Searching for Compromise?: Interreligious Dialogue, Agreements, and Toleration in 16th–18th Century Eastern Europe 9789004527447, 9004527443

Table of contents :
Contents
Illustrations
Notes on Editors
Contributors
Introduction: Searching for Compromise
Part 1Terms of Coexistence between Law and Tradition
1“Private,” “Public,” and “Domestic” Exercise of Religion—Origins of an Instrument of Early Modern Religious Peacemaking
2“He May Be Evangelical, Yet a True Patron by Descent”: The Right of Patronage in the Religious Changes in Red Ruthenia in the 16th and 17th Centuries
3Social Conditions of Religious Coexistence in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania: Three Cases of the Late Sixteenth Century
4Worshipping Together or Just under One Roof? Reformed and Lutheran Church Agreements in Poland in the Early Seventeenth Century
5How Many Dissenters Can a Roman Catholic Priest Serve? Examples from Bukovina, Suwałki Region, and Latgale at the Turn of the 18th Century
Part 2Theology, Communication, Politics
6Religious Toleration and Literary Dialogues in the Bohemian Reformation (1436–1517)
7Dantiscus from Augsburg (1530) to Regensburg (1541): Authority, Toleration, and Orthodoxy in the Roman Church
8Jacob Schmidt Also Called Fabricius (1551–1629): The Unfulfilled Leader of the Second Reformation in Gdańsk
9Toleration and Religious Polemics: The Case of Jonas Schlichting (1592–1661) and the Radical Reformation in Poland
Part 3Radical Century or Age of Toleration?
10Reformed Irenicism and Pan-Protestantism in Early Modern Europe
11A Transconfessional Religion of the Heart: The Moravian Church of Herrnhut
12A Tale of Two Cities: Protestant Preachers and Private Tutors in Vienna Under the Rule of Emperor Charles VI
13The Longue Durée of Irenicism in the Thought of Adam František Kollár (1718–1783)
Afterword
Index of Names

Citation preview

Searching for Compromise?

Studies in Medieval and Reformation Traditions Edited by Christopher Ocker, Melbourne and San Anselmo In cooperation with Tara Alberts, York Sara Beam, Victoria, BC Falk Eisermann, Berlin Hussein Fancy, Michigan Johannes Heil, Heidelberg Martin Kaufhold, Augsburg Ute Lotz-Heumann, Tucson, Arizona Jürgen Miethke, Heidelberg Marjorie Elizabeth Plummer, Tucson, Arizona Ulinka Rublack, Cambridge, UK Karin Sennefelt, Stockholm Founding Editor Heiko A. Oberman†

volume 235

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/smrt

Searching for Compromise? Interreligious Dialogue, Agreements, and Toleration in 16th–18th Century Eastern Europe

Edited by

Maciej Ptaszyński Kazimierz Bem

LEIDEN | BOSTON

The book was prepared as a part of the research project 2018/31/B/HS3/00351 funded by the National Science Centre, Poland. The project was generously supported by the program “Excellence Initiative – Research University” at the University of Warsaw. Cover illustration: Peace Urging the Churches to be Tolerant, by an unknown artist, early 17th century. John Calvin, the Pope, and Martin Luther are seen arguing at a table, watched by an anabaptist, while a personified Peace approaches them with an olive branch. Courtesy Rijksmuseum Amsterdam, object SK-A-4152. The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at https://catalog.loc.gov LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022042223

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 1573-4188 isbn 978-90-04-44640-3 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-52744-7 (e-book) Copyright 2023 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Hotei, Brill Schöningh, Brill Fink, Brill mentis, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Böhlau, V&R unipress and Wageningen Academic. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Requests for re-use and/or translations must be addressed to Koninklijke Brill NV via brill.com or copyright.com. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents List of Illustrations vii Notes on Editors viii List of Contributors x

Introduction: Searching for Compromise 1 Maciej Ptaszyński

PART 1 Terms of Coexistence between Law and Tradition 1

“Private,” “Public,” and “Domestic” Exercise of Religion—Origins of an Instrument of Early Modern Religious Peacemaking 35 Christopher Voigt-Goy

2

“He May Be Evangelical, Yet a True Patron by Descent”: The Right of Patronage in the Religious Changes in Red Ruthenia in the 16th and 17th Centuries 56 Bogumił Szady

3

Social Conditions of Religious Coexistence in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania: Three Cases of the Late Sixteenth Century 89 Uladzimir Padalinski

4

Worshipping Together or Just under One Roof? Reformed and Lutheran Church Agreements in Poland in the Early Seventeenth Century 110 Kazimierz Bem

5

How Many Dissenters Can a Roman Catholic Priest Serve? Examples from Bukovina, Suwałki Region, and Latgale at the Turn of the 18th Century 138 Melchior Jakubowski

vi

Contents

PART 2 Theology, Communication, Politics 6

Religious Toleration and Literary Dialogues in the Bohemian Reformation (1436–1517) 169 Jan Červenka

7

Dantiscus from Augsburg (1530) to Regensburg (1541): Authority, Toleration, and Orthodoxy in the Roman Church 197 Bryan D. Kozik

8

Jacob Schmidt Also Called Fabricius (1551–1629): The Unfulfilled Leader of the Second Reformation in Gdańsk 225 Sławomir Kościelak

9

Toleration and Religious Polemics: The Case of Jonas Schlichting (1592–1661) and the Radical Reformation in Poland 248 Maciej Ptaszyński

Part 3 Radical Century or Age of Toleration? 10

Reformed Irenicism and Pan-Protestantism in Early Modern Europe 299 Alexander Schunka

11

A Transconfessional Religion of the Heart: The Moravian Church of Herrnhut 330 Wolfgang Breul

12

A Tale of Two Cities: Protestant Preachers and Private Tutors in Vienna Under the Rule of Emperor Charles VI 358 Stephan Steiner

13

The Longue Durée of Irenicism in the Thought of Adam František Kollár (1718–1783) 382 Paul Shore



Afterword 402 Luise Schorn-Schütte Index of Names 405 Aleksandra Frączek

Illustrations 0.0 2.1 5.1 5.2 6.1 12.1

5.1 5.2

0.1

Tables Timetable xiii The structure of patronage in Red Ruthenia parish churches around 1772 68 Protestant metrical records from Mănăstioara, 1791–1819 144 Lutheran baptisms and deaths in the Jeleniewo area, 1802–7 150 The composition of List Václava Píseckého 178 Years of service of the Danish, Swedish, and Dutch legation preachers under the rule of Emperor Charles VI 364

Figures Confessional division of baptisms in the Catholic parish in Siret 143 Confessional division of marriages in the Catholic parish in Siret 145

Map Europe at the beginning of the 18th century xii

Notes on Editors Maciej Ptaszyński

[email protected]

Maciej Ptaszyński is an associate professor at Warsaw University. He studied history and philosophy at universities in Warsaw and Berlin. From 2002 to 2006 he was a graduate student at the DFG Graduate School “Contact Area Mare Balticum: Foreignness and Integration in the Baltic Region” in Greifswald. In 2012–2013 and 2017–2018 he was a visiting professor at the Johannes Gutenberg University in Mainz. He received a doctorate in Warsaw in 2007 with a thesis on the professionalization of the protestant clergy in the Duchy of Pomerania 1560–1618. A monograph based on his doctoral thesis was published in 2011 in Polish, and in 2017 in German as »Beruf und Berufung«. Die evangelische Geistlichkeit und die Konfessionsbildung in den Herzogtümern Pommern, 1560–1618, Göttingen 2017, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. He has also published articles in Polish, German and English on the social history of the Protestant clergy in Pomerania and on the relationship between the clergy and secular authorities. His latest projects concern the Polish re­formation and relations between humanism and the reformation in Poland. Recently, he published a history of the Reformation in Poland: Reformacja w Polsce a dziedzictwo Erazma z Rotterdamu, Warszawa 2018, Wydawnictwa Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego. For this book, he received a Prize of the Ministry of Science for the best academic monograph at the book fair in Poznań in 2019. Kazimierz Bem

[email protected]

Kazimierz Bem is the pastor of First Church in Marlborough (Congregational) United Church of Christ, in Massachusetts, United States and a lecturer in church history at the Evangelical School of Theology in Wrocław, Poland. He holds a Ph.D. in international refugee law from the Vrije Universiteit, Amsterdam (2007), as well the degrees of Master of Divinity (2010) and Master of Sacred Theology (2011) from Yale Divinity School, where his thesis subject was the 1637 communion liturgy of the Polish and Lithuanian Reformed Churches. He published in 2015 in Polish the Biographical Dictionary of Reformed Clergy. Pastors and Deaconess of the Lesser Poland and Warsaw Consistory 1815–1939 (Wydawnictwo Naukowe Semper, 2015). He has also published articles in Polish and English on the subject of Calvinism in Poland, contacts between Polish and Dutch Calvinists in the 17th century, the Huguenot diaspora in Poland,

Notes on Editors

ix

as well the Polish Reformed clergy and liturgy. His most recent book was published in 2020 with Brill Publishing in the St. Andrew’s Studies in Reformation History Series titled: Calvinism in the Polish Lithuanian-Commonwealth 1548– 1648. The churches and the faithful. His current research topics include the formation and function of church discipline and Calvinist identity in 17th and 18th-century Poland.

Contributors Kazimierz Bem Evangelical School of Theology, Wrocław, Poland Wolfgang Breul Johann Gutenberg University of Mainz, Germany Jan Červenka Institute of History of the Czech Academy of Sciences, The Czech Republic Melchior Jakubowski Institute of History of the Polish Academy of Sciences, Poland Sławomir Kościelak University of Gdańsk, Poland Bryan D. Kozik University of Warsaw; Poland/Davis & Elkins College, USA Uladzimir Padalinski Belarusian State University, Belarus Maciej Ptaszyński University of Warsaw, Poland Luise Schorn-Schütte Johann Wolfgang Goethe-Universität Frankfurt am Main, Germany Alexander Schunka Freie Universität Berlin, Germany Paul Shore University of Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada Stephan Steiner University of Wien, Austria

Contributors

Bogumił Szady The John Paul II Catholic University of Lublin, Poland Christopher Voigt-Goy Institut für Europäische Geschichte, Mainz, Germany

xi

Map 0.1

Europe at the beginning of the 18th century

Table 0.0 Timetable

Date

Events

1431–49

Council of Florence: Aiming to resolve conflict with the Hussites and achieve Church reform Basel Compactata: Agreement between the Council (then sitting in Basel) and the moderate Hussites (Utraquists) Treaty of Kutná Hora: Between Utraquist Hussites and Roman Catholics; both parties declared equal under the law and religious peace promulgated for 31 years. Its provisions were extended “in perpetuity” in 1512. Diet of Nuremberg Diet of Speyer Diet of Speyer Second Peace of Kappel: Treaty ending the war between Catholic and Protestant cantons in Switzerland. Society of Jesus (Jesuit order): Established in Spain. Colloquy of Regensburg: Failed theological negotiations between Protestants and Catholics. Council of Trent Augsburg Interim: A temporary solution imposed by Charles V to settle differences between Catholicism and Lutheranism. First exile of the Bohemian Brethren: Some of the group members flee from Bohemia to Moravia, Prussia, and Poland. Treaty of Passau: Charles V guarantees religious freedom to Lutherans. Peace of Augsburg Livonian War: Between Muscovy, Sweden, and Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth for control over the territories of Old Livonia. Edict of Torda: Law in Transylvania providing full freedom of religion to Lutherans, Calvinists, and Unitarians. It allowed local congregations to elect their ministers. Union of Lublin: Created a new state the Kingdom of Poland and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. Sandomir Consensus: Agreement between Calvinists, Lutherans, and Bohemian Brethren in Poland–Lithuania. Warsaw Confederation: Agreement between the nobility of the Polish– Lithuanian Commonwealth granting religious freedom and peace between confessions. Bull Inter gravissimas: Establishes the Gregorian Calendar. Diet of Augsburg

1436 1485

1524 1526 1529 1532 1540 1541 1545–63 1548 1548 1552 1555 1558–82 1568

1569 1570 1573

1582 1582

Table 0.0 Timetable (cont.)

Date

Events

1596

Union of Brest: Eastern Orthodox bishops in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth agree to enter into union with Rome; beginning of the Uniate (Greek–Catholic) Church. Edict of Nantes: Grants legal recognition and freedom of worship (with some restrictions) to Huguenots in France. Cracow Union: Lesser Poland Calvinists agree to allow Lutherans from the city to use their church edifice for worship; ratified in 1636. Thirty Years’ War Synod of Dort Synod of Alès: French Huguenots accept the Canons of Dort. Settlement of Sławatycze: Protestant colonists in Sławatycze are allowed to build their own church and call a pastor. Second exile of the Bohemian Brethren: Following an ultimatum from Emperor Ferdinand II to either convert to Catholicism or go into exile, thousands resettle in the Polish Crown. Leszno Union: Lutherans and Reformed agree on common ecclesiastical structure in the city of Leszno. Peace of Westphalia Deluge (part of the Second Northern War): War between Sweden and the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. Expulsion of Polish Brethren (Socinians, Unitarians) from the Polish– Lithuanian Commonwealth. Formula Consensus Helvetica: Swiss Reformed agreement on the understanding of predestination. Edict of Fontainebleau: Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. Edict of Toleration in the County of Isenburg–Büdingen: Religious dissenters (non-Calvinists) allowed to settle in the city and guaranteed full freedom of religion by Count Ernst Casimir II. Diet of Regensburg Moravian Church: Established in the Electorate of Saxony. The pope suppresses the Society of Jesus. Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth restores full freedom of worship and political rights to Lutherans, Calvinists, and Eastern Orthodox; Polish Brethren are left out of these provisions. Patent of Toleration: Freedom of religion granted in all the Habsburg territories.

1598 1615 1618–48 1618–19 1620 1624 1627

1633 1648 1655–60 1658 1675 1685 1712

1722 1722 1773 1768

1781

Compiled by Agata Niedzielska.

Introduction: Searching for Compromise Maciej Ptaszyński | ORCID: 0000-0003-2508-061X In April 1570, representatives of three Protestant churches in the Polish– Lithuanian Commonwealth formally debated and accepted one another’s respective confessions and resolved to cooperate.1 The debate took place in a small town in the south of the country, Sandomierz (Sandomir). As a result of their lengthy synod, they signed the Sandomir Consensus and proclaimed the Sandomir Confession. Despite its name, the confession of faith was nothing more than Heinrich Bullinger’s Second Helvetic Confession translated into Polish.2 The Consensus—on the contrary—was not only an original achievement but also became crucial for the development of Protestantism in the Commonwealth and in Europe at large. Soon, it entered the canon of translations invoked by proponents of Christian irenicism in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries like David Pareus, Hugo Grotius, Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, Daniel Ernst Jablonski, and Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf.3 Together with the Warsaw Confederation, signed in 1573, it laid the cornerstone for the idea of “Polish toleration,” which became a permanent feature of contemporary European historiography.4 The Sandomierz synod and the resulting Sandomir Consensus embody the entire spectrum of early modern irenicism that “points to the efforts of church 1 Manuscipts of the proceedings in: Národní muzeum (Praha), Fragm. 1 E b 1/3, fol. 1r–38v (the synod). Edited in: Maria Sipayłło, ed., Akta Synodów Różnowierczych w Polsce, vol. 2 (Warszawa: Wydawnictwa Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, 1972), 272–301; a new edition in: Alberto Melloni, ed., Conciliorum oecumenicorum generaliumque decreta, vol. 6, part 7 [forthcoming]. 2 The reprint: Krystyna Długosz-Kurczabowa, ed., Konfesja sandomierska (Warszawa: Semper, 1995). For a solid analysis see: Jerzy Lehmann, Konfesja sandomierska na tle innych wyznań (Warszawa: Mietke, 1937). 3 Kęstutis Daugirdas, “Konsens von Sandomierz—Consensus Sendomirensis, 1570. Einleitung und kritische Edition,” in Reformierte Bekenntnisschriften, ed. Andreas Mühling, vol. 3,1 (Neukirchen: Neukirchener Theologie, 2013), 1–20; Oskar Halecki, Zgoda sandomierska 1570 r. (Warszawa: Gebethner i Wolff, 1915); Maciej Ptaszyński, “Der Konsens von Sendomir in der europäischen Irenik,” in Confessio im Konflikt. Religiöse Selbst- und Fremdwahrnehmung in der Frühen Neuzeit. Ein Studienbuch, ed. Mona Garloff, Christian Volkmar Witt (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2019), 255–78. 4 Janusz Tazbir, A State without Stakes: Polish Religious Toleration in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (Warszawa: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, 1973); Hans-Joachim Müller, Irenik als Kommunikationsreform. Das Colloquium Charitativum von Thorn 1645 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), 69–72.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004527447_002

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Ptaszyński

leaders seeking to minimize doctrinal difference and discover a common theological platform between different Christian traditions,” as recently defined by Howard Louthan.5 Early modern irenicism walked a narrow path between proselytism and syncretism, both of which were condemned or at least controversial in early modern times. On the one hand, proselytism could lead to conversion that might end the confessional division but simultaneously throw the sincerity of religious choices and freedom of conscience into question. On the other hand, a common platform and religious agreement was not supposed to mean a syncretistic mixing of the disparate elements of confessions that would in effect only have ended up creating a new denomination and thus contributed to further fragmentation of Christianity. The early modern era rejected such a syncretism that combined different elements of doctrine or liturgy. In Sandomierz, however, the peaceful dialogue of theologians during the synod, secured by influential politicians backing the initiative, made it possible to find theoretical solutions that would safeguard the coexistence of multiple confessions.6 The signed document expressed mutual recognition of the three Protestant churches of their respective stances on “all the main points of doctrine,” explicitly including a compromise formula in the article on the Eucharist. Further on, it described the basic outlines of cooperation: joint church visitations and synods, intercommunion, and prohibition of confessional polemics or any form of proselytizing. However, the same synod also revealed the limits of such an arrangement, as described by Howard Hotson with examples of other analogical irenic attempts in the Holy Roman Empire.7 The initiative came from the Reformed Confession (Calvinists and Bohemian Brethren), so the Lutherans reacted with reluctance to it from the very beginning and repeatedly attempted to hinder the talks. The final compromise faced resistance from followers of all confessions, so its implementation was long delayed, and in the end Lutherans rejected the agreement.8 Representatives of the Catholic Church were not invited to the debate, and Antitrinitarian groups (Unitarians, also called Socinians—see 5 Howard Louthan, “Irenicism and Ecumenism in the Early Modern World,” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 61 (2017): 6. 6 See Wilhelm Holtmann, “Irenik,” in Theologische Realenzyklopädie, ed. Gerhard Müller et al., vol. 16 (Berlin, New York: De Gruyter, 1987), 268. 7 Howard Hotson, “Irenicism in the Confessional Age. The Holy Roman Empire, 1563–1648”, in Conciliation and Confession. The Struggle for Unity in the Age of Reform, 1415–1648, ed. Howard P. Louthan, Randall C. Zachman (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2004), 232–3. 8 Wilhelm Bickerich, “Zur Geschichte der Auflösung des Sendomirer Vergleichs,” Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte NF 12, 49 (1930): 350–81.

Introduction: Searching for Compromise

3

below) were also excluded from participation, thus limiting the irenic dialogue to selected members of selected Protestant churches, and ultimately to the Reformed Churches. More importantly, as the synod did not take place under the patronage of the king, its resolutions and proclamations had no legal status in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth, remaining merely an agreement between the respective churches. Its procedures and outcomes taken together, the Sandomir Consensus perfectly exemplifies the problems of interconfessional dialogue and religious peace in the early modern era: triggered by the Reformation and the division of Western Christianity, and fueled by persecutions and the catastrophes of wars of religion, leading to the placement by historians of irenic attempts as a mere chapter in the history of toleration that has played a starring role in the historiography of Western civilization. Consequently, the Sandomir Consensus provides an opportunity to generate a broader discussion of irenicism in Central and Eastern Europe, and it serves as the starting point for the considerations presented in this volume. 1

Irenicism, Toleration, and Coexistence

This volume is devoted to the theories and practices that not only enabled dialogue between these rivaling Christian confessions, but also safeguarded their peaceful agreement and subsequent coexistence. “Searching for compromise” performed in the early modern era on the overlapping planes of theology, law, and social praxis. Subsequently, it has been addressed within the interconnected research on irenicism, toleration, and social history. And while the two latter trends have been highly popular in the historiography, the research on irenicism has remained in the shadows. This collection of studies takes as its point of departure the debate on the development of toleration in Europe, in which Hans Rudolf Guggisberg distinguished two strands: one focusing on the development of theoretical thought and the other focusing on the social determinants of the coexistence of various religions and confessions.9 To make this distinction unequivocally, some scholars proposed separating tolerance from toleration: the former implies a liberal-minded attitude, whereas the latter refers to the legislation or formal conditions of coexistence. However, as Evan Haefeli recently put it, the researchers “are inconsistent in their usage of the terms. What is designated

9 Hans R. Guggisberg, Religiöse Toleranz: Dokumente zur Geschichte einer Forderung (StuttgartBad Cannstatt: frommann-holzboog, 1984), 9–11.

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toleration in some studies appears as tolerance in others—or the terms are simply used interchangeably.”10 The first trend, focused on the thinkers considered by contemporary scholars to be the most important in the modern era, was dominant in nineteenthand early twentieth-century historiography, but valuable monographs are being published to this day.11 This stream of literature served to document the creation of a theoretical framework for the concept of toleration. Rooted in its “natural habitat of intellectual history”—as Heiko A. Oberman put it— toleration developed in “the creative triangle Basel–London–Amsterdam.”12 On the one hand, the powerful intellectual, economic, and print centers allowed, inspired, even actively supported contributions to the theoretical framework of toleration. On the other hand, this “natural habitat” was also a natural environment of the researchers who defined the canon of the most important thinkers, and relatively rarely looked in other directions. The catalog of authors under the microscope began with the humanists (like Nicholas of Cusa), headed by Erasmus and his friend Thomas More. They were accompanied by reformers (Martin Luther, Philipp Melanchthon, Martin Bucer, John à Lasco, John Calvin), who were traditionally praised as advocates of toleration but later rebuked by revisionists as bigots calling for persecution. Finally, the group of pioneers of toleration included nonorthodox humanists and radical Protestants (Sebastian Franck, Kaspar Schwenckfeld, 10 11

12

Evan Haefeli, “The Problem with the History of Toleration,” in Politics of Religious Freedom?, ed. Elizabeth Shakman Hurd and Winnifred Sullivan (University of Chicago Press, 2016), 105. Recently Arnold Angenendt, ‘Lasst beides wachsen bis zur Ernte’: Toleranz in der Geschichte des Christentums (Münster: Aschendorff Verlag, 2018); Rainer Forst, Toleration in Conflict: Past and Present, trans. Ciaran Cronin (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 160–265; Gary Remer, Humanism and the Rhetoric of Toleration (University Park, Pa.: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1996); Henry Kamen, The Rise of Toleration (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1967). See also many works by Roland Bainton, summarized in his, The Travail of Religious Liberty (Philadelphia: Rolland Press 1951); Joseph Lecler, Histoire de la tolérance au siècle de la Réforme, 2 vol. (Paris: Aubier, 1955); Johannes Kühn, Toleranz und Offenbarung. Eine Untersuchung der Motive and Motivformen der Toleranz im Offenbarunggläubigen Protestantismus. Zugleich ein Versuch zur neueren Religionund Geistesgeschichte (Leipzig: F. Meiner, 1923); Willbur K. Jordan, The Development of Religious Toleration in England from the Convention of the Long Parliament to the Restoration, 1640–1660: The Revolutionary Experiments and Dominant Religious Thought (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1938); Karl Völker, Toleranz und Intoleranz im Zeitalter der Reformation (Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung, 1912). Heiko A. Oberman, “The Travail of Tolerance: Containing Chaos in Early Modern Europe,” in Tolerance and Intolerance in the European Reformation, ed. Ole Peter Grell and Bob Scribner (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 13.

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Sebastian Castellio, Michel de Montaigne), select Catholic authors of religious disputes in the mid-sixteenth century (Julius Pflug, Georg Cassander, Johannes Gropper, Georg Witzel), and lay politicians (Michel de l’Hôpital). These analyses—cataloged under intellectual history, the history of ideas, theology, or philosophy—often portrayed the calls to abandon violence in confessional disputes as a contribution to the development of toleration. This tradition peaked among the writings of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century thinkers. Among them, a special place was occupied by adherents of Fausto Socini (1539–1604), called Socinians, whose works, published anonymously in the seventeenth-century Netherlands as Bibliotheca Fratrum Polonorum, reached the most eminent minds of the day, such as Hugo Grotius, Baruch Spinoza, and John Locke.13 The idea of toleration, rooted in the ancient philosophical traditions (especially in skepticism), and in Middle Ages theology, was subsequently employed as a response to confessional conflicts in the early modern era. And so, it formed an important component of Enlightenment thought and became a part of the dispute over the legacy of the Enlightenment triggered by Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer, and revitalized by Alasdair MacIntyre and Charles Taylor.14 The concept of religious toleration would thereby represent a vital contribution to shaping contemporary liberal democracies and the secular world.15 In the words of John Rawls: “The historical origin of political liberalism (and of liberalism more generally) is the Reformation and its aftermath, with the long controversies over religious toleration in the sixteenth and seventeenth century.”16 13

14

15

16

Kęstutis Daugirdas, Die Anfänge des Sozinianismus: Genese und Eindringen des historischethischen Religionsmodells in den universitären Diskurs der Evangelischen in Europa (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016); Sarah Mortimer, Reason and Religion in the English Revolution: The Challenge of Socinianism (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2010). See also: Jonathan Israel, The Radical Enlightenment: Philosophy and the Making of Modernity 1650–1750 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 205–8; Melissa S. Williams, Jeremy Waldron, ed., Toleration and its Limits (New York: New York University Press, 2008). Jeffrey R. Collins, “Redeeming the Enlightenment: New Histories of Religious Toleration,” The Journal of Modern History 81 (2009): 607–36; Maïwenn Roudot, Tolérance et reconnaissance en débat: des lumières allemandes à l’Ecole de Francfort (Pessac: Presses universi­ taires de Bordeaux, 2015). Brad Gregory, The Unintended Reformation. How a Religious Revolution Secularized Society (Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2012); Bican Şahin, Toleration: The Liberal Virtue (Lanham: Lexington Books 2010); Perez Zagorin, How the Idea of Religious Toleration Came to the West (Princeton: Princeton University Press 2003), 289–331. John Rawls, Political Liberalism (New York: Columbia University Press, 1993), xxiv.

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When held alongside the euphoric eulogy to liberalism delivered by Whig historiography and its counterparts in other national traditions,17 the tone of the recent analytical studies can often seem rather more skeptical. Research has shown how strongly the sixteenth-century toleration associated the question of preserving peace, rooted in the medieval and humanist ideal pax et concordia, with concern for arriving at the position of a single Christian confession. Looking at the group of “moyenneurs” (moderati homines), who were seeking an irenic middle way (via media) between Protestantism and Catholicism during the French Wars of Religion, Mario Turchetti suggested separating the concept of religious concord from “political tolerance.”18 Turchetti’s critique sought to demonstrate that the umbrella term “toleration” as an analytical tool did not allow for a clear and accurate characterization of historical actors, their intentions, or the effects of their actions (unions, colloquies, religious agreements).19 What is more, the disjunction—concord or toleration—pointed at the opposite logic of both actions: “refusal of diversity versus acceptance of diversity.”20 An analogous criticism can also be made of tolerant attitudes. Although a tolerant approach was meant to enable dialogue and an exchange of arguments, its ultimate purpose was to restore Christian unity, not to promote a happy world of many religions. Subsequently, the toleration in early modern times can hardly be characterized as “acceptance of diversity.” On the contrary, many sixteenth- and seventeenth-century thinkers had no doubts that religious unity found its fullest representation in their respective confessions.21 17 18

19

20 21

Herbert Butterfield, The Whig-Interpretation of History (London: G. Bell and Sons, 1931); Keith C. Sewell, “The ‘Herbert Butterfield Problem’ and Its Resolution,” Journal of the History of Ideas 64 (2003): 599–618. Mario Turchetti, Concordia o tolleranza? François Bauduin (1520–1573) e i ‘Moyenneurs’ (Milano: Franco Angeli, 1984), 11–25, 201–33, 402–49; id., “Religious Concord and Political Tolerance in Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-Century France,” The Sixteenth Century Journal 22 (1991): 15–25. Turchetti, Concordia, 406 (“Bisogna distinguere e precisare, se si vogliono correttamente focalizzare, tra gli stessi fautori della libertà di conscienza, diversità di teorie e di intenti, che a uno sguardo d’insieme sembrano confusamente spinger irenisti, ‘moderati et pacificatores,’ ‘moyenneurs,’ riunionisti, tolleranti, libertini spirituali, pacifisti, politiques ante litteram, erasmiani, altri gruppi intermedi e perfino i protestanti francesi, tutti verso un unico scopo: la tolleranza”). A similar attempt: Bob Scribner, “Preconditions of Tolerance and Intolerance in Sixteenth-Century Germany,” in Tolerance and Intolerance, 32–47. Diarmaid MacCulloch, “Archbishop Cranmer: Concord and Tolerance in a Changing Church,” in Tolerance and Intolerance, 199. Roland H. Bainton, “The Parable of the Tares as the Proof Text of Religious Liberty to the End of the 16th Century,” Church History 1 (1932): 67–89, id., Erasmus of Christendom (London: Collins 1970), 313–15; Wallace K. Ferguson, “The Attitude of Erasmus toward

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Some of them (like Thomas More or Justus Lipsius) did not even hesitate to approve of persecution.22 In other words, religious toleration was not a positive value in itself, but merely “a necessary evil” and an alternative to bloodshed and religious wars. And so—to quote Alexandra Walsham’s catchy phrase—“toleration is itself a form of intolerance”; it was “charitable hatred.”23 Ultimately—sometimes contrary to the intentions of modern scholars—such deliberations led to separating the sixteenth- and seventeenth-century notion of toleration from its Enlightenment-era counterpart, or even to rejecting the use of this term in the early modern period.24 Naturally, appeals to abandon violence in resolving disputes must always be formulated from within specific historical, political, and social situations. This observation, obvious to the historian, nevertheless has important implications. On the one hand, the provisional character of these recommendations could all too easily undermine the sincerity of such declarations. On the other hand, an analysis of the historical context of calls for peace and dialogue can influence the interpretation of the meaning of a tolerant or irenic message. And so it was that, looking at the “politics of tolerance” in the Netherlands, Andrew Pettegree emphasized the pragmatic function of “an image” of the tolerant country that was “part of a more or less conscious effort to dress a young independent nation with a plausible historical heritage.” The image was also a political weapon that “could be used as ruthlessly and cynically as persecution

22

23 24

Toleration,” in id., Renaissance Studies (Ontario: Humanities Department, University of Western Ontario, 1963), 80–82; Hans Rudolf Guggisberg, “Parität, Neutralität und Toleranz,” Zwingliana 15 (1982): 632–49; Manfred Hoffman, “Erasmus and Religious Toleration,” Erasmus Studies 2 (1982): 80–106; Gerhard Ebeling, “Die Toleranz Gottes und die Toleranz der Vernunft,” Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche 78 (1981): 442–64. G.R. Elton, “Persecution and Toleration in the English Reformation,” Studies in Church History 21 (1984): 163–87. On the variously understood paradoxes: John Christian Laursen, Maria José Villaverde, ed., Paradoxes of Religious Toleration in Early Modern Political (Lanham, Md.: Lexington Books, 2012). Alexandra Walsham, Charitable Hatred: Tolerance and Intolerance in England, 1500–1700 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2006), 5; Barbara de Negroni, Intolérances. Catholiques et protestants en France, 1560–1787 (Paris: Hachette, 1996). See Zagorin, How the Idea, 290–91 (“With John Locke and Pierre Bayle, we reach a point of transition in the concept of toleration […]. The Enlightenment stood for a constellation of themes that marked something of a break with the past”); Alexandra Walsham, “Cultures of Coexistence in Early Modern England: History, Literature and Religious Toleration,” The Seventeenth Century 28 (2013): 115 (“Early modern toleration was thus not an ideal or a virtue. It diverged significantly from the definition of mutual acceptance and denominational equality, autonomy and freedom, adopted by influential modern political theorists such as John Rawls”); Sarah Mortimer, “Human Liberty and Human Nature in the Works of Faustus Socinus and His Readers,” Journal of the History of Ideas 70 (2009): 191–211.

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and intolerance to further particular political ends.”25 It was not only “a slogan, which could be exploited with a high degree of cynicism by different religious groupings,” and “served particular strategic ends,” but also “the party cry of the disappointed, the dispossessed, or the seriously confused.”26 Analogous formulations and findings have been made in the study of irenicism. Contrary to the assumption that irenicism dwells by its nature in opposition to polemicism,27 research in recent decades has often emphasized the polemical character of irenic treatises.28 If toleration could be called by Andrew Pettegree “a loser’s creed,” then irenicism could be termed the weapon of the powerless.29 Such contextualization thus exposes the rhetoric of toleration or irenicism as a code that often serves purposes other than peaceful coexistence or the creation of a common theological platform between Christian traditions. However, this observation provokes a more general question: whether irenic thought had ever anything to do with toleration. Besides similar means and arguments, there was little in common between the two traditions, and certainly much that separated them. The stated aims of the irenic tradition were to bring confessions together and to search for common theological ground, or at least to reflect openly on differences, whereas the goal of toleration—even if perceived simply as a lesser evil—was to enable a peaceful if disapproving or even sometimes contemptuous coexistence, often side by side. Eventually, the success of the toleration project could have ended the theological dialogue and overturned attempts at understanding, or, by contrast, engagement in theological dialogue might have threatened the peaceful coexistence that was based on confessional separation. In the end, the irenic project ended in failure after failure. Studies on religious dialogue organized by Erasmian and Melanchthonian (also called Philippistic) 25 26 27

28

29

Andrew Pettegree, “The Politics of Toleration in the Free Netherlands, 1572–1620,” in Tolerance and Intolerance, 183. Ibid., 183, 198. Holtmann, “Irenik,” 268 (“Die Irenik analysiert im Unterschied zu der intoleranteren Polemik, für die der Gedanke einer möglichen Übereinkunft zwischen den Konfessionen keinen Wert hat, die bestehenden religiösen Spannungen und Unterschiede, die das Zusammenwachsen des Sozialgebildes Kirche beeinträchtigen”). Christian Volkmar Witt, “Keine Irenik ohne Polemik. Konfessionelle Wahrnehmungsformationen am Beispiel des David Pareus,” in Confessio im Barock. Religiöse Wahrnehmungsformationen im 17. Jahrhundert, ed. Malte van Spankeren, Christian Volkmar Witt (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlaganstalt, 2015), 17–53; Christian Volkmar Witt, “Innerprotestantische Ökumene und Bekenntnis,” in Die „Confessio Augustana‟ im ökumenischen Gespräch, ed. Günter Frank, Volker Leppin and Tobias Licht (Berlin, Boston: De Gruyter, 2021), 133–56. Alexander Schunka, Ein neuer Blick nach Westen. Deutsche Protestanten und Großbritannien, 1688–1740 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2019).

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theologians in sixteenth-century Germany demonstrated that, despite irenic efforts, no consensus was possible.30 Even if members of said disputes finally agreed on theological formulas that were acceptable to them, they failed to attract greater recognition outside their circles.31 As Mark Greengrass put it, in the seventeenth century “Christendom had become a pipedream for irenicists. […] It was a chimera because the basis for its aspirations lay in acts of state and diplomacy which shelved rather than solved the politico-religious tensions of the day.”32 2

Confessionalization and “Confessional Culture”

Reflection on the inevitable failure of irenic initiatives contributed to the main debates about the processes of “confessionalization” and the creation of “confessional cultures.” Heinz Schilling and Wolfgang Reinhard, and a whole host of historians after them, regarded “confessionalization” as a historical era, a macrohistorical process, and a historiographic paradigm all at the same time, that tied together the social, political, cultural, and religious transformations of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.33 Among the catalysts of changes occurring throughout early modern Europe, historians considered confessions to be the foremost, claiming that analogical and parallel processes took place in all Christian denominations. By putting the confessional issues 30 31

32 33

Klaus Ganzer, ed., Akten der deutschen Reichsreligionsgespräche im 16. Jahrhundert, 3 vol. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000–2007). Athina Lexutt, Rechtfertigung im Gespräch: das Rechtfertigungsverständnis in den Religionsgesprächen von Hagenau, Worms und Regensburg 1540/41 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996); Björn Slenczka, Das Wormser Schisma der Augsburger Konfessionsverwandten von 1557: protestantische Konfessionspolitik und Theologie im Zusammenhang des zweiten Wormser Religionsgesprächs (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010); Dulden oder Verstehen. Dokumentation zu den „Wormser Religionsgesprächen‟ vom 19. bis 21. April 2013 in Worms, ed. Volker Gallé (Worms: Worms Verlag, 2013); Saskia Schultheis, Die Verhandlungen über das Abendmahl und die übrigen Sakramente auf dem Religionsgespräch in Regensburg 1541 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013). Mark Greengrass, Christendom destroyed: Europe 1517–1648 (London: Penguin Books, 2015), 593. Heinz Schilling, “Die Konfessionalisierung im Reich. Religiöser und gesellschaftlicher Wandel in Deutschland zwischen 1555 und 1620,” Historische Zeitschrift 246 (1988): 1–45, the English version: id., “Confessionalization in the Empire. Religious and Societal Change in Germany between 1555 and 1620,” in id., Religion, Political Culture and the Emergence of Early Modern Society. Essays in German and Dutch History (Leiden: Brill, 1992), 205–45. See also: Ute Lotz-Heumann and Matthias Pohlig, “Confessionalization and Literature in the Empire, 1555–1700,” Central European History 40 (2007): 35–61.

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at the center of historical transformations, the scholars were able to draw on one plane, at the theological level, a clear distinction between an alleged medieval religious coexistence and the early modern confessional struggles. At the social, political, and cultural level, they were able to link religion with secular and liberal modernity by identifying the confessions as the central factor in the emergence of the early modern state and the process of modernization. Despite the skeptical voices, the paradigm of “confessionalization” proved to be an extremely handy tool of analysis, enabling social historians to collaborate with researchers studying the history of thought and theology. At the same time, the employment of this tool generated numerous debates on statism, the role of political and religious elites, the theory of modernization, and the functionalization of religion in modern research.34 Could the macrohistorical paradigm retain its explanatory power at the microhistorical level? Revisiting various threads present in these debates, Thomas Kaufmann proposed a conceptual category of “confessional cultures.” This Konfessionskultur was described as the product of defining the theological proprium (by publishing confessions or professions of faith, developing controversial theology, cultivating disputations, creating a historiographical tradition), which would then influence other dimensions of culture.35 In contrast to the parallelism of social and religious processes and structures claimed by “confessionalization” theory, the concept of “confessional culture” should thus make it possible to focus on confessional distinctiveness, since the formation of confessional cultures should give rise to an individual character for each confession. The focus on confessional self-perception and self-representation should modify the role of the social structures, which was so crucial for the macrohistorical paradigm of “confessionalization.” The definition of “confessional culture” proposed by Kaufmann, who was adopting studies of Lutheranism as his starting point, uses the idea of a confessional hard core that determines the shapes of culture. Even if the confessional 34 35

Stefan Ehrenpreis, Ute Lotz-Heumann, Reformation und konfessionelles Zeitalter (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2002), 62–79. Thomas Kaufmann, Dreißigjähriger Krieg und Westfälischer Friede: kirchengeschichtliche Studien zur lutherischen Konfessionskultur (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998); id., Konfession und Kultur: lutherischer Protestantismus in der zweiten Hälfte des Reformationsjahrhunderts (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck 2006); Thomas Maissen, “Konfessionskulturen in der frühneuzeitlichen Eidgenossenschaft. Eine Einführung,” Schweizerische Zeitschrift für Religions- und Kulturgeschichte 101 (2007): 225–46; Matthias Pohlig, “Harter Kern und longue durée. Überlegungen zum Begriff der (lutherischen) Konfessionskultur,” Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 109 (2018): 389–401. A slightly different approach in: Michael Maurer, Konfessionskulturen: die Europäer als Protestanten und Katholiken (Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh, 2019).

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proprium can find its expression in many forms, not only in the Creed, Kaufmann’s centrifugal image suits perfectly the Lutheran formation in the German Empire where the Confessio Augustana—presented at the Reichstag in Augsburg in 1530, confirmed in the Peace of Augsburg in 1555, and petrified in the Book of Concord in 1580—played a dominant role. For other confessional cultures, however, this model may be questioned or appear inadequate. For example, Reformed confessions developed from many traditions and took different shapes in Switzerland, the Netherlands, the German Empire, France, Scotland, and Eastern Europe.36 Perhaps it was the historical background, experiences of exile and persecution, the need to adapt to new circumstances, and a collective self-perception as a minority group that led to the fact that “irenical initiatives stem almost entirely from the Reformed side.”37 Contrary to Reformed tradition, irenic thought was much weaker in the Lutheran confessional culture, despite the fact that the concept of “adiaphora” belonged to the core of Lutheranism. This theological concept of matters of indifference enabled the differentiation between essential components and secondary elements of the confession, and implied that nonessential elements were negotiable. Opening the Lutheran confessional culture to adaptations of some elements of the medieval tradition, whether material or immaterial (pieces of art in church interiors, liturgical vestments, songs and prayers, or some church institutions), and possibly for a dialogue with the Reformed Confession and Catholicism, the notion of adiaphora provoked an intense controversy during the theological and political crises of 1548–50.38 While Philipp Melanchthon and some Lutheran theologians would accept the political and theological compromise imposed by the emperor, according to the famous statement by Matthias Flacius Illyricus, confirmed later in the Formula of Concord (1577), “in casu confessionis et scandali” there was no place for “adiaphora.” Regardless of the outcome of the struggle between the Philippists and the Flacians, according to Markus Friedrich “adiaphorism did not become a universal founding principle in the discourse on toleration, […] [and] adiaphora have received

36

37 38

Philip Benedict, Christ’s Churches Purely Reformed. A Social History of Calvinism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002); Kaspar von Greyerz, “Das Reformiertentum,” in Handbuch der Religionsgeschichte im deutschsprachigen Raum, vol. 6, ed. Kaspar von Greyerz, Anne Conrad (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2012), 311–413, here 311–20. Hotson, “Irenicism,” 233. Irene Dingel, ed., Der Adiaphoristische Streit (1548–1560) (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012); Andrew Spicer, “Adiaphora, Luther and the Material Culture of Worship,” Studies in Church History 56 (2020): 246–72.

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little further attention in the recent historiography on toleration.”39 The role of the “adiaphora” concept for and within the irenic tradition seems to be only marginal, even if it remains an open research question. Even if both paradigms, “confessionalization” and “confessional cultures,” provided researchers with an analytical toolbox, they also directed the research interests and dictated some estimations. Despite the general claims of these models, which should enable scholars to describe the situation in Europe more adequately and holistically, the applicability of paradigms to Eastern and Central Europe, where narratives in social, political, and cultural history took turns different from those in Western Europe, remains questionable.40 Additionally, from the point of view of both models, which presuppose an increasing divergence of churches and confessions, the irenic efforts and confessional coexistence could only be of marginal importance. And so, the dominance of these historiographical approaches has forced historians to revisit the concepts of irenicism, toleration, and religious compromise. However, the results of numerous studies have revealed an inconsistent picture. Despite ever-sharper confessional divisions, the coexistence of multiple denominations was a widespread social and political phenomenon in early modern Europe. In the words of Benjamin J. Kaplan, “the practice of toleration did not await the Enlightenment.”41 The origins of multiple coexisting confessions were associated not so much with the development of political theory as with social practice.42 39

40

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42

Markus Friedrich, “Orthodoxy and Variation: The Role of Adiaphorism in Early Modern Protestantism,” in Randolph C. Head and Daniel Christenssen, eds, Orthodoxies and Heterodoxies in Early Modern German Culture: Order and Creativity, 1550–1750 (Leiden, 2007), 62. Winfried Eberhard, “Voraussetzungen und strukturelle Grundlagen der Konfessiona­ lisierung in Ostmitteleuropa,” in Konfessionalisierung in Ostmitteleuropa. Wirkungen des religiösen Wandels im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert in Staat, Gesellschaft und Kultur, ed. Joachim Bahlcke, Arno Strohmeyer (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1999), 89–103; Anna Ohlidal, “Konfessionalisierung: ein Paradigma der historischen Frühneuzeitforschung und die Frage seiner Anwendbarkeit auf Böhmen,” Studia Rudolphina 3 (2003): 19–28; Olga Fejtová, “Německá diskuse ke konfesionalizaci v evropském kontextu,” Český časopis historický 109 (2011): 739–85. Benjamin J. Kaplan, Divided by Faith. Religious Conflict and the Practice of Toleration in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2007), 355; id., Cunegonde’s Kidnapping: a Story of Religious Conflict in the Age of Enlightenment (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2014), 1–17; id., Reformation and the Practice of Toleration (Leiden: Brill 2019). See also: Sascha Salatowsky, Winfried Schröder, ed., Duldung religiöser Vielfalt—Sorge um die wahre Religion: Toleranzdebatten in der Frühen Neuzeit (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2016). See Jean Bérenger, Tolérance ou paix de religion en Europe centrale (1415–1792) (Paris: Honoré Champion, 2000); Wojciech Kriegseisen, Between State and Church: Confessional Relations from Reformation to Enlightenment: Poland–Lithuania–Germany–Netherlands

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Challenging the concept of confessionalization, Thomas M. Safley observed: “Multiconfessionalism, understood here as the legally recognized and politically supported coexistence of two or more confessions in a single polity, be it a city-state or territorial state, was the rule rather than the exception for most regions and polities that experienced Reformation.”43 However, contrary to Safley’s claims, the “ubiquity of multiconfessionalism” does not necessarily lead to the conclusion that “confessionalization strictu sensu simply does not work.”44 The phenomenon of the coexistence of multiple denominations does not so much challenge the paradigm of “confessionalization” as provoke questions about the preconditions and modalities of this coexistence. According to David M. Luebke, “the regimes of coexistence were subject to many of the same forces that also shaped mono-confessional systems as they emerged from the cultural stew of sixteenth-century pluralization.”45 In other words, the abovementioned opposition between normative and non-normative approaches can be misleading, since a social pragmatic had its regulations and rules as well. The “modes of social interaction that were both upheld and constrained in everyday life by shared assumptions, points of doctrinal consensus, accustomed behavior, and sometimes even laws and formal agreements” formed— as Luebke put it—“regimes of religious cohabitation” based on calculations of costs and benefits.46 The existence of various denominations side by side was possible due to precise regulations and practical agreements on the use of churches (e.g., Simultankirchen) as well as Christians’ mutual respect for the fundamental institutions of society (e.g., baptisms and marriages). In biconfessional German cities (best studied and described by the example of Reichsstädte), and in some other regions of the German Empire, the Netherlands, France, the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth, and Transylvania, these forms of coexistence were legally regulated.47 In other parts of Europe, the coexistence of

43 44 45 46 47

(Frankfurt a.M.: Peter Lang, 2016); Martin Dumont, ed., Coexistences confessionelles en Europe à l’époque moderne (Paris: Édition du Cerf, 2016). Thomas Max Safley, “Introduction,” in A Companion to Multiconfessionalism in the Early Modern World, ed. id. (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 1–22, here 7. Such a conclusion in: ibid. 15. David M. Luebke, Hometown Religion: Regimes of Coexistence in Early Modern Westphalia, 1553–1650 (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2016), 18. Ibid., 6, 15. Joachim Whaley, Religious Toleration and Social Change in Hamburg, 1529–1819 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985); Etienne François, Die unsichtbare Grenze. Protestanten und Katholiken in Augsburg 1648–1806 (Sigmaringen: Thorbecke, 1991); Christiane Berkvens-Stevelinck, Jonathan Irvine Israel, and G.H.M. Posthumus Meyjes, eds., The Emergence of Toleration in the Dutch Republic (Leiden: Brill, 1997); Roni Po-Chia Hsia, Henk van Nierop, eds., Calvinism and Religious Toleration in the Dutch Golden

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multiple faiths was based on mechanisms of selective perception adopted by secular authorities, who tolerated elements of heterodoxy within the society, differentiated between the personal and public space (freedom of conscience and freedom of worship), and adopted tactics of simulation and dissimulation (like Auslaufen).48 An “invisible border” (Étienne François) simultaneously divided different faiths from one another and enabled various forms of coexistence that nonetheless extended to litigation and violence.49 Apparently, good fences did not always make good neighbors. The general framework of this cohabitation was defined by religious peace treaties and agreements.50 As Irene Dingel pointed out, the religious peace

48

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Age (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002); Jesse Spohnholz, The Tactics of Toleration: a Refugee Community in the Age of Religious Wars (Newark, Del.: University of Delaware Press, 2011); Howard Louthan, Gary B. Cohen, and Franz A.J. Szabo, eds., Diversity and Dissent: Negotiating Religious Difference in Central Europe, 1500–1800 (New York: Berghahn, 2011); Victoria Christman, Pragmatic toleration: the politics of religious heterodoxy in early Reformation Antwerp, 1515–1555 (Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2015); Andrea Riotte, Diese so oft beseufzte Parität. Biberach 1649–1825: Politik–Konfession– Alltag (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer Verlag, 2017); Thomas Richter, “Coping with Religious Diversity in Everyday Life in the Borderlands of Western Europe. Catholics, Protestants and Jews in Vaals,” Acta Poloniae Historica 116 (2017): 149–69; Marjorie Elizabeth Plummer, Victoria Christman, eds., Topographies of Tolerance and Intolerance: Responses to Religious Pluralism in Reformation Europe (Leiden: Brill, 2018); Gábor Kármán, Confession and Politics in the Principality of Transylvania 1644–1657 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2020). John Bossy, The English Catholic Community 1570–1850 (London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1976); Alexandra Walsham, Church Papists: Catholicism, Conformity and Confessional Polemic in Early Modern England (Woodbridge: Boydell Press 1993); Thierry Wanegffelen, Ni Rome ni Genève: des fidèles entre deux chaires en France au XVIe siècle (Paris: Honoré Champion Éditeur, 1997); Lisa McClain, Lest We be Damned: Practical Innovation and Lived Experience Among Catholics in Protestant England, 1559–1642 (New York: Routledge, 2004); Benjamin J. Kaplan, ed., Catholic Communities in Protestant States: Britain and the Netherlands c. 1570–1720 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2009); Scott Sowerby, Making Toleration: The Repealers and the Glorious Revolution (Cambridge Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2013); Christine Kooi, Calvinists and Catholics during Holland’s Golden Age. Heretics and Idolaters (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012); Andreas Pietsch, Barbara Stollberg-Rilinger, eds., Konfessionelle Ambiguität: Uneindeutigkeit und Verstellung als religiöse Praxis in der Frühen Neuzeit (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2013); Johannes Paulmann, Matthias Schnettger, and Thomas Weller, eds., Unversöhnte Verschiedenheit. Verfahren zur Bewältigung religiös-konfessioneller Differenz in der europäischen Neuzeit (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016). Keith P. Luria, Sacred Boundaries: Religious Coexistence and Conflict in Early-modern France (Washington, DC: Catholic Univ. of America Press, 2005), 1–46; Philip Benedict, “Un Roi, Une Loi, Deux Fois: Parameters for the History of Catholic-Reformed Co-Existence in France, 1555–1685,” in Tolerance and Intolerance, 91. Irene Dingel, Michael Rohrschneider, Inken Schmidt-Voges, Siegrid Westphal, and Joachim Whaley, eds., Handbuch Frieden im Europa der Frühen Neuzeit. Handbook of Peace in Early

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treaties were “nothing more and nothing less than coexistence regulations […] By no means [did] they [approve Protestants] as a religious community in their own [right], but merely decreed—temporary—suspension of the heresy acts.”51 Following on the regulations proclaimed during and after the Hussite Wars (like the religious peace of Kutná Hora from 148552), resolutions passed by the Imperial Diet of the Holy Roman Empire could be regarded as the first agreements of this type in the age of reform. This succession of treaties peppers the entire history of the Reformation: from agreements adopted at the Diets of Nuremberg (1524) and Speyer (1526),53 to the Second Kappel peace treaty (1532), the Treaty of Passau (1552),54 and the Peace of Augsburg (1555), up to the Peace of Westphalia (1648).55 The role of the German peace treaties led Joachim Whaley to conclude that “toleration was an international idea, but nowhere was the debate as clearly circumscribed in practical, legal and administrative terms as in the Holy Roman Empire.”56 In France, however, edicts passed during the religious wars performed a similar function,57 followed by subsequent modifications to the Edict of Nantes (1598) up to its revocation with the Edict of Fontainebleau (1685).58 Among religious peace treaties

51

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53 54 55 56 57 58

Modern Europe (Berlin: De Gruyter Oldenbourg, 2021). See: Irene Dingel, ed., Religiöse Friedenswahrung und Friedensstiftung in Europa (1500–1800): Digitale Quellenedition frühneuzeitlicher Religionsfrieden: http://tueditions.ulb.tu-darmstadt.de/e000001/. Irene Dingel, “Religionsfrieden,” in Handbuch Frieden, 273 (“Die Religionsfrieden bzw. Religionsfriedensregelungen der Frühen Neuzeit waren nicht mehr und nicht weniger als Koexistenzordnungen. Sie schufen langfristig ein Koexistenzsystem, das sich über geltendes kanonisches Recht hinwegsetzte. Das bedeutete aber nicht, dass sie etwa eine positive Anerkennung der jeweiligen, aus der Reformation hervorgegangenen Gruppierung einräumten. Sie approbierten diese keineswegs als eigene Religionsgemeinschaft, sondern verfügten lediglich die—vorerst zeitweise—Aussetzung des Ketzerrechts”). Jiří Just, Der Kuttenberger Religionsfrieden von 1485, trans. Martin Rothkegel, in Religiöse Erinnerungsorte in Ostmitteleuropa. Konstitution und Konkurrenz im nationen- und epo­ chenübergreifenden Zugriff, ed. Joachim Bahlcke, Stefan Rohdewald, Thomas Wünsch (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2013), 838–50. Armin Kohnle, Reichstag und Reformation. Kaiserliche und ständische Religionspolitik von den Anfängen der Causa Lutheri bis zum Nürnberger Religionsfrieden (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2001), 105–203. Winfried Becker, ed., Der Passauer Vertrag von 1552 (Neustadt/A.: Degener, 2003). Axel Gotthard, Augsburger Religionsfrieden (Münster: Aschendorff, 2004); Heinz Schilling, ed., Der Augsburger Religionsfrieden 1555: wissenschaftliches Symposium aus Anlaß des 450. Jahrestages des Friedensschlusses, (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2007). Whaley, Religious Toleration, 4. See Hugues Daussy, Le parti Huguenot: chronique d’une désillusion (1557–1572) (Genève: Droz, 2014); Mark Greengrass, Governing Passions: Peace and Reform in the French Kingdom: 1576–1585 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007). See David Garrioch, The Huguenots of Paris and the Coming of Religious Freedom, 1685–1789 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 24–44; Christian Mühling, Die europäische Debatte über den Religionskrieg (1679–1714): konfessionelle Memoria und

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considered milestones, the regulations from Eastern Europe—like the Edict of Torda, proclaimed in Hungary in 1568, and the Warsaw Confederation, adopted in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth in 1573—particularly stand out.59 Over a decade ago, Jeffrey R. Collins enumerated the most important features of the “revisionist trends” in the historiography of religious toleration: “an emphasis on local and contingent conditions; a sensitivity to the political uses of toleration; a methodological shift of emphasis away from the history of ideas and toward broader ‘discourses’ and practices of toleration; [and] some attention to the social and economic factors generating pressure toward toleration.”60 Ever since then, there have been recurring calls to combine both of the aforementioned research trends in studies on the theory of toleration and practices of coexistence in confessional Europe.61 The almost parallel development of these trends engenders questions about interactions and spaces of conflict, where debates about toleration overlapped religious dialogue with the practices of coexistence between multiple faiths. 3

Goal of the Volume

With the shift in perspective from the theory of toleration toward the praxis of coexistence, Central and Eastern Europe have rightfully come under the spotlight in the work of current Reformation historians. Previous approaches, in focusing mostly on Western European thought, actors, and solutions, simultaneously sidelined Central and Eastern Europe. This volume follows recent studies by Joachim Bahlcke, David Frick, Howard Louthan, and Graeme Murdock and offers a different focus and broader perspective. Departing from the implicit assumption that the roots of toleration and irenicism are to be sought solely in Western Europe, this work puts Central and Eastern Europe center stage.

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internationale Politik im Zeitalter Ludwigs XIV. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2018); Geoffrey Adams, The Huguenots and French Opinion: 1685–1787. The Enlightenment Debate on Toleration (Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier Univ. Press, 1991), 7–46. Mihály Balázs, Judit Gellérd, Thomas Cooper, “Tolerant Country–Misunderstood Laws. Interpreting Sixteenth-Century Transylvanian Legislation Concerning Religion,” The Hungarian Historical Review 2 (2013): 85–108; Maciej Ptaszyński, “Toleranzedikt, Wahlkapitulationen oder Religionsfrieden? Der polnische Adel und die Warschauer Konföderation,” in Ritterschaft und Reformation, ed. Wolfgang Breul, Kurt Andermann (Regensburg: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2019), 255–69. Collins, “Redeeming the Enlightenment,” 618. Howard Louthan, “Irenicism and Ecumenism.”

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This region entered the circle of Christian culture relatively late, between the ninth and thirteenth centuries, resulting in weak church structures. Consequently, fewer universities were founded in this part of Christian Europe, and the influence of Roman law and humanism was also less potent. At the same time, influences from Western and Eastern Christianity, the Armenian Church, the Hussites, Islam, and Judaism intersected in this area. As previously argued by Howard Louthan, “multiconfessionalism […] was a fundamental characteristic of religious life in Central Europe throughout the early modern period.”62 However, the sources for and mechanisms of the phenomenon of “practical toleration” in Eastern Europe remain a conundrum. As David Frick recently observed: “Perhaps one answer lay in the antiquity of religious difference and coexistence […]. Perhaps another answer lay in the attenuation of binary opposition: not two confessions in one city but five confessions […], which allowed for many types of inclusive and exclusive constellations of individual groups.”63 Other historians (such as Wojciech Kriegseisen, Michael G. Müller, or Janusz Tazbir) pointed to the existence of a secular constitutional system with an eminent role played by the estates as a guarantor of religious freedom.64 Analogically, the strong position of the aristocrats and nobility was often depicted as “political decentralization,” so—to quote Howard Louthan—“many of the settlements guaranteeing religious freedom were compromises produced by a weak central state.”65 On the same assumptions, however, Gottfried Schramm formulated an opposite hypothesis: an absence of definitive commitment on the part of the rulers, who neither supported the Reformation nor persecuted its followers, led to the weakness of the Reformation and the Protestant milieus.66 In other words, the “practical 62 63

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Howard Louthan, “Multiconfessionalism in Central Europe,” in A Companion to Multiconfessionalism, 369–92, here 379. David Frick, Kith, Kin, and Neighbors: Communities and Confessions in Seventeenth-Century Wilno (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2013), 16. See also idem, “Five Confessions in One City: Multiconfessionalism in Early Modern Wilno,” in A Companion to Multiconfessionalism, 417–43. Wojciech Kriegseisen, Die Protestanten in Polen-Litauen (1696–1763): rechtliche Lage, Organisation und Beziehungen zwischen den evangelischen Glaubensgemeinschaften, ed. Joachim Bahlcke, Klaus Ziemer, trans. Peter Oliver Loew, Rafael Sendek (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011); Michael G. Müller, Zweite Reformation und städtische Autonomie im Königlichen Preußen: Danzig, Elbing und Thorn in der Epoche der Konfessionalisierung (1557–1660) (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1997). See a collection of essays: Gottfried Schramm, Polska w dziejach Europy Środkowej: studia, trans. Ewa Płomińska-Krawiec (Poznań: Wydawnictwo Poznańskie, 2010). Louthan, “Multiconfessionalism”, 374. Gottfried Schramm, Der polnische Adel und die Reformation 1548–1607 (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1965).

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toleration”—rooted in the medieval tradition, expressed in relatively peaceful religious coexistence, and guaranteed by the privileges of the nobility— hindered the process of both “confessionalization” and the creation of “cultures of confession,” eventually culminating in the consolidation of secular power. None of these explanations can be accepted without reservation. The recurring elucidation of multiconfessionalism by the medieval tradition drastically reduces the role of the confessional division of the Reformation. The logical link between the “loose state structure,” the “political decentralization,” and the multiconfessional character of the region still demands an explanation and clarification in itself. Last but not least, it reopens the debate on confessionalization as a general explanatory model for early modern history. Was there a place in early modern Europe for a “confessional hybridity” understood as a mélange of different elements of doctrine or liturgy?67 The intention of this volume is to address the problem of religious compromises and confessional coexistence in Eastern and Central Europe from the perspective of case studies, based on primary sources. By looking at local conditions, with sensitivity to political, economic, and social structures, the authors trace the practices and discourses of religious toleration, irenicism, and cohabitation. Implicitly, the presented studies claim that practical toleration is better apprehended at the level of social relations and thus through the lens of social history, and not the history of ideas. A quarter of a century ago, Ole Peter Grell and Robert Scribner advocated for a social history of toleration.68 Now, as social history is in its ascendency or has even passed its peak already, their claim can not only be reiterated but also reformulated. To sidestep and overcome the dichotomy between a “Western theoretical approach” and an “Eastern practical approach” to toleration, it is essential to combine the history of ideas with social history. Furthermore, to a broader extent than in previous publications, the authors attempt to include the perspective of the periphery, made possible by the use of comparative methods, and, reaching beyond the regional context, document the transfer of practices and ideas across Europe between the fifteenth and eighteenth centuries. The goal is neither to replicate “grand narratives” of the Western European toleration, nor to repeat the story of the “special path” 67

68

On a “confessional hybridity” see: Marjorie Elizabeth Plummer, “A View from the Choir: Forming Lutheran Culture in Pluriconfessional Westphalian Convents,” Past & Present 234 (2017): 189–211; David M. Luebke, “Ritual, Religion, and German Home Towns.” Central European History 47 (2014): 499. Grell and Scribner ed., Tolerance and Intolerance, 1–3.

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(Sonderweg) of an Eastern Europe where everything was simply different and incomparable. Focus on the particular actors in their local context should provide new answers to the general questions, offer a new look at the universal processes, and situate the Eastern part of the continent more strongly within the early modern European borders. The central question posed by this volume concerns how followers of various religions and confessions lived alongside one another in early modern Central and Eastern Europe. In the face of the weakness of the state, how was the need for Christian homogeneity and for security of minorities realized? What strategies or factors enabled their peaceful coexistence despite growing religious antagonisms? How did that growing antagonism impact the maintenance of peaceful and pragmatic everyday life? These questions, addressed in the first part of the volume, concern both the social and political determinants (social or religious composition, relationships of power) as well as cultural ones (the importance of medieval traditions or various forms of memory). What laws and regulations enabled the creation and shaped the behaviors of multiconfessional communities? How were the differences between denominations delineated? The opening essay by Christopher Voigt-Goy elucidates some legal aspects of confessional coexistence that in the Holy Roman Empire were regulated by the imperial laws. Voigt-Goy claims that the distinction between “public,” “private,” and “domestic,” canonized in the Peace of Westphalia and pivotal for the European concepts of toleration, was developed by Protestant German jurists around 1600. This conceptual distinction had been developed to protect the religious liberties of confessional minorities that were endangered by the cuius regio, eius religio rule. In a sharp contrast to this legalistic approach by the empire, Bogumił Szady reconstructs analogical solutions in Eastern Europe. Using the example of the right of patronage in Ruthenia, an eastern border region of Poland, Szady demonstrates how the traditional medieval prerogatives of the nobles allowed them to interfere in the appointment of priests and pastors, something that— on the one hand—made the Reformation a question of the individual choice of the nobility and—on the other—enforced a system of the cohabitation of many confessions and religions at the parochial level. An analogical approach is also taken by Uladzimir Padalinski, who investigates another border region: the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, where the Reformation disturbed the medieval cohabitation of the Orthodox and the Catholics. Throughout the sixteenth century, the social structure and legal measures had maintained the confessional stability of the region, even if a microhistorical analysis reveals tension in the everyday life of the Catholics, Orthodox, and Calvinists in Lviv, Vilnius, and

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Polatsk. At the end of the sixteenth century, however, the aggressive expansion of the Jesuit order and the confessional engagement of the secular authorities disrupted this subtle balance of power. Kazimierz Bem and Melchior Jakubowski look closer at the everyday life of the Protestant communities in Eastern Europe. The scope of Bem’s article extends beyond the religious life of the Calvinists to consider the vexed question of the relationship between Protestants in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. In the seventeenth century, Reformed and Lutheran parishes in Poland entered into a series of local agreements, involving liturgy and theology. According to Bem, the upshot of these “church unions,” imposed by the Reformed majority, was not only an effort to maintain the peaceful coexistence, but also a plan to “turn the Lutherans into Reformed Christians.” Jakubowski compares three Eastern European regions where many Christian denominations coexisted peacefully in the eighteenth century. In Bukovina, Suwałki, and Latgale, not only did the neighborhood house the parishes of Roman Catholics, Greek Catholics, Lutherans, and Old Believers, but the believers also attended services at churches of other denominations. Analyses of the metrical registration of the parishes “provides evidence of administering Roman Catholic service to the faithful of at least three other Christian denominations—[…] on the occasion of three important events: baptism, marriage, and funeral.” According to the author, this confessional openness was dictated by the “pragmatism of everyday life” and was due to large distances between parish churches, as well as the costs of services and travel. This topic engenders further questions about the practices, and limits, of multiconfessional coexistence that are formulated in the second part of the book. How were the problems arising out of multiconfessionalism resolved in practice? How could one reconcile peaceful coexistence with disputations and eruptions of violence? What cultural forms were adopted as a result of this exchange and cooperation in the confessional sphere? Jan Červenka focuses on the literary dialogues created in Bohemia after the Hussite Wars. While advocating on behalf of the Compacts of Basel (1436), their authors, Jan of Rabštejn, Václav Písecký, and Mikuláš Konáč of Hodíškov, called for peace and rejection of violence. The plea for toleration between Hussites and Catholics, albeit accompanied by the exclusion of the Bohemian Brethren, was conceived by both major confessions as a threat to the established compromise. As Červenka states, the authors were “seeking […] not plurality but the renewal of unity.” By looking at the person and career of Johannes Danticus (1485–1548), a secular humanist who was subsequently a bishop of Chełmno (Culm) and Warmia (Ermland), Bryan D. Kozik asks how a “flexible Erasmian proponent of unity” turned into a “traditional Catholic advocate of conformity.” The

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“confessionalization of humanism,” depicted with the examples of Danticus’s activities and his correspondence network in 1530 and 1541 (Johannes Campensis, Juan de Valdéz, and Thomas Cranmer), not only offers an insight into the fate of Erasmianism in the age of reform but also demonstrates an intensity of transfer between Western and Eastern Europe. Using the example of Jacob Fabricius (Schmidt), Sławomir Kościelak depicts a problem of coexistence encountered by Lutherans and Calvinists in multiconfessional Gdańsk. An attempt by the Calvinist minority to introduce the “Second Reformation” provoked riots and disputes in the Lutheran city. Despite the sympathy of the city elite, the Calvinists did not manage to change the religious profile of the city. Maciej Ptaszyński inquires into the limits of early modern toleration with the example of the Socinians, who were expelled from Poland–Lithuania in 1658. By looking at the confessional polemics of the Socinian leader, Jonas Schlichting, Ptaszyński demonstrates that the sentence of banishment was passed not when the theologian was turning out his polemics but when he ceased producing them and tried to reconcile the Socinians with the Calvinists. The question of the cultural impact of confessional coexistence in the eighteenth century, when the confessional barriers gradually fell, is addressed in the third part of the volume. Drawing on analyses of European confessional debates, Alexander Schunka presents a new conceptualization of the relationship between irenicism and Pan-Protestantism. By tracing the development of irenicism in the early modern era, Schunka moves Protestant irenicism from the margins (where it was located by the main historical paradigms) to the center of the historical scene, claiming that “irenicism was not an alternative to the confessionalism following the Reformation but rather an innovative and adaptable part of it.” Further, the researcher separates the history of irenicism from the history of toleration or ecumenism. While criticizing the linear vision of the history of irenicism for neglecting the historical context, he situates irenic initiatives against a theological and political background, focusing on intraconfessional debates of Lutherans and Reformed between their orthodox and liberal wings, and demonstrating the changing nature of the irenic debate around 1700. Finally, Schunka claims that “irenicism was a concept and discourse that connected theology and politics in an innovative fashion, fostering transconfessional as well as transregional communication within a broader scheme of Pan-Protestantism.” Wolfgang Breul analyzes irenic tradition in the circle of the radical Protestants in Germany. The starting point for consideration is the analysis of the edict of toleration of the County of Isenburg– Büdingen (1712), which granted “everyone complete freedom of conscience.” The essay explains the origins of this radical formulation by putting the edict

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in a broader context of analogical edicts and agreements influenced by radical Protestantism. The Pietists and the Moravian Church, established by Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf, developed a new theological and communication framework that was intended to see awakened individuals and Protestant groups join in transcending the confessional divide. Stephan Steiner and Paul Shore shed intriguing light on religious life in Vienna, which was simultaneously an apotheosis of baroque Catholicism and an enclave of Protestants hosted in the Danish, Swedish, and Dutch embassies. According to Steiner, “living and working in Vienna must have resembled a roller coaster ride, marked by the ups and downs of tentative irenic experiences and the staggering through confessionalized minefields.” Shore studies the career and writing of Adam František Kollár (1718–83), who was a former Jesuit and director of the Imperial Library in Vienna during the reigns of Maria Theresia and Joseph II. Despite the Jesuits’ role in the re-Catholicization of Eastern Europe, Shore emphasizes the unintended effects of the Jesuit scholarship in promoting toleration and relativism. However, in Enlightenment Vienna, after the suppression of the Society of Jesus, some former Jesuits viewed secularization—and not the Protestants—as their greatest rival. 4

Summary

The analytical studies presented in this volume lead toward a general hypothesis: that the origins, shapes, and impact of multiconfessional coexistence in Eastern and Central Europe were instrumental in building confessional identities and confessional cultures. As Szady and Padalinski document, the interconfessional patchwork was based on a tradition of late medieval toleration and grounded in the law of patronage as well as in local agreements. In contrast to the solutions adopted in the Empire (Reich), no universal legal system guaranteeing freedom of religion was developed in Central Europe. Regional solutions were negotiable and occasionally remained valid into the nineteenth century due to the power of everyday pragmatics, as Jakubowski reveals. As Červenka, Kozik, and Ptaszyński demonstrate, the call for religious toleration was formulated from various positions, and its actual meaning depended strongly on political, religious, and social context. Furthermore, the irenic was never unconditional and absolute, nor did it sit—as Kozik points out— in opposition to the variously understood orthodoxy. Bem, Kościelak, and Ptaszyński show that the Calvinists and the Socinians (Unitarians) at times implemented irenic language to achieve other religious and political goals.

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As Schunka claims, the irenicism of the time should be separated from the Pan-Protestant tradition with its strong Reformed reference. Irenicism was not the opposite of polemicism but a form of confessional communication and perhaps even a form of argument. A holistic look at the phenomena of toleration, irenicism, and religious coexistence reveals a different image of “confessional cultures,” cultures that were also shaped by the transfer of ideas, exchanges of thought, and interconfessional dialogue. Even if they did not work in concordance or were sometimes mutually exclusive, toleration, irenicism, and religious coexistence facilitated interconfessional contacts and various forms of exchange, and by doing so, accelerated the formation of “confessional cultures.” This specific contribution of irenicism to the emergence of confessional cultures can be called “confessional irenicism,” which of course had a different appearance within each confession and was often situated outside confessional orthodoxy (and even in opposition to it and to the idea of toleration). “Confessional irenicism” could rely on certain elements of ecclesiastical tradition—like dialogues, successful unions, and historical moment—to construct its own character. From the standpoint of confessional irenicism, intentions to arrive at an interconfessional consensus were crucial, not because they led to establishing a solid theological proprium—they didn’t—but rather because they contributed to building confessional identities. By looking at the European tradition of “toleration before the Enlightenment” (Benjamin J. Kaplan) through the lens of Eastern and Central Europe, the present volume casts new light on religious dialogue and early modern irenicism as factors creating confessional identity and a sense of belonging to “confessional Europe.” After all, neither toleration nor irenicism precluded disputations or the need for self-distinction. On the contrary, it often led to the development of self-awareness and identity within confessional churches, which could itself be further regarded as “confessional irenicism.” Acknowledgments The paper was prepared as a part of the research project 2018/31/B/HS3/00351 funded by the National Science Centre, Poland.

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Kriegseisen, Wojciech. Die Protestanten in Polen-Litauen (1696–1763): rechtliche Lage, Organisation und Beziehungen zwischen den evangelischen Glaubensgemeinschaften. Edited by Joachim Bahlcke, Klaus Ziemer. Translated by Peter Oliver Loew, Rafael Sendek. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011. Kühn, Johannes. Toleranz und Offenbarung. Eine Untersuchung der Motive and Motivformen der Toleranz im Offenbarunggläubigen Protestantismus. Zugleich ein Versuch zur neueren Religion- und Geistesgeschichte. Leipzig: F. Meiner, 1923. Laursen, John Christian, Maria José Villaverde, eds. Paradoxes of Religious Toleration in Early Modern Political. Lanham, Md.: Lexington Books, 2012. Lecler, Joseph. Histoire de la tolérance au siècle de la Réforme, 2 vol. Paris: Aubier, 1955. Lexutt, Athina. Rechtfertigung im Gespräch: das Rechtfertigungsverständnis in den Religionsgesprächen von Hagenau, Worms und Regensburg 1540/41. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996. Lotz-Heumann, Ute, Matthias Pohlig. “Confessionalization and Literature in the Empire, 1555–1700.” Central European History 40 (2007): 35–61. Louthan, Howard. “Irenicism and Ecumenism in the Early Modern World: A Reevaluation.” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 61 (2017): 5–30. Louthan, Howard. “Multiconfessionalism in Central Europe.” In A Companion to Multiconfessionalism in the Early Modern World, edited by Thomas Max Safley, 369–92. Leiden: Brill, 2011. Louthan, Howard, Gary B. Cohen, and Franz A.J. Szabo, eds. Diversity and Dissent: Negotiating Religious Difference in Central Europe, 1500–1800. New York: Berghahn, 2011. Luebke, David M. Hometown Religion: Regimes of Coexistence in Early Modern Westphalia, 1553–1650. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2016. Luebke, David M. “Ritual, Religion, and German Home Towns.” Central European History 47 (2014): 496–504. Luria, Keith P. Sacred Boundaries: Religious Coexistence and Conflict in Early-modern France. Washington, DC: Catholic Univ. of America Press, 2005. MacCulloch, Diarmaid. “Archbishop Cranmer: Concord and Tolerance in a Changing Church.” In Tolerance and Intolerance in the European Reformation, edited by Ole Peter Grell and Bob Scribner, 199–215. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Maissen, Thomas. “Konfessionskulturen in der frühneuzeitlichen Eidgenossenschaft. Eine Einführung.” Schweizerische Zeitschrift für Religions- und Kulturgeschichte 101 (2007): 225–46. Maurer, Michael. Konfessionskulturen: die Europäer als Protestanten und Katholiken. Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh, 2019. McClain, Lisa. Lest We be Damned: Practical Innovation and Lived Experience Among Catholics in Protestant England, 1559–1642. New York: Routledge, 2004. Mortimer, Sarah. “Human Liberty and Human Nature in the Works of Faustus Socinus and His Readers.” Journal of the History of Ideas 70 (2009): 191–211.

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Mortimer, Sarah. Reason and Religion in the English Revolution: The Challenge of Socinianism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Mühling, Christian. Die europäische Debatte über den Religionskrieg (1679–1714): konfessionelle Memoria und internationale Politik im Zeitalter Ludwigs XIV. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2018. Müller, Hans-Joachim. Irenik als Kommunikationsreform. Das Colloquium Charitativum von Thorn 1645. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004. Müller, Michael G. Zweite Reformation und städtische Autonomie im Königlichen Preußen: Danzig, Elbing und Thorn in der Epoche der Konfessionalisierung (1557– 1660). Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1997. Negroni, Barbara de. Intolérances. Catholiques et protestants en France, 1560–1787. Paris: Hachette, 1996. Oberman, Heiko A. “The travail of tolerance: containing chaos in early modern Europe.” In Tolerance and Intolerance in the European Reformation, edited by Ole Peter Grell and Bob Scribner, 13–31. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Ohlidal, Anna. “Konfessionalisierung: ein Paradigma der historischen Frühneuzeitforschung und die Frage seiner Anwendbarkeit auf Böhmen.” Studia Rudolphina 3 (2003): 19–28. Paulmann, Johannes, Matthias Schnettger, and Thomas Weller, eds. Unversöhnte Verschiedenheit. Verfahren zur Bewältigung religiös-konfessioneller Differenz in der europäischen Neuzeit. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016. Pettegree, Andrew. “The Politics of Toleration in the Free Netherlands, 1572–1620.” In Tolerance and Intolerance in the European Reformation, edited by Ole Peter Grell and Bob Scribner, 182–98. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Pietsch, Andreas, Barbara Stollberg-Rilinger, eds. Konfessionelle Ambiguität: Uneindeutigkeit und Verstellung als religiöse Praxis in der Frühen Neuzeit. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verl.-Haus, 2013. Plummer, Marjorie Elizabeth, Victoria Christman, eds. Topographies of Tolerance and Intolerance: Responses to Religious Pluralism in Reformation Europe. Leiden: Brill, 2018. Plummer, Marjorie Elizabeth. “A View from the Choir: Forming Lutheran Culture in Pluriconfessional Westphalian Convents.” Past & Present 234 (2017): 189–211. Po-Chia Hsia, Roni, Henk van Nierop, eds. Calvinism and Religious Toleration in the Dutch Golden Age. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Pohlig, Matthias. “Harter Kern und longue durée. Überlegungen zum Begriff der (lutherischen) Konfessionskultur.” Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 109 (2018): 389–401. Ptaszyński, Maciej. “Der Konsens von Sendomir in der europäischen Irenik.” In Confessio im Konflikt. Religiöse Selbst- und Fremdwahrnehmung in der Frühen Neuzeit. Ein Studienbuch, edited by Mona Garloff, Christian Volkmar Witt, 255–78. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2019.

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Ptaszyński, Maciej. “Toleranzedikt, Wahlkapitulationen oder Religionsfrieden? Der polnische Adel und die Warschauer Konföderation.” In Ritterschaft und Reformation, edited by Wolfgang Breul, Kurt Andermann, 255–69. Regensburg: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2019. Rawls, John. Political Liberalism. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993. Remer, Gary. Humanism and the Rhetoric of Toleration. University Park, Pa.: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1996. Richter, Thomas. “Coping with Religious Diversity in Everyday Life in the Borderlands of Western Europe. Catholics, Protestants and Jews in Vaals.” Acta Poloniae Historica 116 (2017): 149–69. Riotte, Andrea. Diese so oft beseufzte Parität. Biberach 1649–1825: Politik–Konfession– Alltag. Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer Verlag, 2017. Roudot, Maïwenn. Tolérance et reconnaissance en débat : des lumières allemandes à l’Ecole de Francfort. Pessac: Presses universitaires de Bordeaux, 2015. Safley, Thomas Max, ed. A Companion to Multiconfessionalism in the Early Modern World. Leiden: Brill, 2011. Şahin, Bican. Toleration: The Liberal Virtue. Lanham: Lexington Books, 2010. Salatowsky, Sascha, Winfried Schröder, eds. Duldung religiöser Vielfalt–Sorge um die wahre Religion: Toleranzdebatten in der Frühen Neuzeit. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2016. Schilling, Heinz, ed. Der Augsburger Religionsfrieden 1555: wissenschaftliches Symposium aus Anlaß des 450. Jahrestages des Friedensschlusses. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verl.Haus, 2007. Schilling, Heinz. “Die Konfessionalisierung im Reich. Religiöser und gesellschaftlicher Wandel in Deutschland zwischen 1555 und 1620.” Historische Zeitschrift 246 (1988): 1–45. Schilling, Heinz. Religion, Political Culture and the Emergence of Early Modern Society. Essays in German and Dutch History. Leiden: Brill, 1992. Schramm, Gottfried. Polska w dziejach Europy Środkowej: studia. Translated by Ewa Płomińska-Krawiec. Poznań: Wydawnictwo Poznańskie, 2010. Schultheis, Saskia. Die Verhandlungen über das Abendmahl und die übrigen Sakramente auf dem Religionsgespräch in Regensburg 1541. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013. Schunka, Alexander. Ein neuer Blick nach Westen. Deutsche Protestanten und Großbritannien, 1688–1740. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2019. Scribner, Bob. “Preconditions of Tolerance and Intolerance in Sixteenth-Century Germany.” In Tolerance and Intolerance in the European Reformation, edited by Ole Peter Grell and Bob Scribner, 32–47. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Sewell, Keith C. “The ‘Herbert Butterfield Problem’ and Its Resolution.” Journal of the History of Ideas 64 (2003): 599–618.

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Slenczka, Björn. Das Wormser Schisma der Augsburger Konfessionsverwandten von 1557: protestantische Konfessionspolitik und Theologie im Zusammenhang des zweiten Wormser Religionsgesprächs. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010. Sowerby, Scott. Making Toleration: The Repealers and the Glorious Revolution. Cambridge Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2013. Spicer, Andrew. “Adiaphora, Luther and the Material Culture of Worship.” Studies in Church History 56 (2020): 246–72. Spohnholz, Jesse. The Tactics of Toleration: a Refugee Community in the Age of Religious Wars. Newark, Del.: University of Delaware Press, 2011. Tazbir, Janusz. A State without Stakes: Polish Religious Toleration in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. Warszawa: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, 1973. Turchetti, Mario. Concordia o tolleranza? François Bauduin (1520–1573) e i ‘Moyenneurs’. Milano: Franco Angeli, 1984. Turchetti, Mario. “Religious Concord and Political Tolerance in Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-Century France.” The Sixteenth Century Journal 22 (1991): 15–25. Völker, Karl. Toleranz und Intoleranz im Zeitalter der Reformation. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung, 1912. Walsham, Alexandra. Church Papists: Catholicism, Conformity and Confessional Polemic in Early Modern England. Woodbridge: Boydell Press 1993. Walsham, Alexandra. “Cultures of Coexistence in Early Modern England: History, Literature and Religious Toleration.” The Seventeenth Century 28 (2013): 115–37. Walsham, Alexandra. Charitable Hatred: Tolerance and Intolerance in England, 1500– 1700. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2006. Wanegffelen, Thierry. Ni Rome ni Genève: des fidèles entre deux chaires en France au XVIe siècle. Paris: Honoré Champion Éditeur, 1997. Whaley, Joachim. Religious Toleration and Social Change in Hamburg, 1529–1819. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985. Williams, Melissa S., Jeremy Waldron, eds. Toleration and its Limits. New York: New York University Press, 2008. Witt, Christian Volkmar. “Keine Irenik ohne Polemik. Konfessionelle Wahrnehmungsformationen am Beispiel des David Pareus.” In Confessio im Barock. Religiöse Wahrnehmungsformationen im 17. Jahrhundert, edited by Malte van Spankeren, Christian Volkmar Witt, 17–53. Leipzig: Evang. Verl.-Anst., 2015. Witt, Christian Volkmar. “Innerprotestantische Ökumene und Bekenntnis.” In Die „Confessio Augustana‟ im ökumenischen Gespräch, edited by Günter Frank, Volker Leppin and Tobias Licht, 133–56. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2021. Zagorin, Perez. How the idea of religious toleration came to the West. Princeton: Princeton University Press 2003.

PART 1 Terms of Coexistence between Law and Tradition

⸪

Chapter 1

“Private,” “Public,” and “Domestic” Exercise of Religion—Origins of an Instrument of Early Modern Religious Peacemaking Christopher Voigt-Goy | ORCID: 0000-0002-5429-6367 1

Introduction

Early modern religious peace agreements were the result of the contentious politics of confessional identity.1 The legal arrangements of confessional coexistence that emerged from such disputes and conflicts often included compromises as well as institutionalized inequalities.2 As a rule, the latter appeared in the form of legal restrictions on one confessional group vis-à-vis the other confessional group that was better able to assert its claim to sociopolitical dominance. Such restrictions usually concerned the confessional presence in the public sphere. Common instruments in European religious peace agreements were the geographical regionalization of religious practice3 or the limitation of its symbolic visibility: for instance, by prohibiting church buildings or widely accessible forms of worship.4 Despite the enduring conflictual nature of these kinds of arrangements, the legal gradations were generally quite successful in promoting the long-term integration of multiple denominations into a polity. For the territories of the Reich, however, the imperial religious law that came into effect in 1555 had not stipulated such legal instruments. Rather, it attempted to secure the confessional homogeneity of the territories and their 1 Wayne te Brake, Religious War and Religious Peace in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 1–21. 2 For a comprehensive overview: Irene Dingel, “14. Religionsfrieden (Religious Peace),” in Handbuch Frieden im Europa der Frühen Neuzeit / Handbook of Peace in Early Modern Europe, ed. Irene Dingel et al. (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2020), 267–90. 3 For instance, in the “Pace di Cavour” of 1561, Marion Bechtold-Mayer (ed.), “Pace di Cavour (5. Juni 1561),” in Europäische Religionsfrieden Digital, ed. Irene Dingel and Thomas Stäcker, PURL: https://purl.ulb.tu-darmstadt.de/vp/a000008-0402. 4 An example is the French 1562 “Edict of January”: I. Édit de janvier, http://elec.enc.sorbonne .fr/editsdepacification/edit_01. An encompassing digital edition of European religious peace treatises is the topic of the project “Europäische Religionsfrieden Digital—EuReD” of the Academy of Science and Literature in Mainz that started in 2020.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004527447_003

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respective subjects (Untertanenverband) through a tense interplay between the principle cuius regio, eius religio—that is, the compulsion of the subjects to follow the confession of their territorial sovereign—and the beneficium emigrandi of the subjects—that is, their right to emigrate.5 The flood of lawsuits that poured through the Imperial Chamber Court (Reichskammergericht) almost immediately after the promulgation of the Augsburg Religious Peace quickly revealed the structural problems of this orientation toward territorial confessional unity in the biconfessional imperial federation.6 Yet it was not so much the denominational relationships in the cities, regions, and territories themselves that proved to be the driving force behind the need for legal regulation.7 Instead, the central challenge was to balance the various overlapping territorial rights and claims to power, which were interwoven at different levels, in a way that preserved peace between the confessionally divided estates of the realm.8 In the discourse on imperial religious law that was thus set in motion, the flourishing legal Reichspublizistik played a decisive part.9 By commenting on the Peace of Augsburg and the case law of the Imperial Chamber Court, the jurists also developed interpretations of the established imperial religious law that could open up broader territorial scope for action. In this context of the Reichspublizistik, the distinction between exercitium religionis publicum, exercitium religionis privatum, and exercitium religionis

5 Horst Dreier, Staat ohne Gott. Religion in der säkularen Moderne (München: C.H. Beck, 2018), 64–71. For a new introduction into the Augsburg Religious Peace with further literature see Armin Kohnle, “41. Augsburger Religionsfrieden 1555 (The Peace of Augsburg 1555),” in Handbuch Frieden im Europa, 837–56. 6 Bernhard Ruthmann, Die Religionsprozesse am Reichskammergericht. Eine Analyse anhand ausgewählter Prozesse (Köln: Böhlau, 1996). 7 Anton Schindling, “Andersgläubige Nachbarn. Mehrkonfessionalität und Parität in Territorien und Städten des Reichs,” in 1648—Krieg und Frieden in Europa. Ausstellungskatalog (26. Europaratsausstellung—Westfälisches Landesmuseum Münster und Kulturgeschichtliches Museum Osnabrück 1998/99), vol. 1: Geschichte, Religion, Recht und Gesellschaft, ed. Heinz Schilling et al. (Münster: Westfälisches Landesmuseum für Kunst und Kulturgeschichte, 1998), 465–73; David M. Luebke, “A Multiconfessional Empire,” in A Companion to Multi­ confessionalism in the Early Modern World, ed. Max Safley (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 129–54. 8 Klaus Härter, “Das Heilige Römische Reich deutscher Nation als mehrschichtiges Rechtssystem, 1495–1806,” in Die Anatomie frühneuzeitlicher Imperien. Herrschaftsmanagement jenseits von Staat und Nation: Institutionen, Personal und Techniken, ed. Stephan Wendehorst (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2015), 327–47. 9 Michael Stolleis, Geschichte des öffentlichen Rechts in Deutschland, vol. 1: Reichspublizistik und Policeywissenschaft 1600–1800 (München: C.H. Beck, 1988), 126–224.

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domesticum—between “public,” “private,” and “domestic” religious exercise— was emerging in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries.10 This conceptual legal distinction seems to have been unknown outside the Reich around 1600, as far as can be surveyed so far.11 The concrete reason for the emergence of this semantic differentiation and the way in which it was shaped in the legal discourse of the Reich will be explored in the following. 2

Case Ortenburg v. Bavaria

The process in the history of the Reich that triggered the distinction that was made decades later between “public,” “private,” and “domestic” religious exercise has been treated so extensively in scholarship that its description can be limited to the points that are necessary for the present problem. The introduction of the Reformation in the County of Ortenburg in Lower Bavaria by Count Joachim in 1563 caused an ongoing conflict with the Bavarian Duke Albrecht, whose territory enclosed the county.12 Like his ducal predecessors, Albrecht did not recognize the imperial immediacy (Reichsunmittelbarkeit) of Ortenburg, which, according to the imperial law of 1555, was the necessary precondition for introducing religious change. The first escalation occurred as early as 1564, when the Bavarian duke temporarily occupied Ortenburg, confiscated the count’s property, and arrested or expelled several preachers and officials. However, this reaction, which was heavy-handed even by the standards of the Reich, initially assured the count the solidarity of the Protestant

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A key study of this process: Bernd Christian Schneider, Ius reformandi. Die Entwicklung eines Staatskirchenrechts von seinen Anfängen bis zum Ende des Alten Reiches (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001). For the debates in the late seventeenth century Karl Schwarz, “Exercitium religionis privatum: eine begriffsgeschichtliche Analyse,” Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte. Kanonistische Abteilung 74 (1988): 495–518. There are, of course, similar constellations in the territories outside the Reich: Benjamin J. Kaplan, Divided by Faith. Religious Conflict and the Practice of Toleration in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2007). Sabine Ullmann, Geschichte auf der langen Bank. Die Kommissionen des Reichhofrats unter Kaiser Maximilian II. (1564–1576) (Mainz: von Zabern, 2006), 173–94; Johann Schachtl, Glauben und Lebensformen—Die Konfessionalisierung im ostbayerischen Raum im 16. und frühen 17. Jahrhundert, aufgezeigt am Beispiel der Reichsgrafschaft Ortenburg und ihrer bayerischen Lehensgebiete (Salzburg: Tyrolia, 2009); Johann Ferdinand Huschberg, Geschichte des herzoglichen und gräflichen Gesammthauses Ortenburg: aus den Quellen bearbeitet (Sulzbach: Seidel, 1828).

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imperial estates and the attention of the imperial court. Neither Ferdinand I nor Maximilian II had any interest in turning this regional conflict into a comprehensive test of the Reich’s unity. A case was opened at the Imperial Chamber Court to determine the immediacy of Joachim and his county. In the meantime, the mediation of the Electorate of Saxony in the run-up to the Augsburg Diet of 1566 led to a temporary settlement of the dispute between the count and the duke. The content of the settlement concluded on that occasion, which was not immediately made public, will be returned to in a moment.13 In 1573, the Imperial Chamber Court ruled in favor of Ortenburg.14 As a result, Joachim of Ortenburg initiated further reformatory measures in his county. In the treaty of 1566, he had promised to suspend such measures until a decision was made by the court.15 The dispute flared up again and the Bavarian authorities took new action; it is not clear what part the duke played in initiating these measures. In any case, the authorities took advantage of a thoroughly piquant circumstance, which ties up in a neat bundle the legal tangle of problems relevant here. Count Joachim of Ortenburg did not live in his county but resided in his castle in Mattighofen, about sixty kilometers to the south. Yet Mattighofen was a ducal fief. In 1575, the ducal court responsible for Mattighofen issued a mandate to the count listing twelve of his servants. These had not confessed or communicated sub una for two years, as had now “coincidentally” come to light, which they had to make up within two weeks or face imprisonment.16 In his promptly filed supplication to the Imperial Chamber Court, the count asserted the following with reference to his imperial immediacy: He was “not obliged […] to give an account concerning the faith of his servants due to the right quod domestici et familiares fruantur privilegio Dominorum, irrespective of where he has his residence.”17 In fact, the count had been assured in the 13 14

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The modern edition of the contract in Altbayern von 1550–1651. Dokumente zur Geschichte von Staat und Gesellschaft in Bayern Abt. I: Altbayern vom Frühmittelalter bis 1800, vol. 3/1, ed. Walter Ziegler (München: C.H. Beck, 1992), 361–64. “Exemptions urtheil in causa Fiscalis contra Bayrn ratione Orttenburg. Lata 4. Martij Anno 73,” in Acta Und an dem hochlöblichen Keyserlichen Cammergericht in causis quarti & quinti mandatorum, auff die Reichs Constitution von Arresten auch mandati der Pfandung die abgepfendte Holtzhacken Eysengelt und anders belangendt, geübte unnd fürbrachte Gerichtshandlungen zwischen […] Joachim dem Eltern Grauen zu Ortenburg […] Impetranten und Clügern an eynem: So dann Albrechten jetzo Herrn Wilhelmen Pfaltzgraven bey Rhein […] Beclagten / am andern theyl […] (s.l., 1588) [VD16 A 153], 636–37. Altbayern von 1550–1651, 363. Huschberg, Geschichte des herzoglichen und gräflichen Gesammthauses Ortenburg, 444–45. “Tertium Mandatum auff den Religion friden sine clausula, cum annexa Citatione ad docendum de paritione. Orttenburg Contra Bayrn. Produc: Spirae 23. Martij Anno 75,” in Acta Und an dem hochlöblichen Keyserlichen Cammergericht, 685–93, quote 690: “nit schuldig […]

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settlement of 1566 that he would be allowed to practice his religion with his family unmolested at his Mattighofen castle during the pending chamber court proceedings if he did not entice any other subjects to convert to the new faith.18 In his supplication, then, Joachim interpreted his religious practice as a personal privilege connected with his immediacy as a count of the Reich. Thus, the Imperial Chamber Court—which presumably had no deeper knowledge of the settlement or its provisions at that time—had to decide on two issues. First, the question was whether the count’s imperial immediacy was affected by his residence in another territory. Second, it had to be clarified whether the count’s imperial immediacy also included religious sovereignty over his possessions or subjects outside his own sovereign territory. The Imperial Chamber Court made a fast decision, yet followed the count’s opinion only in part. The assessors unanimously voted with reference to the first point—that the imperial immediacy resided in the person of the count and not in his territory.19 Thus, he was a count with all rights of immediacy, no matter where he had his residence. On the second point, the assessors did not come to a straightforward conclusion but to varying evaluations of the problem. As Nicolaus Cisner, the assessor of the Palatinate, stated in his vote, the duplex persona of the count had to be considered. In relation to his fief, the count was to be addressed as a noble landowner (Landsasse), which is why he was a subject of the duke. In view of the count’s personal immediacy to the empire, it was therefore, as Cisner stated, justified to recognize a mandate de non offendendo—that is, a mandate stipulating that the duke had to refrain from molesting the count any further.20 This opinion was taken up in the final statement of the court, which ordered the duke, under threat of punishment, to let the “supplicant and his dependents remain untroubled by the constitution.”21 But this was not a judicial confirmation of Joachim’s view of his (relative and personal) religious sovereignty over his possessions. In his dissenting vote, Assessor Esser, who represented the Swabian circle, directly rejected this opinion. He stated that the residence in Mattighofen made the count a subject of

18 19 20 21

seiner diener vnd dienerin halben wegen deß glaubens rechenschafft zugeben dieweil versehens Rechtens quod domestici & familiares fruantur privilegio Dominorum, unangesehen wo er seine Residentz hab.” [All translations are by the Author unless clearly indicated otherwise]. Altbayern von 1550–1651, 363. Jörn Sieglerschmidt, Territorialstaat und Kirchenregiment: Studien zur Rechtsdogmatik des Kirchenpatronatsrechts im 15. und 16. Jahrhundert (Köln–Wien: Böhlau, 1987), 186–87. Sieglerschmidt, Territorialstaat und Kirchenregiment, 187, note 141. “Tertium Mandatum,” in Acta Und an dem hochlöblichen Keyserlichen Cammergericht, 691.

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the duke: “But if he is a subject with his servants, it seems that he has to submit to the duke’s religion.”22 Otherwise, in Esser’s opinion, the “astonishing” circumstance would arise that “anyone of another religion, by buying a hut or a cottage in any province, could explicitly and publicly follow and practice another religion against the will of the territorial ruler.”23 Esser’s dissent is completely consistent with the view supported by all assessors that imperial immediacy is independent of territory. In both cases, the doctrine of dominium, developed in medieval legalistic thought, was applied.24 According to it, dominium is exercised by a person endowed with jurisdiction (iurisdictio). A fundamental distinction was made between a dominium directum and a dominium utile; there was also the term dominium duplex. Whereas the dominium directum denotes the comprehensive power of disposal over countries, persons, and property, the dominium utile is understood to mean the authority to use the countries, persons, and property. However, the latter has no derogatory effect on the dominium directum. And according to the prevailing legal understanding, fiefs and property under another person’s jurisdiction endowed with dominium directum were assigned to this dominium utile. Against this backdrop, the assessors’ pronounced reluctance to definitively decide on Joachim’s entitlement to practice his religion in Mattighofen becomes even more apparent: both a decision in favor of the count and a decision against would have had far-reaching repercussions on the existing architectonics of the governing authorities established with the help of the doctrine of dominium, not to mention the implications in terms of property law and procedural law. Conversely, this shows how deep the confessional opposition affected the traditional understanding of iurisdictio and dominium, such that it was pushed to its limits. The assessors of the Imperial Chamber Court were well aware of this fact. In a list of doubtful cases that the Imperial Chamber Court wanted to present to the Diet of Augsburg in 1582, they pointed to the need to augment the imperial religious law with territorial regulations.25 Because 22 23 24

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Quoted by Sieglerschmidt, Territorialstaat und Kirchenregiment, 187, note 141: “Si autem est ipsius subditus cum suis ministris, videtur quod debeat se conformare ad religionem Ducis.” Ibid. “Alioquin videretur mirabile, si quispiam alterius religionis empto in aliqua provincia tuguriolo aut domuncula possit contra territorio Domini voluntatem ex professo vnd öffentlich aliam religionem sequi et exercere.” Daniel Lee, Popular Sovereignty in Early Modern Constitutional Thought (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 79–98; Dietmar Willoweit, “Dominium und Proprietas. Zur Entwicklung des Eigentumsbegriffs in der mittelalterlichen und neuzeitlichen Rechtswissenschaft,” Historisches Jahrbuch 94 (1974): 131–56. “Vier dubia des Käys. Cammer-Gerichts uber den gründtlichen Verstandt des Religionfriedens derwegen dasselb der Käys. May. und Chur Fürsten unnd Ständt des

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the Diet did not discuss these dubia, though, the court’s initiative, which was intended to lead to further imperial legislation, evaporated.26 3

Religious Freedom in the Reichspublizistik

In the late sixteenth century, the case Ortenburg v. Bavaria became a central example in the Reichspublizistik for discussing the religious rights of Landsassen and other subjects in the territory of a ruler with a different confession. The spectrum of positions that surfaced in this context cannot be presented here comprehensively. Bernd Christian Schneider has at least hinted at it in his fundamental work on the ius reformandi.27 Therefore, only the strand of the discourse important for the problem of the conceptual distinction at stake here will be dealt with, which is formed exclusively by Protestant authors. The first time the distinction between “domestic,” “private,” and “public” religious exercise is made is in the 1595 treatise De Processibus, Mandatis, Et Monitoriis: In Imperiali Camera extrahendis by Peter Frieder (Mindanus).28 Little is known about the author.29 In 1593, Peter Frieder, who was probably a native of Minden, had presumably received his doctorate in law in Basel. What he was doing until 1607, when he became a professor in Giessen, is unknown. From 1611 until his death in 1616, he served in the position of a syndicus in

26 27 28

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Reichs decision unnd Entschiedt uffm Reichstag zu Augspurg Anno 1582. einzuholen vor nötig befunden,” in De Pace Religionis Acta Publica Et Originalia, Das ist: Reichshandlungen/ Schrifften und Protocollen uber die Constitution deß Religion-Friedens: in drey Büchern abgetheilet […], Das dritte Buch: Das ist/ Von deß Religions-Friedens mancherley Außlegungen/ Disputaten/ und Interpretationen der Röm. Kaysern/ Churfürsten/ Fürsten und Ständt: deß Kayserlichen Cammergerichts: unnd anderer underscheidlicher hoher Rechtsgelehrten Consilien, Rahtschlägen/ Voten und Bedencken/ so zu desselben rechtmässigen Verstandt gemeynt unnd angesehen, ed. Christoph Lehmann (Franckfurt: Beyer 1640) [VD17 3:659128E], no. 29, 268–86; “Dubia sex super pace Religionis, quae ex parte Dominorum Catholicorum Assessorum concepta & 16. Iun. Anno 1582. in Senatu lecta, ad decidendum Imperatori & statibus in Comitiis transmitti debuerunt,” in ibid., no. 20, 286–89. Josef Leeb, “Einleitung,” in Der Reichstag zu Augsburg 1582, Deutsche Reichstagsakten. Reichsversammlungen 1556–1662, vol. 1, ed. Josef Leeb (München: De Gruyter, 2007), 65–226, 78. Schneider, Ius reformandi, 301–7. The treatise was reprinted up to the eighteenth century. I use the edition: Peter Frieder, De Processibus, Mandatis, Et Monitoriis In Imperiali Camera extrahendis, & de Supplicationibus, quae pro ijs fiunt, recte formandis Tractatus In Tres Libros Divisus, Ad Praxin Forensem valde utilis (Frankfurt: Hermsdorff, 1660) [VD 17 3:306004V], lib. 1 c. 30, 108–13. Theodor Muther, “Friderus, Peter,” Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie 7 (1878), 385, https:// www.deutsche-biographie.de/pnd100126944.html#adbcontent.

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Frankfurt am Main. In any case, in his treatise, he presented a new interpretation of the case Ortenburg v. Bavaria, which was made possible by the comprehensive publication of documents about this quarrel in 1588. In this collection of documents, the settlement concluded between Ortenburg and Bavaria in 1566 is also recorded,30 which had far-reaching consequences for Frieder’s interpretation. In the thirtieth chapter of the first book of his treatise, entitled “De Beneficio Emigrandi, & Libertate Conscientiae,” Frieder deals with the following question: What are the consequences if a subject of a confession recognized by imperial law does not want to join the confession of his sovereign but also does not want to emigrate? In doing so, he first defends the widespread Protestant view that this refusal is not sufficient reason for immediate expulsion by the sovereign.31 Rather, the sovereign is obliged to accept this denial and to guarantee the “security” of his subjects in accordance with article 20 of the Augsburg Religious Peace in conjunction with article 13 thereof.32 Frieder sees the purpose of these provisions as the granting of “freedom of conscience” (libertas conscientiae) to the subjects.33 According to Frieder, this includes the suspension of ecclesiastical jurisdiction and the entitlement of the subject to demand that the authorities refrain from reenactments of legal rulings and investigations in religious matters. Furthermore, the authorities may not force the subject to perform acts that are contrary to his “good conscience” (bona conscientia), such as attending the Catholic mass.34 However, Frieder explicitly rejects the right of the subject to interfere with the prescribed public practice of religion on behalf of his conscience: “Et publicum confessionis exercitium introducere iurisdictionis est, quam subditi nullam habent.”35 Frieder subsequently supplements these purely negative provisions of freedom of conscience with a positive understanding of it, which opens up various ways subjects can practice their own religion in a territory 30 31 32

33 34

35

Acta Und an dem hochlöblichen Keyserlichen Cammergericht, 713–20. Frieder, De processibus, 110. For the context see Schneider, Ius reformandi, 301. Frieder, De processibus, 110–11. For the term of “security” in the Augsburg Religious Peace see Johannes Burkhardt, “Konfessionsbildung als europäisches Sicherheitsrisiko und die Lösung nach Art des Reiches,” in Sicherheit in der Frühen Neuzeit. Norm–Praxis– Repräsentation, ed. Christoph Kampmann et al. (Köln: Böhlau, 2013), 181–90. The term is used in Frieder, De processibus, 111. Frieder, De processibus, 111: “Ita ut hoc agentes, licet missas pontificias non visitent, neque mutilata coenae dominica uti velint, nec alia agere, quae bona conscientia non possunt, secure & libere nihilominus, sine odio, sine offensia, sine molestia possint, sub tutela magistratus sui, non secus alij catholici, & contra.” Ibid., 111.

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with a different public confession: for this scenario, he uses the term exercitium religionis privatum. Frieder regards this as, first of all, the permission of the authorities to allow subjects to travel temporarily to other places on holidays and to attend sermons or communion—that is, to allow them “walking out” (Auslaufen).36 He emphasizes that no less a person than Emperor Charles V precisely demanded this penalty-free temporary departure for Catholic subjects in article 26 of the Augsburg Imperial Decree (Reichsabschied) of 1530.37 Yet the prerequisite for such permission, for Frieder, is that there is a “good and mutual agreement” between the territorial authorities and the subjects regarding religion.38 If this condition is met, Frieder also considers the possibility for noble landowners (Landsassen) to be granted a domesticum religionis exercitium within their own house and with their own chaplain, which they practice “in their residences, for themselves alone, the wives, servants, and families.”39 According to Frieder, the case of Ortenburg is the key precedent for this. Frieder regards the mandate of the Imperial Chamber Court as a confirmation of the settlement of 1566, in which the count was granted the right to practice his religion in his castle in return for his recognition of the duke’s position as a higher-ranking territorial authority in Mattighofen.40 But Frieder denies, for political and legal reasons, any possibility of either Landsassen or “ordinary” subjects forming larger associations and conventicles “pro privato religionis exercitio” because this is not covered even by his extended understanding of the “freedom of conscience” comprising Auslaufen and religious domestic worship: “et collegia erigere, et conventus agere plus quam conscientiae libertas est.”41 Through the prohibition of conventicles emphasized above, it immediately becomes clear what Frieder understands by “private” in the expression privatum religionis exercitium. It obviously is a specification made in analogy to the Roman legal distinction between ius publicum and ius privatum, whereby in 36 37 38 39 40 41

Ibid., 111–12. For the phenomenon of Auslaufen see Kaplan, Divided by Faith, 161–71. Frieder, De processibus, 112. Ibid., 112: “Ergo ut subditi & magistratus respectu religionis in bona & mutua stent concordia, hanc conscientiae libertatem subditis debent relinquere, idque constitutionis voluntas atque mens est.” Ibid., 112: “Cum tamen Landsassii, qui propter bona & territorium, superiorem recognoscunt, in suis saltem arcibus, sibi solis, uxori, liberis, & familiae domesticum religionis exercitium privatim recte praeservent.” Ibid., 112: “[…] sed in territorio & subditis a Bavariae ducatu dependentibus tale neutiquam licere, absque consensu Bavariae tanquam superioris. Ea autem transactio subsignata fuit anno 66. in comitiis August.” Ibid., 113.

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the early modern period, the relationship between public and private law was understood as a rule-exception relationship.42 Guiding this understanding was the definition found in the Digests (D. 1.1.1.2): “Public law is that which relates to the order of the state, private law that which relates to the individual’s utility.”43 In this sense, Frieder’s “private exercise of religion” is a collective term that comprises both Auslaufen and “domestic worship.” It is unclear if or how Frieder further distinguishes within the “private religious exercise” between the religious practice of “ordinary” subjects and of Landsassen. Possibly, this is indicated by the fact that the Auslaufen is based on pure agreement; the domestic worship, on the other hand, requires consent in the form of a written contract. Explicitly, the Hildesheim syndicus Peter Syring followed Frieder’s ideas in 1607, when in his treatise De Pace Religionis, In Imperio Romano he addressed the question of whether Lutherans were allowed a private exercise of religion in Catholic territories.44 For Syring, private religious exercise includes, as for Frieder, Auslaufen as well as the exercitium domicilium.45 Syring’s affirmative answer to the question posed, however, unlike Frieder’s, is written as a contribution to a confessional dispute over interpretation in the Reichspublizistik. Syring opposed Andreas Erstenberger’s De autonomia: Das ist von Freystellung mehrerley Religion und Glauben, first published in 1586. In this book, the then secretary of the Imperial Court Council in Vienna had defended the strict application of the territorial ban to religious nonconformists by the sovereign and had dismissed Protestant views on the granting of the freedom of conscience under imperial law—which Peter Frieder had defended—as a “lazy little pestle” ( faules Pößlein).46 42 43 44

45 46

Thomas Simon, “Öffentliches Recht,” in Enzyklopädie der Neuzeit Online, http://dx.doi .org/10.1163/2352–0248_edn_COM_320265. D. 1.1.1.2: “Publicum ius est quod ad statum rei Romanae spectat, privatum quod ad singulorum utilitatem.” https://droitromain.univ-grenoble-alpes.fr/Corpus/d-01.htm#1. Peter Syring (Ps. Justus Springer), De Pace Religionis, In Imperio Romano, Unanimi Procerum sub regimine D. Karuli V. Caesaris semper Augusti Anno M.D.LV. in Comitiis Augustanis sollemniter condita promulgataq[ue] Commentatio Politico-Iuridica: Ex Ipsis Imperii Recessibus, Gravißimis Consistorii Imperialis cum Decretus, tum Votis, aliisq[ue] Scriptoribus contexta, & ad ordinis dilucidioris scopum distinctis quibusdam capitibus breviter collimata: Qua Scurriles Quidam Sarcasmi Et Virulentissimae D. Francisci Burcharti (quem Antonius Possevinus nominat Andream Ernstenberger) calumniae, quas in sua Autonomia oder Freystellung mehrerley Religion und Glauben [et]c. in Augustanae Confessionis Principes & magni nominis Theologos impudenter evomuit, caesim cursimque punguntur […] (s.l.: E Typographeio Spiessiano, 1607) [VD17 23:267999N], 71–80. Ibid., 71–72. I use the edition: [Andreas Erstenberger,] De Autonomia. Das ist von Freystellung mehrerley Religion und Glauben, Was unnd wie mancherley die sey […]. Zuvor in drey Thail, Jetzt

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To counter this view, Syring modifies the reasoning employed by Frieder. The Ortenburg case no longer plays a key role for him as an example of a contractually secured grant of private religious exercise based on mutual agreement and contract. Instead, Syring focuses his argumentation on article 26 of the 1530 Imperial Decree mentioned by Frieder, which, according to the wording of the original, forbids the following: Item etliche oberkeyt haben iren unterthanen bei schwerer straff verbotten / die Prediger des alten rechten waren Glaubens / in- oder ausserhalb irer Flecken zuhören / noch in die selbig predig oder kirchen zugehen / oder dem alten glauben an zuhangen / Und wenn sie darüber betretten / sein sie onnachlessig / gestrafft worden.47 Syring immediately adds to the mention of this article that “it is unquestionable” that this stipulated right also applies to the Lutherans according to the principle of aequitas. According to Syring, this is explicitly confirmed by Maximilian II’s permission for the exercitium privatum in his hereditary lands, demonstrating at the same time that the article of 1530 was not abrogated by later regulations.48 Greater detail on Maximilian’s religious assurances to the Lower and Upper Austrian nobility in the late 1560s and the 1570s, however, is not to be found in Syring’s treatise.49 Syring’s introduction of the principle of aequitas in this context comes with a considerable punch line compared with Frieder’s considerations. Lutheran jurists around 1600 understood aequitas to be an unwritten source of law anchored in the legal system, which above all extends stated written laws to

47 48

49

zum andern mal mit fleiß, […] in ein Buch zusamen Gedruckt […] (München: Adam Berg, 1593) [VD16 E 3873], 357v. For his reasoning see Martin Heckel, “Autonomia und Pacis Compositio. Der Augsburger Religionsfriede in der Deutung der Gegenreformation,” Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte. Kanonistische Abteilung 45 (1959): 142–248. For the contemporary discussion see Schneider, Ius reformandi, 297–98. Abschiedt des Reichßtags zu Augspurg Anno M.D.xxx. gehalten, (s.l.: [Mainz: Johann Schöffer 1530]) [VD16 R 779], B3r. Syring, De Pace Religionis, 76: “Quo jure cum suam religionem gaudere voluerit, dubium non est quin eadem juris aequitate erga nostram animatus fuerit: quod eo indubitatus es quo manifestius constat cuius quod D. Maxim. II. exercitium privatum in suis hereditariis regionibus permiserit. Quare concludimus tandem: cum hic articulus per constitutiones posteriores non sit abrogatus […] merito posterio.” For these agreements see Rudolf Leeb, “Der Streit um den wahren Glauben. Reformation und Gegenreformation in Österreich,” in Geschichte des Christentums in Österreich. Von der Spätantike bis zur Gegenwart, ed. Rudolf Leeb et al. (Wien: Ueberreuter, 2003), 145– 279, esp. 207–11.

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similar cases.50 In this respect, Syring’s reasoning represents a considerably more far-reaching attempt than Frieder’s to construe the exercitium privatum as a general legal form of religious exercise by subjects established indirectly by imperial law. In this generic sense, it is then no longer dependent on the explicit granting—for example, based on a contract—by the authorities. Moreover, this makes a subdivision of the private exercise into that of the Landsassen and that of “ordinary” subjects unnecessary. Of course, the granting of private religious exercise, which is built on the principle of aequitas, remains committed to the preservation of public order and the enacted exercitium publicum religionis.51 A right to form conventicles is not specifically addressed by Syring; it does not even play a role in his reflections on the “liberty of religion” (libertas religionis).52 Whereas Syring took up Frieder’s conceptual distinction with the intention of constructing a general legal form for the “private religious exercise”— encompassing both Auslaufen and domestic worship—the Helmstedt jurist Heinrich-Andreas Cranius, in his 1619 treatise De Pace Religionis In Romano Imperio Servanda, urged a clearer analytical and legal delineation of Frieder’s argumentation.53 Conceptually, Cranius identifies the exercitium religionis privatum exclusively with the exercitium domesticum. Following Frieder— Cranius does not seem to be familiar with Syring’s treatise—he affirms the right of a Landsasse or nobleman to preserve the domesticum exercitium for himself, his family, and servants according to his confession in his residence with an in-house chaplain.54 Referring to Ortenburg v. Bavaria, especially the settlement of 1566, as well as a vote of the Imperial Chamber Court in Münster v. Drolshagen (1582–83),55 for Cranius, the prerequisite for this right is that the Landsasse or nobleman, in addition to the right to rule over his property, has at

50 51 52 53 54 55

Jan Schröder, “Aequitas und Rechtsquellenlehre in der frühen Neuzeit,” Quaderni Fiorentini 26 (1997): 265–306, esp. 270–73. Syring, De Pace religionis, 77. The term is used in ibid., 74. Heinrich-Andreas Cranius, De Pace Religionis In Romano Imperio Servanda: Dissertatio Iuridico-Politica, in tres partes distincta (Helmstädt: Behm 1619) [VD17 1:072514C]. Ibid., 28: “Sed anne saltem domi in arce sua, pro se, liberis & familia, priuatum verbi diuini ministrum habere, atq; ita domesticum Religionis exercitium sibi suisq; praeseruare poterit?” Ibid., 30f. He is referring to: Andreas Gail et al., eds., Symphorematis Svpplicationvm, Pro Processibvs, Svper Omnibvs Ac Singvlis Imperii Romani Constitutionibus, in supremo Camerae Imperialis auditorio impetrandis: Cvm Adivnctis Votis Sev Relationibus ac decretis desuper redditis, earumq[ue] requisitis (Frankfurt: Schönwetter-Becker, 1601) [VD17 1:020269G], 223. For the case “Drolshagen vs Münster” Schneider, Ius reformandi, 258–60.

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least lower court jurisdictions or merum et mixtum imperium.56 Cranius justifies this fact entirely within the framework of feudal law because—as he points out—the obligation of loyalty of such a Landsasse toward his sovereign is based on a real homage (homagium reale) and not on a personal homage (homagium personale).57 In other words, the obligation of loyalty of a Landsasse or nobleman does not constitute a rule over his person, unlike in the case of ordinary subjects. As little as, according to Cranius, an entitlement of the landowner is to be derived from this to change the public exercise of religion even in his own realm of jurisdiction, as little is he to be forbidden the private exercise in the sense of the exercitium domesticum.58 Concerning the “ordinary” subjects without jurisdiction, Cranius is not able to give an analogous justification of the exercitium privatum within the framework of feudal law. Again, taking up Frieder, this problem is discussed by him under purely regulatory aspects, namely under the aspect of the “formation of conventicles.”59 Like Frieder, Cranius strictly rejects such a right of the subjects, especially emphasizing the political danger of the introduction of further innovation “novis Religionis praetextu.”60 At the same time, Cranius, like Frieder, limits the right of the authorities to intervene in the religious matters of members of confessions recognized by imperial law by the negatively understood libertas conscientiae: “In subditorum de Religione vel confessione Augustana suspectorum privatas actiones, privata Religionis exercitia, non inquirendum.”61 However, Cranius does not give any information about what one must imagine by a private exercise without domestic assemblies and also chaplains. In Cranius’s discussion of the rights of the “ordinary” subjects, the term exercitium privatum clearly leans toward the semantic interpretation that was common in German and that formed the antithesis of “public” in the early modern period—namely, “secret”62—whereas in the case of the Landsasse

56 57 58 59 60 61 62

Cranius, De Pace Religionis, 31. Ibid., 30. Ibid., 30. A similar stipulation can be found in the Edicts during the French Wars of Religion (Kaplan, Divided by Faith, 186), but there are no references to these norms in the Reichspublizistik. Ibid., 203: “An nimirum subditis, pro priuato Religionis exercitio colendo, collegia & conuenticula priuata habere liceat in domibus priuatis, vbi & conciones audiant & sacramentorum reliquorumq; sacrorum rituum solennia obeant?” Ibid., 203–6, quote 206. Ibid., 206. For the conceptual history of “private” in early modern German see Lucian Hölscher, Öffentlichkeit und Geheimnis. Eine begriffsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zur Entstehung der Öffentlichkeit in der frühen Neuzeit (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1979).

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and nobleman, it can be understood in the Roman legal sense already outlined by Frieder. According to Cranius, the field of the exercitium privatum does not include Auslaufen at all.63 Incidentally, in an argumentation similar to Syring’s, he regards Auslaufen as entirely covered by imperial law. In addition, Cranius refers to the Imperial Decree of 1530,64 and he uses the concept of aequitas in this line of thought, whereby he understands aequitas, as Syring did, as the principle of the extension of stated written laws to similar cases.65 The difference to Syring is only that Cranius refers exclusively to the Imperial Decree of 1530 to justify the equal treatment of Lutherans and Catholics. The distinction between public, private, and domestic religious exercise is thus, overall, partitioned by Cranius in such a way that the general legal figure of a private exercise, at least rudimentarily conceived of by Frieder and clearly envisioned by Syring, breaks down into individual aspects that are not directly related to one another. The problem of the internal connection of these aspects remained unaddressed for a long time after Cranius and was only gradually taken up again toward the end of the great crisis, early on in which Cranius had reflected on religious peace. With the Gravamina Ecclesiastica of the Protestant estates of November 1645, the distinction between exercitium religionis publicum and exercitium religionis privatum was introduced at the very beginning of the peace negotiations in Münster and Osnabrück.66 In the course of the next few years, its incorporation into the peace treaty developed into one of the central demands of the Protestant estates, which almost caused the negotiations to fail several times.67 However, even the eventual inclusion of the distinction between public and private religious exercise in article V § 31 of the Instrumentum Pacis Osnabrugensis of 164868 did not immediately resolve the problems of inter63 64 65 66

67 68

Cranius, De Pace Religionis, 208–12. Ibid., 211. Ibid., 210. Johann Gottfried Meiern, Acta Pacis Westphalicae Publica. Oder Westphälische FriedensHandlungen und Geschichte / in einem mit richtigen Urkunden bestärckten Historischen Zusammenhang verfasset und beschrieben […], Theil 1: Worinnen enthalten, was vom Jahr 1643. biß in den Monath October Anno 1645. zwischen Ihro Römisch-Käyserlichen Majestät, dann den Beyden Cronen Franckreich und Schweden, ingleichen des Heiligen Römischen Reichs Chur-Fürsten, Fürsten und Ständen, zu Oßnabrück und Münster gehandelt worden (Hannover: Gercke, 1734) [VD18 90103084], 814–22, esp. 819. For the context Schneider, Ius reformandi, 326–29. Ibid., Ius reformandi, 338–413. The text is accessible at: Die Westfälischen Friedensverträge vom 24. Oktober 1648. Texte und Übersetzungen, Acta Pacis Westphalicae. Supplementa electronica 1, http://www.pax -westphalica.de/ipmipo/.

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pretation and justification that had already been associated with this distinction during its early stages, as Karl Schwarz has shown, but rather triggered a continuing and by then much broader debate about this legal concept.69 This debate cannot and should not be pursued in any further detail here; rather, in conclusion, the emergence of the conceptual distinction will be put into the perspective of confessional “inequality” between legal restriction on the one hand and social inclusion on the other, as outlined at the beginning of this paper. 4

Conclusion

In extensive and stimulating works, Peter von Moos has repeatedly drawn attention to the susceptibility of the historical interpretations of the semantics of the “public” and “private” spheres “to plac[ing] our current notions of a sharp contrast between a privacy that has become intimate and a public sphere that has become media-based in television in descriptive terms that already existed at that time, but not in our sense.”70 Methodologically, this reminder already seems completely self-evident. But it is worth repeating in view of the historiographical evaluations of early modern relations of confessional coexistence that can be found again and again. Even without being expected, the effect of the “distinction between privileged public religion on the one hand and deviant private exercitium religionis on the other” is characterized as follows: “Social peace was bought with the public invisibility and disadvantage of the minority religion.”71 In clear contrast to such assessments, as the present reconstruction has shown, the conceptual differentiation of “public,” “private,” and “domestic” religious exercise that emerged around 1600 69 70

71

Schwarz, “Exercitium religionis.” Peter von Moos, ‘Öffentlich’ und ‘privat’ im Mittelalter. Zu einem Problem historischer Begriffsbildung (Heidelberg: Winter, 2004), 7–8: “unsere heutigen Vorstellungen eines scharfen Gegensatzes zwischen einer intim gewordenen Privatheit und einer fernsehmedial gewordenen Öffentlichkeit in Beschreibungsbegriffe hin[zu]legen, die es schon damals, aber nicht in unserem Sinne gab.” The beginning of the sentence reads: “Sonst streiten wir und endlos über Polarisierungsgrade von ‘öffentlicher und privater Sphäre’ angesichts kulturgeschichtlicher Tatsachen wie etwa dem halböffentlich–repräsentativen Toilettengang oder dem Frühstücks- und Ankleidezeremoniell des Herrschers in der höfischen Gesellschaft […].” Barbara Stollberg-Rilinger, “Schlusskommentar,” in Unversöhnte Verschiedenheit. Verfahren zur Bewältigung religiös-konfessioneller Differenz in der europäischen Neuzeit, ed. Johannes Paulmann et al. (Göttingen: Vandehoeck & Ruprecht, 2016), 197–203, quote at 199: “Sozialer Friede wurde mit der öffentlichen Unsichtbarkeit und Benachteiligung der Minderheitsreligion erkauft.”

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was not intended to construct a legally justified oppression of one confessional group in favor of a “privileged” one. Rather, it aimed at the legal safeguarding of intraterritorial religious liberties, which—as already noted at the outset—had not been provided for at all in the context of the corporate imperial religious law of 1555, despite corresponding demands by the Imperial Chamber Court, among others. The legal experts’ proposed regulations, such as the restriction of domestic worship to the circle of the noble family and servants and of worship that could only be practiced outside their own territory, as well as the express prohibitions, such as that of the formation of conventicles, therefore all in all envisaged clear gains in liberties, and thus no disadvantages, for the subjects of the territories, be they Landsassen or ordinary ones. Of course, these religious liberties were dependent on interpretations of the existing imperial law that were rich in preconditions, as Cranius’s argumentations make clear: for instance, the affirmed granting of domestic worship to nobles was based on an expansion of the powers of the jurisdiction of the Landsassen within the framework of the prevailing doctrine of dominium, the subjects’ freedom of conscience was (already in Frieder’s work) raised indirectly from imperial law, and the permission for Auslaufen adopted an interpretation of imperial law based on the doctrine of aequitas. Even in the Protestant strand of the Reichspublizistik, these premises were not unanimously shared.72 Nevertheless, the distinction between exercitium publicum and exercitium privatum seems to have been so striking in contemporary times that it was occasionally used in the context of advisory activities in the legal field. At least in a Consilium, an expert opinion, of the theological faculty of Wittenberg, which considered the possibilities of coexistence with “papists,” “Calvinists,” and “enthusiasts” in a Lutheran-dominated city, this conceptual distinction was already applied in 1614.73 Beyond its legal preconditions and problems of justification in detail, the distinction offered among other things the possibility of tying already existing situations of confessional coexistence in a community to imperial law and of strengthening the regulation of corresponding practices—such as the practice of Auslaufen—as a legitimate task of the authorities. In this respect, the function of the distinction between “public” and “private” religious practice as a political instrument facilitating the social 72 73

Schneider, Ius reformandi, 303–4. For more on this consilium with an edition of it: Christopher Voigt-Goy, “Konfessionalität im Konflikt. Lutherische Wahrnehmungen mehrkonfessioneller Stadtgesellschaften anhand eines Gutachtens von 1614,” in Confessio im Konflikt. Religiöse Selbst- und Fremdwahrnehmung in der Frühen Neuzeit. Ein Studienbuch, ed. Mona Garloff and Christian Volkmar Witt (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2019), 101–17.

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integration of subjects of different denominations by virtue of legal restrictions becomes particularly apparent once again. That this instrument could also be perceived by the subjects as undue pressure to assimilate, or as monstrous coercion, is beyond doubt. Even the “freedom of conscience,” which was defended by Protestant jurists across all levels and was conceived of as a right of protection against the authorities’ persecution, could require subjects under certain circumstances to renounce any form of communal religious practice. But accepted inequality in religious law represented, as it were, the minimum condition of integration by which a subject of a foreign confession could avoid being pushed out of a restricted position within a community to a place beyond its legal and social margins. Bibliography

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Abschiedt des Reichßtags zu Augspurg Anno M.D.xxx. gehalten. [Mainz: Johann Schöffer 1530] [VD16 R 779]. [Anon.] Acta Und an dem hochlöblichen Keyserlichen Cammergericht / in causis quarti & quinti mandatorum, auff die Reichs Constitution von Arresten / auch mandati der Pfandung / die abgepfendte Holtzhacken / Eysengelt und anders belangendt, geübte unnd fürbrachte Gerichtshandlungen zwischen […] Joachim dem Eltern Grauen zu Ortenburg […] Impetranten und Clügern an eynem: So dann Albrechten jetzo Herrn Wilhelmen Pfaltzgraven bey Rhein […] Beclagten / am andern theyl […]. S.l., 1588 [VD16 A 153]. Cranius, Heinrich-Andreas. De Pace Religionis In Romano Imperio Servanda: Dissertatio Iuridico-Politica, in tres partes distincta. Helmstädt: Behm, 1619 [VD17 1:072514C]. Die Westfälischen Friedensverträge vom 24. Oktober 1648. Texte und Übersetzungen, Acta Pacis Westphalicae. Supplementa electronica 1, http://www.pax-westphalica.de /ipmipo/. “Edict of January”: I. Édit de janvier, http://elec.enc.sorbonne.fr/editsdepacification /edit_01. [Erstenberger, Andreas.] De Autonomia. Das ist von Freystellung mehrerley Religion und Glauben, Was unnd wie mancherley die sey […]. Zuvor in drey Thail, Jetzt zum andern mal mit fleiß, […] in ein Buch zusamen Gedruckt […]. München: Adam Berg, 1593 [VD16 E 3873]. Frieder, Peter. De Processibus, Mandatis, Et Monitoriis In Imperiali Camera extrahendis, & de Supplicationibus, quae pro ijs fiunt, recte formandis Tractatus In Tres Libros Divisus, Ad Praxin Forensem valde utilis. Frankfurt: Hermsdorff, 1660 [VD 17 3:306004V].

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Gail, Andreas, Ludwig Gilhausen, and Matthias Paul Wehner, eds. Symphorematis Svpplicationvm, Pro Processibvs, Svper Omnibvs Ac Singvlis Imperii Romani Constitutionibus, in supremo Camerae Imperialis auditorio impetrandis: Cvm Adivnctis Votis Sev Relationibus ac decretis desuper redditis, earumq[ue] requisitis. Frankfurt: Schönwetter / Becker, 1601 [VD17 1:020269G]. Lehmann, Christoph, ed. De Pace Religionis Acta Publica Et Originalia, Das ist: Reichshandlungen/ Schrifften und Protocollen uber die Constitution deß ReligionFriedens: in drey Büchern abgetheilet […], Das dritte Buch: Das ist/ Von deß Religions-Friedens mancherley Außlegungen/ Disputaten/ und Interpretationen der Röm. Kaysern/ Churfürsten/ Fürsten und Ständt: deß Kayserlichen Cammergerichts: unnd anderer underscheidlicher hoher Rechtsgelehrten Consilien, Rahtschlägen/ Voten und Bedencken/ so zu desselben rechtmässigen Verstandt gemeynt unnd angesehen. Franckfurt: Beyer, 1640 [VD17 3:659128E]. Meiern, Johann Gottfried. Acta Pacis Westphalicae Publica. Oder Westphälische Friedens-Handlungen und Geschichte / in einem mit richtigen Urkunden bestärckten Historischen Zusammenhang verfasset und beschrieben […], Theil 1: Worinnen enthalten, was vom Jahr 1643. biß in den Monath October Anno 1645. zwischen Ihro Römisch-Käyserlichen Majestät, dann den Beyden Cronen Franckreich und Schweden, ingleichen des Heiligen Römischen Reichs Chur-Fürsten, Fürsten und Ständen, zu Oßnabrück und Münster gehandelt worden. Hannover: Gercke, 1734 [VD18 90103084]. Syring, Peter (Ps. Justus Springer). De Pace Religionis, In Imperio Romano, Unanimi Procerum sub regimine D. Karuli V. Caesaris semper Augusti Anno M.D.L.V. in Comitiis Augustanis sollemniter condita promulgataq[ue] Commentatio PoliticoIuridica: Ex Ipsis Imperii Recessibus, Gravißimis Consistorii Imperialis cum Decretus, tum Votis, aliisq[ue] Scriptoribus contexta, & ad ordinis dilucidioris scopum distinctis quibusdam capitibus breviter collimata: Qua Scurriles Quidam Sarcasmi Et Virulentissimae D. Francisci Burcharti (quem Antonius Possevinus nominat Andream Ernstenberger) calumniae, quas in sua Autonomia oder Freystellung mehrerley Religion und Glauben/ [et]c. in Augustanae Confessionis Principes & magni nominis Theologos impudenter evomuit, caesim cursimque punguntur […]. S.l.: E Typographeio Spiessiano, 1607 [VD17 23:267999N]. Ziegler, Walter, ed. Altbayern von 1550–1651. Dokumente zur Geschichte von Staat und Gesellschaft in Bayern Abt. I: Altbayern vom Frühmittelalter bis 1800, vol. 3/1. München: C.H. Beck, 1992.



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Bechtold-Mayer, Marion, ed. “Pace di Cavour (5. Juni 1561).” In Europäische Religionsfrieden Digital, edited by Irene Dingel and Thomas Stäcker, PURL: https://purl.ulb .tu-darmstadt.de/vp/a000008-0402.

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Burkhardt, Johannes. “Konfessionsbildung als europäisches Sicherheitsrisiko und die Lösung nach Art des Reiches.” In Sicherheit in der Frühen Neuzeit. Norm–Praxis– Repräsentation, edited by Christoph Kampmann and Ulrich Niggemann, 181–90. Köln: Böhlau, 2013. Dingel, Irene. “14. Religionsfrieden (Religious Peace).” In Handbuch Frieden im Europa der Frühen Neuzeit / Handbook of Peace in Early Modern Europe, edited by Irene Dingel, Michael Rorschneider, Inken Schmidt-Voges, Sigrid Westphal and Joachim Whaley, 267–90. Berlin: de Gruyter, 2020. Dreier, Horst. Staat ohne Gott. Religion in der säkularen Moderne. München: C.H. Beck, 2018. Härter, Klaus. “Das Heilige Römische Reich deutscher Nation als mehrschichtiges Rechtssystem, 1495–1806.” In Die Anatomie frühneuzeitlicher Imperien. Herrschaftsmanagement jenseits von Staat und Nation: Institutionen, Personal und Techniken, edited by Stephan Wendehorst, 327–47. Berlin: de Gruyter, 2015. Heckel, Martin. “Autonomia und Pacis Compositio. Der Augsburger Religionsfriede in der Deutung der Gegenreformation.” Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte. Kanonistische Abteilung 45 (1959): 142–248. Hölscher, Lucian. Öffentlichkeit und Geheimnis. Eine begriffsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zur Entstehung der Öffentlichkeit in der frühen Neuzeit. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1979. Huschberg, Johann Ferdinand. Geschichte des herzoglichen und gräflichen Gesammthauses Ortenburg: aus den Quellen bearbeitet. Sulzbach: Seidel, 1828. Kaplan, Benjamin J. Divided by Faith. Religious Conflict and the Practice of Toleration in Early Modern Europe. Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2007. Kohnle, Armin. “41. Augsburger Religionsfrieden 1555 (The Peace of Augsburg 1555).” In Handbuch Frieden im Europa, edited by Irene Dingel, Michael Rorschneider, Inken Schmidt-Voges, Sigrid Westphal and Joachim Whaley, 837–56. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2020. Lee, Daniel. Popular Sovereignty in Early Modern Constitutional Thought. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016. Leeb, Josef, ed. Der Reichstag zu Augsburg 1582, Deutsche Reichstagsakten. Reichsversammlungen 1556–1662, vol. 1. München: De Gruyter, 2007. Leeb, Rudolf. “Der Streit um den wahren Glauben. Reformation und Gegenreformation in Österreich.” In Geschichte des Christentums in Österreich. Von der Spätantike bis zur Gegenwart, edited by Rudolf Leeb, Maximilian Liebmann, Georg Scheibelreiter, Peter G. Tropper, and Herwig Wolfram, 145–279. Wien: Ueberreuter, 2003. Luebke, David M. “A Multiconfessional Empire.” In A Companion to Multiconfessionalism in the Early Modern World, edited by Max Safley, 129–54. Leiden: Brill, 2011. Muther, Theodor. “Friderus, Peter,” Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie 7 (1878), 385 [OnlineVersion]; https://www.deutsche-biographie.de/pnd100126944.html#adbcontent.

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Ruthmann, Bernhard. Die Religionsprozesse am Reichskammergericht. Eine Analyse anhand ausgewählter Prozesse. Köln: Böhlau, 1996. Schachtl, Johann. Glauben und Lebensformen—Die Konfessionalisierung im ostbayerischen Raum im 16. und frühen 17. Jahrhundert, aufgezeigt am Beispiel der Reichsgrafschaft Ortenburg und ihrer bayerischen Lehensgebiete. Salzburg: Tyrolia, 2009. Schindling, Anton. “Andersgläubige Nachbarn. Mehrkonfessionalität und Parität in Territorien und Städten des Reichs.” In 1648—Krieg und Frieden in Europa. Ausstellungskatalog (26. Europaratsausstellung—Westfälisches Landesmuseum Münster und Kulturgeschichtliches Museum Osnabrück 1998/99), Aufsatzband 1: Geschichte, Religion, Recht und Gesellschaft, edited by Klaus Bußmann and Heinz Schilling, 465–73. Münster: Westfälisches Landesmuseum für Kunst und Kulturgeschichte, 1998. Schneider, Bernd Christian. Ius reformandi. Die Entwicklung eines Staatskirchenrechts von seinen Anfängen bis zum Ende des Alten Reiches. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001. Schröder, Jan. “Aequitas und Rechtsquellenlehre in der frühen Neuzeit.” In Quaderni Fiorentini 26 (1997): 265–306. Schwarz, Karl. “Exercitium religionis privatum: eine begriffsgeschichtliche Analyse.” Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte. Kanonistische Abteilung 74 (1988): 495–518. Sieglerschmidt, Jörn. Territorialstaat und Kirchenregiment: Studien zur Rechtsdogmatik des Kirchenpatronatsrechts im 15. und 16. Jahrhundert. Köln–Wien: Böhlau, 1987. Simon, Thomas. “Öffentliches Recht.” In Enzyklopädie der Neuzeit Online. http://dx.doi .org/10.1163/2352-0248_edn_COM_320265. Stollberg-Rilinger, Barbara. “Schlusskommentar.” In Unversöhnte Verschiedenheit. Verfahren zur Bewältigung religiös-konfessioneller Differenz in der europäischen Neuzeit, edited by Johannes Paulmann and Thomas Weller, 197–203. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016. Stolleis, Michael. Geschichte des öffentlichen Rechts in Deutschland. Erster Band: Reichspublizistik und Policeywissenschaft 1600–1800. München: C.H. Beck, 1988. te Brake, Wayne. Religious War and Religious Peace in Early Modern Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017. Ullmann, Sabine. Geschichte auf der langen Bank. Die Kommissionen des Reichshofrats unter Kaiser Maximilian II. (1564–1576). Mainz: von Zabern, 2006. Voigt-Goy, Christopher. “Konfessionalität im Konflikt. Lutherische Wahrnehmungen mehrkonfessioneller Stadtgesellschaften anhand eines Gutachtens von 1614.” In Confessio im Konflikt. Religiöse Selbst- und Fremdwahrnehmung in der Frühen Neuzeit. Ein Studienbuch, edited by Mona Garloff and Christian Volkmar Witt, 101– 17. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2019.

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von Moos, Peter. ‘Öffentlich’ und ‘privat’ im Mittelalter. Zu einem Problem historischer Begriffsbildung. Heidelberg: Winter, 2004. Willoweit, Dietmar. “Dominium und Proprietas. Zur Entwicklung des Eigentumsbegriffs in der mittelalterlichen und neuzeitlichen Rechtswissenschaft.” Historisches Jahrbuch 94 (1974): 131–56.

Chapter 2

“He May Be Evangelical, Yet a True Patron by Descent”: The Right of Patronage in the Religious Changes in Red Ruthenia in the 16th and 17th Centuries Bogumił Szady | ORCID: 0000-0003-0059-5596 1

Introduction

The right of patronage played an important role in the religious changes that occurred in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. It had taken shape during the period of the Investiture Controversy, and in Poland, as in the whole of Europe, it defined the rights of laypersons with regard to church benefices.1 The importance of the right of patronage to religious relations in sixteenth-century Poland–Lithuania is reflected in how royal patronage benefices were reserved for the Catholic clergy, as regulated by the Warsaw Confederation of 1573. This same act granted the nobility and clergy free jurisdiction over subjects “tam in spiritualibus quam in temporalibus.”2 This provision may have been one reason why the Catholic bishops objected to the Confederation. This article addresses the influence of the right of patronage on local relations in churches and parishes as Protestantism was appearing in the Polish– Ruthenian borderlands (Red Ruthenia). It asks whether the change of the religious affiliation of patrons influenced their execution of rights and obligations resulting from the right of patronage. After first discussing the nature and structure of the right of patronage, the article describes the origins and characteristics of the religious situation in Red Ruthenia during this period. On 1 Władysław Abraham, Początki prawa patronatu w Polsce (Lwów: Redakcja “Przeglądu Sądowego i Administracyjnego,” 1889). On the law of patronage see also: Peter Landau, Jus patronatus: Studien zur Entwicklung des Patronats im Dekretalenrecht und der Kanonistik des 12. und 13. Jahrhunderts (Köln: Böhlau, 1975); Jörn Sieglerschmidt, Territorialstaat und Kirchenregiment: Studien zur Rechtsdogmatik des Kirchenpatronatsrechts im 15. und 16. Jahrhundert (Köln: Böhlau, 1987). 2 Jerzy Kłoczowski, “Tolerancja w Rzeczypospolitej polsko-litewskiej: konstytucja z 1573 roku o zachowaniu pokoju religijnego,” in Historia Europy Środkowo-Wschodniej, vol. 2, ed. Jerzy Kłoczowski (Lublin: Instytut Europy Środkowo-Wschodniej, 2000), 92–99.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004527447_004

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account of the borderlands character of Red Ruthenia, this section includes comparative references to the “protectorship” (ktetorship), an equivalent to the right of patronage in the Orthodox Church. The subsequent section presents case studies illustrating how the function of the right of patronage changed at select churches and benefices occupied by Protestants. It includes various scenarios related to alterations of the rights and obligations stemming from the right of patronage, primarily concerning material support of benefices and the execution of the right of presentation. Two case studies from the Chełm region (Lipie and Bończa) indicate which elements of the right of patronage were vital to the fate of religious communities. This article demonstrates that how religious transformations at the turn of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries engendered changes in the right of patronage is of crucial importance, especially in the wake of Protestants taking over a benefice or the Catholic Church reclaiming a church building for its own ministry. 2

The Structure and Form of the Right of Patronage

The administration, income, and support of churches and religious communities in the early modern period were shaped largely by local ownership and economic relations. Reforms undertaken in the Middle Ages, the aim of which was a stricter subordination of churches and clergy to the jurisdiction of bishops and the pope, were only partially effective. In the thirteenth century, changes to canon law liquidated private ownership rights over churches and their estates, which necessitated a system based on church prebends and benefices. Church benefices became legal persons consisting of the professional position held by the cleric (officium)—what in Britain is termed a “living”— and the associated church estate (dos, proventus), and they became the basis of the organization of property in the Latin Church until the twentieth century.3 The right of patronage was the most important limitation of ecclesiastical authority in the administration of church benefices. It accompanied a benefice from its inception and constituted “a kind of personal or institutional authority over benefices, which, according to canon law, were under the jurisdiction of the appropriate clerical authority (usually a bishop or pope).”4 Initially, it

3 Eugeniusz Wiśniowski, “Kościół na ziemiach polskich w średniowieczu,” in Michael David Knowles and Dimitri Obolensky, Historia Kościoła, vol. 2: 600–1500 (Warszawa: Instytut Wydawniczy “Pax”, 1988), 433. 4 Bogumił Szady, Prawo patronatu w Rzeczypospolitej w czasach nowożytnych: Podstawy i struktura (Lublin: Liber, 2003), 25–26.

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remained in the hands of the founder of a benefice, such as a parish, and then was inherited by his descendants (personal patronage) or more often by the owners of the estate from which the original glebe of the benefice had been separated (real patronage). Despite the formal canonical prohibition, the right of patronage of a church benefice became subject to commercial operations owing to its material nature. The change of ownership of the estate almost always meant the transfer of patronage of the house of worship and affected the parish as an institution and a community of the faithful.5 The predominance of real patronage led to a close connection between the local church and the owner of the property (nobility, king, or clergy) throughout the Middle Ages and the early modern period. In the case of larger cities, councilors, wealthy burghers, or university corporations also could be patrons. The right of patronage consisted of several obligations and privileges. The most important was the right of presentation (ius praesentationis). When the death or transfer of a clergyman resulted in a vacancy in a parish or other benefice, the patron had the right to appoint a successor within a period prescribed by law (four or six months), to whom the local bishop then granted canonical institution. The bishop was free to dispose of only the benefices and parish­es located within the estates of the bishopric, which were reserved for him (referred to as “table estates”). Thus, in the case of most benefices and parishes, he had to wait for a proposal from the owner or owners of the relevant estates. Not all benefices in the Latin Church were covered by the right of patronage, though. The incorporated (beneficia incorporata) and unified (beneficia unita) benefices, as well as prebends in cathedral chapters that were filled by means of an election held by the members of the college (beneficia electiva), were exceptions. A further limitation on the bishop’s authority to entrust church benefices in his diocese to recipients of his choosing was the so-called papal reservation. Altogether, though, the bishop’s privilege of selecting a candidate, papal reservations, and collegial elections constituted a small percentage of pastoral benefices. The vast majority, including almost all parishes, were filled under the law of presentation arising from the right of patronage. For this reason, it was one of the most important factors influencing how a parish and its ministries functioned. The owner of the property also had other rights arising from their right of patronage. These included the law of precedence, burial in the church, and 5 Jacek Wroniszewski, Szlachta ziemi sandomierskiej w średniowieczu: Zagadnienia społeczne i gospodarcze (Poznań–Wrocław: Wydawnictwo Historyczne, 2001), 151–54; Eugeniusz Wiśniowski, Rozwój sieci parafialnej w prepozyturze wiślickiej w średniowieczu: studium geograficzno-historyczne (Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1965), 114–17.

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alimony or special seating for their family in the church (the so-called patron’s pew). The right of presentation, however, was so important that common references often equated the right of patronage to the right of presentation. The real right of patronage was subject to various divisions, as were inherited or sold estates, and so the right of presentation could be exercised by various people jointly (cumulative) or alternately (alternative). The patrons of benefices did not always reach an agreement on their choice of clergyman, which was one of the primary reasons patrons entered litigations before episcopal and consistory courts.6 The primary duties of patrons included paying tithes, rents, and benefits from foundations as well as renovating the church itself. The literature on the subject emphasizes the material dimension of this right and its role in strengthening the relationship between the benefice and the estate of the nobility. The conception of owning parish churches, and thus being responsible for the shape of religious life on personal estates, survived among the nobility from the Middle Ages until the Reformation. Jacek Wroniszewski writes: “Also in later times, especially during the Reformation, patrons felt like owners of parish churches and their property. They took temples from parish communities, granted their use to dissenters, seized parochial property, movable and immovable, as well as church furnishings.”7 Treating a parish as an element of one’s own property manifested itself in entrusting church benefices to members of one’s family. Because many nobles considered themselves to be church owners, it can be surmised that they did not consider transferring a temple to an Evangelical minister as taking it away from the parochial community. Moreover, in the eyes of the owners of neighboring properties, such an act did not constitute any particular violence or breach of the law because the parish church and the entire parish community were part of the seigneurial domain. The parish and its community first and foremost were part of the local society, not the organized and hierarchical diocesan structure, despite that interpretation being imposed to some extent by church sources. A right similar to the right of patronage developed in the Orthodox Church in the form of protectorship (ktetorship). The eastern churches did not have a uniform legal and organizational system; therefore, relations between the laity and the clergy were different between Muscovite and Greek Orthodoxy. Among the Orthodox Christians living in the Crown of the Kingdom of Poland and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, two important components of protectorship 6 Stanisław Litak, Parafie w Rzeczypospolitej w XVI–XVIII wieku: struktura, funkcje społecznoreligijne i edukacyjne (Lublin: Wydawnictwo KUL, 2004), 96–100. 7 Wroniszewski, Szlachta ziemi sandomierskiej w średniowieczu, 155–56.

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arose, which rendered it similar to the right of patronage: the right of presentation, called podawanie in Orthodox Christianity, and the obligation to protect church property. The relations and the mutual influences between the Latin Christian right of patronage and the Orthodox Christian protectorship have not been thoroughly studied. The right of patronage in the Latin Church emerged in the twelfth century as a result of the struggle for investiture, which formally abolished lay ownership of churches and their estates. The Orthodox Church, in which lay power was much stronger, did not endure this same process. According to Kazimierz Chodynicki, “Protectorship did not transform into the patronage that existed in the Catholic Church.”8 Only the acceptance of the authority of Rome by Orthodox Christians in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth (1596) and the process of union, in which the Synod of Zamość of 1720 played an important role, led to a systemic and organizational rapprochement of the Ruthenian Uniate Church with the Latin Church. 3

The Religious Situation in Red Ruthenia at the Turn of the 16th and 17th Centuries

The function of religious institutions and the roles of the clergy in the Middle Ages and the early modern period in Poland were closely related to local social relations and property ownership. Bishoprics, cathedral chapters, and the oldest parishes owed their estates to royal grants. In the later period, noble families and lords joined the foundation movement. The thirteenth century was of key significance as a period of political crisis and fragmentation. Jerzy Kłoczowski characterized this century as “the turning point.”9 The weakness of central political power was conducive to the strengthening of knights and nobles and the partial emancipation of ecclesiastic institutions. By the end of the fourteenth century, the basic foundations of the territorial organization of the Roman Church in the Kingdom of Poland had been laid. Thus, the Church’s territorial and organizational system took shape and then lasted until the end of the eighteenth century. In the mid-fourteenth century, there were eight bishoprics in the Gniezno metropolis (Gniezno, Cracow, Wrocław [Breslau],

8 Kazimierz Chodynicki, Kościół prawosławny a Rzeczpospolita Polska: zarys historyczny 1370– 1632 (Warszawa: Kasa imienia Mianowskiego–Instytut Popierania Nauki, 1934), 107–20. 9 Jerzy Kłoczowski, A History of Polish Christianity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 30–49.

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Płock, Włocławek, Chełmno, Kamień, and Lubusz [Lebus]), divided into archdeaconries, deaneries, and parishes. The second half of the fourteenth century brought significant changes in the position of religious communities in Poland. Several simultaneous phenomena contributed to this. One was state reunification following the fragmentation period. Under the rule of the last king of the Piast dynasty, Kazimierz III (1333–70), part of the former Principality of Galicia–Volhynia was incorporated into the lands of the Kingdom of Poland. It was an area that belonged to the eastern cultural circle, in which Eastern Orthodoxy had been dominant since the tenth century. In 1386, a personal union was concluded between the Kingdom of Poland and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania. At the time, the Grand Duchy of Lithuania was a multi-ethnic and multicultural state, comprising in particular Lithuanian pagans and Eastern Orthodox Slavs, whose number grew with the extension of the country’s borders to the east and south.10 In this way, as a result of changes in political geography, a multidenominational and multicultural Polish–Lithuanian state was formed. Apart from the two majority confessions, Catholic and Orthodox, its population included several non-Christian minorities: Jewish, Muslim, Karaite Jewish, and pagan. The second half of the sixteenth century brought further religious changes. In 1569, “a real union” was concluded in Lublin between the Kingdom of Poland and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, which led to deeper systemic integration and the creation of a federal state, the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth (1569–1795). During the same period, the Reformation broke out among Western Christians, leading to the division of the Latin Church. The years 1560–80 witnessed dynamism in the diversification and development of congregational organization: from eight hundred to a thousand congregations functioned at that time. In parallel to the Reformation, reforming tendencies were developing in the Orthodox Church in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth, which, given the complex internal and international circumstances, led to the conclusion of a union with Roman Catholicism in Brest in 1596. It marked the beginning of the division of Eastern Christianity in the Commonwealth into the Uniate Church, subordinate to the Holy See in Rome, and the Orthodox Church, affiliated with the metropolis in Kiev.11 A particularly 10

11

Zigmantas Kiaupa, Jūratė Kiaupienė, and Albinas Kuncevičius, The History of Lithuania Before 1795, trans. Irena Zujienė et al. (Vilnius: Lithuanian Institute of History, 2000), 88–111; Darius Baronas, “Od pierwszych misji do chrztu Litwy (1009–1387),” in Dzieje chrześcijaństwa na Litwie, ed. Vytautas Ališauskas (Warszawa: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, 2014), 36–37. Kłoczowski, “Tolerancja w Rzeczypospolitej,” 88–112; Ludomir Bieńkowski, “Mozaika religijno-kulturalna Rzeczypospolitej w XVII i XVIII w.,” in Uniwersalizm i swoistość

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complex situation arose on the cultural borderlands, where the Reformation and the Union process occurred simultaneously. Red Ruthenia was an integral part of these borderlands. Red Ruthenia, long a region of intertwining influences of Latin and Eastern Orthodox cultures, historically corresponded to the Ruthenian palatinate (i.e., province), which consisted of five lands (Chełm, Sanok, Przemyśl, Halych, and Lviv) and the Bełz palatinate of the Commonwealth. This area, covering approximately seventy thousand square kilometers, nowadays is bisected by the border between Poland and Ukraine. During the Middle Ages, it belonged to Halych-Volodymyr Rus, where Orthodoxy dominated (Kiev metropolis). The borderlands character of this region, as discussed above, had developed since the fourteenth century as a result of the political and territorial expansion of the Piast state, and thus of the Latin Church, toward the east. In 1375, the second Latin episcopal metropolis in the Kingdom of Poland—preceded only by Gniezno—was established for these lands, with its see in Halych (in Lviv since 1412) and suffragan bishoprics in Chełm, Przemyśl, and Volodymyr-Volynskyi. There also were Orthodox bishoprics in these territories, established earlier.12 At the time of the Reformation, the vast majority of the inhabitants of this region still professed Orthodoxy. Catholics, like the Jews who had been arriving in these areas since the beginning of the fourteenth century, were a minority. In the light of the current state of research, though, it remains difficult to determine the religious and social demographics of the population of Red Ruthenia in the second half of the sixteenth century.13 Due to the lack of demographic sources, the number of temples of particular denominations is often used to indicate population proportions. According to Andrzej Janeczek, out of 162,000 Christians of the Bełz palatinate, approximately 140,000–145,000 were Orthodox. He accepts as credible the notion that 40,000 Catholics lived in the diocese, as indicated in the account of the bishop of Chełm from 1614.14

12 13

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kultury polskiej, vol. 1, ed. Jerzy Kłoczowski (Lublin: Redakcja Wydawnictw KUL, 1989), 241–70. Zdzisław Budzyński, Ludność pogranicza polsko-ruskiego w drugiej połowie XVIII wieku: Stan, rozmieszczenie, struktura wyznaniowa i etniczna, vol. 1 (Przemyśl–Rzeszów: Towarzystwo Przyjaciół Nauk w Przemyślu, Wyższa Szkoła Pedagogiczna w Rzeszowie, 1993), 52. Aleksander Jabłonowski, Polska XVI wieku pod względem geograficzno-statystycznym, vol. 7: Ziemie ruskie. Ruś Czerwona, part 2 (Warszawa: Gebethner i Wolff, 1903–1903), 192, 210; Maurycy Horn, “Zaludnienie województwa bełskiego w 1630 roku,” Roczniki Dziejów Społecznych i Gospodarczych 21 (1959): 86–91; Hubert Łaszkiewicz, Dziedzictwo czy towar? Szlachecki handel ziemią w powiecie chełmskim w II połowie XVII wieku (Lublin: Towarzystwo Naukowe KUL, 1998), 38. Andrzej Janeczek, Osadnictwo pogranicza polsko-ruskiego: województwo bełskie od schyłku XIV do początku XVII w. (Warszawa: Instytut Archeologii i Etnologii Polskiej Akademii Nauk, 1993), 51–56.

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At the end of the sixteenth century, in the Catholic and Orthodox dioceses of Chełm, which covered similar territories, there were approximately 420–440 Orthodox churches15 and approximately 70 Latin churches.16 The calculations based on demographic estimates and the number of churches indicate five- or six-fold numerical superiority for the Orthodox Christian population in this area. Any more detailed sociogeographical characterization would require further research. Nevertheless, it can be observed—following the opinion of Janeczek—that “the Latin structure corresponded more closely to Polish expansion and property ownership, while the Orthodox structure corresponded more closely to settlement patterns, especially in the countryside.”17 This indicates an overwhelming predominance of the Latin (Polish) population among the nobility; at the same time, it indicates that the countryside preserved its original Ruthenian (Orthodox) character, whereas the cities were characterized by a Latin–Ruthenian–Jewish ethnic mosaic. “Protestantism was probably nowhere else so strongly represented.”18 This opinion of Gottfried Schramm concerning Chełm land and the Bełz palatinate evaluates the influence of Protestantism in this area according to the ratio of Protestant churches to Catholic parishes. Similar interpretations can be found in other works on the development of the Reformation in this area.19 They all reference a study and relatively old map by Henryk Merczyng.20 The question is, do they rightly do so? Is the most significant indicator of cooperation with the Reformation rightfully the number of established Protestant churches? Moreover, should it be compared only to Latin parishes in the area when the number of Orthodox parishes was several times higher? With regard to the influence of the Reformation on the Orthodox community and the Orthodox Church in the Chełm-Bełz diocese, two diverging 15

16 17 18 19 20

Andrzej Gil, Prawosławna eparchia chełmska do 1596 roku (Lublin–Chełm: Prawosławna Diecezja Lubelsko-Chełmska, 1999), 187. This number is higher than Bieńkowski’s earlier estimations (approx. 320 Orthodox churches), Ludomir Bieńkowski, “Organizacja Kościoła wschodniego w Polsce,” in Kościół w Polsce, vol. 2, ed. Jerzy Kłoczowski (Kraków: Społeczny Instytut Wydawniczy “Znak”, 1969), 930. An even smaller number (approx. 275) in: Jabłonowski, Polska XVI wieku, vol. 1, 258–61. Bogumił Szady, “System beneficjalny diecezji chełmskiej w latach 1600–1621,” Roczniki Humanistyczne 45, no. 2 (1997): 54–56. Janeczek, Osadnictwo pogranicza polsko-ruskiego, 61–62, 124, 204, 295. Gottfried Schramm, Der Polnische Adel und die Reformation 1548–1607 (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1965), 73. Stanisław Grzybowski, “Mikołaj Sienicki–Demostenes sejmów polskich,” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 2 (1957): 93–94; Jerzy Ternes, Sejmik chełmski za Wazów (1587–1668) (Lublin: Lubelskie Towarzystwo Naukowe, 2004), 125. Henryk Merczyng, Zbory i senatorowie protestanccy w dawnej Rzeczypospolitej (Warszawa: Drukarnia Aleksandra Ginsa, 1904), map.

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opinions can characterize the literature. According to Andrzej Gil, a researcher on the topic of the history of Orthodoxy and the Union, the structure of the Eastern rites was influenced by the Reformation to a minor degree.21 Ludomir Bieńkowski attributed more importance to the matter, though. He argues that the Reformation was the cause of the “suppression or even breakdown, at least in some territories,” of the development of the Orthodox parish system. It is difficult to verify the thesis he presents about the devastation, occupation, or even transformation into Protestant churches of Orthodox churches by patrons who changed their religion.22 It does not seem highly probable in light of the real foundation movement within the Orthodox Church. The summaries compiled by Gil (for the Chełm diocese) and Janeczek (for the Bełz palatinate) unequivocally indicate that the number of Orthodox parishes increased significantly, and certainly did not decrease, in the sixteenth century. The dynamics of their development during the sixteenth century are unclear, especially regarding whether they were more consequential in the first or second half of the century. The increase in the number of parishes in the Bełz palatinate from 60 to 300 between 1427 and 1630 indicates, however, that it was a very dynamic process. According to the thesis of Bieńkowski, “In this diocese Protestantism disrupted the network of Orthodox churches to a limited and comparatively lower degree than the network of the Latin parish churches.”23 Research on other areas of Red Ruthenia confirms this thesis. In Przemyśl during the sixteenth century (between 1515 and 1589), the number of Orthodox churches increased two-fold, and in the Sanok region even three-fold. The seventeenth century brought further development of the network of Orthodox churches. According to Zdzisław Budzyński, “The network of Orthodox churches was neither characterized by particular periods of development nor did it demon­ strate marked breakdowns; it developed with varying intensity, yet still in a continuous manner.”24 He also reports, “Neither external incursions nor the developments of the Protestant Reformation were able to significantly disturb this process.”25

21 22 23 24 25

Gil, Prawosławna eparchia chełmska, 158–87. Bieńkowski, “Organizacja Kościoła wschodniego,” 819. Janeczek, Osadnictwo pogranicza polsko-ruskiego, 59–60; Gil, Prawosławna eparchia chełmska, 159–87; Bieńkowski, “Organizacja Kościoła wschodniego w Polsce,” 819–20. Budzyński, Ludność pogranicza polsko-ruskiego, vol. 1, 73–75. Zdzisław Budzyński, “Sieć parafialna prawosławnej diecezji przemyskiej na przełomie XV i XVI wieku. Próba rekonstrukcji na podstawie rejestrów podatkowych ziemi przemyskiej i sanockiej,” in Studia z dziejów chrześcijaństwa na pograniczu etnicznym, ed. Stanisław Stępień (Przemyśl: Południowo–Wschodni Instytut Naukowy w Przemyślu, 1990), 139.

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In the relatively wide-ranging opinion of historians researching the religious characteristics of Red Ruthenia, the Reformation affected mainly the structure of the Latin Church. Jan Ambroży Wadowski gives a detailed presentation of the matter in an unpublished collection of materials on the history of the Chełm diocese. According to his analyses, of the 73 parish churches functioning in the diocese in the mid-sixteenth century, the Reformation “took over 36 Catholic parish churches and contributed to the desolation of 11 such churches.”26 He introduces several categories describing the different fates of churches owing to the consequences of the Reformation (profaned, occupied, abandoned, devastated, deconsecrated, etc.), which unfortunately complicate the verification of the statistics. Even more credibility should be attributed to the information contained in the ad limina report from 1594 by Bishop Stanisław Gomoliński of Chełm, which reads “and there are more than 70 parishes in the diocese (of which 24 were considered by the bishop to have been destroyed by heretics, although three or four had already been restored by him).”27 The same bishop’s report from 1597 contains information about the recovery of approximately 15 churches from Protestant hands.28 It is impossible to determine whether these are just the bishop’s boasts to his superiors or a genuine representation of matters. The outreach and influence of Protestantism in the Przemyśl and Lviv areas of Red Ruthenia remained weaker in comparison to that in Chełm lands and the Bełz palatinate. In the diocese of Przemyśl, Protestant sympathizers seized only 27 of the approximately 140 parishes functioning at the beginning of the sixteenth century.29 In the Lviv diocese in the second half of the sixteenth century, the devastation caused by Tatar and Ottoman military invasions was more consequential to the functioning of the parishes than was the Reformation. At 26

27

28

29

Jan Ambroży Wadowski, “Materiały do dziejów diecezji chełmskiej,” Biblioteka PAN w Krakowie, MS 2372/I, fol. 19v (“Jakaż to straszna ruina Kościoła, gdy z 73 świątyń parafialnych, zostało zaledwie 26 [What a terrible ruin of the Church, when of 73 parish churches, only 26 remain]”). Bogumił Szady, “Organizacja i funkcjonowanie diecezji chełmskiej w świetle relacji «ad limina» z 1594 r.,” Roczniki Humanistyczne 68, no. 4 (special 2020): 153 (“et parochiae in dioecesi sint septuaginta et ultra (ex quibus viginti quatuor ab haereticis reverendissimus devastatas reperiit, licet iam tres aut quatuor ab ipso reconciliatae sint)”). Archivio Apostolico Vaticano, Congr. Concilio, Relat. Dioec. 217, fol. 477 (“Ecclesiae reconciliatae, et novae aedificatae, et cum magna cura, et sollicitudine reverendissimi a patronis nobilibus sufficienter dotatae, et consecratae, ad quindecim” [To the 15 churches renovated and newly built, thanks to the great concern and forethought of the bishop, sufficiently endowed and consecrated by noble patrons]). Grzegorz Klebowicz, “Diecezja przemyska do końca XVIII w.,” in Atlas historyczny metropolii przemyskiej, ed. Henryk Gapski (Lublin: Towarzystwo Naukowe KUL, 2019), 23.

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the end of the sixteenth century, the Protestants were in possession of approximately 10 churches, which represented less than 10 percent of all Latin parishes existing at that time (approximately 120–130).30 Unfortunately, we do not have any statistical data on the number of Orthodox and Uniate churches taken over by Protestants in these dioceses. However, we can assume that due to the cooperation of Orthodox and Protestants in opposition to the Latin Church in the second half of the sixteenth century, the number was rather small.31 There is little record of the behavior of the faithful, especially in the countryside, when confronted with the desolation of a church or the appearance of a Protestant minister in their parish church in place of a Catholic parson. On the estates of the Protestant nobility, despite being forbidden to do so, peasants would sneak to the nearest functioning Catholic or Orthodox church, although it is impossible to estimate the scale of this phenomenon.32 One can hypothesize that the introduction of a Protestant minister was somewhat less antagonistic here than in Catholic-dominated regions, as it did not de facto impact the majority-Orthodox peasants, who still were able to attend their Orthodox church. If that is the case, the Reformation would have had an impact restricted primarily to the nobility and the population directly subject to them. This is confirmed by the information collected during visitations to Protestant churches in the Lublin district in 1582. The visitator was usually quite precise about the number of worshippers present. In the Protestant churches of the Ruthenian part of the district, the number of worshippers (except for the nobility) oscillated from one (Lipie) to several dozen (Rzeplin).33 4

Case Studies

The legal requirement that the right of patronage in the Latin Church be reserved only for Catholics, whereas the Orthodox right of presentation (podawanie) be reserved only for Orthodox Christians, was unsustainable in the territory of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth, especially in the 30 31 32 33

Józef Krętosz, Organizacja archidiecezji lwowskiej obrządku łacińskiego od XV wieku do 1772 roku (Lublin: Towarzystwo Naukowe KUL, 2019), 206–9. Tomasz Kempa, Wobec kontrreformacji. Protestanci i prawosławni w obronie swobód wyznaniowych w Rzeczypospolitej w końcu XVI i w pierwszej połowie XVII wieku (Toruń: Wydawnictwo Adam Marszałek, 2007). Wacław Urban, Chłopi wobec reformacji w Małopolsce w drugiej połowie XVI w. (Kraków: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1959), 152–53. Maria Sipayłło, ed., Akta synodów różnowierczych w Polsce, vol. 3: Małopolska 1571–1632 (Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1983), 57–68.

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Polish–Ruthenian borderlands. The incorporation of Red Ruthenia into the Crown of the Kingdom of Poland and a series of land grants to the Crown nobility brought about a situation where the right of presentation for the majority of Orthodox churches ended up in the hands of Catholics. The calculations presented by Janeczek indicate that between 1570 and 1580, approximately 80 percent of the noble families of the Bełz palatinate were of Polish (Latin Christian) descent. A similar scenario presumably developed in Chełm land. The percentage of Polish landowners was somewhat lower in the Lviv region—approximately 50 percent.34 The organizational advantage of the Orthodox Church and the ownership advantage of the Latin Christian nobility in Red Ruthenia precipitated the Orthodox nobility performing the duties of patrons to Catholic churches much less frequently than the Latin Christian nobility to Orthodox churches. The connection between the right of patronage and the system of regional ownership meant that patronage held by nobility prevailed in Red Ruthenia in the second half of the sixteenth century. The lack of sources prevents an accurate reconstruction of the full alignment of patronage during this period for the entire area under study. Włodzimierz Czarnecki collected information about forty-three parish foundations in Chełm land through 1635, of which twentynine (67 percent) were under the patronage of the nobility, five (12 percent) of the clergy, and nine (21 percent) of a royal character.35 Bogumił Szady points to the consistencies of the alignment of patronage in the Chełm diocese between 1600 and 1772. During the years 1600–21, there were sixty-two parishes in the Chełm diocese, of which thirty-six (58 percent) were covered by the patronage of the nobility, nineteen (31 percent) of royalty, and five (8 percent) of the clergy. The remaining parish benefices had mixed patronage.36 In 1772, out of eighty-five parishes, fifty-five (65 percent) were covered by the patronage of the nobility, sixteen (19 percent) royal, and nine (11 percent) of the clergy. The remaining parishes had unknown or mixed patronage. Research on the Chełm diocese indicates that the alignment of patronage in the early modern period did not change significantly. It can be assumed that in other parts of Red Ruthenia, the patronage of the nobility similarly was consistently dominant. Table 2.1 shows the alignment of patronage (Latin Church) and protectorship (Uniate Church) in Red Ruthenia around 1772. 34 35 36

Janeczek, Osadnictwo pogranicza polsko–ruskiego, 124; Ternes, Sejmik chełmski za Wazów, 129. Włodzimierz Czarnecki, “Rozwój sieci parafialnej Kościoła łacińskiego w ziemi chełmskiej do początku XVII w.,” Roczniki Humanistyczne 48, no. 2 (2000): 48. Szady, “System beneficjalny diecezji chełmskiej,” 58.

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Table 2.1

Structure of patronage in Red Ruthenia parish churches around 1772

Patronage type

Clergy Royalty Nobility Other

Latin Church

Uniate Orthodox Church

Number

%

Number

%

82 53 249 18

20.40 13.18 61.94 4.48

157 800 2,402 62

4.59 23.38 70.21 1.81

Source: datas contained in Bogumił Szady, Geography of Religious and Confessional Structures in the Crown of the Polish Kingdom in the Second Half of the Eighteenth Century (Berlin: Peter Lang, 2019)

About half of the Protestant communities in the Chełm and Bełz parts of Red Ruthenia were established in centers where Latin parishes had previously existed. They all fell under the patronage of nobility. In the absence of other interpretations, the appearance of a minister holding religious service in the locality should be considered as an indicator of the founding of a Protestant church. However, the emergence of a Protestant church did not necessarily have to be associated with the dissolution of a Catholic or Orthodox community. A Protestant minister most often appeared in place of a Catholic parson, but there were also cases in which new communities were established or several priests were kept for different denominations in a single locality. In the case of Crown Ruthenia (as Red Ruthenia came to be called after the Union of Lublin), where in many localities, Catholic and Orthodox churches existed side by side, and in cities alongside synagogues, the appearance of another clergyman did not have to cause much stir. In the sources of ecclesiastical origin concerning the Chełm diocese (visitations, consistorial records), no distinction is given between communities of different Protestant denominations. The most frequently occurring descriptor is the Polish or Latin word for “heretic” and its variants: “heretical” and “of heresy.” If a specific confession appears, it is usually a misidentification of Reformed as Lutheranism (Krasnobród, Bończa, or Chorupnik). The Reformed dominated among the nobility of Bełz and Chełm, with some exceptions and a few changes over time.37 For quite a long time, the Protestants of the Chełm 37

According to Merczyng, in Chełm land there were anti-trinitarian Polish Brethren churches in Krupe and Gozdów, on the estates of the Orzechowski family. In the files of district synods held in Bełżyce and Kock in 1628, there is an order to carry out a visitation

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and Bełz parts of Red Ruthenia maintained a certain degree of autonomy in the synodal organization of the Reformed Church in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. Until the end of the sixteenth century, the Protestant churches of the Bełz palatinate and Chełm land were treated jointly with Lublin Protestant churches (Lublin district), which were characterized by the strong ownership and family relations of the Ruthenian and Lublin nobility in the second half of the sixteenth century (the families Górka, Firlej, Gorajski, and Orzechowski). In the 1580s, district synods were often held in Turobin, the westernmost town of Chełm land, probably owing to their need for a central location.38 After the formation of the Bełz district in 1599, Chełm land remained in the Lublin district, despite having belonged to the Ruthenian palatinate. Przemyśl and the Lviv part of Red Ruthenia were organized into the Ruthenian district (Przemyśl district). The combination of reports from church sources about the Chełm diocese with other types of primary sources and current research indicates that Protestant churches were established only in half of the seized Catholic parish­es. It is possible to confirm thirteen Protestant churches organized in place of Catholic parishes, which accounted for approximately 20 percent of all parishes (Gorzków, Lipie, Łabunie, Maciejów, Rzeplin, Sitaniec, Szczebrzeszyn, Świerże, Turobin, Uhrusk, Waręż, Żdanów, and Żółkiewka).39 At least the same or perhaps a larger number of parishes collapsed or temporarily ceased to function as a result of the glebe and church building being seized by Protestants. It is worth noting, however, that all Catholic churches in which Protestant communities were organized, except for Żdanów, regained their parish status in the seventeenth or eighteenth centuries. This means that the patrons, even though violating the material foundations of these churches, did not go so far as to destroy them. The post-Reformation fate of Latin churches was different when the estate was seized but no Protestant church was established—many never returned to their original function. In the same area, fourteen newly formed Protestant churches are identified. In my interpretation, these should include the communes of Bończa, Biłgoraj, Krasnobród, Kryłów, and Stary Zamość, despite seventeenth-century mentions of pre-Reformation Latin parishes there. In two cases, Chłaniów and Łaszczów, Protestant congregations established next to Latin parishes did not

38 39

“w Krupem u jm. Paniej Orzechowskiej [in Krupe in her Ladyship Ms Orzechowska’s place],” Merczyng, Zbory i senatorowie protestanccy, 108; Sipayłło, Akta synodów, vol. 3, 511, 514. Sipayłło, Akta synodów, vol. 3, 57; Stanisław Tworek, “Z zagadnień organizacji zborów kalwińskich w Małopolsce w XVI–XVII w.,” Rocznik Lubelski 8 (1965): 66–67. Estimates indicate that in the second half of the sixteenth century in Chełm diocese (approx. 1560), 62 Latin parishes functioned.

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interrupt their function. In addition, sources mention four other Protestant churches in Chełm land—Rejowiec, Krupe, Gozdów, and Żulin—and three in the Bełz palatinate—Hołubie, Krynice, and Przemysłów.40 In all these places, Protestant churches functioned next to Orthodox churches, and in the seventeenth century, next to Uniate ones. Ludomir Bieńkowski explains the disappearance of some Orthodox churches of the Chełm diocese from the registers in the second half of the sixteenth century (Świerże, Kraśniczyn, and Turobin) with the involvement of their owners in the Reformation movement (families Wołczek, Sienicki, and Górka).41 However, there is no direct evidence that the establishment of Protestant congregations in these towns had any significant impact on the fate of Orthodox communities. The source base does not allow for a complete and accurate analysis of the influence of the right of patronage on the fate of all churches in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Therefore, to illustrate likely changes in the function of the right of patronage caused by the emergence of Protestantism, I have selected two examples more thoroughly described in the historical sources. The statistics presented above indicate that the influence of the Reformation on the life of the Latin Church at the local level was varied and could be manifested in the following: 1) the takeover of a Catholic church and its glebe for the benefit of an Evangelical community, 2) the establishment of a Protestant community functioning independently or simultaneously alongside a Catholic one, 3) the destruction of a Catholic church and the takeover of its glebe, and 4) the material and personal weakening of a Catholic parish, with the change of confessional affiliation of the village owners being only one of the potential causes. In the case of the establishment of a Protestant congregation in place of a Catholic parish (scenario 1) or the parallel functioning of a Catholic parish and a Protestant congregation (scenario 2), the influence of the right of patronage and particular patrons on the fate of the religious communities was significant. 4a Lipie (Mokrelipie) (Scenario 1) The parish church in Lipie was built and endowed by Mikołaj of Latyczyn, the owner of Lipie and Latyczyn.42 The church foundation document issued by Bishop Stefan in 1403 granted the right of patronage only to Mikołaj of Latyczyn, blatantly omitting Tomek of Radecznica, Węchota of Sułowiec, 40 41 42

Merczyng, Zbory i senatorscy protestanccy, 54, 59, 70–2, 110 (Żulin as a Polish Brethren church); Sipayłło, Akta synodów, vol. 3, 65–8, 511, 514, 661, 663. Bieńkowski, “Organizacja Kościoła wschodniego,” 819. Ludomir Bieńkowski, “Działalność organizacyjna biskupa Jana Biskupca w diecezji chełmskiej (1417–1452),” Roczniki Humanistyczne 7, no. 2 (1958): 238.

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and Zęborza of Tworyczów, who each had donated tithes from their manor farms to the parish.43 In 1430, the Latyczyński family’s estate was divided into two holdings. Lipie was in one, Latyczyn in the other. At some later point, the Sarnicki family acquired Lipie and thus part of the right of patronage to the local parish, but the details of that acquisition are unknown.44 In 1545, a legal agreement between the Sarnicki party—Jan Sarnicki’s (d. 1538) widow Elżbieta Gorzkowska and her sons Stanisław, Jan, and Mikołaj—on the one side and the Latyczyński party—Sebastian and Jan—on the other side stipulated that half of the right of patronage belonged to the Sarnicki family and the other half to the Latyczyński family, with the right of presentation to be exercised alternately.45 According to a Short Narrative about the Church in Mokre Lipie from the beginning of the seventeenth century, written by Jan Sarnicki, the local parish priest, the church “was profaned in Lutheranism after the death of a priest called Borowski, who was a canon of Chełm and administrator (commendarius) of the church in Lipie, in Anno Domini 1547 succeeding the parson Jerzy Sobieszczański, but nothing was known about who had appointed him administrator, whether it was the bishop or the parson Sobieszczański, who held office in 1545, or the Latyczyński lords, fathers of the present patrons. And for 59 years this church dwelt in heresy, which had been ushered in by my abovementioned father, Stanisław Sarnicki, with the consent of Latyczyński patrons.”46 The Stanisław Sarnicki referenced here was a well-known Calvinist minister and polemicist as well as the military officer (wojski) of Krasnystaw.47 His father, Jan Sarnicki, being the burgrave of Turobin, was associated with the Górka family. He sent Stanisław—his youngest son—to the Górka’s court school, where he encountered humanistic and Reformation instruction and ideas. Jan of Koźmin was his teacher. Stanisław Sarnicki then continued his education in places such as Königsberg and Wittenberg, well-known centers of Protestantism.48 43 44

45 46 47 48

Irena Sułkowska-Kuraś, and Stanisław Kuraś, eds., Zbiór dokumentów małopolskich, vol. 5: Dokumenty z lat 1401–1440 (Wrocław: Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolińskich, Polska Akademia Nauk, 1970), 21. Kazimierz Sochaniewicz, “Sarniccy i zbór w Mokrem Lipiu na Chełmszczyźnie,” Reformacja w Polsce 3, no. 9–10 (1924): 121; Wojciech Sławiński, “Stanisław Sarnicki jako działacz reformacyjny (część I),” Czasy Nowożytne 18–19 (2005): 73; Włodzimierz Czarnecki, “Przemiany osadnictwa ziemi chełmskiej od połowy XIV do końca XVI wieku” (PhD. diss., Maria Curie-Skłodowska University in Lublin, 1997), 145. Sochaniewicz, “Sarniccy i zbór w Mokrem Lipiu,” 123. Ibid. Halina Kowalska, and Janusz Sikorski, “Sarnicki Stanisław,” in Polski słownik biograficzny, vol. 35, ed. Henryk Markiewicz (Warszawa–Kraków: Instytut Historii PAN, 1994), 217–23. Sławiński, “Stanisław Sarnicki,” 73.

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The chronology of events contained in the Narrative conflicts with other sources and historical facts. The abovementioned year in which the priest Borowski performed the functions of administrator in Lipie parish was misinterpreted in later sources and literature as the date of the establishment of the Protestant congregation. It is unlikely that the Catholic parish was transformed into a Protestant congregation before 1550, which is when Sarnicki was studying in Königsberg and Wittenberg. It probably happened only during the years 1554–55. There are several indications that before becoming a Protestant minister in 1554, Stanisław Sarnicki briefly served as a Catholic priest.49 The Catholic parish in Lipie was taken over by Protestant ministers in a somewhat natural way. Following the death of Borowski, the Catholic administrator, the patron of the parish Stanisław Sarnicki entrusted the church to Minister Jerzy (Georgius) Pontanus with the consent of the Latyczyński family, the patrons of the second “alternative,” but without any institution by the bishop of Chełm. The attribution of the “Augustinian confession” to Pontanus by Sarnicki in the Narrative is probably a mistake. Pontanus (of Mościska) appears many times in the sources as a minister of Reformed congregations (Łabunie and Żdanów) and the senior minister of the Lublin and Bełz districts. The report also contains an intriguing opinion on the reasons for the introduction of an Evangelical minister to Lipie by the patrons of the Catholic parish: “whose intention was to seize and divide the church lands between them, as well as to keep some priest for a kopa [meaning a score or sixty grosz, the basic coinage in those times—BS].”50 Nine ministers worked for the Protestant church in Lipie during the period of its functioning. Notable among them were, in chronological order, Jerzy Pontanus (around 1554–55), Jan Bzicki (1560), Hieronim (1566–70), Jan Łoś (1581–82), Grzegorz Kamocki (1586), and Sebastian Klonowski (1595).51 Little is known about the implementation of the rights of patronage during the existence of the Protestant congregation in Lipie. The synodal acts show that the responsibility for its functioning rested in the hands of its patrons (the families Sarnicki and Latyczyński). Theoretically, sovereignty over the minister and the congregation rested in the hands of the synod; nonetheless, the patrons retained their influence over personal appointments. From the account of Jan Sarnicki, it appears that the Latyczyński family considered the 49 50 51

Kowalska, and Sikorski, “Sarnicki Stanisław,” 217–21; Sławiński, “Stanisław Sarnicki,” 73–74. Sochaniewicz, “Sarniccy i zbór w Mokrem Lipiu,” 123–25. Maria Sipayłło, ed., Akta synodów różnowierczych w Polsce, vol. 2: 1560–1570 (Warszawa: Wydawnictwa Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, 1972), 382, 391; Sipayłło, Akta synodów, vol. 3, 644, 663.

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agreement of 1545 on alternating the execution of the right of presentation to apply also to Protestant ministers.52 Stanisław Tworek’s thesis—that relations between ministers and patrons were difficult after the seizure of a glebe of a former parish, especially when patrons disregarded their patronage duties and ministers came from lower social classes—appears to be correct. During the visitation of the congregation in Lipie in 1582, it was mainly the patrons and representatives of the local nobility who who showed up. Stanisław’s older brother Jan was present, among others. The local minister Jan Łoś “gathered only one peasant out of the commoners.” He complained about the lack of food and “his great harm, oppression, insults and suing, which he had endured from Stanisław.”53 Interestingly, Stanisław Sarnicki himself, as the minister of the congregation in Niedźwiedź, acutely felt the effects of the strong power held by the patron over the congregation. When Sarnicki, as the minister of the congregation, was forcibly removed from office by Stanisław Stadnicki, he demanded that the nobility be forbidden to seize ecclesiastical property, but— as can be seen from the testimony of Jan Łoś—he had not taken much care of his own congregation as its patron.54 In 1597, Stanisław Sarnicki, the owner of Lipie and one of the patrons of the congregation, died. In December of that year, his convert son Jan55 ordered the minister Sebastian Klonowski and his wife to leave the church in Lipie, intending to restore a Catholic parish there. This dissolution of the Reformed congregation and the restoration of Lipie under the jurisdiction of a Catholic bishop precipitated a dispute over the right of patronage between the owners of Latyczyn and Lipie, specifically about the manner of executing the right of patronage during the period when the church was administered by Protestant ministers. The account of Jan Sarnicki shows that “Latyczyński lords relegated the former ministers to the alternate order, beginning with Georgius Pontanus, and before him with Sobieszczański, a Catholic parson.” The Latyczyński family believed that there was institutional continuity between the former Catholic parish and the Protestant congregation, which was questioned by the Catholic church authorities and Jan Sarnicki. Only pressure from the bishop of Chełm, Jerzy Zamoyski, a relative of crown chancellor Jan, and Jan Sarnicki, who threatened to seize entirely the right of patronage over this benefice, 52 53 54 55

Sochaniewicz, “Sarniccy i zbór w Mokrem Lipiu,” 124. Sipayłło, Akta synodów, vol. 3, 64; Stanisław Tworek, Szkolnictwo kalwińskie w Małopolsce i jego związki z innymi ośrodkami w kraju i za granicą w XVI–XVII w. (Lublin: Uniwersytet Marii Curie-Skłodowskiej w Lublinie, 1966), 67. Sławiński, “Stanisław Sarnicki,” 101. In 1581 Jan Sarnicki was elected lay consenior of the Calvinist district of Lublin. He still held this function in 1585, Sipayłło, Akta synodów, vol. 3, 89.

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explains why Krzysztof and Stefan Latyczyński, the Protestant owners of Gorajec and Latyczyn, presented for the parish in Lipie Father Franciszek of Zakroczym, vicar of the Krasnystaw Cathedral and parish administrator (commendarius) in Płonka. This presentation took place in 1602 in the presence of Łukasz Serebryski and Paweł Borowski, patrons of the second alternative.56 The following year, Jan Sarnicki received permission from Rome to receive holy orders and to take over the parish in Lipie, despite his descent from a Protestant family. In December 1603, he received minor orders, and in the following year, he took over this parish after presentation from his relatives (Mikołaj, Jan, Jadwiga, Zuzanna, and Katarzyna Sarnicki) and the other owners of Lipie (Łukasz Serebryski and Anna Borowska).57 Sarnicki was ordained as a subdeacon in December 1605 and as a deacon and a presbyter in 1608. He held his office in this parish until his death in 1614.58 In the history of the parish in Lipie, written at the beginning of the seventeenth century, he praised Krzysztof Latyczyński, the Protestant patron of the parish, who had founded a new church and transferred copies of parish documents, which allowed for rebuilding the glebe of the benefice.59 4b Bończa (Scenario 2) The village of Bończa, called Pustotew until the end of the sixteenth century, was in the possession of Mikołaj Sienicki from 1549.60 Merczyng gave the year 1570 as a terminus post quem for the establishment of a Protestant congregation in Pustotew (Bończa).61 The year 1577 serves as the date of its inception, albeit without a reliable source.62 This date probably derived from the information contained in the visitation conducted in the Latin diocese of Chełm in 1637, which reported that the parish church had been in Protestant hands for sixty years.63 Scholars suspect that the church there was built by Mikołaj Sienicki much earlier. The name Bończa did not become well known until the seventeenth century. Maria Sipayłło mistakenly treated Pustotew and Bończa as two separate settlements.64 The first well-known minister of Pustotew was Mikołaj 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64

Archiwum Archidiecezjalne w Lublinie (The Archive Archdiocesan in Lublin), [further as: AAL], Rep. 60, A106, fol. 53v–54. AAL, Rep. 60, A106, fol. 69; AAL. Rep. 60, A106, fol. 98v. AAL, Rep. 60, A107, fol. 8v. Sochaniewicz, “Sarniccy i zbór w Mokrem Lipiu,” 125. Grzybowski, “Mikołaj Sienicki,” 100. Merczyng, Zbory i senatorowie protestanccy, 48. Sipayłło, Akta synodów, vol. 3, 659. AAL, Rep. 60, A150, fol. 107–107v. Sipayłło, Akta synodów, vol. 3, 659, 668; Czarnecki, “Przemiany osadnictwa ziemi chełmskiej,” 152.

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Żytno, who was present at district synods in Bychawa in 1560.65 After Mikołaj Sienicki’s death, his sons Jan and Jakub (Józef) took over the estates.66 The former was an active member of the Lesser Poland Reformed Church (Jednota Małopolska) and the senior of its Lublin district in 1596. The latter took over the role of the main patron of the churches in Pustotew and Siennica.67 As with other Protestant churches, the synodal acts provide information on the entrustment of certain functions, by superintendents and synods in agreement with patrons and congregations, to the subsequent ministers of Pustotew. In 1584, during the Lublin district synod in Turobin, the superintendent transferred the minister Jan of Stężyca from Sitaniec to Pustotew. In these synodal acts, there is a twenty-year lacuna in the accounts pertaining to the church in Pustotew, which may be the consequence of Mikołaj Sienicki joining the Antitrinitarian Polish Brethren after 1562. Wacław Urban doubts the presence of the Polish Brethren church in Bończa.68 After Mikołaj Sienicki’s death, the church in Pustotew reappeared in the network of the Lesser Poland Reformed Church. After Wojciech Mysłowski served as minister during the period of 1595–99, in 1602 the ministry in Pustotew was given to a man named Sebastian at the request of the patron of the church; subsequently, Jan was moved in from Bełżyce in 1606.69 The affairs of the Protestant church in Pustotew were the subject of the district synod in Lublin in 1611. The same synod appointed Bartłomiej as the church minister, and in the following year, Dominik Wawrzyniec received the ministry.70 When Wawrzyniec took over the church, care for the offspring of Bartłomiej became a contentious issue. The responsibility for such care typically rested with the patron of the church and the incumbent minister. The decisions of district synods on this matter indicate problems with the enforcement of these obligations. Parts of the estate owned by the patrons (Borkowski family) and Minister Wawrzyniec were requisitioned by the synod 65 66

67 68 69 70

Sipayłło, Akta synodów, vol. 2, 7, 13. We can surmise that Jakub, son of Mikołaj, who took over Bończa from his father, was the same Józef mentioned in the synodal acts and the armorial of Niesiecki, Herbarz polski Kaspra Niesieckiego, S.J.: powiększony dodatkami z poźniejszych autorów rękopismów, dowodów urzędowych i wydany przez Jana Nep. Bobrowicza, vol. 8 (Lipsk: Breitkopf i Haertel, 1841), 352; Sipayłło, Akta synodów, vol. 3, 648; Anna Sucheni–Grabowska, “Sienicki Mikołaj h. Bończa,” in Polski słownik biograficzny, vol. 37, ed. Henryk Markiewicz (Warszawa–Kraków: Instytut Historii PAN, 1997), 161. Sipayłło, Akta synodów, vol. 3, 179. Wacław Urban, “Losy Braci Polskich od założenia Rakowa do wygnania z Polski,” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 1 (1956): 138. Sipayłło, Akta synodów, vol. 3, 87, 173, 201, 236, 281, 315–16, 326. Ibid., 281, 315–16, 326.

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and allocated for the care of the children of Bartłomiej, but only in 1619. Wawrzyniec and the patrons of the church (Firlej family) were summoned to pay the remaining debt during subsequent synods in the years 1621–22. In 1623, the ministry in Bończa passed to Marcin Niewierski, who held this position until 1636, when the building of the church was seized by the Latin bishop of Chełm, Remigiusz Koniecposki.71 In the first half of the seventeenth century, the bishops of Chełm pursued a policy of fait accompli to rebuild the organizational structure of the diocese after the losses caused by the Reformation. They initiated lawsuits, and based on judgments favorable to the Catholic Church, they forced parochial appointments and recommended parsons to take over the endowment of Protestant congregations. An analysis of these court records reveals that the bishop of Chełm—with opposition from the owners of the village—managed to take over the Protestant church in Bończa in 1636. It is difficult to determine whether any extraordinary circumstances influenced this bishop’s decision to seize this particular Protestant church. It operated near the seat of the diocese and the bishop’s residences in Kumów and Skierbieszów. Perhaps the vacancy after the death of Marcin Niewierski merely created an opportunity to take over the church. The support of Marcin Brzezicki, the Catholic owner of nearby Ostrów, who was also asserting his patronage, was a factor. He justified his engagement by the fact that in his village, there was a łan (a unit of land measurement equaling eighteen hectares) that had long belonged to the church in Pustotew (i.e., Bończa). The basis of the claims of the bishop of Chełm against the Protestant church in Bończa was the existence of a Catholic parish in this town before the Reformation. The literature on the subject assumes a fifteenth-century foundation for this Latin parish. The 1531 register of the taxation census contains the first extant mention of this functioning parish.72 However, tax registers are not an unequivocally reliable source for confirming the functioning of Latin parishes, especially in areas dominated by Orthodox Christians. They state, for example, that in 1564, there was a parish in Depułtycze, when in fact one never

71 72

Ibid., 350–52, 397, 409, 427, 437, 448. Czarnecki, “Rozwój sieci parafialnej Kościoła łacińskiego,” 61, 68. Marek Zahajkiewicz, without indicating his source base, states that the parish in Bończa was established in 1486. Marek Tomasz Zahajkiewicz, Diecezja lubelska: informator historyczny i administracyjny (Lublin: Wydział Duszpasterstwa Kurii Biskupiej, 1985), 204. This information was probably drawn from the Catalog of Art Monuments in Poland, switching the last two digits in the date. Teresa Sulerzyska, Felicja Uniechowska, and Ewa Rowińska, Powiat krasnostawski (Warszawa: Instytut Sztuki Polskiej Akademii Nauk, 1964), 1.

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existed there.73 Andrzej Janeczek posits a thesis about the ambiguity of the term “parish,” which due to its fiscal functions and connection with ownership, in some circumstances could simply mean a noble estate, a settlement, or a community: “The predominance of ownership relations in the structure of a parish supports the hypothesis that rural parishes in Red Ruthenia were fictitious and more likely they represented tithing districts or arrangements of noble property than settlement micro-regions or miniature local communities.”74 Additional presumptions pertaining to the functioning of a parish in Pustotew (Bończa) before the Reformation come only from post-Tridentine canonical visitations. However, the visitators do not indicate any specific events (e.g., foundation dates) or documents proving its prior existence. They only provide general notes about the seizure or destruction of the church by “heretics.” In the case of Bończa, the visitators were not even able to indicate which of the Sienicki “heretics” they meant. And surprisingly, there is no mention of Latin clergy from Pustotew in any documents from the sixteenth century, copies of which are often found in later episcopal or officials’ books. The fire that devoured the archives of the episcopal curia and consistory in Krasnystaw in 1597 does not completely explain this void. One should acknowledge the possibility that at the beginning of the seventeenth century, bishops or visitators “created” a pre-Reform tradition of a church or parish taking over a Protestant church and its endowment. In the case of Bończa, the documents that were prepared in connection with a court trial in 1636 explicitly stated that the seizure was intended to take over a masonry church erected for Protestants. The previous wooden Catholic church was allegedly demolished by Sienicki.75 There is no doubt, however, that in Pustotew there was an Orthodox parish in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries,76 next to the Protestant church. After the verdict from the Chełm land court and the Crown Tribunal favorable to the bishop of Chełm in October 1636, an agreement was concluded between the Protestant owners of Bończa, Zofia née Sienicka Firlej and her son from her first marriage, Piotr Józef Borkowski, and the bishop and chapter of Chełm. This settlement was necessitated by the owners of Bończa not 73 74 75 76

Czarnecki, “Rozwój sieci parafialnej Kościoła łacińskiego,” 68. Janeczek, Osadnictwo pogranicza polsko-ruskiego, 50. AAL, Rep. 60, A150, fol. 107; AAL, Rep. 60 A159, fol. 133v–134v, 137–138v. Archiwum Główne Akt Dawnych (Central Archives of Historical Records in Warsaw), [further as AGAD], ASK I 36, fol. 177v; Jabłonowski, Polska XVI wieku, vol. 1, 185; Gil, Prawosławna eparchia chełmska, 165; Andrzej Gil, Chełmska diecezja unicka 1596–1810: Dzieje i organizacja (Lublin: Towarzystwo Instytutu Europy Środkowo-Wschodniej, 2005), 298.

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acknowledging in full the verdict as it was executed by the town hall in Chełm on May 23, 1636, which ordered the return of the parish and its endowment to the bishop of Chełm. Meanwhile, the Calvinist owners of Bończa and the Catholic owner of Ostrów presented Marcin Kurowski as the Latin parson.77 According to Jacek Pelica (based on Russian studies), an Orthodox church ceased to function in Bończa around 1636, and the Orthodox community was not revived until the second half of the nineteenth century. However, a Uniate parish in Bończa is confirmed by the lists of 1620, 1749, 1760, and 1772.78 Owing to the loss of the church and glebe, the owners of Bończa founded a new wooden Calvinist church, which was erected around 1638 and survived until the eighteenth century.79 The records of synods in Lesser Poland (Małopolska) from the period 1636–63 contain considerable information about the functioning of this congregation. The first minister before the dedication of the new church was Jan Gravis, who was appointed at Jan Firlej’s request by the convocation in Bełżyce in 1637.80 Jan Firlej, a lay senior of the Lublin district, was the second husband of Zofia Sienicka, daughter of Jakub, owner of Bończa. A year earlier, together with his wife, he had presented Marcin Kurowski as a Catholic parson in Bończa, and two years earlier Jan Kłobucki for a parish benefice in Siennica, also belonging to the Firlej estate.81 Gravis held his function in Bończa until 1641, when Jan Firlej requested the appointment of another minister during the convocation in Radzięcin. In the same year the provincial synod in Bełżyce decided to transfer Gravis from Bończa to Rejowiec and Szymon Szapski from Rejowiec to Bończa. Successive Calvinist owners of Bończa fulfilled their patronage duties both toward the Protestant church and the Latin church. Piotr Józef Borkowski, the village owner, in 1650, undertook to rebuild the residence of the minister and “he wasted no time recruiting for himself” a new minister to succeed Szapski.82 The bishops of Chełm, despite the legal prohibition, accepted presentations for the parish in Bończa from the Calvinists: Zofia Sienicka, Jan Firlej of 77 78

79 80 81 82

AAL, Rep. 60, A150, fol. 108; AAL, Rep. 60, A157, 140–141; AAL, Rep. 60, A111, fol. 362v–363; AAL, Rep. 60, A159, fol. 137–137v. Jacek Grzegorz Pelica, “Z dziejów parafii Opieki Matki Bożej w Bończy,” Wiadomości Polskiego Autokefalicznego Kościoła Prawosławnego 1 (2011): 16–18; Gil, Chełmska diecezja unicka, 299, 310; Witold Kołbuk, Kościoły wschodnie w Rzeczypospolitej około 1772 roku. Struktury administracyjne (Lublin: Instytut Europy Środkowo-Wschodniej, 1998), 300. Merczyng, Zbory i senatorowie protestanccy, 48; Józef Łukaszewicz, Dzieje kościołów wyznania helweckiego w dawnej Małej Polsce (Poznań: W. Decker i Spółka, 1853), 317. AGAD, Archiwum Zamoyskich (BOZ), sign. 3156, 9–10, 20–21. AAL, Rep. 60, A111, fol. 362v–363; AAL, Rep. 60, A150, fol. 108; AAL, Rep. 60, A111, fol. 314v. AGAD, BOZ, sign. 3156, 45, 97.

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Dąbrowica, and Piotr Józef Borkowski in 1636,83 and Zbigniew Suchodolski and Zofia Borkowska of Skrzynno in 1694.84 Realizing that he could not count on the support of the Protestant owners of Bończa during the visitation in 1637, Bishop Koniecpolski recommended that the parson in Bończa seek the support of the Catholic owner of Ostrów, Marcin Brzezicki, who successfully asserted his patronage rights to the parish in Bończa.85 At the beginning of the eighteenth century, the Catholic parish in Bończa was in good financial condition, and its Calvinist patron Adam Piotr Suchodolski, the treasurer of Chełm, was described by Bishop Szaniawski as “a gentleman of generosity toward the church in Bończa.”86 At the same time, it is known that during the years 1708– 14, he baptized three of his children in the Calvinist church in Bończa.87 5

Conclusion

The right of patronage was one of the most important factors determining the institutional organization of religious life in the modern period. As a right derived from medieval canon law, it defined the framework and principles of the responsibility of estate owners for the churches and religious institutions located within their estates. Similar principles, but of a different origin, existed in the Orthodox Church (protectorship) and in Protestant churches. In the case of the Protestants in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth, the rules were not uniform, as they were negotiated through disputes over the organizational and legal shape of individual congregations, disputes that especially concerned relations between clerical and lay seniors. The two examples presented above indicate that the right of patronage and the changes it underwent should be understood within a wider context, extending beyond merely religious issues. Two contexts in particular stand out. First, the right of patronage was shaped by the full kaleidoscope of local and regional social and religious relations, especially the relations between laity and clergy as well as between the state and churches. Second, the implementation of the right of patronage was closely related to the exercise and limitations of private estate ownership. The Orthodox Church, predominant in Red Ruthenia, had a weaker position in relation to the nobility and secular 83 84 85 86 87

AAL, Rep. 60, A111, fol. 362v–363; AAL, Rep. 60, A150, fol. 108; AAL, Rep. 60, A157, 140–141. AAL, Rep. 60, A116, fol. 146v. AAL, Rep. 60, A159, fol. 137–137v. AAL, Rep. 60, A154, fol. 57v–58. Szymon Konarski, Szlachta kalwińska w Polsce (Warszawa: Drukarnia Braci Wójcikiewicz, 1936), 287.

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authorities than the Latin Church. In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the Latin nobility in Red Ruthenia commonly took advantage of their greater power in this context. The Latin nobility largely determined the dynamics of the Union process after 1596.88 Kazimierz Chodynicki even argues that the Orthodox right of presentation took the form of the Latin right of patronage as a result of Orthodox Christians adopting the Western concept of property and church ownership in the wake of the Union of Brest.89 The law of presentation in the Latin Church and the influence of the patron on the choice of the minister in the Protestant Church had different origins and foundations. The system of the Latin Church was based on benefices, which were liquidated for churches seized by Protestants. The essence of a benefice being a legal person was its perpetuity and, in principle, lifelong ownership. This meant that after the beneficiary’s death, there was a vacancy period during which the patron presented and then the bishop instituted another beneficiary. In the case of Protestant churches, there were no benefices but rather administrative functions resembling offices of the Latin Church, such as judicial vicariate or rural deaneries, with which no permanent remunerations were connected. The dissolution of benefices and the right of patronage necessitated a different way of maintaining congregations and the ministers working for them. The endowments of Catholic parish benefices were mainly based on land and tithing, whereas Protestant ministers received their salaries in cash and “natural goods.” Thus, Urban’s question about the extent to which material benefits determined the willingness of noblemen to change their denomination is significant.90 The example of Lipie demonstrates such significance. The construction of a Protestant church in Bończa after the previous one had been taken over by the Catholics and the subsequent simultaneous function of two temples—a Catholic and a Protestant—for several decades may indicate that being Protestant in the seventeenth century was more expensive than conformism. The strong position of the Latin nobility relative to the Orthodox Church and the organizational weakness of the Latin bishops in Red Ruthenia created favorable conditions for the progress of the Protestant Reformation in this area. The organizational, material, and personal weaknesses of the Latin 88

89 90

Jacek Krochmal, “Duchowieństwo unickie eparchii przemysko-samborskiej w latach 1596–1609,” Miscellanea Historico-Archivistica 20 (2013): 148–65; Ігор Скочиляс, “Польське «право патронату» та особливості правового становища Галицької (Львівської) єпархії в XV–XVII століттях,” Вісник Львівської комерційної академії. Серія гуманітарних наук 10 (2011): 100–6. Chodynicki, Kościół prawosławny a Rzeczpospolita Polska, 119. Tworek, Szkolnictwo kalwińskie w Małopolsce, 80–82.

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Church, as well as the region’s peripheral location,91 enabled owners of estates to take over churches and their glebes without many qualms. The outbreak of the Reformation resulted in the abolition of the right of patronage in its legal and canonical understanding in many cases. During the Reformation, the extensive powers that the laity maintained regarding parishes and benefices, by means of the right of patronage, were turned against the Latin Church and the clergy. The seizure of Catholic churches by Protestants meant the abolition of the right of patronage as a form of contract between the bishop and the owner of the estate in which a church was located and from which its endowment (benefice) came. The takeover of a church by the Protestants caused a fundamental change in its formal and legal position. Because Protestant churches had no legal status in the Crown, they were completely dependent on seigneurial authority, though no longer restricted by the authority of the bishop or the right of patronage. This influenced the functioning of the Protestant churches in various ways: positively, as in Bończa, where regardless of intense pressure from diocesan authorities, the Protestant church remained until the eighteenth century, or negatively, as in Lipie, where the change of the patron’s religion was followed by the handover of the church to a Catholic bishop.92 In numerous situations, after the takeover of a church and its glebe, neither was a Protestant church actually established nor was a minister invited to work there at all. In Red Ruthenia, where the Orthodox Church was demographically dominant, the principle prohibiting individuals of other denominations from holding patronage, applicable to both the Latin and Orthodox Churches, was impossible to uphold. The two cases presented above indicate that in practical terms, the responsibilities and duties of the patrons of Latin parishes and Protestant congregations did not significantly differ. Patrons played a lead role in securing material welfare and influencing appointments to ecclesiastical offices. However, there were fundamental differences in the way these duties and privileges were exercised. The position of the patron in the Latin Church became well established in canonical legislation, as the ecclesiastical courts developed jurisprudence on the matter. Appointments followed a predetermined procedure (presentation, institution, and introduction), and patrons exercised their entitlements scrupulously. The patrons were the party that restricted the authority of the bishop over the benefices in the diocese. When the patrons did not exercise their right of presentation within four to 91 92

Jacek Chachaj, Bliżej schizmatyków niż Krakowa …: Archidiakonat lubelski w XV i XVI wieku (Lublin: Werset, 2012). Tworek, Szkolnictwo kalwińskie w Małopolsce, 61–62.

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six months, bishops immediately exercised their right of free appointment to the position iure devolutionis. The right of patronage, especially in the case of wealthy parishes and benefices, was instrumental in the implementation of individual and family-related interests. The staffing of more lucrative benefices was frequently accompanied by disagreements and lawsuits in the episcopal court or in the consistory. In the case of Protestant churches, which did not have permanent or significant endowments and had only a small pool of Protestant clergy to choose from, the commissioning of ministries was carried out during synods and convocations, in consensus between the patron of the Protestant church and the lay and clerical seniors.93 The dependence of the functioning of churches on estate owners was more prominent in the first stage of the development of the Protestant Reformation in the region (1550–95), when decisions were made at local levels. The increasingly influential role of the district synods along with the growing role of lay seniors altered the position of a Protestant church patron, who exercised authority with increasing frequency not only as seigneurial lord but also as a lay senior.94 The Protestant church in Lipie, having been closed down relatively early, did not take part in the “progressing confessionalization of Lesser Polish Reformed churches.”95 This was different in the case of the church in Bończa, which played an instrumental role in the larger organization of Protestant congregations in the seventeenth century. As the Protestant congregational organization solidified at the turn of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the nobility, who were determined to maintain their seigneurial rights over their churches, kept moving away from Protestantism. Some of the nobles were unwilling to relinquish a position that had been strengthened by independence from the Catholic bishop. The organizational consolidation of Calvinism in Lesser Poland clashed with the conservatism of a group of nobles strongly attached to their seigneurial rights.96 Under intense pressure from the Catholic bishops, mainly through lawsuits reclaiming the glebes of seized benefices, they agreed to return part of the estates while maintaining the right of 93

94 95 96

Bogumił Szady, “Między Panem i Plebanem—mechanizmy obsady funkcji duchownych w Rzeczypospolitej wielu wyznań w XVI–XVIII w.,” in Między Rzymem a Nowosybirskiem: Księga jubileuszowa dedykowana ks. Marianowi Radwanowi SCJ, ed. Irena Wodzianowska, and Hubert Łaszkiewicz (Lublin: Wydawnictwo KUL, 2012), 206. Szady, “Między Panem i Plebanem,” 204–5. Kazimierz Bem, “Ustroje kościołów ewangelicko‑reformowanych w Rzeczypospolitej Obojga Narodów na przełomie XVI i XVII wieku,” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 57 (2013): 144–45. Stanisław Salmonowicz, “Nieograniczona władza szlachcica polskiego w jego posiad­ łościach,” in Stanisław Salmonowicz, Kilka minionych wieków: Szkice i studia z historii ustroju Polski (Kraków: Universitas, 2009), 9–22.

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patronage (Lipie). It is difficult to determine how important the role of the patron’s religious affiliation was in such a case. The praise voiced by the Latin clergy for Protestant patrons indicates that this was not necessarily a decisive factor. The fate of benefices and the right of patronage as induced by the Protestant Reformation resulted in the organizational consolidation of the Latin Church and undermined confidence in a system in which the participation of the laity, especially the nobility, was crucial to the development of its institutions. This development launched a long process of restricting the authority of the laity in relation to the institutions and assets of the Catholic Church, which ended only in the twentieth century. The experience of the Reformation encouraged the ecclesiastical authorities to secure church beneficiaries more firmly against the risk of loss of influence owing to the change of a patron’s denomination. The document of Stanisław Gorzkowski renewing the endowment of the parish in Gorzków from 1623 stipulated that in the case of a change in the denomination of the landowners or sale of the estate to nobility of a different faith, the staffing responsibilities for the parish would pass to the bishop and the cathedral chapter by the right of devolution. The right of patronage could belong to the landowners of Gorzków, Czysta Dębina, Olchowiec, and Wielkiepole on the condition that they were Catholics.97 A similar clause appeared in a document by Ewa Sapieżyna of Skaszewo, chamberlain of Włodzimierz from 1636, renewing the endowment of the parish in Maciejów.98 The above study on the functioning of the right of patronage in the Latin Church during the Reformation demonstrates the close dependence of religious life at the local scale on property and ownership relations. They were the basis of the church benefices, which determined the structural shape of the Church. It indicates that research on religious life on a microscale should be associated more with social relations than with diocesan structures. It was not the bishops but the landowners, with their wealth and social status, who primarily decided on religious relations in their estates. Similar research carried out in relation to the ktitorstwo as the equivalent of the right of patronage in the Orthodox Church could indeed develop the conclusions presented in this article. However, this is a very difficult task due to the scarce source basis for the local situation of the Eastern churches at the turn of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.

97 98

AAL, Rep. 60, A152, fol. 282v. AAL, Rep. 60, A152, fol. 671–671v.

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Chapter 3

Social Conditions of Religious Coexistence in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania: Three Cases of the Late Sixteenth Century Uladzimir Padalinski | ORCID: 0000-0002-6204-2033 1

Introduction

The Grand Duchy of Lithuania was a multi-ethnic and multiconfessional state. Both Christian and non-Christian communities had freedom of religion, which allowed various religious groups to coexist fairly peacefully. However, the beginning of the Counter-Reformation, as well as the increasingly vibrant and often unrelenting activities of the Jesuit Order (the Society of Jesus) directed at its opponents, had already by the end of the sixteenth century led to the aggravation of interfaith relations and more and more frequent conflicts on the basis of religion.1 On the one hand, such conflicts clearly attested to changes in the religious policy of the royal authorities and the authorities of the Roman Catholic Church in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth, which had been established in 1569 as a result of the union between the Kingdom of Poland and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania. On the other hand, the ways found to resolve the conflicts reflected the principles and values that ensured constructive interfaith relationships in the state. Despite all the challenges and antagonism, representatives of different Christian confessions and nonChristian religions continued to live side by side and accumulate experience of coexistence in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. The aim of this article is to determine those social conditions that made it possible to ensure the peaceful coexistence of various confessions in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania and in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth at large. The study is based on three 1 Tomasz Kempa, Konflikty wyznaniowe w Wilnie od początku reformacji do końca XVII wieku (Toruń: Wydawnictwo Naukowe Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika, 2016), 97–180; id., “Próba interpretacji wydarzeń wileńskich z 1581 roku—pierwszego poważnego konfliktu wyznaniowego w Wielkim Księstwie Litewskim w okresie kontrreformacji,” in Rola Kościoła w dziejach Polski. Kościoły w Rzeczypospolitej, ed. Jacek Krochmal (Warszawa: Archiwum Główne Akt Dawnych, 2017), 106–18; Maria Barbara Topolska, Społeczeństwo i kultura w Wielkim Księstwie Litewskim od XV do XVIII wieku (Poznań–Zielona Góra: Bogucki Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 2002), 135–45.

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conflicts that occurred in the Polatsk palatinate (województwo) of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania between representatives of different denominations at the end of the sixteenth century. Those local conflicts were a vivid reflection of the aggravating social and religious tensions that prevailed at that time in the Commonwealth. The subject of the relations between Christian confessions in the territory of the Polatsk palatinate already has a rich historiography.2 At the same time, the selected conflicts have not received the due attention of the researchers. I believe that the study of these cases from a sociocultural point of view3 would allow us to obtain new data on the value system and ideas, social and political conditions, and processes that determined the behavioral patterns of various strata of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania’s society in the field of interfaith relations, both at the local and state level in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. The Polatsk land—the first state formation on the Belarusian lands— emerged in the ninth and tenth centuries. At the beginning of the fourteenth century, it became a part of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania. The Polatsk palatinate, established in 1504, was located in the northeast of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania and occupied an important commercial and military position in Eastern Europe. The cultural environment of the Polatsk land had been dominated by the Orthodox Church since the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and Calvinism had begun to gain popularity since the middle of the sixteenth century. However, the active infiltration of Catholicism into social and cultural life caused religious tension at the end of the sixteenth century. This interconfessional confrontation was in fact expressed in peaceful forms—for example, in religious polemics. In 1589, a public dispute between the Jesuits and Calvinists took place in Polatsk. The well-known Antitrinitarian Symon Budny also participated in it. The dispute lasted for several days in the presence of the Orthodox, Protestant, and Catholic nobility and clergy.4 During the years 1582–99, which this article deals with, the palatines of Polatsk were Mikolaj Dorohostajski (1576–97, Calvinist) and Andrej Sapieha (1597–1613, Catholic) and the castellans of Polatsk were Jan Volminski (1579–88, Lutheran), Vatslaw

2 Ігар Бортнік, “Міжканфесійныя адносіны ў Полацкім ваяводстве ў другой палове XVI– першай палове XVII ст.: гістарыяграфічны аналіз,” in Беларускае Падзвінне: вопыт, методыка і вынікі палявых і міждысцыплінарных даследаванняў: зб. навук. прац, part 2, ed. Дзяніс Дук і Уладзімір Лобач (Наваполацк: ПДУ, 2011), 12–20. 3 Лорина П. Репина, Историческая наука на рубеже XX–XXI вв.: социальные теории и историографическая практика (Москва: Кругъ, 2011), 64–66, 71–75, 78–118. 4 Ксенофонт Говорский, “О введении, распространении и судьбе кальвинизма в Белоруссии,” Вестник Юго-Западной и Западной России 2, vol. 4 (April 1864): 28.

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Shemet (1588–97, Calvinist), and Jesif Korsak (1597–1618, Calvinist).5 Religious peace in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania was enshrined in law through the Statute of 1588. This legal code included the Warsaw Confederation of 1573, which guaranteed the peaceful coexistence of different Christian confessions. However, at the end of the sixteenth century, interfaith relations in the state began to unravel.6 2

The Case of Gregorian Reform

On February 24, 1582, Pope Gregory XIII issued the bull Inter gravissimas, according to which a new calendar was introduced: October 4, 1582, was immediately followed by October 15, 1582. However, the Orthodox and Protestant churches did not recognize the reform, which was largely determined not by scientific considerations but by religious and political ones. Mistrust and often hatred of the papal authority, as well as the direct reference in the bull to the decisions of the Council of Trent held in 1545–63, fed the negative attitude of non-Catholic Christendom toward this nonreligious reform of Pope Gregory XIII.7 The secular authorities of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth were among the first states of Europe to switch to the Gregorian calendar as early as October 1582. At the same time, the Orthodox and some Protestant communities of the Kingdom of Poland and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania did not recognize the pope’s reform and remained faithful to the old Julian calendar. Patriarch of Constantinople Jeremias II ordered the Orthodox and Armenian clergy of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth to adhere to the old calendar in his charter issued on November 20, 1583. Referring to the authority of the Church Fathers and Ptolemy, the patriarch cited the mistakes of the “Old Rome” astronomers and accused them of vanity.8 5 Henryk Lulewicz, ed., Urzędnicy Wielkiego Księstwa Litewskiego: Spisy, vol. 5: Ziemia połocka i województwo połockie XIV–XVIII wiek (Warszawa: Instytut Historii PAN, 2018), 103, 237–38. 6 Іван Шамякін, ed., Статут Вялікага княства Літоўскага 1588: Тэксты. Давед. Камент. (Мінск: БелСЭ, 1989), 112–14 (Chapter 3, article 3). The Warsaw Confederation was translated from Polish into Old Belarusian. 7 George V. Coyne, Michael Hoskin, and Olaf Pedersen, eds., Gregorian Reform of the Calendar: Proceedings of the Vatican Conference to Commemorate its 400th Anniversary, 1582–1982 (Vatican City: Pontifical Academy of Sciences, Vatican Observatory (Pontificia Academia Scientarum, SpecolaVaticana), 1983), 201–2, 226–32, 255–63. 8 Иван Григорович, ed., Акты, относящиеся к истории Западной России, собранные и изданные Археографическою комиссиею, vol. 3 (Санкт-Петербург: Типография Э. Праца, 1848), 278–80; Макарий, История Русской церкви, book 5 (Москва: Издательство Спасо-Преображенского Валаамского монастыря, 1996), 238–39, 469; David A. Frick,

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Such attempts to introduce the Gregorian calendar caused significant protests by the Protestant and Orthodox citizens in Riga and Lviv.9 To prevent such a course of events in the capital of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, in January 1584 Stephen Bathory, the king of Poland and the Grand Duke of Lithuania (1576–86), sent a special charter to the Vilnius municipal government in which he reminded them that freedom of religion had to be preserved in the city. The introduction of the new calendar was not supposed to limit the rights of the inhabitants of the Orthodox or any other confessional community. The king and grand duke emphasized that the Orthodox population did not have to recognize the Gregorian calendar without the consent of their patriarch, and no one could force them to do so.10 However, conflicts must have occurred, as the Orthodox Metropolitan of Kyiv, All Rus’ Onezyfor Dzievoczka, and some of the Vilnius burghers soon turned directly to the monarch for the protection of their religious rights. On September 8, 1586, Stephen Bathory issued a new charter in which he prohibited the Vilnius Catholics from restricting the rights of the local Orthodox citizens to celebrate church holidays in accordance with the “custom of long standing”—that is, in accordance with the Old Style. At the same time, both the Orthodox Christians and the king appealed to the Warsaw Confederation (1573), which guaranteed the preservation of religious peace in the state and was approved by Stephen Bathory himself at his coronation in 1576.11 The monarch was well aware of his duty to defend the rights of all his people and to observe his oath, which he had taken when he ascended to the throne of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. In the 1580s, royal authorities tried to preserve the principle of religious freedom, emphasizing the importance of such values as “concord,” “peace,” “love,” “law,” and “custom” for the peaceful coexistence of various Christian denominations.12 One can argue that this approach received positive feedback from most of the nobility of the Polish–Lithuanian

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12

Kith, Kin, and Neighbors: Communities and Confessions in Seventeenth-century Wilno (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2013), 78, 84–86. Kempa, Konflikty wyznaniowe, 146–48. Григорович, Акты, относящиеся к истории Западной России, 280–81; Николай Костомаров, ed., Акты, относящиеся к истории Южной и Западной России, собранные и изданные Археографической комиссией, vol. 2 (Санкт-Петербург: Типография Э. Праца, 1865), 179–180. Григорович, Акты, относящиеся к истории Западной России, 315–16; Stanisław Grodziski, Irena Dwornicka and Wacław Uruszczak, eds., Volumina Constitutionum, vol. 2 (1550–1609), part 1 (1550–1585) (Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Sejmowe, 2005), 306–7; Frick, Kith, Kin, and Neighbors, 79; Kempa, Konflikty wyznaniowe, 148–53. Григорович, Акты, относящиеся к истории Западной России, 280, 316; Костомаров, Акты, относящиеся к истории Южной и Западной России, vol. 2, 180.

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Commonwealth because those concepts were the main elements of the value systems of the political nations of the Kingdom of Poland and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania.13 The highest dignitaries of the Catholic and Orthodox churches of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth also reached an agreement. During the General Diet (Sejm Walny) of 1585, the Catholic archbishop of Lviv Jan Dmitry Solikowski and the Orthodox bishop of Lviv Kamianets-Podolski Hedeon Balaban, under the facilitation of some secular senators, including Calvinists, signed an agreement that the Orthodox community of the Kingdom of Poland and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania could freely adhere to the old calendar.14 It is important to emphasize that the agreement was reached with the participation of the representatives of all the leading Christian denominations of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth as well as through the immediate work of the General Diet—the highest representative institution, which gave a legal opportunity for various social and confessional groups of the Commonwealth inhabitants to defend their rights and freedoms. Stephen Bathory approved this agreement with his charter of May 18, 1585. The king confirmed once again that the new calendar was in force but that the “rights” and “freedoms” of people of different confessions, especially the Orthodox community, were being respected in order to preserve “general peace” and “mutual concord.” Because the calendar reform caused “dissent” and “discord” in the state, he wanted to preserve the religious peace and confirmed all the previous rights of the Orthodox Church. The charter guaranteed that until an appropriate agreement was reached between the pope and the patriarch, the royal authorities would not force anyone to accept the new calendar.15 Note that Stephen Bathory’s charter was specially included in the books of the Tribunal—the highest judicial authority in the Grand Duchy of 13

14

15

Павел Лойка, Шляхта беларускіх зямель у грамадска-палітычным жыцці Рэчы Паспалітай другой паловы XVI–першай трэці XVII ст. (Мінск: БДУ, 2002), 89–93; Anna Grześkowiak-Krwawicz, Dyskurs polityczny Rzeczypospolitej Obojga Narodów. Pojęcia i idee (Toruń: Wydawnictwo Naukowe Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika, 2018), 77–137, 215–46; Edward Opaliński, Kultura polityczna szlachty polskiej w latach 1587–1652. System parlamentarny a społeczeństwo obywatelskie (Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Sejmowe, 1995), 80–121. Валерый Пазднякоў, “Каляндар,” in Вялікае княства Літоўскае: Энцыклапедыя, vol. 2, ed. Генадзь Пашкоў (Мінск: БелЭн, 2006), 22. Ibid. Senators, who facilitated the agreement, were: the castellan of Vilnius and GDL chancellor Ostafiej Vollovich (Calvinist), the palatine of Kyiv Konstantin Ostrozhski (Orthodox), the palatine of Bełz Stanisław Żółkiewski (Catholic), and the castellan of Minsk Jan Hlebovich (Calvinist). Иван Григорович, ed., Белорусский архив древних грамот (Москва: Типография С. Селивановского, 1824), 42–45.

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Lithuania. The charter was included in the Tribunal books in that very year, 1585, at the request of the Smolensk castellan Bahdan Sapieha (?–1593), an active member of the Vilnius Orthodox brotherhood in the late 1580s and early 1590s.16 This step demonstrated the importance of preserving a separate calendar of their own for strengthening the religious identity of the Orthodox community of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania. The events in Vilnius and Lviv showed that the local Orthodox communities had vigorously defended their rights in the conflicts associated with the introduction of the Gregorian calendar. Meanwhile, in Polatsk, where Catholics were an obvious minority, the Orthodox Christians themselves tried to force their opponents to accept the correct calendar. In 1586, the Catholic inhabi­ tants of Polatsk complained to the king that they were forced to not work on days designated holidays according to the Old Style. At the same time, the Orthodox traders and artisans exercised their professional activities freely during the holidays according to the new calendar. As a result, in July 1586, Stephen Bathory issued a charter addressed to the municipal authorities of Polatsk. The king defined the situation in the city as “against God and His Holy command.” The Orthodox burghers were strictly forbidden to force the Catholics to celebrate their church holidays according to the Julian calendar. At the same time, the Orthodox citizens were prohibited from trading and working during Catholic holidays, which were already celebrated according to the Gregorian calendar. Municipal authorities were required to judge violators of the charter in accordance with the norms of Magdeburg law.17 It was obvious that the royal authorities in this case also tried to ensure the religious rights of different denominations and, thus, preserve peace and concord in the city. This was necessary because Polatsk was a large trade center in the northeastern territory of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania; it was located on the border with the Muscovite state and occupied a strategically important place in the defense system of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. In fact, the royal decision put the Orthodox burghers in an unequal position with the Catholics, as they

16

17

Григорович, Белорусский архив, 45; Darius Baronas,“Stačiatikių Šv. Dvasios brolijos įsisteigimas Vilniuje 1584–1633 m.,” in Religinės bendrijos Lietuvos istorijoje: gyvenimas ir tapatybė—Religious Communities in Lithuanian History: Life and Identity, ed. Liudas Jovaiša (Vilnius: LKMA, 2012), 60, 79, 85, 87, 95. Григорович, Акты, относящиеся к истории Западной России, 311–12; Штэфан Родэвальд, “Пра Полацкую Венецыю.” Калектыўныя дзеянні сацыяльных груп горада паміж Усходняй і Цэнтральнай Еўропай (Сярэднявечча, ранні Новы час, XIX ст.– да 1914 г.), trans. Мітрафан Патоцкі, Сяргей Паўлавіцкі, Галіна Скакун, ed. Генадзь Сагановіч (Мінск: Лімарыус, 2020), 283–84.

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were forbidden to work on holidays in accordance with not only the Old Style but also the Gregorian calendar. Nevertheless, Stephen Bathory’s conciliatory policy reduced the severity of disputes over the introduction of the Gregorian calendar for some time. The discussion turned into a literary polemic.18 However, at the end of the sixteenth century, largely owing to the signing of the Union of Brest (1596), the conflicts escalated again. In the summer of 1599, the Orthodox burghers of Polatsk complained to the Vilnius palatine, Calvinist Krzysztof I Radziwiłł “The Thunderbolt” (1547–1603), that the Uniate bishop of Polatsk Herman (Hrehory) Zagorski and the municipal authorities had forced them to accept the Gregorian calendar.19 Let it be stressed that in 1599, the palatine and voight (mayor [wójt]) of Polatsk was the Catholic Andrej Sapieha (1560–1621). At the same time, Radziwiłł was considered to be the main protector of the religious rights of the Protestant and Orthodox communities in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania.20 In turn, the Catholics of Polatsk informed the chancellor of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, Lew Sapieha (1557–1633), a Catholic,21 about the violation of their rights by the Orthodox community. According to them, the Orthodox citizens of Polatsk traded even on Easter and Corpus Christi. They ignored not only the instructions of the municipal authorities to respect Catholic holidays but also the royal charters. Moreover, on Catholic holidays, the Orthodox Christians defiantly started to work even earlier than on regular weekdays. To quiet the complaints, the representatives of the city and royal administration cited the example of Vilnius and other multiconfessional cities of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, where Catholic holidays were respected.22 The Polatsk authorities tried to transfer the conflict from the sphere of interreligious relations to the 18 19 20

21 22

Пазднякоў, “Каляндар,” 22–23. Родэвальд, “Пра Полацкую Венецыю,” 284; Antoni Prochaska, ed., Archiwum Domu Sapiehów wydane staraniem rodziny, vol. 1: Listy z lat 1585–1606 (Lwów: Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolińskich, 1892), 221. Kempa, Konflikty wyznaniowe, 196–97, 206–12, 221–22, 237–40; Mirosław Nagielski, “Sapieha Andrzej h. Lis (zm. 1621),” in Polski Słownik Biograficzny, vol. 34, ed. Henryk Markiewicz (Warszawa–Kraków: Instytut Historii PAN, 1992), 572–74; Lulewicz, Urzędnicy Wielkiego Księstwa Litewskiego, vol. 5, 237–38, 248–49, 251. Andrej Sapieha—a possible convert to Catholicism from Orthodoxy or Calvinism—was the palatine of Polatsk in 1597–1613. Henryk Lulewicz, “Sapieha Lew h. Lis (1557–1633),” in Polski Słownik Biograficzny, vol. 35/1, ed. Henryk Markiewicz (Warszawa–Kraków: Instytut Historii PAN, 1994), 84, 102. Lew Sapieha was first Orthodox, then Calvinist, and finally Catholic. On the calendar issues in Vilnius in the early modern period, see Frick, Kith, Kin, and Neighbors, 77–98.

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sphere of exclusively secular law and order and even promised to prohibit Catholics from working and trading on Orthodox holidays.23 Nevertheless, it was not possible to relieve the tension in the city. The Orthodox inhabitants continued to ignore the Gregorian calendar, threatening to destroy the Jesuit church and college, burn down the city and the castle, and then leave it “to Muscovites.” Moreover, the crowd, having gathered “with trumpets and tambourines,” several times attacked the houses and land estates of the local nobility. Lew Sapieha suspected that all these protests were inspired not so much by the local citizens as by immigrants from Muscovy residing in Polatsk.24 Sources are silent about the resolution of the conflict. A compromise might have been found and the religious communities of the city continued to live according to their own calendars. Note that we basically know about the conflict of spring–summer 1599 in Polatsk only from one side. Naturally, the version of the Catholics could contain exaggerations about the violent actions of their opponents. Nevertheless, the conflicts around the introduction of the Gregorian calendar reflected significant confessional contradictions, which in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania at the end of the sixteenth century manifested primarily among the burghers. At the same time, they showed the solutions that allowed the secular authorities to reconcile the representatives of various denominations and religions. It is important to emphasize the leading role of Protestant senators in defending the religious rights of the non-Catholic Christian communities in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania. 3

The Case of Landowning

Until the middle of the sixteenth century, the Orthodox Church was the largest church landowner in the Polatsk palatinate. There were about 30 churches and monasteries in Polatsk and its suburbs alone. At the same time, there was only one Catholic (Bernardine) monastery in the entire palatinate. A Calvinist church was also founded in Polatsk in the middle of the sixteenth century.25 The situation dramatically changed owing to the Livonian War of 1558–82. From February 1563 to August 1579, Polatsk was under the control of 23 24 25

Prochaska, Archiwum Domu Sapiehów, 222. Віталь Галубовіч, Miscellanea historica polocensia = Даследаванні па гісторыі Полаччыны XII–XVII стст. (Гродна: ГДАЎ, 2014), 91–92; Родэвальд, “Пра Полацкую Венецыю,” 284–85; Prochaska, Archiwum Domu Sapiehów, 222. Васіль Варонін, “Праваслаўныя цэрквы і манастыры горада Полацка (да 1582 г.),” Studia Historica Europae Orientalis = Исследования по истории Восточной Европы: науч. сб. 2 (2009): 154; Галубовіч, Miscellanea historica polocensia, 87–88, 101.

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the Muscovite troops. During this period, the Catholic and Protestant communities ceased to exist, and even the number of Orthodox religious centers significantly decreased. The Jews residing in the city were subjected to severe repression. At the very end of August 1579, Polatsk was liberated by the troops of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth.26 Almost immediately after the successful completion of the extremely difficult siege, King Stephen Bathory decided to establish a college of the Catholic Jesuit order in the city. At the same time, in 1579, the palatine Mikołaj Dorohostajski (1530–97), who was a Calvinist, reestablished the Calvinist church in Polatsk.27 The organization and foundation of the Polatsk Jesuit college took place in 1580–82. By the royal decision of January 20, 1582, the real estate of seven former Orthodox monasteries and eight churches, as well as some lands and incomes in Polatsk, were transferred to the property of the Jesuits.28 Thereafter, the Polatsk Jesuit college strengthened its economic position. For example, in 1584, some of its possessions were exempted from paying part of the duties that had previously gone to the royal treasury. And in 1585, the Jesuits owned eighty-two villages and granges in the Polatsk palatinate.29 Thus, the establishment of the Jesuit college and the transfer of church lands to it dealt a significant blow to the economic and social position of the Orthodox Church, which in the Polatsk palatinate retained only the archbishop’s possessions: St. Sophia Cathedral in Polatsk and the Monastery of Saints Boris and Gleb in Belchytsa. At the same time, on May 8, 1582, Stephen Bathory issued a charter, according to which two sites in Polatsk were allocated for the construction of the Orthodox Epiphany Monastery, and the monastery itself was exempted from paying city taxes.30 26 27

28

29 30

Генадзь Сагановіч, “Полацкая вайна: 1563–1579 гг.,” in Адраджэнне: Гістарычны альманах, vol. 1, ed. Анатоль Грыцкевіч (Мінск: Універсітэцкае, 1995), 63–66, 75–80. Людміла Іванова, “Рэфармацыйныя зборы ў Беларусі. Другая палова XVI–XVII ст.,” in Памяць стагоддзяў на карце Айчыны: Зборнік навуковых прац у гонар 70-годдзя М.Ф. Спірыдонава, ed. Рагнеда Аляхновіч, Аляксандр Груша, Аляксандр Доўнар (Мінск: Беларуская навука, 2007), 288. Тамара Блинова, Иезуиты в Белоруссии (Минск: Беларусь, 1990), 35–7; Константин Харлампович, Западнорусские православные школы XVI и начала XVII века, отношение их к инославным, религиозное обучение в них и заслуги их в деле защиты православной веры и церкви (Казань: Типо-лит. Имп. Университета, 1898), 66–67. Блинова, Иезуиты в Белоруссии, 37; Григорович, Акты, относящиеся к истории Западной России, 277–78, 284–86. Варонін, “Праваслаўныя цэрквы і манастыры горада Полацка (да 1582 г.),” 153–54; Алексей Сапунов, Заметки о коллегии и академии иезуитов в Полоцке (Витебск: Тип. губ. правления, 1890), 9; Аляксандр Ярашэвіч, “Полацкі Богаяўленскі манастыр,” in Вялікае княства Літоўскае: Энцыклапедыя, vol. 2, ed. Генадзь Пашкоў (Мінск: БелЭн, 2006), 452.

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The transfer of possessions from the Orthodox Church to the Jesuits took more time in practice. Of course, the representatives of the church tried to defend their ancient right of ownership for certain estates. Moreover, the II and III Lithuanian Statutes (1566 and 1588) guaranteed church and secular landowners (both Roman Catholics and non-Roman Catholics) the inviolability of their rights to possess and freely dispose of land holdings, enjoyed since the era of the king and grand duke Władysław II Jagiełło (1386–1434).31 Mutual claims to estates caused conflicts. Thus, in April 1595 in Cracow, the royal court (sąd zadworny) considered the land dispute between the Polatsk Jesuit college and the Orthodox archbishop of Polatsk, Vitebsk, Mstislavl Nathaniel Selitski, over the ownership of the two villages of Nacha (“on the Nacha”) and Kushliki. The Jesuits made a complaint against the archbishop, accusing him of illegal possession of these villages. They emphasized that the village of Nacha belonged to the Monastery of Saints Kuzma and Demyan, and the village of Kushliki belonged to the Church of St. Vasily. Because both the monastery and the church were granted by Stephen Bathory to the Jesuits in 1582, all their property should be transferred to the Polatsk college.32 A member of the Polatsk petty nobility Andrej Nevelski represented the archbishop in court. He presented a royal decree of 1579 on the land dispute between Theophanes Rypinski, then archbishop, and Lewko Markovich, a member of the Polatsk nobility. According to the decree, the village of Nacha was recognized as church property and was assigned to the Polatsk Orthodox archdiocese. As for the village of Kushliki, Nevelski relied on the register of church property transfer to Nathaniel upon his accession to the archiepiscopacy (1592) and argued that it did not belong to the Church of St. Vasily but to two chapels of St. Sophia Cathedral, which was Orthodox. Thus, both villages were to remain the property of the Polatsk Orthodox archdiocese.33 The interests of the Jesuit college were represented in court by the royal counsel (Instigator Regni) Malkher Kamenski, who evidently testified that the king and grand duke, Sigismund III Vasa (1587–1632), had supported the Catholic order in the dispute with the Orthodox archbishop. Based on the old registers of church lands, Kamenski emphasized that Nacha was not the 31 32

33

Таісія Доўнар, ed., Статут Вялікага княства Літоўскага 1566 года (Мінск: Тэсей, 2003), 77–8, 94 (Chapter 3, articles 2, 36); Шамякін, Статут Вялікага княства Літоўскага 1588, 111–12, 135 (Chapter 3, articles 2, 43). Николай Костомаров, ed., Акты, относящиеся к истории Южной и Западной России, собранные и изданные Археографической комиссией, vol. 1 (Санкт-Петербург: Типография Э. Праца, 1863), 256. Royal assessor’s court considered cases related to state possessions and cities under Magdeburg law. Ibid.

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property of the archiepiscopacy but the property of the Monastery of Saints Kuzma and Demyan and that Kushliki was the property of the Church of St. Vasily and did not belong to St. Sophia Cathedral. Moreover, the decree of 1579 in the dispute over the village of Nacha was signed by the king even before the Jesuits had appeared in the Polatsk palatinate. The royal counsel insisted that, in accordance with the privilege of 1582 and according to state registers, the disputed villages should be transferred to the Jesuit college.34 It should be noted that according to the revision of the Polatsk palatinate in 1552, the village “on the Nacha” did belong to the monastery. This was also confirmed in the register of the estates of the Polatsk archiepiscopacy, compiled by the royal auditors in January 1580.35 The situation with Kushliki was more complicated because there were two villages with the same name in the same register of 1580: one belonged to the Church of St. Vasily, and the other, much bigger one belonged to the Chapel of All Saints of the Sophia Cathedral.36 Apparently, the conflict was about two different parts of one large estate. The king discussed the circumstances of the case with some senators and took the side of the Jesuits. The court found the decree of 1579 invalid in relation to the transfer of Nacha to the ownership of the Polatsk archiepiscopacy. The paragraph of the register according to which Kushliki was assigned to the Chapel of the Sofia Cathedral was also recognized as invalid. It was confirmed that Nacha belonged to the Monastery of Saints Kuzma and Demyan and that Kushliki belonged to the Church of St. Vasily. As a result, based on Stephen Bathory’s charter of January 20, 1582, by a court decision, both villages, which had long belonged to the Orthodox Church, became the property of the Polatsk Jesuit college.37 This case was so meaningful because it reflected significant changes in the religious policy of the royal authorities in the last third of the sixteenth century. On the one hand, although Stephen Bathory heavily favored the Roman Catholic Church and the Jesuits, he tried to maintain balance and peace in the relations between various Christian denominations in the Kingdom of 34 35 36 37

Костомаров, Акты, относящиеся к истории Южной и Западной России, vol. 1, 256–57. Васіль Варонін, ed., Рэвізія Полацкага ваяводства 1552 года (Менск: “ARCHE”, 2011), 158, 177. Ibid., 170, 178. Ibid., 56, 95, 157, 159. The revision of 1552 also referred to separate estates in Kushliki which belonged to private landowners. Костомаров, Акты, относящиеся к истории Южной и Западной России, vol. 1, 257–58; Григорович, Акты, относящиеся к истории Западной России, 277. I should notice that during the reign of King Stephen Bathory, Archbishop Theophanes succeeded in returning several villages to the Polatsk Archiepiscopacy, which had previously been illegally annexed to the royal capitain (starosta) of Dzisna.

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Poland and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania. On the other hand, Sigismund III Vasa, especially from 1591,38 maintained a position of exclusive support for the Catholic Church in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. 4

The Case of Lake Ulichy

In March 1599, King Sigismund III Vasa sent royal commissars to the Polatsk palatinate; they were supposed to hear the case between the Polatsk Jesuits and a section of the local petty nobility. The essence of the conflict was that the noblemen were not allowing the Jesuits to fish with nets in Lake Ulichy. In turn, the Jesuits insisted on their right to fish, as the Jesuit college owned the village of Ulichy located on that lake.39 Because there are few sources related to this case, it has not attracted much attention from researchers. They usually acknowledged its economic nature and regarded it exclusively as a dispute between secular and church landowners over the sources of income.40 However, an analysis of this conflict in the context of cultural, economic, and political processes that took place in the Polatsk palatinate at the end of the sixteenth century shows that it had deeper social motives and causes. The Polatsk Jesuit college enjoyed significant support from the royal authorities and increasingly influenced various spheres of the local community. Despite active opposition from the Calvinist palatine of Polatsk Mikołaj Dorohostajski and the Orthodox archbishop Theophanes Rypinski, it is most likely that already by 1581 a Jesuit school had opened in Polatsk. And the Jesuits’ position in the field of education, and therefore in cultural life, only grew more prominent. The high quality of the teachers, the involvement of the children of the petty nobility, as well as the teaching of the Old Belarusian language contributed to their elevated standing. The theater, which had been operating at the college since 1585, also used the vernacular language.41 The 38 39 40 41

Kempa, Konflikty wyznaniowe, 170–80. In 1591, King Sigismund III Vasa reacted passively against anti-Protestant tumults in Krakow and Vilnius. Besides, the king began to prioritize Catholic nobles in his nomination policy. Михаил Верёвкин, ed., Историко-юридические материалы, извлечённые из актовых книг губерний Витебской и Могилёвской, issue 22 (Витебск: Типо-Литография Г.А. Малкина, 1891), 271–73. Галубовіч, Miscellanea historica polocensia, 98. Блинова, Иезуиты в Белоруссии, 30; ead., Иезуиты в Беларуси. Роль иезуитов в организации образования и просвещения (Гродно: ГрГУ, 2002), 54–56, 62–63, 202, 290, 318, 334; Родэвальд, “Пра Полацкую Венецыю,” 262; Сапунов, Заметки о коллегии и академии иезуитов в Полоцке, 4–7; Харлампович, Западнорусские православные школы XVI и начала XVII века, 66–67, 88–89.

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Calvinist school that existed in Polatsk could not compete with the Jesuit college; an Orthodox fraternal school with a high level of education was opened in the city only in 1633.42 The very placement of the Jesuit church and college in the central part of the city was supposed to communicate the high status of the order both in the urban space of Polatsk and in the social and political life of the entire Polatsk palatinate.43 As mentioned earlier, owing to royal land grants and tax incentives, the economic position of the Society of Jesus in the region significantly strengthened. The order also received the right to sell the lands granted to it and buy new ones. This intensified its business activities and increased its asset base.44 The Jesuits became serious economic competitors with the local nobility. Importantly, in April 1580, at the Supreme Congress (Zjazd Główny) of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania in Vilnius, the deputies of Polatsk palatinate expressed their dissatisfaction with the royal decision to establish a Jesuit college in Polatsk.45 That same year, the palatine Mikołaj Dorohostajski tried to prevent the Jesuits from taking possession of the Ekiman Posad of Polatsk. However, after King Stephen Bathory intervened in the conflict, the disputed lands were given to the college. And at the end of the sixteenth century, Ekiman became the largest asset ( jurydyka) of the Polatsk Jesuits.46 The Jesuits were not limited only to spiritual, educational, and economic activities. Being newcomers (“others”) to the local community, they enjoyed the support of the king and some local political leaders, in particular the new palatine Andrej Sapieha.47 In the 1590s, the Polatsk nobility learned from firsthand experience that royal support made it virtually impossible to sue the Jesuit order through the judicial system of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania. And 42 43 44 45 46

47

Харлампович, Западнорусские православные школы XVI и начала XVII века, 162, 372. Ibid., 68; Andrew Spicer, “Confessional Space and Identity in Central and Eastern Europe,” in Formierungen des konfessionellen Raumes in Ostmitteleuropa, ed. Evelin Wetter (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2008), 341. Блинова, Иезуиты в Белоруссии, 36; Галубовіч, Miscellanea historica polocensia, 89, 97; Яков Мараш, Ватикан и католическая церковь в Белоруссии (1569–1795) (Минск: Вышэйшая школа, 1971), 118. Иван И. Лаппо, Великое княжество Литовское от заключения Люблинской унии до смерти Стефана Батория (1569–1586). Опыт исследования политического и общественного строя (Спб.: Типография И.Н. Скороходова, 1901), 181. Блинова, Иезуиты в Белоруссии, 35–6; Дзяніс Дук, Полацк і палачане (IX–XVIII стст.) (Наваполацк: ПДУ, 2010), 92–6; Родэвальд, “Пра Полацкую Венецыю,” 228–29; “Jurydyka”—in this case, the part of Polatsk, whose inhabitants belonged to the Jesuit college and were not under the jurisdiction of the municipal government. Родэвальд, “Пра Полацкую Венецыю,” 308; Сапунов, Заметки о коллегии и академии иезуитов в Полоцке, 10.

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it must be stressed that preserved primary sources of the late sixteenth century testify to the tensest of relations between the nobility of the Polatsk palatinate and the Jesuits in comparison with other palatinates of the grand duchy. The Polatsk nobility used the parliamentary system to protect their rights. Before the General Diet of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth in 1597, they complained that the courts refused to accept claims against the Polatsk Jesuits.48 And on the eve of the next General Diet, the same situation repeated itself. A clause with a complaint that the royal chancellery did not want to issue summonses against the Jesuits of the Polatsk college was included in the instruction to the Diet deputies, drawn up at the local dietine (sejmik) in Polatsk in January 1598.49 At the same time, in both cases, the dietine of the Polatsk palatinate consistently advocated compliance with the Warsaw Confederation of 1573.50 I believe that the complaints announced at the abovementioned dietines, on which no decisions would be made at the Diet, were prompted not so much by religious factors as by protest against the violation of the established norms of legal relations between the nobility and the clergy. The impossibility of considering claims against the Jesuits in the legal field angered the nobility, known for their legalism.51 The nobility also strove to monitor the proper fulfillment of their immediate, spiritual tasks by the clergy. For example, before the General Diet of 1597, there were complaints not only against the Jesuits but also against the Uniate archbishop Herman, who had taken silver things from the “Polatsk Church” for his personal needs—that is, apparently, from St. Sophia Cathedral.52 48 49

50 51 52

Henryk Lulewicz, ed., Akta zjazdów stanów Wielkiego Księstwa Litewskiego, vol. 2: Okresy panowań królów elekcyjnych XVI–XVII wiek (Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Neriton, 2009), 131. Biblioteka Muzeum Narodowego im. Książąt Czartoryskich w Krakowie (BCzart.), MS 2234, no. 51 “Instrukcja sejmiku połockiego na sejm 1598 r.,” fol. 240; Віталь Галубовіч, Полацкая шляхта і дынастыя Вазаў (Мінск: А.М. Янушкевіч, 2016), 92–104; Leszek Jarmiński, Bez użycia siły. Działalność polityczna protestantów w Rzeczypospolitej u schyłku XVI wieku (Warszawa: Semper, 1992), 212–14. The meetings of the local dietine in 1598 were held in a tense atmosphere because of the conflict between the Protestant and Orthodox nobility and the palatine of Polatsk Catholic Andrej Sapieha over the election of deputies to the Diet. As a result, contrary to the wishes of the palatine, the nobility elected two Calvinist deputies: Piotr Stabrowski and Jakub Semashko. BCzart., MS 2234, no. 51, fol. 237–38; Lulewicz, Akta zjazdów stanów Wielkiego Księstwa Litewskiego, 131. Уладзімір Падалінскі, “Прававая культура шляхты Вялікага Княства Літоўскага ў XVI ст.: казус Яна Осціка,” Беларускі Гістарычны Часопіс, no. 6 (2020): 11–13; Opaliński, Kultura polityczna szlachty, 87, 96–99. Lulewicz, Akta zjazdów stanów Wielkiego Księstwa Litewskiego, 131.

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Royal favor, especially evident in the era of King Sigismund III Vasa, put the Jesuits in a privileged position in relation to the non-Catholic nobility. In this case, we are dealing with a local example of how such a policy destroyed the peaceful coexistence of the Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant nobility that had existed in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania in the second half of the sixteenth century.53 In response to the policy, the nobles tried to limit the influence of the Jesuits. In my opinion, dissatisfaction with the violation of the interconfessional balance became the main motive for the opposition of some of the Polatsk petty nobility to the Jesuit college on such a seemingly exclusively economic issue of the right to fish in Lake Ulichy. The noblemen who spoke out against the Jesuits in 1599—Hrehory and Fedor Vojna, Konstantin Nebervitski, Jesif Rypinski, an unknown person named Bokhanski, and Lawryn and Matys Valentynovich54—undoubtedly belonged to the non-Catholic petty nobility of Ruthenian (Belarusian) ethnic origin. All of them, most likely, were Orthodox (although some of them may have already accepted the Union of Brest). The Rypinski family was very closely associated with the Orthodox Church. As mentioned above, in 1576–88, Theophanes Rypinski was the archbishop of Polatsk. Ostafiej, the son of the abovementioned Jesif Rypinski, remained faithful to the Orthodox community until the 1660s.55 Jesif Rypinski took part in the political life of the Polatsk palatinate, in particular the meetings of the local dietine.56 The Bokhanski family also adhered to Orthodox Christianity.57 Indirectly, the noblemen’s names show that they belonged to the East Slavic, Orthodox cultural tradition: Hrehory, Fedor, Konstantin, and Lawryn. Let me emphasize once again that the nobility did not oppose the Jesuits as Catholic representatives. They protested the growing influence of the order in all spheres of life in the Polatsk 53

54 55 56 57

Юліуш Бардах, “Дачыненні паміж каталікамі і праваслаўнымі ў Вялікім Княстве Літоўскім (канец XIV–XVII ст.),” in id., Штудыі з гісторыі Вялікага Княства Літоўскага, ed. Генадзь Сагановіч, trans. Мікола Раманоўскі and Алесь Істомін (Мінск: Бібліятэка часопіса “Беларускі Гістарычны Агляд”, 2002), 286–93. Верёвкин, Историко-юридические материалы, issue 22, 272. Дмитрий Довгялло, ed., Историко-юридические материалы, извлечённые из актовых книг губерний Витебской и Могилёвской, issue 28 (Витебск: Губернская ТипоЛитография, 1900), 252–57. Archiwum Główne Akt Dawnych w Warszawie, Archiwum Radziwiłłów, part 2, no. 507 “List uczestników sejmiku deputackiego województwa połockiego do J. Radziwiłła, 1607 r.”, fol. 3. Дмитрий Довгялло, ed., Историко-юридические материалы, извлечённые из актовых книг губерний Витебской и Могилёвской, issue 29 (Витебск: Губернская ТипоЛитография, 1901), 127–31. In the 1620s, some of the Bokhanski family representatives, apparently, accepted the Union of Brest.

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palatinate and the destruction of the interreligious balance, which ensured the traditionally peaceful coexistence of different denominations and religions in the region. The materials of that trial have survived only partially. However, it can be assumed that the Jesuits proved their right to fish in Lake Ulichy: in the inventory of the Ekiman estate compiled in 1615, fishing in the lake with nets for the Jesuit college was indicated as being among the duties of the peasants of the village of Ulichy.58 I suppose that the dispute was resolved by reaching a compromise. The inventory included several “entrances” to Lake Ulichy, which were shared by the Polatsk Jesuits and the local petty nobility.59 The conflict considered here indicates that there was significant tension among the nobility of the Polatsk palatinate at the end of the sixteenth century. It was caused by the fact that the royal authorities abandoned the policy of maintaining equilibrium in the confessionally divided noble community of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth and relied on the spread and strengthening of only one—the Catholic denomination.60 5

Conclusion

The value system of the political nation and the political system of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, as well as the Kingdom of Poland, guaranteed freedom of religion to various religious communities and ensured their peaceful coexistence for a long time. The desire of the monarch and the nobility to preserve public peace and concord contributed to the maintenance of the internal stability of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. The case of the introduction of the Gregorian calendar in the 1580s demonstrates that these values helped to reduce the intensity of the conflicts between various denominations, especially among the burgher estate. Legalism and respect for the law, including the right to property, enabled the churches to legally defend their interests and maintain material well-being. In the process, it formed respect for the rights of other denominations and religions. In the second half of the sixteenth century, the nobility of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania perceived their community to be based not on confessional 58 59 60

Михаил Верёвкин, ed., Историко-юридические материалы, извлечённые из актовых книг губерний Витебской и Могилёвской, issue 25 (Витебск: Типо-Литография Г.А. Малкина, 1894), 193–97. Ibid., 197. Grześkowiak-Krwawicz, Dyskurs polityczny Rzeczypospolitej Obojga Narodów, 235–42.

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affiliation but on common rights and obligations. The idea of fraternal love ensured a compromise between the Orthodox, Catholic, and Protestant nobility. In turn, the judicial and parliamentary systems of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth made it possible to put into practice the principles of peaceful interconfessional coexistence. However, the situation changed at the turn of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.61 The royal authorities began to provide exclusive support to the Catholic Church, especially to the Society of Jesus, which undermined the foundation of religious toleration in the Polish– Lithuanian Commonwealth. Such a violation of the denominational balance could cause confrontation at the local level, as, for example, in the case of the conflict over the right to fish in Lake Ulichy. Nevertheless, the abovementioned conflicts, as well as the overwhelming majority of interconfessional conflicts in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, were resolved in the legal field, without the widespread use of violence and compulsion. Bibliography

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Spicer, Andrew. “Confessional Space and Identity in Central and Eastern Europe.” In Formierungen des konfessionellen Raumes in Ostmitteleuropa, edited by Evelin Wetter, 335–42. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2008. Topolska, Maria Barbara. Społeczeństwo i kultura w Wielkim Księstwie Litewskim od XV do XVIII wieku. Poznań–Zielona Góra: Bogucki Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 2002.

Chapter 4

Worshipping Together or Just under One Roof? Reformed and Lutheran Church Agreements in Poland in the Early Seventeenth Century Kazimierz Bem | ORCID: 0000-0001-9128-8924 1

Introduction

Between 1615 and 1644, Lutherans in Greater Poland (Wielkopolska) and Lesser Poland (Małopolska) entered into three local church agreements with the Reformed, sometimes called “unions.” Two cases involved the private towns of Leszno and Sławatycze; and one involved the congregation in Cracow, the country’s coronation capital. The Leszno and the much better known Cracow unions have been hailed as examples of Protestant irenicism in the face of the insurgent Catholic reform in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. John Dury (1596–1680)1 and later Daniel Ernst Jablonski (1660–1741)2 even provided Western Protestants with the 1633 Leszno case as a model for church unity; ironically, it remains largely unknown in contemporary Polish history.3 None of these agreements has ever been looked at more closely for what its provisions stipulated: What was allowed, what was banned, and what was the intended aim of these unions? The lack of a closer analysis is all the more striking because two agreements lasted less than five years—and in the 1633 1 John Dury, De pace ecclesiastica inter evangelicos, iudicia, nonnullorum theologorum Anglorum, Hybernorum, Gallorum, Helvetiorum, Germanorum (Coloniae: Sumptibus Martini Guthii, 1635), 117–26. 2 Daniel Ernst Jabloński, Historia Consensus Sendomiriensis, inter evangelicos regni Poloniae, et M.D. Lithuaniae in synodo generali evangelicorum utriusque partis, Sendomiriae an. 1570. die 14. Aprilis initi continua serie, quae synodum Sendomiriensem antegressa, quae in ipsa synodo acta, quaeque eam consecuta sunt … ad praesens usque tempus deducta, (Berolini: Apud Ambrosium Haude, 1731), 252–57. 3 It is not mentioned once in the monumental book on the Bohemian Brethren in Poland Jolanta Dworzaczkowa, Bracia czescy w Wielkopolsce w XVI i XVII wieku (Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Naukowe Semper, 1997). A brief appraisal was offered by Mariusz Pawelec, “Między konfesjonalizmem a irenizmem. Stosunki pomiędzy Kościołami protestanckimi w drugiej ćwierci XVII w. na obszarze ziemi wschowskiej,” in Ziemia Wschowska w czasach starosty Hieronima Radomickiego, ed. Paweł Klint, Marta Małkus and Kamila Szymańska (Wschowa–Leszno: Stowarzyszenie Kultury Ziemi Wschowskiej–Muzeum Okręgowe w Lesznie, 2009), 165–77.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004527447_006

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Leszno case, it was already a dead letter when it was printed in 1635. The historical question that looms large is: If these “unions” reflected the irenic attitude of Polish Lutherans and Reformed (the Lesser Poland Calvinists and the Bohemian Brethren), why did they fail so quickly? To address this question, I will comb through these three agreements in more detail and analyze their theological and liturgical provisions. I contend that they might be construed as irenic, if indeed the Reformed and Lutherans agreed to suspend personal and interconfessional polemics from the pulpit. However, all three situations started from a place of Reformed superiority and power, and all three cases were designed to impose Reformed church discipline on Lutherans and adjust their worship to become more palatable to Reformed sensibilities with the intention of incorporating them into the existing Reformed church structures. These unions were designed to turn the Lutherans into Reformed Christians in the long term—a rather pragmatic goal and not a particularly irenic one. These agreements highlight the difficulties of applying the Sandomir Consensus to particular localities in a seventeenthcentury environment that was much more hostile for Protestants. 2

Cracow, Lesser Poland

On Saturday, April 8, 1615, just before Palm Sunday, the elders of the Cracow Calvinist congregation (starsi zborowi) were gathered in the nearby village of Aleksandrowice. There they received a very special delegation: “Some brothers of the Augsburg Confession […] in the name of all their own brethren asked […] permission to have their own preacher, who would in Aleksandrowice serve them with God’s Word and holy sacraments according to the customs and ceremonies of the Augsburg Confession.”4 The Lutheran delegation gave very detailed and specific reasons for their request, which Wojciech Węgierski (1604–59), the Cracow Reformed pastor and historian, recorded and paraphrased. Indeed, some Lutherans in the Polish capital (Węgierski implies they were immigrants) “have perverse and inaccurate opinions about the Confession of Polish Congregations [Sandomir Confession] and will not join 4 Wojciech Węgierski, Kronika Zboru Ewangelickiego Krakowskiego przez x. Wojciecha Węgierskiego (Kraków: Nakładem Parafii Ewangelickiej w Krakowie, 2007), 108. It is a modern edition of a manuscript finished and prepared for publication in 1651 but not published until 1817 in Cracow under the title Kronika Zboru Ewangelickiego Krakowskiego w której erekcja tego zboru, przywileje, kaznodzieje albo Słudzy Boży, starsi zborowi, różne prześladowania, zboru zburzenia i wiele innych pamiętnych rzeczy przypominają i opisują. [All translations are by the Author unless clearly indicated otherwise].

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them, would [rather] under any excuse fall away and apostate to papism.”5 Having their own preacher, who would administer the sacrament in their own liturgy, the Cracow Lutherans claimed, would prevent the younger generation from falling away and strengthen them in their Protestant faith.6 The elders of the Reformed Church “received the petition with pleasant affections” and “heartily agreed to their requests.”7 The Lesser Poland provincial synod had to ratify their decision, and such services needed the permission of the village’s owner and church patron, Piotr Gołuchowski (c.1560–c.1618). The meeting of the Cracow elders and the Lutheran delegates ended with joint prayers, “pleading that God would by this measure multiply the glory of His most Holy name.”8 To add more weight to the matter, the agreement was thence known as a “Union.”9 That both groups preplanned this request is evident from the fact that the very next day, on Palm Sunday, a Lutheran pastor from Tarnowskie Góry (in Silesia, just across the Polish border, eighty-five kilometers away) arrived in Aleksandrowice and presided in the Reformed edifice with Lutheran sacrament on the Monday of Holy Week.10 The Cracow Calvinist congregation was in no position to refuse the Lutherans. Its halcyon days—when it had between 2,000 and 3,000 members, employed two pastors (a German and a Polish one), and had an impressive church, school, and almshouse in the center of Cracow—were long gone. In 1591 students at the University of Cracow instigated an anti-Protestant tumult that destroyed the church building. King Sigismund III Vasa refused to punish the perpetrators or renew the congregation’s charter. As a result, services moved to the nearby village of Aleksandrowice under the protection of the noble Karmiński and then Gołuchowski families. Still, anti-Protestant incidents continued. In 1613 Cracow’s Reformed pastor Andrzej Herman (c.1581–1630) had to relocate to the village of Wielkanoc for greater personal protection after his parsonage was attacked by Cracow university students. Only a few weeks after the agreement was reached, in late May of 1615 another anti-Protestant tumult in Cracow so infuriated Protestant merchants that some relocated to Toruń and Gdańsk for their own safety.11 In 1616 the Diet (Sejm) reluctantly intervened to ensure peace in the capital; it passed the law “On the Security of the City of Cracow” (O bezpieczeństwie miasta Krakowa), which gave the city 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Węgierski, Kronika, 108. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 108–9. Ibid., 114–15.

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council more powers to punish instigators and perpetrators of tumults and riots, though it tellingly omitted any explicit refence to religious motivation.12 The congregation continued to worship in Aleksandrowice until c.1618.13 The 1591 tumult, combined with the continued violence and the pressure of the Counter-Reformation, caused the congregation to shrink to around 400 members within two decades. Naturally, internal conflicts grew, fanned by the mediocre pastor who, unable to preach well due to his lack of Polish fluency, was versed just enough in the language to have the Polish- and German-speaking congregation members at each other’s throats. The fact that these congregants shared a Reformed faith was not enough to keep them at peace. As a result, the Calvinist district synod intervened. In 1609, the first election of congregational elders was held in nine years: a delicate equilibrium between the six Polish and the six German elders was strengthened by the addition of two Huguenot elders.14 In 1610, the district synod finally removed the cantankerous preacher, and Andrzej Herman, a gifted clergyman (fluent in both Polish and German) was called from Kozy. He served the congregation faithfully for twenty years and helped it heal and rebuild.15 The reasons for the Cracow Lutherans’ request must be viewed in this context. Their reluctance to join the city’s Reformed may have stemmed from the experience of watching the latter’s internal congregational conflicts. Węgierski’s text understandably did not list that concern but named liturgical and theological scruples instead. The Lutherans who made the request were immigrants in Cracow, who due to “the lack of their own service, which they were used to in their own, alien countries,” wanted regular Lutheran services.16 However, liturgical forms were not only a problem—theology was, too. According to Węgierski, the same group also had “have perverse and inaccurate opinions about the Confession of Polish Congregations” and would “refuse to join them [the Calvinists].”17 For all their ambivalence about the Reformed, the Lutherans were in no position to argue. Protestant churches in the Crown (except for cities in Royal 12 13 14 15

16 17

Tomasz Kempa, Wobec Kontrreformacji. Protestanci i prawosławni w obronie swobód wyznaniowych w Rzeczypospolitej w końcu XVI i w pierwszej połowie XVII wieku (Toruń: Wydawnictwo Adam Marszałek, 2007), 296. Węgierski, Kronika, 107. Ibid., 99–100. Bartłomiej Jurzak, “Ks. Andrzej Herman z Kóz (ok.1581–1630). Chłopski kaznodzieja krakowskich ewangelików,” in Reformacja w Krakowie (XVI–XVII wiek). Materiały z sesji naukowej 6 maja 2017 roku, ed. Zdzisław Noga (Kraków: Towarzystwo Miłośników Historii i Zabytków Krakowa, 2018), 129–38. Węgierski, Kronika, 108. Ibid.

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Prussia) were not recognized by law; legally speaking, they simply did not exist. Reformed, Lutheran, and Polish Brethren churches had to rely on the goodwill of the monarch or nobility in whose estates their churches were located. There was no chance that King Sigismund III Vasa—a monarch notoriously averse to Protestantism—would grant any protection to the Cracow Lutherans. If they wanted their own worship, albeit only for high holidays, they would have to compromise with the Calvinists and their noble patrons. It is very probable that there was some earlier probing about the chances of their request so that the Lutheran minister did not travel eighty-five kilometers in vain. The Reformed, while aware of their own weaknesses, also knew their superiority. The Cracow palatinate’s Protestant nobles were predominantly Calvinist, the second group being the Unitarian Polish Brethren. Calvinist nobility guaranteed the Cracow Protestant burghers free exercise of religion on their estates, as in Aleksandrowice. Thus, the Lutherans had little choice other than to turn to the Reformed for permission to use their church edifices. It is telling that Węgierski describes the Lutheran actions as “pleading” (upraszają), while the Calvinist response is referred to as “permitting” (pozwalają).18 For both the orderly use of church polity and the amplificationof their influence, the Cracow elders agreed to the Lutherans’ request, provided that the Reformed synods ratified it.19 The May 1615 anti-Protestant riots mentioned above meant that the next provincial synod in Oksa did not ratify the agreement in September of 1615.20 It may have been discussed during the September 16, 1616, Cracow district synod held in Krzęcice. There, those assembled petitioned the provincial synod to “talk promptly with ministers of Saxon ceremonies [Lutherans] about the union, so that they would keep it” (canon 2) and ordered a general visitation of the Aleksandrowice congregation (see below).21 The provincial synod during its September 22, 1616, sitting in Bełżyce—without explicitly mentioning the Cracow congregation— reaffirmed all previous synodal agreements with the Lutherans “salva unitate fidei in diversitate rituum.”22 This was far from an enthusiastic endorsement.

18 19 20

21 22

Ibid., 107–8. Ibid., 108. Węgierski claims that this agreement was ratified by the September 1615 provincial synod in Oksa (Węgierski, Kronika, 109), but the records of that synod give a date different by 4 days and don’t mention at all the Cracow Union. Maria Sipayłło, ed., Akta synodów różnowierczych w Polsce, vol. 3: Małopolska 1571–1632 (Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1983), 364–65. Ibid., 373. Ibid., 375.

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What the Lutherans initially requested was a simple and location-specific simultaneum agreement: they would use the Aleksandrowice Calvinist church edifice for Lutheran services.23 What the Cracow Calvinists decided to pursue in 1616 was something more: a church “union.” Significantly, there seem to have been two agreements: a preliminary one from April of 1615 allowed the Lutherans to use the Calvinist edifice for their Monday in Holy Week communion, closest to the Lutheran request. A more detailed one followed, negotiated and signed by Lutheran delegates on September 26, 1616, but the names of the signatories have not been preserved. The second agreement, which Węgierski called the “Union,” came about at the end of a visitation of the Aleksandrowice congregation that had begun the day before.24 The text began with a lengthy theological preamble about the Christian commandment to love one another and an equally lengthy warning about contentiousness. The document was phrased as a Reformed privilege to the Lutherans: “We have allowed the aforementioned brethren in our edifice and by our congregation now established in Aleksandrowice (or wherever God will see it to keep) to call a minister of their own confession to lead worship.”25 The next six points spelled out the duties and limited rights of the Lutherans vis-àvis the Reformed. First, they were not to change anything in the edifice itself, especially its interior “both in the meetinghouse as is now, or during the preparation for the service nothing is to be brought into it.”26 Thus, the Lutheran communion service would have to take place in the somber, image-free, Reformed interior. These provisions may have come from the unhappy experience of the Reformed church in Lublin, where the influx of Lutheran immigrant merchants brought with them a communion railing and kneeler into the church building, very much to the annoyance of some more principled Calvinist nobles.27 This provision could also have been inserted on the insistence of the lay patron Gołuchowski (and other nobles) to ensure that the building did not resemble in any way a Catholic church, thus protecting it from lawsuits. In 23 24 25 26 27

For more on simultaneum churches see Benjamin J. Kaplan, Divided by Faith. Religious Conflict and the Practice of Toleration in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2007), 211–17. The original document of the 1615 Union has not survived. It is quoted in a chronicle of the Cracow congregation, but as agreed in 1616 and ratified in 1636 and only the 1636 signatories are listed. Węgierski, Kronika, 111. Ibid. Cztery Broszury Polemiczne z początku XVII wieku, ed. Halina Górska, Lech Szczucki, and Krystyna Wilczewska (Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1958), 242.

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the 1600s the Roman Catholic Church became aggressive in suing for the closure and repossession of Protestant churches. As the 1636 case of the Bończa Reformed church showed, when the Protestant church edifice was impressive enough to catch the eye of Catholic authorities, they were not above often forging documents to prevail in court and seize the building for their own use.28 While the Lutherans were allowed to use their own liturgy “leaving it [the difference in liturgy] to the Lord God, time, and mutual love,” the Cracow Calvinists expressly ruled out kneeling during communion, calling it “strictly forbidden by God” and invoked their own perception of it as worshipping the host and “papist superstition.”29 Thus, the Lutherans—pastor and laypeople alike—were to receive it standing, while the pastor was to “put [the custom of kneeling for communion] out of the heads of those who did in it delight.”30 It is hard not to notice that the prohibition on bringing anything into the sanctuary, such as kneelers, reinforced this desired liturgical posture. The second point prohibited ministers from both denominations from using sermons as opportunities for inter-Protestant polemic. It also forbade ministers or elders from both denominations introducing “other ceremonies or customs” that would alter this agreement. Any such innovations were forever banned from the Reformed church edifice.31 The third point specified that Lutherans could have services on both ordinary Sundays and holidays during the year. However, any dates for such services should be agreed beforehand with the Reformed elders. The Reformed congregation’s sexton was supposed to announce the dates and times of worship to both the Calvinists and the Lutherans “so that no offense is made against brotherly love and kindness.”32 General rules for worship times were specified in the fourth point. On the eve of a communion service, the building was reserved for the Reformed and their morning and evening worship. While the Calvinists were in the church building, the Lutheran pastor was to have a “place assigned” to hold “privatum examen or confessionem of his hearers.”33 On the next day, Reformed worship had precedence, and only after they were done with their morning service and the communion liturgy (which would take a couple of hours) were the Lutherans permitted to use the church building for their service “with singing, prayers, sermon, and the performance of the holy act.”34 28 29 30 31 32 33 34

See Bogumił Szady’s chapter in this book. Węgierski, Kronika, 111. Ibid. Ibid., 112. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid.

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Given the limited time in and availability of the sanctuary, the fifth point insisted on “diligent oversight” so that one side “does not scandalize the other.”35 Mutual love was urged, and both parties were expressly forbidden from making fun of the other’s ceremonies. They were to wait patiently for the other party to finish their worship service. Both ministers had to enforce this point, as well as the Reformed church elders and the local patron. It is not clear if these provisions stemmed from previous bad experiences or were anticipatory in nature.36 Finally, the Lutherans were required to contribute to the Reformed congregation’s needs, mainly for legal and maintenance expenses. When the Lutheran pastor was not in town (which was most of the year), the Reformed minister was to serve their pastoral needs as if he were their pastor. The Lutherans explicitly pledged “to avoid public scandal and to grieve God’s Church, by taking their beloved offspring, as some have done, to go to superstitious and idolatrous places [Roman Catholic churches] for baptisms and weddings.”37 While officially called a “Union” and providing Cracow Lutherans with some vestige of organized religious life and a worship venue, the dominant Reformed position is hard to miss. Yes, the Lutherans were allowed their own pastor and liturgy. But this concession came within a larger, Reformed pill, visible in crucial details: When the Lutheran pastor was not around, his flock were to seek pastoral care from the Calvinist pastor. He was to officiate at their marriages, baptize their children, and bury their dead. More importantly, while Lutheran communion was allowed, it could only happen in a very plain, Calvinist meeting-house and kneeling was not allowed. The prohibition on bringing objects into the church and an explicit command to stand while receiving communion would Calvinize that very important element of the service. These provisions—if strictly enforced—while allowing the Lutherans freedom of worship, would in time slowly turn them into Reformed Protestants or at least accept the somber Reformed milieu as normative. It must be emphasized that the September 1616 Union provisions were ironed out during the district’s visitation of the Cracow congregation in Aleksandrowice. The visitation lasted two days: September 25–26.38 On Saturday, there was an abridged preparatory service, and a list of communicants was drawn up. On Sunday after the morning service and sermon, the church elders and visitators held a session where the document was drawn up. The Calvinist congregants were admonished for skipping the preparatory services on the 35 36 37 38

Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 113. Sipayłło, Akta synodów, 378–81.

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day before communion and the church elders ordered to administer church discipline “serio until the [desired] effect [is reached].”39 After a baptism, the afternoon sermon and Lord’s Supper followed. The long and pedantic visitation procedure was meant to reacquaint the congregation with what the Lesser Poland Reformed Church expected of their members. Given the stress placed on the proper functioning of the Calvinist congregation, it is not hard to imagine why the Union provisions were so strict. It is not known for certain how the Lutherans received the 1616 conditions, but there are reasons to believe they were rather unenthusiastic: the Union’s formal ratification took twenty years. As long as the Lutherans could count on regular visits of pastors from Tarnowskie Góry, they were in no rush to be officially bound by those terms. However, with the outbreak of the Thirty Years’ War and the Habsburgs’ suppression of the Lutheran church in Tarnowskie Góry in 1629, visits from Lutheran clergy became intermittent and difficult to secure. As the years went on, the intended consequence of having the Cracow Lutherans become more acquainted with Reformed liturgy and polity was achieved; the passage of time helped bring the Union to fruition. The 1616 provisions were finally signed on June 22, 1636, in the new seat of the Cracow congregation, the village of Łuczanowice, during the Cracow district synod.40 Whereas no names of Lutherans from 1616 have survived, on this occasion eight Lutheran laymen signed the Union next to six Reformed burgher elders from Cracow.41 The 1636 ratification confirmed almost all the provisions from 1616. However, the Calvinists agreed to one important modification: ordinary members of the Lutheran congregation were now allowed to receive communion kneeling. Still, the pastor and Lutheran elders were explicitly forbidden from kneeling and instead had to lead by example and stand while receiving the sacrament. Given that the prohibition on bringing anything into the church was retained, kneeling on the stone floor not only required faith but also physical perseverance and a very principled attitude to Lutheran sacramental theology. The Cracow Calvinists felt this attitude would wear down in time. In September 1636, the Lesser Poland provincial synod in Oksa ratified the Union’s new version, and it remained in force even when in 1818 the Cracow congregation moved back to Cracow.

39 40 41

Ibid., 379. The congregation had moved there in 1619 see Węgierski, Kronika, 118–19. Ibid., 113–14.

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Sławatycze and Nejdorf, Lesser Poland

An interesting case emerges in the private town of Sławatycze and the village of Mościce Dolne (formerly Nejdorf). Located on the left bank of the Bug River, both were officially in the Brześć Litewski palatinate in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania. However, due to their proximity to Lublin, they were not subject to the Lithuanian Reformed Church but rather that of the Lesser Poland Reformed and its Lublin district. The history has been recorded in a (now lost) manuscript titled Kronika Zboru Nejdorfskiego.42 Compiled by one of the Lutheran pastors around 1770, it was allegedly printed in 1777 as Historia ecclesiae Neoburchdorffensis alias Slavatycensis, but no copy is known to survive. In 1902 the surviving parts of the manuscript (spanning the years 1690–1760) were edited and partially published, but with many mistakes and contradictions.43 The settlement of Sławatycze was established shortly before June 16, 1624, when the estate owner, Rafał Leszczyński (1579–1636), palatine of Bełz, issued a charter with privileges to “newly settled Dutchmen,”44 including the right to set apart some land on which to build an evangelical church and settle a pastor. A small, wooden edifice was built some five kilometers to the northeast where the city by the same name was founded sometime after. The document called the settlers “Dutchmen” (holendrzy), but it is agreed that the term referred to a category of free settlers called olendrzy rather than ethnic Dutch colonists. Kronika Zboru Nejdorfskiego assumed that the original settlers (there was another wave in the early 1700s) were German Lutherans, without giving their exact provenance. But the original settlers’ background has never been researched or conclusively established. Given Leszczyński’s contacts with Bohemian and Silesian religious refugees whom he settled around the same time in nearby Włodawa (1628), the initial settlers may not have been German Lutherans but German-speaking Protestant refugees from Bohemia or Silesia. Also, Leszczyński was a devout Reformed Christian and member of the Bohemian Brethren. He did welcome Lutheran refuges from 42 43

44

Already in 1902, the first and last pages of the manuscript were lost, and the local pastor and editor, Edmund H. Schultz (1851–1903), had to decipher hand-written Latin and translate it to Polish. Edmund H. Schultz, “Kronika Zboru Nejdorfskiego,” Zwiastun Ewangeliczny 5, no. 8 (1902): 227–34; no. 9 (1902): 263–66; no. 10 (1902): 294–99; no.12 (1902): 363–68. It is not clear which of the mistakes were made by Schultz when he was preparing the “Kronika” for publication and which ones were in the “Kronika” itself. A discussion of them would divert the readers, so I in this article I will describe the congregation’s history according to what I believe is the most plausible version supported by contemporary documents. Schultz, “Kronika,” 229.

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Silesia and Bohemia and settled them in Leszno in 1631 (see below), but he was equally zealous in settling Reformed Protestants in his estates. The original charter contained permission to establish an “evangelical church.”45 To Leszczyński, this would have meant Reformed and not Lutheran. The latter were usually referred to in the Polish Reformed milieu with an additional qualifier “of the Augsburg Confession.”46 It is therefore likely that, while some of the original settlers were Lutherans and may have been ethnically German, some were Reformed. The presence of Reformed settlers in Sławatycze, referred to as “Helvetica Conf[essio],” is explicitly mentioned in 1635.47 In my opinion, Leszczyński saw the founding of Sławatycze as providing a place for Protestants of both persuasions. This hypothesis is further strengthened by the fact that Sławatycze’s first pastor, Jan Joram (c.1589–c.1663), was not Lutheran, but a member of the Bohemian Brethren. Originally from Bohemia, he is first mentioned in 1632, after he fled to Poland.48 For Leszczyński, Joram would have been an ideal candidate: Bohemian Brethren liturgical practices like kneeling during communion, using hosts rather than bread, and practicing a church discipline that had Lutheran overtones and would be much to the settlers’ tastes would all have recommended Joram to the patron.49 Thus, Lutheran liturgical preferences could be satisfied even if the clergyman was not a Lutheran himself. With a little pastoral flexibility, Joram could have become—mirroring apostle Paul—“everything to everyone for the sake of the Gospel.” The 1636 list of congregations and pastors serving in the Lublin Reformed District lists Joram and states that he ministers in Sławatycze to Germans “Augustanae confessionis et rituum” but then adds that Joram himself “Confessio Sandom. Generalium subscripsit.”50 Interestingly, Joram never attended any of the Lublin district synods.51 Jan Joram ministered in Sławatycze for a few years. According to the Kronika Zboru Nejdorfskiego, “he went to Piaski where was denounced [by Lublin 45 46 47 48 49 50 51

Ibid. For example, Węgierski, Kronika, 108. Archiwum Główne Akt Dawnych [further as AGAD], Archiwum Zamoyskich [further as BOZ], sign. 3155, fol. 202. Andrzej Węgierski, Libri quattuor Slavoniae reformatae, ed. Janusz Tazbir (Varsoviae: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1973), 434. For more on Brethren liturgical practices see Kazimierz Bem, Calvinism in Polish Lithuanian Commonwealth 1548–1648. The Churches and the Faithful (Leiden–Boston: Brill, 2020), 65–71. AGAD, BOZ, sign. 3156, fol. 8. This seemed to have been his consistent practice: he was notoriously absent from synods for the rest of his career—see note 57.

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Lutherans] that he was of the Reformed confession. They let the people in [Sławatycze] know, who [then] dismissed him.”52 That he was not Lutheran was a well-known fact, and so he did not have to be outed. So, what happened? We have a short but convoluted note from the minutes of the Lublin Reformed district synod held on April 20, 1635, in Włodawa. There, gathered for the funeral ceremonies of Anna Leszczyńska (the patron’s wife), the Lublin Reformed pastors dealt with complaints about Joram and a “schism between brethren of the Augustane [sic] Confess[ionis]. and brethren of the Helveticae Conf[essionis].”53 The sources of the complaints are not named, but it seems they came from some of Joram’s Lutheran congregants. The records state that Joram in his “sermons, statements, and [word unclear] would rebuke brothers of the Augustanae Confess[ionis]” and would also urge them to join those of the “Consensum Orthodoxum.”54 To Joram and the Lublin Reformed, that meant the Sandomir Consensus and the Lesser Poland Reformed Church. This raises the question: Why would the pastor of a Lutheran congregation insult his Lutheran flock? The note suggests that Joram pushed the Lutheran part of his congregation, both in sermons and pastoral conversations, to join the Lublin Reformed, which met with some pushback. Unless we assume Joram was trying to sabotage his own ministry in Sławatycze, the incident implies that at least some of Joram’s congregants were not Lutheran but Reformed and that their number was large enough to make him think he could get away with such polemic from the pulpit. The synod, more pastorally and wisely, suggested that instead of personal and theological polemics, the Sławatycze and Włodawa congregations should get to know each other by attending services and swapping clergy and thus come closer together; they were separated by only twenty-five kilometers. It should be borne in mind that the Włodawa congregation was settled by Bohemian Brethren refugees. Their liturgical practices would have allayed some fears of the Lutherans about the Reformed. (This may have also been a subtle jab at Joram, whose verbal attachment to the Reformed Church did not match his attendance record at the local district synods.) It is evident from the text that the Lublin Reformed did not disagree with the end result that Joram sought but only with the means by which he tried to bring it about. The synod’s records did excuse his actions as taken “not ex malitia sed ex ignorantia,”55 but

52 53 54 55

Schultz, “Kronika,” 229. AGAD, BOZ, sign. 3155, fol. 202. Ibid. Ibid.

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this was probably to smooth things over between the pastor and his embittered flock. Joram’s actions soured his relationship with the Lutheran part of his congregation. He is listed as a pastor in Sławatycze in 1636, still not attending local Calvinist synods. He must have been looking for a new call already. When in 1637 the Lithuanian Reformed synod allowed Duke Krzysztof II Radziwiłł to fill church vacancies in his estates with “Bohemian Brethren exultants,”56 Joram was one of them and was listed as pastor assigned to Radviliškis (Radziwiliszki) in 1639. He left Sławatycze in the later part of the year: the November 20–22 Lublin district convocation approved his relocation to the Grand Duchy of Lithuania in canon 9.57 The next three years of the Sławatycze congregation are a mystery. The Lublin Reformed were reluctant to impose their jurisdiction over it. During the October 27, 1640, district synod proceedings, visitations were ordered in all the congregations but Sławatycze.58 But a large Protestant congregation like that in Sławatycze was too good to pass up, especially since the Lutherans were ecclesiastically isolated from any Lutheran church bodies and wholly dependent on the Reformed Leszczyński family. Joram’s ministry, his exodus, and the background of some of the settlers served as a catalyst for the formation of a separate Reformed congregation in Sławatycze. During the district convocation on May 2, 1641, the town’s new owner Władysław Leszczyński (d. 1654),59 let the assembled know that he wanted to build a new edifice for the congregation in the town center of Sławatycze and, more tellingly, to put it “sub cura of this district.”60 The Lublin Reformed were delighted. They wrote to him, praising his piety and suggested that he “think as soon as possible [about] a place to live for the minister” and promised to send their young catechist, Krzysztof Gutner, originally from Silesia, as the new minister.61 Unfortunately, their plans were thwarted when Gutner changed his mind. During the September 30, 1641, 56 57

58 59 60 61

Marzena Liedke and Piotr Guzowski, ed., Akta Synodów Prowincjonalnych Jednoty Litewskiej 1626–1637 (Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Naukowe Semper, 2011), 171. AGAD, BOZ, sign. 3156, fol. 33. Joram later served congregations in Pietuchów, Greże and Jamno until 1647, when he returned to the Lublin district. He served in Kock until 1660 and then after retiring he lived until his death c.1663 in Bończa. After his return to Lesser Poland, he only attended one district synod in 1651. Ibid., fol. 101–2. Ibid., fol. 38 (canon 1). Youngest son of Rafał Leszczyński (1579–1636) palatine of Bełz. Władysław was the owner of Sławatycze and from 1647 lay senior of the Lublin district of the Reformed Church. Ibid., fol. 3. Ibid., fol. 45 (canon 5). Ibid. Gutner’s Silesian origins may be another indicator of the Sławatycze settler’s background.

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provincial synod in Bełżyce, the Lublin Reformed promised to seek a suitable replacement in Greater Poland, probably someone who could speak and preach in German.62 Gutner’s decision also mobilized the Lutherans to seek their own pastor, lest their patron settle them with a Reformed pastor again. Władysław Leszczyński tarried a little—on January 17, 1644, a newly built Reformed Church building was solemnly inaugurated in Polish in the Reformed fashion using the liturgy from the 1637 Great Gdańsk Agenda.63 The town’s owner, prominent Reformed nobles from the area, and the top-ranking Calvinist clergy of the Lublin district attended the ceremony: the senior and consenior (a deputy senior), as well as the senior of the Bełz Reformed district. While no doubt the joyous occasion drew such a crowd, such an assembly of Calvinist dignitaries was convened to entice any less fervent Lutherans to join the Reformed congregation, which clearly enjoyed the favor of the town’s owner. The fact that Lutheran liturgical sensibilities were on the minds of those in attendance can be seen by a ceremonial incident. During the singing of psalm 95, when the congregation reached the verse “O come, let us worship and bow down, let us kneel before the Lord our Maker,” the record indicates “all knelt, and kneeling sang the rest of the Psalm.”64 Lesser Polish Calvinist clergy kneeling during worship was a very rare sight indeed to behold. Lutheran litur­gy, however, provided for clergy kneeling, so this could have been done for the settlers’ edification. Following the sermon, the congregation celebrated the Lord’s Supper and the local pastor, Augustyn Claudian (from the Bohemian Brethren), was formally inducted into the newly consecrated church.65 Later that year, he was assigned catechist Paweł Krokoczyński (d. c.1675), yet another Bohemian Brethren member from Leszno, who officially became the town’s pastor in 1645 and served until 1647.66 In the fall of 1647, the Reformed congregation in Sławatycze gained a Reformed school and a teacher, and a new pastor, Arnolf Jarzyna (d. c.1684).67 The Calvinists were clearly numerous enough to support them and invested considerable resources in establishing a thriving congregation in town.

62 63 64 65 66 67

Ibid., (canon 1). Bem, Calvinism, 77–85. AGAD, BOZ, sign. 3156, fol. 58. Ibid. Ibid., fol. 85. When his wife refused to convert from the Polish Brethren, he was moved to Dublany in the Ruthenian district where he served as late as 1675. Jadwiga KowalewskaŁypacewiczowa, “Zbór innowierczy w Dublanach,” Kwartalnik Historyczny 43, (1929): 517. AGAD, BOZ, sign. 3156, fol. 85.

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What about the Lutherans in Sławatycze? The same record from the Reformed church’s dedication notes the invited guests, and among them “another guest was Brother in the Lord, August[anae] Confes[ssionis] Pred[icant] living near Sławatycze, a certain Rev. Jonas Columbus.”68 The use of the term “certain” (niejaki) implies that he was relatively new and unknown to the Reformed. The Lutherans near Sławatycze did not give in to Calvinist domination too easily and, with the consent of the Leszczyński owner, they called and settled their own minister probably in late 1643. They were also allowed to keep their old, wooden church, now located outside the new city. Their Lutheran identity may have been preserved by the fact that they were farmers near Sławatycze, whereas the Reformed church, school, and parsonage were in town itself. The Kronika Zboru Nejdorfskiego mentions that as late as the 1670s the Lutheran pastor “lived in Sławatycze, where he moved due to the isolation of this settlement, but would return to conduct services here, although he also preached in the town’s church […], especially since it still belonged then to the so-called Reformed.”69 Of course, the question was: How would the Lutheran minister Columbus relate to the Calvinists? Only two pages later, Jerzy Laetus, the new notary of the district synod, listed the district’s twelve congregations and their pastors in 1644. After noting Paweł Krokoczyński as the pastor of Sławatycze under number twelve, Laetus wrote the longest entry under number thirteen: With the Dutch near Sławatycze, minister V[erbum] D[omini] Augustanae Confessionis Rev. Jonas Columb, German preacher, who does not attend synods [in] the need to avoid suspicion in the eyes of his stricter congregants, but remains in brotherly society with us [and] our needs, and usually comes to our other get-togethers and church services; and to maintain brotherly love and concord, for mutual advice and encouragement, to prevent scandal, [he] is visited by [the] Consoritate [sic] of nearby patrons, his lordship Rafał70 and his lordship Władysław Leszczyński, both sons of the palatine of Bełz, from whom he had his call, and Andrzej Węgierski,71 the senior of Lublin [Reformed] congregations in Włodawa.72 68 69 70 71 72

Ibid., fol. 58. Schultz, “Kronika,” 233. Rafał Leszczyński (1607–1644), oldest son of Rafał (1579–1636) palatine of Bełz. The younger Rafał was the patron of the Reformed Church and owner of Włodawa. Andrzej Węgierski (1600–1649), pastor in Włodawa, historian and from 1644 senior of the Lublin District of the Reformed Church. AGAD, BOZ, sign. 3156, fol. 60.

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The Reformed district and the Lutheran pastor worked out a compromise. To satisfy his Lutheran parishioners, Columbus did not attend the district synods to maintain a veneer of confessional independence. He was also allowed to use the Lutheran liturgy, something the Calvinists could easily agree to, given that the 1637 Great Gdańsk Agenda was never translated into German, and non-Polish congregations were explicitly exempt from using it. But the Reformed achieved something significant too. The note states that for clerical matters and denominational support, he was to be “visited by”73 two Reformed patrons, who also happened to be Calvinist lay elders and the district’s senior, Andrzej Węgierski. Further, the expression “to prevent scandals”74 is a roundabout way of the Reformed hoping to impose Calvinist church discipline on the Lutherans. The wording here is very careful and subtle but established a pattern of Reformed elders of the Lublin district, two lay and one clerical, supervising the isolated Lutheran congregation. The Lublin Reformed were hoping to slowly “reform” their Lutheran brethren and bring them into a broader, Calvinist fold. The price of keeping a more elaborate Lutheran liturgy was worth paying for a slow reformation of morals and church polity in the Calvinist direction. Whatever their long-terms plans were, the Reformed would not see them come to pass. In 1649 the Cossack army of Bohdan Khmelnitsky sacked and burned the town of Włodawa. Sławatycze may have been spared larger destruction (there is no mention of its destruction) but not the other ravages of war. Kronika Zboru Nejdorfskiego recalled that some Lutherans (seventy people including children) converted under Cossack pressure to Eastern Orthodoxy, only to be murdered by the Cossacks after their apostasy “so that they would not convert to heresy after they left.”75 The Lutheran pastor Columbus fled to Warsaw and then Węgrów, where he is mentioned as a Lutheran pastor in 1650. Henryk Merczyng incorrectly said that 1649 was the end of the Reformed congregation in Sławatycze. That is rather the date when the Lutheran congregation ceased to function for over two decades.76 The Kronika Zboru Nejdorfskiego tells of a long period without a pastor, and until 1670 there is no mention of any Lutheran pastor in Sławatycze. The Lutheran colonists themselves were too poor to maintain a minister of their own and had to rely on occasional visits by the Lutheran pastor from Piaski Wielkie, 110 kilometers away.77 73 74 75 76 77

Ibid. Ibid. Schultz, “Kronika,” 230. Henryk Merczyng, Zbory i Senatorowie protestanccy w dawnej Rzeczpospolitej (Warszawa: Drukarnia A. Ginsa, 1904), 74. Schultz, “Kronika,” 231–32.

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The Lublin Reformed synodal records in 1650 list pastors both in Włodawa and Sławatycze: Jan Pandlowski and Arnolf Jarzyna, respectively. There is no mention of a Lutheran congregation or pastor.78 Jarzyna remained Sławatycze’s minister until 1674.79 The lack of local records prevents us from speculating if he ever tried to Calvinize the congregation in the vein of the 1644 plans: the lack of a settled Lutheran pastor would have made it easier, but there is no evidence he had the appetite for it or even tried. If he did, then he must not have been too effective. In 1670 Sławatycze’s Calvinist owner, Andrzej Leszczyński (d. 1693), issued a charter to his Lutheran subjects allowing them to use the local wood to rebuild their church and donated more land for its support. Jarzyna continued to maintain good relations with the Lutherans and allowed the Lutheran pastor Salomon Hermson to preach in his church in town.80 While 1670 saw a revival of the Lutheran congregation in rural area, Calvinism in Sławatycze ended abruptly in 1674 when Andrzej Leszczyński converted to Catholicism. He closed the Reformed church in town and pastor Jarzyna had to relocate to Włodawa. The Calvinist remnants in Sławatycze were dispersed when the Włodawa congregation too was suppressed in 1683.81 The Lutheran congregation most likely survived because its building was on the isolated part of the estate called “Nejdorf,” owned by Leszczyński’s stepmother, Świętosława Prażmowska (née Dunin-Rajecka). After her step-son’s apostasy, she remained Calvinist and reissued the 1670 charter on March 20, 1678, even allowing the Lutherans to enlarge the church building a little.82 The Lutheran congregation exists today in the village of Kuzawka, despite another two centuries of turmoil, the oldest rural Protestant congregation in centraleast Poland in continuous existence.

78 79 80 81

82

AGAD, BOZ, sign. 3156, fol. 101. Ibid., fol. 104, 129. Schultz, “Kronika,” 231, 233. Stanisław Tworek, Działalność oświatowo kulturalna kalwinizmu małopolskiego (połowa XVI–połowa XVII w.) (Lublin: Wydawnictwo Lubelskie, 1970), 343. Jarzyna became a pastor of that congregation and the senior of the Lublin district in 1678. His career came to an inglorious end in 1683 when the town’s Catholic owner accused him of defrauding his senile Reformed aunt, threw him out and suppressed the congregation and school. Jarzyna died shortly after that. Schultz, “Kronika,” 230–31.

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Leszno, Greater Poland

The third proposed church union took place in 1633 in Leszno, a city in the northwest of Poland, in the Province of Greater Poland. The sixteenth-century Reformation here created lasting Lutheran denominational structures, aside from those of Bohemian Brethren. Opposition to the Sandomir Consensus came from the Greater Poland Lutherans, who in the end repudiated it and formed their own separate church. The relationship between the two denominations was cold, to say the least. In 1609, the Bohemian Brethren nobility complained to their Lutheran peers about the constant theological jabs from the Lutheran superintendent and Poznań pastor Samuel Dambrowski (1577– 1625) and asked them to rein in the preacher. The Lutheran nobles concurred and demanded he apologize to the Bohemian Brethren and reaffirm the 1570 Sandomir Consensus, which explicitly barred such behavior. Under the nobles’ pressure, Dambrowski did apologize but refused to uphold the Consensus, claiming his fellow clergymen forbade him.83 In 1612, the Bohemian Brethren in Poznań complained again about the hostile attitude of the city’s Lutherans, from whom they suffered “greater hatred and taunts, even from their children, than from even the papists.”84 Pride cometh before the fall—over the next few years, things went badly for both denominations. However, there was an especially dramatic reversal of fortunes for the Lutherans. In 1616, a Catholic mob in Poznań, enticed by the Jesuits, sacked and burned down the Lutheran church on July 12 and then Brethren churches on August 3. Protestant worship in the city ceased entirely. The fiery Dambrowski lost his pulpit and had to relocate to the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, leaving the superintendent’s position vacant for almost twenty years. The growing Counter-Reformation also thinned the ranks of the last few senatorial noble families who professed Lutheranism: The Roszkowski, Sokołowski, and Tuczyński families all converted to Catholicism by the 1620s, and the only major noble families left were the Bojanowskis, Ossowskis, and Pogorzelskis, but these did not attain senatorial rank. By the mid-1620s, the Lutheran Church in Greater Poland was near total collapse. Under pressure from their noble patrons in 1629, the remaining Lutheran clergy made cautious steps toward uniting with the Bohemian Brethren. The latter noted inquiries from “ministers of Augustanae confessionis [who wish] to our government 83 84

Maria Sipayłło, ed., Akta synodów różnowierczych w Polsce, vol. 4: Wielkopolska 1569–1632 (Warszawa: Wydawnictwa Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, 1997), 204. Ibid., 244–45.

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to be bound” with sheer delight.85 The 1633 Brethren convocation in Leszno agreed to invite the tepid Lutheran clergy and their much more eager noble patrons to the next synod to discuss a church union.86 The 1633 Leszno Union materializes in this context. Leszno was a private city, established in 1549, and owned by the powerful Leszczyński family, who turned its church over to the Bohemian Brethren back in 1565 and joined their church. Leszno became a place of refuge for the Bohemian Brethren. By the early seventeenth century, it boasted German-, Polish-, and Czech-language congregations, all worshipping in the same building, and a small Roman Catholic church. Even though the Leszczyński family had relocated their residence to Baranów Sandomierski in Lesser Poland in the early seventeenth century, Leszno thrived and grew to over 2,000 burghers, the majority of whom were Reformed. The city’s renown was strengthened by the Brethren gymnasium, restructured and reformed in 1601, which attracted scores of noble students regardless of their denomination.87 From 1625 onwards, the city’s owner, Rafał Leszczyński, the palatine of Bełz, accepted thousands of Bohemian Brethren refugees fleeing Habsburg persecution in Bohemia. The town swelled, doubling in size, and many prominent Brethren pastors and theologians, including John Amos Comenius (1592–1670), settled there. In 1628, their number was so large that Leszczyński had to relocate some of the immigrants to his Lesser Poland estates such as Włodawa (see above). In 1630, a group of almost 4,000 Lutheran German refugees from Góry in Silesia arrived and settled in Leszno. The city blossomed, and by 1650s it had about 15,000 inhabitants, second only to Poznań’s 20,000. The Lutheran colonists’ arrival in 1630 altered the town’s confessional dynamics. Until then, there was no Lutheran congregation in town, and any Lutherans that may have lived in Leszno simply conformed to the majority, the Brethren Church. This new group was not only linguistically different and confessionally so, but also brought with them their own Lutheran clergy. While they might have been grateful for a place of refuge, they were not about to give up the faith for which they were persecuted in their homeland. The Leszno Brethren ministers were accommodating but found the Lutheran clergy’s use of the surplice particularly offensive. For the Lutherans, the increasingly presbyterian church structure of the Brethren Church was anathema, as was their closeness to Calvinists in Lesser Poland and Lithuania. 85 86 87

Ibid., 314. Národní Muzeum Praha (National Museum in Prague), sign. XVIII D 8, fol. 64–65. Kamila Szymańska, Drukarnie Presserów w Lesznie w XVIII wieku (Leszno: Muzeum Okręgowe w Lesznie, 2008), 17–19.

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In 1633, the Leszno Lutherans were well enough settled to request permission to build their own church. The Brethren could not say no, but as we have seen, wanted to bring the Leszno and other Lutherans into their fold. In the end an agreement was reached in 1633 under the auspices of Rafał Leszczyński himself. The terms were long and reflected both the tensions between the two denominations in the city as well as the Brethren’s previous bad experiences with the Lutherans. The most specific sections dealing with Lutheran and Brethren church relations were in Point IV dealing with the everyday life of the faithful, Point V dealing with liturgical matters, and Point VI with church polity. Point IV began with a telling phrase, “To [the church to] whom the harmony of souls befits” (Cui Animorum concordie servit).88 Through it, both groups agreed to drop confessional markers for their church buildings. Instead, they were to be called the “Old Church” for the Brethren one, and “New Church” for the Lutheran one (IV.2).89 The clergy in the respective congregations were to avoid any theological or confessional jabs, not just in sermons but during weddings and funerals, and both in public and in private. They were to “converse lovingly with each other but without flattery but honestly and in sincerity” (IV.3).90 It was probably hoped that such charitable Christian behavior between the pastors would trickle down to the lay faithful. Mixed marriages were not to be discouraged and needless obstacles to baptism, such as having witnesses (or godparents for the Lutherans) of the same confession as the child, were not to be tolerated. Unless the parties agreed otherwise, the groom’s pastor should officiate at a wedding (IV.4,5,6). Parties were to respect each other’s feast days and the like.91 Point V concerned more detailed liturgical matters. Each denomination was given “the freedom” to keep their own ceremonies.92 However, images or paintings were not allowed, a clear reference to the Lutherans. To avoid making this point too obviously Reformed, canon 36 of the 305–6 Council of Elvira was invoked as the basis of such prohibition. The Lutherans were allowed to use candles in their churches, and the clergy could wear surplices. The latter, however, could only be worn in church; they were forbidden at funerals or confirmations. Exorcism prayers used in the Lutheran baptismal liturgies but missing from Reformed liturgies were permitted. Yet, even these two concessions (limited use of the surplice and of exorcism prayers) were only temporary 88 89 90 91 92

Dury, De pace, 119. Ibid. Ibid., 119–20. Ibid., 120. Ibid., 122.

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in nature. The Leszno Lutherans were to seek the Theological Faculty of Wittenberg’s permission to drop them both as adiaphora. If such permission came, they were to stop using them as soon as possible.93 Point VI dealt with church discipline. This was a feature of the Reformed tradition and not a Lutheran one. The April 1633 Brethren Synod in Ostroróg dealt with questions of church discipline, ordering congregations to establish books of communicants and of the penitent and choosing elders in every congregation to aid ministers in enforcing Reformed church discipline on reluctant or obdurate members.94 Not surprisingly, church discipline provisions featured heavily in the 1633 Leszno Union. Both churches were to keep guard over piety and morals, and an appeal was made to “Doctor Luther, who himself had hoped for a discipline more stringent than that of Paul.”95 After that tip of the hat to Lutheran sensibilities, what followed was something quite Reformed in practice: clergy and laity, who had committed public sins, such as “blasphemy and cursing, violations of the seventh day, feuds and brawls, whoring, drunkenness and licentious nighttime carousal, [and] lewd musical theater performances” were to be admonished and censured (VI.1).96 To enforce this behavior, each of the churches was to have six “presbyters” (here the 1635 document added in brackets in German: “Kirchen Aeltesten”) drawn from men of stature “who will set the entire rest of the congregation an example, reconcile those who have quarreled, remove outrages, and thus be able to assist their respective pastor in the maintenance of good order” (VI.2).97 Church discipline was to be exercised on every member, regardless of their rank (VI.3). The whole presbytery was to meet together to weigh the evidence against the offenders, reprimand the guilty, and allow them to repent (VI.4).98 The next point provided that each presbytery should meet in the pastor’s presence at least quarterly (which coincided neatly with Reformed quarterly communions) but could meet more often if need be. Both presbyteries were also to meet together in a joint session, alternating at the Old (Brethren) and New (Lutheran) churches in a body called “publicum synedrium” (the German translates it as “gestamten Kirchen-Rath”).99 There they were to discuss each other’s disciplinary cases, give one another advice, and hear any appeals from the elders’ decision. Unless there were no cases to deal with, this “publicum 93 94 95 96 97 98 99

Ibid., 122–23. Bem, Calvinism, 43–44, 107. Dury, De pace, 123. Ibid. Ibid., 124. Ibid. Ibid.

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synedrium” was to meet “even at times when there is no business but to bear witness that the duty is not neglected on either side.”100 The last provision gave the new body the power to turn over to the Leszno magistrates for correction anyone who “having been warned by his presbytery, and especially by the joint body, should continue insistently to behave outrageously.”101 Dury saw these provisions as a template for Lutherans and the Reformed to compromise and unite into a broad, Protestant Church. He therefore had them printed in Cologne in 1635. But the local Brethren and Lutherans saw them for what they were. While temporarily retaining their church customs, the Lutherans were to worship in Reformed surroundings with no images and no liturgical vestments (Wittenberg agreed to drop the wearing of surplice as adiaphora).102 Their church was to receive a presbyterian structure, they were to be in constant organizational union with the Reformed Brethren and were to enforce Reformed church discipline on their own members. The provision that mandated the quarterly meeting of elders of each church and of the “publicum synedrium” was meant to ensure that the Lutherans followed through and not hide behind a pretext of no cases to discuss. Even the seemingly innocuous names for the congregations—Old and New—were a tip of the hat to the Reformed sensibilities: they prevented the Lutherans from giving their church a “papist-sounding” name. The terms of the Leszno Union clearly provided for a process by which sooner or later the Leszno Lutherans would slowly become Reformed, distinguished only by the use of candles in their new church edifice. Despite Dury’s enthusiasm, the Leszno Union was never implemented. In fact, by the time he had printed it, it was already dead. The same 1632 influx of Lutheran settlers and clergy into Greater Poland revived the moribund Lutheranism in the province. In 1634 during their synod in Wilkowo Polskie, the Lutherans elected a new superintendent, Kasper Diering, who, backed by his fellow pastors, refused to budge in any theological or liturgical issues and insisted that the Lutheran Church in Greater Poland stay faithful to the Augsburg Confession. With the help of immigrant clergy, he recreated a strong church structure, and there was no need to unite with the Brethren anymore—not in Leszno, not anywhere. To make their point, the newly built Lutheran church in Leszno was given the name “Church of the Holy Cross.” The Lutherans were so confident they could persevere on their own that they didn’t even deign to let the Brethren know that they were not coming to the

100 Ibid., 125. 101 Ibid. 102 Ibid., 132–33.

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previously agreed joint meeting.103 The Brethren who gathered at their 1634 synod in Ostroróg did not hide their disappointment. After recalling their previous invitation to Lutheran ministers and elders to this synod, they wrote as follows: “But none [of them] showed up. Indeed, they called a synod of their own to Wilkowo.” Having noted the Lutherans’ “unreliability,” the Brethren resolved to “stand together firmly in the teaching and the governance [church polity] of the Lord.”104 Any hopes for salvaging the Union—at least in Leszno—faded in 1636 when the devoutly Reformed palatine of Bełz Rafał Leszczyński died. His son Bogusław (1614–59), who inherited Leszno, had little interest in theological matters, converting to Roman Catholicism in 1642 to advance his career. The Brethren in Leszno, who by then had formed their own presbyterium, lost their privileged position in town. The city, however, remained the capital of Greater Poland’s Reformed Christianity until the end of the eighteenth century. 5

Conclusions

The three agreements discussed in this article differ from simultaneum agreements, quite common in early modern Europe, though the Cracow one did have its origin in the Lutheran request to share the Reformed edifice.105 Instead, all were attempts to incorporate Lutheran congregations into Reformed (Calvinist and Brethren) church structures, while allowing for very narrow liturgical differences. With the exception of the Cracow case, the discussed agreements fell apart quite quickly. While the specific circumstances differ, the common denominator is that the Lutherans were only willing to enter into them from a position of weakness, when pressured by secular leaders and when, being of no legal standing, they needed Reformed noble protection to have any semblance of church life at all. But when, as in the case of the Leszno Union, the Lutherans were able to have their own church edifice in town and a vibrant new ecclesiastical organization, their enthusiasm for irenic cooperation fizzled out quickly. The 1633 Leszno Union dissipated before the ink had dried on the printing press that printed it in Cologne in 1635. A decade later during the Colloquium Charitativum in Toruń, the same Lutherans showed a fiercely antiReformed side, which took the Reformed delegates (Calvinists and Bohemian Brethren) by surprise. The Lutherans had not stopped being irenic in that one 103 Dworzaczkowa, Bracia czescy, 123–24. 104 Národní muzeum (Praha), sign. XVIII D 8, fol. 73–74. 105 Kaplan, Divided, 211–17.

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decade; they had stopped feeling the need to cater to the Reformed, as when they had first settled in Leszno as poor refugees. What also made the repudiation of the agreements in the Leszno and Sławatycze cases easier was the lack of continued pressure from secular lords: the Leszczyński family. Leszno’s owner, Bogusław, converted to Roman Catholicism in 1642. While he continued to protect Protestants in his estates, he protected all of them, without any favoritism shown to any branch like his pious father once had. In Sławatycze, following the death of Bogusław’s devout Calvinist brother Władysław, his son and heir Andrzej showed declining interest in his Reformed religion until he abandoned it in 1674 altogether, converting to Catholicism. Here, too, the pious Reformed patrons’ previous pressure on Lutherans and a clear preference for their own confession dissipated, and the Lutherans were free to go their own theological way. Of the three cases discussed, the 1616 Cracow Union lasted longest, formally until 1828. Unlike in Greater Poland and Sławatycze, here Calvinist nobles continued to hold a firm grip on the congregation until the end of the eighteenth century, especially since it continued to meet on estates owned by Calvinist noble families: Gołuchowski, Żeleński, Rej, and Wielowieyski. Both denominations learned how tenuous this support could be as early as 1619, when Aleksandrowice’s new owner, Samuel Gołuchowski, converted to Catholicism, closed the Reformed church, and allegedly held a dance in the church building before turning it into a stable.106 With weakening pastoral support from Lutherans in Silesia, the Cracow Lutherans had no choice but to conform to the demands of the Reformed congregation (now moved to Łuczanowice and Wielkanoc) and its rules, liturgies, and customs. It may also be the noble, and not just clerical, influence that made for the strictness of liturgical provisions in 1616 and 1636. How effective these agreements could have been had they been allowed to function for a longer time can be seen in the Cracow case. There is reason to suppose that the 1616 Union actually thwarted the formation of a separate Cracow Lutheran congregation for the next two centuries. Although we know that in 1642 Cracow Lutherans had their own burial ground and guesthouse outside city walls, no separate records or names for the Cracow Lutherans have survived, and so far no mention of a separate Cracow Lutheran congregation

106 Węgierski, Kronika, 119. This may have been an urban legend recorded by Węgierski (synodical records do not mention this) but given the Reformed distaste of dancing, this would have added an extra bitter sting to Samuel Gołuchowski’s apostasy.

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has been found in contemporary sources.107 Węgierski used the expression “brothers of the Augsburg Confession”108 in 1615 for those who made the initial request and signed the 1616 Union. When it was finally ratified in 1636, none of the eight Lutheran signatories actually referred to themselves as “elders”— unlike their Reformed counterparts.109 The provisions that recognized the Cracow Calvinist minister as responsible for the pastoral needs of the city’s Lutherans when theirs was away proved to be very effective in slowly gathering the Lutheran sheep into the Cracow Reformed fold. It was so effective, in fact, that it was only in the nineteenth century that, thanks to a new wave of Lutheran immigrants, they became a majority in the Cracow congregation and in 1828 chose a Lutheran minister to succeed a Reformed pastor; coincidentally, they changed the liturgy at the same time.110 The Cracow congregation continues to be a joint Reformed–Lutheran one today, though not based on the 1616 Union but rather the nineteenth-century legal and ecclesiastical provisions. It is also interesting to note that by the early seventeenth century, the 1570 Sandomir Confession and Sandomir Consensus ceased to be a point of reference for both the Lutherans (whose acceptance was very brief and halfhearted) and the Reformed. Even if we make room for the fact that in all three cases the Lutherans were relative newcomers to the discussed locations, and may not have been aware of both documents, it is very interesting that the Reformed did not invoke it even once in shaping their agreements. Wojciech Węgierski, the pastor of the Cracow Calvinist congregation, may have lamented that the Lutheran perception of the Sandomir Confession was “perverse” and “inaccurate,”111 but at the same time his peers in Sławatycze and Włodawa referred to the Sandomir Consensus as the “Consensus orthodoxus”112 and understood it to be synonymous with Reformed Protestantism. In the Leszno Union it was not referred to at all. Finally, all three cases have a third theme in common: Although the agreements tried to unite or work out a modus vivendi between the two confessions that can be understood broadly as irenic, they did not dismiss one confession’s theological background to find a (new) theological compromise. Quite the contrary—in all three cases the Reformed showed a remarkable theological 107 Waldemar Kowalski, “Niemieccy kupcy i czarownica w Krakowie,” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 50, (2020): 61–63. 108 Węgierski, Kronika, 108. 109 Ibid., 113–14. 110 Ibid., 205–6. 111 Ibid., 108. 112 AGAD, BOZ, sign. 3155, fol. 202.

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astuteness, accommodating toward Lutheran piety rather than dogma, and using it to their own advantage. The agreements were never actually irenic. Despite the efforts of Węgierski, Dury, and Jablonski to portray them as such, instead of seeking peaceful cohabitation and coexistence, these agreements in their specific provisions all sought to achieve the Reformed desired long-term outcome of the transformation of Lutheran flocks. Thus, instead of pushing their Reformed church polity, liturgy, and theology all at once at the Lutherans, the Reformed were willing to move slowly with some features (liturgy) and more quickly with others (church discipline). Despite all the talk of mutual brotherly love and affection, in all three cases the Reformed had turning the Lutherans into Reformed Christians as their end aim. The latter were permitted to keep a limited Lutheran liturgical veneer for a while but even here, the concession was too ephemeral, and the Lutherans were expected to be more flexible in these matters. This attitude was not exclusive to the Reformed: until their expulsion in 1658, the Unitarian Polish Brethren also continued to put forward irenic church union plans and tracts to Calvinists. But as Maciej Ptaszyński demonstrated, in the end these proposals still boiled down to Polish Brethren remaining Unitarian in the core of their beliefs, and the Reformed giving up their Trinitarian beliefs but keeping their liturgy.113 It would be ahistorical to pass judgment on any of these groups. All declared they could compromise in the interest of the common good, such as Christian and Protestant mutual love. However, their goal was the other party’s slow embrace of their own pious practices and, with time, their polities and, ultimately, theologies. In the end, the irenic attempts by Polish Reformed and Lutherans in the 1620s and 1630s show how passionately each group held to the teachings of their respective churches. Bibliography

Primary Sources

Archiwum Główne Akt Dawnych w Warszawie, Archiwum Zamoyskich, sign. 3155 “Actorum synodalium in districtu Minoris Poloniae …”; sign. 3156 “Actorum synodalium in districtu ecclesiarum Minoris Poloniae Lublinensi 1636–1663.” Dury, John. De pace ecclesiastica inter evangelicos, judicia, nonnullorum theologorum Anglorum, Hybernorum, Gallorum, Helvetiorum, Germanorum. Coloniae: 1635.

113 See Maciej Ptaszyński’s chapter in this book.

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Górska, Halina, Lech Szczucki, and Karolina Wilczewska, eds. Cztery Broszury Polemiczne z początku XVII wieku. Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1958. Jablonski, Daniel Ernst. Historia Consensus Sendomiriensis, inter evangelicos regni Poloniae, et M. D. Lithuaniae in synodo generali evangelicorum utriusque partis, Sendomiriae an. 1570. die 14. Aprilis initi continua serie, quae synodum Sendomiriensem antegressa, quae in ipsa synodo acta, quaeque eam consecuta sunt … ad praesens usque tempus deducta. Berolini: 1731. Liedke, Marzena, and Piotr Guzowski, eds. Akta Synodów Prowincjonalnych Jednoty Litewskiej 1626–1637. Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Naukowe Semper, 2011. Národní Muzeum Praha (National Museum in Prague), MS. sign. XVIII D 8. Sipayłło, Maria, ed. Akta Synodów Różnowierczych w Polsce, vol 3: Małopolska 1571–1632. Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1983. Sipayłło, Maria, ed. Akta Synodów Różnowierczych w Polsce, vol. 4: Wielkopolska 1569– 1632. Warszawa: Wydawnictwa Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, 1997. Węgierski, Andrzej. Libri Quattuor Slavoniae Reformatae. Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1973. Węgierski, Wojciech. Kronika Zboru Ewangelickiego Krakowskiego. Kraków: Nakładem Parafii Ewangelickiej w Krakowie, 2007.



Secondary Sources

Bem, Kazimierz. Calvinism in Polish Lithuanian Commonwealth 1548–1648. The Churches and the Faithful. Leiden–Boston: Brill, 2020. Dworzaczkowa, Jolanta. Bracia czescy w Wielkopolsce w XVI i XVII wieku. Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Naukowe Semper, 1997. Jurzak, Bartłomiej. “Ks. Andrzej Herman z Kóz (ok.1581–1630). Chłopski kaznodzieja krakowskich ewangelików.” In Reformacja w Krakowie (XVI–XVII wiek). Materiały z sesji naukowej 6 maja 2017 roku, edited by Zdzisław Noga, 129–38. Kraków: Towarzystwo Miłośników Historii i Zabytków Krakowa, 2018. Kaplan, Benjamin J. Divided by Faith: Religious Conflict and Practice of Toleration in Early Modern Europe. Cambridge–London: Harvard University Press, 2007. Kempa, Tomasz. Wobec Kontrreformacji. Protestanci i prawosławni w obronie swobód wyznaniowych w Rzeczypospolitej w końcu XVI i w pierwszej połowie XVII wieku. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Adam Marszałek, 2007. Kowalewska-Łypacewiczowa, Jadwiga. “Zbór innowierczy w Dublanach.” Kwartalnik Historyczny 43 (1929): 515–19. Kowalski, Waldemar. “Niemieccy kupcy i czarownica w Krakowie.” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 50 (2020): 57–70. Merczyng, Henryk. Zbory i Senatorowie protestanccy w dawnej Rzeczpospolitej. Warszawa: Drukarnia A. Ginsa, 1904.

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Pawelec, Mariusz. “Między konfesjonalizmem a irenizmem. Stosunki pomiędzy Kościołami protestanckimi w drugiej ćwierci XVII w. na obszarze ziemie wschowskiej.” In Ziemia wschowska w czasach starosty Hieronima Radomickiego, edited by Paweł Klint, Maria Małkus, Kamila Szymańska, 165–77. Wschowa–Leszno: Stowa­ rzyszenie Kultury Ziemi Wschowskiej–Muzeum Okręgowe w Lesznie, 2009. Schultz, Edmund H. “Kronika Zboru Nejdorfskiego.” Zwiastun Ewangeliczny 5, no. 8 (1902): 227–34; no. 9 (1902): 263–66; no. 10 (1902): 294–99; no. 12 (1902): 363–68. Szymańska, Kamila. Drukarnie Presserów w Lesznie w XVIII wieku. Leszno: Muzeum Okręgowe w Lesznie, 2008. Tworek, Stanisław. Działalność oświatowo kulturalna kalwinizmu małopolskiego (połowa XVI–połowa XVII w.). Lublin: Wydawnictwo Lubelskie, 1970.

Chapter 5

How Many Dissenters Can a Roman Catholic Priest Serve? Examples from Bukovina, Suwałki Region, and Latgale at the Turn of the 18th Century Melchior Jakubowski | ORCID: 0000-0001-9682-698X 1

Introduction

Early modern Europe is widely considered as divided by sharp confessional boundaries between the competing Catholic and Protestant denominations. The official politics of the Latin Church excluded the possibility of administering sacraments and other religious services to the dissenters, both Protestant and the faithful of the Eastern churches. Thereafter, historiography has long been dominated by the tendency to write separately on denominations. Moreover, historians have been focusing on normative sources and have treated them as if they reflected the reality. It is understandable that decrees of the councils, popes, bishops, and kings as well as the writings of religious reformers and activists paint a picture of clear divisions and sharp contrasts, but they tell us little about the actions taken in response. In the 1980s, the concept of confessionalization overcame the traditional Catholic–Protestant divergence by showing the confession-building processes taking place in parallel in Catholic and Protestant German states as a means of integrating those states and societies.1 However, the connotation of a handin-hand building of states and confessions made this productive and highly inspiring concept a limited one, as it looked top-down and neglected the everyday behavior of ordinary people. Scholars have recently been noticing more and more nuances and complexities. Confessionalization research has shifted toward examining the bound­ aries of confessionalization and confessional plurality. The ways of coping with religious divisions in everyday life have gained increasing research interest. In 1 Heinz Schilling, “Confessionalization in the Empire. Religious and Societal Change in Germany between 1555 and 1620,” in id., Religion, Political Culture and the Emergence of Early Modern Society. Essays in German and Dutch History (Leiden: Brill, 1992), 205–45; Wolfgang Reinhard, “Reformation, Counter-Reformation, and the Early Modern State. A Reassessment,” The Catholic Historical Review 75, no. 3 (1989): 383–404; Ute Lotz-Heumann, “The Concept of ‘Confessionalization’: a Historiographical Paradigm in Dispute,” Memoria y Civilización 4 (2001): 93–114. © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004527447_007

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his book Divided by Faith, Benjamin J. Kaplan provided a vivid depiction of the wealth and diversity of confessional relations in early modern Europe. He proved that toleration (motivated by pragmatism, not lofty ideals) had been widespread long before the Enlightenment’s concept of tolerance.2 Kaplan’s approach was innovative with regard to Western Europe but was much less so with regard to the eastern part of the continent.3 Here the confessional structure had already been diverse before the Reformation because of the Latin–Orthodox division within Christianity and the presence of Jews, Muslims, and Karaites. Religious plurality made coexistence indispensable.4 In contrast to the energetic exploration of Western confessional history, many scholars did not go beyond this general statement, and the practices of toleration in Eastern Europe remain understudied. Even in contemporary scholarship that notices that Protestants attended Catholic services, it remains a truism that “the Lutherans could not receive sacraments from the priest.”5 That may be true for the Holy Roman Empire, but the routine of Eastern Europe was different. This study takes up Kaplan’s notion of toleration, defined as “the peaceful coexistence of people of different faiths living together in the same village, town, or city.”6 It aims to examine what interconfessional relations looked like in practice by accessing the parish registers of three Eastern European Roman Catholic parishes at the turn of the eighteenth century (from the 1760s to the 1820s) where the Catholic service had been administered to dissenters. The parishes chosen as case studies are Siret in Romanian Bukovina, Jeleniewo in the Polish Suwałki region, and Višķi in Latvian Latgale.7 In the cases of the first two parishes, the Catholic registers are complemented by church records of 2 Benjamin J. Kaplan, Divided by Faith. Religious Conflict and the Practice of Toleration in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2009). 3 Thomas Max Safley, “Introduction,” in A Companion to Multiconfessionalism in the Early Modern World, ed. id. (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 8; Howard Louthan, “Multiconfessionalism in Central Europe,” in A Companion to Multiconfessionalism, 369–92. 4 See for instance Janusz Tazbir, A State Without Stakes: Polish Religious Toleration in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, trans. A.T. Jordan (New York: The Kościuszko Foundation, 1973); Zdzisław Budzyński, Kresy południowo-wschodnie w drugiej połowie XVIII wieku, 3 vol. (Przemyśl: Towarzystwo Przyjaciół Nauk w Przemyślu; Rzeszów: Uniwersytet Rzeszowski, 2005–2008); Stefan Rohdewald, David Frick, Stefan Wiederkehr, eds., Lithuania and Ruthenia. Studies of a Transcultural Communication Zone (15th–18th Centuries) (Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz, 2007); David Frick, Kith, Kin, and Neighbors. Communities and Confessions in Seventeenth Century Wilno (Ithaca–London: Cornell University Press, 2013). 5 David M. Luebke, “A multiconfessional Empire,” in A Companion to Multiconfessionalism, 129. 6 Kaplan, Divided by Faith, 8. 7 In all cases I use contemporary official placenames or their transliteration. The historical form (German or Polish) is provided only if it was significantly different from the contemporary version.

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the closest Protestant communities. The regions were chosen based on their multiconfessional character; however, the parishes themselves were considered by their sample representation. It can be assumed that the inhabitants of all three parishes were confessionally mixed, but it remains obscure how close they were to each other and whether their relations were reflected in metrical records. The people of different confessions mentioned in the Roman Catholic metrical registration were primarily Protestants, predominantly Lutherans, living in Bukovina and the Suwałki region. The case of Latgale offers insights into the relations with Eastern Christians, in this case Russian Old Believers. Furthermore, the discussion on Latgale and Bukovina draws attention to Greek Catholics. Although the relations between the two Catholic rites, the Roman and the Greek, were different from Catholic–Protestant or Catholic–Orthodox, and although they belonged to the same Church of Rome, the interchangeability of their religious services remained questionable. Therefore, the presence of Greek Catholics in Roman Catholic registers may also be a case in point and shall not be ignored. The description of each case study is structured in the same way. First, I introduce the region and the parish, confessional characteristics, the clergy employed, and the preserved parish registers. Next, I analyze the services administered to dissenters in each case. The three case studies provide a basis for further comparative and concluding remarks. 2

Siret, Bukovina

Siret today is a small town in northern Romania, in the Bukovina region. Bukovina (Romanian: Bucovina, Ukrainian: Буковина, German and Polish: Bukowina) was a part of the historical Principality of Moldavia that Habsburg Austria annexed in 1775.8 After World War II, the region was divided between 8 For Austrian Bukovina see Raimund F. Kaindl, Geschichte der Bukowina, vol. 3: Bukowina unter der Herrschaft des österreichischen Kaiserhauses (seit 1774) (Czernowitz: H. Pardini, 1898); Emanuel Turczynski, Geschichte der Bukowina in der Neuzeit. Zur Sozial- und Kulturgeschichte einer mitteleuropäisch geprägten Landschaft (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1993); Mihai-Ştefan Ceauşu, Bucovina habsburgică de la anexare la Congresul de la Viena. Iosefinism şi postiosefinism (1774–1815) (Iaşi: A.D. Xenopol, 1998); Степан С. Костишин, ed., Буковина. Історичний нарис, (Чернівці: Зелена Буковина, 1998); Constantin Ungureanu, Bucovina în perioada stăpânirii austriece (1774–1918). Aspecte etnodemografice şi confesionale (Chișinău: Civitas, 2003); Kurt Scharr, Die Landschaft Bukowina. Das Werden einer Region an der Peripherie 1774–1918 (Wien–Köln–Weimar: Böhlau, 2010).

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Soviet Ukraine and Romania. As a result, Siret became a border town in Romania, facing the Ukrainian side. At the end of the eighteenth century, it was in the heart of Bukovina and was one of the centers of the emerging Austrian administration. With regard to the Roman Catholic Church administration, Bukovina, incorporated into the Habsburg Empire, was included in the Latin archdiocese of Lviv, covering the neighboring province of Galicia (part of Poland–Lithuania that Austria annexed in 1772). The chaplaincy in Siret was established in 1777 as one of the first in Bukovina. Initially, it foremost served Austrian soldiers protecting the nearby Moldavian border. Siret gained the status of a parish not earlier than 1811.9 The faithful had to wait even longer for their church. The litur­gy was held in a chapel, created temporarily in one of the houses or in a town hall. The church edifice, designed in 1805, was eventually built, but not until 1823.10 The registration of baptisms and funerals began in 1777, whereas the book of marriages was not commenced until 1782 and the book of banns in 1819. The books were kept regularly by various changing priests. Fourteen clergymen worked in Siret between 1777 and 1821. Among those serving longest were Franciscan Antonius Nagy (1784–99) and two secular priests, Lucas Sadlinski (1801–10) and Josephus Nicki (1810–17). In general, they noted the instances of serving the dissenters, using the term “non-Catholic” (akatolische). In the early 1820s, the word used to describe the dissenters was changed to “Evangelical” (evangelische). All metrical books from Siret were taken along by the German inhabitants of the parish when they left Bukovina and moved to Germany in 1940. Today, these sources are stored in Leipzig.11 They provide much evidence for crossings of the confessional boundary in religious services. This data will be analyzed according to the life cycle, starting with baptisms and followed by marriages and funerals. Before examining these sources, it is noteworthy that Siret’s Catholic registration can be compared with its Protestant counterpart. In 1787, during the campaign for populating Austrian Bukovina, a group of German colonists of both Catholic and Protestant faith arrived. For the religious needs of the latter, in 1791 a parish in Milișăuți, located about twenty-three kilometers from 9 10

11

Norbert Gaschler, “Chronik der Römisch-Katholischen Pfarre Sereth,” Analele Bucovinei 4, no. 1 (1997): 117–19. Melchior Jakubowski, “Kształtowanie wieloreligijnej topografii Seretu w pierwszym półwieczu rządów austriackich (1775–1825),” in Miasto w procesie przemian od czasów nowożytnych po współczesność, ed. Magdalena Gibiec, Dorota Wiśniewska, Leszek Ziątkowski (Kraków: Księgarnia Akademicka, 2019), 58–61. Sächsisches Staatsarchiv in Leipzig, Kirchenbücher Bukowina [further SS KB], 3776, 3781, 3782, 3787.

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Siret, was established to serve both the Lutheran and Reformed confessions.12 In 1820, in Siret there existed a Lutheran prayer house, mentioned in the visitation of the Catholic parish.13 Protestant settlers were welcomed in Bukovina on the basis of the Patent of Toleration issued by Joseph II in 1781. According to it, only Catholic priests were entitled to run church registers, and Protestant clergy could register baptisms, marriages, and funerals merely for their “private records.”14 However, the practice in Bukovina was different, as evidenced by the Milișăuți Protestant metrical registration, very scrupulously kept by pastors Daniel Wilhelm Hubel from Haarburg in Württemberg and from 1796 by Andreas Ephraim Schwarz from Bistrița in Transylvania. In 1791, books of baptisms and funerals began to be kept, and in 1792, confirmations and marriages. From 1796, Schwarz kept a separate book for recording mixed (interconfessional) marriages.15 Such interconfessional services were not recorded in the Catholic parish register. Both Roman Catholics and Protestants formed immigrant religious minorities in Bukovina. The majority of the inhabitants were Orthodox Christians, both Moldavians (future Romanians) and Ruthenians (Ukrainians). Another group of newcomers were Greek Catholic Ruthenians from the neighboring Galicia. In Bukovina, there was no Greek Catholic clergy, and the faithful had to choose between Roman Catholic and Orthodox priests. However, it seems that both sides considered Greek Catholics as “their own” flock. They were Catholics, so they could not be counted as “non-Catholic” in Siret. Similarly, the Orthodox Church in Bukovina at that time used a formula differentiating only between “Eastern” and “Western” Christians.16 Greek Catholics, although not Orthodox, could be “Eastern” because of their ethnic background, liturgy, and customs. Therefore, Greek Catholic confession was never indicated in the metrical books, and it is impossible to state the share of Greek Catholics in Roman Catholic registration. We can only bear in mind that they were present in the Siret parish. Nevertheless, the majority of sources concern Catholic– Protestant relations. 12 13 14 15 16

Kaindl, Geschichte der Bukowina, vol. 3, 40. Archive of Archbishop Eugeniusz Baziak (Archiwum Arcybiskupa Eugeniusza Baziaka) in Kraków, Acta Visitationis, Visitation of Siret parish, AV-7.2, no. 1, 6. Joseph Kropatschek, ed., Handbuch aller unter der Regierung des Kaisers Joseph des II. für die K.K. Erbländer ergangenen Verordnungen und Gesetze in einer Sistematischen Verbindung, vol. 2 (Wien: Johann Georg Moesle, 1785), 429–30. SS KB, 3719, 3720, 3726, 3729, 3732, 3733, 3913. Melchior Jakubowski, Krajobraz religijny i etniczny Suwalszczyzny, Bukowiny i Łatgalii na przełomie XVIII i XIX wieku. Lokalne społeczności a struktury państwowe i wyznaniowe (Kraków: Universitas, 2022), 263.

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Bap�sms in Siret 100 90 80 70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0

Not Catholic

Catholic

Together

Figure 5.1 Confessional division of baptisms in the Catholic parish in Siret

We may begin by considering a book of baptisms from the Siret Roman Catholic parish. Grouping its entries according to confession (“Catholic” or “non-Catholic”), it is possible to provide the proportion of Protestant baptisms in Siret. Figure 5.1 shows the confessional division of sacraments recorded in the first register of baptisms, covering the period 1777–1825. The numbers and percentages that can be read from the chart are evocative. In this period, there were 206 non-Catholic baptisms in Siret, which makes 10.1% of all sacraments administered (2,032 children). That was up to fourteen Protestant children per year. There were very few cases in the first years of recording, but after the coming of German settlers, from the 1790s onward, there were some non-Catholic children baptized almost every year.17 By contrast, Protestant metrical records from nearby Milișăuți contain very few cases of baptisms from the area of Siret. Let us focus on a village inhabited partly by a Protestant minority of German origin. Table 5.1 shows all the entries regarding Mănăstioara (in the sources: Sankt Onufry) in the period covered by the first two registers of baptisms. It seems striking that in the period of almost thirty years, there were twentyfour confirmations in Mănăstioara and only six baptisms. Similarly, in the neighboring village of Baineţ, no child was baptized, even though four persons living there were confirmed in 1820 and 1821. Throughout the first years after coming to Bukovina, there could be no baptisms because the settlers would come with their children already born or would postpone procreation until 17

SS KB, 3776, Baptisms Siret.

144 Table 5.1

Jakubowski Protestant metrical records from Mănăstioara, 1791–1819

Period

Baptisms

Confirmations

Marriages

Deaths

1791–1800 1801–1810 1811–1819 Total

4 2

5 15 4 24

1

3 4

6

2* 3

7

* Mixed marriages with Catholics. Source: SS KB, 3719 and 3720, Baptisms Milleschoutz; 3732, Confirmations Milleschoutz; 3913, Protestant Marriages Milleschoutz; 3726, Mixed Marriages Milleschoutz; 3729, Funerals Milleschoutz

they had put down roots. However, how to explain the same situation repeating in the first decades of the nineteenth century? It is tempting to suggest that the children missing from Milișăuți baptismal records are those who were baptized in the Siret Catholic church. A significant factor contributing to such a decision of the parents could be high infant mortality. Any delay in baptizing a child caused a risk of dying without the sacrament. It is not without relevance that when metrical records contain not only the date of baptism but also the date of birth, in almost every case the baptism was just a few days later or even on the same day. However, it is necessary to admit that among Siret’s records, there are not enough examples concerning Protestants to generalize this statement as being applicable regardless of the confession. The presence of a Protestant minister became necessary when young faithful reached the age of confirmation. Contrary to baptism, confirmation was a strictly confessional ceremony and could not be done by a Catholic priest. Furthermore, confirmation could be planned in advance and was often administered to more than one person at a time. Schwarz from Milișăuți regularly came to Siret to confirm young believers. They had not received baptism from a Lutheran priest; however, their confessional identity was then verified by the Lutheran confirmation. Siret’s records show that Protestants acted as godparents, regardless of the confession of the child’s parents. In 1819, there were two Catholic baptisms with the assistance of Lutherans. Karolina, a daughter of Catholic Johann Seibel and Lutheran Katharina Nargang, was baptized on May 9 with the Lutheran couple Konrad Nargang and Elisabetha Hartmann as godparents. The baptism of Anna, daughter of Paul Jurtar and Anna Vagnerin, took place on May 26. Although her parents were both Catholic, they asked the Lutheran

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Marriages in Siret 45 40 35 30 25 20 15 10 5 0

1782 1784 1786 1788 1790 1792 1794 1796 1798 1800 1802 1804 1806 1808 1810 1812 1814 1816 1818 1820 1822 Both Catholics

Mixed marriage

Both not Catholic

Together

Figure 5.2 Confessional division of marriages in the Catholic parish in Siret

couple Johann Kroner and Margaretha Harton to become godparents.18 Both cases occurred in families living in a small German colony in Mănăstioara. The abovementioned persons were neighbors, possibly also relatives. It seems that they perceived other bonds as more important than denomination when deciding on such an important social relation.19 Moreover, the Catholic priest accepted the parents’ choice regarding people that were (at least theoretically) responsible for the religious upbringing of a child. Marriages are considered the crucial indicator of accepting the “others”—in our case, the faithful of another denomination.20 In Siret, there were two common practices worth describing: mixed marriages and marriages administered to dissenters. The numbers are suggestively large. In the period 1782–1823, there were seventy-five (15.2%) mixed marriages and twenty (4.1%) Catholic marriages of dissenters. The chronological dispersion of such cases is shown in figure 5.2. Mixed marriages were common throughout all these years. The 18 19

20

SS KB, 3776, Baptisms Siret, 183, 184. On the importance of social bonds resulting from godparenthood see John Bossy, “Godparenthood: The Fortunes of a Social Institution in Early Modern Christianity,” in Religion and Society in Early Modern Europe 1500–1800, ed. Kaspar von Greyerz (London: German Historical Institute; Boston: Allen & Unwin, 1984), 194–201. Benjamin J. Kaplan, “Integration vs segregation: religiously mixed marriage and the ‘verzuiling’ model of Dutch society,” in Catholic communities in Protestant states. Britain and the Netherlands c. 1570–1720, ed. Benjamin J. Kaplan, Bob Moore, Henk van Nierop, Judith Pollmann (Manchester–New York: Manchester University Press, 2009), 52.

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sacraments administered to non-Catholic couples were most frequent around 1790—that is, at the time when the Lutheran settlers had already come to Bukovina but had not called their own minister yet. However, some cases also took place later, when Protestants could marry in their own church in Milișăuți. In 1819, the Siret parish inaugurated a book of marriage banns that provides more detailed data. In the first two years, there were twenty-nine banns, of which seven concerned Protestants. For instance, in June 1819, the vicar posted the banns of a mixed marriage between the thirty-year-old Catholic officer from Silesia, Wilhelm Mayer, and twenty-four-year-old Catharina, daughter of the Lutheran shoemaker Martin Ludvig; and in November, between the twenty-four-year-old widowed Catholic blacksmith Johann Mayer and the two years younger Lutheran Margaretha Hön, both living in a nearby village of Terebleche (now on the Ukrainian side of the border). In September of the following year, almost thirty years after the creation of the Protestant parish in Milișăuți, we encounter the marriage banns of a Lutheran bride and groom in the Catholic church. The persons concerned were the twenty-five-year-old bachelor Petrus Helm and the thirty-year-old widow Elisabetha Tyz, both from Terebleche.21 Not all of the mixed marriages whose banns were posted in Siret had to be held there. From 1811, a governmental regulation required posting banns in the churches of both parties. Moreover, Catholic–Protestant marriage was to be administered by a Catholic priest and an Orthodox–Protestant one by an Orthodox priest.22 Some further cases can be found in a book of marriages from Milișăuți. It contains entries about two subsequent masters of the post office in Siret, both Lutheran, who married Catholic brides. In 1817, the widower Johann von Scholz married Rypsyma Josefa Jacubowiczówna in the Catholic church in Sadgora (today a district of Chernivtsi),23 and in 1819, Andreas Leon Figura and Catharina Schubert were wed in Suceava.24 In May of 1820, the daughter of Schwarz, Johanna Regina, married the Catholic widowed officer, Joseph Loy von Leichenfels. This marriage required extraordinary cooperation and compromise between Catholic and Protestant clergy. The banns were posted in Milișăuți and in the Catholic parishes in Siret and Rădăuți. The ceremony was held in the Milișăuți Protestant church; however, as the law demanded, it was officiated by the Catholic priest from Siret, Matheus Ivitsits.25 21 22 23 24 25

SS KB, 3782, Banns Siret, 1, 2, 4. SS KB, 3726, Mixed Marriages Milleschoutz, 1. Ibid., 8–9. Name Rypsyma may indicate the Armenian roots. SS KB, 3726, Mixed Marriages Milleschoutz, 10–11. See also the Banns: 3733, Certificates Milleschoutz, 42. SS KB, 3782, Banns Siret, 3v; 3726, Mixed Marriages Milleschoutz, 10–11.

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Catholic clergymen in Siret officiated over the funerals of their Protestant neighbors. The Siret parish’s book of funerals contains, in the period from 1777 to 1820, forty-three cases of burying dissenters (the first one in 1784).26 The register from Milișăuți provides more details. It includes entries on deceased parishioners whose funerals were celebrated by a Catholic priest in Siret. Examples include children from Lutheran families: Anna, the eight-year-old daughter of the carpenter Jakob Hunter (1804); Johann Josef, the one-year-old son of the tailor Gottlib Rahm (1807); and Johann Andreas, the seven-year-old son of the butcher Georg Honius (1808). In 1809, the “big water,” apparently the high water levels on the Siret or Suceava river, made it impossible for the pastor to come to the town of Siret and was the reason why a Catholic priest officiated at the funeral of Maria Walburga, the fifty-eight-year-old wife of the tanner Georg Gahner.27 What is striking about these cases is that none of them was listed in Siret among those forty-three “non-Catholics.” Therefore, there are grounds for arguing that the Catholic clergy buried dissenters more often but did not mention confession while registering the funeral. The situation in Siret was also specific because there was no separate graveyard for Protestants, and they had to be buried in the Catholic cemetery. A pastor from Milișăuți noted many times that the dead from Mănăstioara were buried in Siret, apparently in the Catholic cemetery.28 Note that the Protestants were not the only ones who faced the problem of a minister’s lack of availability for a funeral. Although, contrary to the absentee pastor from Milișăuți, a Catholic priest lived in the town of Siret, he was not able to be present all the time. His parish was large, the flock was dispersed, and his absence was sometimes too long to wait for him where a burial was concerned. In 1822, the visitation protocol stated that some Catholic inhabitants of the Siret parish were buried by Orthodox priests and therefore their funerals were not inscribed in the metrical records.29 3

Jeleniewo, Suwałki Region

The Suwałki region (Polish: Suwalszczyzna, Lithuanian: Suvalkija) was part of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania until 1795, when it was annexed by Prussia in the Third Partition of Poland–Lithuania and became part of the new province 26 27 28 29

SS KB, 3787, Funerals Siret. SS KB, 3729, Funerals Milleschoutz, 38–39, 48–49, 58–59, 60–61. Ibid., 6–7, 26–27. Archive of Archbishop Eugeniusz Baziak (Archiwum Arcybiskupa Eugeniusza Baziaka) in Kraków, Acta Visitationis, Visitation of Siret parish, AV-39.1, no. 18.

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called Neuostpreussen (New Eastern Prussia). Throughout the nineteenth century, the region belonged to the Duchy of Warsaw and, subsequently, the tsarreigned Kingdom of Poland. After World War I, it was divided between Poland and Lithuania.30 Jeleniewo is a former town, now a commune-center village, in the Polish part of the Suwałki region, located north of Suwałki. It was established in the 1760s–70s, when a significant part of the forest belonging to the royal estate of Grodno was partitioned off and colonized. Colonization was an element of a modernization campaign initiated in the Polish–Lithuanian royal domain by a treasurer, Antoni Tyzenhauz.31 The parish church in Jeleniewo was built in 1773–75. Its first long-term vicar, Kazimierz Wróblewski, serving until his death in 1807, initiated the metrical registration. The original books were destroyed by fire during World War II; however, the oldest book of baptisms (1773–96) had been photographed earlier by a Swedish linguist, Knut-Olof Falk.32 As in Bukovina, in the Suwałki region we can compare the Jeleniewo Roman Catholic registration with a Protestant congregation nearby. Although the majority of the region’s inhabitants were Catholic, a significant portion of the settlers coming to the Grodno estate were Lutherans from neighboring Eastern Prussia. Initially, the nearest Lutheran churches at their disposal were in their homeland. They established their own parish only in 1802, with a seat in the village of Chmielówka. The first pastor was Andreas (Andrzej) Wilhelm Grabowski, who came from Giżycko (Lötzen) in Eastern Prussia.33

30

31

32 33

For Suwałki region, see Ingeburg C. Bussenius, Die Preussische Verwaltung in Süd- und Neuostpreussen 1793–1806 (Heidelberg: Quelle & Meyer, 1960); Jan Wąsicki, Ziemie polskie pod zaborem pruskim. Prusy Nowowschodnie (Neuostpreussen) 1795–1806 (Poznań: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1963); Jerzy Antoniewicz, ed., Materiały do dziejów ziemi sejneńskiej (Białystok: Białostockie Towarzystwo Naukowe, 1963); id., ed., Studia i materiały do dziejów Suwalszczyzny (Białystok: Białostockie Towarzystwo Naukowe, 1965); id., ed., Studia i materiały do dziejów Pojezierza Augustowskiego (Białystok: Białostockie Towarzystwo Naukowe, 1967). Edward Stańczak, Kamera saska za czasów Augusta III (Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1973); Stanisław Kościałkowski, Antoni Tyzenhauz: podskarbi nadworny litewski, 2 vol. (London: Stefan Batory University, 1970–1971); Jerzy Wiśniewski, “Dzieje osadnictwa w powiecie sejneńskim od XV do XIX wieku,” in Materiały do dziejów ziemi sejneńskiej, ed. Jerzy Antoniewicz (Białystok: Białostockie Towarzystwo Naukowe, 1963), 9–213. Suwałki District Museum, K.O. Falk Collection, F143, Baptisms Jeleniewo. Eduard Kneifel, Die Pastoren der Evangelisch-Augsburgischen Kirche in Polen. Ein biographisches Pfarrerbuch mit einem Anhang (Eging: Selbstverlag des Verfassers, [1968]), 95; id., Geschichte der Evangelisch-Augsburgischen Kirche in Polen (Niedermarschacht über Winsen: Selbstverlag des Verfassers, [1964]), 96.

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The registration of baptisms began in 1802, funerals in 1803, and marriages only in 1817.34 The record-keeping of the Catholic parish in Jeleniewo was less scrupulous than that in Siret and does not provide an opportunity to produce detailed chronological charts. Therefore, we have to focus on some illustrative singular baptism cases. The first one took place on March 8, 1786, when Wróblewski baptized Marianna, daughter of Jacob and Catharina Szpeja from the nearby village of Rutka and wrote that they were “Luteranis.”35 In the following years, he called many baptized children “Dissidentes” or “Luteranis.” The biggest number of cases came from three new settlements in the vicinity of Jeleniewo, the aforementioned Rutka, Sidorówka, and Szeszupka. In Rutka there were twenty cases, in Sidorówka, fourteen out of the total of seventy-four cases in the period from 1789 to 1797, and in Szeszupka, five out of twenty-one. However, these numbers have to be treated as a minimum because Wróblewski did not always indicate the confession. Many persons were on one occasion called Lutherans and in other situations were not, as if they were Catholics. The best example is Daniel Mordes, living in Sidorówka. He was mentioned as a father or godfather eleven times, but only three times as a Lutheran. Baptizing Protestant children apparently became a normal activity for Wróblewski. In 1795 and 1796, he noted many times that the parents and godparents of a child were all Catholics (omnes Catholici), as if it was unusual.36 Nonetheless, in a Catholic church, all these people (theoretically) had to be Catholic, and it should not need mention. It seems that the priest in Jeleniewo got so used to serving the dissenters that he considered a baptism with “all Catholics” as a case worth noticing. Wróblewski’s attitude was shared by the representatives of the local Catholic nobility, Jan Sarosiek and Karolina Michniewiczowa, who in 1795 acted as godparents to Lutheran Marianna, daughter of Zofia and Maciej Sowa from the Michniewicz estate in Jeglówek.37 Later on, there are further testimonies of giving Catholic baptisms to Lutheran children. This long-lasting practice is mentioned in the visitation of the Jeleniewo parish from 181938 and in a diocesan report from 1839.39

34 35 36 37 38 39

State Archive in Suwałki, 596, 1, 2, Church records of Chmielówka parish. Suwałki District Museum, K.O. Falk Collection, F143, Baptisms Jeleniewo, 183. Ibid., 405 (villages Gulbieniszki and Udziejek), 406 (Okrągłe, Czarnakowizna, Maleso­ wizna), 407 (Szurpiły), 408 (Czarnakowizna), 500 (Malesowizna). Ibid., 401. Diocesan Archive in Łomża, Akta Parafialne, 168, Visitations of Jeleniewo parish, 4. Witold Jemielity, “Ewangelicy we wschodnim rejonie Królestwa Polskiego,” Prawo kanoniczne: kwartalnik prawno-historyczny 46, no. 3–4 (2003): 134.

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Table 5.2 Lutheran baptisms and deaths in the Jeleniewo area, 1802–7

Settlement

Baptisms

Deaths

Gulbieniszki Jeleniewo Łopuchowo Rutka Sidorówka Szeszupka Szurpiły Udziejek Total

– – – 18 5 2 – – 25

8 3 17 22 39 11 14 4 118

Source: State Archive in Suwałki, 596, 1, 2, Church records of Chmielówka parish

Exactly as in Milișăuți, the registration of baptisms in the Chmielówka Lutheran parish has some significant omissions. Table 5.2 presents cases of baptisms and deaths in the villages close to Jeleniewo that were noted by Grabowski in Chmielówka. The difference in numbers between baptisms and deaths is evident. There were no Lutheran baptisms from many settlements, despite the fact that the faithful of this confession must have lived there, as we know because they died and their burial was registered. Note that the majority of baptisms recorded in Chmielówka concerned the children from that village or those in the immediate vicinity. Settlements located further afield, including those provided in table 5.2, appeared less frequently. This was because of the proximity of the church; it does not mean that the majority of the parishioners lived in Chmielówka. The practice regarding burials in the Suwałki region was different from that in Bukovina. It was common there to bury the dead in local village graveyards (mogiłki in the Polish-language sources). The Church authorities disliked this practice and urged the inhabitants to concentrate all the deceased in parish cemeteries, but implementation of this regulation took many decades.40 The

40

Witold Jemielity, “Cmentarze w diecezji augustowskiej czyli sejneńskiej,” Prawo kanoni­ czne: kwartalnik prawno-historyczny 37, no. 3–4 (1994): 276–83; id., Diecezja augustowska czyli sejneńska w latach 1818–1872 (Lublin: Katolicki Uniwersytet Lubelski, 1972), 255–57.

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result was that many burials were not recorded in parish registers.41 In the area of Jeleniewo, the first mention of graveyards comes from 1811,42 and in 1819, a diocesan inspector stated that Lutherans buried their dead in the village they inhabited.43 In both reports, the same mixed Catholic–Lutheran settlements, Łopuchowo and Sidorówka, are mentioned. Therefore, it is highly probable that these also served as the places of burial and that neighbors of different denominations used the same graveyard. Throughout the following decades of the nineteenth century, Catholics were gradually forced to bury their dead in parish cemeteries, and the graveyards started being used by Lutherans only. Although not used anymore, these places still exist and are known now as Protestant cemeteries.44 4

Višķi, Latgale

Latgale (Latgallian: Latgola, Russian: Латгалия, German: Lettgallen, Polish: Łatgalia or Inflanty Polskie) is a historical region in the east of contemporary Latvia. In early modern times, it belonged to the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth, gaining the name “Polish Livonia.” In 1772, with the First Partition of Poland–Lithuania, it was annexed by Russia and remained within its boundaries until Latvia gained independence.45 Nowadays, Višķi is a small and depopulated settlement, located to the north of the capital of Latgale, Daugavpils, on an isthmus between two big lakes, Luknas and Višķu. A Roman Catholic church in Višķi was built (and a few times rebuilt) by the noble Mohl family, possessors of the local estate from the beginning of the seventeenth century. It had long been an affiliate church of the Daugavpils parish; a separate parish was established only at the end of 41

42 43 44 45

Gediminas Dzemionas, “Suvalkų ir seinų krašto XIX a. metrikų knygos kaip istorijos šaltinis,” Lietuvos TSR Aukštųjų mokyklų mokslo darbai. Istorija 16, no. 2 (1976): 56; id., “Suvalkų ir seinų krašto gyventojų dinamika 1808–1865 m.,” Lietuvos TSR Aukštųjų mokyklų mokslo darbai. Istorija 18, no. 2 (1978): 54. Diocesan Archive in Łomża, Akta Parafialne, 166, Visitations of Jeleniewo parish. Diocesan Archive in Łomża, Akta Parafialne, 168, Visitations of Jeleniewo parish, 4. Andrzej Matusiewicz, Jarosław Ruszewski, Cmentarze Suwalskiego Parku Krajobrazowego i jego otuliny (Suwałki: Centrum Aktywności Społecznej PRYZMAT, 2007), 18–19, 22–23, 26–27. For Latgale see Gustaw Manteuffel, Polnisch-Livland (Riga: Kymmel, 1869); id., Zarysy z dziejów krain dawnych inflanckich (Kraków: Universitas, 2007); id., Inflanty Polskie oraz Listy znad Bałtyku (Kraków: Universitas, 2009). A very general introduction offers Catherine Gibson, Borderlands between History and Memory. Latgale’s Palimpsestuous Past in Contemporary Latvia (Tartu: University of Tartu Press, 2016).

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the eighteenth century.46 Although the dominant confession of Latgale was Roman Catholic, there were significant communities of Greek Catholics and Old Believers as well. Although the original parish registers from Višķi were lost during World War II, in the Minsk archives survive two books, copied at the end of the eighteenth century, that list the baptisms and marriages in the period 1761–99 and funerals in 1773–97. The entries were made by many different priests with varying degrees of thoroughness. Only two of them were quite consistent in recording the denomination of the faithful. These were Dominican friars Januarius Jawtok (serving 1765–70) and Joannes Pocieyko (1773–78).47 Jawtok and Pocieyko, contrary to the priests working in Siret, recorded the difference between Roman and Greek Catholics. Therefore, it is possible to complete our picture with some data on Greek Catholics’ presence in a Roman Catholic church register. Before investigating the sources, it is productive to emphasize the legal context of the relations between the two biggest religious communities in Poland–Lithuania. As an example of official ecclesiastical regulation, we can quote ten “articles” announced in 1714 by Jan Skarbek, the Roman Catholic archbishop of Lviv from 1713 to 1733. Although coming from a different region of the state and not applying to Latgale, this document provides a rare example of authoritative decisions regarding the practical aspects of two Catholic rites’ coexistence. Because of the then common identification of rite with ethnicity, Roman and Greek Catholics were often called Poles and Ruthenians, respectively. The third article stated: “Neque Ruthenos infantes nostri presbyteri, neque infantes latinos (polonicos) presbyteri rutheni baptisandi facultatem habent, excepto casu periculi mortis.” Like baptisms, marriages should also be divided according to the rite, as the sixth article proclaimed: “Parochi latini matrimoniis Ruthenorum et rutheni parochi matrimoniis latinorum assistere nequent.” Other paragraphs also obliged priests to control and keep the faithful inside the boundaries of their ancestral confession. The fourth article stated that baptisms of children in mixed marriages should be performed according to the faith of the parents; therefore, sons should be baptized in their father’s rite and daughters in the mother’s. The fifth article stated that a mixed couple should wed in the church of the bride.48 However, the practice in Lviv archdiocese was different to Skarbek’s conception. 46 47 48

Jakubowski, Krajobraz religijny, 201–05. National Historical Archives of Belarus (Нацыянальны гістарычны архіў Беларусі) in Minsk [further NHAB], 1781-26-1192, -1226, church records of Višķi parish. August S. Fenczak, “Z dziejów inicjatyw polskich na rzecz uregulowania stosunków między obrządkami Kościoła katolickiego—artykuły arcybiskupa Jana Skarbka z 1714 roku,” in Polska—Ukraina. 1000 lat sąsiedztwa, vol. 1: Studia z dziejów chrześcijaństwa na

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It was common for clergy of both rites to baptize the children of the other one, not only in the single case allowed, when a child faced the danger of death. Zdzisław Budzyński estimated that about 10 percent of baptisms administered to Roman and Greek Catholic Christians in the Polish–Ukrainian ethnic borderland involved the faithful of the other rite.49 What did the problems described in Skarbek’s articles look like in Latgale? In Višķi, Jawtok and Pocieyko recorded thirty-one baptisms of Greek Catholic children (called “Ritus Graeci”). The biggest number comes from 1773, when it was seven out of sixty-six baptisms altogether. However, the real numbers were rather higher because, similarly to the situation in Jeleniewo, the confessional membership could be ignored. On the other hand, no priest clarified who exactly of those involved in a baptism were Greek Catholics: parents, godparents, or all of them. Nevertheless, they were certainly present and used the service of Roman Catholic clergy. In this respect, it is noteworthy that the church in Višķi was prepared to serve the religious needs of Greek Catholics, as evidenced by its possession of a Greek Catholic missal.50 Furthermore, Father Jawtok blessed some marriages of Greek Catholics. The first couple that he noted were Michael Mitaszonek and Anastasia Majowna (1767), then Joseph Borynwicz and Nastasia Miezochowna (1769). In four other cases, the priest did not state whether one or both parties were Greek Catholics—that is, whether it was a mixed marriage or a marriage of the other rite. On October 15, 1769, the only example of an unquestionably mixed Roman and Greek Catholic marriage occurred, when Jawtok blessed “Joannem Macieyko Ritus Graeci et Annam Klawgiewiczówna Ritus Latini.”51 We can only assume that such ceremonies were also held in the following years, when other priests did not mention the rite of the newlyweds. Apart from Roman and Greek Catholics, another significant group of Latgale’s inhabitants constituted the Old Believers. They were opponents of the reforms carried out in the Russian Orthodox Church by Patriarch Nikon in the mid-seventeenth century. Because of subsequent persecutions, they had to leave Russia, and some of them settled in the neighboring provinces

49

50 51

pograniczu etnicznym, ed. Stanisław Stępień (Przemyśl: Południowo-Wschodni Instytut Naukowy, 1990) 167–80. The articles were cited in extenso: 178–80. Zdzisław Budzyński, Ludność pogranicza polsko-ruskiego w drugiej połowie XVIII wieku. Stan. Rozmieszczenie. Struktura wyznaniowa i etniczna, vol. 1 (Przemyśl: Towarzystwo Przyjaciół Nauk w Przemyślu; Rzeszów: Wyższa Szkoła Pedagogiczna w Rzeszowie, 1993), 367–78; See also id., Kresy południowo-wschodnie, vol. 3, 313–21. Russian State Historical Archive (Российский государственный исторический архив) in Saint Petersburg, 822-12-2708, Visitation of Višķi parish, 3. NHAB, 1781-26-1226, church records of Višķi parish, 583–85.

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of Poland–Lithuania.52 Latgale at that time belonged to the Latin diocese of Livonia, which also covered the neighboring Duchy of Courland and Semigallia. In 1761, the bishop’s inspector, Father Jakub Franciszek Sztoltman, carried out the visitation of the diocese. In the statement of improvements to be made in the Daugavpils parish, he paid some attention to the Old Believers. They were called “Bohomoli,” insinuating a then common association with the medieval heresy of Bogomilism. Sztoltman prohibited Catholic priests from offering any service to the Russian immigrants. He required that those schismatics “non adeunt parochum nisi in necessitate contrahendi matrimonium, non baptisant liberos in nostris ecclesiis.” He particularly cautioned against the danger that Catholic girls would marry the Old Believers and therefore lose the right faith. Moreover, he obliged priests to prevent any “superstitious” cult of the Old Believers from being performed within their parishes.53 The metrical records from Višķi, coming from the years immediately following the visitation, prove that Sztoltman’s injunctions were ignored. In 1763, there were three children baptized from the families collectively referred to as “Schismaticorum” or “Moschovitarum.” Another case comes from 1770.54 Moreover, despite the fact that priestless Old Believers did not consider a priest’s blessing a requisite part of a marriage ritual that was celebrated within the family circle, in Latgale, they had their ceremonies held in the Catholic church. In November 1767, there were two couples described as “Bohomoli”: Leon Sawiłow and Iryna Michałowna, and Osiep Sidirow and Natazia Pawłowa. In February 1770, marriages of “Moschoj” were recorded twice, and in March 1772, marriages of the “Moscow rite” were recorded.55 These cases confirm the old claims that some Old Believers would wed in an Orthodox or even Catholic church.56 Therefore, it can be argued that even when the authorities wanted to exclude Greek Catholics or Old Believers from Roman Catholic church services, their demands have long remained wishful thinking. 52

53 54 55 56

On the Old Believers see Robert O. Crummey, The Old Believers & the World of Antichrist. The Vyg Community & the Russian State 1694–1855 (Madison–London: University of Wisconsin Press, 1970); Georg B. Michels, At War with the Church. Religious Dissent in Seventeenth Century Russia (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1999); Irina Paert, Old Believers, Religious Dissent and Gender in Russia, 1760–1850 (Manchester–New York: Manchester University Press, 2003). Stanisław Litak, ed., Akta wizytacji generalnej diecezji inflanckiej i kurlandzkiej czyli piltyńskiej z 1761 roku (Toruń: Towarzystwo Naukowe w Toruniu, 1998), 40, 42. NHAB, 1781–26–1226, church records of Višķi parish, 622v–623, 641v. Ibid., 583–587v. Василий Волков, Свѣдѣнiя о началѣ, распространенiи и раздѣленiи раскола и о расколѣ въ Витебской губернiи (Витебскъ: Tип. Губ. Правл., 1866), 81.

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Serving the Dissenters in the European Context

Siret, Jeleniewo, and Višķi provide evidence of administering Roman Catholic service to the faithful of at least three other Christian denominations—Greek Catholics, Lutherans, and Old Believers—on the occasion of three important events: baptism, marriage, and funeral. However, how are these cases placed within a wider context? Where can we find further examples of dissenters coming to a Latin church or similar phenomena of confessional coexistence? We may begin with marital predicaments that have been widely studied. Mixed marriages, although strictly condemned by both Catholic and Protestant denominations, were “too frequent to be taboos.”57 Let us repeat that in Siret, there was a significant 20 percent share of dissenters in the Catholic marriage register (both mixed marriages and marriages administered to Protestant couples). Many scholars have already investigated the scale of mixed marriages in various places of early modern Europe. A very convenient point of reference constitutes the territories of the multiconfessional Poland–Lithuania, foremost the Ruthenian lands of the Polish Crown (contemporary western Ukraine and the southeastern part of Poland). Zdzisław Budzyński found that in the Polish– Ruthenian ethnic borderland, in the period between 1786 and 1795, mixed Roman and Greek Catholic couples made up only 0.67% of all the marriages (2.58% of the marriages recorded in Roman Catholic churches and 0.35% in Greek Catholic churches).58 However, these numbers are incomplete because the confession of the bride or the groom was often ignored, similarly to what we have seen in the Jeleniewo and Višķi parishes. Konrad Rzemieniecki verified marriage records using the book of banns of the Roman Catholic parish in Monastyryska. Based on this, he stated that the confession of the groom was ignored in 5.1% of cases, so mixed marriages constituted not 8.3% but 13.4% of all marriages in that parish. In the book of banns itself, the share of mixed marriages grows to 24.5%,59 but that number also included the ceremonies held in the Greek Catholic churches nearby.60 In the Latin cathedral parish in Lviv in 1772, there were 5.07% Roman–Greek Catholic and 2.23% Roman– Armenian Catholic couples. In the suburbs, the numbers were 7.51% and 57 58 59 60

Kaplan, Divided by Faith, 268, 276–80. Budzyński, Ludność pogranicza, vol. 1, 385–91. Konrad Rzemieniecki, “Małżeństwa łacińsko-unickie na terenie archidiecezji lwowskiej na przełomie XVIII i XIX w. (na przykładzie rzymskokatolickiej parafii Monasterzyska),” Rocznik Przemyski 42, no. 4 (2006): 89–98. A criticism of Rzemieniecki’s study in Budzyński, Kresy południowo-wschodnie, vol. 3, 173–76.

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0.20%, respectively.61 Looking outside Poland–Lithuania, in the eighteenthcentury Netherlands Catholic–Protestant couples were very rare, estimated by Benjamin J. Kaplan as constituting less than 1 percent of all marriages.62 In Oppenheim on the Rhine their number declined in the eighteenth century below 5 percent.63 The first statistics from Prussia, from the period 1840–52, estimate mixed marriages as 3.7% of all marital contracts in the country, varying from 0.5% in the north to 13% in the district of Wrocław (Breslau). In 1900, the overall number grew to 8.5%. A similar tendency was visible in Bavaria: a growth from 2.8% in 1835–40 to 9.9% in 1900.64 Mixed marriages were directly connected with problems of changing denominational affiliation and child-rearing. Unfortunately, we do not know how many of the abovementioned brides and grooms from Siret, Jeleniewo, and Višķi converted to their spouse’s faith. As a point of reference, we may indicate that in the Netherlands, according to the report from 1737, one of the spouses converted in about one-third of mixed couples.65 What is better known is that early modern Europe alighted on many solutions for children’s religious upbringing from mixed marriages. They could be raised all in the faith of their fathers or be divided between the confessions of the spouses. However, the most common option, and one particularly typical for the central-eastern part of the continent, was to raise sons in the father’s confession and daughters in the mother’s confession.66 This solution was included in Skarbek’s aforementioned articles from 1714 that concerned Roman and Greek Catholics in the Lviv Latin archdiocese.67 In 1768, the same rule became law in Poland– 61 62 63

64

65

66 67

Myron Kapral, “Assimilation im frühneuzeitlichen L’viv: Sozialer Aufstieg, Glaubenswechsel und gemischte Ehen,” in Lithuania and Ruthenia, 50–66. Kaplan, “Integration vs segregation,” 48–66. Peter Zschunke, Konfession und Alltag in Oppenheim. Beiträge zur Geschichte von Bevölkerung und Gesellschaft einer gemischtkonfessionellen Kleinstadt in der frühen Neuzeit (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1984), 103–4, as cited in Luebke, “A multiconfessional Empire,” 153. Tillmann Bendikowski, “»Eine Fackel der Zwietracht« Katholisch-protestantische Mischehen im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert,” in Konfessionen im Konflikt. Deutschland zwischen 1800 und 1970: ein zweites konfessionelles Zeitalter, ed. Olaf Blaschke (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002), 220–22. Benjamin J. Kaplan, “Intimate Negotiations: Husbands and Wives of Opposite Faiths in Eighteenth-Century Holland,” in Living with Religious Diversity in Early Modern Europe, ed. C. Scott Dixon, Dagmar Freist, Mark Greengrass (Farnham–Burlington: Ashgate, 2009), 233–34. Kaplan, Divided by Faith, 288; Frick, Kith, Kin, and Neighbors, 140; Dagmar Freist, “Crossing Religious Borders: The Experience of Religious Difference and its Impact on Mixed Marriages in Eighteenth-Century Germany,” in Living with Religious Diversity, 219–22. Fenczak, Z dziejów inicjatyw polskich, 167–80.

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Lithuania, with the exception that nobles were free to decide otherwise but only in a prenuptial agreement.68 In 1773, this law was confirmed in the territories annexed by Russia under the first partition of Poland–Lithuania with regard to Catholic–Orthodox couples69 and from 1794 to 1803 obliged the subjects of the Kingdom of Prussia.70 In Austrian territories, it was included in Joseph II’s Patent of Toleration (1781) but applied only when the father was Protestant and mother Catholic (if vice versa, all children should be raised as Catholics).71 Another interesting phenomenon found in all three parishes described above was that non-Catholics were chosen as godparents. This issue has been studied to a very limited extent; therefore, it seems useful to draw upon David Frick’s study on seventeenth-century Vilnius. Although it was usually not indicated in the baptismal books, the confession of many people mentioned there was identified by Frick. Thus, it can be stated that at least 6 percent of the children baptized in 1668 in the Roman Catholic St. John’s parish had nonCatholic godparents, and in the period 1631–82, in the Calvinist community, non-Calvinist godparents (both Lutheran and Catholic) accounted for as much as 21 percent. The main factor for that would be the temporal bonds warranting efforts to ensure the child’s future support and protection.72 Although distant in time, Frick’s analysis provides a reference to the practice of choosing godparents analogous to that described above. The social mechanism was the same: a worldly, pragmatic attitude, aiming at securing a “prospective” godparent, prevailed over confessional boundaries and ecclesiastical regulations. The parish registers from Siret show that burying dissenters in the Catholic cemetery was not a problem there. However, in many other parts of Europe, it was a contentious issue. For instance, in late sixteenth- and seventeenthcentury England, it was controversial to bury Catholic recusants in graveyards administered by the Church of England.73 In the eighteenth century, only secular law made parish cemeteries common burial places for all inhabitants. 68 69 70 71 72 73

Konstytucye Seymu Extraordynaryinego w Warszawie. Akt osobny pierwszy, art. II, § X, in Volumina Legum. Przedruk zbioru praw staraniem XX. Pijarów w Warszawie, od roku 1732 do roku 1782 wydanego, vol. 7 (Petersburg: Jozafat Ohryzko, 1860), 263. Russian State Archive of Ancient Documents (Российский государственный архив древних актов) in Moscow, 12-1-161, Issues of Orthodox-Catholic Marriages in Belarus. Bendikowski, “»Eine Fackel der Zwietracht«,” 224. Kropatschek, Handbuch aller Verordnungen und Gesetze, vol. 2, 430. Frick, Kith, Kin, and Neighbors, 132–33. Peter Marshall, “Confessionalisation and Community in the Burial of English Catholics, c. 1570–1700,” in Getting along? Religious Identities and Confessional Relations in Early Modern England. Essays in Honour of Professor W.J. Sheils, ed. Nadine Lewycky, Adam D. Morton (Farnham: Routledge, 2012), 57–76.

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However, it is known that burying dissenters was more acceptable than administering baptism or marriage to them. The funeral was not a sacrament in any confession and could be easily held by a priest of another denomination.74 Finally, we can draw upon some other studies showing the interchangeability of religious services. In the medieval Principality of Moldavia (including the future Bukovina province), Catholic and Orthodox Christians made use of each other’s pastoral care. As Mihai Grigore observed, people went to the closest church, taking the “offer at hand.”75 The Lutheran settlers in eighteenthcentury Central Europe went for the sacraments to the Catholic priests not only in Bukovina or the Suwałki region but also in Mazovia in central Poland76 or in southern Hungary.77 In the Dutch town of Vaals in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, Catholics and Calvinists shared a single church and the priests attended the funerals of the faithful of different denominations.78 Examples of a relatively peaceful coexistence and “getting along” come from western Germany79 or England80 as well, not to mention the numerous cases from Eastern Europe, as discussed in this volume. As Wayne Te Brake remarked while tracing the general patterns of religious coexistence, it “was the rule, rather than the exception, in the Reformation and post-Reformation eras.”81 6

Conclusion: A Pragmatic Choice

Administering religious services to the faithful of non-Latin denominations was a common practice in Siret, Jeleniewo, and Višķi, regardless of the distance and differences between the parishes. Thus, the behavior of both the faithful 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81

Kaplan, Divided by Faith, 93–94. Mihai D. Grigore, “The Space of Power. State Consolidation by means of Religious Policy in the Danube Principalities in the fourteenth to sixteenth centuries,” Acta Poloniae Historica 116 (2017): 42–47. Paweł Fijałkowski, “Ewangelicy na południowo-zachodnim Mazowszu w XVIII–XIX w.,” Przegląd Historyczny 82, no. 1 (1991): 125–33. Karl-Peter Krauss, Deutsche Auswanderer in Ungarn. Ansiedlung in der Herrschaft Bóly im 18. Jahrhundert (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2003), 103. Thomas Richter, “Coping with Religious Diversity in everyday life in the Borderlands of Western Europe: Catholics, Protestants and Jews in Vaals,” Acta Poloniae Historica 116 (2017): 149–69. David M. Luebke, Hometown Religion. Regimes of Coexistence in Early Modern Westphalia (Charlottesville–London: University of Virginia Press, 2016). William Sheils, “‘Getting on’ and ‘getting along’ in parish and town: Catholics and their neighbours in England,” in Catholic Communities in Protestant States, 67–83. Wayne te Brake, “Emblems of Coexistence in a Confessional World,” in Living with Religious Diversity, 76.

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and clergy contradicts official ecclesiastical regulations from the epoch and the traditional perception of confessional boundaries. Moreover, as I have tried to show, similar observations can be made in other parts of Europe as well. Eventually, we may ask: What were the reasons for going to a priest of a different denomination? I would argue that a significant factor was the distance or, to be more precise, travel time affected by the poor road conditions. Taking distance into account helps in understanding the cases from Bukovina and the Suwałki region. Lutherans from the areas of Siret and Jeleniewo had quite a long way to go to their churches in Milișăuți and Chmielówka: over twenty kilometers from Mănăstioara to Milișăuți and almost as far, nineteen kilometers, from Lutheran villages near Jeleniewo, such as Sidorówka or Łopuchowo, to Chmielówka. Covering the shorter distance from Jeleniewo to Suwałki (thirteen kilometers) required three hours in summer and two hours in winter (traveling faster on frozen lakes and swamps).82 This means that the faithful from the Jeleniewo area needed more than six hours to go there and back to their clergyman in Chmielówka, not counting the time spent at the place of destination. Therefore, it is not surprising that the contacts between Grabowski in Chmielówka and his flock were irregular. The disturbed chronology of death records shows that the priest was informed about such events at a later point in time, sometimes even months after a person had passed away. Another factor worth considering is money. As well as the journey costs, it was necessary to pay the priest who officiated at the baptism, wedding, or funeral. In the Habsburg monarchy, as Joseph II’s Patent of Toleration stated, Protestants were to pay baptismal fees to the Roman Catholic parish priest.83 In Poland–Lithuania, this solution had never been legal, although it was locally practiced, at least until it was banned in 1768.84 However, even if priests from Jeleniewo and Višķi required all inhabitants to pay for sacraments regardless of who administered them, it seems hardly possible that they could enforce this demand from Lutheran settlers or the Old Believers. Similarly, Habsburg general imperial rules by no means worked well in Bukovina. It was the Orthodox Church, not the Catholic, that covered the whole region with its dense parish network. Roman Catholic parishes were young and weak; they had no church edifices, very little property, and could scarcely serve all the needs of the Catholic inhabitants. They had more pressing problems than disciplining the dissenters. Nevertheless, we cannot exclude the possibility that Protestants 82 83 84

Tomasz Naruszewicz, ed., Opisy parafii dekanatu Olwita z 1784 roku (Suwałki: AugustowskoSuwalskie Towarzystwo Naukowe, 2013), 80. Kropatschek, Handbuch aller Verordnungen und Gesetze, vol. 2, 429. Volumina Legum, vol. 7, 262.

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in Bukovina were forced by administrative means to pay Catholic clergy baptismal fees. If this was indeed the case, it was cheaper to pay once and get a child baptized by a Catholic priest than to pay twice: first to the Protestant minister for baptism and again to the Catholic priest for the official consent. However, in that circumstance, the Catholic parish register should include the entries on children baptized by a Protestant minister, which was not the case. The amount of the fees in particular churches remains unknown as well. It is rather doubtful, but we cannot exclude the possibility that Catholic priests in Siret and Jeleniewo demanded less money than their Protestant colleagues in Milișăuți and Chmielówka and that that was the reason why Protestants were choosing Catholic baptism. As a point of reference, we can call on the cases from southern Poland, where some Roman Catholics appreciated the lower wedding prices offered by Greek Catholic clergy.85 In any case, a preference for the cheaper and a preference for the closer both evince a practical attitude to religious services. State requirements had a rather secondary and indirect impact on the analyzed parishes. The regulations mentioned above very often were inefficient and too general for particular circumstances in each parish. Law mattered as a framework, providing the margins of accepted behavior and the direction of changes. Practice was a compromise between state and church demands, local relations of power, spatial and financial limits, and untraceable personal attitudes. Conformism was also a practical choice. In eighteenth-century England, all the dissenters, Protestant and Catholic alike, accepted baptisms, marriages, and funerals administered by the Church of England because it was the only legal solution that in practice did not exclude the “private” confessional ceremonies.86 I would also argue that none of the practices described above are a sign of religious indifferentism. On the contrary, it is possible to claim that people were well aware of their confession.87 In many cases, it was probably indicated in the parish registers only because people told the priest what their faith was. Asking a clergyman of a different denomination for baptism, marriage, or funeral was only a matter of practical choice. It can be called the pragmatism of everyday life.88 85 86 87 88

Tomasz Wiślicz, Zarobić na duszne zbawienie. Religijność chłopów małopolskich od połowy XVI do końca XVIII wieku (Warszawa: Neriton–Instytut Historii PAN, 2001), 44–45. Rebecca Probert, Marriage Law and Practice in the Long Eighteenth Century. A Reassessment (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009). See a similar observation by Freist, “Crossing Religious Borders,” 203. Frick, Kith, Kin, and Neighbors, 121.

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Another issue worth noticing is the involvement of the clergy. Benjamin J. Kaplan justly denied the strictness of confessional divisions in early modern Europe; however, his analysis focused on the behavior of the secular faithful. With regard to clergy, he wrote that “they saw the difference between confessions as a matter of sharp, unchanging, black-and-white contrasts.”89 The examples presented above confirm another of Kaplan’s observations: the difference in attitude between church authorities and regular clergy.90 The local parish priests decided to baptize children of dissenters and conducted their marriage ceremonies. They even accepted dissenters as godparents. The same practical patterns observed in three places distant to one another could not be exceptional. Moreover, the priests knew that they would not be punished for such behavior. They indicated the non-Catholic confession of a child’s parents and godparents without any explanation, knowing it would be obvious, in the parish registers that were (even if still only irregularly) controlled by the bishop’s emissaries. Therefore, it is possible to assume that even church officials knew about the practice of serving the dissenters. “Sharp, unchanging, black-and-white contrasts” were a matter of an (often empty) rhetoric to an extent even greater than Kaplan thought. This study provides only a sample, and further research is required to examine the scale of religious services administered to dissenters. In this respect, promising perspectives are offered by metrical books of Roman Catholic and Protestant parishes in Bukovina that constitute a relatively well-preserved group of sources, covering an entire multiconfessional region. Meanwhile, because these issues await deeper consideration, it is unworkable to quantitatively consider the title question: How many dissenters can a Roman Catholic priest serve? However, even now, it is tempting to give a cautious answer: quite a lot of them, probably many more than we expect. Bibliography

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89 90

Kaplan, Divided by Faith, 256. Kaplan, “Intimate Negotiations,” 242.

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National Historical Archives of Belarus (Нацыянальны гістарычны архіў Беларусі) in Minsk, Records of Višķi parish, no. 1781-26-1192; 1781-26-1226. Russian State Archive of Ancient Documents (Российский государственный архив древних актов) in Moscow, Issues of Orthodox-Catholic Marriages in Belarus, no. 12-1-161. Russian State Historical Archive (Российский государственный исторический архив) in Saint Petersburg, Visitation of Višķi parish, no. 822-12-2708. Sächsisches Staatsarchiv in Leipzig, Kirchenbücher Bukowina, Baptisms Milleschoutz, no. 3719, 3720; Mixed Marriages Milleschoutz, no. 3726; Funerals Milleschoutz, no. 3729; Confirmations Milleschoutz, no. 3732; Certificates Milleschoutz, no. 3733; Baptisms Siret, no. 3776; Marriages Siret, no. 3781; Banns Siret, no. 3782; Funerals Siret, no. 3787; Protestant Marriages Milleschoutz, no. 3913. State Archive in Suwałki, Collection 596, Records of Chmielówka parish, no. 1, 2. Suwałki District Museum, K.O. Falk Collection, Baptisms Jeleniewo, no. F143. Kropatschek, Joseph, ed. Handbuch aller unter der Regierung des Kaisers Joseph des II. für die K.K. Erbländer ergangenen Verordnungen und Gesetze in einer Sistematischen Verbindung, vol. 2. Wien: Johann Georg Moesle, 1785. Litak, Stanisław, ed. Akta wizytacji generalnej diecezji inflanckiej i kurlandzkiej czyli piltyńskiej z 1761 roku. Toruń: Towarzystwo Naukowe w Toruniu, 1998. Naruszewicz, Tomasz, ed. Opisy parafii dekanatu Olwita z 1784 roku. Suwałki: Augustowsko-Suwalskie Towarzystwo Naukowe, 2013. Volumina Legum. Przedruk zbioru praw staraniem XX. Pijarów w Warszawie, od roku 1732 do roku 1782 wydanego, vol. 7. Petersburg: Jozafat Ohryzko, 1860.



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Louthan, Howard. “Multiconfessionalism in Central Europe.” In A Companion to Multiconfessionalism in the Early Modern World, edited by Thomas Max Safley, 369–92. Leiden: Brill, 2011. Luebke, David M. “A multiconfessional Empire.” In A Companion to Multiconfessionalism in the Early Modern World, edited by Thomas Max Safley, 129–54. Leiden: Brill, 2011. Luebke, David M. Hometown Religion. Regimes of Coexistence in Early Modern Westphalia. Charlottesville–London: University of Virginia Press, 2016. Manteuffel, Gustaw. Polnisch-Livland. Riga: Kymmel, 1869. Manteuffel, Gustaw. Inflanty Polskie oraz Listy znad Bałtyku. Kraków: Universitas, 2009. Manteuffel, Gustaw. Zarysy z dziejów krain dawnych inflanckich. Kraków: Universitas, 2007. Marshall, Peter. “Confessionalisation and Community in the Burial of English Catholics, c. 1570–1700.” In Getting along? Religious Identities and Confessional Relations in Early Modern England. Essays in Honour of Professor W.J. Sheils, edited by Nadine Lewycky, Adam D. Morton, 57–76. Farnham: Routledge, 2012. Matusiewicz, Andrzej; Jarosław Ruszewski. Cmentarze Suwalskiego Parku Krajobrazowego i jego otuliny. Suwałki: Centrum Aktywności Społecznej PRYZMAT, 2007. Michels, Georg B. At War with the Church. Religious Dissent in Seventeenth-Century Russia. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1999. Paert, Irina. Old Believers, Religious Dissent and Gender in Russia, 1760–1850. Manchester– New York: Manchester University Press, 2003. Probert, Rebecca. Marriage Law and Practice in the Long Eighteenth Century. A Reassessment. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Reinhard, Wolfgang. “Reformation, Counter-Reformation, and the Early Modern State. A Reassessment.” The Catholic Historical Review 75, no. 3 (1989): 383–404. Richter, Thomas. “Coping with Religious Diversity in everyday life in the Borderlands of Western Europe: Catholics, Protestants and Jews in Vaals.” Acta Poloniae Historica 116 (2017): 149–69. Rohdewald, Stefan, David Frick, and Stefan Wiederkehr, eds. Lithuania and Ruthenia. Studies of a Transcultural Communication Zone (15th–18th Centuries). Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz, 2007. Rzemieniecki, Konrad. “Małżeństwa łacińsko-unickie na terenie archidiecezji lwowskiej na przełomie XVIII i XIX w. (na przykładzie rzymskokatolickiej parafii Monasterzyska).” Rocznik Przemyski 42, no. 4 (2006): 89–98. Safley, Thomas Max. “Introduction.” In A Companion to Multiconfessionalism in the Early Modern World, edited by Thomas Max Safley, 1–19. Leiden: Brill, 2011. Scharr, Kurt. Die Landschaft Bukowina. Das Werden einer Region an der Peripherie 1774– 1918. Wien–Köln–Weimar: Böhlau, 2010. Schilling, Heinz. “Confessionalization in the Empire. Religious and Societal Change in Germany between 1555 and 1620.” In id., Religion, Political Culture and the Emergence

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of Early Modern Society. Essays in German and Dutch History, 205–45. Leiden: Brill, 1992. Sheils, William. “‘Getting on’ and ‘getting along’ in parish and town: Catholics and their neighbours in England.” In Catholic communities in Protestant states. Britain and the Netherlands c. 1570–1720, edited by Benjamin Kaplan, Bob Moore, Henk van Nierop, Judith Pollmann, 67–83. Manchester–New York: Manchester University Press, 2009. Stańczak, Edward. Kamera saska za czasów Augusta III. Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1973. Tazbir, Janusz. A State Without Stakes: Polish Religious Toleration in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. Translated by A.T. Jordan. New York: The Kościuszko Foundation, 1973. Te Brake, Wayne. “Emblems of Coexistence in a Confessional World.” In Living with Religious Diversity in Early Modern Europe, edited by C. Scott Dixon, Dagmar Freist, Mark Greengrass, 53–79. Farnham–Burlington: Ashgate, 2009. Turczynski, Emanuel. Geschichte der Bukowina in der Neuzeit. Zur Sozial- und Kulturgeschichte einer mitteleuropäisch geprägten Landschaft. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1993. Ungureanu, Constantin. Bucovina în perioada stăpânirii austriece (1774–1918). Aspecte etnodemografice şi confesionale. Chișinău: Civitas, 2003. Wąsicki, Jan. Ziemie polskie pod zaborem pruskim. Prusy Nowowschodnie (Neuostpreussen) 1795–1806. Poznań: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1963. Wiślicz, Tomasz. Zarobić na duszne zbawienie. Religijność chłopów małopolskich od połowy XVI do końca XVIII wieku. Warszawa: Neriton; Instytut Historii PAN, 2001. Wiśniewski, Jerzy. “Dzieje osadnictwa w powiecie sejneńskim od XV do XIX wieku.” In Materiały do dziejów ziemi sejneńskiej, edited by Jerzy Antoniewicz, 9–213. Białystok: Białostockie Towarzystwo Naukowe, 1963. Волков, Василий. Свѣдѣнiя о началѣ, распространенiи и раздѣленiи раскола и о расколѣ въ Витебской губернiи. Витебскъ: Tип. Губ. Правл., 1866. Костишин, Степан С., ed. Буковина. Історичний нарис. Чернівці: Зелена Буковина, 1998.

PART 2 Theology, Communication, Politics

⸪

Chapter 6

Religious Toleration and Literary Dialogues in the Bohemian Reformation (1436–1517) Jan Červenka 1

Introduction

In 1436, the peace negotiations between council fathers and Hussites at the Council of Basel concluded with an agreement known as the Basel Compactata. The Compactata accepted four main Hussite articles (communion sub utraque specie, free preaching of the word of God, secularization of church property, and public punishment of the deadly sins), albeit some of them with serious limitations. The establishment of the Utraquist Church, a direct descendant of mainstream Hussite reform thinking, was probably the most important outcome of the Hussite Wars.1 The Utraquist Church was a semi-autonomous ecclesial organization and viewed itself as a part of the Catholic Church. The most apparent difference was the reformed liturgy. The Utraquist Church used Latin and Czech languages during the liturgy and served the communion under both kinds for the laity of all ages, including infants. Jan Hus and Jerome of Prague were considered martyrs and were venerated as saints. The church was led by the Prague archbishop Jan Rokycana uncanonically elected by Bohemian estates. After his death, the Utraquist Consistory was established. The Utraquists recognized the apostolic succession of the Roman Church and insisted on the proper ordination of its clergy.2 The establishment of the Utraquist Church was only the beginning of religious coexistence in Bohemia. The estates, the most important political body in the kingdom, had to deal with religious coexistence in the kingdom. The Bohemian lands were a place of turbulent politics even after the Hussite Wars. The political power of the church was very limited—clergymen were excluded from the Land diets in 1 František Šmahel, “Pax externa et interna: Vom Heiligen Krieg zur Erzwungenen Toleranz im Hussitischen Böhmen (1419–1485),” in Toleranz im Mittelalter, eds., Alexander Patschovsky and Harald Zimmermann (Sigmaringen: Thorbecke, 1998), 221–73; Amy Nelson Burnett, “Questioning Authority, Tolerating Dissent,” Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 108 (2017): 168. 2 For a good overview see Zdeněk V. David, Finding the Middle Way: the Utraquists’ Liberal Challenge to Rome and Luther (Washington: Woodrow Wilson Center Press, 2003), 18–45.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004527447_008

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Bohemia and lost most of their property.3 The ruling dynasties changed very often (five dynasties in one century), and the role of the estates in their election was increasingly important. The long interregnum in the 1440s further increased the power of the estates. This development culminated in the election of King George of Podebrady, a man without royal pedigree and a member of the Utraquist Church, in 1458.4 The Bohemian estates were far from unanimous. They had to deal with many disputes between confessions and social classes (the knights and lords were in conflict over precedence in the land court, and the royal cities were in conflict with nobles over their economic privileges). Many of the political conflicts were at least partially fueled by religious animosity (conflict between George of Podebrady and the city of Wrocław (Breslau), as well as the revolt of the Zelenohorská Unity, a league of the Bohemian Catholic nobles and towns dissatisfied with the rule of King George and the war with Hungarian King Matthias Corvinus). The capital of the kingdom, Prague, was also a place of great religious and political unrest (revolts in 1448, 1483, and the 1520s). Nevertheless, in one way or another, religious coexistence persisted in Bohemia up until the Thirty Years’ War.5 This study focuses on the early period of the Bohemian Reformation to offer insight into the situation before the Protestant Reformation. However, it is only a partial insight into many interesting questions connected with religious coexistence in the Bohemian Reformation because this article is limited to examining the genre of literary dialogues. Nevertheless, this limitation is well-founded—the literary dialogues have been recognized as an important literary genre for the idea of religious toleration.6 Before examining the texts, it will be useful to point out a few aspects of Bohemian intellectual culture and the place of the dialogical genre in fifteenthcentury Bohemia. The Bohemian readers were not very well educated. The Prague University was in decline, losing all higher faculties and its international students and masters in the fifteenth century. The reception of the printing press was relatively slow and dominated by imports from Germany. 3 František Šmahel, Husitské Čechy: struktury, procesy, ideje (Praha: Nakladatelství Lidové Noviny, 2001), 676–77. 4 Frederick G. Heymann, George of Bohemia: King of Heretics (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2015). 5 Tomáš Malý, “The End of the Bohemian Reformation,” in From Hus to Luther. Visual Culture in the Bohemian Reformation (1380–1620), eds. Kateřina Horníčková and Michal Šroněk (Turnhout: Brepols Publishers, 2016), 305–23. 6 Cary J. Nederman, Worlds of Difference: European Discourses of Toleration, c. 1100–c. 1550 (University Park: Penn State Press, 2000); Gary Remer, Humanism and the Rhetoric of Toleration (University Park: Penn State Press, 1996).

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Humanist learning took roots only slowly and had to overcome reluctance on the side of conservative Utraquists.7 Even though humanism was intriguing for the Utraquists, their attitude to humanism was pragmatic, not systemic. They did not embrace the whole humanist culture but picked only the texts and ideas that were useful for them—mainly the criticism of the Catholic Church. Despite all of that, humanism significantly influenced the form and use of the dialogue genre.8 Humanism could provide arguments and classical authorities that could be used to defend religious toleration. The scale of that influence significantly differs between individual authors, as do their ideas about religious toleration. However, all the authors of tolerant dialogues show at least some inclination to humanism. Humanism might also be their principal reason for choosing the dialogical form because dialogues were an essential genre of Renaissance humanism.9 This seems to be the case for Václav Písecký and Řehoř Hrubý of Jelení, who explicitly refer to classical authorities such as Cicero and Plato and praise their use of the dialogue form.10 It is also important to note that all surveyed texts were written after the pope abolished the Basel Compactata in 1462. As long as the Compactata were recognized (or at least tacitly accepted by the popes), there were few writings related to the idea of toleration. Only after Pius II had abolished the Compactata did the threat of religious warfare re-emerge. Two decades of increased confessional tension, culminating in the so-called Second Hussite War, resulted in the Kutná Hora religious peace in 1485. This treaty promulgated by the estates tried to settle the question of interconfessional relations by incorporating the 7

Petr Voit, “Humanism in the Czech Lands in the First Half of the 16th Century,” in Companion to Central and Eastern European Humanism, vol. 2: Czech Lands, ed. Lucie Storchová (Berlin-Boston: De Gruyter, 2020), 1–22. 8 There is a vast literature on the humanist dialogue, recently: David Marsh, The Quattrocento Dialogue: Classical Tradition and Humanist Innovatio (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2013); Virginia Cox, The Renaissance Dialogue: Literary dialogue in its social and political contexts, Castiglione to Galileo (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008). 9 Peter Burke “The Renaissance Dialogue,” Renaissance Studies 3, no. 1 (1989): 1–12. 10 “Užíval takových s otázkami disputací Sokrates vždycky. A po něm Plato jeho učedlník všecky jeho téměř řeči setkal v takové s otázkami dialogy” [The disputations like this have been always used by Socrates. And after him by his pupil Plato, who almost all his writings made as such dialogues with questions], in Velký sborník překladů Řehoře Hrubého z Jelení, National Library of the Czech Republic, Prague, MS sign. XVII.D.38, fol. 97v. Písecký about dialogue: “Scis enim morem dialogi, in quo nihil habetur dogmaticum, quod etiam de Platonicis eruditi autumant. Volui me exercere etiam in isto dicendi genere” in Bohumil Ryba, ed. “List Václava Píseckého Michalovi ze Stráže,” Listy filologické/ Folia philologica 60 (1933): 440 [All translations are by the Author unless clearly indicated otherwise].

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Basel Compactata and some other legal measures guaranteeing coexistence into the Bohemian land law. Nevertheless, the treaty did not solve all the problems: Bohemian Catholics still had to deal with their dual loyalty to the king and the pope, and Utraquism lacked international recognition. It was obvious that the Bohemian coexistence needed an ideological defense, and the literary dialogues were an important part of it. 2

Dialogus by Jan of Rabštejn (1437–1473)

The most impressive Catholic text dealing with the question of religious toleration was written by Jan of Rabštejn. His Dialogus is considered the most important work of early humanism in Bohemia.11 Rabštejn studied in Bologna and acquired a doctorate in canonical law in 1457. After his return to Bohemia, he became active in political affairs; for example, he was a member of the diplomatic mission of King George of Podebrady to Pope Pius II in 1459. He served King George even at the beginning of the king’s conflict with the opposition movement of Catholic nobles called the Zelenohorská Unity, supported by the papacy and Hungarian King Matthias Corvinus. During this conflict, probably in the first half of the year 1470, he changed sides and joined the opponents of King George. This was one of the most difficult decisions of his life; therefore, it is not surprising that he devoted his Dialogus to reflecting on that decision. According to the modern editor of the dialogue, Bohumil Ryba, the Dialogus was composed in 1469.12 Ryba based this assumption on references to current political events mentioned in the work. However, this date should be considered only as post quem because Rabštejn was careful not to break his fictional narrative. Nevertheless, it is entirely plausible that the Dialogus is the writing mentioned in the letter to Jan of Rosemberg. In this letter, Rabštejn writes about an intention to defend his position in the war between King George and the Zelenohorská Unity before “learned men.”13 Rabštejn’s work is composed in the way of Ciceronian sermo, the most popular dialogical form of fifteenth-century humanism. Ryba considered discrepancies in the dialogical composition a sign of dependency on the scholastic 11 12 13

Jana z Rabštejna Dialogus, ed. Bohumil Ryba (Praha: Orbis, 1948), 5. Ibid., 11. “Bohdá vždy jsem byl a chci býti a sem křesťan dobrý a poslušný, ješto pak toho přede všemi učenými lidmi a zvlášť před Otcem svatým toho bych dovésti chtěl” [God willing, I have always been and want to be a good and obedient Christian, and I would like to prove that before all the learned men and especially the Holy Father], in Archiv český čili staré písemné památky české i moravské VII, ed. Antonín Rezek (Praha, 1887), 364.

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tradition, a deficiency of Rabštejn´s dedication to humanism.14 I consider this opinion mistaken—these polemical remnants are carefully incorporated into the dialogue’s narrative and serve to differentiate between the political and theoretical parts of the Dialogus. The Dialogus is a cautiously constructed dispute on obedience: Should Catholic subjects obey the rightfully elected king even though the pope had excommunicated him and proclaimed him a heretic? The fictional narrative of the dialogue begins with Rabštejn’s return from studies in Italy. In Bohemia, he found several of his friends in the middle of a heated debate and was curious about the discussion’s purpose. Because this scene takes place in the time of the conflict between King George and the Zelenohorská Unity, it is not surprising that the topic of discussion is political obedience. Note that all characters in the dialogue defend the opinions of their real counterparts. Vilém of Rýzmberk and Rabí is defending obedience to George of Podebrady; Zdeněk of Štenberk is the leader of the revolting Zelenohorská Unity; and Jan of Švamberk is trying to hold a neutral stance in the conflict. The discussion cannot omit questions about the use of force in religious matters. After all, the main reason for condemning King George was his unwillingness to reject the Basel Compactata and his Utraquist faith. It is not surprising that Rabštejn is the main speaker of the discussion. His literary alter ego is portrayed as an ideal rhetorician by classical standards: he possesses ethos, logos, and pathos and can masterfully wield them. Therefore, Rabštejn’s character acts as a moderator and presents the rules of the ideal discussion: … not by the depreciation and name-calling, but by truth, laws, and trustworthy authorities. Thus acted men learned in the canonical law, men of high morals, virtues, and wisdom—they deliberated according to the knowledge of facts. So please stop with all the deprecation, stop the insults, because there is no proving or victory of truth in such ways.15 Rabštejn could have many motives for choosing the dialogical form, but one of them certainly was to present what the ideal ethical discussion should look

14 15

Jana z Rabštejna Dialogus, 9. “Non probris et iniuriis, sed veritate, legibus et auctoritate certandum est. Sic placet uiri canonico, sic homines moribus, virtute et sciencia edocti consluto determinarunt. Dimittite, queso, illa obprobria, dimittite maledicta, que non victoriam, non veritatis probacionem vobis dare possunt,” Jana z Rabštejna Dialogus, 16.

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like.16 Even though the dispute should follow these rules, it does not always do so. Only two learned men—Jan of Rabštejn and Jan of Švamberk—obey them. The characters of the politicians, Vilém of Rýzmberk and Zdeněk of Štenberk, are constantly breaking these rules.17 They use many polemical tactics in their speeches—insults,18 gossip,19 ad hominem attacks,20 the “slippery slope” arguments,21 failure to reply,22 and, in the most extreme case, even threats of violence.23 Occasionally, the “politicians” have to be admonished by the “moderator” Rabštejn, who points out their sophistic rhetoric or invalid use of logic.24 The definitive conclusion of the Dialogus is a bit surprising because Ciceronian sermo usually leaves the final resolution of the problem to the reader of the dialogue.25 Moreover, the conclusion seems to reject previously accepted arguments: We have pointed out to our most holy lord on several occasions the evils and goods of this course of action. Nevertheless, he wills that the issue ought to be solved by fire and sword. We admit it is our doom, but we will follow the will of the Pope and the Apostolic See.26

16 17

18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

Tulio Maranhao, The Interpretation of Dialogue (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990), 10. This is also common practice used in humanist dialogues, usually to present contrast between learned humanists and illiterate masses or between humanists and uneducated priests or scholastics. Marsh, The Quattrocento Dialogue, 53–54 (Bracciolini) and 114 (Pontano). “Nunquam igitur consilio meo persuasum erit hominibus morum et scienciarum inexpertis tantam molem belli dominici committendam.” Jana z Rabštejna Dialogus, 38. “Astu exquisitissimo ab omnibus tuis complicibus sigilla accepisti, uti littera omnium nomine, aliis tamen ignorantibus, ad explendam tue mentis superbiam ad sedem apostolicam cetrasque partes pro tue voluntatis beneplacito mittas,” ibid., 52. “Hilarius ignarus Pragensis decanus,” ibid., 76. “Si pontifex mandat adulterari, usuras exercere, interficere, furari, hec omnia faciemus? Quod, credo, nulli san mentis placebit Christiano,” ibid., 51. “In vos culpam conicio, qui vestras partes non uti vultis, sed sciut potestis, tutati conamini. Si quis posicionem regni intelligens veritatem dicendo vos inconsulte rem aggressos affirmet bonumque et publicum et vestrum privatum,” ibid., 54. “Zdenko: Nisi paciencie virtus me contineret et orbum robore infirmumque corpus tuum disuaderet, quid Zdenkonis valeat manus, sentires Wilhelme!” Ibid., 54. “Abiciamus conquestiones!” or “inconvenienti uteris sillogismo,” ibid., 66. “Hem, res miranda! Id, quod probandum est, semper pro concluso Zdenko narrat,” ibid., 72. Remer, Humanism and the Rhetoric of Toleration, 38; Marsh, The Quattrocento Dialogue, 10–12. “Iam aliquociens, quid mali, quid boni his ex rebus sit eventurum, sanctissimo domi­no nostro diximus; sichilominus rem cum gladio et igne prosequi vult. Nostram esse

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Although both Rabštejn and Švamberk join Štenberk’s warmongering party in the end, none of the arguments defending the neutral position is refuted. Sometimes, the humanists decided to pronounce a conclusion in agreement with official authorities but undermined it by various narrative devices.27 Rabštejn might be attempting something similar. He provides a critical clue in a replica a few lines earlier when he rejects the necessity of following orders leading to the damnation of the soul. It is a possible way out because participation in a civil war that could destroy the whole country is considered a sin endangering salvation.28 Moreover, Vilém of Rabí still does not agree with Rabštejn’s prima facie submission to the pope’s will and ironically asks whether we should obey the pope even if he has commanded us to commit adultery. Rabštejn replies that in that case, we should not obey the pope but provide him reasons why we cannot obey.29 Rabštejn might be revealing the primary purpose of the dialogue here. Rabštejn wanted to present the issues accompanying the war. He was trying to point out to his superiors, especially the papal curia, “with humility and obedience,” all the evils of confrontational politics. He provided several types of arguments—practical (number of castles loyal to King George and strength and determination of the Utraquist armies,30 dysfunctional economic embargo,31 and devastation of the country32), moral (fealty to the king, breaking the rules of the holy war,33 freedom of conscience,34 the

27 28 29

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destruccionem fatemur; sed fiat summi pontificis et sedes apostolice voluntas!” in Jana z Rabštejna Dialogus, 102. Marsh, The Quattrocento Dialogue, 10. Jana z Rabštejna Dialogus, 96. “Iura determinant: si quid mandat pontifex summus, non statim faciendum, sed cur fieri non possit, racio sanctissimo domino nostro reddenda est,” ibid., 102; or more elaborate reasoning “mandato peccato mortali, sub eadem pena, quod mortem infert anime, sentenciam eciam iniustam timere debemus, et pacienter nos contradiccioni non ingerere. Not tamen aut furtum aut illud peccatum mortale faciendum, sed humili cum obediencia bene informandus est superior, ut a mandato illicito resipiscat,” ibid., 100. “Post enim urbem regiam Pragam Georgio in sola Bohemia sex et quadraginta bene munita extant oppida; post arcem Pragensem duo et septuaginta fortissimo Montana habet castella, fortaliicis vallo, fossa, aquis inmunitis plerisque non numeratis,” ibid., 60. „Omnes oras confinium penes Bohemian frumento, adipe, pinguedine in Bohemia collectis vivere oprtet, quibus rebus commutacionis titulo sal, quo solum ad victum necessario egent, et citera Bohemi facile acquirunt,‟ ibid., 66. “Intrabit in destruccionem nostram tanta multitudo gencium exterarum? Omnem certe rusticorum turbam enervabunt, agros depopulabuntur, predam infinitam colligent, ab amicis et inimicis victum necessario fame compellente exigent,” ibid., 56. “Utinam bellum Dei geras! Non tot latronicia, cedes, incendia, ruine monasteriorum et virginum corruptele sequerentur,” ibid., 44. “id nobis auri et argenti copia carius existat, quod coram Altissimo his factis nulla mala consciencia condemnor, quod, exquo nostro satis erat Augustino, et michi iuris merito sufficient,” ibid., 62.

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natural reason,35 pacifism36), and arguments related to canon law (what affects all should be approved by all,37 nobody is obliged to participate in the holy war at the expense of his spiritual goods,38 natural and international law,39 and the concept of epikeia or clemency40). His irenic attitude is probably best explained in the prayer at the very end of the dialogue: If it is Your will, reveal the means against the war, pour the grace onto superiors in order that, if you do not want war, they wished for peace, so that your chosen nation, Christian nation, the Catholic nation was not distracted and enfeebled so harshly and cruelly!41 3

The Bolognian Dispute of Václav Písecký (1482–1511)

Václav Písecký was one of the promising masters of the University of Prague; he was even elected to the office of the dean of the faculty of art, but then he met Řehoř Hrubý of Jelení (also known in Latin as Gregorius Gelenius, father of the famous humanist editor Sigismund Gelenius). Řehoř Hrubý convinced 35

36 37

38 39

40 41

“Deus nobis dedit racionem nosque pre aliis animalibus racione dotavit, et cum ceteris animalibus arma et defendicula contrarriorum a natura prestiterit, cervis cornua, apris dentes … Nos nudi ex utero educimur, nudi manemus nisi racione omnem nostrum defectum supplerimus,” ibid., 46. “bellorum tamen viam summo persequor cum odio,” ibid., 18. “Si communi consilio causam fuissetis aggresi et vestar mala informacione res apud pontificem summum infecta non fuisset, ab omnibus approbatum omnes tutarentur,” ibid., 34. “quod omnes tangit, ab omnibus venit approbandum iurisconsultorum sentencia teste. Non tameas ob res me os in celum ponere velle iudicandum est,” ibid., 52. “ad hoc privatas teneri personas sub precepto pontificis, ut sumptibus, ut laboribus, ut sudoribus suis sub pena peccati mortalis et interdicti ac excommunicatcionis agant bella contra quoscunque sedi apostolice inobedientes,” ibid., 76. “Sed si consideramus normam et formam diffidandi a iure civili inventam, equitatem autem illam, ob quam diffidacio est reperta, tum a iure naturali tum a iure gencium esse progressam (iure gencium equitas suadet, ut nemini suum auferatur;naturali iure defensio persone proprie cuilibet conceditur): sublatis his, que ius civile reperit, per quem modum ea, que iuris naturalis et gencium ex fundamento consistunt, eciam pontifex summus aut princeps secularis tollere possit, nescio unde iuris istam acceperunt censuram,” ibid., 80. “Sed tempora, loca, persone, pericula rerum, multitudo populi rigorem iuris in utriusque legis censura suadent temperare,” ibid., 64. “Voluntate tua existente bello contraria revela, infunde superioribus graciam, quatenus te nolente perlia et ipsi pacem velint, ne ita dure et crudeliter populus tuus electus, populus christianus, populus catholicus distrahatur et enervetur!” Ibid., 102.

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him to pursue humanist learning. Hrubý also offered Písecký financial support for his humanist studies in return for accompanying his son Sigismund on his journey to Italy. The chance to learn Greek and attend first-class humanist lectures motivated Václav Písecký to abandon his office and go to Italy. The Italian environment is crucial for his dialogue, usually known as the Bolognian Dispute (Boloňské hádání). The narrative of the dialogue takes place during his studies in Bologna. It is quite likely that the whole dialogue was, to some extent, inspired by real events—Písecký tries very hard to present it as such. Nevertheless, I am inclined to see it as a work of fiction, mainly because of the text’s artificial structure.42 However, I would not entirely dismiss the possibility that Písecký had conversations about religious topics during his studies in Bologna, although it is unlikely that they followed the narrative of the text. The interpretation of the Bolognian Dispute is complicated because it was not a stand-alone dialogue but only one part of a private letter written by Písecký in the spring of 1510 to his colleague from the university, Michal of Stráž. Michal of Stráž had expressed some doubts about the Utraquist faith caused by the conversion of Jiří Sovka, one of the prominent Utraquist figures, to Catholicism.43 Písecký reports the debate, real or fictional, in order to rid Michal of Stráž of his doubts. Other parts of the letter, which is known as the List [Letter] Václava Píseckého, deal with practical, everyday things and present an apology for humanist learning accompanied by a critique of the quality of learning at Prague University. 3.1 The Conception of the Text—Epistola, Apologia, sed Dialogum? Písecký was inspired by Socratic dialogue (which was uncommon amongst Italian humanists44), but the original text of the letter does not have a proper dialogical form. The original text is an exemplary case of the transgression between various literary genres in one text.45 At first glance, it might look like Písecký himself was not quite sure of the genre of his writing: “Here you have, master Michael, whatever you would like to call it—letter, apology, dialogue, or 42

43 44 45

Alex J. Novikoff, The Medieval Culture of Disputation: Pedagogy, Practice, and Performance (University Park: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2013), 178; Jon R. Snyder argues that elaborate construction of the illusion of the reality of recorded discussions is one of the enabling fictions of the humanist dialogue, Jon R. Snyder, Writing the Scene of Speaking: Theories of Dialogue in the Late Italian Renaissance (Palo Alto: Stanford University Press, 1989), 17. Michal of Stráž to Václav Písecký, spring 1510 in Dva listáře humanisticke: Dra Racka Doubravského. M. Václava Píseckého s doplňkem listáře Jana Šlechty ze Vsehrd, ed. Josef Truhlář (Praha, 1897), 49–53. James Hankins, Plato in the Italian Renaissance (Leiden: Brill, 1990), 3–9. Ibid., 24.

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all of them mixed together as some kind of the monster fought by Hercules.”46 Nevertheless, he presents the conception of the text soon afterwards. It is evident that the letter is not an improvisation but a carefully composed work.47 It consists of three parts in different genres: a private letter, a dialogue, and an apology for humanism. However, the composition is even more complicated because these parts do not follow one another in an orderly manner. To aid comprehension, the main parts of the writing are presented in table 6.1: Table 6.1 Composition of List [Letter] Václava Píseckého

Ryba’s Latin edition 1. head of the monstrum—epistola 1 2. head of the monstrum—dialogum

epistola 2—explanation of the monster 3. head of the monstrum—apologia epistola 3—conclusion of letter

pp. 117–19 everyday practicalities pp. 119–21 introduction to the dialogue pp. 121–24 1st part of the dialogue pp. 124–284 2nd part of the dialogue pp. 284–85 afterword about religious toleration pp. 285–86 description of the text structure pp. 286–439 defense of humanist learning pp. 439–40 everyday practicalities

Even though the afterword is the only place where Písecký talks about religious toleration, we need to put the passage into the context of the whole letter for the right understanding. In the first part, Písecký describes his advances in the study of Greek. The transition to the dialogue is made by a reference to a previous letter in which they had discussed the conversion of Jiří Sovka. The first part of the letter is followed by the dialogue’s introduction, omitted by the majority of the modern editors. Nevertheless, it is an integral part of the Bolognian Dispute because it describes the narrative setting, occasion, and characters of the dialogue. Here, Písecký follows the tradition of Socratic dialogues with complicated narrative frameworks. Písecký explicitly admits this

46 47

“Habes, domine Michael, quicquid istuc nominare volueris, epistolam apologiam, dialogum, seu ex omnibus illis ita temre coeuntibus monstrum quoddam illud forsitam Herculeum.” Ryba, “List Václava Píseckého.” 285. Ibid., 285.

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inspiration and explains his reasons for this choice.48 After the central dialogical part, there is another epistolary insert in which Písecký describes “the monstrum.” The third part is an apology for humanistic learning. After the apology comes the final part of the letter, where Písecký asks Michal of Stráž to keep the dialogue secret so that it could not harm Písecký. It was probably the vicious attack against the conservative scholastics at Prague University in the third part of the letter that Písecký considered dangerous for his reputation. The Bolognian Dispute was not originally meant for public presentation. Fortunately, Řehoř Hrubý, who became an administrator of Písecký’s literary heritage after his premature death in Italy, ignored this plea. Therefore, the role of Řehoř Hrubý was crucial for the further dissemination of the Bolognian Dispute and its preservation. He translated the work into the Czech language and inserted it into a manuscript anthology of various texts for the Prague councilors. However, Řehoř Hrubý did not translate the entire letter, only the dialogical part. Hrubý also gave the text a proper dialogical form with a clear separation of characters taking turns in speaking. It was also Hrubý who named the characters—he calls them the Master (Písecký) and the Monk (his anonymous opponent, a Dominican friar). That is important because it places far less emphasis on the author as the main speaker in the dialogue.49 He also accompanied the text with his commentaries. Řehoř Hrubý even intended to print the dialogue, but there is no proof that he actually did so.50 His role was crucial for the final form, preservation, and reception of the Bolognian Dispute. 3.2 Bolognian Dispute and Religious Toleration The dialogue itself is quite an extraordinary apology for the lay communion from the chalice. I am going to discuss only a small section that Písecký himself probably did not consider crucial. In the short passage at the end of the dialogue, Písecký explains his idea of religious coexistence between the Utraquists and Roman Catholics. Although the Bolognian Dispute ends with the apparent victory of the Master defending lay communion over the Monk, Písecký does not use this opportunity to attack the Catholic teachings. In his opinion, the form of the ritual of the Eucharistic sacrament should be chosen by the believers:

48 49 50

Ibid., 440. Jacob Halford, “‘Of Dialogue, that Great and Powerful Art.’: A Study of the Dialogue Genre in Seventeenth-century England” (PhD diss., University of Warwick, 2016), 89. Velký sborník, fol. 92r.

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This change [communion sub una—JČ] was not ancient and was embraced slowly, firstly amongst Italians, who do not hold religion, nor the sacrament, in high esteem. There were some dangerous mishaps while serving communion sub utraque, and to prevent these evils, the communion of both kinds was abandoned; however, in such a way that it was left to the deliberation of others to take the sacrament in the way they wanted—under the one or both kinds. So those who do have greater devotion would keep the sacrament in greater reverence.51 The main argument is that communion under both kinds has never been entirely forbidden but has only been restricted due to various dangers during the service. Písecký wants to defend the chalice for the laypeople, but he does not attack the rite of the Catholic Church. On the contrary, he says that the choice of the mode of receiving the sacrament should be free. It is a very liberal attitude to such an essential sacrament as the Eucharist, the main symbol for Utraquists (often called Calixtines for their reverence of the chalice). Even more striking is that it was the one who received the sacrament who should choose the form of communion and not the priest or his lord or king. This passage points to the way of thinking codified in important legal documents addressing the coexistence of Utraquists and Catholics.52 The statement is even more surprising in the context of the rest of the dialogue. The Master wins the debate in the dialogue when he forces the Monk to admit that he has no arguments against communion sub utraque and cannot even say when exactly the Catholic Church abandoned it. The Monk tries to defend himself by saying that he has not been trained in this type of disputation, so his inability to defend his position properly is somewhat downplayed at 51

52

“že změněnie to nenie velmi staré a že pomálu takto se rozmohlo, že najprv v vlasších v nichž jako i jiné náboženstvie tak i ta svatost velmi hubeně se ctí, některá dála se často při tom nebezpečenstvie, i aby po tom pomálu tomu zlému překaženo bylo, že jest druhá zpuosoba byla zapověděna tak však, aby jiní měli na vuoli přijímati tělo a krev krystovu tak jakž by se jim líbilo totož pod jednú nebo pod obojí zpuosobú. A to ti kteřížby náboženstvie větší měli i mnohem poctivějie se při té svátosti zachovávali.” Velký sborník, fol. 102r–102v. Comp. the original latin passage: “credam immutationem illam esse non perinde antiquam et sensim ita subrepsisse ut apud Italos primum, apud quos cum omnis alia religio, tum hoc sacramentum levissimae venerationis habetur, pericula quaedam increbruerint, paulatim deinde huic malo occurretur interdicto alterius speciei, ita tamen ut arbitrarium illud sit ceteris utrolibet pacto illud adsumere, quibus et devotio maior esset et reverentia in hoc sacramentum multo pronior.” Ryba, “List Václava Píseckého,” 285. Josef Válka, Husitství na Moravě (Brno: Matice Moravská, 2005), 234.

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the end of the conversation.53 If Písecký´s intentions were polemical, it would be logical to present the utter capitulation of the opposing side. Therefore, we can probably conclude that the primary goal of Písecký was not to denounce sub una but to get rid of any objections to sub utraque. By doing so, he also presented the superiority of humanistic argumentation over a scholastic one. Both the conciliatory attitude and the humanistic argumentation were stressed even more in the Czech translation by Řehoř Hrubý of Jelení. Řehoř Hrubý substantially reworked the text of the Bolognian Dispute in his translation. He tried very hard to make the dialogue accessible and easy to read, even for people without humanistic education. He understood this type of dialogue was new to Bohemia. Knowledge of classical antiquity was scant, so he accompanied the text with many marginal notes to make all the classical references in the dialogue easy to understand.54 He also wrote an introduction explaining the main message of the dialogue. At the end of Písecký’s text, Hrubý attached another commentary, enrichening the argumentation in defense of the lay chalice. However, that is not all. Hrubý wanted to put forward a slightly different message from that of Písecký. His main goal was to raise support for the Basel Compactata. For Hrubý, the main problem of coexistence was that the Compactata were not fully implemented. On many occasions, Hrubý stressed that everyone should be free to choose the form of the rite they wanted. In his writings, he goes even further than Písecký; in one of his commentaries to his translation of the famous Praise of the Folly (Chwala Bláznowstwie) by Erasmus, which is part of the same anthology as the Bolognian Dispute, Hrubý made an even bolder statement: O God! Now I speak and exclaim freely and loudly that I would not, even for the whole world, say that all the Nichoaelites, all the Brethren we call Picards, and other sects will be damned for their errors, even though they are both apparent and certain, because I do not know and cannot know, truly and utterly, their will or their hearts in these matters.55

53 54 55

Ryba, “List Václava Píseckého,” 285. Bořek Neškudla, “Řehoř Hrubý z Jelení a takzvaný národní humanismus,” Česká literatura 62, no. 5 (2014): 746. “O bože! Já teď svobodně pravím a vykřikuji, že bych nechtěl, všeho světa vzieti, abych řekl, že všickni mikulášenci, všickni ti bratřie jimiž řiekamy pikharti i jiné roty budú pro bludy své nechť su i zjevní i jistí zatraceni–poněvadž neviem aniž mohu věděti pravé a dokonalé zpuosobu při tom vuole nebo srdce jich.” Velký sborník, 483v.

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Here we can see that Hrubý was thinking about tolerating denominations not included in the Compactata. But, more interestingly, he is willing to do so on the basis of the freedom of conscience. Of course, Řehoř Hrubý of Jelení was not the only one who took into consideration the confessions outside the Compactata, but as I am going to show in the next section, the Utraquist attitude to minority groups such as Brethren was more complicated and continuously changing. 4

Mikuláš Konáč of Hodíškov (1480–1546) and His Picard Dialogues

Mikuláš Konáč was a Prague burgher, administrator, writer, translator, and printer. He was very active in Prague’s politics and a dedicated defender of Utraquism, which is also reflected in his work as a writer and printer.56 Here I address only two of his works. Both are dialogues concerned with issues of religious coexistence in Bohemia. Despite many common elements and arguments, the dialogues differ in their attitude to coexistence: the first one, Rozmlúvanie,57 inclines to a broadly conceived notion of religious toleration, and the second one, Dialogus,58 seems to be more polemical regarding the Bohemian Brethren. Scholars usually consider this a radical change of his position caused by troubles after publishing his first dialogue.59 After a brief description of both dialogues, I will try to provide some remarks on whether, why, and how Konáč changed his attitude to religious toleration. In his first dialogue, Rozmlúvanie (1511), Konáč introduces four different characters—the Bohemian, the Roman, the Picard, and the Sage. All of them discuss different religious issues. The first debate is between the Bohemian and the Roman. They are debating differences in their doctrine: the communion from the chalice for laypeople, Czech singing during the mass, purgatory, veneration of saints, holy water, veneration of images, and free preaching of 56 57 58 59

Ota Halama, “Mikuláš Konáč of Hodiškov as a Conservative Utraquist,” trans. Zdeněk V. David, The Bohemian Reformation and Religious Practice 10 (2015): 308–17, http://www .brrp.org/proceedings/brrp10/halama.pdf. Mikuláš Konáč z Hodíškova, “Rozmlúvaníe o vieře, neméně užitečné jako kratochvilné, v kterémžto Římenín, Čech, Pikart a Mudřec společně rozmlúvají,” in Pikartské dialogy, 43–69. Mikuláš Konáč z Hodíškova, “Dialogus, v kterémž Čech s pikartem rozmlúvá, že sú se bratří valdenští všetečně a škodlivě od obú stran oddělili,” in Pikartské dialogy, 71–122. Milan Kopecký, Literární dílo Mikuláše Konáče z Hodíškova: příspěvky k poznání české literatury v období renesance (Praha: Státní Pedagogické Nakladatelství, 1962), 56; Eduardo Fernando Couceiro, Utrakvistický Humanismus Mikuláše Konáče z Hodíškova (Praha: Togga 2011), 57–59; Petr Voit, “Mikuláš Konáč z Hodíškova—inspirace k úvahám o humanism,” Česká literatura 63, no. 1 (2015): 8–9; Halama, Pikartské dialogy, 14–15.

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the word of God—all traditional topics of polemics between Utraquists and Catholics.60 Surprisingly, speakers easily find common ground on basically every discussed issue. The most problematic areas are monastic life and the communion of infants, but these topics are quickly passed by in the discussion. Both the Roman and the Bohemian agree that there are no reasons why they should argue and cruelly kill each other if they follow the principles they have agreed upon in the discussion.61 Things become more complicated when the third character enters the discussion—the Picard. First, there is a short argument on whether he should be admitted to the discussion at all. After the Bohemian argues for the benefits of free discussion, the Picard is allowed to join them because they want to “nicely dispose of the ruffian.”62 When asked whether he agrees with the Bohemian or the Roman, the Picard answers that he is far from both, because he follows the primitive Church (the church before the Donation of Constantine). He proclaims that his faith is based on the love that precedes all other virtues. He also denounces property as the source of all evil in the church.63 However, his ideas are not accepted by the others. The Roman says that Picard’s faith is too strict and pessimistic and that he does not want to hear about it anymore. The Bohemian agrees with the Roman, but his attitude to the Picard is much less hostile, and he dismisses him with an apology, saying there is no time for further discussion.64 The Sage (Mudřec) enters the debate as the last. This character is much more baffling than the others, who can be easily identified as members of three confessions—Utraquism, Catholicism, and the Bohemian Brethren. The Sage represents a character of a different kind. Because he is described only as a man learned in “Latin, Czech, or Greek,”65 it is plausible to consider him an allegorical representative of humanist learning. More importantly, it is the Sage who pronounces the most open-minded statements in the dialogue. Not only does he approve of the thesis about the importance of the law of love, but he also makes irenicism the most important theme of his speech.66 His 60 61 62 63 64 65 66

Halama, “Mikuláš Konáč,” 309–10. “Nevím, proč se hadrujemy/A ukrutně kordujemy?”, Mikuláš Konáč z Hodíškova, “Rozmlúvaníe o vieře,” 55. “Pěkně lotra odbyti,” ibid., 57. Ibid., 61. Ibid., 63. “Latiník, Čech anebo Řek.” Ibid., 64. “Ty věř, jakž chceš koli sobě, / Pravímť ještě v pravdě tobě, / Že bez gruntu spravedlnosti, / z kteréž plynú všecky ctnosti, / velmě nejistú vieru máš / a na trest křehkú vzpoléháš. / Bez zákona přirozeného, / neplníš ani vydaného / Spasitelem, Pánem Kristem / srovnáváš se s Antikristem” [You believe as you wish, / I tell you in truth, / without the justice / from which comes all virtue /your faith is uncertain / and you rely on punishment. / Without

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statements repeat the idea from the foreword of the text denouncing the use of force in the matters of religious beliefs: Because there is nothing more liberal and free than faith and service to God, gravely mistaken is anyone who is forcing His servants to the faith by jailing, exiling, and spilling of blood, for it cannot be defended by name-calling, hair pulling and cruel killing because the faith is the greatest of virtues and a special gift from God. It should be defended not by evil, but good; not by arguing, but by discussion and healthy learning; not by killing but tolerating.67 It is a strong advocation of religious toleration. However, Konáč was aware of the idealistic nature of this assertion. Therefore, he contrasted it with the real situation described only a couple of lines later: But it is the way of present times that by the will of God there are amongst Christians (and especially in Bohemia) many different faiths or rather sects. Every one of them, led by the same tradition and custom, rejects the others, dishonors them, and pushes them to Hell.68 Konáč was not a naive idealist who could not distinguish between ethical ideals and practical politics. Nor was he proposing a concrete plan or ideas to be implemented. Instead, he used his idealistic statements as a moral appeal to his contemporaries.69 Konáč urged his readers to reconsider their attitudes— he wanted to move them to concord and love.70 The foreword also hints at the reason for rejection of the ideas presented by the Picard and the Sage—they

67

68 69 70

the natural law / you cannot abide the one / from our Savior, Lord Christ / you do as an Antichrist], ibid., 68–69. “Poněvadž by nic dobrovolnějšího a nic svobodnějšího nebylo jako víra a Boží služba, nemáloť se tehdy mýlí všickni, kteříž bezděčné služebníky Bohu jednati usilují a k vířťe žalařováním, vypovídáním i krve proléváním nutie, neb jie haněním, za vlasy smýkáním a ukrutným mordováním obraňují, ješto viera, ctnost výborná a zvláštní dar Boží, ne zlým, ale dobrým, ne hadrováním, ale napomínáním a zdravým učením, ne mordováním, ale trpením má obraňována býti.” Ibid., 45. “Ale že obyčej již těchto časuo dopuštěním božským mezi křesťany (a zvláště v Čechách) rozličné víry aneb raději sekty jest býti. Z nichž jedna každá, týmž obyčejem a navyklostí vedena jsúci, druhú zamítá, tupí a až do pekla potlačuje.” Ibid., 45–46. Romauld I. Lakowski, “Sir Thomas More and the Art of Dialogue” (PhD diss., University of British Columbia, 1993), 78–82. “K lásce již po hrozných nenávistech některými aspoň pohnú, naději se.” [I hope to move at least some of them from terrible hate to love.] Mikuláš Konáč z Hodíškova, “Rozmlúvanie o vieře,” 46.

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are not entirely wrong but simply too idealistic and impossible to attain (the Sage) or way too radical (the Picard). The ambivalent attitude to the Bohemian Brethren is even more apparent in Konáč’s second work: Dialogus (1515). Its foreword also provides crucial information for the interpretation of the text. Konáč explains that he struggles for concord, unity, and peace in Bohemia. It might seem that his goal is the same as in the Rozmlúvanie. But there is one important difference—he names the main cause of discord in Bohemia: the Bohemian Brethren. The Dialogus is more straightforward than Rozmlúvanie. Konáč presents only two characters— the Picard and the Bohemian. This time the narrative is not as idealistic as in the Rozmlúvanie. The Dialogus has a realistic narrative setting—the characters meet before a church on a feast day. The Picard immediately attacks the Bohemian and derides the appearance of his church. Reluctantly, the Bohemian must defend his faith. The conversation topics are more or less the same as in the Rozmlúvanie—communion for laypeople, veneration of images, nature of the early Church, and interpretation of the Bible. However, the tone of the discussion differs significantly from the Rozmlúvanie. The Dialogus is much more polemical; various insults and derisions directly attack the Picard. He is portrayed as stubborn, stiff-headed, proud, and hypocritical.71 He is even compared to a Jew.72 The Picards are depicted as an obstacle to the common good and prosperity of the country.73 Konáč is especially concerned with the Basel Compactata.74 The presence of Picards complicates the recognition of the Compactata and reconciliation of Bohemia and Rome. At the end of the dialogue, there is a change in the tone of the discussion. Out of nowhere, the Picard seems to be inclined to conversion: I have to speak shortly and plainly on the matter (despite [the fact] that Brethren are hiding this). Only if both of you were truly unified and would speak with one voice, then it would not be necessary for us to think too much; and for you to reprimand us so many times or force us to leave our Waldensian sect and join you.75 71 72 73 74 75

See Mikuláš Konáč z Hodíškova, “Dialogus,” 79 and 86. Ibid., 92. The comparison to a Jew as a way of derision is used also in Rozmlúvanie. It reminds us of another limit of Bohemian toleration—it did not change the sentiments against Jews. Ibid., 93. Ibid., 80–81. “Jáť toto k tomu opět sprostně a krátce povím a pověděti (ač toho bratří tají) musím. Když vy se jediné spolu srovnáte a jakož jsem řekl, za jedno budete, nebudeť vám potřebí na to mnoho mysliti, ani nás mnohým napomínáním neb mocí k tomu nutiti, abychom valdenské té své roty nechajíce, k vám přistúpili.” Ibid., 96.

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Nevertheless, the Picard remains unconvinced and does not convert. Despite that, he is left to go away freely and with wishes of good luck—another use of the contrast between the proclaimed ideal and political reality. The Dialogus is less concerned with individual ethics and puts forward the well-being of the kingdom. Religious toleration is not seen as a value in itself; it only serves the higher principle: the common good.76 Konáč does not seem to mind that the common good is a pragmatic political idea—quite the contrary.77 Now we can go back to the question of the change in Konáč´s attitude to coexistence. The continuity of ideas and arguments in both dialogues discards the possibility of a radical change in Konáč’s worldview, so the reason has to be connected directly to the Brethren. Konáč stated his reasons for the harsher attitude to the Brethren quite explicitly. For example, the Bohemian says to the Picard: Don’t we have a reason to disgrace you, to push you away, to not give you any place and station here? It is because you do so [practice faith—JČ] openly. And not only in your congregations, but you are also printing it freely in both languages, Latin and Czech, and thus put the illustrious Kingdom of Bohemia and Margrave of Moravia into dishonesty and doom.78

76

77

78

Both the moralism and efforts for the common good are quite typical topics for political thinking in renaissance, see Quentin Skinner, The Foundations of Modern Political Thought, vol. 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978), 70. For the role of the common good in Bohemia see Winfried Eberhard “Zur Religionsproblematik in der böhmischen Landesverfassung der Reformationepoche,” in Vladislavské zřízení zemské a počátky ústavního zřízení v českých zemích (1500–1619), ed. Jaroslav Pánek, Dalibor Janiš and Karel Malý (Praha: Historický ústav Akademie věd České republiky, 2001), 85–100. “Že prvotně pro opatrování vlasti, přátel a potom tepruv sami pro se narozeni jsmy, Plato, Cicero i jiní praví” [We are born firstly for taking care of our country, friends, and after them for taking care of ourselves, as Plato, Cicero and others say], in Mikuláš Konáč z Hodíškova, “Dialogus,” 93. “I zdaliž není proč vás potupovati, vás hnáti, místa a stanoviště žádného nedati? Poněvadž to zjevně činíte. A netoliko to po svých zbořích bájete, ale obojí řečí, i latinskú i českú, svobodně tlačíte k veliké potupě, ano i k zkáze slavného Království českého a Margrabství moravského,” ibid., 77. We can see that Konáč was also using a differentiation between private and public worship. Even though his motivation and formulation were not strictly legalistic and more pragmatical than the ones described in the chapter of Voigt-Goy in this book, Konáč also used the differentiation to establish (or rather explain) the toleration of Brethren in Bohemia, see Voigt-Goy “Private,” “Public,” and “Domestic” in this volume.

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Konáč is bothered that the Brethren’s Apologia Sacre scripture (1511) had been published and distributed across the borders of the Bohemian kingdom. By doing so, the Bohemian Brethren had damaged the image of concord and openly revealed the existence of confessions outside the Compactata in Bohemia. The Compactata were crucial for both the reunion with Rome and lasting peace in the kingdom. Konáč was willing to tolerate the Brethren only as long as they did not impede social order and the common good.79 For the sake of the common good, toleration might even be replaced by persecution. When the Brethren broke the rules of “tacit toleration,” he strictly rejected their actions.80 However, even in the second dialogue, Konáč was against the use of force in religious matters. The harshest measure mentioned is the possibility of exile.81 The dialogues by Mikuláš Konáč of Hodíškov can serve as a good reminder of the fact that religious toleration of the period was always limited to some extent. His dialogues also present another example of the importance of taking the historical context into our accounts. The story of the development of the idea of religious toleration is not a straightforward tale of progress toward a more irenic, open, and tolerant attitude. On the contrary, personal experiences and political circumstances often had a radical impact on the ideas and the ways of presenting them. 5

Literary Dialogues in the Bohemian Reformation

It would be wrong to think that the literary discourse was full of appeals for toleration and irenicism. The Catholic and Utraquist priests were continuously attacking the doctrine of other confessions, and the literature was dominated by polemical and apologetic writings making the same arguments repeatedly. The dialogues might serve as an alternative medium for authors addressing the 79

80

81

“Myť vás ku potupě své a zkažení vlasti fedrovati, opatrovati a zastávati netoliko nebudemy, ale proti vám jistě (jediné, leč sobě včas usmyslíte) jednostájně s Římany budemy” [Not only that we won’t protect, guard and defend you to our disrepute and decline of the country, but we (unless you do change your mind in time) will be against you alongside Romans], ibid., 97. This was quite a common phenomenon in reformation Europe. Scott C. Dixon, Dagmar Freist, and Mark Greengrass, eds., Living with Religious Diversity in Early-Modern Europe (Farnham: Ashgate Publishing, 2009), 2. Some scholars even proposed that we should consider toleration rather as a specific attitude to the persecution, Alexandra Walsham, “Toleration, Pluralism, and Coexistence: The Ambivalent Legacies of the Reformation,” Archiv fur Reformationsgeschichte 108, (2017): 183. Mikuláš Konáč z Hodíškova, “Dialogus,” 77.

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issues of religious coexistence.82 The genre presented many advantages for the development of the idea of toleration.83 Literary dialogues had already been used during the Hussite Wars—they could spread the ideas beyond the typical recipients of polemical tractates because they were more accessible to the common people.84 The Bohemian Reformation dialogues present many different motives, ideas, and arguments for defending toleration. It is difficult to find any dominant idea or argument in them.85 Nevertheless, there are some recurring ideas, especially the endeavor to uphold the common good (even though this term denoted different things for different authors), the emphasis on natural reason or natural law, the idea that faith is “a free gift of God,” the emphasis on the message of love in Christianity,86 and use of the discrepancy between the ideal and reality as a tool for moral reconsideration.87 However, the most important motive is undoubtedly pacifism. The abhorrence of forced conversions and religious wars is the most important common link between authors. It was motivated by the memory of the terror of religious warfare. The innovation was not in the formulation of new ideas or arguments but in the use of the dialogical genre itself. The authors departed in several ways from the traditional form of Bohemian dialogues. They extensively reshaped the form and purpose of the genre by applying various innovations, particularly elements of the humanistic sermo and Socratic dialogue. They knew that their texts could present difficulties for their readers. Therefore, Rabštejn felt a need to explain to the reader omission of the introductory phrases to the

82 83 84

85 86 87

Halford, ‘Of Dialogue,’ 58. Jan Červenka, Literární dialogy a tolerance v české reformaci (Olomouc: Vydavatelství FF UP, 2022), 60–65. Petr Čornej, “Husitské skladby Budyšínského rukopisu: funkce-adresát-kulturní rámec,” Česká literatura 56, no. 3 (2008): 301–44; Jan Červenka, “Hranice mezi polemikou a dialogem na příkladu literárních sporů 15. století,” Studia Comeniana et Historica 47 (2017): 181–97. John Christian Laursen and Cary Nederman, eds., Beyond the Persecuting Society: Religious Toleration Before the Enlightenment (University Park: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011), 3. Noemi Rejchrtová, “Příspěvek k diskusi o ‘koexistenci či toleranci’ náboženských vyznání v 15.–17. století,” Folia Historica Bohemica 15 (1991): 60–68. Nina Chordas, “Dialogue, Utopia and the Agencies of Fiction,” in Printed Voices: The Renaissance Culture of Dialogue, ed. Jean-François Vallée and Dorothea B. Heitsch (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2004), 29–41. In milieu of late Utraquism Radim Červenka “The Concept of Original Sin in the Cultural and Social Context of Late Utraquism and the Reformation,” trans. Zdeněk V. David, The Bohemian Reformation and Religious Practice 11 (2018): 191.

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speeches.88 Konáč considered it necessary to express the hope that his reader would understand his words in the right sense.89 Písecký reminded Michal of Stráž that in dialogues, nothing should be taken in a dogmatic way.90 His translator, Řehoř Hrubý, felt a need to explain that Písecký had not written everything exactly as in the real conversation in Bologna.91 Hrubý also considered it necessary to add the marginal notes explaining the specifics of Socratic dialogue.92 The interpretation of the dialogues presents difficulties for modern scholars too. One of them is the question of the veracity of the presented views. Can we believe that authors represented disparaging views honestly and realistically? Another problem is the question of authorial position—do authors present their opinions fully by the “mouthpiece” character?93 If so, which one is it? Sometimes, it seems clear enough. For example, Rabštejn and Písecký use their own alter egos as characters. Konáč’s Rozmlúvanie is more complicated. It might be tempting to say that the mouthpiece is the Bohemian (because he represents Utraquism) or the Sage (the most learned character), but we must seriously consider the possibility that Konáč’s personal opinion did not fully adhere to any character. Even if we can find the mouthpiece, there are still other questions. Rabštejn’s Dialogus has a very complicated narrative structure mixing polemical attacks with theoretical debates and has a puzzling conclusion that seems to reject previously accepted arguments. Is the conclusion only a pragmatical proposal in line with the prevailing opinion, or is Rabštejn honestly admitting that all arguments, no matter how reasonable, have to be put aside for obedience to the pope? The questions mentioned here are an important reminder that to understand the dialogues, we must take their narrative structure into consideration.

88 89 90 91 92

93

“Ne autem ‘inquam’ et ‘inquit’ sepius interseratur, me ipsum et omnes coram loquentes adducemus” Jan z Rabštejna, Dialogus, 18. Mikuláš Konáč z Hodíškova, “Rozmlúvanie,” 46. Ryba, “List Václava Píseckého,” 440. Emil Pražák, Řehoř Hrubý z Jelení (Praha: Svobodné slovo, 1964), 134. “Hlediž jakt mníška zjede a jak ho maudře a duovodně zavře a tiem k tomu jej čemuž jest odpieral přivede.” [Look how he rides over the monk and how he reasonably and wisely deduced it and thus leads the monk to the statement he has rejected before.] Velký sborník, fol. 95v. David Wolfsdorf, “Plato and the mouth-piece theory,” Ancient Philosophy 19, special issue (1998): 13–24. Marisa Diaz-Waian and Angelo J. Corlett, “Kraut and Annas on Plato: Why Mouthpiece Interpreters are Stuck in the Cave,” Epoché: A Journal for the History of Philosophy 16, no. 2 (2012): 157–95; Miriam Byrd, “The summoner approach: A new method of Plato interpretation,” Journal of the History of Philosophy 45, no. 3 (2007): 365–81.

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It is also important to pay attention to the concrete historical circumstances of their creation, especially the authors’ intentions and the reception of their texts. If we look at the fate of the authors, we have to admit that their efforts were mostly unsuccessful. The texts did not achieve wide circulation. Their authors did not fare much better. Jan of Rabštejn was unable to sustain his neutral stance in the conflict. Under the threat of excommunication, he pledged himself to the service of Matthias Corvinus. Písecký died soon after he wrote his dialogue, and we do not know if he managed to convince Michal of Stráž not to convert to Catholicism. The efforts of Řehoř Hrubý and Konáč to unify Utraquists with Romans through the confirmation of the Compactata were also unsuccessful. Konáč was imprisoned for his activities, although it is unclear whether it was because of his dialogues or other works. The practical outcomes of dialogues were limited, but the importance of the dialogues is not in their immediate impact but in the fact that they present an innovative attempt to defend religious toleration as a theoretical idea. 6

Conclusion

The religious coexistence of Catholics and Utraquists had a solid legal grounding in Bohemia. However, the religious toleration often went far beyond the legal measures—we can see important nobles making interconfessional marriages, allowing illegal confessions to settle on their lands, or closely collaborating with their religious opponents. Despite this generally tolerant attitude, occasional persecution of minorities (for example, the Bohemian Brethren) was not uncommon in the Bohemian lands. However, the legal prescriptions were not enough; the establishment of religious toleration needed to get roots in the political discourse. For several reasons, the literary dialogues were seen as an optimal medium for the ideological defense of toleration. By studying them, it is possible to shed light on some important aspects of the nature of religious coexistence in Bohemia. The attitudes of different strata of society toward the confessional situation in Bohemia were far from uniform. When addressing religious issues, Bohemian society was divided and full of conflicts. The authors of the dialogues knew that different parts of society had very different views on the problem and reflected it in the formulation of their arguments. The estates were the main political power behind coexistence. Rabštejn, Konáč, and Hrubý therefore often used pragmatical, political, and economic arguments appealing to the representatives of the estates. For noblemen, the common good, prosperity of the country, and preservation of peace were far more important than theological controversies. That is not to say that the

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nobles were indifferent or uninterested in religious issues. They were just wary of the intermingling of the religious and secular spheres of power.94 Religious opinions should not interfere with their political ambitions. The idea of the separation of secular politics and religion was becoming increasingly prominent. This is best evident in Rabštejn’s Dialogus—without the separation of the two powers, there would be no possibility of being neutral in the conflict between the Roman Church and King George. In stark contrast is the interest of the authors in the role of the monarchs in establishing religious coexistence. In the dialogues, they play only a marginal role or are entirely absent from the discussion. This reflects both a low level of interest among the kings in religious matters and their relatively small power to influence the religious landscape of Bohemia. The few attempts of Catholic kings to tip the balance in favor of the Roman party were unsuccessful and ultimately led only to the acknowledgement of the prime role of estates in religious matters. Even Rabštejn, who devoted quite a lot of space to explaining how the “heretical” King George got his throne, is not much concerned with what the king should do. Instead, Rabštejn presented the question of religious coexistence as a task for the nobility and learned men. Konáč dedicated his dialogue to King Vladislaus, but the king here serves as a symbolical representative of the country, not the intended reader of the dialogue. Dialogus was printed in Czech and meant for a wider readership of Utraquist sensibilities.95 The clergymen on both sides were quite naturally dissatisfied with the situation and were keen to fight for their faith. The authors of dialogues often reprimand the priests for dividing the nation and stirring up the controversy. Rabštejn even criticizes fellow Catholic priests, namely Hilarious of Litoměřice, for supporting the war.96 Konáč also accuses “unruly” priests of disturbing the unity between Utraquists and Catholics.97 However, priests are not depicted as an important obstacle to coexistence. The clergy had a difficult time accepting the other confessions, but their political and economic power was severely restricted. The literary dialogues also remind us that religious toleration in Bohemia was limited. None of the authors was pleading for universal religious toleration. The law tolerated only the two main confessions, Utraquism and Catholicism. The attitude toward the Bohemian Brethren changed with the political 94

95 96 97

Josef Válka, “Tolerance or Co-Existence? Relations between Religious Groups from the Fifteenth to Seventeenth Centuries,” in Between Lipany and White Mountain: Essays in Late Medieval and Early Modern Bohemian History in Modern Czech Scholarship, ed. James R. Palmitessa (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 182–96. Voit, “Mikuláš Konáč z Hodíškova,” 14–16. Jana z Rabštejna Dialogus, 76. Mikuláš Konáč z Hodíškova, “Rozmlúvanie,” 53; ibid., “Dialogus,” 96.

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situation from tacit toleration to unenthusiastic and inefficient persecution. The change, as well as the motivation for it, is well documented in Konáč’s dialogues. Most of the time, the Bohemian Brethren were tacitly accepted even though mainstream society did not agree with them, which is the attitude reflected in the Rozmlúvanie. However, negotiations with Rome about the reunification were regularly accompanied by intensive polemical attacks on Brethren. It was important to show that the Compactata were to be rigorously followed and that there was no place for any heretical opinions in Bohemia. The persecution was motivated primarily by political, not ideological, reasons. This attitude is best exemplified in Konáč’s critique of the Brethren in the Dialogus. He is not criticizing their religious ideas but their public presentation of the Apologia that threatened the ratification of the Compactata. The dialogues also remind us that toleration was not the main goal of the thinkers. Toleration is viewed as necessary, maybe even useful, but not as an optimal state of affairs. It was only a requirement for more important values such as peace, concord, and the common good. They were willing to tolerate others only as long as it would not cause more trouble than benefits. The goal of dialogues was not to promote diversity but to provide a space for a discussion that could lead to reunification, peace, and concord. According to Rabštejn, free discussion is a better way of persuading opponents than war and persecution, and he was willing to tolerate Utraquists for the sake of the kingdom. Konáč presents a space where the religious differences could be discussed peacefully, but his goal is to establish concord. Písecký tries to prove that the doctrine of communion in both kinds was never forbidden, only forgotten, and so the Utraquists have always been a part of the Catholic Church. What the authors were seeking was not plurality but the renewal of unity. However, that is not the same thing as the complete uniformity of opinions or doctrines. They knew some differences were inevitable. Moreover, the differences were not only in marginal matters but in the Eucharistic sacrament, which was seen as essential. The authors realized that doctrinal unity is unnecessary for political concord. Therefore, they were looking for the authorities and arguments that would allow them to separate the secular and spiritual realms of power. They were closer to medieval thinkers such as Marsilius of Padova and William of Ockham than humanists such as Erasmus.98 This conservative, backward-looking orientation stems from the medieval roots of Utraquism. It also betrays strong interconnections with the arguments present 98

There is no comprehensive study of their influence in Bohemia but on their influence is noted by František M. Bartoš, “Marsiliuv Defensor Pacis v husitské literatuře,” Časopis Matice moravské 102 (1928): 13–26.

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in the political forum of the day. The authors of dialogues were not seeking to advance the cause of religious toleration; rather, they were trying to provide arguments for coexistence that had been already established by political means. It is possible to say that the social practice of coexistence preceded theoretical reflection in the Bohemian kingdom.99 Despite all the limitations, setbacks, and complications, the coexistence of two confessions had a profound impact on the confessional culture of the Bohemian kingdom. Although the acceptance of Protestant churches in other countries was often accompanied by long periods of persecution and religious wars, the sixteenth-century Bohemian kingdom dealt with the Protestant Reformation relatively peacefully. Not only Lutherans but also radicals spurned anywhere else, such as Anabaptists, were accepted.100 The relatively peaceful reception of Protestant churches stemmed from the environment of religious coexistence guaranteed by legal measures. Because of it, Lutherans and members of various other denominations were able to present themselves as a part of the Utraquist Church and to enjoy the same legal protection. This legal fiction was possible only thanks to the establishment of the idea of toleration in the political discourse. Bibliography

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František Šmahel, “Pax externa et interna: Vom Heiligen Krieg zur Erzwungenen Toleranz im hussitischen Böhmen (1419–1485),” Vorträge und Forschungen 45 (1998): 221–73. 100 Jaroslav Pánek, “Moravští novokřtěnci. Společenské a politické postavení předbělohorských heretiků, sociálních reformátorů a pacifistů,” Český časopis historický 92, no. 2 (1994): 242–56.

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Chapter 7

Dantiscus from Augsburg (1530) to Regensburg (1541): Authority, Toleration, and Orthodoxy in the Roman Church Bryan D. Kozik | ORCID: 0000-0002-8003-5814 1

Introduction

When Johannes Dantiscus (Jan Dantyszek) attended the Diet of Augsburg in 1530 as the newly nominated bishop of Chełmno (Culm in Royal Prussia) and an ambassador of King Sigismund I of Poland,1 his priority for resolving the conflicts rending Western Christianity was to impose universal obedience to the religious authority—in this case, the power and influence2—of the Roman Church and its pious princes.3 He acknowledged the need for reform within the Church, advocated for inclusive discussion and negotiation, and privileged broad humanistic approaches, but ultimately he thought that the best remedy for Christendom’s current ailments would be the reformers’ unmitigated submission to the mandates of traditional, established institutions, both ecclesiastical and civil. More than a decade later, when Dantiscus monitored from Prussia the deliberations of the Diets of Hagenau, Worms, and Regensburg in 1540–41 as prince-bishop of Warmia (Ermland),4 his priority instead was to 1 Sigismund I Jagiellon to Ioannes Dantiscus, May 5, 1530, Cracow, IDL 490, “Registration and Publication of Ioannes Dantiscus’ Correspondence (1485–1548),” Corpus of Ioannes Dantiscus’ Texts & Correspondence, http://dantiscus.al.uw.edu.pl/. 2 Lu Ann Homza, Religious Authority in the Spanish Renaissance (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2000), xxi. 3 For the broader context and goals of the Reichstag, see: Thomas A. Brady Jr., German Histories in the Age of Reformations, 1400–1650 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 213–20; Joachim Whaley, Germany and the Holy Roman Empire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), vol. 1, 298–300; Diarmaid MacCulloch, The Reformation: A History (New York: Viking, 2003), 158–74. 4 Cornelis de Schepper to Ioannes Dantiscus, August 18, 1540, Vienna, IDL 2334; Jakob von Barthen to Ioannes Dantiscus, November 20, 1540, Gdańsk, IDL 2359; Ioannes Dantiscus to Cornelis de Schepper, January 10, 1541, Lidzbark Warmiński, IDL 2268; Nicolas Perrenot de Granvelle to Ioannes Dantiscus, March 8, 1541, Regensburg, IDL 2398; Ioannes Dantiscus to Nicolas Perrenot de Granvelle, April 1, 1541, Lidzbark Warmiński, IDL 5374; Cornelis de Schepper to Ioannes Dantiscus, April 12, 1541, Binche, IDL 2413; Cornelis de Schepper to Ioannes Dantiscus, June 12, 1541, Brussels, IDL 2434.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004527447_009

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convince all Christians fraternally to embrace a compelling, universal orthodoxy. Already he was undertaking internal Church reform in his dioceses,5 and he encouraged interconfessional dialogue, exchange, and coordination even more adamantly, but above all he desired all Christians to adopt harmoniously the same orthodox teachings, beliefs, practices, and behaviors. He meant, of course, those espoused by the Roman Church, but not merely because they were espoused by the Church, rather because they were true and just. This shift of emphasis from authority to orthodoxy is nuanced and in part semantic. It is nonetheless revealing and important, especially with regards to how views of “religion” were shifting in Western Christendom during the first half of the sixteenth century. One might assume that for Dantiscus, this shift was a mere result of his growing episcopal familiarity and intimacy with specific teachings, beliefs, practices, and behaviors of the Roman Church. Or given the complex, contested, multi-confessional environment of Prussia in which he actively served in residence as a bishop—not to be taken for granted in early modern Europe—one might expect that it reflected his extensive and illuminating direct contact with different reformers and reforming groups, which included Lutherans, Mennonites, “sacramentarians,” and others.6 Both factors were influential, neither definitive. Rather, Dantiscus’s shift of emphasis was informed predominantly from abroad by his frequent, numerous, diverse, and stimulating exchanges with influential foreign contacts, both Catholic and Protestant. It was not so much pragmatic as it was theoretical. After ten years as a reforming bishop plugged into a vibrant, transnational, and trans-confessional network of scholars, politicians, prelates, and reformers, Dantiscus came to believe in the dire need for universal, conscientious gravitation toward a single Christian—for him, Roman Catholic—orthodoxy. For Dantiscus, such an orthodoxy should be defined not by its mean or median location on the ever-diversifying spectrum of Christian beliefs and practices, 5 Inge Brigitte Müller-Blessing, “Johannes Dantiscus von Höfen, ein Diplomat und Bischof zwischen Humanismus und Reformation (1485–1548),” Zeitschrift für die Reformationsgeschichte und Altertumskunde Ermlands 31/32 (1967/68): 171–200; Zbigniew Nowak, Jan Dantyszek: portret renesansowego humanisty (Wrocław: Ossolineum, 1982), 165–79; Bryan D. Kozik, “‘To resurrect the collapsed religion’: Dantiscus as a Key to Catholic Reform in Central Europe,” Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 112 (2021): 149–179. 6 Udo Arnold, “Luther und Danzig,” Zeitschrift für Ostforschung 21 (1972): 94–121; Marian Biskup, “O początkach reformacji luterańskiej w Prusach Królewskich,” Kwartalnik Historyczny 100 (1993): 101–12: Peter J. Klassen, Mennonites in Early Modern Poland & Prussia (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2009); Natalia Nowakowska, King Sigismund of Poland and Martin Luther (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018); Maciej Ptaszyński, Reformacja w Polsce a dziedzictwo Erazma z Rotterdamu (Warszawa: Wydawnictwa Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, 2018).

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nor merely by the claim to Apostolic Authority of the Roman Pontiff, but rather by its theological merits. It would need to foster agreement and peace among all Christians, naturally, but also it would need to clearly delimit, regulate, and unify their teachings, beliefs, practices, and behaviors based on truth rather than expediency. This essay examines how Dantiscus’s experiences and relationships abroad as a bishop informed his shift of emphasis for solving confessional pluralism, from proclaiming the Roman Church’s unassailable authority in 1530 to advocating for the thoughtful acceptance of a universal Roman orthodoxy in 1541. After a brief overview of how an analysis of Dantiscus’s perspective can contribute to modern historiographical debates, this essay focuses on the first ten years of his episcopacy, which encompassed this shift, bookended by the famous Diet of Augsburg and Colloquy of Regensburg. His commen­­taries on these two ecumenical gatherings serve as useful representations of his perspectives at the beginning and end of the decade, respectively. During the interim, Dantiscus’s most influential activities were participating in the confessionalization of humanism in the Low Countries, maintaining correspondence with the leading religious and political leaders of the early Reformations, and monitoring the development of Protestant reform in different settings across Latin Christendom. Dantiscus’s writing, whether in literature, policy, or correspondence, hardly ever ventured into deeply theological or ecclesiological genres, and so his shift of emphasis mostly appeared as subtext in his various compositions. Often, however, it was unequivocal if not altogether blatant. For this essay, which focuses on Dantiscus’s foreign experiences and relationships, his correspondence will be the primary source of evidence. 2

Research Question

Despite its subtlety and particular context, Dantiscus’s shift of emphasis from authority to orthodoxy informs important positions in multiple debates in the historiography of sixteenth-century Central Europe. Regarding the literature on Dantiscus himself, it resolves a lingering question in his biography, namely how his views of and approaches to religious reform changed during his career. One aged interpretation posits that several momentous events in Dantiscus’s life inspired a sudden—albeit unspecified—Paul-like conversion from irenic humanist socialite to militant oppressor of Protestants.7 Anna Skolimowska argues, however, that Dantiscus’s general perspective was less variable over 7 Nowak, Jan Dantyszek, 166–79, 186–94.

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time but far more complex in general, involving a constant negotiation of prioritizing fides—total loyalty to earthly and heavenly authorities—and concordia—harmony among Christians—in his purview.8 The most recent scholarship predominantly emphasizes Dantiscus’s role as an Erasmian humanist and conciliatory Church figure amidst an intellectually active but practically idle Polish-Prussian episcopate.9 This essay demonstrates that Dantiscus in fact underwent an important and extended intellectual shift of perspective traceable during the 1530s, the nature of which cuts across and clarifies these various existing interpretations of his approaches to religious pluralism. The shift simultaneously and subsequently informed his episcopal reforming and counter-reforming activity. It was not Paul-like, but it certainly was not static. It reflected all these influences along with several others. In the broader historiography, Dantiscus’s shift of emphasis is pertinent to discussions about the meaning of orthodoxy during the early Reformations, especially in the Polish context. Natalia Nowakowska extensively addresses the topic of orthodoxy in a similar context in her most recent monograph. She posits that in Poland and wider Europe, Christian orthodoxy prior to and during the early Reformations—for her, that is through the late 1530s–essentially meant the broad, universal consensus of Christians, achieved through disputation and discussion rather than the imposition of an authoritative “doctrine,” itself an anachronistic term for that period. She argues that in pre-Tridentine Poland, certain Protestants—for her, vaguely “Lutherans”—were not considered to be outside of that consensus, and therefore they were not intensely persecuted.10 This argument about orthodoxy and the rich supporting historiography falls short, however, of identifying much of anything of substance—i.e. specific teachings, beliefs, practices, behaviors, etc.—at the center of the consensus among medieval Christians and then purportedly among pre-Tridentine Catholic and Lutheran Christians. “Consensus” and by extension “dissent” inherently require objects. Consensus about what? Dissent from what? One proposed object of this intangible consensus orthodoxy is the period’s eclectic body of unspecified creeds and vague references to certain rites and institutes supported by established traditions and confirmed by a lineage of 8 9 10

Anna Skolimowska, “Dantiscus and the Reformers—Preliminary Remarks,” in Respublica Litteraria in Action, ed. Anna Skolimowska (Warsaw: IBI AL, 2012), 181–207, especially 202–3. Howard Louthan, “A Model for Christendom? Erasmus, Poland and the Reformation,” Church History 83 (2014): 18–37; Nowakowska, King Sigismund, 151–169; Ptaszyński, Reformacja w Polsce, 88–89, 93–101, 149–56, 168–70. Nowakowska, King Sigismund, 11–34.

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authorities over many centuries.11 But omitted is the fact that contemporary writers at some level must have been referring to long-agreed-upon truths of specific teachings, beliefs, practices, and behaviors—e.g. the sacrifice of the Mass—rather than a timeless and objectless consensus for the sake of consensus. In the latter case, Christian consensus—and thus orthodoxy as well, for Nowakowska—would have no discernible or reasonable meaning or significance, never mind a soteriological teleology. When Nowakowska’s argument is applied to specific objects of great importance to Christians—e.g. the priesthood, the sacraments, faith and works, the primacy of Scripture—in the 1520s in Poland and elsewhere, it becomes more difficult to accept. Dantiscus’s shift of emphasis during the 1530s is a helpful lens. By various means by 1540, he was indicating specific teachings, beliefs, practices, and behaviors that he believed were at the heart of the ancient Christian consensus and thus Christian orthodoxy. To be more exact, he identified specific teachings, beliefs, practices, and behaviors as heretical and therefore outside of consensus orthodoxy. His accused dissidents were the evangelical reformers, from “Lutherans” to “sacramentarians,” all considered by him to be heretical to different degrees. His language was unmistakable. And yet simultaneously, he engaged with reformers, praised certain Protestant leaders, and promoted a common, negotiated solution to the schism. For bishop Dantiscus in the 1530s, the desired consensus Christian orthodoxy should include Lutherans and other Protestant groups, but nonetheless it would require their acceptance of certain—and increasingly narrowly defined and controversial—teachings, beliefs, practices, and behaviors, because they were true. This was Dantiscus’s desire for Prussia, Poland, and Christendom. It certainly was not the reality in which he lived. Likewise, Dantiscus’s shift of emphasis speaks to our historiographical treatment of authority in the context of the Reformations. Lu Ann Homza explains that sixteenth-century thinkers understood “authority” or auctoritas in two different but inseparable ways, especially within religion: “as opinions, judgments, and advice; and as power, influence, and dignity.” During the early Reformations, evangelical scholars, clergymen, lay reformers, and princes challenged the traditional and predominant authority of the Roman Church in both the former and latter terms. In the former terms—opinions, judgments, and advice—to varying degrees critics questioned the Church’s representativeness of Christ, interpretation of Scripture, and facilitation of the salvation of the faithful. Earlier humanists using the principle ad fontes had come to see interpretive authority and textual authority itself as in great need of questioning. 11

Ibid., 12–13, 22–25.

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Lutherans, Zwinglians, and later Calvinists took up their mantle.12 At least during the first half of his career, Dantiscus also was such a humanist. In his pre-episcopal literary work, he recognized and questioned various intellectual authorities—ancient and contemporary, Christian and pagan—and criticized incongruities between the teaching, reasoning, and behavior of the clergy of the Church.13 In the latter terms—power, influence, and dignity—those same evangelical scholars, clergymen, lay reformers, and princes resisted and repudiated the Roman Church’s financial, political, and ecclesiastical power. In contrast for Dantiscus, though, even before his episcopacy, these rejections were unjustifiably delinquent. Even before joining the clergy, he fiercely guarded and projected the political, ecclesiastical, and moral instructional authority of the Church. That was sacrosanct. Thus prior to 1530, Dantiscus did indeed treat differently the two meanings of authority identified by Homza. Demonstrating their ultimate inseparability, though, Dantiscus’s shift of emphasis during the 1530s, as he became more focused on Christian reform, blurred the distinction. He increasingly promoted and urged upon his peers a clear Catholic orthodoxy based squarely on the Church’s specific, justified, and fruitful opinions and judgments, and upheld righteously by the Church’s power and influence. Dantiscus came to think that Catholic teachings, beliefs, practices, and behaviors were truthful and authoritative because of the reasoning and integrity of the Roman Church’s interpretation, not merely because the Church was doing the interpreting. Dantiscus’s shift of perspective also serves to challenge modern treatments of irenicism, which increasingly and fruitfully have demonstrated the great complexity of this concept. Alexander Schunka, later in this volume, highlights the unceasing efforts of early modern irenicists—whose objective ostensibly was a genuine “peace” among Western Christians—to construct a universal, unified faith based on a potential combination of common theology, doctrine, liturgy, ecclesiological foundation, or denominational basis. He also points out, however, that “most irenic plans failed … often because of political issues.” Schunka further distinguishes “irenic discourses and activities” from “interfaith dialogue,” which is a crucial distinction for any study of the period.14 12 13

14

Homza, Religious Authority, xxi. Ioannes Dantiscus, Carmina, ed. Stanislaus Skimina (Cracow: Sumptibus Polonicae Academiae Litterarum et Scientiarum, 1950), 4–27 (De virtutis et fortunae differentia somnium), 43–56 (Ad iuventutem), 140–59 (De nostrorum temporum calamitatibus silva); Mikołaj Kamiński, “Jan Dantyszek—Człowiek i Pisarz,” Studia Warmińskie 1 (1964): 57–114; Harold B. Segel, Renaissance Culture in Poland: The Rise of Humanism, 1470–1543 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1989), 161–90. See Alexander Schunka’s chapter in this book.

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Along those same lines, the editors of this volume explain how “Although a tolerant approach [to religious difference] was meant to enable dialogue and an exchange of arguments, its ultimate purpose was to restore Christian unity, not to promote a happy world of many religions.” Furthermore, “sixteenth-century toleration associated the question of preserving peace with concern for arriving at the position of a single Christian confession.”15 Although Dantiscus lived, worked, and died somewhat prior to the period traditionally associated with formal irenicism in the context of the Reformations, his own career illustrates these priorities, complexities, and shortcomings of early modern irenicism. By no means was Dantiscus willing to compromise the Roman orthodoxy he espoused by 1540, and only begrudgingly did he “tolerate” adherents to other confessions, and then only when forced. But he certainly reached out to people of conflicting beliefs, communicated deeply and earnestly with them, and attempted to convince them to join a common faith. If Reformations-era irenicism is defined as necessarily resulting in a faith that was Protestant (or accepting certain Protestant principles) or “syncretic,” the nuanced assumptions of which Schunka compellingly examines, or even defined as necessarily being uncritical of other confessions, then surely Dantiscus was no irenicist. More likely he was a practitioner of “interfaith dialogue.” But if period irenicism is defined as seeking and encouraging adherence to a unified or common faith, possibly including that of the Roman Church, then Dantiscus’s actions certainly qualified. By 1540 he dearly wanted to preserve peace by convincing fraternally all Christians to embrace a common faith. That faith just happened to be the Roman option. Dantiscus’s career also is a revealing example of how myriad odd factors influenced the development of irenicism or interfaith dialogue in early modern Central Europe. It demonstrates that an individual figure’s personal experiences and relationships could have a tremendous impact on the negotiation of either multi-confessional coexistence or confessional uniformity in unexpected contexts, from small, local communities to great imperial councils. Dantiscus’s career was a node that critically linked many people, places, events, and movements that otherwise might have been distant or estranged. Through him and his experiences, they all influenced the development and management of religious heterogeneity during the early Reformations, whether it was in the diocese of Chełmno, the province of Royal Prussia, the Kingdom of Poland, the Holy Roman Empire, or even across Latin Christendom.

15

See Maciej Ptaszyński’s chapter in this book.

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Catholic Bishop and Confessional Pluralism

In spring 1530, Johannes Dantiscus was en route to Augsburg during the Reichstag’s official assembly on the vigil of the Feast of Corpus Christi (15 June). He arrived shortly thereafter and witnessed its five-month remainder.16 At that point in his career, he had traveled extensively throughout Central, Western, and Southern Europe, as well as the Eastern Mediterranean, both as a student and as an ambassador the Crown of Poland. His current diplomatic assignment had kept him abroad at the imperial court since 1524. He was well known and generally well received as a courtier, humanist scholar, and socialite, and his eclectic experiences and contacts were matched by few, if any, of his contemporaries. Dantiscus’s official capacity at the Reichstag was as the chief diplomat representing King Sigismund, but on Corpus Christi he received a letter also confirming his nomination as bishop of Chełmno in Royal Prussia.17 Such a position immediately burdened him with a double role in the functioning of the Polish state, as both a member of the high clergy and a senator in the Polish legislative body. A further double role burdened him in Royal Prussia, where he was one of only three bishops as well as a member of the legislative Prussian Council. Thus, he viewed the proceedings of the Diet of Augsburg through both political and ecclesiastical lenses. Most significantly, though, his perspective was informed by his prior discouraging personal encounters with evangelical reform, including traversing lands ravaged by the Knights’ Revolt,18 supporting harsh punishments for evangelical preachers in the Low Countries,19 sharing a meal with Philipp Melanchthon and Martin Luther,20 having his property assaulted and his reputation challenged by rioters in Gdańsk,21 and facing accusations of heresy by the Spanish Inquisition based on his contacts in German lands.22 None of these experiences had left him more sympathetic toward or accommodating of evangelical reform. All of them reinforced his belief in the 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

Sigismund I Jagiellon to Ioannes Dantiscus, May 5, 1530, Cracow, IDL 490; Georg Hegel to Ioannes Dantiscus, May 4, 1530, Cracow, IDL 489; Ioannes Dantiscus to Piotr Tomicki, November 29, 1530, Augsburg, IDL 566. Sigismund I Jagiellon to Ioannes Dantiscus, May 5, 1530, Cracow, IDL 490. Ioannes Danticus to Sigismund I Jagiellon, July 28, 1522, Nuremberg, IDL 157; Ioannes Dantiscus to Sigismund I Jagiellon, September 18, 1522, Antwerp, IDL 163. Ioannes Dantiscus to Piotr Tomicki, September 18, 1522, Antwerp, IDL 164. Ioannes Dantiscus to Piotr Tomicki, August 8, 1523, Cracow, IDL 186. Maciej Drzewicki to Ioannes Dantiscus, March 12, 1524, Gdańsk, IDL 199. Ioannes Dantiscus to Sigismund I Jagiellon, January 10, 1526, Toledo, IDL 276; Ioannes Dantiscus to Bona Sforza, September 1, 1526, Granada, IDL 300; Ioannes Dantiscus to Sigismund I Jagiellon, September 1, 1526, Granada, IDL 301; Ioannes Dantiscus to Sigismund I Jagiellon, October 12, 1526, Granada, IDL 305.

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paramount need for deference to established religious and political authorities. And at this point in his career, his attention to specific Christian beliefs and practices was negligible. Detailed, extensive reports from Dantiscus to Crown and Church officials in Poland bear this out. His extant letters from Augsburg in 1530 number only thirteen, but he wrote at least thirty, several of them impressively comprehensive.23 At first, he was encouraged by the humanistic approaches, patient deliberation, honest criticism, and mutual respect of the lead negotiators—imperial secretary Alfonso de Valdés and Lutheran spokesman Philipp Melanchthon.24 Emperor Charles and papal representative Lorenzo Campeggio quickly overrode their diligence, though, leading to the early submission of the Confessio Augustana, the imperial rejection of its propositions, and subsequent months of contentious debate.25 Describing that process, Dantiscus emphasized the role of divine, papal, and imperial authority and descried evangelical reformers rejecting such authority. From the beginning, he could not believe the Protestants’ willingness to abandon their senses and throw over Catholic prelates and princes alike.26 Apparently representatives of the Roman Church had so little hope of assuaging the “unreasonable Lutherans” that some considered the only possible solutions to be destroying them or forcefully reconverting them. If traditional authority would not be heeded voluntarily, it would do by force.27 When Dantiscus described the imperial rebuttal—the Confutatio Augustana—to Melanchthon’s confession, he emphasized that the emperor and his theologians claimed that the Lutherans were contradicting the authority of both Scripture and the Church. He reported that the emperor, electors, and princes threatened to convert or expel dissident Protestants, and that the deliberating Protestant representatives indeed were dangerously challenging both papal and imperial authority.28 Dantiscus believed that they had such disdain that 23 24

25 26 27 28

CIDT&C. Ioannes Dantiscus to Sigismund I Jagiellon, July 30, 1530, Augsburg, IDL 518; Alfonso de Valdés, Obra Completa, ed. Ángel Alcalá (Madrid: Fundació José Antonio de Castro, 1996), 208–28; MacCulloch, The Reformation, 169; Euan Cameron, “The Possibilities and Limits of Conciliation: Philipp Melanchthon and Inter-confessional Dialogue in the Sixteenth Century,” in Conciliation and Confession: The Struggle for Unity in the Age of Reform, 1415– 1648, ed. Howard P. Louthan and Randall C. Zachman (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2004), 75; Whaley, Germany and the Holy Roman Empire, 298–99. MacCulloch, The Reformation, 169; Whaley, Germany and the Holy Roman Empire, 300. Ioannes Dantiscus to Sigismund I Jagiellon, July 30, 1530, Augsburg, IDL 518. Ioannes Dantiscus to Piotr Tomicki, August 1, 1530, Augsburg, IDL 520. Ioannes Dantiscus to Sigismund I Jagiellon, July 30, 1530, Augsburg, IDL 518; Ioannes Dantiscus to Sigismund I Jagiellon, August 12, 1530, Augsburg, IDL 526.

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they would grow even more obstinate if discussions continued.29 He expected that the Protestants would balk at being required to observe any traditional ceremonies and rites, and he implied that such a reaction would violate their obligatory Christian piety, duty, and deference. In turn, the emperor would respond with force.30 As extensive as Dantiscus’s commentary was from Augsburg, a single letter addressed to him at the diet even more vividly portrays his perspective. From northern Italy, imperial secretary Filippo Nicola candidly solicited information from Dantiscus about the “Lutheran terrors.” Nicola’s harsh, unqualified criticism of Protestants and evangelical reform, delivered so casually to Dantiscus in this letter, suggests that the author assumed the reader’s tacit agreement. Nicola posited that evangelical reformers everywhere were straying from reason and only bringing suffering to Christendom as they attempted to sever themselves from Roman authority. He suggested that they were rejecting God’s authority as represented by papal authority and soon would make concessions to myriad lesser authorities, from pagan gods to priestly kings to guilds to vestal virgins. The Church’s true sacred authority would be divided and diminished, cast aside like ancient gods who demanded unconscionable sacrifices.31 The culmination of Dantiscus’s commentary on the Diet of Augsburg came in November, when Valdés requested that Dantiscus edit and supplement the Pro religio Christiana res gestae in Comitiis Augustae Vindelicorum habitis anno Domini 1530, an official description of the Reichstag approved by the imperial chancellery.32 Dantiscus’s exact contributions are unclear, but given Valdés’s marginalization towards the end of the diet and his request of Dantiscus,33 the Prussian likely imposed his views quite strongly on the text. The result was a report that privileged imperial and Roman positions, championed Catholic authorities, relegated Protestant positions as false and deviant, and portrayed the Lutherans as stubborn, disrespectful, and noncompliant, unforgivably violating the traditional and sacred religious authority held by the papacy and the empire.34 With this perspective, Dantiscus left Augsburg still intent on reestablishing respect for that traditional, sacred authority among the reformers.

29 30 31 32 33 34

Ioannes Dantiscus to Sigismund I Jagiellon, September 20, 1530, Augsburg, IDL 552. Ioannes Dantiscus to Sigismund I Jagiellon, October 2, 1530, Augsburg, IDL 554. Filippo Nicola to Ioannes Dantiscus, August 21, 1530, Cremona, IDL 534. Alfonso de Valdés to Ioannes Dantiscus, October 31–November 5, 1530, Augsburg, IDL 5766; Alfonso de Valdés to Ioannes Dantiscus, October 31–November 6, 1530, Augsburg, IDL 5760. MacCulloch, The Reformation, 169. Alfonso de Valdés, Obra Completa, ed. Ángel Alcalá, 229–40.

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Still on diplomatic mission, however, Dantiscus accompanied the imperial court from Augsburg to the Low Countries, where he intended to promote the authority of the Roman Church as he awaited permission to return to his new diocese in Prussia.35 His intended audience was German and Dutch humanist circles, and necessarily he would work across confessional lines. For example, en route he renewed a dormant friendship with German Helius Eobanus Hessus, a Lutheran professor and poet,36 whom he had gotten to know two decades earlier at the courts of King Sigismund in Cracow and Bishop of Pomesania Hiob von Dobeneck in Riesenburg.37 Ultimately, though, Dantiscus contributed to what modern scholars have called the “confessionalization of humanism,” the use of humanist approaches for polemical confessional purposes, in his case in support of traditional Roman Christianity.38 His activities began to focus his attention more closely on Christian belief and practice as well as the reasoning and justification for such belief and practice as espoused by the Roman Church. They informed his knowledge of Scripture and theology, his strategic application of literature, and his engagement with Protestant leaders. The experience became a crucial asset for him as a reforming bishop in Prussia and was instrumental in his shift toward fraternally emphasizing orthodoxy to anyone who would listen or read his letters. In the Low Countries Dantiscus began by using epistolary and face-toface exchanges to establish productive relationships with local scholars, the most significant of whom were Johannes Campensis, Erasmus of Rotterdam, Conradus Goclenius, Gemma Frisius, and Cornelis de Schepper, as well as Hessus and imperial secretary Alfonso de Valdés. Henry de Vocht catalogued, translated, and annotated many of Dantiscus’s letters to and from these individuals in a 1961 volume.39 Most of his contacts adhered to the Roman Church, but all were willing to test the limits of humanist criticism. From the outset 35 36 37

38 39

Ioannes Dantiscus to Piotr Tomicki, November 29, 1530, IDL 566. Helius Eobanus Hessus to Ioannes Dantiscus, October 12, 1530, Nuremberg, IDL 557; Helius Eobanus Hessus to Ioannes Dantiscus, April 4, 1531, Nuremberg, IDL 609. Helius Eobanus Hessus to Ioannes Dantiscus, shortly before February 17, 1512, Cracow, IDL 8; C. Krause, “Eobanus Hessus am Hofe des pomesanischen Bischofs Hiob von Dobeneck in Riesenburg (1509–1513),” Altpreussische Monatsschrift 16 (1879): 141–58; Hermann Cramer, Geschichte des vormaligen Bisthums Pomesanien: ein Beitrag zur Landes- und Kirchen-Geschichte des Königreichs Preußen (Marienwerder: Historischer Verein für den Regierungs-Bezirk Marienwerder: Hofbuchdruckerei von R. Kanter, 1884), 210–16. Erika Rummel, The Confessionalization of Humanism in Germany (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 3–8. Henry de Vocht, John Dantiscus and his Netherlandish Friends: as revealed by their correspondence, 1522–1546 (Louvain: Librairie Universitaire, 1961).

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he developed a reputation for promoting the unquestionable authority of the Roman Church. Early on he received a recommendation from Campensis to meet with Johannes Maquetus, a promoter of the university of Louvain and a servant of the Roman Inquisition.40 Campensis, who intended to appeal to Dantiscus’s sensibilities in a considerate and friendly way, described Maquetus as a “a hammer of evil men, especially of the Lutherans, whom he pursues with such hatred that he could hardly be tempered even by Christ himself.” Campensis assured Dantiscus that, “you will not find [Maquetus] ungenial but rather a boon companion!”41 His confessional positioning apparently was evident to his new colleagues, despite his continuing friendly and productive exchanges with Lutheran colleagues.42 The most active arena for the confessionalization of humanism among Dantiscus’s burgeoning cohort in the Low Countries was biblical humanism. This was somewhat ironic, considering that scholars who retranslated, reworked, or commented on Scripture in the early sixteenth century often had drawn the ire of the Roman Church, which claimed ultimate interpretive authority. The Church had monitored and limited the publication of many biblical scholars.43 Nonetheless, works of biblical humanism appeared to become assets for Dantiscus in the struggle against evangelical reform, especially to take advantage of reformers’ emphasis on the primacy of Scripture. He encouraged, patronized, and utilized works of biblical humanism throughout his episcopacy, beginning in 1530.44 The most comprehensive example of this activity was Dantiscus’s mentorship of Campensis, a talented and increasingly well-known Hebraist. In spring 1531, Campensis began sending drafts of his exegetical work for Dantiscus to 40 41 42

43

44

Vocht, John Dantiscus, 66–74. Ioannes Campensis to Ioannes Dantiscus, April 18, 1531, Louvain, IDL 616. Helius Eobanus Hessus to Ioannes Dantiscus, 1531, Nuremberg, IDL 6264; Helius Eobanus Hessus to Ioannes Dantiscus, April 17, 1532, Nuremberg, IDL 380; Helius Eobanus Hessus to Ioannes Dantiscus, April 20, 1532, Nuremberg, IDL 7078. Exchanges with Hessus continued throughout 1532 and then until 1540. In recent decades, several historians have examined this phenomenon. See chapters in: Erika Rummel, ed., A Companion to Biblical Humanism and Scholasticism in the Age of Erasmus (Leiden: Brill, 2008); ead., The Humanist-Scholastic Debate in the Renaissance & Reformation (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1995), 96–125. Cornelis De Schepper to Ioannes Dantiscus, December 6, 1535, Brussels, IDL 1379; Ioannes Dantiscus to Cornelis De Schepper, February 24, 1536, Lubawa, IDL 1421; Jakob von Barthen to Ioannes Dantiscus, October 30, 1536, Gdańsk, IDL1549; Jakob von Barthen to Ioannes Dantiscus, November 22, 1536, Gdańsk, IDL 1554; Jakob von Barthen to Ioannes Dantiscus, May 30, 1537, Gdańsk, IDL 1645; Ioannes Dantiscus to Georg Hegel, July 21, 1541, Lidzbark Warmiński, IDL 2464.

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review. As early as 7 March, he promised to send a draft of his paraphrase of and commentary on the Psalms, and he apologized for not including Erasmus’s Ecclesiastes as well.45 It had been prohibited under an imperial edict contrived by anti-Erasmian counsellors, which Dantiscus went to great lengths to lift at court.46 On 16 April Campensis sent a draft to Dantiscus.47 He then wrote again to confirm receipt, for the Psalms were not yet public and should be guarded carefully.48 After receiving back Dantiscus’s comments, Campensis was effusive in his gratitude. He pledged to send the entirety of his work when it had been completed.49 For the next year, Campensis and Dantiscus continued to discuss literary matters with each other and third parties.50 When Campensis finally published his Enchiridion Psalmorum in May 1532, he wrote a dedicatory letter praising Dantiscus’s support and contributions.51 The confessional impact of the relationship between Dantiscus and Campensis was the result of multiple overlapping contexts. It becomes apparent mostly in retrospect. In the early 1530s, Campensis increasingly favored traditional Roman positions and conducted his scholarly work accordingly. He was eager to see the fruits of Pope Clement VII’s initiative to produce a new translation of the Old Testament, one that would reinforce a traditional interpretation of Hebrew Scripture.52 He explicitly characterized his work as a contrast to that of the purportedly heretical Martin Bucer of Strasbourg.53 He even engaged in a polemical exchange of correspondence with Philipp Melanchthon, in which they debated how to interpret parts of the Epistles of Paul.54 Meanwhile, Campensis’s scholarly work became an important resource for Dantiscus, both in the Low Countries and after the latter returned to Prussia as a bishop. Its scriptural and theological significance remained a common point of interest and discussion.55 Dantiscus’s own compositions during the 1530s increasingly drew from Scripture, in particular the Old Testament, 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55

Ioannes Campensis to Ioannes Dantiscus, 7 March, 1531, Louvain, IDL 600. Marijke de Wit, “Joannes Dantiscus and the Netherlands,” in Joannes Dantiscus (1485– 1548): Polish Ambassador and Humanist, ed. Jozef Ijsewijn and Wouter Bracke (Antwerp: Centrum voor Europese Cultuur, 1996), 27–43. Ioannes Campensis to Ioannes Dantiscus, April 16, 1531, Louvain, IDL 615. Ioannes Campensis to Ioannes Dantiscus, April 18, 1531, Louvain, IDL 616. Ioannes Campensis to Ioannes Dantiscus, May 12, 1531, Louvain, IDL 624. Vocht, John Dantiscus, 87–90, 127–28. Vocht, John Dantiscus, 138. Paul F. Grendler, “Italian Biblical Humanism and the Papacy, 1515–1535,” in A Companion to Biblical Humanism, 227–76. Ioannes Campensis to Ioannes Dantiscus, April 16, 1531, Louvain, IDL 615. Skolimowska, “Dantiscus and the Reformers,” 194. Ioannes Campensis to Ioannes Dantiscus, February 4, 1535, Venice, IDL 1274.

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as a facet of his episcopal reform program. Campensis may have inspired this turn.56 In 1532 Campensis even accompanied Dantiscus back to Poland, where Piotr Tomicki facilitated the former’s employment at the University of Cracow.57 Their correspondence continued until Campensis’s death in 1538.58 Dantiscus’s exchanges with Campensis drew his focus away from the institutional authority of the Roman Church per se and toward the justification and righteousness of certain theological and doctrinal positions—espoused by the Roman Church—based on Scripture and other ancient texts. Dantiscus’s relationships with other scholars in this milieu in the Low Countries, many of which also suggest the confessionalization of humanism through the use of modern approaches to Scriptural exegesis, certainly were fruitful, but their cadences and impact are not as well documented.59 During Dantiscus’s sojourn in the Low Countries, his subsequent return journey across Central Europe in 1532, and his next eight years as a bishop in Prussia, he also corresponded with and monitored the activities of major intellectual figures throughout Latin Christendom, including the leaders of various disparate reform movements. Their epistolary exchanges demonstrated both Dantiscus’s penchant for interconfessional dialogue and his growing emphasis on the exclusive validity and universal necessity of orthodox belief and practice. His relationship with the Valdés brothers is a minor example. Alfonso de Valdés had become imperial grand chancellor after the death of Mercurino Gattinara in 1530. After the Diet of Augsburg, he and Dantiscus continued their collaborative work from the 1520s producing texts defending the Roman Church and Catholic princes, both informally through their correspondence and formally through the imperial chancellery. Valdés died of plague in 1532, though, cutting their friendship and partnership tragically short.60 Throughout that period and thereafter, Dantiscus also kept abreast of and even corresponded with Alfonso’s twin brother Juan, who became infamous for his more controversial humanist writings.61 Juan ran afoul of the Spanish Inquisition in 1530 and fled to Italy, where he gathered a like-minded cohort and produced several texts criticizing the Papacy and certain positions of the Roman Church until 56 57 58 59 60 61

Segel, Renaissance Culture in Poland, 161–90, here 180–81; Skolimowska, “Dantiscus and the Reformers,” 181–207; Kozik, “‘To resurrect the collapsed religion.’” Wit, “Joannes Dantiscus and the Netherlands,” 27–43. Ioannes Dantiscus to Ioannes Campensis, November 16, 1537, Lubawa, IDL 1784. Vocht, John Dantiscus. Jerzy Axer and Anna Skolimowska, eds., Ioannes Dantiscus’s correspondence with Alfonso de Valdés (Warsaw: Wydział Artes Liberales, 2013), vol. 3 of Amicorum sermones mutui, part 2 of Corpus Epistolarum Ioannis Dantisci. Juan de Valdés to Ioannes Dantiscus, January 12, 1533, Bologna, IDL 5812.

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his death in 1541. He became known for leading Italian “Protestant” reform, especially after his death.62 So while Dantiscus was composing and propagating texts proclaiming the unassailable authority of the Roman Church, he also was maintaining relations with humanist scholars whose writings the Church viewed as dissenting and heretical. Dantiscus’s contemporaneous exchanges with Erasmus of Rotterdam occurred in this same intense, provocative, humanist milieu. Erasmus was the foremost humanist proponent of a self-critical, reformed, yet unified Roman Church. His published texts clearly influenced Dantiscus,63 and their eager exchange of medals, busts, and portraits certainly indicated the intensity of their relationship.64 Their meager extant correspondence, however, leaves much to be desired in terms of characterizing Erasmus’s direct effect on Dantiscus.65 Nonetheless, his shift toward advocating for a universal and unified Church strongly reflects the influence of Erasmus’s cadre of supporting scholars, and Dantiscus’s reputation remains that of an Erasmian humanist.66 Correspondence with English religious and political leaders also informed Dantiscus’s shift of emphasis in Europe’s increasingly pluralistic religious environment. The most exemplary was Thomas Cranmer, the great humanist proponent of reforming the Church of England under Kings Henry VIII and Edward VI.67 In 1532 Cranmer traveled to the Holy Roman Empire, where 62

63

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John E. Longhurst, Erasmus and the Spanish Inquisition: The Case of Juan de Valdés (Albuquerque: The University of New Mexico Press, 1950); Jose C. Nieto, Juan de Valdes and the Origins of the Spanish and Italian Reformation (Genève: Librairie Droz, 1970); Massimo Firpo, Juan de Valdés and the Italian Reformation (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2015). Cornelis De Schepper to Ioannes Dantiscus, December 6, 1535, Brussels, IDL 1379; Ioannes Dantiscus to Cornelis De Schepper, February 24, 1536, Lubawa, IDL 1421; Jakob von Barthen to Ioannes Dantiscus, October 30, 1536, Gdańsk, IDL 1549; Jakob von Barthen to Ioannes Dantiscus, November 22, 1536, Gdańsk, IDL 1554; Jakob von Barthen to Ioannes Dantiscus, May 30, 1537, Gdańsk, IDL 1645; Ioannes Dantiscus to Georg Hegel, July 21, 1541, Lidzbark Warmiński, IDL 2464. Segel, Renaissance Culture in Poland, 178. Ioannes Dantiscus to Erasmus of Rotterdam, October, 1531, IDL 4909; Erasmus of Rotterdam to Ioannes Dantiscus, April 30, 1532, Freiburg im Breisgau, IDL 5808. Louthan, “A Model for Christendom?”, 18–37; Ptaszyński, Reformacja w Polsce. Diarmaid MacCulloch, Thomas Cranmer: A Life (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1996), 173–296; Maria Dowling, “Cranmer as a Humanist Reformer,” in Thomas Cranmer: Churchman and Scholar, ed. Paul Ayris and David Selwyn (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1993), 89–114; Paul Ayris, “God’s Vicegerent and Christ’s Vicar: the relationship between the Crown and the archbishopric of Canterbury, 1533–1553,” in Thomas Cranmer: Churchman and Scholar, 115–36; Leo F. Solt, Church and State in Early Modern England, 1509–1640 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990), 28–43; Richard Rex, “The role of English humanists in the Reformation up to 1559,” in The Education of a Christian Society: Humanism and the Reformation in Britain and the Netherlands, ed. N. Scott Amos, Andrew Pettegree,

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he observed the progress of Lutheran reform, especially in Nuremburg, and served as a royal envoy at the Diet of Regensburg. There he met and befriended Dantiscus. Cranmer still had not espoused Protestant beliefs officially, but he certainly endorsed some Lutheran arguments. While he and Dantiscus shared observations about Lutheran reform, they also argued playfully about papal authority, and Dantiscus chided Cranmer about clerical marriage.68 Thus from the beginning of their relationship but still during his diplomatic tenure, Dantiscus focused on defending the authority and institutions of the Roman Church but also was forced to grapple with different intellectual and theological positions.69 As Cranmer more fully embraced Protestant ideas and reform within the English Church during the 1530s, his relationship with Dantiscus became strained. Cranmer was a participant in the dissolution of King Henry’s marriages to both Catherine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn. He also negotiated the Ten Articles, a key component of which was reducing the Church’s seven sacraments to three—baptism, eucharist, penance—as in Lutheran ecclesiology. His writing also increasingly supported Protestant theology, including sola fide justification.70 In 1535, Johannes Cochlaeus wrote to Dantiscus warning him about Cranmer’s heavy-handed role in the reform occurring in the Church of England, which at times had turned violent against traditional Catholics.71 Cornelis de Schepper similarly warned Dantiscus some years later.72 In 1536, Dantiscus wrote to Cranmer, in part to defend traditional Christian institutions, beliefs, and practices, asking his friend to refute rumors about the reform occurring in the English Church.73 Cranmer did not respond, likely to save political face in England.74 Dantiscus even expressed concern to Polish Queen Bona Sforza,75 who encouraged him to continue monitoring matters in England.76

68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76

and Henk Van Nierop (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1999), 19–40; George Bernard, “The piety of Henry VIII,” in The Education of a Christian Society: Humanism and the Reformation in Britain and the Netherlands, ed. N. Scott Amos, Andrew Pettegree, and Henk Van Nierop (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1999), 62–88. MacCulloch, Thomas Cranmer, 74–75. Thomas Cranmer to Ioannes Dantiscus, October 6, 1532, Vienna, IDL 839. MacCulloch, Thomas Cranmer, 173–237. Johann Dobneck to Ioannes Dantiscus, December 30, 1535, Meißen, IDL 1387. Cornelis De Schepper to Ioannes Dantiscus, August 18, 1540, Vienna, IDL 2334. Ioannes Dantiscus to Thomas Cranmer, October 15, 1536, Lubawa, IDL 1546. Diarmaid MacCulloch, “Thomas Cranmer and Johannes Dantiscus: Retraction and Additions,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 58, no. 2 (April, 2007): 273–86. Ioannes Dantiscus to Bona Sforza, March 16, 1537, Lubawa, IDL 1603. Bona Sforza to Ioannes Dantiscus, March 27, 1537, Cracow, IDL 1606; Bona Sforza to Ioannes Dantiscus, February 7, 1538, Piotrków, IDL 1833.

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Several years later, Cranmer must have felt more secure, for he let his Lithuanian ward—Georgius Rogenellus, a member of Dantiscus’s entourage in Regensburg entrusted to Cranmer for a proper humanist education—return to Prussia carrying a letter for the bishop. Cranmer had thought Dantiscus dead and recently had been relieved to find out otherwise. He was eager to renew their friendship.77 By 1540, though, Dantiscus’s shift of emphasis from submitting to Roman authority to thoughtfully embracing Catholic orthodoxy was nearly complete, and Cranmer’s leadership of Anglican reform efforts became a stumbling block between the two men. Dantiscus replied with one of the most condemnatory—of a direct addressee, at least—letters of his entire corpus. He wrote that he dreaded the fate of the proponents of the unprece­ dented reform occurring in England. He questioned the propriety and orthodoxy of the setting that Cranmer had provided for his ward, Rogenellus. He listed specific violations rumored to be occurring there, including plundering Church property and the abuse of the institution of marriage, and he argued that even if such desires were present among the common laity or the royalty, no self-respecting Church leader should consider them to be righteous. What most angered Dantiscus was Cranmer’s self-identification as “Minister of the Church of Canterbury” rather than “Archbishop of Canterbury.” He claimed that such self-denigration contradicted Scripture, tradition, vocation, and ministry itself, regardless of Cranmer’s intentions. He also again balked at Cranmer having broken clerical celibacy. Finally, he characterized the transformation of Christian belief and practice under the English Church as unhealthy and wicked, misleading the innocent faithful, and being so distant from orthodoxy that he prayed for even the slightest reversal.78 Clearly the institutional authority of the Roman Church was still important to Dantiscus, but more vigorously and explicitly he argued for what he saw as the proper and orthodox practice of Christianity, as reflecting proper and orthodox belief. He desired a friendship with Cranmer, and he hoped to reach across confessional lines, but the substance of the reform of the Church of England was incredibly discouraging. Thereafter they exchanged no further letters. Dantiscus also kept in contact with international leaders of the Lutheran reform movement. He did not often directly engage them about theological matters, but their correspondence and personal interactions demonstrated his desire for interconfessional dialogue and irenic solutions to the schism. He had sought out both Martin Luther and Philipp Melanchthon in 1523 in Wittenberg, where they shared an amiable but frustrating—for Dantiscus, due to Luther’s

77 78

Thomas Cranmer to Ioannes Dantiscus, June 20, 1540, Lambeth, IDL 2325. Ioannes Dantiscus to Thomas Cranmer, September 1, 1540, Lidzbark Warmiński, IDL 2337.

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behavior—meal.79 Dantiscus met Melanchthon again at the Diet of Augsburg in 1530, and thereafter maintained correspondence with the reformer focusing on the education of Prussian students rather than their suddenly codified confessional differences. He frequently expressed an affinity for Melanchthon’s erudition and comportment, despite their theological and ecclesiological differences.80 Of course he fostered a renewed friendship with the Lutheran scholar Hessus in Nuremberg while residing in the Low Countries.81 One of Dantiscus’s most complicated relationships with a Lutheran reform leader developed close to home, with Duke Albrecht of Prussia. This relationship and its context have been documented and examined thoroughly by modern scholars. While confessional differences often caused legal and practical conflicts between the Duke and Dantiscus as territorial rulers in Prussia, most of their exchanges were designed to foster harmonious and productive relations, especially when Dantiscus was in Chełmno until 1537 and shared a less volatile border with the Duchy of Prussia.82 So while Dantiscus’s treatment of Protestants within his jurisdictions increasingly displayed intolerance for beliefs and practices labeled heretical, including those of the Lutheran confession, and the desire to purify and reinforce the teachings, beliefs, practices, and behaviors of the Roman Church,83 his interactions with foreign Lutheran leaders demonstrated a strong desire for a negotiated, peaceful solution to the schism and universally accepted orthodoxy. In addition to participating in the confessionalization of humanism and corresponding directly with leaders of Protestant reform, Dantiscus also used his epistolary network to monitor the development of reform in different regional contexts abroad. What he learned drew his focus even more squarely 79 80 81

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Ioannes Dantiscus to Piotr Tomicki, August 8, 1523, Cracow, IDL 186. Skolimowska, “Dantiscus and the Reformers,” 181–207. Helius Eobanus Hessus to Ioannes Dantiscus, October 12, 1530, Nuremberg, IDL 557; Helius Eobanus Hessus to Ioannes Dantiscus, April 4, 1531, Nuremberg, IDL 609; Helius Eobanus Hessus to Ioannes Dantiscus, 1531, Nuremberg, IDL 6264; Helius Eobanus Hessus to Ioannes Dantiscus, April 17, 1532, Nuremberg, IDL 380; Helius Eobanus Hessus to Ioannes Dantiscus, April 20, 1532, Nuremberg, IDL 7078. Exchanges with Hessus continued throughout 1532 and then until 1540. Stefan Hartmann, ed., Herzog Albrecht von Preußen und das Bistum Ermland (1525– 1550) (Köln: Böhlau, 1991); Ursula Benninghoven, ed., Die Herzöge in Preußen und das Bistum Kulm (1525–1691) (Köln: Böhlau, 1993). Janusz Małłek, “Joannes Dantiscus and Ducal Prussia after 1525,” in Joannes Dantiscus (1485–1548): Polish Ambassador, 55–62; Nowakowska, King Sigismund, 97–118; Maciej Ptaszyński, “Herzog Albrecht von Preussen, die polnischen Eliten und die Reformation. Vom Umgang mit konfessioneller Differenz,” Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung 46 (2019): 219–54. Kozik, “‘To resurrect the collapsed religion.’”

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onto the orthodoxy of the belief and practice espoused by the Roman Church. During his travels through western Germany and the Low Countries early in the decade, he avidly observed and reported how evangelical reform was developing there. Still adamant about Roman authority of course, he railed against schismatic princes acting out of disobedience to the pope and emperor.84 He hoped for a peaceful reconciliation that would suppress Protestant dissent and reinforce the Roman Church’s authority.85 He lauded loyal princes such as the Frisian lord Balthasar Oomkens von Esens for subduing Lutherans and Zwinglians in their territories. As Dantiscus continued to champion authority, though, he also began explicitly to deride specific Protestant beliefs and practices as heretical while hoping for Protestants’ readoption of traditional Roman Christianity. In this same letter, he chastised the Anabaptists for having erroneous and deficient views of the sacraments, in particular Baptism and the Eucharist.86 The beliefs and practices of the Anabaptists continued to concern him after he left the Low Countries. He regularly highlighted their deviant position on the Eucharist, lumping them in with “sacramentarians” and “zwinglians.”87 In 1534 several contacts kept him informed about the siege of Münster,88 where Anabaptists had seized the city and proclaimed it a New Jerusalem.89 Dantiscus decried their violations against traditional ecclesiastical, imperial, and civic authorities, but he also heavily criticized their purportedly reprehensible beliefs, practices, and behaviors, including claiming prophecy and divine judgment, common property, and the abuse of women, marriage, and family.90 When Dutch colleagues wrote to Dantiscus about new conflicts with the Anabaptists

84 85 86 87 88

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Ioannes Dantiscus to Sigismund I Jagiellon, January 13, 1531, Aachen, IDL 578. Ioannes Dantiscus to Sigismund I Jagiellon, June 15, 1531, Ghent, IDL 642; Ioannes Dantiscus to Sigismund I Jagiallon, July 20, 1531, Brussels, IDL 653. Ioannes Dantiscus to Sigismund I Jagiellon, July 20, 1531, Brussels, IDL 653. Ioannes Dantiscus to Piotr Tomicki, shortly after July 11, 1534, Lubawa, IDL 1198; Ioannes Dantiscus to Piotr Tomicki, December 18, 1534, Lubawa, IDL 1249. Daniel Mauch to Ioannes Dantiscus, April 16, 1534, Hamburg, IDL 1148; Johann Dobneck to Ioannes Dantiscus, April 16, 1535, Dresden, IDL 1297; Adolphus de Scornaco to Ioannes Dantiscus, June 3, 1535, Rome, IDL 4546; Johann Dobneck to Ioannes Dantiscus, August 7, 1535, Meißen, IDL 1341; Cornelis de Schepper & Godschalk Ericksen to Ioannes Dantiscus, October 27, 1535, Lüneburg, IDL 1367. MacCulloch, The Reformation, 199–206; Brady, German Histories, 201–6; Euan Cameron, The European Reformation, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 331–32; George Huntston Williams, The Radical Reformation (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1962), 362–86. Ioannes Dantiscus to Piotr Tomicki, June 19, 1535, Starogród, IDL 1320.

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in the Low Countries,91 he summarized their violent behavior but increasingly also vilified their beliefs as wicked, insane, venomous, and demonic.92 The threat of Anabaptism, in particular its adherents’ rejection of the physical presence of Christ in the Eucharist, became much more of a direct concern for Dantiscus during the 1530s.93 Anabaptist refugees from Western and Central Europe settled in Prussia along the Lower Vistula River in ever-greater numbers beginning early in the decade.94 His correspondents did not help to soften his views of these refugees, with one characterizing them as mad, bewitched heretics removed from true doctrine and faith.95 Dantiscus also monitored the development and spread of less radical Reformed Christianity in several contexts. His exchanges about and with Thomas Cranmer constituted only part of his reporting on the Reformations in England. In the early 1530s, prior to the passing of the Acts of Supremacy and Uniformity by King Henry VIII,96 Dantiscus had several contacts in England and his summaries of English reform delivered to the Polish court focused on debates about papal authority.97 In the mid-decade, though, as he worried about England’s impact on the Counts’ War in Denmark and what a Protestant Danish Crown would mean for the Baltic region,98 he expressed less direct concern about papal authority and more concern about King Henry VIII leading people away from ancient Christian rites and beliefs.99 And when several colleagues informed Dantiscus about the martyrdom of John Fisher and Thomas More,100 he reacted with horror at the English Crown’s treatment of 91

Adolphus de Scornaco to Ioannes Dantiscus, June 3, 1535, Rome, IDL 4546; Gemma Frisius to Ioannes Dantiscus, June 13, 1535, Leuven, IDL 1314. 92 Ioannes Dantiscus to Piotr Tomicki, June 19, 1535, Starogród, IDL 1320. 93 Ioannes Dantiscus to Piotr Tomicki, shortly after July 11, 1534, Lubawa, IDL 1198; Ioannes Dantiscus to Piotr Tomicki, December 18, 1534, Lubawa, IDL 1249. 94 Williams, The Radical Reformation, 404–16; George Huntston Williams, “Anabaptism and Spiritualism in the Kingdom of Poland and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania: An Obscure Phase of the Pre-History of Socinianism,” in Studia nad arianizmen, ed. Ludwik Chmaj (Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1959), 222–27; Klassen, Mennonites, 1–25; Stanisław Kot, Socinianism in Poland: The Social and Political Ideas of the Polish Antitrinitarians in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, trans. E.M. Wilbur (Boston: 1957), 9–15. 95 Cornelis De Schepper to Ioannes Dantiscus, July 17, 1545, Harderwijk, IDL 2846. 96 Solt, Church and State, 28–30. 97 Ioannes Dantiscus to Sigismund I Jagiellon, May 19, 1531, Ghent, IDL 628; Ioannes Dantiscus to Sigismund I Jagiellon, July 20, 1531, Brussels, IDL 653. 98 Cameron, The European Reformation, 271–79. 99 Ioannes Dantiscus to Piotr Tomicki, December 18, 1534, Lubawa, IDL 1249. 100 Cornelis De Schepper & Godschalk Ericksen to Ioannes Dantiscus, October 27, 1535, Lüneburg, IDL 1367; Cornelis De Schepper to Ioannes Dantiscus, December 6, 1535,

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such honest, righteous, and holy men.101 Dantiscus’s criticism of Cranmer’s reform initiatives in 1540 thus was the culmination of a steady transition toward seeing the English Church as deviating from orthodox teachings, beliefs, practices, and behaviors.102 Nonetheless Dantiscus hoped for a unifying, orthodox reconciliation for Henry VIII and other Protestant princes.103 He was less conciliatory when it came to Ulrich Zwingli, though, whom he viewed as a “sacramentarian” even from early in the decade. In fact, he seemed to revel in Zwingli’s gruesome end during the Second War of Kappel, again referencing the Swiss reformer’s contempt for the Eucharist.104 The Colloquy of Regensburg of 1541 was the last and closest formal effort to find common ground between Catholic and Lutheran theologians in the Empire and reach a political and religious compromise. Ultimately negotiators could not reconcile, though, and confessional tension in the Empire actually increased.105 Dantiscus did not attend the Diet of Regensburg, but his commentary and exchanges about its proceedings and results indicated the culmination of his shift to emphasizing a compelling and convincing Catholic orthodoxy attractive to all Christians rather than arguing merely for obedience to Roman authority, even if it seemed as if such solution was out of reach. His commentary was not extensive, but his exchanges suggest that he was well informed and opinionated. Dantiscus’s most important contacts regarding the Colloquy of Regensburg were actually very well situated and informed. His ongoing, dear friendship with imperial secretary Cornelis de Schepper was vital. Schepper informed Dantiscus of who would attend the diet and what matters would be discussed, and he even encouraged the bishop to attend.106 Their mutual friend and fellow correspondent Nicolas Perrenot de Granvelle was even closer to the pro­ ject. He was a highly influential imperial chancellor and advisor to Emperor Charles V, and he was named as one of the presidents of the Colloquy.

101 102 103 104 105 106

Brussels, IDL 1379; Johann Dobneck to Ioannes Dantiscus, December 30, 1535, Meißen, IDL 1387. Ioannes Dantiscus to Cornelis De Schepper & Godschalk Ericksen, December 23, 1535, Lubawa, IDL 1385. Ioannes Dantiscus to Thomas Cranmer, September 1, 1540, Lidzbark Warmiński, IDL 2337. Ioannes Dantiscus to Cornelis De Schepper, February 24, 1536, Lubawa, IDL 1421. Ioannes Dantiscus to Sigismund I Jagiellon, October 22, 1531, Brussels, IDL 700. MacCulloch, The Reformation, 222–25; Brady, German Histories, 225–27; Cameron, The European Reformation, 136, 353–54. Cornelis de Schepper to Ioannes Dantiscus, August 18, 1540, Vienna, IDL 2334; Cornelis de Schepper to Ioannes Dantiscus, April 12, 1541, Binche, IDL 2413; Cornelis de Schepper to Ioannes Dantiscus, June 12, 1541, Brussels, IDL 2434.

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Granvelle corresponded directly with Dantiscus, including from the diet in 1541.107 Dantiscus’s colleague Jakob von Barthen, secretary of the Archbishop of Riga, passed along substantial information about the relocation and participants of the diet toward the end of 1540. He also hoped for a peaceful, inclusive reconciliation with Lutheran leaders. Like a true churchman, he offered the matter up to Christ and prayed for His merciful intervention. Further demonstrating the irenic nature of their discourse, Barthen sent along with his letter for Dantiscus several compelling texts written by a range of authors, including Erasmus and Luther.108 From Prussia, Dantiscus wrote to his well-placed colleagues in support of an orthodox solution to attract all Christians, whereas at the Diet of Augsburg he had focused overwhelmingly on championing papal and imperial authority. In a letter to Schepper, he prayed to Jesus that the Colloquy would deliver peace between Christians.109 Writing to Granvelle just days before the diet was set to open, Dantiscus further prayed for a peaceful solution to the religious schism. He also lobbied for a lenient imperial diplomatic position toward the Crown of Poland and its vassal the Duchy of Prussia, in part as a model for an irenic approach to handling bi-confessional diplomacy in Central Europe.110 Having not received a reply, Dantiscus repeated the sentiments in a July letter.111 As with the Diet of Augsburg in 1530, however, Dantiscus’s most revealing piece of correspondence concerning the Colloquy of Regensburg actually was a letter written to him candidly by a removed commentator. In 1541, that removed commentator was Georg Witzel, the German theologian who had become a follower of Luther in the mid-1520s but returned to the Roman Church as a fierce apologist in the early 1530s. On April 18, shortly after the diet had convened, Witzel wrote to Dantiscus from Fulda. He described the diet’s double relocation from Hagenau to Worms to Regensburg as well as several of the matters to be debated there. He excoriated the Lutherans as heretical and satanic, violating the teachings of Christ himself and tearing apart the Body of Christ, that is the Church. He lambasted Luther’s translations of Scripture, identifying them as one more way to lure unsuspecting Christians into false belief and practice. Despite this perspective, though, Witzel still adamantly 107 Nicolas Perrenot de Granvelle to Ioannes Dantiscus, March 8, 1541, Regensburg, IDL 2398. 108 Jakob von Barthen to Ioannes Dantiscus, November 20, 1540, Gdańsk, IDL 2359. 109 Ioannes Dantiscus to Cornelis de Schepper, January 10, 1541, Lidzbark Warmiński, IDL 2268. 110 Ioannes Dantiscus to Nicolas Perrenot de Granvelle, April 1, 1541, Lidzbark Warmiński, IDL 5374. 111 Ioannes Dantiscus to Nicolas Perrenot de Granvelle, July 21, 1541, Lidzbark Warmiński, IDL 2469.

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argued for the reconciliation of Christians in the Empire, both as common members of the universal Church and common benefactors of a German heritage.112 The need for Catholic orthodoxy was unquestionable, but just as unquestionable was the need for Christians to be united peacefully under that banner. Writing to Dantiscus in 1541, Witzel was preaching to the choir. 4

Conclusion

During Johannes Dantiscus’s first ten years as a bishop in Prussia, his priority for how to manage the multiplicity of confessions rending Latin Christendom clearly shifted. The shift was subtle but also crucial. It took him from advocating for the imposition of obedience to Roman authority per se, a position occupied during his two-decade career as a diplomat in the service of the Crown of Poland, to arguing for all Christians’ thoughtful and voluntary embrace of a universal, Catholic orthodoxy that would unify and regulate Christian teachings, beliefs, practices, and behaviors, a position born of his international and trans-confessional experiences and relationships even as a resident bishop. This shift was informed by and most evident in his participation in the confessionalization of humanism in Germany and the Low Countries, his correspondence with various leaders of the European Reformations, and his monitoring of the development of evangelical reform in various contexts abroad. His commentaries on the Diet of Augsburg in 1530 and the Colloquy of Regensburg in 1541 bookended and illustrated this shift. In that decade and thereafter, the shift also appeared in his literary production, in which several modern scholars have identified his trans-confessional engagement, his universalist hopes, and his anti-evangelical criticism.113 At the same time, no one would mistake Dantiscus for a prominent leader of the Reformations. During the first half of the sixteenth century, he traveled widely and interacted with many of the most famous figures of the Reformations. He was unique in terms of connecting disparate scholars, 112 Georg Witzel to Ioannes Dantiscus, April 18, 1541, Fulda, IDL 2414. 113 Kamiński, “Jan Dantyszek,” 57–114, here 82–112; Zbigniew Nowak, “Antyreformacyjna elegia Dantyszka o zagładzie Gdańska,” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 16 (1971): 5–35; Segel, Renaissance Culture in Poland, 161–90; Tomasz Ososiński, “Nieznane epigramy Dantyszka w liście tegoż do Albrechta I księcia pruskiego,” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 50 (2006): 245–55; Skolimowska, “Dantiscus and the Reformers,” 181–207; Anna Skolimowska, “The culture code of the Bible in the Latin texts of Ioannes Dantiscus (1485–1548),” in Acta Conventus Neo-Latini Upsaliensis, ed. Astrid Steiner-Weber (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 1015–26; Kozik, “‘To resurrect the collapsed religion.’”

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politicians, commercial leaders, and prelates throughout the western world, and his eclectic personal experiences were matched by very few other Europeans. But rather than expressing personal influence outwardly in the context of the Reformations, he most often funneled external influence into his own milieu, typically limited to Poland or even Prussia. He avidly pursued reform within the Roman Church in his episcopal jurisdiction, but even then, his impact was felt mostly locally. It did not have nearly the resonance of the impact of many of his better-known reforming contemporaries—Catholic or Protestant— either domestically or internationally. He observed and commented on various ecumenical meetings, including imperial diets and Church councils, but he did not truly participate in any. He also wrote passionately about evangelical and internal Church reform, but as a thinker of the Reformations he was marginal. Even within his own oeuvre, his religious compositions typically are treated as less significant. Nonetheless, Dantiscus’s perspective on multi-confessionalism and religious reform during this decade reveals critical aspects of early modern Christian pluralism, toleration, and irenicism that often go overlooked in the historiography. His views also constitute important examples in the modern discourse about orthodoxy and authority in pre-Tridentine Latin Christendom, not to mention significant updates to the narrative of his own career.114 By 1541, when engaging in interconfessional dialogue, Dantiscus was focused on the propriety or impropriety, licitness or illicitness, orthodoxy or heterodoxy of particular Christian teachings, beliefs, practices, and behaviors. He believed that the Roman Church offered the truth of these matters. However, he softened his earlier dismissal of various counterparts’ beliefs and practices, and he argued that all Christians should peacefully unify within a properly negotiated licit, limited, and orthodox religious expression. This new position is best described as irenic, according to several essays contained in this very volume, and it was a far cry—even if only in terms of presentation—from his 1530 position that all Christians must simply accept the authority of the pope, by force if necessary. What led Dantiscus to this new position were myriad substantial and lesser interactions and exchanges across confessional lines, the most important of which were with foreign intellectual, religious, and political figures in countless different contexts. His kaleidoscope of experiences and relationships abroad informed his irenic approach to advancing Catholic orthodoxy and shaped his catalogue of episcopal reforming and counter-reforming activity in Prussia. 114 Müller-Blessing, Johannes Dantiscus von Höfen; Nowak, Jan Dantyszek.

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The factors that shaped the emergence and development of Dantiscus’s perspective during the 1530s were not necessarily unique to him, his era, or his locale. More prominent leaders of the Reformations and more obvious proponents of irenicism had their own stories that could include just as many diverse, odd, or coincidental influences. The leading negotiators of ecumenical diets and councils all brought perspectives that were shaped by their experiences, and the subsequent interreligious dialogue and negotiations about how to manage multi-confessionalism inherently drew upon those collective experiences. In modern scholarship, discussions of early modern inter-confessional dialogue, irenicism, and ecumenism can be abstract at times, even when historians or literary scholars introduce specific persons to their analysis. Acknowledging or incorporating more often the formation of individual figures’ perspectives and positions could be incredibly productive. Knowing the reasons for or justification behind early modern negotiators’ irenic approaches or irenic solutions could reveal or clarify how interfaith dialogue was conducted, what it produced, or why it succeeded or failed. Howard Louthan recently has suggested that historians enhance modern approaches to studying irenicism in the early modern world by fostering more historically sensitive interpretations. He urged scholars of the early modern period to anchor irenicism in specific historical contexts, locate ecumenism in multi-confessional environments, and treat ecumenism as a multivalent dynamic.115 Alexander Schunka has cleverly carried this notion along.116 Narrowing the scope further, though, if only for a moment, historians also must examine individual proponents’ personal development toward or away from irenic perspectives, approaches, and solutions within those contexts, environments, and dynamics. Individual actors, many of them much more influential that Dantiscus, shaped early modern searches for solutions to Western Christian heterogeneity, both interpersonally and through their writing. They were brilliant, talented, and motivated, but of course they also were biased, flawed, and changeable. Irenic discussions and practical efforts were generated and driven by what they thought, said, and wrote, which was rarely static and never devoid of the context of a fluid lived experience. For Dantiscus, personal experiences were crucial to his own intellectual development, from advocating for an unassailable Roman authority to promoting a compelling Catholic orthodoxy within his limited reforming

115 Howard Louthan, “Irenicism and Ecumenism in the Early Modern World: A Reevaluation,” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 61 (2017): 5–30. 116 See Alexander Schunka’s chapter in this book.

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milieu. For more influential figures, such personal experiences may have led to grander achievements. Bibliography

Primary Sources



Secondary Sources

Dantiscus, Ioannes. Carmina, edited by Stanislaus Skimina. Cracow: Sumptibus Polonicae Academiae Litterarum et Scientiarum, 1950. “Registration and Publication of Ioannes Dantiscus’ Correspondence (1485–1548),” Corpus of Ioannes Dantiscus’ Texts & Correspondence, http://dantiscus.al.uw.edu.pl/. Valdés, Alfonso de. Obra Completa. Edited by Ángel Alcalá. Madrid: Fundació José Antonio de Castro, 1996.

Amos, N. Scott, Andrew Pettegree, and Henk Van Nierop, eds. The Education of a Christian Society: Humanism and the Reformation in Britain and the Netherlands. Aldershot: Ashgate, 1999. Arnold, Udo. “Luther und Danzig.” Zeitschrift für Ostforschung 21, no. 1 (1972): 94–121. Axer, Jerzy and Anna Skolimowska, eds. Ioannes Dantiscus’s correspondence with Alfonso de Valdés. Warsaw: Wydział Artes Liberales, 2013. Benninghoven, Ursula, ed. Die Herzöge in Preußen und das Bistum Kulm (1525–1691). Köln: Böhlau, 1993. Biskup, Marian. “O początkach reformacji luterańskiej w Prusach Królewskich.” Kwartalnik Historyczny 100 (1993): 101–12. Brady, Thomas A. German Histories in the Age of Reformations, 1400–1650. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Cameron, Euan. “The Possibilities and Limits of Conciliation: Philipp Melanchthon and Inter-confessional Dialogue in the Sixteenth Century.” In Conciliation and Confession: The Struggle for Unity in the Age of Reform, 1415–1648, edited by Howard P. Louthan and Randall C. Zachman, 73–88. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2004. Cramer, Hermann. Geschichte des vormaligen Bisthums Pomesanien: ein Beitrag zur Landes- und Kirchen-Geschichte des Königreichs Preußen. Marienwerder: Historischer Verein für den Regierungs-Bezirk; Marienwerder: Hofbuchdruckerei von R. Kanter, 1884. Firpo, Massimo. Juan de Valdés and the Italian Reformation. Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2015. Hartmann, Stefan, ed. Herzog Albrecht von Preußen und das Bistum Ermland (1525– 1550). Köln: Böhlau, 1991.

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Homza, Lu Ann. Religious Authority in the Spanish Renaissance. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2000. Ijsewijn, Jozef and Wouter Bracke, ed. Joannes Dantiscus (1485–1548): Polish Ambas­ sador and Humanist. Antwerp: Centrum voor Europese Cultuur, 1996. Kamiński, Mikołaj. “Jan Dantyszek—Człowiek i Pisarz.” Studia Warmińskie 1 (1964): 57–114. Klassen, Peter J. Mennonites in Early Modern Poland & Prussia. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2009. Kot, Stanisław. Socinianism in Poland: The Social and Political Ideas of the Polish Antitrinitarians in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. Translated by E.M. Wilbur. Boston: Starr King, 1957. Kozik, Bryan D. “‘To resurrect the collapsed religion’: Dantiscus as a Key to Catholic Reform in Central Europe.” Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 112 (2021): 149–79. Krause, C. “Eobanus Hessus am Hofe des pomesanischen Bischofs Hiob von Dobeneck in Riesenburg (1509–1513).” Altpreussische Monatsschrift 16 (1879): 141–58. Longhurst, John E. Erasmus and the Spanish Inquisition: The Case of Juan de Valdés. Albuquerque: The University of New Mexico Press, 1950. Louthan, Howard. “A Model for Christendom? Erasmus, Poland and the Reformation.” Church History 83 (2014): 18–37. Louthan, Howard. “Irenicism and Ecumenism in the Early Modern World: A Reevaluation.” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 61 (2017): 5–30. MacCulloch, Diarmaid. “Thomas Cranmer and Johannes Dantiscus: Retraction and Additions.” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 58, no. 2 (2007): 273–86. MacCulloch, Diarmaid. The Reformation: A History. New York: Viking, 2003. MacCulloch, Diarmaid. Thomas Cranmer: A Life. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1996. Müller-Blessing, Inge Brigitte. “Johannes Dantiscus von Höfen, ein Diplomat und Bischof zwischen Humanismus und Reformation (1485–1548).” Zeitschrift für die Reformationsgeschichte und Altertumskunde Ermlands 31/32 (1967/68): 59–238. Nieto, Jose C. Juan de Valdes and the Origins of the Spanish and Italian Reformation. Genève: Librairie Droz, 1970. Nowak, Zbigniew. “Antyreformacyjna elegia Dantyszka o zagładzie Gdańska.” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 16 (1971): 5–35. Nowak, Zbigniew. Jan Dantyszek: portret renesansowego humanisty. Wrocław: Ossolineum, 1982. Nowakowska, Natalia. King Sigismund of Poland and Martin Luther: The Reformation before Confessionalization. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018. Ososiński, Tomasz. “Nieznane epigramy Dantyszka w liście tegoż do Albrechta I księcia pruskiego.” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 50 (2006): 245–55.

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Ptaszyński, Maciej. “Herzog Albrecht von Preußen, die Polnischen Eliten und die Reformation. Vom Umgang mit konfessioneller Differenz.” Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung 46 (2019): 219–54. Ptaszyński, Maciej. Reformacja w Polsce a dziedzictwo Erazma z Rotterdamu. Warszawa: Wydawnictwa Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, 2018. Rummel, Erika. The Confessionalization of Humanism in Germany. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Rummel, Erika. The Humanist–Scholastic Debate in the Renaissance & Reformation. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1995. Rummel, Erika, ed. A Companion to Biblical Humanism and Scholasticism in the Age of Erasmus. Boston: Brill, 2008. Segel, Harold B. Renaissance Culture in Poland: The Rise of Humanism, 1470–1543. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1989. Skolimowska, Anna. “Dantiscus and the Reformers—Preliminary Remarks.” In Res­ publica Litteraria in Action, edited by Anna Skolimowska, 181–207. Warsaw: IBI AL, 2012. Skolimowska, Anna. “The culture code of the Bible in the Latin texts of Ioannes Dantiscus (1485–1548).” In Acta Conventus Neo-Latini Upsaliensis, edited by Astrid Steiner-Weber, 1015–26. Leiden: Brill, 2012. Vocht, Henry de. John Dantiscus and his Netherlandish Friends: as revealed by their correspondence, 1522–1546. Louvain: Librairie Universitaire, 1961. Whaley, Joachim. Germany and the Holy Roman Empire. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Williams, George Huntston. “Anabaptism and Spiritualism in the Kingdom of Poland and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania: An Obscure Phase of the Pre-History of the Socinianism.” In Studia nad arianizmem, edited by Ludwik Chmaj, 215–62. Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1959. Williams, George Huntston. The Radical Reformation. Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1962.

Chapter 8

Jacob Schmidt Also Called Fabricius (1551–1629): The Unfulfilled Leader of the Second Reformation in Gdańsk Sławomir Kościelak | ORCID: 0000-0001-5176-0622 1

Introduction

The main urban centers of Royal Prussia, a province forming part of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth, experienced the so-called Second Calvinist Reformation at the turn of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. However, despite initial successes, in none of those cities did Calvinism dominate the local Protestant churches. The obstacle was—at least in Gdańsk—the confessional structure of the local community, built from two completely different and seemingly irreconcilable components. The numerically dominant Lutherans, tactically supported by the Catholics, who had been deprived of their primacy only three decades earlier, effectively opposed the Calvinists and their “subversive” activities. The latter—led by their uncompromising leaders—came up with several reforms modifying the local religious life but lost because they were not willing to make any concessions regarding the doctrine they preached. This article addresses a paradox worth exploring: the lack of irenic “empathy” between the two Protestant denominations led to an ad hoc Lutheran– Catholic alliance, resulting in the consolidation of Lutheran domination. Michael G. Müller has already described in detail the consequences of the Second Reformation1—a phenomenon typical for the entire central, especially German-speaking, part of Europe—while also referring to the confessional situation in Gdańsk.2 He discussed the role of Jacob Schmidt, also called Fabricius in Latin, a theologian, a clergyman of the local ministerium, and 1 Michael G. Müller, Zweite Reformation und städtische Autonomie im Königlichen Preussen. Danzig, Elbing und Thorn in der Epoche der Konfessionalisierung (1557–1660) (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1997). See also id., Zrozumieć polską historię (Poznań: Wydawnictwo Poznańskie, 2012). 2 Id., “Między niemieckim konfesjonalizmem a polską tolerancją. Konflikty wyznaniowe między luteranami a ewangelikami reformowanymi w Gdańsku w drugiej połowie XVI wieku,” in Gdańsk protestancki w epoce nowożytnej. W 500–lecie wystąpienia Marcina Lutra,

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004527447_010

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primarily the rector of the Academic Gymnasium in Gdańsk.3 However, no synthetic biography of the religious activist has been developed to date. Fabricius was one of the leaders of the Gdańsk Calvinist community, and for nearly half a century, he attempted to convince all the inhabitants of the city to convert to his confession. It is certainly worth considering to what extent his expressive and intransigent actions contributed to the failure of that peculiar religious revolution, and to what extent they were a manifestation of a tendency at that time: a Calvinist proposal to reform Christianity rejected by the entrenched camp of Lutheran orthodoxy.4 This article describes the circumstances under which Fabricius took over the spiritual leadership of the Gdańsk Reformed community, presents his methods and role in the structure of the Gdańsk clergy, and discusses his participation in the exchange of theological thought at the turn of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The final period of his long life, when he became a powerless witness of his failed long-term efforts owing to his progressing illness, is also discussed. 2

Origin, Education, a Way to Calvinism

All Jacob Schmidt’s biographies state that the later rector of the Gdańsk Academic Gymnasium came from a patrician family. Nonetheless, it is worth adding that both his membership of the Gdańsk patriciate and the city’s citizenship were relatively recent. Jacob’s grandfather, Heinrich, came from the archbishopric of Cologne on the Rhine. He married the Gdańsk citizen Elisabeth von Rehsen in 1518, held no office in Gdańsk, and died relatively young, in 1522, shortly after the birth of his only son, Arnold (1519).5 vol. 1, Eseje, ed. Edmund Kizik, Sławomir Kościelak (Gdańsk: Muzeum Narodowe w Gdańsku, 2017), 92–109. 3 Jacob Fabricius has numerous concise biographical entries in lexicons and biographical dictionaries, both Polish and German. Sven Tode has referred to him most extensively in recent times, however, doing so in the context of his preaching from 1596; Sven Tode, “Zwischen Gott und Welt. Obrigkeit und Seelsorger als Weltapostel? Zur Funktion von Predigt als politische Kommunikation. Jacob Fabritius und die Danziger Gesellschaft in der zweiten Hälfte des 16. Jahrhunderts,” in Debatten über die Legitimation von Herrschaft. Politische Sprachen in der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. Luise Schorn-Schütte, Sven Tode (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2006), 87–124. 4 See: Howard Hotson, “Irenicism in the Confessional Age. The Holy Roman Empire, 1563– 1648,” in Conciliation and Confession: The Struggle for Unity in the Age of Reform, ed. Howard P. Louthan and Randall C. Zachman (Notre Dame: Notre Dame University Press, 2004), 228–85. 5 Dorotea Weichbrodt, Patrizier, Bürger, Einwohner der Freien und Hansestadt Danzig in Stamm- und Namentafeln vom 14.–18. Jahrhundert (Klausdorf–Schwentine: Danziger Verlagsgesellschaft Paul Rosenberg, 1986–1992), vol. 4, 181; Joachim Zdrenka, Urzędnicy miejscy

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In 1542, Arnold Schmidt married Catharina Köseler (d. 1581), daughter of Michael Köseler (d. 1544). Before 1525, for a short time, Michael Köseler was a juror and councilor of the Main Town, one of those whom the social-religious revolt connected with the First Reformation removed from office in the city. The Köselers remained a constant presence in the patrician bodies from the mid-fifteenth century until the early seventeenth century. In 1564, Arnold became a juror and, in 1575, a city councilor. He was the so-called judge—that is, a moderator of jurors’ work on behalf of the council. During the city’s war with King Stephen Bathory in 1577, he co-commanded one of the nine sections of the city fortifications.6 He died on January 17, 1593, without having risen any higher in the hierarchy of Gdańsk authorities.7 Out of Arnold and Catharina’s six children, five lived to adulthood, including three sons (Jacob among them) and two daughters, but none of them attained patrician status.8 Jacob Schmidt was born in 1551 and probably started his education at one of the Gdańsk parish schools—perhaps at St. Mary’s School. In a memorial written at the end of his life, he said that he had studied for five years at a newly established grammar school in Gdańsk Old Suburb. His education took place in the then four-grade school during the rectorate of Heinrich Moller (rector in the years 1559–67).9 After graduating from the Gdańsk Gymnasium, young Jacob took up university studies, as he admitted years later: “auf meines Vattern Sehlig nicht gering Unkosten.”10 On October 10, 1568, Schmidt matriculated at the University of Wittenberg, already using the Latin version of his surname— Fabricius—and adding the designation of his place of origin—Dantiscanus.11 He spent six years, until 1574, in the birthplace of Lutheranism. At that time, Wittenberg was a site of the dispute between the Orthodox Gnesio-Lutherans, who considered themselves to be the proper heirs to Martin Luther’s ideas,

6 7 8 9

10 11

Gdańska w latach 1342–1792 i 1807–1814, vol. 2: Biogramy (Gdańsk: Muzeum Archeologiczne w Gdańsku, 2008), 2. Wilhelm Behring, “Beiträge zur Geschichte des Jahres 1577,” Zeitschrift des Westpreussischen Geschichtsvereins 45, (1903): 34. Zdrenka, Urzędnicy, vol. 1, 84–8, vol. 2, 282. Ibid. Denkschrift des Rektors Fabricius über das Schulsystem des Gymnasiums 1628 in Gdańskie Gimnazjum Akademickie, ed. Lech Mokrzecki, vol. 2 (Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Gdańskiego, 2008), 72, 84. See also Lech Mokrzecki, “Gdańskie Gimnazjum Akademickie—zarys dziejów,” in Gimnazjum Akademickie w Gdańsku, ed. E. Kotarski, vol. 1 (Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Gdańskiego, 2008), 23. Denkschrift des Rektors Fabricius, 73. Album Academiae Vitebergensis ab Anno Christi MDII usque ad Anni MDCII, vol. 2 (Halle: Halis. Sumptibus Maximiliani Niemeyeri, 1894), 148. Hermann Freytag, Die Preussen auf der Universität und die nichtpreussischen Schüler Wittenbergs in Preussen von 1502 bis 1602. Eine Festgabe zur vierhundertjährigen Gedächtnisfeier der Gründung der Universität Wittenberg (Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1903), 63.

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and the Philippists as Philipp Melanchthon’s disciples, who strived for a compromise or agreement with the mainstream of Reformed Protestantism. There was a kind of paradox: he encountered there the Reformed evangelicalism’s ideas of the Philippists, including the ideas of Christoph Pezel (1539–1604), Fabricius’s master and teacher. In 1574, exactly when young Jacob obtained his Master of Philosophy degree12 under his tutelage, Pezel was accused of holding a Calvinist view of the Lord’s Supper. Consequently, the theologian lost his professorship, and two years later, he was expelled from Wittenberg. He then became a pastor and promoter of Calvinism in the Duchy of Nassau, in Dillenburg, and finally in Bremen.13 Years later, Pezel wrote a preface to Fabricius’s work defending the Calvinist view of the Eucharist, which shows a close relationship between the two. In it, he referred to his former pupil as “mein alter bekandter und vertrawter Freundt.”14 Being convinced by the Second Reformation, Fabricius set off on a further scholarly peregrination to the Rhineland centers of Calvinism. First, he went to Heidelberg in the Palatinate, where he stayed for a short time, having enrolled for studies on May 4, 1575, and had the opportunity to meet, as a fellow student, Gerhard Brandes, the future mayor, and lay partner in leading the Second Reformation in Gdańsk.15 Then, he left for Basel, where, in 1576, he obtained his doctorate in theology. He then benefited from the support and assistance of Johann Jacob Grynaeus (1540–1617), a Calvinist and professor of theology (Old Testament exegesis) at the University of Basel from 1575. Fabricius’s doctoral dissertation title was very telling—De Restitutionis Nostrae Causis et Dispensatione—and it was devoted to the questions of personal conversion and divine grace.16 After obtaining his degree, Fabricius stayed abroad 12

13 14 15 16

According to Andreas Schott, Jacob Fabricius was to take first place in Wittenberg among the candidates for the Master’s degree. See: Andreas Schott, Theologorum, qui Gedani vixerunt semisaecularium memoriae monumentum … (Gedani: typis et sumptibus Thomae Johannis Schreiber, 1757), 15. Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie, vol. 25 (Leipzig: Verlag von Duncker und Humblot, 1887), 575–577; Neue Deutsche Biographie, vol. 20 (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 2001), 287–88. Drey Predigten von den H. Sacramenten und sonderlich von dem hochwuerdigen Abendtmahl den Herren … gehalten in der Kirchen den Gymnasii zu Dantzig von Jacobo Fabricio in Jahr Christi 1589 (mit Vorrede von Christoph Pezelius) (Steinfurt: Theophilus Keiser, 1599). Die Matrikel der Universität Heidelberg von 1386 bis 1662, vol. 2: 1554–1662, ed. Gustav Toepke (Heidelberg: Selbstverlag des Herausgebers, 1886), 73. Witold Szczuczko, “Fabricius Jakub,” in Słownik biograficzny Pomorza Nadwislańskiego, ed. Stanisław Gierszewski, vol. 1 (Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo Gdańskie, 1992), 396; Lech Mokrzecki, “Jakub Fabricius (1551–1629), pierwszy rektor Gdańskiego Gimnazjum Akademickiego,” in Zasłużeni ludzie Pomorza XVI wieku (Gdańsk: Gdańskie Towarzystwo Naukowe. Wydział Nauk Społecznych i Humanistycznych, 1971), 21.

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for some time, probably practicing theology—as was the academic custom at the time—by lecturing in Basel. In April 1578, he returned to Gdańsk and settled “privately” with his father, Arnold.17 He held a doctorate in theology, so soon after his return, the Gdańsk Ministerium—a collegiate body that managed church affairs in the city, composed of evangelical clergy; a kind of autonomous presbyterial structure, but firmly subordinated to the City Council18—appointed him to supervise examinations for candidates ordained to the ministry.19 At the turn of 1578 and 1579, he was also invited to preach in churches in Gdańsk. This happened with the knowledge of Johann Kittelius (1519–90), then the first pastor of St. Mary’s Church and senior of the Gdańsk Ministerium, who was, however, in favor of the orthodox Lutheran version of the Reformation.20 In 1579, Kittelius changed his attitude toward Fabricius and publicly accused him of having been among the Calvinists in Switzerland for so long that he had imbibed their ideas, including iconoclasm.21 Nonetheless, this did not prevent Fabricius from acting as an informal advisor to the city council on matters of faith.22 Nor did it block his further clerical and scientific career in Gdańsk. Until the mid-seventeenth century, he was the only pastor of patrician origin among the Protestant clergy in Gdańsk.23 3

Fabricius—a Reformed (Calvinist) Rector of the Gdańsk Gymnasium

Since the city’s conflict with King Stephen Bathory (1576), the grammar school in Gdańsk had ceased to function, as the school lacked staff, students, and primarily a rector. The city council first offered the position to Christoph Pezel, who declined to take it.24 In 1580, the councilors turned to Fabricius with the same proposal. He accepted the appointment, and in June of that year, he took over the reins of the grammar school; in July, he started enrolling students. He was initially given the professorship of ethics and taught theology 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

Archiwum Państwowe w Gdańsku (APG), 300, R/Pp,2, Historia Notulae, fol. 100. Edmund Kizik, “Prawo i administracja Kościoła luterańskiego w Gdańsku i na terytorium wiejskim miasta w XVI–XVIII wieku,” in Gdańsk protestancki, 118–121. Müller, Zweite Reformation, 223. Historia Notulae, fol. 93; Szczuczko, Fabricius Jakub, 396; Mokrzecki, Jakub Fabricius, 21. Historia Notulae, fol. 93v–94. Müller, Zweite Reformation, 84, 202. Ibid., 228. Ibid.

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(including the Epistles of John and Paul). However, the leading theology professor was a Lutheran Orthodox, Michael Coletus (1545–1616), who did not have a doctorate.25 The reform of the grammar school, which Fabricius carried out with outstanding commitment in the next few years, certainly built his position in the city as an educated man and an energetic, skillful organizer who created a school in line with the dominant educational models of the time. The changes included broadening the curriculum and bringing in new, better-educated professors. It was mostly academic subjects such as theology, law, philosophy, and later medicine, as well as Greek, oriental languages, and Polish among modern languages, that were introduced.26 The grammar school, initially a four-grade school (the abovementioned academic subjects were taught in the first and second grades), was transformed into a six-grade one in 1599, which caused a severe conflict with parochial schools.27 The Strasbourg, and therefore the Calvinistic, model of Johann Sturm’s grammar school28 was the model for the reforms. From the very beginning, Fabricius preferred to employ his coreligionists as the grammar school professorial staff. Having obtained a permanent and lucrative position, in December 1582 Jacob married Regina, daughter of Georg Falkener, related to the wealthy von der Linde family.29 Regina did not survive her husband (she died in 1624). She bore him six children (three sons and three daughters), four of whom lived to adulthood. Two of the sons, Arndt and Jacob, married and became merchants using the family name Schmidt. The daughters Regina and Catharina also married, and the latter followed her husband to Calvinist Bremen.30 25 26

27

28

29 30

Polska Akademia Nauk Biblioteka Gdańska (PAN BG), MS 5750, 370. See also Denkschrift des Rektors, 84–85. Mokrzecki, “Gdańskie Gimnazjum Akademickie,” 23–29; id., “Refleksje o Gimnazjum Gdańskim w dobie I Rzeczypospolitej,” in Gimnazjum Akademickie w Gdańsku, ed. Lech Mokrzecki, Mariusz Brodnicki, vol. 5 (Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Gdańskiego, 2012), 43. Perhaps in the aim of creating a kind of competition for them might have been to promote Calvinist influenced elementary education. Marian Pawlak, “Gimnazja akademickie Elbląga, Gdańska i Torunia. Podobieństwa i różnice,” in Gimnazjum Akademickie w Gdańsku, vol. 5, 187. Józef Budzyński, “Dawne humanistyczne Gimnazjum Akademickie w Gdańsku w XVI– XVIII wieku,” in Gimnazjum Akademickie w Gdańsku, ed. Zofia Głombiowska (Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Gdańskiego, 2008), 33. This model was also applied in Elbląg and Toruń. Weichbrodt, Patrizier, 163; Zdrenka, Urzędnicy, vol. 2, 200. It was a paradox that the von der Linde family belonged to the patrician backers of Lutheranism in Gdańsk. Weichbrodt, Patrizier, 181.

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Because he was not a professor of theology and a pastor of the Holy Trinity Church, Fabricius was initially unable to fully develop Calvinist propaganda. The only tools at his disposal were theological exercises and disputes during classes.31 In 1584, the first tensions and incidents occurred in the city; they were caused by differences in the content of teachings and sermons between the Lutherans Coletus and Clemens Friccius (d. 1589) and the Calvinists Fabricius, Peter Praetorius (d. 1588), and Achace Curaeus (1530–94).32 In 1585, Coletus was assigned the post of preacher at St. Mary’s Church, probably with a view to making him a senior minister of the Gdańsk Ministerium in the future.33 Fabricius became, at the same time, the only professor of theology at the Gymnasium and vice-senior of the Gdańsk Ministerium as pastor of the Holy Trinity Church.34 On assuming this honorable function, he refused to subscribe to the so-called Notula of 1562, a Gdańsk Protestant confession of faith. His scruples stemmed from the fact that the last, thirteenth, article of the Notula forbade the preaching of the Calvinist viewpoint on the Lord’s Supper. The rector of the Gymnasium criticized the entire document as too Gnesio-Lutheran.35 That gesture can be considered a kind of prelude to the war—to rule people’s minds and souls in the city. 4

The “War of Gdańsk” between the Calvinists and the Lutherans

A few months later, in February 1586, by supporting the nomination of Samuel Lindemann, educated in Calvinist Heidelberg, Fabricius caused a split in the Ministerium,36 securing the vote of eleven Gdańsk ministers, whereas the Lutheran faction led by Kitellius and Coletus gathered only seven votes. Although the arbitration of that peculiar rift should have been in the hands of the city council, the de facto head of the Protestant Church in Gdańsk, a polarization of positions took place, and a division into a Calvinist majority and a Lutheran minority occurred.37 In March and April 1586, the council called on the preachers to strengthen the authority of the Notula with their teaching. 31 32 33 34 35 36 37

Historia Notulae, fol. 110v. Müller, Zweite Reformation, 210; id., Zrozumieć polską historię, 122. Przemysław Szafran, “Coletus Michał,” in Słownik biograficzny Pomorza Nadwiślańskiego, ed. Stanisław Gierszewski, vol. 1 (Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo Gdańskie, 1992), 230–231. Ephraim Praetorius, Athaenae Gedanenses, ed. Mariusz Brodnicki, trans. Maria Otto (Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo Athenae Gedanenses, 2016), 379. Müller, Zweite Reformation, 85; id., Zrozumieć polską historię, 124; Historia Notulae, fol. 181v. Ibid., fol. 131v–133. Müller, Zweite Reformation, 86.

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The Calvinists understood that as an encouragement to revise its provisions. In autumn of the same year, Fabricius insisted on behalf of his Reformed colleagues that the name of John Calvin be removed from article 13 of the Notula.38 Simultaneously, Calvinists put forward several practical demands relating to the reform of liturgy and worship: the removal of Catholic—“papist”— remnants in liturgies and abandoning the use of hosts, candles, chants, and altars.39 This was not in line with the content of the religious privilege of July 1557 for Gdańsk (prohibiting any changes in ceremonies and rites), and the fever of discussions threatened to spill from the pulpits into the streets. On October 23, 1586, the council issued a mandate de non calumnando forbidding the slandering of the clergy employed in Gdańsk, thus blocking the possibility of direct polemics between religious adversaries, especially in churches.40 At the turn of 1586 and 1587, Fabricius, taking advantage of his position as a rector, professor, and pastor, conducted intensive pro-Calvinist preaching and educational activity in the Gymnasium and the Holy Trinity Church. His opponents called it the “massacre of the innocents” (Kindermörder) because it attracted crowds of school children to the idea of Reformed Protestantism.41 Nonetheless, the Lutherans retained a significant influence among the Lutheran commoners. The beginning of 1587 saw the first open anti-Calvinist riots take place in the city. The two main antagonists, Praetorius and Kittelius, were forbidden to preach in St. Mary’s Church, which further exposed Fabricius’s position as the leader of the Second Reformation in Gdańsk.42 However, this also resulted in growing mob aggression. One night, Fabricius’s house was stormed, and one Sunday, he was thrown from the pulpit with the intention to stone him.43 Fabricius miraculously escaped death and together with his friend Joachim Keckermann (father of the later eminent Gymnasium professor, Bartholomaeus), he had to flee disguised as a woman.44 In June 1587, Fabricius’s supporters in the Gdańsk City Council agreed to the complete removal of article 13 from the Notula, but the counteraction of some councilors and the Third Order blocked this move.45 According to Eberhard Bötticher (1554–1617), a Lutheran vituperator (i.e., a lay administrator of the property of St. Mary’s Church), on July 23, 1587, Fabricius added his own signature to the 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45

Ibid., 86–87. Müller, Zrozumieć polską historię, 126–27. Ibid., 123. Müller, Zweite Reformation, 89; Historia Notulae, fol. 131, 195v–198v. Müller, Zweite Reformation, 227. Ibid., 89. Szczuczko, Fabricius Jakub, 396. Müller, Zweite Reformation, 90; Historia Notulae, fol. 243–244.

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Notula without any reservations.46 For Fabricius, it was a tactical maneuver under clear pressure from the city council.47 A new phase of the Calvinist attack on the city occurred at the turn of 1589 and 1590. It was then that the paintings and sculptures from the Church of Saints Peter and Paul were removed. Fabricius strongly supported the modernization of the liturgical sphere in the parish church of the Old Suburbs (relevant also for the nearby grammar school). For him, it was a symbolic gesture of cutting himself off from the Catholic (“papist”) past of the place. A plaque with quotations from the Holy Scriptures on the institution and proper understanding of the sacrament of the Eucharist replaced the removed altar.48 In 1590–92, as the rector of the Gymnasium, Fabricius implemented similar changes in the Holy Trinity Church. German was introduced into the liturgy, the use of candles on the altar and the wearing of chasubles were abandoned, heard confessions were abolished, and German psalms by Ambrosius Lobwasser were sung during the services (from 1591).49 However, Fabricius failed in his attempts to close the retable of the main altar, richly decorated with paintings and sculptures. Enticed by a Lutheran preacher’s sermon, the outraged people intervened and consequently “freed the holy images.”50 The grammar school remained a place of Calvinist propaganda, which caused continued complaints, including from Eberhard Bötticher. He wrote in his chronicle that professors at that school openly taught the Heidelberg Catechism and pushed Calvinist books on young people, attacking the principles of the Lutheran faith in theological disputes. He mentioned Fabricius by name, stating that his sermons were full of anti-Lutheran rants.51 The ordinary believers were mainly offended by the replacement of the host with bread, implemented in the years 1592–93. The use of hosts was a “papist” relic for the Calvinists, whereas for the orthodox Lutherans, the breaking of ordinary bread was deeply offensive, a situation that expressed all too clearly the difference in the understanding of the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper. Fabricius explained the reasons for such far-reaching changes in his constantly preached sermons. He delivered three of them, containing a proclamation of the Calvinist view of the nature, meaning, and significance of the sacraments, 46 47 48 49 50 51

Eberhard Bȍtticher, Chronik der Marienkirche in Danzig. Das Historische Kirchen Register (1616), ed. Christian Herrmann, Edmund Kizik (Köln: Böhlau, 2013), 532. Historia Notulae, fol. 260v. Katarzyna Cieślak, Między Rzymem, Wittenbergą a Genewą (Wrocław: Wydawnictwo Leopoldinum Fundacji dla Uniwersytetu Wrocławskiego, 2000), 150. Ibid., 145, 282; Historia Notulae, fol. 308v–310. Müller, Zrozumieć polską historię, 204. Bȍtticher, Chronik der Marienkirche, 537.

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in the Gymnasium church on the eve of the liturgical reform at the end of Lent in 1589. They were published years later, in 1599, in Steinfurt in the Duchy of Bentheim-Tecklenburg, headquarters of the newly created Reformed Academy with an irenic bias, in the north of Germany.52 The rector’s position on communion, which was the point of greatest difference between the Lutherans and Calvinists, was clear. For him, the bread and wine at the Lord’s Supper were bread and wine and at the same time could be called Christ’s body and blood, His pledge and seal (Pfande und Siegel).53 That is how Fabricius expressed the Calvinist idea of sacrament as a “sign.” To a greater or lesser extent, the changes inspired by Fabricius led to an uproar in the city, causing further tumults at the turn of 1593–94.54 These were compounded by increasingly inflamed Protestant–Catholic relations, stemming from the trial and dispute over St. Mary’s Church and an attempt to establish a Jesuit institution inside the city based on the site of the Brigidine Monastery,55 which was then in decline. The theological disputes within Gdańsk translated into issues of nationwide agreement between the main strands of Protestantism at the Toruń General Synod of 1595. The organizers of that convention had a special envoy, Daniel Mikołajewski, deliver an invitation to Fabricius and Coletus to participate in this venture. However, the Gdańsk city council, referring to its right of patronage, forbade both theologians to go to Toruń under the pretext of the necessity of limiting the min­ istry of both clergymen to the churches and posts assigned to them.56 It was a political maneuver, an attempt to keep peace between the main currents of Protestantism in the Crown in the face of the Counter-Reformation onslaught. After the synod, in December 1595, representatives of the four main cities of Royal Prussia (Gdańsk, Toruń, Elbląg, and Malbork) had a meeting in Gdańsk, and Fabricius participated in it as the rector of the Gymnasium. The meeting was to discuss the reform of evangelical education in Prussia, including the establishment of a local Protestant university. Nonetheless, no agreement was

52 53 54 55 56

Müller, Zrozumieć polską historię, 202; Hotson, “Irenicism in the Confessional Age,” 234; Drey Predigten. Ibid., 20. This was a Palm Sunday sermon, a traditional time for Calvinists to explain the meaning of the Lord’s Supper, before it was served on Maundy Thursday. Historia Notulae, fol. 343v–344. Sławomir Kościelak, Katolicy w protestanckim Gdańsku od drugiej połowy XVI do końca XVIII wieku (Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Gdańskiego, 2012), 106–14, 120–28. Wojciech Sławiński, “Toruński synod generalny protestantów 1595 roku a miasta pruskie,” Czasy Nowożytne 8/9 (2000): 91–92, 101; Müller, Zweite Reformation, 229.

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reached on the latter issue.57 All this occurred during a period of heated dispute and trial over the return of St. Mary’s Church to the Catholics. In 1595, the king repeated three times the order to return the church to the Catholics, the last time just before Christmas. Gdańsk authorities feared—it is palpable in Fabricius’s writings too—that the Catholic bishop would hand over St. Mary’s Church to the Jesuits.58 The city did not want the order associated with the Counter-Reformation and, in response, claimed the right of patronage over the Brigidine Monastery.59 In the heated atmosphere of interconfessional rivalry, on Holy Thursday in 1596 (April 11) Fabricius delivered a sermon on the Lord’s Supper, essentially aimed at Lutherans. He demanded that relics of “papism” be removed from church ceremonies in Gdańsk as soon as possible because otherwise, it would be impossible to distinguish between “true Christians” and “enemies of the faith.”60 The content of this sermon, which involved denying the necessity of serving the Eucharist in the form of the host and comparing priests in cassocks and surplices to butchers or brewery workers, was considered highly offensive. The bishop of Włocławek, Hieronim Rozrażewski (1546–1600), ordered a notarized copy of the sermon to be made and filed a lawsuit against the rector of the Gymnasium on August 4, 1596, declaring his Calvinist teaching to be illegal in Gdańsk and contrary to royal privileges. Thus, he cast himself as a defender of not just the Catholics’ but also the Lutherans’ rights.61 After a month, during which the rector disobeyed the order, the suit was renewed (September 4).62 The bishop was supported by King Sigismund III Vasa (August 30), who repeated most of Rozrażewski’s accusations and ordered Fabricius to account for promoting Calvinism in the city, acting against the Catholic and Augsburg faithful, and—allegedly—wanting to make all the churches and schools in Gdańsk subordinate to the Calvinist superintendent from Heidelberg.63 57 58 59 60 61 62 63

Denkschrift des Rektors, 82–83; Stanisław Tync, “Próba utworzenia akademii protestanc­ kiej w 1595 r.,” Reformacja w Polsce 4 (1926): 46–59. Historia Notulae, fol. 375, 380. Kościelak, Katolicy, 170–73. Bȍtticher, Chronik der Marienkirche, 563. See also Eduard Schnaase, Geschichte der evangelischen Kirche Danzigs actenmäßig dargestellt (Danzig: Verlag von Theodor Bertling, 1863), 599–600. Müller, Zweite Reformation, 80, 118. See: PAN BG, MS Uph. 221, fol. 1–2. The content of the lawsuit was also extensively cited in Chronik der Marienkirche, 563–64. PAN BG MS Uph. 221, fol. 2–2v. For the background to these efforts, see: Korespondencja Hieronima Rozrażewskiego ed. Paweł Czaplewski (Toruń: Towarzystwo Naukowe w Toruniu, 1947), 522–23. PAN BG, MS Uph. 221, fol. 3v.

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When the Gymnasium rector continued to ignore the bishop’s orders, the bishop’s court official, Nicolaus Milonius, filed a similar lawsuit (October 21 and 22, 1596).64 Fabricius responded indirectly to all the accusations, preaching a sermon in the Gymnasium church on the twentieth Sunday after the Feast of the Holy Trinity in autumn 1596, where he once again set out his views on the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.65 The Gdańsk authorities, still strongly pro-Calvinist, defended the clergyman, stating that Fabricius was not subject to the jurisdiction of the Catholic bishop, in accordance with the privileges of the city, including above all the Great Privilege of 1457 and the religious privilege of 1557. The conflict was smoothed over in the following year by the mediation of the then Pomeranian palatine, Ludwik Mortęski, who persuaded Rozrażewski to ease the pressure by deluding him with the possibility of obtaining financial compensation from the inhabitants of Gdańsk for St. Mary’s Church, which had not been returned to the Catholics.66 5

The Apogee of the Lutheran–Calvinist Dispute over the Form of the Confession for Gdańsk

From around 1599, the pro-Lutheran Third Order bombarded the royal chancellery with complaints about illegal Calvinist innovations. Gdańsk city council—clearly under the influence of the gradually winning pro-Lutheran option—decided to remove from the official files any documents that could point to any controversy over matters of faith during the deliberations of the three Gdańsk orders. The action was intended to reinforce the opinion that the “continuity of the [Lutheran] church organization” was not affected by animosities.67 This provoked Fabricius’s response and resulted in writing activity on a scale not previously recorded for this theologian. Up to that point, he had not taken part in any of the discussions published in print. In the next few years, he published or prepared several dissertations, including the already mentioned Drey Predigten (1599). In 1603, his Kurtzer Bericht on the essence of the dispute that the (Calvinist) churches in Royal Prussia had with the Lutherans was published anonymously in Hanau, Hesse-Darmstadt, a principality later associated (after the Calvinization of 64 65 66 67

Ibid., fol. 2v–3; Paul Simson, Geschichte der Stadt Danzig, vol. 2 (Danzig: August Wilhelm Kafemann, 1918), 416–17. BG PAN, MS Uph. q. 28, fol. 147–192; Tode, “Zwischen Gott,” 87–124. Ibid., 118; Kościelak, Katolicy, 111. Müller, Zrozumieć polską historię, 184–85.

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Hesse-Kassel) with orthodox Lutheranism.68 The first part of his best-known work, Refutation-Schrift, was also written at that time and printed a decade later in Oppenheim. It had the character of a dispute with Michael Coletus’s views, as suggested by the extended title of this work.69 In 1603, he completed his most monumental, and unfortunately so far unpublished, Historia Notulae, showing the Reformed point of view on the history of the Reformation in Gdańsk.70 It is worth noting that the nearly 1,000-page manuscript discusses the introduction of Notulae in 1562 on only a few pages in the initial phase of the narrative. The rest of the book is devoted to the struggle for the form and content of Gdańsk’s Protestantism. The work was, in fact, another polemic dealing with Coletus’s theological outlook. Fabricius told the story of the stages of establishing the Protestant Church in Gdańsk, including the ideological disputes of the pioneer period (after the confessional privilege had been granted in 1557), going far beyond the moment of the establishment of the 13-point Notula in 1562,71 which was the title of his work. He introduced himself in the third person on

68

69

70

71

The title of the work was very self-explanatory: Kurtzer Bericht was in etlichen benachbarten der Reformirten Religion verwanten Kirchen der Lande Preussen von dem fürnembsten Puncten Christlichen Religion gelehret worden: und worin man in denselben in Streit gerathen: sampt einem Christlichen Bedencken, wie solche Streit nach der Richtschnur Gottliches Wortes und dann auch der Augspurgischen Confession und Apologi gemass möge beygeleget und in denselben Christlich verfahren werden. Gestellet auf Erforderung Christliebender Leute durch einen der Wahrheit und des Frieden Liebhaber (Hanau: Wilhelm Antonius, 1603). See also: Hotson, “Irenicism in the Confessional Age,” 246. Refutation-Schrift, das ist Christliche und abgedrungene Widerlegung der vielfaltigen und nichtigen Bezuchtigungen, damit Herr Michael Coletus Prediger zu Dantzig in der Pfarrkirchen zu S. Marien Jacobum Fabricium S. Theol. D. dess Gymnasii Rectorem und Prediger daselbst zubeschmützen und die Gottliche Warheit in vielen Articulen dess Chrsitlichen Glaubens neben etlichen Gottlichen Ordnungen und Ceremonien in seiner Probations-Schrift, so zu Königsperg in Preussen Anno 1605 gedruckt als eine Calvinische Gifft und Ketzerei zum grewlichsten zuschmahen sich unterstanden. Gestellt durch Jacobum Fabricium Dantiscanum … (Oppenheim: Hieronymus Gallern, 1613–1615). Fabricius mentions the writing of this work in Historia Notulae, See. Ibid., fol. 407. The full title of this work, preserved in several manuscript copies, was: Historia Notulae, dass ist warhafftige und eigendtliche Beschreibung, wan und durch wass Occasion und Gelegenheit auch zu wass Ende, die Notel, dass ist die Bekandtnüss der Lehre von Hochw. Abendmahl der Prediger zu Dantzigk erstlich gefasset, und dazumahl, wie auch hernach zu unterschiedenen Zeiten von den Predigern daselbst sey unterschrieben worden. According to Ephraim Praetorius, it was to be in the author’s mind the third part of the abovementioned Refutation-Schrift—see Athenae Gedanenses, 380. Several copies of this work have survived in Gdańsk. Apart from the one quoted here, there are also three copies from PAN BG: Ms 928, Uph. 22, Uph. 23. For more on its subject see: Bjørn Ole Hovda, The Controversy over the Lord’s Supper in Danzig 1561–1567. Presence and Practice—Theology and Confessional Policy (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2018), 100–19; Historia Notulae, fol. 41 and ff.

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the pages of Historia Notulae, usually using the German version of his family name Schmid.72 The last pages of the work turned into a detailed commentary on current events. These included Fabricius’s extensive argumentation based on the Old and New Testaments and polemics with Martin Luther’s Catechism as well as the preaching of programmatic iconoclasm, critical of idolatrous church ceremonies and “papist” relics and superstitions.73 From Fabricius’s perspective, the turn of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries saw an escalation of tensions and animosities between the two Protestant denominations. It was then that a battle over elementary education, triggered by the reform of the grammar school and the establishment of a sixgrade school, raged in the city.74 At the turn of 1600–1601, the rector preached a series of sermons on idolatry, allegedly rampant in the city’s churches,75 both Catholic and Lutheran ones. He also noted disputes involving his colleagues (Copius, Adrian Pauli76) as well as the council’s successive moves that were unfavorable to Calvinists.77 All these events were overshadowed by an epidemic in autumn 1601. The Lutherans accused the Calvinists of causing it by criticizing the way they distributed communion and the influence they had gained in schools, especially in the grammar school.78 Accusations of heresy meant a lack of new pupils in the latter, which Fabricius bitterly deplored.79 He expressed concern about the growing scale of anti-Calvinist speeches in the city.80 The apogee of the ideological struggle between the First and Second Reformation supporters occurred after the time covered by the closing considerations in the Historia Notulae pages dealing with the turn of 1604–1605. Calvinists were still predominant among the elite, in the circles of power, and among officials, clergy, teachers, and liberal professions. Merchants, especially craftsmen, the more impoverished strata of the ordinary people, and the plebs were firmly in favor of Lutheranism. Moreover, the Calvinists continually had their representatives active within the patriciate and the clergy. Therefore, the city notaries kept minutes of the Reformed preachers’ sermons, thus collecting factual “evidence” of their alleged doctrinal deviations. In April 1605, Fabricius 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80

His name appears in 1578, when he returned from Switzerland: Historia Notulae, fol. 93. Ibid., fol. 418–463v. Ibid., fol. 412v–416. Ibid., fol. 464–465. Ibid., fol. 467–467v. Ibid., fol. 468. Ibid., fol. 469v. Denkschrift, 74. Historia Notulae, fol. 470–473.

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was subjected to such a procedure. An extensive note was written under the title Die Predigt und Kirchen Ceremonien in der Grauemönchen-Kirche.81 Such collected material served as documentation for a complaint by the Third Order representing the interests of the Lutheran Church in Gdańsk submitted to King Sigismund III Vasa in May 1605. Once again, the Calvinists in Gdańsk found a way (by monetary means) to stop any reaction of the Crown.82 However, the king, who was fighting against the opposition in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth (Zebrzydowski’s Rebellion), increasingly supported the process of “controlled Lutheran confessionalization” in Gdańsk.83 Fabricius’s efforts to win the favor of Polish–Lithuanian dissidents by drafting and sending out letters explaining the position of the Gdańsk Calvinists had no effect.84 He also defended the Calvinist perspective in a public dispute with a Jesuit from Gdańsk in 1606. The subject of the dispute was the cult of saints and images in the Catholic Church.85 Fabricius had great hopes at this time for the son of his friend Joachim Keckermann, Bartholomaeus Keckermann (1572–1609), who, having been educated at foreign universities, returned to his native city in 1602 to take up the position of chair of philosophy and become the vice-director of a grammar school. They differed on their vision of the school’s teaching: Keckermann was more open to philosophical orientations and humanities subjects and did not give prominence to the “queen of sciences”—theology—the way Fabricius did.86 Keckermann sought to expand philosophical studies, which raised Fabricius’s fears that grammar school students would not receive proper religious education.87 However, Keckermann stood his ground, and the school soon gained a solid reputation, outside as well as inside the borders of the 81 82 83

84 85

86 87

Müller, Zweite Reformation, 126. Müller, Między niemieckim konfesjonalizmem, 102. Müller, Zweite Reformation, 168. The oppositionists also included leading Calvinists from the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, which had some influence on the monarch’s attitude. Tomasz Kempa, Wobec kontrreformacji. Protestanci i prawosławni w obronie swobód wyznaniowych w Rzeczypospolitej w końcu XVI i w pierwszej połowie XVII wieku (Toruń: Wydawnictwo Adam Marszałek, 2007), 233–59. Müller, Zweite Reformation, 128. Historia Residentiae Gedanensis Societatis Jesu ab anno 1585, ed. Richard Stachnik, Anneliese Triller (Köln: Böhlau, 1986); 68–69. Sławomir Kościelak, Jezuici w Gdańsku od drugiej połowy XVI do końca XVIII wieku (Gdańsk–Kraków: Gdańskie Towarzystwo Naukowe. Wydawnictwo WAM, 2003), 276. Bronisław Nadolski, Życie i działalność naukowa uczonego gdańskiego Bartłomieja Keckermanna. Studium z dziejów odrodzenia na Pomorzu (Toruń: Towarzystwo Naukowe w Toruniu, 1961), 16. Ibid., 25–26.

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Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. The young scholar’s sudden death in 1609 was a significant blow to the Calvinist party in Gdańsk. The real breakthrough in the history of the Second Reformation in Gdańsk, or rather its end, came in 1612. On January 3, 1612, the lay leader of the Calvinist camp, mayor, and protoscholarch (superior of the Collegium Scholarchale that supervised the school), Gerhard Brandes (1555–1612), died. Thus, the Reformed Protestants lost once and for all their predominance in the mayoral college: until then, three out of four mayors had been Calvinists. Now, the school run by Fabricius lost its protective umbrella. On April 2, 1612, King Sigismund III Vasa issued a decree granting the right to sit in the council to Catholics (which was purely symbolic) and Lutherans only.88 The Lutherans gained an essential tool for influencing personnel policy within Gdańsk’s governing bodies, limiting (though never eliminating) the presence of the Calvinists from political power. In this way, in Gdańsk as elsewhere, the conviction was manifested, typical of many areas of Central Europe at that time (especially the Reich), that for Lutherans the Calvinist Second Reformation was more dangerous than the Catholic Counter-Reformation.89 6

The Last Years of Jacob Fabricius’s Life

After 1612, Jacob Fabricius came down with severe gout, which limited his ability to preach at the Holy Trinity Church and teach theology.90 Both tasks were then taken over—unofficially at first—by another Calvinist, Georg Pauli (1586– 1650), who had been promoted to doctor of theology in Basel and brought to Gdańsk by Fabricius especially for this purpose.91 He was not formally appointed pastor of the academic church until 1626.92 It was also then that the Calvinist monopoly on teaching in the grammar school was broken once and for all. Between 1615 and 1617, the Lutheran Johann Rodenborch (1572–1617)93 became a new, additional (the so-called extraordinary) professor of theology. In 1617, the Lutheran Andreas Hojer was hired as a professor of logic and Greek literature at the Gdańsk secondary school, and from 1621 he was also entrusted with preaching in the mornings on Sundays and holidays at the Holy Trinity 88 89 90 91 92 93

Simson, Geschichte der Stadt, vol. 2, 252–53. Hotson, “Irenicism in the Confessional Age,” 249. Praetorius, Athaenae Gedanenses, 379. In the letter from Fabricius to Pauli dated 9 July 1612, Rector—asking for his return— mentions his own health problems BG PAN MS 2450, 393–396. Praetorius, Athaenae Gedanenses, 397. Ibid., 399–400.

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Church.94 Now, the academic church, too, took on a simultaneously Lutheran and Calvinist character again. Between 1613 and 1615, Fabricius had both parts of Refutation-Schrift against Coletus published in Oppenheim, a Calvinist center in the Rhine Palatinate. The Gdańsk city council, in which the Lutherans were playing an increasingly important role, banned any further polemics (from both parties) in the summer of 1615 under the pretext of maintaining peace and order in the city. The silenced Fabricius had his revenge on the main instigator of the ban, the Lutheran mayor Andreas Borckmann, when after his death he made a note about it in November 1616 in the book of entries of the Gdańsk Gymnasium kept by him. It was a mix of a thanksgiving and a conviction of God’s punishment on religious adversaries. That year saw not only Borckmann’s death but also that of Michael Coletus, Fabricius’s long-time opponent. Meanwhile, the other Lutheran mayor, Bartel Brandt, suffered apoplexy, and Rodenborch (mentioned above) fell ill “in body and soul.” Fabricius regarded all these events as signs of God’s punishment on the enemies of Calvinism. Brandt and Rodenborch died soon after, in 1617.95 In the last years of his life, Fabricius’s academic activity visibly slowed down.96 After he had resigned from the chair and pastoral duties owing to illness, he continued to direct the grammar school. In a memorial written toward the end of his life, he admitted that some decisions had been taken without his knowledge or advice.97 Fabricius’s memorandum on Gdańsk’s school system, mentioned several times above, can be regarded as a kind of last word, an account of his achievements and a testament with recommendations for the future of the institution that he had led for almost half a century. The document was submitted to the supervising Collegium Scholarchale on October 28, 1628, less than six months before the rector’s death (which occurred on April 1, 1629). In his memorial, Fabricius defended the innovations introduced at the time, especially the vast 94 95 96

97

Ibid., 400–2. Księga wpisów uczniów Gimnazjum Gdańskiego 1580–1814, ed. Zbigniew Nowak, Przemysław Szafran (Warszawa–Poznań: Polska Akademia Nauk Biblioteka Gdańska, 1974), 102. Ephraim Praetorius admittedly attributed to him two more theological dissertations published anonymously in 1617: Kurtze aber notdürstige Erklärung des Gebets der Luth. Prediger in Dantzig wider die Calvinisten, Freystadt and in 1621: Ausführliche Behauptung derverbeserten Augspurgischen Confession, (n.m.) but this is doubtful. At this time, there was a Fabricius dynasty of pastors and theologians active in Western Pomerania where the name Jacob was common. Praetorius, Athaenae Gedanenses, 380; Christian Gottlieb Jöcher, Allgemeines Gelehrten-Lexicon, vol. 2 (Leipzig: Johann Friedrich Gleditschens Buchhandlung 1750), col. 485–86. Denkschrift des Rektors, 91.

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number of classes and subjects taught. He described the evolution the school had undergone under his supervision over the previous five decades. In the document, most often viewed from the perspective of the history of pedagogy, there were also accents on religion and reflections on the impact that the religious conflict in Gdańsk had had on the shape of, among other things, the Gdańsk school system. Lack of unity, mutual resentment and humiliation, hostility between professors, neglect of duties, and dragging students into disputes were side effects of the spiritual split in the school staff.98 Fabricius emphasized the educational role of the theology classes he taught as a remedy in the fight against various “heretics.” He mentioned, among others, the Arians, Anabaptists, and Catholics as particularly dangerous after the arrival of the Jesuit college. Tellingly, he did not criticize the Lutherans.99 He blamed his failures in didactic work (perhaps understood more broadly as the theological education of new generations of Gdańsk citizens) on his illness and the resulting organizational impotence. The final sentences of his memorandum encouraged the search for a suitable successor for the rector position; he described his ideal candidate as a “modest, peace-loving” man,100 thus expressing his conviction that his own style of activity—of a tireless “fighter” for the shape of Gdańsk’s “Lord’s Vineyard”—had failed. It might have been a simple acknowledgement that most of the population could not be persuaded to accept a radical reform of their religious life.101 It is possible to look at this issue more broadly, in the context of the failure of such initiatives (and aspirations) throughout Europe at that time, before the experience of the Thirty Years’ War, to create new space for general Protestant reconciliation. On the other hand, his efforts and calls to rid church life and liturgy of “papist” elements bore some fruit in the long run. The auricular confession turned into a symbolic, collective act of absolution without mentioning specific sins, which is known from a description by Joanna Schopenhauer.102 Furthermore, the former use of Catholic liturgical vestments was limited in the religious practice of Gdańsk, although to outside observers it still seemed too Catholic.103 98 99 100 101 102

Ibid., 80. Ibid., 84. Ibid., 92. Tode, Zwischen Gott, 122. Joanna Schopenhauer, Gdańskie wspomnienia młodości, trans. Tadeusz Kruszyński (Wrocław: Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolińskich, 1959), 110–12. 103 Evelin Wetter, “‘On Sundays for the laity … we allow mass vestments, altars and candles to remain’: the Role of Pre-Reformation Ecclesiastical Vestments in the Formation of Confessional, Corporate and ‘National’ Identities,” in Lutheran Churches in Early Modern

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After a prolonged vacancy, in 1631, the Lutheran Johann Botsack became Fabricius’s successor as rector of the grammar school; in time, one of the most prominent Lutheran theologians of the seventeenth century, Abraham Calov, followed suit. Thus, not many years after Fabricius’s death, the Academic Gymnasium in Gdańsk became a bastion of orthodox Lutheranism. The 1652 settlement between the Lutherans and the Calvinists, reached after outside intervention, saved only the remnants of the Calvinist Church structures in the city. It did not manage to save the memory of the unfulfilled leader of the Second Reformation in Gdańsk. The academic church of the Holy Trinity did not have his epitaph built, or at least none has been recorded.104 In the monumental description of Gdańsk published in the same century by Reinhold Curicke, himself a Calvinist, under the pressure of Lutheran authorities of the city, Fabricius’s role was reduced to a bare minimum, and his person was only mentioned in a few places, as a rector and a preacher in the Holy Trinity Church.105 The question of the Second Reformation in Gdańsk was ignored entirely. A multiconfessional center, in which no theological compromises were accepted but groups with very different doctrines existed peacefully side by side, emerged in the shadow of the great dispute between the two principal Protestant denominations in Gdańsk. Nonetheless, even the Evangelical Union of 1817, forced by political considerations, did not change the preference for Lutheranism, which remained the dominant choice until 1945. Bibliography

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Archiwum Państwowe w Gdańsku, 300, R/Pp,2, Historia Notulae dass ist warhafftige und eigendtliche Beschreibung, wan und durch wass Occasion und Gelegenheit auch zu wass Ende, die Notel, dass ist die Bekandtnüss der Lehre von Hochw. Abendmahl

Europe, ed. Andrew Spicer (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012), 176–77; Sławomir Kościelak, “Przejawy sekularyzacji i religijność w Gdańsku na przełomie XVIII i XIX w. w świetle relacji pamiętnikarskich i prasowych,” Studia Historica Gedanensia 7 (2016): 84. 104 Such an epitaph has not survived to our times. It is also not mentioned by Reinhold Curicke, who lists the most important epitaphs of Gdańsk churches, including the Holy Trinity Church. See: Reinhold Curicke, Der Stadt Dantzig historische Beschreibung (Amsterdam–Dantzig: Johann und Gillis Janssons von Waesberge Buchhandlern, 1687), 334–36. 105 Ibid., 172, 333, 341.

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der Prediger zu Dantzigk erstlich gefasset, und dazumahl, wie auch hernach zu unterschiedenen Zeiten von den Predigern daselbst sey unterschrieben worden. Polska Akademia Nauk Biblioteka Gdańska [PAN BG], MS 2450; MS 5750; MS Uph. fol. 221. Album Academiae Vitebergensis ab Anno Christi MDII usque ad Anni MDCII, vol. 2. Halle: Sumptibus Maximiliani Niemeyeri, 1894. Bötticher, Eberhard. Chronik der Marienkirche in Danzig. Das „Historische Kirchen Register” (1616). Edited by Christian Herrmann, Edmund Kizik. Köln–Weimar– Wien: Böhlau Verlag, 2013. Curicke, Reinhold. Der Stadt Dantzig historische Beschreibung. Amsterdam–Dantzig: Johann und Gillis Janssons von Waesberge Buchhandlern, 1687. Czaplewski, Paweł, ed. Korespondencja Hieronima Rozrażewskiego, vol. 2. Toruń: Towarzystwo Naukowe w Toruniu, 1947. “Denkschrift des Rektors Fabricius über das Schulsystem des Gymnasiums 1628.” In Gdańskie Gimnazjum Akademickie, vol. 2, edited by Lech Mokrzecki, 67–92. Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Gdańskiego, 2008. [Fabricius, Jacob.] Drey Predigten von den H. Sacramenten und sonderlich von dem hochwuerdigen Abendtmahl den Herren … gehalten in der Kirchen den Gymnasii zu Dantzig von Jacobo Fabricio in Jahr Christi 1589 (mit Vorrede von Christoph Pezelius). Steinfurt: Theophilus Keiser, 1599. [Fabricius, Jacob]. Kurtzer Bericht was in etlichen benachbarten der Reformirten Religion verwanten Kirchen der Lande Preussen von dem fürnembsten Puncten Christlichen Religion gelehret worden: und worin man in denselben in Streit gerathen: sampt einem Christlichen Bedencken, wie solche Streit nach der Richtschnur Gottliches Wortes und dann auch der Augspurgischen Confession und Apologi gemass möge beygeleget und in denselben Christlich verfahren werden. Gestellet auf Erforderung Christliebender Leute durch einen der Wahrheit und des Frieden Liebhaber. Hanau: Wilhelm Antonius, 1603. Fabricius, Jacob. Refutation-Schrift, das ist Christliche und abgedrungene Widerlegung der vielfaltigen und nichtigen Bezuchtigungen, damit Herr Michael Coletus Prediger zu Dantzig in der Pfarrkirchen zu S. Marien Jacobum Fabricium S. Theol. D. dess Gymnasii Rectorem und Prediger daselbst zubeschmützen und die Gottliche Warheit in vielen Articulen dess Chrsitlichen Glaubens neben etlichen Gottlichen Ordnungen und Ceremonien in seiner Probations-Schrift, so zu Königsperg in Preussen Anno 1605 gedruckt als eine Calvinische Gifft und Ketzerei zum grewlichsten zuschmahen sich unterstanden. Gestellt durch Jacobum Fabricium Dantiscanum […]. Oppenheim: Hieronymus Gallern, 1613–1615. Jöcher, Christian Gottlieb. Allgemeines Gelehrten-Lexicon […], vol. 2. Leipzig: Johann Friedrich Gleditschens Buchhandlung, 1750.

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Nowak, Zbigniew, and Przemysław Szafran, eds. Księga wpisów uczniów Gimnazjum Gdańskiego 1580–1814. Warszawa–Poznań: Polska Akademia Nauk Biblioteka Gdańska, 1974. Praetorius, Ephraim. Athaenae Gedanenses. Edited by Mariusz Brodnicki. Translated by Maria Otto. Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo Athenae Gedanenses, 2016. Schopenhauer, Joanna. Gdańskie wspomnienia młodości. Translated by Tadeusz Kruszyński. Wrocław: Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolińskich, 1959. Schott, Andreas. Theologorum, qui Gedani vixerunt semisaecularium memoriae monumentum. Gedani: typis et sumptibus Thomae Johannis Schreiber, 1757. Simson, Paul. Geschichte der Stadt. Urkunden bis 1626, vol. 4. Danzig: August Wilhelm Kafemann, 1918. Stachnik, Richard, and Anneliese Triller, eds. Historia Residentiae Gedanensis Societatis Jesu ab anno 1585. Edited by Birch-Hirschfeld. Köln/Wien: Böhlau Verlag, 1986. Toepke, Gustav, ed., Die Matrikel der Universität Heidelberg von 1386 bis 1662, vol. 2 (1554–1662). Heidelberg: Selbstverlag des Herausgebers, 1886.



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Kizik, Edmund. “Prawo i administracja Kościoła luterańskiego w Gdańsku i na terytorium wiejskim miasta w XVI–XVIII wieku.” In Gdańsk protestancki w epoce nowożytnej. W 500—lecie wystąpienia Marcina Lutra, vol. 1: Eseje, edited by Edmund Kizik, Sławomir Kościelak, 110–33. Gdańsk: Muzeum Narodowe w Gdańsku, 2017. Kościelak, Sławomir. Jezuici w Gdańsku od drugiej połowy XVI do końca XVIII wieku. Gdańsk–Kraków: Gdańskie Towarzystwo Naukowe. Wydawnictwo WAM, 2003. Kościelak, Sławomir. Katolicy w protestanckim Gdańsku od drugiej połowy XVI do końca XVIII wieku. Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Gdańskiego, 2012. Kościelak, Sławomir. “Przejawy sekularyzacji i religijność w Gdańsku na przełomie XVIII i XIX w. w świetle relacji pamiętnikarskich i prasowych.” Studia Historica Gedanensia 7 (2016): 75–103. Mokrzecki, Lech. “Jakub Fabricius (1551–1629), pierwszy rektor Gdańskiego Gimnazjum Akademickiego.” In Zasłużeni ludzie Pomorza XVI wieku, 21–25. Gdańsk: Gdańskie Towarzystwo Naukowe. Wydział I Nauk Społecznych i Humanistycznych, 1971. Mokrzecki, Lech. “Gdańskie Gimnazjum Akademickie—zarys dziejów.” In Gimnazjum Akademickie w Gdańsku, vol. 1, edited by Edmund Kotarski, 12–41. Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Gdańskiego, 2008. Mokrzecki, Lech. “Refleksje o Gimnazjum Gdańskim w dobie I Rzeczypospolitej.” In Gimnazjum Akademickie w Gdańsku, vol. 5, edited by Lech Mokrzecki, Mariusz Brodnicki, 37–52. Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Gdańskiego, 2012. Müller, Michael G. Zweite Reformation und städtische Autonomie im Königlichen Preussen. Danzig, Elbing und Thorn in der Epoche der Konfessionalieserung (1557– 1660). Berlin: Akademie Verlag GmbH, 1997. Müller, Michael G. Zrozumieć polską historię. Poznań: Wydawnictwo Poznańskie, 2012. Müller, Michael G. “Między niemieckim konfesjonalizmem a polską tolerancją. Konflikty wyznaniowe między luteranami a ewangelikami reformowanymi w Gdańsku w drugiej połowie XVI wieku.” In Gdańsk protestancki w epoce nowożytnej. W 500-lecie wystąpienia Marcina Lutra, vol. 1: Eseje. Edited by Edmund Kizik, Sławomir Kościelak, 92–109. Gdańsk: Muzeum Narodowe w Gdańsku, 2017. Neue Deutsche Biographie, vol. 20. Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 2001. Nadolski, Bronisław. Życie i działalność naukowa uczonego gdańskiego Bartłomieja Keckermanna. Studium z dziejów odrodzenia na Pomorzu. Toruń: Towarzystwo Naukowe w Toruniu, 1961. Pawlak, Marian. “Gimnazja akademickie Elbląga, Gdańska i Torunia. Podobieństwa i różnice.” In Gimnazjum Akademickie w Gdańsku, vol. 5, edited by Lech Mokrzecki, Mariusz Brodnicki, 179–96. Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Gdańskiego, 2012. Schnaase, Eduard. Geschichte der evangelischen Kirche Danzigs actenmäßig dargestellt. Danzig: Verlag von Theodor Bertling, 1863. Simson, Paul. Geschichte der Stadt Danzig, vol. 2. Danzig: August Wilhelm Kafemann, 1918.

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Sławiński, Wojciech. “Toruński synod generalny protestantów 1595 roku a miasta pruskie.” Czasy Nowożytne 8/9 (2000): 77–117. Szafran, Przemysław. “Coletus Michał.” In Słownik biograficzny Pomorza Nadwiślańskiego, vol. 1, edited by Stanisław Gierszewski, 230–31. Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo Gdańskie, 1992. Szczuczko, Witold. “Fabricius Jakub.” In Słownik biograficzny Pomorza Nadwiślańskiego, vol. 1, edited by Stanisław Gierszewski, 396–97. Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo Gdańskie, 1992. Tode, Sven. “Zwischen Gott und Welt. Obrigkeit und Seelsorger als Weltapostel? Zur Funktion von Predigt als politische Kommunikation. Jacob Fabritius und die Danziger Gesellschaft in der zweiten Hälfte des 16. Jahrhunderts.” In Debatten über die Legitimation von Herrschaft. Politische Sprachen in der Frühen Neuzeit, edited by Luise Schorn-Schütte, Sven Tode, 87–124. Berlin: Akademieverlag, 2006. Tync, Stanisław. “Próba utworzenia akademii protestanckiej w 1595 r.” Reformacja w Polsce 4 (1926): 46–59. Weichbrodt, Dorothea. Patrizier, Bürger, Einwohner der Freien und Hansestadt Danzig in Stamm- und Namentafeln vom 14.–18. Jahrhundert. Klausdorf/Schwentine: Danziger Verlagsgesselschaft Paul Rosenberg, 1986–1992. Wetter, Evelin. “‘On Sundays for the laity … we allow mass vestments, altars and candles to remain’: The Role of Pre-Reformation Ecclesiastical Vestments in the Formation of Confessional, Corporate and ‘National’ Identities.” In Lutheran Churches in Early Modern Europe, edited by Andrew Spicer, 165–95. Farnham: Ashgate, 2012. Zdrenka, Joachim. Urzędnicy miejscy Gdańska w latach 1342–1792 i 1807–1814, vol. 2: Biogramy. Gdańsk: Muzeum Archeologiczne w Gdańsku, 2008.

Chapter 9

Toleration and Religious Polemics: The Case of Jonas Schlichting (1592–1661) and the Radical Reformation in Poland Maciej Ptaszyński | ORCID: 0000-0003-2508-061X 1

Introduction

John Amos Comenius (1592–1670), the pastor of Leszno and superintendent of the Bohemian Brethren, wrote in 1655 after the outbreak of the Polish– Swedish War: The situation both inside and outside the country was so bad that it could not get any worse. Outside were barbaric enemies wanting to kill and rob us; inside, treacherous friends that threatened both religious and political freedom. Things got to the point when Poland […] could rather be regarded as the corpse of a Commonwealth.1 Comenius, who graduated from leading Calvinist schools—Herborn Academy and Heidelberg University—was at the time regarded as an important member of the elite European Republic of Letters.2 The pages of his works featured all the key ideas of “international Calvinism”: from millenarian apocalyptic thought to a rational philosophical core and the irenic hope of uniting Protestantism.3 1 Panegyricus Carolo Gustavo, magno Suecorum Vandalorumq[ue] Regi, incruento Sarmatiae Victori et quaqua uenit liberatori pio, felici, Augusto, [s.l.], 1655; edited in Johannis Amos Comenii Opera omnia, vol. 13, ed. Oldrich Říha (Prague: Academia, 1974), 67–94, here 73 (“Res hic tam male steterant, ut pejus non possent, foris domique. Foris erant barbari hostes bonis et vitae: domi simulati amici libertatibus inhiantes religiosis et politicis. Eoque res devenerat, ut consilio aere, viris et viribus exhausta cadaver rei publicae videri potuerit Polonia”). [All translations by Aleksandra Szkudłapska unless clearly indicated otherwise]. 2 Graeme Murdock, Beyond Calvin: The Intellectual, Political and Cultural World of Europe’s Reformed Churches, c. 1540–1620 (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004), 123. 3 Menna Prestwich, ed., International Calvinism: 1541–1715 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985); Robert M. Kingdom, “International Calvinism,” in Handbook of European history 1400–1600, ed. Thomas Brady, Heiko Oberman (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 229–47; Howard Hotson, “Outsiders, Dissenters, and Competing Visions of Reform,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Protestant Reformations, ed. Ulinka Rublack (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), 301–28; Mack P. Holt,

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Like many Reformed theologians, Comenius was also a refugee.4 At the outset of the Thirty Years’ War, he was forced to leave Bohemia together with other members of the Bohemian Brethren, finding a safe haven in Poland in 1627.5 When he wrote the aforementioned words, warning about the attack of “barbarians” and “treacherous friends,” the five-year war between Poland and Sweden (1655–60), described in Polish historiography using the apocalyptic term “Deluge,” had only just begun. Yet it was not the Swedish “Deluge” that convinced the Bohemian thinker to formulate such a dramatic assessment. On the contrary, the theologian believed that Carl X Gustav, the Lutheran ruler of Sweden, was Poland’s only hope. Not only did Comenius praise the virtues of the pious monarch, but he also admonished the king to follow good advice and cautioned him against sycophants and “Machiavellists.” Above all, however, he suggested that Carl Gustav should safeguard the Polish liberties because “the only way he would be able to command free men was in a manner worthy of the free.”6 A fundamental role among these liberties was played by the Warsaw Confederation—an agreement adopted by nobles in 1573 that guaranteed freedom from religious persecution.7 Like many other religious agreements in Europe, it did not feature the word “toleration.” As a document that had to be approved by subsequent monarchs of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth, the Confederation secured the status of Protestants. In the mid-seventeenth century, however, the Catholic majority and hierarchs of the Catholic Church were increasingly often able to challenge it and limit the political freedoms enjoyed by Protestants.

4

5

6 7

“International Calvinism,” in John Calvin in Context, ed. Ward Holder (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019), 375–82. Ole Peter Grell, Brethren in Christ. A Calvinist Network in Reformation Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 127–77; Mirjam van Veen, “Exiles and Calvinist Identity,” in Cultures of Calvinism in Early Modern Europe, ed. Crawford Gribben, Graeme Murdock (New York: Oxford University Press, 2020), 157–70. See [a letter of] “Bohemian and Moravian Ministers in exile to elders and superintendents of the Church in Lithuania” (Leszno, September 24, 1629), in Johannis Amos Comenii opera omnia, vol. 26/1: Epistulae Pars I, 1628–1638, ed. Martin Steiner et al. (Prague: Academia, 2018), 33–7. About the Bohemian migration to Pirna and to Dresden see: Martina Lisa ed., Die Chronik des Václav Nosidlo von Geblice. Aufzeichnungen aus der böhmischen Exulantengemeinde in Pirna zur Zeit des Dreißigjährigen Krieges (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2014); Frank Metasch, Exulanten in Dresden: Einwanderung und Integration von Glaubensflüchtlingen im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert (Leipzig: Leipziger Univ.–Verl., 2011), 37–42, 189–222. Johannis Amos Comenii Opera omnia, vol. 13, 75. Maciej Ptaszyński, “Toleranzedikt, Wahlkapitulationen oder Religionsfrieden? Der polnische Adel und die Warschauer Konföderation,” in Ritterschaft und Reformation, ed. Wolfgang Breul and Kurt Andermann, (Regensburg: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2019), 255–69.

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Comenius’s panegyric was published in Latin as an anonymous pamphlet. It immediately attracted great public interest and was reprinted in Wrocław (Breslau), Nuremberg, Frankfurt, London, and Paris.8 Nevertheless, the clergyman’s separation of patriotic feelings for his new homeland from loyalty to the ruler resulted in charges of treason, reiterated in nineteenth- and twentiethcentury historiography.9 The odium of betrayal was extended to broader Protestant circles10 and then blamed on the Antitrinitarians, who had long benefited from the protection of the Swedish king. In the history of the Polish– Lithuanian Commonwealth, Comenius’s writings and their reception mark the borderline between the long-standing traditions of the tolerant sixteenth century and the intolerance of the 1600s. The historiographic vision that praised the religious freedom of the sixteenth century criticized the intolerant seventeenth century and glorified the eighteenth-century toleration created by luminaries of the Enlightenment. It portrayed toleration as the intellectual achievement of thinkers, philosophers, and theologians, who paved the way for the Enlightenment and, by extension, modern society.11 Prominent Polish historians of the Reformation and Protestantism shared this vision: Stanisław Kot, Marek Wajsblum, Ludwik Chmaj, Janusz Tazbir, and Zbigniew Ogonowski. Recently, it has been backed by Wojciech Kriegseisen, who claimed that “insofar as the early-seventeenthcentury Commonwealth still ranked amongst the most tolerant European 8

9

10 11

Johannis Amos Comenii Opera omnia, vol. 13, 84. About Panegiricus see: Vladimir Urbánek, “J.A. Comenius’ Anti-Machiavellianism,” Acta Comeniana 11 (1995): 61–70; Jolanta Dworzaczkowa, “‘Panegyricus Carolo Gustavo’ i jego tło polityczne,” in ead., Reformacja i Kontrreformacja w Wielkopolsce (Poznań: Wydawnictwo Poznańskie, 1995), 311–28; Dariusz Rott, “Polityka a literatura. ‘Panegyricus Carolo Gustavo’ Jana Amosa Komeńskiego wobec kultury sarmackiej,” in Sarmackie theatrum: studia historycznoliterackie, ed. Renarda Ocieczek and Marzena Walińska (Katowice: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Śląskiego, 2001), 72–89; Hans-Joachim Müller, “The Dimensions of Religious Toleration in the Eirenicism of Jan Amos Comenius (1642–1645),” Acta Comeniana 17 (2003): 99–116; Jürgen Beer, “Advice to Princes in the Work of J.A. Comenius and Erasmus of Rotterdam,” in Comenius und der Weltfriede, ed. Werner Korthaase (Berlin: Deutsche Comenius-Gesellschaft, 2005), 108–17. See Jędrzej Giertych, U źródeł katastrofy dziejowej Polski: Jan Amos Komensky (London, 1964); Michał Mścisz, “Amos Komensky w walce z państwem polskim,” Kurier Literacko– Naukowy (3 Febr. 1935): 6–8. The marginal monograph by Jędrzej Giertych influenced some prominent historians like Władysław Czapliński or Zbigniew Wójcik. Comp. Antoni Danysz, “Jan Amos Komeński: przyczynki do jego działalności w Polsce,” Roczniki Towarzystwa Przyjaciół Nauk Poznańskiego 25 (1899): 109–202, here 125–26. Tadeusz Wasilewski, “Zdrada Janusza Radziwiłła w 1655 r. i jej wyznaniowe motywy,” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 18 (1973): 125–47. Perez Zagorin, How the Idea of Religious Toleration came to the West (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003); Israel, Jonathan, A Revolution of the Mind: Radical Enlightenment and the Intellectual Origins of Modern Democracy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2011).

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countries, it lost this position in the century’s second half. It was probably then that the syndrome described as a Pole equals a Catholic was begotten, with the result that dissenters were excluded from the community of the Commonwealth’s citizens.”12 In this traditional vision, a special place—both on account of the origins and fate of their community as well as the specific identity and image they shaped—was occupied by Antitrinitarians, referred to by their opponents as “Arians,” by themselves as “Polish Brethren” (Fratres Poloni), or by the historians as “Socinians” (after Fausto Socini’s arrival in Poland in 1578). The Antitrinitarian Church in Poland was founded following the split of the Reformed (Calvinist) Church organization in the mid-sixteenth century (between 1556 and 1565).13 This schism within Calvinism quickly led to a situation where Antitrinitarians were not just persecuted by the Catholic Church—which was against Protestants in general—but also by the main Protestant churches and, most fervently, by the Calvinists themselves. The first attempts at enacting a royal edict against Antitrinitarians date back to 1563–66 and brought about orders of confiscating and burning selected works as well as orders of exile.14 At the time, certain Catholic bishops (particularly Stanislaus Hosius) and the then papal nuncio (Giovanni Francesco Commendone) took issue with these royal edicts, afraid that banishing one Protestant confession would be regarded as de facto approving others.15 These restrictions only entered into force half a century later, when the Antitrinitarian community transformed its identity as a result of Fausto Socini’s (1539–1604) influence.16 In 1638, the church, printing house, and academy in Raków (Racovia), which had served as the center of Socinianism, were all closed down. Soon the creed published by the Socinians was burnt (1647); ultimately, they were forced to either convert or leave 12

13 14

15 16

Wojciech Kriegseisen, “Toleration, or Church–State Relations? The Determinant in Negotiating Religions in the Modern Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth,” Acta Poloniae Historica 107 (2013): 83–100, 92 (quotation); id., Between State and Church: Confessional Relations from Reformation to Enlightenment: Poland–Lithuania–Germany–Netherlands (Frankfurt a.M.: Peter Lang GmbH, 2016), 586. Zbigniew Ogonowski, Socynianizm: dzieje, poglądy, oddziaływanie (Warszawa: Instytut Historii Nauki PAN, Oficyna Wydawnicza ASPRA, 2015), 1–58. Stanisław Bodniak, “Sprawa wygnania arjan w r. 1566,” Reformacja w Polsce 5 (1928): 52–59; Janusz Tazbir, “Walka z Braćmi Polskimi w dobie kontrreformacji,” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 1 (1956): 165–207; recently: Magdalena Luszczynska, Politics of Polemics: Marcin Czechowic on the Jews (Berlin: De Gruyter 2018), 10–13. The 1566 edict is edited in Irena Kaniewska ed., Diariusz sejmu lubelskiego 1566 roku (Wrocław: Ossolineum, 1980), 4–6. Maciej Ptaszyński, Reformacja w Polsce a dziedzictwo Erazma z Rotterdamu (Warszawa: Wydawnictwa Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, 2018), 615–38. About Socini’s influence see Kęstutis Daugirdas, Die Anfänge des Sozinianismus: Genese und Eindringen des historisch–ethischen Religionsmodells in den universitären Diskurs der Evangelischen in Europa (Göttingen: Vadenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016), 63–177.

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the Commonwealth (1658), which ended the era of broad toleration.17 When Comenius called for the rights and guarantees of freedom for Protestants in 1655, he was definitely not thinking of Antitrinitarians. These attitudes toward Antitrinitarians were a consequence of the relationship between the dominant (Protestant or Catholic) orthodoxy and the limited and excluded heterodoxy, which was marginalized both politically and socially. Traditionally, these relationships tended to be subjected to apologetic or accusatory interpretations, which drew heavily on arguments formulated in polemics printed in the seventeenth century. In the light of those arguments, fighting for the rights of heterodoxy was—in the eyes of its apologists—seen as a struggle for toleration and respect for the rights of a unique group that stood out on account of its “morality, rationality and patriotism.”18 In turn, its opponents saw the advocates of heterodoxy as unpatriotic traitors19 who struck at the social and religious order.20 The historiographic vision that served as the backdrop for this interpretation of Antitrinitarian persecutions, employing—explicitly or implicitly— the category of progress, has often been criticized in recent years. On the one hand, researchers of social history, such as Benjamin J. Kaplan, pointed to the tradition of coexistence between many religions and confessions in a single territory.21 On the other hand, some cultural historians argued that until the eighteenth century, “at root, it [tolerance—MP] was a form of intolerance 17

18 19

20 21

Kriegseisen, Between State and Church, 618–60; id., Die Protestanten in Polen–Litauen (1696–1763): rechtliche Lage, Organisation und Beziehungen zwischen den evangelischen Glaubensgemeinschaften, ed. Joachim Bahlcke and Klaus Ziemer, trans. Peter Oliver Loew and Rafael Sendek (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011), 19–49. Jerzy J. Kolarzowski, Idea praw jednostki w pismach braci polskich. U narodzin nowożytnej koncepcji praw człowieka (Warszawa: Wydawnictwa Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, 2009), 141, 146–47, 211. See Jan Dzięgielewski, “Stosunek arian do państwa polskiego,” in id., O ustroju, decydentach i dysydentach. Studia i szkice z dziejów Pierwszej Rzeczypospolitej (Kraków: Instytut Nauk Historycznych Uniwersytetu Kardynała Stefana Wyszyńskiego, 2011), 175–87; id., “Od staropolskiego ‘miłośnika ojczyzny’, do ‘sarmackiego patrioty’”, in Patriotyzm Polaków. Studia z historii idei, ed. Jacek Kloczkowski (Kraków: Ośrodek Myśli Politycznej, 2007), 21–31 (here 27, fn. 14); Jolanta Choińska-Mika, Między społeczeństwem szlacheckim a władzą: problemy komunikacji społeczności lokalne—władza w epoce Jana Kazimierza (Warszawa: Neriton, 2002), 194. Recently in Jacek Żukowski, “Kije strugane, czyli ikonoklazm braci polskich,” Quarta 20 (2011): 27–44; id., Sąd nad Arianami w kieleckim Pałacu Biskupów Krakowskich (Kielce: Muzeum Narodowe, 2018). Benjamin J. Kaplan, Divided by Faith: Religious Conflict and the Practice of Toleration in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2007); id., Reformation and the Practice of Toleration: Dutch Religious History in the Early Modern Era (Leiden: Brill 2019).

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itself. It must be conceptualized less as the opposite of persecution than as a subspecies of it, or its alter ego.”22 Looking for a term that could describe the ambivalent interrelationship between toleration and persecution, Alexandra Walsham proposed the phrase “charitable hatred.”23 According to this logic, there was no contradiction between the demand for toleration of one’s own position and the exclusion of opponents. In addition, the demands formulated by Comenius could easily be described—to quote Andrew Pettegree—as a “loser’s creed”: a position taken for pragmatic reasons by persecuted minorities, ready to change their beliefs along with a change of the forces at play.24 However, one might ask whether this would also be an appropriate characterization of the position of Antitrinitarians. In search of an answer to this question, it is worth proposing a different outlook on the history of Antitrinitarians, without the presentism of both apologias and accusations. The question about the relationship between toleration and persecution ought to take account of the context of formulated judgments, which compels one to present statements against a broader theological and intellectual background. Theological debates deserve to be carefully interpreted not just as the history of abstract doctrines but also as a fragment of the history of thought, referring to the world of values and its very rich history of polemics. Below, these hypotheses are backed by an analysis of the beliefs professed by Jonas Schlichting, the main theologian and leader of the Polish Brethren at the time of their persecution and exile. The analysis mostly relies on Schlichting’s polemics published during his lifetime and omits his exegetic works published after his death in the Bibliotheca Fratrum Polonorum series.25 The theologian’s 22 23 24

25

Alexandra Walsham, “Cultures of Coexistence in Early Modern England: History, Literature, and Religious Toleration,” The Seventeenth Century 28 (2013): 115–37, quote: 115. Ead., Charitable Hatred: Tolerance and Intolerance in England 1500–1700 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2006). Andrew Pettegree, “The Politics of Toleration in the Free Netherlands, 1572–1620,” in Tolerance and Intolerance in the European Reformation, ed. Ole Peter Grell and Bob Scribner (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 182–98, quote: 198; Jacqueline Rose, “Dissent and the State: Persecution and Toleration,” in The Oxford History of Dissenting Traditions: vol. 1: The Post-Reformation era, c.1559–c.1689. ed. John Coffey (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020), 313–33. A list of Schlichting’s publications in: Philip Knijff, Sibbe Jan Visser, eds., Bibliographia Sociniana. A Bibliographical Reference Tool for the Study of Dutch Socinianism and Antitrinitarism (Amsterdam: Uitgeverij Verloren, 2004), no. 2001–2003, 2010, 2023–2026, 2030, 2094–2114, 4123, 6083, 6399, 6551. About Schlichting’s exegetical works see: Jakub Koryl, “Hermeneutyka braci polskich: wprowadzenie,” in Antytrynitaryzm w pierwszej Rzeczypospolitej w kontekście europejskim. Źródła—rozwój—oddziaływanie, ed. Michał

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biography and publications are discussed first, followed by his theological views, with an emphasis on Trinity, Christology, and soteriology as well as his attitude toward ecclesiastical and secular power. The main thesis of these further deliberations is that Schlichting, a Socinian theologian, tried moving the Polish Brethren closer to Calvinism. In response, the Catholic Church (and most likely Protestant churches) used state institutions to first burn his Confessio in Warsaw in 1647 and then banish the Antitrinitarians in 1658. The Polish Brethren then joined the group of religious exiles, including European migrants and other religious refugees: the Bohemian Brethren (exiled from the Habsburg monarchy in 1548 and 1627), the Huguenots (1685) or earlier English Protestants (1553–58), as well as numerous clerics of individual communities forced to abandon their homeland following a change of the given monarch’s confession. 2

The Man and His Work

The general outline of Jonas Schlichting’s biography is well known.26 The theologian was most likely born in 1592 in Sączkowo near Śmigiel to a German noble family. He was the son of Wolfgang Schlichting (d. 1608 or 1612) and Barbara, née Arciszewska. Having received a thorough education, between 1620 and 1638 he was active as a polemicist as well as a pastor and tutor in Raków, where he worked closely with John Crell (Johannes Crellius, d. July 4, 1633). After the Raków center was closed down in 1638, Schlichting moved to Lusławice with a part of the congregation. Then, in 1639, the synod commissioned him to write a creed, which was printed in 1642.27 Its publication coincided with preparations for the Colloquium Charitativum, ultimately convoked by King Władysław IV Vasa in Toruń in 1645 to reconcile the Protestant and Catholic churches. Schlichting arrived there with a delegation of the Polish Brethren

26

27

Choptiany and Piotr Wilczek (Warszawa: Wydawnictwa Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, 2017), 219–61. For a short biography, see Staniław Lubieniecki, “Exemplum Epistolae Stanislai Lubieniecii de Lubienietz,” in Bibliotheca Fratrum Polonorum, vol. 3, part 1 (Irenopoli, 1656) [false place and date, correct: Amsterdam, 1668]; Włodzimierz Dworzaczek, Schlichtyngowie w Polsce (Warszawa: Gebethner i Wolff, 1938), 26–40; Maciej Ptaszyński, “Szlichtyng Jonasz,” in Polski Słownik Biograficzny, vol. 48, ed. Andrzej Romanowski (Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Towarzystwa Naukowego Societas Vistulana, 2012–2013), 398–403. Stanisław Szczotka, “Synody Arian,” Reformacja w Polsce 7–8 (1936): 81; [Jonas Schlichting], Confessio fidei Christianae edita nomine Ecclesiarum Polonicarum quae unum Deum et Filium eius unigenitum Jesum Christum cum Spiritu Sancto profitentur (Lusławice, 1642).

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but was not admitted to the talks.28 During the Diet (Sejm) that convened in Warsaw on May 9, 1647, his Confessio fidei was put on trial. Schlichting was accused of insulting the divine majesty and the Commonwealth (crimen laesae Divinae Maiestatis et Reipublicae).29 On May 11, 1647, a copy of the creed was ordered to be publicly burned in Warsaw, and any further dissemination and ownership of the book was banned. Schlichting himself was sentenced to death, infamy, and confiscation of property. After the verdict, the theologian often changed his place of residence. During the “Deluge,” he arrived in Cracow, which had been taken by Carl X Gustav of Sweden. There, he resumed his writing activity and continued it until his death in 1661. His polemical and exegetic writings may be chronologically divided into three stages: early polemics, published between 1625 and 1637; preparation and publication of his creed (1639–42); and texts published after 1643, including his late polemics (for the most part unpublished) and apologetic and catechetical writings. In the first period (1625–37), Schlichting entered into a series of polemics with the Reformed clergyman Daniel Clementinus (d. 1644)30 and the Lutheran Balthasar Meisner (1587–1626).31 The tract by Clementinus that provoked Schlichting’s reaction, causing him to reach for the pen, was published in Cracow in 1623.32 The Calvinist minister had been attacking Antitrinitarians since 1618, disputing with Hieronim Moskorzowski and Szymon Pistorius, as well as criticizing the Socinians in his public speeches (e.g., at Jan Gliński’s funeral in 1624).33 Clementinus’s publication did not just result from his colorful temperament; it was a conscious and thought-out decision of the Reformed Church of Lesser Poland, which decided to revise and print the work and then

28 29 30 31 32 33

See Hans-Joachim Müller, Irenik als Kommunikationsreform. Das Colloquium Charitativum von Thorn 1645 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), 233–35, 419–21. Edited in Ludwik Chmaj, Samuel Przypkowski (Kraków: PAU, 1927), 45–46 and in Dworzaczek, Schlichtyngowie, 31, fn. 1; see also: Confessionis Christianae ad rogum damnatae & combustae manium a Rev. D. Nicolao Cichovio lacessitorum sui vindices (1652), 15–18. Stanisław Szczotka, “Clementinus Daniel,” in Polski Słownik Biograficzny, vol. 4, 90–91; Andrzej Węgierski, Libri quattuor Slavoniae reformatae, ed. Janusz Tazbir (Varsoviae: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1973), 115. Walter Sparn, “Meisner, Balthasar,” in Biographisch-Bibliographisches Kirchenlexikon (Herzberg Traugott: Bautz, 1993), vol. 5, 1172–74. Daniel Clementinus, Antilogiae et absurda to jest sprzeciwieństwa i niesłuszności wypływające z opiniej Socinitów ponurzonych (Cracoviae, 1623). Mariusz Pawelec, Bartłomiej Bythner starszy (ok. 1559–1629) (Warszawa: Semper, 2008), 87, 89–90.

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pursue a follow-up at the convocation and synods taking place in 1623–26.34 In 1630, Clementinus published another treatise, entering into a direct polemic with Schlichting.35 Schlichting wrote his lengthy rejoinders in Polish and published them in 1625 (Reply) and 1631 (Reply to a Reply to a Reply), dedicating them to the protector of the Reformed Church and Bohemian Brethren, Rafał Leszczyński.36 He also annotated his Reply … with an afterword addressed to “gentlemen evangelicals,” whom he cautioned against trusting pastors, particularly those “who, being teachers, would not gladly stomach becoming pupils.”37 To make his work even more accessible, Schlichting translated the quotes cited by his adversary from Latin into Polish.38 The three parts of his rejoinder corresponded to the structure of Clementinus’s Antilogiae …: namely, exoneration, defense of the Polish Brethren’s creed, and demonstration of the differences between Socinians and Calvinists. In the first part, the Socinian disposed of the traditional arguments raised against Antitrinitarians. The catalog of accusations had remained unchanged for several dozen years: the Polish Brethren were said to deny the divine nature of Christ and the meaning of his sacrifice, reject the Holy Spirit, undermine the concept of original sin and predestination, and have a predilection for Judaism. Schlichting also refuted allegations concerning the conduct of Socinian ministers, who, for more than a decade, had been blamed for not always living in line with the regime of poverty they preached.39 The Socinian ended with a fierce objection to the style of Clementinus’s writing, peppered as it was with insults against Socinians, among which “tramps” and “wiseacres” were among the more reserved.40 In his second work disputing with Clementinus, Schlichting rightly noted that it was not an independent work of the Reformed theologian.41 Even 34 35 36

37 38 39 40 41

Maria Sipayłło, ed., Akta Synodów Różnowierczych w Polsce (Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1983), vol. 3, 443, 461, 489; Pawelec, Bartłomiej Bythner, 89. Daniel Clementinus, Antapologia, to iest Odpowiedź X. Daniela Clemenitnusa, na Odpowiedź p. Jonasza Szlichtinka (Baranów, 1630). Jonas Schlichting, Odpowiedź na script X. Daniela Clementinusa, Nazwany; Antilogiae et absurda, to jest, Sprzeciwieństwa, y niesłuszności wypływające z opiniy Socinitów Ponurzonych uczyniona przez Jonasza Szlichtinga z Bukowca (Raków: S. Sternacki, 1625); id., Na Antapologią ks. Daniela Clementiusa o potwarzach odpowiedź, (Raków: S. Sternacki, 1631), 4–16. Schlichting, Odpowiedź, 245–46. Ibid., xx2v. Schlichting, Odpowiedź, 24, 28; id., Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 177–79. Id., Odpowiedź, 92–95. Id., Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 1.

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though, as he writes, “the identity of this patron is easy to guess,” Schlichting never actually named him. We now know that it was most likely co-written by Bartholomäus Bythner (Bartłomiej Bythner, d. 1629) and Tomasz Węgierski.42 In his second reply, Schlichting noticed that the Reformed theologian borrowed several of his arguments from the treatises of the Lutheran Balthasar Meisner,43 commenting that “if God permits, Meisnerus too shall have his reply.”44 He probably began work on a new disputation at around the same time.45 Schlichting must have realized that Meisner was one of the foremost theologians of Lutheran Orthodoxy. Already in 1613, at barely twenty-six years of age, Meisner took the position of chair of theology at Wittenberg University and was one of the main adversaries in the dispute concerning the relationship between theology and philosophy sparked by Daniel Hoffmann, a professor from Helmstedt.46 He also took a stand in the krypsis-kenosis controversy raised by professors from Tübingen and Gießen—the most important and momentous dispute in Lutheran Orthodoxy of the first half of the seventeenth century.47 Schlichting completed his polemic with Meisner in 1635, not knowing that the theologian had already been dead for nine years.48 In the following years, the Socinian issued more extensive versions of his debate with the Wittenberg professor, broadening it by subsequent topics.49 In 1637, Schlichting published his third and last polemic with Meisner, preceded with

42 43 44 45

46 47 48 49

Pawelec, Bartłomiej Bythner, 113–14. Schlichting, Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 290, 292. Ibid., 16. See Jonas Schlichting, De ss. Trinitate, de moralibus N. & V. Testamenti praeceptis, itemque de Sacris, Evcharistiae, & Baptismi ritibus. Adversus Balthasarem Meisnerum, Sacrae Theol. Doctorem, et in Acad. Vittebergensi, Professorem Publicum (Raków: S. Sternacki/J. Lange, 1637), 277–78. Alodia Kawecka-Gryczowa, Ariańskie oficyny wydawnicze Rodeckiego i Starnackiego (Wrocław: Ossolineum, 1974), 65–66. Markus Friedrich, Die Grenzen der Vernunft. Theologie, Philosophie und Konflikte am Beispiel des Helmstedter Hoffmannstreits und seiner Wirkungen auf das Luthertum um 1600 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), 210–11, 301–3, 365–68. Ulrich Wiedenroth, Krypsis und Kenosis. Studien zu Thema und Genese der Tübinger Christologie im 17. Jahrhundert (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 358–62, 411–15, 437–49. Jonas Schlichting, Quaestio Num ad regnum Dei possidendum necesse sit in nullo peccato Evangelicae doctrinae adverso manere? contra Balthasarem Meisnerum (Raków: P. Sternacki, 1635), 6v. Id., Quæstiones duæ: vna Num in evangelicorum religione dogmata habeantur, quae vix ullo modo permittant, ut qui eam amplectatur, nullo in peccato perseveret? Altera Num in eadem religione quaedam concedantur Christi legibus inconcessa? contra Balthasarem Meisnerum S. Theologiae Doctorem et in Academia Witenbergensi Profess. publicum a Jona Schlichtingio a Bukowiec disputatae (Raków: P. Sternacki, 1636).

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a foreword addressed to the clergymen and scholars of all Christian churches in Europe.50 The first work directed against Meisner, which was also a defence of Fausto Socini, originated with the question of whether being free from sin and leading a life of holiness (vitae sanctitas) were required for salvation (ad regnum Dei possidendum).51 Schlichting defended the thesis that committing sins did not ipso facto entail being a condemned soul.52 This problem touched upon the most important elements of Protestant thought: the concepts of justification through faith and predestination as well as the meaning of Christ’s sacrifice and good deeds. Schlichting discussed all these issues a year later, reprinting extensive fragments of Quaestio… and adding a lengthy passage on the attitude toward lay authority, war, and heretics (Quaestiones duae). His last polemic (De ss. Trinitate) was a defense of Socini’s stance on God and the Trinity, the figure of Christ, the Holy Spirit, fulfilling the dictates of the Law, and attitudes toward the Old Testament, Eucharist, and baptism. In his vast, 1,000-page opus, Schlichting quoted, explained, and commented on extensive fragments of Socini’s writings53 and Meisner’s work54 where the Lutheran theologian was attacking Socinianism. Schlichting’s selection of adversaries in this first stage was not accidental: these were young theologians of Protestant Orthodoxy, who quickly worked their way up the career ladder and attacked other confessions with arriviste zealotry. By taking up these disputes, Schlichting defined the place of Antitrinitarians among the Protestant churches in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. Having published his polemics, the theologian devoted himself to working on the creed (1639–42), which concluded this stage of building confessional awareness—of both Schlichting himself and the Polish Brethren. During this time (1637–43), the Socinian ceased to publish polemical works. Only after the publication of his Confessio fidei did he reach back for his polemic pen, entering into discussions with Hugo Grotius, Georg Vechner, and the Jesuit Mikołaj Cichowski. However, he chose not to publish a second, 50 51 52 53

54

Schlichting, De ss. Trinitate. Id., Quaestio, 6v–7r. Id., Quaestio, 7v. Fausto Socini, “Quod regni Poloniae, & magni ducatus Lithuaniae homines, vulgo Evangelici dicti, quo solidae pietatis sint studiosi, omnino deberent se illorum coetui adjungere, qui in iisdem locis faslo atque immerito Arriani et Ebonitae vocantur,” in: Bibliotheca Fratrum Polonorum, vol. 1, cap. 3, 696–707; id., “De baptismo aquae. An homini Christiano aquae baptismo carere liceat,” in Ibid., 709–38. Balthasar Meisner, Brevis consideratio theologiae Photinianae (Wittenberg: Haeredes Johannis Richteri, 1619).

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lengthier disputation with Grotius or Comenius.55 His exchange of opinions with Johann Ludwig von Wolzogen retained a similarly private character. During that time, Schlichting defended his creed and worked on a revised version of the Racovian Catechism. He issued his first polemic against Hugo Grotius’s treatise in 1643 under the pseudonym Simplicius.56 Chmaj assumed that Schlichting published the work “acting on the instructions of his fellow believers” but decided to use a nom de plume “to hide the origin of the book.”57 The irenic atmosphere of the end of the Thirty Years’ War, which encouraged talks between the divided confessions, was not conducive to religious disputes. At the same time, one ought to remember that the Socinians’ attitude to Grotius was extremely complex. This close collaborator of Johan van Oldenbarnevelt used his pen to openly support Remonstrants, with whom Socinians were closely connected, but after their defeat was imprisoned and had to emigrate to Catholic France. He then not only dedicated De Jure Belli ac Pacis, published in 1625, to Louis XIII, but also came closer to Catholicism.58 While his irenic and theological works still featured borrowings from Socinian works, the diplomat openly denied it and polemicized with the theses of Socini and Martin Ruar.59 55

56 57 58

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Jonas Schlichting, De uno omnium Deo Patre illo omnipotente et Filio ejus uno omnium Domino Christo ab ipso facto Fides antiqua contra novatores ad J.A. Comenium (Irenopoli, 1685), 61 (November 28, 1660). See Jan A. Comenius, Antisozinianische Schriften: Auge des Glaubens—natürliche Theologie, ed. Erwin Schadel (Frankfurt a.M.: Peter Lang, 2008), vol. 2, 63–64, 109–10; Marta Bečkowa, “Zur Problematik der Comenius’ Beziehungen zum Sozinanismus,” in Socinianism and its Role in the Culture of XVI-th to XVIII-th Centuries, ed. Lech Szczucki (Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1983), 169–82; ead., “Die Brüderunität und der Antitrinitarismus,” in Faustus Socinus and his Heritage, ed. Lech Szczucki (Kraków: Polska Akademia Umiejętności, 2005), 215–28. Joannes Simplicius, Notae in doctissimi cujusdam viri commentationem ad 2 caput posterioris ad Thessalonicenses Epistolae (1643). Ludwik Chmaj, “Hugo Grotius wobec socynianizmu,” in id., Bracia Polscy. Ludzie, idee, wpływy (Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1957), 297. Anselm Schubert, “Kommunikation und Konkurrenz. Gelehrtenrepublik und Konfession im 17. Jahrhundert,” in Interkonfessionalität—Transkonfessionalität—binnenkonfessionelle Pluralität: neue Forschungen zur Konfessionalisierungsthese, ed. Kaspar von Greyerz et al. (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2003), 105–31. Florian Mühlegger, Hugo Grotius. Ein christlicher Humanist in politischer Verantwortung (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007), 163–225; id., “Hugo Grotius’ Auseinandersetzung mit dem Sozinianismus,” in Faustus Socinus and his Heritage, 297–326; Jan-Paul Heering, Hugo Grotius as Apologist for the Christian Religion. A study of his work De veritate Religionis Christianae (1640) (Leiden: Brill, 2004); id., “Hugo Grotius’ De veritate Religionis Christianae,” in Hugo Grotius, Theologian. Essays in Honour of G.H.M. Posthumus Meyjes, ed. Henk J.M. Nellen and Edwin Rabbie (Leiden: Brill, 1994) 41–52; Jan Rohls, “Fausto Socini und Hugo Grotius über die Autorität der Schrift,” in Faustus Socinus and his Heritage,

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This is most likely when Schlichting also prepared an extended polemic against Grotius’s work Votum pro pace ecclesiastica contra Examen Andreae Riveti et alios irreconciliabiles (1642). As the Dutch philosopher died soon afterward (1645) and the situation in the Commonwealth was growing ever more difficult for Schlichting, he never published this disputation, and it was not printed until many years after his death.60 The entire work was a lengthy commentary, in which Schlichting referred to twenty-one theses from Grotius’s publication, touching upon the matters of Trinity, Christology, justification, original sin, sacramentology, the cult of saints, and the attitude to images. He clearly opposed the philosopher’s rapprochement with Catholicism and rejected any possibility of recognizing the office of the pope. Then, in 1644, Schlichting published a polemic against Georg Vechner (1589/90–1647), a humanist and Reformed theologian active in Silesia, who collaborated with the Bohemian Brethren and Comenius in Leszno.61 The reason was Vechner’s sermon, delivered in Leszno and published in 1639, devoted to the prologue of the Gospel of John and the passage “The Word became flesh.” Vechner dedicated it to Jan Jerzy Schlichting (a member of the Bohemian Brethren and Jonas’s cousin), as well as the secular elites of the Bohemian Brethren.62 In his polemic printed in 1644, Jonas Schlichting questioned Vechner’s conclusions about the natures of Christ, focusing on the interpretation of the term λόγος.63 In the heated months following his trial and sentencing (1647), Schlichting did not abandon writing and took up a debate with the Jesuit Mikołaj Cichowski, who had been attacking the Polish Brethren for almost half a century.64 In

60 61

62 63

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327–47; Sarah Mortimer, “Human Liberty and Human Nature in the Works of Faustus Socinus and His Readers,” Journal of the History of Ideas 70 (2009): 191–211. Jonas Schlichting, Notae in Hugonis Grotii Votum pro pace (Irenopoli 1685). Robert Seidel, Späthumanismus in Schlesien: Caspar Dornau (1577–1631). Leben und Werk (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1994), 244–45, fn. 50; Klaus Garber, ed., Handbuch des personalen Gelegenheitsschrifttums in europäischen Bibliotheken und Archiven (Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlag, 2007), vol. 19 (4,1), 37. Georg Vechner, Der Anfang des Evangelii Iohannis, von dem Worte Das das Gott War und Fleisch worden ist: Gründlich und deutlich zu Christlicher Erbawung erklähret Und durch eine Weinacht-Predigt Bey der Gemeine Gottes zu Lissa in Polenabgehandelt (1639). Jonas Schlichting, Notae in Georgii Vechneri Concionem quam habuit super initium Evangel. Ioannis, Lesnae Anno 1639 (Racoviae: S. Sternacki, 1644), 7–17. See also: Bibliographia Sociniana, no. 2106, 95. Aentekeningh en verklaringh over de ses voornaemste Schriftuurplaetsen, diemen placht te greuycken tot bewijs van de Drie-eenigheydt, en de eeuweige Godtheydt Christi (1649). Sławomir Radoń, Z dziejów polemiki antyariańskiej w Polsce XVI–XVII wieku (Kraków: Universitas, 1993), 23–27, 34–38, 44–58, 63–74, 81–87, 137–40.

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1650, Cichowski published a treatise criticizing the Socinian interpretation of the prologue to the Gospel of John.65 This criticism, formulated in Polish, has nowhere near the precision of Latin treatises but contained a number of populist insults. Cichowski saw the proponents of the new faith as “Italian and German tramps” and outlaws destroying the “ancient teachings of faith.”66 In response, Schlichting published a defense of his creed in 1652, to which he added a letter (Epistola Apologetica) prepared two years before.67 In this apologia, he noted that most of the charges “ridendum est, non refutandum.”68 He also formulated demands concerning religious freedom, to which Socinians— as citizens of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth—should be entitled. In his own eyes, he was neither an Anabaptist nor an Arian, but a Christian.69 The sentence passed at the 1647 Diet was an obvious violation of the Warsaw Confederation, the result of scheming on the part of Schlichting’s opponents, who had earlier caused his exclusion from the Colloquium Charitativum. The theologian framed his defense of Confessio fidei as a commentary to the creed’s pertinent chapters or phrases, elaborating on the theses put forward therein. In 1651, Schlichting presented a short catechism at the synod, which most likely served as the basis for a new edition of the Racovian Catechism, published in 1659 with a preface written by Joachim Stegmann and Andrzej Wiszowaty (Andreas Wissowatius).70 The last work published during Schlichting’s lifetime was an apologia directed to the States of Holland and West Friesland in protest against the anti-Socinian decree of September 19, 1653.71 Toward the end of his life, Schlichting—forced to frequently change his place of residence and occupied with matters of his congregation—ceased his publishing activities. During the “Deluge,” he arrived in Cracow, which had been occupied by the Swedes, and joined a committee appointed to publish a commentary on the Gospel of John. According to Stanisław Lubieniecki’s account, in Cracow, Schlichting focused on academic activity and steered clear 65 66 67 68 69 70 71

Mikołaj Cichowski, Wizerunek nieprawdy Aryanskiey Postrzeżoney w rozbieraniu Wykładu na niektóre mieysca Pisma S. o Bostwie Syna Bożego, y o Troycy Przenaswiętrzey (Kraków: W. Piątkowski, 1650). Ibid., X2v–X3r. Confessionis Christianae ad rogum damnatae & combustae manium a Rev. D. Nicolao Cichovio lacessitorum sui vidices (1652). Jonas Schlichting, “Epistola Apologetica,” in Confessionis Christianae. Ibid., 13–14. Catechesis Ecclesiarum Polonicarum (Irenopoli, 1659). Jonas Schlichting, Apologia pro veritate accusata. Ad Illustrissimos et potentissimos Hollandiae et West-Frisiae ordines. Conscripta ab Equite Polono (1654). See KaweckaGryczowa, Ariańskie oficyny wydawnicze, 64–73.

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of ongoing political matters.72 These exegetic works were published after his death (1661) in the collection of Bibliotheca Fratrum Polonorum. According to a hypothesis formulated by Stanisław Kot, in the 1650s Schlichting also polemicized with Johann Ludwig von Wolzogen, elaborating on his views on secular authority, war, and personal defense.73 These works have not survived; Kot’s thesis about their existence and his reconstruction of their supposed content were based on Wolzogen’s rejoinders. The first extant text that attests to this disputation was penned by Wolzogen and titled Annotationes ad quatuor [!] quaestiones, de Magistratu, Bello etc. etc. quae cum his conjuncta [!] sunt.74 Therefore, Kot assumed that Schlichting’s work must have been titled Quaestiones de magistratu, bello, defensione privata, which naturally does not result from the title of Wolzogen’s piece (especially because it makes a mention of four issues) but from the title of his subsequent publication, which makes a direct reference to Schlichting. This work by Wolzogen was “a reply to Schlichting’s remarks about the remarks on war, magistracy, and private defense.”75 It follows that the currently unknown work by Schlichting must have been titled Annotationes in annotationes de bello, magistratu et privata defensione. In spite of the historiographic tradition, there is no unequivocal evidence that would confirm that these works have actually been printed. Although Wolzogen, in both his works, refers to his opponent as the “author,” the brief statements by Schlichting that he quotes may come from private correspondence. What is more, their content did not largely diverge from Schlichting’s beliefs contained in his polemics with Meisner (Quaestiones duae) and the Apologia.76 Therefore, it would seem that—contrary to Kot’s suggestions—if Schlichting’s works existed in the form proposed by the researcher, they must have remained in manuscript form. In conclusion, the rare disputations he entered into between 1643 and 1661 served a completely different function to those from 1625 to 1637: instead of defining the place of the Polish Brethren among the Protestant churches, they were meant to defend the Brethren against persistent attacks penned 72

73 74 75 76

Lubieniecki, Exemplum Epistolae. Kai E. Jordt Jørgensen, Stanisław Lubieniecki. Zum Weg des Unitarismus von Ost nach West im 17. Jahrhundert (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1968), 37–45; id., “Lubieniecki in Kraków 1655,” in Studia nad arianizmem, ed. Ludwik Chmaj (Warszawa: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1959), 199–202. See Stanisław Kot, Ideologia polityczna braci polskich zwanych arianami (Warszawa: Kasa im. Mianowskiego. 1932), 116–24, 137, 153; Peter Brock, “Dilemmas of a Socinian Pacifist in Seventeenth Century Poland,” Church History 63 (1994): 190–200. Bibliotheca Fratrum Polonorum (Irenopoli, 1656), vol. 9, 65–78. Ludwig Wolzogen, Responsio ad Jonae Slichtingii a Bucowietz Annotationes in Annotationes de Bello, Magistratu et Privata Defensione, in Bibliotheca Fratrum Polonorum (Irenopoli, 1656), vol. 9, 91–132. Wolzogen, Responsio, 130.

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by Catholic polemicists. Apart from the treatise against Vechner, Schlichting chose not to make his disputations public or—as in the case of the first disputation with Grotius—published them anonymously. Having characterized the individual writings and the nature of disputations pursued by Schlichting, one ought to move to their content, or a systematic interpretation of his theology, with the reservation that his polemical statements merely elaborated on the notions outlined in the works of Fausto Socini, Walenty Smalc (Valentinus Smalcius), John Crell (Johannes Crellius), Samuel Przypkowski, and the Racovian Catechism.77 His thought was founded upon a rational and critical hermeneutics of the biblical message, where a special place was occupied by the Gospel of John.78 Schlichting questioned the traditional Trinitarian and Christological doctrine, modified the theory of predestination and justification, and defended the concept of free will.79 In the spirit of Unitarianism, he rejected the notion of the Trinity, claiming that Christ and the Holy Spirit were subordinated to one God. Analyzing the idea of divinity, he opposed the differentiation between persons and their essence, upon which rested orthodox trinitarianism and Christology. Invoking rational argumentation, he rejected terms that were adapted and worked out by scholasticism and then assumed by Protestant churches. 3

“That Which Cannot Be Answered Has Been Burnt” (Schlichting)

Schlichting’s opponents were most stirred by matters of the Holy Trinity. From his very first polemic, the Socinian fervently rejected the concept of the Trinity as one God in three persons. He did agree to use the term “Trinity” if it were to denote one God, his son, Christ, who was human, and the Spirit.80 Schlichting denied the personhood of the Holy Spirit, treating him as dependent on God: the property and breath of God (Dei afflatus) and an emanation of his power (Dei Donum).81 77

78 79 80 81

Ludwik Chmaj, Faust Socyn (Warszawa: Książka i Wiedza, 1963); Ogonowski, Socynianizm; Daugirdas, Die Anfänge; Sascha Salatowsky, Die Philosophie der Sozinianer. Transformationen zwischen Renaissance-Aristotelismus und Frühaufklärung (Stuttgart: Frommann–Holzboog, 2015). Schlichting, Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 342 (“my Ewangelię Jana ś. jako perłe najprzednieyszą prawie pisma ś. sobie poważamy”). Jørgensen, Stanisław Lubieniecki, 126–29. Schlichting, Odpowiedź, 44–45; id., Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 283; id., Notae in Hugonis Grotii Votum pro pace, 1–6. Id., Odpowiedź, 56; id., Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 116, 353–54; id., De ss. Trinitate, 2 (“Spiritus S. denique nomine, non aliam rem ullam, qva coelestem divinumque afflatum, Dei Patris munere”), 12, 21, 36, 603–65; id., Notae in Georgii Vechneri Concionem, 88–89; id.,

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Christology played a key role in the first polemic texts written by Schlichting.82 He elaborated on it in his debate with Clementinus (1625, 1631) but revisited the subject in 1637 in his third disputation with Meisner, in 1643 in the debate with Vechner, and in the treatise against Grotius. To Schlichting, the most important foundation of his criticism of orthodox Christology was the message contained in the Gospel of John. The theologian argued that John’s λόγοϛ—which, in line with the Erasmian tradition, should be translated as “sermo” rather than “verbum”83—refers to Christ, who, after his incarnation, was the only begotten son of God. He was merely a man conceived by the Holy Spirit and born by a woman named Mary.84 Refuting the accusation of denying Christ’s divinity, Schlichting pointed out to Clementinus, Vechner, and Cichowski that traditional Christology denied the human nature of Christ, whereas his passion, death, ascension, and the promise of his second coming referred to a human rather than to the immortal and eternal God.85 The Socinian noted that ascribing human behavior and emotions to God was consistent with the Lutheran interpretation of communicatio idiomatum, which was usually rejected by Reformed theologians.86 At the same time, Schlichting was willing to admit that Christ was God. However, he understood the notion of “divinity” differently from his adver­ saries. The sole fact of being conceived by the Holy Spirit was enough to call Christ the son of God.87 The theologian went on to claim that Christ enjoyed the

82 83 84

85 86 87

De uno omnium Deo, 36–7; id., Reverendi viri D. Nicolai Cichovii. Societatis quae Iesu nomen praefert. Centuria argumentorum caesa (1652), 7–8; id., “De Fide primorum Christianorum, Martyrum & veterum Patrum,” in De Uno omnium Deo patre, 17. Jerzy Misiurek, Spory chrystologiczne w Polsce w drugiej połowie XVI wieku (Lublin: KUL, 1984). Grantley McDonald, Biblical Criticism in Early Modern Europe: Erasmus, the Johannine Comma, and Trinitarian Debate (New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 2016). Schlichting. De ss. Trinitate, 2 (“Nos vero, solius Patris nomines summum illum unicumque Deum rerum omnium conditorem, significari debere dicimus: Filii vero nomine, non alium vllum, quam Iesum Christum hominem, ex Spiritu S. conceptum, & ex virgine natum Maria”), 7, 11, 21, 435; id., “Commentarius in Euangelium Joannis Apostoli,” in Bibliotheca Fratrum Polonorum, vol. 3, 4 (“Homo est homo, non aliud aliquid, substantiae suae respectu, multo vero minus, divina ante mundum existens persona. Homo excludit omnia quae sunt non homo”). Schlichting, Odpowiedź, 3; id., De ss. Trinitate, 47–48 (marg.: “Omnia divinitatis de Filio Dei elogia recte ad ipsam humanam Christi naturam referri possunt”); id., Notae in Georgii Vechneri Concionem, 17–18; id., Confessionis Christianae ad rogum damnatae, 101–4. Id., Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 341. Id., De ss. Trinitate, 11, 58; id., Notae in Georgii Vechneri Concionem, 17–20; id., Apologia pro veritate accusata, 10–11.

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status of a “middle God,” mediating between one God and other divine beings.88 In fact, Schlichting was questioning the homoousion (ὁμοουσία) between the Father and Son and the idea of Christ being composed of two essences: human and divine.89 His polemic with Grotius, published after Schlichting’s death, contains an even more radical statement—namely, that Christ was referred to as the Lord rather than as God so as to avoid accusations of polytheism: “ideo eum [=Christum–MP] Dominum non Deum hic appellamus, ut appareat nos duos non statuere Deos.”90 One consequence of this stance was questioning the preexistence of Christ: “We believe in Christ as the true God, albeit not a pre-eternal one.”91 Regarding passages from the Gospel of John (Jn 3:13, 6:62), which referred to Christ’s prior sojourn in heaven and his descent therefrom, Schlichting maintained that they referred to an episode from Christ’s biography when he was accepted by God during his lifetime, after which he returned to earth.92 Schlichting upheld the notion, denying Christ’s preexistence in all his writings, although—in his polemic zeal—he sometimes formulated opinions that did not exclude it. In his debate with Vechner, defending the belief that λόγος in the prologue to the Gospel of John referred to Christ, he hypothetically assumed that “Christum aliam, antequam nasceretur, naturam habuisse.”93 Christological findings were important on account of their role in the doctrine of justification, as justification—which Schlichting eagerly admitted— was possible thanks to the sacrifice of Christ and faith. However, he believed that placing emphasis on Christ’s services only, and proclaiming justification through faith and predestination, rendered human piety unfounded. As a result, he rejected the concept of justification that ascribed Christ’s merits to man (iustitia imputativa). In his opinion, it contradicted the idea of justice and divine mercy.94 Moreover, it deprived humans of motivation to lead a pious

88 89 90 91 92 93 94

Id. Odpowiedź, 12; id., De ss. Trinitate, 158. Id., De ss. Trinitate, 159 (“De ὁμοουσία Filii cum Patre, nullus in universa Scriptura exstat locus. Consequentiis autem in re tam gravi, praesertim contra apertam rationem agere, temeritas est”), 596–99; id., Confessionis Christianae ad rogum damnatae, 109. Id., Notae in Georgii Vechneri Concionem, 167; id., De uno omnium Deo, 34–35. Id., Odpowiedź, 169–70; id., Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 7, 154; id., De ss. Trinitate, 2, 146–47. Id., Odpowiedź, 71; id., Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 208; id., De ss. Trinitate, 7; id., Commentarius in Euangelium Joannis Apostoli, 4–5, 27–28, 53. Id., Notae in Georgii Vechneri Concionem, 20, 67, 69, 76–78, 150–51; id., “De Fide primorum Christianorum, Martyrum & veterum Patrum,” in De uno omnium Deo, 22. Id., Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 104.

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life.95 Schlichting also criticized the Anselmian concept of justification as satisfaction (satisfactio) thanks to the sacrifice of Christ.96 Any form of satisfaction contradicted the promise of justification gratis.97 What is more, accepting (apprehensio) Christ’s merits constituted an activity, and thus a good deed (bonum opus), which was also at odds with the concept of justification through faith.98 Schlichting was more sympathetic to the concept of the exemplary nature of Christ’s passion and death, developed by Peter Abelard and Bernard of Clairvaux, although he did not express explicit support thereof.99 In his polemic, Clementinus attacked one of the terms employed by Socini: namely, that Christ’s death was merely a “metaphorical payment” (metaphoricum pretium, redemptio metaphorica). Schlichting defended Socini’s term, emphasizing that the terms “payment” and “redemption” could not be understood literally, as neither was anyone paid for anything nor did blood constitute a form of currency. As a result, Schlichting understood the entire message concerning Christ’s passion as a “metaphor” rather than a literal payment (λύτρον).100 Debating matters of justification and the role of Christ inevitably led to questions about predestination and the capacity of humans to influence their salvation. In his disputation with Clementinus, Schlichting was absolutely against the concept of double predestination—to either salvation or reprobation.101 In his debate with Meisner, he tried to adapt this idea, combining it with the (Philippistic, Semi-Pelagian, or Jesuit) conviction about human will forming part of the act of salvation. Whereas the pre-eternal divine choice is unalterable in genere, it is variable in individuo.102 God’s pre- and omniscience was only the basis for a “limited predestination,”103 whereas the number of those elected was open and subject to change.104 Humans could both accept and 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104

Id., Odpowiedź, 11; id., Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 63, 75–80; id., Quæstiones duæ, 136– 37, 212, 241–90; id., Apologia pro veritate accusata, 70–71. Id., Odpowiedź, 9, 12, 75; id., Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 332; id., Quæstiones duæ, 288–89. Id. Quæstiones duæ, 136–37, 212–42; id., De ss. Trinitate, 825–27. Id. Quæstiones duæ, 291–93. Ibid., 214. Ibid., 228, 247; id., Odpowiedź, 14, 141–42; id., Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 62; id., Confessionis Christianae ad rogum damnatae, 127–129 (“Metaphora quidam est in Redemptionis voce: at maxima veritas et proprietas est in ipsa re”). Id., Odpowiedź, 10; id., Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 101–6, 385–98. Id., Quæstiones duæ, 16, 119. Ibid., 30 (“non absolutam, sed conditionatam praedestinationem”); id., Notae in Hugonis Grotii Votum pro pace, 158–159. Id., Quæstiones duæ, 38 (“electorum numerum non fore certum et infallibilem, sed, prout mutantur homines, mutabilem”).

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reject divine mercy.105 Therefore, in the work of justification, they were not a passive object of the Holy Spirit’s actions (like a pillar or a rock) but made a free choice to listen to God’s word: “While faith doth represent a gift from God, he who has it from God, accepted it out of his own free will, and he who has it not, chose not to accept it out of his own free will, even though it was offered to him.”106 Conversion is an act of God inasmuch as God gave man eyes, ears, reason, and will, thus enabling a situation of choice.107 Lutherans (like Meisner) negated the free will (arbitrium) because they identified it with force (δύναμις, vires), whereas to Schlichting, the essence of arbitrium was the sole act of volition (I want vs. I do not want).108 The question did not concern the possibility of action but the desire to take it. Schlichting wanted to depict the dispute concerning mercy as a conflict about the vision of man. Meisner pessimistically claimed that prior to conversion, man cannot want justification, whereas after conversion, he cannot not desire it.109 Schlichting contradicted this position with an optimistic anthropology, according to which man was a rational creature, able to direct his affects using his own reason.110 The biblical message was also rational—that is, cognizable and compliant with reason.111 Moreover, Christians should not believe in dogmas that would be contrary to what reason dictated.112 Faith was not (merely) a gift but a voluntaristic act113 based on cognition and rational choice.114 Schlichting purposefully blurred the difference between fides (a gift from God) and fiducia (trust in God).115 Quoting the definition of faith provided by Socini,116 he proposed that the notion of faith should

105 Ibid., 30–36, 71–72; id., Notae in Hugonis Grotii Votum pro pace, 29. 106 Id., Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 83–88; id., Quaestio, 41–42; id., Quæstiones duæ, 63; id., Apologia pro veritate accusata, 26. 107 Id., Quæstiones duæ, 67. 108 Ibid., 87. 109 Ibid., 88. 110 Id., Quaestio, 20–21; id., Quæstiones duæ, 88–89 (“Nos semper liberum et velle et nolle, sive ante conversionem, sive in conversionem, sive post conversionem homini esse dicimus, ut et virtuti ac vitio, et praemiis ac poenis locum relinquamus”). 111 Id., De ss. Trinitate, 66, 68–70. 112 Ibid., 75, 123, 136–37; id., Confessionis Christianae ad rogum damnatae, 5 (“Dogma humanae menti inaccessum, relinquamus”). 113 Id., Quæstiones duæ, 22 (“Fides enim nostra tum, cum Deus occasionem et causam credendi nobis suppeditat, voluntarium est opus”). 114 Id., De ss. Trinitate, 78, 125 (“Diximus enim paulo ante, nihil credi posse quod a ratione capi et intelligi nequeat. Nam fides in assensu consistit; assensus judicium sequitur; judicium autem de re ignota et non intellecta nullum est”). 115 Id., Quæstiones duæ, 304–5. 116 Socini, Quod regni Poloniae, 696.

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be expressed as broadly as possible, as a metonym of the entire process of salvation.117 This defense of the concept of free will as well as the possibility (and necessity) of the choice made by man carried with it a recognition of the meaning of human deeds for justification. This is why Schlichting was against Meisner’s radical opposition between the Gospel (mercy) and law. He admitted that the law required deeds and the Gospel faith, but he believed that faith had to be “alive” too,118 in the sense that it should result in repentance and a transformation of one’s life.119 In another passage, quoting Augustine, Schlichting maintained that predestination concerned not only eternal life but also good deeds.120 Emphasizing the importance of predestination, he wanted to avoid the impression that salvation was caused by human deeds on account of their righteousness—after all, they would amount to nothing without mercy. To Schlichting, such an understanding of human acts and free will was the pillar of both divine justice as well as human morality and piety. It also resulted from his denial of the importance of the original sin, which was a misdeed committed by Adam yet one that did not burden his offspring.121 Ever since their birth, people were more inclined to evil, but this was down to their “nature” and “urges of the body” rather than the stigma of sin.122 It is worth noting that compared to the abovementioned very abstract issues, Schlichting relatively rarely touched upon matters of sacramentology, which concerned the practical aspects of liturgy. Nor did he deem it necessary to speak at length about the furnishings of churches. Whenever he did broach these subjects, he remained within the framework of Reformed orthodoxy delineated by the writings of Theodore Beza, Heinrich Bullinger, and John Calvin.

117 Schlichting, Quæstiones duæ, 313. 118 Id., Quaestio, 11–12 (“Nec enim Evangelium nuda fide contentum est, sed per charitatem efficaci, sed viva, seu tali, quae bonis operibus sit animata, alioquin ad justificationem nihil profutura”); id., Quæstiones duæ, 139–40, 158, 325–32; id., De ss. Trinitate, 51–53. 119 Id., Quaestio, 32, 38; id., Quæstiones duæ, 133–34 (“Iustificatio enim nec incipit sine fide ac poenitentia; nec durat sine fidei poenitentiaq. fructibus atque effectis”), 215. 120 Id., Quæstiones duæ, 13 (“Caeterum Augustinus in hoc dicto expresse asserit, Deum praedestinare homines non tantum ad vitam aeternam, quod solum volunt Lutherani, sed etiam ad bona opera, seu vitae aeternae consequendae media, ut volunt Calviniani. Unde apparet, et Augustinum cum Calvinianis facere, quod infra negat Meisnerus; et Meisnerum inconstanter Calvinianis objicere, quod eorum praedestinatione tollatur omne bonorum operum studium”). 121 Id., Confessionis Christianae ad rogum damnatae, 191–94. 122 Id., Odpowiedź, 59–60; id., Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 366–67.

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Schlichting’s interpretation of the Eucharist was very close to Reformed orthodoxy: he saw it as a sign or symbol (memoriale signum)123 and as an instrument of divine mercy.124 The theologian denied the real presence of Christ’s body (his nondivine nature) in the sacrament. He was explicitly against both the transubstantiation professed by Catholics and the Lutheran consubstantiation.125 To him, the words of institution (the famous “hoc est corpus meum”) were a metaphor.126 The ubiquitarian concept—that the real body of Christ is omnipresent and, as such, also present in the Eucharist— seemed absurd to him.127 The Eucharistic feast was only meaningful in the spiritual sense; it was a “memento” and “sign.”128 Consequently, participating in the Eucharist was not obligatory, as the rite was nothing more than a memorial; whether the faithful was present or absent was of no consequence either for the condition of the church or the condition of the Christian.129 Schlichting emphasized the meaning of sacraments as “instruments of mercy,” especially regarding the sacrament of baptism. He saw in it not just a sign but also a “means” (medium) of absolving sins.130 The prerequisite for baptism was an awareness of the truths of faith, which required a certain degree of maturity—both mental and spiritual—on the part of the baptized.131 As children were devoid of it, Schlichting criticized pedobaptism.132 Besides, baptism could jeopardize a child’s health, as it should occur not by aspersion (aspersio) 123 Id., De ss. Trinitate, 701–7, 789 (“Verum cum panis proprie loquendo non possit esse corpus Christi, sed tantum signum corporis Christi, propterea etiam proprie loquendo non edimus corpus Christi, sed figuram et signum corporis Christi. Ad figuram corporis Christi edere et ipsum corpus Christi edere diversissima sunt. Imo si ipsum Christi corpus edere­­mus, quid attineret panem illius figuram edere?”); id., Notae in Hugonis Grotii Votum pro pace, 23, 112, 126, 138 (“itaque nego sub panis istius & calicis ut loquuntur speciebus quicquam aliud esse quam signum memoriale corporis & sanguinis seu mortis Christi: quas propterea falsum est efferri, cum signa memorialia Deo offerri non solerent, nec illorum ratio quicquam cum oblationibus commune habeat”); id., Apologia pro veritate accusata, 29. 124 Id., Notae in Hugonis Grotii Votum pro pace, 47 (“Sacramenta non tantum signa esse acceptae, sed etiam instrumenta per quae Deus operatur, dando & augendo gratiam, verum est, si recte explicetur”). 125 Id., De ss. Trinitate, 707–9; id., Notae in Hugonis Grotii Votum pro pace, 119. 126 Id., De ss. Trinitate, 709–12, 731–32. 127 Id., Notae in Hugonis Grotii Votum pro pace, 21 (“Cum autem evidenter sit absurdum & contradictionem implicet humanam Christi naturam ubique esse”). 128 Ibid., 26 (“In ritu autem Eucharistico non aliter est corpus & sanguinis Christi, quam quatenus illius memoriale signum ritus iste continet”). 129 Ibid., 140–41. 130 Ibid., 47–48. 131 Id., De ss. Trinitate, 853–54; id., Notae in Hugonis Grotii Votum pro pace, 105–6. 132 Id., De ss. Trinitate, 844–45.

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but by immersion of the whole body (immersio).133 Nevertheless, in his disputations with Meisner and Grotius, Schlichting did not condemn infant baptism, believing this error could be tolerated in the Church.134 Schlichting was also rather tolerant toward the cult of saints and Mary. He regarded information about their lives and miracles on earth as credible if they came from a verified source. The relics of saints (bones, shawls, and even shadows) should be treated with respect. They could work miracles—by the same token as God made the donkey talk.135 However, nothing is known about the saints’ sojourn in heaven or their intermediation.136 This is why the veneration of saints and their relics ought to involve placing them in a safe location rather than any superstitious practice.137 The Catholic differentiation between dulia and latria—defended, among others, by Cichowski—was a meaningless play on words.138 Schlichting was more radical when it came to images. God forbade the creation of any likenesses, “simulachra seu sculptilia, sed etiam omnem assimilationem,”139 for he is beyond cognition through human senses and all representations encourage false worship.140 At the same time, however, Schlichting saw secular art as fully admissible, as it served to sustain memory and inspired awe for the artists’ dexterity and talent. Further, he emphasized that Solomon had rightly placed images in the temple.141 In other words, the ban on images concerned worship rather than the creation of any representation, whereas images and sculptures—as memoria—were not wrong in 133 Ibid, 853–56 (“Urgemus denique ipsum baptismi ritum, qui totius hominis immersione in aquam, non levi verticis aspersione continetur […] Baptismum vero immersionem totius hominis esse”). 134 Ibid., 831 (“Errorem quidem hunc esse, eumque sat gravem, praesertim si infantium baptismus ad salutem necessarius esse statuatur, dicimus; sed nequaquam ita gravem, ut in Ecclesia tolerari prorsus non debeat”); id., Notae in Hugonis Grotii Votum pro pace, 105 (“Ideo nec eos qui infantes baptizant, damnare audemus”). 135 Id. Notae in Hugonis Grotii Votum pro pace, 191; id., De ss. Trinitate, 91. 136 Id., Notae in Hugonis Grotii Votum pro pace, 162–64. 137 Ibid., 191–92 (“Honorentur ergo Sanctorum (nam umbra certe Petri non superfuit) reliquiae, id est eo se ponantur loco, qui nec profanis usibus, nec superstitionibus pateat”). 138 Id., Confessionis Christianae ad rogum damnatae, 51 (“Non divino, inquis, nec latriae, sed duliae cultu. Quid nos ludis vocibus? dulia et latria Synonyma sunt Graecis, eamque serviendi voce in aliis linguis redduntur […] Itaque cum in cultu ad religionem spectante distinguis, nun latriae, sed duliae, perinde est, ac si diceres, non latriae sed latriae, non duliae sed duliae; quod est nugari”). 139 Id., Notae in Hugonis Grotii Votum pro pace, 192. 140 Ibid., 193–94. 141 Ibid., 192 (“Probe id intellexit sapientissimus mortalium Salomon, qui & in Regia sua, & in Dei templo varia posuit simulachra”).

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themselves; they could only be made wrong use of or ascribed with wrong meanings.142 To conclude this reconstruction of Schlichting’s beliefs, one ought to elaborate on the most controversial matters, such as his attitude to office (of the church and state), discipline, secular authority, and the individual. This is a very complex problem, as it touches upon three separate issues: the definition of office and the resulting theoretical prerogatives; the practical scope of authority, which results from a confrontation between theory and practice; and the position of individual Christians. According to Schlichting, the church was a congregation of the faithful headed by Christ, where everyone was equal. Ecclesia was a divine rather than an earthly community, so it should not be governed by earthly laws.143 Of course, even this community had its own offices, but their creation did not lead to the emergence of a hierarchy and a relationship of absolute subordination. Superiors or provosts remained mere officials, not masters.144 Ministers of the Word should preach peace, not war, as they were not appointed to govern but to care about matters of religion. Schlichting sometimes referred to them as the “clergy” but underlined that he only used this word in a technical sense because no division into the lay and clergy existed within the church.145 The faithful had the right to disobey the hierarchs if the latter breached the adopted norms.146 Novelties introduced by the Roman Church, which violated “the spiritual freedom and dignity of faith,” should have been removed a long time ago.147 Many of Schlichting’s polemics defend the “dignity of faith” and toleration. Rejecting the need for discipline in the church, he believed that what should be 142 Ibid., 201 (“Imagines sive sanctorum sive profanorum memoriae tantum, & ejus qui memoria continetur honoris, causa ponere, nullum in se crimen habet. Flexu autem corporis, aut alio aliquo signo, ostendere, apud se in honore esse eum, cujus ea est imago, si id tanquam coelesti menti fiat, res humanas, quamvis iis exemta sit, curanti, Idolatria est”). 143 Ibid., 153 (“Ecclesia non est societas humana, sed divina; ideoque nullis aliis legibus gubernari debet quam divinis, & ab ipsa sanctitate dictatis”); id., Confessionis Christianae ad rogum damnatae, 187–89. 144 Id., Notae in Hugonis Grotii Votum pro pace, 59, 152–53 (“Episcopi non sunt Presbyterorum principes (quo dignitatis titulo nunquam usa est prima illa & sancta Ecclesia) sed presbyterorum praecipui”). 145 Ibid., 154. 146 Ibid., 54 (“Qui si a norma semel & ab initio tradita discedant audiendi non sunt: nec tum plebs subjecta iis esse debet, sed illi plebi, imo cuiq. rectiora monenti ex plebe, secundus ipsius Petris praeceptum”). 147 Id., Notae in Hugonis Grotii Votum pro pace, 90.

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pursued instead was the discovery of true teachings and general peace, based on harmony, toleration, and freedom of conscience.148 Matters of toleration and freedom of conscience did not concern the church itself but were above all prerogatives of secular authorities. In his defense of Socini’s beliefs on secular power, Schlichting noted that they were no different from the beliefs of Protestant orthodoxy. Socini—and Schlichting after him—left all prerogatives that God had granted to the magistrates. Public authority was established to protect public peace and the safety of innocents.149 Therefore, the scope of its prerogatives was dictated and limited by the functions it served. According to the Gospel, it should act proportionately to the deeds of those it judged and be lenient—for instance, it should not inflict capital punishment for theft.150 The sword granted to the magistrates by God should be stored away “in the sheath of charity.”151 These words, however, did not mean that Schlichting absolutely condemned war, the death penalty, and all forms of taking human life, although his attitude to these practices was definitely complex and ambivalent. Like Hugo Grotius, the Socinian theologian granted secular authorities the right to engage in wars against the public enemy but prohibited private wars.152 He allowed defensive wars153 but was realistic enough to emphasize that a war waged in the interests of the community, without abuse, hatred, or plundering, was just a theory “and we do not live in the world of Platonic ideas.”154

148 Ibid., 101 (“Quanto rectius facerent, si ingenii vim ac doctrinae copiam, ingentia Dei dona, ad patefaciendam clarissimae veritatis lucem converterent, & interea tamen non permiscendo falsis vera, paci communi studerent, & Christianos omnes ad mutuam tolerantiam, & permittendam conscientiis libertatem cohortarentur”). 149 Id. Quæstiones duæ, 334 (“Reliquimus libenter Magistratui sua jura ac potestatem, quam ab ipso Deo accepit, et quidquid ad illum finem obtinendum, quem Magistratus habere sibi debet propositum, publicam nimirum pacem et securitatem, seu bonorum et innocentium defensionem necessarium est”); id., Notae in Hugonis Grotii Votum pro pace, 155; id. Apologia pro veritate accusata, 79–80. 150 Id., Quæstiones duæ, 393–94. 151 Ibid., 426 (“gladium istum, quo armatus a Deo est, in charitatis, ut sic dicam, vagina, si non prematur necessitate, reconditum gestare”). 152 Ibid., 375–76, 395. 153 Ibid., 358–59 (“Licet enim bellum, seu hostium propulsationem cum ipsorum nece conjunctam improbet, et Christi praeceptis contrariam esse dicat; non loquitur tamen de bello, seu hostium invadentium caede, quam Magistratus ipse, conductis eam in rem militibus conservandae Reipublicae causa peragit”). 154 Ibid., 410–11 (“Verum meminisse debebas, nos in Platonis republica nequaquam versari, nec de bellorum idei loqui”).

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Like Socini, Schlichting criticized capital punishment if it was derived from the concept of “animae pro anima adem[p]tio”—that is, the rule of repayment or vengeance (vindicta), which referred to the Old Testament rule of “an eye for an eye” and was rejected by the Polish Brethren.155 Yet the theologian did not absolutely condemn killing, carefully choosing his words on violence, war, and the individual’s right to defend himself. Refuting the allegations that Socini deprived the magistracy of its right to wage war and administer justice, Schlichting underlined that Socini’s polemical deliberations merely concerned the duties of a Christian and the individual’s right of self-defense. The above reservations shifted the debate to the field of individual ethics and contrasted ethics with the rules of public life.156 The theoretical acceptance of the state, the justice system, and war led to the question of the individual’s attitude to these institutions. Schlichting underlined that whereas God wanted the faithful to practice moderation and understanding, Christians had the right to appeal decisions passed by secular authorities with a clear conscience, both before and after the injustice was suffered. However, they could not demand vengeance from the magistrates or seek it independently.157 Killing was also forbidden, as murder was always evil from the standpoint of Christian ethics and was only admissible in self-defense.158 Schlichting elaborated at length on the question of taking human life, on the basis of punishments inflicted by secular authorities, and the institution of war. In doing so, he disposed of both the biblical (Old and New Testament) argumentation and the justification of this act through natural law. An analysis of biblical sources led Schlichting to reject arguments in favor of the death penalty and admissible killing derived from the Old Testament. The theologian believed that these barbaric times could not serve as an example for Christians.159 Nor did he see sufficient justification in the oft-quoted 155 Ibid., 337. 156 Ibid., 427 (“Iam si quis hinc, quod de Magistratu concedimus, colligat, privatis similiter non omnino hoc praecepto caedium et fundendi sanguinis jus adimi, is cogitare debet, aliam esse rationem Magistratus, aliam privatorum. Ille enim tale a Deo accepit officium, quod sine gladii potestate consistere non potest”), 437 (“Respondeo primo, nos non agere de Magistratu, sed de privatis”). 157 Ibid., 354–55. 158 Ibid., 365 (“Et tamet ipse Meisnerus agnoscit, homicidium extra necessariam vitae defensionem esse per se et natura sua malum, quemadmodum apparet ex iis conditionibus, quibus privatam defensionem cum caede alterius conjunctam statim ab initio circumscripsit”). 159 Ibid., 361, 377–79 (“alia nunc fluunt tempora, quam olim; et alios homines, alios mores desiderant”), 383, 386 (“Licet enim postea Deus Magistratum in populo suo instituerit, et

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New Testament scene of St. Peter reaching for his sword to defend Jesus. In Schlichting’s opinion, although Peter’s action was by all means just, it ought to be correctly interpreted. Peter did not act in self-defense but in defense of his loved ones; the magistrates, by arresting Christ, acted unjustly and unlawfully, thus turning into a tyrannical authority.160 This invocation of the defense of the weakest (family, friends, and homeland) and opposition to tyrannical power, as well as “necessaria vitae defensio,” was a clear reference to Cicero’s writings and the neo-Stoic understanding of natural law. However, it provoked questions about the limits of this defense of necessity.161 In this situation, Meisner upheld the rule of “vim vi repellere licet,” regarding it as derived from the natural law, and as such not in violation (perhaps even compliant with) divine instructions, because natural law was created by God. Schlichting, however, rejected this line of reasoning too, claiming that God could amend his own laws and that the dictates of piety were more important than the instigation of nature.162 Ultimately, it was possible to act in self-defense without resorting to killing, and a Christian should attach greater weight to his salvation than to his life. Having acknowledged the raison d’être of secular magistrates and the Christian right of using them, another matter that required resolving was that of taking office by Christians, paying taxes, and the possibility of opposing authorities. In 1636, instead of offering an answer, Schlichting formulated a rhetorical question: Even if God gave magistrates the right to kill, does it befit

ei jus gladii in homicidas dederit, bestiam etiam, quae hominem occiderit, necari jusserit, tamen hoc ad ista tempora, quibus antiquissimam hanc legem promulgavit, trahendum non est”), 412–13. 160 Ibid., 387–88 (“Profecto Magistratus in hoc negotio non Magistratus officium gessit, sed iniquissimi tyranii personam sustinuit […] Adde, quod Christus, utpote Dei ipsius unicus Filius, omniumq. Dominus ac haeres futurus, Magistratui, qui Dei minister est, vere subjectus non fuerit, praesertim ita, ut Christi capiendi et invadendi [n]ullum jus habuerit”). 161 Robert von Friedeburg, “In Defense of Patria: Resisting Magistrates and the Duties of Patriots in the Empire from the 1530s to the 1640s,” Sixteenth Century Journal 32 (2001): 357–82; Alexander Schmidt, Vaterlandsliebe und Religionskonflikt. Politische Diskurse im Alten Reich (1555–1648) (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 27; Luise Schorn-Schütte, Gottes Wort und Menschenherrschaft: politisch-theologische Sprachen im Europa der Frühen Neuzeit (München: C.H. Beck, 2015), 31–130. 162 Schlichting. Quæstiones duæ, 368 (“Nec refert, quod lex naturae suam ab ipso Deo habeat originem. Deo enim leges a se latas, novis et melioribus legibus abrogare liberum est”), 458 (“Nec tantum spectandum est ad quod nos instiget natura, sed etiam quid permittet Christiana pietas et patientia”).

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a Christian to turn to a magistrate or take offices?163 Thereby, he suggested that when faced with a conflict between the dictates of faith and law, a Christian should withdraw from political life. According to Schlichting, a true Christian prefers to die in suffering than at war—as a martyr, not a soldier.164 Nonetheless, Christians should pay taxes, even if they were used to wage war: Christ also knew what use of money was made by emperors.165 This is where Schlichting saw a difference between Manichaeans, who rejected secular authority as evil, and Socinians, who accepted it but—“quantum possunt”— refrained from wars and bloodshed.166 Note here the intentional modality of these prohibitions: instead of formulating absolute imperatives, Schlichting always uses terms such as velle, nolle, malle, quantum possere, or quam maxime. In his homeland, Christian freedoms were safeguarded by rights and liberties. Incidentally, it was the Antitrinitarian thinkers’ understanding of freedom that researchers deemed particularly innovative.167 In his writings on the right to religious freedom, Schlichting often invoked the privileges enjoyed by the noble estate and the provisions of the Warsaw Confederation.168 He probably understood these laws as not just legal acts but also the unwritten rules that were cemented by the tradition that created the political culture of the nobles. What led to violating these laws and traditions was the import of exotic customs (Schlichting often pointed to the Spanish Inquisition).169 In 1654, Schlichting openly accused the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth of religious 163 Ibid., 384 (“Verum hoc etiam largiamur, Deum hac lege Magistratum instituere, et illi jus homicidas necandi tradere: nam idcirco etiam Christiano homini vere pio ac sancto licebit operam suam ea in re Magistratui commodare, et ejus ministrum agere?”). 164 Ibid., 405, 433, 456 (“At vero nos Christiani, quoties a regibus ac magistratibus premimur, non quod non possimus, sed quod nolimus resistere, injurias ferre debemus”). 165 Ibid., 421–22. 166 Ibid., 419 (“Aliter enim bella improbant, qui dicunt, Magistratus et politias a Deo malo esse constitutas, Mosen reprehendendum quo bella gesserit, quod Manichaei fecisse dicuntur: aliter illa improbant, qui Magistratus ab ipso Deo constitutos, et gladio etiam armatos esse fatentur, qui Mosen jussu divino bella gessisse asserunt; caeterum Christianos homines, quibus hostes diligere sit imperatum, a bellis et caedibus quantum possunt arcent, nec cuiquam privato, qui vere pius esse velit, ultro in bellum proficisci, et hostes occidere fas esse putant”). 167 Zbigniew Ogonowski, “La liberté de citoyen et la liberté religieuse dans la philosophie politique en Pologne au XVIIe siècle,” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 39 (1995): 155– 62; id., “Der Sozinianismus und das Problem der Toleranz,” in Faustus Socinus and his Heritage, 129–45; id., Filozofia polityczna w Polsce XVII wieku i tradycje demokracji europej­ skiej (Warszawa: PAN IFiS, 1999), 111–14, 128–34. 168 Schlichting, Epistola Apologetica, 2, 18. 169 Id., Confessionis Christianae ad rogum damnatae, 17; id., Apologia pro veritate accusata, 4.

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intolerance.170 Likewise, he was in no doubt that other Protestant confessions would soon share the fate of the persecuted Polish Brethren.171 Invoking the privileges and rights of the Commonwealth was the foundation of a concept of freedom that could be referred to as freedom of the estate. In this view, freedom was not a subjective right to which the individual was entitled irrespective of his birth and social standing, but it was associated with belonging to a specific social estate—although not necessarily the nobility. Schlichting’s reference to the Warsaw Confederation also fits in with this concept. Irrespective of this argumentation, Schlichting also pursued a different line of reasoning, in which freedom of confession was an inviolable axiom. He stressed in his disputations with Meisner that authorities should refrain from persecuting heresies, as confession was a matter of faith, which rendered physical coercion ineffective.172 The theologian developed this argumentation in his apologies from the 1650s. There, he painted a picture of mutual enmity between various confessions, asking whether Socinians would also have the right to exclude Catholics, were they to prove the stronger confession.173 This question undermined the principle of the Peace of Augsburg known as cuius regio, euis religio, which gained extreme popularity in the seventeenth century as a way of securing peace between conflicting confessions. Schlichting proposed replacing it with a separation of church and state, as the state 170 Apologia pro veritate accusata, 41 (“Poloniam deinde, infausto omnine commemorant, patriam nostram; quae dum non tantum nobis, sed etiam Euangelicis, & aliis, contra jurisjurandi & faederum fidem, templa adimit, exercendae religionis libertatem labefactat, & variis pressuris ob diversum in sacris sensum, infestam sese praebet; vindicem Dei manum in se provocavit, & iis sese cladibus & calamitatibus involvit, quarum necdum finem videmus ullum; quae quamdiu fartam tectam cuivis servavit conscientiae & religionis libertatem, altissima pace & omnium bonorum faelicitate cumulata floruit; sed ubi vinculum illud, aequabili lege omnes de rebus divinis dissentientes continens, solvi caepit, omnia ‘in pejus ruere & retro sublapsa referri’”). 171 Ibid., 3–4 (“Audite caeteri dissidentes, quid & vobis sperandum sit. Ubi nos tanquam non Christianos exegerint, eundem & vobis cothurnum induent; qui ita comparatus est, ut & vestro pedi aeque aptari possit. Sed si juribus, non viribus disceptamus; non vides, cautionem illa pacis, cuique jus facere, ut ex seu sensu & conscientia Christianae fidei rationem limitesque definiat?”). 172 Id., Quæstiones duæ, 469 (“Quid magis liberum esse debet, quam aliquid dicenti credere vel non credere? cum fidei natura omnem coactionem repudiet. Quis enim, ut aliquid revera credat, vi cogi potest?”); id., Apologia pro veritate accusata, 5–6. 173 Id., Confessionis Christianae ad rogum damnatae, 4 (“Nemo enim de alterius Religione male sentit, quin & alter de illius itidem male sentiat. An ergo si nobis hae vires essent, quae nunc vobis sunt, fas foret eundem in vos praetextum sumere, (quo nihil facilius) & sic a communi pace ac libertate vos excludere?”).

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encompassed “people of various origins and religions, even idolaters, pagans, heretics, and apostates.”174 Secular authorities enjoyed the status of protector of the church but only against those that attacked it with the sword, not those who used their words and reason.175 Faced with diverging opinions, the magistrate should refrain from action: “The office acts justly in such disputes when it refrains from action so as not to violate anyone’s conscience.”176 This is why, even if Schlichting’s deliberations featured the figure of Constantine, the theologian explained: I quoted the example of Constantine the Great not to have His Grace settle our controversies, saying who was right and who was not; but for His Grace to want to promote peace and harmony between people of different understandings, while leaving everyone to their opinion.177 In Schlichting’s reasoning, freedom of conscience was consolidated not only in the autonomy of the church as an institution but also in the concepts of epistemic relativism and autonomy of the individual. By the same token as Schlichting’s beliefs seemed blasphemous to Cichowski, Cichowski’s views seemed wrong to Schlichting.178 That was why heresies had never been and should never be prosecuted by law but rather analyzed in a rational dispute.179 174 Id., Apologia pro veritate accusata, 108 (“Discinta enim inter se sunt, Ecclesia & Respublica, nec sine omnium rerum perturbatione confundi possunt […] Respublica recipit & fovet cujuscunque generis & Religionis homines, etiam idolatras, etiam paganos, etiam haereticos, etiam a Christi nomine apostatas, & illae demum Respublicae vel maxime, populorum multitudinae & civium concordia florent”). 175 Id., Apologia pro veritate accusata, 38 (“Verum est, Civiles Potestates Ecclesiae Educatores & Tutores esse: sed adversus illos, qui Ecclesiam armis, & externa vi invadunt; non qui solas Scripturas & rationes Iofferunt, parati aut Ecclesiam melius erudire si erret; aut ab Ecclesia, si ipsi errent, erudiri”); ibid., 116 (“Vos, quibus Civilis in alios potestas commissa est, illi ministri, & famuli estis”). 176 Ibid., 95 (“Magistratus igitur recte facit, dum in tali discrimine, manum cohibet, ne conscientiae cujusquam vim inferat”); id. Apologia pro veritate accusata, 116–17, 119. 177 Id., Odpowiedź, 14. 178 Id., Confessionis Christianae ad rogum damnatae, 14–15 (“Quod libros meos blasphemos vocet, non miror; sic enim sentit, sic arbitratur; sed quod me in liberrima Respublica blasphemiae nomine damnare fuerit ausus, propter meum ab ipso in Christiana fide dissensum, hoc demiror querorque. Nam quae ipsi blasphemiae videntur, mihi sunt sancta dogmata. Nec mirum, cum et mihi non omnia videantur vera & sancta, quae ipsi videntur esse sanctissima”); id., Apologia pro veritate accusata, 95 (“Nemo nostrum sciens, prudens, blasphemat. Nam quae isti blasphema putant, nobis sancta sunt, & cum ab istis blasphema appellantur, blasphemare eos credimus”). 179 Id., Apologia pro veritate accusata, 111.

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The right to freely decide about one’s confession embodied the freedom of conscience to which all Christians were entitled.180 For what is the freedom of conscience, which is only subordinated to God, other than to think what you want in matters of religion and freely preach, and do as you think, provided that you harm no one?181 In other words, this individual freedom of conscience brought with it the individual’s right to freedom of thought and expression. And these could only be safeguarded by the separation of church and state. 4

“I Borrowed It from That Great Erasmus […], You, Old And Expert Theologians, Could Have Known That” (Schlichting)

Most of the presented beliefs were not conceived by Schlichting but represented a follow-up to the concepts contained in the writings of Fausto Socini. This is hardly surprising, as many of his polemics were apologetic in nature: they were written to protect the Polish Brethren, headed by Schlichting and Socini’s ideas. The addressees of his forewords and dedications (members of the Bohemian Brethren, such as Rafał Leszczyński, Bogusław Leszczyński, and Jan Jerzy Schlichting, as well as Protestant noblemen) indicate that these writings were also directed to the adherents of other confessions. Consequently, when the Socinian theologian invoked authorities and documented his deliberations, he most often referred to Church Fathers and contemporary theologians of other confessions rather than to Antitrinitarians. Among the Church Fathers, Schlichting liked to cite the authority of Tertullian182 as well as Irenaeus of Lyon, Ignatius of Antioch, Justin Martyr, and Origen.183 Among contemporary authors, he favored Erasmus of Rotterdam and Sebastian Castellio.184 Erasmus was particularly respected by Schlichting: 180 Id., Confessionis Christianae ad rogum damnatae, 5 (“quo jure mea haec Confessio, Christiana dici non posse, in civili foro, pronuntiata est? si Respublica meum mihi sensum & liberum in Christiana religione conscientiam reliquit nec ullum Civem, qui Christianum, se se damnaturam esse tot sanctissimis vinculis fidem suam obstrinxit”). 181 Id., Apologia pro veritate accusata, 99 (“quid enim aliud est conscientiae, uni vero Deo adstrictae, libertas; quam in Religione sentire quae velis, & quae sentias, libere pronun­ tiare, &, quod citra cujusque injuriam sit, facere!”). 182 Id., Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 269–70; id. De ss. Trinitate: Praefatio. 183 Id., Confessionis Christianae ad rogum damnatae, 6, 92–93. 184 Id., Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 95.

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“He was a great and wise man, with few equals or people of his kind.”185 This reference to Erasmus served an obvious identifying purpose: Schlichting positioned himself within the humanist tradition. At the same time, it also carried anticlerical overtones—the theologian posed as a layperson, warning his readers about the threat posed by clergymen. Of course, this does not mean that Schlichting was an amateur when it came to the theological debates of his time. In all disputations, he most often cited writings by John Calvin and Theodore Beza, which he seemed to know even better than his Reformed adversaries.186 He very rarely invoked the authority of Luther and his work, although he did point out to Meisner that the latter’s theses differed from Luther’s beliefs.187 What merits attention here is certain ambivalence in his relationship with the fathers of the Reformation. On the one hand, Schlichting noticed that Calvin’s voice was not always respected among Reformed Protestants.188 On the other hand, he criticized Clementinus for relying on authorities too often, when in essence he did not know the Bible. Schlichting accused theologians of the Protestant orthodoxy that they “practice Calvin, Beza, and the so-called Church Fathers more, and are more expert when it comes to them than the Bible itself.”189 In other words, Protestant orthodoxy created a new kind of scholasticism, which—like its Catholic counterpart—laid the foundations for intolerant attitudes and persecutions of heretics, as exemplified by events in the Netherlands and the trial of Miguel Servet.190 The Lutheran orthodoxy also created martyrs, having imprisoned and banished Joachim Stegmann, Jan Vogel (Joannes Vogelius), and Joachim Peuschel (Peuschelius).191 If it was up to Protestant clergymen, Antitrinitarians would not be tolerated even in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth.192

185 Ibid., 159 (“Człowiek to był wielki, i mądry, i mało sobie miał równych abo i podobnych”), 173. Peter Bietenholz, “Fausto Socini and the New Testament Scholarship of Erasmus,” in Faustus Socinus and his Heritage, 11–28; id., Encounters with a Radical Erasmus: Erasmus’ Work as a Source of Radical Thought in Early Modern Europe (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2008), 33–68. 186 Schlichting, Odpowiedź, 104; id., Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 264–65; id., Quæstiones duæ, 202; id., De ss. Trinitate, 450 (“Recte monet Beza”), 482, 625 (“ut recte explicat Beza”); id., Notae in Georgii Vechneri Concionem, 7, 37, 45, 83. 187 Id., De ss. Trinitate, 895. 188 Id., Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 101. 189 Id., Odpowiedź…, 15–16 (“więcey w Calwinie, w Bezie, i w Ojcach, jako je zowią, kościelnych się ćwiczycie, i w nich bieglejszemi jesteście niż w samym piśmie ś.”). 190 Id., Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 27–28; id., Apologia pro veritate accusata, 40–41. 191 Id., Quæstiones duæ, 462. 192 Id., Na Antapologią […] odpowiedź, 193.

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Interestingly, Schlichting occasionally invoked Stanislaus Hosius, Robert Bellarmine, and even Piotr Skarga.193 Undoubtedly, Hosius had the most interesting role here, as he was cited as defending the right of the Polish Brethren to reside in the Commonwealth.194 Schlichting quoted the famous words the cardinal was meant to say according to his first biographer Stanisław Reszka (1544–1600): “Bellum enim haereticorum pax est Ecclesiae.”195 5

“You Don’t Even Remember What You Wrote in Antapologia” (Mikołaj Cichowski)

Any reconstruction of Schlichting’s beliefs would be incomplete without considering the evolution of his ideas. Owing to the nature of his writings and their state of preservation, it is hard to unequivocally answer this question. However, the beliefs contained in his polemical writings and presented above may be compared to what he wrote in Confessio fidei. The relatively small size of the Confessio, which spanned 26 pages (two editions from 1651 were 104 and 126 pages long), particularly compared with Schlichting’s polemics, which occupied thousands of pages, should not be used as an argument against such a comparison. Schlichting’s creed was the most important doctrinal document of the Polish Brethren since the Racovian Catechism.196 Its publication in 1642 was the crowning achievement of the development of Schlichting’s theological reflection and also—as I have tried to prove below—a radical turn therein. Having taken note of these changes, Cichowski accused Schlichting of forgetting what he had written earlier.197 In an apology for his creed, Schlichting 193 Id., Confessionis Christianae ad rogum damnatae, 6–7, 121–22. 194 Id., Epistola Apologetica, 3 (“Hosium Cardinalem, cum in patria nostra Legatum ageret, & consilio interesset de aliis haereticorum tolerandis, aliis autem regno pellandis (Majores nostri denotabantur) improbasse id consilium proditum est; quod diceret, multum interesse Ecclesiae, si haereticorum inter sese dissensiones relinquerentur”). 195 Stanisław Reszka, “D. Stanislai Hosii […] Vita,”, in Stanislai Hosii S.R.E. Cardinalis Episcopi Varmiensis […] Epistolae, ed. Franciscus Hipler and Vincentius Zakrzewski (Cracoviae: Academiae Litterarum Cracoviensis, 1879), vol. 1, LXIV. 196 Schilichting, Confessio fidei. See also the English edition in Georg H. Williams ed., The Polish Brethren. Documentation of the History and Thought of Unitarianism in the Polish– Lithuanian Commonwealth and in the Diaspora 1601–1685 (Ann Arbor: Scholars Press, 1980), vol. 2, 389–418; Georg H. Williams, “The Place of The Confessio Fidei of Jonas Schlichting in the Life and Thought of the Minor Church,” in Socinianism and its Role in the Culture, 103–14. 197 Mikołaj Cichowski, Manes Slichtingiani seu trutina vindiciarum manium Confessionis Socinianae: Varsaviae exustae: editarum a D. Iona Slichting. Producta in publicum a Patre Nicolao Cichovio (Typis Viduæ & Heredum Andreæ Petricovii, 1659), 98 (“omissis multis,

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defended himself by claiming that the changes only involved passing over certain topics—deliberately omitting matters that were beyond human understanding from an interpretation of the truths of faith.198 However, an analysis of the creed suggests that these excuses were only partially true. Schlichting wrote his Confessio as a commentary on the Apostles’ Creed. The theologian preceded his work with a brief introduction, where he approved the Nicene Creed (Symbolum Nicaenum) and expressed his reservations about the third part of the Creed devoted to the Holy Spirit.199 In his commentary on the article on the Holy Spirit (article 19), he referred to it as the “Instructor, Teacher and Witness” (in the 1642 edition: “Doctorem et Magistrum, et Testem”; in the 1651 edition: “caelestem Authorem, et Magistrum, et Ducem, et Testem”), who was sent by Christ following his ascension.200 One may guess that these carefully worded, ambiguous terms could serve as an attempt at depriving the Spirit of the attributes of a person.201 Schlichting also diplomatically passed over the issue of the Trinity. The Socinian was similarly vague and ambiguous about Christological matters. Although Schlichting did raise well-known issues to prove that Christ— as the begotten son of God (article 5)—enjoyed an exceptional status among the divine creatures,202 he clearly emphasized the preexistence of Christ, who existed not just before his incarnation but also before the creation of the world.203 Schlichting’s interpretation of Christ’s death and sacrifice (article 11)

198

199

200 201

202 203

quae Socino, Smalcioque obiecta purgare non potuit: adeoque suo ipso silentio damnavit […] Tu ipse Domine, non meministi, quae in Antapologia scripseris?”). Schlichting, Confessionis Christianae ad rogum damnatae, 63 (“Nam de eo, an Deus ille unus, & Patris Personam, quae non sola unus ille Deus sit, & Filii Personam alteram, & Spiritum S. tertiam, sine ulla unius essentiae inter ipsas distinctione, includat, disputare hic in simplice Confessione nolumus, cum istius rei cogitatio, omnem humanum intellectum superet”). Confessio fidei [1642], A3r–v; Confessio fidei [1651], 4 (“Porro dissimulandum non duximus tertiam Symboli istius partem, quae de fide in Spiritum S[anctum] et in ea quae sequuntur agit, quamvis verissima fidei Christianae dogmata contineat, non ejus tamen antiquitatis a quibusdam censeri, ut eam cum prioribus duabus partibus, quibus fides in Deum et filium ejus Jesum Christum describitur, ab ipso statim initio conjunctam fuisse existiment”). Confessio fidei [1642], 22; Confessio fidei [1651], 81. Confessio fidei [1642], 22 ([Spiritus S. est] “Dei promissio, Dei donum quo perfundimur et imbuimur, Dei unctio, Dei virtus, qua remplemur”); Confessio fidei [1651], 6, 84 (“Idem Spiritus S. est digitus Dei, promissio Dei, donum Dei, quod Deus largitur petentibus se, distribuitque ad arbitrium suum, aliis plus, aliis minus de illo conferens”). Confessio fidei [1642], 6, 8. 10; Confessio fidei [1651], 24, 33, 41. Confessio fidei [1642], 21 (“Credimus igitur Iesum Christum ante mundi jacta fundamenta a Deo praecognitum, et dilectum fuisse, eundemque multo magis ante Abrahamum ita fuisse, ut Abrahamus diem seu tempus illius venturi spiritu prophectico videre potuerit”);

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also showed a radical change.204 According to George H. Williams, the theologian referred to the theory of both Anselm and Abelard as well as Socini and Calvin.205 Christ’s death did not just satisfy God’s anger but also served as an example for the living and a sacrifice, thanks to which Christians were given justice. At least two of these concepts (satisfaction and sacrifice) had previously been absolutely rejected by Schlichting. There were also other matters for which the theologian previously fiercely argued in his disputations but here decided to either pass over or express in ambiguous terms. For instance, the doctrine of predestination, although it did not rule out the human will contributing to the work of salvation, was formulated in very general terms, whereas original sin was not even mentioned. This theological openness of the confession is confirmed by the formulation of ecclesiological and sacramental issues. Schlichting defined the “Holy Catholic Church” (Sancta Ecclesia Catholica) as broadly as possible, as a congregation that recognizes the creed.206 Apart from preaching the word of God and penance, what he found constitutive was the separation of baptism and the Eucharist. The passage devoted to the former sacrament merely suggests that it refers to the baptism of adults, yet it does not unequivocally state that it does.207 Communion was to be given under both kinds, yet only the phrase about the “memento” of Christ’s death (Memoriae mortis Christi) brings to mind the symbolic nature of the Eucharistic feast (article 21).208 Confessio was an extremely conciliatory work, very close to Calvin’s doctrine and revealing a high level of familiarity with Reformed theology. This rapprochement with Reformed orthodoxy is visible above all in Schlichting refraining from speaking out on matters concerning justification: his acceptance of the previously rejected concept of iustitia imputativa and interpretation of the doctrine of satisfaction. At the same time, Schlichting tried to pass over controversial subjects such as predestination and the form of baptism. He

204

205 206 207 208

Confessio fidei [1651], 75 (“Credimus igitur, Jesum Christum, adhuc ‘ante constitutionem mundi, et ante tempora secularia, a Deo fuisse praecognitum, et dilectum, ut hac ratione, et hoc sensu, adhuc ante constitutum mundum, et tempora secularia, proinde et ante Abrahamum, at ante omnes alios Prophetas fuisse, merito dicatur’”). Confessio fidei [1642], 12–13 (“[Christus] pro nobis peccatoribus subiit, […] fructus salutares qui ex his divinissimis muneribus Christi in nos promanant […] omnia in coelis ac in terris reconciliavit, et ad pacem adduxit […] per illam munus hoc sanctum expiatorium inchoavit. Nam sacratissimum suum sanguinem effudit, tanquam victima piaculoris, pro peccatis nostris”); Confessio fidei [1651], 49–52. Williams, “The Place of The Confessio Fidei,” 108. Confessio fidei [1642], 23; Confessio fidei [1651], 92–93. Confessio fidei [1642], 24; Confessio fidei [1651], 96. Confessio fidei [1642], 25; Confessio fidei [1651], 96.

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also omitted debatable aspects of Christology, soteriology, and sacramentology as well as anthropology or formulated them in very general terms, possibly wanting to remain faithful to the teachings of Socini and Crell. This was a radical change compared to his beliefs presented above. Nonetheless, as has been noted here, the publication of Schlichting’s creed did not end the evolution of his beliefs. In the last period of his activity, following his sentence (1647), the theologian partially returned to his previous position and gave up his conciliatory tone, although he took care to maintain some common ground. The aforementioned examples could be extended to include the changes introduced by Schlichting to the new edition of the Racovian Catechism, where he introduced significant modifications to key Christological concepts. Contrary to the original version, Schlichting reiterated his conviction about the divine nature of Christ, who—to him—was both a man, the son of David, and God. He also developed the munus triplex Christi concept, included in the original wording of the Catechism. However, contrary to the first edition, he added that Christ was also a priest (Sacerdos) on earth before his ascension. Schlichting’s interpretation of the meaning of Christ’s sacrifice was also extended and modified. Although the Socinian explicitly adopted a condemnation of the Anselmian concept of satisfaction, he implicitly referred to it in his deliberations on redemption. Although Schlichting refrained from employing a number of conciliatory phrases found in Confessio in his revision of Catechesis, he continued his attempts at coming theologically closer to the Reformed confession. This tendency comes through not only in the softening of his Christological doctrine but also in the more diplomatic formulation of his condemnation of pedobaptism. According to Schlichting, this was an error that ought to be tolerated.209 It seems that Schlichting’s political beliefs also experienced a certain evolution. Even in his early polemical texts, Schlichting underlined that the Christian duties were not at odds with services to the state, and the subject of patriotism as a Christian virtue was an oft-recurring one in his late debates.210 In his disputations with Wolzogen, where he defended the institution of ownership and the state, he even described defending one’s homeland as a Christian duty.211 In the defence of his creed, he stated: “We are not a foreign people, 209 Schichiting, Catechesis, 222 (“quem tamen errorem […] Christiana charitas tolerare suadet”). 210 Id., Confessionis Christianae ad rogum damnatae, 16 (“Majoribus Nobilitatis praerogativa debetur, non quatenus Romanae Ecclesiae fuerunt addicti, sed quatenus viri fuerunt strenui, resque egregias pro patria gesserunt”). 211 Kot, Ideologia, 116–24, 137, 153; Brock, “Dilemmas,” 197–98.

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but the blood of the Commonwealth; born of the same ancestors.”212 Even in the apologia directed to the States of Holland and West Friesland, where he complained about Protestants being limited in their liberties, deprived of their churches, and oppressed, he did not hesitate to call the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth “patria nostra.”213 6

Conclusion: “One of the Best Writers [of the Socinians]”

Jonas Schlichting was one of the most eminent theologians of the Polish Brethren, whose beliefs enjoyed a very strong reception. His works, usually written in Latin, were already translated into a number of European languages in the seventeenth century.214 Confessio fidei was translated into Polish (1646), French (1646), Dutch (1652), and German (1653). Thanks to their publication as part of the Bibliotheca Fratrum Polonorum, Schlichting’s exegetic works were widely received in the Netherlands and England. They were used, among others, by Pierre Bayle215 and John Locke216 and most likely also by Baruch Spinoza, John Milton,217 Thomas Hobbes, Anthony Asham,218 and Isaac Newton.219 212 Schichting, Confessionis Christianae ad rogum damnatae, 23 (“Nos non externea gens; sed sanguis Reipublicae, iisdem orti Majoribus sumus”). 213 Id., Apologia pro veritate accusata, 40–41. 214 See Schlichting, Aentekeningh en verklaringh. 215 Pierre Bayle, Dictionnaire historique et critique (Genève: Slatkine Reprints, 1969), vol. 13, 359–60 (Schlichting as “une de leurs [les sociniens—M.P.] meilleures plumes”); Barbara Sher Tinsley, Pierre Bayle’s Reformation. Conscience and Critism on the Eve of the Enlightenment (London: Associated University Presses, 2001), 317–18; Jeroom Vercruysse, “Crellius, Le Cène, Naigeon ou les chemins de la tolérance socinienne,” Tijdschrift voor de Studie van de Verlichting 1 (1973): 244–320. 216 John Marshall, John Locke, Toleration and Early Enlightenment Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 314, 319, 494; Nicholas Jolley, “Leibniz on Locke and Socinianism,” Journal of the History of Ideas 39 (1978): 233–50. 217 John Rogers, “Milton and the Heretical Priesthood of Christ,” in Heresy, Literature, and Politics in Early Modern England, ed. David Loewenstein and John Marshall (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2006), 203–20. 218 Sarah Mortimer, Reason and Religion in the English Revolution: The Challenge of Socinianism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 115–16. 219 Martin Mulsow and Jan Rohls eds., Socinianism and Arminianism: Antitrinitarians, Calvinists and Cultural Exchange in Seventeenth-Century Europe (Leiden: Brill, 2005); Stephen D. Snobelen, “‘God of Gods, and Lord of Lords’: The Theology of Isaac Newton’s General Scholium to the Principia,” Osiris 16 (2001): 169–208; id., “Socinianism and Newtonianism: the case of William Whiston”, in Faustus Socinus and his Heritage, 373–414; Herbert John McLachlan, Socinianism in Seventeenth-Century England (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1951).

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However, to grasp the evolution of his beliefs and their significance at the time of their creation, one ought to go beyond the exegetic works in Bibliotheca Fratrum Polonorum and explore his disputations. This enables one to notice the topical impact of his theological reflection—close to Socini, Wolzogen, and Przypkowski—as well as its evolution. The above deliberations were meant to demonstrate how the functions of his confessional polemics evolved over time and to prove that the evolution of Schlichting’s beliefs was aimed at entering into dialogue with other Protestant confessions, particularly the Reformed. This rapprochement involved accepting the divine nature of Christ, underlining the role of his sacrifice in the work of justification, and passing over matters of predestination. Further, through his acceptance of secular law, the state, and defensive wars, the Socinian became politically acceptable to most of society. His proposals to solve the political crisis resulting from the coexistence of various confessions—each of which claimed to be solely entitled to interpret reality and define the truth—belonged to the broad irenic movement that flourished in the aftermath of the catastrophic Thirty Years’ War. This movement was also represented by Comenius, in whose Panegyricus we read that “everything should be free: body, mind, conscience, so that no one may shackle anyone else because of this, that, or any other reason.”220 This demand went beyond the hopes of abiding by the Warsaw Confederation and the rights to which individuals were entitled, defined above as the concept of freedom of the estate. The demand for the freedom of “body, mind, [and] conscience” was almost literally borrowed from Apologia published by Schlichting in 1654, and it corresponded to the new concept of individual freedom formulated by Schlichting, to which all humans were entitled, irrespective of their social standing or faith. These similarities may indicate that the allegations of Socinian sympathies put forward against Comenius were not entirely unfounded. Without a doubt, though, both theologians were pioneers of new ideas and ways of thinking. Schlichting deserves to be listed among the forerunners of the Enlightenment, although this opinion requires clarification. On the one hand, this is backed by the key elements of his worldview: defense of individual freedom and independence, praise of toleration, separation of church and state, and a rather specific type of “religious rationalism.” Indeed, all these ideas were favorably received in the seventeenth century in the circles of thinkers of the siècle des Lumières, particularly among the representatives of the “radical Enlightenment,” who were accused of “naturalism,” “materialism,” and even 220 Panegyricus Carolo Gustavo, 85.

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“atheism.”221 What ought to be clarified here is that Schlichting’s enlightened worldview was rooted in his theological beliefs. Individual freedom and rationalism were strictly associated with negating the burden of original sin and the doctrine of justification and predestination. The latter resulted from his views on Christ, the Holy Spirit, and the Trinity. On the other hand, underlining the role of piety and transformation of one’s life ( fides viva, caritas, praxis pietatis) brought Schlichting closer to the thinkers and practitioners of the Second Reformation, who demanded a “reformatio vitae” to follow the First Reformation.222 Among these religious revival movements of the latter half of the seventeenth and the early eighteenth centuries—a reaction to the ossification of orthodox trends of the Reformation—the most important was Pietism, but similar phenomena could also be observed in the Catholic Church (Jansenism) and the Jewish religion (Hasidism).223 A careful reading of works by Socinian thinkers suggests that this catalog should be extended to include them too. The contradiction between the two abovementioned interpretations, according to which Schlichting was either one of the forerunners of the Enlightenment or a member of “supraconfessional Pietism,” is a superficial one; both above hypotheses form part of a broader reflection on the religious roots of the Enlightenment in Europe.224 In light of the most recent findings, the claim that the expulsion of the Polish Brethren from the Commonwealth marked the end of the toleration era ought to be revised. One modification of this general thesis was offered by Kriegseisen, who argued that in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, “in the practice of social life, confessional toleration was nothing more than the freedom from persecution on the grounds of one’s confession or religion”225 and that changes brought about by the seventeenth century fit in with the Europe-wide process of confessionalization, belatedly initiated in the Commonwealth by the Catholic Church. This new interpretation enables the contextualization of the fate of the Polish Brethren within the broader European process of confessionalization. The sixteenth-century freedom of 221 Jonathan Israel, The Radical Enlightenment: Philosophy and the Making of Modernity 1650– 1750 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 205–8. 222 Kriegseisen, Between State and Church, 37. 223 Jonathan Strom, “Problems and Promises of Pietism Research,” Church History 71 (2002): 536–54. 224 David Sorkin, The Religious Enlightenment. Protestants, Jews and Catholics from London to Vienna (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008), 6–11. Hugh Trevor-Roper, The Crisis of the Seventeenth Century: Religion, the Reformation and Social Change (London: Macmillan, 1967), 179–218. 225 Kriegseisen, Between State and Church, 27.

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confessions in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth was founded on delayed confession-building processes. On the other hand, the clash between orthodoxy and heterodoxy was omnipresent in modern Europe and resulted from the process of forming the confessional identity of religious groups and developing a model of coexistence within a single state organism. These processes followed a different dynamics and course for individual confessions. In confessional clashes, heterodoxy determined and modified its position while defining its own orthodoxy and fighting for its political recognition.226 In other words, the clash between the Polish Brethren and other confessions was a typical confrontation of the confessionalization era, and the Socinians experienced the same evolution as other churches.227

Acknowledgements

A previous version of this article was published in Polish in Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 57 (2013): 30–75. The author gratefully acknowledges permission for translation and publication of the revised text. Translated by Aleksandra Szkudłapska. Bibliography

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Aentekeningh en verklaringh over de ses voornaemste Schriftuurplaetsen, diemen placht te greuycken tot bewijs van de Drie-eenigheydt, en de eeuweige Godtheydt Christi. [S.l.] 1649. Bayle, Pierre. Dictionnaire historique et critique. Genève: Slatkine Reprints, 1969. Catechesis Ecclesiarum Polonicarum. Irenopoli, 1659. Cichowski, Mikołaj. Manes Slichtingiani seu trutina vindiciarum manium Confessionis Socinianae: Varsaviae exustae: editarum a D. Iona Slichting. Producta in publicum a Patre Nicolao Cichovio. Typis Viduæ & Heredum Andreæ Petricovii, 1659. Cichowski, Mikołaj. Wizerunek nieprawdy Aryanskiey Postrzeżoney w rozbieraniu Wykładu na niektóre mieysca Pisma S. o Bostwie Syna Bożego, y o Troycy Przenaswiętrzey. Kraków: W. Piątkowski, 1650. 226 Leszek Kołakowski, Chrétiens sans Église: la conscience religieuse et le lien confessionnel au XVII. siècle (Paris: Gallimard, 1987), 51–53. 227 Jolanta Dworzaczkowa, Bracia czescy w Wielkopolsce w XVI i XVII wieku (Warszawa: Semper,1997), 14–15.

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Part 3 Radical Century or Age of Toleration?

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Chapter 10

Reformed Irenicism and Pan-Protestantism in Early Modern Europe Alexander Schunka 1

Introduction

“Kein schöner Ding ist weit und breit / als Kirchenfried und Einigkeit” (There is nothing better than ecclesiastical peace and unity), claimed the clergyman Benedict Rau (1589–1626) from Bretten on the occasion of the German-language edition of David Pareus’s (1548–1622) Irenicum in 1615.1 The Reformed theology of Heidelberg and its networks stretching from southwestern Germany to several parts of Europe have been influential for the evolution of the term and concept of irenicism through the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. While the evolution of Western modernity has often been linked to ideas of toleration, we may, from a more contemporaneous and early modern perspective, consider irenicism as its largely forgotten theological sibling. The present essay focuses on the specifics and central aspects of the history of irenicism during the early modern age. After a discussion of concepts and terminological issues (2), the essay moves on to analyze two key dimensions of irenicism: its theological features (3) and its relation to early modern politics (4). I argue that irenicism was not an alternative to the confessionalism following the Reformation but rather an innovative and adaptable part of it. This topic provides a unique opportunity to investigate the relationship between early modern theology and politics from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century. Irenicism was based upon what some researchers have called PanProtestantism: both irenicism and Pan-Protestantism largely relied upon a “universalist,” Melanchthonian, or Arminian view on the doctrine of predestination. Pan-Protestants were not necessarily irenicists but advocated trans-European contacts and dialogue among Protestants of different denominations. Against this backdrop, irenicists propagated a more institutional 1 See Benedict Rau’s dedicatory poem in David Pareus, Irenicum oder Friedemacher: Wie die Evangelischen Christlich zuvereinigen und zu einem Synodo, oder allgemeinen Versamblung gelangen mögen (Frankfurt: Rose, 1615), (***) [ii] r.

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approach; some even fostered the goal of a unified faith on a new “confessional” basis. They shared a Pan-Protestant outlook owing to the scattered nature of like-minded groups within the different Protestant (and especially Calvinist) strongholds of Europe. While attempts to reach out to other denominations existed among all Christian groups (including Roman Catholics and Orthodox churches), the ideal type of intra-Protestant irenicism was the merging of two denominations in order to create one overarching faith. 2

Concepts and Terminology

According to a recent definition by Howard Louthan, “Irenicism, derived from the Greek word for peace, points to the efforts of church leaders seeking to minimize the doctrinal differences and discover a common theological platform between different Christian traditions.”2 What is crucial here is the theme of a “common theological platform,” understood as a unified faith based on a single doctrine, liturgy, and ecclesiological foundation. Two (or more) Christian affiliations, as established in the course of the sixteenth-century Reformation that had developed differing and often conflicting confessional groups, should be merged into one. As a denominator in the quest for Christian unity, the term irenicism evolved from the context of the Reformed theology of Heidelberg. It is connected with two theological works, namely, Eirenicum (1593) by Franciscus Junius (1545– 1602) and David Pareus’s Irenicum (1614).3 Both Junius and Pareus were influenced by the political and military conflicts of their time that, in the eyes of contemporaries, could hardly be separated from religious strife. Junius, who published his work in Leiden just after he had arrived there from Heidelberg, was influenced by the French Wars of Religion as well as by the Dutch Revolt. This may explain why he proposed a religious compromise of Protestants with the Catholic side.4 On the eve of the Thirty Years’ War, Pareus advocated unity 2 Howard Louthan, “Irenicism and Ecumenism in the Early Modern World,” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 61 (2017): 6. See also Ernst Koch, “Irenik (2019),” in Enzyklopädie der Neuzeit Online, ed. Friedrich Jaeger, http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/2352-0248_edn_SIM_285834. 3 On the concept and history of irenicism see Wilhelm Holtmann, “Irenik,” in Theologische Realenzyklopädie, ed. Gerhard Müller et al., vol. 16 (Berlin, New York: De Gruyter, 1987), 268–73. 4 Herman Selderhuis, “Frieden aus Heidelberg: Pfältzer [sic] Irenik und melanchthonische Theologie bei den Heidelberger Theologen David Pareus (1548–1622) und Franciscus Junius (1545–1602),” in Konfrontation und Dialog: Philipp Melanchthons Beitrag zu einer ökume­ nischen Hermeneutik, ed. Günther Frank (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2006), 256.

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among Lutheran and Reformed Protestants to improve and complement the current political alliance of both camps in the Holy Roman Empire, which was also fittingly labeled a “Union.”5 There are, however, several important older roots of the concept that include a variety of scholarly traditions: the Melanchthonian theology of the Confessio Augustana Variata, the quarrel between Luther (1483–1546) and Zwingli (1484–1531) at the Marburg Colloquy of 1529 over Christ’s presence in the Eucharist (as evoked, for instance, by Pareus in his Irenicum), and the ideas of Erasmus of Rotterdam (1466–1536). In 1526 in Basel, Erasmus had published Adversus Haereses, originally written in the late second century CE by the early Christian bishop Irenaeus of Lyon (135–200). In the preface to his new edition, the humanist scholar Erasmus praised Irenaeus’s religious peaceableness and how it had laid a foundation for an irenicism avant la lettre—whose origins, according to Erasmus and later irenicists, were the early Christianity of its first five hundred years.6 Whereas—somewhat ironically—the assumed grave of Irenaeus was destroyed by militant French Calvinists in 1562, references to Irenaeus of Lyon and his work featured quite prominently in the irenic debates of the following centuries, especially within Reformed Protestantism.7 An important case in point is the Prussian native and Patristic theologian John Ernest (Johann Ernst) Grabe (1666–1711), a convert to the Anglican faith who became an eminent scholar at the University of Oxford. At the beginning of the eighteenth century, Grabe published a new edition of Irenaeus’s Adversus Haereses. He saw the work of Irenaeus as a contribution to irenicism founded upon an apostolic continuity of bishops since antiquity; moreover, in his dedicatory preface, Grabe linked the church father’s alleged irenicism to his former king Frederick I (1657–1713) in Prussia, whose name (Friedrich, translated as “rich with peace”) supposedly predestined this monarch to be the prime peace-loving follower of Irenaeus and possible leader of a confessional reconciliation in Europe.8 5 According to Pareus, Irenicum, 99, the “heilige Vereinigung der weltlichen Union” needed a spiritual supplement. On the political Union see Axel Gotthard, “Protestantische ‘Union’ und Katholische ‘Liga’—Subsidiäre Strukturelemente oder Alternativentwürfe?,” in Alternativen zur Reichsverfassung in der Frühen Neuzeit?, ed. Dieter Stievermann and Volker Press (München: Oldenbourg, 1995), 81–112. 6 E.P. Meijering, “Bemerkungen zum Nachleben des Irenaeus im Streit der Konfessionen,” Vigiliae Christianae 53 (1999): 76. 7 Meijering, “Nachleben des Irenaeus,” 85 and passim. 8 Irenaei Episcopi Lugdunensis Contra omnes haereses libri quinque […], ed. Johann Ernst Grabe (Oxford: Bennet, 1702). On Grabe see Günther Thomann, “John Ernest Grabe (1666–1711): Lutheran Syncretist and Anglican Patristic Scholar,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 43 (1992):

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As has already been indicated, it is crucial to understand irenicism from its changing contemporary contexts. The advocates of confessional unity always needed to consider a complex, albeit typical, mix of theology and politics. Therefore, it is neither fully convincing to distinguish—anachronistically—in the early modern era between a “more theoretical” (that is, scholarly) irenicism and a “more practical” ecumenism. Nor is it plausible to explain early modern irenicism in an ex-post perspective as the prehistory of modern ecumenism. Although ecumenism is strongly rooted in the interdenominational dialogue among Christian faiths and churches that has come to flourish, especially since the mid-twentieth century, this concept has occasionally been used to tell a long history of an “Ecumenical Movement,” incorporating facets of earlier confessional dialogue including early modern irenicism.9 Moreover, it may be of limited use to simply follow a standard genealogy of concords and reconciliatory attempts and to create the continuity of a presumed “Third Force” of humanist, anticonfessional thinking from the late Middle Ages to modernity.10 Such a seemingly linear history of confessional compromise would perhaps include Nicholas of Cusa (1401–84), Erasmus and Philipp Melanchthon (1497– 1560), the Polish Sandomir Consensus, the abovementioned Junius and Pareus, the Dutch scholar Hugo Grotius (1583–1645), Georg Calixt of Helmstedt (1586– 1656), the Englishman John Dury (1596–1680), the Colloquium Charitativum of Toruń (Thorn), German scholars Daniel Ernst Jablonski (1660–1741) and Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz (1646–1716), the Anglican archbishop William Wake (1657–1737), the theologians of the so-called Swiss Triumvirate, and others. This genealogy of irenicism would then end with the Prussian Union of 1817 or the foundation of the Anglo-German Bishopric of Jerusalem. Although an enumeration such as this is far from complete, it illustrates the wide chronological

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414–27; Nicholas Keene, “John Ernest Grabe, Biblical Learning and Religious Controversy in Early Eighteenth-Century England,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 58 (2007): 656–74. Ruth Rouse and Stephen Neill, eds., History of the Ecumenical Movement, 2nd ed. (London: S.P.C.K., 1967). These approaches are often implicitly or explicitly based on Friedrich Heer, Die Dritte Kraft: Der europäische Humanismus zwischen den Fronten des konfessionellen Zeitalters (Frankfurt a.M.: S. Fischer, 1959). Among the rather ‘genealogical’ treatments of the topic are Heinz Duchhardt and Gerhard May, eds., Union—Konversion—Toleranz: Dimensionen der Annäherung zwischen den christlichen Konfessionen im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert (Mainz: von Zabern, 2000); Harm Klueting, ed., Irenik und Antikonfessionalismus im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert (Hildesheim–Zürich–New York: Olms, 2003). Still one of the best overviews of the topic is Howard Hotson, “Irenicism in the Confessional Age: The Holy Roman Empire, 1563–1648,” in Conciliation and Confession: The Struggle for Unity in the Age of Reform, ed. Howard P. Louthan and Randall C. Zachman (Notre Dame: Notre Dame University Press, 2004), 228–85.

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and geographical scope of the phenomenon. However, telling the history of irenicism as a continuous, centuries-long process is problematic as it obscures some of its relevant specifics regarding a particular time and place. Undoubtedly, irenicists of different centuries all propagated the search for (and/or even the creation of) a common denominational basis (mostly between Reformed and Lutheran Protestants, sometimes also between Protestants and other faiths). They often relied on certain precursors, but they were usually guided by the necessities of their own time: irenicist scholars and politicians tried to approach the problem from theological as well as political angles and were motivated by religious and political considerations alike. Most irenicists were theologians, just as their numerous opponents were, who considered it dangerous to merge the faiths and called irenicists, in a derogatory manner, “syncretists.” Measured against their principal goal of a unified faith, most irenic plans failed. This did not necessarily happen out of a general religious irreconcilability; it was often because of political issues. Nevertheless, the side effects of early modern irenicism were manifold: they transgressed the fields of religion and politics and left their marks on mobility and communication, on cultural transfers and global exchanges, and on dynastic alliances, education, and memorial culture alike.11 This may justify the treatment of irenicism as an important religious, political, and cultural concept of the early modern age. Whereas it is helpful to start with a brief description of what irenicism was and what its study may imply, it is also necessary to clarify what irenicism was not: Howard Louthan has recently called for scholars to “carefully anchor” any study of early modern irenicism “in a specific historical context.” At the same time, he has insisted on acknowledging the “diversity and heterogeneity of Europe’s religious landscape” in the historiography of irenicism.12 Both considerations are certainly important. However, to take early modern irenicism seriously and retain its specifics, a study of irenic discourses and activities is not equivalent with that of the much broader history and historiography of interfaith dialogue and interdenominational interaction, something that has certainly been a booming field in early modern studies for more than twenty years.13 11 12 13

See my attempt to include these fields into a history of irenic thought: Alexander Schunka, Ein neuer Blick nach Westen: Deutsche Protestanten und Großbritannien (1688– 1740) (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2019). Louthan, “Irenicism and Ecumenism,” 27. See, among others, Benjamin J. Kaplan, Divided by Faith: Religious Conflict and the Practice of Toleration in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2009); Andreas Pietsch and Barbara Stollberg-Rilinger, eds., Konfessionelle Ambiguität:

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To be sure, many features of irenicism can be traced in other contexts as well. Only three examples of such overlap are mentioned here. The first is, so to speak, a combination of origin and truth: while irenicist thought was often rooted in Patristic theology and was oriented toward restoring a “true” Christianity rooted in its first five hundred years, not all early modern investigations into the particular and allegedly unspoiled truths of the Christian past by Protestant theologians can be termed irenicist. Scholarship in Christian antiquity was undertaken by irenicists such as Christoph Matthäus Pfaff (1651– 1720) but also by his direct opponent Ernst Salomon Cyprian (1673–1745) and other strict, “orthodox” Lutherans and self-proclaimed anti-irenicists.14 A second example is the question of transgressing confessional boundaries and the relationship between confessional and individual piety: several followers of the Pietist movement, usually with a Lutheran background, rejected contemporary confessional affiliations as useless per se for a real dialogue among true believers. At the same time, they considered themselves as decidedly not irenicists. Although the Halle Pietists received promotion by the Prussian monarchy because they styled themselves as peace-loving Christians, they propagated a “unity of hearts,” as opposed to an irenic unity of denominations.15 Another, final example with which to delimit irenicism is its relationship to toleration and the fact that the respective early modern debates should not be confused with irenicist attempts: until the Enlightenment, toleration did not figure as an achievable goal that seemed desirable in the interests of

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Uneindeutigkeit und Verstellung als religiöse Praxis in der Frühen Neuzeit (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2013); C. Scott Dixon, Dagmar Freist and Marc Greengrass, eds., Living with Religious Diversity in Early-Modern Europe (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2009). Wolf-Friedrich Schäufele, Christoph Matthäus Pfaff und die Kirchenunionsbestrebungen des Corpus Evangelicorum 1717–1726 (Mainz: von Zabern, 1998); Alexander Schunka, “Fighting or Fostering Confessional Plurality? Ernst Salomon Cyprian and Lutheran Orthodoxy in the Early Eighteenth Century,” in Archaeologies of Confession: Writing the German Re­formation 1517–2017, ed. Carina Johnson et al. (New York: Berghahn, 2017), 151–72. On this misunderstanding see Marianne Taatz-Jacobi, Erwünschte Harmonie: Die Grün­ dung der Friedrichs-Universität Halle als Instrument brandenburg-preußischer Konfessions­ politik. Motive—Verfahren—Mythos (Berlin, Boston: De Gruyter, 2014). See also Benjamin Marschke, “Mish-Mash with the Enemy: Identity, Politics, Power, and the Threat of Forced Conversion in Frederick William I’s Prussia,” in Conversion and the Politics of Religion in Early Modern Germany, ed. David Luebke et al. (New York: Berghahn, 2012) 119–34; HansJürgen Schrader, “Lutherisch-reformierte Konfessionsirenik: Vom Interesse des Berliner Hofs am Pietismus,” in Hallesches Waisenhaus und Berliner Hof: Beiträge zum Verhältnis von Pietismus und Preußen, ed. Holger Zaunstöck et al. (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2017), 81–102; Alexander Schunka, “Daniel Ernst Jablonski, Pietism, and Ecclesiastical Union,” in Pietism, Revivalism and Modernity: 1650–1850, ed. Fred van Lieburg and Daniel Lindmark (Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2008), 23–41.

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confessional reconciliation but as a state of disorder that should be avoided— notwithstanding the existence of numerous pragmatic interfaith arrangements in the various multiconfessional settings of Europe.16 Irenicists did not usually seek to propagate “toleration” vis-à-vis other denominations because, just like most other confessional Christians of their time, they were convinced that there was only one, nonnegotiable (albeit perhaps corrupted or forgotten) fundamental truth. If some irenicists did not discard the concept of tolerating other faiths altogether, they considered toleration only as a preliminary step toward a unified form of Christian belief.17 Note that irenicism as the quest to unite early modern confessional faiths did not figure in equally strong proportions among Catholics, Lutherans, and Calvinists. Although dedicated proponents of confessional reconciliation can certainly be found in all denominational milieus, irenicist discourse in its stricter sense has a Reformed Protestant bias. This can be explained by the particular geographical as well as theological scatteredness of Reformed Protestantism in early modern Europe that often put Calvinists in a minority situation, and by a special need for networking among like-minded Christians from within and beyond the Reformed camp. The European interconnectedness of Calvinists in theological, political, and social respects has been subsumed by researchers under the term “International Calvinism.”18 However, we can see that during the early modern era, these networks of international Calvinism increasingly opened up and began to include moderate Calvinists as well as other Protestants who shared an undogmatic approach to their faith. This evolution of European Protestantism does not 16

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See Alexander Schunka, “Zivile Toleranz—religiöse Toleranz—Union: Leibniz zwischen protestantischer Irenik und dynastischer Politik in Hannover und Berlin,” in Umwelt und Weltgestaltung: Leibniz’ politisches Denken in seiner Zeit, ed. Friedrich Beiderbeck, Irene Dingel, and Wenchao Li (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2014), 589–612; id., “Sind Migranten toleranter? Religiöse Freistellung, konfessionelle Migrationen und interkonfessionelle Koexistenz im langen 17. Jahrhundert,” in Duldung religiöser Vielfalt—Sorge um die wahre Religion: Toleranzdiskurse in der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. Sascha Salatowsky and Winfried Schröder (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2016), 281–302, with more of the relevant literature on toleration. A good overview on the pragmatic multi-confessional arrangements in the early modern era provide the contributions in Thomas Max Safley, ed., A Companion to Multiconfessionalism in the Early Modern World (Leiden: Brill, 2011). On toleration as a transitional phenomenon on the way to church unity already in Pareus’s work see Selderhuis, “Frieden aus Heidelberg,” 243; on similar views as expressed by Samuel Pufendorf (1632–1694), Calixt, Jablonski and others see Schunka, “Zivile Toleranz,” esp. 596–99. Menna Prestwich, ed., International Calvinism: 1541–1715 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1986); see also Graeme Murdock, Beyond Calvin: The Intellectual, Political and Cultural World of Europe’s Reformed Churches, c. 1540–1620 (New York: Macmillan, 2004).

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assert a general decline of confessional allegiances but rather a shift from three to two, more or less distinct, denominational and political camps: Protestant and Catholic. What contributed to this development, especially from the later seventeenth century, were the growing perceptions of a Catholic threat among Protestants, including fears that the very accomplishments of the Reformation could be undone.19 Based partly on political and religious events of the time, such as the accession of the Catholic James II (1633–1701) in Britain and the expulsion of the Huguenots by Louis XIV (1638–1715) around 1685, as well as the much-disputed peace treaty of Rijswijk in 1697, and partly on an intensification of confessionalized propaganda, the need to build a uniform and powerful opposition against Catholic powers increasingly became a matter of debate. This points to the idea of “Protestant International” or “Pan-Protestantism”: just like “International Calvinism,” these concepts were not contemporaneous but have been coined by researchers. They describe Protestant dialogue and collaboration across the Calvinist–Lutheran divide. Obviously, not all Pan-Protestants were irenicists in a sense that they shared the idea of a unification under one denominational umbrella. In the present chapter, “Pan-Protestantism” serves as a heuristic device to locate irenicism within a wider Protestant context of theology, politics, and communication in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Therefore, a brief discussion of its meaning may be in order. Recently, the concept of Pan-Protestantism has seemed to gain in popularity among historians. However, notions such as “Pan-Protestant” and “PanProtestantism” can be traced back to several contexts as early as the nineteenth century. In 1916, the Conference of Foreign Mission Boards at Garden City, Long Island (NY) used “Pan-Protestant” as a subcategory of “Pan-Christian” (in a sense of “Ecumenical”).20 Until the end of the twentieth century, “PanProtestant” appeared in missionary literature and in debates on ecumenism. It focused mainly on the Anglo-Irish and American worlds.21 Whereas “Pan-Protestantism” and “Pan-Protestant” appear increasingly often in current scholarship on the early modern era, they usually remain undefined. In fact, they either denote a spatial (e.g., European, global) or a content dimension (e.g., transdenominational) of interaction and dialogue among Protestants, sometimes combining both.22 Seen as a communicational 19 20 21 22

See Schunka, Neuer Blick nach Westen, 61–64; Christian Mühling, Die europäische Debatte über den Religionskrieg (1679–1714): Konfessionelle Memoria und internationale Politik im Zeitalter Ludwigs XIV. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2018). Rouse and Neill, History of the Ecumenical Movement, 739. For instance, ibid., 673. The content dimension is important for Martin I. Klauber, Between Reformed Scholasticism and Pan-Protestantism: Jean-Alphonse Turretin (1671–1737) and Enlightened Orthodoxy at

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framework, Pan-Protestantism is used to analyze the spheres of religion, politics, and culture. It is sometimes applied to the careers and networks of individual theologians and diplomats23 as well as to rhetoric, literary discourses, and the print market.24 Pan-Protestantism has been linked to an early modern “cosmopolitanism,”25 and it is used quite interchangeably—sometimes even tautologically—with “International Protestantism.”26 This concept also seems to call into question the older, unspoken assumption that the Protestant faith in early modern Europe was usually more restricted to particular territorial states and communities than the papal church, with its supraterritorial structures of administration and exchange. The rather indeterminate character of Pan-Protestantism, however, may not be only a weakness but perhaps also its strength: unlike “International Protestantism,” Pan-Protestantism does not refer anachronistically to nationstates but to the indistinct Greek prefix “pan.” It includes Protestant dialogue and communication across geographical distances as well as the exchange of religious ideas across spiritual boundaries. As will be illustrated shortly, the two often intersected. What is, then, the relationship between early modern Pan-Protestantism and irenicism? A short answer is that there may hardly be any Protestant irenicism that does not come with a certain amount of Pan-Protestantism. However,

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the Academy of Geneva (Selinsgrove: Susquehanna University Press, 1994). A perhaps more geographical approach can be found in Kevin Chovanec, Pan-Protestant Heroism in Early Modern Europe (Cham: Springer, 2020). For a ‘Pan-Protestant’ theologian see, for instance, Mattias Skat Sommer, Envisioning the Christian Society: Niels Hemmingsen (1513–1600) and the ordering of Sixteenth-Century Denmark (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2020). A good example from the diplomatic sphere would be Jacques Bongars, see Philip Benedict, “French Protestants in the Service of the Crown,” in Jacques Bongars (1554–1612): Gelehrter und Diplomat im Zeitalter des Konfessionalismus, ed. Gerlinde Huber-Rebenich (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2020), 1. Daniel Riches, Protestant Cosmopolitanism and Diplomatic Culture: Brandenburg-Swedish Relations in the Seventeenth Century (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2013); David Scott Gehring, Anglo-German Relations and the Protestant Cause: Elizabethan Foreign Policy and PanProtestantism (London: Routledge, 2013); Pasi Ihalainen, Protestant Nations Redefined: Changing Perceptions of National Identity in the Rhetoric of the English, Dutch and Swedish Public Churches, 1685–1772 (Leiden: Brill, 2005), 245–54; Chovanec, Pan-Protestant Heroism. Daniel Riches (Protestant Cosmopolitanism) relies on Margaret Jacob, Strangers Nowhere in the World: The Rise of Cosmopolitanism in Early Modern Europe (Philadelphia PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2017). Thomas Kidd mentions an “international Pan-Protestantism,” id., The Protestant Interest: New England after Puritanism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004), 13. Ward’s influential study uses neither term but speaks more specifically of an “international religious revival”: William R. Ward, The Protestant Evangelical Awakening (Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 1.

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although most early modern irenicists can be termed Pan-Protestants, this may not always be applicable vice versa. Again, some quite randomly chosen examples may underline this point. The first is the abovementioned “orthodox” Lutheran theologian Ernst Salomon Cyprian from the German Duchy of Saxe-Gotha, who was one of the strongest opponents of Protestant unity in the Holy Roman Empire of the early eighteenth century. This did not prevent him from entertaining intensive contacts with Protestants in Geneva, London, and Scandinavia, including Reformed scholars such as the Huguenot Pierre Bayle (1647–1706) in the Netherlands and the dedicated irenicist Daniel Ernst Jablonski in Brandenburg–Prussia.27 Another, even earlier example that transcends the limits of Western Christianity is the Lutheran pastor and author Salomon Schweigger (1551–1622), a native of Württemberg. Schweigger was instrumental in fostering an exchange and interdenominational dialogue with the Greek Patriarchate of Constantinople at the turn of the seventeenth century. His acquaintances on his visit to the Holy Land included Greeks as well as Protestants from several parts of Europe. Back home, however, he acted as a staunch Lutheran who sought to propagate the purity of his faith.28 In a similar vein, travelers from a Pietist and spiritualist context around 1700 quite easily made friends with Protestants and others from various denominational backgrounds but strongly objected to any plans of confessional unity.29 As to the geographic extent of Pan-Protestantism and irenicism, both phenomena were primarily focused on Latin Christian Europe. It might safely be said that many attempts to locate these phenomena “globally” eventually point to a certain Euro-centricity or home-orientedness. No doubt, both concepts imply the crossing of borders, and both are often linked to migration and mobility, including exile and diaspora—such as in (but not limited to) the case of the Huguenots and the Bohemian Brethren (Unitas Fratrum).30 Not surprisingly, 27 28

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See Schunka, “Cyprian,” 154, 161. Alexander Schunka, “Zwischen Altdorf und Jerusalem: Salomon Schweigger im Kontext protestantischer Pilgerpraxis und lutherischer Orientalistik um 1600,” in Juden, Christen und Muslime im Zeitalter der Reformation, ed. Matthias Pohlig (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2020), 212–35. A good example would be Heinrich Wilhelm Ludolf (1655–1712), see Alexander Schunka, “An England ist uns viel gelegen: Heinrich Wilhelm Ludolf als Wanderer zwischen den Welten um 1700,” in London und das Hallesche Waisenhaus: Eine Kommunikationsgeschichte im 18. Jahrhundert, ed. Holger Zaunstöck et al. (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2014), 43–64. Peter Burke, Exiles and Expatriates in the History of Knowledge, 1500–2000 (Waltham: Brandeis University Press, 2017), esp. 55–81. On the Bohemian exile see Vladimír Urbánek, “Patria Lost and Chosen People: The Case of The Seventeenth-Century Bohemian Pro­ testant Exiles,” in Whose Love of Which Country: Composite States, National Histories and Patriotic Discourses in Early Modern East Central Europe, ed. Balazs Trencsenyi and

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the (neo-)Stoic motto “An exile makes all the world his home” featured prominently among several protagonists who can easily be termed Pan-Protestants: the first and foremost perhaps being the Czech theologian and reformer John Amos Comenius (1592–1670).31 A good deal of Pan-Protestantism and often also of irenicist rhetoric can be found in transregional Protestant undertakings— such as the Lutheran and Reformed outreach to Greek Orthodoxy from the late sixteenth century, the Halle Pietist missionaries’ interest in the Saint Thomas Christians of India in the early eighteenth century, Leibniz’s obsession with China at roughly the same time, the collections of Lord’s Prayers in all the languages of the world (seventeenth to eighteenth centuries), the efforts of the Church of England to propagate an Anglican episcopal hierarchy on the European continent and in colonial settings around 1700, and, finally, the manifold scholarly searches for the uncorrupted principles of early Christianity throughout the early modern era—that were not restricted to Europe.32 In all these cases, the quest for an ancient religious purity was supposed to serve primarily as a confirmation of home truths rather than as an attempt to adapt new findings from abroad and be ready for change. Again, as these examples underline, not all forms of cross-confessional and transreligious dialogue can be (or should be seen as) irenic. The following paragraphs are based upon a narrow and, in some respect, early modern idea of irenicism, understood as initiatives to create one overarching confessional belief system out of two or more existing ones. As has already been mentioned, these attempts often had their foundation in the Reformed faith. However, they can best be understood against the backdrop

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Márton Zászkaliczky (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 587–609. On the Huguenots see Alexander Schunka, Die Hugenotten: Geschichte, Religion, Kultur (München: C.H. Beck, 2019), esp. 107–15. See David Parry, “Exile, Education and Eschatology in the Works of Jan Amos Comenius and John Milton,” in Religious Diaspora in Early Modern Europe: Strategies of Exile, ed. Timothy G. Fehler et al. (London: Routledge, 2016), 47–60; Nicolette Mout, “‘An Exile Makes All the World His Owne’: Comenius and his life in Exile,” Acta Comeniana 10 (1993): 75–87. On Protestant exile and Neo-Stoicism see Alexander Schunka, “Constantia im Martyrium: Zur Exilliteratur des 17. Jahrhunderts zwischen Humanismus und Barock,” in Frühneuzeitliche Konfessionskulturen, ed. Thomas Kaufmann, Anselm Schubert, and Kaspar von Greyerz (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2008), 175–200, at 185–95. The literature is vast here. For the sake of space I only refer to Martin Mulsow, “Global Intellectual History and the Dynamics of Religion,” in Dynamics of Religion: Past and Present, ed. Christoph Bochinger and Jörg Rüpke (Berlin–Boston: De Gruyter, 2017), 256–58 (on the Lord’s Prayers); Schunka, Neuer Blick nach Westen, esp. 361–69, 457–70; id., “Orientinteressen und protestantische Einheit in der Frühen Neuzeit,” in Şehrâyîn: Die Welt der Osmanen, die Osmanen in der Welt: Wahrnehmungen, Begegnungen und Abgrenzungen, ed. Yavuz Köse (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2012), 319–36.

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of an evolving Pan-Protestantism that linked Calvinists and Lutherans in the spheres of theology and politics. 3

Theology

What made attempts at Protestant reconciliation difficult were not only the differences between the Lutheran and Reformed camps but also the respective intradenominational variations. The divisions between a great number of German Lutherans who adhered to the Book of Concord and others who departed from a strict, “orthodox” belief in favor of a more Melanchthonian theology of the Confessio Augustana Variata (as, for instance, in electoral Brandenburg) affected ecclesiastics just as much as secular politicians and rulers of the Holy Roman Empire.33 In the eyes of Reformed irenicists, only Lutherans with a non-“orthodox” standpoint were considered possible interlocutors on behalf of Protestant unity. Regarding the European outlook and the—at the same time—quite insular character of Reformed Protestantism (stretching from Scotland across France and the Rhenish Palatinate to Switzerland, Poland-Lithuania, and Transylvania, to name just a few relevant regions), it comes as no big surprise to find friction among the Reformed themselves. Measured against the strict Calvinism of Geneva at the end of the sixteenth century, important Reformed theologians such as Moïse Amyraut (1596–1664), Pierre Bayle, Jean-Alphonse Turrettini (1671–1737), and even Calvin himself, could, according to one modern researcher, be counted among Calvinists only to a limited extent.34 Consensus among Reformed Protestants was therefore the easiest to achieve on what most of them clearly rejected. This included the Roman Catholic understanding of sacraments and the papacy, and the Lutheran idea that bread and wine in the Lord’s Supper represented the body and blood of Christ at the same time (consubstantiation), as well as the idea of the omnipresence (ubiquity) of Christ. Internal debates among the Reformed concerned three areas in particular: the sacrament of the Eucharist, church organization, and the doctrine of 33

34

On Brandenburg’s non-Concordian Lutheranism see Thomas Throckmorton, Das Bekenntnis des Hofmanns: Lutheraner und Reformierte am Hof Friedrich Wilhelms, des Großen Kurfürsten (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2019); Johannes M. Ruschke, Paul Gerhardt und der Berliner Kirchenstreit: Eine Untersuchung der konfessionellen Auseinandersetzungen über die kurfürstlich verordnete ‘mutua tolerantia’ (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012). See Basil Hall, “Calvin against the Calvinists,” in John Calvin: A Collection of Essays, ed. Gervase Duffield (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1966), 19–37.

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predestination. For the Zwinglians of Zürich, for example, the Lord’s Supper was primarily a symbolic act and a commemorative meal; the Calvinists of Geneva (and other places) insisted on the real, understood as spiritual, presence of Christ in the sacrament; both denied a physical presence (which Lutherans believed in). With respect to Reformed ecclesiology, a church could either be based on presbyterial bodies or on congregations that were granted extensive autonomy. The Church of England and the Bohemian Brethren, whose affiliations with Reformed Protestantism were not undisputed, even based their churches on a hierarchy of bishops (in the latter case, “seniors”).35 Finally, the most serious point of contention among the Reformed was the differing attitude over the concept of a divine election of certain believers to salvation and the rest to damnation: the so-called double predestination, based on St. Paul’s letters and their interpretation by Augustine (354–430). Here, the discussions revolved around whether God’s decree about those chosen to salvation or damnation was fixed for all time or whether people could still, under certain circumstances, attain salvation afterward. As far as the doctrine of predestination was concerned, not even Reformed theologians of one and the same territory were necessarily in agreement with each other. The question of whether Christ had died for all humans or only for a small group of believers (and what then happened to the rest) was a major point of contention between various groups. It followed the much earlier conflict between Augustine and the Pelagians over the interpretation of St. Paul’s letters. Among seventeenth-century Calvinists, one especially strict faction advocated a “particularist” or even “supralapsarian” (before the fall) understanding of God’s election and damnation, which dated divine choice to even before Adam and Eve’s expulsion from Paradise. According to this view, the number of the elect had already been limited to a small minority in advance, leaving no room for the spiritual development of the rest. Such a particularly conservative view was associated with the official results of the Synod of Dort in the Netherlands in 1619 and with the Swiss Consensus Formula (Formula Consensus Helvetica) of 1675. The Swiss Consensus, which was intended precisely to level the differences between the Reformed of the Swiss Confederation, in fact caused dissent above all else and was fiercely opposed by early Enlightenment

35

Philip Benedict, Christ’s Churches Purely Reformed: A Social History of Calvinism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002), esp. parts 1 and 2; Murdock, Beyond Calvin, 85–88 and passim. On the problem of bishops in Calvinism see Benedict, Christ’s Churches, 167–69, and Schunka, Neuer Blick nach Westen, 216–23.

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theologians such as the Genevan Jean-Alphonse Turrettini, whose father had been instrumental in drafting the document.36 Because a strict understanding of predestination was seen as the main obstacle to Protestant dialogue and to negotiations toward church union, Lutheran advocates of dialogue with the Reformed joined in and accordingly labeled the supralapsarians as “zealots.” From a Lutheran point of view, contact and irenic negotiations were possible only with those Reformed Protestants who did not follow a strict idea of double predestination but who also conceded the possibility of salvation for the rest of humankind. Around 1700, such “well-meaning universalists” were to be found among theologians in Brandenburg and Britain as well as among exiled Huguenots and “honest men in Switzerland” such as Turrettini, Samuel Werenfels (1657–1740), and Jean-Frédéric Ostervald (1663– 1747), the so-called Swiss Triumvirate.37 Among late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century contemporaries, this liberal attitude to predestination came to be known as “[hypothetical] universalism.” Historically, it was linked to Pelagianism of Augustinian times, and more recently, it pointed to the Dutch scholar Jacobus Arminius (1560– 1609) and the discussions surrounding the Synod of Dort on the Remonstrant side. Another important source was the theology of the French Reformed academies, namely the one in Saumur, from where these ideas spread across Reformed Europe. In contrast to a strict Calvinist doctrine of predestination, the Saumur theologian Moïse Amyraut formulated at least the hypothetical possibility for all people to attain salvation even if they did not already belong to the small group of those chosen by God. For this, they would have to actively accept Christ because Christ had died for all. However, not even the Huguenots were unanimous in their approach to this doctrine. More conservative positions were held by Amyraut’s opponents Pierre du Moulin (1568–1658) and André Rivet (1572–1651), who taught at the University of Leiden. Although the Huguenots had been forbidden by the king of France to participate in the Synod of Dort in 1618, they nevertheless adopted its conservative approach to predestination

36 37

See Maria-Cristina Pitassi, Jean-Alphonse Turrettini: Les temps et la culture intellectuelle d’un théologien éclairé (Paris: Honoré Champion, 2019). The quotes are from Niedersächsisches Landesarchiv–Hauptstaatsarchiv Hannover, CalBr 11/2994, 315 (February 23, 1722). On the Swiss theologians see Rudolf Dellsperger, “Der Beitrag der ‘vernünftigen Orthodoxie’ zur innerprotestantischen Ökumene: JeanFrédéric Ostervald und Jean-Alphonse Turrettini als Unionstheologen,” in Union— Konversion—Toleranz, 289–300.

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at their Synod of Alès in 1620, which set all other outsiders beyond the orthodox doctrine.38 The disputes among French Huguenots did not halt the spread of Amyraut’s theology across Europe. It found adherents among Reformed Christians in the Netherlands, England, Switzerland, and Brandenburg–Prussia. This extended the lines of theological conflict to that between “Saumur Universalists” and “Dordrecht Particularists” into the eighteenth century, and it was reflected in irenic efforts as well as in conflicts within the Huguenot diaspora of the Netherlands and Brandenburg–Prussia. The divisions between universalists and particularists could terminate careers, as had happened already to Daniel Tilenus (1563–1633) in earlier seventeenth-century France. In the Huguenot community of Berlin, Jean Barbeyrac (1674–1744) experienced massive hostility for his “Saumurian” views a hundred years later.39 In short, universalists believed that under certain conditions, there was at least the possibility that all believers could still have a chance of salvation by living a godly life—that is, that certain individuals could leave a state of damnation that might have been originally intended for them. In the eyes of other Protestants, a universalist view was the condition for interconfessional dialogue. This was, however, not without theological dangers: in England, for example, the consequences of universalism were seen in a certain appreciation of the value of good works and free human will in attaining salvation that resembled Roman Catholicism. Other opponents even saw a proximity to the much-hated Socinians of these years, who allegedly devalued the importance of Christ and questioned the Trinity—a reproach that was regularly made of some theologians in Oxford and Cambridge. In an Anglican context, universalism, understood as “Arminianism,” may have been internationally adaptable but was also dubious if interpreted in a disadvantageous manner.40 It was clear to many contemporary supporters of a rapprochement between Calvinists and Lutherans on the continent that Protestant unity would be most easily achieved against the background of a more open, universalist 38 39 40

On Amyraut see François Laplanche, Orthodoxie et prédication: L’œuvre d’Amyraut et la querelle de la grâce universelle (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1965); the context is briefly discussed in Schunka, Hugenotten, 53f. Fiammetta Palladini, Die Berliner Hugenotten und der Fall Barbeyrac: Orthodoxe und ‘Sozinianer’ im Refuge (1685–1720) (Leiden: Brill, 2011). See Nicholas Tyacke, “Arminianism and the Theology of the Restoration Church [1994],” in id., Aspects of English Protestantism, c. 1530–1700 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2001), 325. On the wider context see Martin Mulsow and Jan Rohls, eds., Socinian­ ism and Arminianism: Antitrinitarians, Calvinists and Cultural Exchange in SeventeenthCentury Europe (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2005).

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understanding of predestination. Therefore, theological initiatives toward a dialogue with Lutherans and even in the direction of a possible reconciliation with the Catholic Church often took place under the influence of Reformed universalists, whose faith was considered more compatible with other doctrines than a particularistic view on predestination. In Brandenburg–Prussia around 1700, where Reformed universalists likewise had to defend themselves from occasional accusations of Socinianism, the court preacher Daniel Ernst Jablonski saw the intra-Calvinist divisions as perhaps the most urgent problem for any interdenominational reconciliation because particularistic views on salvation would exclude Lutherans from church union. According to Jablonski, this controversy over predestination and divine grace provided the greatest fuel for confessional schism.41 The task of Reformed irenicists in Brandenburg– Prussia and elsewhere was thus to advertise universalism among their fellow Calvinists. In one of his numerous letters on the subject, Jablonski elaborated on the problem as follows: There is therefore no hope of peace between Lutherans and Reformed to unite, if this [the question of predestination and grace] is not first removed from the center of conflict: and in such a way, that either all the Reformed shall acknowledge the universal grace of God, as certain Lutherans want them to do, which nevertheless neither can or may be enforced before they are convinced of the truth of the matter; or that this article be set aside in the Protestant Church, and that, following the example of the Church of England, the Brandenburg Church also decides what is considered Godly, without prejudice to ecclesiastical unity, until something better comes along; this in itself is an adequate demand, and there is hope that in this way the Lutherans will at last be pacified.42

41

42

Staatsbibliothek Berlin Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Nachlass A.H. Francke, 11,2/11, No. 12, Jablonski to Lionel Gatford in Hamburg (Berlin, July 25, 1698): “Controversia de Praedestinatione & Gratia Dei primarium Schismatis inter Evangelicos continuati fomentum exstitit.” Staatsbibliothek Berlin Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Nachlass A.H. Francke, 11,2/12, No. 20, Jablonski to Gatford (Berlin, October 17, 1699): “Nulla ergo spes est Pacis inter Lutheranos & reformatos conciliandae, nisi prius tapis iste offensionis e medio tollatur; ideoque hac ratione, ut vel Reformati universi Universalem Dei Gratiam profiteantur, quod quidem Luterani vellent, ab illis tamen anteque de rei veritate in animo convicti sint extorqueri, nec potest, nec debet: vel ut Articulus iste in Ecclesia Protestante in sequestrum mittatur, atque exemplo Ecclesiae Anglicanae & Marchica salva Ecclesiae unitate cuiusque liberum sit sentire quod verbo Dei convenire putat, donec meliore edocentur: quod quidem Postulatum & per se aequam est, & spes est, ut eo tandem Luterani acquiescant.”

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In line with some of his fellow irenicists, most notably the Geneva theologian Turrettini, Jablonski opted for a pragmatic stance so as not to jeopardize a basic Protestant consensus. Given the widespread anti-Catholic sentiments of the time that animated Protestant dialogue to some extent, such a consensus had to be the irenicists’ main goal. An understanding with the Roman Catholic Church was decidedly not an issue because their theological positions (for example, on the pope and on the mass) were considered unacceptable, just as the policies of Catholic powers were perceived as dangerous. According to irenicists, the basis for Protestant unity should be the search for common theological ground in the form of so-called Fundamental Articles, on which both parties could agree. These Fundamental Articles were to refer directly and solely to the Holy Scriptures and the Apostles’ Creed.43 The underlying idea stemmed from a religious treaty in the city of Sandomierz (Sandomir) of 1570, in which the Protestants of Poland had reached an agreement under the decisive influence of the Bohemian Brethren. The Consensus Sendomiriensis enjoyed the highest esteem among Reformed irenicists around 1700, a glorification that can be attributed especially to both Daniel Ernst Jablonski of Berlin and the theologian Samuel Strimesius (1648–1730) from the Viadrina University of Frankfurt an der Oder, who both idealized this document as a foundational treaty of Protestant irenicism.44 From an “orthodox” Lutheran point of view, however, both the concept of the Fundamental Articles and the Sandomir Consensus were considered unhelpful for Protestant unity.45 Intra-Protestant differences between Lutherans and Reformed also concerned very practical issues related to church service and liturgy: the conduct of worship, the question of images in church, the use of candles, the vestments 43

44

45

On the issue of fundamental articles see Wilfried Joest, “Fundamentalartikel,” in Theo­ logische Realenzyklopädie, ed. Gerhard Müller et al., vol. 11 (Berlin–Boston: De Gruyter, 1983), 727–32; Martin I. Klauber, “The Drive toward Protestant Union in Early EighteenthCentury Geneva: Jean-Alphonse Turrettini on the ‘Fundamental Articles’ of the Faith,” Church History 61 (1992): 334–49. Samuel Strimesius, Consensus Sendomiriensis, ab Evangelicis Augustanae, Bohemicae et Helveticae Confessionis Sociis olim initur (Francof[urti] ad Viad[rum]: Schrey, 1704); Daniel Ernst Jablonski, Historia Consensus Sendomiriensis, inter evangelicos regni Poloniae, et M.D. Lithuaniae […] (Berolini: Haude 1731); On the Consensus see Maciej Ptaszyński, “Der Konsens von Sendomir in der europäischen Irenik oder warum sich ein Berliner Theologe im 18. Jahrhundert für die polnische Reformationsgeschichte interessierte,” in Confessio im Konflikt: Religiöse Selbst- und Fremdwahrnehmung in der Frühen Neuzeit. Ein Studienbuch, ed. Mona Garloff and Christian Volkmar Witt (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2019), 255–78; Schunka, Neuer Blick nach Westen, 134–43. See, among others, Johann Theodor Heinson, Unterthänigste Adresse An ein Hohes Durch­ lauchtigstes Haupt Im Heil. Römischen Reiche […]: Anhang: Calvinisten-ABC (Hamburg: n.p., 1721), 97–99.

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of the clergy, kneeling before the altar (which could be interpreted as superstitious worship of the host), the use of bread or wafers, the ritualized frac­ tio panis, and much more. Such issues had been called adiaphora (lit. middle things, or indifferent things) since the time of Melanchthon and were not considered crucial to the division between the Reformation churches.46 However, in the course of the Protestant unification attempts and conflicts, they took on a special significance. When in the 1730s liturgical procedures in Brandenburg– Prussia were to be unified by royal decree in favor of the local Calvinist minority, this led to massive protests by Lutheran pastors until King Frederick II (1712–86) revoked these regulations shortly after his accession to the throne.47 Lutheran and especially Pietist circles of Brandenburg had repeatedly argued that a union of faiths could not be based on outward appearance. Here lies one reason why protagonists of Halle Pietism considered an irenicist approach to the unification of beliefs a worldly issue. This episode, however, reveals the practical problems of unity that easily turned into political strife. 4

Politics

Pareus’s Irenicum, crucial for conceptualizing irenicism, was published just after the conversion of the Brandenburg elector from Lutheranism to the Reformed faith in 1613. This conversion left a significant mark on the Holy Roman Empire and Protestant Europe.48 At the time, the German electorates of Brandenburg and the Palatinate were closely linked to one another by political interests and personal interaction.49 In the following decades, the confessional politics of Brandenburg became an important factor for Pan-Protestantism and irenicism. As has been indicated above, Brandenburg–Prussia in the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries is a particularly good example with which to 46 47 48

49

On the problem of adiaphora see Reimund Sdzuj, Adiaphorie und Kunst: Studien zur Genealogie ästhetischen Denkens (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 2005). Schunka, Neuer Blick nach Westen, 215. On this conversion see Matthias Pohlig, “‘Schleunige Mutation ohne vorhergehende reiffe Deliberation’: Kurfürst Johann Sigismunds Konversion von 1613 als Entscheidung,” in Kreuzwege: Die Hohenzollern und die Konfessionen 1517–1740, ed. Mathis Leibetseder (Berlin: Stiftung Preußischer Kulturbesitz, 2017), 82–91. See Eike Wolgast, “Konfessionsbestimmte Faktoren der Reichs- und Außenpolitik der Kurpfalz 1559–1620,” in Konfessioneller Fundamentalismus: Religion als politischer Faktor im europäischen Mächtesystem um 1600, ed. Heinz Schilling (München: Oldenbourg, 2007), 167–87; Gustav Hecht, “Gebürtige Pfälzer als Träger der preussischen Kirchenpolitik im Streite um die Heiliggeistkirche in Heidelberg,” Zeitschrift für Geschichte des Oberrheins Neue Folge 41 (1928): 173–252.

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analyze the political dimensions of irenicism. Most of its political protagonists belonged to the small number of Reformed elites. However, the fact that Brandenburg’s Calvinist princes ruled over a vast majority of Lutheran subjects who could not simply be converted to the rulers’ faith made the electors and their officials adopt certain universalist positions.50 Although monarchs and court preachers advocated irenic compromise, they supported a liberal Lutheranism among their subjects that differed from the Book of Concord and the “orthodox” stance of, for instance, the University of Wittenberg in neighboring Saxony. Many Lutherans from Brandenburg and elsewhere considered these policies as offensive. Indeed, from a modern point of view, the internal policies of the Hohenzollerns can well be seen as a subtle confessionalization strategy of a Calvinist minority that shows continuities at least from Frederick William, the Great Elector, to his grandson King Frederick William I.51 In Brandenburg, irenicist politics became manifest in several respects: notably the establishment of numerous Reformed congregations, the building of shared churches, the filling of formerly Lutheran positions in administration with Reformed Protestants, and finally the subtle adaptation of Lutheran church customs to accommodate the Reformed.52 At the same time, the electoral court was not purely Reformed, for approximately one-third of the courtiers were Lutherans.53 Moreover, several Brandenburg–Prussian electors were married to Lutherans, a fact that repeatedly initiated discussions on such topics as the possible conversion or non-conversion of the Lutheran spouse to Calvinism, on an expected joint attendance of church services in one faith, on the religious education of children, and much more. Because usually the Lutheran electresses of Reformed monarchs in Brandenburg never officially converted to the Reformed faith, a pragmatic modus vivendi had to be found, just as at the numerous other courts of Europe around 1700 where mixedconfessional settings existed (Britain, Sweden, Poland–Saxony, and others).54 50

51

52 53 54

Bodo Nischan’s works are important here, see his Prince, People and Confession: The Second Reformation in Brandenburg (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1994), and id., “John Bergius: Irenicism and the Beginning of Official Religious Toleration in Brandenburg-Prussia,” Church History 51 (1982): 389–404. See Throckmorton, Bekenntnis des Hofmanns; Jürgen Luh, “Zur Konfessionspolitik der Kurfürsten von Brandenburg und Könige in Preußen 1640 bis 1740,” in Ablehnung, Dul­ dung, Anerkennung: Toleranz in den Niederlanden und in Deutschland. Ein historischer und aktueller Vergleich, ed. Horst Lademacher, Renate Loos and Simon Groenveld (Münster: Waxmann, 2004), 306–24. Luh, “Konfessionspolitik”; Schunka, Neuer Blick nach Westen, 31–49. Throckmorton, Bekenntnis des Hofmanns, 57–59. One of several examples would be the marriage of crown prince Frederick William (I) (1688–1740) in 1706 with Sophie Dorothea of Hanover (1687–1757), see Alexander

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Several irenicist theologians, however, including the Brandenburg court preacher Jablonski, expected a unity of the Protestant churches to originate from the power of monarchs. In the eyes of irenicists, the rulers were expected to nominate theologians who should prepare guidelines for unification and help prepare royal decrees introducing church union.55 Therefore, any hint at a transconfessional understanding at the courts of monarchs was seen as a sign of hope that ecclesiastical unity could be achieved soon. Royal weddings between partners of a differing faith were, according to some theologians, especially meant to foster confessional unity within the royal family, from where this unity was expected to extend to the country. Moreover, owing to the several personal unions among European states, a number of Protestant princes even seemed to adhere to more than one faith at once. Jablonski certainly saw a European trend regarding the softening of denominational ties at numerous courts. He argued that King George I of Great Britain and Hanover was a member of the Church of England while he was in Britain and adhered to his native Lutheran faith when he visited his hereditary lands of Hanover in Germany. In a similar way, the prince of Hesse-Kassel and future king of Sweden acted as a Calvinist in Germany and as a Lutheran in Scandinavia. Why, Jablonski asked, should the subjects of a country not follow the common practice of their rulers?56 On the side of the monarchs, the practical reasons for mixed marriages were certainly not based on hopes of a wider Protestant understanding but on a thinned-out marriage market for the Reformed dynasties of Europe in the decades around 1700. What added to these decisions were political considerations and possible diplomatic alliances. Matters of personal affection between spouses were probably secondary only. Likewise, the alleged

55 56

Schunka, “Brüderliche Korrespondenz, unanständige Korrespondenz: Konfession und Politik zwischen Brandenburg-Preußen, Hannover und England im Wendejahr 1706,” in Daniel Ernst Jablonski: Religion, Wissenschaft und Politik um 1700, ed. Joachim Bahlcke and Werner Korthaase (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2008), 137–48. See also id., “Mixed Matches and Inter-Confessional Dialogue: The Hanoverian Succession and the Protestant Dynasties of Europe in the Early Eighteenth Century,” in Mixed Matches: Transgressive Unions in Early Modern Germany, ed. Mary Lindemann and David Luebke (New York: Berghahn, 2014), 134–49. Schunka, Neuer Blick nach Westen, 143–54. Christ Church College Library, Oxford, William Wake Letters 25, no. 129: Daniel Ernst Jablonski to William Wake (Berlin, March 28, 1719): “Ita Gloriosissimus Magnae Britanniae Rex, dum in Anglia cum Ecclesia Anglicana, in Germania vero cum Evangelico-Lutherana communicat, utramque eodem sibi loco haberi palam profitetur. Ita Principem Haeredem Hassiae, qui in Germania Reformatis accensetur, in Svecia cum Lutheranis S. Synaxin celebrare fama est, incerta quidem, neque mihi satis explorata, probabilis tamen, et a veri Similitudine parum abhorrens. Quidni ergo Regis ad Exemplum totus componatur Populus? Quae hic Principibus, eadem Plebi licita sunt.”

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multiconfessionality of rulers had happened rather accidentally and can be explained by hereditary options as well as by the respective and sometimes contradictory state laws. Any occasional sign of a lapse in confessional consistency among rulers gave rise to public debate and was usually downplayed or hushed up as quickly as possible—as in several cases surrounding the Hanoverian succession in Great Britain, a union that had raised particularly high hopes of reconciliation between Lutherans, Anglicans, and Calvinists. What the theologian Jablonski and other Reformed irenicists misjudged at times were the expected dangers and diplomatic repercussions that unclear confessional allegiances of rulers might entail. From a political point of view, it often seemed safer to stay within the current affiliations instead of entering into a future of confessional uncertainty. This did not preclude pragmatic solutions concerning confessional difference, as can be seen, for instance, in the many practical arrangements regarding cross-confessional princely marriages. Whereas it has become evident that Protestant irenicism had the potential to easily collide with dynastic politics in several instances, a particularly interesting clash between faith and politics happened with the Prussian coronation of 1701 in Königsberg. This coronation and the elevation of a prince elector to a king was one of a series of royal promotions in Europe that often arose from a joint rule of several territories by the same monarch (Saxony–Poland, Britain– Hanover, and Hesse–Sweden). After several decades of Brandenburg rule over Prussia (which was not a part of the Holy Roman Empire), the Hohenzollern coronation turned out to be a matter of royal prestige. Although Frederick I himself put the crown on his head, the anointing of the new king was executed jointly by two high-ranking Reformed and Lutheran theologians who had been appointed as titular bishops by the monarch.57 The irenic potential of this coronation was nevertheless obvious. For quite some time, the court preacher Jablonski had hoped to introduce an Anglicaninspired episcopate into a unified Protestant church on the European continent, starting from Brandenburg–Prussia. He considered an uninterrupted succession of bishops since the time of the Apostles as an important precondition for ecclesiastical unity. Jablonski was supported, among others, by the Anglican Patristic scholar John Ernest Grabe, a native of Königsberg in Prussia.58 Although the court preacher had personally wished to be chosen as the Reformed consecrator of his king on the occasion of the coronation, 57

58

On this coronation see, among others, Iselin Gundermann, “‘Ob die Salbung einem Könige nothwendig sey’,” in Dreihundert Jahre preußische Königskrönung: Eine Tagungs­ dokumentation, ed. Johannes Kunisch (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 2002), 115–33, and the other contributions of this volume. Schunka, Neuer Blick nach Westen, 221–22, 232.

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his hopes were not fulfilled. The Prussian monarch deliberately tried to avoid any irenic overtones in the ceremony that might have hinted at a unification of Lutherans and Calvinists or even at an introduction of Anglican-style bishops bearing apostolic legitimacy. Because this ceremony mainly aimed at increasing the political prestige of the Prussian king among European powers (in particular, vis-à-vis the Habsburg emperor and the king of Poland), an introduction of apostolic instead of merely titular bishops and the choice of Jablonski—who also held the office of senior in the Polish Unitas Fratrum— could have been interpreted as a fateful political sign. Jablonski soon became aware that worldly instead of religious issues contributed to this introduction of a Calvinist and a Lutheran bishop for the monarch’s coronation. Thus, he considered the coronation procedure as another missed opportunity on the way to Protestant union.59 Irenicism, as has been demonstrated, was nearly always also a matter of dynastic politics. It reached beyond the confines of the Empire and included Prussia, Britain, Switzerland, and other European regions. However, in the first decades of the eighteenth century, it turned into a central issue of the Holy Roman Empire. This was not so much because of Brandenburg–Prussia’s political ambitions in the Empire but because of the utterly complicated confessional situation of the Palatinate. Since the controversial Rijswijk Clause of 1697, which had given Catholics in the Electoral Palatinate an advantage over Protestants, conditions of the Upper and Middle Rhine area had been the subject of Protestant politics and polemics almost continuously. This culminated in the so-called German Religious Controversy of 1719–20, when the Catholic Palatine elector took exception to a formulation of the Heidelberg Catechism of 1563 and forbade the Reformed the simultaneous use of the Church of the Holy Spirit in Heidelberg, which had been the practice until then. However, this was only one of the several points of contention between Protestants and Catholics that increased tension and seemed to justify an inner-Protestant dialogue. Other sources of conflict were the ambiguous situation of Protestants in Silesia surrounding the Altranstädt Convention of 1707 and in Poland, where several Lutheran town elders were executed in Toruń in 1724 after an anti-Jesuit riot during a procession. Within the Protestant public sphere in Europe, it was mainly the Reformed scholars and publicists who reported on the events in Toruń and other confessional political disputes in a decidedly anti-Catholic

59

Staatsbibliothek Berlin Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Nachlass A.H. Francke, 11,2/13, No. 32, Daniel Ernst Jablonski to Lionel Gatford (Berlin, December 28, 1700).

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manner.60 These conflicts, in parallel with theological discussions, contributed to the growth of a sense of community among Protestants, reflected in the negotiations at the Imperial Diet of Regensburg. One political result of these confessional struggles was the introduction of a so-called Conclusum for the promotion of Protestant cohabitation and confessional union at the Imperial Diet of Regensburg in 1722. The negotiations were an outgrowth of Protestant irenicism, which in the meantime had also won prominent advocates from the Lutheran camp with the Tübingen theologian Christoph Matthäus Pfaff and others. However, compared to the much more ambitious plans of theologians, the content of this political Conclusum was rather meaningless. Moreover, its publication and implementation eventually failed because of the political considerations of larger Protestant imperial estates. Neither theologically nor in terms of confessional politics could an agreement be reached on what exactly a common Protestant interest consisted of and how it could be maintained and promoted. The Conclusum used the term “Evangelische” for Lutherans and Reformed; it forbade mutual invectives and insults and otherwise referred to the imperial laws regarding the preservation of “brotherly love” for the peaceful coexistence of the confessions.61 Here, however, it must be emphasized that the Peace of Augsburg of 1555 and the Peace treaties of Westphalia of 1648 had already formulated the goal of a return to confessional unity.62 In contrast, the Conclusum of 1722 and the circumstances of its creation ultimately presented less a picture of unity than of disunity. The debates within the Empire and beyond illustrate that a Calvinistdominated irenicism had increasingly given way to Pan-Protestant considerations that were not strictly irenical any more in an earlier sense of denominational unity. Irenicism nevertheless provided important foundations regarding Protestant communication—in the political and public spheres and 60

61

62

Das Betrübte Thorn, Oder die Geschichte so sich zu Thorn Von Dem II. Jul. 1724. biß auf gegen­ wärtige Zeit zugetragen […] (Berlin: Haude, 1725); [Johann Theodor Jablonski], Thornische Denckwürdigkeiten. Worinnen Die im Jahr Christi MDCCXXIV. und vorhergehenden Zeiten verunglückte Stadt Thorn […] Von einer unpartheyischen Feder gründlich vorgestellet wird […] (Berlin: Haude, 1726). The Conclusum dated 28 February 1722 is printed in Vollständige Sammlung aller Con­ clusorum, Schreiben Und anderer übrigen Verhandlungen des Hochpreißlichen Corporis Evangelicorum […], ed. Eberhard Christian Wilhelm von Schauroth, vol. 2 (Regenspurg: Neubauer, 1751), 492–94. See Martin Heckel, “Die Wiedervereinigung der Konfessionen als Ziel und Auftrag der Reichsverfassung im Heiligen Römischen Reich Deutscher Nation,” in Die Reunions­ gespräche im Niedersachsen des 17. Jahrhunderts: Rojas y Spinola–Molan–Leibniz, ed. Hans Otte and Richard Schenk (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1999), 15–38.

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in an often decidedly Protestant Republic of Letters. The voluminous correspondences of Jablonski and numerous other protagonists of Protestant irenicism include Calvinists and Lutherans but almost no Catholics. Given its limited tangible outcomes, irenicism, therefore, is significant to a great extent as a phenomenon of religious and political communication. In this respect, it contributed to a new measuring of the limits between religion and politics up until the eighteenth century. 5

Conclusion

It is perhaps owing to what could be called a Whig history of religion that historiographers since the early modern era have often focused on a certain confessional mainstream, leaving aside the less successful currents. In this regard, early modern irenicism and its protagonists have sometimes been viewed as operating from the “margins” of their religious communities.63 Instead, as the present essay has illustrated, Protestant irenicism was often based at the very center of a broader Pan-Protestantism. In the late seventeenth century in particular, universalist approaches to the doctrine of predestination connected non-“orthodox” Lutherans with liberal Reformed Protestants from Switzerland, Remonstrants from the Netherlands, a great number of exiled Huguenots, large parts of the Church of England, the Bohemian Brethren in Poland, and others. It may therefore well be asked whether these universalist beliefs, albeit never codified in an overarching confessional document, perhaps supplied a particularly integrative stance and were an important phenomenon of a European confessional culture of Protestantism—even though their influence has long been neglected in historiography. Moreover, it would be interesting to know what this meant from an early modern perspective for the creation of confessional in-groups and out-groups. What new boundaries had irenicists erected, when in fact they had started out tearing down older ones?64 Another important feature of irenicism is the link between theological debate and the operational level of politics, something that enables historians to productively discuss the relationship between these fields. If in some cases 63 64

I differ in this aspect from Louthan, “Irenicism and Ecumenism,” 17. On the evolution of Protestant groups, c. 1700, see Alexander Schunka, “Deutsche Pro­ testantismen um 1700,” in Reformation und Katholische Reform zwischen Kontinuität und Innovation, ed. Frank Kleinehagenbrock et al. (Würzburg: Königshausen & Neumann, 2019), 503–26. A research project on Protestant Pluralities/Plurale Protestantismen, funded by the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft, currently addresses the creation of Protestant in-groups and outgroups in more depth, https://www.geschkult.fu-berlin.de/e/fmi /bereiche/ab_schunka/Forschungsprojekte/Projekt_Plurale_Protestantismen/index.html.

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(for instance, regarding Brandenburg–Prussia or the Palatinate) irenicism has been interpreted as a result of monarchical politics, it may be legitimate to ask whether the opposite might also be true: namely, that politicians based a good part of their decision-making on theological considerations.65 At any rate, it seems clear that until at least well into the eighteenth century, irenicism was a concept and discourse that connected theology and politics in an innovative fashion, fostering transconfessional as well as transregional communication within a broader scheme of Pan-Protestantism. These characteristics also explain why the history of irenicism differs from a prehistory of ecumenical thought. In a nutshell, a focus on the evolution and conjunctures of early modern irenicism amply proves that with respect to religious dialogue, there is more than just a history of toleration. The stories of irenicist discourses and unification attempts, including their failures, need to be situated in a wider context of Pan-Protestantism. This essay displays that irenicism should neither be seen as an early modern derivative of toleration nor as another facet of multiconfessionalism but as a powerful religious and political current of its own right. At the same time, irenicism was not simply an alternative (or “third”, Erasmian) way beyond the confessional camps following the Reformation, and it was more than a leftover of the confessional age. It describes a theological idea with significant political implications. Thus, its investigation provides insights into the complex and changing intertwining of religion and political culture over the course of the early modern era.

Acknowledgements

This essay derives from the research project “Plurale Protestantismen,” funded by the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (2020–23). I am grateful to Sebastian Kühn (Berlin), Maciej Ptaszyński (Warsaw), and the anonymous reviewers of the volume for valuable criticism. Bibliography

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Chapter 11

A Transconfessional Religion of the Heart: The Moravian Church of Herrnhut Wolfgang Breul 1

Introduction

Until recently, research on the question of religious toleration in early modern Central Europe has often focused on the Reformation period and the Age of Enlightenment. In contrast, scholars in the last few decades have begun showing that it was not uncommon for different denominations and religions to coexist in Europe throughout the entire early modern era, and such cases can be documented over longer periods of time.1 Peace treaties that granted (limited) religious toleration and established a legal framework for multiconfessionalism in certain cities2 and territories3 also contributed to this. In other cases, authorities tolerated or even promoted multiconfessionalism, and local populations in many places practiced religious toleration4—irrespective of official regulations. Comparatively little attention has been paid in this context to discourses and practices surrounding toleration in the Pietist reform movement of the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Though such impulses did not prevail on a broad front until the Enlightenment, they did pave the way for fundamental change in some places and thus deserve scholars’ attention. One such impulse is the edict of toleration of 1712 in the Reformed County of Isenburg-Büdingen, which granted “everyone complete freedom of conscience, 1 C. Scott Dixon, Dagmar Freist and Marc Greengrass, eds., Living with Religious Diversity in Early-Modern Europe (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2009). 2 Thomas Max Safley, “Multiconfessionalism: A Brief Introduction,” in A Companion to Multiconfessionalism in the Early Modern World, ed. Thomas Max Safley (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2011), 1–19. 3 See for example Rudolf von Thadden, “Die Geschichte der Kirchen und Konfessionen,” in Handbuch der Preußischen Geschichte, vol. 3: Vom Kaiserreich zum 20. Jahrhundert und Große Themen der Geschichte Preußens, ed. Wolfgang Neugebauer (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2011), 547– 711, 567–69. 4 Willem Frijhoff, “How Plural were the Religious Worlds in Early-Modern Europe? Critical Reflections from the Netherlandic Experience,” in Living with Religious Diversity, 21–51; Jesse Spohnholz, “Confessional Coexistence in the Early Modern Low Countries,” in A Companion to Multiconfessionalism, 47–73.

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so that none of our subjects, foreigners, or residents in our country who adhere to a confession other than the Reformed religion or who for reasons of conscience do not adhere to any external religion at all … may be subjected to some trouble and annoyance on account of this.”5 No previous declaration within the German Empire had ever granted this degree of religious toleration.6 The edict caused a considerable stir for Count Ernst Casimir of Büdingen (1687– 1749),7 who subsequently faced charges before the Imperial Chamber Court (Reichskammergericht), because these provisions far exceeded the limited toleration granted to subjects of different confessions in the Peace of Westphalia; the charge, however, remained without consequences.8 Economic motives played an important role in the formulation of the Büdinger edict of toleration; with its numerous economic provisions for the new settlers, the Büdinger declaration is thus reminiscent of the edicts on the settlement of Huguenots.9 The economic motives, however, do not mutually exclude religious motives. The prime mover of the Büdinger edict was the government councilor Otto Heinrich Becker (1667–1723), who, in his former position as councilor in his native County of Waldeck (in the northwest of the modern German state of Hesse), had likewise advocated for the sovereign to practice religious toleration.10 5

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“Jedermann vollkommene Gewissens-Freyheit verstatten / also / daß Niemand Unserer Unterthanen / Frembden oder Beysassen in Unserm Lande / so sich zu einer andern / als zu der Reformirten Religion bekennen / oder die auß Gewissens-Scrupel sich gar zu keiner äusserlichen Religion halten / … dießerhalb einige Mühe und Verdrießlichkeit gemocht werden.” Fürstlich Ysenburg-Büdingisches Archiv Büdingen, Stadt und Land 24, 183. About the County Isenburg-Büdingen see Klaus-Peter Decker, “Wetterau,” in Pietismus Handbuch, ed. Wolfgang Breul and Thomas Hahn-Bruckart (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2021), 272–78. Hans Schneider, “Konfessionalität und Toleranz im protestantischen Deutschland des 18. Jahrhunderts,” in Konfessionalisierung vom 16.–19. Jahrhundert. Kirche und Traditions­ pflege, ed. Helmut Baier (Neustadt a.d. Aisch: Degener, 1989), 87–106; Hans Schneider, “Pietismus, Ökonomie und Toleranz. Das Büdinger Toleranzedikt von 1712,” in Pietismus und Ökonomie, ed. Wolfgang Breul, Benjamin Marschke, and Alexander Schunka (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2021), 47–67; Matthias Benad, Toleranz als Gebot christlicher Obrigkeit. Das Büdinger Patent von 1712 (Hildesheim: Gerstenberg, 1983). Klaus-Peter Decker, Gewissensfreiheit und Peuplierung. Toleranzhaltung und Wirtschaftspolitik in den Ysenburger Grafschaften im 18. Jahrhundert (Büdingen: Geschichtswerkstatt Büdingen, 2018), 115–40. Schneider, “Konfessionalität und Toleranz,” 88–89. A legal opinion commissioned by the count of Büdingen argued above all that Büdingen was not about the toleration of confessions (“Religionen”), but only about the toleration of persons. Schneider, “Pietismus, Ökonomie und Toleranz,” 48–54. Otto Heinrich Becker, Grundsätze über die Frage: Was der Obrigkeit und der Prediger Pflicht seye / Ketzerey und Irrthum in Religions-Sachen im Lande zu verhüten / und wie

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Public calls for religious toleration were especially frequent from radical Pietist circles, whose members were more likely to face repressive measures from the authorities than representatives of the mainstream Pietist reform movement. Radical Pietists also referred more frequently to radical traditions dating back to the Reformation period, such as the Anabaptists and spiritualists, who had similarly advocated toleration and been likewise subjected to pressure from the authorities.11 Johann Conrad Dippel (1673–1734), in his theological conflicts with representatives of Lutheran orthodoxy,12 viewed Christians as belonging to both the kingdom of nature and the kingdom of Christ. In the latter, they were not subject to the secular authorities, who therefore were not allowed to exercise coercion in matters of religion.13 In his Unpartheyische Kirchen- und Ketzerhistorie,14 Gottfried Arnold, who had personal ties to

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sie mit Irrenden sollen umgehen? Wohlmeynend mitgetheylet von einem Der Wahrheit und Gerechtigkeit liebet, s.l. 1704; Wolfgang Breul, “Otto Heinrich Becker (1667–1723) zwischen Waldeck und Reuss,” in Pietismus in Thüringen–Pietismus aus Thüringen. Religiöse Reform im Mitteldeutschland des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts, ed. Veronika Albrecht-Birkner and Alexander Schunka (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2018), 129–48. Schneider, “Konfessionalität und Toleranz,” 97–99; Klaus Schreiner, “Toleranz,” in Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe, vol. 6, ed. Otto Brunner, Werner Conze, and Reinhart Kosselleck (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1990), 524–604; Kristine Hannak, “Streitbare Irenik. Religiöse Toleranz, poetische Kritik und die Reflexion religiöser Diversität bei Jakob Böhme und Johann Conrad Dippel (1673–1734),” in Offenbarung und Episteme. Zur europäischen Wirkung Jakob Böhmes im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert, ed. Wilhelm Kühlmann and Friedrich Vollhardt (Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter, 2012), 387–409; Hans R. Guggisberg, “Wandel der Argumente für religiöse Toleranz und Glaubensfreiheit im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert,” in Zur Geschichte der Toleranz und Religionsfreiheit, ed. Heinrich Lutz (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1977), 455–81; Hans Joachim Hillerbrand, Die politische Ethik des oberdeutschen Täufertums. Eine Untersuchung zur Religions- und Geistesgeschichte des Reformationszeitalters (Leiden and Köln: Brill, 1962); Kurt Goldammer, “Friedensidee und Toleranzgedanke bei Paracelsus und den Spiritualisten,” Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 46 (1955): 20–46; 47 (1956): 180–211. Wolf-Friedrich Schäufele, “Johann Conrad Dippel (1637–1734),” in Pietismus Handbuch, 151–55; Kristine Hannak, Geist=reiche Critik. Hermetik, Mystik und das Werden der Aufklärung in spiritualistischer Literatur der Frühen Neuzeit (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2013), 333–500; Stephan Goldschmidt. Johann Konrad Dippel (1673–1734). Seine radikalpietis­ tische Theologie und ihre Entstehung (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2001). Schneider, “Konfessionalität und Toleranz,” 98, fn. 53. Gottfried Arnold, Unparteyische Kirchen- und Ketzer-Historie vom Anfang des Neuen Testaments biß auf das Jahr Christi 1688, 2 vol. (Frankfurt a.M.: Fritsch, 1699–1700); Lothar Vogel, “Gottfried Arnold (1666–1714),” in Pietismus Handbuch, 137–46; Hans Schneider, “Gottfried Arnold in Gießen,” in id., Gesammelte Aufsätze, vol. 1: Der radikale Pietismus (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2011), 89–121; Dietrich Blaufuß and Friedrich Niewöhner, eds., Gottfried Arnold (1666–1714). Mit einer Bibliographie der Arnold-Literatur ab 1714 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1995); Katharina Greschat, “Gottfried Arnolds ‘Unparteiische Kirchen- und Ketzerhistorie’ von 1699/1700 im Kontext seiner spiritualistischen Kirchenkritik,” Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte 116 (2005): 46–62.

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Dippel during his time in Giessen, outlined a view of church history that generally portrayed such individuals who had historically been deemed “heretics” as true Christians and, in contrast, the “makers of heretics”—that is, those who had deemed them as such—as opponents of true apostolic Christianity. Arnold’s application of this perspective to his own contemporary Lutheran Church and his unfavorable comparison of the Lutheran Church to radicals and spiritualists of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, whom he held up as exemplary, was especially provocative.15 Arnold’s Christianity clearly tended toward a mystical and spiritualistic inwardness, in which the confessional and other external references of faith ultimately dissolved; mutual toleration was the natural consequence of this attitude.16 Arnold’s Unpartheyische Kirchen- und Ketzerhistorie received widespread attention and sympathy in the Pietist reform movement,17 but his impulses for religious toleration did not have any long-term effects. This was also due to the fact that the issue of toleration became less important for Pietist actors when they themselves assumed influential positions within the political authorities.18 In the Pietist reform movement, however, the question of toleration had not 15

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Wolfgang Breul, “Vom schnellen Ende der ‘ersten Liebe’. Die Reformation in Gottfried Arnolds ‘Unparteiischer Kirchen- und Ketzerhistorie’,” in Das Bild der Reformation in der Aufklärung, ed. Wolf-Friedrich Schäufele and Christoph Strohm (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2017), 235–51. At the end of the Unpartheyischen Kirchen- und Ketzerhistorie Arnold writes: “Hoffendlich wird auß dieser gantzen Kirchen-Historie nächst der täglichen Erfahrung kund und offenbahr gnug seyn / wie unter so gar vielen und grossen Hauffen / darunter sich ein jeder die wahre Kirche nennet / keiner gefunden werde / zu welchem sich ein Gottsuchendes Gemüthe mit ungezweiffelten Vertrauen und sicherer persuasion einer Unbetrieglichkeit ohne die geringste Beysorge eines schadens / Auffenthalts oder Hindernuß alleine gesellen / halten und bey ihnen biß zum höchsten Grad des Alters JEsu Christi verharren könnte. Welches dann nicht allein von denen grössesten [Religions-] Partheyen gewiß seyn mag /…. sondern auch von denenjenigen / welche jene neben sich verachten / und sich wegen ihrer schein-frömmigkeit und gleissenden Heuchel-Dienste allein vor recht­ gläubig / und untadelich halten und außgeben. […] Weil dann nun dieses alles unläugbar und gewiß ist; so folget ferner nothwendig darauß, daß […] es […] keinem sonst redlichem Gemüthe zu verdencken sey / wann es seine Freude seyn läst / sich zu GOtt allein zu halten […] und sich nach keines Menschen Namen oder Auffsatz und gemachter Form zu nennen oder zu richten,” Arnold, Unparteyische Kirchen- und Ketzer-Historie, vol. 2 (“Dritter und Vierdter Theil”) (Frankfurt a.M.: Thomas Fritsch, 1700), 847. Hans Schneider, “Cyprians Auseinandersetzung mit Gottfried Arnolds Kirchen- und Ketzerhistorie,” in id., Gesammelte Aufsätze, vol. 1, 122–49, 122–23; Hans Schneider, “‘Mit Kirchengeschichte, was hab’ ich zu schaffen?’ Goethes Begegnung mit Gottfried Arnolds Kirchen- und Ketzerhistorie,” in id., Gesammelte Aufsätze, vol. 1, 150–85. Benjamin Marschke, “From Heretics to Hypocrites. Anti-Pietist Rhetoric in the Eighteenth Century,” in Kinship, Community, and Self, ed. Jason Coy, Benjamin Marschke, Jared Poley, and Claudia Verhoeven (New York: Berghahn Books, 2015), 122–31.

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been settled with regard to the radical positions around 1700. It was revived in a completely different form in, among other places, the Moravian Church, which was founded in 1727 by Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf (1700–60) and developed great appeal from about 1740. In the following, after briefly introducing the Moravian Church, I will deal with its so-called diaspora work and its transconfessional orientation, illustrated with some examples. The final section will discuss the guiding principles of this diaspora work and its theological background. 2

Reinvention of Moravian Tradition

The Moravian Church was founded in 1722 in Upper Lusatia on the Berthelsdorf estate, which Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf19 had acquired from his grandmother, Henriette Catharina von Gersdorff (1648–1726). Following the early death of Zinzendorf’s father (in 1700) and his mother’s remarriage (in 1704), Zinzendorf had gone to live at an early age with his grandmother in Großhennersdorf, not far from the later Herrnhut. Henriette Catharina von Gersdorff was a highly educated woman who was both religiously and socially minded. She maintained personal and literary ties with all strands of the Pietist reform movement, including its radical currents.20 Beginning in 1710, Zinzendorf was a student at the Pädagogium Regium in Halle,21 distinguished because of his noble family; in 1716, he commenced legal studies in Wittenberg, where he also informally studied theology, although this discipline was considered inappropriate for someone of his social status. Like

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Introductory Dietrich Meyer, “Zinzendorf und Herrnhut,” in Geschichte des Pietismus. vol. 2, ed. Martin Brecht and Klaus Deppermann (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1995), 3–106; Hans Schneider, “Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf,” in Gestalten der Kirchengeschichte. vol. 7: Orthodoxie und Pietismus, ed. Martin Greschat (Stuttgart et al.: Kohlhammer, 1982), 347–72; Craig Atwood, “Nikolaus Ludwig Graf von Zinzendorf (1700–1760),” in Pietismus Handbuch, 184–97. Walter Schulz, “‘viel Anschein zu mehrerem Licht’—Henriette Katharina von Gersdorff, geborene von Friesen, und ihre Bibliothek zu Großhennersdorf,” Pietismus und Neuzeit 36 (2010): 63–118; Ulrike Witt, Bekehrung, Bildung und Biographie. Frauen im Umkreis des Halleschen Pietismus (Halle: Verlag der Franckeschen Stiftungen, and Wiesbaden: Harassowitz, 1996), 151–66; Robert Langer, Pallas und ihre Waffen. Wirkungskreise der Henriette Catharina von Gersdorff (Dresden: Neisse-Verlag 2008). Otto Teigeler, Zinzendorf als Schüler in Halle 1710–1716. Persönliches Ergehen und Präformation eines Axioms (Halle: Verlag der Franckeschen Stiftungen, and Wiesbaden: Harrasso­ witz, 2017).

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many high nobles, Zinzendorf undertook a “grand tour” in 1719–20,22 which also served his wide-ranging religious interests. “Zinzendorf considered the interaction with Christians of other confessions the most important gain of his educational journey; it resulted in his resolution henceforth to ‘discover the best in all religions’ [confessions].”23 Through his acquaintance with Heinrich XXIX of Reuß-Ebersdorf on his grand tour, Zinzendorf came into contact with the castle congregation there, where he also met his later wife Dorothea Erdmuthe (1700–56). This Ebersdorf “Schloss-ecclesiola” significantly influenced Zinzendorf’s religious character in several ways.24 First, here he came into contact with an intense and emotional devotion rooted in medieval passion mysticism and bridal mysticism and focused on the wounds and blood of the crucified Christ in a highly sensualistic way. Zinzendorf had already been introduced to similar forms of piety by his grandmother in Upper Lusatia. Second, his encounter with the marriage conceptions of Ernst Christoph Hochmann von Hochenau (1670–1721),25 who was a frequent guest of the Ebersdorf “Schloss-ecclesiola,” also shaped the concept of “marriage religion,” which became so important for Zinzendorf.26 Third, and above all, 22

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More on Zinzendorf see Mathis Leibetseder, “Attici Vettern in Paris. Pietismus, Jansenismus und das Netz von Bekanntschaften auf der Kavalierstour,” in Grand Tour. Adeliges Reisen und europäische Kultur vom 14. bis zum 18. Jahrhundert, ed. Rainer Babel (Ostfildern: Thorbecke, 2005), 469–84; Mathis Leibetseder, “Kavalierstour—Bildungsreise—Grand Tour: Reisen, Bildung und Wissenserwerb in der Frühen Neuzeit,” in Europäische Geschichte Online (EGO), ed. Leibniz-Institut für Europäische Geschichte (IEG), Mainz 2013-08-14, http://www.ieg-ego.eu/leibetsederm-2013-de; URN: urn:nbn:de:0159-2013070226; James Buzard, “The Grand Tour and after (1660–1840),” in The Cambridge Companion to Travel writing, ed. Peter Hulme (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 37–52; Winfried Siebers, “Von der repräsentativen zur aufgeklärten Kavalierstour? Reflexion und Kritik adlig-fürstlichen Reisens in der zweiten Hälfte des 18. Jahrhunderts,” in Europareisen politisch-sozialer Eliten im 18. Jahrhundert. Theoretische Neuorientierung—kommunikative Praxis—Kultur- und Wissenstransfer, ed. Winfried Siebers, Joachim Rees, and Hilmar Tilgner (Berlin: Berliner Wissenschafts-Verlag, 2002), 25–39. “Die Begegnung mit Christen anderer Konfessionen betrachtete Zinzendorf als wichtigsten Gewinn seiner Bildungsreise, ihr Fazit war sein Vorsatz, von nun an ‘das Beste in allen Religionen [Konfessionen] zu entdecken.’” Schneider, “Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf,” 352. Schneider, “Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf,” 352–54; Meyer, “Zinzendorf und Herrnhut,” 17–18. Heinz Renkewitz, Hochmann von Hochenau (1670–1721). Quellenstudien zur Geschichte des Pietismus (Witten: Luther-Verlag, 1969). Wolfgang Breul and Stefania Salvadori, eds., Geschlechtlichkeit und Ehe im Pietismus (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2014), 191–227; Craig D. Atwood, “Sleeping in the Arms of Christ. Sanctifying Sexuality in the Eighteenth-Century Moravian Church,” Journal of the History of Sexuality 8 (1997): 25–51; Peter Vogt, “‘Ehereligion’—religiös

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however, Zinzendorf’s understanding of the church was shaped in Ebersdorf by the inclusion of Philadelphian ideas.27 Before his marriage to Countess Erdmuthe Dorothea of Reuß-Ebersdorf, on September 7, 1722, Zinzendorf took an unpaid yet befitting position in the Saxon government in Dresden as a court and government councilor in October 1721, and he acquired the Berthelsdorf estate from his grandmother in May 1722. It was probably that same month that Zinzendorf heard about the Moravian refugee Christian David (1691–1751) and allowed him to settle on the Berthelsdorf estate, which soon attracted further refugees owing to the persecution of Protestants in Moravia.28 Thus, within a few years, a confessionally mixed situation had arisen on Zinzendorf’s estate because, in addition to the descendants of the old Moravian Unitas Fratrum,29 Reformed Protestants and Schwenckfelders30 had settled there, whereas the Berthelsdorf parish with its pastor Johann Andreas Rothe (1688–1758) was Lutheran.

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konzeptionierte Sexualität bei Zinzendorf,” in Alter Adam und Neue Kreatur. Pietismus und Anthropologie. Beiträge zum II. Internationalen Kongress für Pietismusforschung 2005, vol. 1, ed. Udo Sträter et al. (Halle: Verlag der Franckeschen Stiftungen, and Tübingen: Niemeyer Verlag, 2009), 371–80; Wolfgang Breul, “Ehe und Sexualität im radikalen Pietismus,” in Der radikale Pietismus. Perspektiven der Forschung, ed. Wolfgang Breul, Markus Meier, and Lothar Vogel (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010), 403–18; Peter Vogt, “Zinzendorf’s ‘Seventeen Points of Matrimony’. A Fundamental Document on the Moravian Understanding of Marriage and Sexuality,” Journal of Moravian History 10 (2011): 39–67; Paul Peucker, “In the Blue Cabinet. Moravians, Marriage, and Sex,” Moravian History 10 (2011): 7–38; Wolfgang Breul, “Ehe und Sexualität im Pietismus,” Evangelische Theologie 73 (2013): 339–52; Paul Peucker, A Time of Sifting. Mystical Marriage and the Crisis of Moravian Piety in the Eighteenth Century (University Park: Penn State University Press, 2015); Stefania Salvadori, “Geschlechterrollen, Ehe und Sexualität,” in Pietismus Handbuch, 502–13. See below: “Impartial Love towards all Christians”. An anonymously published book from 1749, which probably goes back to Zinzendorf, reports on the individual fates of religious refugees expelled from Bohemia and Moravia: Geschichts-Erzehlung, verschiedener Um des Evangelii willen aus Böhmen und Mähren Vertriebener Leute / der alten und neueren Zeit (Basel, 1749), 41–43. The only surviving copy is in the University Library of Basel (signature: Ann F 16; DOI 10.3931/e-rara-83396). Craig D. Atwood, The Theology of the Czech Brethren from Hus to Comenius (University Park: Penn State University Press, 2009). Ulrich Bubenheimer, “Schwenckfeld von Ossig, Kaspar,” in Biographisch-Bibliographisches Kirchenlexikon, vol. 9 (Herzberg: Traugott Bautz, 1995), 1215–35; Günter Mühlpfort: “Schwenkfeld und die Schwenkfelder—ihr ‘Mittelweg’ als Alternative. Von gewaltloser deutscher Radikalreformation zur amerikanischen Freikirche,” in Wegscheiden der Reformation. Alternatives Denken vom 16. bis zum 18. Jahrhundert, ed. Günter Vogler (Weimar: Böhlau, 1994), 115–50; Douglas H. Shantz, Crautwald and Erasmus. A Study in Humanism and Radical Reform in Sixteenth Century Silesia (Baden-Baden and Bouxwiller: Koerner, 1992); Horst Weigelt, Von Schlesien nach Amerika. Die Geschichte des Schwenckfeldertums (Köln, Weimar, and Wien: Böhlau, 2007).

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Because of the growing tensions among the settlers at Hutberg, Zinzendorf took a leave of absence from his duties to the Saxon government in early 1727. He sought to resolve the conflicts in person and give the settlement a legal structure in the form of statutes that all inhabitants had to sign. These efforts finally led to a religious revival—inspired by young girls in Herrnhut31—within the context of a joint communion service on August 13, 1727. This emotional revival experience transcended the separatist tendencies among the settlers and united them into a community that can be described as transconfessional. According to Thomas Kaufmann, the transconfessionality implied “a conscious crossing of the boundaries of the respective denomination […] which can arise from different motives and may express itself in different forms; the relativization of the divisive, the recourse to preconfessional common ground, the reaching out to the interdenominationally unifying, common Christianity.”32 Zinzendorf’s diverse confessional experiences during the grand tour and the Philadelphian influence of the Ebersdorf castle congregation became manifest in the Brüdergemeine (Brethren congregation) in Herrnhut—that is, the Moravian Church. Philadelphian ecclesiology was transconfessional insofar as it understood its work among Christian denominations not only as an exchange between different religious communities (interconfessionality) but represented a concept that aimed at the connectedness of true Christians in all denominations (and ethnicities). And so, as a transconfessional community, the congregation in Herrnhut developed new forms of piety, worship, and community. At their core was a sensual-emotional piety that emphasized the corporeality of Christ and the redemption brought about by him on the cross.33 The Moravians incorporated early Christian customs such as the love (agape) feast and foot washing into their liturgy,34 and they developed an abundance of songs and even a form of worship, the so-called Singstunde (singing hour), based solely on hymn singing. From the daily house visits, which were 31 32

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Jaqueline van Gent, “Gendered Power and Emotions. The Religious Revival Movement in Herrnhut 1727,” in Gender and Emotions in Medieval and Early Modern Europe. Destroying Order, Structuring Disorder, ed. Susan Broomhall (Farnham Surrey: Ashgate, 2015), 233–47. Thomas Kaufmann, Einleitung: in Interkonfessionalität—Transkonfessionalität— binnenkonfessionelle Pluralität: neue Forschungen zur Konfessionalisierungsthese, ed. Kaspar von Greyerz et al. (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2003), 14–15 (“bewußtes Hinausgehen über die ‘Grenze’ der jeweiligen Konfession […], das unterschiedlichen Motiven entspringen kann und sich in verschiedenen Formen, der Relativierung des Trennenden, des Rückgriffs auf vorkonfessionell Gemeinsames, des Ausgriffs auf überkonfessionell Verbindendes, Gemeinchristliches äußern mag”). Dieter Meyer, Der Christozentrismus des späten Zinzendorf. Eine Studie zu dem Begriff täglicher Umgang mit dem Heiland (Bern and Frankfurt a.M.: Peter Lang, 1973). Nicole Schatull, Die Liturgie in der Herrnhuter Brüdergemeine Zinzendorfs (Tübingen: Francke, 2005).

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common in the community, the practice of daily texts or “watchwords” developed, which have been recorded in writing since 1729 and printed since 1731.35 The Moravian congregation also broke new ground in its forms of community, which were intended to promote piety, congregational discipline, and pas­toral care. After smaller forms (so-called bands and classes) had initially determined the inner structure of the community of the Savior, in the longer term and with the founding of new settlements, “choirs” living separately according to gender and marital status prevailed.36 3

The Moravian Diaspora Work

The transconfessional character of the Moravian Brethren, however, manifested itself above all in the community’s outward activities. No other eighteenthcentury European Protestant group displayed such a high degree of willingness to travel. This mobility has been called their zentrale Lebensform (i.e., central aspect of their work as a community).37 The Moravians were the first religious movement since the early church to maintain a congregation-based mission to non-Christian areas. At the same time, they developed a concept for similar work in the German Empire and in neighboring European countries. In contrast to their Heidenmission (lit., heathen mission), they called these efforts a Diasporamission.38 Both of these outward-facing branches of the Moravian 35

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They are still widespread in Protestant circles in Germany today, Heinz Renkewitz, Die Losungen. Entstehung und Geschichte eines Andachtsbuches (Hamburg: Wittig, 1967); Peter Zimmerling, Die Losungen. Eine Erfolgsgeschichte durch die Jahrhunderte (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2014). In Herrnhut and the other settlements of the Moravians, choirs of young, unmarried men and women, married couples and widows and widowers were common; Hanns-Joachim Wollstadt, Geordnetes Dienen in der christlichen Gemeinde, dargestellt an den Lebensformen der Herrnhuter Brüdergemeine in ihren Anfängen (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1966). “Mobilität war für die Brüdergemeine weniger ein transitorisches Übergangsritual von einem Ort zum anderen, sondern ihre zentrale Lebensform. Die Vorstellung, am Aufbau des Reiches Gottes mitzuarbeiten, transzendierte traditionelle Raumvorstellungen. Für die Mitglieder der Brüdergemeine war der Austausch mit ihren ‘Schwestern’ und ‘Brüdern’ in anderen Orten, Ländern und Kontinenten ganz selbstverständlich und sie bewegten sich in der Welt, als wäre diese eine einzige ‘Parochie’,” in: Gisela Mettele, Weltbürgertum oder Gottesreich. Die Herrnhuter Brüdergemeine als globale Gemeinschaft 1727–1857 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2009), 43. Otto Steinecke, Die Diaspora der Brüdergemeine in Deutschland. Ein Beitrag zu der Geschichte der evangelischen Kirche Deutschlands, 2 vol. (Halle/Saale: Mühlmann, 1905, 1911); Horst Weigelt, “Der Pietismus im Übergang vom 18. zum 19. Jahrhundert,” in Geschichte

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Church are guided by the same ecclesiological concept; however, in the context of this article, the diaspora work directed at the Christian confessions provides more precise information. In 1727, the year of their community’s founding, the Brethren sent messengers to Jena, Saalfeld, Denmark, and London. They were tasked with seeking out “children of God” and “familiarizing them with the divine miracle and helping to maintain a chain of communication between them and us.”39 The goal of this diaspora work was to make contact with awakened individuals and groups of different confessions and to strengthen these true children of God living in the Zerstreuung (scattering). The Moravian diaspora work, like their heathen mission, developed from these early messenger journeys and Zinzendorf’s own travels.40 These efforts expanded rapidly, although the number of diaspora workers was limited.41 By 1769, more than 11,000 believers had been counted in Germany, and there were at least 25,000 individuals scattered throughout Europe with whom the Moravian Church maintained regular contact.42 The Brüdergemeine did not develop a clearer organization for diaspora work until 1760, the year of Zinzendorf’s death, even if Zinzendorf had advocated such changes before his death.43 The new institutional structures introduced included the establishment of about eighteen districts, which the responsible diaspora workers were to tour regularly. These districts varied in

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des Pietismus, vol. 2, 700–54, 701–10; Horst Weigelt, “Die Diasporaarbeit der Herrnhuter Brüdergemeine und die Wirksamkeit der Deutschen Christentumsgesellschaft im 19. Jahrhundert,” in Geschichte des Pietismus, vol. 3, ed. by Ulrich Gäbler (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000), 112–49; Wolfgang Breul, “Herrnhuter Diasporaarbeit,” in Pietismus Handbuch, 610–14. There is also a number of recent territorial or regional history works on the Moravian Diaspora; a comprehensive study is lacking. “… ihnen Gottes Wunder bekannt machen und mit ihnen und uns eine Kette schließen helfen,” Unitätsarchiv Herrnhut, R19.A.a.1.3; quoted after Hans-Christoph Hahn and Hellmut Reichel, eds., Zinzendorf und die Herrnhuter Brüder. Quellen zur Geschichte der Brüder-Unität von 1722–1760 (Hamburg: Friedrich Wittig, 1977), 379; for England Colin Podmore, The Moravian Church in England 1728–1760 (Clarendon Press, 1998). A clear dividing line between the two branches did not exist at first; the term “diaspora” did not develop until the late 1730s, “officially” it is in use since 1749; Steinecke, “Die Diaspora der Brüdergemeine in Deutschland,” vol. 1, 4. In 1733, six years after the founding of the Moravian Church, about 50 men and women were already working outside of Herrnhut. In 1738, a conference in Berlin decided on 35 mission trips to the diaspora regions, which were to be carried out in pairs by married couples or pairs of men. In 1746, the Synod of Zeist already named 540 places to which the Brüdergemeine had connections. Steinecke, “Die Diaspora der Brüdergemeine in Deutschland,” vol. 1, 71, 74–75. Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf, Hauptschriften in sechs Bänden, vol. 6: Verschiedene Schriften, ed. Erich Beyreuther and Gerhard Meyer (Hildesheim, Zürich, and New York: Olms, 1963), 159–68.

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size depending on the density of the work. In addition to regions within the German Empire—such as Upper Lusatia, Silesia, Thuringia, the Lower Rhine, and Württemberg—European districts were included, with a clear focus on northern and northeastern Europe. In fact, in the second half of the eighteenth century, the diaspora work of the Moravians had a notable influence on Danish, Swedish, and Finnish church history.44 Whenever possible, married couples were sent out for the work because certain tasks were considered more fitting for certain genders. The diaspora workers’ foremost charge was pastoral care among the “children of God.” They visited towns and villages in which there were individuals or groups who sympathized with the Moravian work. Some of these groups and societies, cared for by so-called helpers, met in the diaspora workers’ absence as well, whereas others convened ad hoc while diaspora missionaries were in the area. Where ecclesiastical and magisterial conditions permitted, speeches and sermons could also be given. Home and family visits were of particular importance because they were not usually subject to restrictions imposed by the authorities. But even such meetings were not to take place against the will of the local pastor. The diaspora workers were required to keep diaries about their travels and encounters and send regular written reports to Herrnhut.45 The Moravian diaspora work was directed primarily at Lutheran territories and countries, but the missionaries from Herrnhut also traveled to Reformed areas. For the question of religious toleration addressed here, however, the encounters with various separatist and radical religious minorities are of particular importance and will thus be discussed in the following based on some source examples. 4

Unions and Associations

The first of these examples dates back to the early years of diaspora work. On May 21, 1761, Matthias Friedrich Hasse set out from Marienborn in the Wetterau on a trip through Nassau and the Palatinate. In his “diarium,” he reports that he traveled via Frankfurt and Wiesbaden to the region, which is now known 44

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Manfred Jakubowski-Tiessen, “Dänemark und Norwegen,” in Pietismus Handbuch, 292–301; Christer Ahlberger and Per von Wachenfeldt, eds., Den glömda kyrkan. Om Herrnhutismen i Skandinavien (Skellefteå: Artos, 2016); Juliane Engelhardt, “Pietismus und Krise. Der hallesche und der radikale Pietismus im dänischen Gesamtstaat,” Historische Zeitschrift 307 (2018): 341–69. These reports are preserved in large numbers in the Moravian archives; Unitätsarchiv Herrnhut, R 19.B.

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as Rheinhessen but which belonged to the Palatinate in the eighteenth century. However, some localities were also under the rule of the archbishops and electors of Mainz. In this border area—and in the Palatinate as a whole— religious minorities, especially Anabaptist groups, had enjoyed limited toleration since the seventeenth century. On May 26, 1761, Hasse left Wiesbaden for the Palatinate and traveled via Biebrich and Mainz to Nieder-Saulheim in Rheinhessen, where he stayed overnight with “Our dear brother Johannes Schörger.”46 The following morning, both men visited Schörger’s brother Christian, who was eager to have his family convert. He only succeeded in convincing his son Jacob, who lived in “Ebersdorf in the choir house”—that is, in the Thuringian settlement of the Moravian Church.47 Both Schörger families were closely associated with the Moravians and were also, according to Hasse’s report, “Mennonists.” Furthermore, they were not just ordinary members of a Mennonite (Anabaptist) congregation; Johann was “a teacher among them.”48 He also looked after his brothers and sisters in the faith in the surrounding communities and was considering giving up his farming in favor of working “in the congregation.”49 It is remarkable not only that the Moravian missionary Hasse had such natural contact with Mennonites in the electoral Palatinate but also that Johannes Schörger appears in the report to be a church member fully familiar and at ease with the Moravians. It is also noteworthy that the Mennonite from Nieder-Saulheim held a key position in the contact network of the diaspora worker for the Palatinate. Hasse reported that on the evening of his arrival, he held “a detailed meeting about my planned visit to the Palatinate”50 with Johannes Schörger. As Hasse put it, Schörger had “connection with all other awakened souls in the Palatinate, but especially with those who are among the Mennonites.”51 Apparently, then, dealing with the 46 47 48 49 50 51

“… unserm lieben br. Johannes Schörger,” Unitätsarchiv Herrnhut, R 19.B.h.7.1, 5. Dietrich Meyer, “Herrnhut und Herrnhaag,” in Pietismus Handbuch, 233–39, 236. “… ein Lehrer unter ihnen,” Unitätsarchiv Herrnhut, R 19.B.h.7.1, 5. “… bey der Gemeine,” ibid. “ein ausführl.-Conferenz über mein vorhabende[n] Besuch in der Pfalz,” ibid. “Connexion mit allen übrigen erweckten Seele[n] in der Pfaltz, sonderl. aber mit denen die unter den Mennonisten sind,” ibid. After his tour through “Rheinhessen” and the adjacent “area near Creuznach” (6; today: Bad Kreuznach), Hasse returned once more on June 2nd. back to Nieder-Saulheim: “Weil ich gestern durch den Regen und schlechten weg von E[s]senheim sehr ermüdet u. spät in Nieder Saulheim ankam, so resolvirte ich heute noch hier zu bleiben. Ich schrieb denn einige briefe nach M[arien]born, unterredete mich mit den beyd[en] Schörger über mein noch bevorstehend[en] Besuch bis Heidelberg ausführlich, und hielt dem hiesig[en] häuflein abends noch eine versamlung nach Anleitung des Verses: Gnade ströhmt aus Jesu Wunden etc. d[en] 3 Jun. frühe reiste ich mit Br. Joh. Schörger von Nieder=Saulheim ab,” in Unitätsarchiv Herrnhut, R 19.B.h.7.1,

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representatives of Anabaptist groups scattered throughout the Palatinate was completely natural for the Moravian diaspora worker. The Moravian and Mennonite leaders accepted each other and saw each other as brothers and sisters in the faith of the heart. A further indication of this is that the Anabaptists even sought to send their children to the Moravian settlements such as Ebersdorf for education. Collaboration based on Philadelphian ideals between different groups of the heartfelt Christians was obviously an everyday reality in Rheinhessen and the Palatinate around 1760. In 1827, the diaspora worker from the Oberland (upper territories) of Württemberg, Johann Conrad Weitz, reported on a visit in Alpirsbach, where gatherings for fellowship (Gemeinschaft) had been disbanded two years earlier because a schism in the group meant that there “had been more opportunity for dispute than for edification.”52 The division was blamed on a group that Weitz called “the Blessed.” Weitz reported: “He who has once received forgiveness of sins through faith in Jesus, and has thus been assured of his blessedness, can henceforth no longer be harmed by any sin, but is free from sinning and the punishment associated with it; therefore, he no longer needs to turn to the crucified Savior and stay by him under the cross, but may and must now rise to the throne of glory where He now is.”53 Weitz is referring here to the followers of Christian Gottlob Pregizer (1759–1824), who inspired an enthusiastic revivalist movement during his tenure (starting in 1795) as pastor in Haiterbach, west of Tübingen and about a day’s travel from Alpirsbach. Weitz’s report not only provides an extensive description of Pregizer’s followers, but also documents openness to Christian groups and movements that were not compatible with the Moravian focus on the blood-and-wounds theology. Weitz was reluctant to ignore Pregizer’s sympathizers in Alpirsbach, recognizing instead that “among them there are souls who are really awakened and worried about their blessedness.”54 Weitz sought to speak to them on their own terms, and was thus able to appeal to them with his own remarks. In closing, Weitz summarized

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13–14. His way back also took him via Nieder-Saulheim (June 14/15), on June 19 he arrived back in Marienborn; ibid., 21–22. “… vielmehr Anlaß zum Disputiren als zur Erbauung,” Unitätsarchiv Herrnhut, R19. B.l.9.124, 3. “Wer durch den Glauben an Jesum einmal Vergebung der Sünden erhalten habe, und somit seiner Seligkeit versichert worden sey; dem könne hinfort keine Sünde etwas mehr anhaben, sondern sey frey vom Sündigen und der damit verbundenen Strafe: brauche sich daher auch nicht mehr zu dem gekreuzigten Heiland zu wenden und bey demselben unterm Kreuze aufzuhalten: sondern dürfe und müsse sich nun dahin wo Er jetzt ist, zum Thron der Herrlichkeit erheben,” ibid. “… unter denselben doch Seelen sind, die wirklich erweckt und um ihre Seligkeit bekümmert sind,” Unitätsarchiv Herrnhut, R19. B.l.9.124, 7.

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the Moravian attitude behind this work in the diaspora when he wrote “that the Lord has His own among all the people, and that in every society, and in every individual soul, He step by step uses the means by which His purpose can be achieved in the end.”55 There are many other examples of this transconfessional attitude of the Moravian Church in its diaspora work, stemming from Zinzendorf’s ecclesiological orientation, which became particularly evident during a visit to the confessionally Reformed County of Sayn-Wittgenstein-Berleburg. In September 1730, just three years after founding the Moravian Church, Zinzendorf traveled for the first time through the sparse landscape and economically poor minor principality in eastern Westphalia. Like Isenburg-Büdingen, SaynWittgenstein-Berleburg was home to numerous radical Pietists and groups of different origins.56 Zinzendorf’s time in Berleburg was filled with hours of prayer and edification, sermons in the gatherings for fellowship in the castle, and visits to various representatives and groups of mostly radical Pietist and separatist character. He was nearly always accompanied at these events by his peer, the ruling Count Casimir (1687–1741), who had eagerly anticipated Zinzendorf’s visit.57 Casimir not only tolerated pious, radical groups in his territory, but actively promoted them.58 Zinzendorf clearly formulated the goal of the meetings and visits to a Wittgenstein companion, Marquis Charles Hector de Marsay (1688–1753):59 “One must see that an orderly congregation or church is established among the pious souls of these places, as we have one among ourselves in Herrnhut, and that one should properly assemble for the practice of godliness, and that there is order and church discipline among them, so that everyone does not live so scattered according to his own fancy.”60 During his stay, Zinzendorf employed 55 56 57 58 59 60

“… daß der HErr eben doch unter allerley Volk die Seinen hat; und bey jeder Gesellschaft, und bey jeder einzelnen Seele, nach und nach die Mittel braucht, durch welche Seine Absicht am Ende doch noch erreicht wird,” ibid. Ulf Lückel, Adel und Frömmigkeit. Die Berleburger Grafen und der Pietismus in ihren Territorien (Siegen: Vorländer, 2016). Lückel, Adel und Frömmigkeit, 121; Victor Pless, “Die Separatisten und Inspirierten im Wittgensteiner Land und Zinzendorfs Tätigkeit unter ihnen im Jahre 1730.” Diss. theol., Universität Münster, 1921. For example, Count Casimir himself held edification meetings in Berleburg Castle. He came from a Huguenot family and early got in contact with radical religious ideas. See introductory Hans Schneider, “Der radikale Pietismus im 18. Jahrhundert,” in Geschichte des Pietismus, vol. 2, 107–97, 128–30. “Man muß sehen, daß unter den frommen Seelen dieser Orte eine ordentliche Gemeine oder Kirche aufgerichtet werde, wie wir unter uns in Herrnhut eine haben, und zu machen, daß man sich ordentlich zur Übung der Gottseligkeit versammle und daß eine

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his charming manner along with “words and humble and loving manners”61 to persuade representatives across the radical and separatist spectrum of Pietism to commit to a common set of rules upon which the ecclesiastical community was to be based and to distribute official roles among the protagonists. This is all the more remarkable because Christoph Seebach (1675–1745) and Johann Conrad Dippel (1673–1734), two quite contentious characters, had found a (temporary) home in Wittgenstein. The text of Berleburg-Schwartzenauische Verbindung 173062 (BerleburgSchwartzenau Association of 1730) shows what the unification of the different directions should be based on and which rules it should follow. The first point reads: “All congregation which is based merely on agreement of meanings and forms without changing the heart is a harmful sect.”63 The true church of Christ, on the other hand, is “invisible” and is found “among all sects of Christians.”64 This invisible congregation of Christ becomes visible “through united members,” who, however, as an “external congregation,” require an order, which must be based “on the nature of all members of the assembly.”65 The text Zinzendorf drafted offers some basic principles for this external order that he was striving for: – freedom of participation in the “association”; – forms of fellowship that respect different traditions and gifts; – life according to the rules of discipleship, as far as they are irrefutable;

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Ordnung und Kirchendisziplin sei unter ihnen, daß nicht ein jeder nach seiner Phantasie so zerstreut lebe.” “Lebenslauf des Herrn Charles Hector St. George de Marsay,” Archiv der Evangelischen Kirche im Rheinland, Düsseldorf, sign. BM 4/1, ch. 8; Schneider, “Der radikale Pietismus im 18. Jahrhundert,” 179, fn. 176. I would like to thank Hans Schneider (Marburg) for providing the manuscript. Marsay lived in eremitic seclusion in the Wittgenstein village of Schwarzenau. “Worte und demütige und liebreiche Manieren.” “Lebenslauf des Herrn Charles Hector St. George de Marsay,” ibid. “Die Berleburg- und Schwartzenauische Verbindung 1730,” in Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf, Hauptschriften. Ergänzungsbände, vol. 7: Büdingischen Sammlung, vol. 1, ed. Erich Beyreuther and Gerhard Meyer (Hildesheim, Zürich, and New York: Olms, 1965), 40–44. “Alle Gemeinschaft, die bloß auf Ubereinstimmung der Meynungen und Formen ohne Aenderung des Hertzens sich gründet, ist eine schädliche Secte.” “Die Berleburg- und Schwartzenauische Verbindung 1730,” 40–41. “… unter allen Secten der Christen.” “Die Berleburg- und Schwartzenauische Verbindung 1730,” 41. Zinzendorf remarkably adds “und vermuthlich auch unter anderen” (and presumably also among others), ibid. This could refer to ca. 20 members of the Jewish community present at the Berleburg meetings, but also to the “mission to the Gentiles” that the Moravian Church began at this time. “… durch verbundene Glieder,” “äusserliche Gemeinschafft,” “sich nach der Beschaffenheit aller Glieder der Versammlung,” all quotes ibid.

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– most importantly, however, a Christian life in the “universal love of the brethren,”66 and; – genuine, heartfelt faith. The fact that Zinzendorf refers to the established (confessional) churches as sects in this text would be quite offensive outside of the radical milieus. Among the inspired Philadelphians and mystical spiritualists, however, such expressions were actually common. For Zinzendorf, the true church of Christ in any case exists not beyond the confessional churches but invisibly within them, namely in the community of the heartfelt Christians in the confessional churches (“unter allen Secten”) as a congregation of brotherly love. In a Private Declaration, also written in 1730, the Moravian Brethren formulate the principles of their faith. The first sentence of the section on ecclesiology reads: “The true community of Jesus Christ is invisible and scattered over the entire face of the earth.”67 The scattering of true Christians within the confessional churches, even beyond them, is a defining characteristic of Zinzendorf’s understanding of the church. This dispersion, however, should not be allowed to lead to isolation and disorder, as he had clearly expressed to his Wittgenstein companion. Therefore, Zinzendorf sought to establish relationships among the different radical groups and provide these with a certain structure. Unlike in Herrnhut, the agreement in Wittgenstein did not last long. Charles Hector de Marsay reports that after Zinzendorf’s departure, the community quickly disintegrated owing especially to the opposition of Christoph Seebach, and the Wittgenstein groups met again in their own assemblies.68

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“Allgemeine Liebe der Brüder.” “Die Berleburg- und Schwartzenauische Verbindung 1730,” 42. “Die eigentliche Gemeine JEsu Christi ist unsichtbar und auf dem gantzen Erdboden ausgestreuet.” “Privat-Erklärung der von GOTT selbst zusammen gebrachten einfältigen Gemeine zu Herrnhuth,” in Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf, Hauptschriften. Ergänzungsbände, vol. 7: Büdingischen Sammlung, vol. 1, ed. Erich Beyreuther and Gerhard Meyer (Hildesheim, Zürich, and New York: Olms, 1965), 44–55, 48; Leiv Aalen, Die Theologie des jungen Zinzendorf (Berlin and Hamburg: Lutherisches Verlagshaus, 1966), 374; Hans Schneider, “‘Philadelphische Brüder mit einem lutherischen Maul und mährischen Rock’. Zu Zinzendorfs Kirchenverständnis,” in Neue Aspekte der Zinzendorf-Forschung, ed. Martin Brecht and Paul Peucker (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2006), 11–36, 26. “Lebenslauf des Herrn Charles Hector St. George de Marsay,” ch. 8. Even the sending of further Moravian messengers to Wittgenstein could not change this. During his stay in North America in 1742, Zinzendorf made a similar attempt to bring together a wide variety of German-speaking groups, which ultimately also failed; see Peter Vogt, “Zinzendorf und die Pennsylvanischen Synoden 1743,” Unitas Fratrum 36 (1994): 5–62.

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“Impartial Love toward All Christians”

During the reorganization of the Brüdergemeine’s diaspora work, which Zinzendorf initiated but which continued after his death, members of the community reflected on the guiding principles for this work and formulated instructions based on these principles. This final section uses those sources for a discussion of the theological foundations and principles of the Herrnhut diaspora work. In the Instruction of the Board of Directors of the Moravian Church of November 27, 1767,69 which is important for the work in the diaspora, the following is said about dealing with the confessional churches (“Christian religions”): “The Christian religions [i.e., confessions] under which we work are God’s households, which we have to consider with deep respect and to judge and treat with heartfelt love. In them, the most precious and valuable truths of Jesus’s merit and death have been preserved in their entirety and are still proclaimed from time to time by many witnesses of the truth with blessing.”70 This respect for the “religions” meant respecting their devotional practices, songs, and liturgy and participating in them where the situation required. In addition, the Instruction categorically rejected separation from the confessional churches among those who addressed the diaspora. Communion was to be taken within the congregation of the confessional church whenever possible, whereas the Moravian lovefeast and the foot washing were celebrated only occasionally within the diaspora societies. According to the Moravians, however, the confessional churches did not deserve this respect and appreciation in and of themselves, as they were, in the Moravians’ view, only temporary institutions.71 Yet they offered the true Christians among their congregants a home where they could hear the voice of the Savior. Therefore, they were to be respected as long as Christ himself allows them to stand. “We want to let the religions stand as long as the Savior lets them stand, love what is good in them, 69 70

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Christoph Th. Beck, “Diskretes Dienen. Die Instruktion für die Diasporaarbeiter von 1767,” Unitas Fratrum 76 (2017 [2018]): 101–53. “Die Christlichen Religionen, unter denen wir arbeiten, sind Haushaltungen Gottes, welche wir mit tiefem Respect in Achtung zu consideriren und mit herzlicher Liebe zu beurtheilen und zu behandeln haben. Es sind in denselben die theuersten und kostbarsten Wahrheiten von Jesu Verdienst und Tod ins Ganze noch beibehalten worden, und werden auch noch hin und wieder von vielen Zeugen der Wahrheit mit Seegen verkündiget.” Beck, “Diskretes Dienen”, 127; Unitätsarchiv Herrnhut, R19.A.b.7, 5; Johann Friedrich Reichel, “Einige Gedanken über die Bedienung der Diaspora,” Zeist, May 13, 1767, Unitätsarchiv Herrnhut, R19.A.b.5, 9. Beck, “Diskretes Dienen”, 127; Unitätsarchiv Herrnhut, R19.A.b.7, 5.

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pray for them, try to bring a good leaven72 into them and help to increase the power of that which still lies in them and serve them by God’s grace in the most real way wherever we find the opportunity.”73 This respect also required that the confessional churches, unlike many representatives of radical Pietism, should not be branded as “Babel,”74 as “ruined and dilapidated huts,”75 but this did not mean one should overlook the deplorable conditions in them.76 The instructions and circulars of the leadership of the Moravian Church to the diaspora workers urgently admonish them to counteract potential members’ desire to join the Moravian Church. Its membership should not be enlarged, but rather, following the biblical metaphor (Mt 5:13), should be “salt” in Christianity. The “salt” should not be too concentrated in one heap, but should be scattered throughout Christendom.77 “The main purpose that the Savior has with you is that the good religion in which you are may not perish, and that not everyone may become part of the [Brethren] congregation; that the children of God may not be so completely contracted that the salt over it comes out of the earth.”78 72 73

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1 Cor 5:6; Gal 5:9. “Wir wollen die Religionen stehen laßen, so lange sie der Heiland stehen läßt, wollen das Gute darinnen lieben, für sie beten, einen guten Sauerteig in sie hinein zu bringen suchen und die Kraft desjenigen, das noch darinnen liegt, vermehren helfen und ihnen durch Gottes Gnade auf das realeste dienen, wo wir nur Gelegenheit finden.” Beck, “Diskretes Dienen,” 128; Unitätsarchiv Herrnhut, R19.A.b.7, 8. The term “Babel”, based on the biblical allegory of the “whore of Babylon” (Rev 18: 2.10.18.21 etc.), was already used in mystical spiritualism to denote confessional churches that are subject to decay. The Lutheran churches could also be counted among them. In parts of the radical Pietism this criticism was taken up and partly sharpened. Gottfried Arnold’s polemical swan song “Babels Grablied” (Babel’s funeral song) is an example of this. See Gottfried Arnold. Göttliche Liebes=Funcken / Aus dem Grossen Feuer Der Liebe Gottes in Christo JESU entsprungen (Frankfurt a.M.: Zunner, 1698), 160–64. “Zerstörte und verfallene Hütten,” Beck, “Diskretes Dienen,” 127; Unitätsarchiv Herrnhut, R19.A.b.7, 6. “Wir wollen wol das Schlechte in den Religionen nicht releviren [hervorheben] und predigen, aber wir wollen es auch nicht verkennen und uns nie unter irgend einem Schein dahin bringen laßen, daß wir schwarz weiß und weuß schwarz nennen.” (We do not want to emphasize and preach the bad in the religions [= confessions], but we also do not want to misjudge it and never let ourselves be led under any pretense to call black white and white black.) Beck, “Diskretes Dienen,” 128; Unitätsarchiv Herrnhut, R19.A.b.7, 7–8. Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf, Einige Reden des ORDINARII FRATRUM, die Er vornemlich Anno 1756 zur zeit seiner retraite in Bethel, an die gesamte Bertholdsdorfische Kirchfahrt gehalten hat, 3rd ed. (Barby: Seminario Theologico, 1776), Anhang einiger Reden, für Kinder GOttes in der Diaspora, 163 (3rd speech, 7.4.1760). “Der Hauptzwek, den der Heiland mit euch hat, ist, daß die gute Religion, darinnen ihr seyd, nicht eingehen, und nicht alles zur Gemeine werden soll; daß sich die Kinder GOttes

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The diaspora work of the Moravian Church is transconfessionally oriented, unpartheyisch (impartial), in the meaning that has been common in radical Pietism since Gottfried Arnold.79 It is important, the Instruction from November 27, 1767 says, “that we should have an impartial love toward all Christians, regardless of the religious [i.e., confessional] constitution they also belong to; because that is a main characteristic of the brotherly union. All religious people [i.e., members of the confessional churches], taken as a whole, are of equal value to us.”80 Even if one had to determine differences in how far they had preserved the “fundamental truths of the Gospel, […] this does not make us the least inclined or disinclined toward the persons in it, but the Greek, Roman Catholic, etc., is as welcome to us at Jesus’s wounds as the Lutheran and the Reformed, and our joy is just as great when we hear of many souls eager for salvation among the first as among the last.”81 Each and every confession was deserving of respect, for each could count true Christians among its ranks, but none had a fundamental advantage, for regarding “our love for the people bought with Jesus’s blood it makes no difference.”82 It would, however, be incorrect to describe the Moravian ecclesiological concept, which provided the basis for its diaspora work and mission, simply as ecumenical or interconfessional. Behind the openness and respect for other denominations lies a concept shaped by Zinzendorf’s early Philadelphian meetings. Referring to the great revivals in the North American colonies in the 1730s and 1740s,83 Zinzendorf said in 1746: “For when ten thousand and twenty

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nicht so ganz zusammen ziehen, daß das Salz drüber aus der Erde komme.” Zinzendorf, “Einige Reden des Ordinarii Fratrum,” 160. “Unparteiisch” is a religious position in Gottfried Arnold’s sense that goes beyond the “religious parties,” confessions, and is therefore critical or even negative to them; Hans Schneider, “Der radikale Pietismus im 17. Jahrhundert,” in Geschichte des Pietismus, vol. 1, 391–437, 414. “Daß wir eine unpartheyische Liebe gegen alle Christen Menschen, zu welcher Religionsverfaßung sie auch gehören, haben solten; denn das ist ein Haupt-Character der Brüderunität. Alle Religions Leute sind uns, ins Ganze genommen in gleichem Werthe.” Beck, “Diskretes Dienen,” 129; Unitätsarchiv Herrnhut, R19.A.b.7, 9–10. “Grundwahrheiten des Evangelii, […] so macht das doch bey uns nicht die geringste Voroder Abneigung gegen die Personen in derselben, sondern der Grieche, Römischcatholische etc. ist uns so willkommen bey Jesu Wunden als der Lutheraner und Reformirte, und unsre Freude ist eben so groß, wenn wir von vielen Heils-begierigen Seelen unter den ersten hören, als unter den lezten.” Ibid. “Unsrer Liebe zu den mit Jesu Blut erkauften Menschen macht dieselbe keinen [!] Differenz.” Ibid. Jonathan Edwards, A Faithful Narrative of the Surprising Work of God in the Conversion of Many Hundred Souls in Northampton […]. Works of Jonathan Edwards, vol. 4, ed. Perry Miller (New Haven: Yale University Press 1972), 97–211. On reception in Germany

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thousand run together, as in the last English and American revivals, that is a mob, that is more of a play than a hearing; for of the twenty thousand hardly the third part hears, the others are there due to boredom, nihil agendo!”84 But Christ’s “basic plan” aims only at “primitias, the first fruits.”85 Behind the Old Testament metaphor of the “first fruits” (Ex 34:26 and others) is the expectation of a millennial kingdom. In the present, however, “great expanses in the kingdom of Christ” do not yet come, “but there remains always a small flock.”86 This “small flock” is at present still an “invisible church,” “a little bunch of souls who have been awakened to life here and there by the word, by the voice of Jesus, who are eager for salvation, who love him, who belong to him in time, and who will one day come from morning and evening, from midnight and noon, and sit with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven.”87 This small flock, scattered in all directions among the confessional churches, is united by love for Christ. Hans Schneider has shown, building on earlier studies, that Zinzendorf’s ecclesiological ideas are Philadelphic.88 The recent study of Paul Peucker

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see Jan Stievermann, “Faithful Translations. New Discoveries on the German Pietist Reception of Jonathan Edwards,” Church History 83 (2014): 1–43; id., “Halle Pietism and Its Perception of the American Great Awakening. The Example of Johann Adam Steinmetz,” in The Transatlantic World of Heinrich Melchior Mühlenberg in the Eighteenth Century, ed. Hermann Wellenreuther, Thomas Müller-Bahlke, and A. Gregg Roeber (Halle: Verlag der Franckeschen Stiftungen, 2013), 213–46. “Denn wenn schon zehn tausend und zwanzig tausend zusammen lauffen, wie bey den letzten Englischen und Americanischen erwekkungen, das ist ein Mob, das ist mehr ein erbares spiel, als ein hören; denn von den zwanzig tausend hören doch kaum der dritte theil, die andern sind für die lange weile da, nihil agendo!” Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf, Hauptschriften in sechs Bänden, vol. 3: Reden während der Sichtungszeit in der Wetterau und in Holland. Homilien über die Wundenlitanei, Zeister Reden, ed. Erich Beyreuther and Gerhard Meyer (Hildesheim, Zürich, and New York: Olms, 1963), 188 (“24. Zeister Rede vom 19.5.1746”). “Grund-plan”. “Primitias, auf die Erstlinge,” ibid., 187. “Zu großen Weitläufigkeiten im Reich Christi,” ibid., 191. “Ein Häuflein Seelen, die durch’s Wort, durch die Stimme Jesu, sich hie und da haben wecken lassen zum Leben, die nach dem Heil begierig sind, die ihn lieben, ihm in der Zeit angehören und die einmal von Morgen und Abend, Mitternacht und Mittag kommen und mit Abraham, Isaak und Jacob im Himmelreich sitzen werden.” Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf, Hauptschriften in sechs Bänden, vol. 2: Reden in und von Amerika (1742). Pennsylvanische Nachrichten (1746). Pennsylvanische Reden (1746), ed. Erich Beyreuther and Gerhard Meyer (Hildesheim, Zürich, and New York: Olms, 1963), 94 (“4. Pennsylvanische Rede”). Schneider, “‘Philadelphische Brüder mit einem lutherischen Maul und mährischen Rock’”; Aalen, Die Theologie des jungen Zinzendorf, 358–99; Sigurd Nielsen, Der Toleranzgedanke bei Zinzendorf, 3 vol. (Hamburg: Appel, 1952–1960).

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agrees with this position.89 The Philadelphian ideas are based on a salvationhistorical interpretation of the Epistles of the Revelation of John (chap. 2ff.), which associates the epistles with a certain succession of epochs of salvation history. According to this, the epochs of Thyatira (“which seduced my servants to whoredom and idolatry” [Rev 2:20], interpreted as a reference to the medieval papal church) and Sardis (“You have the name, that thou livest, and art dead” [Rev 3:1], taken as a reference to the Reformation, which had the Gospel but remained spiritually “dead”) were to be followed by the epoch of Philadelphia, which dawns in the present: “Behold, I have opened before thee a door which no man can shut: for thou hast a little strength, and hast kept my word, and hast not denied my name” (Rev 3:8). In the age of Philadelphia, the true children of God who have “kept the word” are gathered from all directions of heaven to the “bridal congregation of the Lamb” (Rev 21). This gathering signals the end of Religionspartheyen and the confessional churches, and the time of brotherly love begins: phil-adelphia. Zinzendorf participates in the radical Pietistic and especially Philadelphian criticism of the confessional churches (“Babel”) but simultaneously moderates it by granting the confessional churches a temporary right to exist. Zinzendorf’s decided renunciation of the desirability of large numbers in the mission and the talk of the small flock and the “firstlings” should be seen against the background of this Philadelphian concept. The central statements on the confessional churches in the instructions for the diaspora work of the Moravians reflect this: the relative validity of the confessional churches for a time; the orientation of the work to a small number of awakened, true children of God; the rejection of the active recruitment of new members through the diaspora work of the Moravian Church; and the relationship of the addressees of this work to one another through true heartfelt love for Christ the Savior. It was the goal of the diaspora work to seek out and strengthen the small number of true Christians in the confessional churches and the more radical groups and to form a network among them for the exchange of ideas. The toleration of Zinzendorf and the Moravian Church resulted from a radical ecclesiological and theological concept. In its relativization of confessional, gender, and status boundaries, it looks decidedly modern today.

89

Paul Peucker, Herrnhut 1722–1732. Entstehung und Entwicklung einer philadelphischen Gemeinschaft (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2021), 30–36, 193–195.

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Chapter 12

A Tale of Two Cities: Protestant Preachers and Private Tutors in Vienna Under the Rule of Emperor Charles VI Stephan Steiner 1

Introduction

Irenicism in early modern Vienna has—apart from a seminal study by Howard Louthan regarding the sixteenth century1—only very rarely attracted scholarly attention. This is especially true for the eighteenth century, which is almost a terra incognita that so far can only be reconstructed in bits and pieces or, more methodologically speaking, by “threads and traces,” as Carlo Ginzburg once put it.2 The author of this essay has tried to accumulate hitherto unknown or unnoted material regarding the question of whether and how the Catholic Church and the suppressed Protestant confessions lived alongside, intermingled, or antagonized one another in Carolinian Vienna. This essay presents only a snippet from the rich source material found in the archives of the Franckeschen Stiftungen zu Halle, the Rigsarkivet in Copenhagen, the manuscript section of the Staatsbibliothek in Berlin, and in the Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Carl von Ossietzky in Hamburg.3 The aim of this contribution is to shed some preliminary light on irenicism in Baroque Vienna. It is not intended to reconstruct the intellectual discourse or the local reception of irenic authors of the time but rather to look for traces of an early ecumenical spirit in everyday communication between the confessions. This spirit was both fostered by a somehow “sportive” lust for discussion and a disbelief in the claims of exclusiveness on all sides of the confessional 1 Howard Louthan, The Quest for Compromise: Peacemakers in Counter-Reformation Vienna (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997). 2 See Carlo Ginzburg, Threads and Traces: True, false, fictive (Berkeley–Los Angeles and London: University of California Press, 2012). 3 For in-depth depiction of this topic see Stephan Steiner, ‘Das Reich Gottes hier in Wien.’ Evangelisches Leben in der Reichshauptstadt während der Regierungsjahre Kaiser Karls VI (Wien: Böhlau, 2021). Major parts of this study were made possible by a Dr. Liselotte Kirchner-Stipend granted by the Franckeschen Stiftungen zu Halle; I am obliged to Holger Zaunstöck for his warm welcoming and to his team for its assistance.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004527447_014

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spectrum. This essay explores in its first part the tensions and fault lines between the confessions to prepare for a better understanding of the backgrounds of the remarkable signs of irenicism depicted in the second. 2

A Surprising Diaspora

Conventionally, and for good reason, Vienna in the first half of the eighteenth century is viewed as an apotheosis of baroque Catholicism.4 In Vienna, popular devotion was palpable at every corner, and the Habsburgs fueled it with their proverbial Pietas Austriaca, an exaggerated and ostentatious practice of faith, mingled with a mythology of their divine chosenness.5 The authorities conceived of city life as strictly monoconfessional, but this aspiration did not fully come into fruition, as Vienna hosted three Protestant enclaves that seriously disturbed the desired conformity. In harsh contrast to all other parts of the Austrian hereditary lands,6 right in Vienna—of all places—Protestant service under the conduct of trained preachers was possible. From the 1660s onward, the Danish as well as the Swedish and Dutch embassies transformed some of their rooms into chapels. So-called legation preachers (Legationsprediger) served Protestant communities, whose numbers are difficult to estimate. Taking a certain vagueness into account, we might nevertheless not be totally misled if we picture these communities within the range of a few thousand people in a city of approximately 100,000 inhabitants around 1700.7 Definitely, it was not a striking number; at the same time, it was not entirely a quantité néglegiable. Members of these communities were visible (for instance, in their funeral corteges through Vienna’s streets) and also audible (for instance, by their singing in church). 4 Martin Scheutz, “Kaiser und Fleischhackerknecht: Städtische Fronleichnamsprozessionen und öffentlicher Raum in Österreich während der Frühen Neuzeit,” in Aspekte der Religiosität in der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. Thomas Aigner (St. Pölten: Bischöfliches Ordinariat St. Pölten, Diözesanarchiv 2003), 62–125; Karl Vocelka, “Barocker Katholizismus–die Fallstudie Wien,” Österreich. Geschichte Literatur Geographie 1 (2018): 4–17. 5 Anna Coreth, Pietas Austriaca: Ursprung und Entwicklung barocker Frömmigkeit in Österreich (Wien: Verlag für Geschichte und Politik, 1959). For an English translation: Anna Coreth, Pietas Austriaca, trans. William D. Bowman and Anna Maria Leitgeb (West Lafayette, Indiana: Purdue, 2004). 6 The Austrian hereditary lands consisted of Austria above and below the Enns, of Styria, Carinthia, Tyrol, Vorarlberg and Vorderösterreich, Carniola as well as territories around Gorizia and Trieste. Salzburg, neither as a city nor as a territory, has been part of the Habsburg Empire in the early modern period. 7 Contemporary data suggests a span from 2,000 to 8,000 people.

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The legal prerequisite for visiting the legation chapels was an official privilege, which was basically only granted to diplomats, functional elites,8 merchants,9 and a few higher-ranking army members.10 For these privileged parties, the so-called legation chapels (Legationskapellen) served as meeting places not only for all relevant religious practices, such as worship, christening, marriage, and memorial services, but also for other social activities. The Danish parish numerically, but also in terms of its influence, took the lead among the two other, much smaller parishes. Apart from the size, there was also a serious divide regarding their confessional orientation: the Danish and Swedish preachers were Lutherans, whereas the Dutch preacher was a Calvinist.11 3

Diplomatic Reciprocity and the Profile of the Legation Preachers

The anomaly of Protestant enclaves in an exclusively Catholic surrounding deserves some explanation. Searching for the roots of this feeble antecedent of toleration leads us right into the history of diplomacy. Diplomatic immunity was a new idea that had arisen in the dawn of the early modern period and took its final shape over the course of the eighteenth century. First, only the ambassadors and their entourage had diplomatic protection, but this concept advanced progressively until at the end of the process, everything connected to the embassy—its people and its space—was seen as “extraterritorial.” Embassies were treated as if the space they occupied was part of the 8

9 10

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Matthias Schnettger, “Ist Wien eine Messe wert? Protestantische Funktionseliten am Kaiserhof im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert,” in Grenzen und Grenzüberschreitungen: Bilanz und Perspektiven der Frühneuzeitforschung, ed. Christine Roll, Frank Pohle and Matthias Myrczek (Köln–Weimar–Wien: Böhlau, 2010), 599–633. For an overview on privileged merchants: Peter Rauscher and Andrea Serles, “Die Wiener Niederleger um 1700: Eine kaufmännische Elite zwischen Handel, Staatsfinanzen und Gewerbe,” Österreichische Zeitschrift für Geschichtswissenschaften 26/1 (2015): 154–82. One of them was Friedrich Heinrich von Seckendorff, the successor to Prince Eugene as Oberkommandant of the Habsburg army. See Björn Schmalz, Die Glaubenswelt Friedrich Heinrich von Seckendorffs: Eine Studie zu hallischem Pietismus und Adel im 18. Jahrhundert (Halle: Verlag der Franckeschen Stiftungen, 2017). Little is known about the Calvinist “faction” so far and this is also the reason, why this essay is almost exclusively dealing with Lutherans. For details on the Danish legation chapel see Christian Stubbe, Die Dänische Gesandtschaftsgemeinde in Wien und ihre letzten Prediger: Ein Stück Diasporaarbeit vor dem Gustav Adolf-Verein (Kiel: Verein für schleswig-holsteinische Kirchengeschichte, 1932). For information on the Dutch parish see Hermann Rippel, “Die holländische Gesandtschaftskapelle als Vorgängerin der reformierten Gemeinde in Wien,” in Die evangelische Gemeinde H.B. in Wien, ed. Peter Karner (Wien: Deuticke, 1986), 27–45.

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homelands of their operating states; moreover, their laws applied and not the one in force in the host country.12 This theoretical construct allowed the emblematically Catholic Habsburgs to pretend that the legation chapels— though right in the center of their power—had absolutely no bearing on their sovereignty. Benjamin J. Kaplan elaborates on the construction of this legal fiction: Native dissidents who attended chapel services, therefore, did not violate local law because they were temporarily outside its jurisdiction. […] However, this was an ex post facto justification, developed in no small part to rationalize the already well-established practice of tolerating embassy chapels. In other words, rather than the principle of extraterritoriality giving rise to embassy chapels, the line of historical causality ran the other way. […] If embassies, through their religious practices, “were licensed to flout the most sacred laws of the realm, it was easier to think of them as not being within the realm at all.” In this way, embassy chapels were “the largest single factor in preparing men’s minds to accept [the] extraordinary fiction” of extraterritoriality.13 Diplomats, irrespective of their rank—be it Resident, Envoyé Extraordinaire, or Ambassadeur—had the right to undisturbed religious practice, a principle that was also backed by the emerging international law. One of the advocates of the diplomats’ freedoms in religious questions, the prominent legal historian Adam Friedrich Glafey (1692–1753), pellucidly explained it as follows: “Just as I cannot impose my meat and drink on an ambassador or deprive him of corporal necessities, so I cannot enforce upon him, to follow the principles of my religion, or to abstain from his basic needs.”14 Although the diplomats insisted on their personal rights to practice dissident confessions, they were extremely pragmatic regarding the question of 12 13

14

Garrett Mattingly, Renaissance diplomacy (New York: Dover Publications, 1988), 236. Benjamin J. Kaplan, “Diplomacy and domestic devotion: Embassy chapels and the toleration of religious dissent in Early Modern Europe,” Journal of Early Modern History 6 (2002): 341–61, here 345–46. Kaplan in this passage includes quotes from Mattingly, Renaissance Diplomacy, 272 and 280–81. Adam Friederich Glafey, Vernunfft= Und Völcker=Recht, Worinnen Die Lehren dieser Wissenschafft auf demonstrative Gründe gesetzet/ und nach selbigen die unter souverainen Völckern/ wie auch denen Gelehrten biß daher vorgefallene Strittigkeiten erörtert werden/ Nebst einer Historie des vernünfftigen Rechts/ worinen nicht nur die Lehren eines jeden Scribenten in Jure Naturae angezeigt und examinirt werden, sondern auch eine vollstandige Bibiliotheca Juris Naturae & Gentium zu befinden ist, welche die biß anhero in dieser disciplin heraus gekommene Bücher, Dissertationes, Deductiones und andere pieçes volantes

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whether religious confrontations should be carried into the public sphere: “In the daily routine of diplomacy the importance of religious questions was underscored by legation chapels, preachers and their parishes, but in times of crises religious conflicts were never staged in public. Rather were the envoys of the opposing parties responsible for moderation, in the sense that their support for co-religionists should not trigger any further conflicts.”15 The key principle for the establishment of legation chapels was reciprocity: if the emperor intended to guarantee Catholic service for his diplomats in Copenhagen, Stockholm, or The Hague, then he also had to grant at least some marginal Protestant life for the Danish, Swedish, and Dutch diplomats in Vienna in return. Such considerations were in effect until the Patent of Toleration of 1781,16 when Emperor Joseph II allowed the formation of (at least partly) autonomous Protestant parishes across the Austrian hereditary lands. During the reign of Emperor Charles VI (1711–40), twelve legation preachers served in the Danish and Swedish embassies. They all came from nonHabsburg territories in the Old Reich,17 but almost none of them originated from the dispatching countries Denmark or Sweden. Before the preachers’ service in Vienna, personal ties to the Habsburg monarchy were extremely rare. It seems that they held all their services in German, but the specific idiom that the preachers used must have significantly differed from that spoken in Vienna. The same foreignness presumably applied to their habits, and it is hard to tell whether they adapted to their new environment over time. Vienna for most of them was just a way station in their career; only three of the preachers stayed for more than ten years (see table 12.1). Typically, legation preachers came to Vienna without any pertinent prior experiences. Many of them left Vienna for some provincial pastorate, which after the many diplomatic considerations

15 16

17

nach ihren Materien in Alphabetischer Ordnung darlegt. Samt einen vollständigen RealRegister (Frankfurt-Leipzig: Riegel, 1723), 260–61 [= book 6, chapter 8; no consecutive pagination]. Charlotte Backerra, Wien und London, 1727–1735: Internationale Beziehungen im frühen 18. Jahrhundert (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2018), 412. [All translations are by the Author unless clearly indicated otherwise]. For a comprehensive overview on legislation regarding toleration in the Habsburg Empire: Peter F. Barton, ed., Im Lichte der Toleranz: Aufsätze zur Toleranzgesetzgebung des 18. Jahrhunderts in den Reichen Joseph II., ihren Voraussetzungen und ihren Folgen: Eine Festschrift (Wien: Institut für protestantische Kirchengeschichte, 1981) and Peter F. Barton, ed., Im Zeichen der Toleranz: Aufsätze zur Toleranzgesetzgebung des 18. Jahrhunderts in den Reichen Joseph II., ihren Voraussetzungen und ihren Folgen: Eine Festschrift (Wien: Institut für protestantische Kirchengeschichte, 1981). All the hitherto known legation preachers in the Netherlandish Embassy came from Switzerland.

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and multiple hostilities they had faced in Vienna, must have appeared as a relief to them. In further consequence, only a few of them made an outstanding career in the church hierarchy or as academics.18 Almost all of the legation preachers were of a pronounced character and many had fervors for topics far from core theological interests: the Danish legation preacher Christian Kortholt (1709–51), for instance, was the editor of 2,000 pages of letters by the polymath Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, who, as will be shown below, had played an important role for the Viennese Protestant communities;19 the Swedish legation preacher Christoph Friedrich Tresenreuter (1709–46) invested all his free time in studying the works of Libanios, the late antique orator; and the examination of the literature and music of the times was high on the agenda of the other legation preachers.20 It seems that the intellectual passions of the preachers were also a respite from an otherwise quite challenging daily routine. Living and working in Vienna must have resembled a roller coaster ride, marked by the ups and downs of tentative irenic experiences and the staggering through confessionalized minefields. One should keep in mind that while Protestant life took place in Vienna, many other parts of the Habsburg empire sank under a second wave of Counter-Reformation. The reigns of Charles VI and of his daughter Maria Theresa were marked by an aggressive policy against the last remnants of Protestantism in the provinces, whose numbers at a local or regional level in the eighteenth century were sometimes still astonishingly high. In the 1730s at the latest, it became declared state intention to wipe out “undergroundProtestantism” (a term that better fits the actual situation than the customary “crypto-Protestantism”).21 The means for doing so spanned from mission to 18 19 20 21

Johann Christian Lerche and Christian Kortholt became superintendents in Neustadt an der Aisch and Harste, respectively; Christoph Friedrich Tresenreuter acquired a position as principal of the academy in Altdorf. Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, Epistolae Ad Diversos, 4 vols., ed. Christian Kortholt (Leipzig: Breitkopf, 1734–1742). This scientific tradition was continued unto the times of Maria Theresa, when Johann Hieronymus Chemnitz (Danish legation preacher in Vienna 1757–68) made a name for himself as a shell expert. The author suggested this terminological change from the early 2000s on and it has meanwhile been adopted by a significant part of the scholars working in this field. “Underground Protestants” gets more effectively to the heart of the matter, as these religious dissenters were acting in the underground like partisans, not always visible, but nevertheless perceptible. Rather than ducking away and clandestinely clinging to their faith, they were in many cases quite well known to the manorial owners and their administrators, if not the central bureaucrats. See Stephan Steiner, Reisen ohne Wiederkehr: Die Deportation von Protestanten aus Kärnten 1734–1736 (Wien–München: Oldenbourg, 2007), 26–27.

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Table 12.1 Years of service in Vienna of the Danish, Swedish, and Dutch legation preachers under the rule of Emperor Charles VI

Legation preacher Danish 1711 1712 1713 1714 1715 1716 1717 1718 1719 1720 1721 1722 1723 1724 1725 1726 1727 1728 1729 1730 1731 1732 1733 1734 1735 1736 1737 1738 1739 1740

Swedish

Dutch

Johann Jacob Langjahr (in office since 1698–99)

Johann Siegmund Pilgrim (resigned in 1723) Ephraim Schlickeisen (resigned in 1724) Ehrenfried Matthäus Hamerich

Johann Christian Lerche (resigned in 1733)

Christian Nicolaus Möllenhoff (resigned in 1736)

Christian Kortholt (in office until 1742)

Note: Uncompleted years are ignored.

Christoph Friedrich Tresenreuter (resigned in 1737) Christoph Gerhard Suke (in office until 1782)

Johann Heinrich Brucker (resigned in 1723)

Simon Grynäus

Nathanael Haltmeyer (in office until 1767)

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repression and ended in downright deportations that forcefully relocated people over distances of one thousand kilometers.22 Especially during such phases of state-ordered violence, the Protestant preachers in Vienna were time and again seen by their Catholic adversaries as impertinent foreigners, suspected of providing information about the ongoing repression to their lords abroad or of trying to influence the events in favor of their Protestant co-religionists. 4

Pietists as a “Fifth Column” and Catholic Mobilization

Both state and spiritual authorities increasingly considered the preachers a sort of “fifth column,” who misused their privileges for fraternization with foreign powers. This suspicion was especially triggered by the fact that both the Danish and Swedish posts from the 1720s onward were constantly filled with preachers that had been educated in the spirit of Pietism. Pietism, which emerged over the last decades of the seventeenth century, was the most important continental European revival movement within Protestantism. It was a social movement and not just a religious idea or theological program. As a movement it developed specific forms of organization and distinct structures and over time actual institutions. The prime concern of the movement was the renewal and promotion of piety, seen as experienced religiosity. At the same time Pietism aimed at a total reform of ecclesiastical and even public life. Pietism not only changed the church but also influenced broad spheres of society and culture.23 Most of the preachers in Vienna who took office in the 1720s and 1730s had either studied in Halle an der Saale or were deeply influenced by the teachings that evolved in this center of German Pietism. With this Halle connection in the background, the preachers were part of a network, which not only 22

23

Martin Scheutz, “Die ‘fünfte Kolonne’–Geheimprotestanten im 18. Jahrhundert in der Habsburgermonarchie und deren Inhaftierung in Konversionshäusern (1752–1775),” Mitteilungen des Instituts für Österreichische Geschichtsforschung 114 (2006): 329–80; id., “Seelenjäger und ‚umgekehrte Wallfahrten‛: Volksmissionen und Missionare als Druckmittel gegenüber Geheimprotestanten—eine universelle und eine regionale Geschichte,” in Geheimprotestantismus und evangelische Kirchen in der Habsburgermonarchie und im Erzstift Salzburg (17./18. Jahrhundert), ed. Rudolf Leeb, Martin Scheutz, and Dietmar Weikl (Wien–München: Böhlau and Oldenbourg, 2009), 395–429; Stephan Steiner: Rückkehr unerwünscht. Deportationen in der Habsburgermonarchie der Frühen Neuzeit und ihr europäischer Kontext (Wien–München–Weimar: Böhlau, 2014), 243–98. Martin H. Jung, Pietismus (Frankfurt a.M.: Fischer, 2005), 4.

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spanned half of Europe but also had outposts in North America and the Indian subcontinent. The preachers participated in a well-established practice of continuous reporting to the central figures in the network, first to August Hermann Francke (1663–1727) and after his death to his son Gotthilf August Francke (1696–1769).24 The preachers often saw these two as father figures, to whom they could turn for advice anytime help was needed. And such was needed quite often in the Viennese diaspora. Halle responded with cheers of encouragement and with books printed in its publishing houses (Waisenhausverlag der Halleschen Anstalten and treatises published by the Institutum Judaicum). Vienna’s preachers and Halle’s dignitaries exchanged a wide range of letters that now serve as fascinating sources for understanding everyday life in Vienna and the contemporary reception of political events. Innovation was one of the trademarks of Pietism, but another was religious and moral rigorism, and both inflamed the rage of high-ranking Catholic representatives in Vienna. Archbishop Sigismund Kollonitsch was at the forefront of the protests when, in 1736, he vented his displeasure in Gravamina (Grievances). Addressed directly to the emperor,25 they formed a long list of accusations. In Kollonitsch’s opinion, the Protestant communities and their preachers had overstepped all conceivable lines. Kollonitsch’s general appraisal of the situation was that Protestant households were steadily increasing. In his opinion, this was due to multiple factors:26 Protestant factory owners and privileged craftsmen27 engaged in proselytism; noblemen did not care about the orthodoxy of their personnel; and guilds no longer guaranteed control over their members. Regarding the legation chapels, the archbishop held a 24

25 26

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Hundreds of such letters are edited in Zoltán Csepregi, ed., Pietas Danubiana / Pietismus im Donautal 1693–1755: 437 Schreiben zum Pietismus in Wien, Preßburg und Oberungarn (Budapest: Magyar Evangélikus Digitális Tár, 2013). This voluminous and extremely meritorious edition was one of the crucial sources for this chapter. Sigismund Kollonitsch, GRAVAMINA Religionis Catholicae & in specie Archi-Dioeceseos Viennensis Contra Haereticos accrescentes, &c., [s.l.] 1736. The quotes are taken from the 1737 print of the Gravamina, which is reprinted in Bernhard Raupach, Erläutertes Evangelisches Oesterreich, Oder: Dritte und Letzte Fortsetzung der Historischen Nachricht von den vornehmsten Schicksalen der Evangelisch=Lutherischen Kirchen in dem Ertz=Hertzogthum Oesterreich, In welcher diese Evangelische Kirchen=Geschichte von Anno 1581. bis auf gegenwärtige Zeit, aus theils gedruckten theils geschriebenen Urkunden, mercklich gebessert und weiter ausgeführet werden (Hamburg: Theodor Christoph Felginers Witwe and Johann Carl Bohn, 1740), appendix 261–68. For a detailed depiction of these groups see Martin Scheutz, “Legalität und unterdrückte Religionsausübung: Niederleger, Reichshofräte, Gesandte und Legationsprediger: Protestantisches Leben in der Haupt- und Residenzstadt Wien im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert,” in Geheimprotestantismus, 209–36.

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well-defined position: “Anyone from this flock, who is just able to walk or creep” partakes at the services in the legation chapels “without any fear.” Apart from the congregation members who were officially allowed to attend, there was always a circle of transients and seasonal workers, whom the preachers did not bar from entering the chapels.28 On the contrary, they were even encouraging these illicit participants to join services. Under such circumstances, Kollonitsch feared that Catholics might get charmed by Protestantism, which would in the final consequence lead to apostasies and conversions.29 With regard to such severe accusations, Kollonitsch proposed strong remedies: a resolute return to practices from the times of the Counter-Reformation, a cutback of Protestant activities to an absolute minimum, and strict controls at the gates of the legation chapels. 5

Pietism as an Irenic Catalyst

One of the most impressive characteristics of the innovational strength of Pietism was its ability to incorporate and amalgamate positions that were on the far ends of a spectrum. The aforementioned rigidity of Pietism, for instance, was a trait that was strongly counteracted by a proclivity for constructive dispute and taboo-free approximation of confessional viewpoints. What in the light of the present-day quest for consistency seems like a contradiction in fact only intensified the Pietist activism of the time. Preachers educated in Halle often saw themselves as envoys of the ideas that this center of Pietism advocated. If the general atmosphere allowed for it, legation preachers patiently explained their views to skeptics and even opponents. And nothing made them happier than the feeling that they had planted fruitful doubts or even a change of minds on the side of their counterparts. How these emissaries acted in detail can be seen from the following report:

28

29

Rare hints to individuals can be found in København, Rigsarkivet, 2-0522 Wien, diplomatisk repræsentation 1691–1865 Diverse sager: Pro Memoria without date (approx. May 1734); Christine Tropper, Glut unter der Asche und offene Flamme: Der Kärntner Geheimprotestantismus und seine Bekämpfung 1731–1738 (Wien–München: Böhlau and Oldenbourg, 2011), 358; Scheutz, “Legalität,” 228. Regarding conversions see Martin Scheutz, “Glaubenswechsel als Massenphänomen in der Habsburgermonarchie im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert: Konversionen bei Hof sowie die ‘Bekehrung’ der Namenlosen,” in Geheimprotestantismus, 431–55; Ines Peper, Konversionen im Umkreis des Wiener Hofes um 1700 (Wien–München: Böhlau and Oldenbourg, 2010).

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Meanwhile I try not to miss any opportunity for action. I always refer to the university in Halle and how their professors are done wrong by making them and their disciples look foolish. Such behavior is rooted in the envy and venom of some quarrelsome priests, who do not intend to improve themselves and therefore are piqued by those, who not only try to promote a sound teaching but also a pious life. The grace of God gave it that such [a change of heart] infiltrated the minds so much that prince Trautson30 is alleged to have lately said at a festive meal that the so-called Pietists were honest and good people and “passable” Lutherans. Their counterparts he called “coarse” Lutherans. Quae distinctio ubique fere obtinet. On the same occasion Trautson stated that no one [of these Pietists] just because of some differences about wording or opinion should be doomed or even expelled. [Trautson further argued that such differences] were also common among Catholics and still they lived together because they agreed on the magnum opus [they all have in common].31 Permeated by the feeling that a Christian revival was right around the corner and that it could finally lead to a reunion of the confessions, some of the Pietists in Vienna were even willing to step into the lion’s den. They craved for disputations with members of the church hierarchy: the higher their rank, the better. Pietists were not afraid to even choose the imperial father confessor (Beichtvater) or the court chaplain as their discussants. As long as the Pietists had the feeling that such discussions were conducted on an equal footing, the idea of a “universal conversion” and a final reunion with the Catholics seemed worth aspiring to and eventually reachable. Everywhere the Pietists searched 30 31

Fürst Johann Leopold Donat Trautson (1659–1724) held important positions at the court of the emperor. Christoph Nicolaus Voigt to August Hermann Francke, Vienna, March 2, 1714, printed in Csepregi, ed., Pietas Danubiana, 129. The original reads: “Immittelst […] suche [ich] keine gelegenheit zu versaümen, wo etwas geschehen kan. Ich hänge die universitaet Halle allezeit mit an und bezeuge, wie denen dortigen hn. professoribus unrecht geschehe, daß man sie und ihre discipulos blamire, es rüre dieses bloß aus neid und boßheit einiger zänckischen geistlichen her, welche sich nicht gerne beßern wolten, und dahero ungehalten wären auf diejenigen, welche nebst einer gesunden lehre auch auf ein gottseliges leben dringeten. Welches durch die gnade Gottes nun so weit in die gemüther eingedrungen, daß der fürst Trautson ohnlängst über der tafel soll gesaget haben, die so genannten pietisten wären ehrliche und gute leuthe und leidliche lutheraner, ihr gegenpart aber wären die groben lutheraner. Quae distinctio ubique fere obtinet. Eben dieser hat auch zu gleicher zeit gesagt, daß wegen einiger wort-differentien oder meynungen man keinen verdammen, vielweniger verjagen könne, wäre es doch unter den catholischen selbst also, und doch lebeten sie zusammen, dieweil sie im haupt-werck übereinstimmeten.”

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for signs of such developments, and they were willing to conceive even the smallest changes as a building block for future unity. They even rated hardliners such as controversialists (Kontrovers-Prediger) and Jesuits as approachable: The local Kontrovers-Prediger has gotten less fiery than before. A distinguished Jesuit once told me expressis verbis that if [the Catholic Church] does not stop scholastic pedantry and the religious enmity, no true uplifting was to be expected for the Christian church.32 Apart from such interest from the representatives of the Catholic Church, the spirit of awakening also met with a lively response from high-ranking bureaucrats, if not always for unsophisticated reasons. The Oberstkanzler of the Bohemian Chancellery,33 for example, supported some of the Pietists’ ideas in a pragmatic spirit. He argued in favor of tolerating moderate people such as the Pietists because, in his view, they aimed at extirpating the religious hate in the hearts of the subjects and planted a love for the various religious authorities instead. This, he suggested, would also be the best way to achieve the unity that Christ had searched for, which would be characterized by just one shepherd and just one flock.34 6

The Ecumenism of Books

An interesting and only rarely mentioned irenicist aspect of life in Carolinian Vienna concerns the book market. In the heated atmosphere between the confessions, booksellers took advantage of this ongoing competition. In the abovementioned Gravamina, Archbishop Kollonitsch lamented that forbidden 32

33 34

Archiv der Franckeschen Stiftungen (Halle an der Saale), AFSt/H A 168:3 Christoph Nikolaus Voigt to August Hermann Francke, Vienna, January 4, 1715. For a digitized version of the letter, https://digital.francke-halle.de/mod8/content/pageview/186068 [to 186073]. The original reads: “[D]er hiesige controversien prediger ist anjetzo nicht mehr so hitzig, als er anfangs gewesen ist. Ein vornehmer jesuite sagete mir einmal expressis verbis, wenn wir die schulfüchßerey in der theologie und das odium religionis nicht ablaßen, ist nimmermehr eine rechte erbauung für die christliche kirche zu hoffen.” Leopold Josef Graf Schlick (1663–1723) held this position in the period referred to. Archiv der Franckeschen Stiftungen (Halle an der Saale), AFSt/H A 168:3 Christoph Nikolaus Voigt to August Hermann Francke, Vienna, January 4, 1715. The original reads: “[…] man tolerire solche moderate leute, welche den schädlichen religions-haß aus den hertzen der unterthanen sucheten auszurotten und hingegen eine liebe zu der obrigkeit diverser religion einzupflantzen, als welches der beste weg sey zu der von Christo benennten einigkeit, da ein hürte und eine herde würde seyn.”

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Protestant books were “coming in by the numbers” and were sold in general stores and purchased by libraries. Sardonically, Kollonitsch further remarked that especially those young academics who “come back from [their studies] in Protestant countries with more vices than virtues anyhow” go for “no other books than those authored in non-Catholic countries.” The archbishop suspected even aulic councilors of having “whole bins and chests” (gantze Kisten und Kästen) filled with Protestant literature. Of all the bookshops in Vienna, according to Kollonitsch, one-third of them were in Protestants’ hands, who made sales under the counter.35 A view into the comprehensive correspondence between legation preachers and their confidants in Halle clearly shows that Kollonitsch’s estimation was far from exaggerated. Moreover, the legation chapels became downright turntables for the proliferation of Protestant printed matter. The preachers regularly supplied their parish members with books and newspapers from the Waisenhausverlag der Halleschen Anstalten. Their delivery was often interrupted by Jesuit censors, and it even took the ambassadors a lot of trouble to get the books out of what they pointedly called “Jesuit perlustration” ( Jesuiten-Perlustration), which under the premise of diplomatic privileges they considered illegal.36 In sharp contrast to such harsh competition between the confessions, a more irenic approach comes into view in our next example. Aside from all their other activities, the Halle Pietists were involved in overseas missionary activities,37 and one of the most prestigious outcomes was the so-called Malabar Bible,38 the first translation of the New Testament into Tamil. The Pietists were so proud of this book that they intended to present one copy to the emperor. For this mission, they chose Christoph Nicolaus Voigt (1678–1732), a preacher who had, owing to his ultra-Pietist positions, twice lost his positions in Cieszyn (Těšín/Teschen) and Sibiu (Hermannstadt). Using his extraordinary skills in networking, Voigt managed to start a third career in Vienna. To fulfill the ambitious plan to grab the emperor’s attention for the Malabar Bible, he chose Pius Nikolaus Garelli (1675–1739) as a prominent intermediary. Garelli was not only the personal physician of the emperor but also the head of the 35 36 37 38

Kollonitsch, GRAVAMINA, 5. Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin, Handschriftenabteilung, Nachlass August Hermann Francke 27/16: 7 Gerhard Ernst v. Franckenau to Gotthilf August Francke, Vienna, June 24, 1733. Heike Liebau, Andreas Nehring and Brigitte Klosterberg, eds., Mission und Forschung: Translokale Wissensproduktion zwischen Indien und Europa im 18. und 19. Jahrhundert (Halle: Verlag der Franckeschen Stiftungen, 2010). This expression refers to a translation of the New Testament by Bartholomäus Ziegenbalg and Johann Ernst Gründler, which was first published in 1714. For a digitized version of the 1722 reprint, http://digital.wlb-stuttgart.de/purl/bsz405959931.

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court library. As such, he notified the emperor of the arrival of the Malabar Bible, which aviso the emperor is said to have “received propitiously”39 (gnädig aufgenommen). Garelli in further consequence also bought a huge quantity of Pietist literature published in Halle and slotted it into the shelves of the court library, not in the slightest caring whether they might fit into the state-ordered monoconfessionality outside of its walls.40 7

Curiosity across the Confessions

A certain spirit of irenicism also permeated the elites of the empire. Prince Eugene of Savoy, an absorbing mixture of commander-in-chief, statesman, and art enthusiast, was also the key figure for a dialogue between and across the confessions. Informal meetings and dinners were scheduled in his residences on a regular basis, and the list of invited participants was far from reliant on Catholic orthodoxy. The prince, who himself undoubtedly adhered to the basic principles of Catholicism, nevertheless refused to exclude Protestants and free thinkers from his circle of friends and discussants. Part of the colorful group of frequent attendees were Prince Eugene’s adjutant general Georg Wilhelm von Hohendorf (1669–1719), who was a Protestant; the papal nuncio in Vienna, Domenico Silvio Passionei (1682–1761), who had a lively interest in Jansenism; the Portuguese ambassador João Gomes da Silva-Tarouca (d. 1738), who embraced the spirit of the Enlightenment; and the English ambassador in Vienna, James, Baron (and later Earl) of Waldegrave (1684–1741), a proselyte, who had turned from Catholicism to Protestantism.41 The latter’s attitude toward confessional prejudice is characterized in an anecdote that most probably could also be seen as representative of the whole circle: Some time after […] Lord Waldegrave abjured the catholic religion, he was sent as ambassador to France, where he resided several years. Being one day at an entertainment where his cousin the Duke of Berwick, and 39 40 41

Archiv der Franckeschen Stiftungen (Halle an der Saale), AFSt/H A 168:97 Christoph Nikolaus Voigt to August Hermann Francke, Vienna, October 10, 1715. Johann Christian Lerche to Gotthilf August Francke, Neustadt/Aisch, December 9, 1733, printed in Csepregi, Pietas Danubiana, 409. Derek McKay, Prinz Eugen von Savoyen: Feldherr dreier Kaiser (Graz–Wien–Köln: Styria, 1979), 191–92; Gottfried Mraz, Prinz Eugen: Ein Leben in Bildern und Dokumenten (München: Süddeutscher Verlag, 1985), 240; J.C.D. Clark, ed., The memoirs and speeches of James 2nd Earl Waldegrave, 1742–1763 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 26–27.

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many other noblemen, were present, the Duke wanting to mortify him on the score of religion, asked his Lordship, whether the ministers of state, or the ministers of the gospel, had the greatest share in his conversion?— “I am astonished, my lord Duke,” says Waldegrave, “how you can ask me such a question! do not you know, that when I quitted the Roman Catholic religion, I left off confession.”42 “Leaving off confession” was also one of the guiding principles of the princely round. Gatherings in this spirit can be seen as an expression of being above such things as confessional divide or perennial religious cleavage. The same attitude also presided over the prince’s passion as a book collector. His library comprised works of Jan Hus, Martin Luther, and Johann Arndt. Such a liberal purchase strategy only came as a surprise to those who were not familiar with the prince’s open-mindedness in intellectual affairs.43 Apart from the already mentioned, some more high-ranking Protestants played an important role in keeping the doors of Prince Eugene’s residences wide open to their fellow believers. First among these was the preeminent intellectual figure of Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz (1646–1716), who in the final years of his life became Reichshofrat in Vienna.44 The Protestant polymath was a welcome guest at the prince’s premises and also introduced co-religionists from the milieu of the “legation chapels.” Again, Christoph Nicolaus Voigt was one of the boldest among them, and the favor of Leibniz lifted him into the most unexpected spheres. In 1714, Voigt reported to Halle: Mr. Leibniz has enabled free access to the imperial library for me, and in these days I was also invited to a learned gathering there, which takes place by the week. Thereby it happened that I got acquainted with the bishop’s secret secretary, an erudite cleric, who will give me further guidance. […] I think of establishing correspondences in order to solidify and employ the access to the Reichshofrat, the ambassadors, and the pundits.

42

43 44

John Adams, Anecdotes, bons-mots, and characteristic traits of the greatest princes, politicians, philosophers, orators, and wits of modern times […] interspersed with some curious particulars, tending to throw new light upon the character of several nations. Calculated to inspire the minds of youth with noble, virtuous, generous, and liberal sentiments (Dublin: Chamberlaine, 1789), 141. Eduard Winter, Barock, Absolutismus und Aufklärung in der Donaumonarchie (Wien: Europa Verlag, 1971), 95. Margot Faak, Leibniz als Reichshofrat, ed. Wenchao Li (Berlin and Heidelberg: Springer, 2016).

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Which will be easily obtained, as a lot among them have already asked for such [a course of action] of their own accord.45 While Leibniz’s exceptional position within the Protestant community of Vienna was only short-lived due to his death in 1716, Christian August von Berkentin’s (1694–1758) role at the prince’s court was long-standing and cannot be overestimated. From 1722 to 1740, Berkentin was Danish envoy in Vienna and enjoyed not only Prince Eugene’s trust but also his friendship. Berkentin was a frequent guest in the prince’s hunting chateau Schloss Hof in Lower Austria and a regular member of his card game circle. Berkentin thus had intimate contact with one of the most influential people in the empire, and this must have been helpful in corroborating his other role as the host of the Danish legation chapel. 8

A Republic of Letters

One way to bridge confessional divide between learned people was the strict adherence to one of the principles of a res publica litteraria, which put advancement of knowledge before religious orthodoxy. One of the strangest contacts of such a kind was the one that Viennese Protestants maintained vis-à-vis Stift Göttweig, a Benedictine monastery in Lower Austria. Over the centuries, Stift Göttweig became a collection point for Protestant books, most of them presumably confiscated. But far from hiding these “heretic” scriptures away from Protestants, the monks offered some selected scholars the right of access. All they had to do was send an advance notification about their intended visit and the contents of their research.46

45

46

Christoph Nicolaus Voigt to August Hermann Francke Vienna, April 7, 1714, printed in Csepregi, ed., Pietas Danubiana, 141. The original reads: “Es hat mir der h. von Leibnitz zu der kayserl. bibliothec einen gantz freyen aditum procuriret und bin ich dieser tage auch zu einer gelehrten conferentz, welche in gedachter bibliothec wöchentlich gehalten wird, invitiret worden, wodurch es dann geschehen, daß ich mit des bischoffs seinem geheimem secretario, eruditissimo clerico, bin bekant worden, welcher mich weiter führen will. […] Ich dencke eine solche correspondentz hier zu établiren, daß dadurch man den gemachten access in den reichs-hoff-rath, die gesandschafften und zu den gelehrten behalten und gebrauchen könne. Welches desto leichter wird zu obtiniren seyn, allermaßen schon viele sich daßelbe von freyen stücken ausgebeten haben.” Such a contact is documented in Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Carl von Ossietzky (Hamburg), Cod. theol. 1745, fol. 466v Christoph Friedrich Tresenreuter to [Bernhard Raupach], Vienna, November 28, 1736.

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The complaisance in Göttweig was no exception, as several other examples of cooperation between Catholics and Protestants on a scholarly level are documented. Hieronymus Pez (1685–1762), one of the most erudite Benedictine monks of his time, even went so far as to support a book project that totally opposed the monopoly position of Catholicism, which Pez otherwise never doubted. When cooperators of the nascent documentation Erläutertes evangelisches Oesterreich (Evangelical Austria elucidated) knocked at Pez’s door, they found him willingly providing rare manuscripts and printed works concerning the Reformation period. Erläutertes Evangelisches Oesterreich by the Hamburg pastor Bernhard Raupach (1682–1745) was finally published between 1736 and 1740 in three volumes.47 The erudite and still-important book presented the first Protestant Church history of Austria, which spanned the period from Reformation to CounterReformation and up to Raupach’s immediate present. For his documentation, Raupach depended on a wide-ranging network of correspondents who did ground research in the archives, libraries, and private collections that he was unable to visit. Legation preachers and their allies took on these crucial inquiries and intrepidly met with Catholic counterparts such as Pez. And as we have seen, such courageous attempts were rewarded: Pez opened his archives and wrapped the ambivalences that he must have felt into no more than a sarcastic bon mot. Alluding to the title of Raupach’s work, Pez could not stop himself from making a dry-witted remark: “If I had more time,” he said to his visitor, “I would be tempted to write another book entitled ‘Austria Liberated from Lutheran filth.’” A rudeness for sure, but this was the only price that Raupach’s informant had to pay. And given that he brought home a lot of otherwise banned material, he must have reconciled himself to the imputation.48 Abbeys and collegiates quite unexpectedly practiced a form of irenicism that sometimes even came close to a travesty. The writer Johann Christian Edelmann (1698–1767)49 depicts an episode from the 1720s, when he spent some time as a private tutor in Vienna. Regardless of his Protestant beliefs, 47 48 49

Bernhard Raupach, Erläutertes Evangelisches Oesterreich, 3 vols. (Hamburg: Theodor Christoph Felginers Witwe, 1736–1740). Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Carl von Ossietzky (Hamburg), Cod. theol. 1745, fol. 302: Johannes Richey to [Bernhard Raupach], Frankfurt, May 17, 1734. [Quotation marks are mine]. Wilhelm Kühnert, “Johann Christian Edelmann: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des österreichischen Protestantismus in der ersten Hälfte des 18. Jahrhunderts,” Jahrbuch der Gesellschaft für die Geschichte des Protestantismus in Österreich 67 (1951): 25–35; Annegret Schaper, Ein langer Abschied vom Christentum: Johann Christian Edelmann (1698–1767) und die deutsche Frühaufklärung (Marburg: Tectum, 1996).

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which were still strong in these days, his curious mind led him to many and varied contacts with representatives of the Catholic Church. These encounters were open-hearted and unconstrained. While visiting the Friars Minor in Tulln (Lower Austria), Edelmann straightforwardly discussed diverging opinions on the existence and nature of hell. What must have been intended as a provocative dispute all of a sudden turned into an unexpected fraternization when one of the fathers confessed that all the fierce depictions of hell were “only made up in order to shock the simple-minded.”50 Sometimes the jolly atmosphere between Edelmann and his counterparts even reached the degree of exuberance—for example, in this carnivalesque scene: Frater Michael, who also was a tailor […], all of a sudden offered me a monk’s habit and urged me to put it on just for the fun of it. But if I had done so and masked myself in it, I would for sure have been obliged to stay a mendicant friar for the rest of my life. I perfectly knew that the monks so much hallowed this habit of a slave that they never allowed anyone to take it on unless he was joining the order […]. I still was in my right mind to foresee the consequences of a diversion of this kind and therefore rejected the kind offer with courtesy. Instead, I dined with the monks and joined them in their board games afterwards.51 9

Irenicism in Retrospect

Quite often, and particularly in confessionally loaded times, irenicism is an approach that demands considerable self-control from individuals. Often, they must overcome all sorts of religious extremism from their earlier days, and sometimes it takes half a lifetime until minds are changed and temperaments are softened. The already mentioned Johann Christian Edelmann is a good example of such a radical twist. Over the course of his lifetime, Edelmann mutated from a devoted Protestant to a heretic not too far off from atheism. Born in Sachsen-Weißenfels, a duchy close to Halle, he started studying theology but dropped out and in 1728 went to Vienna as a private tutor. Merchants from the Old Reich, who had been invited to Vienna under the premise of being allowed to stick to their Protestant faith, had also been granted the privilege of employing Protestant teachers for their children, and one such tutor 50 51

Joh[ann] Chr[istian] Edelmann, Selbstbiographie. Geschrieben 1752, ed. Carl Rudolph Wilhelm Klose (Berlin: Wiegandt, 1849), 76. Ibid., 78–79.

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was Edelmann. At this time, he seems to have been a devout Christian but already with a proclivity for philosophical pondering. Later in his life, when he had long left Vienna and toured as a writer through many German cities, he turned into an adherent of the philosophy of Spinoza, only to adopt a sort of Deism toward the end of his life. In 1752, Edelmann published his autobiography, and the depiction of his Viennese years with hindsight is amusing and lucid at the same time. He portrayed himself as an ambitious newcomer, eager to win some fame as a preacher in the legation chapels. But hapless in this ambition, he found himself in the midst of a rather boring regime, tutoring day in and day out instead. On one of his many days of disillusion, he ran into one of the legation preachers on the street and was invited for a “prayer circle,” which was so fashionable among Pietists from this era. Edelmann recalled this “prayer-torture,” as he sarcastically called it, in an account that was totally inspired by the irenicism of his later years: [The legation preacher] asked me to join [the prayer circle], and I knew that I should better not turn his invitation down. Because by doing so, I would have been called a defier of prayers and I would also have lost the trust of my principals. But I have to tell the truth: I never had a more anxious heart as during this spiritual hour of “refreshment.” I was not at all touched by the cold jabber of these holy chatterboxes, nor did I feel like a sinner on bended knees. In the midst of all these pompous words, I feared that I would just say: “God have mercy with my sins!” I was afraid that it would soon come to my turn [in this prayer circle] and that I would only be able to plead for the same things my precursors had done before, which would have caused the greatest of aversions in me. Alternatively, I maybe would have prayed that God may grant me relief from their multifarious wittering, which sure would not have been appreciated by these holy people either.52 52

Ibid., 94. The original reads: “Er fragte mich, ob ich mit wolte: Ich durfte es, ohne ein Verächter des Gebets zu heißen, und mich, bey meinen Principalen übel recommendiren zu laßen, nicht abschlagen: Allein ich kann mit Wahrheit sagen, daß mir in meinem Leben nicht so bänglich ums Herz gewesen, als in dieser geistlichen Erquick=Stunde. Nicht, daß ich durch das kalte Geplappere dieser heiligen Schwätzer etwa wäre gerühret, und wie man zu reden pfleget, vor Gott, als ein armer Sünder gebeuget worden. Denn ich dachte damals, daß ich doch mit allen Wortgepränge, weiter nichts würde sagen können, als: Gott sey mir Sünder gnädig, sondern mir war nur bange, die Reihe zu beten, möchte endlich, vor Verlauf der Stunde, auch an mich kommen, und da hätte ich entweder eben das, mit andern Worten widerholen müßen, was die andern schon gebetet hatten, welches mir selber den grösten Eckel würde veruhrsacht haben; oder ich würde

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Factual or not, Edelmann viewed this scene as one of the initial sparks of his later doubts. With this “primal scene,” Pietists lost much of their appeal for him as “their words scattered from their mouths like moldy bread, and it all felt as if they had learned everything by heart.” Edelmann felt disapproval for such a kind of “self-chosen and highly absurd worship service.” From there, he never found his way back to a “satisfied mind.”53 Edelmann’s autobiography might be characterized as driven by what could be called irenicism in hindsight. From a distance of a quarter of a century, Edelmann saw his former religiosity crumbling and giving way to a more relaxed view on confessions and, finally, to faith as a whole. Like Lord Waldegrave much earlier, he in the end had “left off confession.” 10

Conclusion

This essay has aimed at depicting a specific milieu of Protestantism in a diaspora setting. Its protagonists experienced two very different reactions from their majoritarian Catholic surroundings. The first type of reaction, spanning from squabbling and hard disputes to downright clashes, seems natural under the circumstances. Dignitaries such as the Viennese archbishop became the mouthpiece of a policy of reducing Protestant life in Vienna to an absolute minimum, of accepting not a single move toward toleration. The second type of reaction, however, comes as quite a surprise: the foundation of an ecumenical spirit avant la lettre. As a reconstruction of bits and pieces from the daily world of legation preachers and private tutors showed, the spirit of “leaving off confessions” had repercussions, from the very exclusive scholarly circle of Prince Eugene down to life in cloisters and merchants’ homes. We know little about how various segments of Vienna’s society received theories of irenicism, but irenicism as a practical, down-to-earth approach can be reconstructed in many details. The situation in the imperial capital and residence city in the times of Charles VI, which was confessionally so unbalanced and uneven, was at least at times attenuated by some extraordinary characters, who seem in some respect to be harbingers of a toleration that took another fifty years to bloom.

53

gebetet haben, daß mich Gott vor der Vielplapperei der Heuchler bewahren wolle, und da würde ich diesen heiligen Leuten nicht recht gebetet haben.” Ibid., 95.

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Chapter 13

The Longue Durée of Irenicism in the Thought of Adam František Kollár (1718–1783) Paul Shore | ORCID: 0000-0002-7054-6944 1

Introduction

A century after the Peace of Westphalia, the eastern Habsburg realms were still filled with entrenched confessional competition that overlapped with and paralleled ethnic rivalries that in the next century would coalesce into the phenomenon of “nationalism.” The Habsburg lands of Central Europe, not yet the “Austrian Empire” that would be proclaimed in 1804 in anticipation of the collapse of the Holy Roman Empire two years later,1 filled a contiguous space but were still profoundly decentralized despite the desire of Maria Theresa (ruled 1740–80) to create “ein Totum.”2 Nor did the concept of the secular or “civic” nation, not defined by religion, yet exist.3 While the court in Vienna continued to present itself as the champion of Catholicism, a kaleidoscope of confessions persisted, and even thrived with the boundaries of the eastern Habsburg realms: these included Anabaptists such as the Hutterites, Jewish communities and even isolated individual Muslims. However, the most outspoken nonCatholic confessional groups were Lutherans, Unitarians and Calvinists, who were strongest in the northern and eastern reaches of the region. Unitarianism, sometimes called Antitrinitarianism in later secondary sources and “Arianism” in early modern sources, downplays or denies the idea of the Trinity. In Unitarianism, God is self-sufficient and unique. Because this Godhead is immutable, the Son (as understood in Christian theology), who is mutable, 1 This shift in the institutional basis for a Habsburg monarchy is relevant to interconfessional relations in the region, as the Holy Roman Empire was founded on a sacral relationship between emperor and Catholic Church, whereas the later Austrian Empire while retaining some of the trappings of its predecessor, was founded on purely hereditary principles. Peter H. Wilson, “The Meaning of Empire in Central Europe around 1800,” in The Bee and the Eagle: Napoleonic France and the End of the Holy Roman Empire, ed. Alan Forrest and Peter H. Wilson (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), 28. 2 Thomas Lau, Die Kaiserin: Maria Theresia (Wien: Böhlau Verlag, 2016), 34. The early years of Maria Theresa’s reign have been called a “second Counter–Reformation.” 3 William Safran, “Language, Ethnicity and Religion: a Complex and Persistent Linkage,” Nations and Nationalism 14, no. 1 (2008): 174.

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must, therefore, be deemed a creature who has been called into existence out of nothing and therefore has had a beginning. This claim of Unitarianism put it at odds with all Christian confessions. Later opponents of Unitarianism would see dangerous similarities to Islam and to Judaizing tendencies among some Christians. There were also Greek Catholics (Uniates) and Romanian Orthodox in Transylvania, and Orthodox Serbians in the Voivodina and elsewhere. This cocktail of confessions was fairly stable, but at mid-century no theorist or policymaker had yet appeared to propose a permanent irenic settlement. 2

A “Pannonian” Former Jesuit

Adam František Kollár de Keresztén (Adam Franz Kollár; Kollár Ádám Ferenc) was born in 1713 in what is now Slovakia, then the Kingdom of Hungary, to the minor nobility4 only a few years after the suppression of the rebellion of Francis Rákóczi (1703–11), which had divided ethnic Hungarians (and others) along confessional lines.5 His ethnicity was Slovak, although he later cultivated an identity expressed as an affiliation with the ancient geographical name of a neighboring region, calling himself “Pannonius.”6 Kollár’s training and the initial suggestions of his possible career path may seem unlikely for a later contributor to interconfessional theory and policy: he studied at Jesuit schools and joined the order at nineteen, only to leave it eleven years later. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the Jesuits had been aggressive promoters of Catholicism at the expense of all other religious groups in the realm. In the following century, however, Jesuits in the eastern Habsburg lands began to leaven their Catholic (and thus, in one sense universalist) program with a keen interest in the various ethnic groups of the region, 4 Constant von Würzbach, Biographisches Lexikon des Kaiserthums Oesterreich (Wien: Verlag der Universitäts=Buchdruckerei von L.C. Zamarski, et. al., 1856–91), 12: 324. Another source states that Kollár’s family was not noble. Kosáry Domokos, “Felvilágosult abszolutizmus— felvilágosult rendiség,” Történelmi szemle 19 (1976): 700. Kollár was later ennobled by Maria Theresa. His noble status is germane to his relations with the Hungarian Diet, which as we shall see were often stormy. 5 Paul Shore, “Ex-Jesuit Librarian–Scholars Adam František Kollár and György Pray: Baroque Tradition, National Identity, and the Enlightenment among Jesuits in the Eastern Habsburg Lands,” Journal of Jesuit Studies 6, no. 3 (2019): 467–85. Although a Catholic and educated by Jesuits, Francis II Rákóczi attracted many Calvinist supporters in his rebellion against the Habsburgs. 6 Tudomanyos Gyüjtemeny [1823] (vol. 9) (Pesten: Trattner, 1823), 4. Kollár sometimes added the Latinized form of his hometown, Besztercebánya (Banská Bystrica, Neusohl): “Pannonius Nesoliensis.”

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and to draw on the work of non-Catholic scholars to develop their historical works.7 Shortly after leaving the Jesuits in 1748, Kollár became Chief Imperial-Royal Librarian in Vienna, a post he held until his death. In this role he delved into archival materials and developed a proposal for a Hungarian learned society free of confessional, societal, or ethnic restrictions;8 that this proposal failed says more about the influence of nascent Hungarian nationalism and court politics than it does about Kollár’s commitment to the idea. Kollár the historian was primarily interested in reconstructing political and in particular social institutions of the Middle Ages9 for the purpose of determining the “origins of nations” in Eastern Europe.10 Kollár’s insistence on placing “nations and peoples” in their historical context is closely allied to his position on religious freedom and toleration: both point towards the idea that these human populations possess the inherent right to existence. His understanding of these populations and their religious affiliations also broke with the older Catholic view of Eastern Orthodox churches as “schismatic” and “Photian.”11 Inquisitions into heresy do not appear prominently in Kollár’s works, although documentation

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E. g., Samuel Timon SJ (1675–1736) drew on the work of the Lutheran pastor Michael Sigler (1535–1585). Imago novae Hungariae […] (Viennae Austriae: Typis Thomae de Trattner, 1754), 51. Andor Csizmadia, Adam Franz Kollár und die ungarische rechtshistorische Forschung (Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1982), 37. These might include “presbyteri tempore S. Stephani in Ungaria uxorati.” Adami Francisci Kollarii […] Regum Libellus Singularis (Vindobonæ: Trattner, 1764), 48. Kollár’s intent was not to bring scandal to any religious institution, but to document the social arrangements of another historical era. Catherine Carmichael, “Ethnic Stereotypes in Early European Ethnographies: A Case Study of the Habsburg Adriatic c. 1770–1815,” Izvorni znanstveni članak 33, no. 2 (1996): 198. Kollár’s complete definition of ethnologia reads Ethnologia, which we have mentioned in passing, is the record of nations and peoples, or is the study conducted by learned men, which inquiries into the origins, languages, customs, and institutions of various nations, and seeks to learn about their homelands and ancient seats, with the intent of judging nations and peoples in their own times (“sui aevi rectius judicium ferre possint”). This study, following on the written historical records, and utilizing a knowledge of the various languages, should proceed only through this approach. Adami Franc. Kollarii … Historiae iurisque publici regni Ungariae Amoenitates […] 2 vols. (Vienna: Typis a Baumeistrianis, 1783), 1: 80. All translations are by the author unless clearly indicated otherwise. Photius was a ninth-century Byzantine patriarch regarded by some Catholics as the original initiator of the schism between the Eastern and Western Churches. Aidan Nichols, Rome and the Eastern Churches: A Study in Schism (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2010), 227ff.

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of the conciliarist movement of the fifteenth century does.12 His historical and juristic work complemented his contributions to the Ratio Educationis, a blueprint for educational reform in Hungary that appeared in 1777.13 The Ratio Educationis played no favorites with religious groups and sought instead to train useful subjects of the Habsburg state. The irenicism it implicitly fostered was motivated by the claims of a formally Catholic but increasingly tolerant dynasty, but nonetheless marked a break with the Jesuit program of the Ratio Studiorum (1598; recte 1599) which had educated boys in these regions for what would later be called “public service” but had simultaneously promoted a specifically Catholic belief and morality.14 Kollár‘s grounding in classical literature, and particularly in the history of Livy, as prescribed in the Ratio Studiorum of 1599 set the stage for his view of Europe beyond the confessional categories that had become so prominent during the previous two centuries. Changes were also occurring in the intellectual culture of the Society during Kollár’s lifetime. As we have seen, Jesuits of the Austrian Province now dared to use non-Catholic historians as sources. Rogerius (Ruđer) Bošković (1711–87) had gained an international reputation as a scientist, later going on a tour of southeastern Europe which produced an account of the peoples and religious communities he encountered. Kollár reached across confessional lines to work with Atanasije Dimitrijević Sekereš (1738–94) a Serbian Orthodox (later Uniate) priest who was responsible for the printing and distribution of hundreds of books throughout the Habsburg realms.15 Another one of Kollár’s collaborators was the Lutheran pastor Jozef Bencúr (Benczur) (1728–84) who documented the confessional diversity of the Kingdom of Hungary.16 But Kollár did not merely associate with representatives of confessions that his Jesuit predecessors had opposed. 12 13

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Adam Franciscus Kollarius, Analecta monumentorum omnis aevi Vindobonensia, 2 vol. (Vindobonae: Typis et sumptibus Ioannis Thomae Trattner, 1762), 2: 691–790. Balázs Trencsényi, Maciej Janowski, Monika Baár, Maria Falina, and Michal Kopeček, A History of Modern Political Thought in East Central Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 1: 69. Transylvania, not part of Hungary and thus not covered by the Ratio Educationis, had to wait four years for its own educational reform document, the Norma Regia. This educational programme separated Catholic from “national” schools (i. e., those established for specific ethnic and confessional groups, and in which the vernacular was used), but provided for instruction for both Catholics and non-Catholics. Norma Regia pro Scholis Transilvaniae (Cibinii: Typis Martini Hochmeister, 1781), 45–53. Ratio atq. institutio studiorum Societatis Jesu (Neapoli: T. Longi, 1598). Mijo Brlek, Leksikograf Joakim Stulli (1730–1817) (Dubrovnik: Jugoslavenska akademija znanosti i umjetnosti, 1987), 60. Jus Publicum Hungariae (Viennae: Kraus, 1790), 171. See also Eva Kowalska, “Obrazy dejín etník Uhorska v učebných textoch 18. storočia,” Forum Historiae 6, no. 2 (2012): 145.

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A prominent personality of the Austrian Enlightenment, he was heir to both an increasingly irenic and tolerant strand in the thought of Habsburg Jesuits (and ex-Jesuits) and a new, post-confessional understanding of membership in a polyglot territory such as the eastern Habsburg lands. Two years before Kollár’s death Joseph II issued the Patent of Toleration (Toleranzpatent) which granted the right to worship to non-Catholic Christians (and to Unitarians, to whom the Edict of Torda as early as 1568 had granted recognition in Transylvania).17 This was followed in 1782 by a Patent granting similar rights to Jews. The Emperor’s motivations for these measures may have been chiefly practical (legally acknowledged populations might be more productive and beneficial to the state) but they also reflect a shift in an understanding of relations between confessions, as well as a willingness of the central government to restrict the power of the Catholic Church in Hungary while establishing bureaucratic organs to address matters relating to the other major confessions in the kingdom.18 These decrees accelerated trends already underway. Religious identity remained important to the various populations of the Habsburg lands but as time wore on intellectual representatives of these groups spoke more often in terms of ethnic and linguistic identity. Kollár’s career shows that we should not always see religious and ethnic or linguistic identity in this period as mutually exclusive or in competition. 3

Jesuit and Ex-Jesuit Points of View

While the Society of Jesus was not founded explicitly to oppose non-Catholic religious systems, by the second half of the sixteenth century the Jesuits in 17 18

Rainer Forst, Toleration in Conflict: Past and Present, trans. Ciarin Cronin (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 332. Katalin Pataki, “Resources, Records, Reforms: The Implementation of Monastic Policies in the Kingdom of Hungary under Maria Theresa and Joseph II” (PhD diss., Central European University, 2020), 125–28. “National Church,” while never a legal term in the eighteenth century, was a powerful idea with roots in the confessionalization of much of Western Europe two centuries earlier. National churches retained in most cases an identification with larger confessional categories, but the locus of control might shift towards secular authorities, as in the case of Joseph II’s reforms. These authorities promoted the idea of a national church because it was believed to encourage political stability and make the implementation of other reforms easier. Joseph’s notion of a “national church” transcended linguistic and ethnic boundaries, whereas the Gallican Church was always identified with the French state. H.M. Scott, “Reform in the Habsburg Monarchy, 1740–90,” in Enlightened Absolutism. Problems in Focus Series, ed. H.M. Scott (London: Macmillan, 1990), 145–87; at 168.

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Eastern Europe were increasingly focused on combating what they regarded as “heresies.”19 Frequently supported by the civil authorities, Jesuits aggressively suppressed Protestant institutions when they were able and sought to convert Jews. But there were nuances to this picture. As Howard Louthan points out: “The Jesuits, who on one hand were no champions of confessional compromise, were also Europe’s most creative and innovative thinkers on cultural accommodation and interreligious dialog.”20 Looking at the impact of later Jesuit dissemination of non-Christian, nonEuropean ideas such as Confucianism to Europeans, Joan-Pau Rubiés views one outcome of this creativity in a less favorable light: “By attempting their cultural dialogue [the Jesuits] compromised their primary missionary purposes […] while facilitating to Europe an essential part of the Enlightenment.”21 Jesuits themselves in their missionary and other work were of course exposed to non-Catholic and non-Christian ideas. Jesuits also had to confront the possibility that virtue might emerge from other belief systems (especially when the “common good” was promoted as a goal of Jesuit undertakings22), while missionaries in the Far East might use a self-consciously syncretistic approach to further their program. Jesuit pragmatism, which soon recognized when religious unity could be unenforceable, had long quietly acknowledged that a de facto toleration might in some cases be “the lesser evil.”23 Yet there remained a significant number of Jesuits untouched by these developments. Jesuit missionary endeavors could also produce unforeseen consequences that advanced the cause of toleration. In 1777 former Jesuit missionaries in Moravia deceived peasants into believing that freedom of religion had been proclaimed, with the result that thousands of crypto-Protestants openly acknowledged their faith. The story that reached Vienna, however, was merely that thousands of the Empress’s supposedly Catholic subjects had “apostatized.” In the ensuing uproar Maria Theresa’s son and co-ruler Joseph II

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Darius Petkūnas, “Consensus of Sandomierz—A Unique Ecumenical Document in 16th Century Polish-Lithuanian Protestant Christianity,” Tiltai 9, no. 1 (2005): 97. Howard Louthan, “Irenicism and Ecumenism in the Early Modern World: A Reevaluation,” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 61 (2017): 18. Joan-Pau Rubiés, “The Concept of Cultural Dialogue and the Jesuit Method of Accommodation: Between Idolatry and Civilization,” Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu (hereafter ARSI) 74, no. 147 (2005): 279. Jaska Kainulainen, “Virtue and Civic Values in Early Modern Jesuit Education,” Journal of Jesuit Studies 15, no. 4 (2018): 530–48. Harro Höpfl, Jesuit Political Thought: The Society of Jesus and the State, c.1540–1630 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 136.

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used the opportunity to argue for religious toleration, citing natural law as a justification.24 4

Towards Similar Goals?

While the apparent goals of more “radical” members of the Viennese intelligentsia of the late eighteenth century and those of devout Catholics— including many former Jesuits—were similar, their motivations were not. Charles H. O’Brien notes: “Whereas enlightened Catholics saw in religious toleration a way to prompt non-Catholics to consider reunion with Rome, radicals believed that freeing an individual’s conscience was an end in itself.”25 It may well be asked whether ex-Jesuits such as Kollár could be counted among these “radicals” who had shifted the locus of their concern from institutions to the individual. Some features of the eighteenth-century Society could draw its members in this direction. First, although the discipline and obedience of the Jesuits is legendary, the practical “on the ground” reality of many assignments meant that Jesuits had to take important decisions without consultation with their superiors—or even with their peers. This experience could lead Jesuits to a more individualistic, and less institutionalized understanding of religious experience. Then, too, as a self-selected, elite order of men, the Society often attracted energetic personalities with strong views and commitments to lines of inquiry. Such a man was Karl Leonhard Reinhold (1757–1823), active in Vienna during Kollár’s last years, who later became a major figure in philosophy and proposed radical theories of Biblical history.26 Turning to Bohemia, Stanislav Vydra (1741–1804), following the suppression composed Masonic prayers and undertook to translate and update the work of the seventeenthcentury Protestant exile Pavel Stránský ze Záp.27 Finally, Jesuits could themselves be affected by extended contact with heretofore unfamiliar cultures and beliefs.28 Kollár, who spent almost his entire adult life in the imperial 24 25 26 27 28

Ulrich Lehner, The Catholic Enlightenment: The Forgotten History of a Global Movement (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 56–57. Charles H. O’Brien, “Ideas of Religious Toleration at the Time of Joseph II. A Study of the Enlightenment among Catholics in Austria,” Transactions of the American Philosophical Society 59, no. 7 (1969): 60. Jan Assmann, Moses the Egyptian (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997), 115–17. Ivo Cerman, “Jesuit Historiography in Bohemia,” Jesuit Historiography Online https:// referenceworks.brillonline.com/entries/jesuit-historiography-online/jesuit-historio graphy-in-bohemia-COM_192532. Although he ultimately rejected its teachings on reincarnation, Jesuit missionary and traveler Ippolito Desideri (1684–1733) acquired a great respect for Tibetan Buddhist

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capital, was not one of these world travelers, but his central location and voracious reading provided an opportunity to learn about these encounters. Although the pre-1773 Society’s intent had never been explicitly to promote anything approaching religious toleration, one practical consequence of Jesuit writing, preaching, and publishing—and perhaps of Jesuit schools as well— was just that. Moreover, Jesuit teaching on ethics was founded on the idea that human nature, not a divine ideal, was the source of moral law.29 Such a position left Jesuits open to the charge of relativism (or worse), but it also meant that non-Christian cultures encountered by the Jesuits might be judged less harshly.30 Yet the challenge of how to engage with non-Catholic, Christian communities closer to home remained, especially when the military posture of these communities posed a threat to Catholic ones. This historical context helps make the attitude of Kollár and some of his exJesuit confrères more comprehensible. The degree to which these men were initiators of interconfessional toleration and acceptance, as opposed to merely responding to trends, is not always easy to divine, and may have shifted over time. However, Dale Van Kley notes that some Habsburg Jesuits drew upon theories of natural law (also cited, as we have seen, by Joseph II) to permit toleration of confessional “deviations.”31 This shift was never the official policy of a Society which from the mid-century on was preoccupied with its own survival. Still, in the years before the suppression of the Society in 1773 individual Jesuits took varying positions on many issues—and after 1773, the expressed diversity of opinion among many former Jesuits grew even greater. Rogerius (Ruđer) Bošković, for example, reported sympathetically on the Orthodox believers he had encountered during his travel in several predominantly Orthodox provinces of the Ottoman Empire.32 Unlike Jesuits like Bošković who following the suppression in 1773 found themselves struggling to establish a new identity, Kollár seems to have retained

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scholarship. Trent Pomplun, Jesuit on the Roof of the World: Ippolito Desideri’s Mission to Tibet (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 120. Peter Duignan, “Early Jesuit Missionaries: A Suggestion for Further Study,” American Anthropologist 60 (1958): 729. Among the many examples of Jesuits reporting on non-Christian cultures in a generally favorable light, that of Jan Milan, who visited Crimean Tatary in the early eighteenth century, is representative. A.V. Florovskij, “Ein tschechischer Jesuit unter den asowschen Kalmücken im Jahre 1700: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der böhmischen Orientalistik,” Archiv Orientální 12 (1942): 162–88. Dale Van Kley, Reform Catholicism and the International Suppression of the Jesuits in Enlightenment Europe (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2018), 55. Larry Wolff, “Boscovich in the Balkans: A Jesuit Perspective on Orthodox Christianity in the Age of Enlightenment,” in The Jesuits II: Cultures, Sciences, and the Arts, 1540–1773, ed. John W. O’Malley et al. (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2006), 738–57.

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(at least outwardly) his connection to Catholicism33 while moving forward with his study of ethnic (and thus in a few cases, confessional) groups. Kollár was the first scholar to delineate the history of the Rusyn (Carpatho-Ruthenians), the majority of whom had joined (with the help of the Jesuits) a Uniate Church in the late seventeenth century.34 There were other benefits to the documentation and toleration of populations who had adopted particular religious identities: reduction of inter-confessional strife made the promotion of Pan Slavism, an idea espoused by Kollár, easier.35 A well-known episode in Kollár’s career centers on his support of strong centralized powers for the monarchy in Hungary, expressed in his De Originibus et Usu and on the uproar that resulted.36 In assembling his arguments in De Originibus, Kollár drew upon the work of the Dutch jurist and philosopher Hugo Grotius (1583–1645) who was both a Calvinist (Remonstrant) and an advocate for toleration, quoting him approvingly: “alienae quoque religiones sub piis Imperatoribus impunitae fuere … quoque magis notandum est, non 33

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Kollár for instance corresponded with the enlightened Catholic bishop of Transylvania, Ignác Batthyany (1741–98). Joachim Bahlcke, “Catholic Identity and Ecclesiastical Politics in Early Modern Transylvania,” in Confessional Identity in East-Central Europe, ed. Maria Crăciun, Ovidiu Ghitta, and Graeme Murdock (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2002), 134–52, at 151. Later in life however Kollár expressed sympathy for “the Egyptian system of the world, which was based on laws of attraction and repulsion.” Cited in Daniel Stolzenberg, Egyptian Oedipus: Athanasius Kircher and the Secrets of Antiquity (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2013), 1. His 1749 memorandum on this topic, Humillium promemoria de ortu, progressu et in Hungaria incolatu gentis Ruthenicae, has never been published. Paul Robert Magocsi, With Their Backs to the Mountains: A History of Carpathian Rus’ and Carpatho-Rusyns (Budapest: CEU Press, 2015), 103; Nikolaus Radványi, Die Archive in der Podkarpatska Rus: ein Beitrag zur Errichtung des Landesarchivs (Užhorod–Ungvár: Buchdruckerei ‘Viktoria’, 1922), 126–27. I would like to thank Paul Robert Magocsi for providing specifics about this document. Kollár’s interest in Pan Slavism—on a cultural, if not explicitly political level—was shared by the Bohemian ex-Jesuit Joseph Dobrovský (1753–1829). Boštjan Udovič, “CentralEuropean Intra-Slavic Diplomacy: A Comparative Approach,” Journal of Comparative Politics 4, no. 1 (2011): 34; Paul Shore, “The Suppression of the Society of Jesus in Bohemia,” ARSI 65 (1996): 151. This work, whose full title is De Originibus et Usu Perpetuo Potestatis Legislatoriae circa sacra Apostolicorum Regum Ungariae (Vindobonaeæ: Typis Joannis Thomaeæ de Trattner, 1764), infuriated the Hungarian Estates, was burned by the executioner, and was placed on the Index at the insistence of the primate of Hungary. George Barany, “Hoping Against Hope: The Enlightened Age in Hungary,” American Historical Review 76 no. 2 (1971): 333. A late eighteenth-century source however claims that the book was entered into the “acta Comitiorum” the same year. Alexius Horányi, Memoria Hungarorum et Provincialium scriptis editis notorum […] (Viennae: Impensis Antonii Loewii, 1775–76), 2: 411.

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tantam impunitam dissentibus sectis permiserunt Imperatores, sed et saepe leges tulerunt, quibus coetus eorum ordinarentur.”37 Kollár’s willingness to use this passage from Grotius is key to understanding the former’s views regarding toleration. This is for two reasons. First, the term “secta” had been a pejorative term in the previous century: Jesuits denounced non-Catholic confessions (and Islam) as “sectae,”38 and were themselves sometimes derided as a “secta.” Grotius however attaches no stigma to the word, stating merely that these communities are separated from one another (sectis) and from the majority confession (dissentibus). In quoting Grotius, Kollár clearly had the “sectae” of Hungary in mind, as he immediately references the “Helvetian” (Calvinist) and “Augsburg” (Lutheran) confessions. This broad­­mindedness extended only as far as Christian populations, however. In the same work Kollár draws on the work of a Jesuit historian, his “dear friend Pray,”39 who describes the beliefs of the “Scythians” (possibly Pannonian Avars) as “superstitio,” a term with a long association in Jesuit writings with unacceptable belief systems such as Islam.40 Part of Kollár’s argument in De Originibus is that rulers can and should rise above inter-confessional conflict. Kollár then offers a concrete example by recommending that appointments of Catholic bishops be made by the secular power.41 Such an assertion of course angered Rome and did not please the noble Catholic families who looked at episcopal appointments as their property. In addition, one practical consequence probably not immediately recognized by the Holy See was that secular rulers might take relations between Catholics and non-Catholics into consideration when making appointments. But the implications of Kollár’s treatise cut several ways, since a significant portion of the Hungarian estates were Calvinist, and the assertion of the claims of a Catholic “king of Hungary” (for so Maria Theresa was called) summoned up associations with abortive rebellions against Catholic, Habsburg rulers during the previous century.42 37 38 39 40 41

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De Originibus, 14. Mathias Tanner, Societas Jesu apostolorum imitatrix, sive gesta praeclara et virtutes eorum […] (Pragae: Typis Universitatis Carlo-Fernandeaæ, 1694), 338. “Amicissimi Prayi mei”: György Pray (1723–1801); De Originibus, 77. E. g. “[…] Saraceni impuri Alcorani superstitionem […]”, Imago Primi Saeculi (Antverpiae: Ex officina Plantiniana Balthasaris Moreti, 1640), 227. Joachim Bahlcke, “Élites religieuses et politiques dans le sud-est de la monarchie des Habsbourg: Clergé, constitution aristocratique et Église d’État en Hongrie à l’époque de Marie-Thérèse,” trans. Christine Lebeau, in Les élites régionales, (XVIIe–XXe siècle) (Strasbourg: Presses universitaires de Strasbourg, 2002), 16. In addition to the Rákóczi rebellion already mentioned, between 1677 and 1686 the Lutheran magnate Imre Thököly (1657–1705) had led an anti-Habsburg uprising. Nandor

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This leads to the second point relevant to toleration and irenicism. The core of Kollár’s program was the cultivation of an optimally effective (and, by implication, just) state, not the saving of souls. His interest in Athanasius Kircher’s version of Egyptian cosmology is in line with a view of religion as something that need not impede the cultivation of a particular ethnos within a larger, tolerant polity. Steeped as he was in the Latin classics, as he investigated the history of gentes and populi Kollár looked to Roman and Byzantine models in which the formal structures of religio might be separated from religious practice, an idea foreign to most Jesuits of his day.43 In this way sectae might be regarded with less inter-confessional rancor. Kollár could therefore be accused, as were some Jesuits in the restored nineteenth-century Society, of indifferentism.44 While irenicism and indifferentism may appear to be similar, the difference lies both in the motivations of the possessor of the attitude, and in the a priori assumptions applied. The irenicist position was articulated by David Pareus, who asserted that the Body of Christ will be better realized if genuine commonalities among confessions are brought to light so that these confessions can move towards unity.45 Irenicism further assumes the existence of such underlying commonalities in doctrines of different Christian groups. Indifferentism, a term generally used by Catholics denouncing liberal Christians and secularists, is said to embrace atheistic, pantheistic, materialistic, and agnostic philosophies, inter alia.46 While we cannot know all the details of the evolution of Kollár’s thinking on this point, his published writings indicate that he retained a high regard for the institutions of the Christian religion. Yet it is also clear that, when necessary, he could engage in fulsome Latin panegyric

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Dreisziger, Church and Society in Hungary and in the Hungarian Diaspora (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2016), 71. Kollár reports, for example, that the Serbians “in the time of the Emperor Basil the Macedonian [ruled 867–88] crossed the Danube, having embraced the mores and way of the life of the Greeks, if not their religion.” Adami Franc Kollarii […] Historiae iurisque publici regni Ungariae Amoenitates […] 2 vols. (Vindobonae: Typis a Baumeistrianis, 1783), 2:117. John W. Padberg, Colleges in Controversy: The Jesuit Schools in France from Revival to Suppression, 1815–1880 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1969), 47. David Pareus (1544–1622) a Reformed theologian, produced the influential Irenicum sive de unione et synodo evangelicorum (Heidelbergæ: Impensis Jonæ Rosæ Librari, 1614). Jeffrey K. Jue, Heaven Upon Earth: Joseph Mede (1586–1638) and the Legacy of Millenarianism (Dordrecht: Springer, 2006), 72. E. g., Mirari Vos. On Liberalism and Religious Indifferentism: Encyclical of Pope Gregory XVI, published on August 15, 1832. URL: http://archives.sspx.org/miscellaneous/mirari_vos.htm.

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(a favorite tactic of baroque Jesuits) to accomplish his goals, and thus his references to “lex divina”47 and the like must be read in this light. Kollár’s motivations and his understanding of the role of organized religion in the polity he sought to promote thus may not be easily determined, but they must be considered when assessing his goals. Kollár was at the height of his influence at court during the period of the downfall of the Society, and also in the post-1773 period when Jesuits and former Jesuits were credited with outlandish conspiracies.48 Any association with the Society, even one in the distant past, might be used as ammunition against a public figure attempting to shape policy, and thus tendencies towards a more indifferentist position would need to be carefully veiled. When we recognize the reality of the environment in which he worked, the case of Kollár, an exceptionally successful ex-Jesuit, can shed light on the agendas of many participants in the Viennese Enlightenment who promoted toleration and irenicism. Different considerations motivated these men: their desire to liberate confessional groups from oppression was often complemented by a hearty dislike of the Catholic hierarchy and its influence in government and schooling. By not subscribing to the older universalist view of the origins of languages, and thus by implication, the origins of gentes derived from this view, Kollár set himself apart from earlier proponents of irenicism while seeking to move society in a direction which would have pleased these irenicists. Kollár’s final published work was Historiae Iurisque Publici Regni Ungariae Amoenitates, which is chiefly remembered as the book in which the Latin term ethnologia first appeared.49 Historiae Iurisque draws on medieval sources and seeks through philological evidence to illuminate the social organization of the medieval kingdom of Hungary, a territory then including several ethnic groups.50 Kollár thus gave a name to a path of inquiry already pursued by Jesuits and ex-Jesuits. There is no straight line between the work of ex-Jesuit “proto-ethonolgists” such as Lorenzo Hervás y Panduro (1735–1809)51 and the shift towards inter-confessional toleration among these Habsburg scholars 47 48 49

50 51

E. g., De Originibus, 13. Paul Bernard, Jesuits and Jacobins: Enlightenment and Enlightened Despotism in Austria (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1971). Historiae iurisque, 1:80. Kollár had used a cognate term (“ethnologicis”) two years earlier in his annotated catalogue of manuscripts in the Imperial Library. Han F. Vermeulen, Before Boas: The Genesis of Ethnography and Ethnology in the German Enlightenment (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2015), 316. For the geographic distribution of ethnic groups in late medieval Hungary, see K. Kocsis and E. Kocsis-Hodosi, Hungarian Minorities in the Carpathian Basin (Toronto-Buffalo: Matthias Corvinus Publishing, 1994), 15. Hervás y Panduro sought in his Catálogo de las lenguas de las naciones conocidas 6 vols. (Madrid: Imprenta de la Administracion del Real Arbitrio de Beneficia, 1800–1805) to

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and their peers. Yet both trends have their roots in traditions of careful observation and universalism52 that shaped the institutional culture of the pre-1773 Society.53 We must also consider the possibility that young men seeking to enter the Society in the eighteenth century brought with them attitudes and assumptions different from their predecessors in the seventeenth and sixteenth. The well-established network of the Society’s schools, the retreat of the plague,54 and the collapse in 1721 of arguably the most innovative of Jesuit missions, that in China,55 meant that scholarship, pastoral work, and teaching were more likely experiences for Jesuits in the eastern Habsburg realms than were danger and heroic martyrdom. Scholarship had always been an important part of the Jesuit enterprise, but in the eastern Habsburg lands, this emphasis grew, as the challenges of missionary work receded. And Kollár, who as a young Jesuit, had never “sought the Indies,” was well placed to benefit from this trend. 5

Conclusion

The suppression of the Society brought to light competing currents of thought and belief among its former members that had their roots in the previous two

52

53

54 55

construct a universal theory of ethnology derived from the study of the languages of the world. “Universal history” was a genre perfected by Jesuits in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and which was introduced into textbooks for younger students. Jeffrey Burson notes “In the aftermath of confessional conflict, globalized Renaissance historicism and the universal history of religion and philosophy came to inform attempts to reconstitute the socio-political order of confessional states by promoting civil peace and establishing epistemologically sound ways around the crisis of skepticism unleashed by the fracturing of theological consensus.” in: Jeffrey Burson, “Introduction: The Culture of Jesuit Erudition in an Age of Enlightenment,” Journal of Jesuit Studies 6, no. 3 (2019): 387–415. Earlier Jesuit forays into anthropology had stressed “nationes,” a term without the classical associations of “gens” or “populus.” Ildikó Sz. Kristóf, “Local Access to Global Knowledge: Historia naturalis and Anthropology at the Jesuit University of Nagyszombat (Trnava), as Transmitted in its Almanacs (1676–1709),” in A Divided Hungary in Europe: Exchanges, Networks and Representations, 1541–1699, ed. Gábor Almási, Szymon Brzeziński, Ildikó Horn, Kees Teszelszky and Áron Zarnóczki (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Press, 2014), 210. See also Hans-Jürgen Lüsebrink, “Between Ethnology and Romantic Discourse: Martin Dobritzhoffer’s History of the Abipones in a (Post)modern Perspective,” in Jesuit Accounts of the Colonial Americas: Intercultural Transfers, Intellectual Disputes, and Textualities, ed. Marc André Bernier, Clorinda Donato, and Hans-Jürgen Lüsebrink (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2014), 127–43. Paul Shore, Narratives of Adversity: Jesuits on the Eastern Peripheries of the Habsburg Realms (1640–1773) (Budapest: CEU Press, 2012), 296. See Claudia von Collani, “The Jesuit Rites Controversy,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Jesuits, ed. Ines G. Županov (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), 891–900.

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centuries of the Jesuits’ activities. Among these currents was a gradual reshaping of a universalist, Tridentine doctrine that had originally been articulated to advance the Church Triumphant, but which was later understood by some Jesuits as a way of approaching non-Catholic populations in a more sympathetic way. Simultaneously, other Habsburg ex-Jesuits such Maximilian Hell (Höll Miksa, 1720–92),56 were leading scientists with professional contacts across Europe, while continuing to embrace a personal baroque piety which remained hostile to other Christian creeds.57 Not a few former Jesuits took an angrily reactionary view of developments after 1789 (and by implication, the trends towards religious toleration that had preceded these developments). The target of their ire however was usually secularism, not other Christian confessions. This was because the decline and fall of the Society had little to do with inter-confessional rivalries but was fostered by its opponents within the Catholic Church, some of whom aligned with secularists. Jesuits thus saw these opponents, not Protestants or Unitarians, as their more dangerous adversary. In addition, inter-confessional polemic among many non-Catholic groups cooled steadily during the eighteenth century, while historical and ethnological investigations by Catholics and non-Catholics alike were increasingly framed in other than strictly religious terms.58 Confessional identity took a smaller place in this more crowded new world, although passionate expressions of folk-based Catholicism would resurface in the next century. In this environment Kollár’s positions would not seem radical but merely prescient. Yet Kollár’s scholarly talents and his unique position as holder of multiple key appointments in Vienna59 meant that his reframing of the position of various confessions within the Habsburg lands received wide exposure. By building his arguments from historical sources Kollár went beyond advocacy and documented the origins of religious communities such as the diocese that became the Rusyn Uniate Church in ways that had not been done previously. History and identified variarum gentium origines rather than coercion or 56 57 58

59

Shortly after the suppression of the Society, Hell worked with Kollár on a commission to reform schooling. Wilibald Müller, Josef von Sonnenfels: Biographische Studie aus dem Zeitalter der Aufklärung in Oesterreich (Wien: Wilhelm Braumüller, 1882), 83. Paul Shore, Jesuits and the Politics of Religious Pluralism in Eighteenth Century Transylvania (Aldershot–Rome: Ashgate, Institutum Historicum Societatis Iesu, 2007), 105. E. g., the posthumously published study of F.X. Eder, S.J. (1727–72), of the Moxos people of Peru, Descriptio provinciae Moxitarum in regno Peruano (Budæ: Typis Universitatis, 1791). Eder was less sympathetic in his description of the (alleged lack of) religious beliefs of local Mestizos, whom he called “Mamluks,” a term with connotations of apostasy from Christianity. Kollár was also Hofrat (member of the Aulic Council). Joachim Bahlcke, Ungarischer Episkopat und österreichische Monarchie: von einer Partnerschaft zur Konfrontation (1686– 1790) (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2005), 267.

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claims of religious truth became the justification for the acceptance of religious minorities. Any attempt to separate Kollár’s intellectual curiosity, and his evolving religious understanding, from his desire to promote toleration would be anachronistic: his scholarly output presents these traits as an amalgam. His view of human progress was not as explicitly set forth as that of many of his Enlightenment contemporaries,60 but Kollár envisioned a polity that could improve the lives of its citizens and in which varieties of religious practice were possible, even desirable. At the same time Kollár’s view that Slovak (dialectus Hungaro-Slavicus) was the “purest” of the Slavic languages suggests that his Jesuit training had left its mark, and that even his personal toleration and objectivity had its limits.61 Nonetheless his support of religious toleration and his association of rigorous investigation into the “origins” of peoples with the acceptance of the enduring identity of the descendants of these peoples had far reaching consequences. In the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the work of ethnologists would be influenced by the ideas of “proto-ethnologists” such as Kollár even though the latter had relied on archival studies rather than fieldwork.62 Kollár’s program of careful documentation, his (relatively) unbiased reporting of findings, and promotion of schooling have remained guides for those researching ethnic and religious communities, and provide a frame of reference for examining the development of religious toleration in East Central Europe in the early modern period.

60 61

62

By contrast, Alexandre César Chavannes conceived “ethnologie” as “l’histoire des progrès des peuples vers la civilisation.” Alexandre César Chavannes, Essai sur l’éducation intellectuelle avec le projet d’une science nouvelle (Lausanne: Imprimerie Isaac Hignou, 1787), 252. Robert A. Kann and Zdenek V. David, Peoples of the Eastern Habsburg Lands, 1526–1918 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2017), 245. Kollár’s identification of a specific Slavic language as the “purest” representative of its family has a Jesuit pedigree going back to the work of Marin Temparica (1534–1591/1598). Angelo Rocca, Thesaurus pontificiarum sacrarumque antiquitatum necnon rituum […] (Romae: Sumptibus Fausti Amidei, 1745), 2:250. This is especially evident in the tradition of linguistic identification of ethnic groups that, once defined, could then include different faiths, as articulated by the Serbian philologist Vuk Karadžić (1787–1864). Joel M. Halpern and E.A. Hammel, “Observations on the Intellectual History of Ethnology and Other Social Sciences in Yugoslavia,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 11, no. 1 (1969): 19; Amila Buturović, “Between Religion and Politics: The Challenge of Being a Muslim in Yugoslavia,” YUHistorija http://www.yuhisto rija.com/culture_religion_txt01c1.html. See also the discussion of Kollár’s contribution to the study of culture (construed to include belief systems) in Vitomir Belaj, “Plaidoyer za etnologiju kao historijsku znanost o etničkim skupinama,” Studia ethnologica Croatica 1, no. 1 (1989): 9–17.

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Acknowledgements

Thanks to Lynn Whidden, Matthew Herrell, George Westhaver, Han Vermulen, and Jože Hudales for their help in the preparation of this essay. Bibliography

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Afterword Luise Schorn-Schütte The contributions to this volume deal with a core topic in early modern history: how did communication between the confessions/religions develop? Was this communication motivated by preserving the status quo, or establishing toleration or a protected coexistence with equal rights? A Western European master narrative has attempted to address this question formulated from a Western European perspective: the post-Reformation consolidation into denominations could lead to conflicts that an independent state was compelled to contain. Thus, in the long run, politics and religion operated in separate spheres, and the path to the confessionally neutral order of modernity was opened. Since the 1980s, research has called this process modernization. Many studies in recent years have shown that this narrative hardly applies to East-Central Europe in the early modern period; likewise, variations should be recognized in certain Western European regions. In Eastern Europe, the consolidation of the social order in the form of strict confessional boundaries (confessionalization) was not the rule but rather the exception.1 The aim of this volume is therefore twofold. On the one hand, microstructures forming the basis of confessional or religious coexistence in various regions should be explained. On the other hand, questions regarding the character of this coexistence should be addressed: did it provide a pragmatic coexistence in connection with traditions of the Middle Ages, basic toleration of the right to exist, or a protected space for confessional or religious development? This has raised the question of the character of state interventions anew. The volume’s remarkable contributions demonstrate the diversity of practical coexistence between various groups in Bohemia, Ukraine, Poland-Lithuania, Ruthenia, Bukovina, Gdańsk, Vienna, and the Holy Roman Empire. This coexistence extended beyond the fifteenth- and sixteenth-century threshold. The Reformation, developing rapidly and violently at times, was not the dominant watershed here. Instead, a pragmatic approach to burgeoning confessional and religious diversity dominated social and political dynamics. Two aspects of this approach explain coexistence: basic legal structures (feudal law as a prerequisite—among other things—for noble appointment of clerics) and 1 Also the observation of Thomas Max Safley, “Introduction,” in A Companion to Multiconfessionalism in the Early Modern World, ed. id. (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 1–22, here 7.

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various groups’ mutual recognition that remained untouched by coercive measures of estates or dynastic powers. Calling this “weak statehood” does not entirely fit the facts, because the larger question of the existence and manifestations of statehood in early modern Europe remains an open problem. Based on these findings, we can identify various avenues for further research. First of all, a conclusion remains valid, that we should relativize the explanations offered by previous scholarship for the consolidation of states, the penetration of power, the demarcation of the Other, and purposeful development—methodologically and in fact. This volume confirms the findings of recent research, which also corrects, among other things, the thesis that Western European social and demographic structures led the way as the models for the whole continent’s trajectory of development.2 Second, there is the related matter of the recognition of diversity in many aspects of social life. This is not a value in itself; rather, historical contexts must be delineated much more carefully than can be done in an anthology that spans a broad swath of time and geography. Following the impulse of this volume, further research should start with a stronger embedding in the local context. Third, comparison should not stop at an enumeration of similarities and differences, but should refer to structures. The two contributions of Voigt-Goy and Szady serve as exemplars for further comparative work. Both the legal differentiation of religious freedom and the permanence of the feudal system as a framework for confessional order show that law is not per se an order that can claim validity across time. Rather, both contributions reveal how legal conditions can be practically used either to preserve diversity in a period of change or to identify diversity in existing law in the first place. In this way, law loses its static character, also an assumption of the dominant research on Western Europe. Fourth, a precise conceptualization is helpful. In contributions to this volume, several attempts have been formulated to characterize confessional coexistence through developmental stages ranging from pragmatic toleration, through indulgence (Duldung), to legal recognition of equal rights. This is where further research illustrating the pragmatics of coexistence must begin. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, this route for further research proves viable. However, deriving a late-eighteenth-century concept of tolerance from a genealogy of ideas fails to recognize that all forms of religious pragmatics

2 For this, see the contributions in Hamish M. Scott ed., The Oxford Handbook of Early Modern European History 1350–1750, 2 vol. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018).

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were conceived only as provisional solutions for limited contexts.3 The methodological challenge posed by this must be laid bare by historical research. Fifth, research on the various groups that supported confessional/religious differentiation and coexistence needs to be pursued. This is not done systematically in the contributions. This includes group biographies of educated theologians of all confessions or religions involved as well as those of political decision-makers from the nobility and/or the urban elites. A first step in this direction are studies in the history of ideas on individual personalities who were relevant as decision-makers. Sixth, these studies enable us to trace practices of confessional or religious coexistence, which can prove to show not only religious but also social toleration.4 The first stimulating contributions to this are available in this volume’s microstudies of Bohemia, Bukovina and Ukraine, among others. In this context, the city of Gdańsk at the end of the sixteenth century proves an exception to the rule of pragmatic coexistence: social and religious coexistence provoked political intolerance. Seventh, recent historical, political-theoretical, and linguistic-historical research has focused on the variety of terms associated with toleration. As described, it is about coexistence, tolerant coexistence, pragmatic coexistence, social and/or religious toleration. This semantic field needs to be expanded to include terms such as “freedom,” “peace,” and “religious and domestic peace.” Political scientists’ formulation of toleration as “conditional acceptance” is the appropriate term for the identification of conflicts—not as a model for their solution. 3 For this, Ulrich Niggemann, Toleranz, in Handbuch Frieden im Europa der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. Irene Dingel et al. (Berlin: De Gruyter Oldenbourg, 2020), 589–608, here 590. 4 For the concept of social toleration, Niggemann, Toleranz, 607.

Index of Names Aleksandra Frączek Abelard, Peter 266, 282 Albrecht I Hohenzollern, Duke of Prussia 214, 219n113, 222–224 Albrecht V Wittelsbach, Duke of Bavaria 37 Amyraut, Moïse 310, 312–313, 326 Anselm of Canterbury 282 Arminius, Jacobus 312 Arndt, Johann 372 Asham, Anthony 284 August Hermann Francke 369nn32, 34, 370n36, 371n39, 373n45 Augustine of Hippo 268, 311 Balaban, Hedeon 93 Barbeyrac, Jean 313, 327 Barthen, Jakob von 197n4, 208nn42, 44, 211n63, 218 Bayle, Pierre 7n24, 284, 287, 294, 308, 310 Bellarmine, Robert 280 Berkentin, Christian August von 373 Berwick, (Duke of) 371 Beza, Theodore 268, 279 Bokhanski, NN 103 Boleyn, Anne, Queen of England 212 Bona Sforza, Queen of Poland 204n22, 212 Borckmann, Andreas 241 Borkowska, Zofia of Skrzynno 79 Borkowski, Piotr Józef 77–79 Borowska, Anna 74 Borowski, NN 71–72 Borowski, Paweł 74 Botsack, Johann 243 Bötticher, Eberhard 232–233 Brandes, Gerhard 228, 240 Brandt, Bartel 241 Brucker, Johann Heinrich 364 Brzezicki, Marcin 76, 79 Bucer, Martin 4, 209 Budny, Szymon (Symon) 90 Budzyński, Zdzisław 62n12, 64, 85, 139n4, 153, 155, 163 Bullinger, Heinrich 1, 268

Bythner, Bartholomäus (Bartłomiej Bythner)  255n33, 256n34, 257, 293 Bzicki, Jan 72 Calixt, Georg 302, 305n17 Calov, Abraham 243 Calvin, John 4, 232, 248n2, 249n3, 268, 279, 282, 291, 293, 305n18, 310, 311n35, 325–326 Carl X Gustav, King of Sweden 249, 255 Casimir III The Great, King of Poland 61 Castellio, Sebastian 5, 278 Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England  212 Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, King of Spain xiii, 43, 205, 217 Charles VI, Holy Roman Emperor vi, vii, 358, 362–363, 377 Chmaj, Ludwik 216n94, 224, 250, 255nn29, 31, 259, 262n72, 263n77, 290–291 Cicero 171 Cichowski, Mikołaj 258, 260–261, 264, 270, 277, 280, 287 Cisner, Nicolaus 39 Claudian, Augustyn 123 Clement VII, Pope 209 Clementinus, Daniel 255–256, 264, 266, 279, 288–289 Cochlaeus, Johannes 212 Coletus, Michael 230–231, 234, 237, 241, 244, 247 Columb (Columbus), Jonas 124–125 Comenius, John Amos (Jan Amos Komensky, Komeński) 128, 248–250, 252–253, 259–260, 285, 288, 290–291, 293–295, 309, 326–327, 336n29 Commendone, Giovanni Francesco 251 Constantine the Great, Roman emperor  183, 277 Cranius, Heinrich-Andreas 46–48, 50–51 Cranmer, Thomas 6n20–21, 28, 211–213, 216–217, 223

406 Crell, John (Johannes Crellius) 254, 263, 283, 284n212, 295 Curaeus, Achace 231 Curicke, Reinhold 243–244 Cyprian, Ernst Salomon 304, 308, 328, 333n17, 355 Dambrowski, Samuel 127 Dantiscus, Johannes (Jan Dantyszek) vi, 197–224 Diering, Kasper 131 Dobeneck, Hiob von 207, 223 Dobneck, Johann 215n88, 217n100 Dorohostajski, Mikolaj 90, 97, 100–101 Drzewicki, Maciej 204n21 Dury, John 110, 129n88, 130n95, 131, 135, 302 Dzievoczka, Onezyfor 92 Edelmann, Johann Christian 374–377, 379 Edward VI, King of England 211 Erasmus of Rotterdam 4, 6n21, 7n21, 24, 27, 181, 192, 200, 207, 208n43, 209, 211, 218, 223–224, 250n8, 264n83, 278–279, 290, 292, 301–302, 336n30, 356 Ericksen, Godschalk 215n88, 216n100, 217n101 Erstenberger, Andreas 44, 51 Esens, Balthasar Oomkens von 215 Eugene of Savoy (Eugen von Savoyen)  360n10, 371–373, 377, 379 Fabricius (Fabritius), Catharina 230 Fabricius (Fabritius), Regina (Falkener) 230 Falk, Knut-Olof 148, 149n35, 162 Falkener, Georg 230 Firlej, Jan 78 Firlej, Zofia (Sienicka) 77–78 Fisher, John 216 Franciszek of Zakroczym 74 Francke, August Hermann 314nn41–42, 320n59, 324, 358, 366, 368n31, 378 Francke, Gotthilf August 366, 370n36, 371n40 Frederick (Friedrich) I, King of Prussia 301, 319 Frederick (Friedrich) II, King of Prussia 316 Frederick (Friedrich) of Hesse-Kassel, King of Sweden 318

Index of Names Frederick William (Friedrich Wilhelm) I, King of Prussia 304n15, 317, 326 Friccius, Clemens 231 Frick, David 16–17, 26, 91n8, 92n11, 95n22, 108, 139n4, 156n66, 157, 160n88, 164–165 Frieder (Mindanus), Peter 41–48, 50–51 Frisius, Gemma 207, 216n91 Garelli, Pius Nikolaus 370–371 Gatford, Lionel 314nn41–42, 320n59 Gattinara, Mercurino 210 George I, King of Great Britain 318 George of Poděbrady, King of Bohemia 170, 172–173, 175, 191, 195 Ginzburg, Carlo 358, 379 Glafey, Adam Friedrich 361, 378 Gliński, Jan 255 Goclenius, Conradus 207 Gołuchowski, Piotr 112 Gołuchowski, Samuel 133 Gomoliński, Stanisław 65 Gorzkowska, Elżbieta 71 Gorzkowski, Stanisław 83 Grabe, John Ernest 301, 302n8, 319, 325, 329 Grabowski, Andrzej 148, 150, 159 Granvelle, Nicolas Perrenot de 197n4, 217–218 Gravis, Jan 78 Gregory XIII, pope 91 Grigore, Mihai 158, 163 Grotius, Hugo 1, 5, 258–260, 263–265, 270, 272, 291, 293–294, 302, 390–391 Grynaeus, Johann Jacob 228 Grynäus, Simon 364 Gutner, Krzysztof 122–123 Haltmeyer, Nathanael 364 Hamerich, Ehrenfried Matthäus 364 Hegel, Georg 204n16, 208n44, 211n63 Henry VIII, King of England 211, 212n67, 216–217 Herman, Andrzej 112–113, 136 Hermson, Salomon 126 Hessus, Helius Eobanus 207, 208n42, 214, 223 Hieronim 72 Hlebovich, Jan 93n14 Hobbes, Thomas 284

Index of Names

407

Hoffmann, Daniel 257 Hohendorf, Georg Wilhelm 371 Hohendorf, Wilhelm von 371 Hojer, Andreas 240 Hosius, Stanislaus (Stanisław Hozjusz) 251, 280, 288 Hrubý of Jelení, Řehoř 176–177, 179, 181–182, 189–190, 195–196 Hrubý of Jelení, Zikmund (Sigismundus Gelenius) 176 Hubel, Daniel Wilhelm 142 Hus, Jan 372

Konáč of Hodíškov, Mikuláš 20, 182, 183nn60–61, 184–187, 189–192, 195–196 Koniecposki, Remigiusz 76 Korsak, Jesif 91 Kortholt, Christian (the Younger) 363–364, 378 Köseler, Michael 227 Kot, Stanisław 216n94, 223, 250, 262, 283n208, 292 Koźmin, Jan of 71 Krokoczyński, Paweł 123–124 Kurowski, Marcin 78

Ignatius of Antioch 278 Irenaeus of Lyon 278, 301, 326  Ivitsits, Matheus 146

Laetus, Jerzy 124 Langjahr, Johann Jacob 364 Latyczyn, Mikołaj of 70 Latyczyński, Jan 71 Latyczyński, Krzysztof 74 Latyczyński, Sebastian 71 Latyczyński, Stefan 74 Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm 1, 284n213, 291, 302, 305n16, 309, 321n62, 325, 328, 335n22, 363, 372–373, 378–379 Lerche, Johann Christian 363n18, 364, 371n40 Leszczyńska, Anna (Radzimińska) 121 Leszczyński, Andrzej 126 Leszczyński, Bogusław 132, 278 Leszczyński, Rafał (1579–1636) 119–120, 122n59, 124n70, 128–129, 132, 256, 278 Leszczyński, Rafał (1604–1644) 124nn70–71 Leszczyński, Władysław 122–124 Libanios (Libanius) 363 Linde von der, family 230 Lobwasser, Ambrosius 233 Locke, John 5, 7n24, 284, 291–292 Łoś, Jan 72–73 Louis XIII, King of France and Navarre 259 Louis XIV, King of France and Navarre 306 Louthan, Howard 2, 14n47, 16–17, 27–28, 139n3, 165, 195, 200n9, 205n24, 211n66, 221–223, 226n4, 245, 300, 302n10, 303, 322n63, 325–326, 358, 379, 387, 399 Ludolf, Heinrich Wilhelm 308n29, 328 Luther, Martin 4, 11n38, 31, 130, 169n2, 170n5, 194–195, 198n6, 204, 213, 218, 222–223, 227, 238, 279, 301, 335n25, 355, 368, 372, 374

Jablonski, Daniel Ernst 1, 110, 136, 302, 304n15, 305n17, 308, 314–315, 318, 321n60, 322, 324, 328 James II, King of England and Scotland 306 Jansen, Cornelius 371 Jarzyna, Arnolf 123, 126 Jawtok, Januarius 152–153 Jeremias II, Patriarch of Constantinople  91 Joachim, Count of Ortenburg 37–40, 51 Joram, Jan 120–122 Joseph II, Holy Roman Emperor 22, 142, 157, 159, 162, 362, 386–387, 389, 400 Juan de Valdes 210 Justin Martyr 278 Kamenski, Malkher 98 Kamocki, Grzegorz 72 Kaplan, Benjamin J. 12, 14n48, 23, 27, 37n11, 43n36, 47n58, 53, 115n23, 132n105, 136, 139, 145n20, 155n57, 156, 158n74, 161, 164, 166, 252, 291, 303n13, 325, 361, 379 Karl III Philipp, elector of Palatinate 320 Keckermann, Bartholomaeus 239, 246 Keckermann, Joachim 232, 239 Khmelnitsky, Bohdan 125 Kittelius, Johann 229, 232 Kłobucki, Jan 78 Klonowski, Sebastian 72–73 Kollonitsch, Sigismund 366–367, 369–370, 378

408 Maquetus, Johannes 208 Maria Theresa, Empress and Queen of Bohemia and Hungary 22, 363, 382, 383n4, 386n18, 387, 391, 399–400 Markovich, Lewko 98 Matthias Corvinus, King of Hungary 170, 172, 190, 393n50, 399 Mauch, Daniel 215n88 Meisner (Meisnerus), Balthasar 255, 257– 258, 262, 264, 266–268, 270, 273n158, 274, 276, 279, 288–289, 294 Melanchthon, Philipp 4, 11, 204–205, 209, 213–214, 222, 228, 300n4, 302, 316, 329 Merczyng, Henryk 63, 68n37, 69n37, 70n40, 74, 78n79, 86, 125, 136 Mikołajewski, Daniel 234 Milonius, Nicolaus 236 Milton, John 284, 294, 309n31, 327 Möllenhoff, Christian Nicolaus 364 Moller, Heinrich 227 More, Thomas 4, 7, 184n69, 195, 216 Mortęski, Ludwik 236 Moskorzowski, Hieronim 255 Moulin, Pierre du 312 Müller, Michael G. 17, 29, 225, 229nn19, 22, 231nn32, 35, 37, 232nn39, 41–42, 45, 233n50, 234nn52, 56, 235n61, 236n67, 239nn81–84, 246 Mysłowski, Wojciech 75 Nagy, Antonius 141 Nebervitski, Konstantin 103 Nevelski, Andrej 98 Newton, Isaac 284, 294 Nicholas of Cusa 4, 302 Nicki, Josephus 141 Nicola, Filippo 206 Niewierski, Marcin 76 Nikon, patriarch of Moscow 153 Nischan, Bodo 317n50, 327 Ogonowski, Zbigniew 250, 251n13, 263n77, 275n167, 293 Origen 278 Ossietzky, Carl von 358 Ostervald, Jean-Frédéric 312, 324 Ostrozhski, Konstantin 93n14

Index of Names Pandlowski, Jan 126 Pareus, David 1, 8n28, 31, 299–302, 305n17, 316, 324, 329, 392 Passionei, Domenico Silvio 371 Paul, apostle 120, 199–200, 209, 230, 233, 311 Pauli, Adrian 238 Pauli, Georg 240 Pettegree, Andrew 7–8, 29, 211n67, 212n67, 222, 253, 293 Peuschel, Joachim (Peuschelius) 279 Pez, Hieronymus 374 Pezel, Christoph 228–229 Pfaff, Christoph Matthäus 304, 321, 327 Pilgrim, Johann Siegmund 364 Písecký, Václav 20, 171n10, 176–181, 189–190, 192 Pistorius, Szymon 255 Pocieyko, Joannes 152–153 Pontanus, Jerzy (Georgius) 72–73 Praetorius, Peter 231 Prażmowska, Świętosława (Dunin Rajecka)  126 Przypkowski, Samuel 255n29, 263, 285, 290 Ptolemy Claudius 91 Pufendorf, Samuel von 305n17 Rabštejn, Jan of 20, 172–175, 188–193 Radecznica, Tomek of 70 Radziwiłł, Krzysztof I (The Thunderbolt)  95 Radziwiłł, Krzysztof II 122 Rau, Benedict 299 Raupach, Bernhard 366n26, 373n46, 374, 378 Reszka, Stanisław 280 Rivet, André 260, 312 Rodenborch, Johann 240–241 Rogenellus, Georgius 213 Rozrażewski, Hieronim 235–236, 244 Ruar, Martin 259 Rypinski, Jesif 103 Rypinski, Ostafiej 103 Rypinski, Theophanes 98, 100, 103 Rýzmberk and Rábí, Vilém 173–175 Rzemieniecki, Konrad 155, 165

Index of Names Sadlinski, Lucas 141 Sapieha, Andrej 90, 95, 101, 102n49, 108 Sapieha, Bahdan 94 Sapieha, Lew 95–96, 108 Sapieżyna, Ewa of Skaszewo 83 Sarnicka, Jadwiga 74 Sarnicka, Katarzyna 74 Sarnicka, Zuzanna 74 Sarnicki, Jan (around 1538–1603) 71, 73–74 Sarnicki, Jan (d. 1538) 71 Sarnicki, Jan (d. 1614) 71–74 Sarnicki, Mikołaj 71, 74 Sarnicki, Stanisław 71–73, 86–87 Schepper, Cornelis de 197n4, 207, 208n44, 211n63, 212, 215n88, 216nn100, 91, 95, 217–218 Schlichting, Barbara (Arciszewska) 254 Schlichting, Jan Jerzy 260, 278 Schlichting, Wolfgang 254 Schlick, Leopold Josef 369n33 Schlickeisen, Ephraim 364 Schmidt, Arndt 230, 372 Schmidt, Arnold 226–227, 229 Schmidt, Catharina (Köseler) 227 Schmidt, Elisabeth (von Rehsen) 226 Schmidt, Heinrich 226 Schmidt, Jacob 230 Schopenhauer, Joanna (Trosiener) 242, 245 Schwarz, Andreas Ephraim 142, 144, 146 Schweigger, Salomon 308, 329 Scornaco, Adolphus de 215n88 Seckendorff, Friedrich Heinrich von  360n10, 380 Selitski, Nathaniel 98 Semashko, Jakub 102n49 Serebryski, Łukasz 74 Servet, Miguel 279 Shemet, Vatslaw 91 Sienicki, Jakub (Józef) 75 Sienicki, Jan 75 Sienicki, Mikołaj 63n19, 74–75, 85, 87 Sigismund I Jagiellon, King of Poland and Grand Duke of Lithuania 197, 198n6, 200nn10, 9, 204, 205nn24, 26, 28, 206nn29–30, 207, 214n82, 215nn84–86, 216n97, 217n104, 223 Sigismund III Vasa, King of Sweden, King Poland and Grand Duke of Lithuania 98, 100, 103, 112, 114, 235, 239–240

409 Silva-Tarouca, João Gomes da 371 Skarbek, Jan 152–153, 156 Skarga, Piotr 280 Smalc, Walenty (Valentinus Smalcius) 263 Sobieszczański, Jerzy 71, 73 Socini, Fausto (Faustus Socinus) 5, 7n24, 28, 251, 258, 260n59, 263, 266–267, 272–273, 275n167, 278, 279n183, 282, 284n216, 285, 289–290, 292–294 Solikowski, Jan Dmitry 93 Solomon, King of Israel 270 Sophie Dorothea, Queen of Prussia (of Hanover) 317n54 Spinoza, Baruch (Benedict) 5, 284, 376 Stabrowski, Piotr 102n49 Stadnicki, Stanisław 73 Stefan, bishop 70 Stegmann, Joachim 261, 279 Štenberk, Zdeněk of 173–175 Stephen Bathory, Prince of Transylvania, King of Poland and Grand Duke of Lithuania 92–95, 97–99, 101, 227, 229 Stężyca, Jan of 75 Stráž, Michal of 177, 179, 189–190 Strimesius, Samuel 315, 324 Sturm, Johann 230 Suchodolski, Adam Piotr 79 Suchodolski, Zbigniew 79 Suke, Christoph Gerhard 364 Sułowiec, Węchota of 70 Švamberk, Jan of 173–175 Syring, Peter 44–46, 48, 52 Szaniawski, Jan Feliks 79 Szapski, Szymon 78 Sztoltman, Jakub Franciszek 154 Tazbir, Janusz 1n4, 17, 31, 120n48, 139n4, 166, 250, 251n14, 255n30, 289, 295 Te Brake, Wayne 35n1, 54, 158, 166 Tertullian 278 Tilenus, Daniel 313 Tomicki, Piotr 204nn16, 19–20, 205n27, 207n35, 210, 214n79, 215nn87, 90, 216nn92–93, 99 Trautson, Johann Leopold Donat 368 Tresenreuter, Christoph Friedrich 363–364, 373n46 Turrettini, Jean-Alphonse 310, 312, 315, 324, 326–327 Tyzenhauz, Antoni 148, 164

410 Valdés, Alfonso de 205–207, 210, 222 Valdés, Juan de 21, 210n61, 211n62, 222–223 Valečovský of Kněžmost, Vaněk 193 Valentynovich, Lawryn 103 Valentynovich, Matys 103 Vechner, Georg 258, 260, 263–265, 289 Vogel, Jan (Joannes Vogelius) 279 Voigt, Christoph Nicolaus v, xi, 19, 35, 50n73, 54, 186n78, 368n31, 369nn32, 34, 370, 371n39, 372, 373n45, 403 Vojna, Fedor 103 Vojna, Hrehory 103 Vollovich, Ostafiej 93n14 Volminski, Jan 90 Wajsblum, Marek 250 Wake, William 302, 318n56, 323 Waldegrave, James 371–372, 377–378 Walsham, Alexandra 7, 14n48, 31, 187n80, 196, 253, 295 Wawrzyniec Dominik 75–76 Węgierski, Andrzej 120n48, 124–125, 136, 255n30, 289

Index of Names Węgierski, Tomasz 257 Węgierski, Wojciech 111, 112n5, 113, 116n29, 118n40, 120n46, 133n106, 134–136 Werenfels, Samuel 312 Williams, George H. 215n89, 216n94, 224, 280n193, 282, 289, 295 Wiszowaty, Andrzej 261 Witzel, Georg 5, 218–219 Władysław II Jagiełło, King of Poland and Grand Duke of Lithuania 98 Władysław IV Vasa, King of Poland and Grand Duke of Lithuania 254 Wolzogen, Johann Ludwig von 259, 262, 283, 285, 289 Wróblewski, Kazimierz 148–149 Zagorski, Herman (Hrehory) 95 Zamoyski, Jan 73 Ziegenbalg, Bartholomäus 370n38 Żółkiewski, Stanisław 93n14 Zwingli, Ulrich 202, 215, 217, 301