Tomorrow is the first day of April, April Fools’ Day, when traditionally, we are expected to play practical jokes and be the good-natured victims of jokes played by others. We used to creep around warily on April 1, expecting a trap of some kind. Everybody got into the act. I remember that once, BBC television in London broadcasted a program about the Italian spaghetti harvest, showing diligent peasants cutting long strings of spaghetti hanging from trees. I didn’t realize that this was a joke until much later, and I never trusted spaghetti or the BBC ever again.
The origin of April Fool’s Day is a mystery. It is certainly many centuries old, but every historical source gives a different explanation. Some cite the Hilaria Festival in Ancient Rome (March 25) and the Holi or Huli Festival of India at the end of March. Other authorities say that All Fools’ Day began with the introduction of the Gregorian Calendar in 1562, which changed the start of the year from April 1 to
January 1. Those who got their dates mixed up were called “April Fools.”
That’s all harmless nonsense if it’s true, or even if it’s not. However, the tradition of practical joking on April 1 is far less vigorous than it used to be, perhaps because every potential victim is ready to call his or her lawyer and sue for pain, humiliation, or catastrophic injury. This is rather a pity. April Fools’ Day was a special moment, the one day in the year when we were reminded of what we had been for the previous three hundred and sixty-four: a bunch of clowns.
Perhaps we have come to take ourselves too seriously for practical jokes. We have altogether too much self-esteem. Schools and self-help gurus make a virtue out of it. But there’s no excuse for self-esteem unless and until we have done something estimable, which most of us have not. Another name for self-esteem is the Biblical sin of pride, and we certainly wouldn’t want to be accused of that.
The fool is a recurring character in history precisely because He (and it was always he), reminded even the most self-important characters how unserious they were. In ancient Rome, a slave would stand behind a victorious leader as he paraded through the streets, whispering in his ear, “Remember you are mortal. Remember, you are not a god.” It is not recorded whether the leaders paid any attention to this advice, or what happened to the slaves afterwards.
In previous ages of monarchy, the fool was an integral part of the King's Court. His job was to entertain the court and, more importantly, to bring the king down to a human level by making rude comments about his glorious majesty that the king was supposed to laugh about and suffer with good grace. The fools in Shakespeare’s plays have wisdom as well as wit and are always willing to speak truth to power. In King Lear, the Fool argues with the king and tries to moderate his behavior, but without much success.
It's a thankless job being the king’s fool, and often a dangerous one. It’s hardly surprising that we have so few volunteers.
