Many of the works of these ancient philosophers had reached Italy around the time of the fall of Constantinople in 1453, when fleeing scholars had salvaged all they could from the extensive libraries and archives of the doomed Byzantine Empire. But these libraries also harboured manuscripts and ancient scrolls relating to the darker side of Byzantine learning – works dealing with the hermetic arts, astrology, alchemy, magic and the like. And these too would represent part of the world that the new humanism sought to understand. Indeed, the darker and the clearer sides of Byzantine thought were often inextricably mixed. Astronomy was still permeated with the ‘meaning’ imposed upon it by astrology, whilst alchemy had yet to give birth to the science of a chemistry cleansed of all attempts to transform base metals into actual or spiritual gold. Pico was influenced by such sources, and was clearly intrigued by the Jewish mysticism of the Kabbala, as plainly stated in his Nine Hundred Theses: ‘No science affords better evidence of Christ’s divinity than magic and Kabbalistic practices.’ Aided by the clear vision of hindsight, it is easy to spot the muddle of rational and metaphysical categories here. This indeed is a prime example of the confused thinking that preceded (and helped give birth to) the consequent Age of Reason. In this example of Pico’s theses, ‘science’ and empirical evidence are both invoked – but not in the search for physical truth. Instead, they are summoned to provide evidence for metaphysical truth, for ‘Christ’s divinity’. In a further conceptual confusion, the ‘science’ that is deemed best suited to this search is not that conducted by means of secular reasoning, but that of magic and mystical practices. Western thought would have to evolve for more than two centuries before it learned how to disentangle such antithetical categories and pursuits.
At the same time Pico’s brave, if misguided, attempt to incorporate hermetic and mystical thinking into the search for divine truth was leading him into dangerous territory. His other theses may have been unorthodox, but those invoking Kabbalistic mysticism were undoubtedly heretical. However, Pico refused to see it this way – either through political naivety or simply blind hubris, it is difficult to tell which. This supreme confidence is reflected in the other title that he appended to his Nine Hundred Theses, which characterised them as Conclusiones. Far from being tentative hypotheses or proposals, as a liberal interpretation of the word ‘theses’ might have allowed, Pico saw his theses as conclusive. And he was prepared to defend them as such. In order to do this he decided to travel to Rome, where he would publish his Nine Hundred Theses, with the aim of achieving their widespread distribution amongst the scholars of the day. These would be invited to travel to Rome, at Pico’s expense, and he would then hold a public debate, defending his Nine Hundred Theses against all arguments. Some time in the spring of 1486 Pico set out on his journey to Rome.fn2
His arrival in the Eternal City was greeted with considerable suspicion by the Church, despite the fact that Pico had announced he would ‘maintain nothing to be true that was not approved by the Catholic Church and her chief Pastor, Innocent VIII’.2 Pico duly circulated copies of his Nine Hundred Theses, and by November 1486 claimed in a letter to a friend that these were ‘on public display in all the universities of Italy’.3 But news soon reached the Vatican concerning the controversial nature of Pico’s work. Innocent VIII may have been a venal man, but as pope he was mindful of the authority of the Church. And Pico’s behaviour was nothing less than a challenge to this authority. Innocent VIII forbade Pico’s proposed public discussion and set up a committee of cardinals and theologians to examine his theses in detail. The committee decided that Pico’s theses contained material that was by its very nature ‘heretical, rash and likely to give scandal to the faithful’,4 declaring that no fewer than thirteen of Pico’s theses were indeed explicitly unacceptable. On 4 August 1487 Innocent VIII drew up a papal Brief specifically condemning Pico’s work.
However, owing to the somewhat lackadaisical ways of the Church administration, this Brief would not be published until December that year. When Pico read Innocent VIII’s Brief, he was determined to defend himself. In the white heat of indignant inspiration he claimed that he wrote ‘in twenty nights’5 an Apologia for his theses, which he dedicated to Lorenzo the Magnificent. This he published beyond the jurisdiction of Innocent VIII in nearby Neapolitan territory, pre-dating it to May 1487, so as to give the impression that he was not knowingly contradicting the papal Brief. The gist of this ‘apology’ had already been set down in a proposed introduction to his Nine Hundred Theses, which would eventually be published on its own under the title On the Dignity of Man. This earlier work is now widely regarded as one of the first clear and explicit statements of Renaissance humanism, the nearest that this era came to an original philosophy. On the Dignity of Man likened the human condition to that of Adam, and in recounting the myth of human creation, Pico put the following words into God’s mouth:
We have given thee, oh Adam, no fixed abode, no formed inner nature, nor any talent that is peculiarly thine. We have done this so that thou mayest take unto thyself whatever abode, form or talents thou so desirest for thyself. Other creatures are confined within the laws of nature which We have laid down. In order that thou may exercise the freedom We have given thee, thou art confined to no such limits; and thou shalt fix the limits of thy nature for thyself. I have placed thee at the centre of the world, so that thou mayest the better look around thee and see whatsoever is in the world. Being neither mortal nor immortal thou mayest sculpt thyself into whatever shape thou choosest. Thou canst grow downwards and take on the base nature of brutes; or thy soul canst grow upwards by means of reason towards the higher realms of the divine.6
Apart from Pico’s use of biblical language, these sentiments appear as fresh today as they must have done five centuries ago. But such existential freedom was anathema to the Church: God had no place in such a world. What use was prayer if the human condition allowed humanity to create itself in whatever image it chose? Where lay the authority of the Church? Only when Pico began living in Rome was it brought home to him how fundamentally he was contradicting the teachings of the Church. This was no easy-going Florence, where he was at home amongst the witty and talented intellectuals of the Palazzo Medici. Here he had no indulgent Lorenzo the Magnificent to protect him; here he was on Church territory, residing within the very power-base of Christendom.
After publishing the Apologia, which reasserted his heretical ideas, Pico deemed it wise to slip away from Rome and flee to France. Whereupon Innocent VIII ordered his arrest. News of this soon reached French territory, where the authorities detained Pico on a charge of heresy and he was thrown into prison. The fact that Pico had dedicated his Apologia to Lorenzo the Magnificent put the ruler of Florence in a delicate situation. It is unclear whether Pico had sought Lorenzo’s permission for this dedication. On the other hand, it was certainly apt. Lorenzo the Magnificent, and his intellectual circle, had not only inspired Pico’s work, but also embodied much that it stood for. Yet no matter how Lorenzo might privately have viewed Pico’s Apologia, this time his transgression was more than a mere peccadillo that could be discreetly pardoned. Its ramifications reached far beyond Florentine territory.
Fortunately, Lorenzo’s diplomatic dealings meant that he was not only regarded as a close friend by Innocent VIII, but was also favourably regarded by the French regent, Anne of France, acting for the teenage Charles VIII. At some risk to his reputation, Lorenzo the Magnificent loyally interceded on Pico’s behalf, requesting that he be freed. Innocent VIII conceded to Lorenzo’s request, and the French regent ordered the release of the prisoner. Pico was allowed to travel to Florence, where he was placed under Lorenzo’s jurisdiction, and a villa was set aside for him at Fiesole in the hills north of Florence. Despite this, the charge of heresy was not dropped. Deeply chastened by this turn of events, and knowing full well the danger of his situation (heretics could be burned at the stake), Pico vowed to devote himself to a more orthodox pursuit of the truth.
&nb
sp; This was particularly welcomed by Lorenzo, who had himself recently become more inclined towards religion, a transformation brought about by an accumulation of factors. Although Lorenzo was not yet forty, his body was becoming increasingly racked by the family affliction. His gout may not have been as crippling as that of his father, but there were still days when he would be reduced to his bed by the agonising pain of his swollen joints. As he wrote in a letter dating from November 1484, explaining his late reply, ‘Pain in my feet has hindered my correspondence. Feet and tongue are indeed far apart, yet they interfere with each other!’7
His poetry now turned to religious questions:
When the spirit escapes from the sea of storm and strife8
That is our life, and finds refuge in some tranquil haven of calm,
We find ourselves beset with doubts which we seek to resolve.
If man is incapable of striving ceaselessly for eternal happiness
Unless he is blessed by God, and that blessing can only be given
To those who are ready to receive it,
What must come first?
God’s blessing,
Or our readiness?
Then in August 1488 his wife Clarice died, and ominously Lorenzo was so stricken with gout that he was unable to attend the funeral. Although Lorenzo had by no means been sexually faithful to his wife, he had remained close to her. She had provided domestic stability amidst the political machinations and intellectual excitements of the Palazzo Medici. The depth of his feeling for her was evident when she had fallen out with his favourite, the poet Poliziano, who had played such a central role in Lorenzo’s extracurricular activities, both intellectual and amorous. Lorenzo had unhesitatingly sided with his wife, and Poliziano had been encouraged to cool his hot temper with a spell of exile in nearby Mantua, from which he was only allowed to return a year later when he had learned his lesson. The family was all-important for Lorenzo the Magnificent, and he was determined to do all he could to ensure the Medici legacy. By marrying his eldest son Piero to Alfonsina Orsini, the protégée of King Ferrante of Naples, he had done his best to secure the Medici succession in Florence, ensuring that it would be backed by powerful allies. For his talented second son Giovanni, he continued with his campaign to secure for the Medici a powerful place in the Church hierarchy. Giovanni was now thirteen years old, and had become much more than the Bishop of Arezzo – Lorenzo had finally persuaded the French king to appoint Giovanni to the important post of Archbishop of Aix-en-Provence. He had also purchased for Giovanni, courtesy of King Ferrante of Naples, the extremely lucrative post of Abbot of Monte Cassino; further to this, Ludovico ‘il Moro’ Sforza, the ruler of Milan, had allowed him to purchase the prestigious post of Abbot of Miromonda. Lorenzo was not only securing for Giovanni an ever-higher place in the Church hierarchy, but was also cementing Florence’s vital protective alliances with Naples and Milan.
Purchasing these benefices had cost Lorenzo a considerable sum, much of which was almost certainly ‘deducted’ from the Florence exchequer by the Medici henchman in the financial department, Antonio Miniati. Yet Lorenzo knew that all these benefices would continue to provide Giovanni with a considerable income, even if the Medici lost control of the Florence exchequer. However, all this was not enough, and Lorenzo continued to pressurise Innocent VIII to appoint Giovanni as a cardinal. There was no time to be lost: Innocent VIII was now fifty-six years old, and was rumoured to be showing signs of ill-health. If he died, no successor to the papal throne was liable to consider the teenage Giovanni as a suitable candidate for the College of Cardinals.
In the determined pursuance of his policy, in 1488 Lorenzo had even given his fourteen-year-old daughter Maddalena as a bride to the pope’s oldest son Francescetto, a degenerate forty-year-old gambler. Around this time, Innocent VIII’s extravagances had left him temporarily out of funds and he had appealed to Lorenzo the Magnificent for a loan of 30,000 florins. Lorenzo took a considerable risk in ordering Miniati to embezzle such a sum from the Florentine exchequer and divert it into the Medici bank, so that it could be transmitted to Rome. It was no longer so easy to disguise what was happening to taxpayers’ money, and many were beginning to become suspicious of Miniati’s activities.
Eventually Innocent VIII relented, and in March 1489 Giovanni’s name was added to the list of cardinals. Yet even Innocent VIII was aware that such an appointment would be viewed as a scandal, and he made Lorenzo the Magnificent swear, on pain of excommunication, that this appointment would not be made public for another three years. Only then would Giovanni’s promotion be finalised. Lorenzo wrote to the Florentine ambassador in Rome, telling of his joy: ‘This is the greatest honour that has ever befallen our house.’9 Even so, Giovanni’s cardinalate still remained very much in the balance. During the autumn of 1490 news reached Florence from Rome that the overweight Innocent VIII had suffered an apoplectic fit. If the pope died before the formal confirmation of Giovanni’s appointment, then all was lost. Fortunately he recovered from this fit, but a chastened Lorenzo made sure that he kept in close contact with Innocent VIII, corresponding regularly with Rome.
Earlier in 1490, in another letter to the Florentine ambassador at the papal court, Lorenzo had written with news that he expected to be conveyed to Innocent VIII:
The Count della Mirandola is here leading a most saintly life, like a monk. He … observes all fasts and absolute chastity: has but a small retinue and lives quite simply with only what is necessary. To me he appears an example to other men. He is anxious to be absolved from what little contumacy is still attributed to him by the Holy Father and to have a Brief by which His Holiness accepts him as a son and as a good Christian … Do all you can to obtain this Brief in such a form that it may content his conscience.10
But Innocent VIII would not relent. In truth, since the scandal over Pico della Mirandola, Lorenzo himself had become increasingly concerned about his own orthodoxy, and was worried that his circle of humanist intellectuals might themselves have begun to embrace heretical ideas. Ficino’s Platonism and Poliziano’s interpretations of Botticelli’s pagan paintings began to appear increasingly suspect. And this was not all. Lorenzo now began to see himself as responsible for the increasingly lax attitude towards religion that had begun to prevail amongst the citizens of Florence – an attitude that had to a large extent been encouraged by the joyous and irreverent festivals which he himself had provided for them. Such matters were starting to prey on his mind.
Then there was the pressing matter of young Giovanni’s education. If he was to fulfil his role in the Church with any seriousness, he would now have to become conversant with a far stricter theology than prevailed at the Palazzo Medici amongst his tutors such as Ficino and Poliziano. Lorenzo had communicated with Rome, requesting that Innocent VIII be approached for advice on this matter, telling him, ‘I much wish to know how to order Messer Giovanni’s future life.’11 He also spoke of these matters with Pico della Mirandola. However, Pico was in no position to advise his friend. After his condemnation by the pope, he too was looking to the Church for guidance and was desperate for the pardon that the pope continued to withhold. Still Lorenzo put the question to him. What should he do? In his misery, Pico’s mind turned to thoughts of the one man whose erudition and spirituality had impressed him above all others – namely, Savonarola. Here was the man who could solve Lorenzo’s problems. This was a man whose orthodoxy was beyond question; this was surely the man to infuse Florence with a new enthusiasm for religion. Lorenzo the Magnificent was immediately convinced by Pico’s argument – to such an extent that he even placed the whole matter of Savonarola’s invitation in Pico’s hands, telling him: ‘So that you may be assured that I desire to serve you sincerely and faithfully, Your Lordship shall write the letter in whatever form you please, and my chancellor will write it out and seal it with our seal.’12 A letter requesting the recall of Savonarola to the monastery of San Marco in Florence was duly despatched to the Vicar General of the Do
minican order.
After leaving Florence some two years previously, Savonarola had travelled to Bologna, where he had taken up his new post as master of studies at his alma mater, the Studium generale. He would remain here for several months, before being posted back to his home town of Ferrara, where he took to visiting his mother, and the rift between them appears to have been healed. However, there was to be no softening of his attitude towards the rest of the world. His earlier revelation in Florence ‘that a scourge of the Church was at hand’13 and his subsequent delivery of Lenten sermons at San Gimignano prophesying this scourge (yet at the same time insisting ‘I am [not] a prophet’), had transformed his entire being. Judging from remarks he made during his later sermons, it was around now that he first began to have inklings that before him lay a larger destiny, which he had to fulfil.
Ferrara seems to have served as little more than a home base for Savonarola; he spent almost two years travelling ‘to various cities all over the place’14, as he put it in one of the letters he wrote back to his mother. Savonarola was now fulfilling his intended role as a monk in the preaching order of Dominicans, and it is known that he preached throughout much of Lombardy and northern Italy, travelling to places as far afield as Brescia, Piacenza and even Genoa. The last-named would have involved a journey of more than 130 miles, across the high passes of the Apennine mountains whose peaks rise to well over 6,000 feet in this region, and it is known that Savonarola always travelled on foot, refusing the comparative comfort of travel by donkey or mule, to which he would have been entitled. Hiking barefoot in leather sandals in all weathers may well have appealed to his ascetic nature, but how was it fulfilling the increasing sense of destiny that he felt within him? Savonarola would later claim that he continued to preach during this period in the sensational prophetic manner he had first tried out at San Gimignano, often using Old Testament subjects: ‘In this way I preached in Brescia and in many other places throughout Lombardy, frequently on the same topics.’15 In a letter to his mother he even went so far as to claim that his sermons had such a great effect that ‘when it is time for me to leave both men and women are wont to burst into tears and set great store by what I say to them’.16 However, although contemporary local chroniclers in the cities he visited were in the habit of recording anything out of the ordinary, ranging from the weddings of the local ruling family to simple gossip, no mention was made of Savonarola’s sensational sermons. Possibly this was because he did not remain in one particular spot, which would have enabled him to drive home his message and inspire a devoted following. Only one source supports Savonarola’s claim to have made such a great impression with his sermons, and this is his contemporary and early biographer Pacifico Burlamacchi, who learned much of his information from Savonarola himself and those close to him. Burlamacchi refers to a single occasion in Brescia when Savonarola delivered an Advent sermon on St Andrew’s Day, 30 November 1489. Taking the Book of Revelation as his theme, he delivered a prophetic sermon during which ‘he spoke with a voice of thunder; reproving the people for their sins, denouncing the whole of Italy, and threatening all with the terrors of God’s wrath’.17 In the course of his sermon, he referred to the four and twenty elders of the Apocalypse seated around the throne of God, whom the Bible described as clothed in white raiment with gold crowns upon their heads. Savonarola recounted how in a vision he had seen one of these elders rise to prophesy that the citizens of Brescia:18
Death in Florence: the Medici, Savonarola and the Battle for the Soul of the Renaissance City Page 12
