Erasmus, Machiavelli, and the Birth of Critical Thought

The 16th Century: The World Falls Apart

1517: Martin Luther nails his 95 Theses to the door of the church in Wittenberg. 1492: Columbus discovers the New World. 1543: Copernicus publishes the heliocentric system. In one century, everything that seemed unshakable collapses: the unity of the Church, the center of the universe, the boundaries of the oikoumene. On the ruins of the medieval synthesis, critical thought is born—a habit of questioning authorities.

Two thinkers especially illustrate this transition well: Erasmus of Rotterdam and Niccolò Machiavelli. Both are children of the Renaissance. Both are critics. But their criticism is aimed in completely different directions: Erasmus criticizes moral degeneration while maintaining faith in reason and Christian ethics; Machiavelli questions the very possibility of morality in politics.

Erasmus: The Fool’s Cap of Critique

“The Praise of Folly” (1509) is one of the greatest satirical texts in history. Erasmus (1466–1536) writes a speech in the name of Folly (Moria), who praises herself: for she alone rules the world! Who are the most foolish of all? Monarchs, popes, theologians, monks, merchants—all carry their share of folly. The scholastics get it especially hard: they argue over trifling subtleties while the people live in ignorance.

But the text is ambiguous. By the end, the “folly” of Christianity turns out wiser than worldly wisdom: the wisdom of the Cross is madness for reason, but the highest truth for the believer. Erasmus uses the genre of satire to say what cannot be said openly—and protects himself with irony.

His “Praise of Folly” inspired Rabelais, Shakespeare, Cervantes. It established the tradition of the “wise fool”—the figure who speaks the truth precisely because he is not taken seriously. This gesture—speaking truth under the mask of humor—Michel Foucault would call parrhesia, the boldness of truth.

Machiavelli: Politics Without Morality

Niccolò Machiavelli (1469–1527) was a Florentine diplomat who worked for many years in public service and was removed from office after the Medici returned to power. “The Prince” (Il Principe, 1513) was written as a practical guide for the real ruler—not an ideal one, but one who exists in the real world, where enemies hold nothing sacred.

His central argument: traditional morality in politics is a recipe for disaster. A ruler who always keeps his word will find himself surrounded by those who do not. A ruler who is too kind-hearted will be overthrown by those who do not regret harshness. Therefore, a wise ruler must be able to use both force (the lion) and cunning (the fox), and be ready to violate moral norms when it is necessary for the preservation of power and the state.

The key concept is virtu: not “virtue” in the Aristotelian sense, but political mastery, valor, energy. Opposed to it is fortuna—unpredictable fate. Machiavelli compares Fortune to a river: when it floods, it destroys everything, but a smart person builds dams in calm times. Virtu is the ability to manage fortune.

“The end justifies the means”—a phrase attributed to him—never appears in the text, but its spirit is present. Hence, “Machiavellianism” as a synonym for amoral politics.

What Machiavelli Is Actually Doing

Historians of philosophy are increasingly inclined to see Machiavelli not as a cynic but as a realist, describing how power actually works. He breaks the connection between politics and ethics not because morality is indifferent to him—but because he sees that mixing these two spheres leads to moral hypocrisy (the ruler pretends to be virtuous while acting differently) and to political failure. It is better to describe the game honestly.

This marks the beginning of political science as a separate discipline. There is a direct line from Machiavelli to Hobbes (the state as an instrument to control natural violence), to Carl Schmitt (the sovereign is he who decides in an emergency), and to modern realism in international relations (states act out of interests, not morals).

Luther and Individual Conscience

Martin Luther (1483–1546) was not a professional philosopher, but his theological positions have enormous philosophical consequences. His “sola scriptura” (only Scripture), “sola fide” (only faith) undermine the authority of the Church as the mediator between man and God. Before God, everyone stands alone. This is radical individualism, anticipating Descartes’s “I think.”

Luther at the Diet of Worms (1521): “Here I stand, I can do no other.” The appeal to conscience against external authority is the prototype of civil disobedience and the autonomy of the subject, which Kant will make the foundation of his ethics.

Question for reflection: Machiavelli separated political effectiveness from moral virtue. Have you ever encountered situations in your career where these values came into conflict? How did you resolve them?