*That’s St Francis de Salles, patron saint of writers and journalists. I only discovered that scintillating fact a few minutes ago when I searched ‘patron saint of writers’ in Google because I didn’t know who it was (just so you know that however useless I am, at least I’m authentically useless.)
* * *
What I mostly discover when I read old posts is how wise I used to be. I was always saying wise things and replying to comments with wise counter-comments. Only I wasn’t being wise, not really. I stopped making wise posts and started making silly ones instead because I realised that:
1. I don’t actually know anything.
2. The concept of wise and unwise is illusory. Total wisdom must surely be infinite, or at least beyond the capacity of any human being to grasp. We’re all just somewhere on the same scale that disappears into the clouds wherever you are. So who draws the line between one and the other?
3. The delusion of wisdom encourages the onset of a certain type of earnestness which I find irritating. It also encourages inflation of the ego, which anybody with any common sense should be wise enough to find unacceptable.
4. I doubt that anybody has ever been happier for being high on the wisdom scale. Being silly, on the other hand, at least affords one the odd giggle or two. Ergo, being silly makes more sense than being wise.
But don’t hold me to this. I might say something mind-blowing tomorrow and disagree with myself.