Renaissance perspectives on Trump, Brexit and our time

The sense of turmoil and uncertainty that prevails in South Africa is mirrored in many other countries. In the US and the UK, voters have voted for leaders who appear to reject globalisation and whose vision of a more nationalist future trumps the agendas

IF MICHELANGELO were reborn today, amidst all the turmoil that marks our present age, would he flounder, or flourish again? Every year millions of people look in wonder at Michelangelo’s David and pay homage to Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. Through five centuries, we have carefully preserved such Renaissance masterpieces, and cherished them, as objects of beauty and inspiration. But they also challenge us. The artists who crafted these feats of genius 500 years ago lived in a tumultuous moment, marked by historic milestones and discoveries, but also wrenching upheaval.

Their world was tangling together in a way it had never done before, thanks to Gutenberg’s recent invention of the printing press (1450s), Columbus’s discovery of the New World (1492) and Vasco da Gama’s discovery of a sea route to Asia’s riches (1497). Countrys’ and individuals’ fortunes were changing, in some ways radically. The Black Death had tapered off, Europe’s population was recovering and public health, wealth and education were all rising.

Genius flourished under these conditions, as evidenced by artistic achievements, by Copernicus’s revolutionary theories of a sun-centered cosmos (1510s) and similar advances in a wide range of fields from biology to engineering to navigation to medicine. Basic, common-sense “truths” that had stood unquestioned for centuries, even millennia, were eroding.

The earth did not stand still. The sun did not revolve around it. The “known” world wasn’t even half of the whole. The human heart wasn’t the soul, it was a pump. In mere decades, printing boosted the production of books from hundreds to millions a year, and these weird facts and new ideas travelled farther, faster than had ever been possible. Creativity and innovation flourished.

But risk flourished, too. Terrifying new diseases spread like wild fire on both sides of the now-connected Atlantic. The Ottoman Turks – backed by a “new” weapon, gunpowder – conquered the eastern Mediterranean for Islam in a stunning series of land and naval victories that cast a threatening gloom over all of Europe. Martin Luther (1483–1546) leveraged the new power of print to broadcast blistering condemnations of the Catholic Church, igniting religious violence continent-wide.

The church, which had endured every challenge to its authority for over a thousand years to become the most important and pervasive authority in European life, split permanently under the strain. (The extremist monk Savonarola overthrew the Florentine Medici rulers and hounded out the intellectuals and experts. Europe descended into religious wars, inquisitions and intolerance.)

On 8 September 1504, in Florence, Italy, Michelangelo unveiled his statue of David in the city’s main square. Standing over 5m tall, weighing in at over 6 tons of marble, David was an instant monument to the city’s wealth and to the sculptor’s skill.

David and Goliath was a familiar Old Testament story, about a brave young warrior who, in true underdog fashion, improbably defeated a giant foe in single combat. But with hammer and chisel, Michelangelo fixed into stone a moment that no one had seen before.

It must have caused some confusion for those present at the unveiling. David’s face and neck were tensed. His brow was furrowed and his eyes focused determinedly upon some distant point. He stood, not triumphant atop the corpse of his enemy (the standard portrayal), but ready, with the implacable resolve of one who knows his next step but not its outcome.

And then they saw the artist’s meaning clearly: Michelangelo carved David in that fateful moment between decision and action, between realising what he must do and summoning the courage to do it.

They knew that moment. They were in it. We are in it, too. The present age is a contest: between the good and bad consequences of global entanglement and human development; between forces of inclusion and exclusion; between flourishing genius and flourishing risks.

Whether we each flourish or flounder, and whether the 21st Century goes down in the history books as one of humanity’s best or worst, depends on what we all do to promote the possibilities and dampen the d a n gers that this contest brings.

The stakes could not be higher. We each have the perilous fortune to have been born into an historic moment – a decisive moment – when events and choices in our own lifetime will dictate the circumstances of many, many lifetimes to come.

We don’t know where we’re heading, and so we let ourselves get pushed around – bullied even – by immediate crises and the anxieties they evoke. We retreat rather than reach out. In an age when we must act, we hesitate instead. Globally, that’s the present mood.

What we lack, and so urgently need, is perspective.

With it, we can see the contest that defines our lifetime and better assert our own will upon the wider forces shaping the

world. When the shocks hit, we can step back from their immediacy and place them in a broader context, in which we have more leverage over their meaning (and our response). Civic and political leaders need perspective to craft a compelling vision that connects the big drivers of change with our daily lives.

Businesspeople need perspective to cut through the chaos of 24/7 news and information to make capable decisions.

The youth need perspective to find answers to their big, burning questions and a pathway for their own passions. Perspective is what enables each of us to transform the sum of our days into an epic journey. And it’s what improves our chances of together making the 21st century humanity’s best.

“Perspective is the guide and the gateway and, without it, nothing can be done well.” – Leonardo da Vinci (1452–1519). When he wrote these words, he was counselling artists, but he could easily have been counselling his whole generation. A contemporary of Michelangelo (1475– 1564), Leonardo lived in the same moment of fateful contest that his peer had captured in marble.

To gain perspective on the present age, we need only step back, look to the past, and realise: We’ve been here before.

The forces that converged in Europe 500 years ago to spark genius and upend social order are present again in our lifetime. Only now they are stronger, and global.

Recognising the present moment as another Age of Discovery should fill us with a mix of hope and determination. Hope, because the Renaissance left a legacy that we still celebrate, 500 years on, as one of humanity’s brightest. If we want to achieve our own golden age, we can. The conditions are ripe.

We can seize this moment and realise a new flourishing that in magnitude, geographic scope and positive consequences for human welfare will far surpass the last Renaissance – or, indeed, any other flourishing

What we lack, and so urgently need, is perspective

in history. Determination, because this new golden age will not simply arrive, we have to achieve it.

The last Renaissance was a time of tremendous upheaval that strained society to, and often past, the breaking point. Now, we risk fumbling badly again, as individuals, as society and as a species – and we’ve had some big stumbles already.

It’s made many of us cynical and fearful for the future. If we want to attain the greatness for which humanity is once again eligible, we must keep faith in its possibility. We must do all we can to realise it. We must broaden and share more widely the benefits of progress. And we must help one another to cope with the shocks that none of us will see coming. Ian Goldin is professor of globalisation and development at the University of Oxford, and founding director of the Oxford Martin School. Chris Kutarna is a fellow at the Oxford Martin School. This article draws from their book recently published by Bloomsbury.