A lion cornered by jackals. That is how I think of Giordano Bruno, one of the great men of the Renaissance, a profound, original thinker, a seeker of Truth with a capital T, and a visionary who saw the essential unity of all creation. So of course he was excommunicated, betrayed to the Inquisition, imprisoned and tortured for seven years, and finally burned at the stake. The Jackals won, at least in the short term, but they could no more destroy his ideas than the murder of Martin Luther King Jr. destroyed the civil rights movement.
Schooled as a monk, he got into trouble early by asking hard questions, and reading banned books such those of Erasmus, who was himself almost excommunicated for pointing out superstition and corruption in the Church. Threatened with being denounced to the local version of the Inquisition, he fled the monastery and began a peripatetic life trying to stay one step ahead of those who wanted to silence him. He was a brilliant and persuasive lecturer, and gained influential followers everywhere he went. He was contemporary with Isaac Newton, and shared with him a deep interest in the occult (Newton is often called both the last medieval mind and the first modern one.) Occult studies seemed to offer an alternative path to knowledge that could grant deep insight in the essential truths of the universe, and from there lead to physical control over the elements.
Bruno was an authority on the occult science of memory, which is not one of the things that we think of today as occult. He was born within a few years of Gutenberg’s printing press, which led to a vast diffusion of books and the knowledge they contained, so even in his lifetime the need for people to be able to memorize large amounts of information was starting to fade. He taught memory as an occult discipline, a way to expand one’s understanding of the interconnectedness of knowledge, and thus a gateway to a deeper appreciation of reality.
Although he always considered himself a good Catholic, his views were far from orthodox, in an age when orthodoxy was more important than understanding, and people were killed for much more minor deviations from dogma that Bruno’s beliefs. He thought the Council of Nicea in 325 AD had made a grave error when they accepted the concept of the Trinity, where Father, Son, and Holy Ghost were three and yet one. The Trinity has puzzled many people over the years, the idea that god sacrificed himself to himself to save mankind, whom he created flawed yet would punish for their flaws. Whatever happened to the idea of simple forgiveness? Bruno leaned toward Arianism, which held that god was god, the one and only, and Jesus was his divine but subordinatee first creation.
He believed that the universe is infinite, with an infinite number of worlds, and did not believe in god as an individual being or in divine judgment of any kind. It’s no wonder he agitated so many people.
Part of his appeal was from the novelty of his beliefs, and part of it was from his reputation as an occult magus, but he was also a compelling orator. Both Henry III of France and Elizabeth I of England were students of his, but they could never give him the level of support he really wanted, which was nothing less than a revolution in beliefs that would sweep away the world’s existing religions and replace them with his vision of universal harmony and justice. None of his followers were ready to go down the path of overturning society altogether.
When he realized that he was not going to be able to use the kings and queens of his day to put his revolution into effect he decided that he needed to convince the pope. Bruno was certain that if he could just meet the pope in person he could persuade him to dissolve the existing Catholic church and create a new religion.
It’s not hard to see how this was going to end. The Catholic church had long since ceased being the humble representative of Christ on earth, and was now a powerful state in its own right, and it was infamously, scandalously corrupt. The princes of the church, with their palaces and their whores, were never going to give that up for the sake of mere religion. Popes had been murdered for proposing far more minor reforms.
Was Bruno mad? It has certainly been argued that he was, but the record of his responses to the Inquisition’s questioning show him presenting his arguments forcefully and cogently. It appears that he was so consumed by his vision of Truth that he was willing to risk anything and everything for it. He was brave to the point of foolhardiness. When he was invited back to Italy his friends tried to dissuade him from going, because the invitation seemed like an obvious trap. He went anyway. It was a trap.
He never got to see the pope, but he did get to see the Church at its inhuman worst, in the form of the Roman Inquisition. The book describes the forms of torture that were routinely used, and they make for horrific, stomach-churning reading. The Gestapo and the KGB torturers were no more brutal; the difference was that the Inquisition tortured in the name of love, in an attempt to bring the sinners back into the bosom of the Church. Reading it made me want to vomit.
Saint Augustine was used to justify the Inquisition based on his interpretation of Luke 14:23 (“And the lord said unto the servant, Go out into the highways and hedges, and compel them to come in, that my house may be filled”), which he said permitted violence and murder against heretics and unbelievers.
Bruno was immediately recognized as a martyr to the cause of Truth, an intellectual giant murdered by ignorant pygmies terrified that they would lose their privileges and their loot. His syncretic views of science fell out of favor in the coming age of math and engineering, but in the 20th century his teachings found a following as strict Newtonianism gave way to the uncertainties of quantum mechanics and relativity. Almost all of his books are still in print today, and no one remembers his murderers.