Thomas Cahill gives us another in the highly accessible and interesting Hinges of History series, and I was happy to jump into his take on the Renaissance – it’s a kick that I’m on lately.
Cahill elegantly draws a fairly straight line from the events of the late 1400’s to the curiosity and new reasoning that characterized the humanism of following 150 years. “The discovery of America served as a goad to the energetic expansion of science. All maps had to be redrawn; and all geography had to reconceived and rewritten. Inevitably, new questions arose in cosmology: if we had been so wrong about the continents of our planet, what might we have wrong about the rest of the universe?”
As promised, he identifies events of the period that are directly reflected in events of today. Some small and interesting, some with much more cultural significance.
For example, the Italian priority on all things beautiful may have meant a 20 year delay in using Gutenberg’s printing press, because of the monstrous appearance of the Gothic letters employed by German printers, but they met the challenge by creating calligraphy: “beautiful and eminently readable script…lean and swift, balanced and shapely, full of sweeping slides and lovely loops (becoming) the typefaces we still use today: roman, italic, and their derivatives.”
We also recognize ourselves in the late 15th century Florentine response to Girolamo Savonarola. “The enthusiasm of the most cultivated and learned (and until he showed up, the most joyful) people of all of Europe” was given up “for an unpleasant, unsympathetic, unbelievable windbag. Why did they not resent their Garden of Love being invaded by these “priests in black gowns… walking their rounds/ And binding with briars their joys and desires” as William Blake would one day express it?” Lemming rule, or the madness of crowds as today’s Louise Penny would call it. In any case, we’re no stranger to it today-- which is both reassuring and frustrating.
Before the birth of the Renaissance, sculpture’s “coupling divinity and nudity…could only make medieval standard-setters squirm. Whatever examples of Greco-Roman sculpture that were not smashed or melted down mostly ended up buried or drowned, awaiting rediscovery in a more appreciative age. The David of Donatello must, therefore, have come as a great shock to viewers in Quattrocento Florence.” After the nosedive stewarded by Savonarola (until his own execution), it took the Florentines of the following century to bring together the divine and the humanist in rediscovery.
Near the end of the Renaissance, Gian Lorenzo Bernini left a remarkable “imprint on the city of Rome…To him belongs the still-breathtaking Piazza Navona with its three soaring fountains. To him we must credit Saint Peter’s Square, the most extraordinary public space in the world, and the Scala Regia, the grand stairway that leads to the Vatican Palace. To him we must assign much of the interior of Saint Peter’s: the sheltering baldacchino; with its unique, oscillating columns that surround the papal altar, the enormous, floating Chair of Saint Peter in the apse, and the luminous window with its depiction of the Holy Spirit as a dove entering its sanctuary.
“Bernini’s talent was as theatrical as it was sculptural. His combination of paint, glass, sculpture, architecture, and light were principally intended as a dramatic stage sets for the public performance of religious belief and theological assertion,” most especially in the Ecstasy of Saint Theresa.
Don’t mind me – I’m taking notes for my trip, and as I look at the renown art in books, I’m fascinated by what looks like liquid marble in Bernini.
After too brief a time spent on how the Renaissance planted the seeds of so much of today’s culture, Cahill devoted 2/3rds of the book to the Reformation. It was here that I learned for the first time that Martin Luther may not have had all the credibility he was imbued with in my school history classes. Setting aside the fact that his 95 theses were not, indeed, nailed to a door, he had a reputation for “much fasting, self-flagellation, long and stressful hours spent on his knees in prayer, anxious pilgrimage, and frequent interminable confession of his supposed sins. Luther’s much-put-upon confessor and monastic superior tried to jolly him out of his obsessions, even ordering him to take up theological studies in preparation for a career as a university lecturer, hoping that occupation would put the young monk in a healthier frame of mind.” But Luther persisted. This chapter made me wonder why we listened to him, but he did make some pretty good points about the sale of indulgences and other greed of the Church.
But I had to also reflect on Cahill’s credibility. He has created meaningful education about cultural history in other books on the pillars of history, but he also called Raphael a hack and dismissed him entirely as an artist. Um, what? And in one sidebar, he refers to gay and lesbian lives as “alternative sexual lifestyles.” In a book written in 2013, there isn’t much call for that ignorance.
It seems that Luther wasn’t the only depressive of his time. Cahill also lingers on other northern European art of the late 1400’s, reflecting “endless northern winters and the gloom of Germanic folktales, haunted by witches and goblins, not the long, leafy sun-drenched summers of Greco-Roman civilization.” Maybe it’s because life today is difficult enough, but pass me some sun, thank you very much.
Today’s difficulties are not without the conflicts, greed, and sins of those Reformation-era Christians. “As whole regions, whole kingdoms were in the course of adopting “heretical” beliefs—and as princes and other political lords and leaders saw that land grabs and political domination would be ascribed to pious religious motives – (they) progressed swiftly to bloody regional clashes and to unforgiving national wars.”
Fortunately, western civilization has inherited more bright lights to guide by.
“The Anabaptists become in time the Mennonites, the Quakers. Though universally despised in the early modern period, persecuted, and often drowned by both Catholics and Protestants, their main reforms – a heighted sense of community, compassion of the poor, prison reform, elimination of the death penalty, refusal to take up arms, peacemaking – are now the ideals of almost all of their former prosecutors.”
I was already familiar with Angelo Roncalli (Pope John XXIII), and Dietrich Bonhoeffer—a remarkable man-- but was newly introduced to Muriel Moore. She grew up in the 1930’s in the Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan, where she “quietly established (the Episcopal Church of Chelsea) as the largest daily provider of free meals for the poor in the entire city of New York. Thousands of people came each day for food, fellowship, and various forms of continuing assistance.” Her refrain: “We are all the same.” She was widely and well loved, and her funeral in July 2011 brought people from all over the city, and from her semiannual trips to Killarney, Ireland – thousands of people holding her in remembrance.
Cahill doesn’t tell us as much about Renaissance-era heroes as he talks about its heretics, but he brings it home in the souls of these three.