Golf appeals to the idiot in us and the child. Just how

Hearken, O seeker of insight, to the words of John Updike, a chronicler of human folly and delight: “Golf appeals to the idiot in us and the child. Just how childlike golf players become is proven by their frequent inability to count past five.” In this witticism lies a profound meditation on the duality of the human spirit: the tension between innocence and folly, between earnest effort and playful whimsy. Golf, like life itself, mirrors our triumphs and our lapses, revealing both the earnest child and the hapless fool within us all.

Since the earliest gatherings of humankind, contests and games have not only tested skill but exposed character. The Roman youths who engaged in their athletic contests, or the knights who jousted in medieval arenas, discovered as Updike observes: when passion meets challenge, the mind may falter even as the heart persists. In this, golf becomes a mirror: its gentle greens and measured swings invite reflection, yet its subtle difficulties provoke laughter, frustration, and delight.

Updike’s words illuminate a curious truth: the childlike spirit is not weakness, but a vessel for presence. In golf, as in life, the player must balance skill with patience, logic with instinct. The frequent inability to count past five reflects more than arithmetic failure—it reveals surrender to the immediacy of experience, to the richness of the present, unburdened by the relentless march of expectation. The game becomes a dance, a play of impulse and strategy, where the soul may explore both innocence and folly.

Consider the tale of Bobby Jones, the legendary golfer whose mastery of the course inspired awe. Even he, whose precision and strategy were unparalleled, would sometimes chuckle at his own errant shots, acknowledging the childlike delight in a game that humbles even the greatest. Jones understood that the heart’s engagement, the joy of play, and the laughter of self-recognition were as vital as any championship won. The idiot within, when tempered by humor and grace, becomes a guide to humility and presence.

The wisdom of the ancients resonates here. The philosophers of Athens counseled that play and laughter are essential to the cultivation of virtue, for the mind must not dwell solely on weighty matters. Golf, in its serene yet challenging form, cultivates patience, focus, and resilience, while also reminding us to delight in our imperfections, to embrace the unpredictable, and to honor the simplicity of joy. Updike’s observation is thus not mere jest, but a subtle teaching: the child and the fool reveal truths that the adult often overlooks.

This duality—between seriousness and play, competence and blunder—serves as a reminder that mastery is not only skill but also perspective. To approach the game with humility, to laugh at one’s missteps, and to honor the childlike wonder of the experience is to cultivate a balance of mind and spirit. Even in error, even in repeated counting failures, there is growth, awareness, and the gentle humbling that refines character.

The lesson, therefore, is clear: cherish the playful and foolish aspects of your endeavors, for they illuminate the soul and temper the ego. In practical terms, engage fully in your pursuits, allow laughter and humility to accompany effort, and do not fear the mistakes or miscounts that arise. Let the spirit of the child and the fool guide your hand, enrich your heart, and deepen your joy.

Walk forward, O listener, as Updike’s golfers tread the verdant fairways, with eyes wide to marvel and hearts unburdened by pretense. Let each task, each challenge, each pursuit invite both seriousness and play, both wisdom and folly. In this harmonious dance of the heart lies the eternal lesson: the measure of life is not perfection alone, but the embrace of wonder, delight, and the charming idiocy of being fully, gloriously human.