About us > Past productions > 2002/03 > Menocchio
A Letter from the Artistic Director
Menocchio: A Sixteenth Century Man
Among the many miraculous features of our lives, perhaps the most astonishing is our innate sense of curiosity. From the time we are born we set out to comprehend the vast and crazy world around us, to understand its laws, to make sense of it all. Using the mysterious power of our brains, we gather and uncover all kinds of information, forming what we call “our own thoughts” from the knowledge we inherit and from all that we experience.
For most of us, however, our curiosity as to how the world works begins at some point to diminish. Life, with its million-and-one tasks and arduous complications, tends to limit the energy we have to constantly ask questions. We can only deal with so much, we say to ourselves, and it’s hard enough to simply survive. Every so often we are jolted out of this myopia, sticking our heads out from beneath our protective shells long enough to express wonder, surprise, joy or terror and some new turn of events or some new discovery.
How rare is the person who stays curious for the entirety of their lives! How rare the person who is unafraid of knowledge, whose appetite for learning remains undiminished. How rare is Menocchio, a character drawn from real history, whose life in 16th century Italy is the central focus of Lillian Groag’s new play.
A common miller by trade, armed only with the information contained in a handful of books but emboldened by the infinite power of his own curiosity, Menocchio simply loves his mind. Loves that it can solve problems. Loves that it can deduce, reason, create, imagine. Loves that it can expand his view of himself and the world.
Menocchio’s simple sense of wonder, his uncensored delight in thinking, his joy of learning and love of reading, these are the features that make him irresistible to us and dangerous to his own community. (It turns out that Chaos Theory was even scarier back then than it is now.) But the real event here is the celebration of our capacity to think, the miracle of consciousness, the well being that comes when we pursue our innate sense of curiosity.
Tony Taccone
Artistic Director
The sixteenth century was a time of tremendous change. The transition from Middle Ages into the Renaissance was both exhilarating and terrifying, as virtually everything understood about “the way things really are” was called into question. The ways people thought about themselves and their universe were giving way to new concepts of heaven and earth. When Martin Luther nailed his ninety-five theses to the church door he ignited the Reformation, and his massive challenge to the standards and practices of the Church catalyzed broad questions about social hierarchy and authority. In the Middle Ages, man understood the cosmos to be a giant hierarchy in which every living thing—from God down to the tiniest flea—had an assigned place; social harmony could be attained when every creature acted appropriately and dutifully to the place assigned. Protestantism broke that chain by insisting that each man could face God directly without intermediaries such as popes and priests; similar challenges to authority seethed through the secular world as well. At the same time, the rise of capitalism created greater social mobility, and efforts to concentrate power in the hands of political rulers attacked the hierarchy from another direction. The feudal order of earlier centuries was dissolving, but no clear new order had taken its place.
While the social and power structures were experiencing massive tectonic shifts, the world of knowledge was also exploding. Columbus returned from the New World at the end of the fifteenth century, opening the way for a flood of new wealth and products. Tomatoes, potatoes and tobacco from the Americas, along with spices and coffee from the East, changed the flavor of Europe. Copernicus bumped the earth from the center of the universe, and botany, anatomy, astronomy, physics and other realms of science all surged with new understanding. The widespread use of the printing press allowed more and more people to engage in informed discussions, leading inexorably to greater challenges of traditional ideas and established doctrine.
These heady days were met with both celebration and fear. Authorities strained to regain control by whatever means necessary, while many ordinary citizens sought stability by refusing to acknowledge or examine the new ideas. The sixteenth century was roiled by the opposing hungers for the familiar and the new.
Into this tumultuous time Domenico Scandella, known as Menocchio, was born.
The Inquisition was the judicial institution of Roman Catholicism that sought to combat heresy, witchcraft and sorcery within the lands under papal control. Due to the establishment of Christianity as the state religion by the Roman emperors in the 4th century, heretics were no longer solely enemies of Church doctrine, but rather enemies of the state as well. With the growing number of heretical sects in the 11th and 12th centuries, Pope Gregory IX instituted the Inquisition for the apprehension and trial of heretics and other offenders of Catholic beliefs. The medieval Inquisition only functioned on a limited scale early on in Northern Europe. Over time, however, the institution was extended to all Catholic lands, although it was far less functional in most of Europe. In Spain and Italy, however, the Inquisition was a formidable institution whose actions had long-lasting cultural ramifications.
In Spain, after the Muslims had been driven out, the Catholic monarchs King Ferdinand V and Queen Isabella I established the Spanish Inquisition with approval from Pope Sixtus IV in 1478. Distinct from the medieval Inquisition, the Spanish Inquisition sought to combat the problem of Jews and Muslims who had insincerely converted to Christianity, and in the 1520s sought out those suspected of Protestantism. Within a short time, the papacy relinquished control of the Inquisition, in effect making it more of an instrument of the Spanish government than of the church, although Church officials always functioned as officers. A name which came to be synonymous with utter cruelty, the Spanish Inquisition grew so zealous in its methodologies that even the Vatican often condemned its excess.
Another distinct variation was the Italian Inquisition, established in 1542 by Pope Paul III to combat the spread of Protestantism in Italy. Governed by a commission of six cardinals, known as the Congregation of the Inquisition, it was seen by some as an attempt to counterbalance the severity of the Spanish Inquisition. Yet the Italian Inquisition also in time grew zealous and actively hunted heretics and other enemies of the Church.
In the Italian Inquisition, the inquisitors established themselves for a definite period of time at some central location from which they issued orders demanding all those guilty of heresy to present themselves in exchange for lesser punishment. Having the power to excommunicate even princes, the Inquisitors were widely feared, and this grace period for confession was seen by some as a merciful opportunity. Failing this, however, those accused of heresy that did not come forth of their own volition were brought before the inquisitor, interrogated, and tried with the testimony of witnesses. The accused had the right to an attorney, a right not available in secular courts, but the testimony of two credible witnesses was often considered proof of guilt.
Although later Popes tempered the zeal of the Italian Inquisition, they began to use it as an instrument of papal control for regulating church doctrine—the trials of Menocchio, Giordano Bruno and Galileo serve as prime examples. In 1727, the last execution of the Italian Inquisition took place. In his reorganization of the Roman Curia in 1908, Pius X dropped the word Inquisition, and in 1965 the institution was reorganized and named the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. Only recently have the matters of the Italian Inquisition come to rest, with Pope John Paul II admitting that Galileo was censured wrongly for his assertion of a heliocentric universe. In January 1998 the Vatican opened its files of the Inquisition to qualified researches of any religion affiliated with an accredited university, thus shedding light on the cases of those, like Menocchio, who dared to think.
