriotic songbook. I’d been listening to it here and there without realizing for months, yet once I figured out what it actually was, when I was in Boston in March no less, I found that it spoke to my sentiment in a far greater way than I anticipated. I’m listening to William Schuman’s arrangement in his New England Triptych (1956) as I write this now, a New Deal era work intended to celebrate the democratic spirit of the cradle of the revolution.

There is a great deal of history behind my politics, naturally I notice that being a trained historian, and having taught American and British history on several occasions and having read a great deal in Irish history I can point out the various threads which I’ve coalesced into a logical genealogy of my political philosophy. Suffice to say, I believe it is better to look to the future and enact political policy which will build a future that we can all be proud of. At the core of this is listening to the people around us, hearing what they have to say, and listening to our own logic and empathy, two things which should always work together in our decisions. In writing about the extraordinary acts of ordinary people I look to those who will appear from the crowd as the leaders from my millennial generation and those coming up behind us in Generations Z and Alpha. We have inherited a great mess, and we have a lot of work to do. There are plenty of people arguing and advocating on what needs to be reformed, I feel better suited to provide an optimistic voice of what we could look forward to. By putting ordinary people front and center, I hope to make clear that policy should address problems from the bottom up, help reinforce and support the poorest in society that the whole structure grows stronger in kind. You might call this trickle-up economics, to speak to the Reaganites. We could build a future where everyone has good work, they can be proud of, enough to eat, a roof over their heads, and where every child learns how to read. We could have this future where people feel that law is meant to support them rather than push them down. I see this every day when I’m out around town: I suspect that the general sentiment behind people who run stop signs, red lights, or drive in transit only lanes is that the law has never worked in their favor, always rather beaten them down and stripped them of their humanity, so why should they follow the law? We must find our humanity in each other if we are ever going to grow out of this time of crises and begin to build a better future.

I enjoy thinking about the future in other languages, not just in the sense of the future tense but in the mentality of the language. How do they express things which haven’t happened but will come? In English we have the word future as a monolith on its own, derived from French and originally from the Latin futūrus, an irregular future active participle of the to be verb sum. In English, the future is as much a place as it is a time, it’s the destination we’re going to. Yet is it not better to think of the future as the scenery about to pass by as we go down the line like the trees and fields that we pass on a train? The present is momentary, here and gone in the blink of an eye, each millisecond the present, and the past a great gulf of memory whence we came. Yet the future is something both unknown and recognizable. It is both what we can see ahead of us along the way and what is just over the next horizon. It is an irregular version of being which will come someday. French expresses the concept of the future like this, whereas futur refers to the tense, l’avenir is instead the noun I’ve heard used most to describe the concept of the future. Yet l’avenir instead merely is the crafting of a phrase, temps à venir (time to come) into a noun, avenir, or that which is coming. We don’t know in truth what it is, what it will feel like when it comes, yet we know that someday we will see it and live in it. The future is inevitable, yet it is not singular by nature. Rather, if there is one past and present those are merely the choices made by actors in those moments which were chosen from the multitude that is possible from what could come. 

Irish expresses this sense of the future well because Irish really has no specific word for future. There is a future tense, which in some ways is more regular in its formation than the Irish present tense. Instead, Irish uses a phrase which breaks down the future into its core concepts:  An rud atá le teacht, or the thing which is coming. Therein lies the future in its baldest form: it is merely the thing that is coming next out of all the possibilities. Another topic which I seemed to write about a fair deal for a while was faith, self-help, and religion. My Catholicism is influential to my cosmovision and political philosophy in my core belief of the paradoxical nature of God, that God can exist yet also be omnipotent and omniscient. Because of this, I like to say, “anything is possible in the Eyes of God,” or for short, “anything is possible.” As I think about the end of my doctoral writing and needing a dedication to affix on my dissertation, I’ve found myself thinking about this phrase, and about who my audience is. After all, you now reading this sentence in my future, just as I wrote it in your past. It is possible that just about anyone could be reading this now, and so rather than dedicate my work to one person in particular in the moment in which I am writing it, perhaps I ought to instead dedicate it to the possible, or rudaí indéanta in Irish. That second word indéanta is a neat one because it comes from the verb déan, meaning to do, thus the possible is something that might be done. In English and French, I say, “I am studying” or « J’étudie, » yet in Irish, I say, “Déanaim ag staidéar,” or “I am doing study,” which makes the study more of an act than a state of being. The future has and always will be something acted, something done by individuals in our own small ways that creates great change in the collective form.

I study history because of all the things I am interested in it is history which brings them together. So far, history is a human creation made in our image and likeness which seeks to tell our story as best as we can recall it. We’ve devised historical methods of a similar manner to understand other histories, salvation history, church history, and natural history to name three. I returned to natural history as an adult yearning for the halcyon days of curiosity and wonder from my early childhood and built my career on my study of André Thevet’s (1516–1590) sloth. It’s become my gateway into the history of natural history, and through it I’m beginning to make my name as a sloth historian. I do not believe in prescriptivism, the notion that history in inexorably leading to some great moment in the future when the final form of human nature will announce itself. I think this is limiting, claustrophobic in fact. It’s far too simplistic to say that we will all wake up someday and find the morning sunlight is just a little bit brighter, the grass and trees greener, and the sky a prettier shade of blue because there’ll be somebody among us who will find something contrary about the experience. I for one an enjoying the gray skies outside my window today, it’s finally cool enough in mid-October for me to open the blinds in my room and let some sunlight in without making it too hot. Rather, history teaches us that the future is what we will make of it. I chose to not study the twentieth century because I felt this dolorous pain in my heart that there were so many things which happened in the last century which could have been avoided, choices which could have been different. In studying recent history, I worried I would be faced with the ghosts of the world wars, Great Depression, and all the troubles faced by humanity in general and my fellow Irish Americans in particular throughout my working life. 

Instead, I looked deeper into the past, first to the Roman Republic with an interest in studying the expansion of Roman citizenship in the late Republic after the Social War of the 90s and 80s BCE and later to the Renaissance, a period that seemed similar enough, Latinate to be sure, yet full of people and stories who I felt I could relate to better than the ancients. I found Thevet almost accidentally, and through his sloth I feel that I’ve found balance in my life that sustains me today, makes me feel more fulfilled in my efforts than I was before. My history is fundamentally interdisciplinary, historical zoology adopts zoological methods and theories to determine the true nature of historical animals, layering their scientific taxa upon their far older human memory and legendaria. In Thevet I am able to work with the ancients, looking especially Aristotle and Pliny, yet soon after I can turn around and look ahead to Buffon and Linnaeus and see how they interpreted what Thevet wrote in order to establish a clear lineage through the historical record for the animal in question. There is nothing sure about this history, often the historical sources are lacking with detail about a given animal, or the zoological data may not have enough detail about an extinct species to offer a clear picture of what it is I am describing. Both are limited by the foggy memory of the human past, yet together they can offer a light with which to move ahead and keep exploring those parts of our cosmos which are still strange and unfamiliar to us today.

I write because it is the greatest way I’ve yet found to express myself. I can say far more in an essay such as this than I could in a conversation. The Wednesday Blog remains less formal than my academic writing, here I use the first person. Yet with the passage of time, I’ve found the Blog has become more academic to the point that friends have told me they got an education about Thevet that they never expected. The Blog has several antecedents, including earlier less regular blog posts which you can find on this same website from before 2021 that all form the roots of this project. I’m proud of the writing I’ve done here, the Wednesday Blog now is comprised of 238 essays and 200 podcast episodes, I’ve written 521 pages, and the total word count is over 300,000. The future is defined as much by its potential as the fact that once it comes to be what was present will then be past. To see an end gives all things meaning. It is for this reason, at the end of the sixth book of the Wednesday Blog, and fifth season of the podcast, that I’ve decided to end this particular publication. This remains a fun thing to write, yet I have so much more to do today, and I only see that workload growing as I try my hand at more peer-reviewed articles, books, and translations in the coming decades. I hope the Wednesday Blog will be a testament to who I was at this point in my life in the years after the COVID-19 Pandemic and during my long years of doctoral study. Let these essays remain a monument of the first half of the 2020s, a sign of where we’ve been and where I hope we will be going.


[1] “Signs,” Wednesday Blog 1.10.

[2] “On Servant Leadership,” Wednesday Blog 6.15.

[3] Percy Bysshe Shelley, “Ozymandias,” Poetry Foundation.


Leadership

I've long wondered about what kind of leader I want to be. This week a coalescing of those ponderings. — Click here to support the Wednesday Blog: https://www.patreon.com/sthosdkane


I’ve long wondered about what kind of leader I want to be. This week a coalescing of those ponderings.


Leadership is one of the great qualities which we yearn for today, particularly in this country agreement among our leaders on the same basic principles of democracy and integrity. We seek the same fundamental truths even while truth is far more diffuse a concept than ever before. To take the first step towards this restoration we need to begin talking to each other again and really work towards rebuilding our mutual understanding of who we are and what we want out of our Union.

Throughout my life I’ve looked up to certain types of leaders: a citizen like Abraham Lincoln, a unifier like Eleanor Roosevelt, and a servant like Pope Francis. Each of these figures took their own stands in their own circumstances of time and place and worked to their own ends, and in some respects they were successful. 

I’ve been humbled to serve as a leader at varying moments and in several capacities and my own efforts are often rewarded by how I can connect with the people around me. I make a point of working with people, of listening to their ideas and trying to incorporate them into something all of us working together can be proud of.

Today then, I want to present to you a paper that I wrote at the end of my time as a Master’s Student at the University of Missouri-Kansas City in November and December of 2018. I presented this paper “Erasmus’s Enchiridion militis Christiani and the Humanist Knight in early-sixteenth-century England” at the American Catholic Historical Association’s 2019 annual meeting, co-current with the American Historical Association conference at the old Stevens Hotel, now the Hilton, on South Michigan Avenue in Chicago on Friday, 4 January 2019. I hope this offers two visions of leadership from the Renaissance, one rooted in Erasmus’s Christian Humanism which hearkens towards the social justice-rooted morality of my own Catholicism, and from the realpolitik of Niccolò Machiavelli in his timeless book The Prince.


Erasmus’s Enchirdion militis Christiani (The Handbook of the Christian Knight) was one of the most popular books of its day in Western and Central Europe; translated into eight languages between 1519 and 1542. Its most popular and widely disseminated edition was that published by Johann Froben in Basel in 1518. The Enchiridion‘s enduring popularity throughout the first half of the sixteenth century is a testament to its relevance at a time when Europe was witnessing tremendous social and religious upheaval through the Reformations of Luther, Calvin, and Henry VIII. The Enchiridion was intended to be a guide for Europe’s many princes, kings, and lesser lords on how to be good moral rulers, how to be “soldiers of Christ” as the title states. Through this role as a guide for good governance, the Enchiridion can be seen as a Christian Humanist equivalent to Machiavelli’s The Prince as a guide in Renaissance political philosophy. In considering the Enchiridion‘s role as a book of political philosophy, this study will consider both the 1518 Froben edition[1], and the 1523 Alnwick manuscript[2], the earliest known English translation of the Enchiridion, from which all quotes derive.

Originally written in 1502, the Enchiridion was said to be inspired by an unpleasant evening that Erasmus experienced in the castle of a knight recorded as “John the German.”[3] The knight’s wife begged Erasmus to write a treatise offering her husband guidance on better manners, thus resulting in the Enchiridion.[4] While the Enchiridion was first published in 1503 by Maartens in Antwerp[5] it did not achieve widespread fame until its first publication by Froben in 1515.[6] The Enchiridion‘s philosophical inspirations come from a number of different sources, both Biblical and Classical, from Moses, Solomon, and David to Julius Caesar and his nephew Augustus to the heroes of the Iliad and the Aeneid. While this work takes great influence from Platonic philosophy, it nevertheless bathes Platonism in a deep bath of Christian theology before allowing it to enter into the main work.

As a work of Christian Humanism, the Enchiridion contains a thorough retelling of the many morality stories found in the Bible. It appears, through the wording of the Biblical quotes in Froben’s Latin edition, that Erasmus used his own revised translation of the New Testament throughout the Enchiridion, which had been published by Froben in its most widely read form in 1516.[7] Nevertheless, Erasmus draws just as heavily from the Old Testament, looking at Moses, David, and Solomon as good and worthy models for the Christian knight of his day. For Erasmus, a Christian ruler should follow closely the teachings of the Church and its Old Testament forbearers. Countering Machiavelli’s view that the two safest manners for a prince to control a population is to either “destroy them or reside there,”[8] Erasmus argued that it is a “grete obomynation … if a man forsake his fynge or theiss lorde [Christ].”[9] For Erasmus, temporal power was secondary to spiritual wellbeing, arguing later in the same chapter of the Enchiridion that the death of the soul is far more consequential than the death of the body, as the death of the soul “is extreme misery,”[10] even greater than bodily death. The key difference here is that Machiavelli wrote as a politician, while Erasmus set his words to paper as a theologian. 

The disparity between the political realities of early sixteenth century Italy and the theological expectations on morality at the same time are stark. Erasmus’s chief concern is the wellbeing of the soul, while Machiavelli’s is the accumulation of power and its subsequent preservation. Erasmus’s knight is a moralist, while Machiavelli’s prince is a pragmatist. Yet where Machiavelli’s vision of rulership is often shown as a testament to the various leaders in Italy during the Italian Wars, Erasmus’s shows the theological ideal of a Christian Humanist ruler, akin in character to Plato’s philosopher kings who should rule in a conjunction between “political power and philosophical intelligence.”[11] Both Erasmus and Machiavelli reference Moses as fine examples of leadership, the former spending the first chapter of his Enchiridion discussing Moses’s role as leader of the Hebrews and his loyalty to God’s will and light[12], while Machiavelli names Moses alongside Cyrus, Romulus, and Theseus as “the most excellent”[13] of princes. While Machiavelli considered striking Moses from this list because he was “a mere executor of things, that were made ordained by God,”[14] and thus less a prince in his own right and more a vassal for a Higher Power, he nevertheless respected Moses’s leadership of the Hebrews and saw him as an equal to Cyrus, Romulus, and Theseus through his deliverance of the Hebrews out of slavery.[15]

Erasmus’s Enchiridion makes great use of Platonic philosophy, referring back to the Athenian academic’s teachings time and again in his work. Erasmus noted in the fifth chapter of his Enchiridion, entitled “Off the dyusitue of affeccions” that Plato and the later Stoics both saw  “philosophy to be nothing else but a remembrance of Deth.”[16] Interestingly, in Froben’s 1518 Latin edition this line reads, “with nothing else [Plato] thinks Philosophy however to be a meditation of death.”[17] The differences in meaning between the words remembrance and meditation is striking. While they are synonyms, the former appears to have changed in meaning over the centuries, becoming today a manner of meditation about a person or event that takes place only after that person has died, while a meditation can happen when they are still living. For the translator of the Alnwick Manuscript, this difference does not appear to have been as profound, and by and large it would appear that, at least in that translator’s eyes, remembrance and meditation are a good pair of cognates. 

Machiavelli’s text looks at death as an inevitability and in many cases a means to an end, especially for men who “forget more quickly the death of the father than the loss of their inheritance.”[18] In Machiavelli’s view, while the living may mourn the dead, they celebrate in the riches left behind by the deceased and seek to improve their own fortunes off of the demise of their fathers. Machiavelli accepts that this degree of swift respect for the dead is tantamount to theft, yet he dismisses any degree of moral ambiguity by noting how common and easy the practice can be, writing, “it is always easy to find cause to take away property,” and “anyone who lives by theft will always find reasons to occupy the things of others.”[19] For Erasmus, death is a moment of great spiritual significance, one to be taken seriously in securing the sanctity of one’s soul; yet for Machiavelli, death is a moment of great personal significance, one to be taken seriously in securing one’s fortune and power from the deceased, whether they be one’s father or another.

If philosophy is merely a meditation on death, as Erasmus argued, then what is life but a march towards that inevitable fate and, if one is fortuitous enough, Heaven, which “is promysed to hym that fighteth swftely.”[20]The Humanist Knight, therefore, should strive to fight their battles with speed, and in doing so keeps in mind the prospect of eternal life in Heaven, and end the suffering of those whom they are fighting sooner. Fighting should only be a last resort, as the Humanist Knight should consider their moral and spiritual wellbeing before taking up arms against another. The promise of Heavenly reward drives the Humanist Knight, sending them into their world with the purpose of ensuring their own moral wellbeing and salvation. One’s soul should be “refresshed with manna from heven and with water that kame oute of the harde Rock,”[21] consuming the heavenly donation and fortifying oneself so that “neither strength neither hie / nor lowe : nor no other Creature shall seperat us from the love of god which is Christ [Jesus].”[22] In this sense, Erasmus argued that the rewards of mortal riches and conquests should not come before the spiritual rewards awaiting the Humanist Knight, faithful to Christ, in Heaven.

In contrast, Machiavelli argued in favor of prolonged war, if only to secure a prince’s authority over their own people and supremacy over their adversaries. A prolonged war, according to Machiavelli, is sometimes necessary to secure the authority of the prince against threats both foreign and domestic, and while one might lose some territory, or even some cities, as in the case of Philip V of Macedon, yet the loss of a few cities ranks lower as a threat to the stability and security of a prince’s power.[23] For Machiavelli, Philip V was a strong leader because he acted when others would have passively watched as events unfolded in front of them. He stands as a good example of the Machiavellian prince, as he was willing to make sacrifices of his cities and territories, their populations included, in order to preserve his power. In contrast, for Machiavelli a bad prince is one who loses “their principalities after so many years of rulership not because of fortune but because of their own sloth.”[24] The Machiavellian prince is an active ruler, directing their supporters on the ground with a tenacity that is matched in the Humanist Knight by the latter’s desire to ensure the purity of their soul, despite the devilish business of the titular Enchiridion, not only a handbook but also a hand dagger.

Both the Machiavellian Prince and the Humanist Knight have agency, the chief difference is in how they use it. For the Prince, their agency is best utilized through the fortifying of oneself and one’s possessions to weather any future assaults or other attempts at threatening the Prince’s standing. The Prince acts only to ensure the stability of their power and its continued vitality, standing on one’s own two feet rather than with the support of another. As Machiavelli wrote, the only sure way to preserve one’s power is through one’s own “virtue” or “power”, depending on the translation.[25] The use of the word virtù for both “virtue” and “power” in Italian is striking, showing the intense relationship between one’s morality and one’s authority. With virtue and power standing hand-in-hand, Machiavelli’s perspective comes clearer to light. He is writing not just as a pragmatist, but also as a political veteran of his times, advising princes how to seek virtue, much like Erasmus’s advice to the Humanist Knight, only Machiavelli’s idea of virtue is clothed in the unstable trappings of the Italian Wars that raged throughout his life and deeply affected the world of the Italian city states.

For Erasmus, virtue comes from God, and is shared by all humanity; thus, Erasmus writes to the Humanist Knight “thow shalt be able to do all thing in the power of God”[26] but in order to do this the Knight must “take hede that thow be a member of the body”[27] It is interesting here that the Alnwick manuscript translator of the Enchiridion does not conjugate thow shalt be as thow shalt art or thow shalt beest as was used in some dialects of Early Modern English. This particular pair of lines in the Alnwick manuscript do not match exactly the Latin in Froben’s edition, where in English the Knight can do all things “in the power of God” in Latin they will be able to achieve the same “in capite”, who is identified in the previous sentence as Christ. Two points can be taken from this, firstly that Early Modern English verb conjugations inherited the structures of their Germanic roots, moving the conjugation onto the modifiers as in German and Old English. Thus, the verb appears as thow shalt be rather than thow shall art, which mirrors this verb’s Modern descendant you should be. Secondly, the translator of the Alnwick manuscript rephrased and adapted the text to fit the expectations of an English-speaking audience, especially when translating from a language with more fluid word order like Latin to one with strict rules like English.

The relationship between the Humanist Knight and the Machiavellian Prince shows the diverging perspectives of Renaissance Humanists on both sides of the Alps. Whereas Italy was embroiled in war between rival city states supported by distant powers, fueling the pragmatic political philosophy of The Prince, the political structures of Northern Europe remained largely stable, with the old kings, princes, and magnates ruling over the continent. Erasmus’s Humanist Knight seeks power, but only through the blessing and support of God. Thus, the Humanist Knight must remain a moral and upright person, standing firm in the warm glow of God’s grace. While the Prince believes he will find victory through his own exploits and prowess as both a politician in the government of his principality, and as a commander on the battlefield, the Knight believes that victory is “putt hole in the handes of God and by hym in our handes.”[28] The greatest difference between the Knight and the Prince is their understanding of virtue. For the Knight this comes from God’s favor of one’s good deeds, while for the Prince it results from political stability. 

What can be seen in Erasmus’s Enchiridion and Machiavelli’s Prince are two very different views of the role of the ruler and the source of that ruler’s power. This reflects the differing political situations between Italy and Northern Europe in the early sixteenth century, when both authors were writing. Furthermore, when translated into English in the form of the Alnwick manuscript, the Enchiridion offers the modern reader not only an idea of what the ideal knight was for Erasmus and the manuscript’s translator through the translator’s interpretation of Erasmus, but also an image of the role of the faith in the promulgation of Humanist values amongst the English gentry and aristocracy in the first decades of the sixteenth century.


Thank you for bearing with an admittedly unusual Wednesday Blog this week. This idea began somewhat differently than it ended. I hope to return to this topic of leadership again and write about Pope Francis’s vision of the servant leader which I find quite compelling.


[1] Desiderius Erasmus, Enchiridion militis Christiani cum alijs quoru[m] Catalogum pagellae, (Basel: Johann Froben, 1518), http://www.mdz-nbn-resolving.de/urn/resolver.pl?urn=urn:nbn:de:bvb:12-bsb10164787-8.

[2] “A compendus tretis of the sowdear of Christ called enchiridion which Erasmus Roteradame wrote unto a certen courtear & Frende of his,” [1523], Additional Manuscripts, 89149, British Library, London.

[3] Anne M. O’Donnell, S.N.D., “Rhetoric and Style in Erasmus’s Enchiridion militis Christiani,” Studies in Philology, Vol. 77, No. 1: (Winter 1980), 26-49, at 30.

[4] Brian Moynahan, William Tyndale: If God spare my Life: A Story of Martyrdom, Betrayal, and the English Bible, (London: Abacus, 2003), 26-27.

[5] Judith Rice Henderson, “Language, Race, and Church Reform: Erasmus’ ‘De recta pronuntiatione’ and ‘Ciceronianus’, Renaissance and Reformation / Renaissance et Réforme, Vol. 30, No. 2: (Spring / Printemps 2006), pp. 3-42, at 8.

[6] Diane Shaw, “A Study of the Collaboration Between Erasmus of Rotterdam and His Printer Johann Froben at Basel During the Years 1514 to 1527,” Erasmus of Rotterdam Society Yearbook, Vol. 6: (1986), pp. 31-124, at 35.

[7] Erasmus, Novum Instrumentum omne, (Basel: Johann Froben, 1516), http://www.mdz-nbn-resolving.de/urn/resolver.pl?urn=urn:nbn:de:bvb:12-bsb11059002-1.

[8] Niccolò Machiavelli, Il libro del principe, (Florence: Bernardo di Giunta, 1532), 7a, http://catalogue.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k852526w; the original Italian reads “tal che la più sicura a via è, spegnerle, ó habitarvi.”

[9] “A compendus tretis of the sowdear of Christ called enchiridion which Erasmus Roteradame wrote unto a certen courtear & Frende of his,” [1523], Additional Manuscripts, 89149 f.3v (1:140-141), British Library, London. In the Latin, “Quantus pudor, quanta penè publica humani generis execratio, cum à duce principe deficit homo?”

[10] “A compendus tretis,” BL Add. MS 89149 f.5v (1:235-6). In Froben’s Latin edition this reads as “At animam mori, infelicitatis extremæ est,” Erasmus, Enchiridion militis Christiani, (Basel: Froben, 1518), 6.

[11] Plato, Republic 5.473d in Plato in Twelve Volumes, Vols. 5 & 6 trans. Paul Shorey, (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London, William Heinemann Ltd., 1969) in the original Greek, δύναμίς τε πολιτική καὶ φιλοσοφία.

[12] “A compendus tretis,” BL Add. MS 89149 f.1v-f.9r (1:1-397); Froben’s: Enchiridion, 1-9.

[13] Machiavelli, Il libro del principe, 7b, “li più eccellenti.”

[14] Machiavelli, “E benché di Moisè non si debbe ragionare, essendo stato un’mero esecutore delle cose, che gli erano ordinate da Dio.”

[15] Machiavelli, “Era adunque necessario à Moise trovare il Popolo d’Israel in Egitto schiano, et opresso da gli Egittii: accioche quelli, per usare di servitù, se disponessino à seguirlo.”

[16] “A compendus tretis,” BL Add. MS 89149 f.28v (5:39-41)

[17] Froben’s Enchiridion, 30, “cum nihil aliud putat esse Philosophiam, cumque mortis meditationinem.”

[18] Machiavelli, Il libro del principe, 26a, “per che gli huomini dimenticano più tosto la morte del padre, che la perdita del patrimonio.”

[19] Machiavelli, “Di poi le cagioni del torre la robba non macono mai,” and “e sempre colui, che comincia à vivere con rapina, truova cagioni d’occupare quel d’altri.”

[20] “A compendus tretis,” BL Add. MS 89149 f.5r (1:208); Froben’s Enchiridion, 5, “Cœlum promittitur strenue pugnanti.

[21] Machiavelli, f.10v (2:114-115); Froben’s Enchiridion, 12, “quam esset manna cœlesti, et aqua de petra scatente refectus.”

[22] Machiavelli, f.18v (2:554-556); Froben’s Enchiridion, 20, neque fortitudoneque altitudo, neque pfundum, neque cretura alia, poterit nos se parare à charitate dei, quæ est in Christo Iesu.” This is a quote from Romans 8:38-39. The Greek original reads οὔτε δυνάμεις, οὔτε ὔφωμα, οὔτε βάθος οὔτε τις κτίσις ἐτέρα δυνήσεται ἠμᾶς χωρίσαι ἀπὸ ἀγάπης τοῦ θεοῦ τῆς ἐν Χριστῶ Ἰησοῦ. The Vulgate and Erasmus’s Novum Instrumentum differ in their translations of the Greek, in the Vulgate, neque fortitudoneque altitudo, neque profundum, neque cretura alia poterit nos separare a caritate Dei, quæ est in Christo Jesu” while in Erasmus’s NIOneque futuraneque altitudo, neque profunditas, neque ulla cretura alia, poterit nos separe a dilectione dei, quæ en in Christo Iesu”. The NASB translates this verse as “… nor powers, 39 nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is Christ Jesus…” The NIO leaves out neque fortitudo, jumping from neque futura to neque altitudo.

[23] Machiavelli, Il libro del principe, 38.

[24] Machiavelli, “Per tanto questi nostri Principi; i quali molti anni erano sta ti nel loro Principato, per haverlo di poi perso; non accusino la fortuna, ma la ignavia loro.”

[25] Machiavelli, Il libro del principe, 38b, “Et quelle difese solamente sono buone, certe, et durabili; che dipendono da te proprio, et da la virtù tua.” 

[26] “A compendus tretis,” BL Add. MS 89149 f.8r (1:367); Froben’s Enchiridion, 9, “et omnia poteris in capite.”

[27] BL Add. MS 89149 f.8r (1:366); Froben’s Enchiridion, 9, “Tu modo cura ut sis in corpore.”

[28] “A compendus tretis,” BL Add. MS 89149 f.8r (1:373); Froben’s Enchiridion, 9, neuticibus à fortuna pendeat victoriased eaomnis in manu sita sit deiac per eum nostris quoquibus in manibus.”