"Ciceronianus," or on the best mode of speaking (1528), he ridicules those pedantic semi-pagans,
chiefly Italians, who worshiped and aped Cicero, and avoided Christian themes, or borrowed names
and titles from heathen mythology. He had, however, the greatest respect for Cicero, and hoped
that "he is now living peacefully in heaven." He learned neither German nor English nor Italian,
and had only an imperfect knowledge of French, and even of his native Dutch.
He had a nervous sensibility. The least draught made him feverish. He could not bear the
iron stoves of Germany, and required an open fireplace. He could drink no wine but Burgundy. He
abhorred intemperance. He could not eat fish on fast days; the mere smell of it made him sick: his
heart, he said, was Catholic, but his stomach Lutheran. He never used spectacles either by day or
by candle-light, and many wondered that study had not blinded his eyes. He walked firm and erect
without a cane. His favorite exercise was horseback-riding.^509 He usually traveled on horseback
with an attendant, and carried his necessaries, including a shirt, a linen nightcap, and a prayer-book,
in a knapsack tied to the saddle. He shrank from the mere mention of death, and frankly confessed
that he was not born to be a martyr, but would in the hour of trial be tempted to follow St. Peter.
He was fond of children, and charitable to the poor.
His Theological Opinions.
Erasmus was, like most of the German and English humanists, a sincere and enlightened
believer in Christianity, and differed in this respect from the frivolous and infidel humanists of
France and Italy. When charged by Prince Albertus Pius of Carpi, who was in high favor at the
papal court, with turning sacred things into ridicule, he answered, "You will much more readily
find scoffers at sacred things in Italy among men of your own rank, ay, and in your much-lauded
Rome, than with us. I could not endure to sit down at table with such men." He devoted his brilliant
genius and classical lore to the service of religion. He revered the Bible as a divine revelation, and
zealously promoted its study. He anticipated Luther in the supreme estimate of the word of God as
the true source of theology and piety. Oecolampadius confessed that he learned from Erasmus "nihil
in sacris scripturis praeter Christum quaerendum."
He had a sharp eye to the abuses of the Church, and endeavored to reform them in a peaceful
way. He wished to lead theology back from the unfruitful speculations and frivolous subtleties of
scholasticism to Scriptural simplicity, and to promote an inward, spiritual piety. He keenly ridiculed
the foolish and frivolous discussions of the schoolmen about formalities and quiddities, and such
questions as whether God could have assumed the form of a woman, or an ass, or a cucumber, or
a flint-stone; whether the Virgin Mary was learned in the languages; and whether we would eat
and drink after the resurrection. He exposed the vices and follies, the ignorance and superstition,
of the monks and clergy. He did not spare even the papacy. "I have no desire," he wrote in 1523,
that the primacy of the Roman See should be abolished, but I could wish that its discipline were
such as to favor every effort to promote the religion of the gospel; for several ages past it has by
its example openly taught things that are plainly averse to the doctrines of Christ."
At the same time he lacked a deeper insight into the doctrines of sin and grace, and failed
to find a positive remedy for the evils he complained of. In using the dangerous power of ridicule
(^509) In thanking Archbishop Warham of Canterbury for the present of a horse, he thus humorously describes the animal: "I have received
the horse, which is no beauty, but a good creature notwithstanding; for he is free from all the mortal sins, except gluttony and laziness;
and he is adorned with all the virtues of a good confessor, being pious, prudent, humble, modest, sober, chaste, and quiet, and neither
bites nor kicks." To Polydore Virgil, who sent him money to procure a horse, he replied, "I wish you could give me any thing to cure the
rider." ("Dedisti quopareturequus, utinam dare possis quoreparetureques." —Op. III. 934.)