Observant Executrix–Galileo’s Life Between Worlds

One of the most frustrating statements made by pseudo-scientists and those like them is, ‘Well, they laughed at Galileo.’ In fact, comparing oneself to Galileo as an example of persecution by the mainstream establishment is one of the best signs of a fraud. It also indicates a rather severe ignorance of the history of science.

No one laughed at Galileo or his work. And his work wasn’t ignored or suppressed because it was ‘alternative.’  It also wasn’t simply because of religion though it would be ridiculous to claim that many elements of the Church didn’t feel threatened by his findings. The silliest part is that usually ‘alternative’ (read: fake) scientists making such claims do so defensively when it is pointed out they have no experimental evidence to back up their claim. You know, like you would have to in order to CALL it science. The need for scientific, observable evidence in a methodical way is one of Galileo’s greatest legacies. But I’m getting ahead of myself

First, we have to talk about William Gilbert.

William Gilbert could arguably be considered the first scientist. He developed and wrote out the scientific method in the form we recognize it today. He was a strong proponent of experimentation and believed you couldn’t determine scientific truths simply by thinking about them. This seems intuitive to us now, but at the time, it was a fairly novel concept. ‘Science,’ such as it was, had been dominated for generations by Aristotleans. We have to use that term loosely because if Aristotle himself had ever met them, he’d have smacked them upside the head. Aristotleans and those who followed their lead believed that all truth could be reached a priori, that is ‘before experience.’ As in, you didn’t need to test anything, you didn’t need to DO anything. You just had to think about it and if it made ‘logical’ sense, then it must be true. This works fine for philosophical debates with understandable premises but is a terrible way to learn about the universe. Unfortunately, by the time Galileo came about, this idea was SO entrenched, it was nigh impossible to fight, despite the fact that the Aristotleans were becoming increasingly desperate to prove their views. When Sir Francis Bacon was asked about Aristotleans and Alchemists, he said, “The one never faileth to multiply words and the other ever faileth to multiply gold.” But back to Gilbert.

Over the course of his life he discovered at least 33 things/ideas that have no record of earlier discovery. He was the first to notice that magnetic opposites attract and the first to postulate that the Earth itself is a magnet AND he did all of this while being a full time physician of Queen Elizabeth and an active member of the Royal Society of Physicians. He was born the year after Copernicus published De Revolutionibus and made no secret of his belief in the heliocentric system. Several of his papers prefigure Newton and even the things he got wrong (like assigning phenomena caused by gravity to magnetism) were close enough to the mark to influence scientists for years after. Galielo said of Gilbert: “I greatly praise, admire and envy this author, that a conception so stupendous should have come from his mind.”

This was an era when many things happened all at once. The year Galileo was born, Michaelangelo died, Shakespeare was born and world exploration really took off. Years later, when Gilbert published his great work De Magnete, Giordono Bruno was burned at the stake and Galileo’s daughter was born.

While we’re talking about it, Bruno was not burned because he was Copernican, though it probably didn’t help.  Bruno believed that Christianity was a corruption of Egyptian sun worship and as an Arian, believed Christ wasn’t God. He also believed in aliens, but that wasn’t of much interest to his executioners.

I started with Gilbert because while Galileo didn’t really add anything to the scientific method, he was the first to dedicate himself to its use in all aspects of his work and spent much of his life defending it from those who saw no need to test a single idea. In fact, many philosophers, including his own coworkers were so set against anything that might contradict Aristotle, they refused to even look through a telescope. When one of these fellows died, Galileo said he wished, as the man had ignored the Medicean stars (that is, the moons of Jupiter) while on Earth, he might pass them en route to heaven. Speaking of the telescope, the first one was made by Leonard Digges in the mid-1500’s but he kept it a secret. His son, while looking through it and observing the Milky Way, was the first to postulate an infinite universe.

In a little twist of irony, Galileo was originally going to be a monk. His father, in a reverse of the typical, disapproved of his son being a conformist and pulled him out. But the senior Galilei always was a bit anti-establishment. What he really wanted was for Galileo to be a mathemetician.

Before you get the idea that all scientists are cold fish (thanks for that, Newton), you should know about Galileo’s paramour. They never married, but had 3 kids, two daughters and a boy. When their son was just a toddler, she married someone else. Not only was Galileo totally cool with this, he helped the man find a job, kept paying child support and all of them remained great friends. But then, Galileo always was a bro, and took his family responsibilities very seriously. When his father died, he became the patriseus of the clan, responsible for securing a dowry for his sister and making sure everyone was well cared for, a difficult task considering not all his relations were as responsible as he.

Of all his children, he was the closest to his eldest daughter who, when she became a nun, took on the name Maria Celeste. Practical, responsible and intelligent enough that Galileo frequently ran his scientific ideas by her, valuing her insights, they wrote each other constantly, though they were rarely able to physically converse. At the same convent was her sister, who took the name Sister Arcaengela. Arcaengela would probably be considered a ‘goth,’ had she been born today. Quiet almost to the point of muteness, morbid, pale and more than a little sullen, she tried not to be a burden to her sister and father, but didn’t contribute much to their well-being either.

There were many reasons Galileo, despite being a very likable and warm person, rubbed people wrong. One was because he wrote in Italian instead of High Latin. He wanted the working class to be able to read the ideas and believed it was unfair to assume they weren’t interested simply because they couldn’t go to a university. Of all of Galileo’s ‘foes’ (though he never considered them such), the most dedicated was Father Chistopher Sheiner, a Jesuit astronomer who saw Galileo as his nemesis for the rather petty reason that Galileo was much, much smarter than him. He would put out a tract on the nature of the heavens and Galileo would write a response utterly demolishing his arguments, kicking his intellectual butt, which is probably why Father Sheiner tried so hard to get Galileo’s Dialogues banned.

“I believe that the intention of Holy Writ was to persuade men of the truths necessary for salvation, such as neither science nor any other means could render credible, but only the voice of the Holy Spirit. But I do not think it necessary to believe that the same God who gave us our sense, our speech, our intellect, would have put aside the use of these, to teach us instead such things as with their help we could find out for ourselves, particularly in the case of these sciences of which there is not the smallest mention in the Scriptures; and above all, in astronomy of which little notice is taken that the names of none of the planets are mentioned. Surely, if the intention of the sacred scribes had been to teach the people astronomy, they would not have passed over it so completely.”

Luckily, Galileo was not without friends. Unsurprisingly, he was relatively popular with the powerful Medici family. Naming newly discovered astronomical bodies after someone should earn you lots of brownie points. Galileo knew what he was doing by dedicating his works to powerful friends. It was as unfortunately true then as it is today that politics so often interferes with science. Luckily, not all his friends followed the same cynical system of reciprocity.

Frederico Cesi was the Marquis of Monticelli, duke of Acquasparta (and now you’re imaging Aquaman yelling, ‘THIS. IS. ATLANTIS!’), prince of San Palo and Sant’Angelo and at 18 had already accomplished more than you and I put together. The crowning achievement was the founding of the Lyncean Academy, a multinational, multidisciplinary organization, dedicated to faithful observations of nature and other subjects, free from university and city politics. It was a group Galileo was extremely proud to be part of.

And then of course, there was the Pope. It is surprising to us now, who have been educated to think the battle was SCIENCE VERSUS THE CHURCH, but at one point Galileo and the Pope were fast friends. In fact, Urban was interested in many of the same things and frequently encouraged Galileo in his work. He agreed with Galileo that while the Bible was where one should seek spiritual answers, nature was the ‘observant executrix’ of God’s greatness and studying it was glorifying to Him. How this man, who had known Galileo since they were both young men, went from this position to locking up the great scientist in his own house for years is another sad example of politics. There’s a bit of symmetry to it as well. Copernicus’ De Revolutionibus was dedicated to Pope Paul III…who established the Roman Inquisition which would soon be giving Galileo so much grief.

See, there was a war going on. There was always a war going on. For this particular round, Pope Urban had allied with France and Cardinal Richelieu (you know, that guy from Three Musketeers) over the Hapsburgs, specifically the Spanish Hapsburgs. Considering that his holy conclave of Cardinals were nothing if not political, taking any side was bound to honk someone off. In this case, that person was Gaspere, Cardinal Borgia (yeah, THOSE guys) who taunted the Pope, mostly out of spite. He claimed that the Pope had backed the French instead of the Spanish (which, you may remember, the Borgias were) because he was afraid and flat out stated the Pope couldn’t protect the Church due to weakness OR refused to protect it out of unwillingness. Unsurprisingly, Urban’s family Cardinals were so incensed by this, they almost came to blows with Borgia before the Swiss Guard came in to break it up with hauberks and poofy silk pantaloons. Still, the accusation stung and Pope Urban was not a man to take a stinging. This was a man who had such difficulty sleeping, he ordered all the birds in his garden killed. So despite giving Galileo prior permission to publish his work (with the caveat that it was meant to be presented as a hypothetical thought experiment and not as absolute truth), as soon as other members of the Church threw up a fuss, the Pope had to backpedal or be accused of weakness or worse, culpability. After that, it was a simple matter of throwing his old friend under the bus.

When Galileo was initially summoned to face the Inquisition, he didn’t immediately respond. This had nothing to do with being afraid and everything to do with the fact he was sick in bed. Three different doctors wrote to Rome, testifying he couldn’t move without the strong possibility of, you know, DEATH, but the Inquisitors dismissed it as prevarication and threatened to arrest and drag him to Rome in chains.

Throughout his ordeal, Galileo followed the advice of King David: Irascimini, et nolite peccare. Be angry, but sin not. He did his very best to stand up for his methodology and conclusions, though by necessity, he had to couch it in terms of hypotheticals. When all was said and done, there is little he could have done to make a difference.

And while it is a beautiful idea, there is no evidence he said, even sotto voce, ‘Eppur si mouve,’ or ‘Still, it moves,’ referring to the Earth. Galileo was an extremely non-confrontational person and no way would he have risked a harsher punishment just to get the last word in. Still, I’ve no doubt he whispered it in his heart.

Incidentally, as a final testament to the close love between father and daughter, after both had passed, Galileo’s closest student followed his wishes by burying them together, where they still reside, hopefully enjoying company more worthy of them.

Post Res Perditas–The Complicated History of Niccolo Machiavelli

“A prince must imitate the fox and the lion, for the lion cannot protect himself from traps, and the fox cannot defend himself from wolves. One must therefore be a fox to recognize traps, and a lion to frighten wolves.”

Probably, this is the most distilled essence of the Italian political philosopher’s treatise. He goes on to say that the Prince must APPEAR virtuous, though in reality, he can suspend that morality whenever the need arrives. It is the very definition of the term ‘Machiavellian.’ It’s also my favorite line from the little book.

I have another favorite quote of Niccolo’s though, one that may surprise you to hear come from him. However, he was a surprising fellow.

“I enter the ancient courts filled with ancient men where, affectionately received, I nourish myself on that food that alone is mine and for which I was born; where I am unashamed to converse and ask them to explain their actions and where they kindly answer me. And for hours at a time, I feel no boredom, I forget all my troubles, I have no fear of poverty or even of death. I enter their lives completely…”

If there was one thing you could say about Niccolo Machiavelli…well, this would be a short post. But one of the many things you COULD say is that he was a consumate bibliophile. This was one of the benefits of being in Renaissance Italy, where ancient writings were being translated constantly and where it was not only vogue, it was downright necessary to be able to converse intelligently on a variety of subjects, particularly ancient history and philosophy.

There are a small but crucial handful of things one must understand about Machiavelli.

1) He loved Florence more than anything and 99.9999% of everything he did was for her, even if she never seemed to appreciate it.

2) He hated indecisiveness and weakness and blamed both for the sorry state bth Florence and Italy in general were in.

3) He was a staunch republican and no lover of oligarchs, but if the choice came down to a strong dictator or a weak and collapsing democracy, he felt the answer was clear.

4) He was very, very good at his job.

Machiavelli’s life, for good or ill (and more often it was the latter) was linked with that of Florence.  It is hard in our modern nation-state paradigm to conceive of the city states of Italy as Machiavelli and his contemporaries would have. The simplest way I can think of it is…everyone hated everyone else. Florence hated Pisa (indeed were at war with them for what seems like ages), Venice hated Genoa, everyone hated Rome and so on. The only thing they could stand together on…was their hatred of everyone NOT Italian. As far as Machiavelli was concerned, the French, German and Spanish peoples were the same ‘barbarians’ that had sacked Rome so long before.

Yet before broadening to the international, or even intranational scale, a view of the local situation is sufficient to explain where Machiavelli drew the inspiration which would become his magnum opus.

For years, Florence was rocked by a gang-war that made Crips and Bloods look like Sesame Street characters. Both Machiavelli and the much-more-skittish Dante were part of families of the Guelph party, which meant they were loyal to the papacy and not the Holy Roman Emperor. Yet, like so many high school cliques, as soon as the Guelphs gained control of the Florence, they split into 2 factions, the Blacks and the Whites, so now instead of killing their opponents, they were just killing each other. The Machiavelli were among the victorious Blacks and probably helped their fellow gangsters throw out the defeated Whites, including Dante. Even today, after much haranguing, Florence cannot reacquire the body of the son it tossed out. As cities go, she could be very cruel.  It was this factionalism, so obviously destructive, that led Machiavelli to his preference for strong leadership.

Niccolo’s family was one the many noble-yet-poor clans that occupied much of Renaissance Italy.  This gave him an opportunity for education and plenty of reason to both resent and envy the powerful families that hovered in the highest echelons, squabbling with each other over the rights to rule. For much of his life, the family one had to be most concerned about was the Medicis. But that’s later.

Niccolo was a funny dude, if the very definition of tactless.  This would be a recurring theme throughout his life…his utter inability to follow his own advice (which, admittedly, he hadn’t written yet). His friends (and probably many of his enemies) called him Il Machia, or the Stain/Spot.  He would have been the first to laugh, his gray eyes mirthful.

See what I mean?

Of course, this portrait may not be totally accurate. When the great artist-and-sometime-teenage-mutant-ninja-turtle Michelangelo was criticized for the fact that his portraits of the Medicis bore little resemblance to them, he responded with the equally true fact that in a thousand years, no one would know the difference anyway.

Another example of Niccolo’s good humor can be seen when it was pointed out that strangers were being buried next to his father in an unseemly manner. Always quick with a quip, Niccolo replied, “Well, let them be, for my father was a great lover of conversation and the more there are to keep him company, the better pleased he will be.”

He was very popular with his friends and almost equally popular with friends-with-boobs. Take a look at that picture again. That is a man who gets laid frequently. Even after he was married, his love of taverns and ‘ladies of the night,’ was thoroughly undiminished, though he never brought any home to his wife and he did make attempts at discretion, if only to spare her the humiliation.

Unsurprising in hindsight, Niccolo Machiavelli loved politics and he loved being useful. He was a very fine administrator, meticulous and methodical, but he seemed to derive the most joy from reporting on the goings on of the city. And there were many goings on. His first undercover assignment was a doozy, as he was sent to attend a sermon by the firebrand preacher Girolamo Savonarola.

Father Savanorola deserves his own lesson, but, like so many of these larger-than-life individuals, he is such a polarizing force that it is difficult to find decent secondary sources. But this much we know:

Girolamo Savanorola believed God wanted him to reform the Church. And he was probably right. Petrarch called 14th century Rome ‘the rubbish heap of history,’ and a hundred years later it wasn’t much better. At one point, mercenary soldiers of the king of Naples effectively sacked Rome, setting houses on fire and raiding St. Peter’s sacristy. That was the business end. The pleasure end came from stabbing their horses inside the BAsilica, ransacking sanctuaries and drinking wine from sacred chalices while banging prostitutes inside the Church.

Internal forces were not much better. ‘Pope’ John XXIII had himself at one time been a mercenary, and a pirate for that matter. In many ways, he was everything we think a Renaissance man should have been: brilliant, daring, ambitious, well-read and unscrupulous. Nietzsche would have been proud. His dirty deeds caught up with him at the Council of Constance when he was accused and convicted of heresy, simony (that is, using one’s religious standing to enrich oneself, something that the Church had arguably been doing for hundreds of years with the sale of indulgences), murder and, my personal favorite, the seduction of around 200 Bolognese women. I will assume not all at the same time, but it’s distinctly possible.

So when Father Savanorola says the Church needs a sweeping out, he is not without cause. Like many Great Awakening preachers after him, he both terrified and exulted his Florentine congregation with brimstone sermons, preaching the end of the world and crediting every disaster from war to plague (both of which was frequently in abundance) to the punishing hand of God. He commanded citizens to fast, throw away jewels and fancy clothing, strip anything showy from the churches, give to the poor and created ‘blessed’ bands of children that marched through the streets with hair cropped close (boys and girls), holy crosses and olive branches that sang hymns, collected alms and doing their best RPG impression, entered houses to break open boxes and bases, searching for objects of vanity and luxury. They also urged their parents to abandon their evil ways and reported any kind of scandal or vice. Remember how terrifying those kids in Equilibrium are? The ones that stand next to the Nazi-like Peacekeepers and point out who didn’t take their medicine. These were those kids only with singing.

Machiavelli himself absolutely believed in God, but he was not what one would consider a religious man. He liked his wine and his ladyfriends too much. More than that, and again, this is news to no one, he had a cynical view of mankind and was a firm believer in free will. That is, people are good or evil as they choose to be and coming up with some divine reason for their actions was unnecessary. This was not a man who would ever claim the devil made him do it. Still, Niccolo noted how popular Savanorola was and advised caution. As always, he hated factionalism, and this kind of all-or-nothing language could only create unrest, yet making a martyr of the good Father would certainly not quench the flames. As it turned out, he was right, and besides, outside forces were already moving. The Pope and his advisors ordered Father Savanorola to stop preaching and when he refused, he was excommunicated.

A fellow priest, Brother Francesco, challenged Savanorola to walk through fire. Because, you know, HOLINESS, why not. Both men ended up getting substitutes (which would seem to negate this little experiment but no matter), and Francesco said he’d only do it if Girolamo did it, because apparently they were eight years old. The idea was to test divine protection, a not-that-much-more-refined version of trial by combat, where God would indicate whom He sided with by who had the least burns or something. Despite their big talk, faith seemed to be lacking. Everyone arrived at the designated location but no one wanted to go first. Eventually, the crowd turned ugly, it started raining and the trial was called off because of trivial and unconvincing jurisprudential squabbling between the contestants.

Savanorola would be just one of the many bubbles in the Machiavelli web-diagram. His life was full of fascinating characters, usually met through diplomatic relations. Florence was not highly respected among the kingdoms of Italy, something that Machiavelli always chafed under, especially when he was treated dismissively.

Which leads us back to the Medici. Many people down the years have seen Machiavelli as the Medici lapdog (ignoring the fact he dedicated The Prince to a Borgia), as if he was infatuated with their power. This is ridiculous on numerous levels but I think the most obvious is: You don’t idolize people who torture you for weeks on end and who ban you from the only work you care for, stripping you of your raison d’etre. If, however, your only chance to 1) get out of prison and 2) get back to work is kissing up a bit, that seems pretty forgivable. Unfortunately, he didn’t do that. I mentioned the inability to keep his mouth shut, right? He did himself no favors by offering his unsolicited advice to the head of the Medici family on how they should conduct their business, which meant he had to wait a good long while before getting back to work. He called this time ‘post res perditas,’ or ‘after everything was lost. Also this happened:

First World Vatican Problems

This is true. While convalescing in his more-rural-than-he-would-have-liked home from having been dropped by his arms over and over again until all the joints in his shoulders and elbows had either snapped or strained, the Florentine ambassador to the Vatican came to explain about his rather mundane problems. In reality, though, Machiavelli did not slap him like I would have done. He was a true Bro.

Machiavelli eventually got his job back but only after the Medici were thrown out. While this was fantastic in many ways, not least of which because it allowed for a less-corrupt election, the dangers were far from over. ASide from the Medici wanting to get Florence back for themselves, it was a succulent piece of meat for the Kings of Spain and France, the Pope who was ever expanding his Tuscan holdings and of course, they were yet again at war with Pisa.

The last time  a Medici had approached Florence was when Piero rode up to her walls. Piero had botched pretty much everything he’d ever done, including initially resisting the French invasion when he should have sought terms and then selling out the city to save his own skin. Somewhere in his delusional head, he had gotten the idea that if he returned, Florentines would welcome him, throw off the chains of their ‘oppressors’ and everything would be hugs and puppies. When, after several silent hours, no one came to welcome him and the gates remained resolutely closed, he sullenly slunk away, probably muttering under his breath.

It was in this post-Medici ‘Second Life’ that Machiavelli met some of his most fascinating characters.

One was Caterina Sforza-Riano, known as the Virago, so you know she was hardcore. The illegitimate daughter of Duke Galeazzo Maria Sforza, Caterina was tall, brave, immensely beautiful and quite often vicious. She wore full armor fitted to her feminine figure and carried a falcon on her shoulder. In her lifetime, she’d had 3 husbands, many lovers and 9 children. When her castle was besieged and her husband killed, she abandoned her children to his murderers who threatened to kill them too. She stood on the castle battlements, raised her skirt up in her arms and yelled, “Fools! Can’t you see that I can make more?!” They didn’t kill them incidentally, no doubt afraid she would destroy them in the face. It was claimed she was a witch with forbidden knowledge of potions she kept in a magical book. While it was true she did HAVE a book, it contained recipes for things like cosmetics, salves, bleaches and health potions. She did however, hire someone to poison the pope with a letter, a la the Anthrax Scare. We can’t know for sure, but it is thought the letters were wrapped in the grave cloth of a plague victim. The woman was nothing if not ballsy. And clever. When the Borgia forces eventually captured her castle, she used her numerous…resources to make sure their commander, one Cesare Borgia, would not throw her in the dungeon. He claimed she had defended her castle more vigorously than her ultimately willing body. He was kind of a dick that way. Of course, when the authoritative treaty on Syphilis is written by your personal physician, more or less ABOUT YOU, no one is really expecting chivalry.

Incidentally, the word ‘syphilis’ comes from a legendary origin for the morbus gallicus (or French Disease, yes, the snickering can now commence) by an Italian doctor named Facastoro who claimed that a shepherd complained to the sun god about the pitiless heat of the sun and started a cult to the mortal king in protest. Like Occupy the Field only more stupid. The sun god punished him with ‘buboes dreadful to the sight.’ The shepherd was named Syphilis. In Alexandrian Greek, ‘syphlos’ means shameful, hideous or deformed, so that may have had something to do with it.

Machiavelli went with the Black Prince Cesare (pronounced CHESS-Ah-Ray for those of you who, like me, think it sounds like Caesar) to meet the King of France, also known as the King of the Triple Suns, which sounds all kinds of awesome. While there, Machiavelli effectively bought French support, instantly analyzed the situation and put into decisive action the best possible plan.

By this point, Niccolo had earned another nickname: Sir Nihil, or Sir Nothing, which was both a compliment and an insult. He was barely nobility, and just like now, many did not understand his motivations. Still, he wore it like a badge of honor.

At one point, he also met the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian I, but clearly none of his many acquaintances were as important as the Spaniard he used as the focal point of his great treatise. Cesare is a man to love to hate, and Europe rose to the occasion. Romans called all Spaniards Catalans, and having a Spaniard (and one with many visible children) on the Throne of St. Peter did not sit well with many. Though he’d been raised to be a cleric, Cesare had a soldier’s heart and he was very fond of killing people. At one point, he invited his sister Lucreza (who for the record, did not have incestual relations with ANY of her family members) to stand next to him while he shot a group of criminals as target practice in the courtyard below.

“Know that if you refuse me as a friend, you will have me for an enemy.” Equally smooth and hard, he was not a man to be trifled with. Machiavelli didn’t have a bro-crush on him, though it can seem so from his writing. Machiavelli appreciated decisiveness. Years of civil war, internal strife and all around ineptitude had made his city a laughing stock, and more importantly, left them weak. Above all else, Niccolo wanted a standing army to wean Florence off foreign support. A citizen militia, based on early Roman Republic standards was the ideal. Yet it was so hard to garner support from those same citizens.

Cesare’s lieutenants tried to rise up against him once, even referring to him as ‘the dragon,’ which I imagine gave him a boner. Niccolo got front row tickets to how a prince deals with such situations, which is quickly and violently.

It was through Cesare that Niccolo met Leonardo who convinced him to divert the river around Florence. Leonardo was a whimsical fellow.

After Cesare’s father Rodrigo, AKA Pope Alexander VI died, Niccolo was able to meet his successor, the very anti-Borgia Pope Julius II, known as Papa Terrible or The Terrible Father.

The years Machiavelli stayed in Florence were no less drama-tastic than the years he was trotting around Europe, hobnobbing with royals. He was able to see the rise and subsequent fall of the League of Cambrai, the most powerful (and most doomed) of its kind. It included the Pope, the Holy Roman Emperor, the King of Spain AND the King of France, all of whom were bent on destroying the Most Serene Republic of Venice. They would divide her lands between them. The League forces routed the Venetian army, mostly because Niccolo Orsini refused to bring the battalions he was captain of to their aid. Yet, as soon as Venice was ‘chastened,’ the Pope did an about face and made a deal with them to kick out the French and the Spanish…that he’d invited.

Machiavelli  did manage to put together a citizen militia and he was very proud of them…until they turned and fled the first time they saw an enemy. Still, after an initial victory against Captain Cordoba (who was every mercenary captain stereotype you can imagine), Florence was feeling confident. So confident in fact, that when he offered the generous terms of leaving them alone if they would pay a mere 3000 ducats, give bread to his troops and lift the exile on the Medicis, they said no. They promptly had their asses handed to them.

The return of the Medicis prompted the Third Life of Machiavelli. He offered his services and was unshockingly ignored. By now he was an older gentleman, having seen much of the world and found most of it disappointing. He hadn’t lost his sense of humor, but now found himself in the role of Sage. “Since [Machiavelli] is unable to remedy the faults of mankind, he will do nothing but laugh at them,” a good friend said of him. The location for this change of role was the Orti Orticellis gardens, owned by the Rucellai family. The young lord, Cosimo invited intellectuals together to discuss politics and philosophy.

Perhaps his greatest moment of triumph was when he was asked by Pope Clement VII (formerly Cardinal Medici) to write The History of Florence and then come to Rome to discuss current issues. It was then he wrote: “Time is endlessly repeating, but we are always the same.” It wasn’t that history repeated itself, it was simply that human beings tend to respond to situations the same way over and over again. The young men of Florence thought him brilliant and droll and he was respected by the Powers-That-Be.

Though a fine theorist, Niccolo had no military experience which was made apparent when he tried to give advice to yet another individual, Giovanni delle Bande Nere (or Giovanni of the Black Bands), the only commander with a decent fighting force in the League of Cognac (which included France, Venice, Florence, Milan and yet again, the Pope). Giovanni asked Niccolo to demonstrate some of the ideas he had put down in his Art of War (there are surprising number of books with this title, and while not the worst, Machiavelli’s is nowhere near the shining example of the more famous one). Of course, it didn’t work, the whole drill was a shambles and, though perhaps irritated at being so humbled in front of his men, Niccolo learned a valuable lesson. Though not one about keeping his mouth shut. That, he took to his grave.

Niccolo’s histories of Rome and Florence were what he was the most proud of and he would probably be surprised that he has since become known for a slim little track he wrote as an audition. He died without great wealth and unappreciated by most of his own generation save his close friends and has spent centuries being understood. He certainly would have giggled at the fact that there’s an entire philosophy bearing his name that has little to do with his actual beliefs. None of it would have surprised him. There wasn’t much that did.

 

Sources:

The Borgias–Christopher Hibbert

Machiavelli–Miles Unger