I hope yesterday's blog answered Rooson's terse comment on writing to be heard, at least in part. Does this writer fear being raked over "the proverbial coals?" Yes, I suppose, as much as I would hate any negative aggression towards me. But we take the risk - it is not exactly the rack we are facing. Does this writer wish to be seen as witty or sage? Well - I suppose I wouldn't mind, but as I am an inquirer and student more than a teacher or guru, that is not likely to occur. Clearly, it is clear that I do not know the answers to life's great questions - only the questions themselves and the direction others give who are definitely wise - the great writers and prophets of the ages. Do I cast pearls before swine? Got me on all fronts. Are these pearls? Are you the readers swine? I have doubts on both but haven't a clue.
Rather I continue to write because that is what I feel compelled to do, for reasons both clear and obscure. Bikers gotta bike, tigers gotta hunt, some of us gotta babble.
Not so with the subject of a biography I am now reading by Ingrid Rowland titled "Giordano Bruno." A Dominican priest of mid and late 16th century Italy, he is most noted as the guy who got burned at the stake at the hands of the Inquisition in 1600. For those going to Rome, a statue stands of him facing the Vatican as something of a reproach - remember me, most Holy See, and what your benevolence did for me? Even now, anti-Catholic and free-thinking groups gather around the statue every Feb 17 to commemorate the immolation. And although I am only 60 pages into the book, the author has made it clear that Bruno thought, like the scripture he often quoted, that he was sent to "bring fire to the world." He wrote because he thought he was brilliant and necessary, even as the Vatican brought fire to him. He would not recant; and if for nothing else, he should be noted for his bravery. He stood by what he wrote - talk about the "proverbial coals"!
Why he was burned will be made clearer in following pages, but so far, the reader is to understand that he questioned the physical divinity of Jesus. Of greater interest to me is the other offense mentioned at this point in the book: he conceived of a limitless, infinite universe. In the cloistered world of Christendom, that thought was enough to spread panic.
Imagine that: that a written idea could have such power as to cause one's death - and we today question the notion that writing could have much importance at all; this, just these simple thoughts, without accompanying pitchforks and revolution, for Bruno was at heart a Christian pacifist.
We still see this today, of course, and such intolerance is the mark of totalitarian states everywhere. But while one can see how the truth held in ideas can make corrupt regimes like those in North Korea or Cambodia quake, how could this happen in a theocracy that had so long had such power? The answer is helped by the revolution of the Protestant Reformation, but the Catholic Church had had other purges well before the Reformation. Could they have felt that vulnerable? Why so, if their message came directly from God as they believed?
And yet, there may be a message here for all of us. Although in the US and other democratic states, imprisonment and death do not follow from unorthodox ideas, ideas can still get one into a lot of trouble. For us now, these critical ideas are seldom about God anymore, as if we no longer care enough about God to have such ideas matter. Rather, they generally concern politics. Look to see what can get a writer into trouble now and one will see where an insecure orthodoxy is in place, whether that concerns race, gender, immigration, or any other touchy and taboo subject. Just as the Vatican was jealous of its hold on God, and the Victorians were jealous of their hold on sex, we now are jealous of our hold on social and political views. Every week we see another politician or commentator fall to some words that fail the test of orthodoxy. Why? Why, if the righteous are so right, should they be so touchy? Perhaps one has to look to Bruno to find out, for the Church has long lost its political power, and now is losing much of its moral authority. But how could they have known that their version of truth was so fragile? And how do we know that today of our own tabooed ideas, that they are so vulnerable behind the curtain of orthodoxy?
Ideas and writing matter, at least some. Bruno felt called, either out of egotism or duty or both, to express what he did, and in more ways than one he at least brought fire to the world. Whether or not he was a fool, or tossed pearls before swine, is debatable, but that his was a lasting voice is not. The statue still stands, accusing the Vatican of hypocrisy, for better or worse. FK
Rather I continue to write because that is what I feel compelled to do, for reasons both clear and obscure. Bikers gotta bike, tigers gotta hunt, some of us gotta babble.
Not so with the subject of a biography I am now reading by Ingrid Rowland titled "Giordano Bruno." A Dominican priest of mid and late 16th century Italy, he is most noted as the guy who got burned at the stake at the hands of the Inquisition in 1600. For those going to Rome, a statue stands of him facing the Vatican as something of a reproach - remember me, most Holy See, and what your benevolence did for me? Even now, anti-Catholic and free-thinking groups gather around the statue every Feb 17 to commemorate the immolation. And although I am only 60 pages into the book, the author has made it clear that Bruno thought, like the scripture he often quoted, that he was sent to "bring fire to the world." He wrote because he thought he was brilliant and necessary, even as the Vatican brought fire to him. He would not recant; and if for nothing else, he should be noted for his bravery. He stood by what he wrote - talk about the "proverbial coals"!
Why he was burned will be made clearer in following pages, but so far, the reader is to understand that he questioned the physical divinity of Jesus. Of greater interest to me is the other offense mentioned at this point in the book: he conceived of a limitless, infinite universe. In the cloistered world of Christendom, that thought was enough to spread panic.
Imagine that: that a written idea could have such power as to cause one's death - and we today question the notion that writing could have much importance at all; this, just these simple thoughts, without accompanying pitchforks and revolution, for Bruno was at heart a Christian pacifist.
We still see this today, of course, and such intolerance is the mark of totalitarian states everywhere. But while one can see how the truth held in ideas can make corrupt regimes like those in North Korea or Cambodia quake, how could this happen in a theocracy that had so long had such power? The answer is helped by the revolution of the Protestant Reformation, but the Catholic Church had had other purges well before the Reformation. Could they have felt that vulnerable? Why so, if their message came directly from God as they believed?
And yet, there may be a message here for all of us. Although in the US and other democratic states, imprisonment and death do not follow from unorthodox ideas, ideas can still get one into a lot of trouble. For us now, these critical ideas are seldom about God anymore, as if we no longer care enough about God to have such ideas matter. Rather, they generally concern politics. Look to see what can get a writer into trouble now and one will see where an insecure orthodoxy is in place, whether that concerns race, gender, immigration, or any other touchy and taboo subject. Just as the Vatican was jealous of its hold on God, and the Victorians were jealous of their hold on sex, we now are jealous of our hold on social and political views. Every week we see another politician or commentator fall to some words that fail the test of orthodoxy. Why? Why, if the righteous are so right, should they be so touchy? Perhaps one has to look to Bruno to find out, for the Church has long lost its political power, and now is losing much of its moral authority. But how could they have known that their version of truth was so fragile? And how do we know that today of our own tabooed ideas, that they are so vulnerable behind the curtain of orthodoxy?
Ideas and writing matter, at least some. Bruno felt called, either out of egotism or duty or both, to express what he did, and in more ways than one he at least brought fire to the world. Whether or not he was a fool, or tossed pearls before swine, is debatable, but that his was a lasting voice is not. The statue still stands, accusing the Vatican of hypocrisy, for better or worse. FK
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