BRUNELLESCHI AND LUTHER: INDIVIDUALS AND THEIR ROLES IN WORLD-CHANGING MOVEMENTS

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What can one man mean to the world? The question is invariably asked by every person as a rite of passage between the grandiose ideals of youth and the entrance into adult realities. Can an individual effect changes that will leave the world forever manifestly different? Or would identical transformations of societies occur without the particular unique personalities whose names become historically linked with those transformations? Here, we will ask this question about two revolutionaries whose names are tied to the beginnings of movements in their respective fields-in religious thought and expression: Luther; and in architectural expression and accomplishment: Brunelleschi. By asking the question about persons in contrasting disciplines, we hope to uncover and decipher clues as to what generates the enduring image of an individual's importance, depending upon their area of expertise.

 

Must world-change in each sphere be attributed to overall societal conditions, or may we, at times, give full credit to those individuals whose fame paints quaint pictures of single-handed globe spinning? Are there inherent differences among the fields of accomplishment that determine whether achievements are attributed to the individual mind? Let us start to whittle a little on this oft-handled block and see what shapes we might expose by first examining both of the personalities separately. We will begin with Luther-the junior of our two icons by one hundred six years.

 

Luther in context

We start with Luther because it is somewhat easier to link him with the genesis of a great movement than our other master. (Why this is the case will be discussed later, as it is part of the ultimate goal of understanding for the paper.) Let us begin by asking who is Martin Luther, and how does he fit into his context? Born in 1483, the son of a German miner, he attained an education in law before an event that changed the course of his life, and ultimately the course of history.

 

While Luther was walking in the mountains with his best friend, a looming cloud became a sudden storm, and lightning struck his friend dead. Stricken with dread, Luther uttered a prayer to Saint Anne, promising to enter the monastic life if he survived the storm. Soon thereafter, he became a monk in the city of Wittenberg, where he began a legendary pattern of intense self-denial before being challenged by the epiphany of Romans 1:17: "For in the gospel a righteousness from God is revealed, a righteousness that is by faith from first to last, just as it is written: 'The righteous will live by faith.'" The verse would later become the theme of the Protestant movement. Realizing the folly of a sinful man trying to reach a perfect God through works and self-denial, Luther changed his pursuit from asceticism to growing faith. After much study and continuing life in the Augustinian Eremite Order, he was appointed as Doctor of Theology and Professor at the University of Wittenberg. Later, he became District Vicar over all the monasteries of his chapter in Saxony and Preacher at the Castle Church in Wittenberg. Thus Luther was positioned, arguably unintentionally, to be the spark for a great fire.

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Luther's single most well-known act was just the very beginning of his life as a revolutionary-when, on October 31, 1517, he penned two identical letters, one to the Bishop of Brandenburg, the other to the Archbishop of Mainz, protesting the practice of the Church of selling indulgences to raise funds. For his defense, he laid out his series of ninety-five theses, based entirely upon his interpretation of Scripture, which he regularly read in the original Greek and Hebrew, rather than in the Church-sanctioned Latin. Whether he ever actually "posted" these theses on the door of the Castle Church is debated by scholars. Regardless, the letters became widely publicized and spread, so that the theses are inseparably identified with the beginning of the Reformation.

 

What do we know of the guise of Luther, whose image is so easily conjured in our minds due to his intense expressions in the several portraits by his friend, Lucas Cranach the Elder? We know that he was not an unfeeling, unemotional machine of austere revolt, as may be mistaken by the movement that followed him-known for its pitiless destruction of ecclesiastical art in an attempt to rid the church of graven images. In fact, Luther himself was a fine musician with a sweet tenor voice, whose doctrines actually encouraged the development of church music; and he was perhaps the greatest poet of his time. Luther was in reality greatly dismayed by the "Peasants' Revolt," the popular destructive uprising in supposed accordance with his doctrine, "and he urged his princely patrons to put it down with the utmost ferocity." The revolution in which Luther believed sprang from the gentle ferocity of his relationship with his Master. His belief was that change would be elicited in one's neighbors by the light shone through the automatic actions of joy in the heart of one who is blessed with eternal life.

 

The enduring world-change that followed Luther was a direct result of his words, his vast literary activity. "Genuinely grieved by the ruins of the worldly Church grown cold in the grip of its hierarchy," he hearkened back to the message of primitive Christianity, as practiced in New Testament times. He suggested the substitution of almost purely ethical faith in place of the virtue of sacrament and hierarchy above faith. Luther concluded that the real Christian Church consisted of that "communio sanctorum," or communion of true believers, which had existed consistently since the time of Christ and still existed in spite of the many "human encrustations clinging to it." He was not the first thinker to reach this conclusion, but he was the first with the courage to logically and consistently defend his belief-his daily life was a living defense of his doctrines. "The very things he suffered through, prayed through, struggled through, and attained in faith, were the realization of the goals toward which the Humanists… aspired and labored."

 

In all things, Luther was guided by "that unconditional surrender to truth and conscience which made it simply impossible for him ever to do anything contrary to the conscience for the sake of political or other surface advantages." This "surrender" was in great distinction to his opponents in the local establishment, and it led to his bold, famed proclamation, "Here I stand," and to his personal defense before the Diet of Worms:

 

Unless I am convinced by the testimony of the Scriptures or by clear reason-for I do not trust either in the pope or in councils alone, since it is well-known that they have often erred and contradicted themselves-I am bound by the Scriptures I have quoted and my conscience is captive to the Word of God. I cannot and I will not retract anything, since it is neither safe nor right to go against conscience. God help me, Amen.

 

After such statements, clear in their radical rejection of any claim to worldly authority, Luther knew he needed God's help. And by all appearances, he received it. He was able to avoid the vicious pursuit of those who demanded his life as payment for his perceived heresies, and he died peacefully at the ripe age of 63, in the presence of several of his followers. His life was and is seen as lying at the end of a passing age, and at the beginning of a new religious epoch. According to BBC commentator Kenneth Clark:

 

Ultimately a new civilization was created-but it was a civilization not of the image, but of the word. / There can be no thought without words. Luther gave his countrymen words. Erasmus had written solely in Latin. Luther translated the Bible into German-noble German… and so gave people not only a chance to read Holy Writ for themselves, but the tools of thought.

 

So, had Luther alone generated this new civilization, or must we be guided by the determinist view, informing us that movements are purely a result of place and time? A sensible analysis must result in a mixture of these extremes. While some argue that Luther was simply a product of the revival of the study of antiquity, the discovery of the New World and of the printing press accomplishment, all causing an "increased facility of intellectual discourse…" which led nations to seek liberty from the tutelage of the church, this is a narrow view (mainly suggested by Roman Catholic commentators). Both secular and Protestant evaluators tend to argue from a more moderate view. Cambridge Historian and Sociologist G.R. Elton states, "The Reformation naturally took place in a setting of social, political, and economic circumstances which were in part responsible for its outbreak, development, and fate, and which it in turn profoundly affected."

 

If we agree with the moderate viewpoint, it allows us to suggest that Luther was the right person in the right place at the right time. Luther was an "extremely impressive" person, the leader for which the earnest German people were watching-especially amidst the surge of desire for heroes to venerate that so characterized the cinquecento in Europe. In addition to being a willing hero, Luther's words appropriately addressed the humanist atmosphere of his intellectual contemporaries. "He gave men a new vision of the exaltation of the human self, regardless of its limitations, of an exaltation which can only be experienced as a gift from God and which man can neither bring to pass nor truly understand."

 

Luther was not only the right person, but his was the right message-the valid answer to the issues of the time. The issues were complex and diverse-a widespread dislike of the clergy, hostility to Rome and fervent nationalism; issues summed up in greed, envy and policy. Luther's message "answered a savage spiritual thirst, which the official Church (not for the first time in its history) was failing to satisfy." Luther's message was evocative and possessed meaning to its hearers, but his message could not have made such an impression at a different historic juncture.

 

Having reached what may seem a not-so-stirring conclusion, consisting of a mixture of individualist and determinist views, regarding Luther's place on the deck of the Protestant vessel, we will return for further comment later on. Let us proceed, then, by turning back one century and attempting a similar evaluation of our other personality, the Florentine innovator Filippo, born in 1377, the son of influential notary Ser Brunellesco di Lippo Lapi.

 

Brunelleschi in context

Before Brunelleschi's arrival in the landscape of rapidly shifting Italian and Florentine society, the Western Renaissance had already begun to emerge in civic life through the municipal organization of the Italian republics (especially Florence)-recalling Classical public values-and in the arts through figures such as Giotto. Still, the idea of the real "Renaissance man," with the characteristic expert practice of several skills had not yet been realized by any one prominent master. Enter young Filippo, who had defied his father's urgings to enter into a law career, to instead pursue goldsmithing. In the process, he also attained consummate skill in both mathematics and sculpting. Such was his mathematical skill that the young Brunelleschi is popularly (and probably correctly) attributed with the feat of having discovered the rules of representational perspective, which would become one of the most important accomplishments influencing Renaissance art. Such was his ability in sculpting that he produced an entry rivaling (or, by many accounts, surpassing) the quality of the submission of Ghiberti in the competition for the doors of the Florentine Baptistery.

 

Feeling slighted by a judgment in that competition, which he felt favored fame over skill, and feeling motivated by an additional artistic impulse generated by the tempest of a city unable to resolve several problems regarding its crowning-achievement-in-waiting-the new Cathedral-Filippo made plans to travel to Rome with his friend Donatello, "to rediscover the manner in which the Ancients had built." This impulse, conveying the prevailing intellectual desire to rediscover Classical processes and thoughts, drove Brunelleschi to spend years crawling amidst the crevices and cracks of the Roman ruins, learning all he could about their methods-especially about their masonry practices.

 

Years later, with fingers worn and dirty from prying into brick and mortar, Brunelleschi returned to a Florence growing increasingly frustrated with what seemed an insurmountable obstacle-that of spanning the altar of its Cathedral. The problem had stalled meaningful progress on the building for decades. It was a city thirsty for a fresh idea when, as early as 1404, twenty-seven year old Filippo entered the discourse regarding the dome structure. Already, two widely publicized competitions had attracted established architects and engineers, encouraging them to formulate answers to the problem; yet every idea was marked with absurdity on one level or another. How then was a relatively unpracticed designer-a goldsmith by trade-able to convince the dome committee (the "Opera della Cupola," with members appointed by each of the city's major craft guilds) to entertain his ideas?

 

The answer to this question lies partly in Brunelleschi's connections. His father was active in public affairs, having had long, irregular associations with the various bodies overseeing Cathedral construction. Similarly, Filippo himself had not shied from involvement with civic issues before his hiatus in Rome. He knew whom he needed to know to convince the Opera to hear him out. Additionally, he had his finger on the pulse of the committee, understanding that they were driven by a desire for economic feasibility-having tired of unreasonable schemes requiring the erection of such a magnitude of temporary bracing during construction that they would bankrupt the city. With a level of structural intuition that arose out of his time in Rome and out of his mathematical prowess, Brunelleschi conceived of a dome that would require only slender scaffolds around a structure that would be able to hold most of its own weight throughout its construction process.

 

The other major reason for Brunelleschi's sway on the Opera was undoubtedly his driven personality. The biographer Vasari described him as one of those rare men "who, though puny in person and insignificant of figure, are yet endowed with so much greatness of soul and such force of character that they, unless they can occupy themselves with difficult, nay, almost impossible undertakings and carry them to perfection, they can find no peace in their lives."

 

Despite natural reservations about the ability of Filippo's scheme to accomplish what no prior master seemed able to achieve, the Opera feared rioting and had reached a level of desperation. It is questionable whether they believed in the integrity of the complex composition of brick latticework composing inner and outer shells bound together by a network of chains and ties; but it was the only viable alternative. And so in 1420, after sixteen years of persuasion, Brunelleschi's design for the dome was fully adopted.

 

The result is well known. This goldsmith-mathematician-sculptor-engineer solved a great impasse in architecture. Though he did not necessarily understand everything that he had examined in Rome, he can be credited with spanning the gap between medieval and Classical architectural traditions, allowing the architectural world to push forward with its new birth. And he had taken this great step while always remembering both the pragmatic concerns and the artistic desires of his patrons. The fact that Brunelleschi had achieved both an economic solution and a composition of awesome yet simple grandeur (both of which would also mark his other architectural pursuits) cannot by overemphasized. By understanding the social atmosphere of the day, in which artistic and technological progress must take place, and by possessing the savvy to conquer the great puzzle, Brunelleschi established a position in history for himself-a position whose importance was understood almost immediately. According to technology historian Frank Prager and art historian Gustina Scaglia:

 

In his own day, Filippo Brunelleschi became known as the man who "renewed Roman masonry work." This renewal is now identified with the architectural renaissance. The sober-minded Florentines appreciated its "economy" as well as its "harmonious proportions."

 

The completely new status Brunelleschi brought to the role of master architect is clear. He was a new kind of societal figure. This is told to us by how his contemporaries responded to his life, as Kenneth Clark conveys:

 

We know nothing about the lives of the men who built the great cathedrals, but Brunelleschi is the subject of a long, detailed biography written by a friend, and we have a replica of his death-mask which, following the example of ancient Rome, Florentines had begun to make in the late fourteenth century.

 

So, Filippo had brought architecture into the emerging rebirth of Classical values and aspirations. But we come again to the question at hand: Would the world have found another to fill his role, had there been no Brunelleschi? Was he just a product of a hungry and prepared time? Evaluators give us a varied view. According to Prager and Scaglia:

 

Historians have found in him an heir to Gothic achievement, a victor over Gothic barbarism, or the exponent of a permanent Classic presence, either a pure artist or a mathematical genius, and even-if possible-something of all these things… Admirers of Filippo are convinced that he, single-handedly, transformed both building art and building technique by fundamental inventions. Others rather see him as simply reacting to earlier trends or innovations.

 

And returning again to Kenneth Clark:

 

I think that [the new architecture] was really the invention of the individual-Brunelleschi. But of course, an architectural style cannot take root unless it satisfies some need of the time. Brunelleschi's style satisfied the need of the clear-headed, bright-minded men who appeared on the Florentine scene at the moment when the discipline of trade and banking, in its most austere form, was beginning to be relaxed, and life-a full use of the human faculties-became more important than making money.

 

Again, it seems that the most prudent answer to our question is a mixed one. We must not only say that this master was the right person (clearly, none of his contemporaries could compare to his combination of mathematical ability, structural intuition, and architectural sense), but he was also in the right place (Florence-the city which at the time possessed the civic economy to support the great project), at the right time (just the right age for his career to find definition in the great feat). But does the person-plus-place-plus-time answer really help to remove the fog from our question regarding whether the world would be the same place without the one man? Does the individualist interpretation of historical change gain any strength in our analysis?

 

Conclusions

It is merited at this juncture to clearly iterate some of the striking likenesses that can be observed between our two personalities. These similarities reveal that the selection of these two revolutionaries for comparison is not random; the two are alike enough to be ripe for meaningful discoveries. Both men accomplished their greatest opus early in their tenure as ground-shakers. This allowed time during their lives to (consciously or not) further secure their prominence. Both men are clearly understood not only as great thinkers but as kindling for the start of revolution-Luther's revolution of words and Brunelleschi's revolution of ingenuity-coming at the end of one age and laying the foundations of another. Their positions at the very beginning of their respective movements is very important here, and allows us to more consequentially compare the two. (Calvin was a great reformer, and da Vinci was a great Renaissance man, but a meaningful comparison of the two would be much more difficult.) Additionally, both men are continuously characterized as ferociously intense (Luther's "unconditional surrender to truth" and Brunelleschi's "force of character"). Whether or not they were the only ones able, they were alone among their contemporaries in possessing the drive to achieve changes of such magnitude. Hopefully, these similarities establish the legitimacy of comparing two masters of such different fields.

 

Thus founded, let us now attempt to address the individualist question by focusing on the right person aspect of our prior contextual conclusions. We will do this by asking what might have come to pass if the persons in question had not entered the picture.

 

We have established that the Reformation came to pass as a result of a wide and unstoppable collection of social and intellectual moods-moods birthed not by any single human mind, but by a collective societal womb. And yet the Reformation's most identifiable birth channel can easily be given a human face in Luther. Would there have been a comparable societal attitude in the absence of Luther? Assuredly. Would the visage of the resulting movement have been different? Just as surely. And the difference would likely be measured in no small details. It is not inconceivable to imagine that Luther-less Christendom might still be totally under Roman authority. (Consider, for instance, the amplified weight that might be rendered to the theological ideas of Erasmus, had Luther's views not ensued straight away after those of Erasmus.) In the absence of a champion of change, it is possible that the moods that caused the Reformation would have been slowly soothed by the establishment, as they had been multiple times before in Church history. Though this would have resulted in some alterations, they would be as nothing compared to the storm of revolution that swept Europe after Luther.

 

That said, let us examine what may be an even more intriguing case. We have recognized that political and artistic Renaissance had already been developing before Brunelleschi's accomplishments. What would have become of the architectural Renaissance without Brunelleschi? What about the Renaissance overall? It is no stretch to assert that the role of Florence as the cradle of the Renaissance could have been null. After all, prior to Florence's rise to preeminence, Siena had been the envy of the other republics. One of the reasons for Siena's decline was its inability to complete its own cathedral according to grandiose plans, leading to a general disappointment in the Sienese citizenry with the Church-the wealthiest patron of art. How many more years could Florence have endured an incomplete Cathedral? How many more years would the Opera have taken to build the dome without Brunelleschi's cunning? What would the Renaissance have been, had it developed outside of Florence? Would it have been? How would architecture have developed outside of a Florentine Renaissance? What would architecture be today? What about art in general? We cannot begin to conjecture how these situations might be described! Are we over-dramatizing the case? Possibly, but not necessarily.

 

We do not deny the important positions of place and time in our equation of world-change. But neither can we ignore the position of person. Identical revolution without one very important third of the equation is unthinkable. So, the answer to the question, "can one man change the world?" is an unqualified "Yes!" The two masters analyzed here are similar examples of this fact. They are similar examples, and yet there is a great difference in how they are known and understood by today's Western culture.

 

What is the difference in the perception of the two? Well, it is easy to identify persons who fall under the influence of Luther. They are called "Lutherans," or at least they are called, "Protestants." (Ask anyone, who founded "Protestantism," and the answer comes quickly: "Why, Luther, of course.") But though it is easy to map out those who fall under the influence of Brunelleschi-at least every Renaissance architect, and justifiably every artist since the fifteenth century-they are not referred to as "Brunelleschians." And, when one asks, "Who founded Renaissance architecture?," the probable answer is something along the lines of, "Well, umm, that is a-uh-very complex question that requires lots of thought and explanation…" Why is it that the individual is so readily given credit for the religious paradigm, when the person equally involved in changing the architectural paradigm is slow to receive such accolades? Why is "Luther" part of household vocabulary throughout the Western world, while "Brunelleschi" is a word uttered and written only in Italy and in some architectural circles?

 

Let us discuss how culture reacts to the two fundamentally different types of movements-that of religious thought and that of artistic/architectural expression. As we have already noted, movements of thought are known by the last names of their pioneers (Lutheranism, Marxism), while artistic movements are known by generalized terms (Renaissance architecture, Cubism). Why is this? Well, to begin with, it would be difficult for the typical person to read a tract of ninety-five theses without wondering about and noting its author. For, the background of the author (Doctor, Professor, Augustinian Eremite Monk) is a very important factor for the critical reader. Knowing the author's background gives the reader freedom to accept or dismiss the value of what is written. But need we really know anything of the designer of a building to assess the building's intrinsic value? No, this quality may be assessed experientially. Unless the inhabitant of a building has a specific reason to want to know the architect's name (for instance, if the inhabitant is an architect himself and would like to know more about the building's designer), he can experience the building just as meaningfully whether or not he knows. Furthermore, the background qualifications of an architect are not the definer of quality. (No one would say, "What!?, this guy was a goldsmith by trade? Well, this dome isn't all that impressive, then!") No, it is actually the quality of the building that defines the qualification of the architect. As we can see, religious thought is evaluated via the qualifications of its author, but art can be experienced anonymously.

 

Another distinction between religious thought and architectural achievement is the shear number of persons directly involved in their respective movements. While architectural and artistic movements do affect all people, all people are not directly involved in them. Masses are involved in religious movements due to their very presence among (or against) the faiths, and most are at least aware of changes in the religious establishment. (It is common to hear about religious decisions on the evening news. How often do we hear about decisions of the AIA?) How often do riots occur after artistic decisions (other than in France)? On top of direct involvement, let us discuss understanding (or at least perceived understanding) of the different realms. Art, though experienced by all, is generally perceived as being actually understood only by those whose specialization is in artistic circles. (A self-affirming perception.) Because of this lack of awareness, history has a hard time pinpointing the source of artistic accomplishment. (This does not mean that great artists are not appreciated, just that it is more rare to hear of an artist being the source of change.) Yet, religion is perceived to be at least partially understood by every person who has any position with regard to it, and that is every person. More people find themselves directly involved in religious thought than in artistic contemplation.

 

The final characteristic of the two realms we will discuss here is how they actually relate to each other. Art is almost always a reaction to societal thought, whereas religion is almost always a generator of societal thought. Therefore, religious revolutions affect and effect art and architecture. The contrary is rarely the case (though exceptions do exist). If we look at this relationship characteristic, we might begin to see religion as a generative concept, and we might begin to see art as a reactionary concept. It is true that this quick conclusion is far too simplistic to really achieve a deep understanding of the true character of the two realms, but we can see how such a rudimentary relationship might be subconsciously assumed by culture.

 

Having discussed these features of the two different domains, and admitting that many more such comparative features could be so discussed, we can finally begin to attempt concrete answers for the questions at hand. We have already made a case for the first answer-that yes, indeed we can claim that world-change can be executed by the hands of individuals. This may be validated by simply asking "what if the person had not contributed how they did? What, then, determines the level of the historical tendency to ascribe an individualistic interpretation to revolutionary accomplishment? The answer seems to be the field of the accomplishment. How does the field relate to other fields? How many people understand or participate in the field? Can the accomplishment be comprehended without knowledge of the innovator? These are the issues that have determined the different historical positions of Brunelleschi and Luther. These are the issues we must consider when we desire to know, "How will history remember me?"