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Carlo GinzburgA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
The internal conflict outlined by Ginzburg is this: Menocchio was deeply inclined to believe in a spiritual afterlife, even if he simultaneously believed in the materiality of the soul (72). This paradox might explain his decision to distinguish between a mortal soul and an immortal spirit. Indeed, Ginzburg finds that Menocchio was far more concerned with Paradise than with hell, and that his formulations of Paradise were also materialistic in nature, potentially derived from Islamic imagery he encountered in the Koran (72-73).
Ginzburg finds Menocchio’s ideals of Paradise to be intrinsically tied to his vision of religious reform, and asserts that these ideas were derived in large part from the words he read in Foresti’s Supplementum supplementi delle croniche. In particular, Menocchio’s self-image throughout the trial seems to mirror Foresti’s account of Martin Luther in the chronicle, yet another point of connection between peasant and elite intellectual culture within Menocchio’s worldview (75). Although it is unclear whether Menocchio was aware of these connections, and though he attempted to convince other villagers of his ideas, this effort seems to have been largely futile. Even within his own family, Menocchio seems to have recognized that his ideas had little traction (76).
Menocchio aspired to a “new world,” a phrase which Ginzburg cautions readers against interpreting with a presentist lens. In the modern era, this phrase has become synonymous with the Americas, but Ginzburg asserts that this would not have been its original Early Modern meaning. Instead, Menocchio’s imagined “new world” would have pertained more directly to a notion of utopian egalitarianism, brought forth by the peasant class (82).
Menocchio’s first trial concluded in May 1584. Facing further imprisonment, he gave into his son’s wishes and wrote the judges a letter begging for forgiveness. It is offered in full, without commentary, in Chapter 44. These are some of the only words we are able to read in Menocchio’s voice. Some of the letter’s key moments include Menocchio blaming his heretical thoughts on demonic influence, using a biblical anecdote to compare himself to Joseph, entreating the judges to approach his case in a Christlike, merciful manner, and citing Mandeville’s Travels as a key cause of his heresy.
In his analysis of this letter, Ginzburg finds that Menocchio leveraged clever rhetorical devices to appear remorseful without truly admitting guilt (86). Menocchio’s sentence was delivered on the same day that he sent the letter to the judges; the Inquisition found him not only to be a heretic, but a heresiarch (i.e., someone who creates a new heresy). Ginzburg analyzes the sentencing document, noting that its length and vehemence distinguish it from other decisions handed down by the inquisitorial court. Furthermore, he finds that the court’s reference points for Menocchio’s heresy reveal their profound lack of understanding of the miller’s cultural influences (88).
After the sentencing, Menocchio remained in prison for two years until 1586, when a petition was presented by his son Ziannuto to the court asking for his release. Officials found that Menocchio seemed genuinely repentant, and that his health was in extreme decline. They agreed to release him on new conditions: He would remain confined to Montereale; he would not discuss his heretical ideas with others; and he was to wear a visual reminder of his crimes at all times, the habitello, so that his status would be evident to all.
Ginzburg finds that upon returning to Montereale, Menocchio was able to recuperate his previous social standing to an unexpected degree; he was even reappointed church administrator. In taking on this role, however, he acquired personal debts that initially went unnoticed by officials. His situation took a further turn for the worse with the death of his closest son Ziannuto, and by the 1590s, Menocchio was once again under the suspicion of the Inquisition.
As always, Ginzburg is highly concerned with correcting the potential presentist instincts of his readers; his careful reproduction of the history of the phrase “new world” in Chapter 42 is a good example of this aspect of the book. As such, Ginzburg accounts for the interpretive filter of modern popular culture just as much as he does for the filter of 16th-century popular culture. “We tend to take for granted,” he observes, “the banal metaphorical use of an expression that, when Menocchio used it, still retained all its original force” (77). Using the first-person plural once again, he includes himself in the group of modern readers who are prone to misinterpreting Menocchio’s words, just as Menocchio misinterpreted the books that he read, reflecting The Challenges of Textual Interpretation.
In this particular piece of analysis, the influence of macrohistory begins to shine through, if only briefly. Ginzburg’s acknowledgement of broader events, such as the European arrival in the Americas, is necessary for making his argument about the phrase “new world.” Nevertheless, moments such as this one indicate that composing a pure microhistory is a nearly impossible task, since small-scale and large-scale history cannot be fully disentangled.
Also within the vein of macrohistory, Ginzburg offers a more intricate assessment of Menocchio’s relationship to the Protestant Reformation in the same chapter, arguing that Menocchio subconsciously emulated Martin Luther (75). In his framework, Menocchio’s books serve as the point of connection between the miller and broader currents of history: Luther reached Menocchio through the pages of Foresti’s Supplementum supplementi delle corniche. This phenomenon is tied to yet another macrohistorical event, the explosion of print media that occurred in the 16th century. The instances of macrohistorical analysis, however, should not be taken as a failure of Ginzburg’s microhistorical method. At the time of the book’s publication in 1976, the field of microhistory was still in its nascent stages, so much so that Ginzburg did not even label his work a microhistory at the time.
Chapters 43 through 48 return to the book’s earlier narrative register, as the first trial comes to its conclusion, Menocchio is sentenced, imprisoned, and finally released back to Montereale. These chapters therefore cover over a decade of events to 1587, when Menocchio came under suspicion again. This narrative is, naturally, microhistorical, and therefore marks a return to the book’s microcosmic focus at the same time that it marks a departure from intensive analysis. Ginzburg’s core arguments, however, are carried through, as can be seen in his assessment of the sentencing document: “The sentence confirmed the gulf, evident throughout the trial, separating Menocchio’s cultural world from the inquisitors’” (88). Even in the words of the inquisitors, therefore, Ginzburg finds evidence of that invisible cultural filter which dictated Menocchio’s worldview.
The Relationships Between “High” and “Low” Culture in the 16th Century thus become increasingly vivid by these later chapters of the book, as Ginzburg appears increasingly confident that the two cultures were interrelated but distinct. From the minds of educated men such as Martin Luther, through the pages of books, to the mind of Menocchio, and finally to the ears of the inquisitors, Ginzburg perceives a circular pipeline of ideas between upper and lower classes. Circularity is thus illustrated through narrative as well as analysis; simply tracing the transmission of Menocchio’s ideas proves the existence of these spheres. In this way, narrative form serves a subtle analytical purpose for Ginzburg.