The Jesuits: Cultures, Sciences, and the Arts, 1540-1773 9781442681569

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THE JESUITS

Madonna of St Luke. Ink and colours on silk. China, Ming dynasty, late sixteenth to early seventeenth century. © The Field Museum, Chicago. Neg #A113717c. Reproduced with permission.

THE JESUITS Cultures, Sciences, and the Arts 1540-1773

Edited by

John W. O'Malley, SJ. Gauvin Alexander Bailey Steven J. Harris T. Frank Kennedy, SJ.

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS Toronto Buffalo London

www.utppublishing.com University of Toronto Press 1999 Toronto Buffalo London Printed in Canada Reprinted 2000 ISBN 0-8020-4287-2

Printed on acid-free paper

Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data Main entry under title: The Jesuits : cultures, sciences, and the arts, 1540-1773 Papers from International conference titled: The Jesuits ; Culture, Learning, and the Arts, 1540-1773, held late May 1997 at Boston College. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-8020-4287-2 1. Jesuits - History - 16th century - Congresses. 2. Jesuits - History - 17th century - Congresses. 3. Jesuits - History - 18th century - Congresses. 4. Christianity and culture - History - 16th century - Congresses. 5. Christianity and culture - History - 17th century - Congresses. 6. Christianity and culture - History - 18th century - Congresses. I. O'Malley, John W. BX3706.2.J47 1999

271'.53

C99-930022-9

University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial assistance to its publishing program of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council. University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial support for its publishing activities of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP).

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS CONTRIBUTORS

iX

xi

INTRODUCTION

xiii

ABBREVIATIONS

xvii

PART ONE Refraining Jesuit History

1

1 / The Historiography of the Society of Jesus: Where Does It Stand Today? 3 JOHN w. O'MALLEY, s.j. 2 / 'Le style jésuite n'existe pas': Jesuit Corporate Culture and the Visual Arts 38 GAUVIN ALEXANDER BAILEY

3 / The Fertility and the Shortcomings of Renaissance Rhetoric: The Jesuit Case 90 MARC FUMAROLI

4 / The Cultural Field of Jesuit Science

107

RIVKA FELDHAY

PART TWO The Roman Scene 131 5 / Two Farnese Cardinals and the Question of Jesuit Taste 134 CLARE ROBERTSON

vi Contents 6 / Jesuit Thesis Prints and the Festive Academic Defence at the Collegio Romano 148 LOUISE RICE

7 / From The Eyes of All' to 'Usefull Quarries in phihlosophy and good literature': Consuming Jesuit Science, 1600-1665 170 MICHAEL JOHN GORMAN 8/

Music History in the Musurgia univer-salts of Athanasius Kircher

190

MARGARET MURATA

PART THREE Mobility: Overseas Missions and the Circulation of Culture

209

9 / Mapping Jesuit Science: The Role of Travel in the Geography of Knowledge 212 STEVEN J. HARRIS

10 / Jesuits, Jupiter's Satellites, and the Académie Royale des Sciences

241

FLORENCE HSIA

11 / Exemplo aeque ut verbo: The French Jesuits' Missionary World DOMINIQUE DESLANDRES

258

12 / East and West: Jesuit Art and Artists in Central Europe, and Central European Art in the Americas 274 THOMAS DACOSTA KAUFMANN

13 / The Role of the Jesuits in the Transfer of Secular Baroque Culture to the Río de la Plata Region 305 MAGNUS M ö R N E R

14 / Candide and a Boat

317

T. FRANK K E N N E D Y , S.J.

PART FOUR Encounters with the Other: Between Assimilation and Domination 333 15 / Alessandro Valignano: The Jesuits and Culture in the East ANDREW C. ROSS

336

Contents

vii

16 / Jesuit Corporate Culture As Shaped by the Chinese

352

NICOLAS STANDAERT, S.J.

17 /Translation as Cultural Reform: Jesuit Scholastic Psychology in the Transformation of the Confucian Discourse on Human Nature 364 QIONG ZHANG

18 / The Truth-Showing Mirror: Jesuit Catechism and the Arts in Mughal India 380 GAUVIN ALEXANDER BAILEY

197 Roberto de Nobili's Dialogue on Eternal Life and an Early Jesuit Evaluation of Religion in South India 402 FRANCIS X. CLOONEY, S.J.

20 / The Jesuits and the Indigenous Peoples of the Philippines

418

REN£ B. J A V E L L A N A , S.J.

PART FIVE Tradition, Innovation, Accommodation 439 21 / Bernini's Image of the Ideal Christian Monarch

442

IRVING LAVIN

22 / Innovation and Assimilation: The Jesuit Contribution to Architectural Development in Portuguese India 480 DAVID M. KOWAL

23 / God's Good Taste: The Jesuit Aesthetics of Juan Bautista Villalpando in the Sixth and Tenth Centuries B.C.E. 505 JAIME LARA

24 / Jesuit Aristotelian Education: The De anima Commentaries ALISON SIMMONS

25 / Jesuit Physics in Eighteenth-Century Germany: Some Important Continuities 538 MARCUS HELLYER

26 / The Jesuits and Polish Sarmatianism 555 STANISLAW OBIREK, S.J.

522

viii Contents PART SIX Conversion and Confirmation through Devotion and the Arts

565

27 / The Art of Salvation in Bavaria 568 JEFFREY CHIPPS SMITH

28 / Henry Hawkins: A Jesuit Writer and Emblematist in Stuart England

600

KARL JOSEF H5LTGEN

29 / Jesuit Casuistry or Jesuit Spirituality? The Roots of Seventeenth-Century British Puritan Practical Divinity 627 JAMES F. KEENAN, S.J.

30 / The Use of Music by the Jesuits in the Conversion of the Indigenous Peoples of Brazil 641 PAULO CASTAGNA

31 /The Jesuits in Manila, 1581-1621: The Role of Music in Rite, Ritual, and Spectacle

659

WILLIAM J. SUMMERS 32 / Jesuit Devotions and Retablos in New Spain CLARA BARGELLINI

PART SEVEN Reflections: What Have We Learned? Where Do We Go from Here? 699 JOSEPH CONNORS 700 LUCE GIARD 707 MICHAEL J. BUCKLEY, S.J. 713

INDEX

717

680

Acknowledgments

We have incurred great debts of gratitude in the years since we first began working on this project. We are first and foremost grateful to Michael J. Buckley, S.J., the director of the Jesuit Institute at Boston College, who as soon as we approached him agreed to sponsor us at Boston College and to provide us with some of the funding we needed for the conference and the volume. For further funding we are grateful also to The Lilly Endowment and especially to Jeanne Knoerle, who was our liaison, The Charles W. Engelhard Foundation, Mr and Mrs Paul M. Montrone, and Mr and Mrs Richard R. Russell. For their cooperation and labours we express our gratitude to Patricia Longbottom, Paul Hughes, Mary Saunders, the Jesuit community at Boston College, the staff of the Thomas P. O'Neill Library of Boston College, especially Dr Jonas Barciauskas, the staff of the John J. Burns Library of Boston College, especially Dr John Atteberry, the Boston College Development Office, the Audio-Visual Department of Boston College, and the Boston College Music Department, and to the following members of the Society of Jesus: J. Donald Monan, chancellor of Boston College, William P. Leahy, president of Boston College, David J. Collins, J. Carlos Coupeau, Raymond P. Guiao, Stephen N. Katsouros, Masashi Masuda, Josef Polak, Robert E. Reiser, Salvador Veron, and Michael A. Zampelli. For their remarkable skills and their devotion to their tasks well beyond what we had any right to expect, we are deeply grateful to Theresa Griffin, our copyeditor, and to Patricia Gross, who constructed the index.

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Contributors

Gauvin Alexander Bailey Clark University Worcester, Massachusetts

Rivka Feldhay Tel Aviv University Tel Aviv, Israel

Clara Bargellini Universidad Nacional Autonoma de Mexico Mexico City, Mexico

Marc Fumaroli, de F Academic Frangaise College de France Paris, France

Michael J. Buckley, S.J. Boston College Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts

Luce Giard Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique Paris, France / University of California, San Diego La Jolla, California

Paulo Castagna Institute of Arts of Paulista State University Sao Paulo, Brazil Francis X. Clooney, S.J. Boston College Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts

Michael John Gorman European University Institute Fiesole, Italy

Joseph Connors Columbia University New York, New York

Steven J. Harris Boston College Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts

Dominique Deslandres Universite de Montreal Montreal, Canada

Marcus Hellyer Brandeis University Waltham, Massachusetts

xii

Contributors

Karl Josef Holtgen Universitat Erlangen-Nurnberg Erlangen, Germany

Stanislaw Obirek, S.J. Kolegium Jezuitow Cracow, Poland

Florence Hsia Northwestern University Evanston, Illinois

John W. O'Malley, SJ. Weston Jesuit School of Theology Cambridge, Massachusetts

Rene B. Javellana, S.J. Ateneo de Manila University Manila, The Philippines

Louise Rice Duke University Durham, North Carolina

Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann Princeton University Princeton, New Jersey James F. Keenan, S.J. Weston Jesuit School of Theology Cambridge, Massachusetts T. Frank Kennedy, SJ. Boston College Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts David M. Kowal College of Charleston Charleston, South Carolina Jaime Lara Yale University New Haven, Connecticut Irving Lavin Institute for Advanced Study Princeton, New Jersey Magnus Morner Mariefred, Sweden Margaret Murata University of California Irvine, California

Clare Robertson University of Reading Reading, United Kingdom Andrew C. Ross University of Edinburgh Edinburgh, United Kingdom Alison Simmons Harvard University Cambridge, Massachusetts Jeffrey Chipps Smith University of Texas Austin, Texas Nicolas Standaert, SJ. Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, Belgium William J. Summers Dartmouth College Hanover, New Hampshire Qiong Zhang University of California Los Angeles, California

Introduction

The contributions to this volume grew out of an international conference entitled The Jesuits: Culture, Learning, and the Arts, 1540-1773' that we editors organized at Boston College in late May 1997. Some hundred and twenty-five scholars from around the world participated, and about fifty formal papers were delivered. A special event during the conference was the production of San Ignacio de Loyola, the only extant opera from the Paraguayan missions, composed in the first half of the eighteenth century by Domenico Zipoli, S.J., and Martin Schmid, S.J. In the past decade an unprecedented number of scholars in many different disciplines have been turning to the history of the Society of Jesus. Less influenced by confessional and other prejudices so often operative in the past, they have approached the subject with new questions and methods. The importance of the Society for the history of modern Christianity has never been in dispute, but scholars have been re-evaluating its significance in many different sectors, including those related to the sciences and the arts. In our multicultural, postcolonial condition, scholars have also been looking at the Jesuits as emblematic of certain traits of early modern Europeans, especially as those Europeans interacted with 'the Other' in Asia and the Americas. It was this development, manifesting itself particularly among younger scholars, that persuaded us to organize the conference. We observed, moreover, that in this new situation the Jesuits were being studied according to the compartments of various academic specialties, even though they were not compartmentalized themselves - a person like Jose de Acosta might be studied as a naturalist by one historian, a theologian by another, and a missionary or playwright by others, thereby losing the fullness of his identity as a Jesuit. For that reason we wanted to create a context, which we hope is reflected in this volume, in which scholars from different disciplines would be encouraged to interact with one another so

xiv Introduction that we might move towards a more holistic understanding of the Jesuits of the 'Old Society,' that is, of the Society of Jesus before its suppression in 1773 by papal edict. We therefore wanted an interdisciplinary conference, but we judged it would be counterproductive to try to bring together scholars from all the disciplines in which the Jesuits were of interest. We decided to focus on a few areas and leave the rest to some other time and place. Not surprisingly, we chose the disciplines and the aspects of Jesuit history we ourselves were most interested in - the history of art and architecture, the history of music, and the history of science. We wanted, moreover, to give special attention to the Jesuits' interaction with non-European cultures, both because such attention reflects a new historiographical trend and because the Jesuits were founded essentially as a missionary order and from the very beginning had a global presence that was stunning. The specific aspects of the Jesuit enterprise that we wanted to highlight, therefore, were (1) the Jesuits' use of the arts in evangelizing and in communicating faith and devotion, (2) their pursuit of the sciences in their schools and overseas missions and its relationship to their faith, and (3) their theory and practice in making Christianity acceptable to the Filipinos, to the Chinese and other Asians, and to the indigenous peoples of North and South America, as well as to Europeans. The focus we thus decided upon for the conference and, consequently, for the volume that was to follow, broad though that focus is, necessarily excluded many aspects of the Jesuits' story, some of which may be more fundamental than the ones found here. It excluded theology, for instance, as well as other aspects of the Jesuits' own training; it excluded economics and finances, at the other end of the spectrum; and it bypassed much in between. That is regrettable, but we believe our focus provides the volume with a coherence uncommon in such collections and also allowed a select few issues to be discussed in complementary fashion from several different angles. Jesuit art and architecture, for instance, is examined in Eastern Europe, Germany, Rome, South America, Mexico, India. We invited our scholars to give special attention to historiography, with the result that the subject recurs in these contributions, even outside our introductory section 'Refraining Jesuit History,' and is examined from many different perspectives. But the focus goes beyond subject-matter. The Jesuits of this period liked to think they had a 'way of proceeding' - or better, ways of proceeding - special to themselves. The expression actually goes back to Ignatius of Loyola himself and originally meant, as the term implies, certain procedures or ways of doing things - or of not doing things. Jesuits, for example, did not recite or chant the Liturgical Hours in common. Jesuits were obliged to keep in touch with their

Introduction xv superiors and one another through frequent correspondence. And so on. But the expression can be understood at the profoundest level of style - style as manifestation of taste, values, and the core of one's identity. This understanding transcends the long-debated question about whether there was a Jesuit style of architecture. Can you detect in your materials, we asked our speakers at the conference, a Jesuit way of proceeding? If your answer is affirmative, can you identify some of its component parts? Was there a Jesuit style, a Jesuit corporate culture? This was a tall order, but it provided a centre for the conference and now provides a thread that implicitly or explicitly runs through this collection of studies. The collection ends with reflections on these issues from three participants in the conference who did not present formal papers. That is how we have assembled this volume. Even within the parameters we established for it we are keenly aware of having exposed only the tip of the proverbial iceberg and of having committed enormities of omission. Rubens, for instance, connected to the Jesuits in so many ways, is scarcely mentioned. The same is true for Jesuit theatre. Roger Joseph Boscovich, perhaps the greatest of the Jesuit scientists, fares even worse. Japan, a mission and martyrs' field of which the Jesuits were especially proud, is treated only in passing, Africa not at all. The list could go on - and on. We ask the reader to take the volume for what it contains, not for what is missing. We ask the reader to consider it as a sounding of certain aspects of contemporary scholarship on the Society of Jesus, not as a synthesis of them. THE E D I T O R S

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Abbreviations

Monumenta Historica Societatis lesu Doc. ind. FN

M Bras. MI Const. MI Epp

MNadal MNF

M Paed. M Ratio

Documenta indica, 18 vols (Rome, 1948-88) Fantes narrativi de S. Ignatio de Loyola et de Societatis lesu initiis, 4 vols (Rome, 1943-65) Monumenta Brasiliae, 5 vols (Rome, 1956-68) Monumenta Ignatiana. Sancti Ignatii de Loyola Constitutiones Societatis lesu, 3 vols (Rome, 1934-8) Monumenta Ignatiana. Sancti Ignatii de Loyola Societatis lesufundatoris epistolae et instructiones, 12 vols (Madrid, 1903-11) Epistolae P. Hieronymi Nadal Societatis lesu ab anno 1546 ad 7577, 4 vols (Madrid, 1898-1905) Monumenta Novae Franciae, 8 vols (Rome and Quebec, 1967- ) Monumenta paedagogica Societatis lesu, 2nd ed. rev., 7 vols (Rome, 1965-92) Ratio atque Institutio studiorum Societatis lesu (1586, 1591, 1599) (Rome, 1986) Other Sources

AHSI Alden Ent.

Archivum Historicum Societatis lesu Dauril Alden, The Making of an Enterprise: The Society of Jesus in Portugal, Its Empire, and Beyond, 1540—1750 (Stanford, 1996)

xviii Abbreviations APUG ARSI Bald. Leg.

Archivio della Pontificia Universita Gregoriana, Rome Archivum Romanum Societatis lesu Ugo Baldini, Leg em imp one subactis: Studi sufilosofia e scienza dei gesuiti in Italia, 1540-1632 (Rome, 1992) Baum. Rom Rom in Bayern: Kunst und Spiritualitdt der ersten Jesuiten, ed. Reinhold Baumstark (Munich, 1997), exhib. cat. BL British Library, London BN Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris Bosel Jes. Italien Richard Bosel, Jesuitenarchitektur in Italien, 1540-1773 (Vienna, 1985- ) Braun Kirch. Joseph Braun, Die Kirchenbauten der deutscher Jesuiten, 2 vols (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1908-10) Clav. Corr. Cristoph Clavius, Corrispondenza, ed. Ugo Baldini and Pier Daniele Napolitani (Pisa, 1992) Cost. Jes. Phil. Horacio de la Costa, The Jesuits in the Philippines, 1581-1768 (Cambridge, Mass., 1961) Dain. Ed. jes. Frangois de Dainville, L'education desjesuites (XVIe-XVIIIe siecles) (Paris, 1978) Dain. Geog. hum. Frangois de Dainville, La geographic des humanistes (Paris, 1940) Dizionario biografico degli italiani (Rome, 1960- ) DEI Dear Disc. Peter Dear, Discipline and Experience: The Mathematical Way in the Scientific Revolution (Chicago, 1995) Diaz Arq. Marco Diaz, La arquitectura de losjesuitas en la Nueva Espana (Mexico City, 1982) Dictionnaire de spiritualite ascetique et mystique: DocDS trine et histoire, ed. M. Viller et al., 17 vols in 19 (Paris, 1932-95) Rivka Feldhay, Galileo and the Church: Political InquisiFeld. Gal. tion or Critical Dialogue? (Cambridge, 1995) Findlen 'Spec.' Paula Findlen, 'Scientific Spectacle in Baroque Rome,' Roma moderna e contemporanea 3 (1995): 625-65 Fum. 'Bar.' Marc Fumaroli, 'Baroque et classicisme: L'Imago primi saeculi Societatis Jesu (1640) et ses adversaires,' in his L'ecole du silence: Le sentiment des images au XVIIe siecle (Paris, 1994), pp. 343-65 Fum. L'dge Marc Fumaroli, L'dge de Veloquence: Rhetorique et 'res literaria' de la Renaissance au seuil de I'epoque classique (Paris, 1994)

Abbreviations Ganss Const. Giard Jes. bar. Giard Jes. Ren. Har. 'Jes. Id.'

Hask. Pair. Hask. 'Role' Hib. ' Ut pict.' Kon.-Nord. Ign.

Lat. Cop. Gal. Luc. Saint O'M. First Pacht. Ratio Pet. Can. Epp Pirri Trist. Polgar Bib. Porte. Embl.

xix

Ignatius of Loyola, The Constitutions of the Society of Jesus, trans. George E. Ganss (St Louis, 1970) Lesjesuites a I'age baroque, 1540-1640, ed. Luce Giard and Louis de Vaucelles (Grenoble, 1996) Lesjesuites a la Renaissance: Systeme educatifet production du savoir, ed. Luce Giard (Paris, 1995) Steven J. Harris, 'Jesuit Ideology and Jesuit Science: Religious Values and Scientific Activity in the Society of Jesus, 1540-1773,' Ph.D. dissertation, University of Wisconsin-Madison, 1988 Francis Haskell, Patrons and Painters: Art and Society in Baroque Italy, rev. ed. (New York, 1971) Francis Haskell, 'The Role of Patrons: Baroque Style Changes,' in Witt. Bar., pp. 51-62 Howard Hibbard, ' Ut picturae sermones: The First Painted Decorations of the Gesu,' in Witt. Bar., pp. 29^9 Ursula Konig-Nordhoff, Ignatius von Loyola: Studien zur Entwicklung einer Heiligen-Ikonographie im Rahmen einer Kanonisationskampagne um 1600 (Berlin, 1982) James M. Lattis, Between Copernicus and Galileo: Chris toph Clavius and the Collapse of Ptolemaic Cosmology (Chicago, 1994) Saint, Site, and Sacred Strategy: Ignatius, Rome, and Jesuit Urbanism, ed. Thomas M. Lucas (Vatican City, 1990),exhib.cat. John W. O'Malley, The First Jesuits (Cambridge, Mass., 1993) G.M. Pachtler, Ratio studiorum et institutiones scholasticae Societatis Jesu per Germanium olim vigentes, 4 vols (Berlin, 1887-94) Peter Canisius, Epistulae et acta, ed. Otto Braunsberger, 8 vols (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1896-1923) Pietro Pirri, Giovanni Tristano e i primordi della architettura gesuitica (Rome, 1955) Laszlo Polgar, Bibliographic sur Vhistoire de la Compagnie de Jesus, 1901-1980, 3 vols in 6 (Rome, 1981-90), as continued annually by PolgarinAHSI Karel Porteman, Emblematic Exhibitions at the Brussels Jesuit College, 1630-1685 (Brussels, 1996), exhib. cat.

xx Ronan East Schutte Vol. Somm. Bib. Spence Mem. Taylor 'Herm.' Thw. Rel.

Vall.-Rad. Rec. Witt. Bar. Witt. 'Prob.'

Abbreviations

East Meets West: The Jesuits in China, 1582-1773, ed. Charles E. Ronan and Bonnie B.C. Oh (Chicago, 1988) Josef Franz Schutte, Valignano 's Mission Principles for Japan, trans. John J. Coyne, 2 vols (St Louis, 1980-5) Carlos Sommervogel et al., Bibliotheque de la Compagnie de Jesus, 12 vols (Brussels, Paris, Toulouse, 1890-1932) Jonathan D. Spence, The Memory Palace ofMatteo Ricci (London and New York, 1985) Rene Taylor, 'Hermeticism and Mystical Architecture in the Society of Jesus,' in Witt. Bar., pp. 63-97 The Jesuit Relations and Allied Documents: Travels and Explorations of the Jesuit Missionaries in New France, 1610-1791, ed. Reuben Gold Thwaites, 73 vols (Cleveland, 1896-1901) Jean Vallery-Radot, Le recueil des plans d'edifices de la Compagnie de Jesus conserve a la Bibliotheque Nationale de Paris (Rome, 1960) Baroque Art: The Jesuit Contribution, ed. Rudolf Wittkower and Irma B. Jaffe (New York, 1972) Rudolf Wittkower, 'Problems of the Theme,' in Witt. Bar., pp. 1-14

1 / The Historiography of the Society of Jesus: Where Does It Stand Today? JOHN W. O'MALLEY, S.J.

From their earliest days the Jesuits were reviled as devils and dissemblers, revered as saints and savants.1 These traditions persisted for centuries in popular media. They persisted in more subtle forms among the learned, continuing in academic circles even after the discipline of history assumed its modern form in the nineteenth century. Scholars have moved beyond such crude dichotomies, but until quite recently professional historians who were not themselves Jesuits showed little interest in researching Jesuit history.2 This was but an aspect of a more general lack of interest in early modern Catholicism, except as a foil for better understanding the Protestant Reformation. Interpretations of the Jesuits moved in almost all cases along familiar and predictable lines. Since the middle of the century, however, there have been a large number of studies that, whether written by Jesuits or by others, have been exemplary in method and also innocent of both apology and polemic. More recently, in the past dozen years, even more scholars from diverse disciplines have turned to the Jesuits, and, as this volume testifies, some of them have approached the Jesuits with new methods and perspectives. Luce Giard has recently described the phenomenon for the history of science, which can be taken as broadly emblematic for other disciplines as well.3 This change indicates that the historiography of the Society of Jesus has arrived at a new moment, signalling in turn the need to re-examine old frameworks of interpretation and perhaps refashion them. What in fact are those old frameworks, and how did they develop? What has been the course of historiography on the Society of Jesus, and where does it now stand? The articles by Gauvin Alexander Bailey, Marc Fumaroli, and Rivka Feldhay in this first part of our volume directly address aspects of these questions, and others later in the volume deal with them in passing. I will try to provide a broad and more comprehensive purview, tentative and highly selective.

4 JohnW. O'Malley, S.J. I will do so first by reviewing briefly the historiographical traditions within the Society of Jesus, which of course must at least touch upon anti-Jesuit polemic as its oft-times correlate. These traditions still await systematic and comprehensive study.4 I will then review the larger frameworks of interpretation for the early modern period into which the Jesuits have for about a hundred years often been placed. That means taking a look especially at the standard categories of Catholic Reformation and Counter Reformation that began to be current in our historical vocabulary about a century ago. Are the Jesuits most appropriately described, that is to say, as agents of a Catholic Reformation or Counter Reformation, or both? If not, how better to approach them? Finally, I will make a few observations about the present situation, especially as it is reflected in this volume. In that last regard the comments in Part Seven below by Joseph Connors, Luce Giard, and Michael J. Buckley can be taken as complementary to my observations here. I

The historiographical traditions within the Society enjoyed a remarkably sound foundation from almost the first hour, for which Ignatius of Loyola, Juan Alfonso de Polanco, and Jeronimo Nadal were especially responsible.5 As is well known, Ignatius provided the conditions for it by insisting on frequent written communication within the Society.6 Polanco had hardly become his secretary in 1547 before he asked Diego Lamez to compose an account of how the Society had come to be, and then he set about establishing a careful archive of all incoming and outgoing correspondence of the superior general. Of the almost seven thousand letters still extant in the correspondence of Ignatius, for instance, fewer than two hundred antedate 1547. After Ignatius died nine years later, Polanco continued as secretary for the next two generals and showed for the preservation of their correspondence the same diligence. He seemingly set an example for other Jesuits and reflected a corporate concern for accurate documentation, as the many dozens of volumes of the Monwnenta Historica Societatis lesu for the founding period testify. In sheer quantity this mass dwarfs the combined documentation for similar periods in all orders up to that time. He and Nadal, moreover, repeatedly urged Ignatius to bequeath to the Society a testament about its origins. Ignatius eventually complied, dictating at the very end of his life an account up to the year 1538 that is sometimes called his autobiography.7 The account was not put into print but circulated in manuscript within the Society. In it Ignatius depicted himself as a person moved to action for 'the help of souls' by a series of profound religious experiences.

The Historiography of the Society of Jesus 5 The account is remarkable in several ways. Ignatius expressed his fascination with Jerusalem as a place where he especially desired to help souls, thereby presaging the fundamentally missionary character of the Society. He also early came to the realization that he would be a more effective helper if he had a university education, an adumbration of the Society's special relationship to learning. This realization eventually resulted in his spending seven years at the University of Paris, 1528-35, at a moment of bitter controversy there over 'Lutheranism,' of which Ignatius hardly made mention. Throughout the account, moreover, the 'help of souls,' which is his leitmotif, was unspecified as to the form it might take, but 'conversation about the things of God' in fact emerges as an underlying pattern. That pattern is reflected even as the mode in which he led persons through his Spiritual Exercises, the text of which was already substantially complete by this time. It is curious that Ignatius did not carry his story a little further, for he ended it just at the moment when he and his companions began seriously to discuss the possibility of constructing a more permanent commitment to one another, that is, several years before the official approval of the Society by Pope Paul III in 1540. Nadal, Ignatius's peripatetic and plenipotentiary agent to Jesuit communities across Europe, used this account for almost twenty years to tell Jesuits what it meant to be a Jesuit. Ignatius was the paradigm for every member of the Society. The image that Ignatius provided of himself is without question the basis for the image Nadal constructed and infused into the traditions of the Society, but Nadal went beyond it in several ways. Portraying Ignatius as a man guided by the direct inspiration of God, he saw him in this regard as the modern equivalent of founders of great religious orders like St Dominic and St Francis of Assisi. In doing so Nadal slighted the role played in the founding by the companions who joined Ignatius at Paris, and his neglect of their contribution resulted in a tendency strongly operative even today to attribute to Ignatius all the important features discernible in the early formation of the Society's character. This has meant a more monolithic image of the Society's origin and development than the documentation warrants. Especially after Ignatius's death, Nadal modified the image to present Ignatius as a great David raised up by God to put down Luther, the Goliath.8 This new feature would only gain prominence both inside and outside the Society as the decades and centuries moved on. It was the immediate result of Nadal's dismay at the German situation, which began in earnest with his first visit there in 1555 and intensified in subsequent years. While Ignatius was always antipathetic to Lutheranism, had a horror of heresy, and especially in his last years took steps to halt the progress of the Reformation whenever he could, he never narrowed the scope of the Society to turn it principally in the direction of anti-Protestantism.

6 John W. O'Malley, S.J. But it would be Nadal's image of Ignatius, made more vivid by Protestant interpreters like Martin Chemnitz, the first Protestant to take any serious notice of the Jesuits, that would often prevail over the one Ignatius provided of himself.9 Nadal was, moreover, one of the most important architects of the network of schools the Society began to establish after 1547, and he enthusiastically promoted this ministry to the extent that by 1560 Polanco assumed it was in a class by itself, the ministry among all the others. Yet Nadal in his statements to Jesuits about Ignatius and about the Society never seemed to realize how radically important were the changes in the Society's character wrought by this development. The schools seriously qualified the ideal of itinerant ministry that had animated the early companions, and changed, in fact if not in theory, the style of poverty that at first had been envisaged. More pertinent to this volume, the schools gave the Society, as indeed the first 'teaching order' in the Catholic church, a relationship to culture and learning that was uniquely systemic among religious orders. Failure to take account of how this ministry effected changes in the Society that undertook it is broadly symptomatic of the substantialism, to use R.G. Collingwood's term,10 that has marked most Jesuit historiography, that is, the tendency to see the Society or 'Jesuitism' as an unchanging substance unaffected by the 'Other' it encountered. According to Colling wood, substantialism was endemic to the classical tradition of historiography, revived in the Renaissance, which was precisely the tradition the Jesuits appropriated. In his oblivion about the schools Nadal was in concert with the most basic and prescriptive documentation regarding the Society, especially the Jesuit Constitutions and even the Formula of the Institute of 1550, which were out of date on the schools before their ink had dried. This is a wonderful example of how fallacious official documentation can be when not integrated with the lived experience of a person or group. In any case, subsequent historiography, while often noting Jesuit engagement with learning and the arts, rarely indicated how essentially that engagement resulted from the unexpected decision in about 1550 to commit the Society to formal schooling on a massive scale. If that decision had not been taken, the Jesuits might well have become one more pastoral body, without strong profile, among the many in the Catholic church. The basic foundations for the future historiography of the origins of the Society had, in any case, been laid within the first twenty-five years. At this point Francisco Borja, the third general, decided that a real biography of Ignatius was needed, and he commissioned Pedro de Ribadeneira to write it.11 Borja's action adumbrated a pattern of official promotion within the Society of study and presentation of its history that would be characteristic of the Jesuits and persist through the centuries. In 1572, Ribadeneira produced the book, the life of a saintly founder of a

The Historiography of the Society of Jesus 7 religious order. He was much influenced by the canons of classical rhetoric revived in the Renaissance that were appropriate for the writing of history and biography/hagiography. These canons were derived principally from epideictic or demonstrative rhetoric, that is, from the art of panegyric, but they included philological and other criteria for dealing critically with historical documents. Ribadeneira later went on to write somewhat similar lives of the next two generals, Lainez and Borja, published finally in 1594 after many difficulties with Jesuit censors.12 It was his biography of Ignatius, however, that, as the first, had paradigmatic impact.13 For reasons that are still not altogether clear, Borja, even as he commissioned Ribadeneira, ordered that Ignatius's own account be withdrawn from circulation. Not all Jesuits were satisfied with Ribadeneira, and Everard Mercurian, Borja's successor, commissioned yet another biography of Ignatius from an Italian Jesuit, Giampietro Maffei, which, though it contained some new information and represented a less personal, more official approach, offered basically the same portrait.14 At the urging of Nadal and Polanco, Maffei had already published a Latin translation of letters from Jesuit missionaries.15 Soon thereafter Niccolo Orlandini and Francesco Sacchini searched the Jesuit archives in Rome for their history of the Society and their biographies of other Jesuits.16 Even at this early period Jesuits maintained they would make no statement of fact unless it could be documented - nihil nisi testatissimum.11 A great Jesuit historical enterprise, the Bollandists' Acta sanctorum, begun in Antwerp some decades later, strikingly evinced the critical attitude towards historical sources suggested by that axiom through a massive re-examination of information about every saint mentioned in the martyrology. In 1598 Claudio Acquaviva, Mercurian's successor as general, wrote to all the provincials in the order telling them to make sure the histories of their provinces were written. These histories were to be edifying, giving due attention to the good deeds and devout lives of the deceased members of the respective provinces.18 From this time until the suppression of the Society, Jesuits also produced a large number of historical works not dealing with the Society, a few of which, like Juan de Mariana's Historia general de Espana, the first Latin edition of which appeared in 1592, were significant achievements.19 At almost the same moment an eminent French jurist, Etienne Pasquier, published the most effective and influential piece of and-Jesuit propaganda up to this point, Le catechisme des jesuites, in which he depicted members of the Society as hypocrites and full of bombast.20 In 1593 was published the Historia jesuitici ordinis, an expose by an embittered ex-novice, Elias Hasenmiiller.21 Much more long-lived in its influence was the infamous Monita secreta, a collection of allegedly secret instructions from Acquaviva to provincials and

8 John W. O'Malley, S.J. rectors. Written by Hieronymus Zahorowski, a Jesuit dismissed from the Society in 1613, it was published in Cracow the next year. It had run through twenty-two editions in seven languages by the end of the century, and, though often exposed as a crude forgery, it continued to be reprinted and cited into the twentieth century. No book more firmly established the myth of the Jesuits as devils in a soutane, no book inimical to them was more widely diffused over a longer period of time or more influential. It contained in nucleus all the sinister traits that defamers would in the future utilize and elaborate upon. From the relatively few pages of the Monita the Jesuits emerge as religious hypocrites with an insatiable hunger for power and money, whose fundamental objective is to control the world through the systematic compiling of compromising secrets about friends, enemies - and each other (fig. 1.1). A sharper contrast to the Monita can hardly be imagined than the Imago primi saeculi, published in 1640 by the Flemish-Belgian province to celebrate the first centenary of the Society. Not a work of history as such, it was nevertheless an important document of self-representation of the Society, or, as its critics said, self-congratulation. In celebrating the great works of the Society the volume really celebrated God, maintained the editors, for it was God who had accomplished them. Since Jesus is the head of the Society, the five phases of his life, culminating in his glorification, served as the major divisions of this volume about the Jesuits. In the fifth part the editors made clear that, despite the Society's great diffusion and many activities, its real glory lay in its saints and martyrs. They gave ample space to the Society outside Europe. In answer to the question of why God had called the Society, like other religious orders, into being, the editors provided three reasons: first, to lead people to virtue; second, to add to the rich variety of ways of life in the church; finally, to defeat heretics, as Francis and Dominic, those 'noble athletes,' had defeated the Albigensians (fig. 1.2).22 Daniello Bartoli, the great Italian stylist of the mid-seventeenth century, published his biography of Ignatius ten years later, in 1650.23 The book was a resounding success as a work of literature and hagiography, translated into a number of languages and reprinted time and again well into the nineteenth century, and it came to supplant the earlier lives. It was in effect the first part of a much larger history of the Society that Bartoli only partly completed. Even incomplete the history was still a great achievement, important especially for its coverage of Jesuit missions.24 It anticipated the great histories of Japan, Paraguay, and New France a century later by the missionary-explorer-editor Pierre Fran9ois-Xavier de Charlevoix.25 These works are indications that Jesuit historians of this earlier period were perhaps more global in their scope than their counterparts in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In Bartoli's writings, composed in the wake of the canonizations of Ignatius

The Historiography of the Society of Jesus 9

1.1. Title-page of one of several editions of the Manila secreta published in the United States in the nineteenth century. The work was at that time more popular than ever on both sides of the Atlantic. Photo courtesy of the Andover-Harvard Theological Library, Harvard University.

and Francis Xavier in 1622 and drawn directly from archival sources, the story was a story of the triumph of the designs of Providence over the enemies of God and the Society. Enemies of the Society there indeed were. Lutheran historians continued their tradition of seeing Ignatius and the Jesuits as nothing more than anti-Protestant agents of the papacy, unschooled in the Gospel and distorters of it.

10 John W. O'Malley, SJ.

1.2. Title-page of the Imago primi saeculi, Antwerp, 1640, published to celebrate the first centenary of the Jesuits. The Society, depicted here as a woman with the Jesuit seal on her breast, utters the words 'Not to us, not to us, but to thy name be glory' (Ps. 115:1). Photo courtesy of the John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

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The better among them, like Veit Ludwig von Seckendorff, did their homework and tried to stick to the facts. Seckendorff studied the biographies of Ignatius by Ribadeneira, Maffei, and Bartoli, which led him to represent Ignatius in an unfavourable light in comparison with the more learned and clearer-sighted Luther, and he consulted other authors and texts as well. In criticizing the strategy of accommodation employed by the Jesuits in China, he cited their Catholic enemies against them.26 Those Catholic enemies believed the Jesuits were subversives within the fold. Pascal, a younger contemporary of Bartoli, wielded his satirical pen to great effect in his Provincial Letters, giving casuistry as a system of moral reasoning a bad name that has persisted until today, but an avalanche of Jansenist vitriol now began to crash down upon the Jesuits. As Marc Fumaroli has brilliantly shown, even in the controversy over literary style two cultures, two visions of Catholicism waged war (figs 1.3, 1.4).27 In the souring politico-ecclesiastical climate in Catholic countries during the next century, anti-Jesuit polemic - vicious, fired by the Enlightenment, and in deadly earnest - gradually overwhelmed whatever defences the Jesuits were able to mount.28 Depicting them as fanatics, regicides, obscurantists, hoarders of gold, and through their casuistry devious corrupters of morals, it carried the day and brought about the order's suppression. Portugal acted first, in 1759, and was followed by France, Spain, Naples, and Parma. Finally, in 1773, Pope Clement XIV, unable to resist pressure from the Bourbon courts or from bitterly anti-Jesuit ecclesiastics in Rome, suppressed the Society throughout the world.29 Shortly before the suppression in Spain, Andres Marco Burriel conceived the idea of an academy whose object would be to publish all the pertinent Jesuit documents from the first generation, an adumbration of the later Monumenla, but because of the worsening situation he was never able to initiate it.30 In 1804, however, Roque Menchaca, a Spaniard of the now defunct Society living in exile in Bologna, published there for the first time a collection of Ignatius's letters, Epistulae Sancti Ignatii Loiolae?^ After the Society was restored by Pope Pius VII in 1814, the Jesuits were for two generations too engaged in reconstructing their enterprise to produce much of significance regarding their own history. Nonetheless, in 1829, hardly a decade after the restoration, the Twenty-first General Congregation decreed that documents pertaining to the Society's history continue as before to be collected and compiled.32 Nineteenth-century politicians, historians, and litterateurs in Europe were hostile to the Society. Sinister versions of the Jesuit legend flourished as never before in what has been called 'the golden age of literary Jesuitphobia.'33 The French Revolution may have scotched the ancien regime, but it had not killed it.

12 JohnW.O'Malley,S.J,

1.3. Frontispiece of Le cabinet jesuitique, a collection of anti-Jesuit pieces first published in Cologne in 1674. The main Jesuit figure lords it over the king who kneels at his feet because the Jesuit is blackmailing him with secreta region, incriminating secrets learned by foul means. Note that one of the Jesuit's feet is a devil's hoof. Photo courtesy of the John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

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1.4. Another illustration from Le cabinet jesuitique. The Jesuit presides at a bookburning with the stately fa£ade of a Jesuit college in the background. Photo courtesy of the John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

14 John W. O'Malley, S.J. After Napoleon's defeat the restorations began. On 7 August 1814, just a month before the opening of the Congress of Vienna, which would restore the ancient political order across Europe, the Jesuits were restored by a newly restored papacy. In this climate they assumed a political stance ever more conservative and an ecclesiology ever more ultramontane. They did so just as, in reaction to the political solutions of 1814-15, progressive-liberal ideologies were growing in acceptance and appeal.34 Nonetheless, the violent storms of hatred and panic unleashed against them bore little proportion to their now meagre influence and their often unexceptional views. Throughout the century they suffered confiscation of property, suppression, and exile in one European country after another - Spain, Italy, France, Belgium, Germany - to be allowed back, usually, after a few decades or less. Bismarck's banishment of them from Germany, however, originally part of the Kulturkampf, lasted for forty years, from 1873 until 1913. In Latin America they suffered similar persecutions, trudging in exile from one country to find welcome in another, and often only having to reverse course some years later (figs 1.5, 1.6). At the end of the century a group of Spanish Jesuits under the leadership of Jose Maria Velez, who won the support of Father General Anton Maria Anderledy and then of his successor, Luis Martin, set about publishing the full correspondence of Ignatius and some related documents.35 This was the modest beginning of the Monumenta Historica Societatis lesu. The first fascicle rolled off the press in Madrid in 1894. Polanco's foresight in the careful keeping of records was thus about to issue into an actualization of which he could never have dreamt. Although the inspiration for what eventuated in the Monumenta reached back to the eighteenth century, its accomplishment required, among other things, the faith in primary sources and the methods for utilizing them later made normative by Leopold von Ranke. The late nineteenth century was precisely the moment when the publication of critical editions of historical documents was becoming an international industry, signalled especially by the inauguration of the Weimar Ausgabe of Luther's works occasioned in 1883 by the four-hundredth anniversary of his birth. That edition probably further encouraged the Jesuits to undertake the Monumenta, although their interest in such a project clearly antedated it.36 It is easy to infer that the Jesuits, sharing the nineteenth-century belief that documents speak for themselves, thought that publication of Jesuit sources would be the best means to refute the calumnies hurled at the Society. Meanwhile Jesuits elsewhere began and carried forward great projects that rode the same crest of historical faith, such as the critical edition by Otto Braunsberger of the correspondence of Peter Canisius,37 Michael Pachtler's edition of the Ratio studiorum and related documents,38 and the bibliography of

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1.5. Frontispiece from Lesjesuites, a history of the Society by M.A. Arnould published in Paris in 1846. The Jesuit, sinister as can be, makes a striking contrast with the simple layman on his prie-dieu, whom the Jesuit is doubtless duping. Photo courtesy of the John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

Jesuit writers constructed by Carlos Sommervogel and others.39 In this same last decade of the nineteenth century, Reuben Gold Thwaites, the only one of these editors who was not a Jesuit, inaugurated publication of the seventy-three volumes of Jesuit documents from New France, the famous Relations.4® In 1929 the Monumenta enterprise moved from Spain to the Jesuit Curia in Rome, where the next year the editors became officially a 'college of writers.' Beginning in 1931, moreover, the archives of the Fathers General, which since 1893 had been stored in Holland to prevent their possible seizure by the Italian government, began to be returned to Rome, a process completed in 1939. Meanwhile, in 1932 the 'college' published the first volume of the Archivum Historicum Societatis lesu. Three years later, in 1935, the 'college' was renamed the Institutum Historicum Societatis lesu. The Institute, theoretically international in its personnel, continued for decades to draw many of its members from

16 John W. O'Malley, S.J.

1.6. Cover of Simplicissimus, a weekly magazine published in Munich, number 48, 1902, while the Jesuits were still banished from Germany. The cartoon, entitled 'At the German Border,' depicts Jesuits inside Germany (the large figures) and others outside trying to gain entrance. The caption reads, 'We must once a year pretend we want to enter, lest they notice that we are already inside.' Photo courtesy of the Harvard College Library, Harvard University.

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Spain.41 At the Institute the writing of the history of the Society of Jesus was assumed to be an undertaking to be carried forward by Jesuits. Scholarship at large, especially by German historians, who still set the pace in the field, was in fact dominated by the Reformation, and showed a concomitant disdain for its dull and retrograde Catholic stepsister. Thwaites was a stunning exception to this rule, as were a few others whom I will mention below, but two writers on the Jesuits deserve special mention at this point because their books were translated into several languages and in their influence reached audiences beyond academia. Heinrich Bohmer, an important Luther scholar, published in 1904 a 'sketch' of the history of the Society until its suppression.42 Fair-minded, even appreciative, he presented Ignatius and his legacy as propagating a Pelagian self-control and as, in the final analysis, opposing the modern world for which Protestantism stood. More ambitious and much more widely read was Macht und Geheimnis der Jesuiten by the Hungarian journalist Rene Fulop-Miller. First published in 1929, The Power and Secret of the Jesuits became almost an international best-seller.43 Written with verve, this brilliant tour de force of 'cultural history' covering four hundred years refuted many of the traditional calumnies against the Jesuits, and was all the more impressive as coming from a non-believer.44 Fiilop-Miller sought to discover the essence of 'Jesuitism,' the secret behind the Jesuits' powerful achievements, and he believed he found it in a blind obedience to tasks imposed from above combined with individual initiative as to how to accomplish them. Not absent from 'Jesuitism' was the use of worldly means to accomplish a spiritual end. Fiilop-Miller sought, in other words, to discover what was distinctive about the Jesuits' 'way of proceeding.' The book was remarkable for its attention to the arts and other cultural phenomena, without recourse to any overarching categories like Counter Reformation to describe how the Society fit into the modern era. In 1892, just as the Monumenta project was getting under way, the Twentyfourth General Congregation met in Spain, and in its twenty-first decree recommended to the newly elected general that the writing of the history of the Society, widely desired by Jesuits throughout the order, be pursued.45 We must infer that Father General Martin took vigorous action, for shortly thereafter historians, many of whom were trained in the new methods, began ransacking local archives and writing histories of their respective assistancies or provinces. The best known among such projects are Bernhard Duhr's for Germany,46 Antonio Astrain's for Spain,47 and Pietro Tacchi Venturi's for Italy,48 but some fifty such volumes were published under that impulse within three decades and others have continued to appear until the present.49 They cover most of Western Europe and significant parts of North and South America but, until relatively recently, nothing outside the Western Hemisphere.

18 JohnW. O'Malley, S.J. Except for the most recent among them, they are affected by apologetic concerns, yet they are nonetheless sober and reliable narratives, often indispensable to the researcher. As they subscribed to the new faith in historical objectivity promulgated especially by the great German masters of the nineteenth century, and as they adopted the methods that supposedly guaranteed it, they effected a corporate break with the rhetorical traditions of the Renaissance that up to this point had characterized Jesuit writing of history and biography. Meanwhile, with Paul Dudon's biography of Ignatius50 and James Brodrick's biographies of Robert Bellarmine and Peter Canisius,51 Jesuit hagiography itself showed the impact of the new methods, which finally sent the still popular works by Barton' into oblivion. The histories themselves, in conformity with the nineteenth-century model of institutional historiography, generally take little account of the arts, as William J. Summers observes below for the Philippines, and, besides sometimes listing a few Jesuits who were scientists and mathematicians, they have little to say about Jesuit science and mathematics. They almost totally abstain from dealing with the history of Jesuit devotion or spirituality. In that area scholars like Pedro de Leturia,52 Ignacio Iparraguirre,53 Hugo Rahner,54 and Joseph de Guibert, one of the founders in 1937 of the Dictionnaire de spiritualite published under Jesuit auspices,55 were by mid-century producing pioneering studies to make up for this lapse. Even to this day, however, this aspect of Jesuit history is rarely integrated into the larger picture. The province and assistancy histories are perhaps weakest in their failure to deal effectively with the great historical movements that were the context for their stories, except perhaps by implying that such phenomena were recurring manifestations of the perennial struggle between good and evil, truth and falsehood. In other words, true to their historiographical heritage, they do not pursue with sophistication the larger frameworks of interpretation into which the history of the Society of Jesus might most appropriately be placed.56 This defect has not been confined to the historians of the provinces, for it has affected others who have written about the Society of Jesus, sometimes even when they have approached the subject well trained and without animus. II

That brings me to my second theme, the history of the construction of such frameworks. At the very time these Jesuits were writing, other scholars were debating precisely such categories of interpretation for the period that concerns us, utilizing terminology that for the most part had been devised by Lutheran historians in the nineteenth century. The two major categories of interpretation of

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Catholicism in the early modern period that by the middle of the twentieth century had emerged from the debate were, as I said earlier, Catholic Reform and Counter Reformation. How were these categories devised, and how did they come to be applied to the Society of Jesus? This is a complex story, but in it Hubert Jedin and the style of history he represented is pivotal and broadly symptomatic. Just a little over fifty years ago he published his famous essay Katholische Reformation oder Gegenreformation?, part of whose subtitle was 'an essay towards the clarification of the concepts.'57 Jedin was forty-six at the time, on his way to becoming perhaps the most important historian of the Catholic church in this century and about to publish the first volume of the great project of his life, the standard history of the Council of Trent. What Jedin tried to do in his essay was lay to rest the confusion and controversy that up to that point had reigned in historiography over what to call the 'Catholic side' in the early modern period. His essay was the first really systematic analysis of the issue, and it has remained the classic point of reference for all subsequent discussion.58 Even though the solution he adopted continues to have considerable influence, it did not put an end to the debate. In his essay Jedin first reviewed the history of the terms or concepts for designating the Catholic side of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Here are the highlights of that history. Until the late eighteenth century, no term existed to indicate the Catholic side in the way 'Reformation' a century earlier had come to indicate the Protestant.59 In the 1760s Johann Stephan Putter, a German Lutheran jurist, coined the term Gegenreformationen to mean the forced return to the practice of Catholicism in areas once Lutheran.60 Whether Putter used the word in the plural or in the singular, as he sometimes did, he meant to indicate a series of unconnected actions. He also gave the word a quite precise and narrow definition. Counter Reformation meant exactly what the word says, AntiReformation. It meant, more specifically, the military, political, and diplomatic measures Catholics in certain localities marshalled against German Lutherans roughly between the Peace of Augsburg in 1555 and the Treaty of Westphalia in 1648. Leopold von Ranke mediated the word into the historiographical mainstream. In 1843 he ended his Deutsche Geschichte im Zeitalter der Reformation with the pregnant sentence 'After the era of the Reformation [1517-55] came the era of the Counter Reformations.'61 He continued to use the term in the plural but prepared the way for the singular by postulating a certain unity in Catholic efforts against Protestantism that, propelled by the Catholic princes, sprang from three major sources - the Council of Trent, the Jesuits, and the papacy. When von Ranke linked the Jesuits to Trent, he gave voice to a connection that henceforth

20 JohnW. O'Malley, SJ. would largely be taken for granted.62 He moreover promoted a tendency to use the term Counter Reformation as almost a synonym for Catholicism in the early modern period. By the end of the nineteenth century the term had wended its way into other languages, taking on connotations and prejudices consonant with these different cultures - such as Controriforma in Italy, for example, where the battles of the Risorgimento were being fought and, then, vividly remembered. Francesco De Sanctis and, in the twentieth century, Benedetto Croce interpreted the term to signify opposition of the church not so much to Protestantism as to the freedom of the human spirit, which caused Italy to fall from its cultural pre-eminence into the 'variations on ugliness' that was the Baroque Era, that is, the Controriforma,6^ In Germany in the late nineteenth century Wilhelm Maurenbrecher and then Eberhard Gothein, Lutherans, took up von Ranke's thesis that the Catholic phenomenon was propelled in part by religious forces, and in 1880 Maurenbrecher coined the new term katholische Reformation, the first broadly influential historian to give the Reformation a Catholic counterpart.64 Many Lutherans were enraged by the suggestion of such a parallel, and others, when they utilized the term, saw Catholic Reform as antedating 1517, a weak and imperfect foreshadowing of the real Reformation to come. Some Catholics welcomed Maurenbrecher's term, others were suspicious of its Lutheran origin, still others disliked Reformation as a description of either side. Gothein, who refused to recognize Catholic Reformation as a legitimate category, focused the spotlight on Ignatius and the Jesuits as the instruments through which Spain had saved the Catholic church by opposing the creative ideas of the Renaissance and Reformation and imposing the reactionary formalities of the Middle Ages.65 In the early twentieth century Ludwig von Pastor, the first Catholic of influence to enter the naming game, used a variety of terms, including Catholic Reformation, but he eschewed Counter Reformation because of its negative connotations.66 In France early in the century the Catholic Pierre Imbart de la Tour wrote about the religious impulses before the Reformation and introduced the term evangelisme to indicate them, an early sign of the independent path much French scholarship would follow.67 In English-language historiography Counter Reformation began to predominate, especially after John H. Pollen gave it a reluctant imprimatur in 1908 in The Catholic Encyclopedia. Pollen, an English Jesuit, in effect redefined Counter Reformation to transform it into a strictly spiritual renewal, inspired by saints like Ignatius of Loyola, whom he called its 'pioneer.' He made no mention of inquisitions or the banning of books. Other terms like 'Catholic Restoration' and 'Catholic Renaissance' were also in circulation by the middle of the twentieth century. Augustin Renaudet and others in France coined Prereformeto indicate more or less what Maurenbrecher

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meant by Catholic Reform. In 1921, with his Der Barock als Kunst der Gegenreformation, Werner Weisbach made it easy for others, such as Croce, to identify what was becoming known as the Counter-Reformation Era as the 'Baroque Era.' Weisbach said of Ignatius of Loyola, 'One must begin with him in order to understand the temper of the Counter Reformation.'68 Since Gauvin Alexander Bailey in the following article deals with this putative relationship of the Jesuits to 'the baroque,' we need not tarry over it here. As these terms arose in particular situations and reflected the assumptions and prejudices of the scholars who created or used them, they obviously were not mere pointers. In shorthand form they defined the subject and implicitly evaluated it. They were categories of interpretation, boldly expressed. They influenced interpretation even when dismissed as not meaning what they seemed to say (as so often would be true of historians using Counter Reformation), for they focused attention on certain issues while distracting it from others. They arose, moreover, in answer to a single question: What was the relationship of the Catholic church to the Reformation? They thus silently redefined Catholicism as essentially constituted in all its particulars by that relationship. Jedin was a diligent student of these historiographical developments and wanted to set interpretation straight by creating order out of the confusing proliferation of names. His solution was to adopt from the many options both Catholic Reformation and Counter Reformation and give them his own definitions. Catholic Reform indicated the impulses towards reform of the church that began in the late Middle Ages and continued into the modern era, as expressed especially in the disciplinary decrees of Council of Trent; Counter Reformation meant the defence of itself that the Catholic church had to mount against the Protestant attack, reflected in the doctrinal decrees of Trent. You will note that in designating Counter Reformation a 'defence,' Jedin redefined the term, almost in defiance of what the words originally meant. For Jedin, the correct designation for the Catholic side was 'Catholic-Reformation-and-Counter-Reformation.' Jedin concluded his essay with a resounding affirmation of the importance of the Council of Trent that allowed him at least implicitly to introduce and justify a shorter designation for his long-winded 'Catholic-Reformation-and-CounterReformation.' That designation was 'the Tridentine Era.' With Jedin Trent held centre stage for whatever happened subsequently in Catholicism. He singled out three agents of this process - Trent, the Jesuits, and the papacy. But Trent set the agenda that the popes implemented by using the Jesuits as their instruments. Jedin was one of the truly great scholars of our times, and I do him a disservice by presenting his ideas in such a schematic and unqualified way. To read his essay of 1946 today is to be struck again by his erudition and careful scholarship, but also to realize not only how much more we know about so many aspects of

22 John W. O'Malley, S.J. the sixteenth century than did Jedin and his generation but also how the very practice of history has changed in the past fifty years. It must be noted, moreover, that, while he assigned the Jesuits such a pivotal role, he never did any research on them himself. His essay is badly out of date - yet we still often use the terminology he inherited, reinterpreted, and, along with many others, transmitted to us. We continue, at least implicitly, to apply it to the Society of Jesus. In any case, Jedin's solution did not lay the problem to rest. The debate over the traditional terms has continued, with Paolo Simoncelli in 1988, for instance, rejecting Jedin's distinction between Catholic Reform and Counter Reformation as a deceitful euphemism, on the ground that it hides the intrinsic relationship between repression and so-called Catholic Reform.69 Even Paolo Prodi, one of Jedin's disciples, has questioned the usefulness of Jedin's categories and distinctions.70 Moreover, new designations and approaches have been in the making. In 1958 Ernst Walter Zeeden, a Catholic historian at Tubingen, introduced Konfessionsbildung('the formation of confessions') into our historiographical vocabulary to denote similar structural developments in Germany after 1555 in the Lutheran, Calvinist, and Catholic churches, so that for that period 'the confessional age' should replace Counter Reformation.71 Later Wolfgang Reinhard took Zeeden's insight further with his elaboration of criteria for what he called 'confessionalization' (Konfessionalisierung) and along with Heinz Schilling brought it to new theoretical sophistication. They describe confessionalization as 'the intellectual and organizational hardening' of the diverging Christian confessions, each with its own religious and moral styles but conforming to similar patterns of action and organization that are decidedly modern.72 With this approach the churches are seen more clearly as expressions, active and passive, of wider developments of the early modern period. Moreover, these and other scholars, including Prodi, are making increasing use of 'social disciplining,' a term of analysis originally derived from Max Weber and Gerhard Oestreich but later sometimes coloured by ideas of Michel Foucault, to substitute for 'reform' and almost to obliterate it. Characteristic of practically all historians mentioned so far, beginning with von Ranke himself, has been their focus on the institutions that traditionally have occupied historians of the religious upheavals of the sixteenth century, the church and the state - and by 'church' I mean the official and public institutions of the confession in question, for example, bishops, pastors of parishes, elders, tribunals, and, of course, diets, synods, and councils. Altogether different, of course, has been the approach represented by the Annales school and its kin. This approach, first formulated in the 1920s by Lucien Febvre, Marc Bloch, and others, differed in almost every respect from what until then had been

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practically unquestioned.73 What we see clearly in retrospect is that the movement set out to dethrone politics-centred, event-centred, great-men-centred history - and by 'polities' must also be understood ecclesiastical politics. In 1929 Febvre published one of the most famous articles ever written about historical approaches to the Reformation and its Catholic counterpart, the famous 'question mal posee.'74 This passionate article dismissed as ridiculous the standard thesis that revulsion at ecclesiastical abuses caused the Reformation. The Reformation was spiritually too powerful to have been caused simply by a reaction to a bad state of affairs. We must set aside our preoccupation with such institutional factors and turn to the thoughts, aspirations, and desires of the men and women of the time, for the Reformation 'was the outward sign and the work of a profound revolution in religious sentiment.'75 We must, therefore, study religion, not churches, if we hope to understand the sixteenth century. Of all the points scored by Febvre in his article, one stands out especially for Jedin's essay and our subject: 'abuses' do not explain what happened. Febvre did not deny that abuses existed, or that both Trent and Luther tried to deal with them, but he displaced them from their unquestioned centrality. If what he postulated was true, then the concept and term 'reform,' which implies nothing other than a response to abuses, needs reassessment, although Febvre did not explicitly draw this conclusion. If not 'reform' - for instance, Catholic Reform - then what? In 1970 Jean Delumeau entitled his book Le catholicisme entre Luther et Voltaire - 'Catholicism,' not Catholic Reformation, not Counter Reformation, not even Catholic church. (Unfortunately, the editors of the English translation found it necessary to add a clarifying subtitle: 'A New View of the Counter Reformation'!) In 1985 John Bossy, influenced by what we might call the French approach, entitled his book Christianity in the West, 1400-1700, and in it he stated that he deliberately avoids terms like reform and reformation. What he sees is not so much reform (replacing a bad form with some idealized good form) as a movement from more natural, spontaneous, fraternal realities to things more rationalized, impersonal, individualistic, and bureaucratic. Religion did not of itself cause this movement but was, as both agent and patient, one of its many manifestations. In line with this approach the recent Oxford Encyclopedia of the Reformation contains an important entry by Benjamin Westervelt entitled 'Roman Catholicism' along with one under the more traditional category of 'Catholic Reformation.' Especially as a result of my research when writing The First Jesuits, I have suggested 'Early Modern Catholicism' as an appropriate name for the phenomenon in question.76 It has, I believe, many advantages. For instance, as an umbrella term it promotes further differentiation. It thus implicitly includes Catholic Reform, Tridentine Reform, and Counter Reformation as indispens-

24 JohnW. O'Malley, S.J. able sub-categories when they are precisely defined, and it welcomes further categories like confessionalization and social disciplining. It seems more open to the results of history from below, and it is thus less focused on hierarchical institutions. Though still Eurocentric, it is better able to take account of European encounter with 'the Other' in Asia and the Americas. It suggests that religious history cannot be understood apart from general history. Whether the term achieves all I claim for it is for others to judge, but simply arguing for it as I have just done makes manifest certain realities of the present historiographical moment. Fifty years ago Hubert Jedin thought he had solved the problem of naming the Catholic side of early modern history. But the debate about naming continued, and research into virtually every aspect of the Catholic side has increased almost exponentially. We know a lot more than Jedin and his generation did, and we are much more aware of the richness and complexity of early modern Catholicism. We know more about the Jesuits, and, as the contributions to this volume make clear, we must view with suspicion any interpretation that reduces them to a formula. Ill

In any case, through the debate over naming, we have arrived at a point quite different from where we were fifty years ago when Jedin summarized the historiographical situation. Here are a few elements of our new situation, as I see it, with special reference to the Jesuits. 1. The basic question has changed. The question historians of all persuasions asked fifty years ago was 'What caused the Reformation?' This meant for our subject, 'What in the Catholic church caused the Reformation?' and then 'What impact did the Reformation have on the Catholic church?' This line of questioning resulted in a focus on the church, on 'abuses' and on their remedies, that is, on 'reform.' The new question many historians are asking is quite different and might be put in several forms, such as 'What was Catholicism like?' or even 'What was Catholic life like?' This new question puts the subject on a new footing, releasing it from the constrictions of 'Catholic Reformation,' 'Counter Reformation,' and Tridentine Reformation,' which inextricably tied it to some reform impulse. For the historiography of the Society of Jesus this shift allows a less predetermined examination of what the Jesuits were about and of how they conceived of themselves. The first question about them, therefore, should not be 'How was the Society of Jesus an agent of the Counter Reformation?' but 'What was the Society of Jesus like?' or 'What were Jesuits like?' This is not to deny that Counter Reformation is a valuable category for

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interpreting the Jesuits. I believe, in fact, that it is essential for understanding them. I am suggesting, however, that the term does not fully capture them. Even after 1555, though anti-Protestantism was on its way to becoming an intrinsic part of their corporate culture and sometimes took fiercely aggressive forms, the degree to which it was operative varied from place to place, from period to period, and from ministry to ministry, as contributions to this volume indicate. For anti-Protestantism, England can perhaps be considered the centre of density in a series of concentric circles, with Poland, France, the Low Countries, and Germany in the next circle, and so on until we finally reach India, Japan, and China in the outermost, least dense circle, where opposition to the Reformation played no role in Jesuit activities. 2. The basic focus has thus to some extent changed. The traditional focus was 'the church,' understood as the institution comprising papacy, episcopacy, synods, and inquisitions - often seen as working hand in glove with the state. Among these institutions Trent held a position of unquestioned dominance, for it undertook 'the reform of the church.' Although this focus persists in much historiography, it has been broadened to include 'religion,' as our ongoing attempts at naming have indicated - 'popular religion,' 'folk religion,' 'civic religion,' 'elitist religion,' 'lay piety.' What this means for the Jesuits is that it allows us to look at them less as ecclesiastical persons and agents, more as practitioners and promoters of what John Van Engen has called Christianitas, the practice of traditional practices of the Christian religion.77 It allows us to detach them somewhat from the stereotype of agents of Trent and, hence, of the Tridentine Reformation' or 'Catholic Reformation.' The Jesuits were surely involved in 'Catholic Reform' in their eagerness to cooperate with bishops and princes in seeing to the implementation of the Tridentine decrees de reformatione, and they were intermittently engaged in such activity at certain times in certain places. But this was only one among many of their concerns and hardly the uppermost in many parts of the world. 3. A shift has taken place from a European to a multicultural perspective. Catholic missionary activity outside Europe began in earnest in the early sixteenth century with the Portuguese and Spanish explorations and conquests and then continued with immense fervour and expenditure through the seventeenth. Few things are more distinctive of Catholicism in the early modern period, for which there is no Protestant 'missionary' counterpart. Trent made no mention of foreign missions, and historiography on the 'Catholic Reformation' and 'Counter Reformation' generally followed suit. Today, however, the interaction between Europeans and the Other, as a reciprocal process, must be part of any study of 'what Catholicism was like.' The importance of this perspective for the

26 JohnW. O'Malley, S.J. study of the Jesuits is so obvious, as the contributions in this volume show, that it requires no further comment. 4. Fundamental shifts have occurred in our ideas about the agents, the process, and the rate of change (and likewise about continuity). For Jedin the papacy with its Jesuit agents successfully established the Catholic Reformation as proposed by Trent. Today scholars are more aware of resistance to any kind of 'reform' imposed by 'the church' and to 'social disciplining' attempted by a social, religious, or intellectual elite. 'Negotiation' took place, it seems on all levels - of bishops with Rome, of pastors with bishops on the one hand and with their flocks on the other, of accused with inquisitors, and so forth - with even illiterate villagers emerging as effective negotiators when their interests were at stake. The boundaries between so-called popular and elite cultures are now seen as permeable.78 At the same time we have become more aware, especially within Catholicism, of 'la longue duree' of institutions, slowing down and conditioning whatever change takes place. For study of the Jesuits this has meant a new perception of the interactive character of whatever they undertook. In this volume Nicolas Standaert incisively describes that interaction for the China mission. And the interactive character is perhaps nowhere more patent than in studies of so-called Jesuit architecture, which in almost every instance has been shown to be the product of negotiation between Jesuits and their patrons. But, as is clear especially from the contributions in this volume dealing with Asia and the Americas, the reality of reciprocity between Jesuits and those with and for whom they ministered was even more profound. 5. These shifts of course point to basic shifts in methodology. From traditional 'church history' based on a political model and from doctrinal history as a form of the history of ideas, scholarship has moved ever more towards social history in its various forms and manifestations, towards taking some account of cultural anthropology, and towards a growing awareness of the contribution of art history and the history of science and technology. Scholars have finally begun to study the economic aspects of the Jesuit enterprise, badly neglected until quite recently; Dauril Alden's book, important in so many regards, deserves special commendation for the attention it pays to finances.79 Such broadening of methodological base, far from being peculiar to studies of the Jesuits, has of course occurred in the study of all historical subjects, so that scholars in our so-called postmodern times realize they must reckon with, or be bewildered by, a rich multiplicity of perspectives. Jesuits in the early modern period were, almost by definition, polymaths, so a multi-perspectival approach to them seems especially appropriate. This volume reflects such an approach, and our hope is that it will help us grasp them a little

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more closely as they actually were. Special in its interdisciplinary approach to the Jesuits, the volume also signals the new historiographical situation in that most of the contributions are by scholars who are not Jesuits and not Roman Catholics. What especially needs to be pursued now is comparison of the Jesuits with their counterparts in other religious orders, as is offered in a few articles in this volume, and then, when feasible, with their Protestant counterparts.80 Even from where we are at this moment, the phenomenon of 'inflated differences,' to which Standaert calls attention, seems to have been broadly operative in this area. With the hindsight of three or four hundred years, these groups strike us more forcefully by their similarities than by their differences. Even so, the Jesuits, as we see them in this volume and in other recent studies, resist reduction to insignificant variations on an essence shared with others, difficult though it may be to define what it is that gives them a character of their own. They insisted they had a 'way of proceeding' that both expressed their identity and helped form it. True, the expression often meant not much more than routines regarding external deportment, but it sometimes suggested something deeper. In fact, they had three things related to their 'style' or 'way of proceeding' that no other group possessed. The first was the Spiritual Exercises, a guide through a set of inner experiences that every Jesuit underwent. This, they sometimes said or implied, provided them with the most basic elements of their way of proceeding.81 The study of this crucially important facet of the Jesuit 'way' has been copiously but not always judiciously developed by scholars who are Jesuits, and practically ignored by everybody else.82 Currently in danger of being lost sight of is precisely the religious dimension of the Jesuit enterprise, a problem to which both Luce Giard and Michael J. Buckley call attention below. Hagiography is out. Yet a devout life is the aim of the Exercises and is what the Jesuits from Nadal forward understood themselves and their 'way of proceeding' to be ultimately concerned with. The hermeneutics of suspicion must be applied, of course, to any such self-presentation, but it must be accompanied by an effort to enter the Jesuits' world on their terms, to study 'religious sentiment' as religious and not as by definition reducible to a disguised play for power. Though modern scholars show little interest in the vast corpus of Jesuit writing on godly living, Karl Josef Holtgen's sensitive treatment below of emblem books, a genre as characteristic of the Jesuits and important to them as it has been unstudied, more than suggests the insight such devout literature provides into the Jesuit 'way.' James F. Keenan's article indicates that Jesuit literature on the devout life had an impact beyond Catholic circles, in ways for which it has so far not been given credit. Several scholars in this volume point out the importance of visual imagination

28 JohnW. O'Malley, S.J. in the Exercises and correctly relate it to Nadal's Adnotationes et meditationes, which was both occasion and symptom of Jesuit cultivation of the visual arts emblem books, painting, sculpture. Other religious orders also cultivated these forms,83 but, as suggested especially in the articles by Gauvin Alexander Bailey on India and Jeffrey Chipps Smith on Bavaria, neither so aggressively nor so self-consciously. Second, the Jesuits had their Constitutions, which, for all that it borrowed from similar documents, was different and precociously modern. Those documents were invariably compilations of ordinances. The Constitutions, obviously influenced through Polanco by principles of Humanist rhetoric that infused a unity and coherence new in such instruments, broke with older models in the psychological development of its design and structure, in its attention to motivation, in being undergirded by theological principles, and in its insistence on flexibility in the implementation even of its own prescriptions. That last quality reflects the similar flexibility insisted upon in the Exercises and that, say what you will, recurs as a theme in Jesuit documents. By definition the Constitutions were a way of proceeding. Only a few scholars, almost all Jesuits, have studied them.84 Finally, there were the schools, which led the Jesuits into rhetoric, science, theatre, music, and dance in ways shared by no other religious order or comparable group. What were those 'school ways' that therefore must be distinctive of the Jesuit 'way'? First, the schools were part of an immense global network - there were some eight hundred by the middle of the eighteenth century, surely the largest and most far-flung system of its kind under a single aegis the world has ever known. Through this network, as Rivka Feldhay and Steven J. Harris show below for mathematics and the sciences, the Jesuits carried on regular discourse with one another across hundreds or many thousands of miles - a 'cultural ecosystem,' Buckley calls it. Second, the schools gave the Jesuits a relationship to these disciplines and arts that was systemic. That is, Jesuits cultivated the disciplines and arts not as individuals who might have some special talent or interest in the subject but as part of a program incumbent upon all. As future teachers they were, as a group, professionals in pursuing them. Moreover, although religious goals always remained fundamental with them, their pursuit of 'the common good' through the schools imbued many of them with some sense of cultural mission as well. The schools gave the Jesuits an entry into local culture and civic life that churches alone could not provide. They were stable arenas where the Jesuits learned, as Louise Rice shows, to orchestrate poetry, oratory, philosophy, theology, wit, music, and the other arts into a single cultural experience. In the localities where the Jesuits were able to establish them, they became the base and centre for all the other ministries in which the Jesuits engaged.

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By the eighteenth century other religious orders of men and women were running primary and secondary schools that bear some comparison with Jesuit institutions on that level. We must never forget, however, that no other religious order had an institution of higher learning in any way comparable to the Roman College, the Collegio Romano, which rightly receives so much attention in this volume. The impulse to found and staff and then over the course of more than two centuries to sustain and promote such an institution says volumes about the character of the group that, with no model to emulate, behaved in this way. It implies a vision, however unarticulated in words, about ways of relating to culture shared by no other large, complex, and internationally diversified body on such a corporate scale. The Collegio Romano, for all its importance in the Jesuit system, was not an isolated showpiece, but, especially by the mid-seventeenth century, only one such institution among a number run by the Jesuits that dotted the European and Latin American landscape. The College-Louis-le-Grand in Paris, for instance, betrays in its personnel and cultural activities the same corporate values and behaviours. I believe that within these three factors lurk important elements of a Jesuit way of proceeding, but the quarry is ever elusive. The contributions in this volume stand as collective witness to the complexity of all historical inquiry as well as to the complexity of the Jesuit case. No neat, easily packaged answer about the Jesuit way emerges from these pages. If it had, we could rightly suspect the authors of having deviated from history into some kind of essentialist philosophy. Nonetheless, the images of the Jesuit enterprise depicted here are in notable regards different from those proposed between the time of Jeronimo Nadal in the sixteenth century and that of Hubert Jedin in the mid-twentieth. This is our best evidence that we stand at a new historiographical moment regarding the Society of Jesus, 1540-1773. NOTES

I am indebted to Gauvin Alexander Bailey and T. Frank Kennedy for helping me with this article, and to Luce Giard and especially Steven J. Harris for a number of bibliographical references; see n4 below. 1 For a listing of anti-Jesuit works, as well as Jesuit responses, for the period 15401773, see Somm. Bib. 10:1510-20, 11:1-210 (nos 1-1517). See also e.g. Bernhard Duhr, Jesuiten-fabeln: Ein Beitrag zur Culturgeschichte, 3rd ed. (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1899); Alexandre Brou, Les jesuites de la legende, 2 vols (Paris, 1906-7); Arnold Pritchard, Catholic Loyalism in Elizabethan England (Chapel Hill, 1979), pp. 175-91; Michel Leroy, Le mythe jesuite: De Beranger a Michelet (Paris, 1992);

30 John W. O'Malley, SJ. Geoffrey Cubitt, The Jesuit Myth: Conspiracy, Theory and Politics in NineteenthCentury France (Oxford, 1993); Jean Lacouture, The Jesuits: A Multibiography, trans. Jeremy Leggatt (Washington, 1995), pp. 348-77. 2 See Ludwig Koch, 'Geschichte des G.J., Werke iiber den Jesuitenorden,' in his Jesuiten-Lexikon: Die Gesellschaft Jesu einst undjetzt, 2 vols (Paderborn, 1934), I 683-4, and John Patrick Donnelly, 'Religious Orders of Men, Especially the Society of Jesus,' in Catholicism in Early Modern History: A Guide to Research, ed. John W. O'Malley (St Louis, 1988), pp. 147-62. 3 Luce Giard, 'Le devoir d'intelligence ou 1'insertion des jesuites dans le monde du savoir,' in Giard Jes. Ren., pp. xi-lxxix. 4 See, however, Donnelly, 'Religious Orders of Men'; Koch, 'Geschichte der G.J.'; Eduard Fueter, Geschichte der neueren Historiographic, 3rd ed. (1936; repr. Zurich and Schwabisch Hall, 1985), pp. 278-88; Hugh Trevor-Roper, Twice Martyred: The English Jesuits and Their Historians,' in his Historical Essays (London, 1957), pp. 113-18; Ignacio Iparraguirre, 'La figura de San Ignacio a traves los siglos,' in Ignatius of Loyola, Obras completas, ed. Ignacio Iparraguirre and Candido de Dalmases, 4th ed. (Madrid, 1982), pp. 3-38; Kon.-Nord. Ign.; Michel de Certeau, 'Le mythe des origines,' in his Lafaiblesse de croire, ed. Luce Giard (Paris, 1987), pp. 53-74, and his 'La reforme de 1'interieur au temps d'Aquaviva' and 'Le XVIIe siecle fran9ais,' in DS 8:985-1016; Har. 'Jes. Id.,' preface; Ricardo GarciaVilloslada, San Ignacio de Loyola: Nueva biografia (Madrid, 1986), pp. 3-20; Terence O'Reilly, 'Ignatius of Loyola and the Counter Reformation: The Hagiographic Tradition,' Heythrop Journal 31 (1990): 439-70; Fran§ois Durand, 'La premiere historiographie ignatienne,' in Ignacio de Loyola y su tiempo, ed. Juan Plazaola (Bilbao, [c. 1992]), pp. 23-36; Jos E. Vercruysse, 'L'historiographie ignatienne aux XVI-XVIII siecles,' ibid., pp. 37-54; Rafael Olaechea, 'Historiografia ignaciana del siglo XVIII,' ibid., pp. 55-105; Thomas M. McCoog, The Society of Jesus in Ireland, Scotland, and England, 1541-1588: 'Our Way of Proceeding'? (Leiden, 1996), pp. 1-9; Alois Schmid, 'Die Vita Petri Canisii des P. Matthaus Rader, S.J.,' in Petrus Canisius - Reformer der Kirche: Festschrift zum 400. Todestag des zweiten Apostels Deutschlands, ed. Julius Oswald and Peter Rummel (Augsburg, 1996), pp. 223^3; and Sibylle Appuhn-Radtke, 'Petrus Canisius im Bild - Entwicklungsstadien einer Heiligenikonographie,' ibid., pp. 244-74. 5 On the crucial roles played by Polanco and Nadal in the early Society, see O'M. First, pp. 10-14 and passim. 6 See Ganss Const., pp. 292-3 (#673-6). 7 The work is found in FN 1:354-507. On it, see e.g. Durand, 'Premiere historiographie,' and Louis Marin, 'Le Recit: Reflexion sur un testament,' in Giard Jes. bar., pp. 61-76. A recent interpretation is by Marjorie O'Rourke Boyle, Loyola's Acts: The Rhetoric of Self (Berkeley, 1997).

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8 See O'M. First, pp. 272-83, and O'Reilly, 'Ignatius,' especially pp. 441-8. 9 Martin Chemnitz, Theologiae Jesuitarum brevis ac nervosa descriptio et delinatio,' in Loci theologici (Frankfurt and Wittenberg, 1690), first published in 1560. See J. Carlos Coupeau, 'Los dialogos de Nadal: Un ejemplo de adaptation retorica del ministerio de la palabra segun la espiritualidad ignaciana,' S.T.L. thesis, Weston Jesuit School of Theology, Cambridge, Mass., 1997, pp. 1-28. 10 See R.G. Collingwood, The Idea of History (New York, 1956), pp. 42-5. 11 See Durand. 'Premiere historiographie'; Iparraguirre, 'La figura,' pp. 5-10; Fueter, Geschichte, pp. 278-88; O'Reilly, 'Ignatius'; David J. Collins, 'Life after Death: A Rhetorical Analysis of Pedro de Ribadeneira's Vida del padre Ignacio de Loyola, Fundador de la Compahia de Jesus,' S.T.L. thesis, Weston Jesuit School of Theology, Cambridge, Mass., 1998; and Jodi Bilinkoff, The Many "Lives" of Pedro de Ribadeneira,' forthcoming in Renaissance Quarterly. For the text and commentary, see Pedro de Ribaneneira, Historias de la Contrarreforma, ed. Eusebio Rey (Madrid, 1950), pp. 6-428. 12 See Ribadeneira, Historias, pp. 433-892. 13 See Kon.-Nord. Ign., pp. 42-55. 14 Giampietro Maffei, De vita et moribus Ignatii Loiolae (Rome, 1585). See Kon.Nord. Ign., pp. 51-3. 15 Giampietro Maffei, Rerum a Societate Jesu in Oriente gestarum (Dillingen, 1571). 16 Orlandini wrote a Historia Societatis Jesu up to the death of Ignatius, which was continued by Sacchini up to 1590, and then continued by still others up to 1632, 8 vols (Rome, Cologne, Antwerp, 1615-1750). Sacchini wrote biographies of Stanislaus Kostka (1609), Peter Canisius (1616), and Aloysius Gonzaga (1630). 17 Quoted by Schmid, 'Vita Canisii,' p. 230. 18 See McCoog, Society of Jesus, p. 3. 19 Juan de Mariana, Historiae de rebus Hispaniae libri XXV (Toledo, 1592). See e.g. Koch, 'Geschichtscreibung und Geschichtsforschung,' in his Jesuiten-Lexikon, II 684-7; Bernhard Duhr, 'Die alten deutschen Jesuiten als Historiker,' Zeitschrift fiir katholische Theologie 13 (1889): 57-89; Martin P. Harney, 'Jesuit Writers of History,' Catholic Historical Review 26 (1940-1): 433^46. 20 Etienne Pasquier, Le catechisme des jesuites, ed. Claude Sutto (Sherbrooke, [c. 1982]), first published in 1592. 21 Elias Hasenmiiller, Historia jesuitici ordinis, ed. Polycarp Leyser (Frankfurt, 1593). On Hasenmiiller, see Koch, Jesuiten-Lexikon, I 772, and Brou, Legende, I 37-45. 22 Imago primi saeculi Societatis Jesu (Antwerp, 1640), pp. 53-7. On the work, see Alfred Poncelet, Histoire de la Compagnie de Jesus dans les anciens Pays-Bas (Brussels, 1926), pt 2, pp. 544-9; G. Richard Dimler, 'The Imago primi saeculi: Jesuit Emblems and the Secular Tradition,' Thought 56 (1981): 433-47; and especially Fum. 'Bar.' Pascal makes satirical mention of it at the beginning of letter V, Provincial Letters, trans. A.J. Krailsheimer (New York, 1967), p. 74.

32 JohnW. O'Malley, S.J. 23 Daniello Bartoli, Delia vita e dell'htituto di S. Ignazio, fondatore delta Compagnia di Gesu (Rome, 1650). 24 The volume on Asia appeared in 1653, on Japan in 1660, on China in 1663, on England in 1667, on Italy in 1673. See DBI 6:563-71, and Vercruysse, 'L'historiographie ignatienne' (n4 above), pp. 43-8. 25 Pierre Fran^ois-Xavier de Charlevoix, Histoire ... du christianisme dans I'empire du Japan, 3 vols (Paris, 1715); Histoire et description generate de la Nouvelle France, 3 vols (Paris, 1744); Histoire du Paraguay, 3 vols (Paris, 1756). 26 See Veit Ludwig von Seckendorff, Commentarius historicus et apologeticus de Lutheranismo, 3 vols (Frankfurt and Leipzig, 1692), III 314^8, especially 326-30. See Vercruysse, 'L'historiographie ignatienne,' pp. 48-51. 27 Fum. 'Bar.' 28 See nl above, as well as Fum. 'Bar.,' and Olaechea, 'Historiograffa ignaciana' (n4 above), especially pp. 63-90. For background, see William V. Bangert, A History of the Society of Jesus (St Louis, 1972), pp. 273-362. On Voltaire and the Jesuits, see Marc Fumaroli, 'Arts of Persuasion: The Lasting Influence of the Jesuits on Voltaire's Style and Thought,' Times Literary Supplement, no. 4791 (27 January 1995), pp. 14-16. 29 See Bangert, History, pp. 363-430. 30 See Dionisio Fernandez Zapico and Pedro Leturia, 'Cincuentenario de Monumenta Historica S.I.,' AHSI13 (1944): 1-61, especially 2-6. 31 Ibid., pp. 3-4, and Olaechea, 'Historiograffa ignaciana,' pp. 93^4 (n4 above). 32 See For Matters of Greater Moment: The First Thirty Jesuit General Congregations: A Brief History and a Translation of the Decrees, ed. John W. Padberg et al. (St Louis, 1994), p. 442 (decree 21). See also ibid., p. 477 (decree 47). 33 Lacouture, Jesuits (nl above), p. 364. On the termjesuitophobie, see Leroy, Mythe jesuite (nl above), p. 21. 34 See Har. 'Jes. Id.' 35 See Fernandez Zapico, 'Cincuentenario,' pp. 6-16. 36 See ibid., p. 8. See also decree 21 of the Twenty-fourth General Congregation, 1892, in Matters of Moment, ed. Padberg et al., p. 487. 37 Pet. Can. Epp. 38 Pacht. Ratio. 39 Somm. Bib. Sommervogel relied heavily on the still earlier work by Augustin and Aloys De Backer, Bibliotheque des ecrivains de la Compagnie de Jesus, 1 vols (Liege, 1853-61). 40 Thw. Rel. 41 See Matters of Moment, ed. Padberg et al., p. 607 (decree 35). 42 Heinrich Bohmer, Die Jesuiten: Eine historische Skizze (Leipzig, 1904), with several revised editions, including one reworked by Hans Leube and Kurt Dietrich Schmidt published at Stuttgart in 1957.

The Historiography of the Society of Jesus

33

43 Rene Fiilop-Miller, Macht und Geheimnis der Jesuiten: Kulturhistorische Monographic (Leipzig and Zurich, 1929). The English translation by F.S. Flint and D.F. Tait, The Power and Secret of the Jesuits, appeared the next year in both an English and an American edition; it was reprinted in 1957, and again in New York as late as 1963 with a more sober title, The Jesuits: A History of the Society of Jesus. 44 See the reviews by Ludwig Koch, Stimmen derZeit 118 (1929-30): 338^8, and by Yves de La Briere, Etudes 214 (1933): 721-6. 45 See Matters of Moment, ed. Padberg et al., p. 487 (decree 21): The wish of certain provinces that writing the history of the Society should be resumed was expressed to the assembled fathers. The congregation replied that this is among the desires of us all and is something to be recommended to our Father General.' 46 Bernhard Duhr, Geschichte der Jesuiten in den Ldndern deutscher Zunge, 4 vols in 6 (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1907-13, and Munich-Regensburg, 1921-8). 47 Antonio Astrain, Historia de la Compania de Jesus en la asistencia de Espana, 1 vols (Madrid, 1902-25). 48 Pietro Tacchi Venturi, Storia della Compagnia di Gesu in Italia, 2 vols in 4 (Rome, 1910-51). 49 Besides the three series mentioned in the previous notes, they include Poncelet, Les Pays-Bas (n22 above); Francisco Rodrigues, Historia da Companhia de Jesus na assistencia de Portugal, 4 vols in 7 (Porto, 1931-50); Henri Fouqueray, Histoire de la Compagnie de Jesus en France, 1528-1762, 5 vols (Paris, 1910-25); Joseph Burnichon, La Compagnie de Jesus en France, 1814-1914, 4 vols (Paris, 191422); Lesmes Frias, Historia de la Compania de Jesus en su asistencia moderna de Espana (Madrid, 1923); Manuel Revuelta Gonzalez, La Compania de Jesus en la Espana contempordnea, 2 vols (Madrid, 1984-91); Otto Pfiilf, Die Anfdnge der deutschen Ordensprovinz der neuerstandenen Gesellschaft Jesu, 1805—1847 (Frankfurt and St Louis, 1922); [Adone Aldegheri], Breve storia della provincia veneta della Compagnia di Gesu dalle sue originifino ai nostri giorni, 1874-1914 (Venice, 1914); Pietro Galetti, Memorie storiche intorno alia provincia romana della Compagnia di Gesu, 1814-1914 (Rome, 1914); Antonio Leanza, La Compagnia di Gesu in Sicilia e il primo secolo del suo rinascimento (Palermo, 1914); Michele Volpe, / gesuiti nel Napoletano, 3 vols (Naples, 1914-15); Alessandro Monti, La Compagnia di Gesu nel territorio della provincia torinese, 5 vols (Chieri, 1914-20); Giovanni Barrella, 1 gesuiti nel Salentino, 1574-1767 (Lecce, 1918); Laszlo Velics, Vdzlatok a magyar jezsuitdk multjdbol, 2 vols (Budapest, 1912-14); Alois Kroess, Geschichte der bohmischen Provinz der Gesellschaft Jesu, 2 vols (Vienna, 1910-38); Stanislaw Zaleski, Jezuiciqw Polsce, 5 vols (Cracow, 1900-6); Thomas Hughes, History of the Society of Jesus in North America, 2 vols (London and New York, 1907-17); Gilbert Garraghan, The Jesuits of the Middle United States, 3 vols (New York, 1938); Serafim Leite, Historia da

34 JohnW. O'Malley, SJ.

50 51

52 53

54

55

56

Companhia de Jesus no Brasil, 10 vols (Rio de Janeiro and Lisbon, 1938-50); Gerardo Decorme, Historia de la Compania de Jesus en la Republica Mexicana durante el siglo XIX, 3 vols (Guadalajara and Chihuahua, 1914-59); Juan Manuel Pacheco, Los jesuitas en Colombia, 3 vols (Bogota, 1959-89); Ruben Vargas Ugarte, Historia de la Compania de Jesus en el Peru, 4 vols (Burgos, 1963-5); Manuel Aguirre Elorriaga, La Compania de Jesus en Venezuela (Caracas, 1941); Cost. Jes, Phil; Mario Scaduto, L'epoca di Giacomo Lainez, 1556-1565, 2 vols (Rome, 1964-74), and L 'opera di Francesco Borgia, 1565-1572 (Rome, 1992), continuations of Tacchi Venturi; McCoog, Society of Jesus (n4 above). To this list might be added collections of documents, such as Historia de la Compania de Jesus en la provincia de Paraguay, ed. Pablo Pastells and F. Mateos, 8 vols in 9 (Madrid, 1912-49), and modern editions of pre-suppression works, such as Francisco Javier Alegre, Historia de la provincia de la Compania de Jesus de Nueva Espana, ed. Ernest J. Burrus and Felix Zubillaga (Rome, 1956-9), and anonymous, Historia general de la Compania de Jesus en la provincia del Peru, ed. F. Mateos, 2 vols (Madrid, 1944). See e.g. Dauril Alden, 'Serafim Leite, S.J., Premier Historian of Colonial Brazil: An Overdue Appreciation,' in Jesuit Encounters in the New World: Jesuit Chroniclers, Geographers, Educators, and Missionaries in the Americas, 1549-1767, ed. Joseph A. Gagliano and Charles E. Ronan (Rome, 1997), pp. 21-35, and W. Michael Mathes, 'Jesuit Chroniclers and Chronicles of Northwestern New Spain,' ibid., pp. 37-80. Paul Dudon, Saint Ignace de Loyola (Paris, 1934); English translation, St. Ignatius of Loyola, trans. William J. Young (Milwaukee, 1949). James Brodrick, The Life and Works of Blessed Robert Francis Cardinal Bellarmine, 2 vols (London, 1928); Saint Peter Canisius, S.J., 1521-1597 (London, 1935). See e.g. Pedro Leturia, Estudios ignacianos, ed. Ignacio Iparraguirre, 2 vols (Rome, 1957). See e.g. Ignacio Iparraguirre, Historia de la prdctica de los Ejercicios Espirituales de San Ignacio de Loyola, 3 vols under slightly different titles (Rome and Bilbao, 1946-73). See e.g. Hugo Rahner, Ignatius von Loyola und das geschichtlicher Werden seiner Frommigkeit (Graz, 1947); English translation, The Spirituality of St Ignatius Loyola: An Account of Its Historical Development, trans. Francis John Smith (Chicago, 1953). See e.g. Joseph de Guibert, La spiritualite de la Compagnie de Jesus: Esquisse historique (Rome, 1953); English translation, The Jesuits, Their Spiritual Doctrine and Practice: A Historical Study, trans. William J. Young (Chicago, 1964). This would not be true of more recent volumes. See e.g. McCoog, Society of Jesus, pp. 1-9.

The Historiography of the Society of Jesus 35 57 Hubert Jedin, Katholische Reformation oder Gegenreformation? Ein Versuch zur Kldrung der Begriffe nebst einer Jubildumsbetrachtung uber das trienter Konzil (Lucerne, 1946). 58 See Pier Giorgio Camaiani, 'Interpretazioni della Riforma cattolica e della Controriforma,' in Grande antologia filosofica, ed. Umberto Antonio Padovani et al. (Milan, 1964- ), VI 329-490, and Ricardo Garcia-Villoslada, 'La Contrarreforma: Su nombre y su concepto historico,' in Saggi storici intorno al papato, Miscellanea Historiae Pontificiae 21 (Rome, 1959), pp. 189-242. See also volume 6 (1980) of Annali dell'Istituto Storico Italo-Germanico in Trento', practically all the contributions concern Jedin, and many touch on this issue. 59 See Hike Wolgast, 'Reform, Reformation,' in Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe: Historisches Lexikon zur politisch-sozialen Sprache in Deutschland, ed. Otto Brunner et al., 8 vols (Stuttgart, 1972-97), V 513-60, especially 521-35. 60 See Albert Elkan, 'Entstehung und Entwicklung des Begriffs "Gegenreformation,"' Historische Zeitschrift 112(1914): 473-93. 61 Leopold von Ranke, Deutsche Geschichte im Zeitalter der Reformation, 6 vols (Berlin, 1842-7), V 501. 62 See Leopold von Ranke, The History of the Popes, trans. E. Foster, 3 vols (London, 1853-6), T 135-78, especially 149-54. 63 See Benedetto Croce, Storia dell 'eta barocca in Italia: Pensiero, poesia e letteratura, vita morale (Bari, 1929), especially pp. 3-51. See also H.G. Koenigsberger, 'Decadence or Shift? Changes in the Civilization of Italy and Europe in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries,' Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 5th series, 10 (1960): 1-18. 64 Wilhelm Maurenbrecher, Geschichte der katholischen Reformation (Nordlingen, 1880). 65 Eberhard Gothein, Ignatius von Loyola und die Gegenreformation (Halle, 1895). 66 See Jedin, Katholische Reformation, pp. 17-21, and Camaiani, 'Interpretazioni,' pp. 350-4. 67 Pierre Imbart de la Tour, L'evangelisme (1521-1538) (Paris, 1914). See Marc Venard, 'Reforme, Reformation, Prereforme, Contre-reforme: Etude de vocabulaire chez les historiens recents de langue fran§aise,' in Historiographic de la Reforme, ed. Philippe Joutard (Paris, 1977), pp. 352-65. 68 Werner Weisbach, Der Barock als Kunst der Gegenreformation (Berlin, 1921), p. 12. 69 Paolo Simoncelli, 'Inquisizione romana e riforma in Italia,' Rivista storica italiana 100 (1988): 1-125. For a recent review of Italian historiography on the issue, see William V. Hudon, 'Religion and Society in Early Modern Italy - Old Questions, New Insights,' American Historical Review 101 (1996): 783-804. 70 Paolo Prodi, 'II binomio jediniano "riforma cattolica e controriforma" e la

36 JohnW. O'Malley, S.J.

71

72

73

74

75 76 77 78 79

storiografia italiana,' Annali Trento (1980): 85-98, and especially his 'Controriforma e/o Riforma cattolica: Superamento di vecchi dilemmi nei nuovi panorami storiografici,' Romische historische Mitteilungen 31 (1989): 227-37'. Ernst Walter Zeeden, 'Grundlagen und Wege der Konfessionsbildung in Deutschland im Zeitalter der Glaubenskampfe,' Historische Zeitschrift 185 (1958): 249-99. See e.g. Wolfgang Reinhard, 'Zwang zur Konfessionalisierung? Prolegomena zu einer Theorie des konfessionellen Zeitalters,' Zeitschrift fur historische Forschung 10 (1983): 257-77; idem, 'Reformation, Counter-Reformation, and the Early Modern State: A Reappraisal,' Catholic Historical Review 75 (1989): 383-404; idem, 'Disciplinamento sociale, confessionalizzazione, modernizzazione: Un discorso storiografico,' in Disciplina dell'anima, disciplina del corpo, e disciplina delta societa tra medioevo ed eta moderna, ed. Paolo Prodi and Carla Penuti (Bologna, 1994), pp. 101-23; and idem, with Heinz Schilling, eds, Die katholische Konfessionalisierung: Wissenschaftliches Symposion der Gesellschaft zur Herausgabe des Corpus Catholicorum und des Vereins fiir Reformationsgeschichte, 1993 (Glitersloh, 1995). See also Robert Bireley, 'Early Modern Germany,' in Catholicism in Early Modern History, ed. O'Malley (n2 above), pp. 11-30. The development of this 'school' has been described many times. See e.g. Guy Bourde and Herve Martin, Les ecoles historiques (Paris, 1989), pp. 215-70; Geoffrey Barraclough, Main Trends in History, expanded and updated by Michael Burns (New York and London, 1991), pp. 34^5; and Peter Burke, The French Historical Revolution: The Annales School, 1929-89 (Stanford, 1990). See also Carla Russo, 'Studi recenti di storia sociale e religiosa in Francia: Problemi e metodi,' Rivista storica italiana 84 (1972): 625-82. For a recent collection of studies from the 'school,' see Histories: French Constructions of the Past, ed. Jacques Revel and Lynn Hunt, trans. Arthur Goldhammer et al. (New York, 1995). Michel de Certeau, S.J., combined Jesuit historiography with French 'histoire des mentalites' in, for example, his long introduction to Pierre Favre, Memorial, ed. Michel de Certeau (Paris, 1960), pp. 7-95. Lucien Febvre, 'The Origins of the French Reformation: A Badly-Put Question?' in A New Kind of History and Other Essays, ed. Peter Burke, trans. K. Folca (New York, 1973), pp. 44-89. Ibid., p. 59. See John W. O'Malley, 'Was Ignatius Loyola a Church Reformer? How to Look at Early Modern Catholicism,' Catholic Historical Review 77 (1991): 177-93. John Van Engen, 'The Christian Middle Ages as an Historiographical Problem,' American Historical Review 91 (1986): 519-52. See e.g. Peter Burke, Varieties of Cultural History (Ithaca, 1997), pp. 124-35. Alden Ent.

The Historiography of the Society of Jesus 37 80 See Donnelly, 'Religious Orders of Men' (n2 above), pp. 156-8. 81 See e.g. Michel de Certeau, 'L'espace du desir,' Christus 20 (1973): 118-28. 82 The bibliography is immense. One can best begin with Paul Begheyn, 'A Bibliography on St Ignatius's Spiritual Exercises,' Studies in the Spirituality of Jesuits 13:2 (1981), and Polgar Bib., I 265-373. 83 See e.g. Kulturgeschichte der christlichen Orden, ed. Peter Dinzelbacher and James Lester Hogg (Stuttgart, 1997). 84 The most reliable studies are by Antonio M. de Aldama, e.g. An Introductory Commentary on the Constitutions, trans. Aloysius J. Owen (St Louis, 1989), The Formula of the Institute: Notes for a Commentary, trans. Ignacio Echaniz (St Louis, 1990), and Jesuit Religious Life, trans. Ignacio Echaniz (St Louis, 1995); but see also Luce Giard, 'Relire les "Constitutions,"' in Giard Jes. bar., pp. 37-59. One might consult the collection of essays entitled Constitutions of the Society of Jesus: Incorporation of a Spirit (Rome, 1993).

2 / 6Le style jesuite n'existe pas'

Jesuit Corporate Culture and the Visual Arts GAUVIN ALEXANDER BAILEY

The members of the Society of Jesus were always great promoters of images. From the very beginning, Jesuit leaders recognized the crucial role the visual arts would play in their enterprise. Ignatius of Loyola meditated in front of paintings every day in his apartments in Rome, and was very likely responsible for the gargantuan illustrated Gospel project which resulted in Jeronimo Nadal's 1593 Evangelicae historiae imagines (Antwerp, 1593), one of the most important engraved cycles of its day. Francisco Borja commissioned his own set of illustrated meditations, though they were never published. He also regularly used images in his homilies, and he enthusiastically revived the cult of the miraculous image of the Virgin of St Luke at the Church of Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome, which he had copied by professional painters and sent to places as far away as Brazil and India. Francis Xavier carried a suitcase full of icons and illustrated books to India, Southeast Asia, and Japan, taking advantage of the power of images to overcome his linguistic deficiencies. And in addition to writing the text to accompany the illustrated Gospels which bear his name, Nadal actively used pictures for educational purposes when he was teaching in Germany in the 1570s. Owing to the importance given to the arts by these Jesuit pioneers, and the growing impact the Jesuits would have on the art patronage of the late Renaissance and baroque worlds, scholars in the past argued for a distinctly Jesuit style in the arts. The debate over Jesuitenstil became one of the most impassioned in the field. In 1962, Yvan Christ thought he had put to rest once and for all the notion of a 'Jesuit style' with an article whose blunt title I have borrowed here for my own.1 As it happened, Christ was neither the first nor the last to challenge one of art history's more persistent myths. Scholars in Germany, Italy, France, Spain, and Ireland had tried to reveal the folly of identifying a specifically Jesuit manner of painting, sculpting, and, especially, building since the very beginning of the

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twentieth century.2 As early as 1902 the French scholar Louis Serbat warned that the label was 'bien risquee,' at least when applied to the architecture of Flanders, and in 1908 the German Jesuit Joseph Braun, expanding his scope to include Germany and Spain as well as Flanders, remarked that Jesuitenstil is 'in Wirklichkeit ein bloBes Phantom.'3 Both authors demonstrated that the Jesuits tended to adapt to the styles and preferences of the regions they worked in rather than imposing a uniform style from above. Ever since then, historians of art have moved beyond this outdated commonplace to study the Jesuits' involvement in the arts in other, more fruitful ways, but the phantom refuses to go away. In particular, non-specialists continue to overemphasize the impact on form and style of the liturgical and ideological goals of the Society and the Council of Trent. Let us look briefly at the history of the concept of 'Jesuit style,' and then at some of the more recent alternatives. The Concept of 'Jesuit Style' and Its Impact on the Art Historiography of the Society Like the term 'Counter Reformation,' the concept of 'Jesuit style' has persevered so stubbornly because it was prejudicial to start with. Devised by Protestants and Catholic critics of the Society in the early nineteenth century, 'Jesuit style' signified artistic decadence, the antithesis to the Humanist, freedom-loving Renaissance. Like the more basic appellative 'Jesuitical,' a synonym for manipulative, 'Jesuit style' was blamed for making extravagant appeals to the senses as a vehicle for control and domination. Wanton luxury, illusionism, vulgarity, and a specifically Italianate or Roman style were key features of this perjorative concept. Naturally, 'Jesuit style' became virtually synonymous in the late nineteenth century with an even more notoriously disparaging art term, the 'baroque.'4 John W. O'Malley shows in his contribution to this volume that as late as 1921, Werner Weisbach was still directly linking the spirit of the baroque with Ignatius of Loyola. Most writers simply glossed over the facts that the foundation of the Society of Jesus long predated the style known as the baroque, and that the Jesuits' more exuberant style began only in the seventeenth century with Rubens's Jesuit imagery and, later on, the patronage of Father General Gian Paolo Oliva (1664-81), as Francis Haskell has demonstrated in a ground-breaking article.5 This confusion echoes a larger debate raging at the time between Weisbach and Nikolaus Pevsner over whether mannerism or the baroque was the more characteristic style of the Counter Reformation.6 Ultimately, 'Counter Reformation,' 'baroque,' and 'Jesuit style' have all become closely interrelated epithets for a militant, manipulative, overwrought, and insincere artistic hegemony. It was the visual manifestation of a group too often conceived, to borrow Ludwig von

40

Gau vin Alexander B alley

Pastor's words, as 'a spiritual army placed unreservedly at the disposal of the Holy See for the accomplishment of Catholic reformation and restoration.'7 Not surprisingly, we may be able to blame the French for the notion of 'Jesuit style.' A rich tradition of anti-Jesuit literature in France dating back well before the time of Pascal (1623-62) gave birth to a wide variety of perjorative terms such as 'Jesuitism' and 'Jesuitical.'8 As early as the seventeenth century the adjective acquired a more direct relationship to arts and architecture in a series of jesuitiques, or heavy-handed satires on the Society of Jesus. Typically they criticized the excessive wealth and opulence of Jesuit foundations: 'De beaux jardins, des batimens / Dignes de Seigneurs les plus grands.'9 In one particularly inventive volume of 1674, based on the famed anti-Jesuit tract Monita secreta (1614), the author showed how the Jesuits used sumptuous chapel decoration to entrap rich widows by appealing to their sensuality.10 Some of the jesuitiques in the eighteenth century were lampoons of the fabled Jesuit 'kingdoms' of Paraguay, and emphasized their excessive luxury and the rich wares of mission workshops and warehouses (fig. 2.1).11 As with later studies of 'Jesuit style,' the tracts related this opulence to political despotism. Some of them may in fact have been thinly veiled attacks on the regime of Louis XV (1710-74). The tradition of Paraguayan jesuitiques was picked up by Voltaire (1694-1778) in the wellknown passage from Candide in which the hero travels to Paraguay and visits one of the famed thirty 'reductions,' or missions, of the Society of Jesus. He describes the building where he dines with the Jesuit 'Commandant' as 'a leafy summer-house decorated with a very pretty colonnade of green marble and gold, and lattices enclosing parrots, hummingbirds, colibris, guinea-hens and many other rare birds.'12 In both the tracts and Voltaire, this luxury was contrasted with the poverty of the Guarani Indians. For Candide and the Commandant, 'an excellent breakfast stood ready in gold dishes ... while the Paraguayans were eating maize from wooden bowls.' Small wonder, given the long history of interest in them, that the Paraguay reductions have since then become one of the most flourishing Jesuit topics for art historical research. The term 'Jesuit style' first was used in the first half of the nineteenth century. As early as 1843 the term Jesuitenstil started appearing in German encyclopaedias, where it referred to the Jesuits' excessive use of ornamentation and illusion to manipulate the masses.13 There are shades of Voltaire in this description of the 'degenerate' Italian style of seventeenth-century Jesuit churches, which employed 'very costly materials, jasper, porphyry, lapis lazuli, and so forth ... for their decoration; ceilings, vaults, pilasters, and so forth, were overladen with the richest Caskettirungen, foliage, and festoons.'14 We can almost hear the squawking of the parrots and the chirping of the guinea fowl. Entries on Jesuit style continued to appear well into the twentieth century, for example the entry

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41

2.1. Magazin de toutes sortes de marchandises, en gros et en detail, illustration from Remonstrances au parlement ('Buenos Aires,' 1760). Photo courtesy of the John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

'Jesuite (art)' in the 1971 Encyclopaedia universalis.15 The term 'Jesuitical' was also applied to architectural style in the mainstream literature of the midnineteenth century, for example when Baudelaire (1821-67) characterized the Jesuit churches of Belgium as 'Jesuitiques.'16 In 1865 the French critic and historian Hippolyte-Adolphe Taine (1828-93), one of the most influential intel-

42 Gauvin Alexander Bailey lectual figures of his period in France (together with Ernest Renan, referred to in this volume by Marc Fumaroli), blamed the Jesuits directly for a banal taste in architecture which differed from the true spirituality of the Gothic. He wrote about the interior of the Gesu (unaware that most of its 'jesuitiques' postdated Vignola's building by a century): 'This church resembles a magnificent banquet hall in a royal town house ... In [the Jesuits'] hands ... religion is made mundane ... but if they made bonbons, they did so with genius; the proof is that they conquered half of Europe in this fashion.'17 Scholars in the first three-quarters of the twentieth century, although generally abandoning the term itself, continued to suggest an affinity between the Jesuits and most of the negative qualities embodied in 'Jesuit style.' Geoffrey Scott, for example, in The Architecture of Humanism, closely echoed Taine: The achievement of the Jesuits lay in converting these preferences of a still pagan humanity to Catholic uses, aggressively answering the ascetic remonstrance of the Reformation by a still further concession to the mundane senses.'18 The great English art historian and spy Anthony Blunt (1907-83) believed that Jesuit art was lowbrow and anti-Humanist. There is more than a slight echo of nineteenthcentury French anti-Jesuitism in this characterization of the Society as a whole: 'One of the first objects of the Counter-Reformers was to abolish the right of the individual to settle all problems of thought or conscience according to the judgment of his own personal reason ... Of these the most powerful were the Inquisition and the Society of Jesus ... The latter was built up like a military organization on the basis of absolute, unquestioning obedience.'19 It should come as little surprise, therefore, that Blunt had this to say about Jesuit art projects, blaming the Society not only for the baroque, but also - acknowledging the stylistic anachronism alluded to above - for a brand of mannerism: 'This worldly, emotional, anti-intellectual kind of religion produced its equivalent in the arts. In the seventeenth century the whole Baroque movement must be closely associated with the Jesuits, but even before that time there was a branch of Mannerist painting in which many of the same qualities could be found.'20 Blunt further stressed the Jesuit appeal to the emotions in The Art and Architecture of France, 1500-1700 (1953), where he remarked that the restraint of the painter Philippe de Champaigne was 'as typical of the Jansenist approach to a miracle as Bernini's "St. Theresa" is of the Jesuit.'21 The reference to Bernini recalls a classic work by Walter Weibel called Jesuitismus und Barockskulptur (1909), which proposed a direct connection between Bernini's art and the Spiritual Exercises in their emphasis on tangibility and realism, even going so far as to use the term Jesuitenstil.22 Weibel's claim that Bernini actually made the full Spiritual Exercises is unproved, as Irving Lavin has pointed out, although Bernini was a great friend and disciple of Oliva.23 Rudolf Wittkower gives

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Weibel's thesis more propagandistic overtones, claiming that the Exercises created 'a vivid apprehension of any given subject for meditation by an extremely vivid appeal to the senses ... It is through emotional identification with the mood symbolized in a figure that the faithful are led to submit to the ethos of the triumphant Counter Reformation.'24 The sense of conquest and manipulation which seeps through this remark recalls earlier myths of 'Jesuit style.' Wittkower further disparaged Jesuit artistic programs in his Art and Architecture in Italy, 1600-1750 (1958), still the leading survey of the period and at present in its third revised edition. Contrasting Jesuit attitudes from the tenure of Oliva onward with the 'anti-aesthetic approach' of the 'militant Counter-Reformation,' he stated: 'In the course of the seventeenth century the Order of the Jesuits itself went through a characteristic metamorphosis ... Mundane interests in wealth, luxury, and political intrigue, and a frivolity in the interpretation of the vows replaced the original zealous and austere spirit of the Order.' Wittkower made similar remarks in Baroque Art: The Jesuit Contribution (1972), where his insistence on the propagandistic nature of Jesuit foundations led him mistakenly to attribute the Collegio di Propaganda Fide (1646-67) to the Society's patronage.25 The reader may be forgiven for thinking that I am wasting time on attitudes long dead. But a random investigation of some leading general art surveys shows that, far from being an outdated concept, 'Jesuit style,' or at least the antiJesuitical spirit associated with it, is alive and well. Even in the most recent edition of H.W. Janson's History of Art (1997), perhaps read by more undergraduates than any other book on art history, we see many of the same attitudes resurfacing about the Jesuits, who are characterized as 'representing the Church militant.'26 Janson assumes that since the Gesu 'was the mother church of the Jesuits, its design must have been closely supervised so as to conform to the aims of the militant new order... We may thus view it as the architectural embodiment of the spirit of the Counter Reformation.'27 While there is no doubt that the Society had a great deal to say about their mother church, Janson has apparently overlooked the considerable and by no means recent literature on the patronage of the Gesu, which shows how decisive was the will of Alessandro Farnese in its ultimate design. This topic is taken up in this volume by Clare Robertson.28 The notion of the Jesuits as dazzling the masses with the aim of spiritual manipulation is alive and well in Janson's description of the Gesu's design, which evokes images of cattle cars, 'herding the congregation quite literally into one large, hall-like space,' the 'theatrical' use of light at the altar giving it 'a stronger emotional focus than we have yet found in a church interior.' The concept of 'Jesuit style,' whether used in name or in spirit, has lost most of its validity among specialists ever since the publication of Wittkower and Jaffe's landmark volume Baroque Art: The Jesuit Contribution (1972). In it, Wittkower

44 Gauvin Alexander Bailey himself tried to lay 'Jesuit style' to rest despite his dislike for the Jesuits' 'mundane' taste in the arts, and showed that far from being uniform the Society had deep-seated differences in artistic taste from the beginning. He also indicated the problem of proposing a specifically Jesuit manner when so many nonJesuit artists and architects were involved in Jesuit projects. Architects such as Giacomo da Vignola (1507-73), Giacomo della Porta (c. 1507-1602), Girolamo Rainaldi (1570-1655), and Carlo Fontana (1634/8-1714) were able to work for the Jesuits yet maintain their freedom of expression, thereby challenging the popular perception of Jesuit foundations as monolithic. Wittkower raised here the essential problem with studying style as an institutionally based phenomenon in a field where it tends to be understood as a product of region or artistic personality. In the same volume James S. Ackerman exploded the myth that the Gesu (see fig. 5.1, p. 135) was the purest embodiment of Jesuit ideals and showed that those features of it that would influence the baroque were not necessarily of Jesuit origin; Howard Hibbard eloquently demonstrated how little stylistic unity there was even in the original decorative program of the Gesu; and Francis Haskell reiterated that the exuberant, illusionistic period of Jesuit patronage began over a century after the Society was founded. Wittkower concluded moderately that there was a 'Jesuit strategy in artistic matters,' a fairly vague sense by the Society at the time about what their buildings should look like, a certain amount of control from Rome, and some degree of stylistic conformity owing to the itinerant nature of Jesuit artists and architects.29 The conclusions reached by these authors have set the tone for subsequent research on Jesuit art topics. Noster modus? Ironically, the Jesuits themselves are also partly to blame for the tenacity of the concept of 'Jesuit style' in the arts. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the Jesuits believed that their architectural and artistic projects, like their myriad other enterprises, adhered to what they termed noster modus procedendi, 'our way of proceeding.'30 Pietro Pirri showed, for example, that the Jesuits from the superior general down described the style of the Jesuit architect Giovanni Tristano (active 1555-75), who designed the original Collegio Romano and a string of important churches from Naples to Ferrara, as 'modo proprio.'31 However, his style was not predetermined by the Jesuits, but fully formed before he entered the Society, and strongly influenced by his Ferrarese origins. The Jesuits also made several attempts, most of which came to naught, to centralize and control the design of their worldwide foundations, with the fortuitous result that for three centuries plans of Jesuit projects from many parts

Jesuit Corporate Culture and the Visual Arts 45 of Europe and the world were sent to Rome.32 The question posed by many art historians, especially from the 1950s onward, was whether the term noster modus referred to a true stylistic unity or to something more vague. After all, it appears to have been used indiscriminately, encompassing everything from severe Herreran classicism to sugar-coated Bavarian baroque. It was used even on the missions to refer to structures employing indigenous forms and techniques. It turns out to be virtually impossible to link this term, used mostly by non-artists and having a largely pastoral and practical meaning, with the modern notion of style and stylistic development, which has its roots in nineteenthcentury academia. The Jesuits had a similar conception of the role of the design of the Gesu. All around the globe, Jesuits built churches they described as being 'just like the Gesu.'33 There is no doubt that the Gesu was an extremely influential building, especially in Italy; however, anything beyond a basic emulation of its plan is rare.34 Thomas daCosta Kaufmann in his contribution to this volume discusses one such foundation in Vienna, which makes direct quotations from the mother church, but such a practice was certainly not the norm. Even in France, Fra^ois de Dainville pointed out, the term referred more to size and commodiousness than style - precisely the qualities implied by noster modus?5 When we expand our scope to include the rest of the world as this volume compels us to do, we are even less likely to find miniature Gesiis with della Porta fa?ades and Farnese barrel vaults. On the overseas missions, Jesuit mission churches supposedly 'just like the Gesu' were built almost uniformly with rudimentary three-aisled floor plans imitating early Christian basilicas, a characteristic they shared with churches built by the Franciscans, the Dominicans, the Augustinians, and others. In their elevations these structures often diverged even further from Roman prototypes, adapting to a wide spectrum of regional variations in technique and style, probably to a greater degree than did those of the other orders. The mission churches that did pay lip-service to Italian architecture did so not by copying engravings of the Gesii, but by referring on a much more basic level to the major classical and Renaissance treatises on architecture. Illustrated copies of architectural manuals by Vitruvius, Alberti, Palladio, Serlio, and Scamozzi, among others, were included in Jesuit libraries in Asia and the Americas, and recognizably Serlian motifs turn up in places like a church built in Ethiopia by Pedro Paez, S.J., in 1619-20, whose facade looks remarkably likeTristano's Church of the Annunziata in Rome.36 David M. Kowal demonstrates in his paper in this volume the impact of Serlio on Jesuit architecture in Goa. Only at the beginning of the eighteenth century did Jesuit foundations overseas first quote literally from a Jesuit building in Rome, but this time they emulated newer foundations, especially the decorations of the new Church of

46 Gauvin Alexander Bailey Sant'Ignazio (1693^) and the Chapel of St Ignatius at the Gesu (completed 1699), which provided the model for the high altar of the Church of the Bom Jesus in Goa, which houses the tomb of St Francis Xavier (c. 1698) (see fig. 22.4, p. 491). Thanks largely to Andrea Pozzo's own Perspectiva pictorum et architectorum (Rome, 1693) and to engravings of the sculptural groups at the Chapel of St Ignatius, churches in China, India, and Paraguay reflected Jesuit Roman models in a way that the modern mind might consider more stylistically accurate. The earlier structures had a different concept of the copy, one that had more to do with semantics than with style - precisely what makes noster modus so difficult to define. In the 1950s a group of scholars tried to tackle the issue of noster modus in architecture by going back to archival material, including the crucial collection of plans for Jesuit building projects at the Bibliotheque Nationale in Paris, which had already been studied by Braun. Pietro Pirri, Pierre Moisy, Jean ValleryRadot, and Pio Pecchiai postulated that the Jesuit mode related to more practical and technical issues such as size, position of sacristies and vestries, economy, and speed.37 Although none of them believed that 'style' in the nineteenth- and twentieth-century sense came into play, they all identified what they felt to be universal Jesuit architectural forms. Pirri pointed to Tristano's use of corretti (tribunes) in his churches as something 'non essenziale, ma caratteristica della nascente architettura gesuitica.'38 Moisy cited the common simplicity and austerity of Jesuit foundations, and identified a church plan he believed to be unique to the Society, at least in France - the so-called Martellange scheme, devised by the Jesuit architect Etienne Martellange (1569-1641).39 Vallery-Radot isolated what he believed to be a unifying esprit in Jesuit architecture, characterized by the preference for a spacious rectangular, single-naved church with side chapels, which he compares to the esprit found in Cluniac, Benedictine, or Cistercian foundations.40 Pecchiai also pointed to other orders, indicating how much the plan of the Gesu owes to Franciscan and Dominican predecessors, as well as to earlier churches in Rome. Although he did not deal specifically with the term noster modus, Pecchiai demonstrated that the plans and elevations of Jesuit churches were closely tied to practical and economic criteria and, although fairly uniform, were not significantly different from those of the churches of other orders.41 None of these supposedly universal forms operated beyond the regional level or even, in later periods, in the same country. But the new scholarly emphasis on the practical goals of the Society, along with the desire to identify universal Jesuit architectural forms or mentalities, has continued to exert a strong influence on scholarship in the last few decades.

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New Directions Fortunately, the study of the art and architecture of the Society of Jesus has survived the century-and-a-half-long debate over 'Jesuit style.' In fact, it is flourishing as never before. Building on the foundations of archivists such as Braun, Pirri, Vallery-Radot, and Pecchiai, and viewing 'Jesuit style' and its associations with a critical eye, the last two generations of scholars the world over have changed radically the way Jesuit art is studied. First and most obviously, the scope of the field has expanded so that the Society of Jesus is now considered in its global context, as this volume attests. At the same time, scholars are focusing their lenses more and more on single regions, cities, buildings, artists, or even works of art, acknowledging the diversity and heterogeneity that make the Jesuit enterprise both rich and hard to define. Many scholars are moving away from a traditional institutional treatment of the subject to look at the role played by other agents in what O'Malley in this volume calls 'negotiation.' One particularly fruitful direction has been the study of non-Jesuit patronage of Jesuit projects, or of patronage by Jesuits of non-Jesuit artists, and the function of Jesuit foundations within their greater cultural context. Another approach, especially evident in this volume, is the new focus on the impact of non-Europeans on Jesuit corporate culture. Even more so than in Europe, the Jesuit artistic and architectural projects overseas owed a profound debt to 'the Other.' The field is also being enriched by new methodologies, including cultural history, anthropology, postcolonial theory, and urban geography. But the interest in noster modus is by no means dead. Some, following the example of Vallery-Radot and others, seek a definition in terms of corporate orientation, or, as Joseph Connors puts it, a 'corporate strategy.' Others go further and seek to identify basic common architectural and iconographic forms, even reviving the discussion over 'Jesuit style' itself. Since the Jesuits were so intimately linked with the culture of early modern Catholicism in general, and mention of the Jesuits turns up in a great number of studies of the period, the following survey cannot hope to cover everything written about the Society and the arts in recent years. I do hope, however, to provide a sketch of the works that treat Jesuit subjects exclusively or principally. Global Patrons The art history of the Jesuits is the art history of the world. In keeping with scholarship on early modern Catholicism in general, Jesuit art historiography has become increasingly global in scope. In actual fact it always has been global,

48 Gauvin Alexander Bailey

2.2. Church of the Sao Miguel reduction, Brazil. By Gianbattista Primoli, c. 1730. Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

only now historians of European art are becoming aware of a rich tradition of scholarship on Jesuit art and architecture in Latin America and Asia that dates back to the beginning of the twentieth century or earlier. Before embarking on recent research, I will review briefly this earlier literature. The most productive field, then as today, was South America. Between the 1930s and 1960s, scholars such as Guillermo Furlong, S.J., Miguel Sola, Victor Nadal Mora, Robert Smith, Hector Schenone, and M.J. Buschiazzo brought the full benefit of archival research, architectural surveys, and art inventories to Jesuit art history in Peru, Chile, Brazil, and, above all, Argentina and Paraguay (figs 2.2, 2.3,2.4,2.5).42 Although these works offered relatively little analysis a more contemporary concern - they built a solid foundation of rigorous scholarship and remain invaluable. In the early 1960s, scholars such as Felix Plattner, Jose de Mesa, and Teresa Gisbert produced monographs on the work of individual Jesuit artists in Latin America, including the Italian Bernardo Bitti (d. 1610) and a wide range of Jesuit architects of German origin (fig. 2.4.).43 Some of the same issues that we have seen in European scholarship have appeared in Latin American assessments of Jesuit art. In particular, scholars have debated the validity of the supposition that an Italianate style predominated in

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2.3. Interior view looking towards the crossing, church of the Santisima Trinidad reduction, Paraguay. By Gianbattista Primoli, c. 1730. Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

50 Gauvin Alexander Bailey

2.4. Church of the Jesuit estancia of Santa Catalina, Sierras de Cordoba, Argentina. By Anton Harls (?), begun in the first third of the eighteenth century. Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

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2.5. Compania, Cordoba, Argentina. By Bartolome Cardenosa and Philippe Lemaire, begun c. 1645-54 and completed in 1671. Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

52 Gauvin Alexander Bailey Jesuit architecture, the role of illusion and manipulation in Jesuit church interiors, and the relationship of the Society to the 'baroque.' Serious study of Jesuit art in Asia goes back even further. Beginning in the late nineteenth century and continuing into the 1930s, Protestant officials of the British raj such as Sir Edward Maclagan (1864-1952) became fascinated with the artistic interaction between the Society of Jesus and the great Mughals of India (1526-1858).44 In a particularly creative burst of Eurocentrism, some scholars even proposed that the Jesuits and their European agents were responsible for the design of the Taj Mahal (1632-43), a myth that took almost as long to dispel as that of 'Jesuit style.'45 Scholars alternated between disdain for and adulation of the Jesuits, depending upon whether they happened to be discussing them as papists or as Europeans. Others, including Maclagan himself, were thorough and relatively impartial, and their work remains extremely valuable today. In the decades before World War II, Japanese scholars likeTokihide Nagayama, Terukazu Akiyama, Tei Nishimura, and Idzuru Shimmura showed great interest in Jesuit devotional art in Japan, especially its influence on the painting of Japanese namban bydbu, or 'southern barbarian screens.'46 Soon afterwards a number of European scholars, many of them Germans and none of them art historians, began to explore the artistic impact of what was Japan's first contact with Europe. These included Georg Schurhammer, S.J., and Joseph Schtitte, S.J., the biographers of Francis Xavier andAlessandro Valignano respectively, as well as the great English historian C.R. Boxer.47 The only Western art historian to pay attention to this field was the American John McCall, who in the 1940s and 1950s wrote a lengthy survey of Jesuit art in Japan and China. McCall is responsible for coining the fictitious name 'Academy of St Luke' for the remarkable Jesuit art school and workshop which became the largest ever to operate on the Asian missions.48 Scholarship on Jesuit art history in China also originated in the 1920s, but here most of the interest came from France and Italy. One prominent art historian was among them - Paul Pelliot, one of the original excavators of the famed Buddhist caves of Dunhuang. Others, including the Jesuits Henri Bernard and Pasquale M. d'Elia, focused on the art of the mission during the time of Matteo Ricci (15521610) and shortly afterwards, but in the 1940s George Loehr shifted attention to the period of the Italian Jesuit painter Giuseppe Castiglione (1688-1766) and the Qing court.49 This famous era, when Jesuit artists worked for the Qing emperor as glorified domestic servants and had a limited (and too often exaggerated) influence on court art, would henceforth dominate the scholarship on the subject. As for Portuguese Asia (figs 2.6, 2.7, 2.13, 2.14), a small amount of interest was shown in Jesuit architecture in Macao and Portuguese India in the 1940s and

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2.6. The Jesuit fortress, or Fortaleza do Monte, at Macao, 1626. Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

1950s by Manuel Teixeira, Mario T. Chico, and others, but that area has remained sorely understudied until more recently.50 Whereas interest in the Asian artistic projects of the Jesuits remains comparably slim today, even the European literature does not exceed the amount of more recent work on Latin America. This is not so surprising when we consider that in some South American countries colonial art was virtually equatable with Jesuit art. In the past decade, Paraguay and Bolivia alone have been the subject of two substantial, full-colour volumes of essays;51 four major museum exhibitions, in New York (1988-9), Madrid (1995), Paris (1995), and Lucerne (1994), each with a scholarly catalogue;52 and a bewildering number of books and articles. As in earlier decades, architectural studies still dominate the field, especially now that the buildings of both the Chiquitos and the Paraguay reductions have been extensively, if not always accurately, restored.53 Nevertheless, scholars are showing more interest than ever before in the sculpture and painting of the missions (fig. 2.8), subjects which until very recently lacked even basic chronologies. The pioneers are Josefina Pla, whose sensitively written Barroco hispanoguarani (1964) is a classic in the field; Ernesto Maeder; Ramon Gutierrez; Adolf Luis Ribera; Susana Fabrici; and especially Bozidar Darko Sustersic,

54 Gauvin Alexander Bailey

2.7. Church of Sao Paulo, Malacca, Malaysia, 1521. It was here that Francis Xavier preached in one of the most prosperous and cosmopolitan ports on earth. Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

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2.8. The Virgin Mary, from an Annunciation group. Guarani, eighteenth century. Loreto Chapel Museum, Santa Rosa, Paraguay. Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

who has gone further than any of his contemporaries in creating a working typology for reduction sculpture.54 Scholars of South American Jesuit art have also shifted their focus from traditional institutional history to social history, economics, urbanism, and the careers of individual artists. Pla and especially Maeder have vastly increased our understanding of the social and economic aspects of Jesuit art ateliers on the reductions, workshops which were so extensive that they supplied art and furniture to most of the southern cone of South America until 1767.55 Norberto

5 6 Gau vin Alexander B alley Levinton and Pedro Querejazu have moved away from the tendency to equate Jesuit art with the baroque, focusing on the influence of Islamic, ormudejar, style on the Paraguay and Chiquitos reductions (fig. 2.9).56 Gutierrez has looked at Jesuit urbanism, proposing that Jesuit reduction towns were unique in Spanish America and departed significantly from the city plans decreed by Philip II of Spain in 1573.57 He calls these new city plans, which owe something to indigenous tradition as well as to other factors, the 'Jesuit model.' Acculturation studies have also influenced studies of reduction sculpture, particularly in the work of Ticio Escobar. Working from an anthropological background, Escobar is the first to make a serious case for indigenous content in the style and even iconography of reduction art, something he does by relating it to the art of neighbouring unconverted tribes with whom the reduction Guarani maintained contact throughout the colonial period.58 In recent decades more studies have appeared of individual artists, most notably that of Dalmacio Sobron, S.J., on the architect Giovanni Andrea Bianchi (1675-1740), that of Sustersic on the sculptor Giuseppe Brasanelli (1659-1728), and that of Rainald Fischer on the Swiss architect of the Chiquitos mission, Martin Schmid (1694-1772).59 A goal of this volume is to encourage multi-perspectival approaches to individual Jesuit figures, and it is fair to comment that a recent exhibition devoted to Schmid was innovative in considering its subject simultaneously as missionary, musician, and architect.60 Schmid, incidentally, was one of the authors of the opera San Ignacio de Loyola, the only surviving opera from the Paraguayan reductions. There is also a widening of scope in the scholarship on the art of the Jesuits in Latin America to include regions and countries not considered before. Argentina has benefited enormously from a series of recent government inventories of individual Argentine provinces, whereby a wider spectrum of Jesuit art, architecture, and furniture has been brought to public attention than ever before.61 Brazilian scholars, including Beatriz Santos de Oliveira and Maria Ines Coutinho, have become more active in the field, in producing studies not only of the Guarani reductions in Brazil but of Jesuit architecture and urbanism in Rio de Janeiro and city planning on the Portuguese-run Jesuit Tupi-Guarani aldeias.62 The Jesuit contribution to baroque art in Ecuador has recently attracted attention in two studies, by Jimena Carcelen de Coronel and G. Ted Bohr, S.J., devoted to the Compania church at Quito alone.63 Since the 1970s several important publications by scholars such as Maria del Consuelo Maquivar and Marco Diaz have dealt with Jesuit art and architecture in New Spain (Mexico), and have included studies on sculptural programs at the Jesuit novitiate at Tepotzotlan (fig. 2.10) and on the architecture of the Jesuits in northern New Spain.64 Clara Bargellini's contribution to this volume contains more references to the work in this area. In the meantime, study of the Asian missions has lagged behind. Although

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2.9. Detail of a mudejar doorway in the facade of the church of the Jesus reduction, Paraguay. By Juan Antonio Ribera (?) and Jose Grimau, 1765-7 (unfinished). Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

58

Gauvin Alexander Bailey

2.10. The Jesuit novitiate church of San Martin at Tepotzotlan, Mexico. Buiit mostly between 1628 and 1762. Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

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Sinologists have devoted unprecedented attention to Castiglione and his contribution to the Qing court, there is very little work on the art of the missions themselves, which operated more on a grassroots level and were often subtly acculturative in the visual arts.65 One exception is an important article by Harrie Vanderstappen (1988), which opened many intriguing possibilities for research but has remained largely unheeded.661 would like to see less work on Castiglione, whose situation was artificial and had little to do with the goals of the Society, and more on the Chinese Jesuit Wu Li (1632-1716), the celebrated Qing scholarpainter who was also a missionary and has much to teach us about 'Jesuit style.' Here was a man who was a committed Christian, who spent the latter years of his life missionizing in his native Jiangsu, yet who refused to relinquish his cultural commitment to the Chinese scholar-painter tradition (wenren hud), which he believed was more innately spiritual than any equivalent in Western art.67 Wu has yet to be claimed by Jesuit art historiography. Prominent Sinologists such as James Cahill and Michael Sullivan have tried to show the influence of the engravings brought by the Jesuits (including Nadal) on the wenren hua tradition, but such influence remains elusive at best.68 In the meantime, innovative new work on the imagery of the China missions has been incorporated into an educational project called ChinaVision by Erik Ziircher and Ellen Uitzinger, and an important monograph on the subject entitled Exhibition of 'Western-Style Paintings of China' - Paintings, Prints, and Illustrations from Ming to Qing Dynasties was issued in 1995 in Tokyo by the Machida City Museum of Graphic Arts. New studies of Chinese-language texts reacting to the art of the Jesuits are being undertaken by Catherine Pagani at the University of Alabama and Huihung Chen at Brown University, and by others in a recent volume on the inscriptions in the Jesuit cemetery in Beijing.69 Virtually no new archival research has been undertaken on the art of the Japan mission, although several recent publications deal with Namban art and the influence of European art on Momoyama culture.70 My own work has reconsidered the Jesuit mission to Mughal India (1585-1773), at its height one of the most flourishing cultural exchanges in Jesuit mission history, in terms of the Mughal reception of Western art and iconography, a topic also recently taken up by Ebba Koch and Khalid Anis Ahmed.71 In addition, K.K. Muhammed has just excavated the Jesuit church at Akbar's capital of Fatehpur Sikri and the famous debating hall where the Jesuits conversed with members of different faiths.72 As in Latin America, new areas of Asia are being explored for the first time, for example in the ground-breaking monographs on Jesuit architecture and colonial church architecture in the Philippines (figs 2.11, 2.12) by Rene B. Javellana, S.J., and Regalado Trota Jose.73 The Macanese scholarly community also has been active in restoring and

60 Gau vin Alexander B alley

2.11. The church of the Jesuit college of San Ildefonso, Santa Cruz, Manila, Philippines. Built in 1688 and heavily restored in 1869. Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

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2.12. The Jesuit mission church of Silang, Cavite, Philippines, before 1645. Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

researching the great Jesuit college church of Sao Paulo (begun in 1601) in Macao (fig. 2.13), which was recently the subject of an exhibition and conference (1994).74 Portuguese scholars showed new interest in Indo-Portuguese art in preparation for the celebrations of the 1998 Vasco da Gama quincentenary, although so far little specifically on the Jesuits has appeared.75 The most prominent art historian now working on that material is David M. Kowal, whose contribution to this volume is the first reassessment of Jesuit architecture in Portuguese India since Chico (fig. 2.14). Portuguese Jesuit forays into Ethiopia, a field of especially rich potential for the history of art, have recently been the subject of pioneering work by Marilyn Heldman, the first scholar seriously to examine Jesuit art in Africa.76 Images such as the Virgin of St Luke in the Borghese Chapel at Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome were quickly disseminated in Ethiopia and persevered for centuries in Ethiopian miniature painting. I hope to fill some of the gaps in the study of Jesuit mission art with my comparative survey of Jesuit mission art in Asia and Latin America; that survey for the first time will bring the two areas together for consideration.77 My volume will treat the missions in China, Japan, Mughal India, and Paraguay, against the

62 Gauvin Alexander B alley

2.13. The Jesuit church of Nossa Senhora da Assuncao (better known as either Madre de Deus or Sao Paulo), Macao. By Carlo Spinola (?), begun in 1601 and completed in mid-century. Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

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2.14. The church of the Jesuit college at Rachol, Salcete, India, 1580. Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

background of Jesuit efforts in New Spain, Peru, and the Philippines, with an emphasis on the indigenous participants in mission culture. The Jesuits in Europe Now let us return once more to Europe, where like its counterpart in Latin America Jesuit art and architecture has received unprecedented attention in the last few decades. There is still, however, a marked preference for architectural studies over those treating painting and sculpture. Like those in the first half of the twentieth century, most of these studies are regional; now, however, there is a tendency to focus more closely on smaller areas or individual cities. Many of the recent studies have appeared as exhibition catalogues. The 1990s in particular has been a decade for exhibitions on the Society, including many held to celebrate the Ignatian year 1990-1. Scholarly catalogues from shows in Augsburg (1982), Vatican City (1990), Milan (1990), Munich (1991), Ingolstadt (1991), Toulouse (1991), Lisbon (1997), and Munich again (1997) have contributed greatly to our understanding of regional peculiarities of the Jesuit enterprise in Germany, France, Portugal, and Rome.78 Most of them are refreshingly interdis-

64 Gauvin Alexander Bailey ciplinary in nature, and they tend to interpret their subjects in their greater geographical and social context. One prominent approach is the study of patronage issues and Jesuit urban strategy, as for example in the article by Thomas M. Lucas, S.J., on the urban mission in Rome and in JohannesTerhalle's piece on the Jesuit church of St Michael in Munich (see fig. 27.2, p. 570), which relates the urban approach shown in Munich to earlier approaches in Rome.79 Terhalle also provides an excellent summary of the problem of 'Jesuit style' and nostermodus. I will return to patronage and urbanism shortly. Two other exhibitions, of Jesuit art in United States collections, have also enhanced the scholarly literature, including a useful survey of Jesuit iconography by Jane ten Brink Goldsmith and valuable bibliographies.80 Italy is now the most productive European field, thanks in part to Richard Bosel's extensive project to publish the Italian architectural plans from the Bibliotheque Nationale, following in the footsteps of Braun, Moisy, and ValleryRadot. Only one volume is yet complete (on the Roman and Neapolitan provinces), but we can get an idea of his greater conclusions about Jesuit architecture in Italy from several extremely insightful articles on individual churches or architects.81 Bosel seeks architectural commonalities (ordensintern entwickelter Bautyperi)among Jesuit foundations and raises once again - with caution - the notion of 'Jesuit style.' I hope that we will not allow the search for such types, which can never extend far beyond individual regions anyway, to overshadow the much more exciting conclusion of Bosel's study - namely, that individual Jesuit buildings were more innovative and creative than most people realized. It turns out that the Jesuits were interested in aesthetics after all. Bosel correctly points out that in the aftermath of the 'Jesuit style' controversy scholars went too far in denying the Jesuits a role in style, by assuming they were concerned solely with practicality and austerity.82 In the end these scholars drove a wedge between style and function. Dainville (1955), for example, had written, 'II n'y a pas de style jesuite parce que 1'architecture des Jesuites est avant tout utilitaire et pratique,' and Howard Hibbard comments in his much more recent monograph on Caravaggio (1983) that for the Jesuits 'artistic concerns were limited to subject matter.'83 This shift in focus in the 1950s to the practical aims of the Society has been used to promote a newer incarnation of the Jesuits-as-anti-Humanists topos, in which their architecture is characterized as plain and 'anti-classical' and as being as much opposed to true Renaissance ideals as the wedding-cake church interiors lambasted in \heJesuitenstil entries. The anti-classical Jesuit model was recently taken up by Sandro Benedetti, in his work on sixteenth-century Italian architecture (1984).84 Benedetti uses the oft-quoted rule from the First General Congregation of the Society of Jesus (1558) calling for practicality and plainness in Jesuit foundations to demonstrate an underlying ideal of poverty. That statement, however, referred only to houses, leaving the door wide open for church

Jesuit Corporate Culture and the Visual Arts 65 architecture, as Joseph Connors notes in his reflection at the end of this volume.85 The Jesuits had little idea where they wanted to go artistically in the first century and had not even decided whether they preferred austerity or magnificence. Moreover, in those early days the Society was constantly strapped for cash, and forced thereby to abandon, prolong, or alter artistic and architectural commissions, which often ended up looking haphazard and unplanned as a result. They were often forced also, for similar reasons, to use second-rate artists. As Derek Moore has asked in his review of Benedetti's book, 'Is it not too easy to see the aesthetic of functionalism for the results of necessity, the ideal of poverty for a poverty of ideas?'86 More recent work on the Italian architecture of the Society of Jesus includes a survey of Jesuit architecture in Tuscany by Mario Bencivenni (1996) and the atti from a 1990 Milan symposium which considered Jesuit architecture from Sicily to Venice.87 One of the highlights of the symposium, by Bosel again, is a muchneeded comparative study of the architecture of different religious orders including the Jesuits, here focusing on their relationship to their mother churches.88 He proposes that many orders promoted distinctive architectural solutions based on particularly beloved churches belonging to their order, in a conscious statement of self-representation. The biggest surprise, perhaps, to those who see such buildings as reflections of 'Counter-Reformation' principles, is that the mother churches of some orders were sometimes built by other orders - the mother church of the Barnabites, for example, was built before that order was even founded - or were not designed to adhere to liturgically specific rules. The Milan symposium volume also includes a thoughtful discussion of Jesuit urbanism by Angela Marino that identifies noster modus in architecture as a 'modo operative' and not a 'modo normative' — that is, as characterized by precisely the flexibility and adaptation to local usage that makes Jesuit buildings so difficult to generalize about.89 Two recent surveys, one by Evonne E. Levy (1990) and the other my own work (1999), reassess Jesuit painting programs in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Rome and Italy, attempting to compensate for the detailed picture provided by architecture studies; but much work remains to be done.90 Although their work does not compare in volume to the scholarship on Italy, scholars have also recently paid attention to Jesuit foundations and art in the Iberian Peninsula, especially Portugal. This is not surprising, given that in the 1940s Portuguese scholars maintained that Jesuit architecture in Portugal had inspired the Roman Gesu and the Italian baroque by serving as a conduit into Europe for Oriental extravagance. Monographs have appeared on the more important Jesuit buildings in Portugal, such as Sao Roque (fig. 2.15) and the college at Funchal, and a 1994 dissertation by Fausto Sanches Martins surveys the entire architectural production of the Old Society in that country.91 Nuno Vassallo e Silva, director of the Sao Roque Museum and a specialist in

66

Gauvin Alexander Bailey

2.15, The Jesuit church of Sao Roque, Lisbon, Portugal. Begun in 1566, Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

Jesuit Corporate Culture and the Visual Arts 67 metalwork, has recently produced some intriguing studies on the unusual topic of Jesuit silverware in Portugal.92 A 1997 conference in Lisbon on the Society of Jesus included an entire session on the arts.93 It would be beneficial to the field of Jesuit art in general if these studies were more widely known, but neither Portuguese nor other scholars have yet integrated them into the mainstream literature on the Jesuit arts. The recent article 'Os jesuitas e a arte' by Teresa Freitas Morna, for example, while providing an invaluable typology of Jesuit art in Portugal, does not cite a single non-Portuguese work on Jesuits and the arts.94 And, conversely, the studies on Italy rarely discuss the Iberian Peninsula, even though Italian Jesuit architects like Tristano and Giuseppe Valeriano (1542-96) worked there. Tristano assisted in the design of the Church of Sao Roque in Lisbon, for example, and Valeriano was extremely active in Spain and Portugal. An important exception is the excellent work by Hellmut Hager on Carlo Fontana's work on the church of Loyola in Spain, in which he underscores the close connection between Iberian and Italian architects such as Fontana and Pozzo even at the very end of the seventeenth century.95 One other fruitful direction in our understanding of Jesuit art and architecture has been the study of individual Jesuit artists. The most popular is Andrea Pozzo (1642-1709), the subject of two enormous volumes of essays in 1996 alone, one of which devotes no fewer than three articles primarily to a single commission, the altar of St Ignatius in the Gesu.96 The standard works on Pozzo are Bernhard Kerber's Andrea Pozzo (1971), N. Carbonieri's Andrea Pozzo architetto (1961), Remigio Marini's Andrea Pozzo pittore (1959), and Vittorio de Feo's Andrea Pozzo: Architettura e illusione (1988). For more references and a discussion of Pozzo's diffusion outside Italy, see Kaufmann's contribution to this volume. Second in terms of popularity is Giovanni Battista Gaulli (Baciccio, 1639-1709), the non-Jesuit painter of the Gesu ceiling and other major Jesuit commissions, but most of the scholarship dates from the 1960s and 1970s. The only monograph is still Robert Enggass's The Painting of Baciccio (1964), although much research was also undertaken by Beatrice Canestro Chiovenda.97 The architectural work of Giacomo Briano and Orazio Grassi has been reconsidered by Bosel in the works referred to earlier, and the latter's career as an opera librettist drew attention in 1992 with the production of J.H. Kapsberger's opera Apotheosis sive consecratio (1622) by T. Frank Kennedy, S.J., at Boston College (for more about this work please refer to Kennedy's paper). John Bury has recently published plans by Giacomo Briano (1588-1649), the Jesuit architect responsible for churches in northern Italy and Poland; these are discussed along with other sources on Jesuit architecture in Poland in Kaufmann's article in this volume. A major reassessment of the architecture of Giuseppe Valeriano is being prepared by Maria Conelli, focusing on the Gesu Nuovo in Naples.98 Conelli has found that Valeriano was much less dependent upon Serlio than is traditionally

68 Gauvin Alexander Bailey assumed, and she pays particular attention to his relationship with the Spanish master Juan de Herrera (c. 1530-97), giving further proof of the close affinity and interaction between Italian and Iberian foundations of the Society of Jesus. She concludes that Valeriano's building recommendations had more to do with structure than with style. Another recent study that links Italy with Spain is Michael Kiene's article (1996) on Bartolomeo Ammannati and Jesuit architecture in Spain." Other work in the same vein is the scholarship on the Spanish Jesuit architect Juan Bautista Villalpando, whose influence was quite strong in Italy as elsewhere.100 For more literature on Villalpando, see Jaime Lara's paper in this volume. Finally, mention should be made of some no longer recent scholarship on the Spanish Jesuit architect Bartolome de Bustamente (1501-70) by Alfonso Rodriguez Gutierrez de Ceballos (1961, 1967).101 Other studies look at relationships between non-Jesuit artists and patrons and Jesuit intellectuals. The most famous example of this kind of collaboration is Pietro da Cortona's association with the reactionary Jesuit moralist Giovanni Domenico Ottonelli, with whom he penned one of the most curious treatises on the visual arts ever to come out of the frenzy of treatise writing after the Council of Trent. Although most of Trattato della pittura e scultura uso et abuse low (Florence, 1652) was written by Ottonelli, Cortona appears to be responsible for a substantial portion of the work, primarily the passages with purely arthistorical and technical information, which are often lively and original. David Freedberg has recently investigated the relationship between the great art patron and connoisseur Cassiano del Pozzo, who dominated the cultural scene of Urban VIII's Rome, and his close friend the Jesuit Giovanni Battista Ferrari (1582-1655), in an article emphasizing the affinity of the sciences and the visual arts in Baroque Italy.102 Many studies of the European Jesuits now focus on individual buildings. The lion's share of literature belongs to the Gesu in Rome, the bibliography for which exceeds the limits of this survey, but which is discussed in detail in Clare Robertson's contribution to this volume. I have already referred to the still classic and valuable monograph by Pecchiai. Luciano Patetta has recently written a masterly survey of the literature.103 Mention should again be made of the pioneering work on the iconographic programs in the Gesu by Howard Hibbard, as well as the considerable recent contribution of Klaus Schwager, who has written several penetrating articles on the Gesu as a prototype.104 Pellegrino Tibaldi's Church of San Fedele in Milan was the subject of monographs by Derek Moore, Stefano Della Torre, and Richard Schofield, which stressed the Jesuits' policy of adaptation to their urban surroundings and the haphazard way in which their early foundations got off the ground.105 Other major Jesuit monuments that have been considered in monographs include St Michael's in Munich (1983)

Jesuit Corporate Culture and the Visual Arts 69 and the Jesuit church in Antwerp (1968).l06 Jeffrey Chipps Smith's paper in this volume cites works on St Michael's. The study of the mechanisms of patronage has been crucial to the field in recent years, having taken the lead from Francis Haskell's landmark Patrons and Painters (1963) and his 1972 article subtly relating the change in Jesuit patronage style in the 1660s to the writings of Father General Oliva.107 Many of the works dealing with urbanism and social context cited above look at patronage, but there have been several important new studies that focus on the role of individual patrons. The most prominent recent work is Clare Robertson's study of Alessandro Farnese (1992), the man who paid for the Gesu and whose conflict with the Jesuits over its design is familiar even to non-specialists.108 Carolyn Valone and Maria Conelli have recently been engaged in investigation of women patrons of Jesuit foundations, a topic that promises further to enrich our understanding of the complexity of the social context of these foundations.109 Considerable attention has also been devoted specifically to Jesuit urban strategy, particularly in a new book by Thomas M. Lucas on the impact of the Roman urban fabric on early Jesuit foundations (1997) and in recent work by Joseph Connors, as well as in excellent studies by Morton Colp Abromson, Alessandro Zuccari, and Stefania Macioce, which integrate Jesuit efforts in the late Cinquecento into the larger context of urban renewal and the palaeochristian revival.110 In the figurative arts, certain iconographies and cults did come to be associated with the Society of Jesus, even if they did not constitute a 'style.' Many of these originated not in Rome, but in the second most important centre for Jesuit imagery, Antwerp. As early as 1932, Emile Male laid the foundations for the study of Jesuit iconography with his classic L'art religieux apres le Concile de Trente, which isolated a number of themes especially favoured by the Society.111 Scholars have once again speculated on these issues, this time relating them more closely to Jesuit texts. Many studies have sought to understand the artistic goals of major Jesuit figures such as Ignatius, Bellarmine, and Possevino.112 The most popular text, naturally, has been the Spiritual Exercises, which a recent study has shown were illustrated as early as 1649, and perhaps earlier.1131 have already mentioned Weibel's (1909) pioneering attempt to tie Bernini's tangibility and realism to Ignatius's 'composition of place.' Similar endeavours have been made for the work of Caravaggio, but equally unconvincingly - there is no positive evidence that either of these artists made the full Exercises.114 In his article already cited, Howard Hibbard (1972) gave an original interpretation of the first decorative program of the side chapels in the Gesu, in terms of the weekly progression in the Exercises.115 Similar links to the 'composition of place' have been proposed for the Jesuit emphasis on natural landscapes in the

70 Gauvin Alexander Bailey late Cinquecento decorative programs, especially the martyrdom cycles such as that at San Vitale in Rome (c. 1597). Zuccari suggests, for example, that this preference relates to Ignatius's interest in returning to the origins of Scripture in the Holy Land.116 Early Jesuit martyrdoms, also first considered by Male, have been the topic of some intriguing articles from the 1970s and 1980s by Herwarth Rottgen, Lief Holm Monssen, Alexandra Herz, and others.117 In the late sixteenth century the Jesuits commissioned more images of martyrdoms, whether in frescos or books, than anyone else at that time. Many of them subordinated their subjects to a Christological model whereby the martyrdoms were presented as echoes of Calvary. The genre of martyrdoms continued to flourish into the seventeenth century in works such as the gruesome collection of crucifixions of early Christians by Bartolomeo Ricci, S.J., Triumphus Jesu Christi crucifixi(Antwerp, 1608), which was widely disseminated on the missions, and the more triumphalist martyrological catalogues by Mathias Tanner, for example Societatis Jesu ... militans (Prague, 1675), on martyrs, and Societatis Jesu apostolorum imitatrix (Prague, 1694), on confessors. Jesuit plague imagery, used in early seventeenthcentury Flemish depictions of miracles of St Francis Xavier as a metaphor for heresy, have recently been considered by Christine Boeckl.118 Boeckl contrasts them with depictions of plagues in other orders, where they were merely narratives of spiritual and corporal works of mercy. Another important type of Jesuit iconographic cycle was the life of Jesuit saints, beginning with that of the still only beatified Ignatius called Vita Beati P. Ignatii Loiolae Societatis Jesu (Antwerp, 1609), the engravings of which by the Galle workshop have been linked with Peter Paul Rubens (1577-1640). Early portraits of Ignatius and Francis Xavier were also painted by Rubens in 1617 for the Jesuit church in Antwerp, and by Gerard Seghers for the Church of the Gesu in 1622.119 The iconography of Jesuit saints was further developed in the later seventeenth century in the work of Carlo Maratti, Gaulli, Pozzo, and possibly Pietro da Cortona for their work at the Gesu and Sant'Andrea al Quirinale.12° But by far the most important Jesuit image cycle of the period - and one which was virtually overwhelmed with landscape - was the magnificent set of 153 illustrations to Nadal's Evangelicae historiae imagines, engravings by the Wierix brothers after drawings by Livio Agresti, Giovanni Battista Fiammeri, and others which were extremely influential not only in Europe but on missions from China to Paraguay (see fig. 18.5, p. 387).121 Nadal may have made the Jesuits' greatest artistic contribution of the sixteenth century, the equivalent in the visual arts of the Gesu. Another tradition favoured strongly, though not exclusively, by the Jesuits was that of the Quarant'ore, the public exposure of the Eucharist for forty hours

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discussed in a now classic article by Mark S. Weil (1974).122 Often involving elaborate, theatrical apparati that verged on architecture, the Quarant'ore of the Gesu became a major event in the Roman liturgical calendar and had a strong impact on illusionistic painting and sculpture in baroque art. Louise Rice in this volume explores the thesis print, a type of visual image related intimately to one of the Society's unique enterprises, the college. Ongoing work by Maria Conelli, Clara Bargellini, and Jeffrey Chipps Smith, as well as some of my own research, focuses on other individual cults favoured by the Jesuits, either globally or in single regions. Conelli is considering the impact of the Jesuit theology of the Immaculate Conception and Incarnational theory on church interior programs in Naples and elsewhere; Bargellini's and Smith's contributions to this volume examine the impact of Jesuit cults or catechisms on church interiors in New Spain and Bavaria; and I am working on the role of Nadal's cycle and the cults of the Virgin of St Luke and Loreto on Rome and the world missions. Finally, mention must be made of the burgeoning new field of Jesuit emblematica, in this volume represented by Karl Josef Holtgen's paper. Jesuit emblems have been the focus of extensive research by G.R. Dimler and the subject of a major exhibition in the Royal Library of Belgium in Brussels (1996).123 In a masterly recent study, Marc Fumaroli has considered the greatest of the emblematic albums, Imago primi saeculi Societatis Jesu (Antwerp, 1640) (see fig. 1.2, p. 10) as a quintessentially Jesuit text, representative of a spirit of exuberance in the Society which predated Haskell's 'style Oliva' by two decades.124 He sees this centenary volume of the Jesuits as a piece of virtual architecture, whose most salient characteristic is not homogeneity but inclusiveness; a festival of styles, genres, and languages, it is aimed at addressing a universal audience, elite and plebeian alike. In the same article, Fumaroli makes an instructive distinction between Jansenist and Jesuit approaches to art, one which takes a subtler approach than Blunt's. He uses the ancient rhetorical terms 'Atticism' and 'Asianism' to characterize the two orientations, the former more elitist in essence and the latter more plebeian - although as just indicated he shows that the Jesuits appealed to both audiences.125 I add as an interesting footnote and fitting close to this survey that most of the great emblematists were also playwrights, evidence not only of the close affinities between the two arts in their day, but also of the interdisciplinary abilities of many Jesuits.126 Conclusion The bibliography I have surveyed helps set the stage, I hope, for the studies of Jesuit arts and architecture - not to mention those of history, of musicology, of the history of science, and of the missions - that follow in this volume. I would

72 Gau vin Alexander B alley like at this point briefly to suggest ways in which we might look at the arts of the Society now, almost a century after Louis Serbat and Joseph Braun challenged the prevalent concept of a monolithic, anti-classical, artistic behemoth. The big question remains: Did the Jesuits have a noster modus — a way of proceeding - in the arts, or were their projects simply a combination of practical necessity with the same artistic trends that were shared by other orders and by early modern Catholic culture at large? Certainly, to varying degrees throughout the history of the Society, noster modus involved an element of practicality born of economic necessity, and this did sometimes have an impact on style. One obvious result was the creation of second-rate art and architecture, as in many sixteenth-century Jesuit churches in Spain; another was the making use of existing buildings, such as the Lutheran church at Neuburg an der Donau or the Japanese Buddhist temple of Saikoji at Arima. Practical necessity perforce changed the Jesuits' visual self-representation in certain regions in ways that could never have been foretold from looking at the minutes of the Jesuit General Congregations. Another manifestation of practical necessity was the haphazard and unpremeditated use of styles, according to the capability of whatever artist or architect could be enlisted. Many of the earliest foundations in Italy were Ferrarese in style because Tristano happened to be Ferrarese, and many of the greatest architectural monuments in Latin America were in a recognizably German or Italian style because the architects came from Germany or Italy. It is also true that we should not exaggerate the difference between the Jesuits and other orders. Even though the Jesuits promoted certain cults more than others, on the whole they were interested in the same iconography as their counterparts in the regular and secular clergy, and they often hired the same artists to produce their paintings and design their buildings. Some were great artists, such as Guercino and Bernini, but most were humbler, like the Roman painter of Bavarian origin Sigismondo Lake (1550-1639), who, according to the great biographer of baroque artists Giovanni Baglione, produced small paintings on copper for the Jesuits to send to America and Asia.127 Caravaggio named Laire among his friends, but - significantly - not as one of the valentuomini, or good painters.128 The buildings and other works of art of the various early modern Catholic orders, if studied closely together, may prove to be more alike than different. Two other orders especially vital to the development of the Jesuits' own visual culture were the Oratorians in Italy and the Franciscans on the world missions. Nonetheless, I am convinced that the Jesuits had a 'way of proceeding' and that it may have made their foundations noticeably different from those of other orders. By its very nature, however, noster modus also prevented those founda-

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tions as a group from being stylistically uniform or normative. This noster modus, or corporate strategy, was a complex and fluid mixture of experimentation and creativity, combined with a willingness to adapt and learn from the surrounding cultural landscape, whether Neapolitan or Moxos. It was the desire, to paraphrase Fumaroli, to say everything in every way possible, and to mediate between the learned and the unlettered, between Europeans and nonEuropeans.129 It can never be understood out of this context and without the determining hand of 'the Other.' Patetta sums it up nicely in his Storia e tipologia (1989): The Jesuits have never had "a style" in architecture ... To the contrary, the Jesuits were one of the most flexible of the orders, having chosen to adapt themselves to all historical situations, all cultural evolutions, and all conditions of society.' 13° Perhaps Pascal and his friends have the last laugh, because in the end the 'style' of the Jesuits is very Jesuitical indeed. Confusing and misleading, the Jesuit noster modus gives the illusion of being something concrete and uniform, yet it dissolves when probed. Instead of dominating everything around it as its critics have for so long maintained, it ends up accommodating and assimilating. For noster modus is not a product but a process. NOTES

1 Yvan Christ, 'Le "style jesuite" n'existe pas,' Jardin des arts 86 (1962): 44-9. 2 Louis Serbat, 'L'architecture gothique des jesuites au XVIIe siecle,' Bulletin monumental 66 (1902): 315-70; Joseph Braun, Die belgischen Jesuitenkirchen: Bin Beitrag zur Geschichte des Kampfes zwischen Gotik und Renaissance (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1907); Braun Kirch.; Carlo Bricarelli, 'Le chiese degli antichi gesuiti in Germania,' La civiltd cattolica 4 (1910): 338ff; Joseph Braun, Spaniens alte Jesuitenkirchen (Freiburg im Breslau, 1913); Alfred Poncelet, Histoire de la Compagnie de Jesus dans les Anciens Pays-Bas (Brussels, 1926), pt 1, pp. 575-83; E. Kirschbaum, 'La Compagnia di Gesu e 1'arte,' in // quarto centenario della costituzione della Compagnia di Gesu (Milan, 1941), pp. 211-26; Carlo Galassi Paluzzi, Storia segreta dello stile dei gesuiti (Rome, 1951); Fran£ois de Dainville, 'La legende du style jesuite,' Etudes 257 (1955): 5-16; D.C. Barrett, 'A "Jesuit Style" in Art?' Studies 45 (1956): 335^-1; Pierre Moisy, Les eglises des jesuites de I'ancienne assistance de France (Rome, 1958); P. Charpentrat, 'Jesuite (art),' Encyclopaedia universalis, 20 vols (1968-75), IX 421-6; Witt. Bar.; B. Hernan Gomez, 'Polemica en torno a los origines de la arquitectura de los jesuitas y la posible aceptacion de un estflo,' thesis, University of Oviedo, 1978. 3 Serbat, 'L'architecture gothique,' p. 315; Braun Kirch. l:v. 4 The term 'baroque' is earlier, but it was not until the nineteenth century that it was used specifically to label the artistic style of the seventeenth century. For a classic

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5

6

7 8 9 10

11

12 13

14 15

summary of the use of the term 'baroque,' see Otto Kurz, 'Barocco: Storia di una parola,' Lettere italiane 12:4 (1960): 414-44. Hask. 'Role.' As early as 1887 Cornelius Gurlitt pointed out that the popular conception of Jesuit style was flawed since it ignored the earlier austere phase, between 1540 and the mid-seventeenth century; Cornelius Gurlitt, Geschichte der Baukunst in Italien (Stuttgart, 1887), p. 222. In Hask. Patr. Haskell shows that the Jesuits were not even the prime players in the development of baroque visual culture. For a recent discussion of this problem, see Luciano Patetta, Storia e tipologia: Cinque saggi suit'architettura del passato (Milan, 1989), p. 164. Werner Weisbach, Der Barock als Kunst der Gegenreformation (Berlin, 1921); Nikolaus Pevsner, 'Gegenreformation und Manierismus,' Repertorium fiir Kunstwissenschaft46 (1925): 243-62. Both authors responded in Repertorium49 (1928): 16-28, 225-46. Ludwig von Pastor, The History of the Popes from the Close of the Middle Ages, 40 vols (London, 1923-53), I 5. Beginning with Etienne Pasquier, Le catechisme des jesuites, ed. Claude Sutto (Sherbrooke, [c. 1982]), first published in 1592. From a poem on the proposed expulsion of the Jesuits from France at the end of Remonstrances au Parlement ([Paris?], 1761), p. 11. Le cabinet jesuitique (Cologne, 1674), pp. 57-8. Monita secreta was written by the Polish ex-Jesuit Hieronymus Zahorowski in 1614. For more about this work, see John W. O'Malley's contribution to this volume, pp. 7-8. In 1756 and 1760, e.g., were published several versions of a Histoire de Nicolas I, elsewhere entitled Nicholas premier, jesuite et roi du Paraguai, as well as the similar Remonstrances au Parlement, all of which claimed to have been printed at the Jesuit press in Buenos Aires, but which were almost certainly produced in Paris. The John J. Burns Library at Boston College has a copy of Nicholas premier, jesuite et roi du Paraguai and Remonstrances au Parlement ('Buenos Aires,' 1760). For a discussion of these tracts, see Somm. Bib. 11:1352. The Portable Voltaire, ed. Ben Ray Redman (Harmondsworth, 1980), p. 264. F.U. Brockhaus, Allgemeine deutsche Real-Encyklopddie fur die gebildeten Stdnde, 9th ed., 15 vols (Leipzig, 1843-8), VII 657-8. The 7th edition (vol. 5, 1827) does not yet have a listing for Jesuitenstil. For later excerpts from German encyclopaedias such as Brockhaus and Meyer, see Barrett, 'A "Jesuit Style"?' p. 335, and Patetta, Storia e tipologia, p. 161. Evonne E. Levy also cited some later versions of Brockhaus and Meyer in 'Art History's "Baroque": The Jesuit Contribution,' paper delivered at the Boston College symposium (May 1997). Brockhaus, Real-Encyclopddie, VII 658. Charpentrat, 'Jesuite (art).' The entry, however, does not discuss 'Jesuit style.' It is merely an overview of Jesuit artistic patronage.

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16 For the reference, see ibid., p. 421. 17 From Voyage en Italic (Paris, 1896), p. 279. Although not published until the late nineteenth century, the work was actually written in 1865. Taine is quoted in Dainville, 'La legende,' pp. 3-4; Barrett, 'A "Jesuit Style"?' pp. 1-2; and Patetta, Storia e tipologia, p. 161. 18 Geoffrey Scott, The Architecture of Humanism (London, 1924), p. 25. 19 Anthony Blunt, Artistic Theory in Italy, 1450-1600 (Oxford, 1962), p. 105. 20 Ibid., pp. 134-5. 21 Anthony Blunt, The Art and Architecture of France, 1500-1700 (London and Baltimore, 1953), p. 176. 22 Walter Weibel, Jesuitismm und Barockskulptur in Rom (Strasbourg, 1909), p. 47. 23 Ibid., p. 8, for Weibel's claim; Irving Lavin, Bernini and the Unity of the Visual Arts (New York and London, 1980), p. 4 n3. While it is difficult to prove - and very unlikely - that Bernini actually made the full Exercises, he did own a copy of the text and would have made the shorter versions of them familiar to confraternities such as the Bona Mors. For more on Bernini's relationship with the Jesuits, see Rudolf Kuhn, 'Gian Paolo Oliva und Gian Lorenzo Bernini,' Romische Quartalschrift fur christliche Altertumskunde und Kirchengeschichte 64 (1969): 229-33, and 'Gian Lorenzo Bernini und Ignatius von Loyola,' in Argo: Festschrift fur Kurt Badt, ed. M. Gosebruch and L. Dittmann (Cologne, 1970), pp. 297-323. Kuhn shows how strongly influential Oliva's sermons were on Bernini's spirituality. For a thorough treatment of the application of the Exercises in the early modern period, see Ignacio Iparraguirre, Historia de la prdctica de los Ejercicios Espirituales de San Ignacio de Loyola, 3 vols under slightly different titles (Rome and Bilbao, 1946-73). On the role of the Bona Mors, see Michael William Maher, 'Reforming Rome: The Society of Jesus and Its Congregations at the Church of the Gesu,' Ph.D. dissertation, University of Minnesota, 1997. 24 Rudolf Wittkower, Gian Lorenzo Bernini (London, 1955), introduction. 25 Rudolf Wittkower. Art and Architecture in Italy, 1600-1750 (London, 1958; repr. 1991), p. 138, and Witt. 'Prob.,'pp. 11-13. 26 H.W. Janson and Anthony Janson, The History of Art, 8th ed. (New York, 1997), p. 483. 27 Ibid., p. 502. 28 The most famous stylistic imposition of the Farnese was the use of a barrel vault for the Gesu despite the Jesuits' desire for a more austere and acoustical flat roof. This struggle between the Farnese and the Jesuits at the Gesu has recently been summarized in Clare Robertson's magisterial book '// Gran Cardinal: Alessandro Farnese, Patron of the Arts (New Haven and London, 1992). 29 James S. Ackerman, 'The Gesu in the Light of Contemporary Church Design,' in Witt. Bar., pp. 15-28; and Hib. 'Utpict.'; Mask. 'Role'; Witt. 'Prob.,' p. 9.

76 Gauvin Alexander Bailey 30 Ignatius of Loyola himself was credited with the invention of this term by Jeronimo Nadal (O'M. First, p. 8). The best recent survey of the use of the term is Isabella Balestreri, 'L'architettura negli scritti della Compagnia di Gesu,' in L'architettura della Compagnia di Gesu in Italia, XVI-XVIII secolo, ed. Luciano Patetta and Stefano Della Torre (Milan, 1990), exhib. cat., pp. 19-26. 31 Pirri Trist., p. 11. 32 For a summary of this history, see Vall.-Rad. Rec., pp. 6ff; Bosel Jes. Italien l:llff. 33 See my forthcoming survey of Jesuit mission art and architecture, Art on the Jesuit Missions in Asia and Latin America, 1542-1773 (Toronto, forthcoming), especially chap. 2. For a Filipino example from the sixteenth century, see Rene B. Javellana, Wood and Stone for God's Greater Glory: Jesuit Art and Architecture in the Philippines (Manila, 1991), 29. 34 The disparity between the modern and the pre-modern concept of the 'copy' has been discussed in a classic article by Richard Krautheimer, 'Introduction to an Iconography of Medieval Architecture,' Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 5 (1942): 1-33. 35 Dainville, 'La legende,' p. 7. 36 See the illustration in Philip Caraman, The Lost Empire: The Story of Jesuits in Ethiopia, 1535-1634 (London, 1985). 37 Pirri Trist.; also Pietro Pirri, 'L'architetto Bartolomeo Ammannati e i gesuiti,' AHSI 12 (1943): 5-57; idem, 'Intagliatore gesuiti italiani dei secoli XVI e XVII,' AHSI 21 (1952): 3-59; idem (with P. di Rosa), 'II P. Giovanni de Rosis (1538-1610) e lo sviluppo dell'edilizia gesuitica,' AHSI 44 (1975): 3-104; idem, Giuseppe Valeriano, S.I.: Architetto e pittore, 1542-96 (Rome, 1970); Moisy, Les eglises des je suites (n2 above); Vall.-Rad. Rec.; Pio Pecchiai, // Gesu di Roma (Rome, 1952). 38 Pirri Trist., p. 11. 39 Moisy, 'Les eglises des jesuites,' p. 352. 40 Vall.-Rad. Rec., pp. 60ff. 41 Pecchiai, // Gesu di Roma, pp. xiii-xix. 42 Maximino de Barrio, 'Las colecciones de las misiones jesuiticas del Paraguay existentes en el Museo de La Plata,' Revista del Museo de La Plata 33 (1932): 195205; Guillermo Furlong, Losjesuitasy la cultura rioplatense (Montevideo, 1933); idem, 'La arquitectura en las misiones jesuiticas,' in Estudio 64 (Buenos Aires, 1940); idem, Artesanos argentinos durante la dominacion hispdnica (Buenos Aires, 1946); idem, Misiones y sus pueblos de guaranies (Buenos Aires, 1962); A. Ruiz Moreno, 'El urbanismo en las misiones jesuiticas,' in Estudio 64 (Buenos Aires, 1940); Liicio Costa, 'Arquitetura dos jesuitas no Brasil,' Revista do Servigo do Patrimonio Historico et Artistico Nacional 4 (Rio de Janeiro, 1941); Miguel Sola, Documentos de arte argentino (Buenos Aires, 1946); Adolfo Luis Ribera and Hector Schenone, El arte de la imagineria en el Rio de la Plata (Buenos Aires, 1948); Juan G. Guiria, La

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arquitectura en el Paraguay (Buenos Aires, 1950); Paulo Ferreira Santos, O barroco e o jesuitico na arquitetura no Brasil (Rio de Janeiro, 1951); M.J. Buschiazzo, La arquitectura de las misiones de Mojos y Chiquitos (Buenos Aires, 1953); idem, Estancias jesuiticas de Cordoba (Buenos Aires, 1969); idem, 'La arquitectura en madera de las misiones del Paraguay,' in Latin American Art and the Baroque Period in Europe (Princeton, 1963); Victor Nadal Mora, San Ignacio Mini (Buenos Aires, 1955); H. Busaniche, La arquitectura de las misiones guaranies (Santa Fe, 1955); Robert Chester Smith, Arquitetura jesuitica no Brasil (Sao Paulo, 1962); Ruben Vargas Ugarte, Losjesuitas del Peru y el arte (Lima, 1963); Fidel Araneda Bravo, El barroco jesuita chileno (Santiago, n.d.). There is also much on the Jesuits in Eugenio Pereira Salas, Historia del arte en el reino de Chile (Santiago, 1965). Felix Plattner, Deutsche Meister des Barock in Siidamerika im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert (Basel, 1960); Jose de Mesa and Teresa Gisbert, Bernardo Bitti (La Paz, 1961); and Bitti, un pintor manierista en Sudamerica (La Paz, 1974). Another work which has much to say about Jesuit artists and architects is Vicente D. Serra, Los jesuitas germanos en la conquista espiritual de Hispano-America (Buenos Aires, 1944). Ruben Vargas Ugarte, Ensayo de un diccionairo de artifices coloniales de la America Meridional (Lima, 1947), pp. 62^4; Martin S. Soria, La pintura des siglo XVI en Sud America (Buenos Aires, 1956), pp. 45-72. Sir Edward Maclagan, 'Jesuit Missions to the Emperor Akbar,' Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 65 (1896): 38-112, and The Jesuits and the Great Mogul (London, 1932); Henry Hosten, 'European Art at the Moghul Court,' Journal of the United Provinces Historical Society 3:1 (1922): 110-84; Felix zu Lowenstein, Christliche Bilder in altindischer Malerei (Minister, 1958). See e.g. Henry Hosten, 'Who Planned the Taj?' Journal and Proceedings of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, new series, 6 (1910): 281-8. The story, vehemently promoted by scholars like Hosten, was that the Venetian architect Girolamo Veroneo (d. 1640), a friend and agent of the Jesuits, was the true architect of the Taj Mahal. They also started the rumour that the Jesuits provided the expertise for the pietra dura ornamentation on the Taj's exterior. Traces of both of these stories still find their way into contemporary guidebooks to Agra. See Hosten, 'European Art at the Mogul Court.' Tokihide Nagayama, Kirishitan shiryu shu: Collection of Historical Material Connected with the Roman Catholic Religion in Japan (Nagasaki, 1924); T Nagami, Nagasaki no bijutsu shi (Tokyo, 1927); Idzuru Shimmura, 'L'introduction de la peinture occidentale au Japon,' Revue des arts asiatiques 4 (1927): 195-201, and Kaikoku bunka taikan (Osaka, 1929); H. Sato, Namban bydbu taikan zuroku (Osaka, 1936); Terukazu Akiyama, 'First Epoch of European Style Painting in Japan,' Bulletin of Eastern Art (1941); Tei Nishimura, 'Study on the Fifteen Mysteries of St. Mary in Japan,' Bijutsu kenkyu 81 (September 1938); idem,

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'Paintings of the "Society of Jesus" in Japan and Those of Western Style at the End of the Ming Dynasty,' Bijutsu kenkyu 97 (January 1940); idem, Nihon shoki yoga no kenkyu (Kyoto, 1946); Idzuru Shimmura, 'Christian Relics at Mr. Higashi's House North of Takatsuki, Settsu,' Reports on Archaeological Research in the Department of Literature, Kyoto Imperial University 1 (1923), and Namban koki zoku (Tokyo, 1927). Georg Schurhammer, 'Die Jesuitenmissionare des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts und ihr Einfluss auf die japanische Malerei,' Jubildumsband der deutschen Gesellschaft fur Natur- und Volkerkunde Ostasiens 1 (1933): 116-26; C.R. Boxer, 'Some Aspects of Portuguese Influence in Japan, 1542-1640,' The Japan Society: Transactions and Proceedings 33 (1935-6): 13-64; Maurice Prunier, 'Des peintures a fouler aux pieds,' Bulletin de la Maison Franco-Japonaise 11 (1939): 1-4; Joseph Schiitte, 'Christliche japanische Literatur, Bilder, und Druckblatter,' AHSI9 (1940): 226-80. John McCall, 'Early Jesuit Art in the Far East,' Artibus Asiae 10 (1947): 121-37, 216-33, 283-301; 11 (1948): 45-69; 17 (1954): 39-54. For more on the name 'Academy of St Luke' and the real name of this academy, the 'Seminary of Painters,' see my Art on the Jesuit Missions (n33 above). Paul Pelliot, 'La peinture et la gravure europeennes en Chine au temps de Mathieu Ricci,' T'oung Pao, 2nd series, 20 (1921): 1-18; Henri Bernard, 'L'art chretien en Chine du temps du Mathieu Ricci,' Revue d'histoire des missions 12 (1935): 199229; Pasquale M. d'Elia, Le origini dell'arte cristiana-cinese (Rome, 1939), and 'La Madonna di S. Maria Maggiore in Cina,' Ecclesia 1:9 (January 1950): 30-2; George Loehr, Giuseppe Castiglione (Rome, 1940), and 'Missionary Artists at the Manchu Court,' Transactions of the Oriental Ceramic Society 34 (1962-3): 51-67; Bertold Laufer, 'A Chinese Madonna,' The Open Court (January 1912), and Christian An in China (1910); PR. Fausti, 'Le prime immagini cristiane in stile cinese del secolo xvii,' Arte cristiana 27:4 (April 1940); S. Schiiller, 'P. Matteo Ricci und die christliche Kunst in China,' 'Die "Chinesische Madonna" der bedeutendste Fund aus der ersten Missionsperiode in China: Neue Untersuchungen und neue Ergebnisse,' and 'Die christliche Kunst in China zur Zeit von P. Adam Schall,' Katholischen Missionen 64 (1936). Manuel Teixeira, Afachada de S. Paulo (Macao, 1940); M. Hugo Brunt, 'An Architectural Survey of the Jesuit Seminary Church of St Paul's, Macao,' Journal of Oriental Studies 1:2 (July 1954); Mario T. Chico, 'Algumas observafoes acerca da arquitetura da Companhia de Jesus no distrito de Goa,' Garcia de Orta (1956): 257-74 (Chico also wrote about Augustinian architecture in Goa); S. Schiiller, 'P. Simona a Cunha und die Jesuitenmaler in Macao,' Katholischen Missionen 64 (1936). Las misiones jesmticas del Guayrd (Buenos Aires, 1995); Las misiones jesuiticas del Chiquitos, ed. Pedro Querejazu (La Paz, 1995). Paradise Lost: The Jesuits and the Guarani South American Missions, 1609-1767

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(New York, 1989); Un camino hacia la Arcadia: Arte en las misiones jesuiticas de Paraguay (Madrid, 1995); Baroque du Paraguay (Paris, 1995); Martin Schmid, 1694-1772: Missionar, Musiker, Architekt (Lucerne, 1994), all exhib. cats. Ramon Gutierrez, 'Preservation del Centre Historico de Trinidad,' Presencia (La Paz, 23 September 1979); idem, 'La estructura de manzanas en las misiones jesuiticas,' Simposio internacional de arquitectura contemporanea (Barcelona, 1982); idem, 'Para una nueva metodologia de analisis del barroco americano,' in Actas del simposio sobre 'Barroco en America' (Rome, 1982); idem, 'La mision jesuitica de San Miguel Arcangel (Brasil),' in Documentos de arquitectura nacional y americana 14 (Resistencia, 1982); Antonio Eduardo Bosl, Una joy a en la selva boliviana: La restauracion del templo colonial de Conception (Zarautz, 1988); J.O. Gazaneo, Informe sobre el nivel de los estudios y estado de conservation de los monumentos jesuiticos y franciscanos en America y Filipinas (Paris, 1992); Bozidar Darko Sustersic, 'La fachada de San Ignacio Mini, entre hallazgos y nuevos enigmas,' pp. 196-214, and Norberto Levinton, 'Recursos de information para la restauracion de las obras de arquitectura de las misiones jesuiticas: El regreso a las fuentes,' pp. 187-95, both in La salvaguarda del patrimonio jesuitico (Posadas, 1994). Ernesto Maeder and Ramon Gutierrez, 'La imagineria jesuitica en las misiones del Paraguay,' Anales 23 (1970): 90-114; Josefina Pla, 'El barroco hispano guarani,' Cuadernos hispanoamericanos 173 (Madrid, 1964); idem, El barroco hispanoguarani (Asuncion, 1975); idem, 'Apuntes para una aproximacion a la imagineria paraguaya,' in Josefina Pla, Obras completas, 2 vols (Asuncion, 1992), II 7-89; Adolfo Luis Ribera, La pintura en las misiones jesuiticas de guaranies (Buenos Aires, 1980), and 'Las artes en las misiones guaraniticas de la Compania de Jesus,' in El arte de las misiones jesuiticas (Buenos Aires, 1985); Clement J. McNaspy, Lost Cities of Paraguay (Chicago, 1982); Bozidar Darko Sustersic, 'Imagineria y patrimonio mueble,' in Las misiones jesuiticas del Guayrd (1995), pp. 155-86; idem, 'Una antigua devotion misionera que perdura en el tiempo,' in El arte entre lo publico y privado (Buenos Aires, 1995), pp. 51-62; idem, 'La escultura en el Rio de la Plata durante el periodo colonial,' in Pintura, escultura, y artes utiles en Iberoamerica, 1500-1825, ed. Ramon Gutierrez (Madrid, 1995), pp. 271-81; Paul Frings and Josef Ubelmesser, Paracuaria: Die Kunstschdtze des Jesuitenstaats in Paraguay (Mainz, 1982); Susana Fabrici, 'Un antiguo libro en guarani,' Incipit 3 (1983): 173-83. Ernesto Maeder, Misiones del Paraguay: Conflicto y disolucion de la sociedad guarani (Madrid, 1992), and 'Talleres artesanales en los pueblos de indios y en las misiones jesuiticas de Paraguay,' in Formation profesional y artes decorativas en Andalucia y America, pp. 31-45; Josefina Pla, 'Los talleres misioneros,' in Un camino hacia la Arcadia (n52 above), pp. 81-106. Pedro Querejazu, 'El mudejar como expresion cultural iberica, y su manifestation

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60 61

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en las tierras altas de la audiencia de Charcas,' in Los caminos del mudejar al Andaluz (Granada, 1995); Norberto Levinton, Tervivencias mudejares en la arquitectura del Colegio de San Cosme y San Damian,' paper delivered at the 49th Congreso Internacional de Americanistas, Quito, 1997. Ramon Gutierrez, 'Estructura socio-politica, sistema productivo, y resultante espacial en las misiones jesuiticas del Paraguay durante el siglo XVIII,' Estudios Paraguayos (Asuncion, 1974); idem, Evolution urbanistica y arquitectonica del Paraguay, 1537-1911 (Resistencia, 1978); idem, 'Nuevos aportes sobre arquitectura y urbanismo de las misiones jesuiticas,' in Summa (Buenos Aires, 1992); idem, 'La planificacion alternativa en la colonia: Tipologias urbanas de las misiones jesuiticas,' in Urbanismo e historia urbana en el mundo hispano (Madrid, 1986); idem, Las misiones jesuiticas de indios guarames (Rio de Janeiro, 1987); idem, 'Arte y arquitectura en la evangelization de las misiones jesuiticas del Paraguay,' Revista de teologia (1988); idem, 'La planificacion alternativa en la colonia: Tipologias urbanas de las misiones jesuiticas,' in Un camino hacia la Arcadia (n52 above), pp. 61-80. Ticio Escobar, Una interpretation de las artes visuales en el Paraguay, 2 vols (Asuncion, 1980). On Brasanelli: Bozidar Darko Sustersic, 'Jose Brasanelli: Escultor, pintor, y arquitecto de las misiones jesuiticas guaranies,' Organization de Universidades Catolicas de America Latina, Jornadas 2 (1992): 267-77; idem, 'La iglesia barroca de Trinidad y su friso de angeles musicos,' Jornadas de teoria e historia de las artes 5 (1993): 380-9; idem, 'El hermano Jose Brasanelli y las posibilidades de la reconstruction de su trayectoria biografica y artistica,' paper delivered at the Simposio Nacional de Estudios Missioneiros, Santa Rosa, 1996. On Schmid: Rainald Fischer, Martin Schmid, S.J., 1694-1772: Seine Brief e und sein Werken (Zug, 1988); Martin Schmid (n52 above). On Bianchi: It is a great tragedy that Dalmacio Sobron passed away before his book on the architecture of Giovanni Andrea Bianchi, S.J., was complete. His thesis at the Universidad Catolica de Cordoba does exist, but it is difficult to find. Word is out that scholars in Argentina are putting together the notes for his book for press. Sobron summarizes his thesis in 'Acerca de la arquitectura del Hermano Andres Blanqui, S.J.,' in La salvaguarda del patrimonio jesuitico (n53 above), pp. 19-33. Martin Schmid (n52 above). The series title is Patrimonio Artistico National Inventario de Bienes Muebles (1982- ), and volumes have been published for Jujuy, Salta, Corrientes, and other Argentine provinces. They are full of photographs, never published before, of works of art and buildings connected with the reduction workshops or other Jesuit foundations such as colleges and estancias. Armando Trevisan, A escultura dos sete povos (Porto Alegre, 1980); Jose Antonio

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Carvalho, O colegio e as residencias dos jesuitas no Espirito Santo (Rio de Janeiro, 1982); Beatriz Santos de Oliveira, Espacio e estrategia: Consideraqoes sobre a arquitetura dos jesuitas no Brasil (Rio de Janeiro, 1988); Mabel Leal Vieira and Maria Ines Coutinho, Inventdrio da imagindria missioneira (Porto Alegre, 1993), and A forma e a imagem: Arte e arquitetura jesuitica no Rio de Janeiro colonial (Rio de Janeiro, 1991). Carcelen de Coronel's book is still in press; G. Ted Bohr wrote his dissertation on the subject, which he also presented in a paper at the Boston College symposium (May 1997), 'The Collegiate Church of the Society of Jesus in Quito, Ecuador, and Its Artistic and Intellectual Legacy.' Maria del Consuelo Maquivar, Los retablos de Tepotzotldn (Mexico City, 1976); Paul M. Roca, Spanish Jesuit Churches in Mexico's Tarahumara (Tucson, 1979); Diaz Arq.; Marco Diaz, Arquitectura en el desierto: Misiones jesuitas en Baja California (Mexico City, 1986). Cecile and Michel Beurdeley, Giuseppe Castiglione: A Jesuit Painter at the Court of the Chinese Emperors (Rutland, Va., and Tokyo, 1971); Orientations 19:11 (1988), which is entirely devoted to Castiglione, with articles by Yang Boda, Tseng Yu, Michele Pirazzoli-t'Serstevens, Victoria Siu, and Zhu Jiajin; Gon^alo Couseiro, 'Pintores jesuitas na China,' Oceanos 12 (November 1992): 92-101; Bruno Zoratto, Giuseppe Castiglione: Pittore italiano alia corte imperiale cinese (Fasano di Puglia, 1994). See also Rene Picard, Les peintres jesuites a la Cour de Chine (Grenoble, 1973), and Michel Beurdeley, Peintres jesuites en Chine au XVHIe siecle (Paris, 1997). On Castiglione's pavilions at the Yuanmingyuan Palace, see Le Yuanmingyuan, jeux d'eau et palais europeens du XVIIIeme siecle a la cour du Chine (Paris, 1987); Michele Pirazzoli-t'Serstevens, 'A Pluridisciplinary Research on Castiglione and the Emperor Ch'ien-Lung's European Palaces,' National Palace Museum Bulletin 24 (Taipei, 1989) 4:1-12, 5:1-16; Hou Renzhi, 'Yuanmingyuan,' in Yuanming Casang (Beijing, 1991); Antoine Durand and Regine Thiriez, 'Engraving the Emperor of China's European Palaces,' Biblion: The New York Public Library Bulletin 1 (1993): 81-107, and The Delights of Harmony: The European Palaces of the Yuanmingyuan and the Jesuits at the 18th Century Court of Beijing (Worcester, Mass., 1994). Harrie Vanderstappen, 'Chinese Art and the Jesuits in Peking,' in Ronan East, pp. 103-26. The final chapter of Craig Clunas, Pictures and Visuality in Early Modern China (Princeton, 1997) makes an important reassessment of the seventeenthcentury art of the Jesuit missions in China and especially of the reactions of the Chinese to the strange art 'from the Western Ocean.' For a recent assessment of Wu Li, see Richard Barnhart, Three Thousand Years of Chinese Painting (New Haven and London, 1997), p. 264; Jonathan Chaves, Singing of the Source (Honolulu, 1993).

82 Gauvin Alexander Bailey 68 James Cahill, The Compelling Image (Cambridge, Mass., 1982); Michael Sullivan, The Meeting of Eastern and Western Art (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1989). 69 On the Jesuit cemetery in Beijing, see Edward J. Malatesta and Gao Zhiyu, Departed, yet Present: The Oldest Christian Cemetery in Beijing (Macao, 1995). Huihung Chen, to whom I am grateful for the Machida Museum citation, is writing her Ph.D. dissertation at Brown University on the subject of Jesuit art in China. For Catherine Pagani's work on Jesuit clockmakers in China, see 'One Continuous Symphony: Automata and the Jesuit Mission in Qing China,' in volume 4 of Conflict between Cultures, ed. Bernard Luk (Lewiston, 1992), pp. 279-84; 'The Clocks of James Cox: Chinoiserie and the Clock Trade to China in the Late Eighteenth Century, 'Apollo, new series, 140:395 (January 1995): 15-22; 'Clockmaking in China under the Kangxi and Qianlong Emperors,' Arts asiatiques 50 (1995): 76-84; and 'Most Magnificent Pieces of Mechanism and Art: Elaborate Clockwork and Sino-European Contact in the Eighteenth Century,' SEC AC Review 15 (1998), forthcoming. 70 Michael Cooper, The Southern Barbarians (Tokyo, 1971), which has a chapter on Jesuit arts; Shin'ichi Tani, Namban Art: A Loan Exhibition from Japanese Collections (Tokyo, 1973), exhib. cat.; Grace Alida Hermine Vlam, 'Kings and Heroes: Western-Style Painting in Momoyama Japan,' Artibus Asiae 39 (1977): 240-2. In addition to these works, several recent publications on Namban art include sections on the Jesuits: Art namban: Les portugais au Japan (Brussels, 1989); Via orientalis (Tokyo, 1993); Christian Art in Japan [in Japanese] (Tokyo 1972); Exhibition of Surviving Christian Art in Japan [in Japanese] (Tokyo, 1973); The Namban An of Japan (Osaka, 1986); Yoshimoto Okamoto, The Namban Art of Japan (Tokyo, 1972); Mitsuru Sakamoto et al., An Essay of Catalogue Raisonne of Namban Art (Tokyo, 1997). 71 Gauvin Alexander Bailey, 'The Catholic Shrines of Agra,' Arts of Asia 23:4 (July/ August, 1993): 131-7; idem, 'A Portuguese Doctor at the Maharaja of Jaipur's Court,' South Asian Studies 11 (Summer 1995): 51-62; idem, 'Counter Reformation Symbolism and Allegory in Mughal Painting,' Ph.D. dissertation, Harvard University, 1996; idem, 'The Lahore Mirat al-Quds and the Impact of Jesuit Theater on Mughal Painting,' South Asian Studies 13 (1997): 95-108; idem, 'The Indian Conquest of Catholic Art: The Mughals, the Jesuits, and Imperial Mural Painting,' Art Journal 57:1 (Spring 1998): 24-30. In the fall of 1998 I curated an exhibition, at the Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Museum, on the Jesuits in India, which included a catalogue, The Jesuits and the Grand Moghul: Renaissance Art at the Imperial Court of India, 1580-1630 (Washington, 1998). Ebba Koch, 'The Influence of the Jesuit Mission on Symbolic Representations of the Mughal Emperors,' in Islam in India, ed. Christian Troll (New Delhi, 1982- ), I 14-32; Khalid Anis Ahmed, Intercultural Influences in Mughal Painting (Lahore, 1995).

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72 K.K. Muhammed, 'Excavation of a Catholic Chapel at Fatehpur Sikri,' Indica 28:1 (March 1991): 1-12, and 'Excavations at Fatehpur Sikri: Ibadat Khana (Hall of Interreligious Discussions), Discovered,' Indica (forthcoming). 73 Javellana, Wood and Stone for God's Greater Glory (n33 above); Regalado Trota Jose, Simbahan: Church Art in Colonial Philippines, 1565-1898 (Manila, 1991), which has considerable material on the Jesuits. 74 Urn monumento para o futuro: As rumas de Sao Paulo (Macao, 1994), exhib. cat. Other recent monographs on the church are Lee Yuk Tin, Olhar as rumas (Macao, 1990), and Gon§alo Couseiro, A igreja de S. Paulo de Macau (Lisbon, 1997). 75 Oceanos 12 (November 1992), with articles on Jesuit art by Gon^alo Couceiro, Paulo Pereira, and Nuno Vassallo e Silva. 76 Marilyn Heldman, 'From Print to Miniature: New Visual Evidence of the Jesuit Mission at the Ethiopian Court,' paper delivered at the Sixteenth Century Conference, St Louis, 26 October 1996. 77 The study is Art on the Jesuit Missions (n33 above). 78 Die Jesuiten und ihre Schule St. Salvator in Augsburg, 1582 (Augsburg, 1982), exhib. cat.; Luc. Saint; L'architettura della Compagnia di Gesu, ed. Patetta and Delia Torre (n30 above); Die Jesuiten in Bayern, 1549-1773 (Munich, 1991), exhib. cat.; Die Jesuiten in Ingolstadt, 1549-1773 (Ingolstadt, 1991), exhib. cat.; Expression du baroque: Les jesuites aux XVHe et XVIHe siecles (Toulouse, 1991), exhib. cat.; O piilpito e a imagem: Osjesuitas e a arte, ed. Nuno Vassallo e Silva (Lisbon, 1997), exhib. cat.; Baum. Rom, including articles on the arts and architecture by Johannes Terhalle, Dagmar Dietrich, Use von zur Miihlen, Sabine M. Schneider, and Lorenz Seelig. 79 Thomas M. Lucas, 'Saint, Site, and Sacred Strategy: Ignatius, Rome, and the Jesuit Urban Mission,' in Luc. Sam/, pp. 16-45; Johannes Terhalle, '... ha delle grandezza de'padri gesuiti: Die Architektur der Jesuiten um 1600 und St Michael in Munchen,' in Baum. Rom, pp. 83-146. 80 Jesuit Art in North American Collections (Milwaukee, 1991), and Jesuit Art and Iconography, 1550-1800 (Jersey City, 1993), both exhib. cats. The Goldsmith article is in the first catalogue, pp. 16-21. 81 Bosel Jes. Italien; Richard Bosel (with J. Garms), 'Die Plansammlung des Collegium Germanicum-Hungaricum,' Romische historische Mitteilungen 23 (1981): 225-75; 25 (1983): 335-84; idem, 'La chiesa di S. Lucia: L'invenzione spaziale nel contesto dell'architettura gesuitica,' in Dall'isola alia cittd: I gesuiti a Bologna, ed. Gian Paolo Brizzi and Anna Maria Matteucci (Bologna, 1988), pp. 85-93; idem, 'Die Nachfolgebauten von S. Fedele in Mailand,' Wiener Jahrbuch fur Kunstgeschichte 37 (1984): 67-87. 82 Bosel Jes. Italien 1:12. 83 Dainville, 'La legende (n2 above), p. 7; Howard Hibbard, Caravaggio (New York, 1983), p. 146.

84 Gauvin Alexander Bailey 84 Sandro Benedetti, Fuori dal Classicismo (Rome, 1984). 85 For an overview of the statements of the General Congregation on architecture, see Derek Moore, Tellegrino Tibaldi's Church of S. Fedele in Milan: The Jesuits, Carlo Borromeo, and Religious Architecture in the Late Sixteenth Century,' Ph.D. dissertation, New York University, 1988, pp. 301ff; Terhalle, '... ha delle grandezza,' pp. 87ff. 86 Derek Moore, 'The Sixteenth Century in Italy,' Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 45 (1986): 172. 87 Mario Bencivenni, L'architettura della Compagnia di Gesu in Toscana (Florence, 1996); L'architettura della Compagnia di Gesu, ed. Patetta and Della Torre. 88 The original article was in German: Richard Bb'sel, 'Typus und Tradition in der Baukultur Gegenreformatorisher Orden,' Romische historische Mitteilungen 31 (1989): 239-53. The Italian version is 'Tipologie e tradizioni architettoniche nell'edilizia della Compagnia di Gesu,' in L'architettura della Compagnia di Gesu, ed. Patetta and Della Torre, pp. 13-26. 89 Angela Marino, 'L'idea di tradizione e il concetto di modernita nell'architettura della Compagnia di Gesu,' in L'architettura della Compagnia di Gesu, ed. Patetta and Della Torre, pp. 53-6. 90 Evonne E. Levy, '"A Noble Medley and Concert of Materials and Artifice": Jesuit Church Interiors in Rome, 1567-1700,' in Luc. Saint, pp. 46-59; Gauvin Alexander Bailey, 'The Jesuits and Painting in Italy, 1550-1690: The Art of Catholic Reform,' in Saints and Sinners: Caravaggio and the Baroque Image (Boston, 1999), exhib. cat., pp. 151-78. 91 Raul da Costa-Torres, A arquitetura dos descobrimentos (Braga, 1943) promotes the notion that the Italian baroque had its origins in Portuguese Jesuit architecture. Jorge Henrique Pais da Silva, Notas sobre a arquitetura dos jesuitas no espago portugues (Porto, 1961); Eugenio da Cunha e Freitas, O Colegio de S. Lourenqo (Porto, n.d.); M.J. Madeira Rodrigues, A igreja de S. Roque (Lisbon, 1980); Rui Carita, O colegio dos jesuitas do Funchal (Funchal, 1987); Paulo Pereira, 'A arquitetura jesuita, primeiras funda9oes,' Oceanos 12 (November 1992): 104-11; Fausto Sanches Martins, 'A arquitetura dos primeiros colegios jesuitas em Portugal: 1542-1759,' Ph.D. dissertation, University of Porto, 1994. 92 Nuno Vassallo e Silva, 'Aspectos da arte da prata na Companhia de Jesus,' in O pulpito e a imagem, ed. Vassallo e Silva, pp. 57-67. 93 'A Companhia de Jesus e a missionac,ao no Oriente,' Universidade Catolica Portuguesa, Lisbon, 22-3 April 1997. 94 Teresa Freitas Morna, 'Os jesuitas e a arte,' in O pulpito e a imagem, ed. Vassallo e Silva, pp. 13-42. 95 See Hellmut Hager, 'Carlo Fontana and the Jesuit Sanctuary in Loyola,' Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 37 (1974): 280-9; J.R. Eguillor, Hellmut

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97

98 99

100

101 102

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Hager, and R.M. de Hornedo, Loyola: Historia y arquitectura (San Sebastian, 1991); and Hellmut Hager, 'Andrea Pozzo e Carlo Fontana, tangenze e affinita,' in Andrea Pozzo (Milan and Trent, 1996; see n96 below), pp. 235-52. Pozzo: L. Montalto, 'Andrea Pozzo nella chiesa di Sant'Ignazio al Collegio Romano,' Studi romani 6 (1958): 668-79; Remigio Marini, Andrea Pozzo pittore (Trent, 1959); N. Carbonieri, Andrea Pozzo architetto (Trent, 1961); WilbergVignau, Andrea Pozzos Deckenfresko in S. Ignazio (Munich, 1970); Bernhard Kerber, Andrea Pozzo (Berlin and New York, 1971); H. Schadt, 'Andrea Pozzos Langhausfresko in S. Ignazio, Rome,' Das Munster 24 (1971): 153-60. Among the many recent works on Pozzo are several with the same title, date, and even place of publication: Vittorio de Feo, Andrea Pozzo: Architettura e illusione (Rome, 1988), and (with Valentino Martinelli, eds), Andrea Pozzo (Milan, 1996); M. Fagiolo, 'Struttura del trionfo gesuitico: Baciccio e Pozzo,' Storia dell'arte 38^0 (1980): 353-60; Andrea Pozzo (Milan and Trent, 1996). Robert Enggass, 'Three Bozzetti by Gaulli for the Gesu,' Burlington Magazine 99 (1957): 49-53, and The Painting of Baciccio: Giovanni Battista Gaulli, 16391709 (University Park, 1964); Beatrice Canestro Chiovenda, 'Delia Gloria di S. Ignazio e di altri lavori del Gaulli per i gesuiti,' Commentari 13 (1962): 289-98; D. Graf, Die Handzeichnungen von Guglielmo Cortese und Giovanni Battista Gaulli, 2 vols (Diisseldorf, 1976). Enggass recently contributed an article on the relationship between Gaulli and Pozzo to one of the 1996 Pozzo volumes (see n96 above), 'Pozzo a Sant'Ignazio e Baciccio al Gesu: Tracce della fortuna critica,' in Andrea Pozzo, ed. de Feo and Martinelli, pp. 253-8. Canestro Chiovenda also made considerable contributions to the study of Gaulli in a series of articles published in the 1970s in the journal Commentari, e.g. 'La morte di S. Francesco Saverio di G.B. Gaulli et suoi bozzetti, altre opere attribuite o inedite,' Commentary 28 (1977): 262-72. Maria Conelli, The Gesu Nuovo in Naples: Politics, Property, and Religion (forthcoming). Michael Kiene, 'Bartolomeo Ammannati et 1'architecture des jesuites au XVIe siecle,' in Giard Jes. bar., pp. 183-96. The classic work on Ammannati is Pietro Pirri's painstakingly researched article 'L'architetto Bartolomeo Ammannati e i gesuiti,' AHSI 12 (1943): 5-57. Alfonso Rodriguez y Gutierrez de Ceballos, 'Juan de Herrera y los jesuitas Villalpando, Valeriani, Ruiz, Tolosa,' AHSI 35 (1966): 285-321; Taylor 'Herm.'; Dios arquitecto: J.B. Villalpando y el Templo de Salomon, ed. Juan Antonio Ramirez (Madrid, 1991). Alfonso Rodriguez y Gutierrez de Ceballos, Bartolome de Bustamente y los origines de la arquitectura jesuitica en Espaha (Madrid, 1961; repr. Rome, 1967). Vittorio Casale, 'Ragione teologica e poetica barocca,' editor's preface to G.D.

86 Gauvin Alexander Bailey

103 104

105

106

107 108 109

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Ottonelli and P. Berrettini, Trattato della pittura e scultura uso et abuso loro (1652) (Rome, 1973), pp. i-cxli, and 'Poetica di Pietro da Cortona e teoria del barocco nel "Trattato della pittura e scultura,"' in Pietro da Cortona, ed. Anna Lo Bianco (Milan, 1997), pp. 107-16; Marco Collareta, 'L'Ottonelli Berrettini e la critica moralistica,' Annali della Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa, Classe di Lettere e Filosofia, 3rd series, 5:1 (1975): 177-96; The Society of Jesus, 1548-1773 (Bernard Quaritch Ltd, Catalogue 1226, London, 1996), cat. no. 154; David Freedberg, 'From Hebrew and Gardens to Oranges and Lemons: Giovanni Battista Ferrari and Cassiano del Pozzo,' in Cassiano dal Pozzo: Atti del Setninario Internazionale di Studi, ed. Francesco Solinas (Rome, 1997), pp. 37-72. Luciano Patetta, 'Le chiese della Compagnia di Gesu come tipo: Complessita e sviluppi,' in his Storia e tipologia (n5 above), pp. 160-201. James S. Ackerman, 'Delia Porta's Gesu Altar,' in Essays in Honor of Walter Friedlaender, Marsyas, suppl. 2 (New York, 1965), pp. 1-2, and his article in Witt. Bar. (n29 above); Klaus Schwager, 'L'architecture religieuse a Rome de Pie IV a Clement VIII,' in L'eglise dans I'architecture de la Renaissance, ed. J. Guillaume (Paris, 1995), pp. 223-44; idem, 'La chiesa del Gesu del Vignola,' Bollettino del Centra Internazionale di Studi d'Architettura Andrea Palladia 19 (1977): 251-71; idem, 'Concetto e realta: Alcune precisazioni sulla difficile nascita del Gesu di Roma,' in Uarchitettura della Compagnia di Gesu, ed. Patetta and Della Torre, pp. 69-79; idem, 'Anlasslich eines unbekannten Stichs des romischen Gesu von Valerianus Regnartius,' in Festschrift Lorenz Dittmann, ed. H.C. von Bothmer, K. Guthlein, and R. Kuhn (Frankfurt, 1994), pp. 295-312.1 would like to thank Joseph Connors for bringing the first two articles by Schwager to my attention. Moore, 'Pellegrino Tibaldi's Church of S. Fedele.' For a more recent study, see Stefano Della Torre and Richard Schofield, Pellegrino Tibaldi architetto e il S. Fedele di Milano: Invenzione e construzione di una chiesa esemplare (Como, 1994). St. Michael in Munchen: Festschrift zum 400. Jahrestag der Grundsteinlegung und zum Abschlufi des Wiederaufbaues, ed. Karl Wagner and Albert Keller (Munich and Zurich, 1983); John Rupert Martin, The Ceiling Paintings for the Jesuit Church in Antwerp (Brussels, 1968). Hask 'Role.' Robertson, // Gran Cardinale (n28 above). Carolyn Valone, 'Women on the Quirinal Hill: Patronage in Rome, 1560-1630,' An Bulletin 36 (1994): 129-46. Maria Conelli is currently collaborating on a biography of Isabella della Rovere, a very important patron of the Society of Jesus. Morton Colp Abromson, Painting in Rome during the Papacy of Clement VIII

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111 112

113 114

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116 117

(New York, 1981); Luc. Saint; Thomas M. Lucas, Landmarking: City, Church, and Jesuit Urban Strategy (Chicago, 1997); Joseph Connors, 'Bernini's S. Andrea al Quirinale: Payments and Planning,' Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 41 (1982): 15-37; idem, 'Alliance and Enmity in Roman Baroque Urbanism,' Romisches Jahrbuch der Bibliotheca Hertziana 25 (1989), especially 279-93 on the Piazza Sant'Ignazio; idem, 'Borromini's S. Ivo alia Sapienza: The Spiral,' Burlington Magazine 138 (October 1996): 668-82.1 would like to thank Joseph Connors for the last two references. See also Alessandro Zuccari, Arte e committenza nella Roma di Caravaggio (Torino, 1984); Stefania Macioce, Undique splendent (Rome, 1990). Emile Male, L'art religieux apres le Concile de Trente (Paris, 1932). Clement J. McNaspy, 'Art in Jesuit Life,' Studies in the Spirituality of Jesuits 3 (1973): 93-111; John Patrick Donnelly, 'Antonio Possevino, S.J., as a CounterReformation Critic of the Arts,' Journal of the Rocky Mountain Medieval and Renaissance Association 3 (1982): 153-64; Valeria de Laurentiis, 'Immagini ed arte in Bellarmino,' pp. 581-608, and Alessandro Zuccari, 'Bellarmino e la prima iconografia gesuitica: La Capella degli Angeli al Gesu,' pp. 611-28, both in Bellarmino e la Controriforma, ed. Romeo De Maio et al. (Sora, 1990); Antonio Secondo Tessari, 'Tempio di Salomone e tipologia della chiesa nelle Disputationes de controversiis christianae fidei di San Roberto Bellarmino, S.J.,' in L'architettura della Compagnia di Gesu, ed. Patetta and Della Torre, pp. 31^4. Lydia Salviucci Insolera, 'Le illustrazioni per gli Esercizi Spiritual! intorno al 1600,'A//S/60(1991): 161-217. On Caravaggio and Ignatius, see P. Francastel, 'Le realisme de Caravage,' Gazette des beaux-arts 80 (1938): 57; Walter Friedlaender, Caravaggio Studies (Princeton, 1955), pp. ix, 121-2; Richard Spear, Caravaggio and His Followers (Cleveland, 1971), pp. 5-6; Joseph F. Chorpenning, 'Another Look at Caravaggio and Religion,' Artibus et historiae 16 (1987): 149-58.1 discuss Caravaggio's relationship with the Jesuits in 'The Jesuits and Painting in Italy' (n90 above). Hib. 'Ut pict.' See also Alexandra Herz, 'Imitators of Christ: The Martyr-Cycles of Late Sixteenth Century Rome Seen in Context,' Storia dell'arte 62 (1988): 65-7, and The Age of Caravaggio (New York, 1985), p. 172. Zuccari, Arte e committenza, p. 140. Herwarth Rottgen, 'Zeitgeschichtliche Bildprogramme der katholischen Restauration unter Gregor XIII, 1572-1585,' Munchner Jahrbuch der bildenden Kunst 26 (1975): 89-122; Lief Holm Monssen, 'Rex gloriose martyrum: A Contribution to Jesuit Iconography,' Art Bulletin 63 (1981): 130-7, and 'The Martyrdom Cycle in Santo Stefano Rotondo,' Acta ad archaeologiam et artium historiam pertinentia 2 (1982): 175-317; 3 (1983): 11-106; A. Vannugli, 'Gli affreschi di Antonio Tempesta a S. Stefano Rotondo e l'emblematica nella cultura

88 Gau vin Alexander B alley

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119

120

121

122

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del martirio presso la Compagnia di Gesu,' Storia dell'arte 48 (1983): 101-16; Herz, 'Imitators of Christ,' pp. 53-70; Luc. Saint, pp. 186-91. Martyrdom themes in Jesuit engravings in the late Cinquecento were treated in an essay by Pietro Pirri, 'Intagliatori gesuiti italiani' (n37 above), pp. 3-59. See also my article 'The Jesuits and Painting in Italy' for a recent reassessment of the martyrdom paintings including new archival material. Christine M. Boeckl, 'Plague Imagery as Metaphor for Heresy in Rubens' The Miracles of St. Francis Xavier,' Sixteenth Century Journal 27:4 (1996): 979-95. See also A. Lynn Martin, Plague? Jesuit Accounts of Epidemic Disease in the Sixteenth Century (Kirksville, Mo., 1996). D. Angeli, Sant'Ignazio di Loyola nella vita e nell'arte (Lanciano, 1911); Milton Lewine, 'The Sources of Rubens's Miracles of Saint Ignatius,' Art Bulletin 45 (1963): 143-7; Graham Smith, 'Rubens Altargemalde des HI. Ignatius von Loyola und des HI. Franz Xavier fur die Jesuitenkirche in Antwerpen,' Jahrbuch der kunsthistorischen Sammlungen in Wien 65 (1969): 39-60; Julius Held, 'Rubens and the Vita Beati Ignatii Loiolae of 1609,' in Rubens before 1620, ed. John R. Martin (Princeton, 1972), pp. 93-104; Kon.-Nord. Ign.; Gianni Papi, 'Le tele della capellina di Odoardo Farnese nella Casa Professa dei gesuiti a Roma,' Storia dell'arte 62 (1988): 71-80. See my article 'The Jesuits and Painting in Italy' for a survey of the literature. Recent work, as yet unpublished, linking the imagery of The Death ofSt Francis Xavier to Pietro da Cortona is being undertaken by Ursula Fischer Pace. Thomas Buser, 'Jerome Nadal and Early Jesuit Art in Rome,' Art Bulletin 58 (1976): 424-33; Marie Mauquoy-Hendricks, 'Les Wierix illustrateurs de la Bible de Natalis,' Quarendo 6 (1976): 28-63; M.B. Wadell, The Evangelicae historiae imagines: The Designs and Their Artists,' Quaerendo 10 (1980): 279-91. See also Marc Fumaroli, 'Sur le seuil des livres: Les frontispices graves des traites d'eloquence (1594-1641),' in his L'ecole du silence: Le sentiment des images au XVIIe siecle (Paris, 1994), pp. 325-42. Mark S. Weil, The Devotion of the Forty Hours and Roman Baroque Illusions,' Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 37 (1974): 218-48. See also Howard E. Smither, The Function of Music in the Forty Hours' Devotion of 17th and 18th Century Italy,' in Music from the Middle Ages through the Twentieth Century: Essays in Honor ofGwynn McPeek, ed. Carmelo Comberiati and Matthew C. Steel (New York, 1988), pp. 149-74.1 am grateful to T. Frank Kennedy, S.J., for this reference. G.R. Dimler, The Egg as Emblem: Genesis and Structure of a Jesuit Emblem Book,' Studies in Iconography 2 (1976): 85-106, and 'A Bibliographical Survey of Jesuit Emblem Books in German-Speaking Territories: Topography and Themes,' ANSI 48 (1976): 297-309; Porte. Embl.

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Fum. 'Bar.' Ibid. First noted by Macioce, Undique splendent, p. 64. Giovanni Baglione, Le vite de' pittori (1642), pp. 353-4. Laire specialized in images like the Borghese Madonna and the Madonna del Populo, that 'filled souls with extreme marvel' (earning him also, incidentally, 'a great sum of money'). He was laid in state in the Jesuit church of San Stefano Rotondo, and was buried in the Capella di San Giuseppe di Terra. I am grateful to Pamela Jones and Joseph Connors for bringing this reference to my attention. 128 Hibbard, Caravaggio (n83 above), p. 161 n!8. 129 Fumaroli calls the Jesuit approach as characterized in the Imago primi saeculi an 'aspiration vraiment pantagruelique a tout dire, et a tout dire sous toutes les formes disponibles,' and refers to that same work as a 'mediateur entre 1'humanisme docte et le grand public' (Fum. 'Bar.,' pp. 346, 355). 130 Patetta, Storia e tipologia (n5 above), p. 164. The translation from Italian is my own.

3 / The Fertility and the Shortcomings of Renaissance Rhetoric: The Jesuit Case MARC FUMAROLI

In an eloquent discourse to the French Academy in 1885, Ernest Renan (182392) said, 'Rhetoric represents the only error of the Greeks.'1 This illustrious scholar, then administrator of the College de France, was charged that day with welcoming as his new fellow academician the no less famous diplomat, engineer, and businessman Ferdinand de Lesseps (1805-94). Renan seized the opportunity to make a statement about the positive turn taken by the modern mind, among scientists, businessmen, and historians. This enlightened turn he saw threatened by the wordy art of persuasion that the Greek Sophists and after them the Jesuits had made compulsory teaching in Western schools. Ten years later, the then anti-clerical French government suppressed the teaching of rhetoric in public lycees.2 The object of this move was the 'modernizing' of the teaching of literature in French state-sponsored schools; Catholic private schools maintained, at least until World War II, their classes of rhetoric. It was certainly unfair of Renan to identify rhetoric, as traditional school training, solely with the Jesuits, but even a historian as accurate as he could rely upon the dark legend of the order, which had its beginnings in France in the mid-sixteenth century and depicted the socalled loyolites as a cunning sect of sophists and spies, introduced by Spain to overthrow the Most Christian kingdom and corrupt the native truth-loving character of French youth.3 In consequence of this legend, more alive than ever in nineteenth-century France, jesuitisme became in vernacular French a synonym for sophistry and hypocrisy, and the Jesuits themselves were held to be arch-enemies of common sense as well as of scientific truth. This legend, at least as it concerns the first century of the order, has been lastingly refuted by historians of science and of high learning.4 The Jesuit contribution to the severest disciplines revered by Renan, to say nothing of their

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contribution to ethnology, anthropology, and the arts, is now better assessed, or is well on the way to being so. The Jesuit college of La Fleche5 - a royal college aimed at forming noble army officers and engineers - taught Rene Descartes. The philosopher-scientist never ceased hoping to see his own physics introduced into the French Ratio studiorum in place of Aristotelian physics.6 Thanks to recent independent scholarship, we can no longer regard the Jesuits of the ancien regime solely as teachers of foul rhetoric, as Renan did, or as extravagantly baroque preachers. Neither can we reduce Jesuit rhetoric entirely to routine or to negligible recipes for the classroom and the pulpit. Rhetoric does not represent 'the only error' of the Jesuits. We cannot, or we should not, endorse these remnants of the dark legend, because rhetoric itself, which ranked very low in Renan's positivist outlook, has found in contemporary thought a serious re-evaluation, and this has important implications for our understanding of Renaissance, Reformation, and CounterReformation cultural paradigms. Italian Humanists of the Quattrocento have themselves long been dismissed by historians of philosophy, notably Paul Oscar Kristeller, as second-rate rhetorical schoolteachers. In Italy, Vittore Branca, Eugenio Garin, Cesare Vasoli, and Ernesto Grassi, and in the United States Nancy Struever and John W. O' Malley (to mention only a few names from a growing bibliography), have made a convincing case to the contrary.7 It has been argued that from Petrarch to Valla, from Valla to Poliziano, the Humanist critique of scholastic formal logic, and its investigations into grammar, rhetoric, ethics, and religion, not only pursued highly original aims but has striking traits of kinship with such twentieth-century schools of thought as those of Pierce, Wittgenstein, and Austin, philosophers who scrutinize the links among performative language, ethical inquiry, and social practices.8 Central as it was to the Humanist program of research, Humanist 'rhetoric,' which Jesuits of the ancien regime embraced and adopted, can no longer be dismissed wholesale as an 'error.' Far from being a trite technique of manipulation or pretence, the rhetoric of the Humanists and, later, the Jesuits was the creative driving force of their ethics, spirituality, exegesis, anthropology, and theology. If error there was, it can no longer be easily dismissed from either Renaissance or Jesuit studies. On the other hand, students of the European Renaissance have long underlined the parallel and interrelated development of the Rheno-Flemish and then Spanish Devotio Moderna, which laid such stress upon methodical prayer (rhetorica divina), and of contemporary Italian philological and rhetorical Humanism.9 Both movements addressed themselves to the laity; both scorned the sterile and aloof academic disputes of professional theologians; both taught a life that

92 Marc Fumaroli makes sense instead of a sense abstracted from life, a language that relates to the sensitive issues of Christian life instead of a language that dispenses one from living as a Christian. Rheno-Flemish rhetorica divina as well as Italian rhetorica humana aimed at investigations and performances of Christ's grace and wisdom in human life. Both relied upon Augustine's emphasis on the role of speech in the redeeming work of divine love.10 This other light thrown upon Renaissance rhetoric may prevent us from proceeding too quickly to consider the rhetorical concerns of the Jesuits a mere by-product of the Society's schoolteaching and preaching, without substantial consequences for their overall contribution to the civilizing process and to the dawn of the New Science. If rhetoric, instead of a technique of speaking too well to be honest, is the contrary of what Coleridge offers as a definition of pedantry, 'the use of words unsuitable to the time, place and company,' it may well be another name for creative wit, as well as for humanity and charity.11 Far from being separated in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries from the Jesuits' encyclopaedic pursuits or from their worldwide anthropological inquiry, what we may call a 'rhetorical field' of their own - what they themselves called their 'way of proceeding' - oriented and unified the extreme diversity of their undertakings and research, as it had done for the network of Italian Renaissance Humanists. The Jesuits were intensely conscious of this rhetorical field. They knew the essential relationship of their practice to rhetorical theory. They took their stand in the major European controversies relative to rhetorical doctrine, and they saw perfectly the far-ranging stakes of these disputes, for them and for the common Christian good as well. They resisted Ramism, as Walter Ong has brilliantly shown,12 and they fought Port-Royal logic.13 Ramism and Port-Royal logic had in common the detachment of Humanist rhetoric from the central epistemic and ethical function the Jesuits stood for. Within Catholic Europe, they participated in the literary quarrel over the Senecan and the Ciceronian style, with an overall preference for the Ciceronian savours of clarity, generosity, ductility, and variety, an existential as well as an aesthetic choice.14 Nor did they feign to ignore the fundamental Greek quarrel between Plato and the Sophists, renewed by the Fathers of the Church and then by Renaissance Humanism; they were ahead of their time in their lucid awareness of the part played by the Sophists and the Second Sophists in the unfolding of Western Christian culture.15 These few facts bear witness to the vital interest they attached to the matter, as well as to their creative fidelity to the orientation they inherited from Italian Renaissance Humanism. And they were not, at least until the eighteenth century, insulated. Renaissance rhetoric was until then a common, if agonistic, field, intensely disputed through-

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out Europe. Outside the Catholic church, Lutheran and Calvinist thinkers and divines, from Melanchton and Calvin on,16 had their own rhetorical preferences. Inside the Roman church, the most alive minds of the renewed religious orders, Dominicans, Capuchins, and Oratorians, and the major figures of lay philological learning, Muret and Lipsius, were eager, as Erasmus had been, to contribute to rhetorical issues. We may add that even in the France of the ancien regime, where the Gallican Parliament's hostility to the papist, Hispanic, and sophistical Jesuits amounted to hatred,17 rhetoric, as theory and practice, was inherent in the training of the parliamentary Humanist jurists.18 It also became a central tenet, from the Provincial Letters of Blaise Pascal to La logique ou I'art de penser of Arnauld and Nicole, in the religious thought of Port-Royal, a neo-Augustinian party emanating from a parliamentary background during the ministry of Cardinal Richelieu.19 Misguided or not, rhetoric was everywhere in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries - and not only in the classrooms as an unfortunate legacy of the Quattrocento court pedagogues (Barzizza, da Feltre, Guarini), or in the church pulpits as a popular incentive to piety, but as a major set of cognitive and ethical questions that any responsible theologian or moralist or scholar of any persuasion could not avoid raising. Even the Republic of Letters, that international club of erudites and scholars outside the control of the universities, the courts, and the churches, worked in fact as a rhetorical community, bound by common laudatory rites and by the cooperative and heuristic practice of precise forms of correspondence, conversation, and public challenge. In many respects, one of the main problems raised by the Jesuits for the modern historian lies in the subtle and difficult relationships between this learned network and their own. Moreover, since the Republic of Letters considered Erasmus one of its major founders, this problem is tangential to another one: What is the extent of the covert debt contracted by the Jesuits to Erasmus as grammarian, rhetorician, exegete, schoolteacher, and spiritual master?20 For a witness as authoritative as was Montaigne at the end of the sixteenth century, Jesuit colleges and Jesuit learning were viewed as part of the longrunning Renaissance, and a warrant of its resilience in adverse times on the Catholic side.21 In the seventeenth century, some rare French and Italian Jesuits, respected personally for their wide learning, succeeded in being admitted as citizens of and collaborators in the Republic of Letters. But their Institute as a whole was, more often than not in these quarters, perceived as a dangerous and invasive rival to the institutions of liberal knowledge.22 If rhetorical issues were not ignored, to say the least, by the seventeenthcentury world of learning, the same was true of the world of active and political

94 Marc Fumaroli life: those involved in the quarrels, conflicts, and wars of words dividing churches, courts, institutions, and parties, at international or national levels, were fully aware of their own discursive strategies, and their rhetorico-political awareness was as strikingly acute, if not as erudite, as that of the Jesuits.23 To limit myself to well-known case studies, the two main leaders of the Thirty Years' War, Richelieu and Olivares, were both assisted by a team of brilliant rhetoricians24 who were expected not only to define the argumentative content of the dispute but above all to practise the style proper to the French and Spanish languages and characters, to be the most apt, on either side of the battlefield, to extol the morals and sustain the wit of their respective nations. Richelieu went on to found the French Academy, with the goal of projecting in the long range and on a national scale the rhetorical program delineated by him and his closest collaborators; most of them were indeed nominated to the new official institution. The Jesuit case was therefore only a part, even if a momentous part, of the larger picture. Even Galileo and even Descartes had to be brilliant rhetoricians in order to persuade a reluctant public of their own new truths. Thomas Kuhn25 and A.C. Crombie26 have since shown that these truths themselves had only a provisional validity within a dated epistemological paradigm and a specific scientific style. We may think that the Renaissance Italian Humanists should not have opened the Pandora's box of rhetoric, replete with all its too human fallacies and disorders. Renan, in his bitter late Dialoguesphilosophiques, indulged himself in dreaming of a collegial dictatorship of scientists, perfectly equipped to elicit respect from the world at large for positive and clear-cut truths: instead of the medieval popes' rhetorical excommunications, vain words suitable for impressing the superstitious faithful, these scientists would silence noisy errors by dispensing the positive terror of scientific weapons.27 Nowadays we cannot read these vagaries of science fiction without a shudder. In fact, the 'Greek error,' in the Italian Renaissance, had been revived from the outset, from the time of Petrarch, inside the papal Curia. It had afterwards been fostered there, mainly by the curialists of several fifteenth-century popes. This extremely learned revival was at bottom a subtle and wise response to the collapse of what had been a thunderous papal authority in the Western Christian Republic. During and after the Great Schism, Italy and Europe itself had become a warlike Agora, where theological disputes added to the divisions, and where a restored rhetorical field would offer to the relatively disarmed papacy and its central arbitration the best stage for its jurists, orators, and diplomats. This was a Humanist view worthy of the learned Pope Nicholas V (b. 1397, pope 1447-55) and his Humanist secretaries Poggio Bracciolini (1380-1459) and Lorenzo Valla (1406-53), a view rooted in Greek Scepticism, Stoicism, and Epicureanism, but consistent with Christian charity.28

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It could not, then, be the view of the Paris theologians, anchored in their privilege of establishing orthodox truths about the essence of God. Later, at the time of the Mexican conquest and of the Lutheran schism, it could not be the spontaneous view of a Spanish hidalgo with little reading, albeit for very different reasons. It was not therefore Ignatius's view, and never less so than when, recovered from war's wounds, he began in Venice his pilgrimage to the tomb of Christ, nor even when he and his first companions established themselves in Rome and obtained formal recognition (27 September 1540) from the Farnese pope, Paul III (b. 1468, pope 1534-49).29 The founder of the Society of Jesus was extremely conscious both of the tragic divisions in contemporary Christendom in Europe and of the hoped-for expansion of Christendom abroad. His burning desire to heal the wounds of the faith at home and to help its growth in new-found lands was nourished by the Vita Christi of Ludolph the Carthusian and by the Imitatio Christi, attributed at that time to Gerson, both landmarks of the northern Devotio Moderna. Ignatius saw the church's predicament as a re-enactment of Christ's Passion, and felt called to side with the Saviour, re-enacting with him and with his church the Christian reunion and redemption of the world. This former soldier-turnedmilitant was a man of action, of action in a religious worldwide drama. His first encounter with rhetoric had nothing to do with George of Trebizond's Rhetoric or with Erasmus's Ecclesiastes, but with the 'rhetorica divina' which fires the will by moving the imagination and the heart. Piety and faith were for him the object not of speculative enunciation, but rather of prayer, conversion, and conversation, speech-acts evincing effective charity and deeds of charity. The ultimate roots of such performative discourse were in the Rhetorica ad Herennium.30 But Rheno-Flemish masters had turned the forensic art of persuasion inward, so as to transform the inner 'stream of consciousness' of the profane into a permanent and methodical meditation and imitation of Christ's Passion. When Ignatius delineated his own Spiritual Exercises, he oriented the Rheno-Flemish method towards action and cooperation: the conversion of the soul to Jesus' love should command the conversion of the will to Jesus' healing and redemptive work in the world.31 Built into the Exercises is not only the performative legacy of Greco-Latin rhetoric (the word is action), but its most practical and realistic tenet, the acute sense of what is apt: there is here the seed of the future development of Molinist theology, the 'scientia media,' attuning divine grace and human free will to the same cross-checking upon historical circumstances.32 For the practitioner of the Exercises, the will to take part in in the World Drama of which Christ is the main Actor and Orator grows at the same pace as his self-discovery of the role to which

96 Marc Fumaroli he is personally called here and now, the role fitted to his individual character and to the actual situation within the providential but unpredictable plot of the divine play. Through methodical prayer, therefore, a Christian actor and orator is born or reborn from a lazy sinner, but this actor is an apt one, who knows that his own part as imitator Christi has to be played aptly within a Company of very different actors, and enacted according to circumstances, places, peoples on the World Stage. Ignatius is a directorial genius to be compared with Stanislawski or Brecht, but the play for which he invented his training of actors and his Company is the providential story of the Roman church, to be performed in its most recent chapter in a Christian Europe 'out of joint,' as well as in the new-found heathen lands of Asia, Africa, and America. Jesuit college drama and ballet at their best are, within their erudite allegories, another and an outer form of spiritual exercises, rehearsing the anagogical and mystical drama of the divine Word at work in the labyrinthine world of human souls and actions, in order to return multiplicity to unity, disorder to order, anguish to joy.33 Before the new Company embraced the Renaissance romanitas, the spiritual kernel of the Society was already rhetorical, in the pragmatic meaning of the word 'exercises.' Ignatius formed a militia Christi ready to act aptly everywhere, with everyone and in any circumstance, the opposite of an immobile body of university theologians or contemplative monks. This spiritual disposition was not contrary to the rhetorical ethics, learning, and diplomacy of Renaissance papal Humanists. It may be said rather that this disposition was called to understand and to endorse Roman Renaissance Humanism, which indeed found in the Jesuits a new breath of life. Although it was not in their original scheme, once centred in Rome the Jesuits were not long in adopting the teaching tradition of Vittorino da Feltre and Guarino Guarini and in improving it by integrating with it the modus parisiensis, the gradual method invented by the Brethren of the Common Life for their schools.34 The attractive novelty of their pedagogical style was a combination of jocositas (a smooth sense of play) with method, of individual attention to each student's talents and progress with overall precision and order.35 They created in the maisons professestheir own academies ofscriptoresof Greek, Hebrew, and Oriental languages and of natural philosophy, according to the Humanist model. They connected these institutions to printing houses, as the Manutius family had done. The Jesuit Pedro Joao Perpinya (1530-66) soon appeared as the best inheritor of the skills of Renaissance Ciceronian orators,36 and the Jesuit Antonio Posse vino (1533-1611) outdid the diplomatic skills of Baldassare Castiglione, as a papal envoy to the tsar of Russia.37 The exceptional length and rigour of their training, according to the Constitu-

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tions, allowed the Jesuits to combine the mastery of Humanist eloquence and philology with the learning of the Renaissance natural philosophers and the professional discipline of the theologians. Where they had access to universities as they did in Flanders and Spain, or when they were authorized to create their own as happened in Catholic Germany, the Jesuits had chairs of dogmatic theology, moral theology, and scriptural exegesis. Before long, the orientation and the methods of their most famous scholars appeared as inspired by the rhetorical frame of the Jesuit mind. I have already mentioned the highly controversial theology of grace made famous by Luis de Molina: it lends to the divine Word the tact and the sensitive grace of the most eloquent orator intent on moving and not forcing its most reluctant interlocutor, the sinner. I could also suggest that when the French Jesuit Denis Petau (15831652) introduced in his monumental synthesis, the Theologica dogmata, a first adumbration of what Cardinal Newman later called the disclosing of dogma within time, he was transferring to the deductive field of dogmatic theology a rhetorical approach towards the divine utterance.381 will not elaborate here on the Jesuit moral theologians known as casuists; it is accepted today that their contextualized and narrative description and evaluation of sins had its epistemic model, if not its neo-scholastic style, in the ethico-rhetorical investigations of the Humanists. During the fierce battle of the seventeenth century over the interpretation of Augustine's corpus of texts, while the Jansenists held that the Doctor of Grace had elaborated a closed dogmatic system, the Jesuits took into consideration Augustine's rhetorical nuances, adapted to the diverse heresies he had successively to fight; they refused to accept that quotations isolated from their textual and historical context should be built into a monolith that crushed human freedom and divine philanthropy.39 It is better understood today that the progress of Jesuit scriptural exegesis, from Salmeron to Cornelius a Lapide and Lessius, paved the way for Richard Simon; well before this controversial and bold philologist of the Old Testament, the Jesuits introduced into Catholic reading of the Bible the parameters of time, place, propriety, context, and semantic structures.40 Far from being a hindrance to their heuristic ingenuity, the rhetorical frame of the Jesuit mind allowed their best scholars to manifest a striking inventiveness and even, if I may indulge in a trite expression, a 'bold modernity.' But besides these far-reaching reverberations in the speculative realm, the rhetorical orientation of the Jesuit order had practical and social effects on their everyday life as a cooperative community of multifaceted pursuits. Familiar letter-writing, reinvented by the Humanists as the dialogic and open medium which reconciles intimacy and sociability, solitary work and friendly cooperation, played an essential role in the intertwining of the varietas officiorum and the unitas societatis: varietas is richly inclusive in subject-matter, multiply-

98 Marc Fumaroli ing data, problems, and issues, and unitas of perspective is precarious, risktaking, experimental. Jesuit letter-writing proceeds as if the Society had succeeded in synthesizing the loosely Humanist community with the disciplined religious one, giving purpose to the former and free rein to the latter. On another level, above interpersonal and focused dialogue, the Litterae annuae connected the scattered Jesuit communities, and fostered among them the double optics conferred by participation in both the local multiplicity of events and deeds and the worldwide work in progress of one and the same body.41 The cultivation of a sense of festivity and the performance of praise as incentives to community had been characteristic of Renaissance Humanism. Humanist rhetoricians engaged in celebratory and eulogistic acts not only in civic circumstances, but inside their own private network of scholars.42 The Jesuits took upon themselves this contagious and essentially religious power of bonding through similarly celebratory and eulogistic practices. They displayed these practices in their pastoral and pedagogical activity, but they directed them too towards their own Society, where a climate of inner communal warmth was fostered by lavish encomiums and festive anniversaries.43 As in the Roman Renaissance, Jesuit praise had its counterpart - blame. The biting harshness of much polemical and controversial Jesuit writing in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries was attuned to the embattled tone of warlike Europe. But during the seventeenth century, when the general mood softened in Italy and in France, the Jesuits achieved a more sober balance between enthusiasm and vigilance.44 The Neo-Stoic and tragic climate of the sixteenth and of the first half of the seventeenth century favoured among Jesuits what the Exercises describe as grand desires,45 and the call for martyrdom. As late as 1627 the gifted young Jesuit Danielle Bartoli (1608-85) asked the superior general of the order, Muzio Vitelleschi (1563-1645), to be allowed 'applicarsi alia fatiche dell'India e al desiderate fine della divina gloria del martirio.'46 He was not alone in making such a request. He was denied this favour, and instead became one of the most encyclopaedic and talented writers of the Roman casa professa. His major achievement is a history of the Society, organized geographically: China, Japan, England, Italy. In Bartoli's eyes, the extra-European chapter of Jesuit history was a greater breakthrough of Christ's growth in human time than the European one.47 The Jesuits were not by any means the only or the first Counter-Reformation religious order to send missions to the new-found or newly conquered parts of the world. But the wealth of scientific, linguistic, and cultural data they returned to the Roman generalate, and the eloquent use their Europe-based stationary colleagues made of this material in print during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, brought about a revolution in Europe's world-view. Not only were

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Jesuit missionaries conscious that the Christian 'grammar of assent' demanded a thorough contextual study of the languages, beliefs, morals, and manners of the foreigners they had to cope with, they were also prepared by their spiritual training as well as by their Humanistic learning to study, understand, and describe these different patterns of humanity. They knew too that their investigations in geography, botany, zoology, religion, and anthropology, scientifically recorded and eloquently published, would be a convincing witness in Europe itself, next to their martyrology, in favour of their Society's calling.48 The same cultural virtuosity that the Jesuits demonstrated in Europe, where they mastered the new disciplines of Renaissance and Reformation Humanism in order to win the most difficult and guarded minds, was also deployed in far-flung missions, not only to win foreign souls abroad but to enlarge and diffuse at home the wealth of Catholic knowledge of the world: they wished to make patent not so much the right of Catholic knowledge to rule, but rather its unique ability to connect and to refer human diversity to a divine unity.49 Scientific inquiry and reportage from the fringes of the known world were inseparable from action and persuasion in its Roman centre. Insightful investigation into the vast multiplicity of human and natural phenomena was inseparable from its harvesting into a central comparative theatre of memory and its transformation in performative eloquence on the European stage. The rhetorical inventiveness and ubiquity that won so much ground and audience until the end of the seventeenth century began at that time to show signs of disorientation. In many ways, the Jesuits had been the leading and driving spiritual force behind the 'enlightenment' of Catholic Europe, spreading Renaissance and post-Renaissance learning among the laity and succeeding its synthesis with the legacy of the patristic, medieval, and Tridentine Roman church. Their success had its backlash in the eighteenth century. The main battle in Europe in this later era was no longer between Reformation and Counter Reformation, but between 'philosophical' and secular Humanism, which in Catholic countries stemmed largely from former pupils of the Jesuits like Fontenelle, Voltaire, and Diderot, on the one hand, and the anxious and angry clerical anti-Humanism of the Jansenists, which the 'philosophers' were happy to identify with the Roman church in general, on the other. The Jesuits' teaching and learning could seem in Jansenist eyes to fuel the new humanitarian and deist philosophy, whereas all the while they stood too firmly on the side of Roman church orthodoxy for the taste of the lay philosophers. There is no doubt that the Jesuits amply nourished the new lay philosophical enlightenment. Most of their pupils, notably in France, were superbly trained in ethico-rhetorical as well as scientific or technical skills. But often these pupils

100 Marc Fumaroli did not avail themselves of the mild version of the Exercises the spiritual life of the colleges was supposed to dispense. The educational success of the Jesuits was not always, notably in France, a devotional one. Outside the schools, the printed reports of the Jesuit missionaries in North America, which sustained the Molinist view of the nature of man as tainted but not obscured by sin, gave substance to that icon of the Enlightenment, the natural man or innocent savage. Their published reports from China, aimed at indirectly legitimizing their liturgical amalgam with the Confucian cult of ancestors, fostered an idealized and quasi-secular vision of Chinese society and wisdom which enlightened philosophers used as a counter-model for the Catholic order.50 The universal vision of the Jesuit missionary, which superseded that of the medieval Crusades and of which the Jesuits gave to the world such a graphic and dramatic performance, was taken over by the lay philosophers, but as an abstract idea of humanity in progress. In his most earnest moments, Voltaire was perfectly aware of the covert debt owed by his philosophical party to his beloved and admired teachers at the College-Louis-le-Grand. A large part of his French public was trained by the Jesuit educators, enlightened by the Jesuit international review, the Journal de Trevoux, and dazzled by the philosophical and scientific quarrels in which the Jesuits had a distinguished role. Voltaire fought as harshly as his former masters against their common anti-Humanist foes, the Jansenists. He admired their achievement abroad and eventually praised it warmly.51 On the other hand, he never publicly took the side of the order, when its very existence became endangered by his own protectors, the enlightened despots. But nowhere is the black irony of the Jesuits' fate more visible than in eighteenthcentury France. There they were at once denounced and besieged as traitors on the clerical right and reviled as staunch, if insidious, churchmen on the lay left. The destruction and suppression of the Jesuit order in the 1760s was almost as quick and thunderous as its growth and expansion in the 1540s. The wreck of the last Jesuits of the ancien regime deserves a historical survey as accurate as that recently made of the progress of the first ones. In this wreckage, geopolitics was certainly decisive. Such a powerful, visible, and influential worldwide web of polyvalent talents interfered too much with the political interests of jealous national states; with the growing international authority of the lay Republic of Letters, whose two majors centres were now London and Paris and no longer Rome; and last but not least, with the preference on the part of eighteenth-century papal diplomacy for the very low profile that had been imposed upon it. There was nothing new in these external pressures. Nor, within the Society itself, deeply involved as it was in the social, cultural, and political tissue of each

Renaissance Rhetoric: The Jesuit Case 101 of its different locations, was there anything new in the difficulty of reconciling varietas and unitas. There should have been, in the Jesuits' 'way of proceeding' itself, shortcomings which became manifest, isolated them, and exposed them to their hangmen. And if their rhetoric had really been the sophistical art of managing worldly success and secular power, as their prosecutors since the sixteenth century had claimed, it failed them then. But their rhetoric was never what their prosecutors said; it was neither a quest for nor a warranty of success or power. Or if it was, that must be understood at a level of suprapolitical ambition which the anti-Jesuit legend was unwilling to grasp. Their rhetoric was a working hermeneutics between Thomist theology and Renaissance docta pietas, between the ineffable truth of the divine Word and the relativity of human languages, between the upward centrality of divine love and the downward, centrifugal trials and errors of humankind. This transcendent rhetoric played God's game across prehistoric, historical, and local, limited manifestations of human and natural symbolic genius. The most impressive witnesses of its gargantuan ambition are the still unstudied monumental masterworks of two seventeenth-century German Jesuits: Maxilimian van der Sandt (d. 1656), the greatest structural student of mystical theology to this day, and Athanasius Kircher (1602-80), the most comprehensive comparative semiotician that has ever lived.52 These shortcomings were the same as those which brought the First Italian Renaissance to ruin and caused theScienza nuova of Giambattista Vico to remain unheard or be derided until the nineteenth century. Jesuit rhetoric, like Valla's or Vico's linguistic inquiries, was at bottom a theorhetoric, a deciphering and a tuning of the dialogue between human nature and God's love encompassing the inward and the outward, religion and science, personal salvation and the welfare of the political body. It assumed that this dialogue has been uninterrupted since the fall, and has taken a new turn with the Incarnation of the Word and within the unbroken tradition of the Roman church. The Lutheran and Calvinist Reformations and the lay Enlightenment made a different choice: they connected human welfare, along with science and philosophy, to the secular state and therefore placed it in the political sphere; they reserved the dialogue with God's Word for the private sphere. From the time of this new Covenant, which relegated all inclusive traditions, among them that of the Roman church, into an archaic and scattered past, mankind was supposed to set out on a new, progressive course. This verdict was ratified by public opinion in the eigtheenth century. The opportunity offered by such a verdict to the lay Catholic national states to rid themselves of international intruders, condemned the most flexible proponents of the other choice, the Jesuits, to a swift exit from the reordered historical stage.

102 Marc Fumaroli It is not by chance that nowadays attention and understanding are increasingly directed to the first two centuries of the Jesuits. Their story has become a work in progress. International scholarship has begun to overcome the dark legend and to bypass the pious alternative created by nineteenth-century Jesuits. A picture of the Jesuits of the first two centuries has begun to emerge that stirs many flashes of interest and recognition among us in our postmodern predicament. The linguistic and semiotic turn taken by contemporary studies matches the rise of a new history of political philosophy: in both fields the rhetorical and antiMachiavellian Jesuits of the first two centuries present a broad and still unanalysed case study. Their anagogical and mystical vision of God's Word at work in world history is not less fascinating. We are torn between hopes for worldwide peace and well-being, and fear of the swift disappearance of local diversity. We adhere to the universal principles inherited from the eighteenth-century philosophers and statesmen, but we inquire with growing empathy and relative competence into the linguistic and symbolic quilt of the religious and cultural legacy of the illiberal human past. We are the heirs of the Reformations, of the Enlightenment, and of modernity, but we have become increasingly sceptical of this heritage. We fear irrational fundamentalism and fanaticism, but we seek religious consolation. We are immersed in publicity and ideologies, and we look for heartfelt community. We are therefore ready to scrutinize, as our brothers in restlessness and inquiry, these Jesuits of the ancien regime, who tried and failed, more often than not with superior intelligence and fire, to hold together the centrifugal as well as the centripetal postulations of their own times. NOTES 1 Seance de I'Academiefrangaise du 23 avril 1885. Discours de reception de F. de Lesseps. Reponse de E. Renan, Directeur [Meeting of the French Academy of 23 April 1885. Reception speech by F. de Lesseps and response by E. Renan] (Paris, 1885). Renan writes: 'Rightly enough you do not like Rhetoric. With Poetics it represents the only error of the Greeks, who, after having created some masterpieces, thought it possible to establish rules to produce more. But they were mistaken: there is no more an art of speaking than there is one of writing. To speak well is to think well. The success of an orator or of a writer has always one cause: absolute sincerity ...' ('Vous avez horreur de la rhetorique, et vous avez bien raison. C'est avec la Poetique, la seule erreur des Grecs. Apres avoir fait des chefs-d'oeuvre, ils crurent pouvoir donner des regies pour en faire: erreur profonde! II n'y a pas d'art de parler, pas plus qu'il n'y a d'art d'ecrire. Bien parler, c'est bien penser tout haut.

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2 3

4 5

6 7

8

9

10 11

12 13

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Le succes oratoire ou litteraire n'a jamais qu'une cause, 1'absolue sincerite ...'; p. 14 of the Reponse). On the history of teaching in France during the Third Republic, see A. Compagnon, La Troisieme Republique des Lettres: De Flaubert a Proust (Paris, 1983). On the 'dark legend' of the order in France and on its founder Etienne Pasquier (1529-1615), see the collection of documents assembled by Jacques Cretineau-Joly in his monumental Histoire religieuse, politique, et litteraire de la Compagnie de Jesus, 6 vols (Paris and Lyon, 1844-6), and the chapter 'Premiers debats' in Fum. L'dge, pp. 233-42. See the recent, well-documented study Giard Jes. Ren. On the college and its activities, see the monumental classic by C. de Rochemonteix, Un college de je suites aux XVIIe et XVIIIe siecles: Le College Henry IV de la Fleche, 4 vols (Le Mans, 1889). On the Jesuit colleges as centres of erudition, see William V. Bangert, A History of the Society of Jesus (St Louis, 1972; repr. 1986), pp. 176-272. On Decartes's education at La Fleche, see G. Rodis-Lewis, Decartes: Biographic (Paris, 1995). John W. O'Malley, Praise and Blame in Renaissance Rome: Rhetoric, Doctrine, and Reform in the Sacred Orators of the Papal Court, c. 1450-1521 (Durham, N.C., 1979). See also the important collection of essays edited by Gian Paolo Brizzi, La 'Ratio studiorum': Modelli culturali e pratiche educative del gesuiti in Italia tra Cinque e Seicento (Rome, 1981). See Nancy Struever, Theory as Practice: Ethical Inquiry in the Renaissance (Chicago, 1992), and The Language of History in the Renaissance: Rhetorical and Historical Consciousness in Florentine Humanism (Princeton, 1970). See the classic by Wallace Klippert Ferguson, The Renaissance in Historical Thought: Five Centuries of Interpretation (Boston, 1948), and, a more recent work, La Devotion moderne dans les pays bourguignons et rhenans des origines a la fin du XVIeme siecle: Actes du Centre Europeen d'Etudes Bourguignonnes, ed. J.-M. Cauchies (Neuchatel, 1989); see also De doorwerking van Moderne Devotio: Acts of the Symposium de Zwolle-Windesheim, 1987 (Windesheim, 1988). K. Flasch, Augustin: Einfuhrung in sein Denken (Stuttgart, 1980). S.T. Coleridge, Biographia literaria, or Biographical Sketches of My Literary Life and Opinions, volume 1 of The Collected Works, ed. J. Engell and W.J. Bate (Princeton, 1983), p. 270. W.J. Ong, Ramus, Method, and the Decay of Dialogue: From the Art of Discourse to the Art of Reason (Cambridge, Mass., 1992). A. Arnauld, Philosophic du langage et de la connaissance, ed. J.-C. Pariente (Paris, 1995).

104 Marc Fumaroli 14 On the Jesuits' approach to Cicero and on their devout explications, see Fum. L'age, pp. 179-201; on the quarrel between Ciceronian and Senecan style, see ibid., pp. 454-61. 15 Ibid., pp. 299-326, for the works of Louis de Cressoles, S.J. (1568-1634), and for his analysis of the history and the teachings of the Second Sophists, see his Theatrum veterum rhetorum ... (Paris, 1620). 16 See O. Millet, Calvin et la dynamique de la parole: Etude de rhetorique reformee (Paris, 1992). 17 See Fum. L'dge, pp. 418-24. 18 Ibid., pp. 427^6. 19 For Antoine Arnauld (1612-94), philosopher, writer, and theologian, see volume 44 of the Chroniques de Port-Royal (1995); for Pierre Nicole (1625-95), see volume 45 of the Chroniques (1996). 20 See J.-C. Margolin, Erasme, precepteur de I'Europe (Paris, 1994). 21 See the classic by H. Busson, La pensee religieuse franqaise de Charron a Pascal, (Paris, 1933), and, by the same author, Les sources et le developpement du rationalisme (Paris, 1922). 22 See D. Bertrand, La politique de Saint Ignace de Loyola: L'analyse sociale (Paris, 1985). On the Jesuits' involvement in the Republic of Letters and on the subsequent creation of their own network of literary and erudite information, see the texts of my courses at the College de France: La Republique des Lettres I, II, III (Resume des Cours et Travaux of the College de France for the years 1987-8, 1988-9, 1989-90) and La Republique des Lettres franco-italienne (1995-6), which will eventually become a book on the Republic of Letters (fourteenth to eighteenth centuries). 23 See the capital work of my teacher, Rene Pintard, Le libertinage erudit dans la premiere moitie du XVIIeme siecle (1943; 2nd ed. Geneva and Paris, 1983). 24 John Huxtable Elliot, Richelieu and Olivares (Cambridge, 1984). 25 Thomas Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, 2 vols (Chicago and London, 1970). 26 A.C. Crombie, Styles of Scientific Thinking in the European Tradition: The History of Argument and Explanation, Especially in the Mathematical and Biomedical Sciences and Arts, 3 vols (London, 1994). 27 E. Renan, Dialogues philosophiques, ed. L. Retat (Paris, 1992). 28 See the fundamental study by Salvatore Camporeale, Lorenzo Valla, umanesimo e teologia (Florence, 1972), and also Struever, The Language of History (n8 above). 29 For a hostile but perceptive biography of Ignatius, see P. Quesnel, Histoire de I'Admirable Don Inigo de Guipuscoa par le Sieur Hercule Rosiel de Selva, 2 vols (The Hague, 1736), and Bertrand, La politique. 30 L.L. Martz, The Poetry of Meditation: A Study in English Religious Literature of the Seventeenth Century (London, 1976).

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31 For the genesis and the diffusion of the Spiritual Exercises, see A. Gagliardi, Commentaire des Exercises Spirituels d'Ignace de Loyola (1590) (Paris, 1996); H. Rahner, La genese des 'Exercises' (Paris, 1989); Daniello Bartoli, Delia vita e dell'Istituto di S. Ignazio ... (Rome, 1650); T. O'Reilly, From Ignatius Loyola to John of the Cross: Spirituality and Literature in XVIth Century Spain (Norfolk, 1995). 32 For the scientia media and Molinist theology, see Zur Friigeschichte des Gnadenstreites: Gutachten spanisher Dominikaner in einer bisher unbekannten Handschrift, ed. J. Storh (Mlinster, 1980). See also the chapter on the education of Pierre Corneille in my Hews et orateurs: Rhetorique et dramaturgic corneliennes (Geneva, 1996), pp. 63-208, and P.M. Garrido, Un censor espanol de Molinos y de Petrucd (Rome, 1988). 33 On the Jesuit theatre, see the exemplary study by Jean-Marie Valentin, Le theatre desjesuites dans les pays de langue allemande, 1554-1680: Salut des dmes et ordres des cites, 3 vols (Bern, 1978); see also J.H. Phillips, The Theatre and Its Critics in Seventeenth-Century France (Oxford, 1980); R. Wimmer, Didaktik und Fest: Das exemplum des dgyptischen Joseph aufden deutschen Biihnen der Gesellschaft Jesu (Frankfurt, 1982). An exemplar of the Company's early performances and theatrical activities in Bavaria has recently been presented in Baum. Rom, the catalogue of an exhibition which took place at the Bayerisches Nationalmuseum in Munich in 1997. 34 See A. Tuilier, Histoire de I'Universite de Paris et de la Sorbonne (Paris, 1994). 35 On the concept of jocositas in the Jesuit pedagogical style, see the classic work Dain. Ed. jes., and, more specifically, Jacqueline Lacotte, 'La notion de "jeu" dans la pedagogic des jesuites au XVIIe siecle,' Revue des sciences humaines 158 (1975): 251-65. 36 On Perpinien, see Fum. L'dge, pp. 397-8. 37 On Possevino, see ibid., pp. 180-2, and A. Biondi, 'La Bibliotheca selecta di Antonio Possevino: Un progetto di egemonia culturale,' in La 'Ratio studiorum,' ed. Brizzi (n7 above), pp. 43-76. 38 On Denis Petau, see Fum. L'dge, pp. 392-406; Fumaroli, Hews, pp. 346-8; H. Hofmann, Theologie, Dogma, und Dogmenentwicklung im theologischen Werk Denis Petau's: Mit einem biographischen und einem bibliographischen Anhang (Bern, Frankfurt, Munich, 1976); D. Petau, Rationarum temporum in panes duas (Paris, 1641), and De Augustini doctrina et tridentina synodo dissertatio posterior (Paris, 1656). 39 See B. Neveu, 'Augustinisme, janseniste, et magistere romain,' XVIIeme siecle 135 (April/June 1982): 191-209. 40 For seventeenth-century readings and interpretations of the Bible, see Le Grand Siecle et la Bible, ed. J.R. Armogathe (Paris, 1989), with extensive bibliography;

106 Marc Fumaroli for Richard Simon, see P. Auvray, Richard Simon (1638-1712): Etude biobibliographique (Paris, 1974). 41 See e.g. F. Benci, Annuae litterae Societatis Jesu anni MDLXXXIX ad patres et fratres ejusdem societatis, or the Litterae annuae from the province of Paraguay, Litterae annuae provinciae paraguariae Societatis Jesu ad... RR. P. Mutium Vitellescum ... missae (Antwerp, 1636). 42 See O'Malley, Praise and Blame (n7 above). 43 See the chapter dedicated to the celebrative Imago primi saeculi Societatis Jesu, a provincia flandro-belgica eiusdem Societatis representata, Fum. 'Bar.' 44 See Fum. L'dge, pp. 404-17. 45 From the Exercices spirituels in the definitive edition of 1548 translated into French and annotated by Jean-Claude Guy (Paris, 1962). 46 On Danielle Bartoli, see A. Asor Rosa in DBI, ad vocem; E. Raimondi, Letteratura barocca: Studi sul Seicento italiano (Florence, 1961), pp. 249-326; F. Angelini, Daniello Bartoli e iprosatori barocchi (Bari, 1981). 47 Again, in his letter to Muzio Vitelleschi of 16 May 1633, Bartoli asks to go and serve the Company 'in those parts of the world where life is more at risk and where the occasions to suffer, to die, or to be killed in the name of Christ are more frequent.' In Japan, England, China, the land of the Grand Mughul, or other dangerous places, Bartoli would have found divine grace with the sacrifice of his life; see the Lettere edite ed inedite del Padre Daniello Bartoli della Compagnia di Gesu e di uomini illustri scritte al medesimo (Bologna, 1865). Another of Bartoli's major oeuvres is, of course, the monumental biography of Loyola, Della vita e dell'Istituto di S. Ignazio, fondatore della Compagnia di Gesu (Rome, 1650). 48 See M. Duchet, Anthropologie et histoire au siecle des Lumieres (Paris, 1995). See also J. Gernet, Chine et christianisme, action et reaction (Paris, 1982). 49 See the second part of Fum. L'dge, 'Du multiple a 1'un: Les styles jesuites.' 50 On this matter, see John W. Witek, Controversial Ideas in China and in Europe: A Biography of Jean-Francois Foucquet, S.J. (1665-1741) (Rome, 1982), and George Minamiki, The Chinese Rites Controversy from Its Beginning to Modern Times (Chicago, 1985). See also E. Ziircher, N. Standaert, and A. Dudink, Bibliography of the Jesuit Mission in China, ca. 1580 - ca. 1680 (Leiden, 1991). 51 On this matter, see my 'Voltaire jesuite' in Commentaire 69 (1995): 107-14. 52 On Athanasius Kircher, see J. Goodwin, Athanasius Kircher, Renaissance Man, and the Quest of Knowledge (London, 1979); Valerio Rivosecchi, Esotismo in Roma barocca: Studi sul Padre Kircher (Rome, [1982]); see also Enciclopedismo in Roma barocca, a collection of essays edited by M. Casciato, M.A. lanniello, and M. Vitale (Venice, [1986]), and, especially for his correspondence, Athanasius Kircher und seine Beziehungen zum gelehrten Europa seiner Zeit, ed. John Fletcher (Wiesbaden, 1988).

4 / The Cultural Field of Jesuit Science RIVKA FELDHAY

I.

Introduction: The Notion of 'Jesuit Science' and the Notion of the Field This paper will present, in a very preliminary way, part of a larger project which aims at systematizing a discourse about the scientific activities of Jesuits at a particular stage of their evolution. The accumulation, in recent years, of historical studies of Jesuit science raises a number of questions I would like to reformulate through the use of the notion of a 'cultural field.' The concept is borrowed from the work of Pierre Bourdieu1 and has loosely guided my thoughts as I have read through various kinds of historical materials connected with Jesuit learning. Jesuit scientific discourse,2 a term which for me includes not only cognitive contents and the way they are cast in language but also institutional practices, was most clearly situated within an educational system that constituted the core of the activity of the Society of Jesus. Moreover, the educational system itself was always implicated in political situations connected either to the church establishment or with the lay political authorities - the republic of Venice, the northern Italian dukes, the Habsburg emperor, or the kings of France. One set of questions I am trying to address through the notion of a 'cultural field' concerns the dynamics among these three spaces: the space of scientific discourse, its institutional setting, and the wider political context.3 The notion of the 'field' orients one's thinking towards the fact that the space of discourse - in this case scientific - is never fixed, but rather constantly negotiated, constituted, and reconstituted under the constraints of the cognitive and non-cognitive interests shaped within it and in the wider cultural field in which it is embedded. Furthermore, not only have the boundaries of Jesuit scientific discourse been constantly negotiated, but this discourse presents a great variety of differentiated positions,

108 RivkaFeldhay themselves depending upon each other and upon the possibilities offered by the various contexts in which it was embedded. The second set of questions which can be systematized through the notion of the field relates to the cultural mechanisms which activated the shifting of positions within the space of Jesuit science. My assumption is that the cultural mechanisms created within the Jesuit institutional settings were reproduced and are traceable in the texts of scientists, where they shaped choices, procedures, and even contents. The subject of my larger project is mainly confined to the period between the 1620s and the 1680s, in which Jesuit science was well defined as an influential alternative in the European cultural map. In the first part of this paper, however, I shall attempt to characterize the field of Jesuit mathematics by pointing out some of its prominent features as they developed historically from the midsixteenth century. Here I shall draw upon recent scholarly work that has produced an impressive body of knowledge concerning the Jesuit European scene. Of particular importance for this part of the paper has been the work of Ugo Baldini and his collaborators on the tradition of the Collegio Romano, as well as on Jesuit science in the Venetian province.4 Similarly, I have been guided by Romano Gatto's work on the Jesuit college in Naples5 and by Frangois de Dainville's, L.W.D. Brockliss's, and Antonella Romano's6 research on the French Jesuits. A short interlude between the first and the second parts of the paper will allow me to introduce briefly the cultural mechanisms of inclusion and control, which seem to be particularly significant for understanding the strong tension between autonomous and heteronomous principles created in the Jesuit field. In the last part I shall show, through a few examples, how the cultural mechanisms constructed in the institutional space of the Jesuit educational system were reproduced in the texts of two Jesuit mathematicians. I would like to emphasize, though, that an exhaustive analysis of the Jesuit cultural field is not the purpose of this paper. Rather, my aim is to throw light on some systematic features of Jesuit culture which allow us to read Jesuit scientific texts both as part of the tradition of early modern science and, at the same time, as embodying a natural genre of their own. Two more preliminary statements should be added. The first relates to my assumption, which seems to be common among historians today, that the Jesuit educational system - whose origins are traceable to the first years of the Society in the 1540s - has allowed for, and even to a certain extent encouraged, the differentiation of the mathematical disciplines and certain parts of natural philosophy from other fields of learning, and their emergence as a specific area of studies and research similar enough to what is recognized by us as 'science.' The object of my paper is this segment of Jesuit culture.

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The second statement relates to periodization. The period I am interested in is the one in which consistent transmission of scientific knowledge by the Society has already been secured, the professional identity of Jesuits engaged in science is more or less developed, and there is already enough differentiation within the space of the Jesuit scientific discourse and its cultural field. There are a few signs that point to the 1620s as the beginning of such solidification of Jesuit science. The Roman group loses its monopoly as the sole centre; the Italian province crystallizes an alternative in the form of physico-mathematics; more mathematicians acquire the position of scriptor, thus buttressing their identity as professional researchers; the Jesuits take over the University of Vienna and become a predominant cultural force in the Habsburg empire; French Jesuit mathematicians begin a tradition of production of mathematical texts. The 1680s signal another turning-point. It is marked mainly by a growing inability to integrate elements of the 'new science' - such as Cartesian analytical geometry, or Kepler's laws - and thus the growing marginalization of 'Jesuit science,' though not necessarily of Jesuit scientists. My paper aims mainly for a preliminary characterization of the period between the 1620s and the 1680s, when Jesuit science was well defined as an influential alternative in the European cultural map. II

Rome: The Centre of Mathematical Research No story about Jesuit science, the variety of subjects comprising it, and its capacity for production, reproduction, and transmission can be told without mentioning Christoph Clavius,7 the figure most responsible for promoting it and fashioning its basic physiognomy. After more than fifty years of involvement with teaching the mathematical sciences at the Collegio Romano, Clavius succeeded in leaving a remarkable legacy, which secured the tradition of Jesuit science. The institutionalization of a course in mathematics in all Jesuit colleges offering a three-year philosophical course was the basis for creating a tradition. From the very beginning mathematics had acquired a special (though not unproblematic) status, for it was the only course among the different branches of philosophy (logic, natural philosophy, and metaphysics) taught by a specialist. Parallel to his involvement with teaching, Clavius initiated an ambitious editorial program, which started the production of commentaries, textbooks, and manuals in all branches of the mathematical sciences. His own commentaries on Euclid's Elements and on Sacrobosco's Sphere, together with his textbooks in practical arithmetic and algebra,8 constituted the initial core of the mathematical knowl-

110 RivkaFeldhay edge transmitted by the Society. Clavius wrote some of them after having been freed from regular teaching at the Collegio and becoming a scriptor, which development signalled the beginning of an orientation towards research, and its recognition by the Society. However, Clavius continued to train a whole generation of mathematicians - sent later from Rome to other Italian, European, and missionary centres - through his 'academy' (a seminar for advanced students who were allowed to specialize in mathematics). Such academies were probably reproduced outside Rome as well, although not much is yet known about them. In addition, Clavius's wide correspondence9 testifies to a vast network of international relations cherished by the Collegio Romano and used to transform it into one of the most prestigious academic centres in Europe for training in mathematics. A glance at Clavius's 'Prolegomena' to his commentary on the Elements sheds light on the scope of the subjects he envisaged for mathematical teaching and research. Following Proclus, but also mentioning a previous division originating in Pythagoras, he suggested dividing the mathematical sciences into two groups: pure mathematics, made up of arithmetic and geometry, on the one hand, and mixed mathematics, dealing mathematically with physical phenomena such as rays of light, on the other hand. The second group consisted of six major branches: (natural) astrology, perspective, geodesy, canonics (music), suppotatrics (practical arithmetic), and mechanics, each being further divided into more applied areas. He also mentioned many other branches of knowledge which used the mathematical sciences for their own purposes, such as military architecture (fortifications), medicine, history, and medical astrology. Two comments about the map of knowledge conceived by Clavius can already be made. First, Clavius was obviously involved with the broadening range of topics dealt with by the mathematics of his day and was concerned to include them all in his project. Second, there seems to be a rhetorical emphasis - mainly achieved through repetition - on the fact that in most branches of mathematics, mathematical entities considered separately from matter are used to solve problems in a discourse which pertains to sensibles (see Alison Simmons's paper in this volume) and to the material world. For example, Clavius wrote that 'since the mathematical disciplines deal with things which are considered apart from any sensible matter, although they are immersed in material things, it is clear that they hold a place intermediate between metaphysics and natural science, if we consider their subject-matter.'10 This emphasis on mathematical entities as forming a bridge between abstract and sensible entities was a strategy of legitimization used by Clavius against the claims of some philosophers that mathematical abstractions could not give birth to a real science in the Aristotelian sense.11

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The Provinces By the 1620s the conditions for production and reproduction in the field of the mathematical sciences had already been well institutionalized: transmission through teaching, a generation of mathematicians trained by Clavius, a tradition of writing textbooks and treatises, an emerging tradition of academies, a few positions for specialists, a network of international relations, and a dynamic, inclusive vision about the subject-matter and scope of the problems to be dealt with by mathematicians. By that time, however, Rome had ceased to be the only centre of scientific research, although it remained by far the most important one. A preliminary study by Baldini reveals that from the beginning of the century the province of Venice - starting with the teaching of Marco Antonio De Dominis in Padua and continuing with Giuseppe Bianci in Parma and later on with his followers, especially Riccioli and Grimaldi in Bologna - became a fertile ground for breeding a rather new type of Jesuit scientist, who tended to define his peculiar experimental style as 'physico-mathematical.' Most of the authors in this tradition were Bianci's students, some of whom had also spent time in Clavius's academy in Rome. Their work was done almost exclusively in the 'mixed sciences,' including Bianci's Sphere,12 which was the first manual to recommend the adoption of the Tychonic system by Jesuit mathematicians, Cabeo's work on the magnet,13 Riccioli's corpus of astronomical and geographical observations,14 and Grimaldi's most important contribution to optics.15 Between 1630 and 1680 this school developed its own style of experimental science and also transmitted large parts of Galilean science, even though it adhered to the main Aristotelian categories of place, time, motion, number, quantity, infinity, continuity, matter, and change, which determined the parameters of the discussion throughout the period. One additional feature of the social context of Jesuit science concerns the connections among Jesuit educational institutions, local political authorities, and the upper classes. Whereas the Jesuits were banished from the republic of Venice from 1606 to 1656, they were welcomed and assisted by the dukes of Parma, Mantua, Padua, and Ferrara, and elsewhere. An anonymous chronicle from the seventeenth century documenting the atmosphere in Parma in the aftermath of the Provincial Congregation of 1614 testifies to the network of relations in which Jesuit scientific discourse was implicated: The city was full of citizens and scholars,' and after the work had been done it was still swarming with debates and learned disputes, among which 'two most curious mathematical problems were demonstrated' - one in optics and one in magnetism. A letter of Marco Garzoni, who became the rector of the Jesuit college in Parma but who had been

112 RivkaFeldhay in the service of the Gonzaga before that, reported, The duke has given great honour to all the Fathers of the Congregation ... favouring with his personal presence the sermons, the disputes, the mathematical problems, and even the refectory, where he came to have lunch with us.'16 These typical vignettes touch upon the public dimension of Jesuit official events, which were also social events and recruited the most creative and talented of the educators, among them mathematicians. They also point out the close, sometimes personal relations between Jesuit educators and the political authorities. Venice was not the only province in which a local style of scientific research emerged in the seventeenth century. Gatto's study of the Jesuit college in Naples has recently shown that a different emphasis in mathematical research developed there, and strengthens the impression that more attention should be paid to peripheral positions in the field of Jesuit science. Giacomo Staserio (15651635), another student of Clavius's academy, who taught mathematics in the college for many years, had developed a particular interest in Vieta's algebra (which was in fact included in the Jesuit curriculum of mathematics from the 1620s onward), and his work made possible the reception of Descartes's Geometry later on. According to Gatto, in the second part of the seventeenth century Naples became the most important centre for the diffusion of Cartesian studies in Italy because Jesuit teachers had transmitted to students the technical expertise necessary to understand Descartes. This diffusion was accompanied by a rather unusual proliferation of various types of corpuscularian opinions among some Jesuit professors of mathematics and philosophy in Naples, which constantly drew the suspicion and censure of the authorities of the order.17 Tensions between Jesuit mathematicians and philosophers and between scientists in general and the leadership of the Society were apparently not rare and should be remembered when the monolithic nature of Jesuit science is sometimes overemphasized. The German Provinces Baldini's research on the province of Venice and Gatto's study of the college in Naples indicate that Jesuit scientists developed local traditions throughout the seventeenth century, and thus I am tempted to say a few words about the mathematicians who were active in the various parts of the German provinces. My most tentative remarks - a few hypotheses, which seem worthy of further research - rely on the existing literature, and on my attempt to check the careers and production of mathematicians at the University of Vienna between the 1620s and 1680s. It seems that no school of mathematics grew out of any of the colleges which

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institutionalized the teaching of mathematics in the 'German' provinces (i.e., the provinces of the German assistancy, including the Belgian, Flemish, and Bohemian provinces). There were four main waves relevant for our period: the oldest one began around the 1560s (Vienna, Prague, Cologne, Mainz), the second around the 1580s and 1590s (Dillingen, Graz, Ingolstadt, Louvain, Olomouc, Trier, and Wurzburg), the third in the 1620s (Douai, Freiburg, Liege, Molscheim, Miinster, Tyrnau), and the fourth around the 1660s.18 The case of the college of Vienna, which practically united with the university in the 1620s, exhibits a few interesting facts.19 First, a large number of teachers between the 1620s and 1690s left no written traces at all. Many others wrote mainly in various fields of practical mathematics and the mixed sciences - practical geometry, optics, statics, and so on.20 To these should be added some philosophers who taught mathematics in other colleges in the German province, came to Vienna to teach philosophy, and tended to write in the areas of 'particular physics,' meteorology for example.21 Another group of mathematicians wrote in the general and unbounded space between rhetoric and philosophy, in ways which seemed to cater to the taste and needs of their monarchic and other noble patrons.22 This tendency ties up with a more general one among Jesuits in this period - Christoph Scheiner, Athanasius Kircher, and Kaspar Schott are but a few examples - to dedicate their works to the Habsburg family or to use Habsburg emblems in their texts.23 Another fact which should also be mentioned is the relative scarcity of commentaries on Aristotelian texts written by the philosophers at the same period. Furthermore, a large number of works written by philosophers were concerned with the general legitimization of philosophy as 'wisdom,' with political events, and with the general education of the sons and daughters of princes.24 The picture which emerges from this sketch rather confirms the characterization of Jesuit science in the seventeenth century proposed by Baldini, Steven J. Harris,25 Peter Dear,26 and myself:27 Jesuit science was concerned mainly with the promotion of areas related to 'applied mathematics.' In the seventeenth century the principal contribution consisted in research on limited phenomena meteorology, observational astronomy, geography - which did not touch upon the main metaphysical categories deriving from the Thomistic-Aristotelian framework endorsed by the cultural policies of the Society. The relative scarcity of commentaries or manuals on Aristotelian physics raises questions about the status and reproduction of traditional natural philosophy among Jesuits in the seventeenth century, which need further research. It should be stressed, however, that although a German school of mathematics does not seem to have existed, a few individual mathematicians who taught in the German and Belgian provinces created a continuous line of transmission of Clavian traditions in more theoretical directions. Among them I would like to

114 RivkaFeldhay mention Paul Guldin, who taught in Graz and Vienna, and Gregorius a S. Vincentio and Andre Tacquet, who taught in Louvain and Antwerp. Each of them picked up, developed, and continued one particular line in the broad project of Clavius: Guldin's 'opus magnum'28 continued the work on centres of gravity, which had become a rather popular subject among Jesuits by the end of the sixteenth century, and developed the tradition of Archimedean mechanics; Gregorius's work29 on the quadrature of the circle was connected to the new thinking about indivisibles; and Tacquet's contribution clearly belonged to the rigorous school of infinitesimal calculation reduced to the traditional Archimedean methods of exhaustion.30 The French Jesuits Very briefly I would like to turn now to the activity of the French Jesuits, as it has been studied by Dainville, Brockliss, and, lately, Romano.31 The institutionalization of mathematical studies occurred much later in France than in the Italian and German provinces. In fact, only one peripheral college had a chair of mathematics in the sixteenth century (Pont-a-Mousson); the first decade of the seventeenth century saw the establishment of four more chairs (Avignon, Tournon, Lyon, and La Fleche); and Paris established its first chair only in 1620. Whereas the transmission of a scientific tradition by the Jesuits dated from the first decade of the seventeenth century - the generation of Pereisc, Descartes, and Mersenne being the best testimony to its effect - a tradition of writing was established only in the 1620s, and did not give birth to exceptional individual contributions during the rest of the century. The French situation was first of all marked by the much greater insulation from the Roman centre. After the assassination attempt on Henri IV in 1594 by a former student of the Jesuits and the implication and execution of his professor of philosophy, the Society was expelled from France. An oath of allegiance to France - and thus presumably a weakened allegiance to Rome - was set as a condition of their return in 1604. The impact of Clavius, then, was not felt in France through mathematicians who studied with him or in his academy, but perhaps through J. Chastelier's correspondence with him, which probably resulted in the establishment of the first chair of mathematics and the training of a few young mathematicians at Pont-a-Mousson.32 Brockliss and Romano seem to agree that the French Jesuits did not produce great, original mathematical texts. However, both of them insist on showing how Jesuit colleges created the environment in which French scientific culture emerged in the seventeenth century especially among Jesuits, and culminated with thephilosophes of the eighteenth century.

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III

Mechanisms of Inclusion and Control My very general description of some prominent aspects of the Jesuits' scientific environment, its products, and its heroes does not claim to be exhaustive. Rather, it is meant to provide some factual, concrete background to my claim that the Jesuit educational system engendered a public space of scientific discourse which, by the 1620s, was institutionalized, differentiated, and characterized by a dynamics of centre and peripheries and by a high level of communication. Courses of mathematics teaching, editorial projects, academies, and a network of correspondence were highly elaborated spaces in which knowledge was produced and transmitted. The positions of the scriptores and the libraries, observatories, and instruments constituted the material means for its reproduction. In previous publications, based on the reading of programmatic texts in the history of Jesuit education, I identified several cultural mechanisms which enabled the breadth and openness to innovation of the Jesuit project on the one hand, but provided means of control over ideas and modes of thought on the other. Here, I would like to offer no more than a glimpse into the construction of such mechanisms through a quick reading of two texts which seem to be constitutive in this respect. The first is a document written in 1564-5 by the rector of the Collegio Romano,33 which exhibits an effort to legitimize an essentially inclusive approach, in spite of strong internal opposition. Departing from the norm accepted by all, according to which studies, and especially philosophy, should serve the teaching of theology, and recommending the Aristotelian commentators most useful for achieving this goal, the document focuses on the dynamics of innovation and its boundaries. Exaggerated freedom is indeed rejected. Yet at the same time a variety of opinions in everything not concerning faith is allowed as a necessary condition for intellectual vitality. The reproduction of traditional positions by complete adherence to canonical writers is not adopted. Instead, the construction of consensus is recognized as a mechanism for legitimizing new ideas. Most interesting of all, even deviations are not completely excluded from Jesuit discourse. The presentation and discussion of them is allowed, however, without interpretation or defence. Thus, unacceptable doctrines, theories, or ideas are included in the transmission, and so acquire the epistemological status of 'possible' opinions. Unendorsed by the consensus, they are still not erased, and continue to occupy a place in the vast space of knowledge constructed by the Jesuits. Inclusive policies, however, soon had to be balanced by mechanisms of

116 RivkaFeldhay control. It is well known that around 1600, the Jesuits institutionalized their internal censorship34 with a college of 'revisers-general' who were responsible for ensuring that manuscripts written by Jesuits conformed to the official cultural, intellectual, and religious positions of the Society. Their recommendations, however, were passed to the superior general for his own personal judgment and were not obligatory or binding. Much more revealing may be a careful reading of the Ratio studiorum,35 the text which provided the norms for the organization of knowledge in all Jesuit educational institutions. This text exhibits certain implicit means of control, which placed some constraints upon intellectual activity. The Ratio studiorum testifies to the construction of boundaries between spheres of knowledge, and the socialization of scholars into the modes of thought accepted within each sphere, as filters screening the status and significance of concepts, theories, and bodies of knowledge transmitted by the Society. One example will suffice to concretize what I mean. Studies of natural philosophy and mathematics in a Jesuit university in the second year of the philosophical cycle were preceded by an introduction lasting for the whole last part of the first year. The nature of Aristotelian scientia; the division of philosophy into speculative and practical parts; its subdivision into different sciences in hierarchical order; subalternation (of astronomy and optics to mathematics, for example); and the difference in subject-matter and procedure between physics and mathematics36 were all inculcated in the minds of students as habits of thought, acquired before any real acquaintance with the contents of philosophy and mathematics was achieved. This could not but shape the minds of students to think in some directions and not in others. The mechanisms of control envisaged in the Ratio were neither visible nor direct. They did not involve the explicit limitation of contents, opinions, or interpretations. Rather, they consisted of a discriminate use of exclusion and the making of a series of rigorous distinctions, which allowed for the transmission of the traditional epistemological values to which the Society had tacitly committed itself. Strategies of Inclusion and Mechanisms of Control in Some Jesuit Mathematical Texts With these two kinds of cultural mechanisms in mind, mechanisms of inclusion and of control, I would now like to show through some examples their operation in the texts and practices of two Jesuit mathematicians. I have already referred to Clavius's 'Prolegomena'37 and the wide range of subjects he deemed it proper to include in the discursive space of the mathematical sciences. Two other strategies of inclusion which originated from his work may be identified, first, in the

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genealogy he constructed for the mathematical sciences - where he drew on the tradition of Proclus's commentary - and second, in his very broad policy of quotation. Thus, in a chapter on the inventors of the mathematical disciplines38 he told a whole history of mathematics. He recounted how the tradition, originating in arithmetic and first developed by the Phoenicians, passed through Pythagoras, the Egyptians, and the Greeks and was developed by the Arabs. He provided a list of names of the inventors in music and followed this with the history of geometry, the origins of which were to be found in the Egyptians' art of measuring. He then invoked at length the Greek forefathers, including Thales, Pythagoras, Anaxagoras, Plato, Theaetetus, Aristarchus, Eratosthenes, Euclid, Archimedes, Apollonius, Pappus, and Proclus. Finally, Clavius mentioned the forefathers of astrology, who should be looked for among the Chaldeans, Egyptians, Assyrians, and Babylonians. The wide range of authors in the mathematical disciplines to whom Clavius referred in order to demonstrate the antiquity and solidity of the tradition were called upon also in his attempt to legitimize the nobility, truth, and utility of those subjects.39 Clavius's primary inspiration in writing the 'Prolegomena' was certainly Proclus's commentary. But along the way he recruited many arguments from various texts of Plato (among them Meno, Philebus, Phaedo, The Republic, and Timaeus), Aristotle, and Geminus. Among the theologians, he favoured Augustine, Jerome, and Paul; among the moderns, Francesco Barozzi (the first Renaissance translator of Proclus) was the most prominent. The essential inclusiveness of the Jesuit scientific tradition consisted, however, in the way alternative theories, concepts, opinions, and hypotheses were always represented by the author of a text, even when criticized, censured, or rejected by the Jesuit author himself or by the Jesuit community. Inclusion, then, did not necessarily entail agreement. This meant that the transmission of knowledge by the Jesuit educational system was far broader than the ideas endorsed by the consensus of Jesuit writers, by the Society's hierarchy, or by the church. Again we may point to Clavius as the prototypical writer of that tradition. The complex procedure by which Clavius rejected the Copernican alternative in his commentary on the Sphere of Sacrobosco - lately analysed by James M. Lattis40 - is a good example. Clavius's praise of Copernicus as the 'distinguished restorer of astronomy in our era' should perhaps be mentioned first, in order to make clear his deep appreciation both of Copernicus's skills as an expert mathematical astronomer, and of the technical applications of his theory in the Prutenic tables and the reform resulting in the Gregorian calendar. Moreover, Clavius's adaptation of Copernicus's precession theory to a geostatic universe revealed not only an inclination to include the theory in his presentation but also a tendency to assimilate innovation within certain limits. The incompatibility of

118 RivkaFeldhay the Copernican theory with the Scriptures and with Aristotelian natural philosophy were Clavius's main arguments for rejecting Copernicanism. However, the recognition that the Copernican model could 'save the phenomena' even better than the Ptolemaic one, sharpened the problem of the criteria of choice between two more or less equal theoretical alternatives. Furthermore, Clavius was acutely aware that the Ptolemaic world picture did not derive from any a priori principle - in fact it too was in many ways incompatible with Aristotelian cosmology - and was based essentially upon a long tradition of observations and their mathematical interpretation. In this state of affairs, his final judgment rested upon two arguments: the consensus among astronomers and philosophers, and the more probable nature of Ptolemaic arrangements. Clavius's strategies in dealing with Copernicanism clearly demonstrate how mechanisms of inclusion and control were translated into arguments enabling the assimilation and endorsement of some alternatives and the rejection of others. They also testify to the survival of rejected options such as Copernicanism in the texts of Jesuit scientists. Most important, they point out that demonstration in the Aristotelian sense became just one strategy among others to ensure the acceptance and legitimization of scientific theses. The consensus on the one hand and the status of probability on the other were no less important ways of legitimizing or privileging ideas than demonstration. As is well known, Clavius's Ptolemaic-Aristotelian synthesis was not reproduced by Jesuit mathematicians in the seventeenth century. Nevertheless, it is not hard to expose the reproduction of the mechanisms operating in his texts in the work of many other Jesuit scientists. Here I shall concentrate on some texts of Paul Guldin as my main example. In 1635 Paul Guldin published the first volume of his Centrobaryca,41 with a long introduction on the mathematical disciplines, their description, their hierarchic order, and their division.42 Guldin's mapping of the space of the mathematicians manifests an even greater appetite for encompassing new areas than Clavius's. But his 'Prolegomena' also testifies to subtle changes in the boundaries of scientific discourse since the time of Clavius; to the elaborated ontology of mathematical entities, which served as the main legitimization of the mathematicians' discourse; and to the institutional constraints within which Jesuit mathematicians had to operate. As mentioned above, Clavius envisaged two pure mathematical sciences arithmetic and geometry - and six 'mixed' ones - (natural) astrology, perspective, geodesy, music, practical mathematics, and mechanics. He also stressed the nature of mathematical objects as abstracted from matter even though they are immersed in it. This constituted for him the condition of possibility - and the main legitimization - for the application of mathematics to material, physical problems.

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Guldin opened his 'Prolegomena' with a very traditional exposition of the mathematical sciences as organized within the framework of the seven liberal arts. According to this conception arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy constituted the quadrivium, to be complemented with grammar, rhetoric, and dialectics into a kind of encyclopaedia of human knowledge. Immediately afterwards, however, he presented a radically different alternative. Essentially he envisaged three - instead of the traditional two - pure mathematical sciences: arithmetic, algebra, and geometry. He then enumerated four mixed sciences: optics, statics, music, and cosmography, each subdivided into numerous parts. According to him, the objects of the mathematical sciences were quantities abstracted from sensible matter. Mathematics as a whole, therefore, was defined as that part of philosophy which is situated between physics and metaphysics.43 However, the 'mixed sciences' - all dealing mathematically with sensible matter - were subalternated to the pure ones, some participating more in the abstract beings of mathematics and therefore defined as more mathematical, others participating more in material phenomena and therefore considered more physical. Nevertheless, all mathematical disciplines - pure and 'mixed' - included theoretical/speculative as well as practical parts. The theoretical parts of the different sciences dealt with the principles of the science, its inner divisions, and its objects. In the practical parts these pure truths, cognitions, and principles were operated and applied. Further probing into some of the new subjects assimilated by Guldin into the space of the mathematical sciences would throw light on the kind of reorganization implied in his map of knowledge, on the principles and legitimization strategies used for such reorganization, and on the implications it entailed for the wider cultural field in which mathematics was embedded. The main breakthrough in the sphere of the pure sciences was the insertion of a third discipline - algebra - between the two traditional fields of arithmetic and geometry. Guldin called it the 'divine' algebra and the 'most noble' among the pure mathematical sciences.44 To legitimize fully this new science he followed in the footsteps of Clavius, forging its genealogy in terms of both the Arabic 'ars magna' and Plato's invention of analysis, later discovered and transmitted through Theon and finally formulated by Vieta. Then he quoted the praises of Cardan and Vieta concerning its subtleties and miraculous inventions. However, the most significant aspect of the inclusion of algebra among the pure mathematical sciences consisted in the fact that such inclusion entailed, in fact, a transgression of the basic boundary between the continuous and the discrete: 'Algebra,' he wrote 'treats numbers as lines, planes, and bodies; and conversely treats these as numbers, and in some manner transforms lines into numbers and numbers into lines by some miraculous art.'45 The same distinction between lines and num-

120 RivkaFeldhay bers, which Guldin himself restated in the opening of his 'Prolegomena' as the basic feature of the organization of mathematical knowledge, is thus undermined by the incorporation of algebra, and this contradiction is nowhere resolved. Still, the example of algebra well demonstrates how the appropriation of a new field of knowledge was bound to create tensions, some of which will surface later on in my analysis of Guldin's own work. The example of algebra exposes Guldin's strategies of introducing a major innovation as an old science with a respectable genealogy. It also demonstrates Guldin's acute perception of the significance of algebra as a science forming a bridge between arithmetic and geometry and between the two types of objects they dealt with: numbers, or discrete quantities, in the former case and magnitudes, or continuous ones, in the latter. Still, there was no sense in which algebra was said to be creating a new type of mathematical discourse, for example, and the treatment of arithmetic and geometrical quantities with algebraic methods remained separate. Another example worth pursuing is that of the mixed science traditionally defined as mechanics - and thus included in the 'Prolegomena' - which Guldin redefined as statics, and presented as the science of weights.46 It was divided essentially into two major parts. The first consisted of common principles, centres of gravity (Centrobaryca), the equilibrium of weights, and mechanics, namely, problems of weights in motion. The second major part of statics was hydrostatics, which dealt with weights (whether solids or liquids) in different mediums (whether liquids or air). Moreover, both mechanics and hydrostatics had various applied arts subalternated to them, organized around a machine or an instrument: Zygostatica was the science of balances, Mochlostatica the science of levers, Trochleostatica the science of pulleys, and so on.47 The problems involved in assimilating statics into the traditional framework of the mathematical sciences presented themselves right from the beginning, as the nature of the subject-matter of statics - namely, weight - was immediately questioned. Guldin recognized the physical nature of weight and the difficulty involved in any attempt to reduce it to mathematical quantity. Referring to the dictum that God created everything in number, weight, and measure (Wisd. of Sol. 11:21), he considered the possibility of including statics within the pure mathematical sciences - arithmetic and geometry - to create a trio to which all other mathematical sciences should be subalternated. But unable to ignore the sensible nature of gravity, he confessed to having preferred the definitions of mathematicians: 'Even though some people claim that [statics] is identical to geometry itself and that as God created everything in number, weight, and measure, so Arithmetics, Statics, & Geometry, which deal with those matters, are primary in relation to the mathematical sciences, and all the rest depend on them.

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But, sticking to the definitions of the mathematical sciences, we are removing it [statics] from pure mathematics, as it deals, in addition to quantity, with sensible matter, which is gravity, from which, nevertheless, the mind must abstract in a similar way, if we wish to speak in a strictly speculative manner, as is the case in the consideration of lines and surfaces.'48 Statics, then, remained a 'mixed science,' subalternate to geometry. While the reduction of weight to mathematical quantity reveals the Archimedean nature of Guldin's vision for statics, the study of machines was related by him to the Aristotelian tradition of the Mechanical Questions and did not exclude dynamical principles. Moreover, in addition to the five simple machines, Guldin mentioned pneumatic machines in relation to aerostatics, flying dragons, military machines, automata, and magnets, all of which, he claimed, were parts of the vast domain of statics. The most subversive act, perhaps, in Guldin's remapping of the space of Jesuit mathematicians could be found in his representation of the scope of astronomy,49 which he introduced as one of the two major parts of cosmography, the other being astrology, which was fully legitimized in his scheme. Astronomy itself was then divided into eight main branches: observational, systematic, spheric, and planetary theory, computational, geographic, nautical, and gnomonic, each further divided into more applied areas. Without analysing in depth this widest and most important area of the mathematical sciences, we can add two remarks: Whereas Clavius had always been careful to recognize the division between the construction of a cosmological picture - done in the sphere of philosophy - on the one hand and astronomical theory on the other, Guldin seems to have appropriated the major questions concerned with the machine of the world, its principles, its parts, and its qualities into the domain of the mathematicians. Accordingly, among the subjects of systematic astronomy dealing with the constitution of the world, he emphasized the three main hypotheses to be represented and researched: the Ptolemaic, the Copernican, and the Tychonic. The assimilation of algebra and the entire Archimedean project were the most striking outcomes of the Jesuit mathematicians' policy of inclusion. No less important, however, is the realization that inclusion meant less than assimilation. For the mechanisms of inclusion, which required some representation of theories, concepts, and theses not approved by the consensus - in the status of hypothesis, or probable opinion - enabled the reproduction of Copernicanism as an option within the Jesuit map of knowledge, even though it was finally doomed to rejection. All three examples - algebra, statics, and astronomy - point to strong subversive elements introduced into the project of the Jesuit mathematicians by the new fields of knowledge it tended to incorporate. Algebra threatened the boundaries between the continuous and the discrete, thus opening the way for

122 RivkaFeldhay the reception of Cartesian analytical geometry and corpuscularianism. The Archimedean project threatened the boundary between mathematics and the study of motion, thus opening the way for the acceptance of Galileanism. Copernicanism threatened both the old cosmology and the traditional interpretation of the Scriptures. Thus, the policy of inclusion kept the Jesuit cultural field exposed to strong irresolvable tensions between the autonomous needs of a professional discourse and the heteronomous pressures of the hierarchy of the order and sometimes the Catholic establishment at large. Guldin's text testifies to the reproduction of many of Clavius's strategies of inclusion - such as the construction of a genealogy for algebra as an old, respectable field of inquiry originating in Plato's writings. Like Clavius before him, Guldin applied a broad policy of quotation, an example of which may be found in the opening chapter of the Centrobaryca. Guldin began the chapter with a series of definitions - of a centre, a centre of a figure, a centre of magnitude, and the centres of gravity of lines, surfaces, and solids. Among the ancients he quoted Euclid, Aristotle, Archimedes, and Pappus; among the moderns, Luca Valerio, Commandino, Guidobaldo del Monte, and Stevin.50 With this long list of references he signalled the openness and up-to-date character of his scientific project. At the same time he succeeded in re-creating, within the textual space of his book, a significant segment of the community of mathematicians he considered himself part of, which far exceeded the boundaries of the Jesuit environment. Most significant, however, was the drive towards a greater autonomy of the space of mathematicians, a drive which somehow pervaded Guldin's text and may be understood as the impact of the success of Clavius's strategies. For example, Guldin emphasized that every mathematical science had a theoretical and a practical part, and that the theoretical part was the space where the objects of the science, its methods, and its boundaries were determined: 'All the mathematical sciences, whether superior or primary or subaltern, are divided into speculative, namely contemplative and theoretical, and practical, namely operational ... The speculative are defined solely by contemplation of the principles, parts, qualities, or properties (which they call affections) of the proper science and object.'51 This meant that the nature of 'quantity,' for example - the object of mathematical discourse - was no longer to be determined by the philosophers, but by the mathematicians themselves. And indeed, in the first chapter of the Centrobaryca Guldin touched upon the special nature of mathematical objects as he attempted to justify the centre of gravity as a mathematical concept, and differentiate it from the realm of philosophical discussion: Inasmuch as these three definitions are appropriate to bodies alone, indeed only to those to which, physically speaking, gravity is fitting, and to those belongs the centre of gravity, or, if externally situated, it [also] refers to them, and just as mathematicians, with

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such freedom and privilege, pull asunder from those very bodies surfaces and lines, though they cannot separate them, avoiding their three dimensions and considering only two or even one, it should be allowed to us to deal with gravity similarly; what we observe as done by others concerning surfaces, and even lines, for the sake of mathematical matters, and the perfection of the discipline, its utility and excellence, can also be applied to the lines [considered] below, [when speaking] of their centre of gravity, for the increase, multiplication, and expansion of art and science, which are considered as leaving major traces [in culture]. Hence, there is no need for new definitions or descriptions of the centre [of gravity]; indeed, the previous ones are wholly sufficient, if to the expression of the body or of the solid figure the expression of the finite quantity is substituted.52

Centres of gravity, according to Guldin, were not simply physical aspects of sensible bodies and solid figures; they were mathematical objects abstracted from matter through the special procedures of mathematicians, who usually practise with 'finite quantities.' Invoking this term, elaborated in Bianci's treatise On the Nature of Mathematics (1615), to distinguish the mathematicians' operations with quantity from the speculations of philosophers about quantity, Guldin once again delineated the boundaries of the mathematicians' discourse and stressed their autonomy within it. Fascinating evidence that the inclusive vision expressed in Guldin's 'Prolegomena' left its traces in the actual practices of mathematicians can be found in his own Dissertatio de motu terrae, published in Vienna in 1622 and attached to the first volume of the Centrobaryca, which saw light in 1635.53 In the,Dissertatio Guldin first used a dynamical theory, usually ascribed to Albertus Magnus, to argue for the constant displacement of the centre of gravity of the earth from the centre of the universe as a result of geological and other material changes. He then calculated the displacement using Archimedean methods, and claimed to have proved the motion of the earth. His method of proving consisted in joining Aristotelian qualitative, dynamical and Archimedean quantitative, static arguments, a method he called physico-mathematical and geometrical. Guldin's Dissertatio wonderfully demonstrates the assimilation of new contents by Jesuit mathematicians, the modification of the traditional boundaries between mathematics and physics, and the completely new status claimed for these sciences. The assimilation of Archimedean theories and techniques enabled Guldin to posit at least a probable argument against the almost unarguable postulate that the earth must rest immobile in the centre of the universe, although the argument did not entail Copernican motions. His proof contained traces of algebraic thinking, even though the surface of his text exhibited geometric orthodoxy. The appropriation of the motion of the earth as a problem to be solved by a mathematician may be read as a challenging act. Most interesting, perhaps,

124 Rivka Feldhay was the idea of modelling the motion of the earth on mechanical motion. And finally, the contention that the motion of the earth could be more evidently demonstrated by mathematicians than by philosophers testifies to the high degree of autonomy claimed by at least some Jesuit mathematicians. This is clearly expressed at the end of the geometrical proof, where Guldin states: 'I demonstrated, as I believe, that the centre can move, and consequently that the earth could move. This is what our most learned Gabriel Vasquez claims in disp. 81, cap. 31, Prima Secundae and what could be shown more clearly by mathematical demonstration ,..'54 A closer look, however, reveals traces of the control mechanisms and heteronomous considerations which shine through the Annotation to the Dissertatio. The Annotation, probably written close to the publication date of 1635, consisted mainly of a confession, in which Guldin admitted to have modified his ideas after the publication of Niccolo Cabeo's Philosophia magnetica (1629).55 There, in chapter 18 Cabeo had sharply criticized the argument claiming the motion of the earth as an effect of a displacement of its centre of gravity. Cabeo opened his critique with an impressive act of recognition of the mathematicians' skills in dealing with the displacement of centres of gravity, 'conceding that the centre of gravity of the whole earth moves in the same measure of the motion of any heavy body; this is clearly born out by the mathematicians and could not be denied by anyone who is not versed in the business of mathematicians, or just very lightly so.'56 In his critique, however, he denied that any minimal change on the surface of the earth is enough to move its centre of gravity in a physical sense. Thus, without delegitimizing the discourse of the mathematicians, Cabeo insisted on the gap between mathematical and physical arguments, which he used to refute Guldin's conclusions about the motion of the earth. Guldin's affirmation of Cabeo's strategies - without, however, completely withdrawing his thesis, and yet resorting to a kind of self-sterilization - presents to the modern reader an astonishing case of self-criticism. Originally, Guldin claimed to have believed that a mathematical analysis of the earth's position in terms of its centre of gravity entailed that any minimal change on the surface of the earth - a flea's leap, for example - must change its equilibrium. This formulation marked a configuration of ideas which became constitutive for a discourse we have become used to calling the 'new science.' The idea that any force, as small as it may be, can move a body as heavy as the earth is at the root of the notion of inertia, which blurred the old boundaries between statics and dynamics and enabled the rise of the new mechanics. At the same time, thinking about magnitude in terms of the infinitely small has played an important role in the mathematical and physical thinking of many seventeenth-century scientists. Guldin's presence in Rome from 1612, when Galileo's telescopic discoveries

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were much debated at the Collegio Romano, his close relations with Kepler, and his involvement with Cavalieri all indicate that he had not been disconnected from circles in which these ideas were ripening. His delineation of the space of the mathematical sciences in the 'Prolegomena' attached to the Centrobaryca testifies to a vision of mathematical physics not very different from Galileo's or Kepler's. His Dissertatio bears witness to the potential carried by the special combination embodied in his writing of algebraic techniques, Archimedean concepts, and interest in one of the most fruitful problems of seventeenth-century physics, namely, the motion of the earth. The Annotation, however, draws attention to other principles which constrained all the aforementioned tendencies of his text. Guldin's self-critique centres around his final rejection of the notion that the smallest possible force can upset the equilibrium of the earth. Guldin now declared this idea false, and explicitly blocked the possibility of inferring the motion of the earth from what he now called its 'fluctuation.' Moreover, following Cabeo's demand that mathematical and physical discourse be distinguished, he admitted that whereas the fluctuation must be recognized as the true geometrical conclusion from the consideration of centres of gravity, this motion must be insensible, and therefore is perhaps not really physical.57 The Annotation is then concluded with a hyperbolic reproduction of the boundary between mathematicians dealing with subtle calculations and others too worried about the fluctuation of the earth: Those who are too preoccupied with the fluctuations of the earth could rest securely in peace. And let those mathematicians, who at all times abstract from many physical things both the mind and the objects themselves, remain undisturbed in their own fluctuation, while tying themselves to the most scrupulous calculations and to the minutest geometrical points, lest they be pushed by winds.'58 The co-existence within one book of these three things - Guldin's map of the mathematical sciences, which testifies to a broad scientific vision; his Dissertatio de motu terrae, which confirms his involvement with modern mathematical techniques and with the physical motion of the earth; and the Annotation, which tames all these interests - exhibits, it seems to me, the strong tension between autonomous and heteronomous principles in the field of Jesuit mathematics. Since the time of Clavius Jesuit mathematicians had tended to assimilate new contents and methods, and even to appropriate problems traditionally discussed by natural philosophers. In their efforts to legitimize their practices - especially vis-a-vis the philosophers of the Society - they developed a special ontology of mathematical entities ('quantitas terminata'), which they claimed were both abstract and real and thus enabled the mathematical treatment of material phenomena. Nevertheless, the boundaries of scientific mathematical discourse re-

126 RivkaFeldhay mained contested throughout the period, especially when they clashed with basic metaphysical categories that structured philosophical discussion, or with traditional scriptural exegesis. The motion of the earth on the one hand and the structure of the continuum on the other exemplify constraints arising from the commitment to the fundamental Thomistic organization of studies and the hierarchies it implied. They also exemplify a clash between two groups of professionals involved in constructing for themselves separate identities with competing professional interests. Guldin's final words in the Annotation represent the kind of compromises the mathematicians of the Society of Jesus were often forced to make in the context of a discourse embedded in a religiously and politically engaged cultural field. NOTES 1 Pierre Bourdieu, The Field of Cultural Production, ed. R. Johnson (New York, 1993). 2 My discourse analysis relies, to a large extent, on ideas and suggestions made by Michel Foucault in his Archeology of Knowledge. However, I have developed these ideas into a more systematic framework by defining three interdependent categories for analysing scientific discourses: through a) the constitution of their objects, b) the construction of their boundaries, and c) their practices of authorization. For the application of these categories in historical analysis, see my 'The Dispute on Sunspots,' in Feld. Gal, chap. 13. 3 I have not been able to include much about the political context of the mathematical sciences from which I draw my examples in this paper. In a paper delivered at the History of Science Society meeting in Seattle in 1992,1 analysed the political background of Jesuit theatre and ballet as they were practised at the College-Louisle-Grand in the second half of the seventeenth century. This topic is a part of my present project which I will not be able to address here. See Judith Rock, Terpsichore at Louis-le-Grand (St Louis, 1998). 4 Bald. Leg.', Christoph Clavius e I'attivita scientifica del gesuiti nell'eta di Galileo, ed. Ugo Baldini (Rome, 1995). 5 Romano Gatto, Tra scienza e immaginazione: Le matematiche presso il collegia gesuitico napoletano (1552-1670 ca.) (Florence, 1994). 6 Dain. Geog. hum.; Dain. Ed.jes.; L.W.D. Brockliss, French Higher Education in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries: A Cultural History (Oxford, 1987); Antonella Romano, 'Les jesuites et les mathematiques: Le cas des colleges francais de la Compagnie de Jesus (1580-1640),' in Christoph Clavius, ed. Baldini, pp. 243-82. 7 In addition to Christoph Clavius, ed. Baldini, see Lat. Cop. Gal.', Giard Jes. Ren., pt 4, pp. 239-322, 'L'architecture mathematique batie par Clavius.'

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8 Christoph Clavius, In Sphaeram loannis de Sacro Bosco commentarius (Rome, 1570); Euclidis Elementorum libri XV (Rome, 1574); Epitome arithmeticae practicae (Rome, 1583); Algebra (Rome, 1608). 9 Clav. Corr. 10 'Quoniam disciplinae Mathematicae de rebus agunt, quae absque ulla materia sensibili considerantur, quamvis re ipsa materiae sint immersae; perspicuum est eas medium inter Metaphysicam, et naturalem scientiam obtinere locum, si subjectum earum consideremus'; from the 'Prolegomena' to the third edition of Euclid's Elements (Rome, 1591), p. 5. 11 The locus classicus for such objections is Benito Pereyra, Physicorum, sive de principiis rerum naturaliam: De communibus omnium rerum naturalium principiis et affectionibus(Rome, 1576), p. 24, where he argues, 'My opinion is that the mathematical disciplines are not proper sciences ...' See A. de Pace, Le mathematiche e il mondo (Milan, 1993), pp. 75-120; P. Mancosu, Philosophy of Mathematics and Mathematical Practice in the Seventeenth Century (Oxford, 1996), chap. 1; see also Ugo Baldini, 'La nova del 1604 e i matematici e filosofi del Collegio Romano,' Annali del htituto e Museo di Storia della Scienza di Eirenze 6:2 (1981): 63-97. 12 Giuseppe Bianci, Sphaera mundi (Bologna, 1620). 13 Niccolo Cabeo, Philosophia magnetica (Cologne, 1629). 14 Giovanni Baptista Riccioli, Almagestum novum (Bologna, 1651). 15 Francesco Maria Grimaldi, Physico-mathesis de lumine, coloribus, et iride (Bologna, 1665). 16 Both quotations are from D. Arico, '"In doctrinis glorificate Dominum": Alcuni aspetti della recezione di Clavio nella produzione scientifica di Mario Bettini,' in Christoph Clavius, ed. Baldini, pp. 191-2. 17 Gatto, Tra scienza e immaginazione, pp. 158, 225, 265. See also Marcus Hellyer's paper in this volume, pp. 538-54. 18 Karl A.F. Fischer, 'Jesuiten-Mathematiker in der deutschen Assistenz bis 1773,' AHSI46 (1978): 159-224. 19 My information is based mainly on C.S. Ensle, 'Die Jesuiten professoren an der Wiener Philosophischen Fakultat, 1623-1711,' dissertation, University of Vienna, 1970. 20 Zacharias Traber, Tractatus theoricus in tres libros opticam (Vienna, 1690); Carl Sinich, Geometria practica; Paul Guldin, Centrobaryca (Vienna, 1635-41); Gabriel Frolich, Collectiones mathematicae ex architecturam militari (Vienna, 1691). 21 Ludwig Miettinger, Brevis meteorum explicatio (Graz, 1698); Sigismund Pusch, Problema gnomonico-geographicum (Graz, 1707); Martin Szentivany, Dissertatio physica de variis corporis humani affectionibus (Tyrnau, 1700). 22 Marcell Bautschner, Heroes familiae eszterhasianae (Vienna, 1674); Ferdinand Bitka, Panegyricus d.s. Ladislao Hung, rege (Vienna, 1712); Christoph Dell,

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23

24

25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43

44 45

Trivium nobilitatis (Vienna, 1671); Franz Franzin, Viridarium palladis (Graz, 1622). William B. Ashworth, 'The Habsburg Circle,' in Patronage and Institutions: Science, Technology, and Medicine at the European Court, 1500-1750, ed. Bruce T. Moran (Rochester, 1991), pp. 137-68. Gabriel Frolich, Manipulus laurearum de triumphis anno superiore de turds relatis congestus (Graz, 1689); Balthasar Geraldini, Theatrum sapientiae (Vienna, 1657); Peter Glaser, Idea sapientiae delineata (Graz, 1670); Andreas Paur, Tractatus brevis de geographia particulari in usum archiducis Carolis ... (Vienna, 1698), and Fabulae poeticae per archiducem Austriae Carolum conscriptae et a P. Pauer traditae (Vienna, 1697). Steven J. Harris, 'Les chaires de mathematiques,' in Giard Jes. Ren., pp. 239-61. Dear Disc. Feld. Gal. Guldin, Centrobaryca. Gregorius a S. Vincentio, Opus geometricum quadraturae circuit et sectionum coni (Antwerp, 1647). Andre Tacquet, Cylindricorum et annularium (Antwerp, 1651), Arithmeticae theoria et praxis (Louvain, 1656), and Opera mathematica (Antwerp, 1669). See n6 above. See Romano, 'Les jesuites et les mathematiques' (n6 above). MPaed. 2:464-90. Bald. Leg., pt 1, chap. 2, pp. 75-119, 'Le censure librorum e opinionum.' Ratio studiorum: L'ordinamento scolastico dei collegi del gesuiti, ed. M. Salmone (Milan, 1979). Ibid., p. 66. See nlO above. Clavius, 'Prolegomena' (nlO above), p. 4: 'Inventores mathematicarum disciplinarum.' Ibid., p. 5: 'Nobilitas atque praestantia scientiarum mathematicarum.' Lat. Cop. Gal., chap. 5. See n20 above. Guldin, Centrobaryca (n20 above), pp. 1-19: 'Prolegomena mathematica quibus disciplinarum mathematicarum descriptio, ordo, & divisio traditur.' Ibid., p. 1: 'Mathematica pars Philosophiae, & ratione abstractionis media inter Physicam & Metaphysicam ponenda, Scientia est Quantitatem considerans abstractam, ab omni materia sensibili.' Ibid., p. 2: '... Tertia alia componitur, utramque copiose complectens, quae Purarum disciplinarum Mathematicarum omnium nobilissima est, Divina nimirum Algebra.' Ibid., pp. 2-3: Algebra 'quae numeris utitur ut lineis, superficiebus, & corporibus;

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49 50 51

52

53

54

55

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& contra, his, ut numeris, & quodammodo hos in ilia, & ilia in hos, artis quodam miraculo transformat.' Ibid., pp. 8-10. Ibid., p. 9. Ibid., p. 8: 'Quamvis non desk qui earn ipsi Geometriae parem faciar, ut cum Deus omnia creaverit in Numero, Pondere, & Mensura, etiam Arithmetica, Statica, & Geometria, quae circa ilia versantur, Primariae sint Mathematicae scientiae, a quibus reliquae dependeant. Verum nos definition! Matheseos insistentes, a puris Mathematicis earn removemus, cum praeter quantitatem versetur etiam circa materiam sensibilem, quae est gravitas, a qua tamen, si stricte loqui velimus ac speculative, mentem similiter abstrahere licet, ut fit in consideratione linearum, & superficierum.' Ibid., pp. 11-19. Ibid., pp. 21-3. Ibid., 'Prolegomena,' p. 2: 'Omnes tamen Scientiae Mathematicae, sive Summae sint ac Primae, sive Subalternatae, dividuntur in Speculativas, Contemplatrices sive Theoricas, & in Practicas sive Operatrices ... Speculativae sola contemplatione principiorum, partium, passionum, ac proprietatum, quas affectiones vocant, propriae scientiae & objecti, contenta sunt.' Ibid., p. 23: 'Quamvis autem ternae hae definitiones solis corporibus appropriatae sint; quippe quibus solis ac unicis, physice loquendo, gravitas competit, illisque reipsa centrum gravitatis inest, aut extra positum ad ilia refertur; eadem tamen libertate, ac privilegio, quo Mathematici superficies & lineas ab ipsis corporibus, a quibus divelli nequaquam possunt, segregant, trinaque dimensione illas exuunt, atque secundum binas, & unicam tantum considerant, easdem gravitate induere nobis erit licitum; quodque de superficiebus ab aliis, magno rerum Mathematicarum commodo, atque disciplinae perfectione, utilitate excellentiaque factum legimus, etiam lineis accomodare, deque earum gravitatis centre, ad artis scientiaeque amplificationem, augmentum, supplementumque majorum vestigiis insistentibus, ratiocinari. Neque novis propterea aut definitionibus aut descriptionibus Centri opus habemus; praecedentes enim universales sunt, si voci corporis seufigurae solide substituatur vox quantitatis finitae.' My detailed analysis of this text will be published in a volume growing out of a conference held at the Max Planck Institute for the History of Science in September 1995. Paul Guldin, Dissertatio de motu terrae, in Centrobaryca, p. 143: 'Demonstravi, ut opinor, centrum mutari, & consequenter Terram moveri posse: id nimirum quod doctissimus Gabriel Vasques noster, disputatione 81 cap. 3 in Primam Secundae & affirmat, & demonstratione Mathematica evidenter ostendi posse ...' See n!3 above.

130 RivkaFeldhay 56 Cabeo, Philosophia magnetica (n!3 above), p. 69: '... concedendo quidem ad motum cuiuscunque rei gravis mutari centrum gravitatis totius terrae; hoc enim mathematicomm evidenter conficiunt rationes, nee potest a quoquam, qui in mathematicorum pulvere non dicam versatus, sed eo vel leviter aspersus sit, negari.' 57 Guldin, Dissertatio, p. 145. 58 Ibid., p. 148: Toterunt ergo illi, qui nimis de Terrae fluctuatione solliciti sunt, in sua sibi innata gravitate secure conquiescere: & Mathematicos illos qui quandoque a multis rebus physicis & mentem, & res ipsas abstrahunt, seseque ad calculos scrupulosissimos, minutiasque geometricas, ne a ventis nimirum propellantur, quasi alligant, imperturbatos in sua fluctuatione relinquere.'

132 Part Two

T

he Society of Jesus was the most strongly centralized religious order of the early modern period both in its administration and in its cultural and educational activities. Although Jesuits around the world operated with a great deal of local autonomy and initiative, they ultimately were responsible to their superior general in Rome. The Collegio Romano was the flagship institution of Jesuit university education, the Gesu was the mother church of the order, and Rome was of course the seat of power for the Catholic hierarchy. While themes of adaptability and assimilation run through several of the essays of this volume and render a complex picture of Jesuit culture and cultural diffusion, Rome remained the primary font of Jesuit action and something of a microcosm of Jesuit experience. Four aspects of Rome as a centre of cultural production are treated in the following studies. By reviewing the design and construction of the Gesu, Clare Robertson situates the much-discussed question of a pervasive Jesuit architectural style in the practical realities of imperious patrons, construction costs, and the need for acoustics suitable for preaching and singing. In so far as adaptability has been made a hallmark of Jesuit corporate culture, Robertson reminds us that it was often the necessary outcome of complex negotiations and sometimes mutually frustrating compromise. The studies by Louise Rice, Michael John Gorman, and Margaret Murata provide snapshots, as it were, of three seemingly very different forms of intellectual activity that took place in or near the Collegio Romano around the middle of the seventeenth century. Rice describes the heraldic, mythic, and emblematic symbolism of the thesis print by placing it in the context of its 'performance' on the occasion of a public defence in which the student not only demonstrated his mastery of philosophical propositions taken from Aristotle but also - and perhaps more important - put on display his (and his teacher's) mastery of literary conceits, esoteric symbolism, and musical taste in order to flatter and honour the patrons and benefactors in attendance. Continuing the theme of genteel entertainment, Gorman uses the occasion of a visit by Queen Christina of Sweden to the Collegio to analyse the various kinds of scientific activities undertaken by Athanasius Kircher and his confreres and the uses to which they were put. Jesuits at mid-century seemed eager to convert serious investigation of nature into almost theatrical displays intended for the moral edification of aristocratic visitors, and these multiple and sensational manifestations of Jesuit science raised suspicions in the minds of the Society's critics regarding the seriousness and trustworthiness of Jesuits as investigators and interpreters of nature. Kircher's scientific interests were of course extremely

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wide-ranging, and Murata finds evidence in hisMusurgia universalis not only of the beginnings of a history of music and an appreciation of the ethnographic context of musical expression, but also of a musical - or, rather, a musarithmetic - world-view, in which combinations and permutations of sounds (or symbols) could yield useful patterns as well as, if one manipulated them long enough, the ultimate harmonies inscribed in nature by God himself.

5 / Two Farnese Cardinals and the Question of Jesuit Taste CLARE ROBERTSON

The issue of whether there was a distinctive Jesuit style in art and architecture in the years from Paul Ill's approval of the order in 1540 to the end of the century has been the subject of lengthy but unsatisfactory debate. 'Jesuit style' has been variously described as the foundation of the baroque and the quintessence of Counter-Reformation art; conversely, it has been argued that Jesuit taste did not exist.1 The issue of what the Jesuits wanted from their earliest buildings can be usefully addressed by re-examining the building and decoration of the Gesu in Rome (figs 5.1, 5.2) in the light of the copious documentation that has been rediscovered in recent years, and with a focus on the often tense relations between the Jesuits and their two major patrons, the cardinals Alessandro and Odoardo Farnese.2 It has often been suggested that the Jesuits' own contribution to the design of this building was perforce limited. Certainly the Farnese input was on a major scale. But it is important to underline that this does not mean the order had no views on how its buildings ideally should look, or on how they should function in a manner appropriate to the Jesuits' ministries. As is well known, when the first General Congregation of 1558 decreed that Jesuit buildings should be 'neither sumptuous nor novel,' it made an exception for churches.3 The earliest indications, notably in the Church of the Annunziata, subsequently absorbed into the Collegio Romano, and in what seems to be Giovanni Tristano's design for the Gesu, are that a degree of austerity was nonetheless favoured, but that that austerity may have been imposed by economic necessity rather than desire.4 Other evidence suggests that certain members of the order would have preferred something grander, if possible; in particular the important document published by Klaus Schwager, a letter from Juan Alfonso de Polanco to Antonio de Araoz of June 1548, indicates that the Jesuit Pietro Codaccio, who was a former courtier of Paul III, had ready plans for 'a very big house' and 'sumptuous' plans for the

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5.1. Giacomo della Porta, fa§ade of the Gesu, Rome, 1571-2. Photo courtesy of Clare Robertson.

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136 Clare Robertson

5.2. P. Letarouilly, ground plan of the Gesu and the Casa Professa, Rome. From P. Letarouilly, Edifices de Rome moderne (Paris, 1868-74), plate 198. Photo courtesy of the Warburg Institute, London.

church, in view of the grandeur of the site and the Jesuits' ambition, but that because of the need to maintain the old church they could not yet afford to build it.5 It is tempting to suggest that the desire for a 'sumptuous' church arose in part from Farnese influence. Codaccio's plans were drawn up very shortly before Cardinal Alessandro Farnese's first documented support for the Jesuits, and it is likely that he was in touch with them before that, even though in 1548 he was showing little inclination for church building.6 Perhaps more influential were the plans for urban renewal of Paul III; Schwager has recently argued for the significance in this context of the first site granted to the Jesuits, that of Santa Maria della Strada, the site on which the Gesu was eventually to be built. This site conformed to the early Jesuits' general need to be as close as possible to the centre of a city.7 More important, Santa Maria della Strada was in the heart of an

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5.3. M. Cartaro, map of Rome showing the area around the Gesu and the Aracoeli, 1576. Photo courtesy of the Warburg Institute, London.

area which was being developed by Paul III in a very grandiose manner (fig. 5.3). It was close to the Palazzo Venezia and the Aracoeli, where Paul had had one of his most influential architectural agents, Jacopo Meleghino, build a tower as a place ofvilleggiatura^ it was close also to the Campidoglio, which Michelangelo was developing so magnificently; and it was adjacent to important ceremonial areas, near the junction of the Via Lata (the present Via del Corso) and the Via Papalis (roughly Corso Vittorio Emmanuele). Still more relevant is Schwager's identification of Meleghino as the author of a design of 1549 for the new Jesuit church and vestry, and also for a new piazza.9 The acquisition of land for a piazza so that the church could be seen from a distance in all its grandeur was a feature on which Alessandro would insist, when he came to build his church, even though it caused delays which were frustrating for the Jesuits.10 It is therefore interesting that a piazza was envisaged from the very outset. Meleghino's designs cannot conclusively be identified with the 'sumptuous' designs of 1548, but the idea should be considered, given the magnificence with which Paul III was developing the surrounding area. It is worth noting that at this period Meleghino was reporting on Paul Ill's projects to Cardinal Alessandro.

138 Clare Robertson After this initial Farnese support, there followed over a decade, admittedly difficult years for Cardinal Alessandro, for which evidence is lacking concerning his patronage intentions with respect to the Gesu. There is, however, evidence of significant activity on the part of the Jesuits, for whom a considerable number of widely differing designs for their church were produced. As mentioned, their 'inhouse' architect Tristano produced a very basic, simple design, which has the wide nave for preaching and multiple side-chapels generally regarded as key features of the early modern Catholic church.11 Nanni di Baccio Bigio, an architect who worked regularly on the periphery of the Farnese circle without ever being directly employed on one of Cardinal Alessandro's projects, apparently inherited Meleghino's post, and documentary evidence indicates that he produced a very different design, for a church with three naves with columns, illsuited, one would think, to the Jesuits' need for preaching space.12 How far this design was related to that of Meleghino it is impossible to determine. Other architects were also at work: Pirro Ligorio, also on the fringes of the Farnese circle but entrusted by Alessandro more with antiquarian duties than with architectural ones, is documented as producing a design, but it is not known whether the Jesuits or another patron commissioned it. The only thing known about the design is that it had a single nave, and was significantly longer than Nanni's building.13 There is no surviving comparable material in Pirro's oeuvre to give any other indication as to how his design might have appeared. It has also plausibly been suggested that, at the instigation of Cardinal Bartolomeo della Cueva, Michelangelo produced a new modello, working out of devotion. Once again we do not know what this looked like, though it has often been suggested, questionably in my view, that a drawing in the Uffizi reflects Michelangelo's project.14 While we are hampered by lack of evidence, the association with the Gesu of architects with such widely differing styles as these suggests that the Jesuits were prepared to be flexible over the design of their church. This suggestion is consonant with a more general sense that accommodation was a key ideal in early Jesuit corporate culture.15 The Jesuits also at this stage had relatively modest expectations, a fact which is in keeping with the simplicity of their earliest projects, like the Annunziata. Giulio Folco, Alessandro Farnese's agent, reported in August 1568, just before the definitive plan was due to be settled, that all the Jesuits wanted was a church whose cost would not exceed the 25,000 scudi proposed by Farnese, and which could be built quickly.16 That the church eventually cost about four times that sum probably has more to do with a Farnese desire for magnificence than with Jesuit ambitions.17 None of the Jesuits' early plans was executed, and it was not until 1561, when Cardinal Alessandro offered to take sole control of the commission, that there was a realistic chance of having the Gesu built; and even then there were

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5.4. G. Bonsegni, foundation medal of the Gesu, Rome, 1568. British Museum, London. Photo courtesy of the Warburg Institute, London.

uncertainties for the Society for another seven years. It is worth noting that as late as 1567, as a letter of Francisco Borja indicates, the Jesuits were, understandably, laying contingency plans to find other patrons, should Farnese pull out of the project. The documents of these years reflect considerable doubt as to whether Cardinal Farnese would be able to fulfil his promises.18 It was at the point when the final design was decided upon, as well-known documents indicate, that it becomes clear that, despite their apparent flexibility, the Jesuits did have some fixed ideas as to architectural features they wished to include or avoid. They were, however, overruled by their imperious patron, often from rather worldly motives. A particular problem for the Jesuits was Alessandro's extreme possessiveness over this commission, epitomized by his famous saying that he owned the three most beautiful things in Rome, his palace, his church, and his daughter (fig. 5.4).19 It gave rise, as is well known, to clashes with the Jesuits over the orientation of the church, which Alessandro wanted to be more or less at right angles to the existing church of Santa Maria della Strada.20 Whereas Alessandro, characteristically, was preoccupied with creating a space in front of the church, and an impressive facade prominently bearing his name, it is likely that the Jesuits' concern was pragmatic. Because for many years the neighbouring fami-

140 Clare Robertson lies had created difficulties over the Jesuits' attempts to acquire land around the church, the Jesuits perhaps feared yet more delays in the building. The order also clashed with Alessandro over his wish for a vaulted nave rather than a flat ceiling. The Jesuits were particularly worried about the acoustics of a vault, a legitimate, if ultimately unfounded, concern given the importance of music in their liturgy.21 It is interesting to note that at the same time the Jesuits in Milan were submitting to Rome for Tristano's approval a project for San Fedele with a Greek-cross ground plan, which has recently been identified by Stefano Delia Torre and Richard Schofield. In the letter accompanying the drawing the Milanese Jesuits expressed fears thatTristano would disapprove of such a plan, once more on acoustic grounds.22 Again, Jesuit priorities seem more practical than aesthetic. The documents suggest that Alessandro was receiving much expert advice on the design of the church and the layout of the surrounding area. Giulio Folco, Alessandro's agent, also had close ties with the Jesuits, and was active in offering his ideas and in buying up land on his own responsibility, in case the cardinal could use it. He is a figure who deserves further research.23 Many of the ideas over which Alessandro was at odds with the Jesuits were surely suggested by his architect, Vignola. Alessandro had known Vignola from the 1530s or early 1540s, that is, from the period when he was first learning about architecture.24 Patron and architect clearly enjoyed a good relationship until their disagreements over the Gesu's fa9ade, but that was not until 1571. The trust Alessandro placed in Vignola is demonstrated in the well-known letter of August 1568, in which he wrote, 'Provided that you observe ... the cost, the proportion, the site, and the vault, I leave the rest to your judgment.'25 It was surely Vignola's radical proposal rather than the cardinal's to design the church on an oval ground plan, for which two alternative schemes are recorded.26 Vignola had experimented with oval forms throughout Alessandro's villa at Caprarola and, more important, in a number of previous church designs. Alessandro's friend Cardinal Girolamo Garimberto had written to him praising this design in extravagant terms, laying emphasis on the magnificenza of the building, and urging, if anything, further ornamentation, qualities which one suspects would have been at odds with Jesuit wishes.27 Unfortunately there is no evidence for the Jesuits' reactions to this design, and one can only speculate as to whether it was rejected on aesthetic or on practical grounds. Similarly, it was surely as the result of Vignola's experience in other church designs that Alessandro could so confidently overrule the Jesuits on the acoustical effects of a vaulted ceiling.28 If the Jesuits had little say as to the design of the church, they seem at least to have retained a degree of control over the overall iconography of the interior, as Howard Hibbard has demonstrated.29 Nonetheless, one can detect tensions between Alessandro's wishes for the decoration of the tribune and those of the

Two Farnese Cardinals and the Question of Jesuit Taste 141 Jesuits.30 A note of work remaining to be done at Alessandro's death in 1589 records that Alessandro had intended to have the tribune decorated in mosaic. That would have been splendid in its effect, and it conforms not only with Alessandro's contemporary practice elsewhere, in the Abbazia delleTre Fontane, but also with the revival of interest, led by Cardinal Baronio, in the forms and materials of the early church.31 But again, it is unclear that the Jesuits would have been entirely happy with such a plan. The 1589 note makes the suggestion that it would be better to decorate this area in 'pittura ordinaria,' presumably fresco, because it would be cheaper and quicker.32 But the issue had to be left in the hands of Alessandro's heir, the duke of Parma, who would be paying for the work, and who eventually chose to do nothing. Cardinal Alessandro's successor, Cardinal Odoardo, was a rather less grand patron with a significantly lower income, though his fame is guaranteed by his perspicacity (or good fortune) in bringing Annibale Carracci to Rome.33 His contribution to the Jesuits in building the Casa Professa was a highly practical one, if architecturally unadventurous, and it is interesting that the documents suggest the Jesuits were active in seeking Odoardo's patronage.34 Regrettably little of Odoardo's correspondence which could shed detailed light on his dealings with the Jesuits has been found. But it is interesting to note that he followed Alessandro's example over the fa?ade of the Casa Professa: documentary evidence reveals Odoardo's insistence on having it built 'his way, that is, splendidly,' once more against Jesuit inclinations.35 Certainly the cost of the building, at a hundred thousand scudi (the same price as the Church of the Gesu), was substantial.36 When it came to the interior decoration of the Gesu, he appears to have been prepared to impose his favourite painter, Annibale Carracci; but it must be stressed that the documentation for this is exiguous, and it is not known what the Jesuits' reaction would have been. A highly tantalizing passage in Bellori's Life of Annibale states that Odoardo proposed to have Giovanni de' Vecchi's very recent frescos torn down and to have Annibale fresco the cupola (the subject is not mentioned) and paint the four Doctors of the Church in the pendentives.37 Had Annibale's ill health not prevented him from carrying out this project, the Jesuits would have been the first of the new orders to have a church with a modern baroque interior; instead, they lagged behind the others. The ideal style of Annibale's late religious works would, one might think, have been perfectly suited to the Jesuits, but one wonders whether it might not have seemed extravagant and impractical, given their more pressing needs, to destroy the existing decoration.38 So far I have suggested that for their mother church the Jesuits were essentially forced to accede to their wealthy patrons' desires, and that the concerns they were able to articulate were predominantly practical rather than stylistic. The point can

142 Clare Robertson be underlined if we look at the work of the Jesuits' own architects during the sixteenth century. What appears to beTristano's own design for the Roman Gesu is, as James S. Ackerman has pointed out, original in type and entirely practical given the Jesuits' liturgical needs, though amateurish in execution.39 His designs for Jesuit churches elsewhere have similar qualities: they are simple and practical and, above all, modest in cost.40 Once Vignola was on the scene in Rome, Tristano's role can scarcely have been a creative one - he was surely limited to putting into practice the more talented architect's ideas.41 Despite the fact that Tristano's successor, Giuseppe Valeriano, could write of a specifically Jesuit modus or consuetude in the architectural practice of the Society, it is hard to demonstrate that during the sixteenth century the Jesuits favoured any one particular style or type.42 Indeed, eclecticism seems to be the hallmark of Jesuit architecture. That is clearly demonstrated in a well-known sheet by Giovanni de' Rosis with six possible plans for Jesuit churches in a wide variety of forms, including one with aisles and a relatively narrow nave and a variant on Vignola's oval plan (fig. 5.5).43 The only thing these projects have in common is that all are enclosed within a rectangular outer wall, which makes them easy to fit into urban sites of varying dimensions.44 Still more remarkable isTibaldi's centrally planned design first proposed for San Fedele in Milan, mentioned earlier. Even though it was not eventually adopted, it was at first thought more suitable to the site than a Latin cross plan.45 It is particularly significant for our theme, since it indicates that the Jesuits did not always feel the need for a long, wide nave, so often regarded as a key early modern Catholic feature, when planning their churches.46 The correspondence concerning this plan once again demonstrates the Jesuits' highly pragmatic view of their architecture, in its emphasis that Tibaldi's centrally planned design would be cheaper to build and, better still, could be used when only half completed.47 The concerns reflected here are strikingly similar to those expressed by the Jesuits over their mother church in Rome. They suggest that if we are to speak of a Jesuit modus, at least for the sixteenth century, we should think in terms not so much of a specific architectural style as of a mode of operating and an attitude to decorum. The priorities were speed and economy of building, which necessitated a degree of austerity in many of their churches. Beyond these priorities, the Jesuits were evidently willing to be quite flexible and, moreover, to be adaptable to local architectural tradition, even within Italy. Ackerman has pointed out that Tristano's Gesu in Ferrara owes much to Ferrarese styles of building, and a similar point has recently been made about the early Seicento Jesuit churches in Naples.48 This adaptability or willingness to accommodate does appear to be a key feature of Jesuit culture in the early years, and was surely essential to their success in building so many churches in such a relatively short time. Even the

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5.5. Giovanni de' Rosis, plans for Jesuit churches, c. 1580. Biblioteca Estense, Modena. Photo courtesy of Soprintendenza per i Beni Artistici di Modena e Reggio Emilia.

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Clare Robertson

well-known demand that designs for Jesuit churches should be submitted to Rome for approval, a requirement that seems to imply firm central control, did not in practice prevent a significant diversity of architectural style according to local traditions.49 In the case of the Roman Gesu there is an additional factor: here the Jesuits were not free to make crucial decisions, and there was a constant tension between the Society and their patrons. The Jesuits seem to have been frequently overruled by their Farnese patrons, especially by Cardinal Alessandro, intent as so often on building a church characterized by its magnificenza.. If we are to speak of a style for the Gesu in Rome, it is surely a Farnese style rather than a Jesuit one. NOTES My gratitude is due to Paul Davies, Mary Hollingworth, Joseph Munitiz, S.J., Richard Schofield, and Eric Southworth for their valuable assistance in the preparation of this paper. 1 On the historiography of this issue, see Gauvin Alexander Bailey's paper in this volume, pp. 38-89. More generally on the problems of terminology, see John W. O'Malley in this volume, pp. 3-37. 2 The literature on the building of the Gesu is extensive. See in particular Pio Pecchiai, // Gesu di Roma (Rome, 1952); Pirri Trist.; Witt. Bar.; Klaus Schwager, 'La chiesa del Gesu di Roma,' Bollettino del Centra A. Palladia 19 (1977): 251-71; Bosel Jes. Italien 1:160-79; Klaus Schwager, 'Concetto e realta: Alcune precisazioni sulla difficile nascita del Gesu di Roma,' in L'architettura della Compagnia di Gesu in Italia, XVI-XVIII secolo, ed. Luciano Patetta and Stefano Della Torre (Milan, 1992), pp. 69-77; Clare Robertson, 'II Gran Cardinale': Alessandro Farnese, Patron of the Arts (New Haven and London, 1992), pp. 181-96. 3 Canon 11 of the First General Congregation, in Canones Congregationum Generalium (Rome, 1581), p. 3, cited in Luc. Saint, pp. 130-1. 4 For the Annunziata, see S. Benedetti, 'La prima architettura gesuitica a Roma: Note sulla chiesa dell'Annunziata e sul Collegio Romano,' in L'architettura della Compagnia di Gesu, ed. Patetta and Delia Torre, pp. 57-68. For Tristano's design, see the conclusions, reached independently, of Robertson, // Gran Cardinale, p. 186 and fig. 172, and Schwager, 'Concetto e realta.' 5 'Non se si sabra V.R. como Mtro. Pedro Codacio nos ha hecho con ayuda de Dios una casa harto grande, que pienso pasaran de quarenta las estantias que se habitaran comodamente; y sin ello haze trazas may ores, que y ha comprado tres casas vezinas para estender, etc. Para la yglesia haze el mesmo los disenos tan sumtuosos, teniendo el sitio y el animo grande, que no se puede comen9ar tan presto la obra; y asi estamos en yglesia incommoda y qual debe acordarse V.R., pues en ella ha

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6

7 8

9 10 11

12

13 14

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predicado ... Nuestro Padre asi porque no sabe si los que biuimos llegaremos a gozar de la yglesia segiin la traza de Mtro. Pedro Codacio, como porque vey de presente gran necessidad de reparar la yglesia y aderezarla para que se suffra venir gente de fuera a oyr la palabra de Dios y recibir los santos sacramentos, ha determinado los primeros 200 ducados 6 300, que Dios ymbiare, emplearos en esta cosa, porque no digan alcunos (como ya dizen) que fabricamos palatio para nosotros, y no curamos de la yglesia; bien que no tienen razon los que tal dizen, que mucho se ha gastado al principio en la yglesia y en los sitios' (MI Epp 2:132-3, letter no. 366, part quoted in Schwager, 'Concetto e realta,' p. 75 n8). For his support of the Jesuits, see Schwager, 'Concetto e realta,' p. 72. For Alessandro as ecclesiastical patron, see Robertson, // Gran Cardinale, chap. 4. The only religious commission that he is known to have undertaken at this time is the remarkably secular decoration by Salviati of Alessandro's private chapel in the Palazzo della Cancelleria. For this, see O'M. First, p. 36. For Meleghino, see A. Ronchini, 'Jacopo Meleghino,' Atti e memorie delle R. Deputazioni di Storia Patria per le provincie modenese et parmensi 4 (1868): 12536; Robertson, // Gran Cardinale, p. 19 and documents 2-5, 7-9, and 12. Meleghino's role as papal agent was recently clarified in a paper given by Mary Hollingsworth, 'Ideas, Agents, and Execution: Relationships between Patrons and Their Artists at Italian Renaissance Courts,' at the London Association of Art Historians' conference in April 1997.1 am indebted to her for letting me read the manuscript. For Paul's tower, see J. Hess, 'Die papstliche Villa bei Aracoeli: Bin Beitrag zur Geschichte der Kapitolischen Bauten,' Miscellanae Bibliothecae Hertziane (Munich, 1961), pp. 239-54; for the significance of its location, see F.-E. Keller, 'Residenze estive e "ville" per la corte farnesiana nel viterbese nel'500,' in / Farnese: Dalla Tuscia romana alle corti d'Europa (Viterbo, 1985), pp. 80ff. K. Schwager, 'Concetto e realta,' p. 70. Robertson, // Gran Cardinale, p. 184. Ibid., pp. 184-6 and fig. 172. For a recent discussion of early modern Catholic church building in Rome, see Klaus Schwager, 'L'architecture religieuse a Rome de Pie IV a Clement VIII,' in L'eglise dans I'architecture de la Renaissance, ed. J. Guillaume (Paris, 1995), pp. 223^44. In adopting the term 'early modern Catholic' rather than the conventional 'Counter-Reformation,' I am following the proposals made by John W. O'Malley, in this volume, pp. 3-37. See the letter of Giulio Folco of 23 August 1568 in Robertson, // Gran Cardinale, p. 185 and document 62. The letter was discovered independently by Schwager, 'Concetto e realta,' p. 70. Ibid. For this, see James S. Ackerman, The Architecture of Michelangelo: Catalogue

146 Clare Robertson

15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

23 24 25 26

27 28 29 30

31 32 33

34

35

(London, 1961), pp. 145ff. See also Schwager, 'Concetto e realta,' pp. 71ff. I have put forward, very tentatively, the hypothesis that this drawing might represent a revised version of Tristano's plan (Robertson, // Gran Cardinale, pp. 185ff). For this, see John W. O'Malley, p. 28 nl above. See n!2 above. On the cost of the building, see Robertson, // Gran Cardinale, p. 189. P. Pecchiai, // Gesu di Roma, pp. 26ff; Robertson, // Gran Cardinale, p. 184. Robertson, // Gran Cardinale, pp. 183^. Cf. the reconstruction in Schwager, 'Concetto e realta,' fig. 3. Ibid., p. 71. For a full reconstruction of the events recounted above, see Robertson, // Gran Cardinale, pp. 181-91, with further references. Stefano Delia Torre and Richard Schofield, Pellegrino Tibaldi architetto e il S. Fedele di Milano: Invenzione e construzione di una chiesa esemplare (Como, 1994), p. 121. For a brief account of his activities, see Robertson, // Gran Cardinale, p. 232. Ibid., p. 21 and passim. Pecchiai, // Gesu di Roma, p. 55. Cf. Robertson, // Gran Cardinale, p. 188ff. W. Lotz, 'Die ovalen Kirchenraume des Cinquecento,' Romisches Jahrbuchfiir Kunstgeschichte 1 (1955): 45ff; James Ackerman, 'The Gesu in the Light of Contemporary Church Design,' in Witt. Bar., pp. 24-5; Robertson, // Gran Cardinale, p. 187 and figs 174-5. Robertson, // Gran Cardinale, p. 187 and document 63. Ibid., p. 189. Hib. 'Utpict: On the complexities of Jesuit attitudes to the decoration of their early churches, see Evonne Levy, '"A Noble Medley and Concert of Materials and Artifice": Jesuit Church Interiors in Rome, 1567-1700,' in Luc. Saint, pp. 47-61. C. Robertson, // Gran Cardinale, pp. 197-200. P. Pecchiai, // Gesu di Roma, pp. 86ff. For Odoardo as patron, see R. Zapped, 'Odoardo Farnese, principe e cardinale,' in the proceedings of a conference at the Ecole Fran§aise de Rome, Les Carrache et les decors profanes (Rome, 1988), pp. 335-58; Robertson, 'The Artistic Patronage of Cardinal Odoardo Farnese,' ibid., pp. 359-72, and 'Osservazioni sul mecenatismo del cardinale Odoardo Farnese,' in I Farnese: Arte e collezionismo: Studi, ed. L. Fornari Schianchi (Milan, 1995), pp. 70-9. See also the entry by R. Zapped and C. Robertson in DBI 45:112-19. Pirri Trist., pp. 263ff. On the building of the Casa Professa, see P. Pecchiai, // Gesu di Roma, chap. 7; P. Pirri and P. di Rosa, 'II P. Giovanni de Rosis (1538-1610) e lo sviluppo dell'edilizia gesuitica,' AHSI44 (1975): 25-30. 'Di poi comparvero li disegni de la fabrica sopra i quali si discorse gran pezzo et il

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36 37 38

39 40 41 42

43 44 45 46 47 48

49

147

cardinale si risolse che la facciata la voleva fare egli a modo suo cioe splendidamente e non comunemente come i Padri s'inchinavano'; quoted in F. Fasolo, Uopera di Hieronimo e Carlo Rainaldi (1570-1655 e 1611-1691) (Rome, [I960]), p. 42. Pecchiai, // Gesii di Roma, p. 300. G.P. Bellori, Le vite de'pittori, scultori, e architetti moderni, ed. E. Borea (Turin, 1976), pp. 77-8. For the decoration of the other orders' churches, see Hask. Patr., chap. 3. For Annibale's late style, see D. Posner, Annibale Carracci: A Study in the Reform of Italian Painting around 1590 (London, 1971), chap. 11. Ackerman, 'The Gesu,' p. 17. Ackerman identified this design as Nanni's, but see n!4 above. For Tristano's architecture, see Pirri Trist. Cf. Ackerman, The Gesu,' pp. 23-6. For Valeriano, see ibid., p. 26. Valeriano's architecture is fully discussed in P. Pirri, Giuseppe Valeriano, S.I.: Architetto e pittore, 1542-96 (Rome, 1970). On the broader notion of noster modus procedendi as a description of the Jesuit way of life, see O'M. First, pp. 8ff and, for architecture, p. 357. For this sheet, see Ackerman, 'The Gesu,' p. 26 and plate 4b. For de' Rosis, see Pirri and di Rosa, 'II P. Giovanni de Rosis,' pp. 3-104. This was pointed out to me by Paul Davies. Delia Torre and Schofield, Pellegrino Tibaldi (n22 above), p. 118. Cf. P. Davies, review of Delia Torre and Schofield, Pellegrino Tibaldi, in Apollo 145 (1997): 61-2. Delia Torre and Schofield, Pellegrino Tibaldi, p. 121. Ackerman, 'The Gesu,' p. 26. See also Rudolf Wittkower's remarks in Witt. 'Prob.,' pp. 3-5. F. Divenuto, 'Una pianta centrale per la Compagnia di Gesu a Napoli: Le chiese di San Giuseppe a Chiaia e SantTgnazio al mercato,' in L'architettura della Compagnia di Gesu, ed. Patteta and Della Torre (n2 above), p. 131. Cf. Witt. 'Prob.; p. 3.

6 / Jesuit Thesis Prints and the Festive Academic Defence at the Collegio Romano LOUISE RICE

Few artistic genres are more closely associated with the Jesuits than the thesis print. It was in the colleges run by the Jesuits for the education of noble boys that the thesis print first emerged as a distinctive category of engraved image. The vogue quickly spread to the universities and other institutions of higher education, but even then the Jesuits continued to be viewed by their contemporaries as peculiarly skilled in this particular art form; indeed, was not uncommon for students at non-Jesuit schools to employ Jesuit professors to design their thesis prints for them. Popular throughout Catholic Europe from the beginning of the seventeenth century through the third quarter of the eighteenth, the thesis print fell out of fashion around the time the Society itself was suppressed in 1773. Today, despite the efforts of a small number of scholars who, in recent years, have made important contributions to their study, thesis prints remain little known to a wider audience, and their significance for an understanding of the visual culture of the Jesuits is virtually unexplored.1 This paper is intended, therefore, as a general introduction to the genre, with emphasis on the Jesuit contribution, and focusing on the Collegio Romano and its affiliated institutions in Rome. My aim is to show how the thesis print evolved, how it functioned within a larger academic and artistic context, and how it embodied ideas and assumptions central to the educational practice of the Jesuits. Thesis prints have no modern equivalent; to understand them, we need to consider the academic context for which they were created. In the early modern period, when a student successfully completed a course of studies, and if his professors deemed him sufficiently presentable and accomplished, he was eligible to undergo a public defence. The defence was a formal rhetorical exercise during which the student defender presented a series of theses or, as they were usually called, conclusions - brief topics, Aristotelian and Scholastic in nature, which he then elaborated and defended before a panel of three examiners.2 The

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conclusions were selected ahead of time and printed in the form either of small booklets or, more often, of broadsheets. The time and place of the defence were normally specified at the bottom of the broadsheet, and consequently it is sometimes assumed that the broadsheet functioned primarily as a kind of advertisement, announcing the event in advance and inviting attendance. But although it may have been common practice to post one or two copies of the sheet ahead of time, publicity was not its primary purpose. Rather, the booklet or sheet was distributed to the members of the audience during the defence itself; it served as a kind of program, which enabled the audience to follow the progress of the disputation, and was then taken home as a record or souvenir of the event. The earliest printed thesis sheets date from the first half of the sixteenth century. Initially they were entirely plain, consisting exclusively of text. By around the middle of the century they had begun to be decorated with simple woodcut imprese, or devices, usually the coat of arms of the nobleman or prelate to whom the student dedicated his conclusions, but sometimes also an academic emblem or some other kind of device. The thesis broadside of Pompeo Ugonio provides a typical example (fig. 6.1). Ugonio, who later made a name for himself as the author of a much-used guidebook to the churches of Rome, was the first person to receive a doctorate at the Seminario Romano, defending in Philosophy in 1569.3 The text consists of a lengthy dedicatory inscription followed by one hundred conclusions on Aristotelian topics ranging from logic to metaphysics. The sheet is topped with three devices: at the centre is the coat of arms of the reigning pope, Pius V, on the left those of Cardinal Savelli, to whom the conclusions were dedicated, and on the right, the impresa of the Seminario Romano. The decoration is modest enough, and yet in its emphasis on heraldry and in particular its inclusion of the coat of arms of the dedicatee, it already contains the seeds of the genre that was soon to emerge. In the last decade of the sixteenth century, the coats of arms decorating thesis broadsheets began to get more and more elaborate. It became common to include figures, at first usually personifications of virtues, who flank the dedicatee's device and imbue it with their own allegorical identities. A few years later, around 1600, the genre really took off. Suddenly, these relatively static heraldic images burst into narrative flower. In thesis prints from the first half of the seventeenth century, the coat of arms remains a central feature, but it breaks free from the formulaic prison of the shield and takes on a life of its own. Thus the column of the Colonna family arms becomes the gnomon of the first public sundial in ancient Rome, as described in Book 7 of Pliny's Natural History (fig. 6.2). The wavy band and rose of the Veralli arms are metamorphosed into a crystal stream and a rose bush of heroic proportions, attentively nurtured by Juno, Zephyr, and Jupiter (fig. 6.3). A favourite subject was the imaginary origins

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6.1. Thesis broadside of Pompeo Ugonio, who defended in Philosophy at the Serninario Romano in 1569; dedicated to Cardinal Jacopo Savelli. (Damaged.)

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6.2. Valerian Regnart. The First Public Sundial in Rome. Thesis print of Bartolommeo Boldi, who defended in Philosophy at the Collegio Romano in 1624 or 1625; dedicated to Francesco Colonna, prince of Palestrina.

of the coat of arms. Victory, receiving a triumphant Emperor Trajan, is inspired to create the Borghese arms when she witnesses the accidental superimposition of the Roman eagle standard over the captured Dacian dragon standard (fig. 6.4). Iris paints the coat of arms of Pope Gregory XV Ludovisi, modelling the three short diagonal bands on three distant rainbows; in the background, Rome on the left and Bologna, the patria of the Ludovisi, on the right are united in the sunshine of Ludovisi rule (fig. 6.5). At the Collegio Romano, themes connected with the scientific culture of the Jesuits were especially popular: geography, cartography, chronometry, optics, magnetism, distillation, horticulture, astrology, and, above all, astronomy receive fanciful treatment in scores of theses (figs 6.6, 6.7). As the century progressed, thesis prints got livelier and more complex. The heraldic element became subtler, less overt, although it remained a crucial feature. At the same time, the images grew in size relative to the text. For a while

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6.3. Francesco Villamena after Giovanni Lanfranco, The Veralli Arms Nurtured by Juno, Zephyr, and Jupiter. Thesis print of Martino Tondi, who defended in Philosophy at the Collegio Romano in 1622; dedicated to Cardinal Fabrizio Veralli.

they remained more or less confined to the top of the broadside. But by the 1630s the genre had developed to such a degree that the image began to take over, pressing the text of the conclusions ever more into the background. The trend is illustrated by the splendid thesis sheet commissioned by Lorenzo Raggi in 1637 for his Philosophy defence at the Collegio Romano, which he dedicated to Cardinal Francesco Barberini, the nephew of the reigning pope (fig. 6.8). The conclusions take up maybe a fifth of the sheet at most. The rest is given over to gorgeous and abundant decoration. Ignudi lounge along the base of the sheet, while at the top, a medallion portrait of the cardinal is exhibited by a pair of winged geniuses. The central image is rendered as a fictive tapestry, which is being hoisted aloft by two athletic satyrs perched atop sculptured herms. The tapestry represents the Golden Age: in an Arcadian landscape, Saturn holds

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6.4. Francesco Villamena, Victory Creating the Borghese Arms in the Presence of the Emperor Trajan. Thesis print of Sebastiano Venturelli, who defended in Philosophy at the Collegio Romano in 1618; dedicated to Cardinal Scipione Borghese.

court, surrounded by gods and goddesses personifying abundance, pleasure, and the blessings of peace and justice. Presiding over the scene is the cardinal's coat of arms, supported by putti, while the heraldic bees of the Barberini make honey in the hollow trunks of trees. Obviously we have come a long way from the modest thesis sheets of the previous century. In contrast to Ugonio's 1569 broadside, Raggi's is, quite simply, a work of art. Nevertheless, despite the enormous aesthetic gulf that separates these two works, it is important to recognize that they belong to the same genre, and moreover that they share the same three essential components: (1) an image, fundamentally heraldic in character, (2) a dedicatory inscription, and (3) the text of the conclusions. This basic tripartite formula remains a constant feature of decorated thesis sheets throughout the seventeenth century. As thesis sheets became more elaborate in design, so too they grew in size and luxuriousness of medium. Raggi's is almost a metre in height and others were

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6.5. Matthaeus Greuter after Antonio Pomarancio, Iris Modelling the Ludovisi Arms on Three Distant Rainbows. Thesis print of Azzone Ariosto, who defended in Philosophy at the Collegio Romano in 1621; dedicated to Pope Gregory XV.

even larger, sometimes consisting of four, six, or even nine sheets of paper glued together. Typically broadsides were issued in runs of five hundred to two thousand copies. Most were printed on paper, but these were often accompanied by a limited deluxe edition, intended for the more distinguished members of the audience, printed on silk and trimmed with gold lace and embroidery. The wealthier students lavished huge sums of money on their theses, hiring the leading painters and printmakers of the day to produce them, and commissioning such ambitious designs that often preparations had to be begun a year or more in advance of the defence. There were those who looked with concern at the ballooning cost and ever increasing extravagance of these broadsheets. Even among the Jesuits, the grand masters of the genre, there was a certain ambivalence towards such excessive display, and occasional attempts were made to limit the amount of money

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6.6. Claude Mellan after Antonio Pomarancio, Alexander the Great, Conquerer of the East, Contemplates the Conquest of the 'Infinite Worlds' Posited by Democritus and Anaxarchus. Thesis print of Francesco Rosselmini, who defended in Philosophy at the Collegio Romano in 1625; dedicated to Cardinal Carlo de' Medici.

students were allowed to spend. Already in 1603, just as the craze for thesis prints was getting under way, there was an attempt, unsuccessful as it turned out, to control it. 'No more than one hundred copies [of the conclusions] shall be printed. The coat of arms decorating the conclusions shall be no longer than one palmo [22 cm] and shall be proportionally wide. It shall not contain images of naked men and women, but shall be a simple coat of arms appropriately decorated with festoons. The conclusions shall not be printed on satin or taffeta or any other material than plain paper.'4 Another professor bemoaned the extent to which his students were distracted by the whole process: 'You cannot imagine how much time these students waste [in the preparation of their thesis sheets], and how many opportunities they seize to run hither and thither, checking up on the drawing, the plate, and the engraver, urging speed, making changes, making corrections, checking the proofs, and so on. There's no end to it! And while they

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6.7. Johann Friedrich Greuter after Antonio Pomarancio, The Capponi Arms between Rome and Florence. Thesis print of an unidentified student, c. 1625; dedicated to Cardinal Luigi Capponi.

are attending to these things, they think about nothing else but how to improve the outward show of their defence, and thus two or three months pass during which they completely neglect their studies.'5 The author went on to propose that students should no longer be allowed to commission individual thesis prints, but should share a common device with the whole college. Needless to say, the idea did not catch on, and as the century progressed the engravings only got larger and fancier. It was a rare student indeed who, like Giovanni Battista Altieri in 1608, opted to do without a thesis print, preferring instead to make his own academic brilliance the centrepiece of his defence.6 The chief fascination of thesis prints lies in their rich iconography. The subject-matter is usually derived from classical sources - whether the scene is historical, mythological, or purely allegorical - but, as we have seen, heraldic or emblematic elements transform the narrative into a visual encomium extolling

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6.8. Johann Friedrich Greuter after Gian Francesco Romanelli, The Golden Age. Thesis broadsheet of Lorenzo Raggi, who defended in Philosophy at the Collegio Romano in 1637; dedicated to Cardinal Francesco Barberini.

158 Louise Rice the student's sponsor, and sometimes also his institution. The imagery tends to be intricate, recondite, witty, and playful. Thesis prints are perhaps best understood as visual entertainments, exercises in interpretation designed to delight and instruct a learned audience. To decipher them is to enter the inverted world of Jesuit symbolism, in which pagan stories illustrate Christian precepts, female figures personify male virtues, and material objects reveal abstract truths. Heraldry is the constantly repeated theme; but it is the inventiveness, originality, and cleverness of the variations on that theme that give these images their special charm. Thesis prints are essentially images of praise. It is important to recognize that they have nothing directly to do with the conclusions they accompany; they are, in that sense, unrelated to the academic substance of the disputation. Rather, they function as an extension, or visualization, of the dedicatory inscription that usually either immediately precedes or follows them on the page. The subjectmatter of individual prints can be and often is extremely elusive and difficult to identify, and as a result it is tempting to think of these images as being intentionally cryptic. But this is to misunderstand the purpose they were originally intended to serve. As we know them today, thesis prints exist in a kind of iconographic vacuum. Those that survive more often than not have been cut from their original broadsheets (see e.g. figs 6.2,6.3,6.4,6.5,6.6,6.7, and 6.9). It is no wonder if, separated from the texts they were meant to accompany and divorced from the ceremonial circumstances for which they were created, these images sometimes strike us as enigmatic and obscure. We need to keep in mind, however, that the thesis print is a part only, a fragment of an artistic ensemble that is now largely lost. That ensemble provided the iconographic framework that enabled its intended audience to interpret the image. If we want to understand how thesis prints were meant to be viewed, we have to take a closer look at what exactly went on during a public academic defence. The defence was an important occasion in the life of a young man, for it was his first opportunity to demonstrate his skill and learning in public, and to establish his credentials with those who would have a hand in shaping his career. Every student's ambition was to attract a large and aristocratic audience, and to this end the defence evolved into a lavish spectacle, theatrical in every sense, designed to lure cardinals, princes, and ambassadors into attendance. The great hall of the college was decorated with garlands and flowers; sweet-smelling petals were strewn over the floor; and the walls were hung from top to bottom with tapestries and damasks, often loaned for the occasion by the cardinal or prince who sponsored the student. It was usual for music to be composed for defences, and performed at intervals throughout the ceremony.7 Fanfares were played at certain key moments, and one, two, four, six, or even eight separate

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choirs would perform madrigals and motets under the direction of the composer, usually the maestro di cappella of the college. When Giuseppe Paolucci defended in Philosophy at the Collegio Romano in 1654, for example, 'there was music performed by eight choirs made up of the best voices in Rome, and two orchestras, including four trumpets which accompanied the organ, a thing rarely heard before. Two of the trumpets sounded from one of the upper windows into the room.'8 Although, sadly, music written for defences almost never survives, one can readily imagine what it must have sounded like. In keeping with the occasion, it tended to be jubilant and triumphal. Martial themes were a commonplace, playing on the idea of the defence as a kind of mock warfare, an academic battle of wits between a defender and his adversaries, that is to say, his examiners. A defence that took place at the Collegio Romano in 1626 opened with a chorus singing: To arms, soldiers, while the trumpet incites furious strikes with its menacing song! ... To arms!'9 According to a contemporary description of a defence that took place in 1687, the opening chorus began with the words To arms! To arms!' while the closing chorus, which followed the student's successful completion of the exam, announced, 'Victory, victory!'10 Fortunately, if the music itself rarely comes down to us, the texts that were set to music and sung during defences have a better survival rate. These texts consisted of Latin verses, composed especially for the occasion and, at least in the case of the fancier defences, printed in the form of separate libretti, which were handed out to the audience at the same time as the broadside. Like the dedicatory address, the sung texts were closely related to the thesis print and contributed vitally to its interpretation. The defence unfolded as follows. Once the audience was seated, the student entered the room, accompanied by a musical fanfare. From the pulpit he recited a prefatory address, in which he praised his sponsor in flowery, adulatory terms. The prefatory address may in fact have been the same text as the dedicatory inscription on the broadsheet; certainly it was similar in content. There was more music when he finished the speech, and while a motet was performed, the broadsheet was distributed among the members of the audience, and unfolded and admired for the first time. This over, they got down to the 'nitty-gritty' of the academic defence; but even during the disputation, music punctuated the breaks between arguments and responses. Finally the student again ascended the pulpit to thank his sponsor for his presence and his support. There was more music while everyone filed out of the room, and the defence was over, with an elaborate feast to follow in the college refectory. The engraved broadsheet was the centrepiece of the defence, and the focus of everyone who attended. One gets a clear sense of this from the diaries of the Collegio Romano and other Jesuit schools in Rome, as well as from the avvisi, the proto-newspapers of the baroque city. Both the diaries and the avvisi abound

160 Louise Rice with references to public defences; and while the academic brilliance of the student or the scholarly interest of the disputation is sometimes mentioned in passing, what these accounts really dwell on are the trappings rather than the substance of the defence. Here is a characteristic sampling. 'Signer Francesco Rosselmini dedicated his Philosophy conclusions to Signor Cardinal Carlo de' Medici. Many prelates were present. The thesis print was beautiful, and there was also noble music.'11 'Count Giovanni Francesco Isnardi defended in Philosophy at the Collegio Romano with splendid decorations provided by Cardinal Maurizio di Savoia, to whom were dedicated the conclusions, which were adorned with a magnificent engraving.'12 'This year Signor Virgilio Spada dedicated his Philosophy conclusions to Cardinal Ludovisi, with a beautiful thesis print, music, and a large audience.'13 Although the thesis print was the focus of everyone's attention, it did not exist in isolation, but depended for its effect on textual accompaniment. Words written, spoken, and sung - provided the setting for the appreciation of the image. These texts assisted the audience in the act of interpreting what they saw. Or to put it the other way around, the print provided an interpretive springboard for what was essentially an elaborate exercise in the rhetoric of praise. When we have not only the thesis print but also the prefatory address and poems written to accompany it, we begin to get at least a sense of the interactive fun that audiences must have experienced as they were treated to this multimedia game. Here a single example, analysed in some detail, will illustrate the point. In 1623, Guglielmo Dondini, a Bolognese student at the Seminario Romano, defended in Philosophy at the Collegio Romano, dedicating his conclusions to his compatriot Cardinal Marcantonio Gozzadino.14 Dondini's thesis print, designed by Giovanni Lanfranco and engraved by Theodor Kriiger, represents the statue of Memnon in Thebes in Egypt (fig. 6.9). Legend had it that, when touched by the first light of the rising sun, the statue would make strange noises and murmurings.15 Here men from all over the world (and a couple of women, too) gather to witness the prodigy. It is dawn. As Aurora, the mother of Memnon, dips her rosy fingers into a basket of petals, signalling the start of day, the miracle is triggered by light streaming through the upper arcade of the courtyard. An inscription on the base of the statue seems to echo the words that the statue itself addresses to the rising sun: VOX MIHIDVM ADERIS, 'I will have voice while you are present.' So much for the subject. But what has the subject to do with Dondini and with his sponsor Cardinal Gozzadino, whose coat of arms is supported by Aurora near the top of the print? To answer this, we need to turn to the booklet of verses written to accompany Dondini's defence. Here the conceit is developed, both visually, in the title-page, and textually, in the prefatory address and in the poems

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6.9. Theodor Kriiger after Giovanni Lanfranco, The Speaking Statue ofMemnon at Thebes. Thesis print of Guglielmo Dondini, who defended in Philosophy at the Collegio Romano in 1623; dedicated to Cardinal Marcantonio Gozzadino.

themselves. The title-page, like the thesis print, features Gozzadino's arms (fig. 6.10). In the light of the rising sun, putti pluck fleurs-de-lys, lilies, and laurel shoots from a fertile plain and weave them into a sumptuous garland around the cardinal's stemma. The fleurs-de-lys are part of the heraldry of the Gozzadino family (a common variant of the Gozzadino arms includes a horizontal bar at the top, emblazoned with three fleurs-de-lys);16 and the lilies are merely a natural version of the same. The laurel seedlings and the rising sun, on the other hand, allude to Dondini's school, the Seminario Romano. The word 'seminary' means, literally, 'nursery,' a place where tender shoots are nurtured; and the emblem of the Seminario, playing on this derivation, represents a patch of laurel seedlings under a rising sun. 17 The thesis print, too, features the rising sun, and, in the metopes of the portico, alternating fleurs-de-lys and laurel sprigs.18 Glancing

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6.10. Johann Friedrich Greuter after Andrea Lilio, title-page to [Alessandro Donati], Memnonim ad philosophicas Gulgielmi Dondini Bonon, Sem. Rom, conv. disputationes etc, (Rome, 1623),

from the thesis print to the title-page and back again, one begins to appreciate the clever interweaving of heraldic and emblematic threads that lies at the heart of the invention. The prefatory address at the beginning of the libretto develops still further the conceit of the thesis print, and also demonstrates how that conceit was personalized and made relevant to the individuals and the situation involved. 'Like stony Memnon, who uttered sound when touched by the rays of the sun, I too, who for three years have studied Philosophy in silence, having now turned to your light,

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admirable in wisdom and cardinalitial dignity, in the illumination of your presence I speak.'19 The statue is thus likened to Dondini, the sun to Gozzadino, and the ray of light that elicits the miracle to the beneficent effects of Gozzadino's patronage.20 The three poems that follow are addressed to Memnon, Aurora, and the Sun respectively, and elaborate these same themes, playing also on the colours of the Gozzadino arms, red and white, dawn and day, cardinalitial 'purple' and the pure bright light of wisdom. The print, too, stresses the connection between Memnon's speech and Dondini's: the courtyard in distant Thebes is playfully modelled on the courtyard of the Collegio Romano, a fact that would not have escaped Dondini's audience, who had passed through that very space just moments before being presented with the print. The conceit is fanciful and full of nuance, and one can imagine the pleasure it gave, above all to Gozzadino, but also to the audience as a whole. It goes without saying that there is an element of light-heartedness in all this; the serious business of paying homage to a patron is here leavened with wit and charm.21 (Even the printmaker seems to have had a good time - or was it someone else who instructed him to insert the mysterious little Pulcinello figure who watches the scene from the upper storey of the portico on the far left, or the young dandy in contemporary dress who stands near the corresponding spot on the far right?) The invention is undeniably arcane. Most elements have multiple meanings. The sun, to take but one example, is the real sun from the legend of the speaking statue of Memnon, but also the mythological Phoebus Apollo, the emblematic sun of the Seminario Romano, the glory of Cardinal Gozzadino, and Divine Wisdom, illuminating Dondini's mind and ensuring the success of his defence: it is all these things, nor are its different meanings in any sense contradictory. Would Gozzadino have grasped these many concepts at once? If the thesis print were all he had to go on, the answer is probably no. But during the event for which the print was created, with the help of the narration that accompanied it, he would have had no difficulty in understanding the allegory in all its multiplicity of interpretation. For when he was first presented with the broadsheet, he had just heard a panegyric in his honour in which the subject and significance of the invention were already spelled out, and even as he studied the image he was listening to a motet, the verses of which provided an ampler explication of what he saw. The defence was thus a complete work of art, a performance event in modern terms, combining visual art, music, poetry, and rhetoric into a concerted ensemble. Each part of the ensemble was dependent on the rest, and was thus as ephemeral as the event itself. The print lives on as a physical object, but only by recovering as much as possible of the accompanying material can we restore something of the spirit that once animated it. Those who devised the programs for festive defences of this kind clearly had a

164 Louise Rice thorough knowledge of classical history and literature, a profound understanding of allegory, and an easy familiarity with the arcane world of emblems and heraldry. It was not in fact the students, but their professors, who provided the inventions of the thesis prints, formulated their iconography, and composed the Latin verses that accompanied them. Here again the diaries are a precious source of information. 'On the last day of August 1614, Signer Don Francisco di Guevara, the son of P. Innico di Guevara, Duke of Bovino, defended all of Philosophy in the main hall of the Collegio Romano. His conclusions were dedicated to Pope Paul V. The thesis print was extremely beautiful, and was based on an invention by Padre Bernardino Stefonio, who also composed the verses that were sung during the defence.'22 Or again: ' Count Carlo Marciano, a boarder at the Seminario Romano, defended this year in Philosophy, with conclusions dedicated to Cardinal Antonio Barberini. Padre Leone Santi devised the invention of the thesis print for these conclusions, along with a booklet of verses, which were sung, with an explanation of the thesis print engraved in copper.'23 For the elaborate defence of Benedetto Pamphili in 1676 the Jesuit priest Carlo Bovio not only designed the thesis print and wrote the poems, but seems to have acted very much as an impresario for his noble student, overseeing the production of the broadsheet, directing the printing, arranging for the music, and so on.24 Bernardino Stefonio, Leone Santi, Carlo Bovio, and their many colleagues who designed whole thesis defences at the Collegio were leading figures in the Roman literary world of their time.25 They taught rhetoric and other Humanist disciplines in the Jesuit curriculum, and were themselves prolific and accomplished poets, playwrights, and composers of ingenious emblems and epigrams. It was these men who were responsible for making the Jesuit colleges major cultural centres in baroque Rome, where people flocked to see theatre, opera, dance, and other kinds of performances and spectacle.26 Thesis prints, and the festive public defences within which they functioned, belonged to this same world of Jesuit spectacle, and it is within this context that we need to approach them. If, in our effort to give definition to the concept of Jesuit art, we think less in terms of style (always an elusive notion) and more in terms of characteristic genres, the thesis print stands out for the many ways it reflects the cultural attitudes and interests of the Society. The products of a system of education that the Jesuits were largely responsible for formulating, thesis prints employ a rich visual language that combines historical, mythological, and allegorical realms in a witty and conceitful manner, reflecting the emphasis in the Jesuit curriculum on Humanist learning, and on developing a rhetorical style, at once ornate and erudite, suitable for the practice and expression of praise. They typically involve arcane imagery and symbols, suggesting close links to the world of emblems, in which the Jesuits were the acknowledged authorities.27 Moreover, thesis prints

Jesuit Thesis Prints and the Festive Academic Defence 165 are a quintessentially elite art form, which deals in heraldry, that all-important visual currency of nobility; and this too links them to the Jesuits, who aimed their educational activities primarily at the aristocracy.28 Finally, created for a festive context and combined as they usually were with poetry and music, thesis prints belong to the realm of theatre and spectacle, for which the Jesuit colleges were justly renowned. In all these ways, thesis prints illuminate the Humanist and aristocratic culture of the Collegio Romano and of Jesuit colleges throughout Europe, and offer fertile ground for further investigation into the Jesuits' use of the visual arts in their educational enterprise. NOTES

This article is part of a larger study of Roman baroque thesis prints which I am currently preparing for publication. In conducting my reseach, I have had the support of a Mellon fellowship at the American Academy in Rome (1994-5) and a grant from the American Philosophical Society, and I am pleased to have this opportunity to acknowledge the generosity of these institutions. 1 On thesis prints in general, see Wolfgang Seitz, 'Die graphischen Thesenblatter des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts,' Wolfenbutteler Barock-Nachrichten 11 (1984): 105-14; Gregor Lechner, Das barocke Thesenblatt: Entstehung, Verbreitung, Wirkung (Furth, 1985), exhib. cat.; Anette Michels, Philosophic und Herrscherlob als Bild: Anfdnge und Entwicklung des suddeutschen Thesenblattes im Werk des Augsburger Kupferstechers Wolfgang Kilian (1583-1663)(Miinster, 1987); Sibylle AppuhnRadtke, Das Thesenblatt im Hockbarock: Studien zu einer graphischen Gattung am Beispiel der Werke Bartholomdus Kilians (Weissenhorn, 1988); Veronique Meyer, 'Les theses, leur soutenance, et leurs illustrations dans les universites fran9aises sous 1'Ancien Regime,' Melanges de la Bibliotheque de la Sorbonne 12 (1993): 45109; Werner Telesko, Thesenblatter osterreichischer Universitaten (Salzburg, 1996), exhib. cat. As the bibliography indicates, much of the research on thesis prints has focused on France, Germany, and Central Europe. On Italian thesis prints, see Veronique Meyer, 'Les frontispices de theses: Un exemple de collaboration entre peintres italiens et graveurs fran9ais,' in Seicento: La peinture italienne du XVHe siecle et la France (Paris, 1990), pp. 105-23, and my own 'Pietro da Cortona and the Roman Baroque Thesis Print,' in Pietro da Cortona: Atti del Convegno Internationale (Roma e Firenze, 12-15 novembre 1997) (Rome, 1998), pp. 189-200. 2 In the Scholastic tradition, disputations formed an essential part of a Jesuit education. Students participated in weekly and monthly disputations held privately in the college, and were trained in this way to construct a logical argument, cite appropriate authority, and embellish their speech with rhetorical flourishes. The

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festive public defence was akin to this kind of exercise, but was on a grander scale and in front of a larger audience. Public defences were generally held at the completion of either the three-year course in Philosophy or the four-year course in Theology. See M Ratio, pp. 71-7, 273-5, 376, 381-2; Ricardo Garcia-Villoslada, Storia del Collegia Romano dal suo inizio (1551) alia soppressione della Compagnia di Gesu (1773) (Rome, 1954), pp. 107-9. On the career of Pompeo Ugonio, see Frederick McGinnis, 'The Collegio Romano, the University of Rome, and the Decline and Rise of Rhetoric in the Late Cinquecento,' Roma moderna e contemporanea 3 (1995): 601-3. 'Ordini communi alii collegi d'alunni & convittori che sono in Roma dati dal Padre Provinciale 1'anno 1603 di dicembre: ... [Delle conclusioni] non se ne faccino piu di cento copie ... L'arme delle conclusioni non sia piu longa d'un palmo romano et habbia la sua proportionata larghezza. Non vi siano imagini ne d'huomini, ne di donne ignudi, ma sia uno scudo con conveniente ornamento di festoni. Non si stampino conclusioni ne in raso, ne in taffetano, ne in altro che nella carta ordinaria d'esso' (APUG vol. 2800 pp. 404-5). 'Ragioni perche non si ha da permettere alii alunni del Collegio Germanico et Ungarico il difendere conclusioni con fare armi a modo loro anzi con una comune a tutti: ... Non e possibile di credere quanto tempo perdono, e quante occasioni cercano di andare qua e la per il disegno, per la piastra, per 1'intagliatore, per sollecitare, per mutare, per emendare, per veder la prova etc., e mai si finisce ... Mentre stanno in questa aspettativa, non pensano ad altro se non a far comparire bene 1'esteriore della disputa, e cosi passano due o tre mesi senza studiar niente' (ARSI Rom. 157 II fol. 284). 'Giovanni Battista Altieri convittore [del Seminario Romano] diffese Filosofia con haver nove cardinal! nella Scuola della Teologia senza far pompa di scudo, ma solo del suo grand'ingegno' (APUG vol. 2801 p. 565). See Frederick Hammond, Music and Spectacle in Baroque Rome: Barberini Patronage under Urban VIII (New Haven and London, 1994), p. 104; Arnaldo Morelli, 'La musica a Roma nella seconda meta del Seicento attraverso 1'archivio Cartari-Febei,' in La Musica a Roma attraverso lefonti d'archivio: Atti del Convegno Internationale, ed. B.M. Antolini et al. (Rome, 1994), pp. 112-13; Graham Dixon, 'Music in the Venerable English College in the Early Baroque,' ibid., p. 477. 'Vi fu una musica ad 8 chori dove cantarono le voci piu scelte di Roma, ed oltre questi due chori d'istromenti distinti tra quali vi furono 4 trombe che suonavano d'accordo con 1'organo, cosa rare volte udita. Due di queste trombe suonavano da quella fenestra che dall'habitazione dei Padri corrisponde in sala' (ARSI Rom. 242 fol. 91). Heroicae juventutis pinacotheca ... modulis musicis celebrata dum Josephus Rubeus

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... philosophicas theses defenderet in Colleg. Roman. Soc. Jesu. (Rome, 1626), p. 3: 'Ad arma, miles; dum tuba bellicos / Cantu minaci provocat impetus; / ... Ad arma.' This particular defence took place not at the Collegio Romano, but at the rival collegia de' nobili, the Clementino. The student was Marchese Nicola di Paravagna, and the conclusions were dedicated to Queen Christina of Sweden, who attended the event with huge fanfare. For a description, see Archivio di Stato in Roma, Cartari-Febei, vol. 96 fols 174v-177v. (1625) 'II Signer Francesco Rosermino dedico le conclusioni di Filosofia al Signor Cardinal Carlo de' Medici. Vi fu gran prelatura. Vi fu bello scudo, e vi fu ancora una nobile musica' (APUG vol. 142 fol. 65v). See fig. 6.6. (1627) 'II Conte Gio. Francesco Isnardi... diffese quest'anno in Collegio Romano le conclusioni di Filosofia con bellissimo apparato fatto dal Cardinale [Maurizio] di Savoia a cui erono dedicate le conclusioni sotto un bellissimo scudo ...' (APUG vol. 2801 p. 785). Isnardi's print, by Hans Troschel after Antonio Pomarancio, is illustrated in Michela Di Macco, "'L'ornamento del principe": Cultura figurativa di Maurizio di Savoia (1619-1627),' in Le collezioni di Carlo Emanuele I di Savoia, ed. G. Romano (Turin, 1995), p. 372. (1621) 'Quest'anno il Signor Virgilio Spada ha dedicate le sue conclusioni di Filosofia al Signor Cardinal Ludovisi, con bello scudo, musica, e molto concorso' (APUG vol. 142 fol. 62). "... diffese [tutta la Filosofia] nel Salone del Collegio Romano dedicando le sue conclusioni al Cardinale [Marcantonio] Gozzadino Bolognese con un bellissimo scudo, e con un libro di poesie stampate che si cantarono fra le dispute. A queste dispute vi furono presenti nove cardinal!' (APUG vol. 2801 p. 707). Dondini went on to become a Jesuit and eventually to assume the post of Professor of Rhetoric at the Collegio Romano. Ancient authors who describe the phenomenon include Strabo, Geographia 17.1, 46; Pliny, Naturalis historia 36.58; and Tacitus, Annales 2.61. I am indebted to Diskin Clay for his help in pinning down the subject and its sources. Giovanni Battista di Crollalanza, Dizionario storico-blasonico (Pisa, 1886), I 493-4. On the emblem of the Seminario, see Silvestro Pietrasanta, De symbolis heroicis libri IX (Antwerp, 1634), pp. 423-4. Laurel, lilies, and fleurs-de-lys also appear on the scroll held by the priestly figure on the far left, along with the motto SPES MAXIMA, 'best hope.' This may be an allusion to Dondini himself, who took as his own coat of arms the fleursde-lys of his sponsor over the laurel of his school (see Crollolanza, Dizionario, I 366). Memnonius ad philosophicas Gulielmi Dondini... disputationes concentus M. Antonio Gozadino Card, illustrissimo lucem amplissimam inferente excitatus atque

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editus in aula Collegii Romani Societatis Jesu (Rome, 1623), p. 2: 'Ego quidem, qui triennali silentio Philosophiam excolui, iam tuam ad lucem conversus Sapientia Purpuraque admirabilem, instar saxei Memnonis, qui tactus Solis radijs sonum edebat, in tuo lumine vocem emitto.' A comic variant of the same learned compliment occurs in act 2 of Moliere's Malade imaginaire of 1673, where the doctor's son, fresh from university, addresses Angelique: 'Mademoiselle, ne plus ne moins que la statue de Memnon rendait un son harmonieux lorsqu'elle venait a etre eclairee des rayons du soleil, tout de meme me sens-je anime d'un doux transport a 1'apparition du soleil de vos beautes.' Moliere was himself educated by the Jesuits, and was thus intimately familiar with the brand of academic rhetoric that he here gently parodies. On related issues, see Jacqueline Lacotte, 'La notion de "jeu" dans la pedagogic des jesuites au XVIIe siecle,' Revue des sciences humaines 158 (1975): 251-68. (1614) 'Quest'anno l'ultimo d'agosto difese tutta Filosofia in Salone il Signor D. Francesco di Guevara figliuolo del P. Innico di Guevara Duca di Bovino. Le conclusioni furono dedicate a Papa Paolo V. Lo scudo era bellissimo, e 1'invenzione era del P. [Bernardino] Stefonio, come anche erano dello stesso i versi, che si cantarono' (APUG vol. 142 fol. 56v). (1634) 'II Conte Carlo Marciano essendo convittore diffese quest'anno le conclusioni di filosofia dedicate al Cardinale Antonio Barberino, per il quale Conte il P. Leone Santi fece 1'inventione dello scudo di dette conclusioni con un libretto de' versi che furono cantati, con la dichiaratione dello scudo intagliato in rame' (APUG vol. 2801 p. 909). For descriptions of Pamphili's defence and doctoral ceremony, see APUG vol. 142 fols 95r-v; Archivio di Stato in Roma, Cartari-Febei, vol. 86 fols 125v-26 and 129v-139v; Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vat. Lat. 8572, especially fol. lOr-v. See also the relevant documents in the Pamphili archives, which record the sums of money paid to Bovio for his services (e.g. Scaff. 1/42, 1/43, 2/2). The list of Jesuit literati who designed defences at the Collegio Romano includes Alessandro Donati (who wrote the poems for Dondini's defence, among others), Tarquinio Galluzzi, Girolamo Petrucci, Pietro Sfor/a Pallavicino, and Silvestro Pietrasanta. On the sophisticated literary culture of the Collegio, see the work of Marc Fumaroli, in particular 'Cicero Pontifex Romanus: La tradition rhetorique du College Romain et les principes inspirateurs du mecenat des Barberini,' Melanges de VEcole Frangaise de Rome: Moyen age - temps modernes 90 (1978): 797-835; Fum. L'dge. See also Frederick McGinnis, Right Thinking and Sacred Oratory in Counter-Reformation Rome (Princeton, 1995). See e.g. Per Bjurstrom, 'Baroque Theater and the Jesuits,' in Witt. Bar., pp. 99-110; Marc Fumaroli, 'Le "Crispus" et la "Flavia" du P. Bernardino Stefonio,

Jesuit Thesis Prints and the Festive Academic Defence 169 S.I.: Contribution a 1'histoire du theatre au Collegio Romano (1597-1628),' in Les fetes de la Renaissance, ed. J. Jacquot and E. Konigson (Paris, 1975), III 505-24. 27 See, in particular, Barbara Bauer, Jesuitiche 'Ars Rhetorica' im Zeitalter der Glaubenskampfe (Frankfurt, 1986). 28 See, in particular, the work of Gian Paolo Brizzi, including 'La formazione della classe dirigente nel Sei-Settecento,' in his / seminaria nobilium nell'Italia centrosettentrionale (Bologna, 1976); and, edited by Brizzi, La 'Ratio studiorum': Modelli culturali e pratiche educative dei gesuiti in Italia tra Cinque e Seicento (Rome, 1981).

7 / From The Eyes of All' to 'Usefull Quarries in philosophy and good literature' Consuming Jesuit Science, 1600-1665 MICHAEL JOHN GORMAN

Introduction In this paper, I would like to raise some basic questions regarding the consumption of the scientific productions of members of the Jesuit order in seventeenthcentury Europe. Focusing on the case of the Collegio Romano, I would like to try to understand how the higher, apostolic goals of the order might have shaped the constitution of specifically Jesuit spaces for the prosecution of scientific work, and how the same goals might have conditioned the forms in which 'Jesuit science' (to use a convenient but anachronistic term) manifested itself, and was appropriated (or rejected) as a commodity by those outside the order. Clearly, I do not wish to give the impression that any Jesuit engagement with the natural world, through mathematics, astronomical observation, or experimentation, during the seventeenth century was entirely 'reducible' to the desire to further the apostolic goals of the order. On the contrary, I hope that the sources I draw on will support the view, confirmed by the extraordinary wealth of recent scholarship on Jesuit science,1 that the flexible boundaries placed around Jesuit scientific practice by the consumer culture in which it found its ultimate legitimation allowed the simultaneous coexistence of an enormous variety of heterodox modes of investigation of the natural world. Rather than placing reductive bounds on Jesuit scientific production, the desire to present the Jesuit college as a multi-floored laboratory of courtly emblems and natural and artificial wonders, evinced especially by descriptions of ceremonial visits made to Jesuit colleges by important dignitaries, positively encouraged the engagement of different Jesuit mathematicians and natural philosophers with a plurality of traditions of writing about nature, depicting natural phenomena visually, and intervening with nature through experiment. At the same time, however, the emergence of the Jesuit scientist-as-

Consuming Jesuit Science, 1600-1665 171 entertainer encouraged by this wider cultural context had adverse consequences for the credibility of Jesuit natural philosophers and mathematicians. My principal focus here is on the visits made by Queen Christina of Sweden to the Collegio Romano in 1656, shortly after her abdication and conversion to Catholicism.2 The part played by Jesuit investigations of natural and artificial curiosities in the way the Collegio Romano represented itself to the convert queen is more than just a marginal aspect of some more hidden, invisible type of Jesuit scientific practice, a skin to be 'peeled away' to reveal what was 'really going on' among Jesuit scientific practitioners. Instead, it is of interest precisely as a form of cultural representation. It allows us to see the boundaries within which Jesuit scientific work was carried out and had to express itself to a member of an alien culture. The representation of Jesuit expertise on matters of mathematics and natural philosophy to the queen, even before her departure from Stockholm, was an integral part of the process leading to her conversion, as I shall argue below. More than of anything else, then, I am suggesting that the Jesuit college was a manufactory of representations, varied and constantly coming into conflict with one another. Many of the representations generated by this new, unique urban space3 were of the collegiate space itself, and internal sources portrayed it variously as a pedagogical establishment, a centre for consultancy on matters of theological or philosophical import, an astronomical viewing-station, a theatre of natural and artificial wonders, an alchemical laboratory, a clearing-house for intelligences gathered from distant Jesuit stations throughout the missionary network of the order,4 and a site of edification and entertainment. Among nonJesuits and non-Catholics, the circulation of these forms of representation, whether graphic or textual, could not be guaranteed to proceed unhindered. Indeed, sources unsympathetic to the Jesuit order as a whole could draw on the sheer polyphony of the Jesuit scientific voice as a reason for rejecting its sincerity. In science, as in theology, credibility is of primary importance, and the techniques of establishing one's credentials to speak for the natural world were deeply complicated by the incorporation of controlled experimental and observational practices into natural philosophy in the seventeenth century, as has been emphasized by much recent scholarship in the history of science.5 There can be no private science, just as there can be no private language, and one of the preconditions for the circulation of beliefs concerning wonders of nature and art is that one accepts one's source as being a passive conductor of information, a disinterested mediator of knowledge. I would thus like to look at sources that consider Jesuit scientific productions from the outside, willing or unwilling consumers of the enormous and heterodox literature produced by members of the

172 Michael John Gorman order in the scientific domain.6 While credibility may be built or unbuilt only in very specific local conditions, and a detailed exploration of the dissemination of the Jesuit scientific reputation is well beyond the scope of the present article, I would like to suggest a general shift among the community of mathematicians and natural philosophers consuming Jesuit science in the seventeenth century. My framing hypothesis, then, is that in the period between 1610 and 1666, the wider 'scientific community' converted Jesuit scientists from being 'the eyes of all,' and an immensely respected source of authority for any individual wishing to put forward novel claims about nature, to being merely 'usefull Quarries in philosophy and good literature,' to cite Sir Robert Moray's description of the mid-century Jesuit polymath Athanasius Kircher. The Uses of Expertise Whereas the sixteenth century vogue for belles-lettres prompted Jeronimo Nadal to make his famous remark that 'for the Jesuits the reason for opening colleges was never other than to win lovers of letters over to piety by means of this hook [hamus],'1 as the century progressed Italy experienced a dramatic reappraisal of the mathematical arts8 that had its equivalent in the Germanic lands in a renewed interest in the manipulation of nature through mechanics and mathematical magic.9 Jesuit mathematicians who were in touch with these developments were keenly aware of the importance to the higher goals of the order of preserving a high reputation in these newly 'ennobled' arts as well as the disciplines more traditionally associated with piety. Christoph Clavius composed a speech in 1594 that seems to have been delivered to the Fourth General Congregation of the order, in which he emphasized the need for the Society to produce expert linguists, orators, and, given the new situation, mathematicians: There is no one who does not perceive how much it is central to every objective of the Society to have some men who are most outstandingly erudite in these minor studies of mathematics, rhetoric, and language ... who would spread the eminent reputation of the Society far and wide, unite the love of noble youths, curb the bragging of the heretics in these arts, and institute a tradition of excellence in all those disciplines in the Society ... I believe it to be so ordained by nature that eminence in any subject, even of the least importance, causes the eyes of everyone to converge on oneself. This was the cause of that veneration of ancient kings for remarkable painters and sculptors. It is for this reason that in these times many Catholics have surrendered their sons by the reputation of more excellent erudition to be instructed and lost to heretics; the noble king of Scots his son to the poet Buchanan, noble Frenchmen their sons to Peter Ramus, and now the Germans to Hieronymus Wolf, an impious heretic excellently versed in Greek letters. Indeed, if now

Consuming Jesuit Science, 1600-1665 173 Demosthenes or wicked Aeschines were to read to the natives of Rome, who would not come from all the parts of the Christian world to hear such excellent orators, as much as their religion and morals repel us?10

To manufacture Jesuit experts, Clavius advocated the founding of four 'academies,' so that 'with no effort and no extra expense, in a very brief time ... in eloquence, mathematics, and discoursing in Greek and Hebrew, the Society of Jesus can have brilliant and most eminent men, who, when they are distributed in various nations and kingdoms like sparkling gems, to the great honour of the Society, will be a source of great fear to all enemies, and an incredible incitement to make the youth flock to us from all the parts of the world.'11 Such an ecstatic vision provides contextualization for the existence of a private mathematical space within the Collegio Romano, within which Clavius and his mathematical successors at the college, including Christoph Grienberger, Orazio Grassi, and Athanasius Kircher, solved geometrical problems, designed instruments, conducted experiments, and wrote letters on mathematical topics to fellow Jesuits and mathematicians outside the order.12 These private, invisible activities were given meaning and legitimation within the order by a highly public, visible function: the recruitment of noble youths to the ranks of Jesuit colleges. Consuming Jesuit Science Throughout the seventeenth century, the activities of members of the Society in mathematics and natural philosophy evoked mixed reactions from natural philosophers outside the order. The Minim friar Marin Mersenne recognized the potential of the global network of the Society as a whole to function as an enormously powerful scientific instrument when he suggested that the superior general of the Society should 'order someone in each college of the entire Society, by whatever means possible, to note accurately the variation of the magnet and the height of the polestar.' Mersenne continued: 'Let him order that one or another lunar eclipse be observed in these same houses and colleges. If this task were completed and if the authority of the supreme pontiff would lend itself to this task, the result would be that some time under the happy auspices of Urban VIII we would know the magnetic variation of the whole world, the altitudes of the pole, and the longitudes so long sought after.'13 John Beale, despite regarding the Jesuits as 'our most dangerous enemies,'14 suggested to Samuel Hartlib that it would be beneficial to 'provoke the lesuites to transport the best Telescopes to their Peru, & other Southerne plantations, and from thence to make their discoveryes,' in order to reap profit for the commonwealth of learning from the observations made by Jesuit astronomers.15

174 Michael John Gorman Reactions to the experimental productions of the Jesuit mathematicians and natural philosophers were sometimes less optimistic. Hartlib, Beale's correspondent, typified a suspicion common among Protestant intellectual elites when he jotted in his Ephimerides that 'Kircherus, Scheinerus etc. apply Mathematics to Experiments and Mechanicks etc. They are right lesuits to make a great blaze of all things etc so as to attract more admirers and contributors to their Order.'16 The librarian Thomas Barlow went a step further, suggesting that the experimental natural philosophy promulgated by Jesuits and other Catholic writers was nothing but a sinister plot designed to destroy the ability of Protestants to engage in theological disputes. He claimed to have gone to some length in order to establish the truth of this hypothesis: When I was (though unworthy) Library-Keeper, and seeing the Jesuits and Popish Party cry up their New-Philosophy; I did (by friends) send to Paris, Venice, Florence, Rome, Alcala de Henares (Academia Complutensis in Spain &c.) to inquire, whether the Jesuites, in their Colleges, train'd up their young men in the New-Philosophy; or whether (in all their Disputations) they kept them to strict form, and Aristotle's way of ratiocination? and the return I had from all places was; That none were more strict than they, in keeping all their young men, to the old principles and forms of Disputation. For they well know, that all their Schoolmen, Casuists and Controversy-Writers have so mix'd Aristotle's Philosophy, with their Divinity; that he who has not a comprehension of Aristotle's Principles, and the use of them, in all Scholastick Disputes, and Controversies of Religion, will never be able rationally to defend or confute any controverted position, in the Roman or Reformed Religion. Now, while they keep close to the old way of disputing, on the old received principles; if they can persuade us to spend our time about novel Whimsies and not well understood Experiments, and neglect the severer Studies of the old Philosophy and Scholasticall Divinity; they will (in all Divinity Disputations) be every way too hard for us.17

The fact that such entrenched resistance to Jesuit scientific production needed to be articulated at all is itself an indication of the high degree to which the writings of Jesuits on scientific matters had acquired currency in English circles during this period. Barlow's remarkably convoluted interpretation of the relationship between the apostolic goals of the order and the literary output of Jesuit natural philosophers, despite its interest for the problem of the consumption of Jesuit science in the English context, suggests that it might be a timely moment at which to look rather more closely at the links between scientific production and the other goals of the order within the space of the Jesuit college itself. Visits made to Jesuit colleges clearly cut through the architectonic spaces in which other Jesuit practices took place in the quotidian life of the college. The

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narratives describing the ways these spaces are represented to the visitor, where they have survived, are uniquely revelatory of the way in which an extremely heterodox body of practices might be made to resonate with the polyphonic corporate voice of a Jesuit college. Ceremonial visits also shed light on the experimental aspects of Jesuit science, as both royal visits and experimental demonstration belong to a wider culture of display. Seventeenth-century Jesuits played a fundamental role in creating a culture in which aristocratic witnesses and experimental demonstrations consolidated each other's status in a process of mutual legitimization.18 Although, as Louise Rice shows,19 the defence of theses concerning Aristotelian physics can constitute far more than a purely verbal performance in the Jesuit context, experiments are performed to the eye, and thus have 'built-in' theatricality. The inclusion of instrumental demonstrations and experimental performances in the power-play involved in a royal visit to a college emphasizes the theatrical connotations of Jesuit experimentalism as it manifested itself in the mid-seventeenth century. These 'tricksy' connotations were precisely the facets of Jesuit scientific production that later detracted from the credibility of Jesuit natural philosophers and mathematicians in the eyes of Hartlib, Barlow, and other reluctant consumers of Jesuit experimental performances.20 In the context of a ceremonial visit, experiments and instruments could occupy the politically charged middle-ground between the Jesuit mathematician and the princely visitor, constituting an apparently neutral site for courtly conversazione while multiplying the points of contact between the Jesuit college and other centres of political power and authority.21 The visit of the exiled Prince Charles, later Charles II of England, to the Jesuit college in Liege, where he was shown the elaborate sundials, clepsydras, and magnetic clocks of the Jesuit mathematician Francis Line, provided him with connections with the order that were to acquire huge significance during the Restoration, a significance that ran much deeper than his commissioning Line to make a dial for the Privy Gardens at Whitehall. 22 But let us return to Queen Christina. Courting Queen Christina On 11 November 1651, Athanasius Kircher wrote a letter to Queen Christina in Stockholm: Your Majesty will know that our Society not only holds you in intimate affection, as is fitting, but also esteems and admires above all other things those rare and sublime treasures bestowed by heaven that divine bounty has hoarded up in your breast. This is especially true of this Roman College of our Society, both of the famous men and writers and of the novices, who have come from all of the nations of the world, where we speak

176 Michael John Gorman thirty-five different languages, some native to Europe, Africa, and Asia, the remainder to the Indies and America. And all of them are excited by the fame of your Majesty's wisdom, and attracted by some unknown sympathetic magnetism, and their only ambition is to paint the extraordinary example of all virtues that your Majesty exhibits to the world in all the colours that it deserves.23

Christina's tour of the Collegio Romano was the culmination of a lengthy process of rapprochement between the queen and the Jesuit order which had begun in February 1652, when two Italian gentleman travellers, going by the names of Don Bonifacio Ponginibio and Don Lucio Bonanni, had arrived in the royal court in Stockholm. The two gentlemen, as Christina quickly divined, were in reality Jesuits, carefully disguised by long hair and beards. Paolo Casati and Francesco Malines, both highly trained in mathematics and theology, had set off from Venice on 8 December on their important mission to convert 'DonTeofilo,' as Goswin Nickel, the vicar-general of the order, had instructed them to call Christina in their letters. Christina had specially asked to be sent mathematically skilled Jesuits, and spent as much time with her visitors discussing Galileo's Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems, atomism, and the latest books by Danielle Bartoli and Athanasius Kircher as discussing the matters of faith that were the ostensible reason for the meeting. She received a copy of Bartoli's Dell'huomo di lettere24 from her Italian visitors, and probably availed herself of their services to send a letter to Athanasius Kircher in Rome in which she expressed a desire to have a chance to talk to the famous polymath more freely in the future.25 Curiosity played a central role in Christina's abdication and relocation in Rome. The image of Rome which the Jesuit missionary mathematicians nurtured in the queen's mind was one of a city in which the secrets of the natural world could be investigated under conditions of utter intellectual freedom, in stark contrast to the ascetic Lutheranism that reigned in Stockholm. Paradoxically, the very book that Kircher was to dedicate to Christina, the her exstaticum, ran into serious difficulties on account of the atomist matter-theory which it sanctioned and which Christina also favoured.26 The receptions of the queen in the Collegio Romano were intended to continue to convey the image of the Jesuits' showpiece college as the home of the cultivated Catholic curiosity that so appealed to the queen. Although Christina's case is conspicuous for its dramatic charge, the pattern is far from unique, and there are many other examples of monarchs and aristocrats, Catholic and Protestant, being enticed into metropolitan Jesuit colleges throughout Europe rather as Chinese literati were initially enticed into Matteo Ricci's house, by the promise of arcane knowledge, curiosities, maps, and mathematical instruments.27 A manuscript chronicle of the Collegio Romano

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7.1. Floor plan of the Collegio Romano, in Filippo Buonanni, Numismata pontificum romanorum, 2 vols (Rome, 1699), I 352. Photo courtesy of the Harvard College Library, Harvard University.

describes a huge number of such ceremonial visits, many of which involved the pharmacy of the college and, after 1651, Athanasius Kircher's museum.28 On 18 January 1656, Christina made her first visit to the Collegio Romano29 (fig. 7.1). Twenty Swiss guards were placed at the door, preventing anyone from entering the building except the pupils of the lower classes, who were all meant to await the queen in their classrooms. When she arrived, the bells rang twice, and all the Fathers, wearing cloaks, lined up inside the main door to receive her. The queen entered the college with her entourage and the door was closed. In each class she visited a pupil came forward to recite an epigram, and then presented her with a piece of printed satin brocaded with golden lace. When she had finished visiting the classes, she returned to the entrance, and went to visit the church, where she prayed to St Ignatius and at the altar of Blessed Aloysius Gonzaga, while musicians sang some motets. As she had been unable to see everything during this first visit, Christina returned to the college on 30 January. She entered by the side door, where she

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was received by the general, the Roman provincial, the rector of the college, and other members of the order. Her subsequent perambulations are described meticulously in Galeazzo Gualdo Priorato's biography of the queen, cited here in the 1658 English translation: She quickly went into the Library ... Here her Majesty entertaining her self for some time, in viewing the many volumes, took pleasure too in looking on the Modell and Platforme of the City of Jerusalem, which was left by Father Villalpando, with the description of the streets, and holy places, consecrated by the journeys and passions of our Lord Jesus Christ. She then, going about the other sides, discovered some Greek and Latin Manuscripts lying open on a Table, and could judge of the Authors, shewing very great learning. She went thence into the gallery, that was near, where Father Athanasius Kircherus the great Mathematician had prepared many curious and remarkable things, as well in nature, as art, which were in so great a number, that her Majesty said, more time was required, and less company to consider them with due attention. However she stayed some time to consider the herb called Phoenix, which resembling the Phoenix grew up in the waters perpetually out of its own ashes. She saw the fountains and clocks, which, by vertue of the load-stone turn about with secret force. Then passing through the Hall, where she looked on some Pictures well done, she went through the walkes and the garden, into the Apothecaries shop, where she saw the preparation of the ingredients of herbs, plants, metalls, gemms, and other rare things, for the making of Treacle [i.e., theriac] and balsome of life. She saw them distill with the fire of the same furnace sixty five sorts of herbs in as many distinct limbecks. She saw the philosophical calcination of ivorie, and the like. She saw extracted the spirits of Vitriol, Salt, and Aqua fortis, as likewise ajarre of pure water, which with two single drops of the quintessence of milke, was turned into true milk, the only medicine for the shortness of the breath, and affections of the breast. In fine being presented with Treacle [i.e., theriac] and pretious oyles, she went into the sacristy, where they opened all the presses, where they keep the Plate and reliques of the Church, with the great candlesticks, and vases given them by the deceased Cardinall Lodowick Lodowiso the founder of the Church. She honoured particularly the blood of St. Esuperantia a Virgin and Martyr, which, after a thousand and three hundred years, is as liquid as if newly shed. Then going into the Church she heard Mass, and at her departure, gave testimonies to the Fathers of her great satisfaction and content.30 As natural knowledge is our concern here, I will not consider Christina's public visit to the lower classes on 18 January, but will move swiftly on to her subsequent 'private' visit to two of the experimental spaces of the College Kircher's museum, and the spezieria or pharmacy.

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The Museum Kircherianum Athanasius Kircher's museum (fig. 7.2) received official recognition only with the arrival of the antiquarian collection bequeathed to the Collegio by the Roman senator Alfonso Donnini in 1651. Before then, following in the tradition of the previous senior mathematicians of the college, Kircher's own bedroom had functioned as a musaeum mathematicum, in which he built and stored machines, conducted experiments with magnets, consulted mathematical manuscripts, engaged in correspondence with other mathematicians, and performed astronomical observations. The Collegio Romano clearly occupied a special place in the network of Jesuit colleges, and in Kircher it had a resident expert on all types of arcana. Kircher's reputed knowledge of hieroglyphics, his mechanical expertise, and his learned publications on an immense variety of topics encouraged numerous people to write to him 'as to the oracle' to ask for his solutions to 'difficult questions from all of the sciences.'31 Rather than shirk visitors who might interrupt his labours, Kircher differed from his mathematical predecessors by positively encouraging the learned caller. He built a speaking tube that allowed the porters of the college to announce his guests to him in his bedroom, so that he might invite them up to see his machines and curiosities. After the 1651 Donnini bequest, Kircher's museum further legitimized the presence of the 'curious' visitor in the college.32 In the museum, the speaking tube became attached to a statue, commonly described as the 'Delphic oracle.' Speaking through the tube from a different room, Kircher, himself the museum's most spectacular exhibit, would answer the questions of his curious visitors on abstruse topics, while making the statue's eyes roll.33 The 'Apothecaries Shop' Building of the college pharmacy commenced on 5 July 1627, shortly after the commencement of work on Orazio Grassi's Church of Sant'Ignazio,34 but the existence of spetiali is evident from the catalogues of the college as far back as 1598 and earlier.35 In 1609 the category becomes 'Aromatarius,'36 before the title of pharmocopolae was bestowed upon 'Franciscus Vagiolus' and 'Franciscus Savellius' in the Catalogi of 1624-5.37 A manuscript ground-floor plan of the Collegio38 dating from the mid-seventeenth century depicts the pharmacy as occupying at least five rooms. The numerous surviving books of secrets suggest that, in addition to producing the balsam of life, theriac, and various other precious substances that could be distributed to potential patrons of the order,39 the pharmacy was used for alchemical operations as well as the production of candle-wax and even substances for combating 'carnosita,' or carnality, clearly a

180 Michael John Gorman

7,2, The Museum Kircherianum. From Georgio de' Sepi, Rotnani Collegii musaeum celeberrimum cuius magnae antiquariae rei... (Amsterdam, 1678). Photo courtesy of the Warburg Institute, London.

Consuming Jesuit Science, 1600-1665 181 dangerous enemy to the Jesuit way of life.40 As a site of display, the pharmacy had played a part in a visit made by Urban VIII to the Collegio Romano as early as 1631,41 and the enormous spagyrical furnace shown to Christina was depicted graphically in Kircher's Mundus subterraneus42 a work that relied heavily on the material resources and personnel of the pharmacy in bolstering Kircher's sustained attack on alchemical charlatans.43 By 1676 Kircher's magic lantern and telescopic observations on the loggia were being added to the list of scientific entertainments provided for the suitably well connected visitor to the Collegio Romano.44 Outside the Walls When Galileo first used the telescope to observe heavenly bodies, as Orazio Grassi reminded him in 1619, 'there were not lacking those who plainly and freely asserted ... that the telescope carries spectres to the eyes and deludes the mind with various images; and therefore, it does not display genuinely and without deception even those things which we observe close at hand, much less those which are far removed from use, except it will show them bewitched and deformed.'45 Galileo wrote to Christoph Clavius in 1610 to describe how the letter sent by the aging Jesuit astronomer in confirmation of Galileo's telescopic observations of the 'Medicean stars' had produced quasi-miraculous effects, causing Galileo to recover from an illness that had confined him to bed and convincing many who had previously rejected his observations of their veracity.46 The Jesuit mathematician Paul Guldin humorously likened Clavius's written testimony to a holy relic, as it could restore the sick to health and instil faith in the infidel.47 The attestation signed by Clavius, Grienberger, Maelcote, and Lembo answering Bellarmine's questions about the telescopic observations reported in Sidereus nuncius48 was also used by Galileo to recruit further support. This episode illustrates the extent to which the Collegio Romano was regarded, to use Grassi's phrase, as the 'eyes of all'49 at the end of the first decade of the seventeenth century. The testimony in favour of Galileo's observations was the most powerful form of legitimization available for novel claims about the natural world. Conversely, the 'cost' of disbelieving Galileo's reports, now that they were corroborated by the Jesuits, was very high, and threatened to eliminate the non-believer from membership of the community of mathematical practitioners and natural philosophers. Illustrating this point, the one issue on which the mathematicians of the Collegio were undecided - the perfect sphericity of the moon - provoked a flurry of controversy led by Galileo's Florentine opponent Ludovico delle Colombe.50 As the century progressed, the cost of disbelieving a Jesuit on a matter of natural philosophy decreased sharply, a change that was

182 Michael John Gorman fuelled by the emblematic status of the Galileo trial. At best Jesuits could be skilled, patient observers, whose observations might be recruited for the uses of the developing experimental academies. Distrusting the view of a Jesuit natural philosopher about the natural world might easily be justified by suggesting its 'congruity to some articles of their religion.'51 Jesuits could be de facto denied full membership of the Royal Society or the Academic des Sciences, while the former made every effort to gather intelligence about Athanasius Kircher's experimental techniques and the latter employed Jesuits to perform astronomical observations in the China mission with a view to solving the problem of longitude.52 The Accademia de' Lincei could try to learn from the long-distance organization of the Society of Jesus in its unhappy attempts to build up its own global network, and the later Accademia del Cimento could drop the model of Saturn championed by the Jesuit Honore Fabri without precipitating a diplomatic crisis.53 Sir Robert Moray, principal interlocutor between the Royal Society and Athanasius Kircher, presented a balanced account of the new situation when he wrote: Whatsoever Mr. Hugens & others say of Kercher, I assure you I am one of those that think the Commonwealth of learning is much beholding to him, though there wants not chaff in his heap of stuff composted in his severall peaces, yet there is wheat to be found almost every where in them. And though he doth not handle most things fully, nor accurately, yet yt furnishes matter to others to do it. / reckon him as useful! Quarries in philosophy and good literature. Curious workmen may finish what hee but blocks and rough hewes. Hee meddles with too many things to do any exquisitely, yet in some that I can name I know none goes beyond him, at least as to grasping of variety: and even that is not onely often pleasure but usefull.54

Moray changed his tune in his following letter to the secretary of the Royal Society, demonstrating the increasing fragility of Jesuit scientific credibility, and explicitly linking the failure of an experiment involving the focusing of moonbeams on substances with a powerful burning-glass to Kircher's membership of the Jesuit order: 'You will I think scarce find any thing in my letter to kercher55 whereupon hee had cause to use those expressions you mention. I do not remember I ever communicated that story of those heteroclite Tubes before I wrote to him, to any from whom I might reasonably expect a plausible account of the cause of it: what civility I may have exprest to him I do not remember but hee does but lyke other birds of his feather. Thorn saw no such matter in the experiment as kircher promises in his 2. nights observation.'56 Commenting to Boyle on the matter, Oldenburg wrote darkly, "Tis an ill Omen, me thinks,

Consuming Jesuit Science, 1600-1665 183 yt ye very first Experiment singled out by us out of Kircher, failes, and yt 'tis likely, the next will doe so too.'57 By the 1660s, as the epicentre of the scientific revolution shifted away from Italy towards the economic centres of England, France, and Holland, experiments and claims about nature were finding it ever more difficult to travel beyond the walls of the Collegio Romano to gain currency in wider scientific circles. Christopher Wren's advice to Lord Brouncker on experiments suitable for Charles II's reception in the Royal Society explicitly rejects the Jesuit courtly model of experimental entertainment, exemplified in the works of Athanasius Kircher and his disciple Kaspar Schott: 'If you have any notable experiment, that may appear to open new light into the principles of philosophy, nothing would better beseem the pretensions of the society; though possibly such would be too jejune for this purpose, in which there ought to be something of pomp. On the other side, to produce knacks only, and things to raise wonder, such as Kircher, Schottus, and even jugglers abound with, will scarce become the gravity of the occasion.'58 Wren's letter is a powerful demonstration of the strong links between experimentation, ceremonial visits, and scientific credibility in seventeenth-century Europe. Conclusion: Discipline, Accommodation, and Experimentalism Thankfully, the sweeping generalizations that used to characterize discussions of the relationship between science and religion during the seventeenth century have lost their appeal to most historians. Similar generalizations concerning 'Jesuit science' also threaten to turn a phenomenon encapsulating immense cultural diversity into a monolith. Jesuits performed their work in an enormous variety of environments, including the classroom, the court, and the Curia (fig. 7.3). Such environments demanded different modes of self-presentation, and required the Jesuit scientist to acquire fluency in different 'languages.' The facility with which Jesuit scientists adapted their work to these many different environments - one thinks of Nickel's order to his mathematical agents in Sweden to 'accommodate [themselves] to the will and talents of Don Teofilo' had serious consequences for the way in which Jesuit statements about the natural world were evaluated by natural philosophers outside the order. During a period of disciplinary formation, when institutions were arising around Europe that ostensibly wished to insulate the investigation of the natural world from other forms of human activity, the cultural ferment characteristic of the Jesuit collegiate network was perceived by many members of the new societies and academies of the seventeenth century as a polluting force, notwithstanding the considerable material and social resources wielded by the order. The mixing of clerical, courtly, theatrical, and scientific forms of life was particularly frowned

184 Michael John Gorman

7.3. The Jesuit astronomer between court and Curia: Christoph Scheiner using various techniques to observe sunspots close to the castle of his patrons, the Orsini family, on the Lago di Bracciano (above), and in his room in the Jesuit casa professain Rome (below). Engraving by Daniel Widman, from Christoph Scheiner, Rosa ursina, sive Sol, ex admirando facularum et macularum suarum phaenomeno varius (Bracciano, 1630). Photo courtesy of Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbiittel.

Consuming Jesuit Science, 1600-1665 185 upon by the members of the early Royal Society, where Jesuit natural philosophers were perceived as 'jugglers,' using sleight of hand to deceive and impress courtly patrons, whether during ceremonial visits or in folio volumes of mathematical and experimental wonders. When the 'chaff was removed from their experimental reports, the practices they described had to be sanitized and deprived of the clerical and emblematic overtones that supposedly coloured the motives of the Jesuit experimenter, rendering him a passable reader, but not a reliable interpreter, of the book of nature. NOTES

1 See especially Dear Disc., chaps 2-4; Feld. Gal.; Bald. Leg.; John L. Heilbron, Electricity in the 17th and 18th Centuries: A Study in Early Modern Physics (Berkeley, 1979), especially pp. 180-92, 195-202. 2 There is a vast bibliography on Christina, but see especially Susanna Akerman, Queen Christina of Sweden and Her Circle: The Transformation of a SeventeenthCentury Philosophical Libertine (Leiden, 1991), and Cristina di Svezia: Scienza ed alchimia nella Roma barocca (Bari, 1990); Jeanne Bignami Odier and Anna Maria Partini, 'Cristina di Svezia e le scienze occulte,' Physis A, 25:2 (1983): 251-78. Georgina Masson, Queen Christina (London, 1968), though a popularized presentation, remains useful as an overview. 3 On Jesuit urbanism, see especially Thomas M. Lucas, 'Saint, Site, and Sacred Strategy: Ignatius, Rome, and the Jesuit Urban Mission,' in Luc. Saint, pp. 17-43, and Landmarking: City, Church, and Jesuit Urban Strategy (Chicago, 1997). 4 See Steven J. Harris, 'Confession-Building, Long-Distance Networks, and the Organization of Jesuit Science,' Early Science and Medicine 1:3 (1996): 287-318. 5 See e.g. Steven Shapin and Simon Schaffer, Leviathan and the Air-pump: Hobbes, Boyle, and the Experimental Life (Princeton, 1985); Steven Shapin, A Social History of Truth: Civility and Science in Seventeenth-Century England (Chicago and London, 1994); Dear Disc., chap. 3, nl. 6 For a quantitative breakdown of the output of Jesuit scientific authors prior to the suppression, see Steven J. Harris, 'Transposing the Merton Thesis: Apostolic Spirituality and the Establishment of the Jesuit Scientific Tradition,' Science in Context J : \ (March 1989): 29-65. 7 Cited in Gabriel Codina Mir, Au sources de la pedagogic desjesuites: Le 'modus parisiensis' (Rome, 1968), p. 282. 8 See Mario Biagioli, 'The Social Status of Italian Mathematicians,' History of Science 21 (1989): 41-95. 9 For a summary of attitudes to the mathematical arts in the German lands during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, see William Clark, The Scientific Revolution in the German Nations,' in The Scientific Revolution in National Context, ed. R.S.

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13

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18 19 20

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Porter and M. Teich (Cambridge, 1992), pp. 90-114. For the particular case of astronomy, see Robert S. Westman, 'The Astronomer's Role in the Sixteenth Century: A Preliminary Study,' History of Science 18 (1980): 105^7. MPaed. 7:119-22. Ibid. On Clavius, see Lat. Cop. Gal, and Ugo Baldini, 'Christoph Clavius and the Scientific Scene in Rome,' in Gregorian Reform of the Calendar, ed. G.V. Coyne and D. Pedersen (Vatican City, 1983), pp. 137-69. On Clavius's mathematical academy, see Clav. Corr., pp. 68-89. On Grassi, see Pietro Redondi, Galileo Heretic (Princeton, 1987), and, for a different view, Pierre-Noel Mayaud, 'Une "nouvelle" affaire Galilee?' Revue d'histoire des sciences 45:2-3 (1992): 161-230. There is a large bibliography on Kircher, but for an introductory treatment see Conor Reilly, Athanasius Kircher: A Master of a Hundred Arts, 1602-1680 (Wiesbaden, 1974). I am currently preparing a study of Christoph Grienberger. Marin Mersenne, [Treatise on the magnet], in Mersenne, Correspondance, ed. C. de Waard et al., 17 vols (Paris, 1932-88), VIII 754-62, on 761. According to the editors of the correspondence, this was probably written in the spring of 1639, addressed to Naude, but intended for Kircher, who was currently soliciting the opinions of savants on magnetic phenomena prior to the composition of Magnes sive De arte magnetica (Rome, 1641). Beale to Boyle, Yeovell, 30 July 1666, in The Works of the Honourable Robert Boyle, ed. Thomas Birch, 2nd ed., 6 vols (London, 1772) VI 408-10. On Beale's involvement with the early Royal Society, see Mayling Stubbs, 'John Beale, Philosophical Gardener of Herefordshire: Part II,' Annals of Science 46 (1989): 323-63, although Stubbs does not discuss Beale's interest in the Jesuits. Beale to Hartlib, 18 January 1658, Hartlib Papers, Sheffield University Library, 51/55 A. Hartlib, Ephemerides (1648) pt 1 (January 1648), Hartlib Papers, Sheffield University Library, 31/22/1A-B. Barlow to Sir J.B. (1674), in Michael R.G. Spiller, 'Concerning Natural Experimental Philosophic': Meric Causaubon and the Royal Society (The Hague, Boston, London, 1980), pp. 30-1. Dear Disc. In her paper in this volume, pp. 148-69. For Hartlib and Barlow, see above. For an excellent case study of the theatrical connotations of Jesuit instrumental expertise, see Thomas L. Hankins and Robert Silverman, Instruments and the Imagination (Princeton, 1995), chap. 2. On experiment and conversazione, see Jay Tribby, 'Dante's Restaurant: The Cultural Work of Experiment in Early Modern Tuscany,' in The Consumption of

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22

23 24 25

26

27

28

29 30 31 32 33

Culture, 1600-1800: Image, Object, Text, ed. Ann Bermingham and John Brewer (London and New York, 1995), pp. 319-37. On the king's dial, see Conor Reilly, Francis Line, S.J.: An Exiled English Scientist, 1595-1675 (Rome, 1969), pp. 36, 97-102. On the covert links between Charles II and the Jesuits in the 1660s and 1670s, see Giuseppe Boero, Istoria delta conversione alia chiesa cattolica di Carlo II, re d'Inghilterra (Rome, 1863). Athanasius Kircher to Queen Christina of Sweden, Rome, 11 November 1651, APUG 561 fol. 50r-v, on 50r. Daniello Bartoli, Dell'huomo di lettere difeso & emendato (Bologna, 1646). See the undated letter to Kircher (to my knowledge still unpublished) in APUG 556 fol. 173r, in a more legible Italian translation on fol. 174r: 'Spero che hormai havremo un occasione piu libera, e fedele di corrispondenza mutua, e per poter communicarmi gli piu sicuramente.' Kircher eventually dedicated his 1656 her exstaticum to Christina, who mentions his plan to do so in the same letter: 'Desiderei ancor sapere, se me giudichi ancor degna a dedicarmi la sua incomparibile opera.' See Carlos Ziller Camenietzki, 'L'extase interplanetaire d'Athanasius Kircher: Philosophic, cosmologie, et discipline dans la Compagnie de Jesus au XVIIe siecle,' Nuncius 10:1 (1995): 3-32. See Spence Mem.; Pasquale M. D'Elia, Galileo in China: Relations through the Roman College between Galileo and the Jesuit Scientist-Missionaries (1610-1640) (Cambridge, Mass., 1960); Jacques Gernet, China and the Christian Impact: A Conflict of Cultures, trans. Janet Lloyd (Cambridge, 1985), p. 22. Anonymous, 'Origine del Collegio Romano e suoi progress!,' APUG 142. This manuscript forms the basis of the descriptions of ceremonial receptions given in the Collegio Romano provided in Ricardo Garcia-Villoslada, Storia del Collegio Romano dal suo inizio (1551) all soppressione delta Compagnia di Gesu (1773) (Rome, 1954). pp. 263-96. APUG 142fols81r-83r. Galeazzo Gualdo Priorato, History of Her Majesty Christina Alessandra, Queen of Swedland (London, 1658), pp. 428-31. Georgio de' Sepi. Romani Collegii musaeum celeberrimum cuius magnae antiquariae rei ... (Amsterdam, 1678), p. 65. See e.g. Kircher to Father General Gian Paolo Oliva, Rome, 5 May 1672, ARSI Rom. 38 fol. 172r. 'Kircher had a tube in the workshop [ergasterium] of his bedroom, arranged in such a way that the porters, in order to call him to the door when business demanded it, used not have to take the trouble to go all the way to his bedroom, but merely called him in a normal voice at the door that gave access to the open-air garden. He heard

188 Michael John Gorman their words as clearly as if they had been present in his bedroom, and answered in the same way, through the tube ...' (Sepi, Romani Collegii musaeum, pp. 60-1); also Kircher, Phonurgia nova (Kempten, 1673), p. 112. On the museum, see especially Findlen 'Spec.,' and Adalgisa Lugli, 'Inquiry as Collection: The Athanasius Kircher Museum in Rome,' RES 12 (1986): 109-24. 34 APUG 142 fols lr-8v: 'Nota delle spese fatte nella fabrica del Collegio Romano,' fol. 4r: 'Dal 1627 fino a tutto il 1632 furono spesi [scudi] sedicimila dugento novanta due per la fabrica della spezieria, cominciata a di 5 Luglio 1627.' 35 ARSI Rom. 79 fol.llv, and Biblioteca Nazionale Vittorio Emmanuele, Rome [hereafter BNR], Fond. Ges. 1526 fol. 35r. 36 ARSI Rom. 110 fol. 51 v. 37 Ibid., fol. 121r. 38 APUG 134, XVI: 'Abbozzo iconografico del Collegio Romano.' 39 See e.g. Athanasius Kircher to Duke August of Brunswick-Liineburg, Rome, 25 July 1665, Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbtittel, Bibliotheksarchiv n. 366. 40 Some manuscript books of secrets originating in the Collegio Romano are listed in Ilfwre dell'arte di sanare (Rome, 1992), pp. 565-70. The Fondo Curia of APUG also contains numerous manuscript books of secrets, including APUG Fond. Cur. 2087, 1381, 562, 1860/2, and 2200. The 'ceroto per la carnosita' is described in APUG Fond. Cur. 2193 fol. [40v]. On candle-wax, see APUG 134, XIV. For a study of the contents of another Jesuit pharmacy, see Carmen Ravanelli Guidotti, La farmada dei gesuiti di Novellara (Faenza, 1994). 41 APUG 142 fol. 71r; Garcia-Villoslada, Storia del Collegio Romano, p. 275. In 1646 Vicenzo Carafa visited the college and was shown a highly decorated parchment containing recipes for medicines produced in the pharmacy (BNR Fond. Ges. 1382). For the Rospigliosi family's visit to the pharmacy in 1668, see GarciaVilloslada, p. 277. 42 Athanasius Kircher, Mundus subterraneus, 2 vols (Amsterdam, 1664-5), II 392. 43 Ibid., II 320b-321a. 44 Garcia-Villoslada, Storia del Collegio Romano, p. 278. 45 Orazio Grassi, 'Astronomical and Philosophical Balance,' in The Controversy on the Comets of1618,, ed. and trans. Stillman Drake and C.D. O'Malley (Philadelphia, 1960), pp. 15-16, translating Le opere di Galileo Galilei, ed. A. Favaro, 20 vols (Florence, 1890-1909), VI 126. On the deceptive connotations of optical instruments in the seventeenth century, see Jurgis Baltrusaitis, Le miroir (Paris, 1978). 46 Galileo to Clavius, Florence, 30 December 1610, in Opere, ed. Favaro, X 499-502. 47 'Genuino itaque miraculo claras P[atris] Clavii litteras quis mox loco relliquiarum habebit? infirmis enim sanitatem reddiderunt, infidelibus fidem'; Paul Guldin to Johann Lanz, Rome, 13 February 1611, published in August Ziggelaar, 'Jesuit

tconsuringscie,166-1651

48 49

50 51 52 53

54

55 56 57 58

Astronomy North of the Alps: Four Unpublished Jesuit Letters, 1611-1620,' in Christoph Clavius e Vattivitd scientifica dei gesuiti mil'eta di Galileo, ed. Ugo Baldini (Rome, 1995), pp. 101-32, on 117-21. Mathematicians of the Collegio Romano to Bellarmine, Rome, 24 April 1611, in Galileo, Opere, ed. Favaro, XI 92-3. Orazio Grassi, 'Astronomical and Philosophical Balance,' p. 69: 'But why was it so readily believed that this Gregoriana of ours, renowned for the many interests of its academicians, should be considered as, among other things, the eyes of all, and that it ought especially to be consulted and its answers awaited?' See delle Colombe to Clavius, in Galileo, Opere, ed. Favaro, XI 118, and Galileo to Gallanzone Gallanzoni, Florence, 16 July 1611, ibid., XI 141-55. Robert Boyle, Defence ... against the Objections of Franciscus Linus, in Works, ed. Birch (n 14 above), I 118ff. See the paper by Florence Hsia in this volume, pp. 241-57. See Maria Luisa Righini Bonelli and Albert van Helden, 'Divini and Campani: A Forgotten Chapter in the History of the Accademia del Cimento,' Annali dell'Istituto e Museo di Storia della Scienza, suppl. 5 fasc. 1 (Florence, 1981). Moray to Oldenburg, Oxford, 19 October 1665, in The Correspondence of Henry Oldenburg, ed. and trans. A. Rupert Hall and Marie Boas Hall (Madison, Milwaukee, London, 1965- ), II 574-6. Emphasis added. Moray to Kircher, Whitehall, 16 February 1664/5, in APUG 563 fol. 16r-v. Moray to Oldenburg, Oxford, 16 November 1665, in tThe Correspondence, eed. Hall and Hall, II 608-11. Emphasis added. Oldenburg to Boyle, London, 21 November 1665, ibid., II 615-17. Wren to Lord Brouncker, Oxford, 30 July 1663, in Thomas Birch, The History of the Royal Society of London, 4 vols (London, 1756), I 288. On the popular topos of Catholics (and especially Jesuits) as jugglers, see Rob Iliffe, 'Lying Wonders and Juggling Tricks: Religion, Nature, and Imposture in Early Modern England,' in 'Everything Connects': Essays in Honor of Richard H. Popkin, ed. D. Katz and J. Force (Dordrecht, 1998).

8 / Music History in the Musurgia

universalis of Athanasius Kircher MARGARET MURATA

The art of music in its natural state is an oral art. Like epic and dance, it is transmitted by execution and imitation. The Jesuit Nicolao Godinho noted in 1615, for example, that the Ethiopian Christians performed 'nothing from writing, but everything from memory.'1 An enormous body of Roman chant for the mass and Divine Office had similarly been transmitted in Europe for eight hundred years before a music notation was devised. Rather than fixing and maintaining a corpus of music for performance in perpetuity, however, the invention of music writing paradoxically freed Western music from the limitations of both memory and tradition. Originally a performer's prompt, music notation came to serve also as a composer's aid, and despite its potential as a means of preservation, European musicians up to the sixteenth century regularly discarded or forgot successive repertories, except for liturgical chant. Music notation, nevertheless, does imperfectly indicate the sounds of the past, making it possible to trace musical changes in the West with some independence from verbal descriptions, which are otherwise the principal sources for writing music history. With the recovery during the Renaissance of ancient Greek treatises on music and on the physics of sound, Humanism finally began to influence writings about music and to intensify the study of music as a discipline of the quadrivium, that is, to amplify the medieval science of harmonic proportions, the mathematical ratios that explained consonance and dissonance and their use.2 Humanism also forced a kind of historical consciousness upon those who thought about music. At first, this was manifest in the making of gross distinctions between contemporary music and the lost music of pagan antiquity.3 Very soon, however, comparisons of 'ancient' with 'modern' were made between music distant by only two or three generations, with the preference not always for what was modern. In 1477 the theorist Johannes Tinctoris wrote from Naples that no polyphonic music more than forty years old was worthy of performance. But in

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1665 Pope Alexander VII wished his Sistine Chapel choir to return to the music of the 'ancient' composers of his youth, that is, to post-Tridentine music from around 1610 by Anerio and Monteverdi. The Jesuit order, then, entered the world of Western music when few questioned the prevailing repertory, and, apart from chant, the Society efficiently entrusted most musical matters to lay maestri.4 Within a hundred years, however, the Western view of music had expanded considerably, in terms of both history and geography. The sixteenth century's intense interest in ancient Greek texts on music opened new perspectives on the past. These texts were technical and highly detailed in comparison with the Bible, in which the references to music are very general. Rare examples of non-European music transcribed into Western notation began to appear and were typically offered as relics of antiquity or the primitive.5 Some seventeenth-century histories of music also tried to fill in the gap between Genesis and the Hellenistic age. Both lay and religious scholars occupied themselves with the music of the pre-Christian past. At the Collegio Romano, Athanasius Kircher brought the ancient Egyptians into the discussion. A second major alteration in the Western view of music was also stimulated by ancient Greek writings on music. From around 1600 the tension increased between the scholarly concept of music as a rational discipline of the quadrivium, based on number, and the practice of music as an expressive form of rhetoric, tied to language, or rather, in the age of explorers and missionaries, to an increasing array of human languages. If the recognition of differences is a pre-condition for the writing of history, a history must order those differences. The first books considered to be histories of music appeared around 1700. Typically cited are the Historische Beschreibung der edelen Sing- und Kling-Kunstby Wolfgang Caspar Printz, which appeared in Dresden in 1690,6 years after Printz had visited Rome and, it seems, become acquainted with the Jesuit polymath Athanasius Kircher; the 1695 Italian Historia musica of Giovanni Andrea Bontempi, which dwelt extensively on ancient Greek writings and is more a theoretical treatise than a history;7 and in France, the Histoire de la musique of Jacques Bonnet, published in 1715, though partly based on material collected earlier by his uncle (d. 1685) and brother (d. 1708).8 All three histories consider the same core 'repertories,' namely, those of biblical and classical antiquity and the Christian West. The first twelve of Printz's seventeen chapters form a chronology of music, taken from various learned references, all carefully cited. The following sections give an example of the disconnected, 'factual' fragments that make up Printz's chronicle. II.5 In Abraham's time lived the first Egyptian king, Osiris, who in his 270-year-long reign ruled to the greatest delight of his people. To him is attributed the invention of the simple pipe called the monaulos.

192 Margaret Murata II.6 Diodorus Siculus wrote in the third chapter of his first book that Osiris had been a considerable musician and that at his court he maintained a rather large group of musicians, among whom were also the nine muses. He is said to have begun his reign in the year of the world 1875, as the Tyrocinium historico-chronologicum Ursini informs us. V.3 In the thirty-third century, around the 3236th year of the world, lived the very famous musician Terpander, son of Homer, who was the first to string the lyre with seven instead of four strings ... as Plutarch shows in the Laconicis institutis. XII.76 In 1660 Andrea Bontempi of Perugia in Italy, music director of the Kurfiirst of Saxony, invented and published his Novam quatuor vocibus componendi methodum, from which one who knows nothing about music may learn how to compose.

There is order but little 'story' in Printz's history, though the entries on German musicians and a whole chapter on composers of Lutheran chorales are valuable. The French being more avid explorers and colonists at this time, Bonnet's music history goes farther afield and draws on sources that include a history of the Incas and Champlain's Voyage to America, which are cited in a general chapter on the uses of music and its effects: 'The Americans still have music that is furious and wild [emportee], with which they deafen their sick people to procure their recovery. They also use music to sweeten their labour while they work the soil with their mattocks ... They cultivate the earth in groups, of bands of a hundred or two hundred Negroes, who usually have at their head a body of musicians who sing and play instruments' (pp. 48-9). From chapters 5 to 10 (of fourteen), Bonnet follows the standard stages of history, passing from the Hebrews to the Greeks, then to the Romans and to the French from the time of the Gauls (from their fifth king, Bardus, whose namesakes are the bards). For music in France he cites the 1579 Antiquities of Claude Fauchet.9 Placed between the chapters on the Greeks and the Romans, however, is an entire chapter entitled 'Of the Opinion of the Chinese on the Origin of Music, and of Their Particular Holidays,' based on sources such as theHistoire de la Chine of Martino Martini, SJ.10 In the next-to-last chapter, Bonnet describes how the great Mughals used music for hunting, basing his text on a French Histoire des mogols. While geographically far-ranging, then, Bonnet's history, like its sources, relies only on verbal descriptions, and neither Printz nor Bonnet would have thought any form of music notation a proper or practical form of illustration, since notation was for musicians and the learned. Bontempi's book, which does have musical illustrations and charts of scale systems and interval sizes, is indeed, as mentioned earlier, a theoretical treatise for the learned. Despite its

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title, it is historical only in the sense that it looks back from the last decades of the seventeenth century to the ancient Greeks and to sixteenth-century contrapuntal practice. Printz and Bonnet, however, certainly did not invent music history as a genre. There were earlier historical studies of less universal ambitions, which have not yet been adequately explored. For example, Philippe Vendrix has called our attention to the French Benedictines' interest in the history of their order.11 In music, the Mauristes advocated the restoration of medieval plainchant, in rejection of the Tridentine reforms wrought upon chant by the Italians. Vendrix cites La science et la pratique du plain-chantof 1673 by Pierre-Benolt du Jumilhac, although he concedes that the first real history of plainchant in France does not appear until 1741 with the Traite historique et pratique sur le chant ecclesiastique of Jean LeBeuf. Pietro della Valle's 1640 argument from his own experience that 'modern' music is superior to that of the generation that preceded it is both broad and detailed enough to be considered a history of music in central Italy from about 1575.'2 He discusses music in church, chamber, and oratory, and performers as well as composers, evaluating basses, falsettists, castrati, and women singers, including well-known nuns. Also often passed over has been Athanasius Kircher's treatment of the principal phases of Western music history in his massive Musurgia universalis of 1650.13 A 1969 study by Ulf Scharlau regards Kircher's historical sections as a summary history (Abriss){44 that proceeds from the genesis of the world, to the Egyptians, who were of particular interest to Kircher, to the Hebrews, the Greeks, the early Christians, and on to terra cognita - that is, the era of music notation in the West, from Guido d'Arezzo to Kircher's contemporaries in musical theory (especially Marin Mersenne and Giovanni Battista Doni) and in composition. The historical sections have breadth, illustrative detail, and a consistent emphasis on the effects of music. Kircher has probably not been typically recognized as a historian, because he does not treat the history of music as a unified subject in one continuous section. But he works with his material as music, seeks fundamental similarities between different kinds of music, and offers explanations of their differences, all the while relying on premises that can only be called historiographic and ethnographic, even if, from a late twentiethcentury point of view, they seem naive. Book Two of the Musurgia, entitled 'Philologicus,' contains seven chapters on Hebrew and Greek music.15 It differs from the other treatments of these repertories, such as the three later ones cited above, in not confining itself to citations from antiquity and from other histories, but including a brief section on modern Jewish music with musical examples that translate accentual signs for chanting in Hebrew. l6 (Kircher had studied Hebrew as a boy in Fulda.) Similarly,

194 Margaret Murata Kircher's presentation of Greek music - without emphasis here on its theoretical sources - closes with a chapter on Byzantine notational signs and some transcriptions into Western notation. Thus, unlike most writers who treated music other than their own, Kircher did not depend solely on second-hand citations, and gave documentary importance to the dumb signs used to represent aural phenomena. Music notation provided direct evidence for the significant characteristics of a musical system. Apart from any questions of the accuracy of his concepts of Jewish or Byzantine music, for Kircher the subject of music was the sound of music, whose traces of pitch and time are represented in notation, not in images, verbal or otherwise, of music-making. Book Seven of the Musurgia, entitled 'Diacriticus,' is also historically ordered. It returns to the ancient Greeks and their music notation and dwells on plainchant and the Gregorian tones, before proceeding to modern polyphony. 'Diacriticus' is Kircher's contribution to the discussions of ancient versus modern music, to which controversies he refers. He does not, however, repeat the bythen standard accounts of the powers of Greek music or parrot the praises of modern Italian music. This is significant, because these kinds of arguments, as mentioned earlier, generated much of what became 'music history.' Instead, Kircher offers a succinct explanation of musical differences, differences that he attributes to the effects of climate, geography, and cultural habit on human temperaments and preferences. The differences between the ancient Dorians and Phrygians are likened to differences between Germans and Spaniards, as Kircher uses history in the service of a kind of anthropology. My first proposition is that the customary style of music in any one place follows from the natural temperament of its people and their constitution, which is particular to any one region. ... This very difference in musical style does not come from anywhere else except either from the spirit of the place and natural tendency, or from custom maintained by long-standing habit, finally becoming nature. The Germans for the most part are born under a frozen sky and acquire a temperament that is serious, strong, constant, solid, and toilsome, to which qualities their music conforms. And just as these qualities are consistent with lower voices, compared to people of the south the Germans rise to higher pitches with difficulty. Thus from natural propensity, they choose that in which they can succeed best, namely, a style that is serious, moderate, sober, and choral.17

As a member of an order founded on the idea that conversion was an ongoing feature of life, however, Kircher could never regard such preferences as immutable. The peoples of the East - Greeks, Syrians, Egyptians, Africans sojourning in Rome -

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could hardly endure the refined music of the Romans. They preferred their own confused and discordant voices (you would more truly call it a howling and shrieking of animals) to the said music from many parasangs away. All this proceeds, as I have said, owing to custom acquired from long use; for if the said nations had finally become accustomed to the music of the Romans, not only would they have preferred it to other music, but they would also have desired it avidly and seemed to love it. And however different are the styles of different nations, despite the famous competition between them and their contesting for primacy of place, the particular style of each should not therefore be despised; for each nation has its own taste in writing songs.18

Having established equality of origin, if not a tolerance, for differences in musical style, Kircher then moves on to present the standard explanation of music's power to move the affections, which it does by means of number and word, which move through the air to excite proportionate movements in the humours of the bodies capable of responding to them. His subsequent historical presentation of Western music from the year 1022 C.E. serves to illustrate how the development of music and its performance eventually diminished the natural powers of music. He attributes this particularly to increasing rhythmic and contrapuntal complexity.19 What Kircher establishes as 'natural' he deduces from what is common in the music of different peoples, information he gained from his Jesuit fellows: 'I have said that the diatonic mode is natural above the others, because I see that it occurs naturally in the songs of all the people of the world, as, for instance, was made plain from the various examples I gathered here in Rome in 1645 from Fathers of our Society from congregations across the whole world ... From these it will be clear that nature teaches men the diatonic genus.'20 In illustration, Kircher offers the fragment 'Allah, Allah' for Turkish mullahs and a Confucian chant (fig. 8.1). For Kircher as for his contemporaries, history and ethnography serve primarily as a rich source of exempla from which to seek the fundamental forms of God's creation. Because he sought, or sought to assert, principles, Kircher's treatments of history have a purposefulness notably absent in later recountings of the same facts, such as Printz's Historische Beschreibung. Throughout the Musurgia, Kircher remains focused on musical instruments and music itself, because for him it is the acoustical properties of music that cause its effects. For him music is a perfect science of eternal principles, of sounding numbers.21 This would seem to confirm his traditional place among the theorists of the quadrivium, of constant phenomena whose perfection proves, in Scharlau's words, 'the 2 existence of God as the coordinator of all evolution (Entwicklung).'22 According to Thomas Leinkauf, music for Kircher was the central paradigm of the proper-

196 Margaret Murata

8.1. (a) A Turkish chant. From Kircher, Musurgia, I 568. (b) A Chinese call to Confucius. Ibid.

tional-mathematical explanation of how unity can exist when a multiplicity is harmoniously in tune.23 From this point of view, the changes wrought in music that give it a history could be seen as various deviations from what is most natural, or perfect. The extent, however, of Kircher's different treatments of music, and his practical, not primarily symbolic and descriptive, use of number and geometry make him more than just a Utopian theorist with an expanded scope of musical inquiry, more than just the last figure in 'the Hermetic tradition of the Renaissance,' as he was called by Rene Taylor.24 Kircher was not a musical conservative. He did not seek a return to any 'purified' form of music, nor did he cling to the music of the first Tridentine composers. Not only do his tomes extol the latest compositions of contemporary Roman maestri, but he also invented a mechanical means of musical composition whose capabilities 'prove' music as a central paradigm of 'unity in multiplicity.' This application of history, ethnography, and theory reflects and incorporates the resources and impulses of the Society at midcentury. Book Eight, entitled 'Musurgia mirifica, hoc est Ars nova musarithmica recenter inventa,' synthesizes prosody, mathematical concepts, and an inclusionary view of the world in the form of a combinatorial, mechanical method of music composition.25 Kircher here anticipated aspects of serial techniques of music composition of the 1920s to 1960s, and invented a sort of computer program for music composition avant I'ordinateur, which was based on permutation tables of musical consonances and metric patterns (figs 8.2, 8.3, 8.4).26 Pitches are identified by scale-degree numbers in a free choice of mode, and can be set to

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197

(a)

A 2-syllable word

3 long syllables

III.

II.

3 short syllables

III.

2 3

6 7 8

2 2 3

7 8

8 7 6

7 7 8

5 5

4 2 1

5 5 5

5 1

4 5 6

5 5 1

Ve -ni

Cre-a-tor

Spi-ri-tus

(b) Mode 6 Note Tone F 8 E 7 D

6

C

5

B

4

~A

3

G

2^

F

1

8.2. A setting for the phrase 'Veni Creator Spiritus.' From Kircher, Musurgia, II 59.

198

Margaret Murata

S.3. A musarithmetic table that gives four-voice chords in Modes 6 (F) and 2 (once-transposed Dorian) for words of two to six syllables. From Kircher, Musurgia, II 60.

Music Histroy in Kircher's Musurgia 199

8.4. A table to achieve more complex music. The signs under the Roman numerals indicate words with long or short penultimate syllables. From Kircher, Musurgia 11 146.

200 Margaret Murata

8.5. A musarithmetical setting of an Armenian tercet (Kircher's transliteration). From Kircher, Musurgia, II 136.

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8.6. 'We call the musarithmetic ark a box of musarithmetic columns.' The cards in the box are titled by metric patterns and tones; the twelve columns on the lid give characteristics of the twelve Western modes. From Kircher, Musurgia, II plate 14.

simple choices of rhythmic patterns, according to how many syllables are in each word. The various orderings of combined harmonies and rhythms can be 'retrieved' to create musical clauses in four-part consonant harmony (figs 8.2, 8.5). The tables from which to produce, or reproduce, music are aligned in an 'ark' (fig. 8.6) or were arranged as sliders in a musicarithmetic abacus. When Pierre Boulez, however, employed total serialism in the 1960s, the musical whole that resulted from the combinations of possible permutations was left to chance; the music resulted from and took its desired objective validity from the system's working without the intervention of human agency. Kircher's ars combinatoria

202 Margaret Murata is, in contrast, governed by human language and belief in the power of rhetoric. It incorporates musical rhythms that directly correspond to the syllables of words, arranged in the usual metric feet and the whole range of non-isometric lyric forms - anacreontics, archilochics, sapphics, alcaics, and so on - which were standard fare. His tables combining these metres and sets of chords are the equivalent of what we could write into a software program today. In concept, if Kircher's tables were to be downloaded and processed through a synthesizer, one would hear an acceptable musical setting; today's computer would also translate the sounds into twentieth-century music notation and print it out in score. The mechanical procedure was more laborious with his 'musarithmetic ark,' as the choices from the 'data cards' have to be written down by hand in a performable score.27 True to his interest in languages, moreover, Kircher offers numerous examples of how to apply his musarithmetic to texts in Hebrew, Syriac, Arabic, Samaritan, Ethiopian, Armenian, Greek, and Italian; for Spanish, French, and German he gives only sample texts and suggests that the beginner try setting them (he is vague about 'Illyrian'). Using this procedure, all the texts in the different languages would end up set in a similar musical style - a Counter-Reformation homophony capable of melismatic and contrapuntal elaboration.28 In terms of how we understand music history, it is important to note here that, coming in the middle of the seventeenth century, Kircher's system was able to exploit the nonsyntactic nature of late Renaissance or early baroque triadic harmony, which is easily adaptable to recombinations in a multitude of additive rhythmic patterns, as compared to the more syntactic chord progressions that comprise the harmony of the late baroque music that was to come. Years later, in the 1660s, Kircher would try to invent a 'universal script' that would represent all languages by simple hieroglyphs (e.g., class, 'animal') to which would be added numbers indexed to species (e.g., no. 25, 'whale').29 In a 1982 study of Kircher and the 'exotic,' Valerio Rivosecchi called this attempt a sign of a Utopian mentality, one that 'seeks to revive within the missionary culture a golden age that preceded the confusion' after the Tower of Babel.30 He regarded this negatively, accusing Kircher of having less an ecumenical spirit than a 'will to dominate the spiritual processes of the people.' Scharlau, more moderately, regarded the results of Kircher's musical method as a practical medium for Jesuit missionaries abroad: 'Kircher saw in music a significant point of connection between the missionaries and the heathen. Through his teaching the Jesuits could offer the possibility of setting the texts of all languages, so that the heathen could come into contact with them through familiar idioms.'31 There may be truth in this, but in his non-European examples, Kircher predominantly recognizes non-Roman Christendom - the Maronites, Armenians, and Copts.

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Kircher's combinatorial method of musical composition as a homogenizing instrument for the spreading of the faith is less interesting than are his reasons for assuming that such music would be effective. What he illustrated with his 'musurgical ark' and 'musurgical abacus' was a self-contained, creative system, based on universal consonances, that, as Scharlau pointed out, could accommodate different languages of differing accentual and phrase conformations. Although the variables are systematically ordered, and although Kircher called his additive procedure 'musarithmetic,' it should be clear that it was not mathematical. The musarithmetical tables comprise just one of the many expositions in the Musurgia universalis. Throughout the ten books, what Kircher continually returns to are the various effects that musical sounds have on human feelings, including its effects as therapeutic medicine. These effects depend on particular combinations - of pitch, rhythm, sonority, and so on. If music were not an effective force acting on individuals, to his Jesuit mind all the musical erudition in the world would be nugatory and vain. Just as he equalized musical differences of style under an essentialist axiom of geography, so the choices available from his combinatorial tables are equally usable, because it is axiomatic that all are based on harmonic and harmonious frequency ratios. Furthermore, the variables are never part of 'equations,' since the choices from the tables are ultimately ordered not by their tabular relationships but by their corresponding to phrases in actual language, to be judged as rhetoric. The numbers on the tables, then, do not stand for numerical values; they are another form of notation, representations of musical components. The value ' 1.5' will not move the emotions in the way that the sound of a perfect fifth (2:3) can. Kircher was never confused about this point, only his later readers who were unfamiliar with sixteenth-century numerical tables of consonances and their descendant, baroque figured basses. The musarithmetic composer, however, is a composer. He combines numeric musical molecules like a chemical engineer, by rotating their arrangements. Like an alchemist Kircher distilled music down to its 'simples,' which could then be combined - and transformed. He respected history, depended on it, and was always willing to embrace more information, especially in the form of 'scores.' Every fact and detail that could be taken into the system could only improve the chances that a crystal would precipitate out, that a pattern in the mosaic would emerge. The musarithmetic tables thus symptomize what many have found frustrating about Kircher as a theorist, aside from errors of transcription, translation, or historical fact - that for him the way to find order was not necessarily linear or hierarchical, or necessarily based on inductive reasoning, but was closer to the anagrammatic manipulation of the permutation tables. And it is for this reason that his thought has been classed with that of the 'ancients' rather than the 'moderns,' though he was not an anachronism in his own time.32 Kircher's

204 Margaret Murata universe, of which sounding music was a version, was a kind of giant Rubik's cube - on which each tile is a representation. Transformation happens when you arrange and rearrange the representations, coming up with useful or just curious patterns and relationships - until all the tiles line up and you find the pattern that God intended. NOTES 1 Nicolao Godinho, De Abassinorum rebus deque Aethiopiae patriarchis, I.N. Barreto et A. Oviedo (Lyon, 1615), p. 136, cited in Frank Harrison, Time, Place, and Music: An Anthology of Ethnomusicological Observation, c. 1550 to c. 1800 (Amsterdam, 1973), pp. 50-1. Joao Nunes Barreto, S.J., became patriarch of Ethiopia in 1555; Andres de Oviedo, S.J., succeeded him in 1562. Harrison's volume also includes translations of musical observations by a number of other Jesuits. 2 See Claude V. Palisca, Humanism in Italian Renaissance Musical Thought (New Haven, 1985). 3 Such comparisons were pursued in many other areas of learning. The musical discussions of necessity argued from ancient writings, since hardly any ancient pagan music survived. 4 See T. Frank Kennedy, 'Jesuits and Music: Reconsidering the Early Years,' Studi musicali 17 (1988): 71-100. 5 E.g., the Jesuit-trained Marin Mersenne, O.M., offered a Canadian song and three American 'Toupinamboux' chants in his Harmonie universelle, contenant la theorie et la pratique de la musique (Paris, 1636; facs. ed. Paris, 1965), bk 3, p. 148. 6 Facs. ed., Graz, 1964. 7 Giovanni Andrea Angelini Bontempi, Historia musica, nella quale si ha piena cognitione della teorica, e della pratica antica della musica harmonica; secondo la dottrina de'greci (Perugia, 1695; facs. ed. Bologna, [1971]). 8 Histoire de la musique et de ses effets, depuis son origine jusqu 'a present (Paris, 1715; facs. ed. Geneva, 1969). An early treatment of its eldest contributor is Dora C. Vischer, Der musikgeschichtliche Traktat des Pierre Bourdelot (1610 bis 1685) (Bern, 1947). 9 Les antiquitez gauloises etfranqoises, reprinted posthumously in the two volumes of his Oeuvres (Paris, 1610; facs. ed. Geneva, 1969). 10 This history by Martini (1614-61) was issued in French in 1692. 11 Philippe Vendrix, Aux origines d'une discipline historique: La musique et son histoire en France auxXVIIe etXVIIIe siecles (Liege, [1993]). 12 Pietro della Valle, 'Delia musica dell'eta nostra, che non e punto inferiore, anzi e migliore di quella dell'eta passata,' in De' trattati di musica di Gio. Batista Doni,

Music History in Kircher's Musurgia

13 14

15

16 17

18

19 20

21

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ed. A.F. Gori, 2 vols (Florence, 1763; facs. ed. Bologna, 1974), II 249-64. Being in the form of a letter, it has no musical illustrations. A. Kircher, Musurgia universalis, sive Ars magna consoni et dissoni, 2 vols (Rome, 1650; repr. Hildesheim, 1970). Ulf Scharlau, Athanasius Kircher (1601-1680) als Musikschriftsteller: Ein Beitrag zur Musikanschauung des Barock (Marburg, 1969). Kircher's early musical training is described in Scharlau's 'Athanasius Kircher und die Musik um 1650: Versuch einer Annaherung an Kirchers Musikbegriff,' in Athanasius Kircher und seine Beziehungen zum gelehrten Europa seiner Zeit, ed. John Fletcher (Wiesbaden, 1988), pp. 53-67. Kircher defers discussion of Egyptian and Arabic music and the music of 'other Oriental peoples' to his forthcoming Oedipus aegyptiacus (Rome, 1652^-), Musurgia, I 79. Established in the Middle Ages, like the notation for Roman chant. Kircher, Musurgia, I 543^4. On this passage, see also Antonietta Alexitch, 'Musica, teologia, e scienza nella "Musurgia universalis" di A. Kircher,' Nuova rivista musicale italiana 18 (1984): 182-90, especially 187-8. Kircher, Musurgia, I 544. Bruno Pinchard explores the significance of Kircher's separation of 'nature' from 'nurture' in musical styles by discussing Kircher's distinction between the musical stylus impressus, which depends on human nature (collective and individual), and the stylus expressus, which consists of the techniques employed to create music, in 'Musique, logique, et rhetorique dans la Musurgia universalis de Kircher (elements pour une philosophic du style),' in Enciclopedismo in Roma barocca, ed. M. Casciato, M.A. lanniello, and M. Vitale (Venice, [1986]), pp. 87-100. For a broader discussion of Kircher's distinction in terms of a 'double oral culture' of music, see my 'Scylla and Charybdis, or Steering between Form and Social Context in the Seventeenth Century,' in Explorations in Music, the Arts, and Ideas: Essays in Honor of Leonard B. Meyer, ed. E. Narmour and R.A. Solie (Stuyvesant, N.Y., [1988]), pp. 67-85. Ibid., I, bk 7, chaps 4 and 5, especially p. 561. Ibid., I 568: 'Dixi diatonicum prae coeteris esse naturale, quia video hoc omnes totius orbis populos naturaliter suis in cantibus proferre; ut ex variis exemplis, quae ex Patrum Societatis nostrae hie Romae anno 1645, ex universe mundo congregatorum ore hausi, patet; verum operae precium me facturum existimavi, si in curiosi lectoris gratiam hie nonnullas diversis gentibus vulgo usitatas cantilenas proferam. Ex his enim patebit, homines genus diatonicum, naturam docere.' The naturalness of diatonic degrees was stated earlier by Mersenne, Harmonie universelle, bk 3, p. 148: 'One finds by experience that people who have no musicians among themselves sing diatonically.' 'Cum itaque musica perfecta scientia & hominibus a natura ejus semina insita sint;

206 Margaret Murata

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23

24 25

26

certum est, aeternae earn veritatis principia habere, & rationes affectuum immutabiles, uti supra lib. 2 fuse ostensum est. Abstrahendo igitur ab omnibus hujusmodi grammaticis nugamentis & vanis altercationibus quibus utpote ab inconstanti humane voluntatis principio dependentibus, derivandis nullus unquam erit finis & terminus ... Musica scientia sit numeri sonori; omne autem sonorum, ut alibi dictum est, aeris motum involvat, qui quidem si proportionatus sit, animam & auditum bene; si disproportionatus eundem male afficit' (Kircher, Musurgia, I 565, 566). Scharlau, Athanasius Kircher: Bin Beitrag, p. 287; see also Scharlau, 'Athanasius Kircher: Versuch einer Annaherung,' pp. 56-8. Elisabetta Torselli characterized Kircher's vision of the world of number: 'Everything is numbered, rhythmicized, and ordered in the universe of Athanasius Kircher, where the hen sings a minor sixth in a precise sequence of musical figures [Musurgia, I 30], the nodes on a reed of catkins are arranged as duple and sesquialtera proportions as if it were a botanical archetype of the monochord [II412], the human pulse beats in measures with so many syncopes, and even the cry of the haut, a strange animal, which this Jesuit and eager collector of the most diverse information learned of from his brothers in the American province - that from the illustration looks like a three-toed sloth - makes a hexachord from fa to re [127]. In reality the numbering imperative in Kircher has aspects of a mathematical-logical mechanism connected with the ars combinatoria of Raymond Lull'; 'Dalla "Musurgia universalis" al "Musico testore": Parole e idee per la musica tra miti antichi e prassi moderna,' in Le parole della musica, ed. F. Nicolodi and P. Trovato, 2 vols (Florence, 1994-5), I 50-1. 'Die Musurgia universalis ... analysiert die ... Bedeutungen von "Musik" als dem zentralen Paradigma der proportional-mathematischen Explikation von Einheit in harmonisch zusammenstimmende Vielheit'; Thomas Leinkauf, Mundus combinatus: Studien zur Struktur der barocken Universalwissenschaft am Beispiel Athanasius Kirchers, S.J. (1602-1680) (Berlin, [1993]) p. 26. See Taylor 'Herm.,' p. 81; the last eleven pages of Taylor's article discuss Kircher. According to Leinkauf, Mundus combinatus, p. 175, the concept of ars included combinatorial thinking from the time of Ramon Lull; nl!7 suggests how Kircher would have known the works of Lull. A hypothetical derivation of Kircher's basic tabula mirifica is in Giancarlo Bizzi, 'Musurgia universalis: Tabula mirifica omnia contrapunctisticae artis arcana revelans,' in Enciclopedismo in Roma barocca, ed. Casciato et al., pp. 101-10. Kircher's most immediate inspiration, however, must have been Mersenne; see Eberhard Knobloch, 'Musurgia universalis: Unknown Combinatorial Studies in the Age of Baroque Absolutism,' History of Science 17 (1979): 258-78. Knobloch shows that the foundation of many seventeenth-century combinatorial exercises is a specific commentary of 1581 by Cristoph Clavius. Kircher was not the first to think of music as a combination of permutational forms.

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28

29

30

31 32

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See Mersenne, Harmonic universelle, bk 2, proposition 8: 'La regie ordinaire des combinations enseigne combien Ton peut faire de chants de tel nombre de notes que Ton voudra, pourveu que 1'on retienne tousjours le mesme nombre de notes, & que 1'on ne repete jamais une mesme note deux, ou plusieurs fois.' Propositions 8-19, pp. 107-51, include 720 musical phrases on 'Ut, re, mi, fa, sol, la,' 720 numbered phrases using the tones of the minor hexachord, and a table of 256 varieties of rhythms that use four different note values. Similar tables are in Kircher, Musurgia, II 4-24, which Knobloch, 'Musurgia universalis,' considers plagiarisms (with original errors) from Mersenne. The 'arks' were actually assembled. John Fletcher documents interest in one, and the receipt of two, one of which is in Wolfenbiittel (photo in Scharlau, Athanasius Kircher: Ein Beitrag, plate 12). Samuel Pepys's version is at Magdalene College, Cambridge; see John Fletcher, 'A. Kircher and His "Musurgia universalis" (1650),' Musicology, Sydney, 7 (1982): 73-83. The most detailed demonstration of the process of composition is in Carlo Mario Chierotti, 'Comporre senza conoscere la musica: Athanasius Kircher e la musurgia mirifica, un singolare esempio di scienza musicale nell'eta barocca,' Nuova rivista musicale italiana 28 (1994): 382^-10. All Kircher's plates and tables relating to the ark are available on Chierotti's website, . Kircher demonstrated the sophisticated capabilities of his system by publishing a complete score to 'Vidi angelum ascendentem,' a dialogue or 'melothesia' for six voices, 'set in various styles' by 'Bernardino Roccio SS.D.N. Refendario, ope novae artis musarithmicae peracta' (Musurgia, II 167-84). In Athanasius Kircher, Polygraphia nova et universalis, ex combinatoria arte detecta (Rome, 1663); see also Valeric Rivosecchi, Esotismo in Roma barocca: Studi sul Padre Kircher (Rome, [1982]), figs 103-5. Rivosecchi, Esotismo, pp. 88-9; see, however, Caterina Marrone, 'Lingua universale e scrittura segreta nell'opera di Kircher,' in Enciclopedismo in Roma barocca, ed. Casciato et al., pp. 78-86. Scharlau, Athanasius Kircher: Ein Beitrag, p. 210. The deliberate neglect or even critical derision of earlier seventeenth-century combinatorialists by eighteenth-century writers in the field (see Knobloch, 'Musurgia universalis') parallels the attitude of late baroque music critics towards music before c. 1680.

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210 Part Three

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he Society of Jesus was distinguished from its earliest days by the mobility of its members, and the experience gained collectively by the Jesuits through travel profoundly informed their character and self-understanding. If the image of the erstwhile peripatetic Ignatius never leaving Rome after he became superior general of the Society symbolizes the Jesuit centre, the image of Francis Xavier departing for 'the Indies' never to return to Europe well captures Jesuit Wanderlust. Few other religious orders invested as deeply as the Jesuits both in an apostolate of education (primarily, though by no means exclusively, located in Catholic Europe) and in the overseas missions. The six essays of this section explore the ways in which the movement of personnel, practices, and knowledge from Jesuit cultural bases in Europe to the overseas missions helped, on the one hand, to unify the order and, on the other, to expose it to a bewildering range of remote and heterogeneous environments. Steven J. Harris examines the role of Jesuit travel in the making of scientific knowledge, arguing that the Society's ability to operate long-distance networks depended upon and also facilitated the development of practical forms of natural knowledge like geography, natural history, medical botany, and ethnography. Focusing on a particular instance of scientific travel, Florence Hsia recovers the circumstances, preparatory training, and overseas activities of the six French Jesuits named as 'royal mathematicians' and sent on a combined scientificdiplomatic mission to China in 1685 under the asupices of the Academie Roy ale des Sciences. Dominique Deslandres compares French Jesuit missionary attitudes and strategies in the domestic (or internal) missions of Brittany with those in the external missions of New France. She finds deep similarities in the two missions, which she attributes not only to the sharing of personnel between the two missionary fields but also to shared images of what it meant to be a Jesuit and to common goals for the salvation of 'the Other,' whether French peasant or New World 'savage.' The ability of the Society to circulate its members through a number of different theatres of apostolic activity and to maintain a degree of cultural homogeneity despite geographical dispersion is noteworthy. Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann traces the adaptation of Roman and Italianate artistic and architectural styles to an eastern European context and their subsequent transmission to Central and South America by Jesuit missionaries from the German assistancy versed in these artistic traditions. As aspects of the wholesale transfer of European cultural values, Magnus Mb'rner discusses the development of educational institutions, architectural styles, civic order, printing, and musical

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skills in the Jesuit reductions of the Rio de la Plata region of South America. Addressing a similar problem of cultural transfer in the same region, T. Frank Kennedy, S.J., looks at specific musical, artistic, and literary connections between the cultural centre of the Collegio Romano and the church of the Santisima Trinidad reduction in Paraguay.

9 / Mapping Jesuit Science: The Role of Travel in the Geography of Knowledge STEVEN J. HARRIS

Introduction: The Geography of Knowledge Ever since the work of Cornelius Wessels, Herbert Bolton, and especially Frangois de Dainville, we have known a great deal about Jesuit contributions to geography and natural history.1 As great travellers and field observers as well as authors and educators, Jesuits of the Old Society hold a special place in the history of the exploration and description of non-European lands and peoples. We need only recall that Francis Xavier's Letter from India, first published in 1545, was not only among the earliest publications of the Society but also the first letter from the East ever to be printed in Europe.2 While only briefly touching on matters that might be considered geographical, it was nonetheless the beginning of Jesuitmediated, literary descriptions of what Francis Bacon some seventy years later would call 'the remote and heterogeneous instances of nature.' What is more, this pre-Baconian Baconianism was sanctioned by Ignatius himself, though for reasons only partially motivated by the desire for the advancement of learning. As early as 1547 we find Ignatius urging missionaries in India to send information about 'such things as the climate, diet, customs and character of the natives and of the peoples of India.'3 Some years later, again in directives sent to India, Ignatius made clear the rationale behind his request: Some leading figures who in this city [Rome] read with much edification for themselves the letters from India, are wont to desire, and they request me repeatedly, that something should be written regarding the cosmography of those regions where ours [i.e., Jesuits] live. They want to know, for instance, how long are the days of summer and of winter; when summer begins; whether the shadows move towards the left or towards the right. Finally, if there are things that may seem extraordinary, let them be noted, for instance, details about animals and plants that are either not known at all, or not of such a size, etc.

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And this news - sauce for the taste of a certain curiosity that is not evil and is wont to be found among men - may come in the same letters or in other letters separately.4

In 1782, almost ten years after the Society's general suppression and almost 230 years after Ignatius's instruction, Joao de Loureiro returned to Lisbon after forty years as a Jesuit missionary in Cochinchina (Vietnam). De Loureiro had served the king of Vietnam as both court mathematician and physician, and his search for indigenous herbal remedies led him to gather more than a thousand local plant specimens for his garden and herbarium. He added another three hundred on his return journey, which took him to China, the Malabar Coast, and Mozambique, making him one of the most important - if most neglected botanical collectors of the eighteenth century.5 Between the first voyage of Francis Xavier and the last of de Loureiro, the Society produced a good deal more 'sauce' for those stay-at-homes back in Europe insatiably curious about the remote regions of the world. There were, to name but a few of the best-known representatives of this tradition, Jose de Acosta's firsthand description of the lands and peoples of Peru and Mexico, 6 Antonio de Andrade and Bento de Goes's accounts of their treks across the Himalayas,7 Pedro Paez's travels to Ethiopia and the Upper Nile,8 Samuel Fritz's journey down the Amazon River,9 Jacques Marquette's partial exploration of the Mississippi,10 Martino Martini's report of his travels in China,11 Ippolito Desideri's sojourn in Tibet,12 Eusebio Kino's exploration of northwest New Spain,13 and Joseph Tieffenthaller's extensive geographical observations in India.14 Less exotic, though no less relevant to the geographical sciences, was the work of Jesuit mathematicians who in the mid-eighteenth century were commissioned by secular and ecclesiastical rulers to conduct painstaking cartographic and meridian surveys of the Palatinate, Austria, Hungary, Silesia, China, and the Papal States.15 Before de Loureiro, dozens of other botanizing Jesuits had gathered and described plant specimens from as far away as China, the Philippines, and Ceylon in the east and from Paraguay, Peru, Mexico, and Canada in the west.16 Finally, Jesuit professors had, from the mid-seventeenth century onward, assembled cabinets, botanical gardens, and multivolume compendiums on natural history and taught geography in their classrooms all across Catholic Europe. The written works of these men are representative of the nearly eight hundred titles in geography and natural history published by Jesuits of the Old Society, a figure which accounts for about one-seventh of the entire Jesuit scientific corpus. The sheer number and variety of works in these fields compels us to ask the obvious: Why would a religious order of clerks regular invest so much of its collective energy in the profane (and non-mathematical) sciences? To say that they were acting at the direct command of Ignatius is of course to answer

214 Steven J. Harris inadequately; like so much else in the Society, the intellectual ramification of the Society cannot always be so easily reduced to, or explained by, an Ignatian seed. Rather, the development of a robust tradition in the natural sciences took place in the daily and local contexts in which Jesuits found themselves. In this respect, we need to remind ourselves of three basic facts: none of our Jesuit explorers and authors were naturalists or geographers by training or profession, none travelled or worked as naturalists or geographers per se, and even in the eighteenth century none travelled at the behest of any of the major scientific academies.17 With few exceptions, they worked as missionaries and/or served, in one capacity or another, as educators - though not necessarily as professors - within the Society. The knowledge of the natural world they produced was knowledge that arose in the course of their work, their 'profession,' as Jesuits. Thus neither their practice of, nor their contributions to, nor their publications in geography and natural history can be separated from their travels as agents of the Society.18 In other words, the question, Why did an order of priests and theologians produce so many works in the natural sciences? is, in my view, only a corollary of the more basic question, Why (and how) did Jesuits travel? Thus, while there is still much for us to learn from the travel reports and published treatises of these and other Jesuit naturalists and geographers, the question I wish to explore here is not primarily about Jesuit knowledge of geography, but about the geography of Jesuit knowledge. These are by no means unrelated questions, and there is more at stake here than simple word-play. What I mean by 'geography of knowledge' is simply a systematic account of the spatial distribution and motion of the people, texts, and objects required by Jesuits in their production of knowledge, specifically knowledge of the natural world. By casting the problem of knowledge production in terms of geography, I am really asking a question about the role of travel in the making of scientific knowledge.19 The Society, after all, was a disciplined corporation whose members were farflung, well travelled, and well informed. We might therefore expect to find that knowledge production depended not only upon the specific conditions of a given local context (say, the intellectual and political tensions attending mathematical and experimental knowledge-claims of Jesuits working in the Collegio Romano in the decades after the trial of Galileo)20 but also upon the material and informational resources made available to local actors by virtue of a spatially distributed network of trusted confreres. At least in the case of the Society of Jesus (and I suspect in a number of other well-defined and well-run corporations of the early modern period),21 there is great advantage in thinking of scientific knowledge as simultaneously - and reciprocally - local (i.e., 'embedded' or 'situated') and distributed. While I shall focus largely on the distributed character of Jesuit natural knowledge and specifi-

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cally on the role of travel and the movement of texts and objects constitutive of such knowledge, I would suggest that the strength, longevity, and flexibility of the Jesuit scientific tradition owes much to an organizational structure that effectively combined spatially distributed networks (the Society's overseas missions) with multiple nodal points or nexuses (Jesuit colleges and universities) which served as the locally conditioned centres for the gathering, collation, distillation, and dissemination of much of Jesuit science. No other early modern corporation (either religious or secular) engaged in overseas activities had as part of its corporate mandate such an extensive program of higher education. The circulation of people, texts, and objects between European administrative and intellectual centres and the peripheries of Jesuit overseas missions gave the Society what was in essence a unique institutional geography, and its production of natural knowledge arose within and simultaneously helped sustain that institutional configuration. Before questions regarding the interface - if that is the right metaphor between global networks and local sites can be addressed, however, we must first establish with some precision the macroscopic geography of place, or rather the geography of spaces controlled by the Society.22 The basic framework is of course given by the geographical locations of those Jesuits who made observations and published their accounts of the natural world. For Jesuits engaged in such work, we need to ask, on the one hand, where they were when they made their field observations, gathered their plant and animal specimens, or recorded their measurements, and, on the other, where they were when they worked over their notes, wrote up their manuscripts, and published their writings. Beyond merely plotting the location of Jesuit mathematicians, philosophers, and naturalists in geographical space, there is also the matter of their location in the social spaces defined by the Society's corporate structures. Where within the Society's 'organizational chart' were they located? Of what grade were they, and which offices did they hold? And where did they reside in relation to the order's central administrative authorities, both in Rome and in provincial capitals? However, if our analysis of Jesuit travel is to be genuinely informative, then it must also include, in addition to a static geography of place, a kinematic and even dynamic mapping of movement among places. We must not forget that despite the high levels of mobility that characterized the order from its foundation to its suppression, travel (like most things in the Society) was much regulated. Their seemingly ceaseless peregrinations notwithstanding, Jesuits were neither knightserrant nor roving pilgrims. Jesuits almost always travelled under the authority of one or more superiors (or were passed from one provincial superior to another) and often 'under instruction,' that is, they carried with them explicit written directives broadly directing their movements in conformity with the Society's

216 Steven J. Harris ministries. Indeed, the rules governing modes of travel generally as well as the specific directives outlining the movements and goals of individual Jesuit emissaries were part of the Society's elaborate mechanism for the administration of travel.23 In this sense then, Jesuit travel was what we might call corporate or organized travel. In the trope repeatedly used by Ignatius himself, the Society is likened to a body in which the 'head' guides and directs the movement of its 'members' in the manner best suited to accomplishing the ends for which the body was created.24 We ought therefore to think of characteristic patterns of travel in terms of the channelling of movement in fulfilment of - or at least broadly consistent with - the Society's internal governance and external ministries. Travel, in other words, was an integral part of the Society's ongoing life as a religious corporation. To extend Ignatius's trope, the health and vigour of the body depended fundamentally on the well-regulated circulation of three vital elements - well-trained and reliable members, informative and timely correspondence, and materiel appropriate for the task at hand. Conversely, the cessation or even the disorderly flow of any one of these elements would render the corporation ineffectual in accomplishing its ends. As this somewhat anachronistic metaphor suggests, when we think of travel within the Society we should think not only of the circulation of individual Jesuits acting under the authority of the Society's leadership but also and equally of the circulation of information, texts, and objects. Reports from the field, instructions, 'edifying news,' and correspondence of all kinds as well as natural and artificial objects were, each in their own fashion, made to serve as agents of the Society and to help in the achievement of its goals. In sum, the map of Jesuit science I wish to sketch is of movements as well as of locations, and it pertains as much to non-human as to human travellers. And while that map is in the first instance a map in the literal sense, since it depends upon the fixed reference points of a geography of place, it is also a map in the figurative sense, since the task here is also to capture activities not easily reducible to graphic form. Finally, I am interested in mapping not so much the activities of any single scientific discipline like astronomy, botany, or even geography per se, as the pattern of movements and practices characteristic of Jesuit natural science generally. For my central claim is that the long-distance network that enabled the Society to serve as a conduit for exotic knowledge and objects was itself in part sustained by the knowledge thus gained. Jesuit Travel and Corporate Geography The incentive for Jesuits to travel - first and foremost as missionaries to remote and heathen lands - came of course from Ignatius himself. He had conceived of

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his order neither as monastic, and thus safely sequestered from the corruption of the outside world, nor as diocesan, and thus legally bound to bishop and parish. Rather, his order was to be itinerant, and its members not merely obedient but reliable. He had insisted from the outset that those who accepted the Jesuit vocation should be prepared at a moment's notice to go wherever they might better serve God, and readiness to travel at the behest of either pope or superior general was made explicit in the Fourth Vow of the fully professed.25 While the Fourth Vow has often been viewed as an extension of the traditional vow of obedience, which it surely was, it was essentially a commitment to an obedience bound to mobility and therefore often an obedience without direct supervision. That is, the professed was not only trusted, he was trusted to travel beyond the secured spaces of the Society and to use his own best judgment in achieving its ends. Obedience at a distance, if we may call it that, was really more a matter of trust and reliability, since spatial separation often meant long postal cycles and hence infrequent instructions, leaving the Jesuit missionary to his own wits and initiative in fulfilling what he - with training and testing behind him -judged to be the best tactics for accomplishing corporate goals. We see this obligation to react constructively to local contingencies especially clearly in the careers of Alessandro Valignano in India and Japan and Matteo Ricci in China.26 The extent to which the circulation of people and information was woven into the very fabric of the Society is nowhere more clearly evident than in the list of offices created and in the flow of administrative and 'edifying' correspondence. The offices and duties requiring regular travel included not only those of the itinerant preacher, the missionary, the procurator, and the visitor, but also those of the 'diplomats' sent to European courts27 and the emissaries sent to distant regions, for example to the courts of the Mughals in India, of the king of Ethiopia, of the Chinese emperor, and of the king of Siam. Collectively, in the decades after the establishment of most of the major overseas missionary fields (i.e., after c. 1640), the Society at any given time had between 8 per cent and 12 per cent of its members stationed in the overseas missions.28 In order to keep some measure of administrative control among so many members so widely dispersed and to maintain their morale, the Society operated an elaborate correspondence network. The Constitutions enjoined the Jesuit general to keep himself 'frequently informed by the provincials of what is occurring in all the provinces and by writing to the provincials.'29 The gathering and redaction of hijuela, the regular incoming reports written primarily by provincials and covering matters of personnel, the state of the province or house, and local events, were among the chief duties of the secretary to the general. In addition to the self-evident need for regularized communication of administrative matters, Ignatius recognized from early on the importance of establishing procedures for the regular composition,

218 Steven J. Harris editing, and circulation of newsletters 'through which each region can learn from the others whatever promotes mutual consolation and edification in our Lord.'30 Like the secretary to the general, the hebdomadarius was to gather, collate, and review these edifying reports and pass the resulting distillation on to the general for his approval before circulating them to the provinces in the form of newsletters and (eventually) the more formal and externally directed Litterae annuae.31 The Society ran on this double cycle of correspondence, and so it should not be surprising that the largest surviving personal correspondence from the Renaissance is from Ignatius, that 150 or so published volumes of the Monumenta Historica Societatis lesu consist largely of administrative correspondence, and that the best-known Jesuit periodicals of the eighteenth century (Lettres edifiantes, Journal de Trevoux, andNeue Weltboti) all depended directly upon the Society's repeating cycle of 'edifying reports' for their content.32 If the offices and genres of correspondence give an indication of the importance of travel within the Jesuit corporate network, we still need to ask where that network went. That is, what was the spatial ordering of the Society's administration, and what was its geographical reach? At the largest scale, Jesuit geography consisted of administrative territories called 'assistancies' (because each fell under the administrative purview of one of the Jesuit general's 'assistants'), and these corresponded approximately to the major nations or linguistic divisions of Europe: Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, French, and 'German.'33 Within each assistancy were a half-dozen or so provinces,34 each of which was nominally an extended territorial division but was made up in practice of a pointillist collection of colleges, seminaries, churches, residences, and professed houses located almost exclusively in the province's larger towns and cities. While Jesuits in both the European and the transoceanic provinces ventured into hinterlands in the name of Volksmissionen or to establish remote mission stations, the base of operations was almost invariably located in regional urban centres and not in isolated rural enclaves.35 In other words, our emerging Jesuit map shows a strongly hierarchical organization of assistancy, province, and town centrally governed from Rome yet spatially distributed across Catholic Europe and throughout the trading and colonial territories of France (eastern Canada and old Siam), Portugal (Brazil, the west coast of India, China, and Japan), and Spain (Central and South America and the Philippines). By about the middle of the seventeenth century, one could have said without exaggeration that the sun never set upon the Jesuit empire - or, as the non-heliocentric authors of the Imago primi saeculi would have it, 'None can hide from its [i.e., the Society's] glow.'36 The assistancy-province organization sproved to be a remarkably stable ad-

Mapping Jesuit Science 219 ministrative structure while at the same time allowing for an almost organic growth as the Society extended its geographical reach. Indeed, during the golden age of Jesuit expansion and beyond, the more artistically minded of the Society's members seized upon the motif of a tree to capture the rootedness of the order in Rome and its ongoing ramification into new territories. The most elaborate though neither the first nor the last - example of the 'Ignatian Tree' is from Athanasius Kircher's treatise on light (fig. 91).37 While in its general conception the Ignatian Tree borrows directly from the arboreal depictions of Old Testament genealogies stemming from Noah or Jesse, here the issue is not human progeny but the assistancies and provinces of the order. Ignatius himself is seen kneeling at the base of the tree holding in his hands what is presumably the Jesuit Constitutions, with the background opening onto a seascape bestrewn with sailing vessels taking the sons of Ignatius to the farthest regions of the globe. The trunk and major branches of the tree correspond to the assistancies (the lower part of the trunk represents the Italian assistancy, and the upper part the German assistancy), and the spatial sequence of the branching reflects more or less accurately the chronological order of the establishment of assistancies and provinces. Smaller branches terminate in leaves bearing the names of towns in which Jesuit colleges were located. At the fork of most branches is placed the face of a sundial oriented to show local time in relation to 'Roman mean time.'38 As a device proposed for the edification of the Society's members, the Ignatian Tree nicely captured multiple themes of unity so crucial for the governance of a geographically dispersed religious corporation. The trunk of the tree symbolized the diachronic link between the living Society and its roots in the person of Ignatius. The regular disposition of its branches, all belonging to and indeed constituting the same tree, spoke of the spatial unity of the order. And the synchronized horological decorations suggested temporal unity of action among its geographically scattered twigs and leaves. This same motif, when executed with greater attention to functional representation (if with less artistry), can be used to exhibit two other facets of the Society's organizational unity. First, if we prune away the leaves and twigs representing the colleges and seminaries run by the Jesuits, alter the geometry of the branches somewhat, and treat the time of foundation as a third coordinate, then we obtain a schematized tree - or rather a sprawling and spindly bush - that more accurately reflects the actual administrative and territorial growth of the Society (fig. 9.2).39 Here the five major assistancies radiate from Rome in their approximate geographical relationships to one another, with the dates of their establishment given in parentheses. While provinces are clustered along the appropriate assistancy branch as in Kircher's rendition, here the formation of

220 Steven J. Harris

9.1. The Ignatian Tree as represented in Horoscopium catholicum, an engraving in Athanasius Kircher, Ars magna lucis et umbrae (Rome, 1646), p. 553. Photo courtesy of the John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

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9.2. Province tree: the corporate geography of the Society. The assistancy names are in boldface type, with their dates of foundation in parentheses (note that the Polish assistancy, upper right, was formed from the Slavic provinces only in 1755). Province names are underlined, with their dates of foundation placed near the points of bifurcation. The names of vice-provinces (e.g., Novi Regni Granatensis, a region roughly equivalent to modern-day Colombia) are not underlined, and the date in parentheses indicates when the vice-province became a full province. Diagram by Kristen Hiestand after J.B. Goetstouwers, Synopsis historiae Societatis Jesu (Louvain, 1950), plate 4.1, 'Natales provinciatum Antiquae Societatis,' pp. 706-7.

222 Steven J. Harris new provinces is accurately represented as a bifurcation process in which the parent province retained the older name and the geographically distinct daughter province acquired a new name.40 By plotting the dates of province formation against an imaginary time axis rising at a right angle from the plane of the page, we can imagine something like the overall growth-pattern or habit of the order. What is striking about the Society's organizational growth is the rapidity with which it achieved geographical coverage and administrative stability. Moving out along the assistancy branches we see that the first, second, and (in most cases) third nodes of province formation occurred prior to 1600, and that almost all subsequent divisions occurred before 1640.41 The Jesuit bush, in other words, spread to about two-thirds of its maximum geographical size within the first sixty years (and to about 90 per cent within the first century) and then maintained a stable configuration of provincial branches for the next 170 years.42 A second schematic rendering of the Ignatian Tree, one that focuses on the twigs at the extremities rather than on the supporting branches below, allows us to integrate the geographical and institutional spaces of the order by locating the Society's offices in their physical settings. As noted above, the office of assistant to the general carried with it responsibility for the daily administration of the several culturally related provinces. The office of the provincial, in turn, carried responsibility for the operations of a given province. Within a province there were at any one time seminaries, colleges, residences, professed houses, and usually a novitiate or two, each headed by the appropriate superiors such as rector, ministers of the community (responsible for the day-to-day 'temporalities' of local operations), master of novices, and so on. This hierarchical administrative structure may be represented schematically in a final 'twig and twiglet' ramification of the Jesuit bush (fig. 9.3). Through most of its history the German assistancy, to take but one example, consisted of nine provinces. One of those provinces, Upper Germany (roughly equivalent to modern-day Bavaria), contained several towns in which were located various of the Society's 'compounds,' or Jesuit establishments that performed various pastoral, pedagogical, and spiritual tasks at the local level.43 Within a given compound, which could be anything from a single modest building (say, a house for the fully professed) to a sprawling architectural complex consisting of a dozen or more buildings, there were a number of offices necessary for the operation of the compound. Mapping Jesuit Science: The Kinematics of Practice If this assistancy-to-province and compound-to-offices breakdown were to be articulated along the entire width and breadth of the Society's corporate periph-

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9.3. Jesuit provinces and compounds: the Upper German province.

ery - its institutional interface with the world - we would have the first component of our wished-for map. That is to say, if we were to follow temporally the growth of assistancies and provinces, locate spatially all Jesuit compounds scattered throughout the world, and track longitudinally the careers of all members of the Old Society as they moved through the offices associated with these compounds, then we would begin to have a map showing us the institutional geography of the order. While such an exhaustive geography is well beyond the scope of this paper, this imagined map provides a useful background against which to plot the activities of the Jesuit 'naturalists' and 'geographers' upon whom I wish to focus. Fortunately, although the Jesuits who in one way or another contributed to the natural sciences were many in number and widely scattered in space and time, the sites for the production of natural knowledge seemed to enjoy a threefold concentration. First, with regard to physical location,

224 Steven J. Harris most activities relating to the collection, collation, writing, and publication of natural knowledge were confined to about three dozen or so principal compounds, namely, the largest Jesuit universities and colleges in the provincial capitals of the Italian, French, and German assistancies. Second, the redaction of the vast majority of the eight hundred or so published titles in the natural sciences occurred in connection with just a handful of key offices, chiefly those associated with teaching in Jesuit colleges but also the 'health care' offices of apothecary, surgeon, and infirmarian. And third, nearly all Jesuit authors were members of the highest rank of the Society at the time of publication, that is, they were fully formed priests professed of the Fourth Vow. From around the mid-seventeenth century until the beginning of the national expulsions in the 1750s and 1760s, there were some 800 towns around the world in which the Society had established a compound of one form or another. About 650 of these were Jesuit 'college towns' - towns and cities in which Jesuit colleges (really the equivalent of modern preparatory schools or gymnasia), universities, and seminaries were located - and about 250 of these towns were sites for the printing of Jesuit titles in the natural sciences.44 Yet the distribution was far from even. If we take just those towns that had Jesuit universities (or Jesuit colleges that became universities some time before the general suppression), we find that these 35 or so locations account for more than two-thirds of the entire Jesuit scientific corpus.45 Put another way, about 70 per cent of the Society's scientific knowledge production - as represented in publications - was concentrated in only about 5 per cent of its sites of knowledge dissemination.46 It is also worth noting in this connection that these same university towns were the location of most of the Society's chairs of mathematics, natural history and physical cabinets, astronomical observatories, and libraries. Broadly speaking, we may thus refer to them generically as centres for the concentration of scientific knowledge. The problem of determining the key offices of knowledge production is of course made more than a little difficult by the Society's custom of rotating members through a variety of different offices over the course of their careers. While one may point to broad operational divisions between 'administrators' and 'educators' or between 'sedentary' and 'itinerant' offices, these turn out not to be terribly robust categories since assignments frequently took Jesuits back and forth across these boundaries.47 The Society did, however, tend to fill positions in cycles of a minimum of three years (though even here there are many exceptions), so we can determine where authors were and what they were doing in the few years immediately prior to the date of publication of a given work. While a longer treatise may well have taken more than three years to write and have been

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written over several disparate offices, the strategy of identifying the most recent office at least allows us to correlate likely place of redaction with office held. The well-defined offices of the Society number about two dozen: they included the more or less sedentary duties of Father General, assistant, secretary, and hebdomadarius in Rome and the manifestly itinerant offices of visitor and procurator, which required a certain amount of shuttling to and fro between Rome and the provinces. In the provinces themselves there were the itinerant offices associated with Volksmissionen either in towns or in rural areas (preacher, confessor, minister, catechist, etc.), and the many seemingly settled but often peripatetic jobs pertaining to the spiritual guidance of elites (e.g., court confessor, chaplain, and tutor) as well as of Jesuits themselves (superior of a professed house, instructor of the tertianship, master of novices, spiritual director, and seminary instructor). The offices necessary for intellectual training in the Society's colleges and universities included those of rector, professor, regent, scriptor, and librarian, and those necessary for the general maintenance of the college compound ranged from amanuensis and apothecary to cook, carpenter, infirmarian (i.e., nurse assigned to the infirmary), surgeon, and gardener - positions almost invariably filled by temporal coadjutors (i.e., the lay brothers rather than the ordained Fathers of the order). Of these many offices, the ones mostly likely to be held on the eve of publication were the collegiate positions of professor, scriptor, and rector and the comparatively infrequent but strategically important positions of court tutor, court mathematician, and 'mandarin,' all of which depended directly on aristocratic and royal patronage.48 With regard to institutional location, these half-dozen or so offices correlate with about 60 per cent of the publications in the natural sciences. While this pattern of office-holding can hardly come as a surprise since these were, after all, the most bookish offices of the Society's most bookish ministry, it is important to anchor the sites of knowledge production in the Society's corporate spaces. As a corollary to this last observation, it is also important to note that the vast majority of Jesuit scientific publications - perhaps up to 95 per cent of them were written by priests, about 90 per cent of whom were professed of the Fourth Vow at the time of publication. Of the remaining 5 per cent of publications, most were written by temporal coadjutors serving as apothecaries (many of whom were located in the Spanish and Portuguese overseas provinces) or by spiritual coadjutors, and very few indeed by Jesuits still in training (i.e., novices, scholastics, or those in their tertianship).49 What these global - and rather anonymous - statistics indicate is a marked concentration of scientific knowledge production in the Society's most highly trained and trusted members (the professed) holding key academic positions in

226 Steven J. Harris the largest and most prestigious Jesuit universities in Catholic Europe, especially those located in the major urban centres of central and northern Italy, central and southern France, and the western and southern provinces of the German assistancy. This geographical and corporate concentration of sites of final production contrasts with the global range of administration and movement outlined previously. If we are to complete even an outline of the map of Jesuit science alluded to above, then we must somehow link these well-defined centres of concentration with the worldwide distribution of Jesuits along the branches and twigs of the Ignatian bush. Here, however, the arboreal image can be temporarily set aside in favour of the more appropriate metaphor of the network. That is, these three dozen or so centres of concentration can be thought of as nodes embedded in the Society's long-distance network, with the exchange of personnel, texts, and natural objects necessary for the production of natural knowledge viewed as a sort of circulation between local sites and distributed practices. While an exact and exhaustive mapping of this circulation is not feasible either in principle (too much of the requisite information regarding place of origin and pathway taken has been lost) or in practice (the systematic recovery of the 'travel information' that has survived would be a daunting task), I believe we can obtain at least a general outline of such a map through the following exercise. Just as Ignatius asked those making the Spiritual Exercises to imagine all the peoples of the globe, their many languages and various customs,50 so too must we imagine the comings and goings of Jesuit travellers as they moved among the peoples who lived along the Malabar Coast or in southern China, in the Philippines or the Rio de la Plata region of South America, up and down the Baja Peninsula of Mexico, or along the coast of Maine and westward on the shores of the Great Lakes. More closely related to the task at hand, we must imagine the movements of the many Jesuit explorers who mapped the lands and riverine routes, often for the first time, from India to China, or from Egypt to Ethiopia, from Quito to the Atlantic via the Amazon, or from Lake Michigan down the Mississippi River almost to the Gulf of Mexico. Now imagine having attached long pieces of thread to the soutanes of our peripatetic Jesuits. We then ask what paths these threads traced through space as each Jesuit travelled from place to place in execution of his duties in the Society. Since we are interested in the movement of information and objects as well as of people, we need to attach threads to the many textual descriptions, observational reports, maps, and recorded measurements needed for the construction, say, of Jose de Acosta's natural history of Peru and Mexico,51 or of Ignace Gaston Pardies's star-chart of the Southern Hemisphere,52 or of Joseph Fra^ois Lafitau's comprehensive comparative study of ancient and contemporary pagan peoples.53

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We would need additional thread to trace the paths of the innumerable natural objects that travelled under the authority of the Society and aided its pedagogical and pastoral ministries. Whence came the plant, animal, and mineral specimens presented to the Society's great patrons as tokens of appreciation and affection or as the tangible 'sauce' to whet their appetites for the overseas missions? Whence came the hundreds of objects in Athanasius Kircher's museum of natural curiosities assembled from the 1630s to the 1650s?54 And whence came - and whither went - the many vials of powders, simples, and herbals prepared by Pietro Paolo Puccerini, Kircher's contemporary and the chief apothecary in the Society's main pharmacy in Rome?55 How in general did the exotic 'productions of nature' like bezoar and snakestone, ambergris, guaiacum, kosso, and cinchona find their way to the shelves of Jesuit pharmacies in Rome, Bologna, Bordeaux, Ingolstadt, and Prague? What trajectories were followed by the natural curiosities found in Ferdinand Orban's collection assembled at the end of the seventeenth century, by the mineral specimens in cabinets at the University of Coimbra in the mideighteenth century, or by the exotic plants in the botanical garden in Munich that Franz von Schrank designed for the Bavarian prince?56 Having attached our threads to these texts and specimens, we ask as before what paths these threads traced through space as each object moved from its place of origin in the natural world to its artificial resting-place within the human world. Put simply, how was this piece of nature brought into the Jesuit order - and into the Jesuit order of things? For work in mathematical geography, astronomy, and meteorology, we would need additional thread to trace the paths taken by the Jesuits' scientific instruments, both the many paths that led to their manufacture and their movements as travelling-companions to the missionaries. And then there are the movements of the published texts and treatises that our imaginary Jesuits consulted as they sought to bring coherence to their travels and observations. And finally, every so often one of our well-travelled Jesuits - but not only the well travelled, think of Kircher comfortably ensconced in Rome - might attempt to weave together the observational, natural, instrumental, and textual threads feeding into his own local world in order to produce a new statement about the shape, structure, and operation of the natural world. Not only would such a manuscript have thousands of kilometres of thread trailing behind it, it would itself now begin its own multilineal tracing through space as its many published copies travelled from printer to publisher, from publisher to book fair, from book fair to bookseller, and from bookseller to reader and student. Surely the actual mapping of provenance for all the constituents of a scientific text would be an exceedingly tedious task. As an exercise in imagination, however, such 'thread maps' alert us to the importance of travel in the geography

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of knowledge, for they help make visible the role of travel in various scientific practices. What is more, the thread maps associated with the several descriptive, collecting, and measuring projects just alluded to make evident the different patterns of travel that underlie various forms of scientific practice. That is, we can easily imagine that our thread maps would take on different shapes depending on the type of project in question. Even without doing the actual mapping, we can readily imagine that Kircher's museum, for example, resided at the centre of an enormous spider's web the strands of which radiated quite literally to every continent on which Jesuit missionaries could be found. On the other hand, the thread map for Kino's explorations of the Baja Peninsula would produce a comparatively small but dense criss-cross pattern. The threads marking the regular shipments of cinchona - that miraculous antifebrile drug once called 'Jesuit's bark' - from Quito to the Jesuit pharmacy in Rome would fall into long, well-defined channels, while those tracing the eclipse observations of Jesuit astronomers in Beijing, Goa, Madrid, Rio de Janeiro, Lyon, Heidelberg, Tyrnau, Milan, Vilnius, and Vienna would resemble a delicate though extensive filigree with multiple nodes of exchange. In each case the pattern of traces would represent a record of movement coincident with scientific practice and antecedent to the making of a scientific text, collection, or object. What is more, when we recall the relatively small number of centres of concentration that produced such a disproportionate share of Jesuit publications and collections in the natural sciences, we should not be surprised to find that most of our thread maps have nodes anchored to these same sites. The Society as a Long-Distance Corporation: The Dynamics of Practice In the foregoing I have tried to sketch, however roughly, a map of Jesuit scientific practices by identifying critical sites of knowledge production against the grid of the Society's administrative organization. I have also tried to indicate characteristic patterns of movement along the Society's extensive corporate network for various types of scientific activity. However important it is to establish a static geography of place (i.e., the Jesuit bush) and a kinematic geography of travel (i.e., the unfolding trajectories implicit in thread maps), we still do not have a dynamic geography of practice. That is, there is still the question of the 'causes behind the motions of things': Why did Jesuits travel as they did? What forces, either institutional or personal, caused their movements and the movements of the material objects constitutive of scientific knowledge? As one may readily surmise, these questions will lead us back to the notion of corporate or organized travel briefly touched upon above and to the related problem of the obedience versus reliability of Jesuits who were trusted to travel. The movement of Jesuits

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and, more generally, the circulation necessary for the making of scientific knowledge took place within the context of what I have elsewhere called a longdistance corporation.57 Not only did the organizational practices required in the operation of a long-distance corporation, which the Society had mastered with consummate skill, facilitate the gathering, transportation, and concentration of information of relevance to the natural sciences, but the knowledge thus obtained from the natural world could be used in various ways to facilitate the ongoing operation of that network. And, I would argue, this positive feedback loop between long-distance network and local knowledge production is what accounts for the Society's remarkable record of achievement in the natural sciences. In the light of the Society's regulations governing the travel of its members, it is clear that the traces upon our hypothetical thread maps do not run willy-nilly across the surface of the globe. They neither unrolled themselves of their own volition nor maintained themselves in the absence of human travel. Indeed, our threads have no existence apart from the shuttling to and fro of Jesuits going about the Society's business. All those threads, in other words, are simply spatial records of the Society's internal circulations as its members pursued the many and scattered activities of its various ministries. In fact, their chief advantage is that they make manifest the Society's ability to organize travel in a particular way. While scholars have long pointed to the Society's talent for organization as the 'power and secret' behind its success in executing its religious programs,581 would suggest that we gain a clearer understanding of 'the secret of Jesuit organization' if we think in terms of the models of long-distance networks that sociologists like John Law and Bruno Latour have developed over the last several years.59 Much of the Society's administrative apparatus can, I believe, be readily understood as a historical instance - with modification - of Law's and Latour's model of long-distance networks. What are the key elements in this model? With some change in nomenclature and adjustments in the light of the actual administrative practices that Jesuits employed, these may be grouped under the following heads. In order for a central administrative authority 'to act at a distance on unfamiliar events, places, and people,' it must have at its disposal reliable agents, whose competence and commitment to the corporate agenda (i.e., their willingness to see personal gain in the accomplishment of corporate goals) renders them capable of working under instruction in remote locations.60 Corporate leadership, however, can engage in effective 'action at a distance' only if its agents send regular, trustworthy reports to centres of concentration, where reports from various quarters can be gathered, sorted, and reduced to administrative memoranda. Usable digests of reports of remote events and circumstances in turn enable leaders to make betterinformed decisions in their outgoing directives. The repeated exchanges of

230 Steven J. Harris reports from the field and directives from headquarters - as well as the shuttle of personnel between centre and periphery - have as their common purpose the projection of corporate power and the expansion of its sphere of control and influence through cycles of recruitment of human and natural resources. Finally, among the 'literary emissaries' we find, in addition to the manuscript administrative genres (reports and directives), printed genres intended to circulate externally among potential recruits, patrons, or protectors. In the long process of spiritual and intellectual formation demanded of its members, the Society had an unusually rigorous way of inculcating corporate values and solidifying group identity. What was being tested and selected for prior to full acceptance within the order, I would argue, was not so much obedience - the immediate execution of explicit orders - but reliability, which ultimately rested upon the willingness of the Jesuit-in-training to make the Society's ideals and goals his own and to work towards their realization through a combination of corporate obedience and personal initiative. This long probation, during which the Jesuit-in-training was 'tested in experience,' was the means by which the Society's superiors could ascertain the depth of his assimilation and certify his trustworthiness, dependability, and sense of responsibility towards the Society. Immersion in Ignatian codes of conduct and belief gave Jesuits a shared frame of reference against which they would measure both the world around them and their own responses to it. While 'cadaver-like obedience' may have had its place in the initial formation of novices, I believe the ultimate goal was to foster in Jesuits - at least in the fully professed - an abiding commitment to the Jesuit 'way of proceeding,' and to have that 'way' articulated through initiative and personal judgment guided - but not dictated - by instruc tions and directives from superiors. In so far as one can identify a single linchpin in the machinery of the Society (though one should never lose sight of the necessary interrelationship of parts), I believe it is the high index of reliability of its agents. And in so far as the Society possessed distinctiveness and coherence in its corporate culture, I believe it arose through a continuous process of 'enactment' in which Jesuits configured their world as they moved through it in accordance with that shared frame of reference.61 What distinguished the Society from other organizations of the day and gave it a distinctive cultural style was this method or ratio for instilling reliability. For this is what made Jesuits individually and collectively - agents upon whom the leadership could depend not only for the execution of explicit instructions but also and more significantly for the projection of the 'Jesuit way of proceeding' into new cultural domains like the natural sciences, which otherwise seem about as far removed from the proper duties of a religious as one can imagine.

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Yet when we think of the 'greater good' that was achieved by Ricci's mathematical and technological publications in Beijing, by Kircher's scientific showmanship as collector of the rare and curious or as a virtuoso responsible for 'scientific spectacles' designed to impress visiting nobility,62 by the herbal remedies concocted by Jesuit apothecaries like Sigismund Aperger in Paraguay or Johann Steinhofer in Mexico,63 or by the usefulness of de Acosta's treatise on the natural and moral history of Peru and Mexico in securing royal patronage for Jesuit missions in those regions,64 then we can begin to see the value of Jesuit reliability not only for the good of the Society but also for the good of the sciences the Society needed in pursuit of that greater good. Just as Jesuit superiors in Rome were inclined to trust administrative intelligence from members who by virtue of their remote locations could not be queried face to face but only through cycles of correspondence, so too was Kircher (also in Rome and therefore at the hub of the Jesuit communications network) inclined to trust in the reports from his remote confreres regarding eclipse observations from Beijing, snakestone from Goa, cinchona from Quito, or the direction of ocean currents recorded on the high seas. Trust and reliability, in other words, were no less important in the communication of scientific information than in the communication of administrative intelligence. And as Steven Shapin has convincingly argued, trust and moral order - whether in society or in science - go hand in hand.65 Upon this bedrock of trust and reliability both Jesuit superiors and Jesuit professors could build a network of reliable agents who were willing to carry out written instructions and, just as important, report on the outcome of those instructions after execution. From the earliest days of the Society - and indeed from the hand of Ignatius himself - there had been instructions, amounting almost to a manual, for the writing of letters. Juan Alfonso de Polanco, secretary to Ignatius and later generals, expanded upon these instructions and clarified what sort of information each class of administrative correspondence should contain, the style in which each should be written, how information should be arranged, and so on.66 Although not always carried out as per instructions, this sort of attention to informative yet concise intelligence was generally a hallmark of Jesuit reportage. If powers of observation, judgment, clarity of expression, and diligence in composing and sending off in a timely fashion administrative correspondence were crucial for superiors in Rome, who depended upon these letters as their eyes and ears in remote regions, they were no less crucial for Jesuit astronomers, naturalists, and geographers, who also relied upon them as their remote eyes and ears. In other words, it was not only the quantity and frequency of epistolary exchange that facilitated the gathering of scientific intelligence

232 Steven J. Harris from afar, but also the quality of observation and the dependability of remote agents in executing requests for measurements, descriptions, or the sending of natural objects. We have already seen how scientifically edifying 'reports from nature' flowed along the Society's administrative pathways and accompanied the stream of morally edifying reports subjected to redaction and public dissemination in the form of the Lettres edifiantes, the Journal de Trevoux, and the many 'Annual Letters,' 'Jesuit Relations,' and 'Letter Books' that appeared under Jesuit imprimatur. But of course these large-scale, ongoing, in-house editorial projects all ultimately depended upon correspondence; and indeed we may usefully think of the Society as a republic of letters within the Republic of Letters. For not only were the members of the Society themselves brought closer together - as Ignatius correctly foresaw - through the frequent exchange of letters, many Jesuits were also brought into closer contact with the intellectual and cultural currents of their day through their correspondence with the lay citizenry of the Republic of Letters. At least within the history of science, Jesuit letters can be found in the correspondence of every major figure, from Tycho Brahe in the sixteenth century to Kepler, Galileo, Mersenne, Descartes, Newton, and Leibniz in the seventeenth and Euler, Lalande, several of the Jussieus and Cassini, and at least two of the Bernoulli (Daniel and Johann II) in the eighteenth. Yet it was not simply the circulation of Jesuit letters in the Republic of Letters that distinguishes the Society. For Jesuit correspondence was not so much a matter of private, informal exchange as it was part of a method of systematic information-gathering, collation, editing, and targeting for publication. The internal correspondence of the Society saw the light of day only after it had passed through editorial filters. In fact, the redaction of most of the collected or serial publications of Jesuit correspondence took place in one of the three dozen major centres mentioned above. In other words, the main sites for the redaction and dissemination of Jesuit public correspondence were also the centres of scientific publication and education. And so what we have is evidence, especially by the eighteenth century, of a strong correlation between the 'physical plant' of scientific activity (i.e., Jesuit universities, chairs of mathematics, astronomical observatories, natural history and physical cabinets, botanical gardens, and major libraries) on the one hand, and scientific publication (textbooks, treatises, collected correspondence, journals, etc.) on the other. In this sense, then, we can speak of these locations on the Jesuit organizational bush as having been simultaneously centres of concentration and centres of dissemination, and thus as the critical nodes where the in-flow of texts and natural objects from the Society's extensive network was translated into an out-flow of (filtered) knowledge in the form of lectures, displays and demonstrations, and publications in the natural

Mapping Jesuit Science 233 sciences. While we may rightly think of each of these centres as uniquely embedded in local culture - the history of Jesuit science in Vienna is indeed quite different from that in Paris or Rome - it is also true that these 'local knowledges' were bound up with and dependent upon practices that were spatially distributed across large segments of the Jesuit web. What I have tried to argue is that Jesuit natural knowledge emerged organically, as it were, from the organizational dynamics required in the Society's operation of a long-distance network. These elements of organization were of course initially and primarily developed to serve the Society's administrative needs, and they eventually enabled the Society to extend its controlled spaces to a geographical network that virtually encircled the world. My point, however, is that these organizational elements also greatly facilitated the gathering and communication of scientific information within the Society. At the level of social cohesion, the shared identity, values, and goals of Jesuit corporate culture fostered high levels of intra-ordinal trust (Jesuits more readily trusted other Jesuits than non-Jesuits) and thus made comparatively easy the sharing of information, cooperation in the execution of requests, and collaboration on large projects. More critically, not only did Jesuits gain their knowledge of the natural world (here I am speaking primarily of the transoceanic world) while travelling in the service of their order, but the knowledge thus gained in turn facilitated their travelling by enabling the Society to operate with increased effectiveness in remote corners of the world, either by understanding something about local climate, customs, and natural productions or by retailing this information to curious patrons back in Europe and winning their financial support. Because of its early entry into a ministry in higher education, the Society possessed what was virtually a unique corporate structure - an overseas network of missionaries directly coupled with a network of intellectual centres. While neither component was unique to the Society, no other long-distance corporation of the early modern period succeeded in combining a long-distance network of the sort described here with a system of higher education.67 If we return to the first question posed above - Why would the Society invest so much of its energy in the natural sciences? - at least part of the answer has to do with Ignatius's desire to create a company of itinerant apostles, ready at a moment's notice to travel wherever they may be sent. For travel in the making of Jesuit science was part of the travel required in the making of the Society itself. NOTES

1 See Cornelius Wessels, Early Jesuit Travellers in Central Asia, 1603-1721 (The Hague, 1924; repr. New Delhi, 1992); Herbert Bolton, The Rim of Christendom:

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A Biography ofEusebio Francisco Kino (New York, 1936); Dain. Geog. hum.', Fran£ois de Dainville, 'Enseignement des "geographies" et des "geometres,"' in Enseignement et diffusion des sciences en France au XVIIIe siecle, ed. Rene Taton (Paris, 1964). 2 See Donald F. Lach, Asia in the Making of Europe (Chicago, 1965-), I, bk 1, pp. 315-16. 3 See John Correia-Afonso, Jesuit Letters and Indian History (Bombay, 1955), p. 13 (citing MIEpp 1:648-50). 4 Ignatius to Caspar Berze (also spelled Barzaeus), 24 February 1554, ibid., p. 14 (citing MIEpp5:329-30). 5 The final product was his Flora cochinchinensis, published in Lisbon in 1789. In the words of Emil Bretschneider, the prolific nineteenth-century historian of Chinese botany, de Loureiro 'occupies without doubt one of the most prominent places among the botanical collectors of the [eighteenth] century ... His book is still [in the late nineteenth century] a standard work to which botanists dealing with Chinese plants have frequently to refer ... [And] a great part of Loureiro's plants, in particular those from Cochinchina, are still only known from his description'; 'Early European Researches into the Flora of China,' Journal of the North-China Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society (19 November 1880): 132-3. 6 A popular and much-translated work, de Acosta's Historia natural y moral de las Indias (Seville, 1590) went through a total of four editions in Spanish, two in Dutch, two in French, three in Latin, two in German, and one in English, with almost all appearing before 1610. 7 See Wessels, Early Jesuit Travellers, pp. 1-68. 8 See Philip Caraman, The Lost Empire: The Story of Jesuits in Ethiopia, 1535-1634 (London, 1985). 9 See Josef Gicklhorn and Renee Gicklhorn, Im Kampfum den Amazonas: Forscherschicksal des P. Samuel Fritz (Prague, 1943). 10 See Joseph P. Donnelly, Jacques Marquette, S.J., 1637-1675 (Chicago, 1985), pp. 204-29. 11 See his Novus atlas sinensis (Vienna and Amsterdam, 1655). 12 Desideri's travelogue was reprinted as An Account of Tibet: The Travels oflppolito Desideri of Pistoia, 1712-1727 (London, 1932); see especially pp. 117-29. See also Wessels, Early Jesuit Travellers, pp. 205-72. 13 See Bolton, The Rim of Christendom. 14 See Joseph Teiffenthaler, 'Historisch-geographische Beschreibung von Hindustan,' originally published in Jean Bernoulli, Description historique et geographique de I'Inde (Berlin, 1785-8), II 419ff. See also S.N. Sin, Tieffenthaler on Latitudes and Longitudes in India: An Eighteenth-Century Study of Geographical Coordinates,' Indian Journal of the History of Science 17:1 (1982): 1-17.

Mapping Jesuit Science 235 15 For a brief review of Jesuit land-surveying and geodetic activities, see Ludwig Koch, 'Erdkunde,' in Jesuiten-Lexikon: Die Gesellschaft Jesu einst undjetzt, 2 vols (Paderborn, 1934), 1502. 16 'Botanik,' ibid., I 239-40. 17 Some, like Georg Camell working as a Jesuit apothecary in Manila, did act as informants to scientific societies. Camell signed his letters to James Petiver (his chief contact at the Royal Society of London) Tui semper observatissimus.' See Josef and Renee Gicklhorn, Georg Joseph Kamel, S.J. (Eutin, 1954), p. 99. A few Jesuits did of course travel as mathematical envoys of scientific societies; see Florence Hsia's paper in this volume, pp. 241-57. 18 Here the career of de Acosta is paradigmatic: the other works he published upon his return to Spain were De Christo revelato (Rome, 1588) and De temporibus novissimis (Rome, 1588). Indeed, the Historia natural was the only work Acosta was ever to publish in the natural sciences; all the rest were in theology and missiology. 19 Steven Shapin has pointed to the importance of travel as one of the chief problems facing current work in the sociology of scientific knowledge: 'If, as empirical research securely establishes, science is a local product, how does it travel with what seems to be unique efficiency? One appeal of the modernist great narratives of reason, reality, and method was the table-thumping response they offered to questions about the travel of science. If, however, universality can no longer be accepted as an assumption flowing from the very nature of the knowledge or the "method" for making it, what are the mundane means which so powerfully effect the circulation of science?'; 'Here and Everywhere: Sociology of Scientific Knowledge,' Annual Review of Sociology 21 (1995): 307. 20 Feld. Gal., pp. 240-55. 21 Steven J. Harris, 'Long-Distance Corporations, Big Sciences, and the Geography of Knowledge,' in Configurations 6 (1998): 269-304. 22 Compare Michael John Gorman's discussion of Jesuit management of micro-spaces in this volume, pp. 175-81. 23 For a detailed discussion of the rules governing Jesuit travel, see Hermann Stoeckius, Die Reiseordnung der Gesellschaft Jesu im 16. Jahrhundert (Heidelberg, 1912), pp. 20-34. 24 Ganss Const., pp. 122-3 (#137 nlO), 285-6 (#655). 25 Ibid., pp. 68 (#4), 238 (#527), 262 (#588). 26 See e.g. Josef Franz Schiitte, 'The First Developments,' in Schiitte Val., I, chap. 2, and Spence Mem., pp. 51-8. 27 The Jesuit mathematicians Paolo Casati and Francesco Malines were, for instance, entrusted with the delicate task of attending Queen Christina at her court in Sweden; see Gorman's paper in this volume, p. 176.

236 Steven J. Harris 28 According to Hamy, in 1747 there were about 22,589 Jesuits (coadjutors and priests) in the Society, of whom some 1900 were located in the overseas provinces. This latter number is probably an underestimation since Jesuit missionaries working in New France would still 'belong' to the French (Ile-de-France) province. See Alfred Hamy, Documents pour servir a Vhistoire des domiciles de la Compagnie de Jesus dans le monde entier de 1540 a 1773 (Paris, n.d.), p. 1. 29 Ganss Const., pp. 324 (#790), 326 (#797). 30 Ibid., p. 292 (#673). 31 From the Latin hebdomas, meaning 'seventh day,' since it was Ignatius's original intention to have such edifying letters written and circulated (at least locally) once a week. See Steven J. Harris, 'Confession-Building, Long-Distance Networks, and the Organization of Jesuit Science,' Early Science and Medicine 1:3 (1996): 287318. The Constitutions required that the office be given to a 'Father of talent and prudence' and, like the office of secretary to the general, it existed from the Society's earliest days. The Society's first hebdomadarius was in fact Francis Xavier. See Correia-Afonso, Jesuit Letters and Indian History (n3 above), p. 2. 32 The first volumes of the Monumenta Historica Societatis lesu appeared in 1894; see Koch, Jesuiten-Lexikon, II 1235, under 'Monumenta.' The first of thirty-four volumes of the Lettres ediflantes et curieuses, ecrites des missions etrangeres par quelques missionaires de la Compagnie de Jesus was published in Paris in 1702 and the last in 1776, with several re-editions thereafter. The Journal de Trevoux: Memoires pour servir a Vhistoire des sciences et des arts took its name from the small town of Trevoux, near Lyon, where it was published from 1701 until 1731, when it was moved to Paris and renamed the Memoires de Trevoux until the dissolution of the order in France in 1762. See Jean Erhard and Jacques Roger, 'Deux periodiques francais du 18e siecle, le "Journal des savants" et les "Memoires de Trevoux": Essai d'une etude quantitative,' in Livre et societe dans France du XVIIIe siecle, ed. G. Bolleme et al. (Paris, 1965), pp. 33-59. From 1726 to 1758 Josef Stocklein edited the series Neue Weltbott (Augsburg and Vienna), which contained translations into German of many letters from the Lettres ediflantesas well as a large body of previously unpublished correspondence from German-speaking missionaries in India, China, South and Central America, and the Philippines. See Anton Huonder, 'P. Joseph Stockleins "Neuer Welt-Bott," ein Vorlaufer der Katholischen Missionen im 18. Jahrhundert,' Die katholischen Missionen 33 (1904-5): 1-4, 30-3, 80-3, 103-7. Although not published until long after the suppression of the Old Society, the so-called 'Jesuit Relations' were also based on Jesuit missionary correspondence; see Thw. Rel., and the extensive bibliography by J.C. McCoy, Jesuit Relations of Canada (New York, 1937 and 1972). 33 The so-called German assistancy included not only the German-speaking lands of

Mapping Jesuit Science 237

34

35

36 37

38

39 40

41

42

central Europe but also the English, Flemish, and Belgian provinces in the northwest and the Polish, Bohemian, and Austrian (which itself embraced parts of modern-day Hungary, Croatia, and Serbia) provinces to the east and southeast. In 1755 the provinces of Greater and Little Poland, Lithuania, and Muscovy were split off from the German assistancy to form the Polish assistancy. See J.B. Goetstouwers, Synopsis historiae Societatis Jesu (Louvain, 1950), pp. 706-7. From 1608 until 1755 there were five Jesuit assistancies and about forty provinces (if we include the major 'missions' of England, New France, and Scandinavia): the Italian and French assistancies consisted of five provinces each, the German assistancy of nine, the Spanish of five domestic and seven overseas, and the Portuguese of one domestic and five overseas. Territorially, the Society's European provinces coincided roughly (in some cases very roughly) with the old provinces of the Roman Empire. This of course is in marked contrast to the settlement patterns among some of the best-known medieval monastic orders like the Benedictines, Cistercians, and early Franciscans. The exceptions to the urban pattern within the Society were of course the rural haciendas and estancias in the New World provinces. See G.R. Dimler, 'The Imago primi saeculi: Jesuit Emblems and the Secular Tradition,' Thought 56 (1981): 433-47. See Athanasius Kircher, Ars magna lucis et umbrae (Rome, 1646). The fan-shaped captions in the corners of the engraving carry the same passage from the Bible, 'From east to west praiseworthy is the name of our Lord' (Ps. 113:3), in thirty-four languages. E.g., the dial attached to the Roman province has 12 noon at the top, while that attached to the Brazilian province shows 8 a.m. and, directly above, the Japanese dial shows 9 p.m. This is of course more than two centuries before the establishment of international standard time. See David S. Landes, Revolution in Time: Clocks and the Making of the Modern World (Cambridge, Mass., 1983), pp. 285-7. Adapted from Goetstouwers, Synopsis, pp. 706-7. E.g., within the Portuguese assistancy the Portuguese province produced successively the Indian and Brazilian provinces, each of which in turn produced the additional daughter provinces of Goa, Malabar, and Maranon. Indeed, the only exceptions to this pattern are the formation of the Quito province in the (colonial) Spanish assistancy in 1696 and the emergence of several Slavic provinces in the eastern region of the German assistancy in the 1750s. The pattern of establishment of provinces followed closely the pattern for the foundation of seminaries and colleges. Of the 650 or so colleges that the Society eventually operated, 90 per cent were founded before 1640. Indeed, it would seem that province-formation was largely a function of the collegiate foundation, with a province having on average about 20 colleges and (by the eighteenth century) one

238 Steven J. Harris

43

44

45 46

47

48

49

50

university. By this count, the 'largest' provinces - the Roman, Upper German (Bavarian), and Austrian - contained about 35 colleges and seminaries each, while the 'smallest' were invariably the overseas provinces of the Spanish and Portuguese assistancies, almost all of which contained at least 8 colleges. 'Compound,' a generic term not used by the Jesuit administration but introduced here for the sake of convenience, embraces all the categories of domiciles inventoried in Hamy - colleges, novitiates, seminaries, professed houses, etc. See Hamy, Documents, pp. i-iv. There are also about forty 'non-Jesuit' towns (i.e., towns that had no Jesuit compounds) where Jesuit scientific works were published, but these were the place of publication for no more than 15 per cent of Jesuit scientific works. See Har. 'Jes. Id.,' pp. 147-9, 344-57. Indeed, the majority of Jesuit scientific works were published in just seventeen cities: Dillingen, Ingolstadt, Paris, Rome, Vienna, which dominate the list, and Augsburg, Bamberg, Bologna, Graz, Heidelberg, Lyon, Milan, Munich, Prague, Tyrnau, Venice, and Wurzburg. It should be noted that the analysis above rests on the assumption that most book production was a regional matter, that is, that the place of publication correlates with the place of redaction - though of course not necessarily with the place of observation or initial composition. Spot checks of several Jesuit authors suggest that this is in fact a reasonable assumption. However, as should already be clear from the list of representative authors and publications given in the introduction above, the places of composition for a given work were very often many and remote from the place of redaction and publication. See below. While it is true that the offices and administrative appointments of the leadership in Rome were largely sedentary, almost all Jesuits who assumed these highest positions had previously held itinerant offices (as provincials, procurators, visitors, etc.). Only in the eighteenth century is there a tendency, neither pronounced nor universal, to retain professors in a given academic discipline (say, in chairs of mathematics) for more than the usual three-year cycle. While strictly speaking these latter are not the Society's offices, they were nonetheless sanctioned upon occasion by superiors and served as important sites for Jesuit science. The best-known examples of such courtly positions were those attached to the imperial courts in China, though there were several mandarin-like appointments to the courts of Vienna, Munich, and the Palatinate in the eighteenth century. These percentages are based on a relatively small sample of two hundred publications (the entire corpus of published titles in the natural sciences numbers about five thousand items). For a discussion of the complexities of and shifts in the number of Jesuits in the priestly ranks, see Ladislaus Lukacs, 'De graduum diversitate inter sacerdotes in Societate lesu,' AHSI37 (1968): 237-316. See e.g. the 'First Contemplation' of the First Day of the Second Week in The

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51

52

53 54 55

56

57 58

59

'Spiritual Exercises' of Saint Ignatius of Loyola, trans. George E. Ganss (St Louis, 1992), pp. 56-7 (#101-8). De Acosta himself travelled extensively in Peru, crossing and recrossing the Andes on several occasions, and also availed himself of the reports of his fellow Jesuits, some of whom had travelled as far as the Amazon. In the 'Advertisement to the Reader' in his Historia natural he informs us in regard to what he has written concerning the New World: 'I have beene carefull to learne from men of greatest experience and best scene in these matters, and to gather from their discourses and relations what I have thought fit to give knowledge of the deedes and custome of these people. And for that which concernes the nature of those Countries and their properties, I have learned it by the experience of many friends, and by my diligence to search, discover, and conferre with men of judgement and knowledge'; Jose de Acosta, The Natural and Moral History of the Indies, trans. Edward Grimston (London, 1604; New York, 1912), pp. xxiv-xxv. Pardies produced six gnomonic maps in his Globi coelestis in tabulis planas (Paris, 1674), containing some 1481 stars. While some of his observations were taken from non-Jesuits, many came from Jesuits, and his star-charts were in turn used and corrected by other Jesuit astronomers. See Deborah J. Warner, The Sky Explored: Celestial Cartography, 1500-1800 (New York, 1979), pp. 196-8. See Joseph Francois Lafitau, Moeurs des sauvages ameriquains comparees aux moeurs des premiers temps (Paris, 1724). For a rich description of the contents of Kircher's museum and the uses to which they were put, see Findlen 'Spec.' See Harris, 'Long-Distance Corporations' (n21 above), and Saul Jarcho, Quinine's Predecessor: Francesco Torti and the Early History of Cinchona (Baltimore, 1993), pp. 17-20. See Ulla Krempel, 'Die Orbansche Sammlung: Eine Raritatenkammer des 18. Jahrhunderts,' Miinchener Jahrbuch den Bildenen Kunst 19 (1968): 169-84; Franz von Krones, Geschichte der Karl-Franzens Universitdt in Graz (Graz, 1886), pp. 439^45; Franz von Schrank, Plantae rariores horti academici monacensis descriptae et iconibus illustratae (Munich, 1835); and Koch, Jesuiten-Lexikon, II 1615. Schrank's scientific career was one of the few that actually bridged the period separating the general suppression of the Society in 1773 and its restoration in 1814. See Harris, 'Confession-Building' (n31 above), pp. 296-8. The theme of organization was present in the work of Heinrich Bohmer, Die Jesuiten: Eine historische Skizze (Leipzig, 1904), well before Rene Fiilop-Miller's highly influential The Power and Secret of the Jesuits, trans. F.S. Flint and D.F. Tait (New York, 1930), made it into a cliche of Jesuit historiographical analysis. See John Law, 'On the Method of Long-Distance Control: Vessels, Navigation, and

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60 61

62 63 64

65

66 67

the Portuguese Route to India,' Sociological Review Monographs 32 (1986): 23463, and Bruno Latour, Science in Action: How to Follow Scientists and Engineers through Society (Cambridge, Mass., 1987), pp. 219-37. Latour, Science in Action, p. 223. For a discussion of enactment as a mode of cultural formation, see Gareth Morgan, 'Creating Social Reality: Organizations as Cultures,' in his Images of Organization (Thousand Oaks, Calif., 1997), pp. 139-45. See Gorman's paper in this volume, p. 175. See Renee Gicklhorn, Missionapotheker: Deutsche Pharmazeuten in Latinamerika des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderten (Stuttgart, 1973), pp. 37^4, 51-6. De Acosta, in the dedication of his Historia natural to the Infanta Dona Ysabela Clara (daughter of Philip II and Elizabeth of Valois), delicately hoped that should 'your Highness [show] a liking for it, this little work may be favored so that the King our Lord may choose to pass a short time in the consideration of affairs and of people so nearly touching his royal crown ... I desire that all I have written may serve ... [to] cause the people of [Peru] to receive more aid and favor from those to whose charge His high and divine providence has entrusted them' (Natural and Moral History, trans. Grimston, pp. xix-xx). See Steven Shapin, 'Trust and the Order of Society' and Trust and the Order of Knowledge,' in his A Social History of Truth: Civility and Science in SeventeenthCentury England (Chicago and London, 1994), pp. 8-17. See Correia-Afonso, Jesuit Letters (n3 above), pp. 15-16. While the other large Catholic religious orders involved in the overseas missions faced similar problems of long-distance control, not even the Franciscans and Dominicans (both mendicant orders with a strong tradition in education) were able to develop and expand their studia generalia in such a way as to take advantage of the natural knowledge that, in principle, became available to them through their respective missionary networks. And if the largest and most successful overseas trading companies (like the Portuguese in the sixteenth century, the Dutch in the seventeenth, and the English in the eighteenth) were wealthier and more efficient in their organization of travel than the Society, none was in the business of education or the systematic dissemination of natural knowledge generally. See Harris, 'LongDistance Corporations' (n21 above).

10 / Jesuits, Jupiter's Satellites, and the Academic Royale des Sciences FLORENCE HSIA

On 3 March 1685, the royal warship Oiseau and its accompanying frigate, the Maligne, set sail from the port of Brest with a strong northeasterly wind. A journey of nearly seven months would bring Louis XIV's embassy to King Narai of Siam. In addition to the ambassador himself and his official entourage, among the passengers on board the Oiseau were secular priests of the Missions Etrangeres de Paris and six French Jesuits, all destined for missionary work in the East. The Jesuits, however, bore petites lettres patentes declaring them 'Mathematiciens du Roi.' They carried telescopes, quadrants, seconds-pendulum, burning glasses, microscopes, thermometers, and barometers, as well as memoirs and instructions concerning the scientific observations they were to make on behalf of the Paris Academic Royale des Sciences.1 Historians of the Society of Jesus have long recognized that these French Jesuits were not simply on a mission of conversion, but also on a scientific mission for the Paris Academy of Sciences. Yet while scholars point to the scientific dimension of the 1685 mission as one of its most outstanding features, they tend to leave largely unexamined the character, content, and import of Jesuit scientific activity with respect to the Academy.2 An assumption that such activity needs no further explanation is especially curious, since some historians of early modern science have suggested that the Jesuits were specifically excluded from the Academy in this period - an exclusion variously attributed to Jansenist-Jesuit antagonism, to a perception of the Jesuits as rigidly partisan in matters philosophical, or to JeanBaptiste Colbert's personal dislike of the Society of Jesus.3 This historiographical dilemma warrants a closer examination of Jesuit investment in specific forms of scientific work and in particular institutions of early modern science.4 Academy Expeditions and bons observateurs The Academy of Sciences envisioned that its members would occasionally

242 Florence Hsia venture forth from its quarters in Paris in order to further research interests in the field.5 Extended expeditions outside France presented particular difficulties, however, since such expeditions were costly and logistically complicated, especially in the case of voyages emphasizing astronomical observation.6 Communications might be infrequent or even impossible for a period of some months or even years; under such conditions, the control of scientific work conducted afield was an issue of some concern. The Academy's voyage to the islands of Cape Verde in 1681-2 is striking in this respect; the three observers sent to Cape Verde, unlike those sent on previous Academy expeditions, were not members of the Academy, not even student (eleve) members.7 Nevertheless, the official account of the Cape Verde venture, written by Jean-Dominique Cassini, the Academy's leading astronomer, described the voyage as part of the Academy's project to improve geography in 'a new and more perfect manner.'8 This 'new manner' was the method of determining longitude by observing the satellites of Jupiter - a method which Galileo had proposed shortly after he published Sidereus nuncius (1610) announcing his discovery of four moons circling around Jupiter.9 The basic notion was that a celestial phenomenon such as the eclipse of a satellite - when a moon passed into Jupiter's shadow - was a unique event which occurred instantaneously for all observers.10 If simultaneous observations were made in two different locations, and the local times of observation accurately determined, then the resulting time difference between the local times would provide the difference in longitude between the two locations.11 Cassini breathed new life into this idea with his publication of tables for Jupiter's moons in 1668.12 Soon after his arrival in Paris in April 1669, following an invitation from Louis XIV to help plan and run the Paris Observatory, Cassini and the other astronomers of the Academy began observing Jupiter's satellites with particular care, both from within France and on expeditions farther afield.13 The expedition to Cape Verde, then, was part of this larger project. But how could the Academy ensure that the non-academicians proposed for the voyage would properly perform the required observations in the 'new manner' endorsed and practised by the Academy? Academicians often referred to the importance of making observations in the field 'de concert' with their colleagues back in Paris.14 This meant that two sets of astronomers, one at Paris, the other in the field, would observe the same astronomical events, later to be compared and analysed. It also meant in practice that they would make these corresponding observations using, as far as possible, comparable instruments and similar procedures. The conformity of instruments, time-keepers, and procedures was crucial in a climate of growing sensitivity to the precision possible in observation and to the commensurability of observations.15

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Cassini wrote that the Cape Verde expedition members, 'Messieurs Varin, des Hayes, et de Glos,' were chosen 'after they had been trained in these sorts of observations; and they were given the following Instruction, which will serve others who may be sent,' as part of the Academy's project of geographical reform.16 Prior training by academicians was reinforced by Cassini's 'Instruction generate,' which not only indicated the types of observations to be made, but specified details of the procedures to be followed and dangers to be avoided. Instruments taken on the journey were tested against those at the Paris Observatory, and pendulum clocks adjusted to accord with the Observatory's, as Cassini's 'Instruction' specified.17 While Varin and Des Hayes were at Dieppe awaiting passage, Cassini was looking for others who could be sent overseas to make similar observations. In a letter to Jean Picard, then working on the Brittany coast, Cassini mentioned having written to Guillaume De Glos in the coastal town of Honfleur, asking him to meet with Picard or Philippe de La Hire - both Academy astronomers - in order to be taught how to observe Jupiter's satellites. Cassini confided to Picard that Colbert 'takes so much pleasure in these observations that he intends to push them as far as possible. He has therefore ordered me to train some skilled men in order to send them to distant lands. And I have said to Messrs Sauveur and De la Montre that if they practise making the observations, they may be employed.'18 Jesuit observateurs According to Cassini, the Academy's reform of geography had moved Louis XIV to order that 'appropriate occasions' be seized to send capable persons into 'distant countries.'19 A Europe-wide appeal from Ferdinand Verbiest, a Belgian Jesuit at Beijing, seemed to provide such an opportunity. Verbiest, who had successfully reasserted a strong Jesuit presence in the Chinese Imperial Astronomical Bureau since 1669, called for Jesuits to devote themselves to the study of mathematics and come to the aid of the China mission, in a letter published in Paris by September 1681, if not earlier.20 Verbiest's appeal came just when Cassini was casting about for able astronomers to go into the field. Preparing to travel to China with some of his confreres, Jean de Fontenay, the Jesuit professor of mathematics at Paris, consulted with Cassini regarding observations he was to make.21 A week after writing to Picard about his efforts to secure observateurs, Cassini presented to the Academy a set of instructions for astronomical observations which he had composed for Fontenay.22 It was thus firmly in the context of the Academy's project to improve geography that Cassini turned to Fontenay and other Jesuits as observers for the Academy.23 Cassini personally assured Louis XIV that the Jesuits would acquit themselves well in

244 Florence Hsia their new commission. Before the Jesuits' departure, as Cassini told the king, he and the Jesuits had observed together for a long time, so they were 'assured of the exact correspondence of the observations.'24 Fontenay and his 'band' of Jesuits did not depart for China until 1685, though why the plans of 1681-2 were delayed is still a matter of scholarly debate.25 It was not until after Colbert's death, and the occasion of a French embassy to the kingdom of Siam, that Cassini's vision was revived. On 21 December 1684, a few weeks before Fontenay and his group left Paris for the port of Brest, a lunar eclipse was observed from the Paris Observatory.26 Academicians and the 'Mathematicians of the College of Louis-le-Grand' together recorded their timings of the eclipse's phases. These mathematicians from the Jesuit college in Paris were Fontenay, Claude de Visdelou, Joachim Bouvet, and Guy Tachard, four of those chosen as 'Mathematicians of His Majesty to go to China.' As the Journal des savants reported, the academicians agreed with the Jesuits on 'the manner of observing eclipses, so that by comparing their observations with ours, one might draw from them the difference of meridians with the greatest accuracy possible.'27 Most of the Jesuits' instruments were made at the king's expense by suppliers to the Paris Academy of Sciences. The Jesuits carried in addition Cassini's revised ephemerides for Jupiter's satellites; memoirs by various Academy members concerning plants, anatomy, and other topics in natural philosophy; and instructions prepared by the Academy concerning various observations to be made by the Jesuits in the course of the journey as well as in China.28 As with the Cape Verde expedition, such precautions were meant to ensure that observers in the field were in accord with Academy observers at Paris. For the Jesuits, however, processes of incorporation into the Academy found more explicit expression. The Jesuits were admitted 'by a particular privilege' into the Paris Academy of Sciences. The academicians, Tachard wrote, 'promised to communicate their Discoveries to us, [and] we engaged ourselves to send them our observations, to the end that acting in consort, and making but one Body [Corps} of Academicians, some in France, and others in China, we might joyntly labour in the encreasing and improvment of Sciences, under the protection of so great a Monarch.'29 Science at Court: Tachard's Voyage de Siam (1686) How was Jesuit scientific work presented in the two Jesuit publications concerning the 1685 voyage to Siam? The first text to appear was Guy Tachard's Voyage de Siam des peres jesuites of 1686. The book is a narrative account of the voyage from Paris to Siam, and includes two sets of astronomical observations; the first made at the Cape of Good Hope, the second at Louvo, in the kingdom of Siam.

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Upon arrival at the Cape of Good Hope, Fontenay and Tachard met with Commissioner-General van Reede, a powerful representative of the Dutch East India Company, and 'explained to him the new way of observing by the Satellites of Jupiter,' by which they proposed to determine the true longitude of the Cape. Van Reede offered a pavilion in the Company's garden in which the Jesuits might make their observations.30 Tachard described how he and his confreres brought the instruments to land and began observing the satellites of Jupiter that very night, even before they had had a chance to determine the time of local noon.31 The next day they took several altitudes of the sun, recording when the rising sun attained a given altitude in the morning and when it reached that altitude again in the afternoon on its descent. This procedure was precisely that which Cassini had prescribed in his instructions for the Cape Verde voyage; its purpose was to determine the instant of local noon so that observations of celestial events, such as eclipses, could be accurately timed.32 They also measured the variation of magnetic north from astronomical north. With 'no particular Observations to make' that evening, the Jesuits sighted at various southern stars with their telescope. The following day they again took several altitudes of the sun. After dinner they went to the Dutch fort to inform the gentlemen there of their evening plans to observe Jupiter's moons; the Dutch officers and officials accompanied the Jesuits in order to be 'Spectators' of the observations, as they would do again the following day. Tachard concluded his description of the Cape visit by recounting technical details of the observation itself, refining the time of the innermost satellite's emergence from Jupiter's shadow, and, finally, calculating the Cape's longitude as reckoned from Paris, using Cassini's tables. Though the Jesuits were again warmly welcomed by the Dutch governorgeneral at Batavia, no observations were possible there because of overcast skies, nor in the capital city of Siam, where no suitable place for making observations could be found.33 After arriving at the king's summer palace at Louvo, however, the Jesuits quickly made preparations for observing a lunar eclipse, predicted for 11 December.34 As the king of Siam wished that the observation of the eclipse be made in his presence, the Jesuits were brought to one of his residences, where they set up their instruments, preparing one telescope for the king's use. At about 3 a.m. the Jesuits readied themselves. Some were 'sitting upon Persian Carpets, some at the Telescopes, others at the Pendulum, and others were to write down the time of the Observation. We saluted his Majesty with a profound inclination of Body, and then began to observe.'35 At this point in the narrative, Tachard inserted a detailed list of the times observed for the eclipse's phases. During the eclipse, the king asked the Jesuits various questions regarding the eclipse, while one of his officials brought 'six Cassocks and as many Cloaks of flowred Sattin' for the assembled Jesuits36 (fig. 10.1). Wishing to look through the longer

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10.1. The French Jesuits and the king of Siam observing a lunar eclipse from the royal residence. From Guy Tachard, Voyage de Siam des peres jesuites, envoyes par le my, mix Indes &ala Chine (Amsterdam, 1687). Photo courtesy of the Department of Special Collections, University of Chicago Library.

telescope which Fontenay had been using, the Siamese king allowed Fontenay to rise in his presence to bring it to him. This gesture, Tachard reported, was a mark of rare favour in the context of Siamese customs. Finally, the Siamese king announced to the assembled Jesuits that he intended to ask Louis XIV for 'twelve Mathematicians of our Society,' charging Tachard, who was to accompany the Siamese ambassadors back to France, and the Jesuit royal confessor at Paris, Franfois de La Chaise, to aid his request. Tachard was

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presented with two crucifixes made of gold and precious metals, one for himself, the other for the royal confessor. These twelve Jesuit mathematicians were to staff an observatory to be built 'in imitation of Paris and Peking1 The new group of Jesuits would arrive to find observatory, house, and church already built for them at Louvo as well as at the capital city of Siam. As in his presentation of the episode at the Cape of Good Hope, Tachard concluded his narrative by calculating the time of the eclipse at Louvo; and by comparing it to the time recorded by Academy astronomers at Paris, he provided a determination of Louvo's longitude. In Tachard's work, both the astronomical observations made at the Cape of Good Hope and those made at Louvo were presented as part of a political narrative. French Jesuits fulfilling the will of their king were welcomed, and their skills as mathematicians and astronomers were admired by prominent and politically powerful representatives of rival European powers, and Eastern potentates. At the Cape of Good Hope, the Jesuits left the Dutch governor 'a Microscope and a small burning glass' as well as their calculation of the Cape's longitude. Though no invitation to open a Catholic church in this Protestant colony ensued, Tachard reported that the momentary 'possession of our little Observatory' alerted the Catholics there to the presence of the Jesuits, who heard their confessions and offered words of encouragement that they be kept from 'Heresie.'38 At Siam, scientific prowess provided an entree whereby the Jesuits legitimately established themselves in a foreign land, there to work as mathematicians and missionaries from court, observatory, and church. This model of science in service to religion recalls one of the most celebrated aspects of Jesuit missionary strategy in China, one articulated at length by Ferdinand Verbiest in his Astronomia europaea of 1687.39 Tachard's publication adroitly moulded the Catholic missionary enterprise in Siam to resemble the Jesuit enterprise in China, highlighting the utility of the profane sciences especially the mathematical sciences - as a means to a greater end.40 There is little evidence that the Siam mission was perceived in this way prior to Tachard's publication.41 But this missionary trope - so familiar to us from the history of the Jesuit mission in China, and reminiscent of Jesuit scientific activity at European courts and colleges - has here acquired more specific allegiances, portending a new vision of Jesuit scientific work. Science at the Academy: Gouye's Observations (1688) Jesuit commitment to the Academy of Sciences as an institution, and so as both a model and a moderator of scientific practices, found new expression in Thomas Gouye's collection of the French Jesuits' observations on the 1685 voyage.

248 Florence Hsia Gouye, who succeeded Fontenay as professor of mathematics at the Jesuits' Parisian college, published the Observations physiques et mathematiques in order to highlight the Jesuits' work on behalf of the Academy.42 Gouye's conscientious presentation expressed a hope, explicitly articulated in his dedication to Louis XIV, that the Jesuits 'by continuing to observe in concert with the famous Royal Academy of Sciences ... would make their work as advantageous to all the nations of Europe, as glorious to your reign.'43 The narrative elements so prominent in Tachard's account are absent from Gouye's publication. Whereas Tachard had interspersed technical details of the Jesuits' scientific work throughout descriptions of royal elephant hunts and audiences, Gouye tidily gathered sundry astronomical observations, made over a span of several days, into brief paragraphs containing details of instrumentation and weather conditions, followed by lists of observed astronomical positions and related calculations. This presentation closely resembled the style of other Academy publications, in contrast to that of Tachard's travelogue narrative.44 The French Jesuits' observations paralleled those carried out on the earlier expedition to Cape Verde, Guadeloupe, and Martinique.45 In some cases the elements of the observations were refined by Gouye, who often relied on more up-to-date materials supplied to him by Academy astronomers. For example, while the Jesuits in Siam made use of older tables by Giovanni Baptista Riccioli and Jean Richer to derive latitudes from their multiple observations of meridian altitudes for the sun and various stars, Gouye referred to tables more recently drawn up by the academician Philippe de La Hire to recalculate the latitude positions.46 Significantly, the Jesuits' observations were contextualized by the comments and conclusions of members of the Academy. This is true both of the first section, devoted to natural history - anatomical descriptions of crocodiles and other creatures - and of the much longer second section, consisting of astronomical observations. The all-important observations of Jupiter's moons were of course used to determine Louvo's longitude. This was done definitively by Cassini, who used the Jesuits' observations to calculate an ephemeris for all eclipses of Jupiter's first satellite visible from the meridian of Louvo between 19 February and 30 March.47 The Jesuits' work was thus presented in a way that focused attention on scientific - indeed, academic - issues raised, not political advantages gained. Moreover, the evaluation and revision of the Jesuits' work in terms of Academy specifications and concerns emphasized the assimilation of French Jesuit science to French academic science. If Tachard had broached the suggestion that he and his confreres might form 'but one Body [Corps] of Academicians' with those at Paris, Gouye's edition embodied it. That the Jesuits and their scientific activities were firmly viewed - from both

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within and without the Academy - as part of the Academy's projects is evident in an attack launched by Isaac Vossius, a renowned Dutch Humanist scholar. As Gouye recounted in the Observations, the Bibliotheque universelle et historique had published excerpts of a letter from Vossius dated 23 February 1688 regarding Tachard's 1686 publication.48 In his letter, Vossius attacked the use of Jupiter's satellites for determining longitude, writing that such distant planets could not provide an accurate measure of longitude. Indeed, Vossius even seemed to object to the use of lunar eclipses for this purpose. Not only did Gouye leap to the defence of his confreres' observations, explaining how Jupiter's satellites observed at the Cape and the lunar eclipse recorded at Siam could give the longitude of these locales, but nearly the entirety of the academician Philippe de La Hire's contribution to Gouye's volume was given to defending both the principle of using celestial events to determine longitude and the particular observations made by the Jesuits.49 Both Vossius in his attack and Gouye and La Hire in their defences treated the Jesuits' observations - and so the Jesuits themselves - as integral to the Academy's project of establishing geographical positions by means of astronomical observations. La Hire also praised both earlier and contemporary generations of predominantly non-French Jesuits for having contributed nearly a century's worth of lunar eclipse observations, from 'the principal places of all of India, China, Japan, and a part of America' - that is, 'all the places of their missions' - to the improvement of geographical knowledge.50 Indeed, Gouye's book included about a hundred pages of astronomical observations made by non-French Jesuits in Asia and the Americas.5' There are some clear differences in method between the observations made by French Jesuits and those made by Jesuits from other countries. Gouye explicitly commented on certain of these differences, refining some of the observations to accord more closely with the practices of astronomers at the Paris Academy of Sciences.52 But La Hire went on to stress that observations of Jupiter's satellites were far more reliable for determining longitude. According to La Hire, this was why the Academy had instructed the French Jesuits in 'these manners of observing,' and why the king had provided them with the necessary instruments, and incorporated them into the Academy.53 La Compagnie de Jesus et 1'Academie A year after the Jesuit mission of 1685, the French Jesuit astronomer Jean Bonfa at Avignon wrote to Thomas Gouye at Paris, offering himself as one contributor among many to a Jesuit effort to map the world. To determine longitudes and latitudes accurately in Europe, wrote Bonfa, 'it seems to me that no one can do it more conveniently, and at less expense, than the Jesuits; we have houses in all the

250 Florence Hsia principal cities, and in those where we do not we easily have the means to find convenient houses for observing the eclipses and the emersions of the satellites of Jupiter &c.'54 This sentiment was reiterated by Louis-Daniel Le Comte in his Nouveaux memoires (1696), the text which a few years later was condemned by the Sorbonne theological faculty as part of the Chinese Rites controversy. Le Comte wrote that he and his confreres of the 1685 mission had hoped to establish houses where 'our mathematicians and philosophers would work after the example and under the guidance of the academicians at Paris, who from here, as from the centre of the sciences, will be able to communicate to us their thoughts, their methods, their discoveries, and to receive, if I may say so, as if by reflection, our feeble illuminations.' Writing long after political turmoil destroyed the dream of a Siamese observatory, Le Comte spoke instead of a new observatory in China, to be 'still more magnificent' than that of Siam, and ambitions for others from 'Isfahan in Persia, to Agra in the Mughal [Empire], on the Isle of Borneo below the equator, in Tartary,' and elsewhere.55 Taking their cue from the mission to Siam, French Jesuits hoped to extend the commission which the Academy accorded them in 1685 to Jesuits around the world. Jesuit scientific work under this rubric would be filtered through the scientific objectives, methods, and standards of the Paris Academy of Sciences. In some ways, it is not surprising that the Jesuit royal mathematicians of 1685 have attracted so little attention. First, they seem to fall quite neatly into a larger narrative of the mission in China, in which Jesuit astronomers ascend to positions of prestige and power at the Chinese court; like Matteo Ricci, Johann Adam Schall von Bell, or Ferdinand Verbiest, the French Jesuits are another milemarker in this progression. Second, the Society's reputation as a well-educated teaching order in the early modern period makes the existence of Jesuit mathematicians and Jesuit astronomers unremarkable. Yet the processes by which Jesuits were for a time able to become part of one of the ancien regime's most prominent institutions of early modern science have remained invisible both to scholars of the Jesuit missions in the East and to historians of early modern science. The purpose here has been to draw our attention back to the 1685 mission in order to suggest some of the implications of that alignment. To begin with, the French Jesuits of the 1685 mission evidently attained membership in the Academy of Sciences, as both Jesuits and academicians attest. How does this membership compare with Jesuit participation in the Academy after the reforms of 1699? Did their confreres - French or not - successfully reenact in subsequent years the various relations between Jesuit and Academy which Tachard, Gouye, and Le Comte articulated? Second, given their investment in French academic science, how ought we to evaluate French Jesuits' scientific profile on the Chinese mission? Though Jesuits held official positions

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in the Imperial Astronomical Bureau, controlling its presidency from 1644 with hardly a gap until well after the Society's dissolution in Europe in 1773, French Jesuits do not appear on its rolls.56 If Jesuits of the Portuguese vice-province of China monopolized this post, what model of science in service to religion did the French Jesuits in China pursue? Finally, how did the French Jesuits integrate this new array of allegiances to king, Academy, and God? What justifications, if any, did Jesuits offer for their work on behalf of the Academy in the light of their religious objectives? Answers to such questions can point the way to a judicious reassessment of Jesuit standing within the Parisian scientific community and especially vis-a-vis the Academy, as well as to a more nuanced understanding of how science and religion intersected in the early modern era. NOTES

I would like to thank the participants at the Boston College conference for insights that contributed to the final version of this article. I owe special thanks to Mordechai Feingold, Marc Fumaroli, Steven J. Harris, Robert J. Richards, Eric Schliesser, Michael Shank, Nicolas Standaert, and Noel M. Swerdlow for their comments and suggestions. 1 The text of the patent letters was published in Guy Tachard, Voyage de Siam des peres jesuites, envoyes par le my, aux Indes & a la Chine: Avec leurs observations astronomiques, & leurs remarques de physique, de geographic, d'hydrographie, & d'histoire (Paris, 1686). Citations are from the English translation, A Relation of the Voyage to Siam Performed by Six Jesuits, Sent by the French King, to the Indies and China, in the Year 1685: With Their Astrological Observations, and Their Remarks of Natural Philosophy, Geography, Hydrography, and History (London, 1688; facs. ed. Bangkok, 1981), pp. 10-11. Tachard's account draws liberally on an account written by Joachim Bouvet, another of the Jesuit 'royal mathematicians,' published as Voiage de Siam du Pere Bouvet, ed. Janette C. Gatty (Leiden, 1963); see p. 19. Regarding petites lettres patentes, see Roland E. Mousnier, The Institutions of France under the Absolute Monarchy, 1598-1789, trans. Arthur Goldhammer, 2 vols (Chicago, 1979-84), II 238-9. 2 E.g. Virgile Pinot, La Chine et la formation de I'esprit philosophique en France (1640-1740) (Paris, 1932), pp. 40-7; Louis Pfister, Notices biographiques et bibliographiques sur les jesuites de I'ancienne mission de Chine, 1552-1773, 2 vols (Shanghai, 1932—4; repr. San Francisco, 1976), I 420-4; Dain. Geog. hum., pp. 450-4. 3 E.g. John M. Hirschfield, 'The Academie Royale des Sciences (1666-83),' Ph.D. dissertation. University of Chicago, 1957, chap. 2 (published New York, 1981); Roger Hahn, The Anatomy of a Scientific Institution: The Paris Academy of Sciences, 1666-1803 (Berkeley, 1971), p. 15; Alice Stroup, A Company ofScien-

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lists: Botany, Patronage, and Community at the Seventeenth-Century Parisian Royal Academy of Sciences (Berkeley, 1990), p. 17. The reorganization of the Academy in 1699 included promulgation of a royal reglement, which clarified categories of Academy membership, i.e., honoraire, pensionnaire, associe, and eleve. The reglement specified that no member of a religious order could be admitted to membership except as an honoraire. In practice, yet another category was established in 1699, that of correspondant. Among the individuals named corresponding members that year were many French Jesuits with existing connections to the Academy, including several in China (some from the 1685 mission). These arrangements, however, cannot be read back into the first thirty years of the Academy's existence. Our present focus is precisely on the period prior to the regularization of Academy membership, and on individuals such as the Jesuits of the 1685 mission whose status vis-a-vis the Academy is yet to be elucidated. The 1699 reglement is reprinted in Bernard le Bovier de Fontenelle, Histoire du renouvellement de I'Academic Roy ale des Sciences en MDCXCIX el les eloges historiques, 2 vols (Amsterdam, 1709-20; facs. ed. Brussels, 1969), I 31^43. 4 Throughout this paper I use 'science' and 'scientific' anachronistically to refer to activities such as astronomical observation and calculation, the recording of meteorological phenomena, and the collection and description of animals, plants, or minerals, as well as to the explanatory accounts associated with these activities. In the texts discussed here, scientific work is generally divided into the mathematical and the physical, mirroring the broad distinction maintained within the Academy of Sciences. 5 For the Academy's physical locations in Paris, see Stroup, A Company of Scientists, pp. 38^45. J.W. Olmsted provides evidence of the Academy's early interest in voyages in 'The Scientific Expedition of Jean Richer to Cayenne (1672-1673),' Isis 34 (1942), especially 118-19. 6 For details of expenditures, see Stroup, A Company of Scientists, appendix, tables 3, 4, and 14. 7 Earlier Academy voyages include those of La Voye (eleve) in 1668 and 1669; Picard (academician) in France in 1669-70; Richer (eleve), Meurisse, and Des Hayes to Acadia in 1670; Picard to Denmark in 1671-2; Richer and Meurisse to Cayenne in 1672-3; Cassini and Picard (both academicians) in separate journeys in France in 1672 and 1674; Picard and La Hire (academician) in France (together and separately) from 1679 to 1682. On the eleves, see David J. Sturdy, Science and Social Status: The Members of the Academic des Sciences, 1666-1750 (Rochester, 1995), chap. 8. 8 Jean-Dominique Cassini, 'Voyages au Cap Verd, en Afrique, et aux Isles de 1'Amerique,' in Les elemens de Vastronomic verifiez par M. Cassini (Paris, 1684),

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9 10

11

12 13

14

15

16

17 18

p. 51, collected in Recueil d'observations faites en plusieurs voyages par ordre de sa Majeste, pour perfectionner I'astronomie et la geographic: Avec divers traitez astronomiques: Par messieurs de I'Academie Royale des Sciences (Paris, 1693). Galileo Galilei, Sidereus nuncius, or The Sidereal Messenger [1610], trans. Albert Van Helden (Chicago, 1989). See Suzanne Debarbat and Curtis Wilson, 'The Galilean Satellites of Jupiter from Galileo to Cassini, Romer, and Bradley,' in part A, volume 2 of the General History of Astronomy, Planetary Astronomy from the Renaissance to the Rise of Astrophysics, ed. Rene Taton and Curtis Wilson (Cambridge, 1989), pp. 144-5, and Albert Van Helden, 'Longitude and the Satellites of Jupiter,' in The Quest for Longitude: The Proceedings of the Longitude Symposium, Harvard University, November 4-6, 1993, ed. William J.H. Andrewes (Cambridge, 1996), pp. 86-100. Difference in local times can be expressed in terms of angular east-west separation: since the earth completes a rotation of 360° in 24 hours, 1 hour's difference in local time is equivalent to 15° difference in longitude. Ephemerides bononienses mediceorum syderum ex hypothesibus et tabulis Jo. Dominici Cassini (Bologna, 1668). See Jean Picard, Voyage d'Uranibourg (Paris, 1680), for his observations made in France in \612~A; Cassini's 'Observations astronomiques faites en divers endroits du Royaume [1672]'; and the accounts of journeys made by Picard and Philippe de La Hire from 1679 to 1682, all collected in volume 2 of Recueil (n8 above). Most of the texts in the Recueil were reprinted in volume 7 of Memoires de VAcademie Royale des Sciences depuis 1666 jusqu'a 1699, 9 vols (Paris, 1729-34). E.g. Cassini, 'Observations astronomiques faites en divers endroits du Royaume,' p. 3; Picard, Voyage d'Uranibourg, pp. 2, 27; La Hire, 'Observations faites en Provence et a Lyon [1682],' in Picard, Voyage d'Uranibourg, p. 79. For a perspective on this sensibility, see volume 1 of Bernard le Bovier de Fontenelle, Histoire de I'Academie Royale des Sciences depuis son etablissement en 1666 jusqu'a 1686 (Paris, 1733), p. 42. Cassini, 'Voyages au Cap Verd,' p. 52; the 'Instruction generate pour les observations geographiques & astronomiques a faire dans les voyages' follows, pp. 52-8. An English translation of this text appears in Lloyd A. Brown, Jean Dominique Cassini and His World Map of 1696 (Ann Arbor, 1941), pp. 47-60. Cassini, 'Voyages au Cap Verd,' pp. 58-60, 52. See also Fontenelle, Histoire de I'Academie, p. 337. Cassini to Picard, 22 November 1681, quoted in Adrian Mallon, 'Science and Government in France, 1661-1699: Changing Patterns of Scientific Research and Development/ Ph.D. dissertation, Queen's University, Belfast, 1983, p. 123.1 have modernized the spelling.

254 Florence Hsia 19 Cassini, 'Voyages au Cap Verd,' p. 51. 20 Verbiest's letter, dated 15 August 1678, has been reprinted in Correspondance de Ferdinand Verbiest de la Compagnie de Jesus (1623-1688), ed. H. Josson and L. Willaert (Brussels, 1938), pp. 230-53. An abridged French translation appeared in the Mercure galant (September 1681): 194-211. Other French editions include Le progrez de la religion catholique dans la Chine (Toulouse, 1681), and Lettre ecrite de la Chine ou Von voit I'estatpresent du christianisme dans cet empire, & les biens qu'on y pentfairepour le salut des times (Paris, 1682). The latter was reviewed in the Journal des savants 21 (3 August 1682): 246-7. A Latin edition was also published at Paris in 1681; see Noel Golvers, The 'Astronomia europaea' of Ferdinand Verbiest, S.J. (Dillingen, 1687): Text, Translation, Notes, and Commentaries (Nettetal, 1993), p. 140 n41. 21 Fontenelle, Histoire de I'Academie, pp. 337-8. Since his arrival in Paris in 1677, Fontenay had established a reputation for astronomical observation. See the Journal des savants 8 (7 March 1678): 90; 33 (21 November 1678): 390. Fontenay is referred to in the Histoire as having just published his Observations sur la comete de I'annee MDCLXXX et MDCLXXXI, faites au College de Clermont (Paris, 1681), which was reviewed in the Journal des savants 20 (21 July 1681): 325-7. 22 Mallon, 'Science and Government,' p. 127, citing the Academy's proces-verbaux for 29 November 1681 regarding Cassini's 'Projet pour les observations geographiques.' 23 See again Fontenelle, Histoire de I'Academie, pp. 337-8. 24 Cassini, 'Note manuscrite,' reproduced in C. Wolf, Histoire de I'Observatoire de Paris (Paris, 1902), p. 121. This 'note manuscrite' in Cassini's hand records a conversation between himself and Louis XIV; internal evidence shows that the conversation must have taken place between November 1681 and mid-January 1682. See also BN ms. fr. 17240 fols 246r-249r, a manuscript describing a 'projet dresse par Monsieur Cassini pour envoyer des Jesuites Mathematiciens et bons Observateurs pour prendre les longitudes et les latitudes ... en divers endroits de 1'orient et jusques dans la Chine' (fol 246r). 25 Most scholars view Colbert's death in September 1683 as a primary cause of this delay; see Pinot, La Chine (n2 above), p. 44; John W. Witek, Controversial Ideas in China and in Europe: A Biography of Jean-Francois Foucquet, S.J. (1665-1741) (Rome, 1982), pp. 28-9; Henri Bernard, 'Le voyage du Pere de Fontenay,' Bulletin de I'Universite de I'Aurore, 3rd series, 3:2 (1942): 234; Voiage de Siam, ed. Gatty (nl above), p. xlix. Gatty and Witek also suggest that continuing difficulties between the French crown and Rome, and the problem of transportation on French ships, were important factors in the project's abandonment. 26 Two of the Jesuits, Guy Tachard and Louis-Daniel Le Comte, left Paris on 18 January 1682; Jean de Fontenay, Claude de Visdelou, and Joachim Bouvet departed

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31 32

33

34 35 36 37

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24 January. The last of their number, Jean-Francis Gerbillon, remained in Paris to oversee the preparation of some scientific instruments. See Bouvet, Voiage de Siam, p. 17. Journal des savants 8 (5 March 1685): 99. Tachard, A Relation (nl above), pp. 6-8; cf. Bouvet, Voiage de Siam, pp. 14-17. See Mallon, 'Science and Government,' p. 212, regarding the instrument makers. Tachard, A Relation, pp. 6, 7, emphasis added; the language here draws directly from Bouvet, Voiage de Siam, p. 15. Tachard, A Relation, pp. 49-50. As the Abbe de Choisy (a member of the 1685 French embassy) indicates in his Journal, Van Reede had 'sovereign authority, even to change governors'; Abbe Francois-Timoleon de Choisy, Journal du voyage de Siam fait en 1685 et 1686 (Paris, 1687); ed. Maurice Gar?on (Paris, 1930), p. 52; see also Bouvet, Voiage de Siam, p. 43 n3. The following description of the Cape observations is drawn from Tachard, A Relation, pp. 53-9. Cassini, 'Voyages au Cap Verd,' pp. 52-3; see also Jean Richer, Observations astronomiques ... faites en I'Isle de Cdienne (Paris, 1679), p. 6, in Recueil (n8 above). Cf. Christiaan Huygens's 'Instructions Concerning the Use of PendulumWatches, for Finding the Longitude at Sea,' Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society 47 (1669): 937-53, where Huygens describes similar procedures, albeit for different purposes; see Thomas Gouye, Observations physiques et mathematiques pour servir a Vhistoire naturelle et a la perfection de I'astronomie & de la geographie: Envoyees de Siam a I'Academie Royale des Sciences a Paris, par les peres jesuites frant^ois qui vont a la Chine en qualite de mathematiciens du Roy: Avec les reflexions de messieurs de I'Academie, & quelques notes du P. Goiiye, de la Compagnie de Jesus (Paris, 1688), pp. 65-6, for remarks on Huygens's ideas. I am indebted to a manuscript paper by Eric Schliesser and George E. Smith for the Huygens reference. A succinct discussion of this method of 'equal altitudes' in the context of early modern navigation appears in William J.H. Andrewes, 'Finding Local Time at Sea, and the Instruments Employed,' in The Quest for Longitude, ed. Andrewes (nlO above), pp. 394-404. Tachard, A Relation, pp. 115-17. The governor-general of the Dutch East India Company had authority over the entire Dutch East Indies; see Donald F. Lach, Asia in the Making of Europe (Chicago, 1965- ), III, bk 1, p. 49. The following account of the episode at Louvo is drawn from Tachard, A Relation, pp. 230-3, 236-46. Ibid., p. 237. Ibid., p. 238. Ibid., p. 202; cf. Bouvet, Voiage de Siam, p. 140 n2. The chief minister, Constance Phaulkon, broached the topic of an observatory to the Siamese king after receiving

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38 39 40

41

42

43 44 45 46 47

a proposal to this effect from Fontenay. Phaulkon had hoped for a stronger Jesuit presence in Siam. In January 1684 he wrote to Charles de Noyelle, general of the Society of Jesus, for 'des Italiens, des Venitiens ou des Flamands, des hommes verses dans les mathematiques et les autres arts liberaux'; cited in Dirk Van der Cruysse, Louis XIV et le Siam (Paris, 1991), p. 280; see also Bouvet, Voiage de Siam, pp. 104-5. Tachard, A Relation, pp. 60, 49-50, 62. See n20 above. See Tachard, A Relation, pp. 200-2. Studies emphasizing this aspect of Jesuit proselytization in China include Henri Bernard, Matteo Ricci's Scientific Contribution to China (Beijing, 1935); George H. Dunne, Generation of Giants: The Story of the Jesuits in China in the Last Decades of the Ming Dynasty (Notre Dame, 1962); Spence, Mem. Cf. Jacques Gernet's treatment in China and the Christian Impact: A Conflict of Cultures, trans. Janet Lloyd (Cambridge, 1985), pp. 57-63. Most French missionary activity conducted at Siam in the 1670s and early 1680s was directed by the Missions Etrangeres de Paris. During the early 1680s there were but a few Jesuits in Siam, and only Manoel Soarez, a Portuguese, was still resident in Siam at the time of the 1685 French embassy. See Bouvet,Voiage de Siam, pp. 102, 106, and Tachard, A Relation, p. 147. The Mercure galant carried several articles concerning Siamese-French relations in the 1680s, in which the progress of Christianity in Siam is attributed to the work of French missionaries and French vicars apostolic associated with the Missions Etrangeres. There is no mention of the Jesuits, nor of the use of astronomy and mathematics on the Siam mission. See Mercure galant (September 1681): 317-31; (September 1684): 73-80; (October 1684): 217-79; (December 1684): 242-82; (January 1685): 295-320; (February 1685): 289-98. Cf. contemporary articles concerning Jesuits and the China mission, in which the sciences are consistently associated with the Jesuit approach to conversion: Mercure galant (September 1681): 193-211; (September 1684): 211-25; (November 1684): 131-69. See n32 above. Like Fontenay, Gouye had previously been professor of hydrography at Nantes. See Frangois de Dainville, 'L'enseignement des mathematiques dans les colleges jesuites de France,' in Dain. Ed.jes., pp. 339, 340. Gouye, Observations, sig. ~aiii. See Gouye's presentation of the observations at the Cape of Good Hope (pp. 6163) and Louvo (pp. 66-70). E.g. corresponding solar altitudes; meridian altitudes of sun and stars; emersions and immersions of Jupiter's satellites; length of seconds-pendulum; lunar eclipses. Gouye, Observations, pp. 70-80. Ibid., pp. 80-8, 91-9.

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48 Ibid., pp. 106-13. For Vossius's letter, see Bibliotheque universelle et historique 8 (1688): 429. 49 Gouye, Observations, pp. 113-19; see also 225-31. Cassini's own lengthy defence of this method for determining longitude and the Jesuits' contribution to the project, 'La methode de determiner les longitudes des lieux de la Terre par les observations des satellites de Jupiter, verifiee & expliquee par M. Cassini,' is found on pp. 232-78. 50 Ibid., p. 114. 51 Ibid., pp. 120-224; primarily contributions by Antoine Thomas, a Belgian Jesuit. 52 E.g. corrections for refraction, a topic of current research by Academy astronomers; see ibid., pp. 133-6, 138-49, 183-94. 53 Ibid., pp. 115-16. 54 Letter of Jean Bonfa to Thomas Gouye, 6 November 1686, BN ms. fr. 24427 fol. 41 r; published in Alice Stroup, 'Le Comte Venaissin (1696) of Jean Bonfa, S.J.: A Paradoxical Map by an Accidental Cartographer,' Imago mundi 47 (1995): 136. See also Bonfa's letter of 16 May 1687, BN ms. fr. 24427 fols 39r-^0r, in Stroup, p. 137. 55 Louis-Daniel Le Comte, Nouveaux memoires sur I'etat present de la Chine, 2nd ed. (Paris, 1697); ed. F. Touboul-Bouyeure as Unjesuite a Pekin: Nouveaux memoires sur Vetat present de la Chine, 1687-1692 (Paris, 1990), p. 507. Le Comte's description of the Jesuits' scientific work in the East is addressed to Jean-Paul Bignon, president of the Academic des Sciences. Le Comte had returned to France as procurator for the French mission in China. 56 See Joseph Dehergne, Repertoire des jesuites (Rome, 1973), pp. 307-8; Willy Vande Walle, 'Ferdinand Verbiest and the Chinese Bureaucracy,' in Ferdinand Verbiest (1623-1688): Jesuit Missionary, Scientist, Engineer, and Diplomat, ed. John W. Witek (Nettetal, 1994), pp. 495-515; Jonathan Porter, 'Bureaucracy and Science in Early Modern China: The Imperial Astronomical Bureau in the Ch'ing Period,' Journal of Oriental Studies 18 (1980): 61-76, especially table 3. Porter names Jean-Fra^ois Gerbillon as having supervised the Bureau after 1688. If a French Jesuit had held official position in the Bureau, that fact would have been prominent in French Jesuit accounts of the China mission. But see Charles Le Gobien, Histoire de I'edit de I'empereur de la Chine, enfaveur de la religion chrestienne (Paris, 1698), p. 108.

117 Exemplo aeque ut verbo: The French Jesuits' Missionary World DOMINIQUE DESLANDRES

Was there such a thing as a Jesuit 'way of proceeding'? That is not an easy question to answer, especially in the case of the French missions. One is tempted to say yes: in my own work, for example, I have shown the essential continuity between the missionary aims and methods of the Jesuits in France and those of the Jesuits in the colonies of France.1 But the comparative perspective called for by Magnus Morner suggests that that is not the whole story.2 In fact, the comparison of seventeenth-century missions as diverse as those of the Capuchins, the secular orders, and the Jesuits shows that the Jesuits' aims and methods were by no means unique. These two observations are less contradictory than they may seem; they call into question the long-standing assumption - by scholars who have considered the Jesuit experience in the New World and particularly in New France - that the Jesuits had a uniquely perverse and secret plan for the domination of souls and bodies. The real monopoly they exercised on the spiritual lives of the French settlers and the Indians has been stigmatized as a 'theocracy in the New World' and as an 'invasion within' that irremediably destroyed native cultures.3 But this view ignores a fundamental truth of the French Christian missions: the Jesuits were not alone in behaving the way they did. Beyond the criticisms that can be levelled at the Jesuits for their negative effects on Indian cultures in the New World, it is possible to show that all Catholic missionaries had similar attitudes towards infidels in both the New and the Old World and employed similar strategies to redeem lost souls no matter where they found them. In other words, in insisting on the idiosyncratic nature of their experiment in New France, historians and anthropologists forget that the seventeenth-century Jesuits were part of a gigantic movement of reformation and transformation of the Western mind, striving for a kind of 'sacred Utopia' in both the Old and the New World; they overlook the fact that Jesuit external missions

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have to be placed in the global context of the European missionary phenomenon that dictated their attitudes. The Jesuits, like other missionaries, felt they were developing new strategies to cope with a crumbling world; the eschatological currents of their time attest to how close they thought they were to the end of the world.4 And in truth one world was ending while another was in the making. So yes, there was such a thing as a Jesuit missionary 'corporate culture,' but that culture was part of a more global one. Once this fact has been established, we may ask how this larger missionary culture can be defined. In order to do so, we can use the 'operational concept' of Michel Foucault's episteme, which can be defined as the field knowledge proper to a group at a certain period of time.5 The historical study and analysis of the vocabulary of the missions' relations, of biographies of missionaries, and of mission histories and handbooks has prompted me to divide this missionary episteme into five sections: (1) the idea of the mission itself (mainly, the aims pursued and the way they were to be pursued); (2) the attitude towards the people to be 'missionized'; (3) the way the missionary saw himself and his action; (4) the methods used to attain the missionary's goals; and (5) the reactions expected from the people. Let us first compare the cases of Brittany and New France, and then place them in the context of the general missionary world. The well-documented Jesuit missions in Brittany were exemplary of the internal missions. Furthermore, from 1640 to 1683 they coexisted with the Canadian missions, which were operational from 1610 to 1791.6 Finally, missionary agents on both sides of the Atlantic made reference to each other, as we will see. The Essential Continuity of the French Jesuit Missions The mere chronology shows how interwoven were the internal and external missionary initiatives of the French Jesuits. Within France, the Jesuits were active from at least 1562 (with E. Auger's mission at Issoire, in the diocese of Clermont), and within a short time they patrolled almost the whole country. But they were not alone: 'secular snipers,' as I call the diocesan clergy, were also at work, like Michel Le Nobletz in Brittany, Cesar de Bus in Provence, and Frangois de Sales in Chablais, as well as regular orders such as the Capuchins all over France and the Barnabites in Beam. Moreover, the French Jesuits were more active as internal than external missionaries in this period. Their missions outside Europe were established only in the seventeenth century, beginning with those in Constantinople in 1609 and Acadia in 1611. Furthermore, missions outside France were far fewer than home missions: between 1610 and 1650, French Jesuits were at work all over France - 'in the field' from Normandy and Brittany to Saintonges and Guyenne, from Lyonnais and Dauphine to Provence

260 Dominique Deslandres and Savoy.7 Today, surprisingly, it is only their external missions that history remembers. Because these missions were more spectacular on account of the wonders and new peoples they uncovered and the martyrs they soon yielded, they were better able to capture their contemporaries' imagination, and for the same reason they have captured the imagination of modern scholars. Brittany and New France: A Comparative Case Study When the Jesuit Julien Maunoir considered his new missionary field of Lower Brittany, he expressed himself in the same terms, referred to the same methods, and expected the same results as his fellow Jesuits in New France. The similarity can be accounted for by their 'missionary corporate culture,' which was sustained by two factors: first, thanks to the relations, to letters, and to other circulating correspondence, they were 'on line' with one another; second, the same agents were often called to work first inside and then outside France. In fact, the missionaries sent to New France often made their debut in the French countryside. Like Pierre Biard, one of the first Canadian Jesuit missionaries, they worked as missionaries internally before leaving France; after serving in the colonies, they would often return to the homeland to work as missionaries near their residences and colleges.8 Moreover, as shown by the immense set of Indipetae found in the Fondo Gesuitico in the Society of Jesus' Roman archives, exotic destinations attracted numerous Jesuits, many of whom asked to be sent to the external missions; most often, the superior general of the Society informed them that their 'Indies' were in Europe.9 In this context, it is not surprising to note that before devoting himself to Lower Brittany, where he would serve from 1640 to 1683, Maunoir had dreamed of going to New France: 'To him, the Canadians appeared to be more dangerous than the Bretons, and the gross ignorance of the latter pricked his zeal less than the idolatry of the former.'10 But, as often happened, his superiors redirected him to the internal 'Indies,' in his case those of Lower Brittany.11 1. The Idea of the Mission Itself To convey their idea of the mission, Maunoir and his fellow missionaries in Brittany and in New France most often made use of a vocabulary of warfare. It was a holy war to which the missionary was called, and a 'holy militia' in which he enrolled in order to overcome Satan, the great enemy, 'God having destined Maunoir to overthrow the empire of the Prince of Darkness.'12 In France and in New France his mission was the conquest of souls. And Maunoir's secret wish was to die for it: 'Happy would I be to devote to it my entire life, and to shed the last drop of my blood for such a good cause.'13 In the same spirit the Canadian

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Jesuit Ennemond Masse had written in 1611 that he wished 'to receive the prize of this celestial vocation, to sacrifice myself promptly for the salvation of peoples.'14 So it was a sacred war in which the dangers inside France were as great as those in the New World, and missionaries could die and win the palm of martyrdom feeling the same ardour with which the king's soldiers fought for France.15 The urgency of the mission was also deeply felt, all the more so since the 'chosen ones,' the missionaries, holding themselves responsible for the damnation of the world, thought their own salvation was at stake.16 2. The Attitude towards the People to Be 'Missionized' As in the Jesuit relations, the populations to be converted in Maunoir's missions were always described as a 'poor' and 'abandoned' people, and very often as an 'ignorant' people. They were presented in agro-pastoral metaphors, as fields to be tended. In both Brittany and New France the people were an unproductive field in an uncultivated country, or a vineyard that needed to be tended in order to yield good fruit.17 The people were also (though less often) described as a flock, or as sick and needing to be healed.18 Generally, on both sides of the Atlantic, the populations were described as gross and ignorant, suffering from extreme ignorance of what was needed for salvation. The Canadian Jesuit Paul LeJeune wrote of them, 'I easily compare our Savages with some villagers, because they are all ordinarily without education.'19 The missionaries of Brittany reported that the island of Brehat was in a state of 'extreme ignorance of all the things necessary to salvation.'20 The work of the missionary also consisted in observing the old collective practices and beliefs and choosing between the good and the bad, keeping some and establishing new ones, devotions to Mary and Jesus Christ, for example. It was thus a double operation of sorting and teaching designed to help the church standardize its norms.21 3. The Way the Missionary Saw Himself and His Action The missionaries described themselves as field or vineyard workers, or as pastors; they were 'labourers fearsome to hell.'22 Less often, they compared themselves to merchants, though interested in spiritual gain.23 In short, the missionary saw himself as God's personal agent, called to accomplish great things, even wonders. The various relations and letters of the missions show that the conversion process took place in an atmosphere of wonders, an ambience of holiness in the very making.24 In Brittany as well as in New France, every mark of good fortune was attributed to divine intervention: favourable weather, happy occurrences, conversions in great numbers, titanic works accomplished by the missionaries, and so on. And so many strange things occurred in the mission process, 'things

262 Dominique Deslandres so singular, so different, and so much beyond human imagination,'25 that God had certainly had a hand in them. The 'conversions' were accompanied by 'miraculous' effects: money would be found to pay one's debt, or the bread and wine would be multiplied thanks to Maunoir's intercession, for example.26 Miraculous recoveries outnumbered all other types of miracles.27 Second in number were 'natural' wonders such as a change in the weather or the sudden end of a caterpillar invasion, or spectacular wonders such as a tree falling into a crowd without touching anyone or a bullet missing the missionary it was fired at.28 Not surprisingly, the missionaries were often taken for 'divine sorcerers.'29 They presented themselves as, and almost believed themselves to be, Godinspired healers: in Douarnenez, they preached, catechized, heard confessions, visited and healed the sick. Maunoir and his companion Bernard used a 'holy wheat grain' to heal physical pains and wounds.30 And the crowds literally pursued them: 'Tat santel, ah! Father, how holy you are! They made us blush with confusion without being able to escape from them. They brought their sick, and though we knew who we were, that is, weak and powerless men, we were compelled to touch them... So we touched them, and God, rewarding their faith, did heal several of them.'31 The intercession of the saints, in particular that of St Ignatius and the Virgin Mary, was often fundamental in the working of miracles.32 And the missionary's insistence on the saints' involvement in the process helped to promote their cult among the people.33 This was particularly true for the 'new' saint, Ignatius: 'I heard the mother's confession and advised her to appeal to St Ignatius and to promise to perform her devotions every year on this great saint's birthday.'34 In New France, Jerome Lalemant described a similar event: with a relic of St Ignatius and a promise of devotion, he saved an Indian woman from the effects of a perilous delivery.35 In this way the missionary ensured regular cult of the saint in the future. The prodigies that occurred before and after the missionary's death, moreover, attested to his holiness, a holiness that was described at length and that always aroused the enthusiasm of the describer, especially when 'evidence' of it was given.36 Not only miracles were said to occur on both sides of the Atlantic; missionaries and the missionized also had visions.37 Maunoir had a vision of his future mission: the dioceses of Quimper, Treguier, Saint-Brieuc, and Leon appeared to him as a quarry open to his trenchant zeal.38 The Quebec Ursuline Marie de 1'Incarnation related that Jean de Brebeuf had a vision of his future martyrdom, after which he was so excited that his companions wanted to quiet him by having him bled by the surgeon. Having a foreboding that this man would soon be killed, the surgeon kept the blood in order to be sure of a relic.39 Similarly, many

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penitents came to their confessors with visions of their own: they had seen the souls in purgatory, a good angel, their patron saints, the Holy Virgin, and so on.40 These visions demonstrate how deeply moved the penitents were by the religious experience of the mission, and how deeply they had interiorized the missionary ideals.41 4. The Methods Used to Attain the Missionary's Goals Let us now underline some aspects of the essential continuity in methodology between the missions of France and those of New France. On both sides of the Atlantic, the Jesuit method consisted principally of attracting people and moving them sufficiently to induce them to convert.42 This explains the character of the missions as full of wonders and spectacle. Like the adfideles mission in France, the Indian mission was crafted to fire the heathen imagination and create the right 'climate' for conversion. The key word in seventeenth-century descriptions of the process was 'impression,' in the sense of sensual and psychological 'imprinting.'43 Missionaries were great connoisseurs of the heart. Maunoir serves as an example: 'He knew the heart and its ways very well. Everything he said went to it, and it seemed that he moved the passions as he wanted. Thus, his greatest talent was to touch.'44 Essentially, inducing to conversion was a matter of taming hearts and drilling minds. Maunoir 'imprinted in hearts a salutary fear of God's judgments, which made them docile to the movements of grace and to the missionary's instruction.'45 In his 1612 assessment of his mission, Biard wrote, 'We tried to imprint in them some elementary ideas of the greatness and truth of Christianity, as far as our means allowed.'46 And these means were conceived and organized as a war plan with a principal and unique aim: conversion.47 The missionaries knew how to move people, how to alternate hot and cold 'showers' of emotion with perfect precision. Using a 'pastoral of fear,' described at length by the historian Jean Delumeau, they insisted particularly on the Last Judgment and the pains of hell.48 For example, Maunoir 'preached about the infernal torments with such vehemence that the scared audience cried for mercy.'49 The missionaries would bring their audiences to a climax and then, having profoundly moved them, change the tone of the discourse to one of reassurance.50 And along with the 'exercises' of the mission (catechism, preaching, the hearing of confessions), the means for bringing about conversion could hardly have been more diverse. They ranged from collective prayers to processions, from songs to theatrical pieces, from painted images to works of mercy (including visiting the homes of the people, peacemaking, helping the poor, and attending to the sick and to prisoners).51 The missionaries' coming always brought with it the presentation, using sophisticated audio-visual techniques, of a religion that was impressive, if not triumphant. To make their presentation, they seized every

264 Dominique Deslandres possible opportunity in daily life as well as in the realm of the extraordinary. In daily life, they made use of Christian 'body movements' (the sign of the cross, genuflections, etc.), the recitation of prayers ('Pater, Ave, Credo, and some orisons'), the distribution of pious images, and the singing of hymns (in particular the Regina coeli); in the realm of the extraordinary, they relied on miraculous healings, prophecies, and the sumptuousness of ceremonies. Ideally, the use of all these techniques would have the unequivocal support of the civil authorities.52 Of course, great eloquence on the part of the missionary was essential. 'In enlightening the spirit, he touched the heart, and while he was dispelling ignorance, he also changed practices' - Maunoir had a special talent for adapting his discourse to any kind of audience, and for awakening anyone with the 'salt' of his words.53 But above all, it was the example set by the missionary that made the whole process work.54 His virtue was his principal instrument of conversion: 'The people's esteem for his holiness impressed them even more than his talents. A preacher who, following the example of Jesus Christ, does what he preaches, is more convincing than others. He had all the virtues that make an apostolic man... So many glowing virtues greatly prepared their minds and inclined them to listen gladly to and believe readily a man whose faith and life rendered [his words] infinitely believable.'55 Exemplo aeque ut verbo. Faith in the power of the example they set even led the missionaries to make fools of themselves to achieve their aims. Each time Biard met a new tribe, for instance, he would plunge into a frenzy of gestures and words before the stunned crowd. Throwing myself on my knees and crossing myself, I would recite my Pater, Ave, Credo, and some orisons.' After an apparently favourable reaction, 'I gave them some crosses and images, explaining those as much as I could.'56 In similar fashion, Maunoir and a fellow missionary ran after some youngsters who had fled the church in order to gather for a dance; while running, the two priest started to sing a hymn. The youngsters were so astounded that they stopped and then, charmed by the singing, came back to the priests for catechesis.57 So all means were good means of inducing the great commotion of the heart, the 'remuement des coeurs,' which would result in conversion.58 5. The Reactions Expected from the People Conversion was the ultimate reaction the missionaries expected from the people. The outward proof of it was twofold: first, attentive silence, then a burst of tears and laments.59 The seventeenth century was the century of weeping. Most often preachers sought to provoke torrents of tears: 'The Father left the pulpit for the confessional in his usual manner; his companion followed him, and both were very busy thereafter. Their penitents' sorrow was so vivid, they cried so much, that the confessors realized their surplices were all wet' !60 Sometimes preachers

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could not go on because the crying was too loud.61 In New France, the moment of baptism and confession was a great moment for weeping too.62 At the very least, these tears and other manifestations of emotion indicate the psychological tumult provoked by the mission. They were actively sought and eagerly noted by all the missionaries. The Jesuit Missionaries in Their World All these observations taken together demonstrate that there was a 'Jesuit missionary corporate culture' active on both sides of the Atlantic. But as a careful examination of other missionary experiments shows, the characteristics just described were not unique to the Society. I would like to consider this issue by re-examining the five points of the seventeenth-century missionary episteme. Let us explore the idea of the mission as a holy war, in which the missionary secretly hoped to die for Christ. The desire for oblation and martyrdom is as ancient in the Christian church as the Passion, and the desire to die for Christ was characteristic not only of Jesuits but of missionaries of all orders.63 Moreover, Maunoir and the Canadian Jesuits were not alone in using the vocabulary of war with great skill; Louis Richeome and other Jesuits used it, and so did the Capuchins and the secular missionary orders such as the Lazarists, the Eudists, and the Oratorians.64 All these missionaries felt called to the 'conquest' of souls. Thus, at the beginning of the seventeenth century, the Capuchin Cherubin de Maurienne, 'J.C.'s champion,' assisted by Mary, the 'divine warrior,' waged war against Satan.65 And the first thing the Recollect Gabriel Sagard did when he arrived in New France was to engrave 'crosses and the name of Jesus a number of times with a knife on the biggest trees to signify to Satan and to his hellhounds that we were taking possession of this land for the kingdom of Jesus Christ, and that from now on he would have no power in it, and that only the one and true God would be recognized and adored here.'66 In any case, even if one can see in Ignatius of Loyola the main inspiration for the Jesuits' rhetoric of warfare, it is clear that the source of their military vocabulary was the Bible, whence also came the metaphor of the 'soldier of Christ.'67 The source of the missionaries' agro-pastoral vocabulary, with its metaphors of vineyard, harvest, and flock, was likewise the Bible.68 As for the medical vocabulary, the roots of its rhetorical use are more difficult to trace. It is possible to find biblical sources for the concept of religious ignorance as a disease.69 And if one consults Antoine Furetiere's Dictionnaire universel, first published in 1690, under the entries 'vigne,' 'moisson,' 'pain,' 'pasteur,' 'maladie,' and 'remede,' one can see that the symbolic (spiritual and moral) meanings of these words remained as vivid at the end of the seventeenth century as at its beginning.70 The historian Bernard Dompnier has pro-

266 Dominique Deslandres posed a theory about the use of these different categories of vocabulary. He suggests that they mirror the three traditional plagues of the ancien regime: war, starvation, and epidemics.71 And the mercantile vocabulary - was it new? did it correspond to the emergence of the new era of trade and economic changes? All these different vocabularies together constituted the language of the seventeenthcentury missionary episteme. Closely associated with the language of conversion used by the missionaries was their attitude towards the people to be 'missionized.' In fact, the French missionaries had an equally dim view of lukewarm Catholics, ignorant peasants, French heretics, pagans from the Middle East and the East Indies, Turks, and the 'Savages' of Canada.72 For them, the apostolic mission of winning souls to God (by the example set by the missionaries and by their word) was the same throughout the world, since satanic sovereignty was equally menacing everywhere. The nature of the enterprise was the same because, in the missionaries' view, the fundamental nature of the people they sought to convert was the same, despite their apparent diversity. From the Americas to the Far East, the missionaries used the same methods of inducing to conversion that they used in France. That is why Vincent de Paul wished to take part in the overseas missions; expressing a feeling prevalent among his peers, he wrote, 'Happy is the missionary's condition who sees no other limits to his mission than that of the inhabitable earth.'73 These ideas help us to understand better the apparently muddle-headed longings of the secular priest Christophe Authier, who was passionate first for Canada, then for the southern Spanish city of Candie, and then for Tartary, but who in the end never left France.74 In his desire to demonstrate his zeal throughout the world, Authier was a true representative of his time, a missionary indifferent to the location he would be sent. If one's own salvation could be won by the salvation of the rest of the world, it mattered little where one was, as long as the harvest of souls was abundant.75 Characteristically, the bishop Jean-Pierre Camus identified seven categories of infidels to be 'missionized' in his handbook for missionaries: the 'Savages,' the 'Barbarians,' the 'Idolatrous,' the Turks, the Jews, the heretics, and the schismatics. For him, it was clear that the 'Savages' of Canada, Florida, and Virginia were characterized by 'a very weak use of reason' and by 'so poor an understanding of some divinities that they [were] close to atheism ... because they [were] gross, stupid, badly educated, and naturally corrupted' in the way the French peasants were.76 And given the ignorance of religion reigning in certain areas of France, sometimes missionaries regretted that they could not begin with a tabula rasa as did the missionaries of the external missions. As Camus wrote, 'Experience shows that there are some villagers who recite the Lord's Prayer so badly it would be preferable that they didn't know it at all, especially since it is more difficult to have them unlearn

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their bad recitation than to teach them to say it well.'77 Moreover, the missionaries asked that the facultatesnormally sent by Rome to the missionaries of the external missions also be supplied to the internal missions; this is another testimony to the similarity perceived between internal and external missions.78 All these resemblances among missions of different types were products of the conviction that the real enemies were few. Only the 'leaders' - the bad priests in Catholic areas, the ministers of 'la Pretendue Religion Reformee,' the sorcerers in the lands of the 'Savages' - misled the 'Other.' Conquer these and the 'Other' would follow. The 'Other' was alternately drawn between truth and error, according to the adversaries' strengths. They were the 'field' of the mission as well as the stakes of the combat.79 The study of more than three hundred mission manuals helps us constuct the image of the perfect missionary in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Essentially, he was the apostle of modern times, working in the tradition of the apostles of the primitive church. The apostolic model dictated his state of mind, his strategies, and even his desire for ultimate self-sacrifice.80 The ideal was to live according to the apostolic way, imitating the apostles in their ancient missions. Missionaries, therefore, all felt called to act in a context in which miracles could be expected to occur, as they did in the Scriptures. There was remarkable uniformity in their various battles with Satan across the globe. Miracles and visions, as well as careful organization of the content of the mission, would help them attain their only true goal: the conversion of the missionized, and the unmistakable demonstration of that conversion through an outpouring of the heart in tears, laments, and other displays of emotion.81 So, as the comparison of the cases of Brittany and New France suggests, there was a 'Jesuit missionary corporate culture' in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. On both sides of the Atlantic, Jesuits shared the same apostolic ideals and the same ideas of the mission; they had a similar attitude towards the people they sought to convert, used similar methods of persuasion, and expected similar results. But as the study of the missionary episteme of that era shows, they were not the only missionaries to proceed in this way. Once that fact has been established, we must ask, Why are there so many similarities among sixteenthand seventeenth-century missionaries? Are they the result of Jesuit 'cultural imperialism,' that is, of the influence of the Society on the rest of the regular and secular orders? Are they the result of a pervasive Augustinianism, which brought about a spiritual authoritarianism (from the time of the famous and misunderstood compelle intrare)! Are they some reflection of the very nature of the missionary orders of the modern era? In fact, did not most of the missionaries of this period come from the reformed branch of old orders or from new regular and secular orders, the members of which were highly motivated to live by the

268 Dominique Deslandres example of the primitive church? These are just some of the many questions which should continue to guide our reflections. NOTES

1 Dominique Deslandres, 'Le modele frangais d'integration socio-religieuse, 16001650: Missions interieures et premieres missions canadiennes,' Ph.D. thesis, Universite de Montreal, 1990; idem, 'Mission et alterite: Les missionnaires francais et la definition de l"'Autre" au XVIIe siecle,' in French Colonial Historical Society Proceedings, ed. James Pritchard (Cleveland, 1993), pp. 1-13; idem, 'Reforme catholique et alterite: Arriere-plan socio-religieux de la fondation de Montreal,' in Les origines de Montreal, 1642-1701, ed. Jean-Remi Brault (Montreal, 1993), pp. 11-37. 2 Magnus Morner, 'Comparative Approaches to Latin American History,' Latin American Research Review 17:3 (1982): 55-89; idem, The Colonial Crisis in Mexico and Peru: Methodological Problems of Comparison,' Ibero-Americana: Nordic Journal of Latin American Studies 17:1-2 (1987): 27^3; idem, 'En torno al uso de la comparacion en el analisis historico de America Latina,'Jahrbuchfur Geschichte ... Lateinamerikas 31 (1994): 373-90. 3 Francis Parkman, The Jesuits in North America in the 17th Century (Boston, 1927); James Axtell, The Invasion Within: The Contest of Cultures in Colonial North America (New York and Oxford, 1985); Bruce G. Trigger, The Children of Aataentsic: A History of the Huron People to 1660 (Montreal and London, 1976), and Natives and Newcomers: Canada's 'Heroic Age' Reconsidered (Montreal and London, 1985). 4 Jean Delumeau, La peur en Occident (Paris, 1978), pp. 197-231. 5 Michel Foucault, Les mots et les choses (Paris, 1966), p. 13. 6 Alain Croix, La Bretagne aux 16e et 17e siecles (Paris, 1981); Du christianisme flamboyant a I'aube des Lumieres, ed. Frangois Lebrun, vol. 2 of Histoire de la France religieuse, ed. Jacques le Goff and Rene Remond, 4 vols (Paris, 1988-92), pp. 437, 548; R.P. Boschet, Le parfait missionnaire, ou La vie du R.P. Maunoir (Lyon, 1834) [hereafter Boschet] - this biography, written in 1697, draws heavily on Maunoir's diary and papers; MNF; Thw. Rel. All translations are my own. 7 Deslandres, 'Le modele,' pp. 173-213, and 'La France et ses missions interieures et exterieures,' in Les frontieres de la mission, ed. Philippe Boutry, Melanges de I'Ecole Frangaise de Rome 109:2 (1997): 505-38, with maps. 8 Another remarkable example is Charles Lalemant, the superior of the Quebec mission in 1625-9, who returned to Quebec as a missionary for 1633-8, after which he was procurator of the Canadian missions in Paris until being replaced by another former Canadian missionary, Paul LeJeune, in 1649. Nicolas Charton and Frangois-

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Joseph Bressani constitute other examples; MNF 1:662-3; MNF 2:832, 837; see also 807, 813. In 1642 the superior general wrote to Druillette: 'You have in France, China and India and some missions very rich in eternal fruits; do not look so far afield for something you have before your eyes and at hand: Pyrenees, Cevennes, Vivarais, Pragelas' Valley, and other places too numerous to mention, as well as the royal galleys'; ARSI Tolos. II 1 fol. 150 (8 March 1642). See also the general's answers to Indipetae concerning Canada: ARSI Franc. 4 fol. 182 (answer to F. Becherel, 24 February 1625); ARSI Franc. 5 I fol. 283 (answer to F. Bernier); ARSI Franc. 5 I fol. 405 (answer to F. Canard, 2 June 1633). The late Edmond Lamalle taught me how to handle this huge collection (14,067 documents) and directed my research in the ARSI. See his two articles 'La documentation d'histoire missionnaire dans le "Fondo Gesuitico" aux Archives Romaines de la Compagnie de Jesus,' Euntes docete 21 (1968): 160-2, and 'L'archivio di un grande ordine religiose: L'Archivio Generale della Compagnia di Gesu,' Archiva ecclesiae 24-25:1 (1981-2): 102-3; see also MNF \ :266*, and Miguel Batllori, 'Le note sull'ambiente missionario nellTtalia del Cinquecento,' Rivista di storia della Chiesa in Italia (1958):84-9. Boschet, p. 54; see also 37, 55, 425-6. Ibid., pp. 36-40, 54; Memoire de projet de mission canadienne (1605?), MNF 1:1213. Boschet, p. 45; see also 28, 182, 183, 295, 331, 338, 340, 379; Biard, MNF 1:462; J. Lalemant, MNF 4:405-6. Boschet, p. 427; see also 196, 333. Ennemond Masse, MNF 1:122. See also Jean de Brebeuf, MNF 4:151, MNF 5:769, and MNF 6:312-14 on Isaac Jogues's preparation for martyrdom. See also Thw. Rel. 40:120-2 (Francois Le Mercier, 1652-3) concerning Joseph Poncet's desire for martyrdom. Boschet, pp. 255-6; see also 302 and passim. Biard, MNF \ :614; LeJeune, 1632, MNF 2:294-5; Boschet, pp. 426-7, 441. E.g. MNF 1:600; see also 146-9, 150-1, 475-8, 611-14; Boschet, pp. 10, 31, 53, 65, 95, 135, 161, 176, 204, 251, 257, 259, 433. Boschet, p. 126; see also 87, 136, 148, 150, 155, 168, 176, 184-5, 209, 250, 267, 277, 301, 302, 356, 358, 392, 453. Lejeune, relation of 1634, MNF 2:596. Boschet, p. 139; see also 41. E.g. Biard. MNF 1:142, 222; MNF 3:285-6, 656; Boschet, pp. 172-3; see also 250. Boschet, p. 186. Ibid., p. 93; see also 259, 277; Biard, MNF 1:227-8. Dominique Deslandres, 'Le Diable a beau faire ... Marie de ITncarnation, Satan, et T Autre,' Theologiques 5:1 (1997): 23-41; idem, 'Signes de Dieu et legitimation de

270 Dominique Deslandres

25 26 27

28 29

30

31

32

33

la presence frangaise au Canada: Le "trafic" des reliques ou la construction d'une histoire,' in Les signes de Dieu aux XVIe et XVHe siecles, ed. G. Demerson and B. Dompnier (Clermont-Ferrand, 1993), pp. 145-60; idem, 'Des reliques comme vecteurs d'acculturation,' Western Society for French History Proceedings 20 (1993): 93-108. Boschet, p. 212. Ibid., pp. 66-7, 77-8, 207-8, 245, 463, 464. See also Thw. Rel. 24:116 and passim. At least fifty-four miraculous healings occurred during Maunoir's missions; Boschet, pp. 34, 55, 57, 61-6, 71, 77-9, 81, 96, 99, 117, 125, 131, 146, 192, 204, 221-2, 227, 238, 241, 244, 345, 368-71, 382, 385-6, 393, 395, 398, 400, 402-7, 462-3, 480. For the period 1639-50 alone, see Thw. Rel. 11:126; 16:100, 278-80; 18:210; 19:128-30; 20:24-8; 22:120; 24:20-2; 25:170; 26:226; 27:40; 29:158, 170, 196-8; 30:96, 118, 130; 31:150, 176, 196-8, 228, 268; 32:44-6, 198, 223, 262, 276, 298; 33:156-8; 34:116; 35:230, 244-8, 276; 36:198-200; 37:64; 38:16-24; 40:242^1. Boschet, pp. 57, 59, 76, 104, 147, 240, 384-5, and 137, 169-70, 307, 437-8; Thw. Rel. 23:174; 26:250-2, 310; 35:84; and passim. Boschet, pp. 59-60, 100, 108-9, 154; Thw. Rel. 13:216; 14:52, 98, 252; 15:32-4, 44; 16:38, 52, 92, 108, 124, 154, 162; 17:114-18; 18:12, 24, 40; 19:90-6, 192-6; 20:28-30, 52-60; 21:206-26; 30:226-32; 38:44-8. Boschet, p. 81. Other 'sacred tools' used in miracles were Le Nobletz's holy grain, oil, holy water, the cross, the host, rosaries, and relics such as Le Nobletz's bell, Maunoir's blood and grave, Le Nobletz's cap, etc. Some actions were also propitious to miracles: canticles, signs of the cross, prayers, processions, Eucharist, blessings (ibid., pp. 116-17 and passim). For the miraculous use of relics in New France, see Deslandres, 'Signes de Dieu,' pp. 145-60. Boschet, p. 96. See Biard to the Paris provincial, Port-Royal, 31 January 1612, MNF 2:220-1, 234. See also Thw. Rel. 2:18; Paul LeJeune's relation concerning the Hurons, 1636, 10:66, for a vow to St Joseph; Francois Le Mercier's relation, Quebec, 1665, 50:44-8, for a vow to St Anne; Fra^ois Ragueneau's relation, Huronia, 1646, 29:196. And see also Thw. Rel. 10:72; 29:196; 31:150; and Jacques Gravier's voyage, 1700, 65:106-8. Like St Corentin's intervention against the plague in Quimper (Boschet, pp. 61-5). Maunoir had eight favourite holy intercessors: St Anne, St Corentin, St Julian, St Michael, the Holy Virgin, St Vincent Ferrer, St Ignatius of Loyola, and St Francis Xavier. If he had a marked preference for the Virgin Mary (e.g. ibid., p. 53), he felt St Ignatius's help in many cases of healing (pp. 77-9; see also 42-3). And see Thw. Rel. 50:210; 60:258-60; 64:260; 66:82; and also 32:312; 34:35; 50:44-8, 186; 51:86-110; 56:260; 60:258-60. Boschet, p. 159. Maunoir promoted the cult of the Virgin Mary in such ways as

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34 35 36

37

38 39 40

41

42

43

44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51

271

devoting parishes to the Virgin (ibid., p. 43), creating a new kind of rosary called a 'little crown' (pp. 209-10), and founding Marian congregations (pp. 352, 355-6). Ibid., p. 78, and also 77-9. J. Lalemant's relation, 1647, Thw. Rel 31:150. Boschet, pp. 195-6, 213, 394. See Jean de Brebeuf's obituary, MNF 7:468-72, 505-19, 609; see also Marie de 1'Incarnation's Correspondance, ed. Guy-Marie Oury (Solesmes, 1971), especially her letters to Gabrielle de 1'Annonciation, 1663, pp. 721-22, and to Renee de St-Franc.ois, 1664, p. 737. Boschet, pp. 211-12, 214-21, 300, 308, 369, 378, 379, 382^1, 395-8, 437-9, and, for some 'visions auditives,' 128, 173-5, 353. See also Thw. Rel. 31:62-8, 74-6; 34:174_6, 184-6; 38:94-6; 48:196-8. Boschet, p. 41. Marie de 1'Incarnation to her son, 1649, in Correspondance, ed. Oury, pp. 379-80. Boschet, pp. 211-12. See also Le Mercier's relation, Quebec, 1665, Thw. Rel. 50:48, 50-2; and see 14:138^0; 19:194-6; 26:188-290; 27:184-8; 30:102-4; 46:30-2; 48:186-8; 46:110-12; 42:234-6. For a similar view of this phenomenon, see Serge Gruzinski, 'Delires et visions chez les Indiens du Mexique,' Melanges de I'Ecole Franqaise de Rome 86:2 (1974): 446-80. Deslandres, 'Le modele' (nl above), chaps 5-8. The sign of this conversion was baptism for the Indians, confession (and communion) for the already christianized people of France. But in France and in New France, the preferred term of the missionaries was 'conversion.' As the eighteenth-century German scholar J.C. Liinig wrote, the theatricality of public ceremonies was necessary because 'among the common people ... physical impressions have more impact than language, which addresses itself to intelligence and to reason'; J.C. Liinig, Theatrum ceremoniale historico-politicum (Leipzig, 1719-20), quoted by P. Burke, Louis XIV: Les strategies de la gloire (Paris, 1995), p. 17. Boschet, p. 246; see also 43-4, 280. Ibid., pp. 76-7; see also 211, 280. Biard, MNF 1:249. Boschet, p. 182, and also 6-7, 27, 193, 196; MNF 1-8 passim. Delumeau, La peur en Occident (n4 above), p. 45; see also his Le peche et la peur (Paris, 1983), and Georges Minois, Histoire des enfers(Paris, 1991), pp. 260-1. Boschet, p. 145; see also 156, 279-80; LeJeune, 1637, MNF 3:565, and also 11012, 229, 310, 314-15, 563, 565-6, 580. Deslandres, 'Le modele,' pp. 305, 327. Boschet, pp. 131-2, 260-89; MNF 1:142, 218, 244, 511, 513. See e.g. MNF 2:130, 134, 152, 154, 306, 317-18, 348, 384-6, 400-1, 447-9, 468-72, 474, 506, 509,

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52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63

64

65 66 67 68 69 70

516, 524-5, 529-30, 542-8, 559-63, 738, 776. John W. O'Malley has described this multiform activity, O'M. First, pp. 91-133, 165-99. Biard, MNF 1:140-1, 244, 544, 546-7; Boschet, p. 70. Boschet, pp. 43-4, 246. Ibid., p. 246; see also 247-9; MNF 1-8; Thw. Rel Boschet, pp. 247-8. Biard, MNF 1:244, and also 546-7. Boschet, pp. 164-6. MNF 3:313. Boschet, p. 156; see also 279-80; Biard, MNF 1:606, 213, 494-5. Boschet, p. 145, and also 244-5. Ibid., p. 170, and also 145, 286. E.g. MNF 3:741 and passim. Boschet, p. 454; Vincent de Paul, Entretiens spirituels aux missionnaires, ed. Andre Dodin (Paris, 1960), pp. 130-1, 128-30; Henri Bremond, Histoire litteraire du sentiment religieux en France, 11 vols (Paris, 1916-23), V 42, 74; A. Solignac, 'Martyre: III. Permanence du martyre dans 1'Eglise,' in DS 8:732; J. Masson, 'Jesuites: V. La perspective missionnaire dans la spiritualite des jesuites,' in DS 7:1037; M. Morineau, 'La soif du martyre,' in Les jesuites parmi les hommes aux XVIe etXVIIe siecles, ed. G. Demerson et al. (Clermont-Ferrand, 1987), p. 51. See e.g. Charles de Geneve, Les trophees sacres, ed. Felix Tisserand, 3 vols (Lausanne, 1975), I 277, 289, 292 (the Capuchin missions described in this work took place principally in Savoy from 1597 to 1653); Bernard Dompnier, 'Mission lointaine et mission de 1'interieur chez les capucins fran?ais, 1600-1650,' in Les reveils missionnaires en France: Actes du Colloque de Lyon, 29-31 mat 1980 (Paris, 1981), pp. 101-2, and 'Missions de 1'interieur et reforme catholique: L'activite missionnaire en Dauphine au XVIIe siecle,' thesis, University of Paris I, 1981, pp. 351-61; Alain Beaulieu, Convertir les fils de Cain: Jesuites et amerindiens nomades en Nouvelle France, 1632-1642 (Quebec, 1990), p. 37; Rhetorique et conquete missionnaire: Le jesuite Paul LeJeune, ed. R. Ouellet (Sillery, 1993), pp. 16-17. Charles de Geneve, Les trophees sacres, I 73; see also 25-6, 29, 31-2, 70, 214. Gabriel Sagard, Le grand voyage au Pays des Hurons ... (Paris, 1632; 1865), pp. 28-9, and Histoire du Canada (Paris, 1636; 1865), p. 145. P. Bourguignon and F. Wenner, 'Combat spirituel,' in DS 2:1136. M. Cocagnac, Les symboles bibliques: Lexique theologique (Paris, 1993), pp. 1745; Pierre Miquel, Dictionnaire des symboles liturgiques (Paris, 1995), p. 220. I. Noye, 'Maladie,' inDS 10:140-1. Antoine Furetiere, Dictionnaire universel (Paris, 1978).

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71 Dompnier, 'Missions de 1'interieur,' pp. 351-61. See also his Le venin de I'heresie: Image du protestantisme et combat catholique au XVIIe siecle (Paris, 1985). 72 Deslandres, 'Mission et alterite' (nl above), pp. 1-13. 73 Vincent de Paul, Entretiens spirituels, p. 1030. 74 Some of his companions, though, were sent to Sweden, Denmark, and Norway; leaving aside a brief expedition to Guyana, America remained a dream for the members of the institute founded by Authier. See Dompnier, 'Missions de 1'interieur,' pp. 207-10, 216. See also Authier's letter of 12 January 1646, Archives of the Congregatio de Propaganda Fide, Rome, SOCG vol. 144 fol. 259r-v. 75 Deslandres, 'Mission et alterite,' pp. 10-13. See Pacifique de Provins's enterprises, Archives of the Congregatio de Propaganda Fide, Rome, Acta vols 8, 15, 17; SOCG vols 83, 97, 141, 145, 199. See also ARSI Fond. Ges. 752/20 Indipeta 78. See the Indipetae of the same collection published in MNF 1:156, 158-9, 164, 166. See Sagard concerning the Levant, Histoire du Canada, II 114. 76 Jean-Pierre Camus, Des missions ecclesiastiques (Paris, 1643), pp. 44-5; Dompnier, 'Missions de 1'interieur,' p. 339 n!4; Marc Venard, 'Missions lointaines ou/et missions interieures dans le catholicisme fran§ais de la premiere moitie du XVIIe siecle,' in Les reveils missionnaires (n64 above), p. 88. 77 Camus, Des missions ecclesiastiques, p. 382; Dompnier, 'Missions de 1'interieur,' p. 319. 78 Vincent de Paul to Pope Urban VIII, 1628, in Vincent de Paul: Correspondance, entretiens, documents, ed. Pierre Coste, 14 vols (Paris, 1920-5), I 58. See also J.R. Armogathe, 'Les missions des capucins dans le diocese de Mende au XVIIe siecle,' Revue du Gevaudan (1972): 227-8. 79 Dompnier, 'Missions de 1'interieur,' pp. 329-33. 80 Deslandres, 'Le modele' (nl above), p. 238. See the example of Maunoir's notebook entitled De la perfection quoted by Boschet, p. 417. See also Joseph de Guibert, La spiritualite de la Compagnie de Jesus: Esquisse historique (Rome, 1953), p. 572; F. Charmot, La pedagogic des jesuites (Paris, 1951), p. 165. 81 Charles de Geneve, Les trophees sacres, I 87.

127 East and West: Jesuit Art and Artists in Central Europe, and Central European Art in the Americas THOMAS DACOSTA KAUFMANN

An allegory depicting the triumph of the Jesuit missions throughout the world frescoed by Andrea Pozzo, S.J., during the 1690s on the ceiling of the Church of Sant'Ignazio in Rome can serve as a good introduction to the subject of this paper (fig. 12.1). Let us allow 'Padre' Pozzo to speak for himself about what is represented. Describing one part of the allegory, he says, 'In the middle of the vault I have painted the figure of Jesus, who sends forth a ray of light to the heart of Ignatius, which is then transmitted by him to the most distant hearts of the four parts of the world.'1 The image not only evokes ideas that introduce this essay, but may even provide an allegory for this volume as a whole. Pozzo's painting adduces themes that are relatively constant in Jesuit decoration, as Francis Haskell has pointed out. As Haskell notes, in contrast with the usual glorification of saints of the sort that depicts them in heaven, Pozzo celebrates the impact in this world of forces belonging to the next. And this impact is shown to work through the universal activities of the Jesuit order, whose members are portrayed above all as missionaries.2 It may even be said that a central theme of this collection is the outpouring of spirit that moved Jesuits to want to spread the Word, and consequently to express it through various arts. The activity that Pozzo celebrated in his fresco moreover occupied him in his own life, and his accomplishments give rise to my own chief theme: the role of Jesuits in Central European art, and the role of Central European artists who were Jesuits in the Americas. Pozzo was a painter, writer on perspective, and designer of micro-architecture such as altarpieces. Among his accomplishments were works executed in the Jesuit establishments in Rome, not only Sant'Ignazio but others, including the Church of the Gesu. But he was also directly involved in what can be called the world mission of the Jesuits, notably in Central Europe. Central Europe is here defined as the area stretching from the Rhine to the Dniester or the Dnieper River, the area inhabited by Germanic-, Slavic-, and

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12.1. Andrea Pozzo, allegory of the universal mission of the Jesuits. Bozzetto for the fresco in the Church of Sant'Ignazio, Rome. Galleria Nazionale, Rome. Photo courtesy of Alinari, Florence.

276 Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann Magyar-speaking peoples, located between French- and Netherlandish-speaking areas to the west and Russia to the east. The predominance of Orthodox religion also delimits the fluid cultural borders of Central Europe to the east. Although Pozzo did not himself work in all of this large territory, he painted many ceilings in a variety of settings in what may be considered the heart of Central Europe, the Habsburg domains. Pozzo frescoed churches (and also palaces) in Ljubljana in what is now Slovenia, in Bratislava in Slovakia (then known as Poszony or Pressburg in Hungary), and in Vienna. Moreover, his book on perspective provided a guide in these as well as in many other lands for illusionistic painting of the sort that he himself had created on the ceiling of the Church of Sant'Ignazio in Rome. We can find artists and architects in many countries using the designs replicated in his book for their own purposes: like Pozzo's projects for the chapel dedicated to St Ignatius in the Gesu in Rome, the inventions he illustrated became popular sources for various kinds of designs for churches, especially but by no means exclusively for Jesuit churches, in lands spreading from the Andes to Ukraine.3 They provide one example of how artistic ideas originating in Europe could circulate among the various lands of the Continent, including those to the east, and then in turn be recirculated, by Central Europeans among others, to the New World. And the particular iconography celebrating the Jesuit order that Pozzo created in Sant'Ignazio was also widespread.4 Pozzo himself may have helped propagate it when he wrote the description of the ceiling from which I have quoted, sent it as a letter to a Liechtenstein prince, and circulated this letter as a Flugschrift.5One simple example of its effect in Central Europe is a composition, probably invented in 1744-5 for the Jesuit church, now destroyed, in Brno, Moravia, by Felix Anton Scheffler, an artist who was active mainly in the Czech crown lands of Bohemia, Moravia, and Silesia. In a reduced form probably intended for a side chapel in a larger church, this preparatory drawing also depicts the divine inspiration of the Society as being transmitted by angels from the heart of St Ignatius to the four corners of the globe, as then known, which are represented by their personifications (fig. 12.2).6 Pozzo's thus exemplifies some of the many enterprises that we can associate with the spread of Jesuit art, in both Europe and the Americas. Like the sixteenthcentury painter Bernardo Bitti, a Jesuit from Camerino in Italy who left a trail of works stretching from Quito to Potosi in the Andes, Pozzo spread throughout Central Europe works of art that can in their geographical setting be seen as innovative.7 As happened with other artists to be discussed in this essay, the model provided by his own works and the dissemination of his ideas in publications spread knowledge of the latest artistic forms from Rome. And Pozzo also propagated a newer religious iconography in his paintings. Where Pozzo had an impact on painting, and something of an impact on the

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12.2. Felix Anton Scheffler, allegory of the mission of the Jesuits. Pen and ink and wash, and black chalk. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, gift of the estate of James Hazen Hyde 1959 (59.208.95). Photo courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

micro-architecture of altar and chapel design, his example serves here as a point of departure for consideration of two other areas of artistic endeavour, namely, the macro-architecture of churches and colleges and, to a lesser degree, sculpture. Pozzo's is a relatively late example in the history of Jesuit influence; this paper concentrates on some of the earliest foundations of the Society in a variety of regions. While Pozzo's work no doubt raises many other questions worthy of further discussion - among them the role of art in the propagation of the cult and of the faith, the replication of artistic models, and the reception of cultural

278 Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann influences - the focus here is on some issues of artistic activity, especially those that seem most obvious of all, namely, how things look, and why. Some of the ways in which the Jesuits acted as purveyors of artistic practices and ideas, first to one periphery, as it were, in Central Europe, and thence to another, in the Americas, will be suggested, with reference to a variety of monuments in widely different locations. Certainly there is a historical homology in the way that members of the Society might be considered to have acted on the front lines of faith in their missionary activities both in Europe and in the Americas. In the countries of Central Europe before re-Catholicization, Jesuits would have confronted substantial numbers of Protestants, even large majorities, in Poland, Bohemia, Hungary, Austria, and broad stretches of Germany.8 In the far reaches of the Americas, from Arizona to Argentina, where Jesuit missions, visitas, and estancias were established, Jesuits would have ministered to indigenous peoples who until their arrival had held a variety of pre-conquest beliefs. This broad approach may be useful in several ways. In addition to tying together various strands of Jesuit activity, a comparison of Jesuit art and artists on what might be regarded as two peripheries - in Europe, and in turn in Europeandominated American regions, in both North and South America - may shed light on some central concerns.9 Concentration on a limited number of aspects of the architectural and artistic enterprises of the Jesuits allows for a closer look at some of the dynamics and paths of influence, reception, and change involved in the dissemination of styles and ideas in art. The question of style in particular evokes the perennial debate on the connection between the Jesuits and 'baroque' art. If 'baroque' art is identified with spatial illusionism, theatricality, emotional content, and, at times, complicated allegory, as it has often been,10 then Pozzo's example might suggest that there is some truth to the old thesis that, certainly in its later phase, baroque art is to be identified with the Jesuits. But a broader view, even one limited to art in Central Europe, immediately suggests that this is not so. As Rudolf Wittkower pointed out a quarter century ago, the research of Joseph Braun at the beginning of the twentieth century on German Jesuit architecture 'indicated that approval of the plans of Jesuit buildings submitted to the Jesuit General in Rome depended on practical rather than artistic issues.'11 Braun and then Wittkower suggested that there was never a mention of style in these documents.12 Similarly, Lucio Costa, a student of Brazilian Jesuit architecture, declared in 1941 that the manifestations of Jesuit art in the Americas 'present diverse forms, in accord with local habits and means, and with the stylistic characteristics proper to each period.'13 The argument that the Jesuits were practical and adaptable in their use of the arts, as they were in other matters, has now become a commonplace, and has recently been explicitly restated.14

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Nevertheless, a brief survey of some of the diverse forms that Jesuits developed in Central and even Eastern Europe, to be defined as the area dominated by Orthodox Christianity, and in turn of what Central European Jesuits familiar with art in their own regions - and in Rome - brought to the New World, may suggest that this seemingly plausible thesis needs to be modified. The Jesuits no doubt displayed practicality in artistic as in other matters, and took local circumstances into account when they designed or decorated their churches and colleges. Yet it also appears to be true that in some cases propaganda for the faith became more important than pragmatism, and that, on the whole, practicality cannot account for the sheer variety of forms and activities to be discovered. Let us take the lead, then, from Braun and Wittkower, and turn first to the assistancy of Germany. A brief overview does seem to bear out Braun's thesis that no coherent style characterized Jesuit works in Germany proper - if, as Braun did in his book on the German Jesuits, we can regard Germany as consisting of the Upper and Lower Rhenish and the Upper German provinces, and as distinct from the Austrian, Bohemian, and Belgian provinces. We can largely pass over the province of Upper Germany, because it is discussed in this volume by Jeffrey Chipps Smith. Briefly, it may be said that certain forms found in Jesuit churches in this region show similarities to architectural forms of Italianate origin, as well as distinctive variations of their own. As exemplified by buildings in Dillingen or Munich, Jesuit churches that display a basically classicizing vocabulary of forms provide a strong contrast to some of the first churches erected in the Lower Rhenish province, including Westphalia and the Rhineland. It is notable that in these more northern areas Gothic forms were often adapted. The familiar 'medieval' language of ogive arch, pointed vaults, ribbing, and tracery are found, for instance, in the first Jesuit church in Westphalia proper, the Petrikirche (Church of St Peter) in Miinster (fig. 12.3), and in the early seventeenth-century Church of Mariae Himmelfahrt (Church of the Assumption of the Virgin) in Cologne. If we look more closely, however, we note that these churches are not executed in a true Gothic style. The Petrikirche in Miinster, for example, presents rounded rather than pointed forms in its windows and doors, and employs identifiably late Renaissance, otherwise known as 'mannerist,' ornament around them. The interior vault in the nave is flattened, and the moulding of ribs recalls that found in many Central European churches of the Renaissance, not the Gothic. Most striking is the presence in the interior of tribunes supported on rounded arcades, and covered by similar arcades, that flank the nave; similar features are found in many Jesuit churches, in Italy and elsewhere, where they allow for the concentration of attention of the congregation. Thus in Miinster a Gothic dressing seems to have clothed a Jesuit type, with certain late Renaissance adornments.

280 Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann

12.3. Petrikirche, Miinster. Photo courtesy of Westfalisches Landesmuseum fur Kunst und Kulturgeschichte, Miinster.

While pragmatism and adaptability surely have something to do with why this form of dressing was used in these particular places in Germany, and while there are certain general reasons why the Jesuits regarded the 'Gothic' as their particular mode,15 it may be informative to speculate further on the end to which the Jesuits chose to employ these forms. On the one hand, except for microarchitecture, as represented by the choir screen in the Church of Santa Maria im Kapitol or the arcade attached to the City Hall by Wilhelm Vernukken, Cologne lacks a visible large-scale Renaissance, especially in forms of architecture. Thus it can legitimately be said that edifices such as the Cologne Jesuit church seem to continue a local tradition, which overspanned the rather weak and belated presence of Italianate forms there. On the other hand, the choice of a Gothicizing style for the church in Miinster seems to carry another sort of charge, because in that city visible references to the medieval past might have carried a somewhat different symbolic valence in the later sixteenth century. Earlier in the century the Anabaptists had seized the city and carried out a rage of iconoclasm. In the later 1530s a statue attributable to Johann Brabender was put up as the trumeau figure of the cathedral porch to replace a sculpture of St Paul that had been

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chosen for destruction by the Anabaptist iconoclasts; this statue is executed in a manner that closely resembles that of the thirteenth-century sequence of flanking apostles in the porch of Miinster Cathedral.16 It seems that a certain conservatism, which began as a response to the Anabaptist shock, prevailed in matters artistic in Miinster until well into the eighteenth century. At that time a great Westphalian architect, Johann Conrad Schlaun, was led to work in local brick rather than in stone, and the bishop of Miinster had him design the last large European episcopal residence of the ancien regime, a Schloss that was erected at the very dawn of the Age of Revolution.17 It is difficult in any instance to make larger generalizations about Jesuit designs, even for churches located in Westphalia or the Rhineland. Gothic forms were not the only ones used, even in the immediate vicinity of the places mentioned so far. In Dusseldorf, near Cologne, the Jesuit church of St Andreas (fig. 12.4) was put up at roughly the same time as the Church of Mariae Himmelfahrt; it is a wall-pillar church of a sort, ultimately derived from Italy, that made its appearance in a number of places in Germany, notably at Dillingen; it has also been likened to the Jesuit church in Neuburg an der Pfalz, which uses a completely different stylistic language, and which in fact was built originally as a Protestant church.18 There were no doubt other grounds for the decision to work in this manner, associated with place - Dusseldorf was a court city, as opposed to an episcopal town like Miinster or, theoretically, Cologne. On this issue of stylistic choice, identified by art historians with the prevalence of stylistic pluralism around 1600, a recent scholar of the use of Gothic forms in the 'age of the baroque' has reaffirmed the old thesis that the Jesuits followed a completely pragmatic procedure, without deeper, programmatic, confessionalpolitical bases, and has refined this thesis to argue that a rhetoric seen as observing the directives of Carlo Borromeo determined that appropriate houses of worship be erected, and that different forms accordingly be employed in various places.19 Nevertheless, a broader examination of building types used by the Jesuits in other parts of Central Europe seems to contradict not only this general thesis, but a corollary to it advanced in the same study, namely, that the churches of the Jesuits as a rule fit stylistically into the established tradition of ecclesiastical architecture of the regions in which they were built. The first Jesuit churches in the assistancy of Poland demonstrate something radically different. At the same time that they were building the German churches just discussed - and even earlier, from the 1580s - the Jesuits were building churches in Poland that took up the latest forms found in Rome, though occasionally with some reduction of their complexity. From 1587 to 1595 in Kalisz, and from 1588 to 1597 in Nieswiez, an Italian Jesuit, Giovanni Maria Bernardoni, adopted forms he would

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12.4. Andreaskirche, the Church of St Andreas, Diisseldorf. Photo courtesy of Rheinisches Bildarchiv, Cologne.

have known from the Gesu. The fa?ade of the church in Nieswiez (fig. 12.5) is particularly close to that of the mother church: while it differs slightly in such details as the forms of the oculus or the use of pediments instead of segments to crown niches or window openings, it displays an outline very similar to what Adam Milobedzki has recently described as 'the harsh and elegant version of the Roman style created by Giacomo della Porta,' noticeable in its 'flat articulation and linear framework detail.' As Milobedzki also notes, in the interior of the church at Kalisz a galleried basilican pattern, integrating nave with chancel and

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12.5. Jesuit church, Nieswiez (now in Belarus). Photo courtesy of Instytut Sztuki, Warsaw.

284 Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann connecting walls with vaulting, was employed at a time when such elements were just coming into use in Rome.20 Perhaps the most perfect example of the new Jesuit type in Poland is the Church of Sts Peter and Paul in Cracow (fig. 12.6). This too was a work designed and executed by Italians: a plan survives by Giovanni de' Rosis; Giuseppe Brizio supervised its construction for a time, to be followed by Bernardoni; and from 1612 onwards, as it has now been convincingly demonstrated, Matteo Castello completed the construction of the church, probably making significant changes to the original plan. Castello had previously been active in Rome, where he had collaborated closely with his uncle Carlo Maderno, most conspicuously on the Church of San Giovanni dei Fiorentini, but had also worked on chapels in Sant'Andrea della Valle and Santa Maria Maggiore. It is understandable, therefore, that Madernesque echoes, for example of the fa9ade of Santa Susanna and of San Giovanni dei Fiorentini, may be discerned both in the elevation of the exterior and in the interior design of the Jesuit church in Cracow. These are joined with other elements to produce a combination of forms - a dome over the crossing as seen on the Gesu, for example, conjoined with a nave elevation that seems much more like that found in Sant'Andrea della Valle.21 From these first examples the Roman style spread in the form of various replications to Ukraine and then eastern Poland. In Lwow, now L'viv in western Ukraine, Giacomo Briano, an Italian from whose hand quite a number of plans have been found in the past decades, designed another variant of the late Cinquecento-early Seicento Roman church type between 1629 and 1631 (fig. 12.7).22 In the territory of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, the other part of the Polish Commonwealth, the first Jesuit church in Wilno, now Vilnius, a work dedicated to St Kazimierz or Casimir was erected in this style by a local architect, Jan Frankiewicz, in the years 1604-16. A little later another wave of Italian influence, represented by the stucco decoration of many of these churches by JanTrevano, Giovanni Battista Falconi, and others, and by micro-architecture in the path of Bernini and Pietro da Cortona, came to Poland. As in Germany, it is remarkable both how intensive Jesuit construction in Poland-Lithuania was, and how extensive: Jesuit colleges were founded as far east as Vitebsk.23 Furthermore, while the Jesuits employed a wide variety of forms for their churches in Poland, as demonstrated by the rebuilt professed house in Warsaw, the buildings they erected and decorated a la romana clearly cannot be said to have conformed to local stylistic traditions. Rather, they may be regarded as the first examples of what has been called the Italian baroque outside Italy. Especially in areas to the east (Nieswiez, for example, is located in the western part of present-day Belarus), the contrast between these edifices and the Orthodox

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12.6. Church of Sts Peter and Paul, Cracow. Photo courtesy of Instytut Sztuki, Warsaw.

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12.7. Jesuit church, Lwow (now L'viv in Ukraine). Photo courtesy of Instytut Sztuki, Warsaw.

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churches, which were still often executed in wood, must have been particularly striking. This situation invites the interpretation that there was an element of intention in the choice of a new style in architecture. Like the advent of the Italianate Renaissance, which in its full flowering came first to Poland after Hungary among all regions outside Italy, the first appearance of the Italianate 'baroque' may have been the result of a deliberate choice.24 In both instances aristocratic and indeed court sponsorship was directly involved. The founder of the church in Nieswiez, Mikolaj Krzysztof Radziwill, a nobleman who had been to Rome on a pilgrimage, hardly had in mind issues of practicality or adaptability when he imposed a Roman plan on the design of the church over the objections of members of the Society, who doubted its applicability to the locale, so far to the east.25 Here the Jesuits may have argued for what can be called practicality, but they bent to other purposes in their final choice for a building program, as the piper's paymaster called the tune. The Polish monarch himself, King Sigismund Vasa, acted as patron for the church in Cracow, which until the time its foundations were laid had been the capital of the Polish res publica; and the choice of saints and the inscriptions on the fa9ade of the church emphasize the connection between the new Vasa dynasty and the advent of the Society.26 Such details demonstrate that issues of politics and propaganda were directly involved in the design of the Cracow church. Furthermore, the Jesuits were certainly engaged in a struggle both against the large Protestant population in Poland - where, for example, a substantial part of the aristocracy (or gentry, the szlachta) had become Calvinist in the sixteenth century - and against the Orthodox Belarusan and Ukrainian population.27 Both a confessional and a more explicitly political impetus thus seem to have been involved in Jesuit church design and decoration in Poland. Geographically as well as in the context of our theme, the lands of the Habsburgs lie between Germany and Poland. Hellmut Lorenz has recently said quite aptly that Jesuit churches in Austria were caught in a field of tension between the traditions of the Society and those of the regions in which they were located.28 Thus in the imperial residence city of Vienna, also a centre for the Society and for the Catholic Reform in general, on the one hand the Jesuits could simply take over and add a chapel to the previously existing medieval Church Am Hof, and on the other they could build a templum academician in a new style. This is the university church that was constructed in Vienna from the mid-1620s (fig. 12.8). The facade of this church has a central block that might be considered a simplified version of certain Roman designs, in the tradition of Vignola, as known from his plan for the Gesu, but the block is placed between two towers in a manner seen first in Central Europe on Salzburg Cathedral. Inside, the simply

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12.8. Jesuit church (university church), Vienna. Photo courtesy of Institut fur Kunstgeschichte, University of Vienna.

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articulated nave, with side chapels and abbreviated choir, cannot be traced directly to any specific Italian prototype. The composite forms seen in the Jesuit church in Vienna were quickly taken up for churches of the Society throughout the Austrian province, which included the Hungarian lands, and were adopted a little later in Silesia, which until 1740 was another land ruled by the Habsburgs. In Hungary these forms were first adopted in the area of modern Slovakia, then Upper Hungary, in 1628 in the Jesuit church in Trnava (then Nagyszombat or Tyrnau; fig. 12.9). At Trnava, as in Vienna, a Jesuit university was also founded. The fagade type appeared next at Gyor in Transdanubia, and then at Kosice (then Kaschau or Kassa, now in eastern Slovakia). At Trnava the contrast of different stylistic languages seems particularly intense, since formal differences can be seen in the decoration of the church as well as in its basic structure (fig. 12.10). The nave of the church in Trnava was adorned with a new stuccoed style of decoration carried out by Italians under the direction of G.B. Rosso from 1639, the first appearance of this form of ornament in Hungary. This up-to-date style was used to surround paintings of Christian emblems, a form of contemporary decoration quite fashionable at the time, as seen, for example, in Flemish Jesuit churches. Yet these fashionable forms contrast with the polychrome wood high altarpiece executed simultaneously, from 1636 to 1640, by Veit Stadler. This work belongs to the long local tradition of altar design in wood, as executed by German-speakers. The tradition is well represented in the region. It may not be widely known, for example, that the largest surviving winged retable of the late Gothic period is to be found in Slovakia, at Levoca.29 A similar facade design from a little later can be found in Nysa (Neisse) in Silesia.30 While in Hungary as in Germany the contrast of forms indicates that it might be difficult to argue consistently for a deliberate interpretation of style in the hands of the Jesuits, in Bohemia, another land ruled by the Habsburgs and a Jesuit province of the German assistancy, the first Jesuit churches seem to have made what may be regarded as an almost programmatic point. Even before the Battle of White Mountain the Society had begun its church dedicated to the Saviour at a key location, opposite the entrance of the Charles Bridge into the Old City of Prague. Although construction of the church building was delayed, beginning in 1590 the Italian congregation of Prague erected a chapel dedicated to the Assumption of the Virgin alongside the still incomplete church, a small structure that is quite extraordinary in its conception. This small building has an oval plan, and the design of its interior consists of tribunes supported on arcades. Such ideas had been envisioned in Italian art theory, but never constructed even in Italy until approximately the same time as the Prague structure, which is known as the Welsch (for Italian) Chapel, or Vlasska Kaple. In Central Europe this building

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12.9. Facade, Jesuit church, Trnava, Slovakia (formerly Nagyszombat/Tyrnau, Hungary). Photo courtesy of the Slovak Academy of Sciences, Institute for Art History, Bratislava.

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12.10. Interior, Jesuit church, Trnava, Slovakia. Photo courtesy of the Slovak Academy of Sciences, Institute for Art History, Bratislava.

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12.11. Facade, Jesuit church of St Salvator, Prague. Photo courtesy of Archiv Stenc, Prague.

would have represented an absolute novelty.31 The chapel displays dynamic forms in a key place, on a street leading from the Charles Bridge to the heart of the Old City, and must have stood out for its visual innovation. When the Jesuits got their church back after the defeat of the Protestant estates at the Battle of White Mountain near Prague, they thus would have been familiar with innovative designs, and could use them to make a point. That the Prague Jesuits were conscious of how art could function as a form of symbolic propaganda seems obvious in the way they had the facade of the Church of St Salvator completed in the mid-seventeenth century (fig. 12.11). The church facade proper not only employs Italianate elements known from Serlio, but has added in front a portico the shape of which recalls a tripartite triumphal arch. The idea of triumph is reinforced by the position of the facade, which closes off a square, one side of which is formed by the facing bridge tower built by Emperor Charles IV in the

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fourteenth century. This tower has been interpreted as making a statement of triumph, because it displays a kind of surrogate triumphal arch and is covered with inscriptions referring to the medieval kings of Bohemia. In response to this secular statement, St Salvator's manifests the church militant and triumphant in Bohemia. The sculpted figures by Jan Jiff Bendl that were placed on the fa?ade reinforce the sense of triumph. These statues depict the patron saints of Bohemia, who can be regarded as the pillars of the local church, the representatives of Bohemia Sacra. They announce a theme the Jesuits would often employ in Bohemia, as in the campaign for the canonization of Jan Nepomuk: that the Jesuits have resumed the traditions of an earlier, pre-Hussite church and culture in the land, which antedates the reign of heresy, over which the true church has triumphed in the end. The contemporaneous construction of the central college of the Jesuits in Prague, the Clementinum, alongside St Salvator's made a similar kind of statement: the older Charles University, which had been dominated by Hussites, was effectively replaced. The grandiose scale and plan of the Clementinum - it encompasses the largest area of any structure in the Old City of Prague - the use of a giant order of pilasters, and the incorporation of heads of saints into the capitals of these pilasters all announce the power and pretension of the Society, and its adherence to orthodox (as distinct from heterodox) tradition.32 These buildings body forth both some of the forms and the ideas that would be found in other Jesuit foundations throughout the Bohemian crown lands, where the Jesuits would come to promote outstanding developments in numerous forms of visual art. One example deserving of at least brief notice is the church and particularly the university founded by Emperor Leopold and run by the Society in Breslau in Silesia, now Wroclaw in Poland, a city which remained a site of confessional conflict until the mid-eighteenth century. Like the Clementinum, this university became a major centre of learning in the struggle for the reCatholicization of the Bohemian lands. Like the Clementinum, it also evoked an extraordinary response. In addition to the church, especially noteworthy is the main academic hall, the Aula Leopoldina. This hall is marvellously decorated with stuccoed sculpture, with frescos representing allegories, and with portraits of learned Church Fathers and saints.33 On the basis of evidence from Central Europe, then, a tentative conclusion can be reached regarding the forms or style of Jesuit art and architecture. As has long been argued, it seems true that no single style can be said to characterize Jesuit art; instead, the Jesuits often appear to be pragmatic and adaptable in their use of forms. Often these forms were determined by an apparently sensitive response to the local traditions of the places in which Jesuit colleges and churches were built. But there are limits to the idea of adaptability, because Jesuit art was not

294 Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann necessarily tied to local traditions: often the Jesuits introduced forms that can be regarded as local innovations. And the choice of such forms was often governed by the desire to make a point that might be confessional or even political in thrust. Certain programmatic choices indicate that Jesuit art could be directed in part by an interest in making a visual impact for the sake of propaganda (and not merely in the sense of the propagation of the faith) as well as by pragmatism. In any event, by the time the Aula Leopoldina was decorated in the mideighteenth century, Central European Jesuits had been not only active in the arts in Central Europe, but much at work in the New World, to which we may now turn. Here the program imagined by Pozzo seems to have been put into reality. In considering Jesuit art and artists in the Western Hemisphere, it does not seem necessary to deal only with the question of adaptability, which is quite obvious anyway. Instead, it seems fruitful to take into account other aspects of the wide range and mass of what Central European Jesuits achieved in the realm of the arts in the Americas, results apparently of the considerable amount of manpower provided by the Society for its establishments in the New World. A few Central European Jesuits had come to the viceroyalties of New Spain and Peru in the early seventeenth century, but owing to the promulgation of a number of royal cedulas that allowed for the immigration of foreigners, that is, non-Spaniards, their numbers increased dramatically from mid-century. Letters of aspirants recorded between 1672 and 1695 alone indicate that 253 members of the Upper German province aspired to come on missions to the New World, 110 members of the Austrian province, and 288 of the Bohemian.34 The actual number of German Jesuits who came to the Western Hemisphere has been estimated at 120 in Paraguay, 100 in Chile, 60 in Quito, and 50 in Colombia. The exacting recent research of Bernd Hausberger has counted 89 Central European Jesuits in New Spain, of whom more than 35 came from the Bohemian province. Another 19 Jesuits from Central Europe are recorded in the Philippine province.35 The advent of these Jesuits may be explained as a response to the desire for help expressed by the New World missions, which seems to have taken into account the relative numbers of Jesuits who populated the various provinces. It may not be generally known that whereas in around 1670 there were over 1600 Jesuits belonging to the Spanish assistancy and 2937 to the Italian, there were fully 6601 members of the German assistancy.36 Whatever accounts for their coming, the Jesuits accomplished numerous tasks in the realm of the arts in the New World.37 While the work of Jesuits, Central Europeans included, in the arts goes far beyond questions of style, some brief consideration of stylistic issues serves the purposes of this paper. Jesuits from Central Europe were involved in the founding of missions on the periphery of European settlement in the New World, a task that of course included much more

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than designing churches and their fittings. The famed Paraguay missions have long been familiar, and recently a comprehensive survey of the Chiquitos region has appeared.38 So it may be of interest to attend to other localities where Jesuits settled in the New World. Among these is an area vastly different from the territories of the South American missions, one in which Jesuits encountered desert as opposed to tropical forest. This is the Mexican Sonora and the Pimeria Alta, extending up to present-day Arizona, where Eusebio Kino and many other immigrants from the German provinces established a string of missions. Other German Jesuits did the same in Baja California. In the opposite direction, Jesuits from the German provinces, most notably Padre Carlos (Karl) Haymhausen, were involved in the establishment of missions in Chile reaching as far to the south as the island of Chiloe, and, on the other side of the Andes, in the Pampas, in the foundation of estancias in the area of present-day Argentina, as at Santa Catalina. These establishments would obviously contrast with the more centrally located Jesuit institutions in the interior of New Spain, in the present country of Mexico.39 The wide variety of geographic locales, the relative remoteness of their establishments from cultural centres, and the varying aptitudes of the individuals involved meant that the Jesuits in the New World built in a multiplicity of materials, not to mention modes. The wood structures they built on the island of Chiloe in the southwest of Chile obviously contrast with the rough stone building erected as their professed house in Cordoba, Argentina, where they established the first university south of the tropic of Capricorn, and also with the plastered finish of the churches on the estancias that depended from Cordoba. Even within the same region the amount of decoration in Jesuit churches could vary widely. At the northern extremity, even though the existing structure at San Xavier del Bac was put up by Franciscans after the expulsion of the Jesuits, remains at Guevavi and of pre-Franciscan structures at Tumacacori in Arizona warrant the assumption that some of these buildings were made of sun-dried adobe bricks. Father Kino, the interlocutor of Sor Juana de la Cruz, who was also the builder of the original structure at San Xavier del Bac, says, however, that the original church was built of 'muchas y grandes piedras de tezontle.'40 Similarly, while the rules and precepts for the missions in northwestern New Spain speak of the need for at least minimal adornment, specifically such objects as silver utensils,41 Father Ignaz Pfefferkorn's account from the mid-eighteenth century describes the churches of Sonora as follows: The churches were built only of sun-dried adobe bricks. Moreover, the church ceilings were not arched but instead were flat, constructed of logs. In contrast with this simplicity of construction, the churches were decorated with beautiful altars, images, paintings, and other ornaments.'42

296 Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann Not just these but many such buildings give evidence that the Central European Jesuits adapted to their circumstances, and that their buildings varied in form as well as in wealth of adornment. In other areas the innovations of Jesuits from the German assistancy testify to their practical skills. It is well known, for instance, that Father Johann Rohr, a native of Prague, devised ceilings out of quincha to cover the cathedral in Lima, Peru, which was, and still is, often threatened by cosmic shock. In Chile the workshops established by the Jesuits in La Calera were designed to meet the widely felt need for church furnishings.43 Yet Father Kino's pride in the stone construction of his remote church near Tucson, and Father Pfefferkorn's mention of arched versus flat ceilings, also indicate that aesthetic and stylistic considerations were not absent from Jesuit concerns in the New World, even in remote regions. There is much evidence to this effect from Chile. In 1720 Coadjutor Brother Johann Bitterich, who came originally from Landeck and who was a member of the province of Upper Germany, complained of receiving an overabundance of commissions for statues, altars, and buildings from the superiors of all the religious houses in Chile, because there was no trained sculptor or architect in the region; as a consequence of his letter, artisans and artists were sought specifically in Germany to remedy the deficit. Likewise, at mid-century Padre Juan Ignacio Molina spoke of the role of the Jesuits specifically with reference to the restitution of the fine arts: 'The fine arts in Chile are found in a miserable state ... No doubt exception should be made for carpentry, ironwork, silver, which have made some progress thanks to some German artisans, who passed there because of Padre Carlos of the Counts of Haymhausen, in Bavaria.'44 In many instances, moreover, the Central European Jesuits who came to the New World did not simply adapt church designs to local materials, but created buildings that were innovative in their formal or stylistic aspects - and not merely because in some areas, like the Sonoran desert or the Argentine pampas, no church existed previously. This observation applies not only to the type of institution involved - the estancia, or Jesuit ranch - but to the forms used. Whereas in the sixteenth century the Italian painter Bitti had a major role in establishing a tradition of picture-making in South America, now it was the turn of Central European Jesuit architects and sculptors to make their mark. In the field of architecture, German Jesuits brought notable new styles of building both to areas where there had been no previous architecture in masonry, and to centres such as Quito where a considerable architectural tradition had been established from the beginning of the Spanish viceroyalty. In Popayan in Colombia, for example, the Jesuit brother Simon Schonherr designed a strikingly new edifice. In Quito, where an urban fabric thick with architecture of European inspiration existed long before the Jesuits began or completed their building, the fagade of the Compaiiia strikes an artistic note completely new in the region.

Jesuit Art: Central Europe and the Americas 297 Although this fagade was finished by other architects, it is reasonable to assume that the foundation and the middle part were designed by Leonard Deubler from 1722 to 1726. The high altar in the interior, along with some of the side altars, was executed by Georg Winterer. These clearly contrast with other works in the same city. Most remarkable among the works of Jesuits from the German assistancy are the accomplishments of the architects in Argentina. The series begins with the work of Johann Kraus, from Pilsen in Bohemia, in the Church of San Ignacio in Buenos Aires. Although Italians and other Germans completed this building, the original traza was by Kraus, and much of what still may be seen is no doubt the result of his design. The Argentinian historian Ramon Gutierrez has recently called attention to the corbels and scrolled gables flanking the central space on the fa£ade as signs of the German origin of the design, and a northern interpretation of the Italianate, international baroque does seem to lie behind the appearance of this form.45 Similarly, arcaded courtyards of the sort designed by Kraus for the Jesuit college in Cordoba may have their origin in Kraus's native country: the forms are ultimately Italian, but such courtyards in fact are perhaps even more common in Bohemia than in Italy. In the Bohemian lands arcaded courtyards of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries are more abundant than in any other European land, including perhaps Italy. The Church of Santa Catalina in the Pampas was similarly innovative, not only in its function but in the way the Bavarian Jesuit Anton Harls created an echo of the grand Bavarian abbey churches. But it was in Chile that there worked a sculptor who is arguably the artist with the greatest reputation of all the Jesuits, and indeed all the artists of European origin, active in South America in the eighteenth century. This was Brother Bitterich, whose complaint of an overabundance of commissions has already been mentioned. Before coming to South America in the second decade of the eighteenth century, Bitterrich had worked for Lothar Franz von Schonborn, archbishop of Mainz, bishop of Bamberg and several other sees, and, owing to his position in Mainz, chancellor of the Holy Roman Empire. Lothar Franz was not only an important political and religious figure, but also a major patron of the arts. In addition to building palaces in and around Vienna, he had castles constructed and decorated at Gaibach and Pommersfelden, where one of the leading architects of the day, Johann Lucas von Hildebrandt, had supplied designs. The archbishop also supported the building and decoration of the Jesuit church in Bamberg. Bitterich worked for Lothar Franz on many of these projects, in Gaibach, Bamberg, and Pommersfelden. Indeed, when the brother felt the call to missions in the New World, the archbishop tried to retain him as a court sculptor. But Bitterich came to Chile, and there created what has been recognized as one

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12.12. Johann Bitterich, polychromed wood statue of St Sebastian, Church of Los Andes, Chile. Photo from Eugenio Pereira Salas, Historia del arte en el reino de Chile (Santiago, 1965).

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12.13. Johann Bitterich, linden wood and polychrome (?) statue of St Cunigunde, Katholische Kirchenstiftung Pommersfelden, from the Chapel of Schloss Pommersfelden. Photo from Die Graf en von Schonborn: Kirchenftirsten, Sammler, Mdzene (Nuremberg, 1989), exhib. cat.

300 Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann important foundation for artistic traditions in South America. Because documents have made him known as a sculptor, and because an early eighteenthcentury statue with a Jesuit provenance depicting St Sebastian still survives in the Church of Los Andes in Chile, this work has been associated with him (fig. 12.12).46 One advantage of considering the work of Jesuits in Central Europe in relation to that of Jesuits in the New World is that this statue can now definitely be attributed to Bitterich. The figure of St Sebastian possesses a physiognomy, proportions, and a complicated stance similar to those found in figures of saints the sculptor is documented to have executed in the chapel in Pommersfelden shortly before his departure for the New World (fig. 12.13).47 Needless to say, the figure of St Sebastian in its South American context must be seen as stylistically innovative in many respects. It cannot be regarded simply as a product of adaptation to local circumstances, because it represents a stylistic novum, something that would have seemed advanced in Bitterich's place of origin as well. Works such as Bitterich's seem on the one hand Italianate, and on the other to respond to local needs for images of saints. No doubt it can be observed that Italian-inspired designs may stand ultimately behind such works, and that they certainly served set functions. But their makers did not necessarily conceive of them only in these ways. For if we listen, by way of conclusion, to Johann Kraus, the original architect of the Church of San Ignacio in Buenos Aires, of the Jesuit college in Cordoba, and of other buildings in Argentina, we will learn not only that Jesuit artists could be conscious that their artistic accomplishments might be regarded as innovative in the New World, but also that they could think of their works as being ultimately Central European in origin. In a letter to Andreas Waibl, the provincial of the Upper German province, written in 1702, Kraus said about his teacher in Bohemia: 'That unknown architect, who passed his days in faraway Bohemia, would never have known or even suspected that one of his pupils was going to immortalize his name in the isolated regions of the Plata.'48 We began with 'Padre' Pozzo (as he is often called, despite the fact that he was never ordained), and with these words we may let Brother Kraus have the last word on the workings of Jesuit artists in Central Europe and of Jesuit artists from Central Europe in the New World. NOTES 1 Andrea Pozzo, Copia di una lettera diretta al Principe. Ant. Flor. Di Liechtenstein ... alii significati della volta da lui dipinta nel tempio di S. Ignazio in Roma (Rome, 1694), reprinted in Hans Tietze, 'Andrea Pozzo und die Fursten von Liechtenstein,'

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10 11 12 13

14 15

Jahrbuchfiir Landeskunde von Niederosterreich, new series, 13-14 (1914-15): 432-^6. The English translation is taken from Mask. Pair., p. 90. Pozzo's painting is widely illustrated and discussed; see e.g. Bernhard Kerber, Andrea Pozzo (Berlin and New York, 1971), pp. 69-74. The latest discussion of Pozzo is Andrea Pozzo, ed. Vittorio de Feo and Valentino Martinelli (Milan, 1996). See Mask. Patr., pp. 91-3. This is the theme of a dissertation by Evonne Levy presented to Princeton University, and of her ongoing research, now being prepared for publication. See Gertrud Schiller, Ikonographie der christlichen Kunst, 5 vols (Giitersloh, 196691) IV 108. Tietze, 'Andrea Pozzo/ For this composition, see further Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann, Central European Drawings, 1680-1800: A Selection from American Collections (Princeton, 1989), p. 66. For Bitti, see Jose de Mesa and Teresa Gisbert, Bitti, un pintor manierista en Sudamerica (La Paz, 1974). See further Francesco Gui, / gesuiti e la Rivoluzione Boema: Alle origini della guerra di trent'anni (Milan, 1989). Although he does not mention the Jesuits, Jan Bialostocki links these 'peripheral' regions in 'Some Values of Artistic Periphery,' in World Art: Themes of Unity in Diversity (Acts of the XXVth International Congress of the History of Art), ed. Irving Lavin, 3 vols (University Park and London, 1989), I 49-58. See further, on painting, Waldemar Deluga, 'La peinture de 1'Amerique du Sud de 1'epoque coloniale et de TEurope de 1'Est dans XVII-XVIII siecles: Les etudes de comparaison des milieux artistiques,' Anales del Institute de Investigaciones Este'ticas, Universidad Nacional Autonoma de Mexico 63 (1992): 173-6. See e.g. John Rupert Martin, Baroque (New York, 1976), who does not speak about the Jesuits in this regard, however. See Braun Kirch. Witt. 'Prob/p. 2. 'As manifesta5oes de arte dos jesuitas apresentan formas diversas, de acordo com as conveniencias e recursos locals e com as caracteristicas de estil proprias de cada periodo': Lucio Costa, 'A arquitetura dos Jesuitas no Brasil' (1941), quoted in Diaz Arq., p. 25. See e.g. Ludger Sutthoff, Gotik in Barock: Zur Frage der Kontinuitdt des Stils ausserhalb seiner Epoche (Miinster, 1990), pp. 27ff. The most complete discussion of the Nachgotik, including its use as a Jesuit mode, is found in Hermann Hipp, 'Studien zu Nachgotik des 16. und 17. Jahrhundert in Deutschland, Bohmen, Osterreich, und der Schweiz,' Ph.D. dissertation, Tubingen,

302 Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann 1979. See also Michael Hesse, Von der Nachgotik zur Neugotik (Frankfurt and New York, 1984). 16 For this work in the context of the sculptural situation in Miinster at this time, see Jeffrey Chipps Smith, German Sculpture of the Later Renaissance, c. 1520-1580: Art in an Age of Uncertainty (Princeton, 1994). 17 For an interpretation of this phenomenon, see Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann, 'Schlaun - ein unzeitgema'Ber Zeitgenosse?' in Johann Conrad Schlaun: Architektur des Spdtbarock in Europa, ed. Klaus BuBmann et al. (Miinster, 1995), pp. 594-7. 18 Buildings of this period are conveniently discussed and illustrated in Georg Skalecki, Deutsche Architektur zur Zeit des Dreissigjdhrigen Krieges (Regensburg, 1989). 19 See Sutthoff, Gotik in Barock, p. 28. 20 Adam Milobedzki, Architektura ziem Polsi: Rozdzial europejskiego dzedzictwa / The Architecture of Poland: A Chapter of the European Heritage (Cracow, 1994), p. 53. These buildings are best discussed in Milobedzki, Architektura polska, XVII wieku, 2 vols (Warsaw, 1980), I 108ff. 21 For Castello's biography, the sorting out of his participation in the Jesuit church in Cracow, and other projects, as well as his background in Roman architecture, see Mariusz Karpowicz, Matteo Castello: Architekt wczesnego baroku (Warsaw, 1994). I have followed Karpowicz's spelling of the architect's name. 22 For recently rediscovered plans by Briano, including designs identifiable with sites in Poland, see John Bury, Forty-three Sheets of Architectural Drawings by Giacomo Briano da Modena, S.J. (1588-1649), the Society's Architect in Poland and in Northern Italy (Milan, [1982?]). The major source of Jesuit plans, to be consulted in this and other instances, is Vall.-Rad. Rec. 23 A map is provided in what remains the best overview of Jesuit architecture of the late sixteenth and the seventeenth century in Poland, Milobedzki, Architektura polska, I 108ff. 24 This is one thesis of Jan Bialostocki, The Art of the Renaissance in Eastern Europe (Ithaca and London, 1976), with which I concur in Court, Cloister, and City: The Art and Culture of Central Europe, 1450-1800(London and Chicago, 1995). 25 For this information concerning Nieswiez, see Milobedzki, Architektura polska, I 113. 26 This aspect of the church is discussed ibid., I 117, and is a staple of the historiography of Jesuit architecture. 27 The best introduction in English to these details of Polish history is provided by Norman Davies, God's Playground: A History of Poland (Oxford, 1981), p. 1. Milobedzki, The Architecture of Poland, p. 53, calls the Jesuits a 'combat force' against Eastern Orthodoxy. 28 See Hellmut Lorenz, 'Architektur,' in Die Kunst des Barock in Osterreich, ed.

Jesuit Art: Central Europe and the Americas 303

29 30 31

32 33

34 35 36 37

38

39 40 41 42

43

Gunther Brucher (Salzburg, 1994), pp. 17ff; Lorenz also provides the best published account of these buildings and of their impact, as discussed here. The most accessible account of these works in Slovakia is in Kaufmann, Court, Cloister, and City. See further Pal Voit, Der Barock in Ungarn (Budapest, 1971). For Nysa (Neisse), see Konstanty Kalinowski, Barock in Schlesien (Munich and Berlin, 1990) p. 132, and fig. 93. See Jarmila Krcalova, Centrdlm stavby ceske Renesance (Prague, 1976), pp. 69ff, and, perhaps more accessible, 'Das Oval in der Architektur des bohmischen Manierismus,' Umeni2\ (1973): 316ff. This account repeats my observations in Court, Cloister, and City, pp. 274-5 and ill. p. 280. For an accessible introduction in English to the decoration of this building, see Henryk Dziurla, Aula Leopoldina Universitatis Wratislaviensis (Wroclaw, 1993); see also Kalinowski, Barock in Schlesien, pp. 86ff and ill. p. 17. See Vicente D. Sierra, Los jesuitas germanos en la conquista espiritual de Hispano-Ame'rica: Siglos XVII-XVIH (Buenos Aires, 1944), p. 71. Bernd Hausberger, Jesuiten aus Mitteleuropa im kolonialen Mexiko: Eine BioBiographie (Oldenbourg, 1995). See Felix Plattner, Deutsche Meister des Barock in Siidamerika im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert (Basel. Freiburg, Vienna, 1960), pp. 17, 19. Useful information on European artists in the New World can be gleaned from Barbara Gretenkord, Kiinstler der Kolonialzeit in Lateinamerika: Ein Lexikon (Berlin, 1993). For the architecture and art of the Chiquitos region, see Las misiones jesuiticas de Chiquitos, ed. Pedro Querejazu (La Paz, 1995). Although Magnus Moraer has written eloquently on the Paraguay missions (as in his contribution to this collection, pp. 305-16), it seems to me that the art of these missions has not yet been adequately treated; see, however, Ramon Gutierrez, Arquitectura y urbanismo en Iberoamerica (Madrid, 1992), pp. 213ff, and Bozidar Darko Sustersic, 'La escultura en el Rio de la Plata durante el periodo colonial,' in Pintura, escultura, y artes utiles en Iberoamerica, 1500-1825, ed. Ramon Gutierrez (Madrid, 1995), pp. 274ff. See Clara Bargellini's paper in this volume, pp. 680-98. Quoted in Sierra, Los jesuitas germanos, p. 255. See e.g. Charles W. Polzer, Rules and Precepts of the Jesuit Missions of Northwestern New Spain (Tucson, 1976), pp. 82-3. Ignaz Pfefferkorn, Sonora: A Description of the Province, trans, and annotated Theodore E. Treutlein, with a foreword by Bernard L. Fontana (Tucson, 1989), p. 272. See Gutierrez, Arquitectura y urbanismo en Iberoamerica, and Pintura, escultura, y artes utiles, ed. Gutierrez, for information on many monuments mentioned here.

304 Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann 44 'Las bellas artes se encuentran en Chile en un estado miserable ... Se deben exceptua, sin embargo, las de carpinteria, de herreria, y de plateria, las cuales ban hecho algiin progreso a merced de las buenas luces que comunicaron algunos artesanos alemanes, que pasaron alii por el P. Carlos de los condes de Haimbhausen, en Baviera ...'; quoted in Sierra, Los jesuitas germanos, p. 238. 45 Gutierrez, Arquitectura y urbanismo en Iberoamerica, p. 194. 46 See Isabel Cruz, Arte en Chile: Historia de la pintura y de la escultura desde la colonia al sigh XX (Santiago, 1984), pp. 85-92. 47 See Die Grafen von Schonborn: Kirchenfiirsten, Sammler, Mazene (Nuremberg, 1989), exhib. cat., pp. 244-6 and ill. p. 245. 48 'Aquel desconocido arquitecto, que paso sus dias en la lejana Bohemia, nunca tal vez supo, ni aun barrunto, que uno de sus alumnos iba a inmortalizar su nombre en las apartadas regiones de la Plata'; Carlos Leonhardt and Guillermo Furlong, Tres pioneers de la civilizacion nacional,' Estudios 115 (1921): 36, cited by Sierra, Los jesuitas germanos, p. 261.

137 The Role of the Jesuits in the Transfer of Secular Baroque Culture to the Rio de la Plata Region MAGNUS MORNER

'Culture' is a notoriously manifold and ambivalent concept. Most students of the humanities prefer to use subdivisions like art, literature, and education. Anthropologists, on the other hand, tend to use the concept of 'culture' in a broad sense to refer to a particular way of life, including the 'man-made part of the human environment.' For our purposes we must adopt at least two different perspectives on culture. One focuses on the patterns of thought, the symbols, and the values related to the intellectual and imaginative work of the Jesuits, that is, their perhaps specific 'corporate culture,' their outfit when setting out to undertake their mission in life. But since the destination of these Jesuits brought an encounter with peoples of completely different behaviour, language, social organization, and values, we must also take up a broader perspective, on 'culture' in the anthropological sense. That broader perspective opens up the way to the study of cultural shock and conflict. It also naturally encourages a relativist approach, which is necessary as a corrective to the ethnocentricity of the student of cross-cultural encounters.1 In fact, Jesuit missionaries from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century have been characterized as showing a high degree of cultural relativism for their vocation and their times, whether they were active at the Chinese imperial court or among the North American Indians.2 The title of my paper includes the term 'secular baroque culture.' Here, 'baroque' alludes to our first perspective. But baroque art and music in churches, for example, through its strong appeal to the emotions, became an ingredient of 'popular culture,' among European peasants as well as New World Indians. To distinguish between 'religious' and 'secular' in the era associated with the baroque is more difficult than in the case of any other era of modern history, and my word 'secular' refers only to my intention not to touch directly upon the religious aspects of the subject. In 1600, the Rfo de la Plata region still had a widely scattered, sparse Spanish

306 Magnus Morner and mestizo population. In the northwest (Tucuman), where there were several small Spanish towns, the number of Indians kept inencomiendas, or trusteeships, was shrinking rapidly. Economically the Tucuman province was a dependency of the Potosi mining district. In the northeast (Paraguay), a small mestizo population around Asuncion lived closely together with Guaram Indians, who were roaming cultivators in a rural society based on subsistence agriculture. By 1767, the Rio de la Plata region had undergone great demographic, economic, and social change. In the west, urban centres had grown, with African slaves as a new element, to about 100,000 people altogether. In the east, the Guarani population, in thirty huge missions or towns under Jesuit control, had attained its peak in 1732, with no fewer than 141,000 people. After the severe crises that followed, the population shrank, almost to 89,000 in 1768. Paraguay outside the Thirty Missions had some tens of thousands, and Buenos Aires, a mere hamlet in 1600, by the mid-eighteenth century had grown to more than 20,000 inhabitants thanks to contraband traffic and was the largest and most dynamic city of the region. There were also smaller towns such as Montevideo and other nuclei on both sides of the river. Members of the Jesuit order had played an important role in this process of change, as college and university teachers, as missionaries, as administrators of African slave populations, and as promoters and at times even performers of the fine arts. Through their various productive activities in both missions and colleges they had taken considerable part in supplying food and other necessities in the Potosi district, until then the foremost market of South America. They were also at the centre of the regional credit system.3 The specific 'corporate culture' of the Jesuits (a concept I accept) was clearly a function of their unusually long and thorough educational training and their recruitment, as a rule, from the elites. Moreover, this combination was reinforced by their particular interest in business and their habit of building a sound economic basis for their enterprises, of whatever kind. In the Rio de la Plata region, members were recruited only to a minor extent from the region itself; most came from Spain, but as many as a fourth came from other parts of Catholic Europe. The tendency to recruit from outside Spain, almost entirely absent in other religious orders, was a result of Jesuit influence at the Spanish royal court until the mid-eighteenth century. Jesuits active in the Society's province of Paracuaria seem to have totalled 1260. German- and Italian-speakers each made up 9 per cent, French and Flemish speakers almost 4 per cent. There were even a few English and Irish Fathers. We should also keep in mind that the coadjutors, or lay brothers, formed a heterogenous group, its members ranging from humble artisans to highly sophisticated artists, often recruited abroad. The study of eighteenth-century German missionaries like Fathers Anton Sepp (1655-1733),

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Florian Baucke or Paucke (1719-80), and Martin Dobritzhoffer (1718-91) suggests that the Germans were often more practically minded than their brethren.4 Jesuit superiors entrusted each member with the tasks for which he was best qualified. Some members were used mostly as academic teachers, other were assigned wholly or mostly to the Indian missions. The superiors themselves were recruited from both categories and from different nationalities. Though the first Jesuits arrived in the region in 1585, their manifold activities began in earnest only after the province of Paracuaria had been established in 1607. From 1611 to 1620, thanks to donations, the Jesuits established colleges in one town after another: Cordoba, San Miguel de Tucuman, Santiago del Estero, Santa Fe, Buenos Aires, Asuncion, and Mendoza. By 1767 there were twentytwo Jesuit colleges alone - too many in terms of the existing need, according to the Jesuit historian Guillermo Furlong. Cordoba became the headquarters of the Jesuit provincial and the seat of a Jesuit-run university in 1622. Another Jesuitrun university was established in Chuquisaca (Sucre) in upper Peru (present-day Bolivia) two years later. All the colleges and the University of Cordoba offered secondary or academic education for well-off youngsters in their respective districts. Teaching was based on the Jesuit Ratio studiorum of 1599, much admired at the time. At the University of Cordoba, until the suppression, the chairs were in philosophy, scholastic and moral theology, and Sacred Scripture. Efforts were made to introduce Indian languages as a subject - but Quechua, not Guarani - as well as mathematics and physics.5 The university presents a rather bleak image in the seventeenth century, but in the eighteenth the quality of teaching improved greatly, owing to several brilliant teachers. One of them, Thomas Falkner (170284), had already made his mark as a student. He was an English physician, sent as such on a slave ship to Buenos Aires, where the British 'Asiento' had an office for the slave trade; he got very sick, was cured by Jesuits, converted in 1732, and soon entered the Society and began studies in Cordoba. He is said to have been a 'favourite student' of Newton in London. Towards 1750, Domingo Muriel from Salamanca (1718-95), a specialist in the philosophy of law, took up teaching again. One of his students in this period later said that, pushing aside dry Aristotelian categories, Muriel 'broke or opened the way to introduce many useful matters, nice and fresh, of modern philosophy that previously had been looked at as a kind of contraband.' Another important figure was Laszlo Orosz (1697-1773), a Hungarian who appears to have taught physics. And though he taught only briefly in Cordoba in the 1740s, Juan Sanchez Labrador (1714-98), from La Mancha, deserves mention for being considered the most outstanding of several Rio de la Plata Jesuit 'naturalists,' as they were called. Similarly, Buenaventura Suarez (1679-1750), a Santa Fe-born astronomer who was active

308 Magnus Morner in the Guarani missions but never in Cordoba, deserves to be mentioned. Around 1744 he published a moon calendar (lunario) covering 101 years, which was printed in eight hundred copies and distributed widely. His Swedish colleagues Anders Celsius (1701-^4) and Per Wargentin (1717-83) are among those who praised his work.6 In the 1940s the Venezuelan cultural historian Mariano Picon Salas saw Jesuit Humanism and learning as an important bridge between the 'baroque era' and the immediate pre-revolution era. The outstanding Chilean historian Mario Gongora, however, believes that even quotation from Kepler, Galileo, and Descartes in the writings of great seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Spanish- American savants does not prove their 'enlightenment.' Yet Gongora discerns a new generation of 'enlightened' and neo-classical Jesuit intellectuals who began to teach just before 1767.1 think the new generation had made its presence felt at Cordoba since the mid-century Muriel era - Muriel himself was even a regalist, manifesting a disposition unusual among the Jesuits but an ingredient in what Gongora terms the 'Catholic Enlightenment.'7 Behind the intellectual glories of Jesuit university and college teaching was an agricultural and ranching economy based on African slave labour. In relative terms these numerous slaves - there were more than two thousand Jesuit slaves in 1735 - were well treated. The written instructions as to their treatment were probably carried out, given Jesuit efficiency. In one way or another they were to be christianized, marriages among them were to be promoted, and measures were to be taken to ensure that families not be broken up by sales. Their Christianization in itself would improve social control, and religious fiestas and confraternities would provide some stimulation for them and thus discourage them from deserting. Also, as a set of Jesuit instructions for overseers in Mexico put it, 'If you make the slaves good Christians, they will become good servants.' One student of Jesuit slaves in the Rio de la Plata region states that they were taught 'useful skills' but gives no details, nor any details on their Christianization. The Jesuits' apparent lack of interest in their acculturation stands in striking contrast to their great concern about the Indians.8 The Franciscans began the establishment of mission villages, or reducciones, among the Guarani of the eastern part of the region, though after 1610 they were quickly surpassed in this endeavour by the Jesuits.9 After a critical, destructive decade, the Jesuits were able to transform the deadly threat of aggression from Brazilian slave hunters into a basis for Guarani privileges. Their Indians were formed into a royal border garrison, with soldiers carrying firearms. The Jesuit Guarani missions were given far-reaching autonomy and assigned a low rate of tribute to the crown. Each mission has its own foundation story. To take the case of the mission of

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Concepcion, for example, in 1619 a Paraguay-born Jesuit who knew Guarani well, Roque Gonzalez, made an agreement with a cacique, or chief, and chose a good spot for a mission village. He then brought carpenters and iron wedges from another Jesuit village. With iron wedges attached to the digging sticks, agriculture became more efficient and the Indians could settle in one place for longer periods. From this modest first step the acculturation process could slowly go on, with the new 'shamans,' as the Swiss historian Louis Necker calls them, as leaders - though not without occasional resistance, as the Jesuit historian and anthropologist Bartomeu Melia has stressed. An early seventeenth-century 'shaman' is said to have declared: 'Let us live as our ancestors. Why do these Fathers find it bad that we have so many wives? It is really crazy to give up the customs and ways of life of our ancestors and to submit to the new things they want to introduce.'10 Not a few mutinies occurred, after which the former shamans would take cover. The new economy developed out of the old Guarani dichotomy of private and common property (tupambae and abambae). The private sector expanded vigorously, however, thanks to an increase in the gathering of 'Paraguay tea' (yerba mate), most of it intended for distant markets. Moreover, the introduction of ranching soon made meat an indispensable food among the Indians. So far we have talked about acculturation only in its most basic, materialist sense, and during the early period. But one should keep in mind that even after the Thirty Missions' had been founded in the first part of the eighteenth century, more missions came into being among Indian peoples other than the Guarani, some of them hunters/gatherers with no notion of farming and thus more resistant to settling in one place. This short paper will not permit examination of their experiences of culture transfer in the anthropological sense of the term.11 The Indians of the missions were subjected to a new, European concept of time, one, moreover, that was unusually rigid for a pre-industrial society. Labour, military service, and Christian indoctrination operated according to a previously established timetable. Sundials became a normal feature. All this made for an advanced stage of acculturation, and required the Indians to leave their old ways behind. Admittedly, Indians kept their language, but as Melia has noted, Guarani was transformed into a Christian tongue, regulated, and provided with a range of new concepts.12 Whereas caciques (tubichd) and shamans previously had comprised an upper stratum in Guarani society, the Jesuits, in accordance with Spanish policy, built up an elaborate Indian hierarchy. This helped them to run mission societies, among other things, and also to avoid direct contact with women, who were kept busy with their spinning by Indian inspectors. We must recall that in each mission two or three Jesuits governed some two to three thousand Indians or more. Apart from the caciques, the members of the municipal governing body

310 Magnus Morner (the cabildo), and the stewards, the new upper stratum consisted of musicians, artisans, and sacristans. Normally only their sons were sent to school to learn to read and write in their own Guaram language. But according to the diligent chronicler Father Jose Cardiel (1704-82), other boys could be admitted if the parents requested it. After learning to read and write in Guarani, the boys were taught Spanish and sometimes even Latin. The distinction between the Indian elite and the Indian masses in matters of schooling was, of course, in keeping with Western values of the era, but generally has not been noted by modern scholars.13 Anyone who visits the better-preserved Guarani missions - as my wife and I did for the first time in 1950 - is greatly impressed by the magnificence of the huge baroque churches, and also by the situation of the other public buildings along a plaza which forms the centre of a large checkerboard consisting of the streets and residences of the Indians. How strangely modern these look! The seventeenth-century churches were surely rather modest and low structures, but in the eighteenth century most of them were rebuilt in the late baroque style. The main architects in the missions, as in the Spanish towns, were three Italian Jesuit brothers, Giovanni Andrea Bianchi (1675-1740), Giuseppe Brasanelli (16591728), and Gianbattista Primoli (1673-1747).14 Inside these wonderful temples, Jesuits introduced Western music sung by Indian choirs. The German Jesuit Father Anton Sepp (1655-1733), a prolific writer, was especially proud of what he had achieved in the field of music, surely with a Bavarian touch. The most famous among the Jesuit musicians, well known before he left for South America, was the Italian organist and composer Domenico Zipoli (1688-1726); unfortunately he never made it to the missions. Though only a small part of all the precious treasury of art and artefacts that adorned the mission churches has survived, we know that it consisted of both exquisite, imported goods, purchased in Europe by theprocuradores of the Jesuit province, and domestic, even local products, artefacts made by highly skilled Indians, who often left traces of their own aesthetic values. We can only guess as to the psychological impact of those monumental churches and of the whole highly regulated mission organization on the Indian inhabitants. It must have increased their sense of awe and must have been intended to increase their sense of the sacred. Great stress was laid on the church's celebration of holy days, culminating in Holy Week and the feast of Corpus Christi, when a well-trained choir and skilled dancers performed. The Jesuits were clearly very much aware of the importance of ritual display for maintaining the cohesion and good spirits of the Indian community. A well-known event in the history of the Guarani missions is the introduction of the printing press during the early years of the eighteenth century (sometime before 1724). An Austrian Jesuit, Johann Baptist Neumann (1658-1704), and a

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Spanish Jesuit, Juan Serrano (1654-1713), put together the equipment and taught some Indians to print religious books. Most were in Guarani and intended for local use, but some were in Spanish or Latin and perhaps meant for more distant users. The first items were slim, but some of the later ones were hundreds of pages long. Some illustrations were copied from European books, others were engraved by the Indians. The import of paper seems to have been the most serious difficulty encountered in this truly pioneering venture.15 On an even more sophisticated level, in the Santa Maria mission, Nicolas Yapuguay, a cacique and musician, under the direction of an Italian Jesuit, Paolo Restivo (1658-1740), authored a catechism in Spanish, which was published there in 1724, and a book of sermons in Guarani, which was published in San Xavier in 1727. Restivo is said to have kept Yapuguay close at all times as an interpreter, to help him express himself elegantly in Guarani. Only many years later, in 1764, do we hear of the beginning of a printing operation among the learned Jesuits and their students in Cordoba.16 The attitude of many Jesuit chroniclers towards the Indians, especially the sharp and precise Cardiel, is a paradoxical blend of pride in them and disdain for them. The Indian upper stratum apparently was what kept the extraordinary Jesuit-Guarani society together, but even it is barely exempt from Jesuit generalizations. The Indians' ability to imitate and to remember is praised by Cardiel and others, but regardless of their status the Indians are invariably presented as meek and childish. This Jesuit ambivalence is also reflected in what we know about confession among the Indians. In 1620, an Italian Jesuit unusually skilled in Guarani put together a Latin-Guarani manual for confessors. But more than a hundred years later, Father Cardiel remarked that it was much more difficult to hear the confessions of Indians than of others, and not just because of the language: They are said to be inconsistent, even contradictory, and do not recall if they have already confessed a sin and been absolved or not. But at least they have no scruples and would not "tell stories.'" Concerning another part of Spanish America, central New Spain, a student of Indian confessions has noted that they seem to have appeased 'the trauma generated by colonial rule.' Above all, however, confession 'broke down the ancient solidarity and social networks, as well as the physical and supernatural ties.' In the Guarani missions, where the Jesuit confessors were the ultimate decision makers in temporal as well as spiritual matters, confession must have served as a most efficient instrument of social control.17 There has been an enormous amount of theorizing on the so-called Jesuit State, ever since the Enlightenment. It is worth noting that the first one to write in this genre was a Jesuit, Jose Manuel Peramas (1732-93), a Catalan who came to the Rio de la Plata region as a student in 1755. He spent three years in the

312 Magnus Morner missions, and then taught rhetoric in Cordoba. His De administratione guaranica comparate ad Rem publicam Platonis commentarius was written in exile towards the end of his life.18 The society established in the eastern parts of the Rio de la Plata region by the Jesuits and their Indian helpers did not break down all of a sudden. There was the great upheaval and ordeal of 1753-6, when the Indians of the southern towns rose in rebellion but were crushed by allied Spanish and Portuguese troops. The Jesuits, whether rightly or wrongly, were blamed for their rebellion, which was against the application of the Spanish-Portuguese border treaty of 1750 and the evacuation of the population of the seven southernmost missions. It is important to note that even in towns where the local Jesuits were clearly against the rebellion, the communities managed to function. Moreover, rebel leaders corresponded with each other in Guarani, as they had been taught to do. In the early 1760s, the evacuated populations were able to return to the seven towns, and the Jesuit-Guarani society seemed to have been fully restored. After the Jesuit expulsion, not carried out in the Guarani missions until 1768, the towns also continued to function, but with the important difference that ultimate local power was now divided between a local commander, usually military, and a regular or secular priest. Economic decline and Indian mass desertions set in, but the final collapse was actually the consequence of lengthy warfare that started in the early 1800s. It is very difficult to estimate the enduring effects of the manifold cultural activities of the Jesuits. Like all other Jesuits expelled from Spanish America, the Fathers from Paracuaria - brutally and stupidly - were not allowed to take with them the written materials that would have assisted them when in exile they wrote their numerous works on the history, the society, and the natural features of the Rio de la Plata region. These works, though of immense value, generally were not published in their own day, and did not reach students in the region until much later. According to the traditional sense of the term 'culture,' the Jesuits of the Paracuaria province clearly made an extraordinarily important contribution. Every third year or so, an expedition led by aprocurador arrived in Buenos Aires and Cordoba bringing a number of new Jesuits. These meetings must have meant very much to their brethren, who at the same time could tell the newcomers about their own experiences. This spread of knowledge and news from Europe must have been of special cultural importance. Jesuit correspondence with family and friends in the home country was considerable too. The procurador also brought new books, and the various libraries of the Society, even in the missions, became quite extensive.19 We must also recognize that the high number of Jesuits and their background in a social and educational elite worked particularly in their

Culture Transfer to the Rio de la Plata Region 313 favour in the 'new' Rio de la Plata region, more than would have been the case in the 'old' parts of the Spanish American empire such as New Spain and Peru, where other clergy had acquired overwhelmingly strong positions in the sixteenth century. With respect to the acculturation of the Indians, the Jesuits are regarded as having been enormously successful. But to what extent was this cultural change in the Indians superficial, to what extent more profound and creative? In the words of the contemporary Jesuit anthropologist Bartomeu Melia, the Guarani missions remained 'a product of colonial norms, the abusive practice of which they tried to rectify.' However, as Melia underlines, the Guarani letters from the critical 1750s reveal a feeling for the land on the part of the Indians that implied their acceptance of mission life and thus was the 'product of acculturation,' and was not the nostalgia they had once felt for the pre-Jesuit past.20 Whatever the case, the isolated examples of individual Guarani cultural performance after the expulsion of the Jesuits do not provide sufficient evidence that the missions also promoted cultural creativity.21 NOTES 1 The best conceptual discussion I have found is in Raymond Williams, The Long Revolution (Harmondsworth, 1965), pp. 57-70. He distinguishes among 'ideal,' 'documentary,' and 'social' definitions of culture. He also distinguishes three different levels of culture: 'lived' culture; 'recorded' culture, for instance of a certain period; and 'the culture of selective tradition.' See also 'Culture' in Collier's Encyclopedia, VII 553-7, and in Student Encyclopedia of Society, ed. Michael Mann (London, 1983), pp. 74-6; Felix M. Keesing, Cultural Anthropology: The Science of Custom (New York, 1958), for whom 'culture' is the 'totality of learned, socially transmitted behavior' (p. 427); Roger M. Keesing, 'Theories of Culture,' Annual Review of Anthropology 3 (1974): 73-97. Peter Burke, 'Varieties of Cultural History,' in Historia a debate, ed. Carlos Barros, 3 vols (Coruna, 1995), II 175-7, underlines the concern of present cultural historians with the 'cultural consequences of European expansion.' Our first perspective in the text is what Burke jokingly calls the 'opera-house conception of culture.' 2 The cultural relativism especially of the French missionaries in North America is stressed by James Axtell, The Invasion Within: The Contest of Cultures in Colonial North America (New York and Oxford, 1985), pp. 71, 77, 80, 279. 3 The present contribution is based on my own previous studies of the Jesuits, above all The Political and Economic Activities of the Jesuits in the La Plata Region: The Hapsburg Era (Stockholm, 1953) - the Spanish version, Actividades polfticas y economicas de los jesuitas en el Rio de la Plata (Buenos Aires, 1968), also contains

314 Magnus Morner a chapter on the Bourbon period; a chapter in my book Local Communities and Actors in Latin America's Past (Stockholm, 1994), pp. 131-72; and my survey 'La expulsion de la Compania de Jesus,' in Historia de la Iglesia en Hispanoamerica y Filipinas (sighs XV-XIX), ed. Pedro Borges, 2 vols (Madrid, 1992), I 245-60. With respect to empirical data, an abundance can be found in the very numerous works and studies of the late Jesuit historian Guillermo Furlong (d. 1974) in Buenos Aires. See my obituary in Hispanic American Historical Review 55:1 (1975): 92-4. Demographical evolution has been carefully traced by J. Maeder and A.S. Bolsi, 'La poblacion de la misiones guaranies entre 1702-1767,' Estudios paraguayos 2:1 (1974): 111-37. 4 Pierre Delattre and Edmond Lamalle, 'Jesuites wallons, flamands, francais, missionaires au Paraguay, 1608-1767,' AHSI 16:1-2 (1947): 98-176. Most of the forty-five Jesuits from French- and Walloon-speaking countries discussed in this article came in the seventeenth century. Hugo Storni, 'Jesuitas italianos en el Rio de la Plata (antigua provincia del Paraguay, 1585-1768),' AHSI 47 (1979): 3-64; Vicente D. Sierra, Los jesuitas germanos en la conquista espiritual de HispanoAmerica: Sighs XVH-XVIH (Buenos Aires, 1944), pp. 390-401. See also Lazaro de Aspurz, La aportacion extranjera a las misiones espanolas del Patronato Regio (Madrid, 1946). 5 John Tate Lanning, Academic Culture in the Spanish Colonies (original ed., 1940; Port Washington, N.Y., and London, 1971), pp. 21-8, on Jesuit teaching. This pioneering work has been followed up only partly, in Guillermo Furlong, Historia social and cultural del Rio de la Plata, 1536-1810: El trasplante social (Buenos Aires, 1969), pp. 238^2. 6 Guillermo Furlong, Thomas Falkner y su 'Acerca de los patagones' (1788) (Buenos Aires, 1954); idem, Medicos argentinos durante la dominacion hispdnica (Buenos Aires, 1947), pp. 99-119; idem, Domingo Muriel, S.I., y su Relacion de las misiones (1766) (Buenos Aires, 1955); on Muriel's 'Boswell,' see Furlong, Francisco Miranda y su 'Sinopsis' (1722) (Buenos Aires, 1963), p. 28 - Miranda probably wrote this account in the 1790s (p. 38); Furlong, Ladislao Orosz y su 'Nicolas del Techo' (1759) (Buenos Aires, 1966), pp. 17ff. A letter of Orosz's in 1730 shows that he did not like to teach philosophy, from which, indeed, physics was soon divorced. Minor stars of the youngest generation at Cordoba University were the criollo Caspar Juarez (1731-1804), above all a botanist, and another criolh, Francisco Javier Iturri (1738-1822), who taught grammar and in 1798, in exile, published a pamphlet against the Historia de America of an official Spanish historian, J.B. Munoz. See Furlong, Caspar Juarez, S.J., y sus 'Noticias fitologicas' (1789) (Buenos Aires, 1954), and Francisco J. Iturri y su 'Carta critica' (1797) (Buenos Aires, 1955). Background data can be found in Joaquin Gracia, Los jesuitas en Cordoba (Buenos Aires and Mexico City, 1940), and, on Suarez and

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Iturri, also in Furlong, Glorias santafesinas: Estudios biobibliogrdficos (Buenos Aires, 1929), pp. 81-140, 141-216, and Matemdticos argentinos durante la domination hispdnica (Buenos Aires, 1945), pp. 42—68. 7 Mariano Picon Salas. De la conquista a la independencia: Tres siglos de historia cultural hispanoamericana (Mexico City, 1944), pp. 161-83; Mario Gongora, Studies in the Colonial History of Spanish America (Cambridge, 1975), pp. 159205. The view of Furlong and others that Jesuit neo-Thomist teaching (Mariana, Suarez) would provoke Spanish enlightened despotism in America is, I believe, rightly criticized by Gongora. 8 Nicholas B. Cushner, Jesuit Ranches and the Agrarian Development of Colonial Argentina, 1650-1767 (Albany, N.Y., 1983), pp. 99-113. See also my article 'Los jesuitas y la esclavitud de los negros,' Revista chilena de historia y geografia 135 (1967): 92-109, and Rosa Maria Martinez de Codes, 'De la reduccion a la plantacion: La utilizacion del esclavo negro en las haciendas jesuitas de la America espanola y portuguesa.' Revista complutense de historia de America 21 (1995): 85-122. Royal ordinances in as early as 1545 instructed slave owners to see to it that slaves were christianized. In Peru, for instance, Jesuits apparently tried to comply in various ways (pp. 117-22). I have seen no comparable data for 'Paracuaria.' 9 Louis Necker, Indios guaranies y chamanes franciscanos: Las primeras reducciones del Paraguay (1580-1800) (Asuncion, 1990); originally in French, a Swiss dissertation, 1975. 10 Bartomeu Melia, El guarani conquistado v reducido: Ensavos de etnohistoria (Asuncion, 1988), p. 183. 1 1 The best-known descriptions of non-Guarani missions in the region are those of Baucke and Dobritzhoffer. For an excellent recent article, see James S. Saeger, 'Eighteenth Century Guaycunian Missions in Paraguay,' in Indian-Religious Relations in Colonial Spanish America, ed. Susan E. Ramirez (Syracuse, 1989), pp. 55-86. 12 Bartomeu Melia, 'La creation d'un langage chretien dans les reductions des Guarani au Paraguay.' dissertation, University of Strasbourg I-II, 1969. 13 This account is based on the first two studies cited in n3 above, and also on two Furlong editions - Antonio Sepp, S.J., y su 'Gobierno temporal' (1732) (Buenos Aires, 1962) and Jose Cardiel, S.J., y su Carta-Relacion (1747) (Buenos Aires, 1953) - and on other writings by Sepp and Cardiel. 14 Guillermo Furlong. Arquitectos argentinos durante la domination hispdnica (Buenos Aires. 1946); Hernan Busaniche, La arquitectura en las misiones guaranies (Santa Fe, 1955); Silvio Palacios and Ena Zoffoli, Gloria y tragedia de las misiones guaranies: Historia de las reducciones jesuiticas durante los siglos XVII v XVIII en el Rio de la Plata (Bilbao. 1991), pp. 131-52, on art pp. 241-88.

316 Magnus Morner Ramon Gutierrez in his short account The Jesuit Guarani Missions (Rio de Janeiro, 1987), p. 68, believes Santisima Trinidad in Paraguay, now partly restored, to have been 'the chief work of Jesuit architecture' in the mission area. For illustrations, see e.g. Documentos de arte argentino, volumes 19-20, Las misiones guaranies (Buenos Aires, 1946). 15 Guillermo Furlong, Trasplante cultural: Arte (Buenos Aires, 1969), pp. 4-13; see also 247-55. 16 Guillermo Furlong, Misiones y sus pueblos de guaranies (Buenos Aires, 1962), pp. 590-1, 593-5; Diego Ortiz, 'Los catecismos y la evangelizacion,' in La evangelizacion en el Paraguay: Cuatro siglos de historia (Asuncion, 1979), pp. 92-5. 17 Johann Specker, 'Die Missionsmethode in Spanisch-Amerika im 16. Jahrhundert...,' Neue Zeitschrift fur Missionswissenschaft(1953): 149-60; Furlong, Jose Cardiel, pp. 135ff. See also Furlong, Jose de Escandon, S.J., y su carta a Burriel (1760) (Buenos Aires, 1965), pp. 97-9. See also Serge Gruzinski, 'Individualization and Acculturation: Confession among the Nahuas of Mexico from the Sixteenth to the Eighteenth Century,' in Sexuality and Marriage in Colonial Latin America, ed. Asuncion Lavrin (Lincoln, Nebr., 1989), pp. 96-117. 18 Peramas's study has been published under the title La republica de Platon y los guaranies (Buenos Aires, 1946). 19 Furlong, Trasplante cultural: Arte, pp. 48-51 and passim. 20 Melia, El guarani conquistado, pp. 176, 189. See also his 'Zwischen Freiheit und verschleierter Gefangenschaft: Die Indianer-Reduktionen in Paraguay,' in Nord und Sudamerika: Gemeinsamkeiten, Gegensdtze, europdischer Hintergrund, ed. Wolfgang Reinhard and Peter Waldmann (Freiburg, 1992), pp. 430-41. 21 See e.g. Antonio Monzon, 'Un profesor indigena de musica en el Buenos Aires del siglo XVII,' Estudios 38:422 (1947): 142-6, on Cristobal Pirioby, later known as Jose Antonio Ortiz (1764-94).

147 Candide and a Boat T. FRANK KENNEDY, SJ.

Interea medium Aeneas iam classe tenebat certus iter fluctusque atros Aquilone secabat. Virgil, Aeneid 5.1-2 Aeneas and his fleet were now far out to sea. He set course resolutely and ploughed through waves ruffled to black by a northerly wind.1

This article uses the image of a ship as a metaphor to capture the complexity of the Jesuit enterprise in the Old Society, from 1540 to the suppression in 1773. As Gauvin Alexander Bailey notes in his contribution to this volume, the fictional representation of Jesuit travel to the exotic New World in Voltaire's Candide (1759) offered one definition of Jesuit identity for the early modern world of the eighteenth century and later. But only one, for even as criticism of the Jesuits of the Paraguayan reducciones had continued to grow, convoys of ships had continued to set out from Cadiz for the port of Buenos Aires. Hundreds of Jesuits occupied space in these ships, and endured the difficult two-month voyage. Why? What informs these obviously disparate views of mission? The idea of mission has a bearing on a large part of the human story - from Homer, Virgil, and Renaissance Latin poetry to tales of the convoys of Jesuits who set out from Europe for far-flung worlds; it has a bearing, we are becoming increasingly aware, on the histories and cultures of 'the Other.' Perhaps the image of the ship can serve to connect the sometimes opposing perspectives on mission so central to the human story. Some years ago. I was working simultaneously on two separate musicological projects that were germane to the study both of the Jesuits and of music. One was

318 T. Frank Kennedy, S.J. an investigation of the musical tradition at the Collegio Romano, from its foundation through the middle of the seventeenth century, and the other was an examination and preliminary description of a collection of music manuscripts in Concepcion, Bolivia, associated with the reducciones of the Jesuit province of Paraguay.2 The subject-matter of these two projects spanned more than a century, and one could not help but notice the fact that the Jesuits involved at both the beginning and the end of that time period, especially those Jesuits who were artists, were, more often than not, multivalent polymaths whose careers took them into many areas of human activity that usually required skills in several fields of study. Who were these people who were musicians and scientists and rhetoricians and architects and parish priests and so on? They were members of the Jesuit order, men who from the beginning of the Society in 1540 to its suppression in 1773 often managed to live lives characterized by what I think of as 'effective meanings,' or meanings that create or reveal the unity or oneness of human beings, making life intelligible. These meanings were discovered and integrated by the doings and the experiences of their lives. A commitment to the search for effective meanings encouraged Jesuits to seek relationships among various disciplines rather than divide them, and was a result of their belief in the essential unity of human beings and the fundamental intelligibility of life. Carol E. Robertson, a musicologist at the University of Maryland, in her edition of texts commemorating the five-hundredth anniversary of Christopher Columbus's arrival in the Americas has written that in tracing the commonalities of peoples, music has accompanied the many various artistic expressions of humankind, and has indeed bound them together, especially in ritual and performance, which is ever attempting to bind the present to the past. Prophecy and belief are often enacted through performance.3 Music, then, is not only a score or a complex combination of meaningful sounds, but a place where we find ourselves attempting to know who we are and what we do. As we listen to music we hear our lives passing before us. In this century, the relatively new field of ethnomusicology has opened non-Western musics to serious study, and the insights gained as a result of their approach to these non-Western repertories have led historical musicologists not only to reconsider the Western tradition as it has come down to us, but to re-evaluate that tradition in the light of broader human commonalities.4 These are commonalities that link us not only to the past, but to all people of all time. Music can bridge gaps of mistranslation between cultures precisely because it disallows literal interpretations. Performance allows individuals as well as communities to name and rename themselves.5 In this discussion concerning the role of the Jesuits and music, I shall begin with the music of the Western tradition - a tradition that amply characterized Jesuit chapels and colleges, not only in Europe but throughout the far-flung

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mission lands of the Old Society. What one discovers in the extant repertory is a continuous process of reconciliation. One discovers a linking of the Western present with the Western or classical past, as well as an attempt to link the Western present with newly encountered non-Western cultures. Without this sense of commonality, which seems characteristic of the endeavours of so many of the Jesuits, their encounter with 'the Other' might have followed the usual, trouble-filled path of many such encounters in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries - that of the Christians, the Moors, and the Jews in Spain, for example.6 There is evidence that not only the Jesuit musical tradition but the whole approach to the fine arts within the Society follows the same principle, with the result that the fine arts in Jesuit corporate culture become a way of conveying meaning that binds and reconciles. I would like to begin with some musical examples, and then move on briefly to examples from art and poetry. In 1622 an opera was performed at the Collegio Romano as part of the festivities marking the canonization of Ignatius of Loyola and Francis Xavier - the Apotheosis sive consecratio SS. Ignatii et Francisci Xaverii by Johannes Hieronymous Kapsberger (c. 1580-1651). The printed argomento (fig. 14.1) for the Apotheosis, which exists in both the Biblioteca Nazionale Vittorio Emmanuele and the Vatican Library, gives a short synopsis of the work by act and scene. The text, which celebrates the achievements and virtues of Ignatius of Loyola and Francis Xavier, is set in five acts, and is introduced by a spoken prologue. The setting of the Apotheosis is the Campus Martius in Rome, where the ancient Romans deified their emperors and honoured their citizens. In the prologue, Wisdom invites the youth of the Collegio Romano to consecrate and sanctify Ignatius and Xavier as was done for the ancient heroes, and according to the ancient rituals. The fact that Wisdom suggests not Christian rites but the ancient pagan ones evokes this process of linking cultures. Because the Apotheosis has survived in the autograph score, it makes an important contribution to our understanding of the development of opera.7 A complete overview of the work is not appropriate now, but I would like to point to an example of the music and poetry that characterize it. The text for the opera was composed by Father Orazio Grassi, and the music was composed by Kapsberger, who is usually referred to as 'nobile allemano' but who actually was born in Venice and lived most of his life in Rome. Grassi is one of those polymaths I mentioned earlier, a professor of mathematics and astronomy, an architect, a rhetorician and preacher at the papal court; he was involved in the Galileo controversy and, in a famous Good Friday sermon before Pope Urban VIII, scolded him for the political machinations around the affair.8 The opening of act 3 presents an arioso, or melodically motivated recitative typical of early

320 T. Frank Kennedy, S.J.

14.1. Summary of Kapsberger's Apotheosis sive consecratio SS. Ignatii et Francisci Xaverii. Biblioteca Nazionale Vittorio Emmanuele, Rome.

opera, in which a personification of France gives a tribute to Ignatius. In the poetry of the Latin libretto, the most abundant and most evident verse-form is the sapphic-adonic quatrain, a four-line stanza made up of dactyls and trochees (like the phrase 'beautiful apple'). The Latin text and the metre of the poetry along with the metre of the music, the use of regular and plentiful choruses of one to four voices set in homophony but reflecting the metric systems of the classical age, and the latest contemporary musical style of monody, a hallmark of the early baroque, all conspired to link the present with the past. In addition, the arioso, or mezz'aria as Kapsberger's contemporary Domenico Mazzocchi (1592-1665) called it, declaimed by France at the beginning of act 3 serves to strengthen the link between Ignatius and classical mythology. Throughout the first scene, the repetition of the chorus between the sections of the arioso functions as a ritornello, providing unity of musical form but also a dramatic, madrigal-like structure. The scene has the following shape: an instrumental prelude, perhaps functioning as accompaniment, or dance music for the entrance of the characters, is followed by a repeating structure (ritornello) in which France alternates with the chorus. The arioso changes while the same chorus is repeated after each solo,"

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thereby providing that link for the musical memory that enables us to hear the scene as a whole.9 Why did Jesuit rhetoricians like Grassi write pieces like this? In the first place, it is clear that the author of the Apotheosis and other Jesuit dramatists of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries were steeped in Renaissance Humanist culture, which highly valued the classical tradition of drama and poetry, of philosophy and moral values. What is also evident, though, is that Jesuit emphasis on the Humanist tradition requires us to adopt a somewhat broader perspective if we are to appreciate it fully. Jesuit drama and other arts often have been viewed as didactic tools at the service of the Catholic Reform, expressing a kind of blessing of pagan culture by means of the symbolizing inherent in the aesthetic experience. In fact, Jesuit involvement in the arts profoundly affirms the human experience that is to be found in music, dance, poetry, and theatre, and celebrates that experience; it is not concerned primarily with a confessional (Catholic, Christian, pagan) experience of the arts. A hundred years later and half a world away from Rome, in the jungles of the Paraguay province, the Jesuit enterprise used the arts not only to build local communities but to tie these communities to the Western tradition and hence to human tradition as the Jesuits understood it. In the music that remains from these missions, the Italian Jesuit Domenico Zipoli's works are, on the one hand, utterly contemporary in the style of the mature Italian baroque, and on the other, tailored to the needs and realities of the more than thirty mission towns of the province. Born in Prato near Florence, Domenico Zipoli (1688-1726) was organist at the Church of the Gesu in Rome as well as at other Roman Jesuit institutions before entering the Society on 1 July 1716 in Seville. Zipoli left Cadiz for the Rio de la Plata basin on 5 April 1717, less than a full year after he entered the Society. The convoy of three ships that brought him to Buenos Aires brought more than fifty Jesuits, some of them the brightest lights the Society sent to Paraguay: Sigismund Aperger, the Hippocrates of South America; Johann Wolf and Joseph Schmid, carpenters and architects; Bernard Nussdorfer and Manuel Querini, successive provincials who fought zealously for Indian rights during the treaty of Madrid; and, finally, Gianbattista Primoli and Giovanni Andrea Bianchi, both noted architects. Zipoli continued his studies in Cordoba, Argentina, and completed them in 1725. He died of tuberculosis at the Jesuit estate of Santa Catalina on 2 January 1726 while waiting for a bishop to ordain him.10 Consider the opening section of Zipoli's Psalm 111/112 for Vespers, Beatus vir, found among the music manuscripts belonging to the Chiquito Indians in Bolivia. The piece uses the usual Italian baroque ritornello style, alternating orchestra, chorus, and soloist, while the listener experiences an exciting, highly sophisticated musical form within a structure common in eighteenth-century

322 T.Frank Kennedy, SJ. performance practice. No untrained soprano would be capable of performing this. Singing with the soloist is the chorus, in a setting that is much less virtuosic but nevertheless has a beautiful homophonic texture that acts almost as a commentary on the words of the psalm. This type of writing by Zipoli has been identified by Bernardo Illari as 'mission style.'n Given the exigencies of some of the townships, it is probable that the choral sections could not usually be virtuosic. The choral parts cleverly reinforce the text and accompany the soloist, at times in a fashion not unlike that of the instruments; but however simple the musical texture for the chorus, we know that there were extraordinary indigenous soloists able to sing and play these truly difficult pieces. Lest one think that the Jesuits, embarked on their own curious voyage, created and hegemonized the reconcilation of cultures via the noster modus procedendi of St Ignatius, my final musical example is taken from a rather strange but marvellous 'oratorio type' piece written by the French baroque composer Henry Desmarest (1661-1741), a contemporary of Domenico Zipoli and, more important, a colleague of Marc-Antoine Charpentier (1645/50-1704) as well as his successor as master of music in the College-Louis-le-Grand. This piece, entitled The Mysteries of Our Lord Jesus Christ, remains undated and incomplete. The text is in French, and the musical idiom belongs utterly to the French baroque. Desmarest is, figuratively, the son of Jean-Baptiste Lully (1632-1687) and the younger brother of Marc-Antoine Charpentier. Although there are more questions about its authorship and manuscript sources than there are answers, the piece may affirm the presence of a kind of milieu not only at the Jesuit college in Paris but also in the local musical world of the day. If the piece was not written for the Jesuit college, it nevertheless has an uncanny structural likeness to the kinds of pieces often composed for the Society, especially in dramatic works. The musical form itself is used to articulate and reinforce an understanding of human identity. The work is similar to the intermedia written for Jesuit dramas. Even if the work is not by Desmarest, musical ideas and structure betray a practice characteristic of Jesuit artistic productions. Desmarest, of course, was not a Jesuit, nor was Charpentier. In fact, hardly any of the composers of music for the colleges and churches of the Society were Jesuits; only in mission territories did some Jesuits function as music masters. But the fact that Desmarest followed Charpentier as director of music at the College-Louis-le-Grand, even for a brief time, meant that they shared the same Jesuit milieu. The piece is fairly short but has five distinct sections, each with several movements. The sections are entitled The Nativity,' The Resurrection of Lazarus,' The Passion,' The Resurrection,' and The Descent of the Holy Spirit.' In the opening section, The Nativity,' as one would expect in a baroque Christmas tableau there are several pastorals, pieces in triple time that rock gently back and

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forth, portraying the shepherds with their pipes in the fields and then en route to the manger. This is quintessential Christmas music - almost every baroque composer used the pastoral's lilting six-eight time in this way; one may recall that in the middle of the Christmas section of Messiah, Handel composed his 'Pastoral Symphony,' exactly the same kind of piece. So Desmarest's pastoral is unremarkable; what is startlingly effective, however, is that in 'The Resurrection' he harkens back to the first section by creating a chorus that calls on the pipers and shepherds to play their tunes because Jesus is risen, and in the lilting six-eight time of the Christmas pastoral. It is an ingenious musical connection that creates the circular image of birth, death, and resurrection. Even though Desmarest or whoever composed the work was in all likelihood not a Jesuit, the vision that characterizes it encompasses the kind of linking that one finds over and over again in Jesuit productions.12 While this music and related musicological concerns have been my focus, one cannot, it seems, enter into the world of the Jesuits with a narrow focus. Artistic productions, whether in architecture, sculpture, painting, or poetry, become complementary means of achieving a sense of the human commonalities and even an understanding of the unity of humankind that is transcultural. The examples that follow are images from the reduction church of SantisimaTrinidad in Paraguay. While Trinidad is much more like a European church than the reduction churches of earlier years or those of the Chiquitos in Bolivia, there are nevertheless significant 'moments' that gather the Guarani and their Jesuit teachers together and so attempt a subtle reconciliation of cultures. These 'moments' are two angels from an old altar in Trinidad (fig. 14.2), the sacristy doors of the church (fig. 14.3), some images of the Trinity (figs 14.4,14.5, 14.6), and a gravestone in the floor of the church marking Jesuit graves (fig. 14.7). The two angels carved into one of the old altars of Trinidad wonderfully exemplify this transcultural sense (fig. 14.2). Admittedly beautiful baroque putti, they reveal unmistakably Paraguayan faces. Again, the door that links the sanctuary with the sacristy (mirrored on the other side of the sanctuary by a similar door) is at once European baroque and Guarani baroque in style (fig. 14.3). 13 If the baroque characteristically transcends the limits of matter and space by mobility of line and a sense of restless striving after infinity,14 then these sacristy doors are baroque. They are intensely ornate, perhaps even 'restless,' but ornamented with flora that is typically Paraguayan. They reflect the natural surroundings and communicate a genius loci that is thoroughly Paraguayan, Guarani, and baroque. 15 What seem to be two unusual images of the Trinity can be found in a small sculpture (fig. 14.4) and a painting (fig. 14.5). The sculpture presents all three figures in a cruciform pose. The painting, representing the Trinity during Christ's

324 T. Frank Kennedy, S.J.

14.2. Angels from an old altar, church of the Santfsima Trinidad reduction, Paraguay. Photo courtesy of Paul Frings.

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14.3. Sacristy door, church of the Santisima Trinidad reduction, Paraguay. Photo courtesy of Paul Frings.

326 T. Frank Kennedy, S.J.

14.4. Sculpture representing the Holy Trinity, church of the Santisima Trinidad reduction, Paraguay. Photo courtesy of Paul Frings.

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14.5. Painting in the Cuzco style. The Holy Trinity: the Father and the Holy Spirit comfort the Son during the Passion. Church of the Santisima Trinidad reduction, Paraguay. Photo courtesy of Paul Frings.

328

T. Frank Kennedy, S.J.

14.6. Frontispiece of an intermedium from a Jesuit college play, Lyon, 1685. Photo from the collection of the late William A. Carroll, S.J., courtesy of T. Frank Kennedy, S.J.

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14.7. Jesuit tombstone, church of the Santisima Trinidad reduction, Paraguay. Photo courtesy of T. Frank Kennedy, S.J.

Passion, makes a papal association as well, linking the church of this world with the heavenly church. I wondered whether this imagery was particular to Santisima Trinidad in Paraguay until I noticed the frontispiece of an intermedium from a Jesuit play of the college in Lyon, dated 1685 (fig. 14.6). This earlier image connects the Son, the Spirit, and the Father using both papal and cruciform imagery.16 Finally, we can consider the tomb of the Jesuits at Trinidad (fig. 14.7). The gravestone in the floor of the church is marked MEDIUM TENUEBE BEATI and as a 'moment of gathering' is both more curious and more profound. Tenuebe catches the eye first, because it is obviously bad Latin. If one looks carefully at the carving, one notices that the r of tenuere was changed to a b. So the Latin form was originally correct, but then changed to its present incorrect form. Whoever carved the inscription had a sense that tenuebe was probably more Guarani-sounding than the proper poetic form, tenuere. After acknowledging this curiosity, one focuses on the meaning of the inscription, and the mystery deepens. The blessed ones held the middle' represents a literal translation, yet the sentiment seems a rather paltry one to mark on the graves of the priests and brothers who accomplished such an incredible feat as the establishment of

330 T. Frank Kennedy, S.J. Trinidad with its artistic workshops and musical instrument factories. Could it be that holding the middle way in all things - modus in rebus - is the key to the vision of the reductions? Perhaps not. In repeating the phrase medium tenuere beati we hear a poetic ring, almost the measure, or rather a half measure, of a dactylic hexameter. Part of the answer to this mystery may lie in the opening lines of the fifth book of Virgil's Aeneid, quoted at the beginning of this paper, where Aeneas and his men leave Dido and the flames of Carthage in order to continue their journey to Latium: 'Interea medium Aeneas iam classe tenebat / certus iter fluctusque atros Aquilone secabat.' Here, and for the only time in the Aeneid, Virgil uses the two Latin words medium and tenere idiomatically to mean to set out into the deep and to hold the course that it is the duty of Aeneas and his companions to follow - to found Rome. It could well be that this gravestone marking is a reference to this passage in Virgil. Blessed are they who persevere, who set out into the deep, who hold the course, who do the will of the gods. This is yet another link forged by the Jesuits, for whose mission we have used the image of a ship. The allusion to Virgil is possible, even probable, because of the classical training the Jesuits brought with them to Paraguay; it is even likely, because the quotation not only gathers classical antiquity into the ambit of reduction life in a marvellous way, but also seems to reflect the 'way of proceeding' that informs the whole of the Jesuit enterprise.17 The gravestone thus becomes a transcultural symbol, with various levels of meaning. It provides us with another example, like the Kapsberger Apotheosis and the Zipoli Beatus vir, of transcultural meaning both in and out of time. In many ways, a study like this can provide insight into the means of bridging gaps among disparate fields, of getting at the heart of the dialectic existing in every political and cultural contest and/or encounter. The noted journalist and leftist intellectual Antonio Gramsci has observed that these contests signal efforts to control the ways in which people come to know who they are and what they can become.18 In a deep and mysterious way the Jesuits of the Old Society understood Gramsci's dictum 'Every relationship of "hegemony" is necessarily an educational relationship.'19 But they also understood much more. NOTES

1 W.F. Jackson Knight, trans., Virgil, The Aeneid (New York, 1980) p. 119. 2 See T. Frank Kennedy, 'Jesuits and Music: Reconsidering the Early Years,' Studi musicali 17 (1988): 71-100, 'Colonial Music from the Episcopal Archive of Concepcion, Bolivia,' Latin American Music Review 9:1 (1988), and 'Jesuit Colleges and Chapels: Motet Function in the Late Sixteenth and Early Seventeenth Centuries,' AHSI65 (1996): 197-213.

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3 Carol E. Robertson, 'Introduction: The Dance of Conquest,' in Musical Repercussions of 1492: Encounters in Text and Performance, ed. Carol E. Robertson (Washington, 1992), p. 10. 4 See Peter Jeffrey, Re-envisioning Past Musical Cultures: Ethnomusicology in the Study of Gregorian Chant (Chicago, 1992). 5 Robertson, 'The Dance,' pp. 24-5. 6 Ibid., p. 12. 7 BN Mus. Res. F. 1075. A modern performing edition was made from the autograph score for the Boston College production of 1991. Audio- and videotapes are available in the Boston College Archives. 8 For different perspectives on Grassi, see Frederick Hammond, Music and Spectacle in Baroque Rome: Barberini Patronage under Urban VIII (New Haven and London, 1994), and Feld. Gal. 9 France - solo, 28 measures + Chorus, 10 measures; France - solo, 29 measures + Chorus, 10 measures; France - solo, 10 measures + Chorus, 10 measures; France solo, 8 measures + Chorus, 10 measures. Kapsberger has created a musical structure in which the ten choral measures, using the same text and music, anchor the form for the listener as the scene unfolds, and the changing text and music of the arioso provide a sense of variety. 10 See Francisco Curt Lange, 'O caso Domenico Zipoli: Uma retificacao historica - A sua Opera Omnia,' Barroco 5 (1973): 7-44, and 'Domenico Zipoli: Storia de una riscoperta,' Nuova rivista musicale italiana 19:2 (1985): 203-26. 11 See the liner notes by Bernardo Illari, Domenico Zipoli, Vepres de San Ignacio, Les Chemins du Baroque, K617027, 1992. 12 See James R. Anthony, French Baroque Music from Beaujoyeux to Rameau (Portland, 1997). p. 249. Very little is known about Henry Desmarest and this work, Mysteres de noire Seigneur Jesus-Christ. It may in fact be spurious. The work has been recorded on Erato Compact Disc #4509-98529-2 by the Ensemble Vocal et Instrumental de Lyon, but the score is unavailable, and at this point even the manuscript source used for the performing edition is unknown. The Centre de Musique Baroque de Versailles is currently projecting a complete edition of the works of Desmarest by the year 2000. 13 See Clement J. McNaspy, Lost Cities of Paraguay (Chicago, 1982), p. 77. The art historian Josefina Pla coined the phrase 'Guarani Baroque' in her study El barroco hispano-guarani (Asuncion, 1975). 14 McNaspy, 'Lost Cities,'p. 136. 15 Heidegger's philosophical principles asserting humankind's need for places and for paths to connect these places are adapted to architecture in Christian NorbergSchulz, Genius Loci: Towards a Phenomenology of Architecture (New York, 1980). 16 I have since learned from Clara Bargellini, in her paper in this volume, pp. 680-98,

332 T. Frank Kennedy, SJ. that while cruciform versions of the Trinity are not unusual in baroque art, the painting of the Trinity in papal regalia is quite unusual. 17 See D. Francisco Javier Brabo, Inventarios de los bienes hallados a la expulsion de los jesuitas y ocupacion de sus temporalidades par decreto de Carlos III, en los pueblos misiones, fundadas en las mdrgines del Uruguay y Parana en el Gran Chaco, en el Pais de Chiquitos y en el Mojos (Madrid, 1872), who notes the contents of Jesuit house libraries. Classical literature was an important part of these libraries. 18 Antonio Gramsci (1891-1937) is an important literary and political figure in the history of modern Italy. One of the founders of the Italian Communist party, from 1914 onward he worked in journalism for leftist intellectual causes while enduring poor health. He spent five of the final nine years of his life in prison and the last four in sanitariums. During this last period his writings moved beyond journalism to a level of lucidly clear philosophical thought. See Dizionario delta letteratura italiana, ed. Ettore Bonora (Milan, 1977), pp. 253-5. 19 David Trend, The Crisis of Meaning in Culture and Education (Minneapolis, 1995), pp. 4-5.

334 Part Four he Society's heavy investment in the overseas missions necessarily led its Tmembers into long-term engagements with cultures different, sometimes radically different, from their own. However much the long period of spiritual and intellectual formation may have forged a common Jesuit world-view, and whatever unifying force there may have been in the customs, values, and goals of the Society, the encounter with the non-Christian, non-European 'Other' posed a challenge to Jesuit identity. Just as Jesuits sought to transform the identity of others through their missionary work, Jesuit identities were themselves sometimes deeply affected by those encounters. As the studies in this section show, Jesuit adaptability was itself a variable and generally bore an inverse relationship to the malleability of the host culture. In Alessandro Valignano's articulation of a mission method for Japan and China, Andrew C. Ross finds a new attitude of openness to alien customs and a toleration of them. This genuine respect for non-European cultures sprang in part from the influence of Italian Humanism on key figures like Valignano and Matteo Ricci, who saw deep similarities between Far Eastern cultures and the classical civilizations of ancient Greece and Rome. Nicolas Standaert, S.J., however, takes issue with the received view of Jesuit missionary strategy - that is, that it was characterized by an emphasis on adaptation, a top-downward pattern of evangelization, a tendency to use science as an indirect tool of conversion, and a toleration of indigenous cultural practices - and with the notion that such an approach was the product solely of Jesuit identity or Jesuit corporate culture. The heterogeneous character of Jesuit missionary strategies in China suggests, instead, that Jesuit corporate culture in China emerged in reaction to a highly literate and politically robust Chinese culture. Jesuits were confronted with both cultural recalcitrance and, as Qiong Zhang argues, cultural incommensurability. Jesuit missionaries came to China to save souls but soon found that traditional Chinese philosophy lacked the crucial concept of 'soul,' so the challenge for missionaries like Giulio Aleni was not simply the linguistic translation of Aristotelian-Christian psychological terms into Chinese but the cognitive restructuring of Chinese categories. Broadly similar problems of linguistic and conceptual incommensurability faced Roberto de Nobili in South India. According to Francis X. Clooney, S.J., de Nobili's translation of Christian terms into Tamil showed both extraordinary accommodation and great confidence in the power of reasoned argument to convert literate people. And yet his unshakeable belief in the universality of the Western understanding of reason and morality - an attitude he shared with Aleni and other Jesuit missionaries - prevented him from appreciating Hindu theologi-

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cal categories either on their own terms or as part of a system of thought. Gauvin Alexander Bailey shows that, although both Jesuit missionaries and the Mughal emperors Akbar and Jahangir appreciated the expressive qualities of Western art, they each used it for different ends. For the emperors it became in large part a vehicle for royal propaganda, while for the Jesuits it played a role in the propagation of the Christian faith by giving expression to Neoplatonic ideas common to both cultures. Rene B. Javellana, S.J., finds that in the Philippine Islands Jesuits served as effective agents of social change by transforming large parts of indigenous culture through strategies of resettlement, catechesis, and education. But whereas in Japan, China, and India the Jesuit missionaries tended to view themselves as advocates of the reasoned argument, in the Philippines they saw themselves as masters of 'wilful children.'

15 / Alessandro Valignano: The Jesuits and Culture in the East ANDREW C. ROSS

David Bosch's classic Transforming Mission: Paradigm Shifts in the Theology of Mission1 serves as a major textbook in universities and seminaries around the world. Many of these institutions approach the work in an almost medieval way, with students reading a chapter before the teacher first lectures and then leads discussion upon it. A supplementary volume of documents selected to illustrate Bosch's theses has now been published.2 In addition, Saayman and Kritzinger have edited a volume of essays by Protestant and Catholic scholars3 which constitutes a sort of dialogue with Bosch's chef d'oeuvre, the possibility of a living dialogue having been cut off by the author's tragic death. Bosch's book is a seminal study, yet it has what I consider a major flaw. In Part Two Bosch describes what he calls the historic missionary paradigms, those of Eastern Christianity, of the medieval Roman Catholic church, and of the Protestant Reformation, and then what he refers to as the paradigm of 'Mission in the Wake of the Enlightenment.' All this serves as a preliminary to his massive Part Three discussion of a relevant, ecumenical modern missionary paradigm. The major flaw in this monumental study is that in all six hundred pages Alessandro Valignano (1539-1606), Jesuit Visitor to the East and architect of the Society's dramatically successful work in Japan and China, is not mentioned at all, and Matteo Ricci (1552-1610), missionary and mandarin, Vincent Cronin's famous Wise Man from the West, is mentioned only twice in what are, in effect, asides. Furthermore, these two passing references are in Part Three, the 'modern' section, and not in the section dealing with what Bosch calls the Medieval Roman Catholic paradigm. Ricci is glanced at as a sort of failed forerunner of a number of modern developing missionary theologies and practices. In castigating one particular modern approach to 'accommodation,' which he labels the kernel-husk model, Bosch concedes, 'Still, Catholic missionaries, in particular

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early Jesuits like de Nobili and Ricci, tried to move beyond the kernel-husk model in their accommodation of the faith to the peoples of India and China.'4 Somewhat later, when discussing the concept of fulfilment as a pattern of understanding the relationship of Christianity to another religion or culture, he writes: 'When Xavier, de Nobili, and Ricci attempted to accommodate Indian, Chinese, and Japanese religio-cultural values, they ascribed some worth to those cultures and religions and broke, in principle, with the dualistic view of reality sanctioned by Augustine's theology. It was, however, not until the arrival on the scene of the theory of evolution in the nineteenth century ... that the stage was set for an approach according to which religions could be compared and graded on an ascending scale.'5 The whole massive Jesuit effort in Japan and China, initiated by St Francis Xavier but decisively shaped by Alessandro Valignano, is recognized only by these two passing references. Yet the Japanese mission was numerically the most successful mission to an already literate people that the church has witnessed since the first six centuries of the Christian era, and the recognition of Matteo Ricci and his successors by the literati of China was a phenomenon unparalleled in Chinese history. Bosch's incomplete picture of the medieval Roman Catholic paradigm and his perception of that paradigm as continuing relatively unchanged until the Second Vatican Council represent a massive lacuna in his thinking and a distortion of the Roman Catholic tradition that are difficult to account for. What is even more extraordinary is that his two brief references to the Jesuit work in the East constitute, in themselves, an unambiguous recognition on his part of the existence of a radically different Catholic paradigm, which he would appear, therefore, to have ignored deliberately. William Burrows is one of the few to pick up this issue. In a penetrating essay contributed to Saayman and Kritzinger's volume,6 he insists that Valignano's understanding of the missionary task represents an alternative Roman Catholic paradigm which did not disappear even after the 1742 papal condemnation of 'the practices of Li Madou'7 and has certainly reasserted itself in the second half of the twentieth century. What is not in dispute is that during the Middle Ages in the Latin West what we now call mission came to be understood as the expansion of Christendom, and this understanding went on to have its Protestant as well as its Catholic forms. Thus, when the Iberian kingdoms began their rapid expansion across the world, the Spanish and the Portuguese saw their conquests and their baptisms as different aspects of the expansion of Christendom. This represented a continuation of the view that had prevailed during their immediate past, in the Reconquista, when the Iberian kings had seen the extension of their domains as the expansion

338 Andrew C. Ross of the church. Thus, the setting up of the Padroado and the Patronato8 in the 1490s were reasonable and logical actions by the Holy See and the crowns of Portugal and Spain. The behaviour of many Spanish settlers in the Americas, however, almost immediately provoked an alternative view of the missionary task to that which simply identified it with the expansion of the Spanish or Portuguese state. This alternative view was created in the Americas by the Dominicans, most notably Bartolomeo de las Casas.9 In the new approach the clergy tried to use royal and papal authority to guarantee just treatment for the indigenous inhabitants of the conquered lands and to insist upon this struggle for justice as an essential element in the task of the church. Justice for the indigenous Americans as well as their conversion became a policy with which the Jesuits, when they came to the New World of the Americas, agreed and which they readily followed, notably from the beginning of their work in Brazil. The Lascasian tradition is an important and worthy tradition. It made clear that the church's concern for people not only should but could be distinguished from both royal policy and whatever the local 'Christian' settler populations wished. But the Lascasian tradition was not focused upon inculturation in the way Valignano's policy was to be. Indeed the Lascasian tradition, noble though it was, was never able to disentangle itself completely from cultural Iberianization, the extraordinary work of the Jesuits among the Guarani notwithstanding.10 The almost complete lack of an indigenous priesthood in the Americas even among the Guarani is the most visible manifestation of this grave handicap. Alessandro Valignano was able in Japan and even more spectacularly in China to develop Christian missionary activity sufficiently free from confinement in European forms to allow the Christian message genuinely to enter Japanese and Chinese society and culture and to develop Japanese and Chinese forms. This process was not one of the kernel becoming clothed in a new husk while remaining untouched, but a genuine attempt to translate the Gospel from one culture into another. To put it another way, in terms of elementary chemistry, what was coming into being as a result of this missionary strategy was a solution not a mixture. It has become a commonplace among some historians to assert that the Holy See, by the beginning of the seventeenth century, had begun to see the Padroado and the Patronato as more of a hindrance than a help to the evangelistic task of the church. In response, the Holy See set up the Congregation for the Propagation of the Faith in 1622. The Propaganda, with its resurrection of the office of vicar apostolic, was intended as a means of circumventing the problems presented by the agreements of the 1490s, and thus bringing the missionary task under the control more of Rome than of Lisbon or Madrid. What I want to suggest is that the appointment of Valignano as Visitor to the

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East of the Society of Jesus, an event which predates the creation of the Propaganda by half a century, was similarly motivated. It was a very specific assertion of a new pattern in the relations between the Jesuit missions in the East and the Portuguese crown. It was a clear and deliberate new policy decided upon by the superior general, Everard Mercurian. Of course, in many practical ways the Society could not break free of its dependence upon Portugal. However, the appointment of Valignano appears to indicate a desire on the part of the general of the Society to strike a radically different balance in that relationship. How far this was 'cleared,' as it were, with the pope is a question that needs research. I would suggest, moreover, that the appointment of Valignano by Mercurian seems to represent a deliberate decision about internal relations within the Society as well as about its relationship with the Portuguese. The internal problem was a conflict over the correct understanding of the Jesuit 'way of proceeding.' Mercurian's action has to be seen in the light of the very close relationship that had developed between the Portuguese province of the Society and the Portuguese crown. Although neither was provincial at that time, authority in the Portuguese province was exerted de facto by 'the spiritual heads of the Province,' as Schiitte calls them,11 the two cousins Leao Henriques and Luis Gon9alves da Camara. Henriques was confessor to the Cardinal Infante, Dom Henrique, and Camara, amanuensis to St Ignatius of Loyola - the saint had dictated his Autobiography to him - was now the king's confessor. Given the whole situation, the Society was certainly privileged, but it paid for its privilege in ways that had become a cause for concern. Under the de facto leadership of the two cousins, the province had begun to steer a course, in both its internal organization and spirit and its relationship with the crown, that had disturbed the previous general, Francisco Borja,12 and now was disturbing the new general, Mercurian. By arrangements under the Padroado, the Indian province of the Society was dependent upon the crown for transport and other subventions, but now, because of the powerful positions at court held by Henriques and Camara, it was in danger of becoming identified with the crown. That to the outside observer it was not clear what was crown and what was Jesuit signalled a threat to the autonomy essential to the Jesuit 'way of proceeding.' Essentially, no missionary could leave Portugal without the agreement of Henriques and Camara. Missionaries awaiting the sailing of the Indies fleet were vetted by the two cousins, who used the opportunity to prevent some from going at all and to divert others to Brazil. Furthermore, the Portuguese provincial, who deferred in all matters to these two men so closely associated with the palace, had authority to intercept and open all correspondence from the Indies except for letters marked as confidential to the general himself.

340 Andrew C. Ross Mercurian appears to have been alarmed by the situation particularly because the two cousins had deliberately contradicted the instructions of his predecessor, Borja, and of Borja's visitor to the province, Diego Miro. Borja had attempted to alter the style of governing the Portuguese province of the Society,13 and Camara had opposed him, insisting that he knew the true Ignatian 'way of proceeding.' Camara maintained that leaders should guide the members of the Society along the road to perfection by a rigorous exertion of autocratic leadership, punishing all defects and failures vigorously and subduing the passions by severe mortifications. Borja and Miro had modified this approach, insisting on a mutually close understanding between superiors and juniors, where direction was to be per il modo soave. As soon as Miro had ended his period as visitor, Camara had swept through the province restoring the previous severe style. Writing from Lisbon en route to the East, Valignano characterized this style as ruling with severity and not with love.14 His letter to Mercurian of 28 January 157415 is fundamental to an understanding of the new visitor's mission. This key letter shows the intimacy between Valignano and Mercurian, and what Valignano has to say indicates that he must have received a clear mandate from the general to confront the leadership of the Portuguese province.16 In the Lisbon letters we find him not only reporting critically on the administration of the Portuguese province, but challenging Camara and Henriques directly on issue after issue. He wanted to take between forty and fifty Jesuits to the East, they wanted him to have no more than twenty; he wanted to keep his recruits together to train and supervise them himself per il modo soave, they wanted to scatter them among the Portuguese houses to be shaped by their rigorous regime; at least half of Valignano's chosen recruits were 'new Christians' who the cousins insisted were unacceptable to the crown, to them, and to the Portuguese in general.17 In the end Valignano had his way on each of these issues. He insisted, furthermore, on appointing a special Indian procurator to reside in Lisbon, who alone would manage all the correspondence of the Society to and from the East, free from interference by the authorities of the province or of the crown. It is clear, then, that Mercurian had chosen this tall, young, confident - some have said arrogant Italian very deliberately to achieve a new start in the East, unfettered by the de facto authority of Henriques and Camara. Valignano had the general's full confidence, and it is not possible that he challenged the leadership of the Portuguese province in the way that he did without being instructed to do so by the general. In the same long letter of 28 January 1574, quoted very fully by Schiitte,18 Valignano presents a highly critical, even ruthless appraisal of the 'way of proceeding' of the Portuguese province, going so far as to report a declaration by Henriques and Camara that 'the Roman type of government is objectionable. The spirit of the Society has fallen to pieces in Italy.'19 Although

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we do not have the general's instructions to Valignano, this and several other letters the visitor wrote20 make it clear that Valignano's direct confrontation of the leaders of the Portuguese province over their whole way of proceeding was at the behest of Mercurian. In Japan and China Valignano would show even more clearly his confidence that he had the full support of the general. Assured in his authority, he would guide the Society in the most extraordinary attempt at inculturation of the Christian faith to be undertaken between the ninth and the twentieth century. The long historical discussion of the so-called Rites Controversy, which would bring this initiative in China to an end, has somewhat diverted attention from what is historically the intriguing central question. The question is not whether this or that detail of the inculturation process was right or wrong, but how it came about that a group of mainly Italian Jesuits developed a policy of radical inculturation of the Christian faith into the Japanese and Chinese worlds in a period in which the tabula rasa approach had so far reigned supreme, dented only by Xavier's concern for translation wherever he went. The attempt is all the more extraordinary when we consider that, after it had ended, both the Protestant missionary activity that began at the end of the eighteenth century and the Catholic revival of mission in the mid-nineteenth century unhesitatingly followed - in practice if not always in theory - the path which identified European culture with Christianity; some of the most thorough Europeanizers were those Protestants who said they had nothing to do with culture but came to preach the Gospel and nothing more. It is necessary at this point to interject a comment on Valignano and antiSemitism. It has been widely remarked, most recently in Dauril Alden's monumental new work on the Jesuits in the Portuguese empire, that Valignano was prejudiced against Christians of Jewish ancestry.21 This notion stems from Valignano's advice to the general in 157722 not to send any more Jesuits of Jewish ancestry to the East. It has been seized upon by many commentators, who appear not to have noticed that he gives this advice explicitly because of the treatment received by Jesuits of converses ancestry at the hands of the Portuguese. Even more surprisingly, these commentators ignore Valignano's successful struggle with the leadership of the Portuguese province to be allowed to take twenty Jesuits of Jewish ancestry to serve the mission in the East. How can this be the action of an anti-Semite? But to return to our theme, Valignano left Portugal having successfully carried out the first task given him by Mercurian, which was to break the control, indirect but effective, held by Henriques and Camara over the Indian province of the Society. What was there further in the instructions from the general to Valignano relevant to missiological flexibility, which is our concern? Unfortunately, no

342 Andrew C. Ross copy of Mercurian's instructions to Valignano appears to exist. But in December 1575 Valignano wrote a letter to Mercurian containing a series of numbered paragraphs which appear to be his responses to points in the general's instructions to him, and Schutte confirms this.23 There are two points of direct relevance to our theme. The first is in paragraph 24, which appears to indicate that the general had counselled discretion with regard to the admission of indigenous people or those of mixed race to the priesthood. Valignano's reply is of great significance: the visitor insisted that it was necessary to admit Japanese to membership of the Society. The other point is in paragraph 31, which asserts the need for translations of the Scriptures, catechisms, and other forms of Christian literature in the languages indigenous to the societies in which the Jesuits worked. This latter point was following up on Francis Xavier's insistence on translation, which his visit to the Parava people seems to have brought to the forefront of his missionary approach. As I have suggested elsewhere,24 Xavier's early move in this area went along with much that appeared to be of the tabula rasa school of mission, so much so that the distinguished Jesuit historian of the church in China, Henri BernardMaitre, could refer to Xavier's 'deux manieres de mission,'25 his two styles of mission, which became one only after his contact with the people of Japan. It is this very ambiguity which allows Donald W. Treadgold to see him as 'pre-Jesuit,' with genuine attempts at inculturation coming only with Valignano.26 Again as I have suggested,27 the work of Lamin Sanneh on translation,28 published long after the writing of both Bernard-Maitre and Treadgold, would indicate that Xavier by his insistence on the use of the vernacular did make a decisive break, conscious or unconscious, with the tabula rasa approach to mission. Sanneh argues convincingly that as soon as translation becomes a serious concern of the missionary a real step has been taken by the missionary from his own into the host culture. However, as I have said, it was only in Japan, as Bernard-Maitre suggests, that Xavier made anything resembling a self-conscious break with the Iberian tradition. The motivation for this decisive change would appear to have stemmed from his admiration for the Japanese people and their culture, an admiration he maintained to the end despite some disappointments. Xavier's principal disappointment in Japan was over the disastrous mistakes he made in the initial translation work. Translation was begun too quickly, before enough well-educated Japanese willing to advise Xavier were available for consultation. His main adviser in this initial phase of his work in Japan, Anjiro, had been a samurai and so had no deep theological knowledge of Buddhism. Xavier soon discovered, when sophisticated Japanese came to be interested in Christianity, that many of the terms suggested by Anjiro - for such concepts as God, Saviour, and sacraments - were unhelpful when not hopelessly mis-

Alessandro Valignano and Culture in the East 343 guided.29 In his haste to withdraw from this apparently disastrous initiative, Xavier decided to replace the mistaken terms in Japanese translations by Japanese versions of Latin words - Deusu, anima, eucaristia, and so on. The result was that a key area of inculturation, that of translation, was already severely circumscribed in Japan before Valignano ever got there. Valignano arrived in India in 1574. He was visitor to the East from then until 1595, except for a break of just over three years, 1583-7, when he was provincial of India. In 1595 he became visitor to Japan and China, and he remained in that office until his death in 1606. During all that time China and Japan were his central concerns. He was in either Japan or Macao from 1579 to 1582, and then from 1588 until his death. He died while planning to visit Matteo Ricci in Beijing. Valignano showed no particular initiative in terms of inculturation in India or Malaysia; it was in Japan and China that his genius flourished. His Japanese Sumario,30 his work on the spread of Christianity in Japan,31 and in particular the famous // ceremoniale per i missionari del Giappone lay out his approach to the task in Japan. His even more radical approach in China is seen not in books or reports written by him - though his Historic?^ is important - but in the life and work of Matteo Ricci. The mission in China was begun brilliantly by Michele Ruggieri, who has had a poor press until some recent writing by Albert Chan, S.J., of the University of San Francisco showed how well he began the enterprise of learning Mandarin. But the mission was fundamentally shaped by the work of Matteo Ricci. It is important to see, however, that without Valignano there would have been no Ricci. Valignano chose Ruggieri to enter China and then chose Ricci to join him. It was Valignano who asked them to spend their first years getting to know China, learning the language, and reporting to him in detail about the religion, culture, and politics of the land. It was he who ordered Ricci to study the Confucian classics and to translate them into Latin for him. He authorized Ruggieri and Ricci to dress as Buddhist monks, and then it was he whom Ricci consulted about identifying the members of the Society and their teaching with the Confucian literati,33 and who gave them permission to do so and to adopt the dress and lifestyle of the literati. It was Valignano and Ricci who decided that all new European Jesuits should learn Chinese by working through the classics, so that at the same time they would go some way towards receiving the training of a literatus. Valignano affirmed Ricci's decisions about the viability of the Confucian terms for God and the permissibility of the Confucian and ancestral rites' being performed by Christians. In other words, what much later was to be called 'the practices of Li Madou' by the great Kangxi emperor in the imperial rescript of December 170634 was also the way of Valignano and could not have developed without him.

344 Andrew C. Ross Valignano's approaches in Japan and China were the same in spirit. They differed in their details because, as we have seen, the entry into the Japanese language and therefore into certain areas of Japanese thought was already closed off by the errors made in Xavier's time and the imposition of Latin words for so many key Christian terms. But with respect to clothing, diet, style of housing, habits of bathing, and conformity to the incredibly elaborate patterns of Japanese etiquette, Valignano thrust the European Jesuits and the church that grew about them deep into Japanese ways. In order to do so he had to reshape the particular form of the Society's internal regime he met on his arrival in Japan. It was much too close to the Camaran style and had aspects of Iberian racial arrogance - a 'way of proceeding' far from il modo soave which Mercurian and the visitor believed to be in the true spirit of the Society. Having made these internal reforms,35 Valignano developed the new approach to Japanese culture in close consultation with leading Japanese Christians; he could not otherwise have gained the detailed knowledge of things Japanese which he displayed in // ceremoniale. He was also greatly helped and supported in this effort by another Italian Jesuit, Organtino Gnecci Soldi, a Japanese veteran who had gained a profound knowledge of the language and had come to admire Japanese culture deeply. Organtino wrote in March 1589, 'Any Jesuit who comes to Japan and does not foster a love for this bride of wondrous beauty, not caring to learn her language immediately, not conforming to her ways, deserves to be packed back to Europe as an inept and unprofitable worker in the Lord's vineyard.'36 As Joseph F. Moran has pointed out,37 it is clear that even before he began the work in China Valignano was completely aware that he was doing something new and that his innovation would not be readily understood outside the Society. He wrote to the general from Nagasaki in 1580, 'Your Paternity should understand that this is, beyond a doubt, the greatest enterprise that there is in the world today.'38 He did not want it interfered with by those who would not be sympathetic to the way he approached the task. That was the reason he sought the help of Mercurian in negotiating a papal ban preventing members of other orders from coming to Japan or China via Lisbon. Furthermore, he sought to prevent anyone at all coming from New Spain and the Philippines, even fellow Jesuits. Members of other orders, he felt, would not understand the Jesuit approach in either land, and serious public conflicts among Christians in the face of unbelievers would be fatal for the mission. Valignano insisted that the arrival of missionaries of other orders would certainly lead to conflict about the style of mission, and we know only too well how correct his forecast was. Relations between the Japanese mission and the Portuguese were tolerable, because the Portuguese had no territorial claims or ambitions in the area. Even

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so, when the work began in China the Portuguese connection had to be played down as much as possible. How successful the Jesuits in China were in achieving this can be seen in the Ming shi, the official history of the Ming dynasty, which refers to the Jesuits as the Italians.39 Spain was another matter altogether: it was a country of conquest, and this became known early to the Japanese and Chinese authorities. Valignano thus wished there to be no association between the work of the Society in China and Japan, and Spain. There was no ban on Spanish Jesuits working in the field, so long as they came via Lisbon - something that would help to placate the Portuguese authorities nervous of his proceedings. Valignano was all the more convinced of the Tightness of his opposition to anyone's coming to Japan or China from the Americas when he discovered that even some Jesuits in New Spain and the Philippines were tainted by the conquistador spirit. He was made aware of this through the actions of Alonso Sanchez, S.J., who was sent to Macao in 1581 by the viceroy in the Philippines to confirm Macanese loyalty to the new united crowns of Portugal and Spain. This same Sanchez in 1583 campaigned in the Philippines and New Spain for a Spanish invasion of China in order to conquer and convert the Middle Kingdom. In 1586 the viceroy accepted Sanchez's plan and sent him to Madrid to present it to the throne. To be fair to the Jesuits in the Americas, it was one of their most distinguished leaders, Jose de Acosta, who published a decisive condemnation of Sanchez's proposals as contrary to 'our way of proceeding.' Valignano's plea for papal support in this matter was successful. That the mendicant orders in the Philippines were to ignore the ban is another story. He did not make any similar request about the work in what we now call India, Malaysia, and Indonesia. The work there was unambiguously part of the Padroado, and other orders were already present, as were secular priests of the archdiocese of Goa. But in Japan and later China the visitor faced a new situation in which he had freedom to develop the work along lines fully consonant with what he believed to be the true Jesuit 'way of proceeding,' which was the necessary basis of his approach. In a volume of essays which were originally presented as papers at a conference under Jesuit auspices in Rome in 1993, Kristofer Schipper wrote the following of the Jesuit mission in China: 'With hindsight it would seem that by no stretch of the imagination the Jesuit accommodation could have been allowed by the papal authorities, once they knew the facts ... Trent unified liturgy, allowing no exceptions. Could an exception be made for China?The council also redefined the status of clergy versus laity. The separation was very strict, to the point that no layman could ever wear the priest's vestments, nor the priest ever be clothed as a layman. What then to think of the Jesuits, first putting on Buddhist garb and then Confucian robe?'40 Quite apart from whether the essay in question

346 Andrew C. Ross shows a good understanding of the work of the Council of Trent, it shows a lack of knowledge of Jesuit practice from the very beginning of the Society. The Constitutions (1558) of the Society, as John W. O'Malley has pointed out,41 laid down no set dress and prescribed adaptation to the local situation. O'Malley refers to the explanation for this practice given by Jeronimo Nadal, a close confidant of Ignatius of Loyola and the key interpreter of the documents that make up the Constitutions: 'Nadal explained that Jesuits had this "freedom of dress" so that they might labour more fruitfully and easily in the Lord's vineyard and that many people to whom they were to minister found a religious habit repugnant.'42 Indeed, one of Nadal's principal tasks at the period of the meetings of the Council of Trent and for many years after was to interpret what it meant to be a Jesuit to the members of the Society, and he did so without being challenged by the papal authorities There was no way that the Holy See could have been unaware of his teachings about the Jesuit way of proceeding. Of course he taught that normally the Jesuits' dress would be whatever was usual among Christian priests in the areas in which they worked, but non-clerical dress, as we have just seen, was a possibility. It was this possibility which Valignano seized upon as an opportunity in the East. Over against Schipper's 'naive questions,' the Spiritual Exercises and the Constitutions make it clear that 'the Jesuits were constantly advised in all their ministries to adapt what they said and did to times, circumstances, and persons.'43 Moreover, in 1615, on his mission to Europe, Nicolas Trigault gained papal authorization for the text of the mass to be translated into Mandarin and for the mass to be celebrated in that language, as well as permission for Jesuits in China to celebrate mass while wearing the hat that signified their status as scholars. These requests had not been regarded as out of the way, because Valignano had kept the general and, through him, the Holy See in touch with what he was doing. Schipper's naive question, then, should rather have been, How was it that these things apparently contradicting the Tridentine way were acceptable up to 1615 but the cause of a crisis in the 1690s? That is not our question here, but it is a question that someone should be asking in that form. Valignano carried out a dramatically imaginative policy of engrafting Christianity into the life of China and Japan, and he made no attempt to hide his efforts from the authorities in Rome. His policy broke decisively with the hitherto dominant pattern of mission, and after the end of the seventeenth century a similar policy would not emerge again until the twentieth century. But where did this policy come from? Clearly the emphasis on translation is a key element in any answer to this question, and the impact of any serious attempt at translation in any context can

Alessandro Valignano and Culture in the East 347 hardly be exaggerated. However, his support for the general principle of translation is not enough to explain Valignano's initiative in Japan and China. He showed no inclination to attempt any dramatic missiological initiative in India or Malaysia, nor did he make much of the principle of translation there. Was it therefore his racial and cultural prejudices that were the key to his approach, as some have suggested?44 Certainly Valignano saw Indian and Malay people as backward and Africans as even more so. Was his perception of the Japanese and then the Chinese as 'white' races the significant factor? Before going any further, we should note that his seeing the Japanese as a 'white' race itself marked a new beginning, because, as he says himself, that is not how Europeans of the time viewed them, not even Francisco Cabral or some of the other Portuguese Jesuits he met on his arrival in Japan.45 In the Sumario the visitor says, while writing of the difficulties of learning Japanese: 'Some of them [the Europeans] get to the point at which they can preach to the Christians, but when they do it is so different from what any Japanese brother, even an ignoramus, can do, that when there is a brother present the Fathers are reduced to silence ... From all this it follows that when the Japanese study, and come to be priests ... they will always be more able in everything and more loved and esteemed by the Japanese, and this is hard to bear, especially for the Portuguese, since they are accustomed to refer even to the Chinese and Japanese as "blacks."'46 Francis Xavier never showed the supercilious dismissal of Indian and Malay peoples that Valignano showed at times, but much more important for us is the fact that Xavier saw the Japanese in the way Valignano came to see them, as a people similar to yet perhaps even surpassing the Greek and Roman ancients in virtue. Valignano's was not a romantic judgment made after brief acquaintance, as has sometimes been suggested of Xavier's. Having known the Japanese for over thirty years, Valignano could still write in his Principle: 'There is no doubt that where knowledge of God and true religion is lacking, and idolatry reigns, there is always much evil and falsehood. But it can be truly said that no pagan people (including the Romans when they were pagans) were ever so modest and decent as the Japanese. For although there are indeed many sins among them, there is not the public and authorized immorality that there has always been among other pagan nations.' And again, The Japanese are a people all of whom are very much subject to reason, and who can readily be convinced by the reasons we give them for there being one God, sole creator and governor of this world, and rewarder of good and evil.'47 The attitude of mind that allowed Valignano to see the Japanese in this light was all the more open to the Confucian literati once Ruggieri and Ricci had made clear to him the nature of Confucian culture. His regard for the Chinese classics, informed by Ricci, is parallel to Ignatius of Loyola's famous defence of Virgil and Terence, that their writings

348 Andrew C. Ross contained much that was 'useful for doctrine, and much not unuseful, indeed helpful for a devout life.' We must also note that in both the Spiritual Exercises and the Constitutions, adaptation to local circumstances is basic to the Jesuit way of proceeding. The nature of the individual Jesuit's personal formation may help us find an answer to our question. This formation did not produce the automaton of Protestant fantasy - which was, unfortunately, fed by Catholic critics of the Society and still appears beneath the surface of some serious modern writing. On the contrary it produced what a social psychologist of the post-World War II era called 'innerdirected men.' The writer who coined the phrase was thinking of the English and New England Puritans, but the comparison is appropriate. The Jesuit was conditioned to make the most effective choices himself, to further his ministry according to the situation at hand - personal, social, political, and cultural - and to have confidence in doing so because of the spiritual certainty he had gained. It was this spiritual formation which helped give Valignano the confidence to break new ground. A radically new situation ought to bring forth a new approach, according to the Society's way of proceeding. The situation in Japan and China was new in two key ways. First, the mission was outside the political authority of a European power, and second, the Society was working within two very advanced cultures. For the first time in centuries the Christian mission was operating in cultures which these missionaries, at least, recognized as on a par with that of Europe. One aspect of continuity in their work was, in effect, a third new element in the situation: the Jesuits still sought to gain royal support for their work and royal patronage for the new Christian communities coming into being, but the authority whose support they sought to gain was not that of Christian monarchs and princes but that of the daimyo initially and then the shogun in Japan, and of the emperor in China. Thus, along with their traditional Jesuit concern for adaptation and translation, the particular spiritual formation of these missionaries, which gave them the confidence to choose and follow what they judged to be the best way of carrying out their ministry, offers a key explanation of the dramatic missiological breakthrough led by Valignano. But even these things together do not explain this missiological innovation: the other essential elements are the Japanese and Chinese peoples and their culture. This mission is inexplicable without them. After all, Valignano did not respond thus to the African societies he met, nor to the Indian and Malay. The tools for a radical approach to inculturation were built into the Jesuit system, but they were brought into action only as a result of the encounter with Japanese and Chinese culture. The crown of the system was put in place in China when Valignano came into contact, first through Ruggieri and then through Ricci, with a classical

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culture that was indubitably comparable to Graeco-Roman culture, indeed that surpassed it, because Chinese culture had a monotheistic origin according to Ricci's interpretation of 'original Confucianism,' and Graeco-Roman culture did not. Given the Jesuit belief that grace perfects nature,48 the possibility of a farreaching inculturation was thus opened up. When we add to this that the very goal of Confucian education and philosophy was personal and civic virtue which was also the goal of the Catholic Humanism the Jesuit schools played such a major part in shaping49 - we surely have found another key element in the situation. Yet, as we know only too well, many other missionaries did not see the Japanese and Chinese in this light - even other Jesuits like the crusading Alonso Sanchez. There would seem to be yet another element in the complex of influences that created the Valignano initiative. That final ingredient in the recipe, I would suggest, is Italy and the Catholic Humanism of the Collegio Romano. Of course, Portuguese, Spanish, and Flemish Jesuits played their part in this story and followed in the path laid out by Valignano. But it is not insignificant that so many of the key figures in the primary stage, when the fundamental choices were made, were Italians. Valignano, Ruggieri, and Ricci were all Italian, but so were Organtino Gnecci Soldi and Francesco Pasio, central figures in Japan; and so were Nicolo Longobardi, Lazzaro Cattaneo, Giulio Aleni, a master of Mandarin second only to Ricci, Martino Martini, Prospero Intorcetta, and Ludovico Buglio in China.30 Whatever else Italians of the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries were, they were not conquistadores. Limpieza de sangre was of no concern to them as Italians, whereas it deeply affected Iberian Jesuits as prominent as Luis Gon^alves da Camara. It was the Collegio Romano in the period 1570 to 1620 that educated the majority of these key Italian Jesuits, from Valignano to Intorcetta. Perhaps it was this ingredient which acted as the catalyst enabling the other ingredients to interact so as to create Valignano's vision and produce the men able to carry it out. NOTES

1 David Bosch, Transforming Mission: Paradigm Shifts in the Theology of Mission (Maryknoll, 1991). 2 Classic Texts in Mission and World Christianity, ed. Norman E. Thomas (Maryknoll, 1995). 3 Mission in Bold Humility: David Bosch's Work Considered, ed. Willem Saayman and Klippies Kritzinger (Maryknoll, 1996). 4 Bosch, Transforming Mission, p. 449. 5 Ibid., p. 479.

350 Andrew C. Ross 6 William Burrows, 'A Seventh Paradigm,' in Mission in Bold Humility, ed. Saayman and Kritzinger, pp. 121-38. 7 'Li Madou' is Matteo Ricci's Chinese name. The whole English phrase translates the phrase used in some of the documents of the Kangxi emperor to refer to the Christian traditions which the emperor defended in the 'Chinese Rites controversy.' 8 These terms refer to the agreements with the papacy whereby the crowns of Portugal and Spain supported the mission of the church in the overseas domains and in return gained vast authority over it. 9 See Gustavo Gutierrez, Las Casas: In Search of the Poor of Jesus Christ (Maryknoll, 1993). 10 The famous Jesuit 'reductions,' where Jesuit and Guarani lived in Christian communities outside Iberian royal authority. 11 Schutte Val, I, pt 1, p. 67. 12 Francisco Rodrigues, Historia da Companhia de Jesus na assistencia de Portugal, 4 vols in 7 (Porto, 1931-50), I, pt 1, pp. 303-5. See also Valignano to the general, Lisbon, 28 January 1574, quoted in Schutte Val., I, pt 1, p. 71. 13 Rodrigues, Historia, II, pt 1, pp. 293-329. 14 Schutte Val., I, pt 1, p. 47. 15 Valignano to the general, Lisbon, 28 January 1574; contents summarized in Schutte Val., I, pt 1, pp. 71^. 16 Ibid., I, pt 1, pp. 64-90. 17 Ibid., I , p t l , p . 67. 18 Ibid., I, p t l , pp. 71-3. 19 Ibid., I, pt 1, p. 72. 20 In particular, two in the archives of the Society in Rome, the first a report signed by Valignano, ARSI 24 I fols 76-7, and the second, Valignano to the general, 4 December 1575, ARSI Goa 47 fol. 42. 21 Alden Ent., p. 257. 22 See Andrew C. Ross, A Vision Betrayed: The Jesuits in Japan and China, 15421742 (Edinburgh and Maryknoll, 1994), pp. 40-2. 23 Schutte Val, I, pt 1, pp. 48-51. 24 Ross, A Vision Betrayed, p. 20. 25 Henri Bernard-Maitre, 'Saint Fran§ois Xavier et la mission du Japon jusqu'en 1614,' in Histoire universelle des missions catholiques, ed. Simon Delacroix (Monaco, 1966), pp. 278-85. 26 Donald W. Treadgold, The West in Russia and China: Religious and Secular Thought in Modern Times, 2 vols (Cambridge, 1973), II 7. 27 Ross, A Vision Betrayed, p. 20. 28 Lamin Sanneh, Translating the Message (Maryknoll, 1992).

Alessandro Valignano and Culture in the East 351 29 Georg Schurhammer, Francis Xavier: His Life, His Times, 4 vols (Rome, 1973-82), IV 228. 30 Alessandro Valignano, Adiciones del Sumario de Japon (1592), ed. J.L. AlvarezTaladiz (Rome, 1994). 31 Alessandro Valignano, Libro primero del principio y progresso de la religion Christiana en Jappon (1601), BL Additional 9857. 32 Alessandro Valignano, Historia del principio y progresso de la Compahia de Jesus en las Indias Orientales (1542-64), ed. Joseph Wicki (Rome, 1944). 33 The literati were the graduates of the Chinese equivalent of the university system, which was built upon the study of classical texts associated with Kung Fu-tzu, whose name the Jesuits rendered Confucius. These graduates formed the civil service (mandarins), which administered the empire through all changes of dynasty from c. 200 B.C.E. until the end of the nineteenth century. 34 Ross, A Vision Betrayed, p. 195, and George Minamiki, The Chinese Rites Controversy from Its Beginning to Modern Times (Chicago, 1985), p. 54. 35 Schutte Val., I, pt 2, pp. 3^8. 36 Ibid., I, pt 2, p. 105. 37 Joseph F. Moran, The Japanese and the Jesuits: Alessandro Valignano in SixteenthCentury Japan (London and New York, 1993), chap. 6. 38 Quoted ibid., p. 51. 39 Fonti ricciane: Stori'a dell'introduzione del christianesimo in Cina scritta da Matteo Ricci, S.J., ed. Pasquale M. d'Elia, 3 vols (Rome, 1942-9), I cxlii. 40 Kristofer Schipper, 'Some Naive Questions about the Rites Controversy,' in Western Humanistic Culture Presented to China by Jesuit Missionaries (XVII-XVIII Centuries): Proceedings of the Conference Held in Rome, October 25-27, 1993, ed. Federico Masini (Rome, 1996), pp. 300-1. 41 O'M. First, p. 341. 42 Ibid., p. 341. 43 Ibid., p. 255. 44 See Moran, The Japanese and the Jesuits, pp. 97-8. 45 See Michael Cooper, Rodriguez, the Interpreter: An Early Jesuit in Japan (New York, 1974). 46 Alessandro Valignano, Sumario de las cosas de Japon, quoted in Moran, The Japanese and the Jesuits, p. 179. 47 Valignano, Libro primero del principio y progresso, quoted in Moran, The Japanese and the Jesuits, p. 99. 48 O'M.First,p. 249. 49 See ibid., pp. 208-16. 50 See D.E. Mungello, The Forgotten Christians of Hangzhou (Honolulu, 1994).

167 Jesuit Corporate Culture As Shaped by the Chinese NICOLAS STANDAERT, SJ.

Four Characteristics of Jesuit Corporate Culture in China The Jesuit missionary strategy in China as it was conceived by Alessandro Valignano (1539-1606) and creatively put into practice by Matteo Ricci (15521610) and his successors can be said to have four major characteristics:1 1. Accommodation or adaptation to Chinese culture.2 Valignano, who had been disappointed by the limited degree of the Jesuits' adaptation to Japanese culture, insisted in the first place on knowledge of the Chinese language. He called a few Jesuits to Macao in 1580 and ordered them to focus their attention entirely on the study of language (fellow Jesuits criticized them for spending all their time studying Chinese). Two years later they entered China through the south. Probably inspired by the Japanese situation, they dressed like Buddhist monks. In 1595, after nearly fifteen years of experience, they changed their policy and adapted themselves to the lifestyle and etiquette of the Confucian elite of literati and officials. Ricci was responsible for this change. This new policy would remain unchanged throughout the seventeenth century, and for most Jesuit missionaries Ricci became the reference point with regard to the accommodation policy. 2. Propagation and evangelization 'from the top down.' Jesuits addressed themselves to the literate elite. The underlying idea was that if this elite, preferably the emperor and his court, were converted, the whole country would be won for Christianity. The elite consisted mainly of literati, who had spent many years preparing for the examinations they must pass in order to enter officialdom. For these examinations they had to learn the Confucian classics and the commentaries on them. After having passed the metropolitan examinations, which took place in Beijing every three years and at which about three hundred candidates were selected, they entered the official bureaucracy and received appointments

Jesuit Corporate Culture As Shaped by the Chinese 353 as district magistrates or positions in the ministries. As in modern diplomatic service, the offices usually changed every three years. In order to enter into contact with this elite, Ricci studied the Confucian classics and, with his remarkable gift of memory, became a welcome guest at the philosophical discussion groups organized by this elite. 3. Indirect propagation of the faith by using European science and technology in order to attract the attention of the educated Chinese and convince them of the high level of European civilization. Jesuits offered a European clock to the emperor, introduced paintings which astonished the Chinese by their use of perspective, translated the mathematical writings of Euclid with the commentaries of the famous Jesuit mathematician Christoph Clavius, worked at the Imperial Astronomical Bureau, wrote books on the calendar and on agriculture and technology, and printed an enormous global map which integrated the results of the latest world explorations. By means of these activities they established friendly relations which sometimes resulted in the conversion of members of the elite. Xu Guangqi (1562-1633; baptized as Paul in 1603), Li Zhizao (1565-1630; baptized as Leo in 1610), Yang Tingyun (1562-1627; baptized as Michael probably in 1611), and Wang Zheng (1571-1644; baptized as Philip in 1616) are the most famous of these. 4. Openness to and tolerance of Chinese values. In China, the Jesuits encountered a society with high moral values, for which they expressed their admiration. They were of the opinion that this excellent social doctrine should be complemented with the metaphysical ideas of Christianity. However, the Jesuits rejected both Buddhism and Neo-Confucianism, which, in their eyes, was corrupted by Buddhism. They pleaded for a return to the original Confucianism, which they regarded as a philosophy based on natural law. In their opinion it contained the idea of God. Finally, they adopted a tolerant attitude towards certain Confucian rites, like the worship of ancestors and the veneration of Confucius, which they declared to be 'civil rites.' Methodological Questions There are several reasons why these four strategies could be seen as characteristic of 'Jesuit corporate culture.' First of all, one can easily find a justification for them in the official Jesuit documents of Ignatian inspiration, especially the Constitutions and Spiritual Exercises. Second, one can contrast these policies with those adopted by contemporary Franciscans and Dominicans. These other orders appear to have been less disposed to accommodation, less elite-oriented, less involved with the natural sciences, and, finally, less tolerant of local ritual traditions. Finally, in twentieth-century publications about Jesuits in China,

354 Nicolas Standaert, S.J. written by both Jesuits and non-Jesuits, these politics are in one way or another presented as 'typically Jesuit.'3 I would like to question this dominant view. The first question is whether or not we are dealing with a 'Jesuit' corporate culture. Here a comparison with the mission in Japan is quite determining, because the first thirty years of Jesuit mission there show a rather different picture. The policy change introduced in Japan by Valignano himself is the best proof of it. Before his arrival the accommodation policy was limited, and as a result the number of writings in the local language, by missionaries in collaboration with local Christians, was low in comparison with the number written in China later on. Moreover, even after Valignano's policy change in Japan, there was no comparable employment of Jesuits in the field of the sciences. Neither was there a continuous presence at the court, and the tolerance of traditional rituals took a different form. These differences between the missions in China and in Japan show not only that there was great variety in the ways in which the so-called corporate culture was put into practice, but also that 'Jesuit corporate culture' was determined to a large extent by the inspiration and strategy of an individual like Valignano rather than by a common formation or training. Second, we can question whether it was a 'corporate' culture. Overemphasis on the corporate can hide the differences among Jesuits, who after all came from varied social, cultural, and educational backgrounds. In this regard, the difference between the Spanish-Portugueseconquistador spirit and the Italian Humanistic one has been pointed out by many authors (a synchronic difference).4 Too much stress on the corporate can also hide the evolution that took place within this corporate culture itself. The formation of Jesuits at the end of the sixteenth century was quite different from their formation at the end of the seventeenth century (a diachronic difference). Finally, it can hide the fact that the choices made by one person were not necessarily made by all. Some scholars have argued convincingly that Ricci himself 'had not formed a precise opinion on the problem of evangelization in China,' and that 'his judgment concerning the means and methods to adopt in order to convert the Chinese varied over the course of the years he devoted to this task.'5 The systematic labelling of any action as issuing from the Jesuits' 'corporate' mentality probably represents an oversimplification. Third, we can question the notion of a Jesuit corporate culture 'in China,' as if Jesuits behaved in the same way in all places in China. The total view we have of the China mission is largely determined by the published reports written in Western languages by the missionaries themselves, who usually insisted on the successes. Unpublished and less accessible sources often present a more critical, more comprehensive view, one that is equally determined by the research focus

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of the historians (both Western and Chinese). Historians have generally been more interested in the successes, in elite culture, in the transmission of science, or in the representation of the 'Self in the other culture than they are, for instance, in the failures, in the daily life of the ordinary Christian or missionary, in catechetical practices, in Chinese Jesuits, or in the representation of the 'Self by the 'Other.'6 Finally, our view is also determined by the highly schematic interpretation of the Rites Controversy as between the Jesuit pro-group and the FranciscanDominican contra-group; this interpretation does not take into account all the nuances, the differences and similarities between the two groups. While it is not invalid to see the aforementioned policies as characteristic of the Jesuit corporate culture in China, that is only one side of the story. The major methodological criticism I have is that an identity is not only formed through the isolated effort of the Self, but shaped through constant interaction with the Other. That is true for individuals, and also for groups. Therefore, what we call the Jesuit corporate culture in China is not only the result of a conscious and welldefined policy conceived by Valignano and the proactive and creative elaboration of it by missionaries like Matteo Ricci, Giulio Aleni (1582-1649), Alfonso Vagnone (1568/9-1640), Johann Adam Schall von Bell (1592-1666), and Ferdinand Verbiest (1623-88) (to mention only the most famous ones). It is also to a large extent the result of their reaction to what China was and who the Chinese were. In other words, the Jesuit corporate identity was shaped by the Chinese Other as well. If the Jesuits in China became who they became, it was also because the Other encouraged them actively or passively to become like that. I will therefore review the four different strategies and try to show how the Other participated in outlining their shape. I will bring into the picture the results of recent research on Christianity in Late Ming China. These results have often been obtained by focusing on the point of view of the Other and by taking the Chinese texts as primary sources for research. Shaped by the Other 1. Accommodation to Chinese culture. The most obvious example of the interference of the Other in the field of accommodation is the change from a policy of adaptation to Buddhists to a policy of adaptation to Confucians (and the subsequent rejection of Buddhism). The Other had already been present in the original Jesuit decision to adopt Buddhist attire, since it was the governor of Guangdong who either insisted that this was how the missionaries should dress or approved the proposal of Michele Ruggieri (1543-1607) that they do so. The accommodation to the Buddhist lifestyle had not been without advantages. It had enabled the Jesuits to make contact with the majority of the Chinese population relatively

356 Nicolas Standaert, S.J. easily and allowed them to focus conversation directly on religious matters. But there had also been disadvantages. From a Confucian perspective, Buddhism and Christianity had many religious elements in common and were very similar. Each was an institutional religion with a system of theology, rituals, and an organization of its own, independent of secular institutions. Confucianism, on the other hand, contained elements only of a diffused religion. Its theology, rituals, and organization were intrinsically tied to the concepts and structures of secular institutions and the secular social order.7 Moreover, Christianity shared with Buddhism elements such as belief in an afterlife, the idea of heaven and hell, and the practice of celibacy which were very un-Confucian. From Ricci's Diary and later controversial works one can observe that precisely this similarity to the Other (Buddhists) forced the Jesuits to differentiate themselves from the Other and emphasize their differences. The first (unconscious) reason for this change was that within the Chinese religious context there was too much competition between Buddhism and Christianity. The Jesuits, in fact, were subjected to the phenomenon of 'inflated difference' - in which the minority group, pressed to consolidate its own identity, is prone to dis-identify with others and to play up otherwise negligible differences between those inside and those outside its boundaries.8 The only way to dissociate themselves from the Buddhist monks (who were regarded as very low on the social ladder) was to turn to Confucianism. In fact it was the Other, represented by Confucian literati like Qu Taisu (Qu Rukui) (1549-?), who encouraged Ricci to institute this change.9 Here a second important element in which the Other determines the Self needs to be mentioned. It was labelled the 'cultural imperative' by Erik Zurcher, and it belongs to the deep structure in Chinese religious life in late imperial China.10 No marginal religion penetrating from the outside could expect to take root in China (at least at a high social level) unless it conformed itself to a pattern that was more clearly defined in late imperial times than ever before. Confucianism represented what is zheng ('orthodox') in a religious, ritual, social, and political sense. In order not to be branded as xie ('heterodox') and treated as a subversive sect, a marginal religion had to prove it was on the side of zheng. The authority, the sheer mass and attractive power of Confucianism was such that any religious system from outside was caught in its field, and was bound to gravitate towards that centre. In other words, when Ricci started to apply his method of accommodation, he probably did not realize the full weight of that cultural imperative. He must only gradually, with a rare combination of intelligence and intuition and a growing knowledge of the Chinese situation, have come to realize that adaptation to the imperative of Confucianism was the only viable way. As a result Christianity in seventeenth-century China shows all the responses characteristic of marginal religions like Buddhism, Judaism, and Islam to the cultural

Jesuit Corporate Culture As Shaped by the Chinese 357 imperative: (1) emphasis on the congruity and complete compatibility of the minority religion and Confucianism; (2) stress on the notion of complementarity - the foreign creed serves to enrich and fulfil the Confucian doctrine; (3) a tendency to ground the existence of the foreign doctrine upon historical precedent, sometimes reaching back to the very beginning of Chinese civilization; and (4) adoption of Chinese mores and rituals. One can express the force of cultural imperative in another way. Jesuit accommodation is often described by a sentence attributed to Ignatius of Loyola: 'Enter through the door of the other so as to make them leave through our door.' Cultural imperative means that the Chinese say to the Jesuits: 'You should enter through our door (and you will have to prove you have done so). Moreover, you should remain inside, and you cannot leave without our permission. Anyway, we have no intention of leaving through your door.' These two elements, inflated difference and cultural imperative, show the heavy influence of the Other on the Jesuit strategy of accommodation. The Chinese made the Jesuits adapt to the particularly Chinese situation.11 One may also point out that the refinement and sophistication of the Other imposed some limits on the Jesuits' accommodation. It is indeed remarkable that the Jesuits apparently were not able to accommodate themselves to certain aspects of Chinese culture that were too difficult to master or too un-European. Some elements of Jesuit corporate culture in Europe and elsewhere in the world were not introduced in China. The clearest example is the schools and system of education. Despite their hope of replacing the subject-matter of the Chinese examinations with Aristotelian philosophy, the Jesuits were never able to influence the well-established Chinese education system. Another example is theatre and drama. The adaptation to Chinese opera apparently called for too important an investment in Chinese culture, one beyond the capabilities of the Jesuits. There were also aspects of Chinese culture that had no equivalents in their corporate culture but were too sophisticated for them to learn or to adopt. In the field of the arts, the successful adaptation of a Jesuit painter like Giuseppe Castiglione (1688-1766) is often cited, but there is hardly any adoption of or interest in Chinese calligraphy. Yet every member of the educated Chinese elite spent long hours learning calligraphy from youth, and quite a few continued to practise it every day of their lives. Although the Jesuits' effort was directed at this elite, in their copious writings there is hardly any indication that they appreciated the aesthetic dimension of calligraphy and the pivotal role it played in Chinese culture.12 With respect to customs, the Jesuits found it impossible to let their fingernails grow very long, in the manner of the literati. These are negative examples of influence that show clearly how Chinese culture imposed limits on accommodation.

358 Nicolas Standaert, SJ. 2. Evangelization 'from the top down.' This aspect of the Jesuit mission in China has probably been the most distorted. A first distortion concerns the motive behind the 'ascent to Beijing.' The initial objective of Ricci, as expressed in his Diary, was not to reach Beijing, but simply to have a residence on the mainland. The many difficulties the Jesuits encountered in obtaining permission to enter China and in establishing a permanent residence there gradually helped shape their plan to go to Beijing in order to obtain the support of the 'King of China.'13 This interference by the Other would remain a constant in their presence at the court during the seventeenth century. Certainly the Jesuits hoped to convert the emperor and his entourage, as they sometimes converted court women and eunuchs, but their presence in court circles was dictated largely by practical concerns (i.e., it enabled them to avoid being seen as heterodox on a local level) and was acquired only through compromise. Very often there was a subtle interplay between the missionaries and the emperor, in which each side took advantage of the other for its own purposes. The missionaries tried to please the emperor as much as possible - for example, by presenting him with European curiosities such as a landscape drawing fifteen metres long which, seen from a specific angle, resembled a man. The emperor, on his side, amply availed himself of the Jesuits' services and led the Jesuits to make ambivalent choices such as to be involved in the construction of cannon.14 Another distortion has to do with the presence of the Jesuits among elite groups and the way in which elite groups have been seen as representative of all converts to Christianity. Statistical analysis shows that the number of converts belonging to the gentry elite hardly exceeded 1 per cent of the total number of Christians. If one adds the number of other literate people (those who did not pass the examinations) with whom the Jesuits were involved, the elite group still might not exceed 10 per cent. All the other Christians were illiterate and probably poor. Leaving aside a very small number of missionaries at the court (who have drawn all our attention), most Jesuits were engaged in pastoral activities not very different from the missionary activities of other orders. Certainly the progress of the mission operated by radiation from the top, but recent analysis of geographical spread shows the following interesting pattern. Once a relationship had been established by the Jesuits with the gentry elite, the spread of Christianity through their efforts knew a rapid and wide radiation. This was due to at least two characteristics of the Other: the importance of personal relationships and network building in Chinese society, and the high mobility potential of the elite (who changed position every three years). Owing to these factors, elite members and converts often invited the Jesuits to places they had not originally planned to settle in. The Jesuits were thus guided in their settlement decisions by the Other, and this was the predominant pattern in the

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diffusion of Christianity in Late Ming times.15 Moreover, once the Jesuits had settled in a certain place, their relationship with the elite often became loose. While contact with scholars who had obtained the highest degrees was not excluded, most of their attention was devoted to those in the lower ranks.16 On these lower levels, adaptation to the Confucian imperative was less important, and strategies of accommodation designed to explain the Christian message in Confucian terms were less necessary. The Jesuits working at this level were not necessarily engaged in the translation of mathematical writings or the study of Confucian classics. They announced the Christian Gospel in a highly explicit way (without underexposing elements that were difficult to accept) and referred to Bible stories and stories of European saints and sages. At this level, the Jesuits practised rituals, performed exorcisms, engaged in the pastoral of fear (with its paramount idea of heaven and hell), and spread tales of the supernatural that were little different from tales in theTaoist and Buddhist popular traditions.17 Chinese primary sources show that at a lower level, in small communities of Chinese converts in remote provinces, where Christian missionaries had to compete not with learned Buddhist monks and anti-Christian scholars but rather with local Taoist masters, sorcerers, and faith healers, things quite different from intellectual discussions were taking place. At that level the Jesuits themselves engaged in practices that, at least in the eyes of the Chinese authorities, fully belonged to the realm of popular magic, sorcery, and potentially subversive cults.18 These undertakings too form part of Jesuit corporate culture, though they have often been regarded as marginal. This so-called margin in fact made up the largest part of their activities, because these 'marginal' practices were more acceptable to the needs and wishes of the Other, who often belonged to the lower levels of Chinese society. 3. The use of science in the propagation of the faith. This policy too was determined largely by the Other, as can be shown in the writings of the Jesuits and their converts. The first presentation of European science was made under the form of curiosities like a clock and prisms, with the result that at the beginning the Jesuits were regarded as alchemists. The first writings of the Jesuits, however (i.e., what they wrote under only limited influence by the Other), were not scientific but entirely religious and catechetical in nature. It was owing to the Sinocentrism of Chinese scholars, who could not believe that educated scholars could come from far away, that Ricci undertook to draw a Chinese version of the world map in his room, in order to show where he came from. A further step was the translation of works on mathematics and astronomy. Many scholars have pointed out that this translation took place in the particular context of Late Ming learning. If Chinese scholars were interested in the science brought by the Jesuits, it was because prior to their arrival Chinese literati had developed an

360 Nicolas Standaert, S.J. interest in practical learning. The search for 'solid learning' or 'concrete studies' (shixue)was a reaction against some intuitionist movements originating from the Wang Yangming school in the late sixteenth century. According to Wang Yangming (1472-1528), the principles for moral action were to be found entirely within the mind-and-heart (xin) and not outside. In the early seventeenth century, the influential intellectual and political movement of the Donglin thinkers re-established the importance of 'things in the world.' Officials and scholars searched for concrete ways in which to save the country from decay.19 It is this preceding quest that fostered the unique interaction between them and the Jesuits. The Jesuits themselves were initially not much interested in translating mathematical works, but in response to the insistence of converts like Xu Guangqi they undertook this kind of time-consuming, long-lasting activity. Later, this insistence by Chinese (converts) on practical learning was something that prevented the Jesuits from engaging in projects such as translating the Bible. The early missionaries had no particular advanced training in the sciences (even if they were versed in them) and were not sent to spread scientific knowledge. Only later were missionaries with specific scientific training sent, in response to the quest of the Other and as a way of guaranteeing the protection of the church by the Chinese court. The Chinese acceptance of Western sciences confirms a generally agreed-upon interpretation of cultural exchange: when a foreign element is accepted relatively easily by a culture into which it has been introduced, that acceptance is owing to the presence of some internal disposition to accept the new element. What is true in the field of the sciences is true also with respect to the moral teachings of the Jesuits, which were accepted because they fit in with the social concerns of local elites. Moreover, the large-scale translation and publication of Western writings was possible only because the Late Ming had a highly developed system of (private) publishing and printing. The Jesuits did not have to introduce the printing press, but the context enabled them fully to express their Apostolat der Pressed Recent research shows another interference by the Other in the presentation of science. Not only the Jesuits' educational background but also the audience for whom the books were intended influenced the way the sciences were presented. At the beginning of the seventeenth century the Jesuits taught interested scholars; in the 1630s they worked as civil servants in the Astronomical Bureau on the imperial calendar reform; at the beginning of the Kangxi reign (1662-1722) Verbiest was tutoring the emperor, and later he was succeeded by French Jesuits, who used sources different from Verbiest's for their teaching. This changing context influenced both the content and the style of the transmission of mathematics.21 4. Tolerance of Confucian rites. Here too the cultural imperative of the Other

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played a determining role (as it did not in Japan). Because of the power of Confucianism as a diffused religion, Christianity, like Buddhism, Judaism, and other marginal religions, had to accept the state orthodoxy and the ritual traditions of Confucianism. Repeated and public rejection of the rites approved by the state (and listed in the official 'Canon of Sacrifices') would have caused the missionaries to be labelled 'heterodox' and to be rejected (as happened to missionaries and papal delegations on several occasions during the Rites Controversy). The Jesuits, who did not always hold the same opinion among themselves on this issue, found a solution in declaring most of the Confucian rites 'civil rites.' There were also attempts to christianize some Confucian rites (e.g., for the city-god) by replacing them with Christian rites (e.g., for guardian angels). The manner in which the Rites Controversy evolved displays characteristics of 'inflated difference' as well. In this case the Other was not the Chinese but the Franciscans and Dominicans and other orders, who had arrived only when the Jesuits, after fifty years in China, had more or less reached a compromise among themselves about the rites. While any anthropologist today would recognize religious elements in the Confucian rites, the Jesuits regarded the rites as entirely civil, because their strategy required that they be accepted by Confucianism and that they demonstrate their differentness from rival orders. The so-called Jesuit position on Chinese rites was to a large extent determined by the pressure of Confucian orthodoxy and by their own rivalry with the other orders. Conclusion One can discern a corporate culture among the Jesuits in China in the seventeenth century. But this corporate culture has too often been presented as the product of the proactive Self, to the neglect of the influence of the Other.22 I have tried to show that the role of the Other in the formation of the identity of a group is certainly as important as the activity of the Self itself. The influence of the Other operates at different levels: there can be submission to the power of the Other (as in the effects of the cultural imperative on the Jesuits); there can be positive reaction to an outside incentive or to an already existing quest on the part of the audience being addressed (as in the Jesuits' transmission of the sciences); there can be self-strengthening as a result of the force of competition (as in the Jesuits' inflating of the difference between Christianity and Buddhism and between themselves and the other orders); there can even be a negative influence, where accommodation has seemed not to be possible (as in the Jesuits' lack of interest in Chinese calligraphy and drama). Though the Jesuits might have reacted in ways other than they did, in all cases the Other played a decisive role in the reaction they showed. One could even state that the Other made it possible for

362 Nicolas Standaert, S.J. them to express externally what was perhaps already present in one way or another in the Self, and that without the Other, it could not have been expressed. NOTES I would like to thank Dr A. Dudink and Dr G. Vankeerberghen for commenting on an earlier version of this paper. 1 There is a consensus among most historians on these characteristics; see Erik Zurcher, 'The Jesuit Mission in Fujian in Late Ming Times: Levels of Response,' in Development and Decline ofFukien Province in the 17th and 18th Centuries, ed. E.B. Vermeer (Leiden, 1990), pp. 417-57. 2 Schiitte Val., I, chap. 3 and 325ff; II 335ff; J. Bettray, Die Akkommodationsmethode des P. Matteo Ricci, S.J., in China (Rome, 1955). 3 See e.g. Ronan East, and The Jesuits, 1594-1994: Macao and China, Review of Culture 21 (1994) (Macao; also in Portuguese and Chinese). 4 Most recently by Andrew C. Ross, A Vision Betrayed: The Jesuits in Japan and China, 1542-1742 (Edinburgh and Maryknoll, 1994), pp. 205-6. These differences, however, should not be overestimated, as pointed out by Alden in his discussion of the Jesuits' view of non-Westerners, Alden Ent., pp. 294-5. 5 Joseph Shih, 'Introduction,' in Matteo Ricci and Nicolas Trigault, Histoire de I'expedition chretienne au royaume de la Chine (1582-1610), ed. Georges Bessiere (Paris, 1978), p. 27. 6 The limited attention given to Chinese Jesuits is another example of the selective memory of historians; Chinese Jesuits, however, constituted one-third of the total number of Jesuits - the largest national group - in China in the mid-eighteenth century. Cf. Nicolas Standaert, 'The Jesuit Presence in China (1580-1773): A Statistical Approach,' Sino-Western Cultural Relations Journal 13 (1991): 4-17. 7 For the concepts of 'institutional' and 'diffused' religion, see C.K. Yang, Religion in Chinese Society: The First Comprehensive Sociological Analysis of Chinese Religious Behavior (Berkeley, 1961), pp. 20-1, 294-5. 8 For the concept of 'inflated difference,' see V. Ruland, 'The Inflated Catholic Difference,' America (4 June 1994): 20-2. 9 On Ricci's awareness of the similarities between Buddhism and Christianity and the related problems, see his Diary and Letters, and also Shih, 'Introduction,' pp. 32ff. 10 Erik Zurcher, 'Jesuit Accommodation and the Chinese Cultural Imperative,' in The Chinese Rites Controversy: Its History and Meaning, ed. D.E. Mungello (Nettetal, 1994), pp. 31-64. I1 One might ask whether the other orders were not subjected to the same imperative. Indeed they were, and one might argue that non-accommodation was one of the reasons why their initial presence failed. When, after fifty years of Jesuit presence,

Jesuit Corporate Culture As Shaped by the Chinese 363 the Dominicans and Franciscans arrived in larger numbers, they were able to be less accommodative because the general view of Christianity associated them with accommodation. 12 L. Ledderose, 'Chinese Influence of European Art, Sixteenth to Eighteenth Centuries,' in China and Europe: Images and Influences in Sixteenth to Eighteenth Centuries, ed. T.H.C. Lee (Hong Kong, 1991), pp. 221-37. 13 See Shih, 'Introduction,' pp. 29ff. 14 A good example of the defence of this policy is provided by Verbiest; see Noel Golvers, The 'Astronomia europaea' of Ferdinand Verbiest, S.J. (Dillingen, 1687): Text, Translation, Notes, and Commentaries (Nettetal, 1993). 15 Nicolas Standaert, 'Missionary Strategies in Seventeenth Century China and Our Mission Today,' CIS: Review oflgnatian Spirituality 27:1 (1996): 37-48. 16 A. Dudink, 'Giulio Aleni and Li Jiubiao,' in 'Scholar from the West': Giulio Aleni, S.J. (1582-1649) and the Dialogue between Christianity and China, ed. Tiziana Lippiello and Roman Malek (Nettetal, 1997), pp. 129-200. 17 Nicolas Standaert, 'Chinese Christian Visits to the Underworld,' in Conflict and Accommodation in Early Modern East Asia: Essays in Honour of Erik Ziircher, ed. L. Blusse and H. Zurndorfer (Leiden, 1993), pp. 54-70. 18 Erik Ziircher, 'The Lord of Heaven and the Demons: Strange Stories from a Late Ming Christian Manuscript,' in Religion und Philosophic in Ostasien (Festschrift fur H. Steiniger), ed. G. Naundorf, K.-H. Pohl, and H.-H. Schmidt (Wlirzburg, 1985), pp. 359-75, and 'Aleni in Fujian (1630-1640): The Medium and the Message,' in Scholar from the West, ed. Lippiello and Malek. 19 M. Ubelhor, 'Geistesstromungen der spaten Ming-Zeit die das Werken der Jesuiten in China begiinstigten,' Saeculum 23 (1972): 172-85, and 'Hsu Kuang-ch'i und seine Einstellung zum Christentum,' Oriens Extremus 15 (1968): 191-257; 16 (1969): 41-74. 20 This expression is used by Bettray, Die Akkommodationsmethode. 21 Catherine Jami, 'From Clavius to Pardies: The Geometry Transmitted to China by Jesuits (1607-1723),' in Western Humanistic Culture Presented to China by Jesuit Missionaries (XVII-XVIH Centuries): Proceedings of the Conference Held in Rome, October 25-27, 1993, ed. Federico Masini (Rome, 1996), pp. 175-99. 22 Besides the Chinese Other, there was also the Other of the Centre (Rome), which acted as a correcting force and called the missionaries in China to Jesuit corporate culture when the experiments went too far. This theme would require a separate treatment.

177 Translation as Cultural Reform: Jesuit Scholastic Psychology in the Transformation of the Confucian Discourse on Human Nature QIONG ZHANG

When the Jesuit missionaries first arrived in China pursuant to St Ignatius's vision that the Society of Jesus not only 'devote itself with God's grace' to the 'salvation and perfection of the members' own souls, but also with that same grace... labor strenuously in giving aid toward the salvation and perfection of the souls of their fellow men,'] they probably did not anticipate that their mission in China would concern the salvation of 'soul' itself. The centrality of the problem of soul to their mission was dictated by an intellectual dilemma: the contemporary Chinese, especially the Confucian literati, did not believe in the immortality of soul. In order to save the souls of the Chinese, therefore, the Jesuits had to convince them that there are souls to be saved in the first place.2 Underlying the problem of soul was a classic case of cultural incommensurability, one that resulted from the radically different ways in which the soul, body, and human nature were conceptualized in premodern China and the West. This paper seeks to examine the Jesuit efforts systematically to transmit AristotelianScholastic psychology to China in order to meet such a cultural challenge, focusing on Father Giulio Aleni's (1582-1649) Chinese writing Xingxue cushu (A Brief Outline of the Study of Human Nature) (1623), which he adapted from the Coimbra Latin commentaries (commonly known as Conimbricenses) on Aristotle's De anima and Parva naturalia? By highlighting the key differences between Western Scholastic psychology and its Chinese counterparts, particularly the Confucian discourse on human nature, and the manner in which Aleni addressed those differences, I hope to demonstrate that the Jesuit psychological enterprise was aimed not simply at linguistic translation, but at a fundamental restructuring of Chinese culture for the sake of dissolving its incommensurable Otherness. The intrinsic unity between the Jesuit religious and cultural pursuits revealed in this study will, I hope, shed new light on the spirit of the Ricci method, which has generally been characterized as the method of 'cultural accommodation,' with respect to Confucianism in an area where it irreconcilably

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collided with early modern Catholicism both as a form of spirituality and as a learned tradition. The Context: The Ricci Method and the Jesuit Controversy on the 'Question of Terms' The problem of soul had been on the top of Jesuits' apologetic agenda since the beginning of their mission. Their first catechism in Chinese, Tianzhu shilu (The Veritable Record of the Lord of Heaven), written by Michele Ruggieri (15431607) and Matteo Ricci (1552-1610) and printed in 1584, had already embarked on a literary battle against Chinese views of soul, but its major target was the Sino-Buddhist doctrine of transmigration. Over the next two decades, as their knowledge of the Chinese language and Chinese thought maturated, the Jesuits became keenly aware of the far more devastating conceptions of soul and the afterlife widely entertained by the Confucians, with whom they had opted to form a strategic alliance. Ricci, architect of the Jesuit missionary strategy in China, was well abreast of the widespread disbelief in immortality among the Confucians and perceived it as an integral part of the core incompatibility between Confucian and Catholic spirituality.4 Whereas the Catholic ideal of salvation was premised on the notions of original sin, of a transcendental spiritual being, God, as the saviour, and of the immortality of soul, the Confucian pursuit of sagehood through self-cultivation was inspired by exactly the opposite vision - of the innate perfectibility of human nature, of the ontological oneness of heaven, earth, humanity, and things, and of the organic unity of soul and body. Ricci diagnosed such Confucian fallacies as primarily cultural problems deeply grounded in the Chinese way of thinking, in Chinese categories of thought, and in the Chinese cosmological, medical, and philosophical traditions. The real thrust of Ricci's apologetic tactic, as manifested in his representative Chinese catechism Tianzhu shiyi (The True Meaning of the Lord of Heaven), was to address such problems by initiating a foundational cultural transformation in China through the introduction of related areas of Western learning, particularly Aristotelian logic and natural philosophy. In that catechism, Ricci had a twofold goal: to demonstrate by universal reason the basic truths of Catholicism regarding the existence and nature of God, the immortality of soul, the existence of heaven and hell, and reward and punishment; and to destroy, 'at the very roots, with irrefragable arguments, the opinions of the Chinese which contradict those truths.'5 In his demonstration of the immortality of soul, Ricci produced the Aristotelian hierarchical model of soul and theory of generation and corruption, along with the Scholastic metaphysical notions of spirit and matter, as the basis of his 'irrefragable arguments.' The second generation of Jesuit missionaries became even more acutely

366 Qiong Zhang concerned about the problem of soul as a result of their intense internal controversies on the 'question of terms.'6 The debate began soon after Ricci's death in 1610, when Claudio Acquaviva, the superior general of the Society, responding to requests from Ricci's critics among the members of the Japanese mission, ordered a formal investigation of the use of certain Chinese terms to express key Christian concepts in Jesuit Chinese publications. At the centre of the debate were such Chinese terms as shangdi, tianshen, and linghun, which had been used to render 'God,' 'angels,' and 'the rational soul' respectively. As I have contended elsewhere, Ricci's critics failed to fathom the pragmatic dimension of his appropriation of classical Confucian terms, especially his complementary cultural project to remould and redefine those terms.7 Instead, they argued that Ricci had been mistaken in sanctioning the use of those terms and treating them as if they were ideal matches for the related Christian concepts. They argued that mainstream Chinese thought, from classical to contemporary, was so thoroughly materialistic that the Chinese not only lacked the concepts of God, angels, and immortal soul, but could not conceive of the very idea of a purely spiritual substance itself. Around 1623, the controversy was brought to a climax when Father Nicolo Longobardi (1565-1655), a staunch representative of the anti-Ricci camp who was unpersuaded by the decision of the Jesuit conference at Macao in 1621 in favour of Ricci's supporters, composed a long essay systematically expounding his position and circulated it among all members of the China mission. This was his Reposta breve sobre las controversias do xamty, tien xin, Urn hoen, e outros nomes e termos sinicos; par se determinar quaes delles podem ou ndo podem uzarse nesta xrandade (A Short Answer Concerning the Controversies about shangdi [God], tianshen [spirits], and linghun [the rational soul] and Other Chinese Names and Terms; To Determine Which of Them May Be Used by the Christians in These Parts).8 In the fifteenth prelude of this essay, entitled 'What Life and Death Is, According to the Sect of the Learned, to Make out Whether Our Soul Be Immortal, and after What Manner,'9 Longobardi scrutinized several key terms in Confucian literature concerning human existence, immortality, and permanence, including li, designating the universal principle in its own being; xing (nature), designating the universal principle as it is received by human individuals and all things; and him andpo, designating the yang and yin aspects of qi (or vital energy), which jointly constitute the principle of life and the individuality of a human being. Although his expositions of these terms were simplistic and replete with Scholastic jargon, Longobardi scored a strong point in stressing that the Chinese considered hun and po to be mortal in so far as they constitute the soul of an individual, because when a person dies his hun ascends to heaven and hispo returns to the earth, each joining their respective sources in

Jesuit Scholastic Psychology and the Confucian Discourse 367 the larger cosmic transformation. The only principle in human life that was spoken of as permanent and immutable by the Confucians is xing (human nature or normative humanity), defined in terms of the principle of humanness, rightness, propriety, wisdom, and faithfulness. However, although this immutable nature is the proper goal of Confucian moral cultivation, its attainment does not imply the immortality of the person as an individual, because xing is nothing but the human embodiment of the universal principle // and cannot be identified with the person who possesses it. In other words, the Chinese biological conception of individual soul and the Chinese metaphysical conception of human permanence are detached from each other.10 Apparently, Longobardi gained an important insight into the unique intellectual terrain that China had developed in the understanding of human existence. In premodern Western discourse, primarily through the commentary tradition on Aristotle's De anima by Scholastic thinkers, a single conception of soul served as the unifying principle that integrated the biological, medical, psychological, epistemological, ethical, metaphysical, and religious inquiries concerning the human being. However, there was no trace of a concept functionally equivalent to it at any point in Chinese intellectual history. Since the time of Confucius (551-479 B.C.E.) and Mencius (c. 371-c. 289 B.C.E.), the focal point of Confucian moral discourse had been the concept of human nature or normative humanity. Mencius, in particular, laid down the basic framework for the subsequent Confucian discourse on human nature with his contention that all human beings, qua human beings, have the 'heaven-endowed' nature - the beginnings of humanness, Tightness, propriety, and wisdom - and that the properly human way to serve heaven is through cultivating and expanding these beginnings of moral consciousness, thereby attaining the normative humanity. Here we may observe that, in the Western tradition established by Aristotle (though it certainly goes farther back, to the Presocratics), the question of what makes a human being human was dealt with primarily as a question concerning human beings' natural endowment. The demarcation between humans and animals was set biologically: the rational faculty. The Confucians, on the contrary, though they often assumed this biological distinction, deemed it irrelevant to their discussion of human nature. In fact, Mencius himself clearly defined the relationship between the rational faculty and human nature in terms of cognitive subject and object: The heart is the office of thinking. If we think, we will get to know these [innate moral senses]; if we don't, we will not be aware of them. He who has exhausted all his mental constitution knows his nature. Knowing his nature,

368 Qiong Zhang he knows Heaven. To preserve one's mental constitution and nourish one's nature is the way to serve Heaven. (Mencius 6A/15, 7A/1)

The difference between the Aristotelian and the Mencian approaches to normative humanity is significant in that according to Aristotle the boundary between human beings and other forms of life is biologically determined, qualitative, and substantive, whereas according to Mencius it is conditional (upon the conscious efforts of each individual), existential, and dynamic. As Mencius puts it, 'That whereby man differs from birds and beasts is but little,' so 'if you seek it, you will find it; but if you neglect it, you will lose it' (Mencius 4B/19, 6A/6). In the metaphysical system developed by the Neo-Confucians of the Song dynasty (960-1279), the 'heaven-endowed nature' was interpreted as the human embodiment of the immutable, universal principle. Thus the Confucian ideal of sagehood, often described as 'forming one body with heaven, earth, and all things,' offers a viable alternative to the Catholic ideal of salvation - it offers a spiritual experience of merging with the divine and the eternal that can be attained right here in this life. It is a 'salvation' that entirely obviates the notion of personal immortality altogether. The difference between these two forms of spiritual fulfilment is through-and-through cultural, reaching down to the very basic conceptual schemes in which the human organism was conceived in premodern China and the West. Briefly put, in the Aristotelian framework the human being is a composite of soul and body. The soul is to the body as form is to matter. Although Aristotle stressed the mutual dependence of form and matter, metaphysically speaking, he considered form as of a higher order. Accordingly, he maintained that the soul is 'prior' to the body and that the body is for the sake of the soul.11 It is no wonder that his hylomorphic model of soul, through its Christianization by St Thomas Aquinas, was eventually accepted by the church and, in 1513, even made its presence felt in the decree on the dogma of immortality issued by the Fifth Lateran Council.12 However, in the Chinese medical tradition, where human biological and psychological processes are discussed, the dominant paradigm originating from the classical texts of Huangdi neijing (The Yellow Emperor's Classics of Internal Medicine) does not have a unitary concept of soul. Instead, to account for the different spheres of human activity ranging from vitality, physical movement, sleep, and dreaming to emotions and mental activities, it poses two sets of concepts, hun and po, and jing and shen, all of which have been rendered as 'soul' or 'spirit' in English. Furthermore, in the end all these 'controlling principles' of the body are reducible to the presence and operation of qi, the vital energy which is also the ultimate constituent of the body itself. Indeed, the Chinese medical view of the human being as a dynamic continuum of qi, body, and spirit was so much taken for granted that none of the indigenous Chinese

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philosophical traditions had ventured any serious speculations about the immortality of soul or about an afterlife. Giulio Aleni's Xingxue cushu and the Jesuit Program of Discipline Building Shortly after Longobardi reopened the debate on Chinese terms, two systematic expositions of Scholastic psychology by Jesuits appeared in Chinese, Lingyan lishao (Some Cursory Remarks on the Soul) (1624) by Francesco Sambiasi (1582-1649), a member of the anti-Ricci camp, and Xingxue cushu (1623), by Aleni, a major supporter of the Ricci method. This marked the beginning of the systematic transmission of Aristotelian philosophy in China, to be followed by four other translations of the Conimbricenses on the Aristotelian corpus: Francisco Furtado's Euan you quan (On Heaven and Earth) (1628), adapted from the commentary on Aristotle's De coelo et mundo (Lisbon, 1593; Lyon, 1594), and Mingli tan (Inquiries into Names and Principles) (1631), adapted from the commentary on Porphyry's logical treatise Isagoge (Cologne, 1611); and Alfonso Vagnone's Xiushen xixue (Western Learning Concerning Self-Cultivation) (1631), adapted from the commentary on Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics (Lisbon, 1593; Lyon, 1594; Cologne, 1612), and Kongji gezhi (Investigation into the Material Composition of the Heavens) (1633), adapted from the commentary on Aristotle's Meteorologica (Lisbon, 1593; Lyon, 1594). The fact that Aleni and Sambiasi simultaneously undertook the same kind of project in spite of their opposite stands in the debate indicates the acute concern shared by all members of the Jesuit Chinese mission over the problem of soul extensively discussed by Longobardi. However, Aleni's Xingxue cushu deserves particular attention because, whereas Sambiasi produced nearly a literal translation of the Conimbricenses on De anima (Cologne, 1617 edition), with only fleeting remarks on relevant Chinese views inserted in the text in the form of annotations, Aleni boldly modified the structure and content of his Latin sources (commentaries on De anima, Coimbra, 1598, and on Parva naturalia, Lisbon, 1593 and Lyon, 1594) so as systematically to relate the Aristotelian concepts and theories to their Chinese counterparts. Since Aleni represents the majority position that eventually won the debate, his text exemplifies the spirit of the Ricci method as it was implemented and developed during the second phase of the Jesuit mission. In the title of his book, Aleni presents Aristotelian psychology as the 'study of human nature,' using the same Chinese characters, xingxue, that designated the highest form of contemporary Confucian learning - the learning on the cultivation of the person, mind, nature, and mandate.13 In the preface, he first affirms the Confucian sentiment that human nature indeed constitutes the bond

370 Qiong Zhang linking mankind to the universe: 'Of all created things in the universe, nothing is smaller than human nature, and yet nothing is grander than human nature. Speaking of the smallness of its substance, it can be contained within one square inch. Speaking of the greatness of its capacity, it encompasses heaven, earth, and the myriad things and reaches up to the Lord of the universe. Nothing is too vast or too tiny to be embraced by it' (la).14 But he quickly gives the concept of human nature a new turn as he moves on to describe how this intelligent nature of ours places us at the central position in the Great Chain of Being, ruling over the corporeal world of lifeless substances, plants, and animals, and looking up to the spiritual realm of the angels and the Creator. This sets the perfect stage for a discussion of the importance of the study of human nature: The study of human nature is the confluence of heavenly and human learning. It opens up a broad path for all the rest of scholarship to follow. Augustine said that there are two critical tasks in the investigation of things. One is to understand human nature, the other is to understand the Creator. Reflecting on human nature allows one to know oneself; contemplating the Creator enables one to realize one's origin and ultimate destination. The former is the study of human nature, the latter the study of supernature; the former broadens one's vision of true happiness, the latter leads one to true happiness itself. (Ib)

Here, Aleni explicitly states that the study of human nature is a ladder to and preparation for the study of supernature (i.e., theology). This certainly reflected the true status of Aristotelian psychology within the framework of Scholastic learning. However, it did not square with the general understanding of his Confucian readers, for whom the study of human nature was the highest form of learning and the proper way towards spiritual fulfilment. Was he merely telling the truth about what was going on in the West, in the capacity of a translator and cultural mediator, or was he also trying to correct an image that the Confucians had long cherished about their discourse on human nature? As the text unfolds, it becomes clear that Aleni allowed no such distinction as a Western versus Confucian study of human nature after all. There can be only one true learning regarding human nature, which happens to have been developed in the West. The Confucian discourse begins to crumble in the very first section of his Book One, where the Confucian moralistic position on human nature is dismissed once and for all. Aleni explains that according to Western philosophy everything in the world comes into being owing to four causes: the active cause (zhao), or the agent which brings about the existence of the thing; the final cause (wei), or 'that for the sake of which' the thing exists; the material cause (zhi), or the matter which constitutes the thing itself; and the formal cause (mo), or the features and properties of the thing. He further distinguishes two

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kinds of forms, the accidental form (waimo) and the substantial form (neimo). The former - the shape, size, and position of a thing, for example - determines its individual characteristics, while the latter is that which, once imposed upon a certain amount of prime matter (yuanzhi), brings a thing into being with a definite character that qualifies it as a member of a certain class in distinction from things of other classes. Thus, the substantial form of a thing constitutes its inner essence, or 'nature' (juan1, l-3a). However, since some things are animate and some things are not, people usually use the word 'nature' (xing)to designate the substantial forms of the inanimate objects, such as the four elements, metals, and stones, and use the word 'soul' (hun) to designate the substantial forms of animate beings. The animate beings again fall into three categories, each possessing its own characteristic type of soul - vegetative soul (shenghun) for plants, which enables them to grow and flourish; sensitive soul (juehun)for animals, which enables them not only to grow but to feel and perform movements; and rational soul (linghuri) for human beings, which enables them to grow, sense, and move, and also to comprehend the universal principle and to make inferences (3b-4a). Through his elaboration of the Scholastic notion of 'substantial form,' Aleni not only established the equation between human nature and the rational soul but also underpinned the biologically instituted differences between the nature of mankind and that of other forms of life. In the course of clarifying the relationships among the four causes, Aleni also introduced the Catholic perspective on the matter: first, the reason why human beings alone have a rational nature is that they have a special cosmic role to fill - 'All things in the world are created to serve human beings, and human beings are created to serve the Lord,' who is the highest active and final cause of the world (2a); and second, what makes humans the noblest of all is that, of all three kinds of souls, the human soul alone is directly created and infused into the body of each individual human being by the Lord, and that it alone is created without the use of any prime matter and therefore is spiritual, intelligent, and unattached to the body (2b). Apparently, this renewed conception of human nature also invalidates two other Confucian metaphysical contentions - that human nature is one and the same as the universal principle (or God), and that mankind shares one nature with all things - both of which Aleni is to refute in detail subsequently. After expounding this biological notion of human nature, Aleni proceeds to address the Confucian conception of it. He broaches the issue through the voice of the Chinese interlocutor: 'In our country, the characters hun (soul) and xing (nature or human nature) seem to mean different things. Hun belongs to the realm of qi (vital breath or primordial energy), while xing belongs to the domain of // (universal principle). Do you observe similar distinctions when you use these

372 Qiong Zhang two characters?' (4b). This question indicates that Aleni was aware of the way in which the Chinese generally distinguished human nature and the soul. However, in the text, Aleni replies that people may use different terms to refer to the same reality, and the Chinese especially have enjoyed a great deal of latitude in their use of words. The truth is,' he says, man is composed of the intelligent spirit and the fleshy body. One is the inner, the other the outer; one is spirit, the other the physical form; one is soul, the other body; one is intelligent, the other dull; one is the master, the other the slave; one is noble, the other base; one is the lesser part of man, the other the greater part of man. Looking at it this way, I may call the inner spirit and the greater part of man 'intelligent nature,' to indicate its intelligent, brilliant substance that constitutes the nature of man; or call it 'rational soul' to distinguish it from the vegetative and sensitive souls. (5a)

Aleni goes on to enumerate many other expressions from Chinese medical, Taoist, and Confucian literature to show that the same conceptual dichotomy of soul and body was also observed by the Chinese themselves, though in far more diverse linguistic forms. To conclude this massive survey of Chinese terms, Aleni cites examples from the Confucian classics demonstrating the true meaning of 'human nature' as construed by the Confucian ancients: The Great Learning designates the soul with the term 'illustrious virtue [mingde],' stressing that in its original essence it is both self-illuminated and capable of illuminating the principles of the myriad things. The Doctrine of the Mean defines human nature as the state of equilibrium in man when no [emotions are] stirring [weifa zhi zhong] - this is referring to the substance of the soul, from which the emotions emanated. Mencius, again, called it the 'greater part of man [dati]' to highlight its nobility. In one word, names can vary but the reality they refer to is one. (6a)

The logic behind Aleni's treatment of the Confucian notion of human nature is this: since whatever pertains to man has to be either the soul or the body, and since the Confucians refer to human nature as an aspect of humanity - which, in Aleni's view, is apparently unrelated to the body - then they must be referring to the rational soul, or what else?15 This shows Aleni's general approach to the problem of Chinese terms: his goal was not to seek out Chinese expressions that exactly match the Aristotelian (and Catholic) conception of the soul, but to set up a basic dichotomy of soul and body within the Chinese linguistic setting. After all, it is the understanding of the nature and substance of soul itself that really mattered. This was the central theme with respect to which Aleni made most adaptations to his Latin sources. In Book One (18 printed sheets), roughly

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corresponding to the Conimbricenses on De anima, Book II, chapter i, Aleni recapitulated the basic thesis of the Latin commentaries that the soul is the form of man, a spiritual substance, individually created by God but not divided from the divine mind, and so on,16 and to this recapitulation he added several sections to address the prevalent views in China. In the section 'Intelligent nature is not qi' Aleni seeks to demystify the Chinese concept of qi, variously translated as primordial energy, material force, or vital energy in modern English, by identifying it with air, one of the four elements, which surrounds us in abundant quantity and serves the sole, physiological function of cooling the body through the mechanism of respiration. Besides, he argues, if qi is responsible for our intelligence, why did it not do the same to the stones, plants, and animals? And since the qi inside us is constantly being replaced as we breathe in and out, why do our character and identity not alter accordingly (juan 1, 6b-7b)? I might interject here that the identification between qi and air had been made by Ricci and was maintained by all the later Jesuits.17 After the decline of the Aristotelian theory of the four elements in Europe, the French Jesuits reworked this interpretation by incorporating in it Blaise Pascal's discovery of air pressure in 1648, for example. Alexandre de la Charme (1695-1767) in hisXingli zhenquan (True Explanation of Nature and Principle) (1750) even suggests that one need only conduct a simple experiment to prove that the so-called yangqi (heavenly qi) is corporeal and possesses a measurable weight: 'If you infuse some quicksilver into a glass bottle and carry it to the top of a mountain, since quicksilver is heavier than the qi surrounding it, you will observe that the quicksilver sinks inside the bottle. When you bring it down to the foot of the mountain, since the qi surrounding the bottle is denser and heavier, you will observe that the quicksilver lifts up inside the bottle. This is a sure proof that qi is lighter at the top of the mountain and heavier at the foot of it.'18 In addition to following this line of argument suggested by Ricci, Aleni takes issue with professional Chinese medical opinion, contending that even if qi is understood as the vital essence (jingqi)of the human being, it cannot possibly be the source of the soul, because 'if our nature is the vital essence, then our rational soul is strong when our physical prowess is strong. And when our vital essence declines, so does our rational soul. However, we often find that some people have a strong body but a weak intellect, while there are others whose mind is prudent and shrewd even though their body is weighed down by old age. This again proves that our nature is not vital essence' (7b). Finally, he turns to what seems to be the general opinion of the contemporary Confucians, especially the school of Qi (qixue), regarding the cosmological source of human intelligence: Some may still argue that although our nature is not qi, there is a spiritual element in qi

374 Qiong Zhang which generates our intelligent nature. However, I say that this is as mistaken as the opinions we have examined above, for qi is not found in the human body alone: the space between Heaven and Earth is filled with it. How come in the whole world nothing else but human beings have intelligence? One may explain that this is because mankind received the finer part of qi while things received the coarser part of it, and the finer part of qi is capable of producing intelligence but the coarser part is not. However, this is to assume that there are two different kinds of qi with opposite qualities. If this is the case, how can they be forced to make up one qil And since qi itself is not intelligent and mankind alone is, there must be a unique element in man responsible for his intelligence. That element could not have come from qi. (7b-8a)

The crux of Aleni's criticism here is thatqi is not intelligent, but human nature is, and that we cannot account for something intelligent with something which is not. This argument can be conclusive if one assumes that qi is a substance which, by (Aristotelian) definition, cannot possess as its essential nature two opposite qualities. But that assumption is precisely what is at stake here, for in the Chinese cosmological thinking qi is characterized by its inherent polarities between yin and yang and its resultant self-motivating, dynamic, and generative features. Overall, although Aleni showed a better grasp of the Chinese conception of qi than Ricci, he was unable to address the core of the theory ofqi either in Chinese medicine or in natural philosophy. Instead, preoccupied with the Western assumption of a spirit-matter dichotomy, he was ready to demonstrate that whatever qi might be, it has to be matter of one form or another, and thus cannot possibly be the source of the rational soul. In the end, Aleni reduces the soul=qi formula to a fable originating from ignorance: The reason people mistake the rational soul for qi is probably that the soul's substance is unfathomable and invisible, while qi is also tenuous and hard to see, so much so that they adopt qi as an approximate model for the soul. Knowing that in reality the soul is far superior to qi, I am impelled to separate them from each other' (8a). Book Two (19 printed sheets) as a whole was Aleni's own addition, although he derived many of his arguments from the Conimbricenses on De anima, Book II, chapter i, question 2, 'Is the soul subsistent or not?' and part of the discussions in the Tractatus de anima separata (Treatise on the Separate Soul) that was attached to the Conimbricenses on De anima (cols 73-80 and 561-670). Here, Aleni focuses on the problematics concerning the relationship of soul to the body, the immortality of soul, and the mode of cognition of the separated soul, concluding with the Catholic doctrine that since the separated soul retains its intellect and senses, it will be able to receive reward or punishment. He again begins with the very basic concept of 'spiritual substance.' In the vocabulary of the traditional Chinese philosophy, there is no exact counterpart of a spirit-

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matter dichotomy. While all realities are assumed to exist within space, the distinction is made between that which has a form or definite spatial boundaries (youxing) and that which is formless (wuxing). What is used in modern Chinese to render the Western concept of 'spirit' (shen) traditionally meant something which is 'unfathomable' in that it brings about perceptible transformations without showing traces of its own; therefore, the traditional Chinese conception of spirit fell under the category of the 'formless.' But ultimately the formed and the formless are just two different modes of the same reality - qi, the primordial energy. Aleni contradicted this categorization with the basic principle of Western philosophy that all forms of existence fall into one of two categories, the corporeal and the spiritual. The corporeal substances are composed of the four elements, which themselves originate in prime matter, whereas the spiritual beings transcend spatial dimensions and cannot be perceived, logically and physically, by any of the five senses. Aleni uses exactly the same Chinese terms - youxing (formed) and wuxing (formless) - to describe the corporeal and the spiritual qualities respectively. However, he criticizes the Chinese for abusing these terms and using vision as the only parameter: To call what is invisible wuxing ignores the fact that what cannot be seen may be heard, smelled, tasted, or touched, whereas anything that can be detected by the five senses is a corporeal being. What are the prime examples that people have for their so-called wuxing! Wind and qi [air]. Does wind really have no body? And though qi cannot be seen, does it also have no body? What pulls up trees, topples the mountains, and turns the seas is the body of the wind; what makes the noises we hear when we thrash a whip in space is the body of qi ... Therefore, these things, though tenuous and far more refined than ordinary objects, are not really incorporeal substances, (juan 2, la-b)

Aleni applies these new definitions of wuxing andyouxing to the human soul and body respectively, explaining that since the soul is spiritual and the body is corporeal, the soul subsists in the body without being mixed with, or confined by, the body. How does the soul relate to the body if it is entirely independent of the body? Aleni invokes the pilot metaphor of Platonic origin to illustrate the relationship between soul and body, stressing the soul's independence of, and mastery over, the body. He states that the soul is to the body as the steersman is to his boat: 'Although the steersman resides in the boat, he and the boat have separate bodies; however, when he arrives at his destination and departs from the boat, the boat no longer can move' (6a). By invoking this Platonic metaphor, Aleni edged over certain possible meeting grounds between Aristotelian psychology and Chinese medicine regarding the unity of spirit, mind, and body. One such meeting ground is the emphasis in both

376 Qiong Zhang on the intellect's reliance on sense-perceptions. Interestingly, Aleni did mention that notion in Book One, in a discussion on the unity of the vegetative, sensitive, and rational faculties of the human soul. But here he seems to be stretching the Aristotelian paradigm to the opposite extreme, asserting that although the soul has to make use of the body as its instrument, the faculties of the rational soul proper - intellect, memory, and will - do not depend on the body but come from the very substance of soul itself. The tension between these two perspectives can be seen in his account of dreams: whereas Aristotle regarded dreams as illusions produced by the residues of the sense perceptions acquired in waking hours, Aleni interprets them as the manifestations of the soul's power to perceive and feel independently of the body, thereby turning the dreaming mind into an earthly witness of the immortal soul, which, after departing the body, will retain all its emotional and cognitive faculties, and hence the ability to enjoy happiness or suffer punishment (14a-16b). The foregoing examination of the first two books of Aleni's A Brief Outline of the Study of Human Nature, where he made most modifications to his Latin sources, suffices to show the nature and goal of his psychological project. Surely his was not just a project of cultural transmission, introducing and recommending a foreign body of learning, for Aleni certainly did not present the Western Scholastic 'study of human nature' merely as a recommendable alternative to its Confucian counterpart. Instead, he sought to project it onto the Confucian discourse on human nature and rebuild the latter first by reinterpreting its conception of human nature in the light of the rational soul and then by establishing the Catholic-Scholastic notion of soul and severing its ties with qi. By way of conclusion, I would like to highlight what I take to be the essential features of the Ricci method that ensouled Aleni's psychological project. The first is the striking contrast between his extraordinary flexibility and adaptiveness in embracing the linguistic apparatus of Confucianism and Chinese medicine, among other things, and his resolute and strenuous efforts to reject their core theses and concepts. The second is the universalist ideal of human knowledge, secular as well as religious, and the implicit assumption of the universal validity of Western Scholastic learning that informed the ways in which he formulated his demonstrations, his refutations, and particularly his reinterpretations of the Confucian terms. The last is his readiness to modify Aristotelian psychology in his Chinese adaptations - not to accommodate to, but to transform, Chinese culture. NOTES This paper is drawn from a chapter of my dissertation. I would like to take this opportunity to record my deepest gratitude to my two dissertation advisers, Professors

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John E. Murdoch and Wei-ming Tu, whose expertise, critical insights, and patience guided me through this cross-cultural journey. 1 See Ganss Const., pp. 77-8 (#[3]-2). 2 Since I submitted this article, I have moved from the doctrinal dimension of the Jesuit-Confucian encounter to the lived experiences of the Jesuits and Confucians encountering each other. In my recent attempts to locate such interactions within the cultural currents of Late Ming China and the religious world of the Jesuits themselves, I discovered a much livelier and more harmonious exchange of ideas between the missionaries and some of their Confucian contacts, indicating that individual Confucians were much more communicative with the Jesuits on the matter of immortality and the afterlife than their textual exchanges would suggest. In other words, while textual Confucianism, particularly some of its Neo-Confucian variants, is thoroughly this-worldly and speaks only about social and not about personal immortality, many Confucians believed in the existence of demons and ghosts and lived as much in the popular-religious world as other members of their society. I have discussed the ways in which the Jesuits explored these tensions between the Confucian texts and practices to fashion a devotional culture centring on the Lord of Heaven in my paper 'About Gods, Demons, and Miracles: The Jesuit Discourse on the Supernatural in Late Ming China,' Early Science and Medicine 4:1 (1999): 1-36. Despite this partial, experiential harmony, however, the Jesuits never relaxed their doctrinal battle against Confucianism on the major points discussed in the present paper. 3 Except for Ricci, Aleni is perhaps the most studied Jesuit in China during the Late Ming period (1583-1644). See, in particular, Bernard Hung-Kay Luk's dissertation, 'Thus the Twain Did Meet? The Two Worlds of Giulio Aleni,' Loyola University, 1977, and his 'A Serious Matter of Life and Death: Learned Conversations at Foochow in 1627,' in Ronan East, pp. 173-206, and also the excellent conference volume 'Scholar from the West': Giulio Aleni, S.J. (1582-1649) and the Dialogue between Christianity and China, ed. Tiziana Lippiello and Roman Malek (Nettetal, 1997). 4 For Matteo Ricci's reflections on the problems of Confucianism, see e.g. Fonti ricciane: Documenti originali concernenti Matteo Ricci e la storia della prime relazioni tra I'Europa e la Cina (1579-1615), ed. Pasquale M. D'Elia (Rome, 1942-9), nos 170, 176. 5 Ibid., no. 709. Emphasis added. 6 The controversies on the question of Chinese terms were related to, but different from, the controversies on Confucian rites. Although both arose from disagreements among the missionaries in their approaches to Confucianism, the former primarily involved the intellectual and doctrinal dimensions of Confucianism. There is an abundant literature on the history of the 'Rites Controversy,' but studies

378 Qiong Zhang on the question of Chinese terms tend to be more scattered. For a brief review of related works, see D.E. Mungello, 'An Introduction to the Chinese Rites Controversy,' in The Chinese Rites Controversy: Its History and Meaning, ed. D.E. Mungello (Nettetal, 1994), pp. 3-14. 7 I have contended in my dissertation that those criticisms stemmed from a misconception of Ricci's apologetic strategy. Ricci was no less informed than his critics about the conceptual incommensurability between Confucianism and Catholicism. He decided to appropriate those Confucian terms not because he believed them to be close matches, but because he envisaged a strong possibility of infusing purely Christian connotations into those terms through systematically transplanting the cultural and intellectual matrices of Catholicism. For details see Qiong Zhang, 'Cultural Accommodation or Intellectual Colonization? A Reinterpretation of the Jesuit Approach to Confucianism,' Ph.D. dissertation, Harvard University, 1996, chap. 3. 8 Jean-Dominique Gabiani (1623-96) dated Longobardi's Reposta breve to '1623 or 1624.' See Henri Bernard-Maitre, 'Un dossier bibliographique de la fin du XVIIe siecle sur la question des termes chinois,' Recherches de science religieuse 36 (1949): 69. The English translation of the Reposta breve appeared as book 5 of Domingo Fernandez Navarette, An Account of the Empire of China, Historical, Political, Moral, and Religious, in A Collection of Voyages and Travels, 4 vols (London, 1704), 1183-224. For an analysis of this text, see Claudia von Collani, 'The Treatise on Chinese Religions (1623) of N. Longobardi, S.J.,' Sino-Westem Cultural Relations Journal 17 (1995): 29-37. 9 See A Collection of Voyages and Travels, I 216-17. 10 Longobardi remarks that 'true immortality is not by the Chineses [sic] ascrib'd to any thing but the li, or universal substance, which was before all things, and will remain after they are extinct, after the manner our Philosophers us'd to say the same of the materia prima' (ibid., p. 217). 11 See Aristotle, De partibus animalium 687a ff; Metaphysics 1035bl4 ff. 12 The decree reads, 'The soul not only exists of itself and essentially as the form of the human body ... but... is also immortal.' See Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, ed. Norman P. Tanner, volume 1, Nicaea I to Lateran V (London and Washington, 1990), p. 605. 13 The term xingxue is used in this sense by the Ming Neo-Confucian philosopher Xu Xianhe in his Mingzong Lu (Records of Emperor Ming). See Huang Zongxi, Mingru xuean [Compendium of the Philosophical Learning of the Ming Confucians], 2 vols (Beijing, 1985), juan 31 I 698. 14 Aleni, Xingxue cushu, woodblock edition by Shanghai Cimutang, 1873, author's preface, la. All subsequent analyses of this text are based on this edition, with citations given in short form, e.g. 'juan 1, la.'

Jesuit Scholastic Psychology and the Confucian Discourse 379 15 His interpretation of the classical Confucian term mingde in the light of rational soul, for instance, is a highly problematic one, given its larger intellectual context: first of all, as many modern intellectual historians have observed, the conception of reason as a natural, cognitive faculty completely detached from moral associations was underdeveloped in China and gained currency only in modern times, perhaps as the result of Western influences. Second, even if mingde could be construed as natural reason, it hardly fit in Aleni's definition of rational soul - 'the illustrious and purely spiritual substance' - for in many classical texts, the character de (virtue) designates the heavenly aspect of qi (primordial energy). 16 Collegium Conimbricensis, Commentarii Collegii Conimbricensis, Societatis Jesu, in tres libros de Anima (Coimbra, 1598), cols 57-124. 17 The Jesuits' treatment of the Chinese notions of qi is another prime example of how they employed translation as a means of cultural reform: in their apologetic writings they attacked the notions of qi in Neo-Confucian metaphysics and traditional Chinese cosmology and medicine, and at the same time in their Chinese works introducing late Renaissance Scholastic metaphysics, cosmology, and Galenic medicine they chose precisely the term qi to express 'prime matter,' 'air,' and pneuma. This synchronic movement of cultural criticism and the fashioning of linguistic equivalence is the subject of my paper 'Demystifying Qi: The Politics of Cultural Translation and Reinterpretation in the Early Jesuit Mission to China,' in Tokens of Exchange: The Problem of Translation in Global Circulation, ed. Lydia Liu (forthcoming Durham, N.C.). 18 Alexandre de la Charme, Xingli zhenquan [True Explanation of Nature and Principle] (Shanghai, 1889), juan 1, 3b.

187 The Truth-Showing Mirror: Jesuit Catechism and the Arts in Mughal India GAUVIN ALEXANDER BAILEY

Like the individual missionaries themselves, Jesuit overseas missions were involved in a myriad of cultural activities, from astronomy and art to medicine and music. Nevertheless, most of these missions are remembered only for the most prominent of their many achievements. Thus the China mission is recalled primarily for its astronomical advances, with its remarkable literary and artistic contributions glossed ever; and the Paraguay reductions are celebrated for their social and economic accomplishments, even though they also achieved the largest-scale production of art and architecture of any Jesuit mission in the world - not to mention their musical activities. The same goes for the Jesuit missions to the Mughal Empire in India. Although the Mughal mission is now rightly regarded as one of the most flourishing artistic exchanges in early modern mission history, it also provoked a literary partnership of great subtlety and erudition. Decades before the more famous Tamil - and perhaps Sanskrit theological treatises of the Madurai missionary Roberto de Nobili (1577-1656) set the world abuzz with their accommodation to Hindu cultural values, similar works in literary court Persian were dazzling the courts of the Mughal emperors Akbar (1556-1605) and Jahangir (1605-27). In keeping with Jesuit activities at court, many of them related closely to the fine arts, either in their subject-matter or because they were illustrated with delicate paintings in the miniature style of the day. Their Persian texts remain virtually unstudied. Founded in 1580 and lasting with two brief interruptions until the suppression of the Society of Jesus in 1773, the Mughal, or 'Mogor,' mission was the fruit of two of the most accomplished missionaries in the Jesuits' first century, Rodolfo Acquaviva (1550-83), nephew of Father General Claudio Acquaviva, and Jeronimo Xavier (1549-1617), a relative of the co-founder of the Society and 'Apostle to the Indies' Francis Xavier. The mission was invited to Akbar's court for two main purposes: to provide Catholic debaters for an interfaith forum held

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18.1. Imperial palace of Akbar at Fatehpur Sikri, c. 1568-78. Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

regularly in Akbar's palace at Fatehpur Sikri (fig. 18.1), and to provide works of European late Renaissance art for his enjoyment and his court artists' edification. The Jesuits were famously successful in both capacities. Late into the night they vanquished their Sunni, Shiite, Hindu, and Jain foes at the podium, and they provided such a representative collection of European engravings, paintings, and statues that Mughal artists were able quickly to master the Late Renaissance style (fig. 18.2). Akbar and Jahangir embraced the Fathers as their personal friends, helped erect churches in Mughal cities (fig. 18.3), and covered their palaces, gardens, tombs, jewellery, and royal albums with pictures of Christ, the Virgin Mary, and a panoply of Catholic saints (fig. 18.4). But neither emperor ever entertained the slightest intention of converting to Catholicism. In fact, the Mughal mission of the Society of Jesus was - pastorally speaking - a fantastic and extravagant failure. This statement requires some explanation. Akbar's goal in holding the religious debates was not to abandon Islam, as many have maintained, but to create a syncretic brotherhood - something like a masonic lodge - that embodied the best aspects of all of the world's religions. The focus of this brotherhood of elite nobles was none other than the emperor himself. He took advantage, for exam-

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18.2. School of Abu'l-Hasan, Virgin Mary and an Angel. Colours and gold on paper, mounted on an album page. Mughal, c. 1590-5. Lahore Museum. Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

pie, of the dual meaning of the Islamic proclamation AllahuAkbar- translatable as both 'God is Great' and 'God is Akbar.' The emperor openly admired many aspects of Catholicism, and was sufficiently impressed with Jesuit rhetorical style arid ritual to imitate them himself, but he never wavered from his original intention. His adoption of Catholic devotional art also was driven entirely by his

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18.3. The 'Old Cathedral,' Agra. Founded c. 1599 and restored and enlarged in 1722 and 1835. Formerly the headquarters of the 'Mogor' mission of the Society of Jesus. Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

own agenda. Jesus, Mary, and the saints were used as royal propaganda, bestowing celestial approval on imperial rule and relating specifically to the person of the emperor, the queen mother, and other high nobility.1 Even their context remained Indian, as biblical stories could be related to a wide range of Koranic and even Hindu parables and traditions, allowing the emperor to maintain ideological control over both major ethnic groups in his realm. But the Jesuits were also able to play the indoctrination game. Mounting a counter-offensive, the missionaries capitalized on the very same connections between Christian and Indo-Islamic culture that the emperor was using. Among the most influential and intellectually accomplished media for proselytization employed by the Mughal Jesuits were the Persian-language catechisms and other theological treatises written between 1595 and 1607 by Jeronimo Xavier, by that time the superior of the Mogor mission. Xavier was assisted considerably by the Mughal court historian 'Abd al-Sattar Ibn Qasim Lahori (fl. 1590s-1619), a man who, incidentally, remained strictly Muslim to the end and whose collaboration with Xavier was not purely a gesture of friendship; Xavier wrote about him in 1597, These [Muslims] will do anything

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18.4. School of Manohar, The Emperor Jahangir with a Portrait of the Virgin Mary. Colours and gold on paper, mounted on an album page. Mughal, c. 1620. National Museum of India, New Delhi. Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

for money."2 Xavier's Bible stories, lives of the saints, mirrors for princes, fictitious interfaith debates, and a Psalter constituted the first Catholic literature in Persian, or indeed any Indian language.3 They were written in a basic version of the literary Persian style and were full of metaphors and references taken from the mystical branch of Islam known as Sufism, Especially prominent were references to mirrors and the human heart, both of which were central to Sufi

Jesuit Catechism and the Arts in Mughal India 385 allegorical language. These works also took advantage of the Neoplatonic cultural heritage that was shared by Islam and Christianity alike, derived from common classical roots that in many cases survived only thanks to early Islamic efforts. Written first in Portuguese and translated into Persian with the help of 4 Abd al-Sattar, these works were presented in luxury editions to Akbar and Jahangir between 1602 and 1609. They are a rich and scholarly blend of textual references from East and West - a synthesis made possible by access to a remarkably comprehensive imperial library. In addition to Akbar's collection of Islamic and Hindu literature, Xavier and his Muslim collaborator were also able to dip into an impressive collection of European books that had been built over the years by Xavier's own mission and its two predecessors. This collection had artistic as well as literary value, since many books were lavishly illustrated with engravings and others included defences of the Catholic cult of images. The Mughal library of European printed books appears to have been assembled specifically with Akbar's interfaith debates in mind. In fact, it echoed the kind of library owned by the great Jesuit preachers in Rome, who lectured by commenting on published texts, going over each paragraph or category by turn.4 The collection was strongly Scholastic, emphasizing works aimed at nonChristians and texts justifying the use of images, and it also included the fundamental Jesuit writings, as well as some books on Portugese history and law to satisfy Akbar's interest in Europe. In 1595 an inventory listed four volumes of Thomas Aquinas's Summa theologiae (1266-73), the Summa contra gentiles (1259-64) aimed at non-Christians, and a diatribe against Muslims, Jews, and Eastern Christians called De rationibus fidei contra graecos, armenos, et saracenos,5 all of which were standard in mission libraries around the world. It also included a book by the sixteenth-century Aquinas scholar Domingo de Soto; two copies of the immensely popular Summa peccatorum6 by the Dominican commentator onAquinas Cardinal Cajetan (1470-1534); a diatribe against Luther by Silvestro 'Prierius' (early sixteenth century);7 two copies of the influential Manual de confessores et penitentes by Martin de Azpilcueta 'Navarro' (d. 1555);8 the Chronicles (1454-9), a history of the world by the Florentine Dominican bishop St Antoninus;9 a history of the popes, probably the Liber de vita Christi ac omnium pontificum (History of Christ and the Popes) by Bartolomeo Sacchi 'Platina' (1421-81); 10 alife of St Francis of Assisi (1182-1226); the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius of Loyola; the Constitutions of the Society of Jesus; the Laws of Portugal; the Commentaries of Afonso de Albuquerque (1453-1515); and a Latin grammar by Father Manuel Alvarez.11 Akbar also owned seven of the eight volumes of Plantin's (1514-89) monumental Polyglot Bible (1567-72), an atlas called the Theatrum orbis terrarum (1570) by Abraham Ortelius (1527-98), and, most important, Jeronimo Nadal's richly illustrated

386 Gauvin Alexander Bailey Adnotationes et meditationes in evangelia (Antwerp, 1593), all of which contained numerous full-page engravings of the highest quality from the Antwerp workshop (fig. 18.5) and were studied avidly by Mughal painters.12 Moreover, we know that the Mughals read at least some of these books because Mughal and Jesuit sources both cite translations of specific texts.13 'Abd al-Sattar, for example, wrote a manuscript in 1603 called Thamrat al-Falasafa (The Fruit of Philosophy), a history of Greek and Roman thought that drew heavily onAkbar's European library, especially the Chronicles of St Antoninus.14 In his introduction he writes that Xavier helped him translate these works just as he had helped the Jesuit superior with his literary works: 'The omniscient Emperor, whose granting of requests and fulfilment of wishes are his outstanding traits, summoned this one whose name is lost [i.e., 'Abd al-Sattar], and ordered that he learn the language of the Europeans and report in Persian on the mysteries of these nations ... I acquainted myself with Father Jeronimo Xavier, who is one of the most learned men of Europe ... to learn and acquire that language.'15 We know from Jesuit letters of the period that Akbar himself also ordered Xavier to translate 'some histories' and Bible stories from his collection into Persian, and constantly asked the Fathers to translate passages aloud during literary and religious soirees.16 In addition to Akbar's library, the Jesuit mission obtained other works to assist them in translating holy texts into Persian, most notably a printed Arabic Bible and a Persian Psalter written in Hebrew characters that had been brought to the mission in 1604 by a Vatican emissary, Giambattista Vechiete.17 Historically, perhaps the most interesting of Xavier's Persian catechisms is a work called Ayine-ye Haqq Numd, or The Truth-Showing Mirror, finished in 1609 and presented to Jahangir, although derived from earlier material.18 Written in the form of a debate among a priest, a philosopher (a thinly veiled reference to the emperor), and a mullah, this drama records some of the actual conversations held at the religious debates under Akbar and Jahangir. Much of The TruthShowing Mirror compares Christianity directly with Islam, demonstrating a deep understanding of the latter. The first part is an explanation of Christian doctrine. Book One deals with humankind's need for a divine law; Book Two traces Christianity's teaching about God and tries to show how it conforms to logic; and Book Three treats the divinity of Christ. Next the author embarks on a lengthy comparison of the two religions: in Book Four he compares the biblical Ten Commandments with the commandments of the Koran; evaluates Christian miracles next to Islamic ones; parallels Christ's life with Muhammad's; questions the chastity of Muhammad; looks at Christian and Muslim prayers and pilgrimages; and, finally, points to the spread of Christianity over the globe as proof of its veracity. In Book Five Xavier tries to show how Christianity provides more aids to weak human nature than Islam or other religions. Although much of the basic structure of this book is based on Thomas Aquinas, it also addresses

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18.5. Page from Jeronimo Nadal's Adnotationes et meditationes in evangelia (Antwerp, 1593) pasted onto a late seventeenth-century Mughal album page. Topkapi Sarayi Museum, Istanbul. Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

388 Gau vin Alexander B alley specifically Muslim and Mughal issues, the result of years of speaking closely with the emperor and his mullahs and studying firsthand the most common arguments posed by these men against Christian teachings.19 Most important for us, the third book of The Truth-Showing Mirror devotes a whole chapter to the use of images, about which the author remarks, 'What an astonishing invention, enabling one to bring things that are remote and long past close up to view!'20 Xavier argues that religious images are necessary to remind us of the deeds of Christ and the saints, since humans are forgetful by nature, and he sees pictures as like a doctor reviving us and curing us of moral sickness - 'for human weakness needs every help it can get.'21 He points out that pictures 'bring to life and renew in the memory those things which these pictures resemble,' an effect that is produced 'more quickly and pithily' than by speech, 'because the tongue is too long-winded.'22 In a particularly eloquent passage Xavier evokes the manifold advantages of images according to post-Tridentine precepts by comparing verbal speech to the 'speech' of an image: The speech [of an image] is an abbreviated book and brief worship. It is something that speaks without talking and is heard without the ear; something written that everyone understands; a letter that everyone can read; a book for the learned; an attribute that makes manifest things which are past and ancient. It is a mirror that reflects things held in trust [i.e., things that are not actually part of it] ... an assistant to the temperament, a teacher of the intellect; and it depicts intention.23

Elsewhere he continues the mirror metaphor: 'Put a shining and clear mirror on the wall, and you will comprehend how it receives images on itself of things that are in this room, and displays them on itself!'24 The reference to mirrors shows that Xavier was sensitive to the metaphorical language of Sufism.25 In Sufi poetry paintings were often compared to mirrors, since they reflected an exact impression of their subject but did not themselves possess a soul.26 In The Truth-Showing Mirror Xavier also applies Ciceronian rhetorical justifications to images, showing how they can delight, teach, and move (delectare, docere, movere}, a revival of the classical oratorical theory that was favoured also by early Christian writers like Augustine and John of Damascus. Xavier is especially attentive to the anagogic qualities of art, as when he writes that images can be 'captivating' or 'bewitching.'27 Elsewhere he draws on another classical notion, the Aristotelian concept of the 'inner senses,' common to both Islamic and Western European literature. In this passage he explains that images are capable of penetrating deeper into these regions than speech: 'Furthermore, those forms and media [i.e., images] pass deeper into all the interior senses, and the more subtle they are the more easily they enter and take hold, until the intellect

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becomes aware of these things, like pictures and phantoms.'28 To medieval Europeans, the 'interior senses' were the imagination, memory, and common sense - forces capable of interpreting the disparate data collected by the five exterior senses. But this notion was also pervasive in the Islamic world, thanks to Neoplatonic philosophers like al-Kindi (795-865) and members of the Brethren of Purity (ninth and tenth centuries). In Islam the 'interior senses' were thought to act as a filter between the exterior senses and the intellect, and to participate in artistic creation and aesthetic perception.29 Interior senses held perceivable data gathered from the senses in a 'treasury' and used these to elicit emotional responses from the viewer. Xavier's own justification of images resonates strongly with this tradition. He describes an image as a 'treasury... in which worthy goods and parables are safely kept,' and later compares an image to the intellect, since it holds on to a 'perceivable thing' that has been gathered by the power of perception and conception.30 Many of the topics in The Truth-Showing Mirror were discussed at length in the actual debates, and no doubt were recycled from them, especially a conversation held in Lahore in 1607, which was recorded in a contemporary letter.31 The setting was Jahangir's palace, where the emperor had invited the Jesuit Fathers to explain the Christian engravings - and the paintings by his own artists - collected in an album, so that he could learn not only their stories, but also the significance of their symbols and allegories.32 Jahangir asked many pointed questions that demonstrate a keen interest in the role of images and the function of allegory in Christian art. For example, he found it difficult to dissociate the notion of honour from physical beauty. When shown a Crucifixion, he asked, 'Why, if [you] adored Christ our Lord so much, did [you] paint him in such a dishonourable state?'33 One of his nobles added, 'When we depict Christ we always paint him very beautifully and not on the cross.'34 When the fathers explained that it was a great honour because it showed that Christ had died for our sins, they emphasized the mnemonic value of the wounds as reminders of his sacrifice - a theme discussed in The Truth-Showing Mirror?5 With a typically Mughal sense of humour, Jahangir applauded the explanation and recalled a courtier whose eyes he had blinded because he was involved in an assassination plot, yet whom he kept around so that his disfigured face would discourage other potential rebels.36 In another discussion a noble brought up the question of idolatry, asking the Jesuits whether they paid homage 'before an image of the Virgin, or before the Virgin herself.' The Fathers answered in Mughal terms: 'Sire, we do not venerate the images for what they are - we are well aware that they are merely paper or canvas with pigments - but for those whom they represent. It is just as with your fermans [royal decrees]: you do not touch them to your foreheads because they are papers covered in ink, but because you know that they contain your order and

390 Gauvin Alexander Bailey will.'37 This sounds suspiciously like a passage in The Truth-Showing Mirror in which the Philosopher criticizes Christians for using images as a 'pretext to worship stone and wood ... How can you conceive that a logical man should worship a cross of wood or gold?'38 But the notion of images as a mere reflection of a greater being or inner meaning was also a common theme in Islamic writing. Deriving from the Neoplatonic Sufi treatises of Ibn al-'Arabi (1165-1240), and later becoming a cliche in Persian verse, this concept divided reality into two aspects, 'inner meaning' (ma'nf,God and the spiritual world) and 'outer form' (s urat, the mortal world of appearances), the second of which was a mirror of the first.39 Since surat also meant an 'image' or 'portrait,' the pun was often applied to the figural arts, which could be seen as a reflection of spiritual truths. The seventeenth-century Persian art theorist Sadiqi Beg Afshar, for example, wrote about his artistic training, 'I was able to discover how, by this art, what was intrinsically real [ma'ni] within a subject could be represented, to all appearances, through its external form [surat].'40By extension, gazing upon holy pictures could be seen as a direct means of perceiving God. Akbar's former regent Bairam Khan, for example, wrote that looking at the faces of prophets was equivalent to looking at God himself: The faces of the image [surat] of both worlds are painted by him; looking at Adam and John and Moses and Noah and Jesus is equivalent to looking at [God's] brilliant beauty.'41 Akbar himself believed it was possible to perceive the divine through images, and gave the example of dreams: 'The Imageless [bisurat, i.e., God] cannot be seen either when one is asleep or when one is awake, but with our skill we can form an image. For example, dreaming about God is like this.'42 In the 1607 debate, Jahangir was also curious about the function of symbols. When shown a picture of God the Father surrounded by putti, for example, he asked the Fathers to explain why the angels were placed there.43 These putti must have struck the emperor as an appropriate symbol of reverence and honour, since he subsequently had some painted on many of his own portraits. Jahangir was also interested in the ability of a symbol to represent an abstract idea and asked the Fathers to explain the significance of a boar's head in an illustration of Sardanapalus: ' "What is the significance of this boar's head which is shown here?" [The Father] answered, "It is a symbol of the effect which dishonesty has, that the unchaste are unclean, etc.'"44 Elsewhere, both in the debates and in The Truth-Showing Mirror, the Jesuits discussed the use of images in Europe (especially miraculous images in Loreto, Burgos, Catalonia, Montserrat, and Guadalupe), and the grace which God bestows on those who revere images and relics of his Son and saints.45 Xavier wrote about the apotropaic function of holy pictures: 'We have plenty of evidence that God approves of the worship of these images: he has proved this by the miracles which he has granted in favour of

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those who especially revere them.'46 As at the end of Book Four, Xavier's main argument in favour of using images is that the practice is widespread throughout Europe and the world. The images chapter in The Truth-Showing Mirror was the clearest written manifestation of the power of devotional images that the Mughal court had yet encountered. More directly pertinent to Mughal painting than The Truth-Showing Mirror was the Mirdt al-Quds, or Mirror of Holiness, finished in 1602, two copies of which were illustrated throughout with miniature paintings (figs 18.7, 18.8).47 These lively pictures were not executed by the Fathers, nor were they engravings that had been pasted in. Instead, they were commissioned directly from Mughal artists under the leadership of the court painter Manohar in a style closely akin to the Indo-Persian idiom of the day, with rich landscapes and jewel-like colours. The results were not mere adaptations of engravings, although they do incorporate some quotations from prints. They also have little in common with traditional European Christological cycles such as those found in the printed Bibles of the period, since they make use of legends and stories that are not in the Gospel but were a staple of mystery plays.48 And although they are painted in the courtly Mughal style used for poetical works such as the Anwar-/ Suhaili andNafahat alUns manuscripts (1590s and 1600s), the Mir at al-Quds pictures are very different in spirit and composition.49 They are charged with a dramatic energy that is enhanced by stagelike architectural settings, elaborate props, vibrant gestures, and a variety of mise-en-scene figures such as priests and altar boys. All these features reveal the pervasive influence of the most visible source of Catholic propaganda on the mission, Jesuit theatre and liturgy.50 Both Jesuit and Mughal sources record that religious services and festivals were held with great pomp and exuberance at the Mughal mission. Especially popular were the pantomimes and processions, which were a regular feature of mission life and which made the most of the Indians' own love of pageantry. Some events are reported to have drawn as many as ten thousand people.51 Lavish costumes and liturgical vestments highlighted events like Christmas, Easter, Assumption Day, baptisms, and funerals, which were further enhanced by curtains and candles, flowers, singing, organ and wind music, bell-ringing, fireworks, and the exhibition of pictures. The Jesuits even used gimmicks of a decidedly worldly character like mechanical apes and birds, a Neapolitan juggler, and a tightrope walker, prompting one English observer to call them 'prattling, juggling Jesuits.'52 The audiences were made up not only of commoners, but also of a substantial number of courtiers and even the emperors themselves. In fact, both Akbar and Jahangir regularly provided money, candles, cloth, and even decorative paintings for these events, and the festivals of the Christian year were incorporated into the Mughal social calendar.53

392 Gauvin Alexander Bailey The Jesuits made two copies of the Mirror of Holiness, one for Akbar and the other for Prince Salim, the future Jahangir. According to contemporary accounts, Salim was not satisfied with the number of pictures in his copy and, in order to have the advantage over his father, he commissioned his own luxury edition with twice as many illustrations. Xavier wrote in a letter that Salim 'ordered it transcribed in very fine letters on extremely costly paper and ordered paintings made of every scene that could possibly be depicted ... He was not content with the scenes that were engraved by Father Nadal; he [had] these painted, and many others. It was an extremely lavish book, and in Rome one would make a great effort to see it.'54 Since Nadal's book had over 150 illustrations, this book must have been very large indeed. Salim even embellished the edition which the Fathers had originally sent him by painting a golden cross on the frontispiece and another crucifix by 'the best painter he had' on another page, and by adding a Virgin and Child with the child's arms around the Virgin's neck to a depiction of Christ's name, and erasing the Portuguese caption and replacing it with a Persian translation.55 His early interest in Christian devotional pictures presaged the extravagant Christian figural murals which he later commissioned for his palaces (fig. 18.6). A year after Akbar's death, in 1606, the Fathers also gave Jahangir a Persian Lives of the Apostles 'interspersed with many illustrations of their labours,' which unfortunately appears to be lost.56 The illustrations to the Mirror of Holiness are highly reminiscent of theatre. In the Presentation of the Virgin at the Temple (fig. 18.7), for example, the setting is an elaborate stage, with real-life priests acting as commentators interspersed with costumed Gospel characters. A young catechumen, or more likely a small statue of the Madonna, is lifted up a ladder. The Jesuits are recognizable by their clean-shaven faces and long black gowns - they were known in Persian as siydhposh, or 'blackrobes.' Others even show catechumens and choirboys dressed in church vestments holding candles or explaining the action of the scene. According to contemporary sources, the mystery plays of the Mughal mission consisted of pantomimes accompanied by explanation and instruction by Fathers or catechumens, and often boys dressed as angels held placards with biblical text written in Persian.57 The text of the Mir at al-Quds, which is made up primarily of New Testament stories, reflects a typically Jesuit emphasis on the envisioning of biblical characters and their actions in a realistic, immediate, and tangible way, a characteristic which can be traced back to the 'composition of place' in the Spiritual Exercises.5* The book describes in minute detail the facial features of its principal characters, for example, stressing the importance of accuracy in the likeness of the holy faces, as in this depiction of the Virgin Mary, which sounds like a set of instructions for a portraitist:

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18.6. Jesus as Salvator Mundi (detail). Mughal mural painting, garden of Queen Nur Jahan, Agra, c. 1613-21. Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

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18.7. School of Manohar, The Presentation of the Virgin (detail). Colours on paper, from Mirdt al-Quds, c. 1602. Lahore Museum. Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

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Mary was a girl of medium height, wheaten-coloured and long-faced. Her eyes were large and inclined towards blue. Her hair was golden. Her hands and fingers were long. A pleasing figure. In everything well proportioned. Her discourse was extremely mild. Her glance came from a modest and bashful face. Her apparel was humble and chaste. Such greatness and majesty appeared in her countenance that when the wicked and perplexedhearted gazed upon her they pulled themselves together and became reformed. All her companions knew of her goodness and agreeable nature and humility.59

The book contains similar descriptions of other figures, such as Jesus and John the Baptist. These reconstructions of holy faces are also acculturative, since they closely echo the Islamic tradition of hilya, or verbal descriptions of the Prophet Muhammad's face, and the Hindu silpasastras, or image-making texts. Even more interesting from the point of view of art history is the first story portrayed in the Mirror of Holiness (fig. 18.8). Deriving from early Christian times, the tale illustrated by Abgarus, King of Edessa tells how Abgarus V of Edessa, when stricken by a life-threatening disease, sent his court painter to make a likeness of Jesus. Unable to do justice to his subject, the distraught artist asked Jesus to imprint the likeness of his face onto a piece of cloth. This miraculous portrait, of course, cured the king immediately. In giving this story such prominence, the Jesuits stressed the importance of the cult of images in Catholic life. Obviously, Abgarus was also a thinly veiled reference to Akbar himself, since he too was a king who sent embassies and artists far and wide to find Catholic devotional images. As if the reference were not clear enough, the names 'Akbar' and 'Abgar' even use the same four letters in Persian. Xavier's Persian literature had a profound and lasting effect on the intellectual life of the Mughal court, and his justifications for imagery were taken very seriously by his Muslim patrons. In 1608, the year after the great debate at Lahore, Jahangir began to cover the walls of his public architecture with murals of Christian saints, a practice which soon was imitated by members of the nobility all over the country. A scant couple of years after the appearance of The Truth-Showing Mirror, he commissioned a series of highly emblematic selfportraits in a short-lived attempt to adapt the European Renaissance frontispiece to imperial portaiture.60 The first Islamic paintings to make use of complex allegory, they are the direct result of discussions in the debates and in The TruthShowing Mirror. Even details such as their use of ornamental putti and diadems can be traced, as we have seen, to specific conversations or textual references. The influence of the Jesuit catechisms was felt in the literary world as well. They echo in the mystical poetry of Dara Shukoh (d. 1659), for example, the son of Jahangir's successor Shah Jahan, the builder of the Taj Mahal.61 They were also the source of vigorous controversy in Islamic religious literature for

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18.8, School of Manohar, Abgarus, King ofEdessa.Colours on paper, from Mirat al-Quds, c. 1602. Lahore Museum. Photo courtesy of Gauvin Alexander Bailey.

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centuries to come. Several refutations of The Truth-Showing Mirror can be found in libraries in India and Europe, including one by the Persian theologian Sayyid Ahmad Ibn Zain al-' Abidin, who wrote in 1623 the delightfully-entitled A Clean Polishing Tool for the Brightening of the Truth-Showing Mirror (Misqal-i Safd dar Tahlfya-i Ayine-ye Haqq Numa). Apparently, however, Sayyid Ahmad's prose was not good enough to convince even its own author, since he is believed to have converted to Christianity in the end, after having read a counter-refutation of his refutation written by a zealous Franciscan working for the Propaganda Fide.62 Stories like this one remind us, along with the imperial debates and Xavier's writings, that the most flourishing and intriguing cultural encounters are precisely those that were characterized by active and healthy dialogue. And it was in this capacity that the Jesuits excelled, even when they knew that conversion was a virtually hopeless goal. As Francis Xavier himself wrote at the end of the first encounter in Jesuit mission history, a lengthy argument with a Swahili noble on the East African island of Malindi in 1542, 'After we had conversed for a long time, we still retained our own opinions.'63

NOTES

1 Gauvin Alexander Bailey, 'Counter Reformation Symbolism and Allegory in Mughal Painting,' Ph.D. dissertation, Harvard University, 1996, and The Jesuits & the Grand Mogul: Renaissance Art at the Imperial Court ofAkbar (Washington, 1998). 2 ARSI Goa 14 fol. 344a. 'Abd al-Sattar's literary talents won him a royal elephant and 1000 rupees from Jahangir; Tuzuk-i Jahangir, or Memoirs of Jahangir, trans, and ed. Alexander Rogers and Henry Beveridge, 2 vols (Calcutta, 1909-14), I 389, II 82. Not only did 'Abd al-Sattar remain a Muslim, but he even later wrote a work criticizing Christianity. It was a long time before Xavier mastered the intricacies of literary Persian. He wrote in the same 1597 letter: 'All our efforts are spent in learning the Persian language. We understand something of it but not yet everything, especially legal Persian, in which they try to put in as many words as they can for the sake of elegance' (ARSI Goa 14 fol. 344a); for more on Xavier's linguistic difficulties, see ARSI Goa 461 fol. 64b. 3 Listed in Arnulf Camps, Jerome Xavier, S.J., and the Muslims of the Mogul Empire (Schoeneck-Beckenried, 1957), pp. 14-39. 4 Many of the books were the key texts used for lecturing and preaching by Jesuits such as Polanco and Nadal in Italy in the sixteenth century. In Rome these were 'the most important and influential texts of the day' (O'M. First, p. 146). 5 Identified by Camps, Jerome Xavier, p. 163. Father Manoel Pinheiro's letter of 3 September 1595 lists the 'Summa of St Thomas, one work against the heathen and

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6

7 8 9

10

11

12

another against the Jews and Saracens, etc.'; Sir Edward Maclagan, 'Jesuit Missions to the Emperor Akbar,' Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal (1896): 68. Father Xavier's letter of 8 September 1596 adds, 'parte de S. Thomas contra gentes' (ARSI Goa 461 fol. 30a). Pinheiro's letter does not give the title of Cajetan's book, but the Summa peccatorum was one of the most popular books on casuistry of the early Jesuits (O'M. First, p. 146). Not Pope Sylvester II, as Maclagan suggests, 'Jesuit Missions,' p. 69. Again, Pinheiro does not give the title, but this manual for confessors was one of the most prominent texts of the day (O'M. First, p. 146). This is St Antoninus Pierozzi, or Forciglioni (1389-1459), whose Chronicles (1454-9) are a history of the world containing the lives of Greek and Roman kings and philosophers, as well as the history of various European nations. The ten printed editions date from 1484 to 1587, the last two of which (1586, 1587) were edited by a Jesuit, Peter Maturus; see James Bernard Walker, The 'Chronicles'of Saint Antoninus: A Study in Historiography (Washington, 1933). Akbar may also have possessed the Summa confessionalis by the same author, since it was a popular work with the early Jesuits in Europe (O'M. First, p. 146). Pinheiro refers to it only as 'Historium pontificum' (Maclagan, 'Jesuit Missions,' p. 69), but O'Malley proposes that Platina is the most likely author. An Italian humanist and historian, Platina was the Vatican librarian under Sixtus IV (1475). In addition to the history of the popes, he wrote works on politics, philosophy, and rhetoric; John W. O'Malley, pers. comm., Webster's New Biographical Dictionary (Springfield, Mass., 1988), p. 874. Pinheiro's letter from Lahore, dated 3 September 1595 (Maclagan, 'Jesuit Missions,' pp. 66-7); Xavier's letter from Agra, dated 8 September 1596 (ARSI Goa 461 fol. 30a). See also Pierre Du Jarric, Akbar and the Jesuits, trans. C.H. Payne (London, 1926), p. 63. The Commentary of Father Monserrate, S.J., trans, and ed. J.S. Hoyland and S.N. Banerjee (London, 1922), pp. 28, 37; Sir Edward Maclagan, The Jesuits and the Great Mogul (London, 1932), p. 225; John Correia-Afonso, Letters from the Mughal Court (Bombay, 1980), pp. 29, 42, 58. The engravings brought by the Jesuits were not 'cheap woodcuts' - Thomas W. Arnold, The Old and New Testaments in Muslim Religious An (London, 1932), p. 40 - as many have claimed, but the work of the finest engravers of the day. The Antwerp Polyglot, for example, which was commissioned by Philip II of Spain himself, had pictures by Pieter van der Heyden after sketches by Pieter van der Borcht, Jan Wierix, Geeraert van Kampen, Pieter Huys, and Philips Galle; see Biblia Sacra hebraice, graece & latine (Antwerp, 1569-72), and Josef Jennes, Invloed der Vlaamsche Prentkunst in Indie, China, en Japan (Leuven, 1943), pp. 46-7. Ortelius's atlas contained maps by Franz Hagenberg (1540-90).

Jesuit Catechism and the Arts in Mughal India 399 13 These included the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius of Loyola, as well as the writings of the Scholastics (St Thomas wrote extensively on the use of images). 14 National Archives of India, New Delhi, 2713; India Office Library, London, Or. 5893. That same work included material 'mixed in from other histories' and from the Gospels (National Archives of India 2713 fol. 3b; India Office Library Or. 5893 fol. 7). All translations from Persian and Portuguese in this article are my own. 15 India Office Library Or. 5893 fols 5-6. 16 ARSI Goa 461 (8 September 1596) fol. 32. A letter written by Jeronimo Xavier on 16 September 1603 reports that Jahangir (still a prince at the time) read Nadal's book; ARSI Goa 461 (16 September 1603) fols 52b-53a. 17 Maclagan, The Jesuits, pp. 211-12; BL Additional 9854 fol. 15b (letter of 1604) and fol. 38a (letter of 1606). 18 BL Harley 5478. A table of contents appears on fols 14b ff. 19 Camps shows that Xavier used Aquinas's Summa contra gentiles in preparing his own Ayine-ye Haqq-Numa (Jerome Xavier, p. 163). 20 BL Harley 5478 fols 278a-290a: 'On the Uses of Images and Their Veneration, and an Explanation of the Rationality of Them, and the Advantages of [Pictures of Christ] and of the Rest of the Saints.' The quotation in the text appears on fol. 280a. 21 BL Harley 5478 fol. 299a. 22 Ibid., fol. 280b. 23 Ibid., fol. 280b. 24 Ibid., fol. 282a. 25 See Priscilla P. Soucek, 'Nizami on Painters and Painting,' in Islamic Art in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, ed. Richard Ettinghausen (New York, 1972), p. 14. 26 Ibid., especially p. 18. The metaphor is used here by Nizami. 27 BL Harley 5478 fol. 28la. 28 Ibid., fol. 28Ib. 29 Giilru Necipoglu, The Topkapi Scroll (Malibu, 1995), especially chap. 5. 30 BL Harley 5478 fols 281a-282a. 31 BL Add. 9854 fols 64a-76b. 32 Ibid., fols 66a ff. 33 Ibid., fol. 66b. 34 BLAdd. 9854 fol. 68a. 35 Ibid., Harley 5478 fol. 278b. 36 BLAdd. 9854 fol. 68a. 37 Ibid., fol. 67a. 38 BL Harley 5478 fol. 279a. 39 Martin Dickson and Stuart Gary Welch, The Houghton Shahnama (Cambridge, Mass., 1981), 1260 n2. 40 Ibid., 1261.

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41 The Persian and Turki Divans ofBairam Khan, ed. E. Denison Ross (Calcutta, 1910), p. 3. The translation is my own. 42 Attributed to Akbar. National Archives of India 2713 fol. 282a. 43 'He asked, "What is this?" I replied, "It is an image of God, not only because he looks like this, but also in order to demonstrate some of his attributes using this picture. For example, for this purpose angels are depicted as boys with wings, although he has none of these, etc. And in this manner he appeared to several prophets ... Everyone painted him as he saw him'" (BL Add. 9854 fol. 67a). 44 Ibid., fols 72a-b. 45 BL Harley 5478 fols 286a-b. 46 Ibid., fols 286a-b. 47 Maclagan, 'Jesuit Missions' (n5 above), p. 87. Many copies were made of this work, two of which bear Akbar's seal, but only the Lahore one has its pictures intact. The original edition, presented to Akbar, is now in the National Museum in Lahore, and still has ten of its illustrations, and the copy sent to Prince Salim may be the one in the Bodleian, which no longer has any illustrations other than the illuminated cross mentioned in the sources. National Museum, Lahore, M-645/ MSS^-6. See Gauvin Alexander Bailey, The Lahore Mirat al-Quds and the Impact of Jesuit Theater on Mughal Painting,' South Asian Studies 13 (1997): 95-108. 48 These unorthodox stories, such as the transferral of the bodies of the Magi to Cologne, earned Xavier's work the criticism of the Protestant De Dieu, who published the Persian text in Leiden in 1638. See Ludovico De Dieu, Historia Christi (Leiden, 1638); Maclagan, The Jesuits (n!2 above), p. 205. 49 Compare with Milo Beach, Mughal and Rajput Painting (Cambridge, 1992), pp. 72ff. 50 Bailey, The Lahore Mirat al-Quds.' 51 Camps, Jerome Xavier (n3 above), p. 230. 52 Noel Sainsbury, Calendar of State Papers, Colonial Series, East Indies, China and Japan, 1513-1616 (London, 1870), p. 255. 53 Al-Badaoni, Muntakhab ut-Tawarikh, trans, and ed. George S.A. Ranking, 2 vols (Calcutta, 1898), II 304; see Bailey, The Lahore Mirat al-Quds,' p. 97 n6, for more references. 54 ARSI Goa 461 fols 52b-53a. See also ARSI Goa 331 fol. 126a. 55 ARSI Goa 461 fol. 53a; Maclagan, The Jesuits, p. 226. 56 ARSI Goa 461 fol. 64a; Fernao Guerreiro, Jahangir and the Jesuits, trans. C.H. Payne (London, 1930), pp. 32, 44; BL Add. 9854 fols 64a, 53a. 57 ARSI Goa 461 fols 83b-84a; Henry Hosten, 'Mirza zu-1-Qarnain, a Christian Grandee of Three Great Mughals, with Notes on Akbar's Christian Wife and the Indian Bourbons,' Memoirs of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 5:4 (1916): 153^; Camps, Jerome Xavier, p. 235.

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58 Witt. 'Prob.,' p. 12; O'M. First, pp. 37-50. 59 The complete Persian text appears in De Dieu, Historia Christi, p. 31. 60 The literature includes Richard Ettinghausen, Paintings of the Sultans and Emperors of India in American Collections (Delhi, 1961), plates 11-14, and 'The Emperor's Choice,' in De artibus opmcula XL: Essays in Honor ofErwin Panofsky, ed. Millard Meiss (New York, 1961), pp. 98-120; Stuart Gary Welch, Imperial Mughal Painting (New York, 1978), pp. 80-3; Asok Kumar Das, Mughal Painting during Jahangir's Time (Calcutta, 1978), pp. 213-28; Milo Beach, 'The Mughal Painter Abu'l-Hasan and Some English Sources for His Style,' Walters Art Gallery Journal 38 (1980): 7-33. and The Imperial Image (Washington, 1981), pp. 167-72; Ebba Koch, The Influence of the Jesuit Mission on Symbolic Representations of the Mughal Emperors,' in Islam in India, ed. Christian Troll (New Delhi, 1982- ), I 14-32; Robert Skelton, 'Imperial Symbolism in Mughal Painting,' in Content and Context of Visual Arts in the Islamic World, ed. Priscilla P. Soucek (University Park and London, 1988), pp. 177-87; Amina Okada, Indian Miniatures of the Mughal Court (New York, 1992), pp. 45-59. 61 This is reflected not only in Dara's own work, but in a treatise on religions called the Ddbisdn (School of Manners) by Dara Shukoh's intimate friend Muhsin Fani (fl. 1618-70). The Ddbisdn talks about the grace bestowed on images in terms similar to those used in The Truth-Showing Mirror at the end of its chapter on images: '[Christians] offer likewise prayers in praise of the glorious Mary, saying that the Lord God diffuses abundantly his grace in any place in which the image of the blessed Lady Mary be present. In the same manner they consider the image of the Lord Jesus, and that of the holy cross'; Muhsin Fani, The Dabistan or School of Manners, trans, and ed. David Shea and Anthony Troyer, 2 vols (London, 1843), II 314. 62 Maclagan, The Jesuits, p. 208. 63 The Letters and Instructions of Francis Xavier, ed. M. Joseph Costelloe (St Louis, 1992), p. 48.

197 Roberto de Nobili's Dialogue on Eternal Life and an Early Jesuit Evaluation of Religion in South India FRANCIS X. CLOONEY, S.J.

Roberto de Nobili (1577-1656) was an Italian Jesuit who came to India in 1605, reached the city of Madurai in South India in November 1606, and for most of the next forty years lived and worked as a missionary there.1 De Nobili is best remembered and admired for his willingness to adopt Indian customs of dress, food, and manner of living; he was determined to show that the Christian faith could be lived in a way not entirely bound by European cultural values. He was also an important thinker and writer; though not the first Jesuit (even in his generation) to study Hinduism seriously,2 he was a remarkable and creative thinker outstanding for the detail, energy, and intellectual rigour of his writings, particularly in the Tamil vernacular. A talented linguist, he was one of the first Europeans to learn Tamil and perhaps the first to write theological treatises in that or any Indian language. This essay introduces one of his Tamil treatises, the Nitya Jivana Calldpam, or Dialogue on Eternal Life. Though we have no firm date for the Dialogue, it seems to have been among de Nobili's earliest writings in Tamil.3 The Dialogue, like his other Tamil writings, demonstrates his intellectual acumen and ability to express philosophical and theological ideas of European origin in a very new language and technical terminology. Written in the form of a dialogue between a teacher (guru) and his disciple (sisyd), the Dialogue offers a well-reasoned and clear presentation of some key presuppositions for an intelligent and moral faith. It seeks to apply established theological principles (largely Thomistic) in the entirely new context of South Indian religion and culture, so as to achieve logical clarity regarding how religion ought to be understood there. It has a rhetorical edge to it, too, since it appears to be written not simply for fellow missionaries who required guidance in their task of addressing Hindus, but also directly for a Hindu audience, which it hopes to persuade to rethink its own beliefs and values. The Dialogue is a vivid and developed example of how an early Jesuit applied his basic philosophical

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19.1. Sketch of Roberto de Nobili by his contemporary and fellow Jesuit Balthasar da Costa. According to S. Rajamanickam in The First Oriental Scholar (Tirunelveli, 1972), p. 69, it is found in the Portuguese translation of de Nobili's catechism.

404 Francis X. Clooney, S.J. and theological principles in a new context outside the missionaries' European place of origin. De Nobili's effort to understand Indian ideas and practices theologically shows us the confidence and strength of the intellectual resources he and his fellow Jesuits brought with them into the wider world; but the boundaries of his understanding and his evident lack of empathy with indigenous theological categories also show us the limited reach of such Jesuit energies.4 Theological Reasoning in the Dialogue on Eternal Life There are two key movements in the Dialogue. First, it is an exposition of the rational element in religion and, along with that, of the moral ramifications of that rational standard; in chapters 1 to 3 de Nobili sets forth his understanding of a reasonable and moral religion. Second, the Dialogue passes judgment on the religions of South India according to the norms of reason and morality stated in the first part; in chapters 4 to 9 de Nobili examines Indian religion in the light of those standards in order to determine what measures up to the previously presented criteria of rationality and morality. Let us consider each part in turn. In chapters 1 to 3, de Nobili begins with epistemological problems, explaining first how the human mind has a natural capacity for certain kinds of knowledge. The mind learns much by direct experience (perception through the various senses) and by inference (reasoned conclusions regarding what has not been perceived, but based on what has been perceived). Making judgments based on perception and inference, humans can conclude that the world is not self-sufficient and that it must have a creator. We can also infer that this creator has certain qualities, such as omniscience, omnipotence, independence, and perfect goodness. But soon thereafter the human mind reaches the limit of the knowledge that can be gained by our own faculties; in particular, human minds are not capable of knowing the internal mysteries of God. Reason keeps pushing the mind to search out the causes of things and to trace the path from effects to their causes, but the ultimate cause ultimately exceeds the mind's capacity. There are higher truths which exceed our mind's grasp, and these must be revealed to us, if the mind is to learn what it seeks but cannot gain on its own. It is therefore good and just that God should reveal to us the higher truths in sacred teachings - the real 'Veda,' the true revelation and scripture which Indians have always sought. Then it will become possible, for example, to accept on faith and with rational assent the idea that God is three as well as one.5 De Nobili's perspective is moral as well as rational, since he believes there are universal moral norms which any reasoning person should be able to recognize. Some of the important truths which the human mind can grasp by reason are

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moral truths, and these are significant for salvation. But numerous factors indicate that humans will not undertake successfully the necessary rigorous analysis, so people will not be clear as to what they ought to do. Without some clarifying and corrective revelation, weak humans will not be properly guided, and people may face damnation owing to the way they live. Out of divine compassion, revelation also gives humans advice on how to live properly, and the Veda graciously explains righteousness (dharma)and unrighteousness(adharmd). De Nobili thus draws closely together reason (which can tell us much of what we need to know about God) and moral norms (which must be known if one is to act rightly and gain salvation); both the natural dynamic of the mind and the demands of the moral life have their own integrity, but in fact both require some higher teaching, a word from God.6 These first chapters of the Dialogue do not refer specifically to India or to Hinduism, and allude only rarely (and vaguely) to specific Christian truths. The teacher presents himself as simply setting forth a position and some boundaries within which any reasonable person will be able to think about religion. It is clear that the theology of the Dialogue is thoroughly Thomistic, a system which de Nobili brought to India firmly in place.7 He seems to draw on Aquinas's Summa contra gentiles, a classic guide for the theory of Christian mission, which is the likely source for his teaching on reason and revelation in the first part of the Dialogue. Various parts of his text also seem to depend on topics considered in the Summa theologiae.^ The theology of Thomas Aquinas was favoured in the early Society, so it is not surprising that the Dialogue depends on it. But it is worthwhile to specify the nature and rationale of this borrowing, and the creative use to which de Nobili puts it. He uses Thomistic principles and translates them into Tamil because he believes that such principles make it possible to decipher and evaluate South Indian religions by a clear, rational standard. In harmonizing Indian and European epistemological and metaphysical categories, he believed that true thinking could be shared, irrespective of cultural and religious differences. He also believed, more contentiously, that Thomism allowed him to understand Hinduism better than do Hindus, but even here his teaching and translating also indicate a confident expectation that Indians can come to understand and benefit from these reasoned arguments and conclusions. Indian philosophical terminology is seen as a potentially reliable vehicle for the expression of ideas deeply connected with the Christian view of the world. When corrected, Indian thinking will agree with and affirm the essential patterns of Christian thought. These qualities - confidence in a shared rationality, a sense of a universal moral imperative, the claim to a higher understanding, a capacity for imaginative translation and local application - are all strengths which enabled de Nobili and

406 Francis X. Clooney, S.J. the other early Jesuits to make a particular, significant contribution to the missionary and intellectual work of the church in their time. I shall return to this point near the end of this essay. Applying the Principles The second part of the Dialogue, chapters 4 to 9, applies the theory of right and reasonable religion to the Indian context. In chapter 4, the student asks the teacher how one can know this true Veda, the God-given text and teaching, and whether it is even necessary that there be just one such Veda. The teacher argues that there can be only one revelation, since God would not fail to give complete, adequate, and correct teaching to all interested people. There would be no reason for differences which would distinguish multiple Vedas and make them significantly different. He emphasizes, in an attempt to counter popular Hindu imagery, that religions cannot be compared to many rivers flowing into a single ocean, or many roads leading to a single town. Variations in the details of one's journey are of course possible, but if a town is to the north, everyone must head in that one direction. Salvation is at stake, and the path must be unambiguously clear; the true Veda is the one that consistently presents a good and omnipotent God and a religion with standards of truth and morality which lead clearly towards a vision of that one true God.9 Accepting the premise that there can be only one true Veda, the student asks, which one? Chapters 5 to 9 sort out and discard religious ideas and images and traditions which do not measure up to the highest standards of rational and moral religion. After an attack on atheism - which in his view is a deliberate denial of the clear fact that the world is created by someone - in chapter 5, the remaining chapters describe and explain various kinds of idolatry, ranging from the worship of the elements of nature to specific practices of image worship that have grown up in response to various social and psychological needs and as a result of epistemological mistakes. The kinds of idolatry are arranged in increasing degrees of sophistication, beginning with the worship of stones, gods in stones, iconic representations of gods, and the propitiation of higher gods through the worship of idols. Chapter 6 deals with what might be called 'natural idolatry,' the worship of elements of nature such as the sun and stars, or things which one hopes will manifest divine power such as the implements used in one's occupation. These forms of idolatry are considered to be rather simple mistakes, the effects of deficient patterns of thinking which fail to recognize that all these things must have a maker greater than they. Chapters 7 to 9 are devoted to the origins of those kinds of idolatry in which images fashioned by human hands are used. Four causes are given, power,

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sorrow, amazement, and affection: (1) kings use their power to have themselves worshipped as if they were gods (chapter 7); (2) sorrow leads parents to reverence their dead children, create statues and images of them (chapter 7);10 (3) everyone is amazed at people of special intelligence or virtue or strength, and praises them highly (chapter 8); (4) people are very grateful to authors for their great books, and venerate them out of affection(chapter 9). In all four cases, the passage of time leads people to forget the specific origins of this reverence and to start honouring the images as gods. In all four cases evidence is adduced to show that the conceptual categories bear directly on South Indian realities. The teacher and (especially) the disciple make appropriate applications to the Indian context, based on the information available.11 Thus, Hiranyakasipu, a wicked demon king in Hindu mythology, is identified as a human king who used his power to encourage worship of himself; sorrow is seen as the origin for some deities, figures who suffered greatly in some way or another; amazement at the intellectual gifts of learned teachers led people to honour and then worship others such as the poet Vyasa, the theologian Sankara, and the Vaisnava poet saints known as the alvars. De Nobili includes mythology in the scope of his critique of idolatry, since mythological narratives support the irrational, idolatrous Hindu practices. For example, the story of Hiranyakasipu is extended, again according to Hindu mythology, as the tale of the man-lion Narasimha, who in turn is killed by the bird Sarabha. Mention of men admired for their amazing talents occasions a prolonged consideration of Rama, the hero of the epic Ramayana. De Nobili emphasizes the suffering of Rama, whose wife Sita was kidnapped, who wandered in search of her, who finally killed her demon captor but then had to do penance in atonement for killing him. Such a person as Rama is either weak or ignorant or immoral, says de Nobili, and cannot be accepted as meeting the minimal definition of 'God.' There is nothing to be learned from the story of Rama except the foibles to which gullible believers are prone. When de Nobili evaluates Indian religion under the category of idolatry, here too he is drawing on Thomas Aquinas; and in this case Aquinas himself was drawing on sources as old as the biblical Book of Wisdom.12 Again, it is de Nobili's genius to use Aquinas and to organize his borrowing from Aquinas in a particular way, for it seems to be de Nobili's own contribution to found his analysis of idolatry on a rational interpretation of religion and revelation, thus connecting the two strands of the Thomistic tradition highlighted in the first and second parts of the Dialogue. Despite this originality, de Nobili is also sharing a missionary methodology which can be observed in other mission contexts. Elsewhere, and earlier, other missionaries chose to think about indigenous religious practices as variations on

408 Francis X. Clooney, S.J. idolatry; attention to idolatry can even be said to be the privileged frame within which what we now normally call 'religion' and 'religions' were classified. De Nobili was neither the first nor the only Jesuit missionary to reflect on religions in terms of idolatry.13 Earlier Jesuits (e.g., Matteo Ricci in China, and Jose de Acosta in Peru)14 and contemporary Jesuits (e.g., Jacobo Fenicio in western India and Diego Gonsalvez in Quilon)15 can also be found analysing religion in similar terms. For example, Jose de Acosta, who worked in Peru in the late sixteenth century and whose work was known to de Nobili,16 wrote sermons and several full-length treatises criticizing idolatry. In his sermons Acosta rails against wicked native priests and invests little energy in subtle exegesis or refined analyses, but in his De procuranda indorum salute, where he describes the religion of the Peruvian people fairly thoroughly, he examines idolatry more schematically and analytically, finally stressing that removing idolatry from the heart is a more urgent and fundamental need than removing idols from temples.17 Acosta too categorized the native religions as kinds of idolatry, and assigned reasons why people fall into such errors.18 De Nobili would agree with Acosta's strategies, but since he thought of himself as approaching a more educated audience having a subtle, sophisticated, and deeply rooted fascination with idolatry, his Dialogue was devoted to eradicating idolatry by a more intense and concentrated kind of argumentation.19 Like Acosta and unlike Matteo Ricci in China, de Nobili is dealing with a society where the worship of images is a prominent feature of the religious practice of the people; like Ricci and unlike Acosta, though, de Nobili is dealing with a highly literate society in which a different level of argumentation is in order. The details vary in each case, but a Jesuit contribution to the missionary discourse on idolatry seems to have been the rational and genealogical explanation of idolatry as a natural enough minor error which became major, a kind of forgetfulness which got out of hand and led to intellectual confusion and moral depravity. Idolatry is primarily a problem of ignorance, and persuasive and instructive words, not fear or force, are the appropriate response. In this instance, unlike those described by Dominique Deslandres in this volume, the demonic element is played down, and the possibility that idol worship might actually be revelatory of the sacred is never raised. Working in parts of the world as distant as Peru and South India, Acosta and de Nobili share similar presuppositions as to what is mistaken and cannot be Christian, and both affirm the value of a rational, educational response as the solution. The Dialogue and Its Hindu Audiences But how did the Dialogue appear to South Indian Hindus? This is primarily a

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historical question which needs to be addressed in part through attention to early Jesuit reports on de Nobili's work, and, more important, through a search for actual Hindu responses to him.20 In lieu of the required historical research, I offer here my own estimate of two probable theological responses from South Indian Hindu theology, in order to identify some possible points of rapprochement or, conversely, of failed communication between de Nobili and his intended audience(s).21 On the positive side, the Dialogue seems intended to persuade one particular group of Hindus, those of the Saiva community (who worshipped Siva as Lord), and it appeals particularly to their beliefs as developed in the theology known as Saiva Siddhanta. Saiva theologians agree that certain religious truths can be known by reason: for example, reflection on the finitude of the world proves that there must be a creator, God; Siva is supreme and perfect in every way, beyond the constrictions of life in this world; as the essentially good Lord, he graciously sheds his grace on the world, uplifts, and enlightens human beings; all his activities in the world are edifying and in no way compromise his divinity; other religious paths, by contrast, are flawed and in various ways degraded; a study of the teachings of those paths will confirm that the Saiva way is the superior way intended by God.22 De Nobili himself identified the Saiva community as his most promising audience. In Indian Customs he favourably describes their wise men as 'determined to reject all idols and solely by the light of reason to investigate the divine nature. In this part [of the book] much space is occupied by an extensive refutation of the plurality of gods and of the sacrifices offered to idols. Most emphatically do they attack what is called "sacrifice" [yajna], of which there is question in the book of laws taught by the idol-worshippers of the Mayavada sect1 ;23 their wise men seek 'to run down the multiplicity of gods and the sects of idolaters. For they maintain that there is one all-embracing cause of all things, which they prove both to exist and to be unique, particularly from the production and the order of the world. This tenet of theirs has been perfectly and comprehensively expressed by Cittiyar [the author of Civananacittiyar] in a single Tamil stanza: "The world is made up of three classes of objects, masculine, feminine, neuter; some are born, some remain, some perish. Their cause is One who must be without beginning, without end, self-subsistent, self-contained, eternal, blissful, the prototype of intelligence. This is my firm belief." Thus far Cittiyar. Therefore, these wise men reject every kind of sacrifice to the gods, some going so far as to refrain from offering sacrifices even to the one true God, who, they contend, should be adored only in spirit.'24 The Dialogue is best understood as addressed to Saivas, inviting them to listen and become interested in further conversation; de Nobili seeks to identify a

410 Francis X. Clooney, SJ. common ground with them and to foster conversation on areas of agreement, with the hope that by further argument he might convince them fully of the reasonable nature of his views.25 It seems that he was to some extent successful in reaching a Saiva audience and in having further discussions with them;26 but it would be wrong to overestimate the common ground between the Saivas and de Nobili. Even after some basic views are agreed upon, the Saivas will still disagree with de Nobili on the implications of these positions they seem to share. For example, when the Saivas insist on the limitations and imperfections of other gods, they do not intend to deny their existence; the recognition that other religions are erroneous does not entail for the Saivas an obligation to try to win those religions' adherents over to the Saiva viewpoint, and there is nothing in Saivism which would inspire a teacher to go seeking after students in order to change their ways of thinking. Saiva Siddhanta is a comprehensive tradition of theology and spiritual wisdom, but it does not share de Nobili's missionary impulse. The Dialogue surely would have been received less favourably, even with utter lack of comprehension, by another major South Indian Hindu tradition, Vaisnavism, whose members worship Visnu (Rama, Krsna) as the supreme God. Vaisnava theology stands in agreement with de Nobili on many issues, such as the necessary and proper features of God, the value of a rational inquiry into what one believes, and the importance of clear moral norms. Yet there are differences which would make communication difficult. Vaisnavism is not willing to concede that we can know anything certain about God prior to revelation; its theologians do not presuppose a natural knowledge of God which could serve as a common ground for dialogue. Faith must precede reason with respect to all theological topics; one must first learn from scripture and conform one's reasoning to it in order thereafter properly to reflect on truths accessible to the mind. There is no relevant, common store of knowledge about God on which all humans might agree even before faith becomes an issue; scripture cannot be judged by an extrinsic reasoning power, even if later on scripture can be interpreted by a reasoning power which acknowledges the roles of faith and revelation. The study of revelation must begin with an acceptance of its authority, not a consideration of norms by which one or another 'Veda' might be thought authoritative. The Vaisnavas would probably not have been much impressed with the kind of reasoning underlying de Nobili's critique of idolatry and his view that the divine descents of Visnu into the world in the form of Rama, Krsna, and so on were implausible and immoral diminishments of the divine. To them it might seem that he was merely reading the wrong texts, or had spoken with the wrong informants and so did not understand the meaning of the myths. The deeds of the divine descent, if properly understood, are always honourable, neither immoral

De Nobili's Dialogue and Religion in South India 411 nor irrational; such descents restore morality and defeat evil; just as important, the descents give humans the opportunity to view the divine person directly, opportunities to enjoy the divine presence. Divine descent is not only a moral deed, but also an aesthetic experience, an experience of the sacred.27 On the whole, the thrust of the Dialogue makes inevitable that there be disagreement in substance and method between de Nobili and the Vaisnavas. Just as de Nobili interpreted the fact of his common ground with the Saivas as a necessary outcome of simple, honest reasoning, and points of disagreement as defects in (their) rationality, it may be that he found the Vaisnavas unwilling to sit down and engage in what he considered to be reasonable inquiry. He would have attributed this unwillingness to their lack of clear thinking, not to real religious differences in world-view. Perhaps it was with the Vaisnavas that he experienced the frustration which prompted this lament: 'For the present, my occupation is to make myself perfect in their language; the rest of the time I treat with those Gentiles to show them the folly and perversity of their faith, which it is not difficult to prove. I may assure your excellency that when I have argued with them they declare themselves convinced, but all do not answer the call. They go away more confused than converted. I hope however for the mercy of our Lord, that he will not permit our labours to be in vain.'28 Only their confusion could explain their unwillingness to be persuaded by his excellent reasoning. For a Vaisnava, the nearness of Rama in his earthly drama was an opportunity for devotees to meet the divine face to face, nearby; all that Rama suffered would have been interpreted as a pretext for that saving encounter. The Saivas thought of Rama as a real but inferior manifestation of the divine, unfortunately entangled with rather crude notions of the divine's material presence. De Nobili traces the cult of Rama back to a mistaken idea about 'God,' touched with only a semblance of reality sufficient to make it able to lead people astray. As de Nobili thus enters the world of South Indian religiosity, the logic of the Dialogue seems to predict a partial rapprochement with Saivism, but also an inability to imagine or recognize the concrete religious possibilities represented by Vaisnavism. De Nobili and the Jesuit Intellectual Tradition The Dialogue sheds much light on de Nobili's manner of thinking and methods of understanding the new religions he encountered in South India. If de Nobili is a 'typical Jesuit' in significant ways, it also affords us an illuminating vantage point from which to view the thinking characteristic of the early Society. His work certainly suggests that the early Jesuits had great confidence in rationality; even his sharpest criticisms of Hindu religious beliefs and practices are given a rational grounding in the Dialogue. For de Nobili, religious issues are not a

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matter of opinion, but of the application of norms accessible to all human beings. The meaning of 'God,' the dependent nature of the world, the basic principles of morality, the rights and wrongs of worship are all thought to be universally available and not reducible merely to the opinions of one particular culture. That de Nobili used Thomistic principles to understand and explain the principles of Christian doctrine and morality is not surprising, for Aquinas very powerfully brought the intellect to bear on questions of faith, and gave solid meaning to the project of 'faith seeking understanding.' Like other early Jesuits, de Nobili uses the Thomistic system productively, and the Dialogue illustrates how far this system could reach in assimilating and evaluating the complex religious realities of India as one of the new religious cultures encountered by the early Jesuits. But his system is also a missionary reversal of the Thomistic process, an effort at 'understanding seeking faith.' This venture is much less likely to be successful. Even a very clear exposition of reasonable principles does not necessarily lead towards faith, particularly in an encounter with believers in other religions, who already have their own beliefs and rational theological principles in place and their own ways of sorting out the relation of reason and faith. The training and outlook de Nobili brought with him to India made him a brilliant learner and teacher, but within very significant limits. His powerful system enabled him to learn and understand a great deal about India, but also made it difficult for him to consider other systems of thought as wholes; details are received and noted, but the wholes which render the details significant in a particular way tend to slip away. This problem is of course accentuated by the simple fact that de Nobili and the other early Jesuit missionaries were working so very early in the age of the encounter of world cultures; information was hard to get, and even the information available on whole systems of thought would have been very difficult to master and interpret. Had he had more information on the indigenous systems of thought, perhaps de Nobili would have made more evident adjustments in his own way of thinking, but the evidence does not encourage us to expect from him any explicit or dramatic concessions in this regard. He appreciated the Saivas because he thought they were very much like himself; others he could little understand or appreciate. He was so very confident about the correctness of his reasoning that his views would have been hard to modify; although we might discover subtle changes in his thinking, it would not have been in the spirit of his times for him to acknowledge or even recognize such changes.29 The confident intellectual synthesis of the early Society, a synthesis which seems operative even today, made it possible for Jesuits to make impressive intellectual contributions in many parts of the world. Yet this same synthesis also restricted their encounters with new cultures in advance, limiting what was learned to what could be considered reasonable and imaginable by norms that

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were already well established and devoutly believed in. While many acts of particular understanding were possible, the prospects seemed minimal for an appreciation of whole new ways of living and believing. The real and presupposed respect for 'the Other' has rarely been translated into a more pervasive and open sympathy by means of which something new might actually be learned. NOTES

1 The most important secondary sources on de Nobili are His Star in the East (Madras and Anand, 1995) by A. Sauliere, as edited and revised by S. Rajamanickam, and Rajamanickam's own The First Oriental Scholar (Tirunelveli, 1972). Rajamanickam's editions of de Nobili's Latin and Tamil works have some valuable notes and introductions. In general, our contemporary study of de Nobili has been made possible almost entirely by the publications of Father Rajamanickam. 2 See Sauliere, His Star in the East, chap. 3. When de Nobili arrived in Madurai in 1606, the Jesuit Gon9alo Fernandez had already been working there since 1595. Though Fernandez made no converts, he had friendly relations with the local ruler and had already established a school and a small hospital for the poor. While de Nobili's approach is inherently interesting and was fruitful in terms of the number of converts he made, it would be wrong to call Fernandez's work a failure. Fernandez sharply disagreed with de Nobili on theology and practice, but the disagreement is not because Fernandez was entirely ignorant of Indian customs. His 1616 treatise on Hinduism, Tratado do P. Gonqalo Fernandes trancoso sobre o hinduismi. ed. Joseph Wicki (Lisbon, 1973), is an exhaustive study of brahmanical practices, and the second part of the treatise is entirely given over to long citations drawn from Sanskrit texts. Although Fernandez did not know Sanskrit and depended on local scholars, he thus acknowledged the need to gather evidence from primary sources in support of his positions. In 1615 the Jesuit Diego Gonsalvez (working in Quilon) published in Portuguese the Historia do Malauar, comecando do Cabo do comorim ate Batecalor. This is a detailed description of Hindu beliefs and practices, and the final part is a theological treatise on true and false religion. Most important among these Jesuits, I suspect, is Jacobo Fenicio (1558-1632), an older contemporary of de Nobili's, who worked in western India, in the Cochin area and along the Malabar Coast. He became skilled in the local language (Malayalam), used astronomy as a tool for winning the attention of learned Hindus, and engaged in arguments with Brahmins. Today Fenicio is remembered for his major composition, the Livro da seita dos indios orientals, BL Sloane 1820, ed. Jarl Charpentier (Uppsala, 1933), which is both a detailed exposition of Hindu beliefs and practices and a theological assessment and refutation of the same. It was a highly influential work, and probably was available to de Nobili before he did any of his own writing.

414 Francis X. Clooney, SJ. John Correia-Afonso observes that Fenicio's work was widely 'used (generally without acknowledgment) by other writers on India ... Its immediate aim seems to have been to furnish its readers with an adequate knowledge of Hindu mythology, as a necessary basis for its refutation. It is a guide-book for missionaries, systematic and thorough, so that it betrays "that scholarly spirit which is not always to be found, even in later centuries"'; John Correia-Afonso, The Jesuits in India, 15421773 (Anand, 1997), p. 104. Unfortunately, Charpentier's published edition omits the theological sections, apparently deemed 'lacking in interest.' 3 See Rajamanickam, The First Oriental Scholar, p. 118, where Anthony de Proen?a, de Nobili's first biographer, refers to the Dialogue as the first of de Nobili's writings; Rajamanickam observes, however, that the Dialogue itself refers to an earlier work. 4 Surprisingly, none of de Nobili's Tamil writings has yet been published in English translation. Currently I am preparing a translation of the Nitya Jlvana Calldpam for publication, in collaboration with Anand Amaladass, SJ. 5 On de Nobili's expectations regarding the rational dimensions of religion, see also Francis X. Clooney, 'Roberto de Nobili, Adaptation, and the Reasonable Interpretation of Religion,' Missiology 18 (1990): 25-36. 6 On the moral dimension of his teaching, see also Francis X. Clooney, 'Educating for the Good: A Critique of Roberto de Nobili's Moral Proof of the True Religion,' in The Jesuit Tradition in Education and Missions: A 450-Year Perspective, ed. C. Chappie (Scranton, 1993), pp. 268-80. 7 We do not yet have enough information on de Nobili's time at the Gregorian University to state that he studied the works of Aquinas directly. There are probably intervening thinkers who influenced de Nobili's view of idolatry, figures such as Francisco Suarez, who elaborates on Aquinas's treatment and makes closer (though not exact) approximation of the kinds of idolatry which occupy de Nobili in the Dialogue. 8 Several illustrations will suffice. First, de Nobili's explanation of the balance between reason and revelation, between truths which the mind can grasp on its own and truths which it must accept in faith, can be found in the Summa contra gentiles 1.3, where Aquinas distinguishes the various kinds of truths and the varying degrees by which they are accessible to the human mind. Second, Aquinas thoroughly analyses the human knowing process; he takes great care with his explanation of perception and conceptual knowledge which goes beyond the necessary but limited sense data. See, for instance, the epistemology at work in Summa contra gentiles 3.49-60, during the inquiry into how and to what extent created beings can see God. De Nobili draws on this tradition, and when he argues that human reasoning and will are weakened by sin and are in practice unlikely to be able correctly to sort out right and wrong, he is rehearsing another point familiar

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to the Thomistic tradition. Third, although reason should be able to identify many moral truths, revelation is a great and compassionate aid to humans in living the moral life properly and without error. As Thomas also says, were the truths about God left to human reason, which is weakened in many ways, three undesirable consequences would follow: few would possess knowledge of God; even those who reach the truth would do so only after a long time; in almost all cases, truth would be imperfectly gained and would remain mixed with error (Summa contra gentiles 1.4). In the Summa theologiae this same point is made at 1.1.1. In the treatise on law, Aquinas extends this point directly to moral issues, arguing the value of God's revealing to us what is right and wrong, even if we might know such norms also by reason (Summa theologiae 3.1.91.4). This discussion too is paralleled in Aquinas. In the same treatise on law, Aquinas goes on to ask (2.1.91.5 obj. 2) whether there is just one such divine law. Thinking mainly of the 'Old Law' and the 'New Law,' he says that the complete and mature revelation of the divine law is preceded by preparatory versions of it. See Wisd. of Sol. 14:15. Much of the Christian thinking about idolatry takes Wisd. of Sol. 13-15 as its primer. We know from the Dialogue and other sources that de Nobili spent a great deal of time studying the sources available. He seems genuinely to have striven to understand the religious situation in South India and to support his judgments with data. In The Analysis of 'God' (Katavul Nirnayam), a smaller work probably written after the Dialogue, de Nobili testifies that all that he reports about the religion is derived from a variety of local sources: 'No one can say that we have imagined all of this, since all the knowledge, strength, and other goods of which we have spoken are clearly present in the books of the Vedas and purdnas, on festival days, and in pictures.' The student in the Dialogue, too, is a source of information, and we must of course assume de Nobili's own observation of the culture around him. He seems also to have had access to texts; although he could draw on the help of learned Hindus to find appropriate quotations when needed, it seems likely that he read at least some of the texts he cites. Idolatry is treated in Summa theologiae 2.2.94, in the context of a consideration of superstition. Aquinas first considers the kinds of idolatry. First, some idols produce strange effects - by the power of demons; this is what traditionally was considered 'civil' idolatry, and it is connected with images. Second, other acts of idolatry take shape as worship of men as gods, and this becomes fabulosa idolatry, inviting all kinds of mythologizing and storytelling. Third, there is natural or theological idolatry, in which there is worship of constituent elements of the world, as if God is the soul of the whole, or worship of demigods. At the end of 2.2.94, he traces the origins of idolatry to an undue psychological attachment to some object; demons too may be a cause of idolatry because they foster and buttress tendencies in that

416 Francis X. Clooney, S.J. direction (Summa theologiae 2.2.94.4 ad 3). 13 For a study of idolatry in the early colonial period, see Carmen Bernand and Serge Gruzinski, De I'idolatrie: Une archeologie des sciences religieuses (Paris, 1988). They trace this missionary discourse on idolatry in the Central and South American contexts, beginning with Bartolomeo de las Casas and including the Jesuit Jose de Acosta. 14 While there is a large bibliography regarding Ricci and his companions in China, there is not, to my knowledge, any serious comparative study of Ricci and de Nobili as Jesuit intellectuals. On Acosta, see Claudio M. Burgaleta, 'The Jesuit Theological Humanism of Jose de Acosta (1540-1600): A Study in the History of Theology,' Ph.D. dissertation, Boston College, 1996. 15 On these figures, see n2 above. 16 De Nobili quotes him favourably in his treatise 'Adaptation.' 17 De Nobili too had great confidence in the value of a long-term process of conversation. In a letter written to Nuno Mascarenhas, the Portuguese assistant, in 1627, de Nobili offers a simple and revealing summation of his approach to the missionary project, modelling his work on that of St Thomas the Apostle, who aimed at a gradual and gentle changing of the attitudes of pagans. De Nobili quotes Baronius, who in turn quotes Metaphrastes's account of Thomas. See J. Bertrand, La mission du Madure d'apres des documents inedits, 4 vols (Paris, 1847-54), II 264-5. 18 He devotes a long section of De procuranda indorum salute to idolatry, its causes, and its remedies, likewise drawing on the Book of Wisdom to tabulate kinds of idolatry, arranged according to national origins and traits: worship of the natural and celestial elements as gods (Chaldean idolatry); the cult of the mourned-for dead as gods (Greek idolatry); the base cult of things inferior to the human, such as animals, as gods (Egyptian idolatry). He finds all three kinds evident in the Peruvian situation. 19 Acosta is speaking primarily about converts, while it seems likely that the Dialogue is aimed primarily at learned Hindus who have not yet converted. 20 Thus far no independent sources have been found which mention Hindu responses to de Nobili. Inez Zupanov's 1991 dissertation, 'Writing and Acting Cultures: The Jesuit Experiments in 17th Century South India' (University of California), reminds us of the great concern of the Jesuits for self-presentation and (to use my own term) self-promotion; it is not wise to accept as objective Jesuit accounts of Hindu responses to Jesuit writings. Regarding conversions, Sauliere, His Star in the East, estimates that between 1606 and 1646 there were about 78 Brahmin converts, of whom 26 remained in 1646 (p. 421). In 1644 it was reported that there were altogether 4183 Christians in the Madurai mission, but in 1661 it was estimated that there were 'about 30,000' conversions due to de Nobili's work (p. 427). 21 His relatively early Latin treatise, Informatio de quibusdam moribus nationis

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indicae (c. 1613 or before), indicates clear knowledge of at least some Hindu texts. See Francis X. Clooney, 'Religious Memory and the Pluralism of Readings: Reflections on Roberto de Nobili and the Taittiriya Upanisad,' Sophia 34:1 (1995): 204-25. Oddly, de Nobili cites Sanskrit and Tamil texts in his Latin writings but not in his Tamil writings, and so he does not cite any texts in the Dialogue. See Civandnacittiyar of Arulnanti, a major theological treatise of the Saiva Siddhanta. For background on Saivism, see Dhavamony, Love of God in Saiva Siddhdnta (Oxford, 1971). Like de Nobili, Dhavamony thinks that Saiva Siddhanta represents the highest achievement of Indian religion; his reason, moreover, seems to be the same, namely, that its positions are strikingly similar to Christian theological positions. Roberto de Nobili, Indian Customs [Latin text with English translation], ed. S. Rajamanickam (Palayamkottai, 1972), p. 30. Ibid., pp. 37-8. De Nobili also quotes the Tamil of the verse. For some additional points on the interrelation between Saiva theology and de Nobili's thinking, see Francis X. Clooney, 'Christ as the Divine Guru in the Theology of Roberto de Nobili,' in volume 2 of the Boston Theological Society Series, ed. Ruy Costa (Orbis, 1988), pp. 25^0. For example, Albert Laerzio, the Malabar provincial, in a letter to Father General Claudio Acquaviva (20 November 1609), quotes from a letter by de Nobili, in which de Nobili clearly refers to a prolonged conversation with a Saiva scholar that culminated in the scholar's conversion to Christianity. See Bertrand, La mission du Madure, II 6-8. On the Vaisnava interpretation of the story of Rama, see Francis X. Clooney, Seeing through Texts: Doing Theology among the Snvaisnavas of South India (Albany, 1996), chap. 4. From a letter to his cousin Constantia, Duchessa of Sora (6 December 1606), Shembaganur Archives 56. See Clooney, 'Christ as the Divine Guru,' on a particular example of what de Nobili may have implicitly learned, his borrowing of the vocabulary of the guru and disciple as explanatory of the work of Christ.

20 / The Jesuits and the Indigenous Peoples of the Philippines RENE B. JAVELLANA, SJ.

Contemporary Philippine culture is profoundly and intimately the product of the colonial experience, one of whose underlying threads is the transformation of cultures. In Spanish colonialism especially the tasks of civilization and evangelization went hand in hand under the aegis of the Patronato Real. The Jesuits' role as agents of social change in the colonial Philippines is explored in this paper, which begins with a study of the Jesuit perception of and response to the indigenous peoples of the Philippines and then moves on to explore how these shaped missionary strategy and action, specifically the mission's resettlement program and the Jesuits' linguistic studies expressed in grammars and dictionaries. The principal literary sources for the paper are the relaciones and historias written by Jesuits for public consumption and for the promotion of Jesuit works, specifically Pedro Chirino's Relation de las Islas Filipinas (Rome 1604)1 and the hitherto unpublished 'Historia de las islas e indios de bisayas' by Francisco Ignacio Alzina (1668).2 Addressed to Jesuits who desired to know more about the Philippines or who dreamt of volunteering for the missions, and intended also for the edification of European readers, especially benefactors whose moral and financial support the missions badly needed, these works had a social character, unlike personal correspondence and the ex officio 'Annual Letters' sent to superiors in Rome, which were, by and large, private (though some such letters saw print after being judiciously edited). Thus, these relations and histories are of help in the task of reconstructing common assumptions underlying the missionary project and discovering a public Jesuit mindset regarding the indigenous peoples - in Chirino's case the Tagalog of Luzon and in Alzina's the Visayan of Samar and Leyte. What is immediately evident in these narratives is the Jesuits' astute observation of the mission field, their careful recording of observations, and the classicist optic through which they interpreted experience, all of which characteristics

The Jesuits and the Indigenous Peoples of the Philippines 419 arose from the Jesuits' academic training. These characteristics link the Jesuits in the Philippines with the rest of the Society. The Setting of the Jesuit Enterprise Jesuit involvement with the Philippines began in September 1581, when three Jesuits, Antonio Sedeno, as superior, and Alonso Sanchez, both priests, and Nicolas Gallardo, a brother, arrived in the same ship as Domingo de Salazar, a Dominican appointed the first bishop of Manila. Despite the promise of a nascent church and a fruitful apostolic field, the Jesuits limited themselves to ministering to the Spaniards of Manila. The chronicler Pedro Chirino attributed this reticence to the influence of Sanchez, who as minister of the fledgling mission insisted on a regime of long prayers and reclusion that limited time for active apostolate. But we cannot discount the allure of China. From the late sixteenth to the midseventeenth century, missionaries to the Philippines were infected by what the Dominican historian Pablo Fernandez called 'the China syndrome.' In his 1582 report to Claudio Acquaviva, the general of the Society, Sedeno observed that the value of the Philippines lay in its becoming 'a Jesuit base of operations covering the entire Far East.'3 But as the years moved on, the China dream drifted farther away, for many reasons, including political ones. The mission to the Tagalog began in 1591, when the Franciscans, who were short of personnel, ceded Taytay, a region east of Manila, to the Jesuits. With the establishment of the ecclesiatical structure of the Philippines in 1595, the islands were divided into regions to which orders (Augustinian, Franciscan, Jesuit, and Dominican) were to be assigned. The Jesuits accepted the Visayan islands of Samar and Leyte as mission territories, and they remained the sole group assigned to Mindanao until the arrival of the Augustinian Recollects in the seventeenth century. In 1605 Acquaviva made the Philippines a province of the Society. Though under the Spanish assistancy, the Jesuits who were sent to the Philippines were a cosmopolitan group, with Italians and Austrians among their number. Pedro Chirino's Relacion de las Islas Filipinas Pedro Chirino's Relacion represents the initial encounter between the Jesuits and the indigenous peoples. It is a straightforward account of the Philippines and its peoples within the context of a narration of the Society's activities from 1581 to 1603. Like Sedeno, Chirino sees the economic and strategic importance of the Philippine Islands (4):4

420 Rene B. Javellana, S.J. These islands offer good inducements to the Spaniards, as well as for ecclesiastics and religious, to make settlements: to the former, because the islands are numerous and thickly inhabited by a people who, though not rich, were accustomed to wear cotton and silk garments, and gold pieces (not merely of thin plate) and brooches to fasten them; and rich necklaces, pendants, ear-rings, finger-rings, ankle-rings, on the neck, ear, hands and feet - the men as well as the women ... In the second place, as concerns the religious, there was from the very beginning the very tractable disposition displayed by so many natives of the islands in embracing the faith.5

He writes enthusiastically about the islands' natural riches (4): The soil is not only good and favorable, with sunny climate, but fertile and rich.' There are 'many gold mines and placers,' and 'fowls in great abundance. Besides the domestic fowls, which are most numerous and very cheap, the fields are full of wild ones.' He waxes eloquent about the bananas and oranges, and singles out the coconut and the bamboo as the most useful of plants. The palm 'yields wine, vinegar, and oil in sufficient quantities not only to supply that region abundantly, but likewise to ship and send away to neighboring regions,' and the cauayan (bamboo) is eminently useful for construction.6 One cannot miss the fascination both the islands and the people held for this Jesuit. Besides its fertility and its rich resources, the Philippines' strategic location, in close proximity to 'China, India, Japon, Malaca and Maluco,' made it an emporium for Asian goods (4).7 The Peoples Because his work is a simple 'relation' and not a systematic history, when writing about the peoples of the Philippines, Chirino does not present his observations methodically but intersperses them as digressions in a narrative, in the manner of a travelogue. Besides, Chirino is limited by his own experience and strongly motivated by a pastoral desire to ascertain if the indigenous peoples are ready for Christianity. His picture of the people's character and culture is highly selective and focuses on diagnostic elements such as physiological appearance; customs, traditions, and laws; social structure; writing and language; and religion. Chirino describes three groups of indigenous inhabitants, corresponding to the peoples he has encountered while assigned to the missions, namely, the Tagalog, the Visayan, and the Ayta or Negrillo (11). Of these three, he quickly dismisses the Ayta because of their fear even of Spanish priests: 'For this reason, we could not undertake their conversion ... On this account all our energy was directed toward the Bissayas alone.'8

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Physical Description When describing theTagalog (4) and the Visayan (7), Chirino first focuses on the richness of their apparel and jewellery and then goes on to say they are 'very sagacious, and keen in traffic and bargaining, and in buying and selling.' Besides, 'they [apply] themselves to all gainful pursuits - not least to agriculture and to the breeding of animals,' Quite clearly, the Tagalog he encountered were sedentary and engaged in trade and agriculture, unlike the nomadic Ayta. Chirino, it seems, is describing Tagalog of the upper or datu class. Of the Visayan he writes that they are 'well built, of pleasing countenance, and white,' but what strikes him most is their tattooed bodies, on account of which the 'people of the Bisayas are called the Pintados.' As an aside, he adds: 'During my stay in the Filipinas, I was wont to say, in my satisfaction and admiration for the fine appearance of those natives, that if one of them were brought to Europe much money could be made by exhibiting him.'9 The meticulous care the Tagalog lavish on their bodies catches his attention (4). They are ... very diligent in rinsing out their mouths and cleansing their teeth after eating, and upon arising in the morning.'10 Besides, they treat their teeth with a 'varnish, either lustrous black or bright red,' file them straight, and embed tiny gold points in them. The frequent baths the Visayan take (10), usually at sunset, after work in the fields, are noted: 'Even women after childbirth do not refrain from the bath, and children just born are bathed in the rivers and springs of cold water.' 11 Custom and Law Chirino remarks that neither the Tagalog nor the Visayan have any written law, but depend on custom and tradition for social order.12 These traditions dictate daily behaviour, encompassing intimate areas like personal grooming as well as matters of greater importance like marriages and divorce, death and mourning (30).13 Chirino makes passing remarks about the social structure of the Tagalog, noting that they are divided into small units called barangay, under the command of a chief called the datu, who takes charge of the inhabitants, collectively known as the catongohan. Experience taught him how crucial the datu was in getting anything done. For instance, when he took charge of the Taytay mission in 1591, he enlisted the help of the datu in having the town transferred to higher ground to save it from annual inundation.14 Language Chirino devotes two chapters to describing and comparing the Tagalog and

422 Rene B. Javellana, S.J. Visayan languages. In chapter 15 he points out that 'there is no single or general language of the Filipinas extending throughout the islands,' and then describes 'the languages most used, and most widely spread,' namely 'the Tagal and the Bisayan,' in terms of 'the four greatest languages of the world, Hebrew, Greek, Latin, and Spanish.' Tagalog, he says, has 'the abstruseness and obscurity of the Hebrew; the articles and distinctions in proper as well as common nouns, of the Greek; the fullness and elegance of Latin; and the refinement, polish, and courtesy of the Spanish.' These qualities he demonstrates through an analysis of the Ave Maria. Visayan he regards as 'more rude and unpolished.'15 In chapter 17, Chirino records the syllabic script used by the Tagalog, remarking that 'all these islanders are given to reading and writing ... in the letters used in the island of Manila - which are entirely different from those of China, Japon, and India.' These scripts are written 'on reeds and palm-leaves, using as a pen an iron point.'16 Religion In chapter 2, Chirino narrates the fortuitous discovery by Legazpi's invading army of an image of the Christ child, 'presumably left as a trophy of devotion of some good soldiers of the first expedition of Magallanes,' venerated by the Visayan of Cebu as 'the Diuata of the Castillans.' This becomes an occasion for Chirino to make his first reference to indigenous religions. 'Diuata,' he remarks, is the term for God; its equivalent among 'the inhabitants of Manila' is 'Bathala or Anito.' To this image of the Christ child, the Visayan have made 'sacrifices ... after their custom, and [anointed] it with oil, as they were accustomed to anoint their idols.'17 A fuller account appears in chapters 21 and 22. Here Chirino discusses the 'false heathen religion, idolatries, and superstitions,' dividing his discussion into three parts: 'first... [about] the false belief... [about] the divinity of their idols; second of their priests and priestesses; and third and last of their sacrifices and superstitions.' He notes that the word for idol, whether of 'stone, wood, bone, ivory or a cayman's teeth' or gold, is larauan. The Tagalog worship a large blue bird regarded as bathala, and the crow as may lupa, or 'master of the soil.' They regard the cayman, or crocodile, as divine, addressing it with the honorific title Nono, or grandfather. They consider certain 'stones, cliffs, and reefs, and the headlands of the shores of the sea and rivers' sacred sites, and there they leave food offerings. The religious functionary is called catalonan by the Tagalog and babailan by the Visayan. These personages communicate with the spirits while in a state of trance. Chirino attributes such beliefs and practices to demonic influence: 'The Devil himself ... spoke to them through their idols and the ministers of these.'18

The Jesuits and the Indigenous Peoples of the Philippines 423 Potential for Conversion Were the Tagalog and Visayan peoples ready and equipped for conversion to the Christian faith? The fact that they had a written language was an asset, even though it had never been used for religious purposes. Though they lacked a highly articulated social structure, their societies could be penetrated, with the chief, or datu, playing a key role. They also had very positive qualities such as courtesy and gestures of civility, manifested even in language (15, 16); modesty, even while bathing (10); industry; and openness to the Christian religion. So, he concludes, 'what we accomplished in the two years spent among a people so good and well disposed towards the Gospel could be told in less time than what we have left undone; for since we of the Society of Jesus were so few, and had little hope of increasing our number, we did not dare to undertake more than we thought could probably be maintained.'19 But they had negative qualities, too, that were obstacles to conversion. Aside from the idolatries mentioned earlier, they had no esteem for virginity;20 while they were generally monogamous, some, especially in the datu class, practised polygamy. Besides, they took to drink quite readily, especially during feasts, of which they were very fond (34). But this did not make them 'so frenzied or crazed that they [committed] excesses.'21 Francisco Ignacio Alzina's 'Historia de las islas e indios de bisayas' Francisco Ignacio Alzina belonged to a later generation of Jesuit missionaries. By the time he reached the Philippines on 26 May 1632, the network of Jesuit missions among the Tagalog and Visayan was established. In fact, some Jesuits had suggested that the missions could be handed over to the secular clergy because they were sufficiently organized, almost like quasi-parishes, and Jesuits were needed elsewhere to establish new missions - a point which Alzina disputes vigorously in a 1660 letter to Juan Marin, the Spanish provincial. Written as a natural history in the tradition of the classical writer Pliny the Elder,22 Part One of Alzina's 'Historia' describes what the author has heard, seen, or touched in his more than thirty years of mission work in the Visayas. He includes not only observations on the people's culture (III, IV) but observations on flora (I) and fauna (II), spiced with theological and philosophical comments. Part Two, which exists in a single, incomplete manuscript version, deals with the history of the Visayan missions. Like Chirino, Alzina had all the natural gifts of a great missionary, especially an innate curiosity that gives his observations an empirical and experimental edge. For example, wondering whether the sea-dwelling mammal very distantly related to the manatee, the dugong or duyong (Dugong dugong, order Sireneae),

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is fish or mammal, he seeks out a specimen and finds one 'very old,' 'about two and a half brazas in length from the snout to the end of the tail,' records what he observes, dissects one, and eats its meat. He even drinks milk from a lactating female (Part One, 11.15). When unable to confirm certain reports personally and empirically, Alzina relies on trusted informants, generally choosing persons of authority among the Visayan, usually members of the datu class or, in some instances, Spaniards. Like Pliny, Alzina is fascinated by the marvellous: he includes in his 'Historia' reports by native informants of plants that rendered one invisible (1.26), trees whose shadow could kill (1.25), dugong tusks that could heal (11.15), giants and pygmies that lived in the mountain fastnesses (IV. 17, 18). But Alzina is quick to distinguish fact from fiction, qualifying some reports or hearsay with his own experience, or arguing deductively using philosophy, ancient writers, Scripture, and the Church Fathers as authorities. As observer and recorder, Alzina had no equal among the Philippine Jesuits. But his work is to be more than a record of empirical observation (and that observation is limited and flawed on some occasions); it aspires to be a history, understood in the Greek sense ofhistoria as a narrative of events or any systematic presentation and analysis of data. Alzina's systematization is motivated by religious impulse, first, 'to make known to the rest of the world what God has left hidden in this corner of world, so as that we may always praise him,' and second, 'to move those who read ... to come to the aid of these poor [Visayan].'23 The Land and People Working from the philosophical concept that the name of a thing pointed to something of its essence,24 Alzina believes that 'Visaya(n)' comes from the root word aya, saya, or caya, which, when compounded with different suffixes, means person of quality, an affable person with many friends, a happy person, or simply joy. This name is but a prelude to what one discovers in the Visayas, for these are fertile and abundant islands whose 'climate and location,' 'variety of foods and products of the soil,' and 'beauty and attractiveness of plants' make them 'like another paradise' (III.l). These are exotic islands where figs (i.e., bananas) grow larger and tastier than in Europe, where introduced plants like aslum sa sangley (citrus from China) and guavas from Mexico bear larger and better fruits (1.9). It is a land where without much effort on the part of the native population they can be fed and clothed by nature's bounty (III.5). So bountiful is nature that, while the Visayan cultivate some fruit trees, they find it easier to forage in the forests, where these same fruit trees are found in their sylvan state. In these

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islands the coconut grows in abundance - a marvellous tree, from whose flower and fruit are derived the clearest water, nourishing milk, oil, an alcoholic drink called tuba, vinegar, honey, a heart like artichokes; whose trunk serves as house posts, leaves as roofing and sleeping mats, and cortex as cordage and rigging for ships; whose shell is used as plates and cups, and, when burnt, yields lye for fine soap 'white and hard, which cleans well' (1.14). Behind this virtual paradise, Alzina discovers the unmistakable hand of providence. Providence is the leitmotif that runs through all of Alzina's 'Historia.' God's providence is general, going back to the beginning of time, when 'God our Lord, the very prudent and wise as well as prudent, and the first great craftsman, had established [a] paradise of delights, and so filled [it] that there was not lacking a single imaginable thing of what was licit, and in such abundance and quantity that there was a surplus of everything.' But it is also particular, extending even to the Visayan islands, which, 'like another Paradise, God established and handed over to these Bisayan natives' (III, introduction). The Visayan More than half of the 'Historia' is dedicated to the Visayan, recipient of God's magnanimous providence. Like Chirino, Alzina begins (quite early in the history) by painting a physical picture of the Visayan: their physiological structure, height, clothing, and body adornments (1.2, 3); their practice of tattooing and curious sexual practice (1.4). But he abandons this descriptive thread quickly to pick it up again with more detail and order in the last two books. A quick survey of the topics treated in Books III and IV demonstrates that, like Chirino, Alzina does not paint a complete picture of Visayan society but picks certain diagnostic traits, namely, the Visayan language, writing, and literature; knowledge of the sciences and arts, music, agriculture, mechanical arts, weaving, goldsmithing, and manufacture of sailing vessels; knowledge of the true God, religion, priests and priestesses, rituals and sacrifices, funerals, superstitions, beliefs in witches and voodoo, and vices and other passions, especially drunkenness; inclinations of the spirit, illnesses, and the state of the people's bodies (Book III); the Visayan dwellings, towns, and social structure; why the Visayan have no kings; slavery, laws and customs, currency, festivities, wars, marriage customs, ceremonies, bride price, divorce, and the canonical validity of Visayan marriages; and, in a curious discussion at the end, the existence among the Visayan of pygmies and giants (IV). Like Chirino, Alzina is motivated by a practical pastoral agenda, but he goes beyond Chirino's question as to whether the Visayan are fit for conversion. For Alzina the issue is whether the Visayan are capable of building a Christian

426 Rene B. Javellana, SJ. civilization: given their present state, what promise is there of their becoming both civilized and christianized, after they have been evangelized and baptized?25 For Alzina civilization meant not just having letters but being lettered (III.l, 2), not just knowing how to make things work but knowing the principles behind their operation (III.5), not just having a social structure but having one that is made stable by permanent institutions like kingship and the written law (IV.4, 8), and, most important, not just having some sense of the divine but knowing the true God (III. 11), which ineluctably leads to practical moral imperatives (IV. 11-16). To the question as to whether the Visayan are capable of building a Christian civilization Alzina answers affirmatively but with a caution. Certainly they are above being savage, for empirical evidence demonstrates their 'human nature'; nonetheless, they are a people who have lived their lives 'without instruction in any outside law, only with the natural and innate [law]' (III, introduction). In fine, they are a people of brute nature, living without the guidance of divine revelation. Children of the earth, the Visayan are a happy and carefree people, docile and open to the Christian faith, but improvident because nature spoils them, and lacking in historical sense and the ornaments of civilized existence. Alzina quickly dismisses the existence of science among the Visayan, arguing that 'because these Bisayans have no commonwealth or political organization... they also lack the liberal arts which are its glory.' While they are practical and skilful with their hands, they lack speculative interests, although they have the innate intelligence and the mental faculties or talent to develop such interests (III.3). For Alzina there are four stages of culture: first, the civilized and christianized; second, the civilized but not christianized; third, the savage; and fourth, to which stage Visayan society belonged, a half-way point between savagery and civility, between inchoate faith and full acceptance of Christianity. He finds the task of civilizing and christianizing the Visayan less fraught with obstacles than dealing with the civilized but not christianized, who were 'more blind, although many of them are more civilized than these [Visayan], or more wedded to their errors and heathen ignorance, perhaps more corrupted and depraved with greater vices than this people.' Alzina is referring to the Chinese - possibly the Japanese too whom he calls the 'innumerable other nations and people round about these islands, where if the fire and light of the true knowledge and Christian and Catholic worship has touched already, it has not taken hold.' In the same paragraph he speaks of 'that infamous sect of Mohamet, which has infected many of the islands of this archipelago before our true one arrived here,' except the Visayan islands, which are 'possibly less stained or soiled' by this error (III, introduction).

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The Role of the Jesuit Missionary Alzina reads the unique situation of the Visayan (uncorrupted as the Chinese are, and uncorrupted by Islam) as a sign of divine providence: 'These ... peoples merited their being selected to receive a call to the divine faith in preference to innumerable other nations.' It is this same providence that invites countless persons to the mission, to 'a task truly apostolic.'26 This call is addressed especially to Jesuits, whose role as agents of civilization and Christianity cannot be denied: The Divine Majesty despises no one but rather, like a solicitous father of a family, urges and commands that, if anyone calls at the divine household and table, even the most forgotten people of the world, we his servants call them together with that mysterious compulsion by which we may oblige them to enter his household. Perhaps... they might never enter his house nor partake of his divine gifts.'27 Alzina assumes the unity of all culture and all history; he also assumes that civilized and christianized culture is normative. Concretely, he traces the path of development for Visayan culture as a movement towards a hispanized and christianized society (but without the negative elements of greed and venality, for which the Spaniards in the colony were notorious). To be led towards this goal, the Visayan need the firm hand of a good pedagogue. They have 'little information and less scientific knowledge because they had no teachers.' To move them beyond 'seeking for what was necessary for human life, that is, for the animal side of it, which only hunts for food, clothing, shelter, comfort and rest' to the 'superior and rational side,' they need the guidance of the Jesuit teacher (III.3). Clearly, Alzina had a deep affection for the Visayan. While he chides them for sloth, drinking, and other excesses, he regards these as indications that the Visayan is a mere child. Not savage, not animal - a wilful child who must be bent by the rod, but its blows tempered with compassion and understanding. The pedagogical task is not easy or straightforward because the Visayan paradise is marred by demonic presence. Even the world of brute nature has noxious plants and venomous animals. Their evil is limited in itself, but in the hands of the brujos or asuang (witches or vampires) and the mambabarang (voodoo practitioners) it is disruptive of good order (1.25,11.9,10). Like Chirino, Alzina singles out the indigenous religious functionaries as obstacles to the people's assimilation of the true faith. Through these functionaries, the devil, in the form of ancestral and nature spirits called diuata, speaks to the Visayan. These functionaries are called daetan or bailan if they are women, asog if they are effeminate males who 'consider themselves more like women than like men in their manner of living, of going about, and even in their occupations,' and catooran if they speak for the spirits (III. 13).

428 Rene B. Javellana, S.J. Despite some seventy years of Jesuit tutelage, the bailan or asog continued to function underground. They were often called to heal sickness, which the Visayan believed was caused by voodoo or by malevolent or offended spirits. Alzina proposes dealing firmly with these functionaries - first, by exposing the many frauds among them, who heal only v^en there is recompense; second, by meting out corporal punishment ('Nothing stops this better than a good whipping, and there are few who do not get better on feeling the pain'); and third, by proposing a regime of reformatio morum, based on a good general confession and frequent reception of the sacraments (III. 13). The demon will not quickly surrender power over the Visayan, so the Jesuit pedagogue who leads the Visayan in the path of faith and civilization (i.e., Hispanic/European culture) must be a true minister of the Gospel. Jesuit Response and Mission Strategies Fulfilling their role as effective pedagogues, the Jesuits built their missionary strategy around three key nodes: resettlement; catechesis and education; and mastery of the indigenous language, which was the key to and tool for the transformation of culture. In elucidating the practical effects of the Jesuits' reading of Tagalog and Visyan culture, we shall confine ourselves to analyzing the missions' resettlement program and the Jesuits' efforts at mastering the indigenous vernaculars. Resettlement Program Traditionally, native clan villages, called barangay, were built along waterways and littorals and followed a linear pattern dictated by the line of land and water. Traditionally, too, villages grew by accretion rather than by rational plan, focusing on certain centres, typically the village longhouse or the residence of the ruling datu. The population was generally dispersed over a wide area. Chirino observed that the old village of Cebu stretched from the site of the Spanish fort to the settlement of Mandaue, some seven kilometres distant. He discovered some old posts still standing that indicated the sites of dwellings.28 The need for compact settlements was deemed urgent. In fact, this is what Jesuit missionaries addressed as soon as they arrived in a place. In 1596, for instance, after exploring the mountainous regions near Baclayon, the first Jesuit mission in Bohol, Juan de Torres persuaded eleven scattered settlements to come together as one village at Loboc.29 Practicality, first and foremost, dictated the need for resettlement. Alzina cites the following reasons: first, the division

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into many scattered clan villages made ministering properly very difficult ('dificultisimo'); second, because of their dispersion travel by sea to and from these settlements was equally difficult (Part Two, II. 1). Besides, it was the law.30 But more important than practicality and legality was the assumption that a stable physical space (in the form of villages laid out according to a rational rather than an organic and clan-centred plan) was the environment essential for Christian civilization. After resettling communities in compact villages, the Jesuits asked their converts to help build a church and residence, and in some villages boardinghouses for the children of the native elite were set up. Called seminaria, these were places where faith was nourished and the children educated. Documented are the seminaria in Antipole established by Raymundo Prat, in Tigbauan by Chirino, in Dulag by Alonso Humanes, and in Loboc - all established during the first two decades of Jesuit ministry. Initially, these buildings were made of wood, bamboo, and palm thatch, not much different from native dwellings, but by the eighteenth century structures of mortar, stone, and brick or coral, tiles, and hardwood were being built. These complexes of buildings, centred around the Jesuits' dwelling, became the focal point of the community.31 But the Jesuit resettlement strategy was not completely successful, especially in the Visayas. For more than a century, the lure of trade and the persistence of the hunter-gatherer way of life made Jesuit settlements mere weekend towns, where the people would gather for Sunday mass and instruction and for trade and business. And despite the Jesuits' attempt to improve technology by introducing plants, tools, and methods of cultivation, through the first century of Jesuit tutelage agriculture was not practised universally in the Visayas; the people were content with subsistence, as Alzina time and again laments (Part One, I). Besides, the compact settlements exposed the indigenous population to more devastating depredations by slave raiders. During the period of Jesuit tutelage, Philippine society was barely out of hunting and gathering; a retinue of slaves was equated with wealth, for more personnel meant that more trade goods could be amassed from nature's bounty.32 For instance, slaves brought to Jolo were employed by the sultans in gathering batalan or tripang (dried sea cucumber) from the tidal flats and swallow's nests from cliffs. Once cleaned and dried these were traded with the Chinese, who considered them delicacies. By compelling the indigenous population to live in reducciones,33 the Jesuits concentrated population within narrow confines along exposed beaches, coves, and waterways. Whereas the traditional settlement pattern spread the population over a wide area, with people living near their fields, the compact settlements

430 Rene B. Javellana, S.J. placed large concentrations of people within easy reach of marauders. No wonder, then, that for almost a century the native population resisted living for extended lengths in the reducciones. Alzina remarked that for the Visayan their god was their belly, meaning that they preferred to stay near their fields and livestock (Part One, I), but in truth the people were just being cautious. Slave raids were a drain on the meagre resources of the province because money had to be spent on defence. A cursory reading of the Jesuit expulsion papers indicates that the Visayan missions were well supplied with arms and ammunition.34 Moreover, funds had to be expended for fortification. Murillo Velarde credits the Jesuit Melchor de Vera with being the first to have broached the idea of protecting the church compound with a fortified stone wall in response to a slave raid in 1629 on Carigara in Leyte, where de Vera was rector.35 His example was imitated in other Visayan towns, where the Jesuits fortified using palisades of stout tree trunks or built a sturdier residence of wood to serve as a refuge, or where resources allowed stone walls. By the third decade of the eighteenth century the Jesuits had built a string of fortified churches among island communities.36 Where resettlement could progress undisturbed, the Jesuits fostered town life, centred around liturgies, rites, and instruction. Chirino describes the progress of Christian formation in the mission of Taytay in 1597, eight years after he took charge of the mission. He writes that here as in all the mission villages of the Philippines the townspeople gather every Sunday and holy day of obligation for mass, 'solemnly celebrated with music and the accompaniment of the organ, in which [the Tagalog] spend many hours,' in the morning; and for 'doctrine and catechism' every afternoon. A bell 'rung at the hour of vespers' calls the people to gather in church. It is a signal for a procession of children 'to go forth through the streets of the place, bearing the cross, and singing the doctrine.' The adults follow behind the children, and all enter the church. On Monday, mass is celebrated for the dead, on Saturday in honour of the Virgin. Daily 'the bell tolls the "Ave Maria" at dawn, at noon, and at night; and besides this, someone is careful to go through the streets at night, sounding a little bell, and in a loud voice admonishing the people to offer prayers for the souls in purgatory and for those who are in a state of sin.'37 All told, town life in a Jesuit settlement was not much different from the regime imposed on the Jesuit novice. Indigenous Languages 'Language is the instrument of empire': so said the grammarian Antonio de Nebrija to Queen Isabella in 1492, the same year he published a grammar of the

The Jesuits and the Indigenous Peoples of the Philippines 431 Spanish language. Recognizing the crucial role language would play in evangelizing, the Manila synod (1581 and the years following) convened by Bishop Salazar decided to use the native vernaculars for evangelizing and teaching the indigenous population. The choice of language was dictated by practicality. Since the object of the missionary enterprise was conversion and formation in faith, it would have been an added burden to teach Spanish to the people so as to evangelize them. It was far more expedient for the missionaries to learn the native vernacular, which, in the initial opinion of some, was quite easy to learn. To facilitate language learning, missionaries compiled extensive lexicons amply explained by glosses and systematized the grammars of the vernaculars, beginning with the Tagalog lexicon compiled by the Franciscan Juan de Plascencia in the late sixteenth century. The Franciscans were noted for their work in the Tagalog language. The Jesuits did not lag behind in their study of Visayan. Alzina reports that he had compiled some twenty thousand Visayan words, not to mention six hundred or so proverbs (III. 1), and at the time Alzina was active, the Jesuit Matheo Sanchez (1562-1618) had compiled a Visayan vocabulario, though it is not certain the work was printed before 1711. In 1663, a Visayan grammar by Domingo Ezguerra (1601-70) was published. Sanchez's vocabulario Like the relation and the historia, Sanchez's and Ezguerra's works had as their primary intended audience the missionaries, especially those still preparing for mission work.38 Accordingly, both the dictionary and the grammar read and record the native language through the optic of religious strategies. All dictionaries compiled are bilingual, with the Spanish equivalent of each Visayan or Tagalog term given. To illustrate proper usage, extensive glosses from daily speech or the oral literature of the people are provided. Often it is in these glosses that we uncover the compiler's intention. Take, for instance, these random entries from Sanchez's Visayan dictionary. Sanchez gives as the equivalent of the Visayan auit the Spanish cantar. One gloss reads, 'Auitan niyo ining Missa cay fiesta man nian' (Sing the mass because it is a feast day). The gloss has introduced a Spanish or even Latin term, missa, and referred to something that takes place only in the well-ordered Christian community, where a complement of singers made a missa solemnis possible. For the term auil he gives the equivalent carino amor, y afecto. One gloss reads, 'Di ca mafigaro sining Imagen, cay quinauilan co nga tuud' (Do not covet this image of a saint because I am very fond of it). Imagen (yet another Spanish term) refers to a painting, print, statue, or relief of a saint, the Virgin, or Christ.

432 Rene B. Javellana, SJ. Sanchez suggests that such images can be the object of intense desire and affection. Speaking of affection, the next gloss speaks of the disordered or inordinate affection, a theme of Ignatian spirituality: 'Maauilan ca nga tuud sa balay, sa guiho, sa bahandi &c. ug an mga mahal sa langit tinalicoran' (Indeed you desire a house of hardwood, treasure, etc., but the treasures of heaven you spurn). Quite obviously, the Visayan language Sanchez documents in his vocabulario is already colonialized - even the treatment of words used in the language for euphony or as indicator of grammatical mood. For instance, the particle ba, which Sanchez explains is used as an indicator of emphasis, exaggeration, or affirmation, has these glosses: Tumawag ca sa Capitan; ba uara siya dida, an Fiscal mayor an tatugon mo' (Call the captain, but if indeed he is not there, then call the fiscal mayor); 'Maaram ang Padre, ba cami cubus nga tanan' (Father is very wise, but all of us are sorely ignorant). The first gloss emphasizes the need to respect the colonial order. Apparently the situation of a Visayan seeking redress for some grievance is being referred to. The gloss admonishes the Visayan first to seek civil authority, the 'Capitan,' but when he is unavailable to go to the 'Fiscal mayor,' a church functionary (chosen by the missionary from the principalia or upper class, or else a ladino, a convert well versed in the native language and Spanish) who took charge of church records and external discipline. The second gloss emphasizes the superiority of the wise Jesuit to the lowly and ignorant Visayan. Ezguerra'sArte Like Sanchez's vocabulario, Ezguerra's Arte de la lengua bisaya, written with the Jesuit missionary as primary audience, presents a Visayan already colonialized. To explain the intricacies of Visayan, Ezguerra analyses the language in terms of Latin. He divides the grammar into three parts: the first is about substantives and their declensions; the second about verbs and their conjugations; and the third about nuances of verbal particles attached to word roots. Like Alzina, Ezguerra notes that the distinct genius of Visayan lies in the greatly nuanced particles attached to word roots: 'I call verbal particles those that are added to the verbal roots of this language and that make them active or passive verbs, neutral, or of simple or compound meanings.'39 The third part of his grammar is a careful and thorough explanation of the meaning of each particle and of how particles modify verbal roots. When Ezguerra is 'merely' recording what he knows of Visayan, his observations are quite accurate, but when he begins to systematize Visayan, forcing it into the Latin mould, he creates chimeras that do not exist in the language. Following the lead of Latin that substantives have a singular and plural form, Ezguerra declines proper nouns using as example the proper name 'Pedro.'

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De los Nombres propios. Sing. Nominat. si Pedro, si Coan, Pedro, Fulano Genit. ni Pedro, de Pedro Dat. Can Pedro, para Pedro Vocat. Pedro, 6 Pedro, a Pedro, ay Pedro Plur. Nominat. an manga Pedro Genit. sa manga Pedro Dat. idem. Vocat. manga Pedro, 6 manga Pedro, a manga Pedro, ay manga Pedro.40

Ezguerra's example of the plural form is fabrication, of course - generally, no one uses the plural of proper nouns in everyday speech. Another misrepresentation, traceable to Ezguerra's latinization of Visayan, is his discussion of plural forms of the verb. Latin emphasizes the agreement of subject and predicate, so Ezguerra looks for the same in Visayan. He cites six ways of making plural predicates, depending on the particle attached to the root: first, nag, mag, andpag compounded with na or ma; second, nag, mag, andpag or con, na, and ma compounded with nga; third, verbal roots beginning with c compounded with nga; fourth, verbal roots beginning with h or / compounded with nan or man; fifth, verbal roots withna or ma, compounded withg; and sixth, verbal roots with the particle naha, which uses nanhi for the plural. None of these forms cited by Ezguerra is plural in the Latin sense; rather, what he describes as plural are forms expressing mutuality or reciprocity. The distinction between nagbuhat or nanagbuhat (both can be translated accurately as 'they worked') is that the form nanag connotes common action but nag simple action; the distinction between nahagugma aco canimo (I love you) and nanhigugma lies in the reciprocity of love between lover and beloved. Ma Like nag connotes simple action. Ezguerra's example, nanhigugma nga tanan can Pedro, which he presents as a plural form, misses the subtle nuance of the Visayan.41 Language was an important tool of the missionary enterprise. It linked the Jesuits with the people of the mission, enabled them to become effective pedagogues, served as the door through which they entered the indigenous cultures, and brought the indigenous cultures into contact with the European tradition. Language was the meeting ground between two cultures. Although the Tagalog and Visayan did not systematize the grammar and lexicon of their languages, by remoulding them according to Latin categories the missionary grammarians and lexicographers had opened up these indigenous languages for dialogue with

434 Rene B. Javellana, S.J. European languages, in particular Spanish. The missionaries' efforts caused these Philippine languages to lose their insular character, to become bridges across which the missionaries could communicate the Christian faith, developed within a European setting, and, more specifically, one influenced by the Renaissance and the spiritual renewal stimulated by the Council of Trent. Mastery of the language - here, meaning both its apprehension and its co-option into the colonial and evangelical enterprise - was the prerequisite that made the other strategies and programs feasible. Through language, the Jesuits' vision of civilizing and christianizing Philippine society could be realized. Mahal napassion: A Synthesis The Jesuits' success in transforming their converts' society can be gleaned from one of their enduring literary legacies. In 1703 the Jesuit press published Mahal na passion ni Jesu Christong Panginoon Natin na tola (The Sacred Passion of Jesus Christ Our Lord in Verse). Mahal na passion was the second part of a book entitled Manga panalanging pagtatagobilin sa caloloua nang tauong naghihingalo, a translation of prayers to assist the dying that had been written in Spanish by the Jesuit Thomas de Villacastin. The book, published in octavo size, was most probably intended for the use of the magpapahesus, the Tagalog lay collaborator whose task was to assist the dying. Because Jesuit missionaries were so few and their mission territories vast and inaccessible, it was difficult for them to be at the bedside of all those in the throes of death. A common practice evolved whereby the sick were brought to the centre where the church and residence stood, confessed their sins and prepared for death, and then were returned home. Often beside the dying were not the Jesuits but their lay collaborators, usually drawn from the ranks of confraternity members. The small Mahal na passion, which saw five printings, the last in 1760 in about a thousand copies, was apparently the ritual book of the magpapahesus. Considered a classic of eighteenth-century Tagalog, Mahal na passion is a narrative poem on the passion, death, and resurrection of Jesus, written in the Spanish metre called quintilla. Tagalog is employed to tell the Christ-story, brought by and learned from the Jesuit missionary. Here, Tagalog has been modified to speak of biblical personages and realities and the theological themes of sin and repentance, grace and redemption. The author of this extraordinary book was not a Jesuit, but one who worked closely with the Jesuits and who, apparently, lived in the college in Manila as a servant or employee and was well taught by the Jesuits. The author admits that he owed all he knew to the people with whom he shared bread and board: 'Paquinabang co sa aquing quinalalagyan may caniya,' 'I owe everything to

The Jesuits and the Indigenous Peoples of the Philippines 435 those with whom I dwell.' His name was Caspar Aquino de Belen; he was a Tagalog from Rosario, Batangas, and the master printer of the Jesuit press from 1703 to 1716.42 Both Mahal na passion and the very person of Caspar attest to the influence of the Jesuits' twin tasks of civilization and Christianization. As agents of social change, the Jesuits deeply affected Philippine culture. By creating towns, they laid the patterns for future urban growth. Their study and use of the indigenous languages preserved but also modified those languages to meet the Society's religious ends. Today, anyone who aspires to study the vernaculars cannot omit the Jesuits' lexicographic and grammatical works, nor bypass the classicist filters the Jesuits brought when recording indigenous culture. We can see pre-colonial culture only by peering through the 'cracks in the parchment curtain,' as the historian William Henry Scott suggests.43 NOTES

1 Pedro Chirino, Relation de las Islas Filipinas i de lo que en ellas an trabaiado los padres de la Compania de Jesus (Rome, 1604). Chirino was born in 1557, and arrived in the Philippines in 1590. He wrote the Relation in 1603, the year before it was published in Rome. With Acquaviva's encouragement, he continued adding to a history of the Philippine mission, bringing his narrative to the year 1606. His manuscript, 'Primera parte de la historia de la provincia de Philippinas de la Compania de Jesus,' completed in 1610, did not see print. His Relation 'seems to be the earliest published work by a member of the Philippine Province.' Chirino died 15 September 1635. See Cost. Jes. Phil, p. 620. Chirino's 'Relation of the Filipinas Islands' appears in volume 12, pp. 173-321 of Emma Helen Blair and James Alexander Robertson, The Philippine Islands, 1493-1803 ..., 55 vols (Cleveland, 1903-9); see pp. 175-6 n31. 2 Francisco Ignacio Alzina, 'Historia de las islas e indios de bisayas,' ms (Munoz text), Madrid, Palacio Real. [Transcription by Victor Baltazar; translation by Paul Lietz, University of Chicago (typescript)]. The manuscript has two parts: the first, a natural history, consisting of four books of about 125 folios per book; the second, an ecclesiastical history, consisting probably of five books, of which parts of two remain. The manuscript was never published, though the author's holograph was sent to Spain for publication. Four recensions of the manuscript, based on the lost holograph, exist. Alzina was born in Gandia on 2 February 1610. He arrived in the Philippines in 1632. He pronounced his final vows in 1643 and spent most of his life evangelizing the Visayan. He died 30 July 1674. A number of works, published and unpublished, are attributed to him, including a Spanish-Visayan dictionary, a compendium of idiomatic expressions in Visayan, a manual of devotion for members of the Sodality of the Virgin, and sermons in Spanish and Visayan. He

436 Rene B. Javellana, SJ. wrote the 'Historia' in 1668, while in the mission of San Miguel, near Manila. The Alzina manuscript is unpaginated; pagination was added for Books III and IV in the Victor Baltazar transcription. 3 Cost. Jes. Phil., pp. 60-1. 4 For the Relation, chapter numbers are provided in parentheses in the text. 5 Chirino, 'Relation,' pp. 186, 190. 6 Ibid., pp. 187-90. Cauayan or kawayan is commonly used as a generic term for all bamboo, but it refers specifically to the kawayang tinik (Bambusa vulgaris). 1 Ibid., p. 191. 8 Ibid., pp. 217-19. Though he quickly dismisses the fitness of the Ayta for evangelization, in chapter 20 he remarks that in rare cases the Ayta prove to be excellent subjects (p. 262). 9 Ibid., pp. 205-6. 10 Ibid., pp. 186-7. 11 Ibid., p. 212. 12 Ibid., p. 263. 13 Ibid., pp. 293-6, 302^. 14 Ibid., pp. 210-12. 15 Ibid., pp. 236-8. 16 Ibid., pp. 242-3. 17 Ibid., pp. 180-1. 18 Ibid., pp. 262-71. 19 Ibid., p. 220. 20 Ibid., pp. 251-2. 21 Ibid., p. 309. 22 In the preface to his manuscript Alzina writes, 'todas ellas dignas del empleo de un nuevo i otro Plinio; confieso que ni mi estilo, ni genio e ingenio tienen que ver con aquel primero, ni menos lo erudito con el segundo: pero no puedo negar que en lo que emprendo a escrivir en esta Historia, tengo mas noticias que uno i otro, mas experiencia que muchos, i mas deseos de que se sepa todo, como es i pasa por aca (que lo mas comun es llegar a lo lejos mui alterado) que ninguno quizas de los que han escrito (de paso todos hasta agora) de lo de por aca i raro de vista; i asi aunque movido mas a los principles de la curiosidad que de otros motives plausibles'; Alzina, 'Historia' (n2 above), 'Proemio e intento de esta obra para quien la leyere.' The 'Historia' is cited by book and chapter number in the text and notes. 23 'El intento de todo ha sido i es dar a conocer al resto del mundo lo que Dios dejo escondido en este angulo de el, i motives a todos para que en todo i siempre le alabemos ... mover ... a los que leyeren esta parte i mas la segunda a que se alienten para venir de lo mas lejos como venimos otros de Espana i Europa a ayudar a estos pobres i proseguir con la labor comenzada que puede ser i lo temo no poco que falta de obreros quales deven ser los que logran ocupaciones i hacen acciones tan

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26 27

28

29 30

31

32

437

Apostolicas como por aca se exercen se acabe lo mucho bueno que esta empezado i se pierda lo que esta con tantos trabajos ganado i adquerido para Dies' (ibid., 'Proemio'). 'The prince of philosophy says that the name is the same as the being or essence of the thing named' (ibid., Part One, I.I). Schumacher writes: 'The methods used in the evangelization of the Philippines are sometimes unfavorably compared with the adaptation to Chinese and Indian society practiced by Jesuit missionaries Mateo Ricci, Roberto de Nobili, and others. The comparison, it seems, is unfair. It is true that the Spanish missionaries believed the imparting of policia, that is, the basic human culture which they saw exemplified in sixteenth-century Spain, was part of their mission. But likewise Filipino society had no ancient philosophical traditions in which to express the new faith, as did China and India'; John N. Schumacher, Readings in Philippine Church History (Quezon City, 1979), pp. 74-5. 'Invitandolos a esta empresa verdaderamente Apostolica' (Alzina, 'Historia,' Part One, I, introduction). 'Su Divina Magestad, que a nadie desprecia; antes como cuidadoso Padre de familias, solicita i dispone que haya quien llame siempre a su divina casa i mesa, aun a los mas olvidados del mundo, mandandonos a sus siervos i embiados por tan gran Sefior convocarlos con aquel misterioso: compelle, a que les obliguemos a entrar en ella, que quizas (como veremos en la 2.a parte) de otra manera no entraran ni participaran de sus divinos regalos' (ibid., 'Naturaleza, principio'; translation mine). See Karl Hutteter, An Archaeological Picture of a Pre-Spanish Cebuano Community (Cebu, 1973). 'The city of the natives in the port of Sebu was at that time so large and populous that it extended a space of more than a legua along the beach, on the spot where now stands the city and fortress of the Spaniards' (Chirino, 'Relation,' pp. 178-9). Cost. Jes. Phil, pp. 164-5. In 1573, Philip II systematized and codified existing laws on urban planning and promulgated them as the 'Ordenanzas Generales de Descrubrimiento y Nueva Poblacion.' These codes spelled out in practical detail the most current theories on urban planning based on Renaissance ideals. Chirino, 'Relation,' pp. 220-1, 283; Cost. Jes. Phil, pp. 136-71, 313-14; Pedro Murillo Velarde, Historia de la provincia de Philipinas de la Compania de Jesus: Segunda parte, que comprehende los progresos de esta provincia desde el ano de 1616, hasta el de 1716 (Manila, 1749), fols 347r-348v. The Franciscan Juan de Oliver (d. 1599) observed that for the Tagalog gold, land, and slaves were looked upon as wealth; Juan de Oliver, Declaracion de la doctrina Christiana (Quezon City, 1995), pp. 10-11. For the Visayan, slaves were part of the bahandi, the heirloom or bride price. See William Henry Scott, Barangay:

438 Rene B. Javellana, S.J.

33 34 35 36

37 38 39

40 41 42

43

Sixteenth-Century Philippine Culture and Society (Quezon City, 1994), pp. 32, 66, 129. Compact settlements in the European manner and the precursors of the pueblo (town). 'Inventario de los Bienes de la Compania de Jesus,' ms, Manila, Record Management and Archives Office, Republic of the Philippines, Temporalidades, 1768-70. Murillo Velarde, Historia, fol. 153v. A number of Jesuit-built fortifications incorporating the church and residence still remain throughout the Philippines, though most are in ruins: Boac and Santa Cruz in Marinduque; Catbalogan, Sulat, Taft, and Guiuan in Samar; Capul; Abuyog in Leyte; Baclayon in Bohol. Chirino, 'Relation,' pp. 256-8. The title page of Sanchez's vocabulario reads 'Para el uso, y comodidad de los PP. ministros de los partidos de bisayas.' 'Particulas verbales llamo, las que anadidas a las vozes raizes de esta lengua las hazen ser verbos activos, 6 passives, neutros, 6 de simple significacion, 6 de compuesta'; Domingo Ezguerra, Arte de la lengua bisaya de laprovincia de Leyte (Manila, 1747), fol. 60v; translation mine. The grammar was first published in 1620; this is an eighteenth-century reprint. See also Alzina, 'Historia,' Part One, III.l: '[The Visayan language] has three classes of words. We shall divide them here by calling the primitive roots, primary. These are monosyllables, or of two syllables but not more, and are like the skeleton or bones of this tongue, or its nerves. Then it has others, which we call secondary. Some of these are of three syllables, and many of two, which are composed of the primary [roots] by adding or changing one or more letters. These secondary [roots] are like the flesh which fills out the body of this tongue and gives it the harmony and the fundamental relationships for speaking. The third class is of words already compounded and of many syllables, and these are the most [numerous]. They are the adornment and trappings of this language.' Ezguerra, Arte, fol. 3. Ibid., fols 46-8. See Mahal na passion ni Jesu Christong Panginoon Natin na tola ni Caspar Aquino de Belen, ed. Rene B. Javellana (Quezon City, 1990); also Casaysayan nang pasiong mahal ni Jesu Christong Panginoon Natin na sucat ipag-alab nang puso nang sinomang babasa, ed. and trans. Rene B. Javellana (Quezon City, 1988). William Henry Scott, Cracks in the Parchment Curtain and Other Essays in Philippine History (Quezon City, 1982). Scott has employed his methodology of reading through the cracks to re-create Philippine pre-colonial society in the masterful, posthumously published Barangay: Sixteenth-Century Philippine Culture and Society (n39 above).

440 Part Five the years immediately after its foundation, the Society of Jesus attracted I nnotoriety for a number of innovations it introduced into religious life, such as the Fourth Vow of the solemnly professed members, not wearing a distinctive religious garb, and not reciting or chanting the Liturgical Hours in common. Throughout the post-Tridentine era the Jesuits seemed continually caught between diametrically opposed accusations from their critics: they were charged either with being reactionaries leading a deeply conservative campaign against the Reformation or with being promoters of novelty. Whichever charge might be the more telling, it is clear that the Society's cultural innovations arose in tension with inherited European traditions, with the customs and traditions of other peoples among whom they worked, and even with the customs and 'way of proceeding' within the Society itself. Sometimes Jesuit innovations found a place outside the order, as Irving Lavin argues regarding the influence of Jesuit anti-Machiavellian theories about the Christian ruler on Bernini's concept of the prince-hero. Lavin finds that the moral qualities of the Christian prince, who earns his right to reign through the exercise of Christian virtue, are expressed in three of Bernini's most famous sculptures of contemporary rulers. The artistic representation of cultural authority is also the theme of David M. Kowal's analysis of Jesuit architecture in Goa. Arriving some decades after the Portuguese had established their trading colony in the city, Jesuits continued to employ the older Manueline architectural style but added to it newer Italianate forms and elements of indigenous design. They thereby symbolically reaffirmed cultural continuity with Lisbon and Rome but at the same time reached out to local Indian culture. Jaime Lara finds another example of the Jesuits' capacity to combine traditions in an innovative fashion, again in an architectural context - Juan Bautista Villalpando's attempted reconstruction of Solomon's Temple. In what Lara calls 'the last great construction of Renaissance Neoplatonism,' Villalpando brought together his training as a mathematician, his understanding of classical Vitruvian architecture, and the austere aesthetics of the Herreran style in his attempt to recover the lost tradition of ancient Hebrew architecture. According to Alison Simmons, even in the traditional and seemingly restricted domain of Aristotelian natural philosophy, Jesuit educators sought to recover Aristotle's intended meanings through the rational reconstruction of his arguments, while at the same time displaying a characteristic flair for interpretive innovation that allowed them to use Aristotle in defence of their own theologically tinged positions. Marcus Hellyer finds that in the Jesuits' teaching of physics in Germany the high degree of openness and accommodation to multiple

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intellectual traditions characteristic of them in the early seventeenth century persisted throughout the eighteenth. These qualities, existing in tension with the Society's mechanisms for censorship, are especially manifest in the introduction into Jesuit lecture halls of experimental techniques, Cartesian mechanisms, and Newtonian concepts. The danger of excessive accommodation is the subject of Stanislaw Obirek's, S.J., study of Jesuits in Poland. The gradual assimilation of Jesuits to Polish customs, habits, and social attitudes in what Obirek sees as part of the 'Sarmatianization' of Catholicism threatened to erode Jesuit identity. In winning back Poland to Catholicism, the Jesuits were in danger of being won over to a way of life out of line with their own traditions.

217 Bernini's Image of the Ideal Christian Monarch IRVING LAVIN

My purpose in this paper is to consider three celebrated ruler portraits by Bernini in a context to which they have never been referred but which, in my view, is essential to an understanding of their form and meaning. While following traditional types, in each case Bernini introduced fundamental changes that resulted in three of the most powerful and innovative images of secular leadership in the history of European art.1 The works in question are the bust of Francesco I d'Este, duke of Modena, executed 1650-1 after two painted profile portraits by Sustermans (fig. 21.1); the bust of Louis XIV executed during Bernini's visit to Paris in the summer of 1665 to redesign the Louvre (fig. 21.2); and the equestrian monument of Louis conceived in Paris but executed after Bernini's return to Rome (fig. 21.3). The equestrian group was sent to Paris years after Bernini's death, when it met with very hostile response; finally, transformed into a portrayal of Marcus Curtius hurling himself into a fiery abyss to save his people, it was installed in the garden of Versailles.2 (There it remained until, in 1980, the tricentennial of Bernini's death, it was brutally mutilated in an act of cultural terrorism. Cleaned and restored, it has now been installed in a new sculpture museum in the Grandes Ecuries at Versailles.) The context in which I believe these works should be understood is the great tradition of early modern political theory and practice which since the pioneering studies of Friedrich Meinecke and Rodolfo De Mattei has come to be known as anti-Machiavellianism.3 The movement began towards the middle of the sixteenth century in response to Machiavelli's devastating critique of traditional Christian political theory. The intent was to counter Machiavelli's drastically amoral realpolitik with a kind of ideal realpolitik - retaining, often even reviving essential elements of Scholastic ideology, but revised so as to make allowances for the sometimes unpleasant necessities of practical political action on which Machiavelli had insisted. Among the main proponents, particularly in Spain,

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21.1. Bernini, bust of Francesco I d'Este. Galleria Estense, Modena. Photo courtesy of Alinari 15669.

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Irving Lavin

21.2. Bernini, bust of Louis XIV. Musee National du Chateau de Versailles. Photo courtesy of Alinari 25588.

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21.3. Bernini, equestrian monument of Louis XIV, altered by Giraudon to portray Marcus Curtius. Versailles. Photo courtesy of Documentation Photographique de la Reunion des Musees Nationaux 58 EN 1681.

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were the Jesuits, who sought to provide an alternative to Machiavelli's model of cynical unscrupulousness in the worldly arena of statecraft. From the latter part of the sixteenth century on, a veritable flood of anti-Machiavellian literature defended the relevance of Christian moral principles not only to Utopian visions of domestic rule and foreign diplomacy but also to practical and successful statesmanship. The key argument in this new 'reason of state' was that the best form of government, monarchy, while responsible ultimately to God, was based on the consent of the people; that the power of the ruler derived practically from his reputation; and that his reputation in turn depended on his exercise of virtue.4 I am concerned here with a particular current within this river of counterreformatory Christian political thought, which I should call the theory of the prince-hero.5 The theory defined the relation between morality and political power in such a way as to create a new, modern version of the old notion of the ideal Christian ruler. The Jesuits were also important, if not exclusive, tributaries to this current, and I suspect that, although Bernini modified it in a subtle but portentous way, the theory of the prince-hero was the tertium quid that linked the artist to the Jesuits in the secular sphere.6 The bust of Francesco d'Este (fig. 21.1) follows a typology - the armoured military figure with the torso enveloped by drapery - that had been developed from ancient models in the sixteenth and was quite common by the midseventeenth century (fig. 21.4).7 With respect to such predecessors, however, the proportions of the bust have been broadened to the point that the width actually exceeds the height. The head is relatively small so that the ample, tightly curled tresses of hair and the huge torso give an impression of overwhelming mass and grandeur. The head is turned markedly to the right while the body is turned in the opposite direction, with the right shoulder forward and the left back. The sitter's attention seems to have been caught by some distant vision, towards which he turns in a pervasive and spontaneous movement. Of special concern here is the treatment of the drapery, which envelops the body and creates an uncanny illusion, or rather series of illusions. No cut edges, only folds are visible along the lower silhouette, and from the right shoulder down across the chest, the drapery is pulled tight and knotted at the lower left; as a result, the body does not appear cut off but wrapped, Christo-like, as a self-sufficient object. The folds are shaped in such a way, however, that one senses beneath the drapery the familiar form of a bust portrait with arms amputated above the elbow and torso rounded at the bottom. Finally, at the left arm and shoulder the drapery edge flares up as if caught by a rising draft of air. We are confronted not by Francesco d'Este but by a bust of Francesco, wafted aloft in and by a protective mantle. An eighteenthcentury French visitor to Modena aptly described the bust as seeming to float in the air ('il semble flotter en 1'air').8

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21.4. Alessandro Algardi, bust of Lelio Frangipane, San Marcello, Rome. Photo courtesy of Istituto Centrale per il Catalogo e la Documentazione, Rome E97580.

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21.5. Roman sarcophagus with portrait busts before aparapetasma held by winged genii, Camposanto, Pisa. Photo courtesy of Deutsches Archaologisches Institut, Rome 34-700. Bernini has, in fact, assimilated the traditionally draped torso to an entirely different, specifically honorific tradition associated with Roman bust portraiture. The figure is placed against a cloth of honour, the so-called parapetasma, often held up by personifications of victory or winged putti (fig. 21.5).9 The device served in the ancient ancestor cult to suggest the heavenly sublimation of the soul of the deceased. Bernini had adapted this motif in the 1630s and 1640s for a number of memorials, activating the hanging cloth into a billowing emblem of transience (fig. 21.6). Bernini thus revived the classical imagery of apotheosis, but in the d'Este portrait he gave both the bust and the drapery a physical substance and function they had never had before. Nor are the bust and drapery separate and distinct elements; instead, they are bound together - literally, it seems - as one coherent form that conveys in a single dramatic act the exalted status of the sitter. The portrait of Francesco presents the ancient theme of deification in a new guise; it ennobles the individual, raising him not only to a higher level of significance but to a higher level of existence. It represents the idea of a hero, in the original,

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21.6. Bernini, cenotaph of Suor Maria Raggi, Santa Maria sopra Minerva, Rome. Photo courtesy of Istituto Centrale per il Catalogo et la Documentazione, Rome E54086.

450 Irving Lavin classical sense of the term. Explicitly acknowledging that it is the simulacrum of a man, the bust proclaims that the man portrayed partakes of the divine. It is in this context that the anti-Machiavellian concept of the prince-hero becomes relevant to our subject. The concept arose, I believe, in response to a dilemma posed by the two fundamental yet seemingly incompatible political tenets of Catholicism: the spiritual power of the absolute monarch derived ultimately from God, but his effective power derived ultimately from the consent of his subjects. The key to the reconciliation of these opposing claims lay in the practice of virtue, which had been central to Machiavelli's philosophy as well. The anti-Machiavellians, however, transformed his interpretation from something approaching virtuosity, or cleverness, into a politicized equivalent of the traditional Christian virtues, especially the cardinal virtues of prudence, fortitude, justice, and temperance. By practising the virtues the ruler acquired the reputation that earned for him popular support; and it was through his exercise of the virtues that his contact with the divine was established and maintained. The paradoxical merger of the human and divine was embodied in the prince-hero. This hybrid - indeed, it was sometimes hyphenated - concept was a specific revival and adaptation of the classical demigod, half human, half divine, whose superhuman virtues merited the noble name of 'hero.' The development in the secular sphere had a close and surely related religious corollary in the theological principle of heroic virtue, an essential factor in the process of canonizing saints, first introduced in 1602 and elaborately formulated later in the century.10 The theory of the prince-hero seems first to have been articulated in a clear and deliberate way around the middle of the sixteenth century by the well-known Ferrarese poet, historian, and political theorist, Giovanni Battista Pigna. Pigna was secretary to Prince Alfonso II d'Este, duke of Ferrara, professor at the university of Ferrara, and official historian of the d'Este family. Pigna was virtually possessed by the idea of the hero, about which he published two works in 1561, a treatise, II principe, dedicated to Duke Emanuele Filiberto of Savoy but written for Alfonso II of Ferrara, and an epic poem entitled Gli heroici, dedicated to Alfonso; and in 1570 a massive history of the d'Este princes.11 In effect, Pigna combined two distinct but related traditions, that of the divine right of kings, one of many aspects of medieval thought revived in the Counter Reformation, and that of the sacral rulership of antiquity enshrined in the hero as a demigod. Pigna brought about this merger through a series of arguments that were equally novel. Among the hosts of angels those that served as guardians of princes belong to a higher order than those that guide ordinary men.12 The heroic prince is so plainly blessed with the theological virtues that he may more properly be called divine than others who possess these virtues. Princes are given

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more divine guidance than ordinary men because they are more important, and they are more important because others depend on them. This last point is the key to Pigna's position: the divine nature of the prince derives from his duty and purpose, namely, to reach perfection and to enable his subjects to reach perfection, through participation in the political life. The prince is given sovereignty over others in order that he may be able to dedicate himself completely to eradicating evil and introducing goodness among the people. In the ideal prince the heroic nature surpasses the human. The goal of the prince is not to enlarge the state but to ensure that his people live virtuously. The sacral nature of sovereignty was thus adapted to the moral and religious justification of the active life. It should be emphasized that the issue was not merely one of abstract speculation or literary metaphor, but one with immediate, concrete significance for Pigna. His history of the d'Este, which gave rise to a veritable orgy of genealogical portraiture in the ducal palace at Ferrara illustrating the antiquity of the ancestral line, was specifically intended to establish the family's claim to dynastic precedence over the Medici - a dispute of serious contemporary political importance.13 The subject also had broad implications for European political theory because the question of the role of the papacy in the affairs of state was involved. If the king's power derived directly from God, then the pope had no role as intermediary between the terrestrial and the celestial realms. If, instead, the king governs by the consent of the people, then his powers are only indirectly ordained and he is answerable to the higher authority of Christ's vicar on earth. Although Pigna was not himself a Jesuit, he was important in our context because his views were taken up and developed by a Modenese member of the order named Domenico Gamberti, who published a massive account of a huge catafalque erected in the church of Sant'Agostino in Modena for the funeral on 2 April 1659 of Duke Francesco.14 Gamberti used Pigna's history of the d'Este for the elaborate and comprehensive genealogy of the family to which much of the decoration of the catafalque was devoted, as well as for the eulogy of Francesco. Gamberti was intent upon applying Pigna's generalized definition of the heroic prince to Francesco, and in doing so he also specified and developed the theory itself. The idea of the heroic prince, which is incidental to Pigna's main argument, becomes Gamberti's central theme, as his book's title itself proclaims: L'idea di un prencipe et eroe christiano in Francesco I. d'Este di Modona, e Reggio Duca VIII. Generalissimo dell'arme reali di Francia in Italia, &c. Gamberti develops at some length the traditional metaphor identifying the hero, and hence the ruler, with the sun. The prince-hero is repeatedly likened to the sun, his nobility with regard to his subjects resembling the nobility of the sun with respect to the planets. Gamberti also uses other suggestive metaphors such as that of a simulacrum resembling its divine sculptor and that of a small world.15

452 Irving Lavin He takes idea very seriously, following Plato's definition of it as a divine model, and the prince is indeed a model to all others.16 Gamberti is also careful to define the hero, citing Lucian's apodeictic formulation, as one who is neither man nor god, but both at once ('Heros est qui neque homo est, neque Deus, et simul utrumque est').17 The idea of a perfect prince-hero is fulfilled in Francesco because he unites all the requisite virtues in a harmonious chorus.18 Basing himself on Thomas Aquinas (the most important of the Scholastic sources to which the anti-Machiavellian thinkers of the Counter Reformation returned), Gamberti divides the competencies of the prince-hero into two spheres, the civil and the military, in both of which the primary virtues are the four cardinal virtues, prudence, fortitude, justice, and temperance.19 Gamberti is particularly interesting for the way in which he effectively reconciles the hereditary rights of the prince with the definition of the status of the prince-hero in terms of virtue. Especially significant is Gamberti's understanding of nobility, which, while based on family lineage, is also intimately bound to virtue. He argues that nobility derives not merely from ancient ancestry, as is popularly imagined, but also from virtue.20 He alone is noble who inherits the virtues of his forebears, and the highest nobility springs from the antiquity of the family and the virtues inherited.21 This theme provided the basic program of the funeral decorations designed by the architect Gaspare Vigarani, who had by the time of the funeral moved to Paris, where he later built the Salle des Machines in the Tuileries; he was succeeded as theatre architect to Louis XIV by his son, Carlo, whom Bernini met on his visit to Paris in 1665.22 The decorations comprised the two sides of the nave, the fa9ade, and the catafalque itself and included, in addition to depictions of the major events in the duke's life and his achievements, portrayals of his ancestors organized according to the virtues they represented and transmitted to the duke. This treatment Gamberti himself described as a 'retrospective idea' of the prince-hero,23 thus incorporating the past in the present as the link in the union of the divine and the human, nobility with virtue. Gamberti's work was published years after Bernini's portrait was made, but he illustrated the bust as the frontispiece and in such a way as to suggest that it was the commemorative sculptural equivalent of his subject (fig. 21.7): an allegorical figure actually inscribes the title of the work on the pedestal as an emblem of the Christian ruler's victory over death.24 Although there is no reason to suppose that the two men ever met, the link between them is also evident from the fact that the rearing equestrian figures of Francesco d'Este's ancestors shown on the catafalque with paired spiral columns (fig. 21.8) strikingly anticipate Bernini's project for the equestrian monument of Louis XIV. We know that Bernini was asked to provide a model for an equestrian monument of Francesco shortly after the duke's death.25

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21.7. Bernini's bust of Francesco I d'Este. Engraving from Domenico Gamberti, L'idea di un prencipe et eroe christiano (1659), frontispiece.

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21.8. Catafalque of Francesco I d'Este. Engraving detail from Gamberti, L'idea di un prencipe et erne christiano, opposite p. 190.

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In part, however, the community of thought between Gamberti and Bernini was probably based on a common source. One likely possibility was Tarquinio Galluzzi, a distinguished professor of rhetoric at the Jesuit college in Rome, the Collegio Romano, in the first half of the seventeenth century, whom Bernini must have known well.26 (Galluzzi delivered the funeral oration for Robert Bellarmine, for whose tomb in the Gesu Bernini executed his famous portrait bust, the image of fervid devotion.) Galluzzi was a seminal figure in the development of Jesuit drama. He wrote several important tragedies in the classical style on Christian subjects, as well as theoretical treatises and commentaries. In a lengthy commentary on Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics he cites the passage in the Politics (Ill.xiv. 11.14) that may be the ultimate source of the idea of the prince-hero: here Aristotle describes the earliest phase of monarchy, which was the age of heroes when there were gods among men, whom they ruled by common consent.27 Bernini's projects for the Modenese court, which besides the bust and equestrian portraits of Francesco included plans for refurbishing the ducal palace, profoundly affected the precisely analogous works he undertook for Louis XIV.28 The bust of the king (fig. 21.2) resoundingly echoes that of Francesco, but carries its innovations a significant step further - and not simply because fifteen years had passed but also because Louis XIV was not a duke but Le Roi Soleil. The differences are profound. The vigorous sideward turn of the head and eyes has a distinct upward cast suggestive not of arrogance but of an ardently inspired and noble hauteur. The ebullient perruque engulfs the face in an aureole of loose, twisting, and lambent curls, highlighted by deep undercutting and flickers of drillwork, that cascade 'earthward' in a coruscating flood. These changes serve to assimilate the features of Louis to those commonly associated with the greatest of the ancient monarchs, Alexander, whose pathetic expression and 'leonine mane' had in turn been assimilated to the fiery-locked sun god Helios (fig. 21.9). The resemblance to Alexander was remarked by contemporary viewers and emphasized by Bernini himself. The bust now includes an implicit lower right arm that bends back across the torso, counteracting the forward thrust of the shoulder. The model for this vigorous contrapposto was again Alexander, whose portrait by Giulio Romano Bernini evidently adapted to his purpose (fig. 21.10). The lower edge of the torso is now completely dissimulated by the drapery and no trace of the conventional bust form remains, so that the body and arms seem to continue in the mind's eye - not the image of Louis but Louis himself.29 At the same time, the drapery now flows to one side as if it were truly a magic carpet bearing the living figure forward and upward.30 This last, and ultimate, illusion must be understood in relation to the equally extraordinary pedestal Bernini intended for the work but never carried out. The bust would have rested on a

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21.9. Helios, denarius of Vespasian. Photo courtesy of the British Museum, London.

terrestrial globe of gilded and enamelled copper, bearing the ingenious inscription PICCIOLA BASA, 'small base'; the globe in turn would have rested on a copper drapery emblazoned with military trophies and virtues - these last, no doubt, a specific reference to the attributes of the prince-hero; and the whole was to be set on a platform. In part, Bernini invoked an ancient type of portrait bust mounted on a (celestial) globe to suggest apotheosis. He must particularly have had in mind a splendid bust monument of the emperor Claudius that included a base with a globe and a panoply of military spoils (fig. 21.11); in the mid-seventeenth century the ancient bust and base had been placed on a sculptured platform, as well.311 am convinced, however, that Bernini's chief purpose was to create in his portrait of the king what might be called a living analogue of the ubiquitous device that Louis had adopted two years before, in 1662, as his personal emblem and which had become practically synonymous with his name (fig. 21.12). The device showed the sun as a radiant face, floating high above the clouds and a spherical earth, with the motto NEC PLURIBUSIMPAR, 'not unequal to many,' The conceit and image seem to have originated in a book of 'ethico-political' emblems, first published in 1619, in one of which (fig. 21.13) the sun dispelling the clouds around the earth 'illuminates everything with its rays,' the motto derived from Claudian's panegyric on the emperor Honorius; so, the explanation

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21.10. Giulio Romano, Alexander the Great. Photo courtesy of Musee d'Art et d'Histoire, Geneva.

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21.11. The Colonna Claudius. Engraving by Giovanni Battista Galestruzzi, 1657.

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21.12. Medal of Louis XIV, 1663. Photo courtesy of the American Numismatic Society, New York.

21.13. Radis tamen omnia lustrat. Engraving from J.W. Zincgref, Emblematum ethicopoliticorum centuria (1619), no. 38.

460 Irving Lavin goes, the majesty of a king might expand his radiance so far as to be recognized by everyone.32 Louis's motto, however, was the subject of heated geopolitical controversy. Its meaning - that the king, like the sun, is capable of 'illuminating' more than one empire - was explained by Louis XIV himself in his memoirs and by one of the outstanding French Jesuits of the day, Claude-Francis Menestrier. Menestrier wrote many works on numismatics, heraldry, emblematics, funeral ceremonies, and all sorts of public spectacles including fireworks. In 1679 he published a whole book on the king's device, La devise du royjustifiee, which is of fundamental importance for an understanding of its true implications and, by extension, those of Bernini's portrait. The tract was intended to counter a statement by an earlier writer that the device had been employed by Philip II of Spain in reference to the Spanish conquest of the New World.33 Menestrier showed conclusively that this prior use was a pure fabrication. There can be no doubt, however, that the device invented for Louis XIV was indeed a response to the long familiar Habsburg emblem of two columns symbolic of the pillars Hercules erected at the end of the earth, with the inscription NON PLUS ULTRA, 'not (or nothing) beyond.' The emblem might refer either to an unsurpassable achievement, physical or spiritual, or to a limitation imposed by prudence; for the Habsburgs, the device also connoted the geographical extent of the empire. Louis replaced the Habsburg boast to rule to the limits of the known world by his claim that his power radiated beyond his own domain. This implication, and hence the motivation for Louis's device, can have originated in only one context, that of the Peace of the Pyrenees of 1659, by which the power of Habsburg Spain was broken and peace between the two ancient enemies was established. Spain ceded large territories to France; the boundary between the two countries was drawn; Louis's marriage to Maria Teresa of Austria, daughter of Philip IV, joining the two families, was arranged; and Louis agreed not to pursue his expansionist design beyond the Pyrenees. In countless eulogies, Louis was hailed as the harbinger of peace, and his success in this respect was specifically attributed to his having voluntarily refrained from a war in which, had he pursued it, he would have conquered even Spain and its possessions. This noble self-control is suggested in Bernini's portrait by the action of Louis's right arm, bent back in a commanding gesture of restraint. The bust-monument incorporates the apotheosis of the prince-hero in the 'disembodied' image of the king floating on drapery above a globe labelled PICCIOLA BASA, just as in Louis's emblem the sun floats over clouds above an earth that is, in effect, much smaller than it might be. The historical concatenation of these observations is evident from the fact that in another work Menestrier speaks specifically of Louis's heroic virtues precisely in the context of explaining the NEC PLURIBUS IMPAR emblem; and he was intimately familiar with Gamberti's work, from which he quotes at length.34

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21.14. Etienne Delaune, suit of armour for Henry II. Photo courtesy of Musee du Louvre, Paris.

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462 Irving Lavin Bernini's debt to the anti-Machiavellian prince-hero, to Menestrier, and to the emblematics of Louis XIV is most emphatically and most spectacularly displayed in his equestrian portrait of the king (fig. 21.3). The work departs as radically from its predecessors as had the bust monument. In the portrait bust, as in that of Francesco I, the ruler is portrayed without any allegorical paraphernalia: the king is shown wearing his own - not classical - armour, and his own Venetian lace collar, in an action that looked to one observer as if he were about to issue a command.35 All this was changed in the equestrian monument, where Louis was shown in antique guise, austerely unadorned; his features, as we know from the sources, are utterly transfigured into those of a radiantly smiling, Alexandrine youth; he grasps his baton as an emblem of power, but not in a gesture of command. The work is, moreover, the first monumental free-standing marble statue of an equestrian on a rearing horse since antiquity. It is also well over life-size and is carved from a single block, reputedly the largest such monolithic sculpture since antiquity. It is thus heroic in scale as well as technique. The full import of Bernini's sculpture becomes apparent only when one understands the context in which it was to be seen. It was to have been placed not on a traditional architectural base, but atop a rocky peak, supported by a swirl of windblown flags symbolizing the conquest of the summit (figs 21.15, 21.18, 21.20). Like the drapery of Louis's bust, the unfurling banners would seem to bear the portrait aloft. In fact, one realizes that the equestrian monument was also in its way a living re-creation of the king's personal emblem, the flags substituting for the clouds as mediators between the earth below and the sun above. In addition, two monumental spiral columns recalling both the pillars of Hercules and the triumphal Roman columns of Trajan and Marcus Aurelius were to have flanked the sculpture, which would have borne the inscription NON PLUS ULTRA (cf. fig. 21.16).36 Here the reference to the Habsburg device - NON PLUS ULTRA with paired columns - is explicit and complete, and the message is obvious. Having reached the summit of glory, Louis stops and goes no further. In this case, we know Bernini's specific source. In 1660 a lavish celebration was held at Lyon for the Peace of the Pyrenees and the marriage of Louis to Maria Teresa of Austria, which joined the two monarchies. The political implications of the event were epitomized in one of the temporary structures erected at strategic points throughout the city. A personification of war, Bellona, stood on a pile of military spoils that bore the inscription NON ULTRA, between two columns to which her arms are bound by chains (fig. 21.17).37 One column was decorated with the emblem of France, the other with those of Leon and Castile, and the whole was placed atop a craggy two-peaked mass referring to the Pyrenees. The Jesuit Menestrier, who was a native of Lyon and published a lengthy description of the celebrations, may well have been responsible for the allegory. He provides

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21.15. Bernini, study for the equestrian monument of Louis XIV. Drawing. Photo courtesy of Museo Civico, Bassano.

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21,16. Georg Wilhelm Vestner, medal of Charles VI, 1717. Photo courtesy of the American Numismatic Society, New York.

an explanation which, along with the image itself, must have affected Bernini deeply: It is often desirable for the glory of heroes that they themselves voluntarily put limits on their designs before Time or Death does so of necessity ... The grand example [of Hercules, who raised the columns, then stopped to rest after his victories,] makes all the world admire the moderation of our monarch, who, having more ardour and courage than any of the heroes of ancient Greece and Rome, knew how to restrain his generous movements in the midst of success and victories and place voluntary limits on his fortune ... The trophy that will render him glorious in the history of all time will be the knowledge that this young conqueror preferred the repose of his people to the advantages of his glory and sacrificed his interests to the tranquillity of his subjects.38

Menestrier's emblem helps to explain several important points concerning Bernini's conception of the equestrian portrait in particular and of the nature of kingship generally. With regard to the first point, we have a remarkable statement by the artist himself describing the meaning, quite unprecedented in the history of equestrian portraiture, he intended the work to convey. He said:

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21.17. Allegory of the Peace of the Pyrenees. Engraving from Claude-Francois Menestrier, Les reioiiissances de la paix (1660), opposite p. 54. I have not represented King Louis in the act of commanding his armies. This, after all, would be appropriate for any prince. But I wanted to represent him in the state he alone has been able to attain through his glorious enterprises. And since the poets imagine that Glory resides on the top of a very high and steep mountain whose summit only a few climb, reason demands that those who nevertheless happily arrive there after enduring

466 Irving Lavin privations [superati disaggi] joyfully breathe the air of sweetest Glory, which having cost terrible labours [disastrosi travagli] is the more dear, the more lamentable the strain [rincrescevole ... stento] of the ascent has been. And as King Louis with the long course of his many famous victories has already conquered the steep rise of the mountain, I have shown him as a rider on its summit, in full possession of that Glory, which, at the cost of blood [costo di sangue], his name has acquired. Since a jovial face and a gracious smile are proper to him who is contented, I have represented the monarch in this way.39

Menestrier's comment on the emblem at Lyon explains why Bernini did not show Louis commanding his troops, for while the sculpture is a portrait of a soldier it is ultimately an image of peace. In this way, too, may be understood Bernini's emphasis on the 'privations,' the 'terrible labours,' the 'lamentable strain,' and the 'cost of blood' Louis suffered for his greatness. Bernini, in effect, universalized Menestrier's thought; the Pyrenees became the mountain of virtue, and territorial containment became victory over the self, the ultimate achievement of the true hero.40 He thus managed to incorporate both meanings of the non plus ultra I Pillars of Hercules tradition, expressing Louis's attainment of the extreme limit of glory through victories achieved at great self-sacrifice. The essence of Bernini's conceit lies in the poignant irony of the great hero reaching the heights of spiritual triumph by limiting earthly ambition. The equestrian monument becomes thereby a vision not only of military but of moral force, a vehicle not only of political but also of ethical precept. Bernini's image, above all, is that of potentially overwhelming power held in firm and benign restraint. I hope it will have become clear that Bernini was profoundly indebted to the vital, predominantly Jesuit tradition of moral statesmanship represented by the anti-Machiavellian movement, to the idea of the prince-hero, and to Menestrier's explanations of the emblematic imagery of Louis XIV. The extent, but also the limit, of Jesuit involvement in the development of Bernini's ideas on the subject, and the political significance the order itself attached to the equestrian monument, may be gauged from a letter of great subtlety and perspicuity written by Bernini's good friend Gian Paolo Oliva, superior general of the Jesuit order. Oliva had been instrumental in persuading Bernini to undertake the trip to Paris in the first place, and in 1673, having recently seen the sculpture in Rome, he wrote to his Jesuit cohort in Paris, Jean Ferrier, who had earlier assumed the critical post of confessor to the king. Oliva encapsulates the self-sacrificial theory of rulership, and turns it specifically to the struggle against heresy, notably the Jansenist movement then much in vogue at the French court, and the Turkish menace.41 Oliva was also preacher to the pope, and his remarks suggest that Bernini's visit to Paris may itself have been part of Alexander VIFs strategy to

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enlist the king's support in the face of these threats to the church: I congratulate the city of Paris, which will soon admire in its most famous place a monument of which none better may be seen or will be seen in Europe, for the object it represents and for the art with which it is portrayed. The acclaimed miracle lacks nothing except the crown on the head of the Prince it represents. Of the two crowns we venerate in commanders, that of glory was given to the king by the birth that revealed him to the world as Prince of so many lands; the other of laurel is offered to him by so many heretical places expunged by his sword. There remains the last, of olive, most glorious of all and desired by all, in which the king is ringed by the universal peace among faithful princes; it alone remains to add to his praises, nor can there be greater decoration for his splendour. Such a garland is not worked by tools, hence the Cavalier has not placed it on the portrait's head, and only a King loaded with so many trophies may assume it by overcoming himself after having overcome the enemies of the faith ... It is your responsibility to offer with the holiness of your counsels to such a potent King the branches of a crown that with God and the Good takes precedence over any diadem ,..'42

In one important respect, however, I believe Bernini went beyond his predecessors. It is a striking fact that Bernini's works for Louis XIV - the designs for the Louvre as well as the portraits of the king - are almost devoid of any royal or dynastic references such as crowns, ancestor portraits, and fleurs-de-lys. Colbert complained bitterly about this austerity even while Bernini was in Paris. But there is more here than meets the eye (or rather than does not meet the eye), for implicit in this 'heredity-restraint' is the subversive view of the ruler as a man endowed with noble ideals but whose merit derives not merely from his noble birth but from his heroic virtue and labours. Bernini had the temerity to say precisely this to Louis himself on the eve of his departure from Paris to return to Rome. The two men had taken an immediate liking to each other, and the young king wished the aging artist could stay to finish his various projects. Having put the finishing touches to the bust, Bernini said that his only regret was 'that he was obliged to leave; he would have been happy to spend the rest of his life in [the king's] service, not because he was king of France and a great king, but because he had realized that [Louis's] spirit was even more exalted than his position.'43 Both aspects of this provocative combination of values - a God-given right to rule vested in one who earned it through the exercise of virtue - were stated expressis verbis on two complementary medals commemorating the statue that were struck in Rome, doubtless under the aegis of the pope.44 One bears the inscription MAC ITER AD SUPEROS, 'this way to the gods,' in allusion to the arduous peak of virtue and self-conquest which the victorious hero surmounts (fig. 21.18). This was a pre-eminently Herculean sentiment, associated espe-

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21.18. Antonio Travani, medal of Louis XIV. Photo courtesy of Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Rome.

daily with the theme of Hercules at the Crossroads; the hero chooses the difficult path of righteousness over the easy road to pleasure, thereby expressing the supreme Stoic virtue, conquest of the self.45 Bernini had himself invoked the idea in his plan to place guardian figures of the demigod, identified with fortitude and labour, flanking the entrance to the Louvre. He explained to the king that Hercules 'by means of his fortitude and labour is a portrait of virtue, which resides on the mountain of labour, that is, the rocky mass; and he says that whoever wishes to reside in this palace must pass through virtue and labour. This thought and allegory greatly pleased His Majesty, to whom it seemed to have grandeur and sententiousness.'46 In architectural terms, Bernini here referred to one of the most illustrious Roman structures, the double temple of Honour and Virtue - so arranged that one had to pass through the one to reach the other.47 The image that echoed in Bernini's mind must have resembled the frontispiece of the most popular of all the Jesuit tracts on Christian political theory, Diego de Saavedra Fajardo's Idea principis christiano-politici, published in the Brussels edition of 1649 (fig. 21.19).48 Hercules guides the armoured Christian prince, who crushes the Hydra of heresy underfoot, through an honour guard of virtues

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21.19. Erasmus Quellinus, Sic itur ad astra. Engraved frontispiece from Diego de Saavedra Fajardo, Idea principis christiano-politici (1649).

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21.20. Antonio Travani, medal of Louis XIV. Photo courtesy of Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Rome.

along the path that leads up to the temples at the summit, inscribed MAC ITUR AD ASTRA, This way leads to the stars.'49 The other medal (fig. 21.20) carries the sharpest challenge to princely rule, in the motto inscribed on the flags that would have wafted the bounding equestrian heavenward: ET MAIOR TITULIS VIRTUS, 'Virtue is greater than titles' - astonishing on a monument to Louis XIV, the Sun King. Underlying all these conceits one can discern a radical principle that the true basis of just rule lay in individual virtue and self-control rather than in inherited rank and unbridled power. While giving form to the concept of the prince-hero Bernini defined it in a way that challenged the very foundations of traditional monarchist theory, including even that of the anti-Machiavellians.50 In his works of political intent, he created a revolutionary new means of visual expression to convey a revolutionary new social ideal.51 NOTES Except for a few added references, this paper was first presented at the Ignatian year colloquium 'Les jesuites et la civilisation du baroque (1540-1640),' organized by

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Louis de Vaucelles, S.J., and held at Les Fontaines, Chantilly, in June 1991.1 am grateful to Father Vaucelles for allowing me to publish my contribution elsewhere, in order to be able to include the requisite illustrations. An Italian version, accompanied by an essay and complete documentation on the creation of the bust of Francesco I d'Este, has been published: Bernini e I'immagine delprincipe cristiano ideale: Appendice documentaria a cum di Giorgia Mancini (Modena, 1998). 1 This essay belongs, in part, to a series of attempts I have made to describe the nature, meaning, and development of 'illusionism' in the Italian sculptured bust since the Renaissance: Irving Lavin, 'Five Youthful Sculptures by Gianlorenzo Bernini and a Revised Chronology of His Early Works,' Art Bulletin 50 (1968): 223-48; 'On the Sources and Meaning of the Renaissance Portrait Bust,' Art Quarterly 33 (1970): 207-26; 'Bernini's Death,'Art Bulletin 54 (1972): 158-86; 'On Illusion and Allusion in Italian Sixteenth-Century Portrait Busts,' Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 119 (1975): 353-62; 'On the Pedestal of Bernini's Bust of the Savior,' Art Bulletin 60 (1978): 547. Some of the material is incorporated in a chapter entitled 'Bernini's Image of the Sun King' in my book Past-Present: Essays on Historicism in Art from Donatella to Picasso (Berkeley, 1993), pp. 139-202, where full references to the sources will be found. 2 For summary accounts of the three works, see Rudolf Wittkower, Gian Lorenzo Bernini: The Sculptor of the Roman Baroque (Oxford, 1981), pp. 224, 246-7, 254ff. 3 Friedrich Meinecke, Machiavellianism: The Doctrine ofRaison d'Etat and Its Place in Modern History (1927; New York, 1957); Rodolfo De Mattei, II pensiero politico italiano nell'eta della controriforma, 2 vols (Milan and Naples, 1982-^4-); see also A. Dempf, Christliche Staatsphilosophie in Spanien (Salzburg, 1937); H. Lutz, Ragione di stato und christliche Staatsethik im 16. Jahrhundert (Minister, 1961); M. Viroli, Dalla politica alia ragion di stato: La scienza del governo tra XIII e XVII secolo (Rome, 1994), pp. 155-84. The views of some of the major writers of the school, including the Jesuits Giovanni Botero, Pedro de Ribadeneira, Adam Contzen, and Carlo Scribani (also Justus Lipsius, who had close connections to the Jesuits), have recently been outlined by Robert Bireley, The Counter-Reformation Prince (Raleigh, N.C., 1990); although I deal with different authors and focus on a different theme, I am greatly indebted to Bireley's work. Further to the theme, see J.L. Colomer, Traite politique, exercise spirituel: L'art de la meditation chez Virgilio Malvezzi,' Rivista di letterature moderne e comparate 45 (1992): 245-61, and '"Esplicar los grandes hechos de vuestra magestad": Virgilio Malvezzi, historien di Philippe IV,' in Repubblica e virtu: Pensiero politico e monarchia cattolicafra XVI e XVII secolo, ed. C. Continisio and C. Mozzarelli (Rome, 1995), pp. 45-75, and some of the other essays therein. 4 On this concept of reputation, see Bireley, Counter-Reformation.

472 Irving Lavin 5 The idea of the monarch as hero was singled out by De Mattei, // pensiero, I 222, II 22-3, and by S. Skalweit, 'Das Herrscherbild des 17. Jahrhunderts,' Historische Zeitschrift 184 (1957): 71-2. 6 Bernini's relations with the Jesuits have often been stressed, sometimes overstressed, as a major factor in the development of his art in the religious sphere; see Walter Weibel, Jesuitismus und Barockskulptur in Rom (Strasbourg, 1909); Rudolf Kuhn, 'Gian Paolo Oliva und Gian Lorenzo Bernini,' Romische Quartalschrift fur christliche Altertumskunde und Kirchengeschichte 64 (1969): 229-33; Hask. Pair., pp. 85ff; Hask. 'Role,' pp. 56ff; Witt. Trob.,' pp. llff; Lavin, 'Bernini's Death,' and Past-Present (the chapter on Bernini's busts of the Anima Beata and Dannatd); Anthony Blunt, 'Gianlorenzo Bernini: Illusionism and Mysticism,' Art History 1 (1978): 67-89; Joseph Connors, 'Bernini's S. Andrea al Quirinale: Payments and Planning,' Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 41 (1982): 15-37; C. Frommel, 'S. Andrea al Quirinale: Genesi e struttura,' in Gian Lorenzo Bernini architetto e I'architettura europea del SeiSettecento, ed. G. Spagnesi and M. Fagiolo (Rome, 1983), pp. 211-53; I have suggested some connections with Jesuit theatre in 'Bernini and Antiquity: The Baroque Paradox - A Poetical View,' in Antikenrezeption im Hochbarock, ed. H. Beck and S. Schulze (Berlin, 1989), pp. 9-36. It will become evident that a major point of this paper is to suggest that the distinction between secular and religious is obscure precisely in the context of rulership. 7 Algardi's bust of Lelio Frangipane, illustrated here by way of example, is dated to the mid-1630s by J. Montagu, Alessandro Algardi, 2 vols (New Haven and London, 1985), II427. 8 J.J.L.F. de Lalande, Voyage d'unfranqois en Italic, fait dans les annees 1765 & 1766, 8 vols (Yverdon, 1769-90), I 452. 9 On Bernini's early use of the motifs of the parapetasma and the image held by winged figures, see Irving Lavin, Bernini and the Unity of the Visual Arts (New York and London, 1980), pp. 52, 69-70. His use of the latter device for a bust 'portrait' culminated in his last work, the bust of the Saviour, which rested on a pedestal consisting of two kneeling angels; see Lavin, 'Bernini's Death,' pp. 17Iff; Irving Lavin, 'Afterthoughts on "Bernini's Death,'" An Bulletin 55 (1973): 429-36; Lavin, 'On the Pedestal.' Bernini's memorials of this type have been studied more extensively by J. Bernstock, 'Bernini's Memorial to Maria Raggi,' Art Bulletin 62 (1980): 243-55, and 'Bernini's Memorials to Ippolito Merenda and Alessandro Valtrini,' Art Bulletin 63 (1981): 210-32. 10 See R. Hofmann, Die heroische Tugend: Geschichte und Inhalt eines theologischen Begriffes (Munich, 1933); Enciclopedia cattolica, 13 vols (Vatican City, 1948-54), under 'Canonizzazione,' III, cols 595-6, 605-6. 11 Giovanni Battista Pigna, Ilprincipe (Venice, 1561), Gli heroici (Venice, 1561), and

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Historia de principi di Este (Ferrara, 1570). On Pigna, see De Mattei, II pensiero, I 33-4, II 21 ff, whose summary of Pigna's ideas I have adopted here, and the literature cited in T. Bozza, Scrittori politici italiani dal 1550 al 1650 (Rome, 1949), pp. 38-9. 12 However it may have reached him, Bernini seems to have echoed this teaching specifically when he attributed the correspondence between nobility of mind and of bearing in Louis XIV to 'the work of those two angels who according to the theologians were the guides of kings': 'Le Cavalier a dit qu'il avait trouve ce que lui avait rapporte M. le cardinal legat, qu'il reconnaitrait le roi, sans 1'avoir jamais vu, entre cent seigneurs, tant sa fa§on et son visage avaient de majeste et portaient de recommandation. II a dit ensuite que ce n'etait encore rien; ma, che il cervello, pour user du mot, repondait admirablement a cet air et a cette noblesse, ne parlant jamais qu'il ne dit des chose dignes d'etre notees et les plus a propos du monde ... Le Cavalier a dit que cela venait sans doute de ce que les theologiens tiennent que les rois ont deux anges pour les conduire'; Paul, Freart de Chantelou, Diary of the Cavaliere Bernini's Visit to France (Princeton, 1985), p. 235, and Journal du voyage du Cavalier Bernin en France, ed. L. Lalanne (Paris, 1885), p. 187, 28 September. 13 On d'Este genealogy and portraiture, see Gli Estensi: Primaparte, ed. R. lotti (Modena, 1997), especially pp. 78-9. On the series of two hundred d'Este portraits executed in fresco during the 1570s in the couryard of the Castello at Ferrara, see D. Coffin, 'Pirro Ligorio and Decorations of the Late Sixteenth Century at Ferrara,' Art Bulletin 37 (1955): 167-85, who also gives an account of the political issues, and L. Lodi. 'Immagini della genealogia estense,' in L'impresa di Alfonso II: Saggi e documenti sulla produzione artistica a Ferrara nel secondo Cinquecento, ed. J. Bentini and L. Spezzaferro (Bologna, 1986), pp. 151-62; on the dispute over precedence, see especially V. Santi, 'La precedenza tra gli Estensi e i Medici e 1'istoria de' principi d'Este di G. Battista Pigna,' Atti della deputazione ferrarese di storia patria 9 (1897): 37-122, and G. Mondaini, La questione di precedenza tra il duca Cosimo I de' Medici e Alfonso d'Este (Florence, 1898). 14 Domenico Gamberti, L'idea di un prencipe et eroe christiano in Francesco I. d 'Este di Modona, e Reggio Duca VIII. Generalissimo dell 'arme reali di Francia in Italia, &c. effigiata co'profHi delle virtu daprencipi suoi maggiori ereditate. Rappresentata alia publica luce co'lfunerale apparato sposto nelle solenne esequie dall 'altezza serenissima di Alfonso IV suo primogenito alia gloriosa, ed'immoratale sua memoria I'anno M. DC. LIX. alii 11. di Aprile in Modona celebrate (Modena, 1659); Gamberti also describes the decorations for the occasion in his Corona funerale dedicta alia gloriosa, ed immortale memoria del serenissimo prencipe Francesco L d'Este Duca di Modona, e Reggio VIII. Generalissimo dell 'arme reali di Francia in Italia, etc. nelle solenni esequie celebrategli dalla pia

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magnificenza dell'altezza serenissima di Alfonso IV. Duca IX. suo primogenito (Modena, 1659). Gamberti's definition of the hero is cited by De Mattei, // pensiero, II 23 n26. The decorations for Francesco's funeral were reproduced in the complete restoration of Sant'Agostino that followed the funeral - see C. Conforti, 'II "funeral teatro" a Modena nel Seicento,' in Barocco romano e barocco italiano: II teatro, I'effimero, I'allegoria, ed. M. Fagiolo and M.L. Madonna (Rome, 1985), p. 227 - a unique instance, as far as I am aware, of such a direct perpetuation, in loco, of an ephemeral installation. Gamberti, L'idea, pp. 32, 33, 42, 44. Ibid., pp. 66ff, 100-1. Ibid., p. 102; Gamberti cites Lucian, Dialogues 3. Gamberti, L'idea, p. 113. Ibid., pp. 115, 118. Ibid., p. 123. Ibid., pp. 125, 133. On Vigarani, see Gamberti, Corona, p. 5, and L'idea, p. 17; Chantelou, Diary, p. 81 n!44; J. Southern, Power and Display in the Seventeenth Century: The Arts and Their Patrons in Modena and Ferrara (Cambridge, 1988), pp. 56-8. Gamberti, L'idea, p. 139. The design of the pedestal is reflected in that of the portrait bust of Mazarin in Giovanni Francesco Grimaldi's 1661 funerary catafalque for the cardinal in SS. Vincenzo and Anastasio in Rome; see M. Fagiolo dell'Arco, Lafesta barocca (Rome, 1970), ill. p. 401. A figure inscribing the pedestal of a bust also appears in the scene representing the princely virtue of Scienze; see Southern, Power and Display, pp. 58-9, plate 58. The projected equestrian monument to Francesco I is the subject of correspondence in June 1659, published by S. Fraschetti, // Bernini: La sua vita, la sua opera, il suo tempo (Milan, 1900), p. 226. On Galluzzi and his possible relevance for Bernini, see Lavin, 'Bernini and Antiquity,' p. 28. Tarquinio Galluzzi, In aristotelis libros quinque ... nova interpretatio ... (Paris, 1645), p. 527: 'Quartam [Regalis Politiae, vel Monarchiae species] facit earn quae fuit Heroum tempore Saturni, Neptuni, Herculis, Thesei... Videbantur enim velut inter homines Dii. Itaque species haec ideo dicta Heroica est, quod Heroes illo regni genere volentibus populis secundum probatum morem, ac secundum legem dominarentur'; cf. De Mattei, II pensiero, II 23 n25. The Paris-Modena connection has recently also been emphasized by Peter Burke, The Fabrication of Louis XIV (New Haven and London, 1992), pp. 187-8. On Bernini's work for Modena, see Fraschetti, // Bernini, pp. 221-9; L. Zanugg, 'II palazzo ducale di Modena: II problema della sua costruzione,' Rivista del r. Istituto

Bernini's Image of the Ideal Christian Monarch 475 d'Archeologia e Storia dell'Arte 9 (1942): 212-52; A.M. Matteucci, 'II palazzo ducale nel dibattito sulle residenze di corte,' in II palazzo ducale di Modena: Sette secoli di uno spazio cittadino, ed. A. Biondi (Modena, 1987), pp. 83-121; Southern, Power and Display, O. Rombaldi, // duca Francesco I d'Este (16291658) (Modena, 1993), pp. 69-74. 29 This effect was appreciated by contemporaries: the Venetian ambassador 'a fort loue le buste, et a dit que le Roi etait comme en action de donner quelque commandement dans son armee ... qu'encore que ce buste fut sans membres, il semblait neanmoins avoir du mouvement'; Chantelou, Journal, p. 102, cited by Rudolf Wittkower, Bernini's Bust of Louis XIV (London, 1951), p. 17. 30 It should be noted that the upward flare of the drapery at the front revealing the curved edge of the base suggests another ancient commemorative portrait form, the herm, in which there is an imperceptible transition from the torso to an abstract support. 31 Lavin, 'Bernini's Death,' pp. 180ff; 'Afterthoughts,' pp. 435ff; Past-Present, pp. 163-5. The doubts concerning my dating of the transfer of the Claudius to Spain, expressed by Dent Weil in Orfeo Boselli: Osservazioni della scoltura antica dai manoscritti Corsini e Doria e altri scritti, ed. P. Dent Weil (Florence, 1978), pp. 83-4, have been dispelled by Carinci in F. Carinci et al., Catalogo della Galleria Colonna: Sculture (Rome, 1990), pp. 21^4. Striking evidence of the importance of the Colonna Claudius in Bernini's circle is provided by the grand imitation in wood that served as the pedestal of a bust of Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden, the father of Queen Christina, displayed in her palace in Rome, which must have been made before the original went to Spain in 1664; by 1756 the copy had been moved to Bologna and was being used for a bust monument now housed in the Academia della Scienze there; / materiali dell'htituto delle Science (Bologna, 1979), pp. 144-5. 32 J.W. Zincgref, Emblematum ethico-politicorum centuria (Heidelberg, 1619), no. 38, ed. D. Mertens and T. Verweyen, 2 vols (Tubingen, 1993), I 90-1; A. Henkel and A. Schone, Emblemata: Handbuch zur Sinnbildkunst des XVI. und XVII. Jahrhunderts (Heidelberg, 1967), col. 14. 33 The subject of Menestrier's rebuttal was a statement by F. Picinelli, Mondo simbolico (Venice, 1670), p. 17; Claude-Francis Menestrier, La devise du roy justifiee (Paris, 1679), preface and pp. 4, 32, reproduces an exemplar of the medal with the date 1662 and attributes the invention of the device, as well as the title 'Grand,' to a certain M. Douvrier - Louis Douvrier, concerning whom see J.F. Michaud, Biographic universelle, 55 vols (Paris, 1811-62), XI 626; Dictionnaire de biographic franc^aise (Paris, 1933- ), XI, col. 709; L'academie des inscriptions et belles-lettres: 1663-1963 (Paris, 1963), exhib. cat., p. 4, no. 3. 34 Claude Fra^ois Menestrier, L'art des emblemes (Lyon, 1662), pp. 129ff. 35 On all these points, see Wittkower, Bernini's Bust, p. 18. It is worth noting in this

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context that Bernini was given as a model - which he conspicuously did not follow - a famous suit of armour with elaborately embossed reliefs representing the history of Caesar and Pompey, thought to have been designed by Giulio Romano for Francis I (Chantelou, Journal, p. 49, 9 July; p. 151, 10 September; p. 258, 21 October). The harness, which is still to be seen in the Louvre (fig. 21.14), was actually made by Etienne Delaune for Henry II; L'Ecole de Fontainebleau (Paris, 1972), exhib. cat. pp. 420-1, no. 582, with bibliography. I am greatly indebted to Stuart W. Pyhrr of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, for his expert knowledge and kind response to my inquiry concerning the harness. On Louis's action, see p. 460 and n29 above. The medal of Charles VI shown in fig. 21.16 clearly reflects Bernini's project except that the flanking columns are not spiral but return to the form normally used for the Habsburg device, and the base is the traditional oblong block. First published in Claude Fra^ois Menestrier, Les reiouissances de la paix (Lyon, 1660), pp. 54-5. After this essay was completed it came to my attention that the twin columns motif has been studied in relation to Bernini's projects and their subsequent influence by Karl Mosender, '"Aedificata poesis": Devisen in der franzosischen und osterreichischen Barockarchitektur,' Wiener Jahrbuch fur Kunstgeschichte 35 (1982): 158ff (but following an unfortunate error concerning the origin and date of Menestrier's image; cf. Lavin, Past-Present, p. 298 n90), and Friedrich Polleross, 'Architecture and Rhetoric in the Work of Johann Bernhard Fischer von Erlach,' in Infinite Boundaries: Order, Disorder, and Reorder in Early Modern German Culture, ed. Max Reinhart (Kirksville, Mo., 1998), pp. 130ff. Menestrier, L'art des emblem.es, pp. 129-30: 'II seroit souvent a souhaiter pour la gloire des Heros qu'ils missent eux mesmes des bornes volontaires a leur desseins avant que le Temps ou la Mort leur en fissent de necessaires ... C'est ce grand Example, qui doit faire admirer a tous les Peuples la moderation de nostre Monarque qui ayant plus d'ardeur & de courage que n'en eurent tous les Heros de la vieille Grece & de Rome, a sceu retenir ces mouvements genereux au milieu du succez de ses victoires, & donner volontairement des bornes a sa fortune ... Ce sera aussi ce Trophee qui le rendra glorieux dans 1'histoire de tous les siecles, quand on sgaura que ce ieune conquerant a prefere le repos de ses Peuples aux avantages de sa gloire, & sacrifie ses interests a la tranquillite de ses Sujets.' The translation, with some alterations, is from Rudolf Wittkower, The Vicissitudes of a Dynastic Monument: Bernini's Equestrian Statue of Louis XIV,' in De artibus opuscula XL: Essays in Honor ofErwin Panofsky, ed. Millard Meiss (New York, 1961), p. 503.1 quote the whole passage, which concerns an 'ingegnoso cavalier Francese, che assuefatto alia vista del suo Re in atto Maestoso, e da Condottiere di Eserciti, non lodava, che qui allora coll'armatura pur'indosso, e sopra un Cavallo medesimamente guerriero, si dimostrasse nel volto giulivo, e piacevole, che piu

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disposto pareva a dispensar grazie, che ad atterrir'inimici, e soggiogar Provincie. Poiche spiegogli a lungo la sua intenzione, quale, benche espressa adeguatamente ancora nell'Opera, tuttavia non arrive a comprendere il riguardante. Dissegli dunque, Non haver'egli figurato il Re Luigi in atto di commandare a gli Eserciti, cosa, che finalmente e propria di ogni Principe, ma haverlo voluto collocare in uno stato, al quale non altri, che esso era potuto giungere, e do per mezzo delle sue gloriose operazioni. E come che fingono i Poeti risieder la gloria sopra un'altissimo, ed erto Monte, nella cui sommitd rari son quelli, che facilmente vi poggiano, ragion vuole, che quei, che pur felicemente vi arrivano doppo i superati disaggi, giocondamente respirino all'aura di quella soavissma gloria, che per essergli costata disastrosi travagli, gli e tanto piu cara, quanto piu rincrescevole glifii lo stento della salita. E perche il Re Luigi con il lungo corso di tante illustri vittorie haveva gid superato I 'erto di quel Monte, egli sopra quel Cavallo lo collocava nel colmo di esso, pieno possessors di quella gloria, che a costo di sangue haveva acquistato il suo nome. Onde perche e qualitd propria di chi gode la giovialitd del volto, & un 'avvenente riso della bocca, quindi e, che tale appunto haveva rappresentato quel Monarca. Oltracche, benche questo suo pensiere si potesse ben ravvisare nel Tutto di quel gran Colosso, tuttavia molto piu manifesto apparirebbe, quando collocar si dovesse nel luogo destinato. Poiche cold doveasi scolpir in altro Marino una Rupe proporzionata erta, e scoscese, sopra cui haverebbe in be I modo a posare il Cavallo con quel disegno, ch'eifatto ne haverebbe': Domenico Bernini, Vita del cavalier Gio. Lorenzo Bernino (Rome, 1713), pp. 149-50. 40 This self-sacrificial understanding of Bernini's concept, developed by me in PastPresent, pp. 176-96, has recently been appropriated by K. Hermann Fiore in Bernini scultore: La nascita del barocco in casa Borghese (Rome, 1998), exhib. cat., p. 326. 41 On the situation at this time, see Ludwig von Pastor, The History of the Popes from the Close of the Middle Ages, 40 vols (London, 1923-53), XXXI 482ff. Others have suggested the not incompatible theory that the pope gave his permission as part of the settlement of the troubled relations with France in the wake of the Peace of Westphalia: Ludovici in F. Baldinucci, Vita del cavaliere Gio. Lorenzo Bernino (Florence, 1683). ed. S.S. Ludovici (Milan, 1948), p. 249, and R. Krautheimer, The Rome of Alexander VII (Princeton, 1984), p. 141. 42 'Pero mi congratulo con la Citta di Parigi che presto ammirera nella sua piu famosa piazza una rnacchina di cui 1'Europa non ne vede, ne vedra miglior, e per 1'oggetto che rappresenta e per 1'arte con cui e figurata. Non altro manca a 1'acclamato miracolo fuorche la corona sul capo del Principe rappresentato. Dalle due corone che veneriamo comandati, quella di gloria al Re la diede il nascimento che 1'espose al mondo Principe di tanti Stati, 1'altra di lauro a lui la porgono tante piazze eretiche

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espugnate dalla sua spada. Resta 1'ultima dell'olivo piu gloriosa di tutte e da tutti sospirata, ove in essa con la pace universale fra Principi fedeli si cinga sua Maesta, ne a suoi preggi rimane che aggiungere, ne puo accrescersi freggio per cui risplende. Tale Ghirlanda non si lavora dal ferro, e pero dal Cav.re non si e sovraposta alle tempie del simulacro e solo un Re carico di tanti Trofei puo caricarsene col superar se stesso soppo d'haver superati i nemici della fede mentre trionfa di natione tronfante con tanto danno della Religione fin nell'ultimo oriente. Appartiene a V. R. offerire con la santita di suoi consigli a si potente Re i rami d'una corona che presso Dio, e presso i Buoni precede a qualunque diadema, e la prego di suoi santi sacrificij.' For the full letter, see A. Venturi, 'Lorenzo Bernini in Francia,' Archivio storico dell'arte 3 (1890): 143, and Fraschetti, Bernini, p. 360 n2; and see Wittkower, 'Vicissitudes,' pp. 527-8, for a version among Bernini's papers at the Biblotheque Nationale in Paris. 'II s'estimerait heureux de finir sa vie a son service, non pas pour ce qu'il etait un roi de France et un grand roi, mais parce qu'il avail connu que son esprit etait encore plus releve que sa condition' (Chantelou, Journal, p. 201, 5 October; translation, with modifications, from Chantelou, Diary, p. 254). A version of Bernini's remark was repeated by Oliva in a letter written to the Marquis de Lionne, Louis's foreign secretary, shortly after the artist's return to Rome. Oliva reported that in praising the king Bernini had deprived him of his noble birth and his empire, insisting that he was more elevated by the capacity of his mind and other virtues; the king was not great for the vastness of his domain or the force of his arms: 'E giunto in Roma il Cavaliere Bernino, transformato in tromba del Re Cristianissimo, che di Scultore 1'ha renduto quasi Sasso, tanto si mostra attonito alle Doti incomparabili di S. M. Questo stupore nell'eccesso, si della gratitudine a gli onori inauditi e a'grossi soccorsi, come deH'ammirazione alia grandezza e alia magnanimita d'un tanto Re, 1'ha precipitate in una prodigiosa ingratitudine: mentre, per celebrare Monarca di tanto merito, 1'ha spogliato del Nascimento e dell'Imperio; protestandolo assai piu sublime, per la capacita della mente, per la prudenza della lingua, per la splendidezza della mano, per la generosita del cuore, per la riverenza voluta a' divini Scarifici ne' Templij, e per la maesta d'ogni sua parte; che non e grande, per quella vastita di Dominio e per quella potenza d'Armi, che 1'agguagliano a' Re piu celebri degli Annali antichi'; Gian Paolo Oliva, Lettere, 2 vols (Rome, 1681), II71-2, and Baldinucci, Vita, pp. 125-6, for the whole letter; reprinted in part by Bernini, Vita, pp. 144-5. On the medals, see Bernini in Vaticano (Rome, 1981), exhib. cat., pp. 308-9. 'Virtus in astra tendit' (Seneca, Hercules Oetaeus, line 1971); see Lavin, PastPresent, pp. 175-6. 'Sopra detto scoglio dalle parte della porta principale invece d'adornamento di doi colonne, vi ha fato due grandi Ercoli, che fingono guardare il palazzo, alle quali il

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sig. caval. gli da un segnificato e dice Ercole e il retratto della vertu per mezzo della sua fortezza e fatica, quale risiede su il monte della fatica che e lo soclio ... e dice chi vuole risiedere in questa regia, bisognia che passi per mezzo della vertu e della fatica. Qual'pensiero e alegoria piacque grandamente a S. M., parendogli che havesse del grande e del sentesioso'; L. Mirot, 'Le Bernin en France: Les travaux du Louvre et les statues de Louis XIV,' Memoires de la Societe de I'Histoire de Paris et de Vlle-de-France 31 (1904): 218n; Bernini's remarks were quoted in a letter from Paris to Rome by his assistant Mattia de' Rossi, 26 June. Lavin, Past-Present, pp. 157-61. Needless to say, the hyphenated term in the title is of interest in our context. On Saavedra, see the chapter in Bireley, Counter-Reformation, pp. 188-216. The frontispiece, designed by Erasmus Quellinus, was noted and reproduced by Judson and van de Velde, Book Illustrations, p. 239 n7, fig. 188. Bernini may well have known Saavedra, who spent many years in Rome until 1633, as a diplomat at the Spanish envoy. Bernini surely also knew the very similar treatment of the Hercules-Temple of Virtue and Honour theme by Federico Zuccaro in his house in Rome, where the allegory is applied to the artist himself (Lavin, Past-Present, p. 160, fig. 211); and the motto SIC ITUR AD ASTRA, as applied to Giovanni Bologna's 'equestrian' group of Hercules overcoming Nessus (ibid., p. 174, fig. 230). It is interesting and important to note that Bernini's conscious effort to infuse the resemblance of portraits of the sort required by Louis with 'that which belongs in the heads of heroes' was embedded in his very method of creating them: after studying the 'sitter' carefully in action he worked almost always from the imagination, looking only rarely at his drawings, but inward to the 'idea' he had of the king: 'Jusqu'ici il avail presque toujours travaille d'imagination, et qu'il n'avait regarde que rarement les dessins qu'il a; qu'il ne regardait principalement que la dedans, montrant son front, ou il a dit qu'etait 1'idee de Sa Majeste; que autrement il n'aurait fait qu'une copie au lieu d'un original, mais que cela lui donnait une peine extreme et que le roi, lui demandant son portrait, ne pouvait pas lui commander rien de plus penible: qu'il tacherait que ce fut le moins mauvais de tous ceux qu'il aura faits; que, dans ces sortes de portraits, il faut, outre la ressemblance, y mettre ce qui doit etre dans des tetes de heros' (Chantelou, Journal, pp. 72-3, 29 July). The underlying deflation and moralization of conventional social values implicit here in the domain of official portraiture has its counterpart in Bernini's creation of the private caricature portrait of exalted and high-born personages; see Irving Lavin, 'High and Low before Their Time: Bernini and the Art of Social Satire,' in Modern Art and Popular Culture: Readings in High and Low, ed. K. Varnadoe and A. Gopnik (New York, 1990), pp. 19-50.

22 / Innovation and Assimilation: The Jesuit Contribution to Architectural Development in Portuguese India DAVID M. KOWAL

The Jesuit presence in Asia officially commenced in 1542, when Francis Xavier arrived in Portuguese-held Goa on the west coast of the Indian subcontinent. Xavier initially responded with favour to the physical and religious climate he encountered there; writing to his comrades in Rome soon after his arrival in the Indies, he remarked, 'Goa is a city pleasant to see, entirely inhabited by Christians. It has a monastery with many friars of St Francis, a very fine cathedral with many canons, and many other churches. There is reason for giving many thanks to God our Lord seeing how the name of Christ is flourishing so well in such distant lands and among so many infidels.'l Although Xavier's remarks were brief, they suggest the extraordinary transformation that had taken place in Goa since its capture by the Portuguese in 1510. Over the years Goa had emerged as the administrative and economic capital of Portugal's eastern domains and, under the direction of the Portuguese-crown Padroado (which had sponsored Xavier's presence in the Indies), the enclave became the control-centre and staging-ground for Christian religious activities throughout Asia. Already in 1518 Observant Franciscans had established a fixed headquarters in the city, in 1534 Goa became a bishopric, and in 1557 it was elevated to the status of a metropolitan archbishopric. Moreover, during the initial decades of Portuguese rule authorities had engaged in a campaign intended to displace native religious beliefs for those of Christianity. This policy was effected, in part, through the systematic destruction of the most visible physical traces of the native religions - the city's mosques and temples.2 Often appropriating their very sites, the Portuguese built Christian churches, which, as they multiplied in number, endowed the Goan islands with the physical and spiritual look and feel of metropolitan Portugal itself.3 In fulfilment of its Padroado duties the crown provided engineers to design and construct many of the early ecclesiastical structures in Goa and elsewhere in

The Jesuits and Architecture in Portuguese India 481 the Portuguese Indies. Most were built in accord with a nationalistically based, late Gothic style called the Manueline, whose fortified and decorative features were symbolically identified with the combined secular power and religious authority of the Portuguese nation.4 Thus, the ecclesiastical establishments built in Goa prior to the arrival of the Jesuits not only served as functional places in which to administer to spiritual needs, but also, by virtue of their concrete presence on the Indian subcontinent, asserted the pre-eminence of Western Christianity over the religious beliefs of Portugal's new, non-Christian and nonWestern subjects. More specifically, the symbolic Manueline form of these churches literally embodied within it the essential role and responsibility of the crusading Portuguese state in transplanting its religion to the East.5 Xavier seemed to recognize this quality in the ecclesiastical structures he encountered in Goa, and perhaps he even understood how the utilization of specific architectural plans and forms could convey referential allusions to the policies, goals, and values of the sponsors and users who design such edifices. Such was certainly the case with his Jesuit successors, who, having firmly established and expanded the Society's presence throughout Portuguese India, engaged in the vigorous construction of novitiates and professed houses built to maintain the order and its members, and colleges and churches - the latter undoubtedly the Jesuits' greatest architectural achievement in India - erected to fulfil the Society's educational duties and proselytizing mission. The more substantial Jesuit churches were erected in locales where there was a significant Portuguese presence, such as Goa, Daman, Diu, Bassein, Chaul, and Cochin, and most were associated with Jesuit colleges. Moreover, in specific localities where the Society was vested with parochial responsibilities - as in the Goan district of Salcete - the Jesuits took on the responsibility of establishing and supervising the construction of parish churches. In all these instances, Jesuit sponsors recognized the practicality of configuring these structures in accord with the order's own religious practices and its specific proselytizing mission. Equally, the Jesuit builders of Portuguese India seem to have understood - as Manueline builders had before them - that the choice and utilization of specific architectural forms could invest their structures with particular symbolic meaning. Many of the Jesuit-sponsored churches of Portuguese India survive in whole or in part. An overview of these structures provides insight into how the fabric of India-based Jesuit churches evolved and into the sources from which they were derived. Furthermore, their direct examination lends understanding to how the choice and utilization of specific plans, configurations, and architectural forms served to convey ideological significance specific to the Jesuit presence and mission in what was then the periphery of Christendom. In 1551 the administration and property of the Confraternity of the Holy Faith

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were formally turned over to the care of Francis Xavier, and the transfer set in motion the establishment of a home base and initial mother church for the Society in the Manueline city of Goa.6 Under Jesuit guidance the educational duties and order-related activities of the institution grew so dramatically that its existing structures on the Rua de Carreira dos Cavallos - on a site where a mosque had formerly stood - became insufficient. In the 1560s the buildings previously erected for the Confraternity were demolished and new ones built on the site under Jesuit auspices. The foundation stone of a new church was laid in 1560 by Antonio de Quadros, then the Society's provincial in India, who oversaw the project through to its completion in 1572.7 Throughout the remainder of the sixteenth century and into the seventeenth, the Colegio de Sao Paulo and its church served as the Society's principal staging-ground for educational and missionary activities in Goa and throughout Asia. In the early seventeenth century, however, the area in which the complex was located became increasingly unhealthy and was progressively abandoned, and the various functions performed there were assigned to other locations in and around the city.8 By the late eighteenth century the Colegio lay in ruins, and in 1829 the Portuguese governor ordered the demolition of all but a portion of Sao Paulo's fa?ade, today the only remaining part of a church described in its glory days as 'the largest and most beautiful in India.'9 Mario T. Chico has hypothetically reconstructed the fa£ade of this first Jesuit church in the Indies.10 Following his model, it can be shown that Sao Paulo's fa9ade stood four storeys high and was three bays wide; the storeys were differentiated from one another by entablatures, and the compartmentalized bays separated by projecting vertical buttresses rising to the height of the structure. The church's interior was accessed through three portals, the largest and most prominent of which is the surviving central doorway, whose arched opening is flanked on either side by paired columns raised on decorated pedestals which support a projecting entablature (fig. 22.1). In turn, this entablature provides a base upon which rests a square window with niches to either side on the second storey. The combined articulation of the first and second storeys of the central bay creates a retable-like configuration that accents the principal entrance to the church and the vertical axis of the fa?ade. Most likely, the third storey of the fa?ade was punctuated with round windows in each of its three bays, while the whole was capped by a single, central compartment screened on either side by curving volutes extending over the adjoining outer bays. The surviving central portal (and presumably the side portals, and window mouldings and entablatures above) are carved from granite, which would have stood in sharp contrast to the local laterite in which the bulk of the church was constructed. The latter areas

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22.1. Portal, Church of Sao Paulo, Goa. Photo courtesy of David M. Kowal.

484 David M. Kowal were undoubtedly whitewashed with lime to protect the porous laterite stone from the heavy monsoon rains. By virtue of its height, embellishment, and whiteness, Sao Paulo's tall, towerless fagade must have stood out in its lush tropical setting like an imposing stage front intent upon awing its public. As in previous Manueline structures, the mere presence of this monumental fagade asserted the authority of the Christian religion. Yet the specific forms utilized to articulate the principal entrance of the fagade possibly invest it with additional meaning and reference. Sao Paulo's surviving central doorway represents the first instance in which a classically based, Italianate configuration was utilized on the fagade of an Asian-built church. As Chico first observed, the arch and paired-columnar configuration of Sao Paulo's portal is derived from designs encountered in the architectural books of Sebastiano Serlio.11 Perhaps it is also due to Serlio's suggestion that the specific architectural order which embellishes that doorway is of the Corinthiancomposite type, a luxuriant order symbolically acknowledged by most architects of sixteenth-century Italy as the architectural emblem of the triumphant church and a symbol of its claim to world dominance.12 Significantly, the Corinthiancomposite is an architectural order regularly used with such implications on a majority of sixteenth-century Italian church fagades, excepting those structures erected by or for the various religious orders. By and large, in the churches constructed for religious orders, including those for the Jesuits, a clear preference for severe fagade articulation prevails, in which the austere Doric or Tuscan order is employed as an embodiment of morality.13 Only with Vignola's 1568 design for the Gesu in Rome does a European-based Jesuit structure - here the Society's mother church - first utilize the Corinthian-composite order in its triumphal sense both on the exterior fagade and in an otherwise austere interior. The presence in 1561 of the symbolically luxuriant Corinthian-composite architectural order on a Jesuit church located in the East thus seems the result of conscious choice, perhaps a means of visually denoting the hoped-for fulfilment and triumph of the Christian mission in lands to which the Jesuits had come with the intention of bringing their peoples into the fold of the universal and dominant Catholic church. Classical articulation indeed invokes the centre from which Christianity emanated, and it could visually relate a geographically distant edifice to Christendom's spiritual heart in Italy and Rome. The fact that the church was built in what was then the periphery of Christendom and designed for the use of an order specifically set upon bringing new peoples into spiritual allegiance with Roman Christianity conceivably explains the conscious use of such specifically symbolic forms as the Corinthian-composite order on an Asian-sited church prior to its use on European-based Jesuit structures. The plan and interior configuration of Sao Paulo can be reconstructed with the

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help of contemporary accounts; they indicate that the building was designed as a hall church with three naves of equal height, each leading down a longitudinal axis to square chancels.14 All three aisles were covered with barrel vaults supported by 'columns of stone.' As descriptions note, for the first time in an ecclesiastical structure erected in the Indies the nave vaults were articulated with coffered panels in the estilo romano, a term used to denote a vocabulary of classically based architectural forms in distinction to the medieval vocabulary (termed the estilo moderno) of ribbed vaults and pier supports utilized on the Manueline-style buildings previously erected in Goa. Classical forms were thus embedded within the interior of Sao Paulo and utilized there in a more thoroughly consistent manner than in the hall churches being contemporaneously constructed for the Society in Italy by the Jesuit architectural adviser Giovanni Tristano.15 It might again be presumed, as it was for Sao Paulo's fa9ade, that the utilization of classically based articulation sought visually to relate this Goan structure to the heart and soul of Christendom. While the prevailing Manueline mode of structural articulation was replaced in Sao Paulo by a more classically Italianate one, still the essential model for the church fabric can be traced to metropolitan Portugal, where the hall plan (igreja salao) had often been employed for ecclesiastical structures in the Gothic period. Most specifically, Sao Paulo's plan and interior articulation can be related to a vernacular refashioning of church edifices which took place in mid-sixteenthcentury Portugal, and which led to the emergence of the so-called Portuguese plain style (estilo chao), in which architects sought structural simplicity, more unified and rationally proportioned spaces, and a disornamented look whereby Manueline embellishment was displaced by the classicizing articulation of the estilo romano. The Portuguese plain style of architecture was first given largescale expression in a series of hall-plan cathedrals begun in the 1550s at Leiria, Portalegre, and Miranda do Douro. All were erected with the support of King Manuel's son and successor, the much differently tempered Joao III (1521-57), whose personal austerity and piety is reflected in the estilo chdo.16 The plain style quickly supplanted the Manueline in Portugal as the new visual embodiment of the nation, and its later use in Sao Paulo at Goa undoubtedly served to identify the structure with the state and, indeed, with the particular monarch who had solicited and sponsored the Jesuit presence in the Portuguese metropolitan and in the Indies. As noted above, both the form and the articulation of Goa's Sao Paulo differ considerably from those of contemporary churches erected for the Jesuits in Italy. Nor does its plain-style hall plan find a parallel among the known church prototypes that circulated from and to the Society's headquarters in Rome.17 Moreover, an understanding of Sao Paulo's Portuguese models and classical

486 David M. Kowal sources suggests that the design of the church was not initiated from the Society's centre in Rome but instead arose from within the Goan province itself (although it is not inconceivable that the plan was passed to Rome for comment and adjustment).18 Sao Paulo's likely designer was a Portuguese royal engineer versed in plain-style architecture. The use ofestilo romano articulation, inherent in the plain style itself, was likely enhanced at Sao Paulo in deference to the Society in India, which felt an obligation to invoke the visual prototypes of its Portuguese sponsors, and which chose to allude to its ultimate superiors in the Roman church and its claim to the triumphal fulfilment of the faith worldwide. Moreover, no architects or engineers belonging to the order are known to have been among the Jesuits at this still early stage of the Jesuit presence in India, nor does it seem unreasonable to assume that crown builders were employed to work on behalf of an order supported by the Padroado and sponsored directly by the king, as they had on churches constructed prior to and after Sao Paulo.19 Having noted that the Jesuits' relationship with the Portuguese state affected the very form of their first church in the Portuguese Indies, we should also note that the initial structures erected for Jesuit use in metropolitan Portugal itself were the product of collaboration between the order and its royal sponsors.20 The first Jesuit church begun in Portugal, Sao Roque in Lisbon, designed by the military architect Afonso Alvares in 1565, was originally conceived as a hall church of three naves, similar to Goa's Sao Paulo, and, like it, derived from the preceding plain-style cathedrals of metropolitan Portugal. In 1567, however, the igreja saldo plan was definitively abandoned, and the church was constructed on a single-nave plan. While the nave is laterally bound with transepts and collateral chapels, these areas are formally separated so that the nave takes on the semblance of a wide, unencumbered space where, in accord with the order's practices, communal congregations could be accommodated to hear sermons delivered from preaching pulpits situated along its walls, and multiple confessionals could be placed. The church's sanctuary - where the altar and tabernacle stand - remains the primary focus of attention from all parts of the church, yet it too tentatively emerges as a space distinct from the nave in its function and its sanctity. The Jesuit churches for the University of Evora (begun in 1566 by Manuel Pires and completed by Alvares) and for the Jesuit college at Braga (1567-88) further adapt the single-nave plan. Evora's Espirito Santo was capped with a continuous barrel vault which further unifies the nave and distinguishes its space more effectively from that of the sanctuary. At Braga the cellular chapels bordering the nave are replaced by niches embedded in the lateral walls, so that an even more economical and boxlike space is created. Moreover, at Braga, the square chancel of the church is covered with its own coffered barrel vault, and the

The Jesuits and Architecture in Portuguese India 487 result is a sharper spatial and functional distinction between the unified nave and the sanctuary whereby the chancel is endowed with a sense of special sanctity. These three fully developed plain-style churches eschew estilo moderno ornament in favour of the classicizing decoration of the estilo romano. In all, they are skilfully formulated in accord with both the austere religious mood of the nation and the character and religious practices of the Jesuits in Portugal. The predilection in Portugal for the plain-style church was readily adopted in the Portuguese Indies. Subsequent to the construction of Goa's Sao Paulo, the igreja saldo is discarded in favour of simple, boxlike designs whose singular, unified naves and distinct, barrel-vaulted chancels become the typological plan of choice for Jesuit-related churches over the next two centuries. In addition to its economy of construction - well suited to the practical limitations of the Asian environment - the plan was a highly functional one for churches utilized as settings for proselytizing and preaching to potential converts, hearing the confessions of the newly converted, and celebrating the Eucharist. Moreover, its very form offered a visual association that linked the Society in India collaboratively with its Portuguese sponsors. The adoption of metropolitan models in the Portuguese Indies was not, however, undertaken without adaptations. In general, Jesuit-related churches erected in Portuguese India are structurally simpler and more functionally regulated than their prototypes. In addition, they continue to incorporate classically derived architectural motifs on their fa9ades, and while over time such motifs lose much of their Western integrity through interaction with native forms, the continued reference to the classical tradition in these structures maintains their visual and symbolic link with the spiritual centre of Roman Catholicism. Perhaps in the most marked distinction to brethren structures in Portugal or Italy, the Jesuit churches in India early on assimilate to their fabric decorative features drawn specifically from the local Indian environment, as if engaging in a dialogue with indigenous traditions that ultimately are welcomed into the Christian fold. An early case in point is the Jesuit college church built within the fortified Portuguese enclave at Bassein. Construction began there in 1561 and was completed around 1578/9.21 The buildings stood intact until 1739, when Hindu Maratha forces captured the city; today, only the shell of the church and its accompanying buildings remain.22 The plan of the Bassein church is exceedingly simple and anticipates to some degree the economy of definition found in the metropolitan college church at Braga. The church is composed of a single, rectangular nave, with neither lateral chapels nor transept arms, and the interior walls are broken only by doors to either side - creating a cross-axis - and tribune windows admitting a subdued flow of light. While now stripped of ornamentation, the nave walls were once articulated with pilasters which shaped an

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arrangement of modular bays. As in Evora's Espirito Santo, a cornice marked the upper perimeter of the nave, and possibly a barrel vault supported by exterior buttressing once capped it, thus further unifying the space. The nave wall, which opens into the much narrower, barrel-vaulted, rectangular chancel, takes on the form of a triumphal arch, both saluting and separating the sanctuary from the area which accommodates the congregation. Despite a singular entry portal and an unusual semicircular top, the Bassein fa?ade bears resemblance to that of Sao Paulo, Goa, in its imposing vertical orientation, its oculi on the upper levels, and, most particularly, its Serlianderived, classically configured portal (fig. 22.2). As at Sao Paulo, the arched entrance is flanked by coupled Corinthian-composite columns raised on decorated pedestals; they support an entablature that serves as the base for a pedimented window framed by matching panels immediately above. These panels are themselves bound with fluted pilasters, curving volutes, and ball-topped, triangular pinnacles. The two-tiered portal is thus densely populated with architectural motifs that give it the appearance of a retable appended in relief to the flat surface of the larger fa9ade. Most interesting here is the nature of the relief embellishment, for, together with the purely classical architectural motifs and the Jesuit IMS emblem which occupies the second-tier panels, are found native designs such as the rose of Iran. And all this decoration, whether of European or Indian derivation, is carved in the patterned and florid style of native craftsmen. While a shortage of Western artisans in the Indies might account for the practical necessity of using indigenous craftsmen to embellish these structures, the extent to which natives are employed to render Western motifs and ultimately allowed to incorporate decorative motifs from their own tradition - as evidenced at Bassein and in most other Jesuit churches in the Indies - suggests that the Jesuits stationed in India not only appreciated local talent, but, more significantly, recognized the power of the native visual languages to attract a local audience into the Christian spiritual domain by interpreting and presenting Christian ideas in a way both familiar and enticing. The process of grafting together models, motifs, and associations drawn from Portuguese, Italian, and Indian sources can be measured further in the Church of the Bom Jesus, the sole surviving Jesuit church in the capital of Old Goa. Attached to a new professed house built some years before, the Bom Jesus was begun in 1594 and completed in 1605 in accord with the design of a Portuguese Jesuit architect, Domingo Fernandes, who was aided in his task by the chief government engineer in the Indies, Julio Simao.23 As previously noted by Chico, the cruciform ground plan and basic proportions of the Bom Jesus are similar to those of the thirteenth-century Church of Sao Francisco in Evora, Portugal,

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22.2. Facade, college church, Bassein. Photo courtesy of Paulo Varela Gomes.

which had also provided a model for that city's sixteenth-century Jesuit church of the Espfrito Santo.24 Unlike its metropolitan prototype, however, the Goan church dispenses with lateral, connecting chapels, and its high nave forms a totally uninterrupted volume of space undiluted by the low-arched entryways into the transept arms (figs 22.3, 22.4). Rising to three storeys, the nave walls

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22.3. Ground plan, Church of the Bom Jesus, Goa. Drawing courtesy of David M. Kowal. are divided into bays by pilasters and entablatures with pedimented windows on the first and second levels and oculi at the top, a sequence that matches the configuration of the exterior facade. Although now covered with a wooden ceiling, the church was intended to carry a coffered barrel vault. By means of an embellished archway, the large and accommodating nave opens into the square chancel of the church, which is covered by its own reticulated tunnel vault. Within sits the gilded late seventeenth-century high altar on which the Eucharist is reserved, brightly illuminated by windows in the chancel's side walls. By these means the sanctuary takes on a distinct and separate identity as an area of special sanctity, and thereby continues the process of functional differentiation and spatial juxtaposition tentatively initiated in the metropolitan churches of Sao Roque and the Espirito Santo, and more emphatically in Sao Paulo in Braga and the Jesuit college church in Bassein. The towerless, three-bay-wide, four-level-high fagade of the Bom Jesus emulates the modular configuration of its Goan predecessor Sao Paulo, with its three portals below (giving access to a vestibule with a singing gallery above it), rectilinear windows on the second storey, oculi on the third, and, at the summit, a gabled frontispiece flanked by fan-shaped volutes (fig. 22.5). In contrast, however, the fagade of the Bom Jesus is densely populated with multiple, projecting pilasters articulated in an ascending sequence of architectural orders which have become increasingly less classical and more hybrid in their appearance. Still, the relative diminution in the height of the storeys reflects a classical canon and adheres to Serlio's advice in regard to the proper proportions for lofty fagades containing superimposed orders; and, but for the excessive height of the gable, the fagade of the Bom Jesus is essentially square.

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22.4. Interior, Church of the Bom Jesus, Goa. Photo courtesy of David M. Kowal.

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22.5. Fa9ade, Church of the Bom Jesus, Goa. Photo courtesy of David M. Kowal.

The Jesuits and Architecture in Portuguese India 493 The arched central portal of the Bom Jesus again follows a Serlian model, and like the main door of Sao Paulo relies upon the luxuriant and symbolic Corinthiancomposite order to lend its coupled columns physical and associative richness. As at Bassein, the handling of the reliefs that surround doors and windows and that especially populate the gable panel, give evidence of the involvement of native artisans, as does the inclusion of Hindu decorative motifs - like hanging garlands - among the hybridized Western angels, cartels, and Jesuit heraldic devices that fill the gable to capacity. Similarly, hybridized embellishment fills the church's interior, including its carved, poly chromed preaching pulpit, the high altar, and the extraordinary catafalque-tomb - a combination of parts executed in Florence and Goa - which houses the body of St Francis Xavier in the right transept of the church.25 The accommodation and assimilation of native motifs into an essentially Portuguese structure with classical overtones is also paramount in the Jesuit college church of Sao Paulo erected on the Portuguese-controlled island of Diu. Construction of the college complex was initiated in 1601 and finished sometime in the second decade of the century.26 The design of the church and adjoining college is usually credited to its rector, Caspar Scares. The configuration of the Diu facade varies from those of previously erected Jesuit churches of Portuguese India (fig. 22.6). Wider than tall, the now three-storey elevation is composed of framed, modular bays in the European classical tradition. On the ground level, paired, fluted Corinthian-composite columns divide the bays, while fluted pilasters do the same above. The two principal storeys are widened at the sides by the addition of a narrow bay closed at the ends by buttressing. The three ground-level bays each possess a portal, the central arched entrance of the Serlian type; rectilinear windows occupy the second storey; and a centralized frontispiece into which an oculus has been inserted caps the fa§ade. The pedimented gable is flanked by volutes, while pinnacles pierce the skyline. Virtually the entire surface of this otherwise European-configured fa9ade is embellished with painted relief decoration which intermingles motifs drawn from both East and West. Here, Christian heraldic devices (again including the IHS emblem) and angelic figures coexist with Hindu rosettes and vegetal ensembles and Islamic geometric arabesques. Those forms derived from a Western repertoire are totally hybridized into the flowing patterns and stylizations of the indigenous artistic tradition. The particularly wide, three-portal facade of the Diu church masks a singlenave interior similar in its economy to those of the Jesuit churches at Bassein and most especially at Braga in Portugal (figs 22.7,22.8). As in these churches, Diu's nave is little more than an elongated rectangular space, unpunctuated by transepts or collateral chapels. The nave is covered in its entirety by a unifying barrel vault whose large panels contain delicately painted Hindu vegetal motifs raised

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22,6, Facade, college church, Diu. Photo courtesy of David M. Kowal.

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22.7. Ground plan, college church, Diu. Drawing courtesy of David M. Kowal.

in low relief against the white plaster of the vault. The two-storey nave wall, systematically divided into bays by pilasters and entablatures, is composed in its lower level of scalloped niches, which adapt a design previously introduced in the 1567 Jesuit church at Braga. And as at Braga, the square chancel is tunnelvaulted and approached from the nave through an arched opening, features denoting its special sanctity. In 1605 Caspar Scares, who had presided over the initial construction at Diu, became rector of the Jesuit college in the Goan district of Salcete, south of the capital. One year later Soares laid the foundation stone for a new college church - designed with an interior and exterior arrangement similar to that of Diu - on the site of the fort at Rachol (see fig. 2.14).27 Like that of Diu, the plan of the Rachol church consists of an elongated and relatively narrow nave, although its two-storey interior walls are only minimally articulated with pilasters and the whole is covered with a wooden ceiling. The sanctity of the barrelvaulted chancel is here emphasized not only by the gilded retable that stands within it, but most especially by the colourful embossed reliefs that cover its lateral walls. Each vignette, depicting a scene from the life of St Ignatius, is contained within a medallion held by Indianized angels and set against a patterned floral background. Clearly of Indian craftsmanship, the reliefs again demonstrate how - with obvious Jesuit sanction - Western motifs and Christian stories were translated into a visual language familiar to peoples of a predominantly Hindu origin and artistic tradition. Moreover, these hybridized designs which also include some pure Hindu motifs - are not simply accommodated, but thoroughly integrated into the fabric of the sanctuary, as if tacitly to acknowledge that the non-Western traditions and ways of the indigenous population have found a viable and recognized place within a larger church that had sought to include them within its encompassing and universal fold.28 While Rachol's interior maintains the functional box-plan favoured in Jesuit churches in India, its three-storey facade - essentially configured as that of Diu -

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22.8, Interior, college church, Diu. Photo courtesy of David M. Kowal.

The Jesuits and Architecture in Portuguese India 497 discards the hybridized embellishment that characterizes the latter in favour of a chaste design composed of rows of classically pedimented windows and doors. Moreover, the facade is now framed between towers, an imposing feature not utilized on earlier Jesuit structures in India or Portugal. Undoubtedly, both the sober, palace-like arrangement of the fa9ade and its double towers are derived from the example provided by two prominent non-Jesuit structures in the nearby capital, the Se Novo and the Augustinian church of Nossa Senhora da Gra9a.29 Interestingly, over the course of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, towered fagades became the new norm for Jesuit-sponsored churches, particularly in provincial Salcete, where Rachol and a host of parish churches erected under Jesuit supervision are located.30 While concrete documentation is lacking, it seems certain that most of the seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Jesuitestablished parish churches in Salcete were built by natives trained and working under Jesuit supervision. Although generally smaller in scale, the Salcete parish churches - Cortorim (1647) and Varca (1700) serve as good examples - mirror their college church brethren in the utilization of a single, boxlike nave (variously covered with barrel vaults or wooden roofs) to which is appended a narrow, square chancel capped with a coffered barrel-vault. Sometimes niches, but more usually rows of altars, are ranged along the lateral walls of the nave, which, at best, are articulated by moulded pilasters. Often interior surfaces display an overlay of hybrid decorative detail - some of European baroque origin - although it is hardly ever sufficient to activate the interior space or alleviate its basically conservative and functional nature. Even in larger parish churches, like the Espirito Santo of Margao (1675), where the plan is cruciform and the nave is lined with shelled niches, the transepts remain subordinate, and the unencumbered space of an audience hall meant for preaching in is maintained. The Jesuit penchant for accommodation and for the association of its own Western roots with the traditions and tastes of the indigenous environment prevails as well on the stage-front fagades of the Salcete parish churches (fig. 22.9). Most possess wide, double-storey fagades topped with billowing volutes, pinnacles, and balustrades, and articulated with superimposed orders whose original classical canons of formal design and harmonious proportion are drastically altered. Surfaces are delicately adorned with activated 'late baroque' reliefs of Indo-European design. As at Rachol, these fagades are invariably flanked by towers (usually double, sometimes single), which serve as signpost markers of the triumphal Christian presence at the site. The fagade of the Margao church, which stands close upon the site occupied originally by a Hindu temple and later by the original Jesuit college in Salcete, is an embellished adaptation of the towered fagade of Rachol (fig. 22.10). The towers of the fagade are here recessed and exist in a not altogether coherent or proportionate relationship to the whole.

498 David M. Kowal

22.9. Facade, parish church, Varca (Salcete, Goa). Photo courtesy of David M. Kowal.

Nevertheless, they - like their counterparts in other Salcete parishes - stand in visual and ideological confrontation with the light towers (deepmalas)and sanctuary towers (shikaras) which surmount contemporaneously constructed Hindu temples in the nearby Maratha-occupied inland district bordering Jesuitcontrolled Salcete. Significantly, the religious rivalry that existed between the Christian and the Hindu authorities across that border in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries did not forestall but instead encouraged the interchange of architectural motifs and ideas between the two. Both Jesuit and Maratha sponsors vied for the attention and affiliation of the same population and thus relied on similar forms and employed many of the same artisans to craft them. It appears, in fact, that the indigenous Jesuit-trained builders who constructed Salcete's parish churches

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22.10. Fa§ade, parish church, Margao (Salcete, Goa). Photo courtesy of David M. Kowal.

were active in the construction of the neighbouring Maratha temples.31 This dual employment endowed the Jesuit-supervised parish churches of Salcete with motifs of Hindu and Islamic derivation, while populating the nearby temples with architectural forms transmuted from the West. Accordingly, the shikaras and deepmalas of the border temples are often overlaid with hybridized, Western-style engaged columns and entablatures, while the towers of the Salcete

500 David M. Kowal parish churches are capped with cupolas and lanterns drawn from the syncretic Islamic-Hindu precedent of the temples. However, more than an exchange of forms took place, for the lamp towers which stand before the Maratha temples have an ideological function drawn, in part, from the church tower: they symbolically proclaim that the structures of which they are a part and the locations on which they stand are sacred Hindu ones, just as the signpost towers of Salcete's Jesuit-supervised parish churches triumphantly proclaim that their sites are Christian. The Salcete parish churches culminate a process in which the Jesuit-sponsored churches of Portuguese India were programmatically adapted to both a functional and an ideological role commensurate with the Society's mission and practices in the Indies, a role which also took cognizance of the Society's sponsors, allegiances, and clientele. From the outset, Jesuit structures in Portuguese India embrace the Portuguese plain style, ultimately adopting a simplified version of the single-nave, boxlike design developed in Portugal through the collaboration of the crown and the Jesuits there, a plan geared to the practical and functional role of preaching, proselytizing, hearing confession, and celebrating the Eucharist. Perhaps owing as well to its economy of construction, this basic pattern was repeated in Indian-based Jesuit churches - despite obvious changes in stylistic syntax - for two centuries. Most important, the associative reference of this form to the nationalistic and spiritual aspirations of the Portuguese state the sponsors of the Society in India - was consistently maintained. Likewise, the conscious utilization of classical motifs to articulate the fagades of these structures, no matter how hybrid in form they become over time, served to give Western shape, order, and identity to structures sited in the non-Western world. It also visually related these edifices - and, in turn, the Jesuits who built and administered them and the indigenous peoples who used them - to the Italian centre of Christendom, whose ultimate authority the Jesuits themselves were dependent on and responsible to, and into whose desired worldwide domain local populations were persuaded to enter. Almost immediately the equation became more complicated, as the Jesuits in India entered into a dialogue with native traditions, incorporating into their structures Indian motifs and architectural forms crafted by native builders and artisans. In doing so, they explicitly denoted their recognition that indigenous tastes and sensibilities had a legitimate place within the greater church. Ultimately, in bringing together Portuguese, Italian, and Indian forms and the symbolic references inherent in them, the Jesuitsponsored structures of Portuguese India forged an innovative and accommodating visual symbiosis that linked newly conquered Christian lands and peoples with old, and thus created a more encompassing and universal typology for the Christian church.

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NOTES

1 See Georg Schurhammer, Francis Xavier: His Life, His Times, 4 vols (Rome, 197382), II 271. 2 See A. D'Costa, The Christianization of the Goan Islands (Bombay, 1966). After Albuquerque, later viceroys and religious authorities instituted severe prohibitions on Hindu practices in Portuguese-controlled Goa, and in 1540 the Hindu temples on the Goan islands were appropriated. 3 See David M. Kowal, 'The Evolution of Ecclesiastical Architecture in Portuguese Goa,' in Mitteilungen der Carl Justi-Vereinigung e. V. zur Forderung der kunstwissenschaftlichen zusammenarbeit mit Spanien und Portugal, ed. Barbara Borngasser Klein and Bruno Klein (Gottingen, 1993), pp. 1-22, for a survey of architectural developments in Goa. 4 The Manueline style is so named for King Manuel I (1495-1521), under whose banner Portugal's overseas expansion began. For an analysis of the nationalistic political and religious implications of the style, see Paulo Pereira, 'A simbolica manuelina: Razao, celebrac.ao, segredo,' in Historia da arte portuguesa, ed. Paulo Pereira, 3 vols (Lisbon, 1995), II 115-55. 5 See Kowal. The Evolution,' pp. 3-6. Little remains of the Manueline structures of Goa beyond the entrance portal of the original church of the Franciscan Observants (erected 1519-27), which was later incorporated into a structure of 1661, and the still intact Dominican priorate church of Nossa Senhora do Rosario, built by Portuguese military engineers in 1542. For a sense of the Manueline city, see Rafael Moreira, 'Goa em 1535, uma cidade manuelina,' Revista da Faculdade de Ciencias Socials e Humanas (1995): 177-221. 6 See Schurhammer, Francis Xavier, II 235-43 and III 456-72, for a discussion of the Confraternity of the Holy Faith (founded in Goa in 1541 to administer to the spiritual and temporal welfare of native Christians and to recruit and train nativelanguage-speaking secular priests) and the Jesuit administration and development of that institution. 7 See Alessandro Valignano, Historia del principio y progresso de la Compania de Jesus en las Indias Orientales (1542-64), ed. Joseph Wicki (Rome, 1944), pp. 41925, for Quadros's initiation of Goa's Church of Sao Paulo as well as the college churches in Cochin and Bassein. 8 See Jose Nicolau da Fonseca, Historical and Archaeological Sketch of the City of Goa (Bombay, 1878) for a brief synopsis of other Jesuit structures in Goa and the adjacent islands of Chorao and Jua. 9 See Doc. ind. 10:456, which transcribes a letter written in 1576 by Gomes Vaz. 10 Mario T. Chico, 'Algumas observa§oes acerca da arquitetura da Companhia de Jesus no distrito de Goa,' Garcia de Orta (1956): 257-74.

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11 Sebastiano Serlio, Tutte I'opere d'architettura etprospettiva di Sebastiano (Venice, 1619; repr. 1964). A Spanish edition of Serlio's 'Books on Architecture' was printed in 1547 and circulated widely in Portugal soon thereafter. 12 See John Onians, Bearers of Meaning: The Classical Orders in Antiquity, the Middle Ages, and the Renaissance (Princeton, 1988), pp. 277 and 310-14. Serlio, who advocated that the use of a particular architectural order on a structure should express the character of that building's patrons and occupants, demarcated his church designs exclusively using the Corinthian order. 13 See Pirri Trist. for an account of Jesuit constructions designed by the Society's chief architectural adviser, the Jesuit architect Giovanni Tristano. His churches possess simple fagades - the Annunziatina (1561^) of the original Collegio Romano in Rome, with superimposed Doric pilasters; the Gesu in Perugia (15613), with square piers; and the Gesu of Ferrara (1570), with a single order of Doric pilasters. 14 See Valignano, Historia, p. 421, and Doc. ind.5: 595-6, which transcribes a letter written in Goa in 1562 by Father Balthasar da Costa describing the construction and form of the church. 15 See Pirri Trist., pp. 31-2 and 40-54. Those Jesuit churches closest in date to Goa's Sao Paulo are the hall churches of Perugia (c. 1561) and Palermo (c. 1563). 16 See George Kubler, Portuguese Plain Architecture: Between Spices and Diamonds, 1521-1706 (Middletown, Conn., 1972), pp. 28^4. The foundation stone at Leiria was laid in 1550, Portalegre was begun in 1556, and Miranda do Douro in 1552. A number of smaller churches in the Alentejo region of Portugal were also built in the estilo chdo. 17 See Vall.-Rad. Rec. 18 See Witt. 'Prob.,' p. 6. In 1558 the first General Congregation of the order issued a ruling regarding the erection of structures for the Society, which was expanded in 1565. From this date, all projects were to be examined by the Jesuit general, and required his approval. These rules, however, were not thoroughly applied or followed. 19 See Kowal, 'The Evolution,' pp. 5-8. Nossa Senhora do Rosario was constructed by Portuguese engineers in 1542, while Francis Xavier was in Goa. The new cathedral, begun in 1562 and not finished until 1631, was constructed by the military engineer Antonio Argueiro and then by the chief government engineer in the Indies, Julio Simao. 20 See Paulo Pereira, 'A arquitectura jesuita, primeiras fundagoes,' Oceanos 12 (1992): 104-11, for a recent summary of the early Jesuit churches in Portugal. 21 See Schurhammer, Francis Xavier, III 396, and J. Gerson da Cunha, Notes on the History and Antiquities ofChaul and Bassein (New Delhi, 1993). 22 See Alden Ent., pp. 592-6. The capture of most of the Portuguese domains of the

The Jesuits and Architecture in Portuguese India 503

23

24 25

26 27

28

29

30

north resulted in the loss of four Jesuit colleges - Bassein, Tana, Bandora, and Chaul. See Doc. ind. 11:23, 16:934, and 13:618. Simao was then at work upon Goa's Se Novo. Fernandes, born in Mello, Portugal, was a lay brother who joined the Society in 1570 and was posted to Sao Paulo in Goa in 1578. The new professed house was begun in 1583 and suffered a fire in 1663, after which it was rebuilt with alterations. Letters from Jesuits in Goa to Rome bemoan the difficulty of finding Western architects in the Indies to design this structure. At least one plan - rejected as unsuitable for the location - came from Rome. A plan by Domingo Fernandes and Julio Simao sent to Rome in 1586 survives (see Vall.-Rad. Rec., p. 118). See Chico, 'Algumas observagoes,' pp. 267-8. Sao Francisco in Evora was remodelled after 1460 and consecrated in 1501. See C. Azevedo, 'Dm artista italiano em Goa: Placido Francesco Ramponi e o tumulo de S. Francisco Xavier,' Garcia de Orta, special issue (1956): 277-302, and Georg Schurhammer, 'Der Silberschrein des HI. Franz Xavier in Goa: Bin Meisterwerk christlicher indischer Kunst,' Das Miinster (May/June 1954): 137-52. See A.B. de Braganca Pereira, 'Os Portugueses en Diu,' O Oriente portugues (1938): 379-83, and A.R. Pereira Nunes, Diu: Historia (Nova Goa, 1987). See Alden Ent., pp. 46-7. In 1567 the Hindu temples in Salcete were destroyed and their lands and wealth appropriated and utilized for parish administration and the construction of a Jesuit college in the district. In 1574 a Jesuit college was constructed in the village of Margao, but it was destroyed in 1579 by the Muslim forces of Bijapur. At that time the college was relocated to within the protected fort at Rachol, where it remained until 1597, when it was shifted back to Margao. When in 1606 the Margao college was again destroyed - this time by Maratha forces - it was definitively returned to Rachol. The Rachol college served as the administrative centre for the Jesuit-supervised parishes in Salcete. The Jesuits of Goa, particularly those at Rachol (like Thomas Stephens), engaged in multiple efforts aimed at accommodating and integrating native traditions. For instance, they spoke, wrote, and published (on their printing presses at Sao Paulo and Rachol) in the local languages of Konkani and Marathi. From these presses came exceptional works such as Stephens's Purana christdo (1610), a catechism written in the verse of a Hindu Purana, and his Bible in Marathi verse (1616). See Mario T. Chico, 'A igreja dos agostinhos de Goa e a arquitectura da India portuguesa,' Garcia de Orta 2:2 (1954): 233^K). Chico argues that the Graga's facade (1597-1602) was derived from the model of Sao Paulo, Goa. See Alden Ent., pp. 335ff and 584ff. Salcete had been ceded into Portuguese hands in 1548, although for the next two centuries it remained subject to attack, first by the Muslim rulers of Bijapur and then by the Hindu Marathas who had supplanted Bijapuri rule. Jesuits from the Colegio de Sao Paulo in the capital first entered

504 David M. Kowal Salcete in the 1560s and were successful there in making conversions, establishing parishes, and attaining their first martyrs in Portuguese India. In 1567 the Portuguese authorities systematically destroyed Salcete's many temples, appropriating their wealth and forcing Hindus to flee to inland districts, where in the late seventeenth and the eighteenth century they reconstructed temples under Maratha sponsorship. Meanwhile, in Salcete the Jesuit order was given the duty of administering and maintaining parishes; the Society took the opportunity to turn Salcete into a lucrative domain in which it controlled the economy, education, and religious persuasion. 31 See Teotonio da Souza, Medieval Goa (New Delhi, 1979), p. 117, no. 45. Several documents and accounts, including an interesting letter from a Jesuit priest to the king of Portugal, express concern that Indian Christians were employed in the building of temples to a faith they and their ancestors supposedly had renounced.

23 / God's Good Taste: The Jesuit Aesthetics of Juan Bautista Villalpando in the Sixth and Tenth Centuries B.C.E. JAIME LARA

The one and only architectural construction in the world which could claim God himself as architect and designer was the Temple of Jerusalem. While God may also have dictated the designs of a seaworthy vessel like Noah's ark1 or a pre-fab assemblage like the Tent of Meeting in the wilderness,2 or have dabbled in furniture design with the Ark of the Covenant,3 God's engineering activities in large-scale stone construction were known only in the temple whose layout was dictated to Solomon the Wise4 and, in mystical vision, to Ezekiel the prophet.5 In the Middle Ages meagre attempts had been made to reconstruct the temple on paper - notably those of Rabbi Solomon-ben-Issac, better known as Rashi (eleventh century); the great philosopher-physician Maimonides (twelfth century); the Augustinian Richard of St Victor (twelfth century); and, especially, the Franciscan Nicolaus of Lyra (fourteenth century) (fig. 23.1).6 With the Renaissance was born the archaeological study and re-evaluation of antiquity. From a position of new-found prestige the twisted columns in Old St Peter's Basilica which, according to tradition, had been spoils of the destroyed Temple of Jerusalem - gained renewed interest and inspired religious paintings, such as Raphael's Peter Healing the Blind Man in the Temple? The sixteenth-century Protestant Reformation and the consequent Catholic Counter Reformation also spurred interest in visualizing the text of the Bible and its historical interpretation according to the science of the day. Allegorical interpretation, so popular throughout the Middle Ages, had been falling out of favour since the fourteenth century and was being replaced by a more literal reading.8 Onto the late sixteenth-century scene came two Andalusian Jesuits, Jeronimo de Prado and Juan Bautista Villalpando. Their names appear in an edition of three immense volumes of the work In Ezechielem explanationes et apparatus urbis ac templi hierosolymitani commentariis et imaginibus illustratus ..., published in Rome from 1596 to 1604 (fig. 23.2).9 Jeronimo de Prado, who was more of a

506 Jaime Lara

23.1. Plan of the Temple of Jerusalem. From Nicolaus of Lyra, Biblia cum glossa ordinaria (Basel, 1507). Private collection. Used with permission.

God's Good Taste: Juan Bautista Villalpando 507

23.2. Title-page of Villalpando, In Ezechielem explanationes. Photo courtesy of Ediciones Siruela, Madrid.

508 Jaime Lara

23.3. Elevation of the temple showing platform and buttressing. From Villalpando, In Ezechielem explanationes. Photo courtesy of Ediciones Siruela, Madrid.

Scripture scholar and sculptor than an architect, had died in 1595; thus it was Villalpando who completed the work, which was generously funded by King Philip II of Spain.10 Villalpando, who was more of an architect and mathematician than a Scripture scholar, was nevertheless a mediocre draughtsman. Consequently, he oversaw a small army of Flemish and Italian engravers, whose oversized work filled the final text (fig. 23.3). But he allowed none to sign their names to the drawings; only his name was to appear.11 In the accompanying Latin text of the work, Villalpando several times declares himself to be the disciple of Juan de Herrera, the famous creator of the austere Herreran style and the master architect of the Escorial palace-monastery.12 It may have been that Villalpando's interest in the Temple of Solomon influenced his master, Herrera, in the design of the Escorial, which reproduces a similar ground plan (figs 23.4, 23.5). The Jerusalem temple and the Iberian palace were similar in that both were cult centres as well as residences for monarchs. We know that Herrera had a study of the Jerusalem temple in his private library; and the biographer of Philip II, the Jeronimite monk Jose de Sigiienza, makes the point more obvious by consciously comparing the palace-monastery to the Jerusalem shrine.13 The reverse could also be true: Herrera may have been the mastermind behind the temple project which Villalpando detailed and coordinated. There are suspicions among art historians that both palace and temple came from the same 'workshop.' Villalpando considered the Temple of Solomon which he reconstructed to be essentially the same as that eschatological temple of the Last Days recognized in the turbid vision of Ezekiel. He harmonized the texts of the books of Kings and

God's Good Taste: Juan Bautista Villalpando 509

23.4. Plan of the temple. From Villalpando, In Ezechielem explanationes. Photo courtesy of Ediciones Siruela, Madrid.

Chronicles with chapters 40 to 48 of the prophet - hence the title In Ezechielem explanationes. Villalpando, the mathematician, based his reconstruction on the cube as the modular unit, and on a disdain for the flourishes of ornament.14 Both he and his master Herrera professed a clear lack of confidence in painting and decoration - a type of architectural fundamentalism. Villalpando took as his guide the great ancient architectural theorist Vitruvius (first century B.C.E.), whom he idolized to the extreme. But unlike other architects of the Renaissance who emulated and copied the constructions of antiquity,

510 Jaime Lara

23.5. Plan of the Escorial palace-monastery. Reproduced in Dios arquitecto: J.B. Villalpando y el Templo de Salomon, ed. Juan Antonio Ramirez (Madrid, 1991). Photo courtesy of Ediciones Siruela, Madrid.

Villalpando went a step further than Vitruvius: he established and attempted to prove that the five classical orders - Doric, Ionic, Corinthian, Tuscan, and composite - as well as all the Vitruvian principles, had been derived from the perfect architecture revealed by God to Solomon in the tenth century B.C.E. By a mathematical equation based on measurements which appear in the Bible,

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Villalpando was able to offer a canonical proportion for this 'primordial order' which God had drawn. As a result, classicism in architecture had a clear biblical justification.15 Classicism, as understood by the Jesuit, was precisely God's good taste newly rediscovered, in contrast to the horrendous aberrations of the Romanesque and the Gothic. Villalpando is particularly harsh in his criticism of the Franciscan Nicolaus of Lyra. He nicknames him the 'Lyrense,' thus indirectly showing how influential Lyra has been up to that moment.16 Lyra, a Scripture scholar at the University of Paris, was an intellectual disciple of Rabbi Rashi, and he had worked with Jewish scholars, emphasizing the pesach, or literal understanding of Scripture.17 Between the years 1322 and 1331 Lyra had written extensively on the temples of Solomon and Ezekiel and had done drawings (see fig. 23.1),18 none of which pleased Villalpando. With a bit of hubris and perhaps some Jesuit-Franciscan rivalry, the Andalusian writes: 'Nicolaus of Lyra, who was a perfect ignoramus when it came to architecture, expressed for us a building which responded to the mental fictions of his own imagination ... But those of us who know the real forms of ancient architecture can never be satisfied with his plans and elevations, nor do they appear at all to conform to the words of the prophet.'19 The classicism was based on Villalpando's mathematical assumptions, on the perfection of the circle within the square, and on the anthropomorphic proportions of Vitruvius. In several drawings Villalpando has set the human figure against the ground plan of the porticoes of the temple (fig. 23.6). Likewise, a mathematical-musical harmonic joins all the parts of the immense edifice.20 Accordingly, we could consider In Ezechielem explanationes the last great intellectual construction of Renaissance Neoplatonism and aesthetic Scholasticism. The work was also a testimony to the supposed immense wealth of the Old Testament king, not unlike the new-found wealth of the Americas which came into the possession of Villalpando's royal patron, Philip II. Villalpando delights in detailing to the nth degree the weight and cost of the gold plates which covered the building and its accoutrements. The mathematician arrives at the surprising grand total cost of two billion eight hundred and twelve million Spanish ducats, and some change.21 Furthermore, he establishes a biblical identification between God's doxa, God's resplendent glory, and the visual brilliance, sparkle, and sheen of the precious metals. This identification has been considered one of the reasons for the lavish use of gold in the baroque period which followed on the heels of Villalpando's publication.22 It is difficult to explain Bernini's splendours in Italy or the seventeenth-century Hispanic altarpieces in the Americas without the theology of sparkle and visual pizzazz (doxa) found in Villalpando's commentary on Ezekiel. This leads us finally to consider the influence which Villalpando and his three

512 Jaime Lara

23.6. Anthropomorphic drawing of a temple portico. From Villalpando, In Ezechielem explanationes. Photo courtesy of Ediciones Siruela, Madrid.

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23.7. Sanctuary of Manquiri, Bolivia, with platform and buttressing. From Teresa Gisbert and Jose de Mesa, Arquitectura andina: Historia y analisis, 1530-1830 (La Paz, 1985). Used with permission of the authors.

tomes had on subsequent art and architecture. It is my contention, and that of other art historians, that his influence was just as immense as the publication we are considering. Such a well-crafted, expensive, and flamboyant book as this, published with papal endorsement and moneys of the Catholic Spanish crown the epitome of Counter-Reformation orthodoxy - could not but have made its mark.23 (The cost of producing the book alone was around ten thousand escudos.)24 After his death in 1608, Villalpando was quoted by every important architect and biblical scholar of the baroque, even by Protestants (who conveniently omitted the fact that he was an unredeemed Jesuit).25 Bernini and Borromini quote him architectonically; and he was followed by a plethora of temple designers who took him as their point of departure, among them the Sephardic Jew Jacob Jehudah Leon, the Protestant theologian Johannes Coccejus, the Jewish convert and later bishop of Vigevano Juan Caramuel de Lobkowitz, the French Utopians Claude Perrault and Bernard Lamy, the Masonic theoretician John Wood, and Sir Christopher Wren.26 Even a scientific figure such as Sir Isaac

514 Jaime Lara Newton dabbled in temple design based on Villalpando's mathematics. If the temple had a divine architect, then indeed its mathematical proportions might reveal secrets about a Newtonian universe. In 1728 Newton's rigidly symmetrical and mathematically rational version was published posthumously.27 One could go on to show 'replicas' of Villalpando's design in Dutch Protestant churches, Eastern European synagogues, Bavarian Benedictine monasteries, Paraguayan mission plans, or Masonic lodges,28 but I would rather close with three somewhat more interesting examples, all in the Americas. In the remote altiplano of the Bolivian Andes we come upon the eighteenthcentury sanctuary of Manquiri (fig. 23.7). Its plan follows the standard form of a single-nave church fronted by an atrium with four corner posa chapels for processions. This temple plan came to the New World with the mendicant orders in the sixteenth century, appearing first in central Mexico.29 The interesting thing is that the immense platform for the whole site, more than fourteen metres high, is artificial; it is man-made. A comparison with Villalpando's drawing of the temple foundations and buttressing shows the imitation (see fig. 23.3). The Solomonic inspiration is also evident in the decorative elements at Manquiri, which include the lion of Judah, columns of palm trees and pomegranates, and the star of David, which may have been inspired by the engravings found in Villalpando's book.30 The Jesuits at nearby Potosi had a copy of In Ezechielem explanations in their possession. It also appears that an Augustinian in Lima, Fray Fernando de Valverde, came across a copy of Villalpando's work in his role as Inquisitor for books. Valverde had been instrumental in the design of a convent for cloistered nuns in which a freestanding oratory preceded by a walled atrium was called the Sanctuary of Jerusalem (fig. 23.8). The chapel, which stood at the heart of a small conventual city-within-a-city, was surrounded by cells which imitate the cells surrounding the Holy of Holies in the Solomonic building.31 Villalpando reconstructed not only the Jerusalem cult centre but the city as well. His drawings give a bird's-eye view of the urbanization of Jerusalem and a rigid grid system based on the biblical partition of lands to the Twelve Tribes, as well as on the astrological signs of the zodiac as interpreted by the Jewish Cabbala (fig. 23.9).32 Students of urban planning have seen replicas of this layout in the New World, for example in the New England city of New Haven, Connecticut. The Puritan city fathers founded the New England 'Biblical Commonwealth' in 1638 as a perfect square set between two creeks and subdivided into nine squares, which in turn were subdivided into plots (fig. 23.10). The mastermind behind the project was the Reverend John Davenport, who, before coming to the New World, had sought refuge in Amsterdam, where he came into contact with Johann Valentin Andrea, the Utopian author of the Protestant work

God's Good Taste: Juan Bautista Villalpando 515

23.8. Plan of the Sanctuary of Jerusalem in the convent-city of the Incarnation, Lima, Peru. From Gisbert and Mesa, Arquitectura andina: Historia y analisis. Used with permission of the authors.

Christianopolis, and with Villalpando's commentary on Ezekiel. Certain measurements in Villalpando's work correspond to New Haven's nine squares.33 This rapid look at the work of Juan Bautista Villalpando is meant only to be a beginning and to raise interest in the topic among scholars of Jesuitica. More historiographical research needs to be done on the man and his three tomes, which were widely read and commented on in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Further investigation could also contribute to an understanding of how important was the idea of the mythopoetic symbol 'temple' and what it connoted

516 Jaime Lara

23.9. Repartition of lands around the Temple of Jerusalem to the Twelve Tribes. From Villalpando, In Ezechielem explanationes. Photo courtesy of Ediciones Siruela, Madrid.

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23.10. Map of New Haven, Connecticut, 1641. Photo courtesy of the New Haven Historical Society.

for baroque culture and religion.34 It would be interesting to know what Villalpando's contribution had to do with a later Jesuit 'way of proceeding' in architectural matters or liturgical matters, and in Jesuit interest in the Cabbala and things Jewish.35 Juan Bautista Villalpando was convinced that he had rediscovered God's good taste in architectural theory and design, in the temple of Solomon of the tenth century B.C.E. and in the temple of Ezekiel of the sixth century B.C.E. God did indeed have good taste, classical taste. It appears, after all, that as regards architectural aesthetics, God was thinking like a Jesuit.

518 Jaime Lara NOTES 1 Gen. 6:13f. 2 Exod. 26ff. 3 Exod. 25. 4 1 Kings 5ff; 2 Chron. Iff. 5 Ezek. 40ff. 6 For the historiographical information related to interest in reconstructing the Temple of Solomon, see my 'Urbs beata Hierusalem americana: Stational Liturgy and Eschatological Architecture in Sixteenth-Century Mexico,' Ph.D. dissertation, Graduate Theological Union and University of California at Berkeley, 1995. Earlier and later temple plans are given in Wolfgang Herrmann, 'Unknown Designs for the "Temple of Jerusalem" by Claude Perrault,' in Essays in the History of Architecture Presented to Rudolf Wittkower, ed. Douglas Fraser et al. (London, 1967), pp. 14358; Helen Rosenau, Vision of the Temple: The Image of the Temple of Jerusalem in Judaism and Christianity (London, 1979); and Dios arquitecto: J.B. Villalpando y el Templo de Salomon, ed. Juan Antonio Ramirez (Madrid, 1991), pp. 81-152. 7 Juan Antonio Ramirez, Construcciones ilusorias: Arquitecturas descritas, arquitecturas pintadas (Madrid, 1983; repr. 1988), pp. 139^3. 8 One certain cause of the more literal and historically scientific reading of Scripture was the work of Nicolaus of Lyra. See below. 9 I have made use of the facsimile edition by Juan Antonio Ramirez et al., El Templo de Salomon (Madrid, 1991) with Spanish translation, which is based on the original extant in Harvard University Library. 10 Dios arquitecto, ed. Ramirez, pp. 248-53. 11 Ibid., pp. 254-84. 12 Ibid., pp. 169-71. For Herrera's influence on other Jesuits, see Alfonso Rodriguez y Gutierrez de Ceballos, 'Juan de Herrera y los jesuitas Villalpando, Valeriani, Ruiz, Tolosa,'A//5/35 (1966): 285-321. 13 This theory was first put forth by Rene Taylor in his 'Architecture and Magic: Considerations on the Idea of the Escorial,' in Essays, ed. Fraser, pp. 81-109. 14 Dios arquitecto, ed. Ramirez, pp. 189-203. 15 Rene Taylor, 'El Padre Villalpando (1552-1608) y sus ideas esteticas,' Academia: Anales y boletin de la Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando 3 (1952): 411-73; Taylor 'Herm.' 16 For the influence of Nicolaus of Lyra on religious architecture immediately prior to Villalpando, see my Urbs beata Hierusalem americana. 17 H. Hailperin, Rashi and the Christian Scholars (Pittsburgh, 1963), pp. 290-1; Dios arquitecto, ed. Ramirez, pp. 87-9. 18 His drawings appear in the books of Exodus, Kings, Chronicles, and Ezekiel of his

God's Good Taste: Juan Bautista Villalpando 519

19 20 21 22

23

24 25

26 27 28

monumental biblical commentary, the Postillae litterales in vetus et novum testamentum, also known as the Postilla super totam bibliam and as the Biblia cum glossa ordinaria cum expositione literati et morali. Manuscript editions, incunabulae, and printed editions of the same were popular well into the seventeenth century. See e.g. Edward Gosselin, 'A Listing of the Printed Editions of Nicolaus de Lyra,' Traditio 26 (1970): 399-426. In Ezechielem explanations, facs. ed.: El Templo de Salomon (n9 above), p. 192. Taylor 'Herm.,' pp. 76-9. Dios arquitecto, ed. Ramirez, pp. 215-19. Manuel Gonzalez Galvan, 'El oro en el barroco,' Anales del Instituto de Investigaciones Esteticas, Universidad Nacional Autonoma de Mexico 45 (1976): 73-96; Jean Vilar, L'or an temps de la Renaissance: Du my the a Veconomie (Paris, 1978), pp. 31-43. The book and its cost also came under attack, particularly by a fellow Jesuit, Antonio Possevino. See John Patrick Donnelly, 'Antonio Possevino, S.J., as a Counter-Reformation Critic of the Arts,' Journal of the Rocky Mountain Medieval and Renaissance Association 3 (1982): 153-64. Juan Antonio Ramirez, 'Del valor del templo al coste del libro,' Boletin de arte, Universidad de Malaga 9 (1988): 19^15. E.g. the Flemish Protestant Joannes Drusius, who taught at Oxford in 1572-7, and the Englishman Brian Walton in his Biblica sacra polyglotta of 1657. See volume 2 of Biblicus apparatus, Briani Waltoni, anglicani, viri celeberini (Tiguri, 1673), pt 2, bks 3 and 5. See Rosenau, Vision of the Temple, pp. 9 Iff; Dios arquitecto, ed. Ramirez, pp. 3750. Dios arquitecto, ed. Ramirez, pp. 139-42. Rosenau, Vision of the Temple, pp. 133ff; Erwin Walter Palm, 'Elementos salomonicos en la arquitectura del barroco,' in XXVII Congreso Internacional de Americanistas, 1966 (Buenos Aires, 1968), pp. 233ff; Anthony Blunt, 'The Temple of Solomon with Special Reference to Southern Italian Baroque Art,' in Kunsthistorische Forschungen Otto Pacht zu seinen siebzigsten Geburtstag, ed. Artur Rosenauer and Gerold Weber (Salzburg, 1972); Gregor Martin Lechner, 'Villalpandos Tempelrekonstrucktion in Beziehung zu barocker Klosterarchitektur,' in Festschrift Wolfgang Braunfels, ed. Friedrich Piel and Jorg Traeger (Tubingen, 1977), pp. 223-37; Juan Antonio Ramirez, 'Guarino Guarini, Fray Juan Ricci, and the "Complete Salomonic Order,'" Art History 4:2 (1981): 175-85; C.J.R. van der Linden, 'De symboliek van de Nieuwe Kerk van Jacob van Campen te Haarlem,' Oud Holland 104 (1990): 1-31; David Watkin, 'The Migration of the Palm: ACaseStudy of Architectural Ornament as a Vehicle of Meaning,' Apollo 132 (1990): 7884; Alfonso Rodriguez y Gutierrez de Ceballos, 'El urbanismo de las misiones

520 Jaime Lara

29 30

31

32 33

34

35

jesuiticas de America meridional: Genesis, tipologfa, y significado,' in Relaciones artisticas entre Espana y America, ed. Enrique Arias Angles (Madrid, 1992), pp. 151-71; James Stevens Curl, The Art and Architecture of Freemasonry: An Introductory Study (London, 1993), pp. 79-104. Although he does not mention Villalpando by name, it appears that the seventeenth-century Mexican Augustinian Fray Andres de San Miguel had used In Ezechielem explanationes in his 'Description del Templo de Salomon' and his architectural treatise; see his Obras completas (Mexico City, 1969), pp. 9Iff. On this standard plan as a 'replica' of the Temple of Solomon, see my Urbs beata Hierusalem americana. Teresa Gisbert and Jose de Mesa, Arquitectura andina: Historia y analisis, 15301830 (La Paz, 1985), pp. 6-9; idem, La tradicion biblica en el arte virreynal (La Paz, 1986), pp. 3-18. Gisbert has raised another possibility: that the temple platform imitates Villalpando's drawings mediated by those of Bishop Juan Caramuel de Lobkowitz. Gisbert and Mesa, La tradicion biblica. On Valverde as Inquisitor and designer, see Bernardo Torres, Cronica agustina, 3 vols (Lima, 1974). The convent of the Incarnation, Lima, has unfortunately been destroyed. Dios arquitecto, ed. Ramirez, pp. 183-8. John Archer, 'Puritan Town Planning in New Haven,' Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 34 (1975): 140-9. John Davenport and his brother, Christopher, studied at Oxford in 1613-14. John subsequently became a Puritan divine, and Christopher converted to Catholicism and became an influential Franciscan theologian, having taken the name Franciscus a Santa Clara. He continued his studies at Salamanca. It is tempting to think that the brothers might have come into contact with Villalpando's work at Oxford or that some reciprocal influence might have been felt. The Catholic Encyclopedia, 14 vols (New York, 1907-14), IV 639. For the subject of the influence of the Temple and the city of Jerusalem on urban planning in Latin America, see Jaime Salcedo Salcedo, Vrbanismo hispano-americano, siglos XVI, XVII, y XVIII (Bogota, 1996), especially pp. 215^2. For an overview of the symbol 'temple,' see John Lundquist, The Temple: Meeting Place of Heaven and Earth (New York, 1993), and the more academic study of R.J. van Pelt, Tempel van de Wereld: De kosmische symboliek van de tempel van Salomo (Utrecht, 1984). A tantalizing anecdote is offered by the Chilean Jesuit Manuel Lacunza (17311801), who preferred to call himself 'Juan Josaphat Ben-Ezra, Hebrew-Christian.' In his millenarian-political treatise The Coming of the Messiah in Glory and Majesty, trans. Edward Irving, 2 vols (London, 1807), II 304-5, Lacunza informs the reader about a liturgical event that took place in the Church of the Gesu, Rome,

God's Good Taste: Juan Bautista Villalpando 521 which he has come upon in an unpublished manuscript of Antonio Vieira, S.J. He quotes the document: 'I assert a thing which I remember to have seen in the course of the year of our salvation, 1650 ... Upon occasion of the solemnity of the forty hours, there was erected with all wonted magnificence, a most spacious theatre, set off with artificial lights, of which the effect is to augment the prospect; and therein was the temple of Solomon represented in a wonderful way. In the lower part Solomon himself was to be seen with the ministering priests and Levites, offering sacrifice according to the ritual of his country: but in the upper part there shone forth from the midst of a cloud, clothed around on every side with radiance, the true bread which cometh down from heaven ... Than which no device can be conceived or framed more worthy of representing the temple of Ezekiel, and its legal sacrifices joined in harmony with the faith of the present church and the law of grace ... Now, if in that theatre the sacrifice of Christ, not future, but sometime prefigured and now present, did show forth the legal sacrifices of Solomon, why may we not, without prejudice or peril to the faith, be permitted to philosophize concerning the temple of Ezekiel and the sacrifices thereof.' Ben-Ezra, S.J., goes on to do just that, philosophize about the temple of Ezekiel. On this 'Jewish Jesuit' and his millenarian-templar ideas, see Frederic Martinez, 'Milenarismo y defensa de la fe en el Siglo de las Luces: La obra del jesuita chileno Miguel Lacunza,' Historia critica, Universidad de los Andes, Bogota 3 (1990): 45-67.

24 / Jesuit Aristotelian Education: The De anima Commentaries ALISON SIMMONS

The importance of formal education to the early Jesuit ministry cannot be overemphasized: through institutional and pedagogical reform in education the Jesuits hoped to foster not only an informed citizenry, but also one with civic values, moral virtue, and Christian piety.1 The success of the early Jesuit colleges and universities is due in part to the fact that the Jesuits combined the best of several different educational programs: a) the development of a literate, cultured, and socially responsible citizen through the study of classical texts, as had been promoted by the Italian Humanists; b) an elaborate program of public and private spiritual education; and c) the rigorous modus et ordo of Parisian scholasticism, which included a graded class system, the assignment of a single master to a given class, a strict daily schedule, and an elaborate system of exercises such as repetitions, disputations, and compositions.2 In curriculum, too, the Jesuits combined the best of different traditions: their lower faculty of languages, literature, and rhetoric was largely adopted from the Humanists,3 while the higher faculties of arts (or philosophy) and theology were modelled on the Aristotelian philosophy andThomistic theology of Paris. While the curriculum was certainly novel in its ability to weave together these disparate educational threads, the choice of Aristotelian philosophy for the arts faculty places the Jesuit educational program firmly in one of the oldest and most established of university traditions, Scholastic Aristotelianism. This essay inquires into the position of the early Jesuits in the cultural tradition of Aristotelian university education. Is there something special about their version of Scholastic Aristotelianism? Is there a distinctively Jesuit 'way of proceeding' detectable in their Aristotelian education? In order to provide a way into this topic, in this essay I examine a set of early Jesuit university textbooks with an eye towards the question, Is there something distinctive about the Jesuit version of Aristotelianism as it is expressed in these textbooks? The university textbook underwent something of a renewal with the

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Jesuits,4 and so it serves as an especially good place to look for evidence of a distinctively Jesuit 'way of proceeding' in what is otherwise a very traditional educational and doctrinal practice. After outlining an affirmative answer to this question in the abstract, I illustrate it through some textbook commentaries of the late sixteenth or early seventeenth century on Aristotle's De anima, which would have formed part of the third-year university arts curriculum. The four textbooks I consider were written by professors of philosophy and theology who taught at Jesuit universities in Portugal, Spain, Italy, and Mexico: Emmanuel de Goes (author of the Coimbran commentary on De anima),5 Cardinal Francisco de Toledo (noted professor of the Collegio Romano, 1559-69),6 Antonio Rubio (a student of Toledo who spent twenty-two years teaching philosophy and theology in Mexico, 1577-99),7 and Francisco Suarez (professor of philosophy and theology throughout Spain, but best known as the Principal Professor of Theology at Coimbra, 1597-1616).81 focus in some detail on the theory of human cognition discussed in these texts. The psychological theory, however, should be understood to serve as more of a vehicle than the subject-matter of the essay. In the end, I suggest that even here, in one of the most traditional components of the Society's educational ministry, the Aristotelian curriculum, there is something innovative and distinctive about the Jesuits. I. The Jesuits and Aristotelianism In his Constitutions, Ignatius of Loyola prescribed the texts of Aristotle for the study of philosophy, including logic, natural philosophy, moral philosophy, and metaphysics.9 In the wake of Averroism, however, there had been a great deal of debate about the exact relation between Aristotle and the 'true philosophy,' that is, the philosophy that rationally grounds orthodox Catholic doctrine. Averroes and his followers, especially Pomponazzi, had concluded that the principles of Aristotle either fail to establish certain articles of the Catholic faith (e.g., that the rational soul is immortal) or establish something contrary to it (e.g., that there is only one rational soul for all human beings). But if this were right, then it would look as though Aristotle could not provide the proper philosophical foundation for Catholic doctrine, and this would obviously pose a problem for the Jesuit schools. For the early Jesuits, however, Aristotle and the 'true philosophy' were, at least by interpretive effort, one and the same. Thus in 1565 Francisco Borja, third superior general of the Society, issued a circular containing a list of axioms about which there was to be no freedom of opinion, and which were to be taught 'according to Aristotle, the true philosophy, and natural reason,' these three things apparently being considered coextensive.10 Similarly, the 1586 draft of the Ratio studiorum encourages in philosophy the earnest study of various accepted

524 Alison Simmons opinions, such as that, according to Aristotle, the rational soul is immortal.11 The true philosophy, then, was going to be found in Aristotle, one way or another. Charles H. Lohr has gone so far as to say that 'in its reaction to Pomponazzi, [the Jesuit form of] Aristotelianism had become conscious of itself. It gained a sense of having a mission, the sense of trying to preserve a heritage, the sense of unanimity in its understanding of the philosophical enterprise.'12 Borja's list was later rescinded, and the connection between Aristotle and the true philosophy loosened a bit. Aristotle is rejected here and there, though mostly on theologically irrelevant matters of scientific detail (e.g., it is agreed that Galen was right in claiming that the brain is the organ of the common sense, rather than the heart, as Aristotle had maintained). Occasionally Jesuits admit that it is just unclear whether Aristotle thought p, where p is a philosophical proposition bound up with Christian doctrine (e.g., some are willing to claim that it is unclear whether Aristotle thinks that the human soul achieves personal immortality). By the time the 1599 Ratio studiorum was drafted, Loyola's originally simple prescription of Aristotle's texts is considerably amended to accommodate the more tenuous connections between Aristotle and Catholic doctrine. In the instructions for the professor of philosophy, for example, a rule is included on 'how far Aristotle is to be followed' in which it is made clear that Aristotle ought typically to be followed, but not if something in the text is found to be either contrary to some universally accepted doctrine or, even more, opposed to orthodox Catholic doctrine.13 The relation between Aristotle and the true philosophy is thus subject to a certain amount of examination, interpretation, and change in both theory and practice. Nonetheless it seems fair to say that the Jesuits belong solidly and very self-consciously to the tradition of Scholastic Aristotelianism. What sort of Aristotelians were the Jesuits? I mentioned above that there is something distinctive about the treatment of Aristotle in the Jesuit textbooks. One might think that this is a bad thing. Indeed, medievalists often approach late Scholasticism, the Jesuit version included, as a though it were a degenerate and garbled version of the twelfth- to fourteenth-century original. No doubt influenced in their opinion by the struggle to reconcile the texts of Aristotle with Christian doctrine, they suggest that later Scholasticism is really a second-hand Scholasticism more concerned with providing famous backing for Catholic orthodoxy than in engaging in philosophy with Aristotle. Thus Eckhard Kessler, in his article in The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy, asserts that the Jesuits' point is 'not to explain Aristotle but to rationalise Christian doctrine' - in other words, they are using, even abusing, Aristotle for their doctrinal ends, and this is bad philosophical practice.14 Similarly, JohnTrentman, in his article in The Cambridge History of Later Medieval Philosophy, bemoans, 'Scholasticism was transmitted to later generations by philosophical hacks ... or ill-tempered

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clerics. It is little wonder that real scholastic insights were misunderstood and that Aristotelian scholasticism was often "refuted" by ignoratio elenchi.'15 The Second Scholastic, the view seems to be, is the downfall of Scholastic Aristotelianism. In its course, my essay defends the Jesuit De anima commentaries against this attack of corrupting the Aristotelian tradition rather than advancing it. Far from being a degenerate form of Aristotelianism designed simply to buttress Catholic doctrine, the version of Aristotelianism expressed in these textbooks represents a vital and constructive moment in the long history of Scholastic Aristotelianism: it advances new and interesting positions; it produces quite sober interpretations of Aristotle; and it develops rigorously philosophical arguments. The Jesuits certainly do have their own way of doing Aristotle commentary, but this way is by no means a philosophically inferior one: they prove themselves to be good Christians, and good philosophers, and good Aristotelians. II. The Jesuit Commentary Style The Jesuit texts stand out in the long history of Aristotle commentary. Writing in the wake of the Humanists' philological endeavour, the Jesuits had available to them a vast number of revived sources to work with, and they used them liberally in their commentaries. As other contributors to this collection remark, the early Jesuits practise an intellectual method of inclusion; that is, they present, but do not necessarily endorse, a wide variety of more and less probable opinions on controversial matters. In IheDe anima textbooks, they wrestle explicitly not only with Aristotle and Aquinas, but also with Greek commentators (Themistius, Simplicius, Theophrastus, Alexander of Aphrodisias), Arabic thinkers (Avicenna, Averroes, Avampace, Alfarabi), perspectivists (Witelo, Bacon), Humanists (Ficino, Pico della Mirandola), numerous old and recent Latin commentators (Scotus, Occham, Paul of Venice, John of Jandun, Agostino Nifo, Cajetan, Aegidio Romano), and also one another (Rubio and Suarez are perfectly happy to discuss, and even disagree with, the commentaries of Toledo and the Conimbricenses that are being used in the schools). The consequence is an unusually intellectually rich text that sets before the pupil not only the preferred doctrine, but the conceptual options, the countervailing evidence, and a sense of what is at stake in the dispute. While the principle of inclusion may make the Jesuit texts special, that by itself does not go very far towards a defence of the Jesuits as constructive members of the Aristotelian tradition; it is possible, after all, that the Jesuits lost the philosophical forest through the trees of controversy. More interesting for my purposes, then, is Lohr's suggestion that many of the Jesuit textbooks are

526 Alison Simmons unusually systematic and philosophical.16 Indeed, the texts aim to establish axiomatic foundations first, and then build a system of philosophy (and theology) on those foundations. In this respect they reflect Loyola's vision of the educational pyramid: in education a strict order must be followed, beginning with solid foundations and, only when the foundations are secure, building on them by proceeding to more advanced topics. Lohr's studies deal chiefly with the metaphysical textbooks, and this systematization of Aristotle is most dramatic in these works, where the subject-matter of metaphysics and its place in the curriculum were eventually reconceived.17 Nevertheless one finds a similar systematic character in the natural philosophical texts as well, the De anima commentaries included. Suarez is the most distinctive in this respect. His De anima text (like his Disputationes metaphysicae)can only loosely be called a commentary, for it does not include either a translation or a summary of Aristotle's text, and it establishes its own order of topics to be discussed, which only loosely follows Aristotle's. This reorganization is necessarily less dramatic in commentaries that include a presentation of Aristotle's text, for their organization is set by the text. Still, the quaestiones of these commentaries display a systematic progression of their own, so much so that they could, taken together, stand on their own as independent treatises on the soul. Beyond the organization of subject-matter, the real philosophical workhorses of the Jesuit textbooks, the disputed questions that appear after a translation and/ or summary of Aristotle's text, demonstrate a peculiar philosophical and systematic character of their own. It is the character of the quaestiones themselves that will concern the rest of this essay. The quaestiones are impressive not only for their original content but also for their mode of presentation or style of argument, which we might classify today as rational reconstruction; that is, they effectively reconstruct Aristotle's thought from first, or at least relatively fundamental, principles of his own philosophical system. The Jesuits, in other words, provide solid Aristotelian grounds for commonplace Aristotelian conclusions. The grounding principles are ones that are meant to be maximally clear to the human intellect and that the student would have encountered earlier in his studies. The result is a presentation of Aristotle that is extremely clear and rationally well ordered. This mode of presentation stands in marked contrast to the piecemeal arguments for or against this or that assertion that one finds in many earlier Aristotle commentaries, including those of Aquinas, which give either a lengthy line-by-line commentary or, as in the case of the Summa theologiae, a topically but not philosophically systematic text. It must be granted that the Jesuit texts typically go well beyond the words that one finds in the text of Aristotle under discussion, and it is surely this fact that arouses suspicion. While it may at first look as though the Jesuits are playing fast and loose with the text, however, what

Jesuit Aristotelian Education 527 they are really doing is trying to interpret that text in a principled, grounded, and orderly way, a way that, not incidentally, is very well suited to the ends of education. III. Aristotelian Psychology: Some Basics Before illustrating this rational reconstruction at work in theDe anima commentaries, it will be necessary to review briefly some of the basics of a broadly Aristotelian theory of cognition. Very crudely, there are three groups of cognitive faculties. The first group, the external senses, includes vision, audition, olfaction, touch, and gustation. The second group, the internal senses, includes such faculties as the common sense, the imagination, and the memory, though the exact number of internal senses is a matter of dispute among Aristotelians. The only internal sense that is important for this essay is phantasia, which is conceived of as a storehouse or treasury of sensory representations. The third sort of cognitive faculty is the intellect, which is distinguished into the active or agent intellect and the passive or patient or sometimes the possible intellect: the patient intellect is the faculty that actually understands things; the agent intellect's function is a matter of some debate, and will be discussed below. The objects of cognitive faculties are somewhat different. Sensory cognition, both external and internal, is directed primarily to the sensible accidents of particular corporeal things: I see Rover's colour and shape; I imagine Fido's bad doggy breath; I remember the sound of Rex's bark. What exactly intellectual cognition is directed to is a matter of considerable debate, but certainly the intellect is able to direct itself to such things as the natures, essences, and/or quiddities of things: I understand what it is to be a dog, for example; that is, I understand the nature of doghood or dogness, which is something that belongs not just to Rover or Rex but to all dogs qua dog. Finally, it is important to remember that the Aristotelian theory is roughly an empiricist theory of cognition. The intellect comes into the world a tabula rasa, equipped with no substantive materials of its own for thought - no forms, no species, no ideas. Revelation aside, human cognition must begin in the senses and proceeds to the intellect. Hence the famous dictum, There is nothing to be found in the intellect that is not first in the senses. IV. Jesuit Psychology: Three Case Studies A. Sensible Species One of the most widely disputed questions that the Jesuit De anima commentaries take up in their chapters on sensory cognition concerns the doctrine of

528 Alison Simmons sensible species. The doctrine of sensible species is, in this context, an interpretation of Aristotle's famous claim in De anima II. 5 that sensory perception occurs by the reception in the senses of 'forms without their matter.' Species are 'forms without their matter.'18 The questions disputed are whether such species are really necessary for sensory perception and, if so, what exactly they are. Our Jesuits all agree that sensible species are indeed necessary for sensory perception, and that they are similitudes or copies of sensible accidents that have a special ontological status: like the sensible accidents themselves, species are material phenomena; the materiality attributed to sensible species by the Jesuits, however, is a peculiar degraded form of materiality - species are, as it were, submaterial. The position of our Jesuits on sensible species is itself unusual and interesting: earlier commentators claimed either that species are immaterial, that is, literally forms without any matter at all, or that they are half way between material and immaterial. It is the argument for the position, however, that I want to examine more closely. Rather than simply launch into yet another interpretation of Aristotle's enigmatic text, these Jesuits establish the theoretical motivation underlying the claim that sensory perception requires the reception of forms without their matter. By figuring out what work these entities are supposed to do in the theory (what problems they are introduced to solve, what questions they are supposed to answer), and by setting out the fundamental theoretical constraints on the theory (constraints imposed by Aristotelian metaphysics, physics, and psychology at large), the Jesuits lead the student quite straightforwardly and memorably to their conclusion. The result is an interpretation that uniquely integrates many of Aristotle's remarks about sensory perception into one theoretically grounded account that can singularly be described as the reception of sensible species. Let's look at the argument. In discussing species, our Jesuits first take note of the very basic Aristotelian principle that sensory perception is a form of alteration: the perceiver is altered by the sensible accidents of some object - Rover's brown colour, say. Now alteration, according to Aristotelian physics, requires contact between agent and patient (Physics VII.2, 244b3-5; De generatione et corruptione 1.6, 322b25-6). In the case of sensory alteration, then, contact is required between the sensible object and the perceiver. But sensible objects are typically objects that remain at a distance from the perceiver - Rover, brown fur and all, stays over by his doghouse. There is a theoretical need, then, for a proxy of the sensible object to make contact with the perceiver if alteration is to occur. Species are just these contact-making proxies. What is more, Aristotelian alteration is a form of assimilation: in alteration, the patient becomes like the agent in some way (De generatione et corruptione 1.7, 342alO-14). As an alteration, then, sensory

Jesuit Aristotelian Education 529 perception requires that the perceiver be assimilated to the sensible object by the species - that I somehow become brown, like Rover's colour. This can happen only if the species is itself a similitude of the sensible object. Hence the need for species, considered as similitudes of sensible objects: species are the answer to the contact and assimilation constraints on the perceptual theory. The argument is quite simple, and it is clearly grounded in some very basic Aristotelian principles. As for the peculiar metaphysical nature of species, this is established by appeal to a couple of other very basic Aristotelian principles. First, the materiality of species is established by demonstrating that species are accidents (rather than substances, the other chief ontological category), and that they are accidents of material substances (including both the medium and the sense organs - or the senses, hylomorphically conceived, as they would be on an Aristotelian theory). Since accidents are proportionate to, or of the same kind as, the substances of which they are accidents, species must be material. Their materiality is further confirmed by the fact that they are the effects of material causes (that is, sensible accidents like colour and sound), which can in turn produce only material effects (a material cause cannot produce something more perfect, like an immaterial species). So far so good. But if species are material, as they clearly must be, then we're going to have some problems on our hands. First of all, material things are sensible, while species are not - we do not see the species of brown produced by Rover's fur hovering in the air. (It is important not to be confused by the fact that species are called 'sensible' species. They are so called because they facilitate the perception of sensible qualities, not because they are themselves sensible.) Second, contrary material accidents (like black and white) cannot coexist at the same time in the same place, but species of all sorts of colour must simultaneously fill the air, enabling us to see different colours through one and the same medium at one and the same time. It is by way of meeting these latter demands that our Jesuits argue that species must have a very special kind of material being, which they call 'intentional' (as opposed to 'natural') material being. Intentional being, in their idiolect, is a unique kind of material being, an 'inferior' or 'imperfect' or 'degenerate' or 'diminished' kind of being: Species are more imperfect [imperfectiores] than their objects, since objects have natural being [esse naturale] while species have only intentional being [esse intentionale] which is degenerate [degenerans] from natural being and for that reason diminished.19 Intentional species are not more perfect than their objects, but rather they are like vestiges of them and even more tenuous entities. White, for example, is a perfect entity in its kind; but truly the species of white is not equal to it in that kind.20

530 Alison Simmons We say that species have intentional being because a species of colour is not really colour but an imperfect quality that exists only in the medium and in the sense organ.21

Species, then, are incomplete as material accidents; they do not exist in their material subjects in quite the full-fledged way that sensible qualities themselves do. This degenerate material status is what allows them to remain insensible. Rubio writes that since species do not have natural being but a diminished being, they cannot produce natural effects, nor can they be sensed.22 This status is also supposed to explain why species of contrary accidents can coexist at the same time in the same place. Suarez writes, 'Species representing contraries [like black and white] can exist simultaneously in the same subject because intentional qualities are not contraries of each other.'23 Thus the Jesuits suggest that when Aristotle says that perception involves the reception of forms without their matter, what he must mean (if his theory of sense perception is to be consistent with his other principles) is that copies of the sensible forms of objects are transmitted through the medium and received in the sense-organs of the subject, and that their existence in the medium and subject is real and material but less complete than that of sensible accidents themselves. It is a peculiar theory, and it says more than Aristotle ever did about forms without their matter, but it is a philosophically well-motivated interpretation of Aristotle, and a solid piece of philosophy. It is a rational reconstruction of Aristotle's reasoning. B. The Senses: Passive or Active? De Goes, Toledo, and Rubio all begin their treatments of the senses with the disputed question of whether the senses are active or passive. In Suarez the question is not missing, but it is effectively stretched over a series of more narrowly defined questions. Following Aristotle, who describes the senses as passive powers of the soul at De anima II.5, these authors agree that the senses are passive in so far as they receive the aforementioned sensible species from material objects. The point of the question, however, is whether this passive reception of sensible species alone is sufficient to produce sensation, or whether, on top of that, the senses must also do something, that is, must act. All these authors argue that, on top of receiving species, the senses must themselves do something in order for sensation to occur. In other words, the senses are in some sense active faculties: they elicit (elicere), produce (edere, proferre), effect (efficere), or serve as the active cause of (causa activa) sensation.24 That's the position. Now what does the argumentation look like? In defence of their conclusion, the Jesuits offer a set of a priori arguments that draw directly, once again, on some of the most fundamental principles of Aristotelian psychol-

Jesuit Aristotelian Education 531 ogy. One argument starts with the uncontested assumption that the sensitive soul is more noble than the vegetative soul. Next, it is pointed out that all Aristotelians agree that it is more noble to act than to suffer. It is also agreed that the faculties of the vegetative soul (nourishment, growth, and reproduction) are active. But if the sensitive faculties were merely passive, then it would follow that the faculties of the vegetative soul are more noble than those of the sensitive soul, and this is contrary to the initial uncontested assumption. The sensitive faculties must therefore be in some way active on pain of losing their noble status.25 A second a priori argument for the activity of the senses turns on a distinction that Aristotle makes in Metaphysics IX.8 between what the Scholastics interpret as immanent and transeunt activities. Immanent activities, like walking, begin and end in the agent; that is, the agent produces the change in himself or herself. Transeunt activities, like throwing a baseball, end in something other than the performing agent, in the catcher's mitt; the agent produces a change in something else. Now the reception of species is clearly the conclusion of a transeunt activity: species are produced by the object and received in the sense, thereby altering it. If sensation were simply a matter of receiving species from objects, then it too would be a transeunt activity. But sensation, along with all vital functions, is an immanent activity; vital functions operate through an internal principle of change. This too is a fundamental principle of Aristotelian psychology, taken from the general discussion of the soul in De anima 11.2. The immanence of sensory activity is supposed to explain why animals do but rocks do not have sensations when they receive species; something more, something intrinsic to the recipient, happens in the former but not the latter. For species to result in sensations, then, some further immanent act on the part of the perceiver's sensitive faculty is required.26 End of argument. Once again, this view that the senses are both passive and active, but with respect to different aspects of sensation, goes beyond the text ofDe anima II.5. Again, however, the interpretation is underwritten by firm Aristotelian principles. It is a rational reconstruction of what Aristotle might have said. C. The Agent Intellect One of the hottest philosophical topics in the history of medieval and Renaissance Aristotle interpretation was Aristotle's theory of intellectual cognition, and in particular his claim that there are twin intellectual faculties, the agent and the patient intellect. With regard to the agent intellect, two of the most pressing questions to which our Jesuits applied themselves were a) is an agent intellect really necessary for intellectual cognition? and b) what does it do? In the tradition handed down to them, the Jesuits faced not only a wide variety of views

532 Alison Simmons about the agent intellect, but also a theological scandal resulting from some Arabic discussions of it that were viewed as a threat to the Catholic doctrine of personal immortality.27 As one might expect by now, the Jesuit response to the tradition is to argue for an interpretation of the agent intellect in a way that (i) goes beyond Aristotle's text, but (ii) makes very clear what is at stake by illustrating the philosophical pressures that might have led Aristotle to posit such a strange-sounding faculty, (iii) grounds the argument in very basic principles of Aristotelian philosophy, and (iv) demonstrates in the process that Aristotle's principles lead to a conclusion perfectly consistent with church doctrine. The argument for the existence of an agent intellect runs quite simply as follows. We begin with the fundamental empiricist principle from Aristotle that the intellect is initially a tabula rasa with no innate species of its own by which to understand the world; intellectual cognition must come by way of the senses. To understand what it is to be dog, for example, one must first have sensory acquaintance with individual dogs; one must see, hear, and touch Rex, Rover, and Fido. Several puzzles arise, however, concerning the transition from seeing Rover and Rex to understanding what it is to be a dog. One such puzzle is that the phantasms that subserve sensory cognition are material and divisible, and so metaphysically incommensurate with and inferior to the intellect, an entirely immaterial and indivisible faculty. Since Aristotelian metaphysical principles dictate that a) causation requires some sort of commensurability between agent and patient and b) what is inferior cannot causally affect what is superior, it looks as though we are at a causal impasse. The agent intellect is introduced to provide the requisite bridge between sense and intellect. The Jesuits say: Material and divisible things cannot act on indivisible and immaterial things by their own power; but the phantasm is something material and divisible, the intellect something immaterial and indivisible; therefore the phantasm cannot act [on the intellect] by its own power; it therefore requires some other immaterial cause, [that] can act and produce an indivisible species; such a cause is the agent intellect.28 Thus our proposed question arises: for the intellect is not moved except by an object internally represented in the phantasm; but the phantasm is material; therefore it cannot act on the spiritual intellect by way of spiritual species; therefore some other more suitable principle must be sought, which is called the agent intellect.29

The phantasm, then, is simply not sufficient to produce species in the intellect by which it might understand things, and the agent intellect steps in to help produce something acceptable to the intellect. Being immaterial, the agent intellect is in a metaphysical position to act on the patient intellect (the faculty that actually does

Jesuit Aristotelian Education 533 the understanding by way of species). The philosophical reason for positing an agent intellect jumps right out in this presentation of Aristotle: the agent intellect is in charge of making for the patient intellect a (metaphysically) immaterial representation of the object represented materially by the phantasm. Once again, the Jesuit interpretation is conducted with considerable simplicity and clarity, and it is underwritten by rather basic principles that would have been taught earlier on in the philosophy curriculum. That an agent intellect is necessary, and that it is necessary for the reason given above, is absolutely clear in all four of our texts. More difficult questions face these writers, however: How does the agent intellect produce species for the patient intellect, the so-called intelligible species? What role, if any, does the phantasm play in this production? What does Aristotle mean when he says that the agent intellect 'illuminates' phantasms? Do the resulting species represent singular or universal things? Is the agent intellect really distinct from the potential intellect? It is not possible to address all these questions here, but I would like to introduce one of them in order to illustrate what happens when the details of the Aristotle interpretation get finer and finer, and when, as a consequence, disagreements arise among the Jesuits. There is a rather bewildering disagreement as to just how the agent intellect goes about its business of bridging the gap between phantasm and intellect. No two of our authors quite agree about how this is achieved. Yet every one of them defends his interpretation by appeal to some of the same basic principles we have already seen. All of them are impressed by the principle that something material can have no causal effect on something immaterial (because the former is inferior to and incommensurable with the latter). Suarez's commitment to this principle is unwavering. He thus argues that the material phantasm can in no way be causally efficacious in the production of immaterial species; the agent intellect produces the species de novo. The phantasm, he argues, serves only as a sort of model the agent intellect consults, a model that determines the agent intellect to produce an immaterial species that represents the same thing as the material phantasm. According to Suarez, to say that the phantasm is 'illuminated' is simply to refer metaphorically to the fact that the agent intellect has produced a species on the basis of the phantasm that is suitable for the patient intellect's cognitive consumption.30 De Goes and Toledo consider themselves constrained by the causal principle as well, but they take the 'illumination' literally to change the conditions in the mind, spiritualizing them in such a way that the causal principle is no longer a problem. The agent intellect, they claim, produces a special spiritual light in the soul that bathes the phantasm. Both writers are careful to say that the phantasm itself is not altered in any way (any more than colours on the wall are altered by turning on the light); as Toledo puts it, the

534 Alison Simmons spiritual light simply reveals something in the phantasm that was there all along but hitherto was obscured (in the way that light can reveal objects hidden inside a coloured glass vase). The phantasm thus illuminated is able to produce a species suitable for the intellect. It is thus not simply the material phantasm that produces the species (this would violate the causal principle); it is the spiritually illuminated phantasm that does so.31 In effect, the spiritual light does the work of providing a metaphysical stepping-stone between phantasm and intellect that is clearly meant by these authors to meet the demands of the causal principle. Clearly, there is more than one way to develop a rational reconstruction of Aristotle's thought. There is no single 'Jesuit' reading of Aristotle. We find individual Jesuit authors advancing their own interpretive views in their textbooks, as the case of the agent intellect's activity illustrates. What there does seem to be, as I have suggested, is a Jesuit interpretive style. We persistently find in these writers a commitment to producing a solidly Aristotelian argument for their views, that is, one that is clearly grounded in basic Aristotelian principles. Thus even here in their interpretation of the details of the theory, and in their diagreements, we find the Jesuit interpreters searching for the appropriate fundamental theoretical constraints to motivate one or another answer. Those principles are put up front in the arguments of the textbooks. As an impressive consequence, one can often see exactly what is at stake in the differences these authors have with one another. What is more, one can see that the disagreements are, by and large, not merely verbal disagreements, but genuinely philosophical ones. V. Concluding Remarks So what does all this tell us about the position of the Jesuits in the long tradition of Scholastic Aristotelianism? Besides turning out some original and interesting developments in the broadly Aristotelian theory of cognition, the texts examined here afford us some insight into the Jesuits' intellectual style and interpretive methodology (at least with respect to Aristotle in the published textbooks). Aristotle interpretation is something the Jesuits took very seriously. The details of the Ratio studiorum instruct the professor of philosophy: 'Let him especially endeavour to interpret the text of Aristotle well; let him give no less effort to this interpretation than to the questions themselves. Let him also persuade his listeners that their philosophy will be very partial and mutilated unless they highly esteem this study of the text.'32 In presenting their interpretations, the Jesuits couple a sometimes staggering array of available views with a careful rational reconstruction of Aristotle's thought in defence of their own positions. This reconstruction is based on and constrained by fundamental principles of the

Jesuit Aristotelian Education 535 system that are clear and plain to the student. There is, as we have seen, room for disagreement within the bounds of this interpretive enterprise. Even here, however, the methodology promotes an impressively philosophical dialectic among the writers (and for the students being taught from these texts). It cannot be denied that this rational reconstruction conveniently accommodates what we might recognize as non-philosophical Jesuit desiderata. First, they make for an eminently teachable text: presenting arguments systematically from clear fundamental principles (rather than piecemeal) is an effective teaching strategy. Second, the practice of rational reconstruction provides a pre-emptive strike against the Averroistic naturalistic reading of Aristotle; the Jesuits selfconsciously meant to show that rigorous philosophical argument from Aristotelian first principles in fact leads to perfectly orthodox conclusions. It should not be assumed, however, that these convenient effects are achieved at the cost of good philosophy; in other words, the fact that the Jesuits had a pedagogical and theological agenda does not by itself mean the compromise of philosophy. To the contrary, it inspired a very sound and innovative approach to philosophical interpretation, one that is still alive and well today. NOTES

1 This educational aim is presented throughout part four of Ignatius of Loyola's Constitutions, drafted in 1551 and frequently revised until his death in 1556. The text of the Constitutions is available in its various developmental forms in MI Const. English translations are available from the Spanish original in George E. Ganss, Saint Ignatius' Idea of a Jesuit University (Milwaukee, 1954), and from the Latin translation in Edward A. Fitzpatrick, St Ignatius and the Ratio Studiorum (New York, 1933). 2 For helpful discussions of formal education in the early Jesuit ministry, in addition to the books of Ganss and Fitzpatrick cited in the preceding note, see O'M. First, chap. 6; Paul F. Grendler, Schooling in Renaissance Italy (Baltimore, 1989), chap. 13; Allan P. Farrell, The Jesuit Code of Liberal Education (Milwaukee, 1938); Thomas Hughes, Loyola and the Educational System of the Jesuits (New York, 1892). 3 There were notable omissions. Certain authors, like Terence, whose works contained theologically objectionable material that could not be easily expurgated from the text, were omitted from the curriculum altogether. See Ganss Const., p. 220 (#469). 4 For a discussion of textbooks, see Charles B. Schmitt, 'The Rise of the Philosophical Textbook,' in The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy, ed. Charles B. Schmitt and Quentin Skinner (Cambridge, 1988), pp. 792-804.

536 Alison Simmons 5 Collegium Conimbricensis [Coimbra], Commentarii Collegii Conimbricensis, Societatis Jesu in tres libros de Anima (Venice, 1606; originally pub. Cologne, 1598). Citations are to book, chapter, question, article, and page number as follows: Li, q.l, a.l (100). 6 Francisco de Toledo, Commentaria una cum quaestionibus in tres libros Aristotelis de Anima (Cologne, 1615; repr. Hildesheim, 1985; originally pub. Venice, 1574). Citations are to book, chapter, question, and folio number as follows: I.i.l (lOOra). 7 Antonio Rubio, Commentarii in libros Aristotelis de Anima, una cum dubiis et quaestionibus hac tempestate in scholis agitari solitis (Lyon, 1613; originally pub. Alcala, 1611). Citations are to book, chapter, question, and page number as follows: I.i.l (100). 8 Francisco Suarez, De anima, in volume 3 of Opera omnia, ed. D.M. Andre (Paris, 1856-78; originally pub. Lyon, 1621). Citations are to book, chapter, article, page number, and column as follows: I.i.l (lOOa). 9 See Ganss Const., p. 220 (#470). Charles H. Lohr traces several subsequent Jesuit documents in which particular texts are specified for use in the philosophy curriculum. See his 'Jesuit Aristotelianism and Sixteenth-Century Metaphysics,' in Paradosis: Studies in Memory of Edwin A. Quain, ed. Harry G. Fletcher III and Mary B. Schulte (New York, 1976), pp. 203-20. 10 Borja's circular is reproduced in Camille de Rochemonteix, Un college de jesuites aux XVIIe et XVIIe siecles: Le College Henri IV de la Fleche, 4 vols (Le Mans, 1889), IV 5-8. 11 See 'De studio Philosophiae,' rule 20. The 1586 and 1599 Ratio studiorum can be found in volume 2 of Pacht. Ratio. The passage under discussion can be found in Pacht. Ratio 2:140. 12 See Lohr, 'Jesuit Aristotelianism,' p. 205. 13 See 'Reg. Prof. Philos.,' rule 2, Pacht. Ratio 2:308. 14 See Eckhard Kessler, 'The Intellective Soul,' in The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy, ed. Schmitt and Skinner, p. 508. 15 See John Trentman, 'Scholasticism and the Seventeenth Century,' in The Cambridge History of Later Medieval Philosophy, ed. Norman Kretzmann, Anthony Kenny, and Jan Pinborg (Cambridge, 1982), p. 837. 16 See Lohr, 'Jesuit Aristotelianism,' especially pp. 218ff. See also his 'Metaphysics,' in The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy, ed. Schmitt and Skinner, especially pp. 606-20, and his 'The Sixteenth-Century Transformation of the Aristotelian Division of the Speculative Sciences,' in The Shapes of Knowledge from the Renaissance to the Enlightenment, ed. Donald R. Kelly and Richard H. Popkin (Boston, 1991), pp. 49-60. 17 Certain parts of metaphysics, it is argued, provide the basic principles of being, and so the fundamental principles of all sciences; these parts should therefore be taught

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18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

27

28 29 30 31 32

537

early in the curriculum (before the physics), not at the end of it. This is the part of metaphysics that is sometimes called 'first philosophy.' Other parts of metaphysics, including 'divine science' of God, concern things that are rightly taught at the end of the curriculum. The metaphysics curriculum thus becomes split. For a more detailed discussion of this issue, see the articles of Lohr cited in nn 9, 16 above. The Jesuits are explicit about this. See Coimbra, Il.v-vi, q.2, a.2 (221); Rubio, II. vvi.3 (326-7); Suarez, III.i.4 (614a); Toledo, Il.xii, text 121 (108ra-b). See Rubio, II.v-vi.5 (533 [sic; should be 333]); see also II.v-vi.4 (331). See Suarez, III.ix.4 (647b-648a). See Toledo, II.xii.34 (110vb-ll Ira). See Rubio, II.v-vi.5 (533 [sic; should be 333]-4). See Suarez, Ill.ii. 11 (618b). See Coimbra, Il.v-vi, q.l, a.2 (215); Rubio, Il.v-vi.l (316-18); Suarez, III.iv.9 (628b) and III.vi.1 (637a); Toledo, II.v.12 (77ra-va). See Coimbra, Il.v-vi, q.l, a.2 (216); Rubio, Il.v-vi.l (318); Suarez, III.iv.9 (628b); Toledo, II.v.12 (75vb). See Coimbra, Il.v-vi, q.l, a.l (214); Rubio, Il.v-vi.l (316); Suarez, III.iv.2 (627a); Toledo, II.v. 12 (77ra). The act of the sense in question is, in effect, an act of consciousness: sensible species causally account for the intentional content of sensory experience - for making my seeing be a seeing of the purple colour of a flower; the senses themselves are causally responsible for the first-person awareness characteristic of sensation - it causally accounts for the flower's purple colour being noticed sensorily by me; both are necessary for a sensory encounter between mind and world. For an extremely informative discussion of this topic, and especially its crucial development in Arabic commentaries, see Herbert A. Davidson, Alfarabi, Avicenna, & Averroes, on Intellect: Their Cosmologies, Theories of the Active Intellect, & Theories of Human Intellect(New York, 1992). See Toledo, III.v. 13 (141vb); see also same question, 143ra. See Suarez, IV.ii.l (716a); see also Rubio, III.iv-v.l (659-60); Coimbra, III.v, q.l, a.2 (490). See Suarez, IV.ii (715b-721b). See Toledo. III.v. 13, concl.3 (141vb-142rb), concl.8 (142vb), ad 3 (143ra); see also Coimbra, III.v, q.2, a. I (497-8). See 'Reg. Prof. Philos.,' rule 12, Pacht. Ratio 2:338.

25 / Jesuit Physics in Eighteenth-Century Germany: Some Important Continuities MARCUS HELLYER

The last two decades have witnessed a tremendous growth of interest in Jesuit science, which has resulted in a large number of monographs, articles, and dissertations.1 Most of the work has focused on Jesuit science in the later sixteenth and roughly the first third of the seventeenth centuries. There are several reasons for the concentration on this period. One is that this was the era of several major figures of the Scientific Revolution, and the Jesuits had significant relationships with these figures, Galileo for example. It is not surprising that some of the best work on Jesuit science illuminates aspects of the interaction between Galileo and the Jesuits.2 The other reason why this period has received so much attention is simply that, as active participants in the intellectual life of Europe, members of the Society of Jesus were doing significant work in natural philosophy and mathematics at that time.3 There were numerous Jesuit mathematicians and natural philosophers who achieved prominence well beyond their own order. Christoph Clavius and Christoph Scheiner are names that come readily to mind, but if one employs a broad definition of science that includes Scholastic textbook physics and natural philosophy, then one must also mention such widely influential philosophers as Pedro da Fonseca, Francisco de Toledo, Francisco Suarez, and the Coimbran commentators (Conimbricenses).4 Furthermore, this first century or so of the Society includes the development of the Jesuits' educational institutions and the implementation of the Ratio studiorum.5 However, these factors have combined to create the impression of a caesura around 1633, with the trial of Galileo and its consequent repercussions for science in Catholic lands.6 Jesuit science, it is assumed, declined significantly after this point, and some studies have even bluntly stated that Jesuit science died. But while we may grant that the way the Jesuits did science differed after the condemnation of Galileo, they were nevertheless still studying, discussing, and writing about nature. While important work has been done on Jesuit science

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around the middle of the seventeenth century, there is still an imbalance in the historiography, to the neglect of the period after 1633 - which in terms of Jesuit activity is, after all, longer than the period before it. More recent studies have begun to overcome this deficiency and are extending research on Jesuit science into the second half of the seventeenth century, but the eighteenth century still has received very little attention.7 This is regrettable, for we know from Steven J. Harris's quantitative study that Jesuit zeal for publishing scientific works did not flag in the eighteenth century, but actually increased considerably.8 My own research in Germany bears out this conclusion - the number of surviving Jesuit dissertations increases virtually exponentially from the start of the eighteenth century.9 The Jesuits played an extremely important role in higher education, holding a virtual monopoly over the chairs of the arts faculties at almost every Catholic university in the Germanspeaking lands.10 The occupants of these chairs produced masses of material on science, ranging from huge, multivolume textbooks through dissertations and lecture manuscripts to single-page thesis sheets. The number of such texts ranges in the thousands (and, in the light of their teaching monopoly, it would be more surprising if they had not produced such a huge corpus), yet this work has received very little attention.11 There are several reasons for this. Much of the older historiography is caught up in the polemical, anti-Jesuit atmosphere of German nationalism and the Kulturkampf. Carl Prantl's 1872 history of the University of Ingolstadt is typical of the hostile tone of the period, in its claim that 'the intervention of the Jesuit order was an immeasurable misfortune for the university, for here we see the effects of an institute dangerous to the public good which consciously or unconsciously injected into every one of its members in greater or lesser degree an element of evil.'12 In response, Franz Sales Romstock published some years later a 459-page bibliography of printed works and manuscripts written by those Jesuit professors at Ingolstadt whom Prantl had dismissed as having produced nothing.13 If we consider that Romstock's massive bibliography covers just one of the seventeen universities at which the Jesuits taught in the German lands, we can gain some idea of the mass of material available. Even more recent studies suffer by employing somewhat too willingly categories passed on from earlier periods. Some, for example, accept rather uncritically the charges levelled by the Jesuits' Enlightenment critics.14 In this unhelpful binary system of Enlightened versus Unenlightened, the Jesuits are still consigned to the ranks of the obscurantist enemies of progress.15 But it makes little sense to dismiss them as not measuring up to the ideals of the Enlightenment when they did not regard themselves as Enlightenment philosophers, or to criticize them, as others have, for not conducting real research when the concept

540 Marcus Hellyer of research in the modern sense did not exist and was not yet part of the university's mission.16 When work has been done on the eighteenth-century German Jesuits, it is usually within the context of histories of particular universities - a genre whose limits are all too obvious. Generally the Jesuits' works are searched to find the first mention of Newton or some other scientist, theory, or device in order to display the university's role in the advancement of science.17 Perhaps the best work on German Jesuit philosophy in the later seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries was done in the 1930s by Bernhard Jansen, who addressed the subject in a series of articles.18 While Jansen's biases are clear - he constantly regretted the Jesuits' adoption of mechanical natural philosophy and their simultaneous alienation from the speculative richness of the Scholastic tradition - his work identified many of the most significant characteristics of Jesuit science in the eighteenth century. Jansen's work is valuable both as an introduction to the work of many now forgotten philosophers and as a startingpoint for further work on the subject, but unfortunately it has been quite neglected.19 In short, little has been done to examine the Jesuits on their own terms and to situate the German Jesuit natural philosophers in their own traditions and institutions. My own work seeks to fill part of this void by conducting a study of Jesuit physics in Germany over the long term, beginning around 1632, where much of the historiography on Jesuit education and science has traditionally left off, and tracing its development through to the suppression of the Society in 1773. If we are trying, as this volume is, to identify traditions - in this case, traditions of interaction between the natural sciences and theology, of the rules and practices governing what could be said and done in science, of the place and purpose of science within the Society, of Jesuit dialogue with scientists outside the Society then it seems that an approach that traces the course of Jesuit science over the long term is necessary. My aim is to identify some of the major characteristics of Jesuit physics in eighteenth-century Germany and to determine what continuities with the earlier, better-documented period exist. The rest of this paper will be devoted to discussing these continuities. In order to address them it is first necessary to understand the crucial dialectic at work in Jesuit intellectual life, namely, the ongoing tension between enforcing uniformity and permitting intellectual liberty. Studies of Jesuit intellectual activity in the later sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries have identified a high degree of openness to multiple intellectual traditions. This can be found in all areas of Jesuit philosophy - as much in Suarez's use of elements from both the nominalist and the realist traditions in his Disputationes metaphysicae, as in the ability of Jesuit mathematicians and natural philosophers to appreciate many of Galileo's celestial discoveries while

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adhering to a geocentric view of the universe.20 This openness to novelty and to different traditions, however, must be juxtaposed with the constantly developing structures of censorship within the Society. Although the order accorded philosophy great esteem in its own right as a way of improving the mind and morals, philosophy also had the important function at Jesuit colleges of preparing the student for later study in theology. Therefore its tenets had to conform to the truths of revealed religion and the teachings of theology. Jesuit philosophical instruction consequently had to display a 'solidity and uniformity of doctrine.'21 Through a long, ongoing process the Society developed several techniques to maintain this solidity and uniformity in philosophy. Chief among these was the establishment of Aristotle as the pre-eminent authority on philosophical matters.22 Further measures included approved textbooks, general guidelines on choosing acceptable opinions, and lists of banned opinions. The best known of these lists was the Ordinatio pro studiis superioribus of 1651, but it was by no means the only one - other lists were published in 1706 and 1732.23 Also of great importance was active intervention through the reading and censoring of all Jesuit texts before publication.24 Significantly, it was not only the centre but also the peripheries which sought to ensure solidity and uniformity. For example, the superiors in the German provinces often undertook their own measures to restrict what they saw as excessive freedom in philosophy in their provinces, from Peter Canisius's struggles to eliminate Averroist influences at Dillingen in the 1560s to Georg Hermann's reaffirmation of solidity and uniformity in 1755.25 The result was ongoing tension from the mid-sixteenth century to the suppression between the freedom to philosophize on the one hand and the mechanisms of uniformity on the other. Despite these restrictions, the openness which characterized Jesuit philosophy in the early seventeenth century remained alive and well in the eighteenth and blossomed into a virtual eclecticism. While Jesuit science on the surface appears to have remained soundly Aristotelian, this impression is extremely deceptive.26 The Jesuits increasingly abandoned the term Scholastic to describe themselves. Although they continued to refer to themselves as Aristotelian or peripatetic, they were by no means unquestioning adherents of Aristotle. Dissertations or disputations whose titles seem to fit squarely within the Scholastic tradition often contain treatises on various aspects of experimental physics. In fact, by the mideighteenth century the Jesuits had become completely ignorant of and divorced from the Scholastic tradition - this was a process we can already see beginning in the seventeenth century. The sources they employed included none of the high Scholastics such as Aquinas or Scotus, and even Suarez and other major figures of the sixteenth-century Scholastic revival had faded from use. In their place we find seventeenth- and eighteenth-century scientists and natural philosophers -

542 Marcus Hellyer many of them Jesuits, but by no means all. A manuscript dating from around the middle of the eighteenth century outlining the philosophical curriculum of the colleges of the Upper German province contains a list of recommended authors, and there is hardly a figure on the list who can be considered a late peripatetic author, much less a medieval Scholastic.27 This change of authorities was symptomatic of a larger development through which experiment came to be regarded by the German Jesuits as the paramount and, indeed, the only way to conduct natural philosophy. Once again, in studying the Jesuits over the long term, it becomes clear that such developments in physics were not merely the result of the Society's aping the changes brought about by the Enlightenment. The Society, it is true, was reacting to external criticism of its curriculum, particularly by the German states whose growing bureaucracies demanded better and shorter training for their recruits, as well as to the threat that students would vote with their feet and move to other universities that would teach modern philosophy. But these changes also continue traditions that are visible well before the Enlightenment.28 The Jesuits had become interested in experiment in the seventeenth century and their whole-hearted adoption of it in the eighteenth was a continuation of this trend. It was a slow process, particularly in the later seventeenth century, despite promising beginnings.29 Kaspar Schott, Jesuit professor of mathematics at the University of Wiirzburg, described EvangelistaTorricelli's mercury tube experiment and the air-pump experiments performed by Otto von Guericke and Robert Boyle in great detail in several of his own texts in the 1650s and 1660s.30 Although there are numerous approving references made by Jesuit professors in the later seventeenth century to experimental philosophy and its importance for the physics curriculum,31 there are also examples of late seventeenth-century physics texts that make no mention of the striking developments that had occurred mid-century in fields such as pneumatics. An anonymous lecture manuscript dated 1693-4 makes no mention of Boyle, Guericke, or Torricelli, nor of their pneumatic or hydraulic experiments. In response to the question 'How does nature impede the vacuum?' the professor adhered to a strictly traditional Aristotelian-peripatetic explanation, still relying on the fear of the vacuum thirty years after Guericke and Boyle had identified the role of atmospheric air-pressure in causing the phenomena previously attributed to the horror vacui?2 The structure of the Ratio studiorum adapted itself only slowly to new methods of doing natural philosophy; nevertheless, it was capable of change. By the early eighteenth century, experimental philosophy was an increasingly prominent part of the Jesuit physics curriculum. In the 1704 physics lectures of Anton Kleinbrodt at Ingolstadt, all the phenomena traditionally explained through the horror vacui in peripatetic philosophy were explained instead through air pres-

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sure.33 By the 1710s the new arguments had become firmly integrated into the peripatetic curriculum of the Jesuit colleges. In 1712 Professor Johann Seyfrid's students argued in a disputation at Wiirzburg that a vacuum was not naturally possible, but that 'the means, which are said to happen through the fear of the vacuum, can be explained peripatetically, through the gravity and elastic power of the air and other bodies.'34 The extent to which experimental accounts of phenomena had become an accepted part of the physics curriculum is shown by the fact that in 1714 Professor Franz Ellspacher published a dissertation devoted entirely to the barometer and its associated phenomena. He followed the now standard Jesuit line that while there was no vacuum in the barometer, the phenomena were caused not by the horror vacui but by the pressure of the air, which was absolutely heavy.35 After this point there do not appear to be any examples of Jesuit physics texts still asserting that the phenomena were caused by the fear of the vacuum. We should distinguish, however, between the teaching of experimental philosophy in lectures and textbooks and the actual performance of experiments in the classroom. The Jesuits' assumption of the role of practitioners of experiment lagged behind their integration of experimentally based claims into the largely verbal and written culture of their physics. It is not until the late 1720s that we can see the beginnings of interest in actually purchasing experimental equipment, and only in the 1740s or even later is there an effort to create fully equipped experimental cabinets and museums.36 The Jesuits' adoption of experimental natural philosophy must be seen as a slowly developing process dating back to the mid-seventeenth century, and so must other, apparently quite radical changes in the Jesuit philosophy curriculum. By the 1740s they had adopted a new way of ordering the philosophical curriculum. In place of the traditional Scholastic order of logic, physics, and metaphysics, the Jesuits adopted the order used and made popular throughout Germany by the Protestant philosopher and follower of Leibniz, Christian Wolff.37 This was a major departure from the strictures of the Ratio studiorum (not that the Ratio was being followed in every detail, as the already widespread introduction of a twoyear curriculum in place of the triennium stipulated by the Ratio and the teaching of history courses attest). However, Jesuit natural philosophers and mathematicians had long used Protestant authors. In the seventeenth century the Jesuits had engaged in intensive dialogues with Protestant natural philosophers such as Otto von Guericke and Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz. Consequently, while their appropriation of parts of Wolffian philosophy was a departure from the Ratio, it was not necessarily a radical departure from established practice. The Jesuits adopted not only the pedagogical order of Wolff's philosophy, but many of his specific teachings. So much so, in fact, that in 1737 the Jesuit Josef Braun, professor of

544 Marcus Hellyer logic at Wiirzburg, felt compelled to respond to the charge levelled by a Professor Lang at Halle that the Society of Jesus adhered to Wolffian atheism.38 By the mid-eighteenth century, Jesuit textbooks were organizing their material along Wolffian lines and devoting the bulk of their attention to experimental natural philosophy in all its sub-fields. These textbooks, now written for the German provinces exclusively by Germans, concentrated primarily on natural philosophy and in particular on experimental philosophy. Anton Mayr's 1739 Peripatetic Philosophy Fashioned According to the Principles of the Ancients and the Experiments of the Moderns still followed the traditional Scholastic order of logic, physics (both general and particular), and metaphysics.39 While the entire first volume (448 pages) was devoted to logic, metaphysics received only a 90-page appendix to the fourth and final volume. In contrast, the remaining 1616 pages covered physics. Josef Mangold's \155 Rational and Experimental Philosophy Suitable for Present-Day Students, which was published in three volumes each of around 500 pages, no longer adhered to the Scholastic division of the material, but adopted the now common Wolffian structure.40 The first treated logic and metaphysics, while the second and third were devoted to physica generalis and physica particulars respectively. The largest of the philosophical compendiums was Berthold Mauser's massive Elements of Philosophy Composed According to the Guidance of Reason, and Suitable for Scholastic Usage, which totalled 5213 pages published in seven volumes between 1755 and 1764.41 The first three volumes covered logic and metaphysics, the fourth volume treated physica generalis in 924 pages, and the final three volumes devoted over 2600 pages to physica particulars. Furthermore, as Jansen wistfully pointed out, the methodological basis of physics, for which speculation had previously been exalted, was increasingly reduced in such texts to advice on how to experiment properly.42 Physics increasingly asserted itself as an independent discipline within the Jesuit philosophical curriculum. By the mid-eighteenth century, textbooks devoted solely to natural philosophy were being published. These included Karl Scherffer's Institutionum physicae (1752-3) and Josef Redlhamer's Philosophia naturalis (1755).43 Jesuit professors were still reliant to a large degree on such Jesuit sources and texts, preferring them to outside sources, and accordingly most professors received their knowledge of contemporary developments from other Jesuits. In the second half of the eighteenth century, the Jesuit mathematician and natural philosopher Rudjer Josip Boskovic, or Roger Joseph Boscovich as he is generally known, exerted great influence among the German Jesuits. Although the question requires further study, we can speculate that it was through Boscovich that many German Jesuits became familiar with and accepted Newton's physics.44 The reliance on compendiums was the result of another Jesuit

Jesuit Physics in Eighteenth-Century Germany 545 tradition - the lack of specialization in natural philosophy (in marked contrast to the chairs of mathematics). Young Jesuit physics professors often had not the time and training to grapple with the treatises of contemporary scientists. This situation was not rectified until mid-century, when chairs dedicated to experimental physics were created and their occupants granted extended appointments. In Wiirzburg, the chair of experimental physics was created in 1748 and held by Blasius Henner until 1759. Also at Wiirzburg a chair of theoretical physics was created in 1769 and given to Nikolaus Burkhauser, who held it until 1803, long after the suppression.45 In effect, this was applying to physics the model developed in the late sixteenth century for chairs of mathematics under the influence of Christoph Clavius. Since the time of Clavius it had been common practice to grant mathematics professors extended tenure in their chairs; this was an admission that mathematics stood outside the core of the triennium and required different abilities in its professors. The extension of the practice to physics marked a change in its status: physics was no longer just one year of the philosophical curriculum, but a discipline requiring its own dedicated, skilled practitioners. So far little has been said that would distinguish the German Jesuits in any significant way from their Protestant contemporaries, who were also adopting experiment and following Christian Wolff.46 Yet the Jesuits did have an important characteristic distinguishing them from the Protestants, namely, their concern with teaching a philosophy compatible with orthodox Tridentine theology a concern which remained a constant feature of Jesuit natural philosophy until 1773.47 Here we can see the other half of the tension that was established in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries - the imperative to preserve uniformity on controversial philosophical questions. To illustrate this point I want to look at a particularly noteworthy example of the interaction between theology and natural philosophy, namely, the physics of the Eucharist, and its ramifications in the eighteenth century. Pietro Redondi has drawn attention to the importance of the Eucharist in Jesuit physics.48 Whether Galileo's condemnation was due to his errors on this issue, as Redondi claims, is doubtful. What is clear, however, is that a theological question, namely, how the body and blood of Christ existed in the Blessed Sacrament after transubstantiation occurred, had an extremely important influence in determining what could and could not be said in certain questions of physics. But if the Jesuits had an 'Other' in the polemics over the physics of the Eucharist, it was not Galileo, but Rene Descartes. Let us briefly review the church's account of the physics of transubstantiation and consider how the Jesuits felt Descartes transgressed against it. The two main elements of the church's doctrine were, first, that the body of Christ was substantially present in

546 Marcus Hellyer the Eucharist and, second, that the substance of the bread and wine was converted into the substance of Christ's body and blood with only the species, or outward appearances, of the bread and wine remaining. This view was affirmed by several church councils, including Trent. These two dogmas effectively excluded from the realm of orthodoxy any claims that the substance of a body could be identified in any way with quantity. For if the substance of Christ's body is present in the Eucharist and quantity is an attribute of substance, then it must follow that Christ's quantity must be physically present in the Eucharist - an absurd conclusion. Furthermore, the Jesuits, along with most orthodox Catholic theologians, identified the species of the Eucharist with the absolute accidents of Scholastic philosophy. Absolute accidents, which accounted for the external appearances of a body, were distinct from that body's substance. For the Jesuits, the only terminology that could acceptably be used to describe the species of the Eucharist was the terminology of accident. Most important, they regarded quantity, or physical extension, as an accident - it was not the substance of a body. Descartes's doctrine of body raised a significant problem regarding the Eucharist and absolute accidents. In his Meditations Descartes made the famous statement that all bodies consist solely of extended matter, and that all their outward appearances are simply the result of matter in motion. This doctrine rendered unnecessary the Scholastic doctrine that absolute accidents are ontologically separate from the substance of bodies. In the second edition of the Meditations, in response to a query from Antoine Arnauld as to how Descartes's view of body was compatible with the orthodox view of the Eucharist, Descartes launched an attack on the doctrine of accidents. He claimed that it was irrational, incomprehensible, impious, did not accord with correct theological thought, and was contrary to Holy Scripture; and that theologians were abusing their authority and harming the church by teaching it.49 The Jesuits soon responded to this attack on what they felt was a pillar of the doctrine of transubstantiation. The first to do so was Thomas Compton Carleton, an English Jesuit teaching at the Society's college in Liege. He was amazed, he claimed, to see that a Catholic author could profess something so clearly contrary to the faith, namely, that there were no real, physical accidents.50 In Carleton's work we can see the basic elements of the Jesuit response to Descartes's view of body that was to remain in place for a century. Carleton provided a lengthy, historically informed argument stating that the species of the Eucharist were absolute or real accidents and could not be otherwise. Any theory that equated substance with extension was incompatible with the orthodox view of transubstantiation. Many of the arguments used by Carleton were adopted by later Jesuit authors and professors. What is noteworthy is that they dealt with the matter in

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philosophical textbooks and disputations. Thus we find in philosophical works long disputes concerning a sacrament that are based on appeals to the authority of theologians and of the church. A theological doctrine was, in effect, determining whether a physical doctrine was acceptable. This was entirely in accord with the principles governing Jesuit philosophy, namely, that the truths of faith (such as transubstantiation) and reason must be compatible. If the claims of reason were incongruent with the truths of faith, as was the case with Descartes's view of body, then they must be based upon incorrect reasoning. Several lists of forbidden opinions circulated by superiors in the Society included the proposition that matter consisted solely of extended particles, and thus officially declared atoms off-limits to Jesuit natural philosophers.51 By the late seventeenth century, a denunciation of Descartes's view of body on the ground of its incompatibility with the orthodox view of transubstantiation had become a standard part of every Jesuit physics text in Germany. This treatment continued well into the eighteenth century; in fact, a century after Descartes's death, the German Jesuits were still denouncing him in terms which had by then become highly formulaic. Extant German censors' reports confirm that open adherence to the Cartesian view of body was not permitted.52 Yet the Jesuits did not condemn their opponents to obscurity through silence. Even after the trial of Galileo the Jesuits continued to teach the Copernican hypothesis to their students in considerable detail. They were, however, sure to point out that this hypothesis could not be physically true as it contradicted several passages of Scripture. The case is similar with Descartes and the question of substance and quantity. For example, in 1705 Georg Saur, Jesuit professor of philosophy at the University of Wiirzburg, published his Difficulties of Cartesian Physics Subjected to Peripatetic Inquiry, in which he considered the problems presented by numerous fields of Cartesian philosophy, including the intrinsic principles of natural bodies and the absence of absolute accidents. Saur stated that he was pointing out the weaknesses in Cartesian philosophy 'so that peripatetic students might learn that their philosophy is based upon more solid foundations and more in accord with the dogmas of the Catholic church, which is the unshakeable foundation of truth.'53 Nor should we assume that the problems with Cartesian natural philosophy prevented the German Jesuits from appreciating and even adopting the new mechanical philosophy which was attempting to explain all physical processes in terms of the motion of minute particles. Mid-seventeenth-century German Jesuits such as Kaspar Schott clearly stated that the rarefaction and condensation of air could be explained through the motion of particles. Schott even went so far as to use the term atoms.54 While the revisers-general, that body of Jesuits censors

548 Marcus Hellyer whose task was to determine what propositions could be taught in schools, objected to the term atoms, they did validate the use of particles as an instrumental device. In 1674 they ruled that it was permitted to teach that rarefaction and condensation occurred through the motion of corpuscles. However, professors had to be sure to distinguish such corpuscles or particles from atoms per se. In short, it was possible to use particles as explanatory devices, as long as one did not equate them ontologically with atoms.55 Consequently, by the eighteenth century the integration of mechanical philosophy into the Jesuit curriculum was well advanced. In 1745 Philipp Friedrich, the Jesuit professor of physics at the University of Mainz, addressed in an academic oration one of the Jesuits' favourite topics of the mid-eighteenth century, namely, the reconciliation of Aristotle and the modern philosophers. Attempting to identify what was of use in Descartes's natural philosophy, Friedrich stated, 'We do not reject all Cartesian mechanisms but subordinate them to the peripatetic system.' That is, while Descartes's view of body and accidents could not be reconciled with the Eucharist, his atoms, once termed corpuscles and molecules, could be usefully integrated into a peripatetic physics based on experiment.56 To conclude, while Jesuit physics underwent tremendous change in the eighteenth century, from an Aristotelian-Scholastic system to one emphasizing experiment, many of the distinguishing elements of the Jesuit tradition in science which had been well established by the early seventeenth century were still prominent in the eighteenth. The core of this tradition was the tension between maintaining solidity and uniformity in doctrine while negotiating different natural philosophical traditions and coming to terms with contemporary developments. This conflict is apparent in the Jesuits' attitude towards Cartesian physics. While they did not retreat from their theologically grounded rejection of his theory of the structure of matter, in the eighteenth century they nevertheless saw that his physics could be of use in an instrumental way in the experimental physics they were adopting. Any attempt to understand Jesuit natural philosophy will surely be led astray if it begins by regarding Jesuit mathematicians and professors of physics as scientists: measured against any yardstick of what constitutes a 'scientist,' the Jesuits will surely seem peculiar, or even backwards or reactionary. Instead, we first need to understand what they thought they were doing by looking at a range of factors, including their institutional environment and identities. Chief among these factors is the role played by theology and religious concerns in general in Jesuit science. Regardless of what area of Jesuit culture one studies, Jesuit activity without the religious issues, both theological and spiritual, is Hamlet without the brooding Dane.

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NOTES The research this paper is based upon was conducted while I was a fellow at the Institut fiir Europaische Geschichte in Mainz, Germany. I have also been supported by a National Science Foundation Grant for Improving Doctoral Dissertation Research and a University of California Presidential Fellowship. 1 There is unfortunately no bibliography dedicated solely to Jesuit science. The standard Jesuit bibliography is Polgar Bib. The Dictionary of Scientific Biography has entries with some bibliographical information on many Jesuit scientists. Much material on Jesuit science can be found in the Isis cumulative bibliographies. The standard bibliography of primary texts is Somm. Bib. 2 The work of William Wallace must be mentiond here, in particular his Galileo and His Sources: The Heritage of the Collegia Romano in Galileo's Science (Princeton, 1984). Further pieces by Wallace on the subject are collected in Galileo, the Jesuits, and the Medieval Aristotle (Hampshire, 1991). 3 Since my focus is on the eighteenth century, I will avoid lengthy footnotes on the sixteenth and seventeenth. However, some of the more interesting recent works include Albert Krayer, Mathematik im Studienplan der Jesuiten: Die Vorlesungen von Otto Cattenius an der Universitdt Mainz (1610/11) (Stuttgart, 1991); Lat. Cop. Gal.; and the essays in Giard Jes. Ren. 4 See Somm. Bib. for listings of their works. 5 On the development of the Ratio studiorum, see Gabriel Codina Mir, Aux sources de la pedagogic desjesuites: Le 'modus parisiensis' (Rome, 1968), and Dennis A. Bartlett, 'The Evolution of the Philosophical and Theological Elements of the Jesuit Ratio studiorum: An Historical Survey, 1540-1599,' Ed.D. dissertation, University of San Francisco, 1984. 6 We shoud be wary of over-exaggerating the long-term effects of the condemnation, as John L. Russell points out in 'Catholic Astronomers and the Copernican System after the Condemnation of Galileo,' Annals of Science 46 (1989): 365-86. 7 A prominent exception to this neglect is work on the German polymath Athanasius Kircher, who continues to attract considerable scholarly (and not so scholarly) attention. Dear Disc, on the Jesuit contributions to the development of experiment is particularly noteworthy. Alfredo De Oliveira Dinis, 'The Cosmology of Giovanni Battista Riccioli (1598-1671),' Ph.D. dissertation, University of Cambridge, 1989, gives deserved attention to an important Jesuit astronomer. The chief exception to the rule of neglect in the eighteenth century is Roger Joseph Boscovich, of whom more will be said later. 8 Har. 'Jes. Id.' Much important information from this dissertation is reproduced in Steven J. Harris, 'Transposing the Merton Thesis: Apostolic Spirituality and the

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9

10

11

12 13 14

15

16

17

Establishment of the Jesuit Scientific Tradition,' Science in Context 3:1 (March 1989): 29-65. See my Ph.D. dissertation, 'The Last of the Aristotelians: The Transformation of Jesuit Physics in Germany, 1630-1773,' University of California at San Diego, 1998. On the institutional history of the establishment of Jesuit universities in Germany, see Karl Hengst, Jesuiten an Universitdten und Jesuitenuniversitdten: Zur Geschichte der Universitdten in der Oberdeutschen und Rheinischen Provinz der Gesellschaft Jesu im Zeitalter der konfessionellen Auseinandersetzung (Paderborn, 1981). There is no systematic catalogue of this material, and Somm. Bib. is woefully incomplete in its coverage of university dissertations and disputations. Manfred Komorowski, 'Die Hochschulschriften des 17. Jahrhunderts und ihre bibliographische Erfassung,' Wolfenbiitteler Barock-Nachrichten (24) 1997: 19-42, provides a guide to bibliographies of dissertations produced at all German universities in the seventeenth century. The best catalogue of the academic dissertations produced at a particular German university is Wurzburger Hochschulschriften, 1581-1803: Bestandsverzeichnis, ed. Gottfried Malzer (Wiirzburg, 1992). Carl Prantl, Geschichte der Ludwig-Maximilians-Universitdt in Ingolstadt, Landshut, Munchen (Munich, 1872), p. 220. Franz Sales Romstock, Die Jesuitennullen Prantls an der Universitdt Ingolstadt und ihre Leidensgenossen: Ein biobibliographische Studie (Eichstatt, 1898). For the Enlightenment critique of the Jesuits, see Richard Van Diilmen, 'Antijesuitismus und katholische Aufklarung in Deutschland,' Historisches Jahrbuch 89 (1969): 52-80. A prominent example of this critique was presented by Jakob Brucker, Historia critica philosophiae a mundi incunabulis ad nostram usque aetatem deducta (Leipzig, 1742-3). See e.g. Ludwig Hammermayer, 'Aufklarung im katholischen Deutschland des 18. Jahrhunderts: Werk und Wirkung von Andreas Gordon, O.S.B. (1712-1751), Professor der Philosophic an der Universitat Erfurt,' Jahrbuch des Instituts fiir deutsche Geschichte 4 (1975): 53-109. This is the essence of Laetitia Boehm's argument in 'Universitat in der Krise? Aus der Forschungsgeschichte zu katholischen Universitaten in der Aufklarung am Beispiel der Reformen in Ingolstadt und Dillingen,' Zeitschrift fiir bayersiche Landesgeschichte 54 (1991): 107-57. Examples of this genre include Josef Schaff, Geschichte der Physik an der Universitdt Ingolstadt (Erlangen, 1912); Thomas Specht, Geschichte der ehemaligen Universitdt Dillingen (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1902); Dana Koutna-Karg, 'Experientia fuit, Mathematicum paucos discipulos habere ... Zu den

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19

20

21

22

23 24

25 26

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Naturwissenschaften und der Mathematik an der Universitat Dillingen zwischen 1563 und 1632,' in Das andere Wahrnehmen: Beitrdge zur europaischen Geschichte, ed. Martin Kitzinger et al. (Cologne, 1991); Maria Reindl, Lehre und Forschung in Mathematik und Naturwissenschaften, insbesondere Astronomie, an der Universitat Wurzburg von der Grundung bis zum Beginn des 20. Jahrhundert (Wurzburg, 1966). Bernhard Jansen, 'Deutsche Jesuiten-Philosophen des 18. Jahrhunderts in ihrer Stellung zur neuzeitlichen Naturauffassung,' Zeitschrift fur katholische Theologie 57 (1933): 384-410; 'Philosophen katholischen Bekenntnisses in ihrer Stellung zur Philosophic der Aufklarung,' Scholastik - Vierteljahresschrift fur Theologie und Philosophic 11 (1936): 1-51; 'Die scholastische Philosophic des 17. Jahrhunderts,' Philosophisches Jahrbuch der Gorres-Gesellschaft 50 (1937): 401-44; 'Die Pflege der Philosophic im Jesuitenorden wahrend des 17./18. Jahrhunderts,' Philosophisches Jahrbuch der Gorres-Gesellschaft 51 (1938): 172-215, 344-66, 436-56. An exception is Gunter Lind, Physik im Lehrbuch, 1700-1850: Zur Geschichte der Physik und ihrer Didaktik in Deutschland (Berlin, 1992), which, however, is not concerned with examining the specificities of Jesuit science. On Suarez, see Martin Grabmann, 'Die Disputationes Metaphysicae des Franz Suarez in ihrer Methodischen Eigenart und Fortwirkung,' in his Mittelalterliches Geistesleben - Abhandlungen zur Geschichte der Scholastik und Mystik (Munich, 1926). The term was used from the Society's earliest attempts to define its pedagogical philosophy and was enshrined by Father General Francisco Borja in 1565 in a decree on the choice of opinions in philosophy. It was to remain a common trope for the next two centuries. On the evolution of the Society's attitude to Aristotle, see Charles H. Lohr, 'Jesuit Aristotelianism and Sixteenth-Century Metaphysics,' in Paradosis: Studies in Memory of Edwin A. Quain, ed. Harry G. Fletcher III and Mary B. Schulte (New York, 1976), pp. 203-20. The decrees are reprinted in volume 3 of Pacht. Ratio, documents 42, 60, 61. For a more detailed treatment of this issue, see my ' "Because the Authority of My Superiors Commands": Censorship, Physics, and the German Jesuits,' Early Science and Medicine 1 (1996): 319-54. On the Roman revisers-general and censorship, see Ugo Baldini, 'Una fonte poco utilizzata per la storia intellettuale: Le "censurae librorum" e "opinionum" nell'antica Compagnia di Gesu,' Annali dell'lstituto Storico Italo-Germanico in Trento 9 (1985): 19-67. For Canisius, see Pet. Can. Epp 6: 60-2, 136-7, 142-3; on Hermann, see Bayerisches Hauptstaatsarchiv, Munich, Jesuitica 85 fols 59-61. We should avoid the trap that Peter Stotter falls into in his 'Vom Barock zur

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28 29 30

31

32 33 34

35 36

37

38

Aufklarung: Die Philosophische Fakultat der Universitat Ingolstadt in der zweiten Ha'lfte des 17. und im 18. Jahrhundert,' in Die Ludwigs-Maximilians-Universitdt in ihren Fakultdten, Zweiter Band, ed. Laetitia Boehm and Johannes Sporl (Berlin, 1980), pp. 91-124. ARSI Fond. Ges. 675 fols 348-53: 'Synopsis, seu Conspectus Sententiarum, quae in Philosophia per Germaniam Superiorem a Professoribus Societatis IESU sunt docendae.' The list of authors is 'Regnault, Zanchi, Falck, De Lanis, De Chales, Grimaldi, Ptolomaei, Fabri, Schottus, Kircher, Casati, Grimaldi, Galtruchius [i.e., Jesuits] ... Nollet, Muschenbroek, Newton, Keill, Voltaire, Philosophia Burgundica, Rohaultius, Gravesande, Eulerus, Boyle, Bayle, Collegium Experimentale Mullen, Vatter, Chauvin, Fortunatus a Brixia, Corsinus, Pourchot, Sturmius, Wolfius. In pluribus, vel aliquibus Commentarii Academ. Petropolitanae; Historia Academ. Regia, praesertim in indice recentes edito, Trivoltienses; pro Electricitate Tallabert, Doppelmayr.' On this matter we must concur whole-heartedly with Boehm in 'Universitat in der Krise?' Reference must once again be drawn to Dear Disc. The mercury tube and air-pump are treated most prominently in Schott's Mechanica hydraulico-pneumatica (Wiirzburg 1657) and his Technica curiosa sive mirabilia artis (Wiirzburg, 1664). E.g. a number of memoranda dating from 1678 written by professors in the Upper German province emphasizing the importance of experiment are preserved in Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich, Clm 27322/11 fols 264, 279-86, 292, 302ff, 348-63. Stadtbibliothek Mainz, HS II 386 fol. 15 Ir. Universitatbibliothek Miinchen, Cod. 678 fols 29ff. 'Vacuum naturaliter non datur. Modus, qui ex metu vacui fieri dicitur, explicari peripatetice potest, per gravitatem & vim elasticam aeris aliorumque corporum'; Johann Seyfrid, Theses ex universe, philosophia ... (Wiirzburg, 1712), p. 4. Franz Ellspacher, Barometron Torricellianum quaestionibus philosophicis subjectum... (Dillingen, 1714). See e.g. the correspondence between the Jesuit philosophy faculty at the University of Ingolstadt and the Elector of Bavaria dating from 1755 in which the professors ask for funds to establish a 'philosophical armoury' (Bayerisches Hauptstatsarchiv, Munich, GL. Fasz. 1484/III/6). Basically, in this new structure metaphysics came immediately after logic and before physics. Furthermore, many topics traditionally treated in physics, such as time, place, space, quantity, and extension, were now part of metaphysics. Josef Braun, Dissertatio philosophica hermeneutica scientiam interpretandi sive elementa & principia artis criticiae exhibens ... (Wiirzburg, 1737).

Jesuit Physics in Eighteenth-Century Germany 553 39 Anton Mayr, Philosophia peripatetica antiquorum principiis, et recentiorum experimentis conformata ... (Ingolstadt, 1739). 40 Josef Mangold, Philosophia rationalis et experimentalis hodiernis discentium studiis accomodata ... (Ingolstadt and Munich, 1755). 41 Berthold Hauser, Elementa philosophiae ad rationis et experientiae ductum conscripta, atque usibus scholasticis accomodata ... (Augsburg and Innsbruck, 1755-64). 42 For accounts of the contents of these works, see Jansen, particularly 'Deutsche Jesuiten-Philosophen des 18. Jahrhunderts' and 'Die Pflege der Philosophic' (n!8 above), as well as Lind, Physik im Lehrbuch (n!9 above). 43 Karl Scherffer, Institutionum physicae ... (Vienna 1752-3); Josef Redlhamer, Philosophiae naturalis pars prima seu physica generalis adpraefixam in scholis nostris normam concinnata ... (Vienna, 1755). 44 A typical example of the influence of Boscovich on German Jesuit physics professors can be seen in Nikolaus Burkhauser, Theoria corporis naturalis principiis Boscovichii conformata, quam una cum thesibus ex philosophia universa ... (Wiirzburg, 1770). 45 Karl-Heinz Logermann, Personalbibliographien von Professoren der Philosophischen Fakultat der Alma Mater Julia Wirceburgensis (Erlangen and Nurnberg, 1970), pp. 9-10. 46 See Lind, Physik im Lehrbuch. 47 The question of how the Jesuits differed from their Catholic contemporaries is somewhat more difficult to answer. In a sense they took a middle path: their eclecticism distinguished them from more traditional orders such as the Dominicans, yet their adherence to a very orthodox reading of Trent meant that they took a more critical view of modern physics than orders such as the Minims and Benedictines. For more on this question, see Jansen, 'Deutsche Jesuiten-Philosophen' and 'Philosophen katholischen Bekenntnisses' (n!8 above). 48 Pietro Redondi, Galileo Heretic (Princeton, 1987). 49 Arnauld's query is in On True and False Ideas: New Objections to Descartes' Meditations, trans. Elmar J. Kremer (Lewiston, 1990), pp. 187-8, and again on 192. Descartes avoided formulating a response until Arnauld inquired a second time and also asked Mersenne to comment on Descartes's theory; The Philosophical Works of Descartes, ed. E.S. Haldane and G.R.T. Ross, 2 vols (Cambridge, 1931—4; repr. New York, 1955), II 95. Descartes' response was published as an appendix to the second edition of the Meditations (ibid., II 118-22). 50 Thomas Compton Carleton, Philosophia universa (Antwerp, 1649), p. 245. 51 The Ordination of 1651 prohibited several propositions which had direct ramifications for the physics of the Eucharist, although absolute accidents were not specifically mentioned. Proposition 23 banned the equating of quantity and matter.

554 Marcus Hellyer

52 53

54

55 56

Propositions 18 and 19 banned atomism. No mention was made of Descartes. The lists of 1706 and 1732, however, referred specifically to Descartes in banning propositions which equated substance with quantity. E.g. the case of Josef Falck's Mundus aspectabilis, discussed in my 'Censorship, Physics, and the German Jesuits' (n24 above). Georg Saur, Difficultates physicae cartesianae, thesibus inauguralibus philosophicis propositae, subjuncta doctrina aristotelica contraria magis elucidatae & aggravatae, disquisitionibus peripateticis subjectae ... (Wiirzburg, 1705), preface. See e.g. his Technica curiosa (n30 above), p. 290. This is not to say that Schott in any way would have equated his atoms with Descartes's particles, or with Gassendi's atoms in the void, for instance. ARSI Fond. Ges. 671 fol. 351. Philipp Friedrich, Biennium philosophicum inauguratione solenni coronatum ... Quid sentiendum sit de methodo ac libertate philosophandi a RR. quibusdam asserta?... (Mainz, 1745).

26 / The Jesuits and Polish Sarmatianism STANISLAW OBIREK, SJ.

The road into Poland was not easy for the Society of Jesus. Some Polish bishops, such as Stanislaw Hozjusz (Stanislaus Hosius) and the successor to his see of Varmia, Marcin Kromer (Martinus Cromerus), took steps to persuade the authorities at Rome to allow the Jesuits to establish themselves in PolandLithuania, because they saw the order as an effective auxiliary agency for the practical implementation of the reforms passed at the Council of Trent. But their efforts were isolated attempts which failed to find sympathy even with other Polish bishops, let alone other social groups. In fact, the very first Jesuit contacts with Poland - experienced by Jesuits who happened to be accompanying papal legates to that country - turned out to be overtly unfavourable. In 1555 Alfonso Salmeron was unsuccessful in securing an audience with King Sigismund Augustus. Nor did he manage to initiate any pastoral work, and he was made to feel unwanted. Eventually falling ill, after two months he left for Vilnius/Wilno and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, and he complained in a letter to Ignatius of Loyola not only of the Polish beer, which he could not stomach, but also of a general lack of interest in the notion of bringing the Jesuits to the Polish Commonwealth. His memorandum delayed the coming of the Jesuits to Poland by nearly a decade.' A few years later the luck of Peter Canisius proved no better, despite all his personal charm and the fact that he had made friends with a considerable number of people in Poland. But his memories of Poland and the Polish people would always be affectionate, and he dreamed of being able to return to that country: 'If my superiors were to allow it I would be glad to stay in Poland for the rest of my life.'2 At any rate, even if we accept 1564 as the year in which the Society of Jesus eventually arrived and settled in Poland, we must admit that it was through a back door, to Braniewo, a town on the country's northernmost extremity; and there the future of the house was open to speculation for several years.3 There

556 Stanistaw Obirek, S.J. could be no question of founding a house or college, let alone a university, at Cracow, the capital. Not only was there consistent opposition to any such project on the part of the University of Cracow,4 but the local bishop and the royal court maintained a steady indifference.5 So how did it happen that just two decades later, following the death of Sigismund Augustus and the unfortunate election of the Valois King Henri III to the Polish throne and his subsequent escape from Cracow, the Jesuits started to play such an important, even crucial role not only in the religious affairs of this Commonwealth of Many Peoples, but also in its political life? Why was it that the Fathers of the Society of Jesus turned out to be such handy partners in the shaping of Stephen Bathory's religious policy, and later that of the Vasa monarchs, beginning with the long-reigning Sigismund III (1587-1632), traditionally considered a 'friend of the Jesuits'? Not only the royal court now showed a definite interest in the newly established order. Soon the Jesuits enjoyed a reputation among the aristocracy as confessors and advisers in many areas beyond the spiritual, and the gentry was eager to entrust its scions to a Jesuit education.6 The sons of townsfolk and even peasants attended the Jesuit schools. The peasants made keen congregations, as they listened to popular preaching not only in Polish, but also in Lithuanian, Latvian, and, probably, Ruthenian throughout the Commonwealth's vast expanse of territory. The Vilnian Academy, founded by Stephen Bathory in 1579, for centures would propagate the culture of the West while at the same time cherishing and developing local traditions in the humanities and the sciences; it was truly a bridge between East and West. Poland's involvement in the affairs of Orthodox Eastern Europe came to fruition in 1596 in the Union of Brest, which established communion with Rome for a substantial number of Polish and Lithuanian subjects who worshipped in the Eastern rite. Although the Union has been variously assessed, it cannot be denied that it was the starting-point for many culture-shaping processes that have continued to unfold up to the present day.7 In this short account it would be impossible to answer all the questions calling for detailed study. My aim is merely to draw attention to certain cultural processes in which the Society became engaged, whether deliberately or without full awareness of its participation. What I have in mind here is the phenomenon conventionally known as the Sarmatianization of Polish Catholicism. The concept was first used by Janusz Tazbir,8 the historian who has probably contributed most to the examination of the Jesuits' rather paradoxical position in the history of Polish culture. Tazbir sees this issue as a particularly interesting subject of study.9 Tazbir's opinion is that the Jesuits succumbed to this process,10 while contributing to it the working out of a theological justification for the ideas of the state

The Jesuits and Polish Sarmatianism 557 and its structure held by the majority of theszlachta (Polish gentry), a structure in which, it seems, they themselves felt more and more at home with the passing years. It is no surprise, then, thatTazbir's final conclusion is quite unambiguous: 'In the Polish Jesuits' balance of accounts for work accomplished in the seventeenth century it would be hard to overlook the sad fact that ultimately the "ribald pate" of Sarmatianism had the upper hand of the Society's cultural elite.'11 Is that 'sad fact' really a statement of the final balance of accounts for the Jesuit presence in Polish culture? This was one of the questions which the contributors to an academic conference on the relations between the Jesuits and Polish culture, held in 1991 in Cracow, tried to answer;12 more precisely, the academic conference provided an opportunity for the formulation of research postulates, rather than for the putting forward of final conclusions. Between the Familiar and the Foreign When in 1606 Mikolaj Zebrzydowski's army of mutineers (who considered themselves rokoszanie, a social group exercising their time-honoured privilege of withdrawing their loyalty from a bad monarch) called for the expulsion of the Jesuits from the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth,13 one of the grounds on which they based their demand was the foreign provenance of the Society, and hence its connections with foreign powers (they meant the Habsburgs) and certain activities seen as counter to the interests of the Polish state (they meant Jesuit support for the king's endeavours to increase his power). Piotr Skarga, the great Jesuit preacher and stylist, gave a critique of this position in Proba zakonu Societatis Jezu (The Trial of the Society of Jesus); there he demonstrated that Polish Jesuits worked in Poland's interest and not against it, and that most of them were Polish rather than foreigners.14 Were the Jesuits really an alien element? They certainly had been in 1564, when they first arrived in PolandLithuania. Understandably, the first provincials were foreigners; until 1608 they were all Italians.15 But other high-ranking offices in both provinces, Poland and Lithuania, were held by local men who had joined the order, and they were distinctly encouraged in their authority by the foreigners, who understood the importance of national pride.16 Another interesting point is the evolution that took place within the Society in Poland as regards representation from the various estates in Polish and Lithuanian society. In the initial period members of the townsfolk and peasants formed the overwhelming majority, and those from the gentry, the szlachta, were few and far between. This is what Lorenzo Maggio, the Austrian provincial, wrote about the situation to the superior general, Francisco Borja: 'It is significant how surprised those Polish lords are when they learn about a gentleman entering the Jesuit order.'17 Two years later the same Maggio admitted in another letter to the

558 Stanislaw Obirek, S.J. general that membership in the szlachta gave a better opportunity for pastoral work, since 'nobility and gentle birth were valued [in Poland] above all else, and considered exceptional.'18 This is easy to understand if we remember that in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth at that time even differences of religion and political adherence were subordinate to the feeling of solidarity within a given social estate.19 As Dziegielewski stresses, 'Differences of religion were only one of the factors, and at that only rarely, determining individual political preferences.'20 The same may be said of social life: here differences of religion had no effect at all even on the bonds of friendship. A particularly telling instance of this occurred at Nieswiez, the seat of the Radziwills of Lithuania. The Jesuits presented the lord hetman, Krzysztof II Radziwill, who was the leader of the Calvinists, with the gift of a tame bear, and he reciprocated by endowing their college with numerous generous tokens of his bounty.21 At any rate, in the first and, as Bloriski claims, most interesting generation of Jesuits,22 plebeians were in the clear majority.23 Gradually the Jesuits accommodated themselves so much to the ways of the Polish szlachta that astonished Visitors from Rome spared no words of censure.24 The most serious accusation concerned the inclination to consume excessive amounts of alcohol. This is what Father General Muzio Vitelleschi wrote in 1638 to both the Lithuanian and the Polish provincials: 'Since I frequently receive reports of overeating and excessive drinking by Ours throughout the province, I therefore order what I have already commanded for other provinces, that in the information submitted by such as seek appointment to an office it should be clearly stated whether the candidate for a superior post has not been noted to have an inclination for revelry and carousing either in the house or when away.' 25 In 1642 Father Visitor Fabrizio Banfi, a future provincial in Poland, wrote an ordination from Rome concerning 'moderation in drinking.' Many more such admonitions are found later. Their purpose was not just to curb drunkenness, but also to counteract a prevailing lifestyle. Let us refer to a letter of 1646 from Father General Vicenzo Carafa to the rector of the Jesuit college at Lwow (L'viv): 'Our people shall not attend any dinners whatsoever at the houses of strangers ... All dining and supping at the houses of relatives or visits to lordly mansions or gardens shall be strictly prohibited... We should cut ourselves free of the students' dinners held on the occasion of public debates and demonstrations of academic skills.' 26 Certain irritating vices in the character of the Polish szlachta seemed not to spare the Jesuits, either. In as early as 1614 Father General Claudio Acquaviva was calling the attention of Father Visitor Giovanni Argenti to this: 'Something of vanity has been observed in our people in Poland of gentle stock, and hence also of haughtiness, such as that at the slightest offence they bring to the fore their gentle birth, comparing themselves with others and regarding themselves as

The Jesuits and Polish Sarmatianism 559 better.'27 It is not surprising that the special importance of the szlachta in public life was conducive to a tendency to emulate the szlachta, and that this tendency too met with censure. In 1634 Father Provincial Marcin Hincza admonished the rectors of the colleges that some of the masters who were not of gentle birth had assumed gentlemen's surnames and were using 'gentle' surnames for their students, too, which smacked of vanity and had to be stopped; they should be using their former names.28 The rectors themselves had earned a reprimand in 1648 from Father Provincial Szczytnicki for pursuing a lifestyle that was totally out of line with the community life expected by the Society. They left the house too frequently and without good reason, to make social calls or visit relatives; they spent considerable sums on four-horse carriages and hired bursary singers to accompany them; they were mindful of their own needs but insensitive to the needs of others.29 Such warnings and reprimands were an expression of the continual effort being made to counteract the bad side of Old Polish social conduct, to which the Jesuits, now more frequently recruited from among the gentry, were susceptible. The Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, moreover, had its own highly idiosyncratic style of religious feeling and public worship, which bore a substantial impact on the pastoral style of the Jesuits there. An anonymous Jesuit memorandum from the close of the sixteenth century described the inhabitants of Cracow in the following manner: 'Talia sunt Polonorum et maxime huius civitatis ingenia, quae cantu ad templum pertrahuntur' (Such is the mentality of this people, and especially of the population of this city, that it is the singing that draws them into church); 'Silentium Societatis nostrae iste populus non potest capere' (This people cannot comprehend our Society's silence); and 'Se populus huius civitatis non putat praecepto Ecclesiae satisfacere, nisi cantatum audiat sacrum' (The inhabitants of this city do not consider themselves to have fulfilled the precept of the church unless they attend a divine service [a mass] which is sung).30 No wonder then, that even if in 1594 Acquaviva had banned the use of church organs, by 1608 he was permitting their reintroduction, and that by the mid-seventeenth century whole orchestras had become a ubiquitous phenomenon in Jesuit churches in Poland.31 The same may be said of the gradual elaboration of liturgical ceremony, which was clearly heading in the direction of the pomp and circumstance of secular celebrations, with triumphal arches, profuse dialogues, processions, illuminations, and fireworks displays.32 Problems over Sarmatianism Sarmatianism is a subject of perennial interest for Polish academics, and little wonder, if we accept the view of Tadeusz Ulewicz that 'Sarmatianism was one

560 Stanislaw Obirek, SJ. of the fundamental, and also one of the most complex, concepts in the entire history of the Polish culture of the past; effectively it was a synonym for the manners and the spiritual and intellectual culture of the Commonwealth of the Polish szlachta from the close of the sixteenth century right up to the time of the Partitions [the late eighteenth century].'33 As a cultural phenomenon Sarmatianism flourished at a time which also witnessed the dynamic growth of the Jesuit order in Poland. Thus there is good reason to inquire into the connections, if any, between the Jesuits and Sarmatianism. It is much more difficult to provide a satisfactory answer, given that we are only at the beginning of research into the old literature bequeathed to us by Jesuit writers like Kacper Druzbicki and Mikolaj Leczycki, and given the intriguing literary phenomenon of the poetic writings of Jozef Baka. Even the place of Jesuits as prominent in Polish letters as Piotr Skarga, Jakub Wujek, and Franciszek Bohomolec has still not been fully established. While it is true that the fullest manifestation of Sarmatianism is to be found in the work of writers like Waclaw Potocki, Wespazjan Kochowski, and Jan Chryzostom Pasek,34 the profuse writings of the Jesuits constitute an important supplement to this corpus. Even a casual examination of the pages of the Polish Jesuit encyclopaedia, Encyklopedia wiedzy ojezuitach na ziemiach Polski i Litwy, 1564-1995, suggests that there are probably many surprises lying in store for researchers of the subject. I am convinced that the problems of Sarmatianism and its very complex links with the Jesuits are only just beginning to be unravelled. The successful projects which have been undertaken by various periodicals devoted to Sarmatianism and the baroque encourage us to pursue the investigation.35 In the end it seems possible to regard the Society of Jesus in Polish culture as offering material for a case study of inculturation. The dynamic growth of the order, the increase in the number of colleges, and the establishment of the Vilnian Academy in 1579 all signal that an adequate answer to a social need had been found. At the beginning the Society's main task was transferring Roman models to Poland, particularly in education. It did so, with great help from the foreign Jesuits. But whereas at first some Polish Jesuits of a lower social class got their education in Rome, after 1610 the opposite process, 'Sarmatianization,' set in, whereby the members of the order, now from a higher social class, introduced their way of life into the Society, and all that was strongly criticized by the general in Rome. NOTES

1 B. Natoriski, 'Poczatki i rozwqj Towarzystwa Jezusowego w Polsce, 1564-1580' [Origins and Growth of the Society of Jesus in Poland, 1564-80], in volume 1 of

The Jesuits and Polish Sarmatianism 561 Powstanie i rozwoj Towarzystwa Jezusowego [Origins and Growth of the Society of Jesus], ed. J. Brodrick (Cracow, 1969), pp. 414-76. 2 Pet. Can. Epp 2:358, 361. 3 J. Korewa, Z dziejow diecezji warminskiej w XVI w.: Geneva braniewskiego Hosianum: Przyczynek do dziejow zespolenia Warmii z RzeczpospolitQ[From the Sixteenth-Century History of the Diocese of Varmia: The Origins of Braniewo College: A Note to the History of the Union of Varmia with the Polish Commonwealth] (Poznari, 1965). 4 B. Natoriski, 'Jezuici a Uniwersytet Krakowski w XVI w.' [The Jesuits and the University of Cracow in the Sixteenth Century], in Studia z historii jezuitow [Studies in the History of the Jesuits], (Cracow, 1983). 5 J. Paszenda, 'Cztery wieki jezuitow w Krakowie' [The Jesuits' Four Centuries in Cracow], in Studia z historii jezuitow [Studies in the History of the Jesuits], (Cracow, 1983). 6 A laconic remark by S. Bystrori formulates the general characteristics of the religious orders in Poland: 'Thus the szlachta would drink with the Franciscans of the Strict Observance; learn the precepts of the ascetic life from the Carmelites; but send their children to the Jesuit schools, and seek the counsel of the Jesuits in the most serious matters'; Dzieje obyczajow w dawnej Polsce: WiekXVI-XVIII [The History of Manners in Old Poland: The Sixteenth to Eighteenth Centuries], (Warsaw, 1932), p. 347. 7 Cf. the opinion of Aleksander E. Naumow: 'In consequence of the contracting of this Union, which was really a series of separate acts of submission to the pope's authority, and repudiation of the submitter's position prior to Union, there was a split in the Ruthenian/Russian Orthodox culture in the ontological, soteriological, and ecclesiological aspects'; 'Przemiany w ruskiej kulturze unitow' [Transformations in the Ruthenian Uniate Culture], Krakowskie zeszyty ukrainoznawcze 5-6 (1997): 143. 8 Janusz Tazbir, 'Sarmatyzacja katolicyzmu w XVII wieku' [The Sarmatianization of Polish Catholicism in the Seventeenth Century], in Wiek XVII - Kontrreformacja Barok: Prace z historii kultury [The Seventeenth Century, the Counter Reformation, and the Baroque: Papers on the History of Culture], ed. J. Pelc (Wroclaw, 1970), pp. 7-37. 9 'What I believe is more interesting than the question of the Jesuits' influence on Polish society is the question of the "Sarmatianization" of the order's members, and the price which the Jesuits paid for this'; Janusz Tazbir, 'Jezuici miedzy Rzeczpospolita a Rzymem' [The Jesuits between the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth and Rome], in his Szkice z dziejow papiestwa [Sketches from the History of the Papacy], (Warsaw, 1989), p. 75. 10 'The Jesuits did not withstand the process of the Sarmatianization of Polish

562 Stanislaw Obirek, S.J.

11 12 13

14 15 16

17 18 19

20 21

Catholicism, either, and the movement reached its apogee at the turn of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. By this term I mean the adaptation of religious concepts, views of the past, and ideas in eschatology to the political and constitutional structure of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth; and their combination with the folklore and local tradition of history' (ibid., p. 96). Ibid., p. 127. See Jezuici a kultura polska [The Jesuits and Polish Culture], ed. L. Grzebieri and S. Obirek (Cracow, 1993). See volumes 1 and 2 of J. Czubek, Pisma polityczne z czasow Rokoszu Zebrzydowskiego [Political Writings from the Time of Zebrzydowski's Rebellion], (Cracow, 1916-18). Cracow, 1607. S. Obirek, Jezuici w Rzeczpospolitej obojga narodow, 1564-1668 [The Jesuits of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, 1564-1668], (Cracow, 1996), p. 107. 'When in 1585 the candidacy was proposed of Garcias Alabiano for the office of rector of the Vilnian Academy, this Italian, who was highly knowledgeable on the situation in Poland, explained to the general of the order that the successful candidate should be a man who had not only received an all-round education, but also was a Pole, never a foreigner' (S. Bednarski, Stanislaw Warszewicki, ms., Cracow, Archivu Provintiae Poloniae Meridionalis). ARSI Germ. 149 fol. 250v. ARSI Germ. 151 fol. 161. 'The onslaughts launched by the Counter Reformation were not powerful enough as an incentive which could make the [Polish] church dignitaries sacrifice their heterodox friends and relatives and moreover expose the country to the danger of civil war'; J. Dziegielewski, Izbaposelska w systemic wladzy w Rzeczypospolitej w czasach Wiadystawa IV [The House of Deputies in the System of Government under Vladislaus IV], (Warsaw, 1992), p. 73. Ibid., p. 73. J. Seredyka writes about this in a fascinating article, 'Z dziejow tolerancji religijnej na Litwie za panowania Zygmunta III' [Some Episodes from the History of Religious Toleration in Lithuania under Sigismund III]: Thus, at the very crest of the Counter Reformation and religious conflict, the leader of the Calvinists of Lithuania received a gift from one of the chief centres of the ideology which was hostile to him. The gift consisted of a bear, a pair of cranes, and a quantity of plums, and there was an assurance that prayers would be offered up every day for his well-being; while he reciprocated by sending the Jesuits of Nieswiez a subvention, he ordered a "counterfeit" to be painted by the college's artist; and he had paper bought at his expense for the pupils of Nieswiez College, surely well aware

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22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

32

33

34 35

563

of the fact that it would be used to practise the composition of their future disquisitions against the heretics.' In Sprawozdania OTPN, series A, no. 10 (1978): 107. J. Bloriski, Mikotaj Spp-Szarzyriski a poczqtki polskiego baroku [Mikolaj SepSzarzyriski and the Beginnings of the Polish Baroque], (Cracow, 1967), p. 31. 'In the order's initial period of work its chief exponents were of plebeian and local origin' (Obirek, Jezuici, p. 108). Stanislaw Zaleski, Jezuici w Polsce [The Jesuits in Poland], 5 vols (Cracow, 19006), II 569-76. Ibid., II 571. Ibid., II 572. Ibid., II 273. Ibid., II 573. Ibid., II 574. ARSI Pol. 72 fol. 5. J. Paszenda, Kosciot sw. Barbary w Krakowie z domem zakonnym ksipzy jezuitow: Historia i architektura [The Church of St Barbara, Cracow, and the Jesuit House: History and Architecture], (Cracow, 1985). These trends involved the whole of Polish Catholicism and not only the Jesuits, but in their case there was the additional need to persuade the authorities at Rome. Contacts with Rome, first of all through the Polish Jesuits attending General Congregations and the reception in Poland of the ensuing documents, are a separate and extremely interesting question, but one which must remain open here. Tadeusz Ulewicz, 'Sarmatyzm' [Sarmatianism], in Literatura Polska: Przewodnik encyklopedyczny[Polish Literature: An Encyclopaedic Guide], ed. Julian Krzyzanowski et al., 2 vols (Warsaw, 1984-7), II 336. See ibid. Ogrod 20:4 (1994) provides a kind of summary of this work.

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566 Part Six theatricality and spectacle may be recurring elements of Jesuit artistic While style, found in Jesuit architecture, interior design, and public performances like theatre and ballet, they were often meant to effect a quiet inward transformation or a confirmation of faith. Along a remarkably broad and enduring confessional front, Jesuits employed artistic, literary, and musical expressions both as aids in the conversion of non-Catholics and as means to strengthen and deepen the faith of those who were already Catholics. Yet, despite this overtly instrumental use of the arts (or, for that matter, of the sciences) in the service of the church, there is evidence that Jesuits could pursue the aesthetically pleasing for its own sake. Jeffrey Chipps Smith compares the interior design of three Jesuit churches in Bavaria and finds that, while each has a distinctive form, all follow a consistent and well-conceived plan that reinforced the Society's didactic program of Christian enlightenment. Smith argues further that the tripartite staging and aesthetic character of each church interior seem to reflect the three stages of spiritual progress, from purgation to illumination and thence to union, that lie at the heart of the Spiritual Exercises of St Ignatius. Karl Josef Holtgen sees a similar line of influence organizing the sequence of emblems in the English Jesuit Henry Hawkins's devotional and meditative works on the Virgin Mary. In what Hawkins called his 'symbolical theology,' the integration of text and image - the former characterized by poetic refinement and the latter by multiple, intertwining referents - was to serve as an aid to meditation in 'the rediscovery of preordained meanings' of spiritual truth. As to deepening one's faith, there is irony and insight in James F. Keenan's, S.J., comparisons of Jesuit spirituality and Puritan 'practical divinity' in seventeenth-century England. That practical divinity, Keenan shows, did not derive from Jesuit works on casuistry, as has been asserted, but from devotional tracts by Caspar Loarte and Robert Persons after they had been appropriately 'puritanized.' Both Jesuit and Puritan were drawn to an introspective and meditative spirituality, ongoing moral edification, and the development of a deeply personal conscience. From the Society's earliest years in the Brazilian mission, Paolo Castagna uncovers evidence that the Jesuits used music in the conversion of indigenous peoples by setting prayers and catechism to Indian melodies, by training youths to perform polyphonic music for the celebration of masses, and by having Indian singers and instrumentalists perform in processions and public rituals. While the mingling of indigenous and sacred musical traditions led to some controversy, the practice seems to have lasted well into the seventeenth century and even beyond. William J. Summers sees a broadly similar pattern in Jesuit mission

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practices in seventeenth-century Manila. Not only did public performances, festivals, and religious ceremonies play an important role in the conversion process, but the people of Manila were first exposed to musical performance and then trained in it through the activities of a slave orchestra given to the Society in the 1590s. Finally, Clara Bargellini explores the connections among three Marian devotions promoted by Jesuits in seventeenth-century Mexico and the symbolism found in surviving retablos. The three devotions were to the Virgin of Loreto, the Virgin of Sorrows, and the Most Holy Mother of Light. While the first cult may be seen as part of a broad corporate program, the second and third seem to have arisen and spread through the initiative of individual Jesuits who sought to deepen personal devotion among the faithful.

27 / The Art of Salvation in Bavaria JEFFREY CHIPPS SMITH

To the spectator standing before the new Jesuit church in Munich in 1597, Hubert Gerhard's monumental bronze statues The Archangel Michael Vanquishing Lucifer must have been impressive yet disconcerting (fig. 27.1).1 Placed between the only two public entrances to the church, the ensemble affects all who pass by, as seen in Jan Sadeler the Elder(?)'s engraving, which appeared in 1597 in a special book commemorating the building's consecration (fig. 27.2).2 When Hans Frey cast Gerhard's models in 1588, there was no precedent in northern Europe for such colossal bronzes, which measure over four metres in height.3 The battle between St Michael and Lucifer is vividly portrayed. The archangel calmly stares down at his helpless foe, whom he pins to the rocky ground with his feet and cross-topped staff. Gerhard deftly contrasts the two protagonists. Michael exudes confidence; Lucifer is shaken by his defeat. Michael stands erect with his majestic wings spread; Lucifer, now condemned to the earth, writhes angrily in the dirt. Michael's physical perfection was once shared by Lucifer, who because of his sin now is transformed into a hideous amalgam of human, animal, and reptile parts. Gerhard stresses Lucifer's powerfully muscled torso and sharp, clawed fingers. His horned head, painfully twisted, stares down malevolently at the viewer. The pair are respectively good and evil personified. Both are frighteningly memorable. The figures project out beyond the confines of their brilliantly gilt niche recalling and perhaps re-enacting Lucifer's expulsion from heaven. Their struggle literally extends into the viewer's domain. Nervously we recall that Lucifer is momentarily subdued yet his power in our world is always potent. The pair reminds the viewers, such as those depicted in Sadeler(?)'s print, of the constant mortal battle between good and evil waged within the world and, critically, within one's own soul. As Ignatius of Loyola explains in the 'Two Standards' section of his Spiritual Exercises, the world is a dangerous place filled with Lucifer's temptations.4 In

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27.1. Hubert Gerhard, The Archangel Michael Vanquishing Lucifer, cast 1588, St Michael's Church, Munich. Photo courtesy of Bayerisches Landesamt fur Denkmalpflege, Munich.

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27.2. Jan Sadeler the Elder (?), The Facade ofSt Michael's Church in Munich. Engraving in Trophaea Bavarica Sancto Michaeli Archangelo (Munich, 1597), between fols F2 and F3. Photo courtesy of Stadtmuseum, Munich.

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27.3. Boetius Bolswert, The Individual between Christ and Lucifer. Engraving in Antoine Sucquet, Via vitae aeternae, 7th ed. (Antwerp, 1630), plate 4. Photo courtesy of Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich.

Boetius Bolswert's engraving in Antoine Sucquet's Path of Eternal Lifeof 1630 (fig. 27.3), Lucifer and his minions employ every conceivable means to lure the individual from Christ's route to heaven.5 Sucquet tells his reader, 'Think only that you are between our Lord and between the devil, our capital enemy.' Here the temptations are identified as voluptuousness of the world (C), vanity (D), sin (E), gluttony (H), avarice (I), and vainglory (K). The children of Israel (F) wandering in the desert of Egypt (G) are included as a biblical example of a people who became lost because of their sins. At the heart of Sucquet's text and Ignatius's Spiritual Exercises is a recognition of both the constant trials to one's faith and, critically, the ultimate responsibility of the individual either to succumb to or to reject these temptations. They held that human choice or free will is

572 Jeffrey Chipps Smith a gift of God, who, by his grace, endowed humanity with the powers of intellect and action. Ignatius observes that through free will and good works, one can 'conquer oneself and regulate one's life' (#21). Similarly, the individual has the power not to act or to act perversely, a point often developed in Jesuit school plays.6 This stress upon the individual and his or her conscious action (or inaction) shapes the Society's artistic programs. These are designed with the specific goal of aiding the individual worshipper. In early modern Germany, Lucifer's snares include challenges to Catholic faith in the form of the Protestant Reformation, a broad loss of confidence in the Roman church, and, critically, the general society's pervasive ignorance of doctrine. In a letter written in 1555 from Vienna, Jeronimo Nadal laments to Ignatius of Loyola: I believe that God Our Lord raised the Society and gave it to the Church to down these heretics and infidels... This conviction grips me: in no part of the world is the Society, supported of course by God's grace, more needed; in no part of the world would the Society be more helpful. It is more than a matter of opposing, with God's grace, the heretics. There is a very grave danger that if the remnant of Catholics here are not helped, in two years there will be not one in Germany. Everybody says this, even the Catholic leaders. What stirs me most is the awareness that practically everyone has lost hope that Germany can be salvaged ... I think that the task of helping Germany in its religious life is reserved to the Society.7

The key phrase is 'helping Germany in its religious life.' It is my premise that the activities of the Jesuits, including their establishment of schools, their building and decoration of churches, and their energetic devotion to their other ministries, are based on this simple idea. As stated in the Formula of the Institute of 1550, the Jesuits' corporate mission was 'to strive especially for the defense and propagation of the faith and for the progress of souls in Christian life and doctrine.'8 Christian education, which for the Jesuits assumed so many different forms, was their foremost weapon in strengthening faith and in combating the temptations of Lucifer. In this short essay I wish merely to demonstrate how the Jesuits in the Germanspeaking lands adroitly designed the artistic programs of their earliest churches to be visual extensions of their pedagogical campaign to enlighten through Christian knowledge. Or put more succinctly, we shall consider the art of salvation in Bavaria by looking briefly at three churches. Between about 1580 and 1650, the Jesuits erected twenty-four new churches, renovated at least nine existing churches that they had been given, and built or restored numerous other chapels in the German provinces. These figures do not include the various former

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monasteries and properties, such as the Benedictine cloisters at Ebersberg and Biburg, that were transferred to the Society, or the growing number of oratories and meeting halls for their Marian Congregations, or the existing pilgrimage sites like Allotting over which the Society assumed control. During these years, in just Bavaria the Jesuits constructed churches, in chronological order, in Landsberg, Augsburg, Munich, Ingolstadt, Regensburg, Neuburg an der Donau, Wurzburg, Dillingen, Passau, Eichstatt, Mindelheim, Burghausen, and Landshut, as well as renovating the former Pauluskirche (Frauenstift Mittelmiinster) in Regensburg, St Agnes in Wurzburg, and the former Carmelite church in Bamberg.9 The Jesuits played a singular role in revitalizing Catholic art in the Germanspeaking lands. By any standard, this is a phenomenal number of new buildings. Their actions are even more impressive when viewed within a historical context. During the preceding half century, from about 1530 to 1580, not one significant new church was initiated by any confessional group, Catholic or Protestant, because of the Reformation and its attendant political uncertainties.10 Furthermore, the Society's first building efforts occurred decades before most other Catholic groups, notably the older monastic orders, began renovating existing churches and, much less frequently, erecting new ones. Keep in mind, however, that in virtually every community, the Jesuits entered first as teachers. Often a decade or more passed before they had the financial means and/or the opportunity to build a new church. As a result, it is hardly surprising that the artistic programs of their churches mirror some of their educational practices and concerns. The Society's activities are rooted in its adherence to the idea that only through imparting an understanding of basic Catholic beliefs could it strengthen faith as well as combat both individual apathy and the threat of Protestantism. They started with catechisms, especially those of Peter Canisius in the German lands.11 They offered these in four distinct locales: in their schools, in their churches as well as in parish and monastic churches, in secular and often civic buildings, and in non-traditional settings including street corners, public squares, open fields, and military garrisons. Catechism instruction was integrated into the weekly curriculum of their schools. In addition to daily prayers, between thirty and sixty minutes per week was devoted to the catechism. Older students often assisted the Fathers. Typically, the lesson focused on two or three points, which the Father would explain. Over time the class would work its way through the catechism, point by point, and gradually reassemble the whole until the student could both recite and understand the text. Repetition and oral recitation were keys for learning these tenets of faith and prayers. On either a Saturday or, more often, a Sunday afternoon after Vespers, students presented public catechism performances for parents, friends, and other guests.12 These could be held either in the church or in a school hall. Catechism

574 Jeffrey Chipps Smith plays and other tactics were employed to attract attention to fundamental doctrines. Given the stress that the Society placed on catechisms, litanies, saints' lives, and related devotionals, the integration of these lessons into the artistic programs of their churches must be viewed as a logical and carefully conceived extension of their educational ministry. When examining St Michael's and the other early Jesuit churches that still retain most of their original art, I find that their programs, while individually quite different, reveal a common conceptual approach based upon the considered use of an overall master plan. Each of these plans shares a similar four-part method for conceiving the decoration. First, a central thesis or theme is determined, one that is in keeping with the Society's mission to propagate faith and aid 'the progress of souls in Christian life and doctrine.' Second, this plan is applied to the entire interior decoration. Like Ignatius's Spiritual Exercises, the plan is sequenced in a controlled manner to lead the individual step by step to the specific goal. Third, this scheme is adhered to even when the decorations took decades to complete, unless economic disruptions forced modifications. And fourth, each program reveals tremendous flexibility as it guides worshippers of diverse levels of religious understanding or interest. I am not presuming that the rectors in each community pondered or were even consciously aware of this fourpart method. Rather I think that once a theme had been determined, their common intellectual heritage as based in Ignatian spirituality and a Humanistic educational training resulted in a similar approach. Remember too that these communities shared ideas and personnel constantly. Practices that worked in one town were applied in modified form elsewhere. Prior to the erection of these pioneering Jesuit buildings, the concept of designing a comprehensive or unified artistic program for an entire church was rarely practised in Germany.13 Most often the typical decorative scheme evolved haphazardly, as the art reflected the wishes and needs of individual patrons, families, or corporate groups. To return St Michael's, Gerhard's bronze statues remind passers-by that the world outside the church walls is spiritually dangerous since it is Lucifer's domain. The archangel stands as God's sentinel shielding those who enter through the church's portals. The very act of passage from the busy world of one of Munich's main streets into the sacred realm as constructed by the Jesuits represents a critical decision, a positive action, on the part of the individual. Now it is up to the Jesuits to aid the worshipper, which they do by offering the attentive individual a clear spiritual and artistic path to salvation (fig. 27.4). The program here is unusually complex because of the ambitions of both the town's Jesuit community, then Germany's largest, and Wilhelm V, duke of Bavaria (15481626, ruled 1579-97), their patron. Below I shall outline only a few of its

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27.4. Interior view of St Michael's in Munich, 1583-97. Photo courtesy of Bayerisches Landesamt fur Denkmalpflege, Munich.

576 Jeffrey Chipps Smith essential features rather than provide a detailed explanation. It is the method and its broad application, not the particular details, that concern us. The program of St Michael's, which together with the building dates between 1583 and 1597, accommodates the needs of different types of worshippers.14 Some simply used the individual altars according to their own personal and liturgical needs much as they would in any Catholic church. For others, the art of St Michael's offers a basic litany of saints as the individual asks for intercession and consolation from God, Christ, the Holy Spirit, the Virgin Mary, St Michael and the other angels, the holy patriarchs and prophets, Peter, Paul, the apostles, the holy martyrs, and a host of other saints who are pictorially present here.15 The originality of St Michael's, which we must remember served as a teaching church connected with a school and not as a parish church, lies in its progressive sequencing of art, a layering of faith that builds upon itself. Its conceptual framework is based upon Ignatius's Spiritual Exercises as the worshipper is guided through a process of self-examination, illumination, and, ideally, union with God. Since the Spiritual Exercises were frequently, though not always, conducted in privacy under the guidance of a trained spiritual director, typically during a secluded retreat, how is this experience translatable to a church?16 I believe the program here functions more as a glorious visual reminder of the Spiritual Exercises than as the exclusive locus for their actual performance. One must not forget, however, that to ensure absolute propriety most women undertaking the Spiritual Exercises met their director at a confessional booth within the church,17 so there existed a precedent for linking the retreat with a church setting. Of greater significance, the intellectual profile of the congregation worshipping in this and other Jesuit churches differed from those of most parish or even monastic churches. The Society's churches were teaching churches. While a cross-section of society doubtlessly came to their services, the majority were well educated. A significant percentage of those who attended either were taught by the Jesuits or possessed both a foundation of Catholic knowledge and a familiarity with the Society's aims. Furthermore, many had personal experience of the Spiritual Exercises. Even as early as the 1580s, the Jesuits had conducted thousands of their older students, members of the laity, and even other clergy through this process. St Francois de Sales (d. 1622) noted, 'It has performed more conversions than it has words.'18 Its effect on many participants was profound and long-lasting. Peter Canisius observed, 'I can hardly describe how the Spiritual Exercises transformed my soul and senses, enlightened my mind with new rays of heavenly grace, and I feel infused with new strength ... I feel changed into a new man.'19 In St Michael's the worshipper is presented with an enhanced spiritual prog-

The Art of Salvation in Bavaria 577 ress - literally a pilgrimage of discovery potentially leading to salvation that gradually unfolds as one moves through the church. Art focuses prayer, especially mental prayer.20 As arranged here, the art offers a coherent framework for personal meditation. The individual controls his or her own pace and course. Just as the formal giving of the Spiritual Exercises took from one to four weeks, the artistic program is not designed to be absorbed in a single trip. It unfolds over time. Each stage within the church's artistic scheme has its own distinctive focus. Each is intended to be visited and revisited according to the needs of the worshipper. After passing Gerhard's evocative Archangel Michael Vanquishing Lucifer and entering the church, the visitor is immediately struck by the interior's airiness and spatial unity. Three pairs of deep, windowless chapels open off the nave as one moves towards the sanctuary. In each chapel the highly evocative painted altarpieces are set against the outside wall, while the vaults above are adorned with celebratory stucco angels. In the first pair, the lives of Sts Mary Magdalene and Ursula provide models or mirrors of conduct for the worshipper (fig. 27.5).21 They represent two different routes to salvation: Mary Magdalene's repentance of her earlier life of sin and Ursula's path of purity. Mary Magdalene, once the object of men's lust, kneels alone in a dark, obscure cave. Her beauty is now a spiritual one, as she prays before a simple crucifix and a religious text, which is propped up by a skull, her constant reminder of human mortality and the vanities of life. Opposite one finds the story of the resplendently dressed and crowned Ursula. As her companions are brutally slaughtered, Ursula, patiently awaiting her own death, stares heavenwards at the angels who prepare to welcome the martyrs. The angels bestow laurel wreathes, palm branches, and roses, symbols of Christian victory over death. Contemplation of these two saints' lives, notably one's decision to change her personal direction and the other's acceptance of martyrdom rather than renouncing her faith, relates to the process of self-examination that the individual undertakes in the First Week of the Spiritual Exercises.22 Both paintings depict personal sacrifice for a greater purpose. The pictures skilfully engage the attentive viewer and promote his or her own purgative process. It is hardly accidental that the Jesuits, who were especially insistent about the practice of frequent confession, placed the sacramental means for penance nearby; the original confessionals stood against the piers between these side chapels.23 Opening the Second Week of the Spiritual Exercises is the 'Call of the Temporal King.' 'It will be here to ask grace of our Lord that I may not be deaf to His call, but ready and diligent to fulfill His most Holy Will' (#91). In Bolswert's engraving Jesus speaks directly to every Christian (see fig. 27.3). A knowledge of Christ and a willingness to follow him are central to the individual's salvation or,

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27.5. Peter Candid, The Martyrdom of St Ursula, 1588, St Michael's Church, Munich. Photo courtesy of Jeffrey Chipps Smith.

The Art of Salvation in Bavaria 579 as Christ exclaims in this section, 'Whoever would like to come with me is to labor with Me, that following Me in the pain, he may also follow Me in the glory' (#95). The martrydoms of Sts Andrew and Sebastian, the subjects of the altarpieces in the second pair of chapels, graphically illustrate their adherence to Christ's call even when it meant certain death.24 Andrew, like the other apostles, accepted that a painful demise would be his earthly reward for a life devoted to the spreading of Christianity, and yet he never hesitated once he had decided to follow Jesus. The accompanying Latin inscription reads CHRISTO CONFIXVS SVM CRVCI, 'I am crucified with Christ' (Gal. 2:20). Sebastian, too, never wavered from his chosen course. And where is Christ's path? In the engraving the individual must pass by Christ, who is surrounded by the instruments of the Passion, and keep to the narrow, temptation-filled road to heaven. In St Michael's, eighteen overlife-sized terracotta angels, each carrying one of the Passion symbols, stand gravely in the niches lining the nave and beside the triumphal arch before the choir.25 These silent sentinels provide a constant reminder of the different episodes of Christ's sacrifice. As a group they also permit the worshipper to meditate sequentially upon Christ's own death, a necessary step in the illuminative process. The third pair of chapels house the paintings The Annunciation and Christ Giving the Keys of the Church to Sts Peter and Paul, respectively the inception of Christianity and the institution of both the Catholic church and the apostolic tradition.26 At the end of the Spiritual Exercises, the participant is charged with living with the church and with implementing his or her personal way of following Christ.27 Ignatius stresses 'that love ought to be put more in deeds than in words ... [and that] love consists in the interchange between the two parties' (#230-1). That is, love is the active giving of oneself and one's talents to Christ. As observed in the paintings and sculptures of the nave, this Jesuit church provides the worshipper with unambiguous scenes of penance, martyrdom, incarnation, and institution. These pictures are often accompanied by explanatory inscriptions. Using images and texts, the program directs the individual through this course of self-examination and spiritual enrichment, critical steps on the path of salvation. Although the art within St Michael's is arranged in an intentionally linear fashion that extends from the portal through the nave to the choir, its configuration is hardly rigid. The individual is free to visit and revisit any stage within this sequence according to his or her personal needs. For example, the penitent always has recourse to the chapel of Mary Magdalene. One now stands before the choir, which artistically evokes the heavenly Jerusalem (fig. 27.6). Up to this point most of the art has stressed the earthly Christ, notably his ministry and Passion, as well as those who followed in his path. Like the Fourth Week of the Spiritual Exercises, the iconographic program

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27.6. The choir of St Michael's in Munich. Photo courtesy of Jeffrey Chipps Smith. of St Michael's crossing and choir emphasizes the post-Resurrection Christ and the rewards offered to the individual who truly gives himself or herself to God. In Jan Sadeler the Elder's engraved frontispiece of the Trophaea Bavarica Sancto Michaeli Archangelo of 1597, Christ's crib and, by analogy, the adjacent church being built to honour Christ are identified by the inscribed biblical text: This is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven' (Gen. 28:17).28 St Michael's is the porta coeli and its choir offers a hint of this Paradise. A grand triumphal arch adorned with the statues of the four Latin Church Fathers separates the choir from the crossing. The pair of altars flanking the choir celebrates the unity of the Old and New Testaments, specifically the promise of the Old and the redemptive means of the New.29 Interestingly, in Christoph Schwarz's high altar of 1587-9 we once again return to The Archangel Michael Vanquishing Lucifer. Whereas in Gerhard's statues on the facade the archangel is alone in his struggle, now the full power of those allied with the standard of Christ is evident. Under God's direction, a host of angels assist Michael. The rebel angels' metamorphosis into grotesque devils is effected. Lucifer's fearfulness and the fiery pit of hell below contrast vividly with Michael's confidence and the radiance of heaven. Lucifer is bound. The resurrected Christ now passes judgment. The eternal kingdom of God has arrived.

The Art of Salvation in Bavaria 581 Above, Andreas Weinhart's sculpted Christ stands majestically as the salvator mundi. His promise of salvation is already experienced by the twenty-four apostles, martyrs, prophets, and founders of religious orders portrayed in Gerhard's accompanying terracotta statues. This promise also extends to our worshipper through the power of the Eucharist, distributed from the altar below. God is both giver and gift. As Ignatius writes at the end of the Fourth Week in the Spiritual Exercises, Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty, my memory, my intellect, and all my will - all that I have and possess. Thou gavest it to me: to Thee, Lord, I return it! All is thine, dispose of it according to all Thy will. Give me Thy love and grace, for this is enough for me' (#234). This spiritual pilgrimage, the duration of which is left entirely up to the individual, begins with an action, that first step through the portal. For the attentive and persistent worshipper who works through the sequenced devotional lessons pictorially recalled in the nave, who grapples to know both self and Christ, who understands that historical time must yield to an atemporal eternity of reward or punishment, and who directs himself or herself wholly in pursuit of God, there is hope for salvation. The attractions of Lucifer can be resisted and the path to heaven kept. On this journey one is helped by Michael and the other angels as well as by the community of saints. Moreover, in St Michael's the worshipper is accompanied throughout by Christ himself. Jesus is observed first as an infant salvator mundi in Gerhard's terracotta, located at the centre of the entry wall at the south end of the nave.30 He stands in the niche just above the oversized Jesuit monogram. Each of the angels lining the nave recalls a different episode from Christ's Passion. The four located in the last bay of the crossing bear the lantern used to find Christ in the garden of Gethsemane, the titulus or inscription nailed on to the cross, the flagellation whip, and the sudarium of St Veronica. The actuality of his suffering and death is embodied in Giambologna and Hans Reichle's great bronze Crucifixion with Mary Magdalene, which originally stood at the very front of the choir.31 Mary Magdalene clings desperately to the cross. This progression from the infant to the dead Christ ends in the high altar in Weinhart's imposing statue of Christ the saviour. All three of these representations of Christ are placed along the central axis of the church. The worshipper experiences his or her own emotional and spiritual maturation, which, ideally, culminates in unity with the divine. As the worshipper stands in the crossing before the choir, a heavenly apparition transforms the vault overhead. Thirty-two angels, arranged in the form of a double crown, celebrate the triumph of Christianity. Their countenances contrast vividly with those of the sorrowful angels lining the nave. From the portal through the nave to the choir to the vault, the artistic program guides the engaged worshipper towards Christ and salvation.

582 Jeffrey Chipps Smith Although quite different in appearance from St Michael's, Unsere Liebe Frau in Neuburg an der Donau is equally insistent and even more direct in its use of art as a pedagogical tool (figs 27.7, 27.8). It was begun as a Lutheran church in 1607 and, with the succession of the Catholic Wolfgang Wilhelm as Count Palatine (ruled 1614-53), completed as a Jesuit structure in 1618.32 Wolfgang Wilhelm converted to Catholicism in 1613 on the occasion of his marriage to Magdalena, the daughter of Wilhelm V, the patron of St Michael's. The exterior, with its spare elegance, scarcely prepares the visitor for the profusion of pictorial decoration that blankets the interior. Antonio, Michele, and Pietro Castelli's great stucco cycle, completed between 1616 and 1619, covers the walls and vaults. The program, devised by Anton Welser, the superior and rector of the local Jesuit college acting in close consultation with Wolfgang Wilhelm, offers the viewer a comprehensive spiritual aid. The cycle is based upon the Litany of Loreto, the most popular litany used in Catholic Germany and one closely associated with both the Jesuits and Peter Canisius, who published it in 1558.33 The pictorial litany, rendered as stucco emblems that stand independently or are held by angels on the vault and upper walls, begins in the choir. These call upon the worshipper to meditate upon the Virgin Mary by systematically reflecting upon her varied roles and symbolic associations. Mary is the Seat of Wisdom, the Tower of David, the Tower of Ivory, the House of Gold, the Ark of the Covenant, the Gate of Heaven, the Mystical Rose, and the Morning Star, among other titles. The majority of these ultimately derive from the Song of Songs and other Old Testament passages. In addition, the choir cycle contains other titles not included in the litany, such as those presenting her as the Rod of Aaron, the Spring of Living Water, and the Palm of Jericho. This practice of supplementing the litany with additional titles was common even in prints of the Litany of Loreto. In Raphael Sadeler the Younger's engraving of 1601-4, the litany's text honours Mary by recalling her diverse roles as mother, as virgin, as embodiment of various titles of dignity, and finally as queen (fig. 27.9).34 His image of the Virgin is surrounded by twentyone Marian symbols that combine a few of those from the litany with such other familiar analogies as Mary as the Closed Door, as the Enclosed Garden, and as the Spotless Mirror. Lidel plausibly suggests that Father Anton Welser may have been influenced by Jesuit devotional literature, most notably Jan David's Pancarpium marianum or Garden of Mary (Antwerp, 1607).35 This immensely popular book contains fifty titles for the Virgin including less common ones such as Mary as the Christian Ship, which may be observed in the relief on the south choir wall.36 The worshipper can gaze from detail to detail in the stucco program while reciting the litany. It functions as a visual prompt, a mnemonic aid. The large

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27.7. The interior of the Church of Unsere Liebe Frau, Neuburg an der Donau, 1607-18. Photo courtesy of Jeffrey Chipps Smith.

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27.8. Antonio, Michele, and Pietro Castelli, Marian emblems in the choir of Unsere Liebe Frau, Neuburg an der Donau, 1616-19. Photo courtesy of Jeffrey Chipps Smith.

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27.9. Raphael Sadeler the Younger, Litaniae singulia diebus sabbathi etfestis (Litany of Loreto), between 1601 and 1604. Engraving. Photo courtesy of Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbiittel.

586 Jeffrey Chipps Smith relief of the enthroned Mary, Queen of Heaven, holding the infant salvator mundi, still hangs in the centre of the apse though now obscured by the current eighteenth-century high altar.37 After introducing these Marian symbols in the choir, the litany progresses into the nave as each bay's unit of stucco reliefs introduces a new royal title roughly in correct sequence. Using groups of four figures flanking one of Mary's monograms, the cycle reads from east to west: Mary as Queen of Angels, Queen of Patriarchs, Queen of Prophets, and, supplementing the text, Queen of Evangelists and Queen of the Relatives of Christ. The remaining groups, explicating Mary as Queen of the Apostles, Martyrs, Confessors, Virgins, and All Saints, fill the adjacent aisles and galleries. These assume the form of seventy-six separate reliefs of saints plus an additional sixteen statues of the apostles plus Ignatius of Loyola and Francisco Borja, the Society's third superior general, who was beatified in 1624.38 One is reminded of Canisius's response to the catechism question 'How should you pray to all Holy God?' It is 'with a short litany in which I call especially [to] my patron [saints] and intercessors by God' each morning and evening.39 The worshipper does not have to look far to find his or her favourite saints and intercessors. In fact, this holy community and heavenly realm in which they now reside embrace, at least pictorially, the entire interior and all who pray within. The Litany of Loreto ends by repeating the Agnus Dei: Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, spare us, O Lord. Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, graciously hear us, O Lord. Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Pray for us, O Holy Mother of God. That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.

These words, recited by the worshipper, are directed to Christ the judge and Mary the intercessor, who appear at the apex of Rubens's Last Judgment (fig. 27.10). In 1617 Wolfgang Wilhelm commissioned this monumental painting, which measures 6.06 by 4.6 metres unframed, for the church's original high altar.40 Installed in 1618 only to be removed in 1653 because of objections to the nudity of its figures, the painting is today in Munich (Alte Pinakothek).41 Rubens powerfully evokes the moment of judgment with its certainty of either eternal reward or eternal punishment. Christ raises up the elect with his right hand while consigning the damned to hell with his left. Rubens vividly contrasts the humble joy of

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27.10. Peter Paul Rubens, Large Last Judgment, 1617-18. Alte Pinakothek, Munich. Photo courtesy of Bayerische Staatsgemaldesammlungen, Munich.

588 Jeffrey Chipps Smith the saved with the anguished screams and physical torments of the sinners. At the same time he inserts several newly awakened souls at the lower left who, like the viewer, just begin to grasp the reality of judgment. The altarpiece, as the focal point of the church's decoration, stresses the unique intercessory role of the Virgin Mary, the church's patron, who stands just to her son's side. Sts John the Baptist and Peter are far less prominent. For any worshipper hoping to share in Paradise, the stuccos provide a means of salvation since the reliefs impart both knowledge of the Virgin Mary's many titles and a papally sanctioned prayer to honour her.42 They teach one to lead a life that prepares for the Last Judgment and, ideally, salvation. Although the Jesuit churches in Munich and Neuburg are very different in appearance and in the character of their artistic ensembles, they both manifest an educational philosophy that recognized the power of art to instruct and to promote memory. The practice outlined above may be observed in all the Society's German churches that still retain at least the core of their original decorations. St Andreas in Dusseldorf, with its stucco reliefs, loosely copies Neuburg, since they share a common patron.43 Mariae Himmelfahrt in Cologne and St Ignatius in Landshut stress, albeit differently, the power of saints as ever present companions, as role models, and as intercessors.44 In the aftermath of their canonization in 1622, Ignatius and Francis Xavier increasingly became the objects of veneration in Jesuit churches.45 They embodied the Society's heroic - indeed, saintly - origins. Furthermore, their exploits, whether in Rome or in distant lands, demonstrated the Society's fundamental commitment to perpetuating the apostolic tradition of the Catholic church. By 1624, altars recounting episodes of their lives had been erected adjacent to the entrance to the choir in Munich.46 The efficacious powers of the saints soon were demonstrated to the public when four years later a young boy experienced a miraculous cure before the altar of St Ignatius, an event publicized in a contemporary print by Johann Smissek.47 Meanwhile, in Cologne the Fathers adjusted the dedications of the easternmost aisle chapels at Mariae Himmelfahrt to honour both saints and placed statues of the pair beside the church's main portal.48 The apotropaic benefits of Ignatian water, holy water consecrated in proximity to the church's relic of St Ignatius's toga and distributed to the faithful, start to be recorded in 1628.49 St Ignatius in Landshut, built between 1631 and 1640 by the Jesuit architect Johann Holl, was the first German church named for the founder of the Society of Jesus (fig. 27. II).50 This provided the Fathers with the chance to design the whole artistic program around their saint. Unfortunately, because of the lingering

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21.11. Interior of the Church of St Ignatius, Landshut, 1631^0. Photo courtesy of Bayerisches Landesamt fur Denkmalpflege, Munich.

590 Jeffrey Chipps Smith economic devastations caused by the Swedish occupation of Bavaria in the early 1630s, bouts of plague, and other difficulties, the art for the high altar and the six chapels of the nave took over three decades to be finished. Johann Christoph Storer's Christ's Appearance to St Ignatius at La Storta, dated 1662 and placed a year later in the choir, was the last piece to be installed (fig. 27.12).51 This monumental painting for the high altar recounts one of the fundamental foundation stories of the Jesuits. Thwarted in his desire to journey with his followers to the Holy Land because of a war between Venice and the Turks, Ignatius made the fateful decision to travel instead to Rome in November 1537. On the outskirts of the eternal city he stopped to pray for guidance at the pilgrimage chapel at La Storta. There he experienced a vision that transformed him. For months he had begged the Virgin Mary 'to deign to place him with her Son.'52 His prayers were suddenly answered by the Holy Trinity, who, as seen in Storer's picture, fill the sky above the kneeling Ignatius. Christ stands carrying his cross. Looking directly at Ignatius, he says, 'It is My will that you serve Us.' Christ further promises, 'I shall be propitious to you in Rome.' The words JESU PROPITIO fill the cartouche held by the two sculpted angels at the top of the altar frame. At this moment Ignatius is sure that his fledgling band's future is divinely allied with Rome. The Holy Trinity interceded at a time when Ignatius most needed guidance. Now confident of God's grace, Ignatius and his followers entered Rome and initiated the activities that led to Pope Paul Ill's approval of the new Society of Jesus in 1540. The miracle of La Storta further convinced Ignatius that the Society should be named for Jesus, since he had been received under Christ's banner. And finally, as de Guibert has observed, the vision revealed that 'God provided for them a life of service to God with Christ, through Christ, in Christ, and as Christ.'53 Storer deftly portrays the momentary intersection of heaven and earth as the Trinity, joyous angels, and clouds theatrically fill the air above the humble Ignatius. The viewer witnesses Ignatius's vision far better than do his companions Pierre Favre and Diego Lainez, who sit outside the chapel in the background. While Ignatius was recovering from his cannonball wound at the castle of Loyola, he carefully read Jacobus de Voragine's Golden Legend. In particular, he was attracted by the achievements of Sts Francis and Dominic. In his Autobiography Ignatius exclaims: 'St Dominic did this, therefore, I have to do it. St Francis did this, therefore, I have to do it.'54 And he did, in the very founding of an order. The link with earlier religious orders is made explicit in the series of polychromed wooden statues, several dating to 1643, that adorn the clerestory niches throughout the nave. Sts Augustine, Bruno, Norbert, Francis of Assisi, Benedict, Bernard of Clairvaux, Dominic, and Francis of Paola stand silently welcoming Ignatius into their ranks.55 Although these saints do appear, albeit

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27.12. Johann Christoph Storer, Christ's Appearance to St Ignatius at La Storta, 1662, St Ignatius, Landshut. Photo courtesy of Jeffrey Chipps Smith.

592 Jeffrey Chipps Smith rather peripherally, as terracotta statues in the choir at Munich and as statues and stucco reliefs in the aisles at Neuburg, their positions at Landshut call attention to the Jesuits' newly acknowledged role within the modern Catholic church. Ignatius's actions and the goals for the Society are then placed within their historical framework by the three sets of thematically paired chapels. Moving eastwards away from the choir, one progresses forward in time from Christ (Crucifixion altar) and the Virgin (Assumption of the Virgin altar), to the apostles (Departure of the Apostles altar) and saints (St Sebastian altar), and finally to the Jesuits themselves (altars of Sts Francis Xavier and Aloysius Gonzaga). This sequential ascent from Christ is evident in Joachim von Sandrart's painting showing the apostles leaving to spread the Gospel throughout the world.56 As Sts Peter, Andrew, and the others break ranks for the last time, angels bearing palms and other symbols of the apostles' impending martyrdom hover unseen in the sky above. The elaborate altarpiece frame includes flanking wooden statues of Francis Xavier, accompanied by a black child, and Francisco Borja. Through their labours, the pair, like the apostles, carry Christ's ministry into the modern world. At the apex of the altarpiece are three sculpted angels supporting a small painting, Christ Carrying the Cross. The apostles and Jesuits below are represented literally as following Christ and his ministry. This point is reiterated in the altarpieces for the third pair of chapels. Respectively dedicated to Francis Xavier and Aloysius Gonzaga (1568-91), who was beatified in 1605, the altarpieces remind the viewer of the Society's commitment to missionary work and to the care of the sick, activities that resulted in both men's early deaths. The artistic program at St Ignatius is less ambitious than that of St Michael's in Munich and less directly pedagogical than that of Unsere Liebe Frau in Neuburg. Yet it shares a common conceptual approach as well as a common concern for the viewer. All of the altarpieces and statues at St Ignatius stress those who have chosen to follow in Christ's path. One is once again reminded of the passage in the Spiritual Exercises, cited earlier, in which Christ states, 'Whoever would like to come with me is to labor with Me, that following Me in the pain, he may also follow Me in the glory' (#95). These saints and apostles all laboured for Christ. In Storer's painting for the high altar Christ tells Ignatius that he will be with him; Ignatius, in turn, dedicates his life to following and serving Christ. The cross born by Christ signifies both pain and glory, death and, through the Resurrection, eternal life. For the worshipper in Landshut, the reality of Christ's sacrifice is vividly manifest in the bronze crucifix, dated 1643, that originally stood on axis at the front of the choir directly beneath the great triumphal arch with its twelve stucco angels and, at the apex, IHS Jesuit emblem.57 The elegantly cast figure of Christ is nailed to a great wooden cross that because of its scale, measuring 8.5 metres high, and its central position is visible throughout the church.

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The art of St Ignatius celebrates Christ and those who have chosen to walk in his footsteps. The paintings and statues stress both the trials and the rewards inherent in this choice. For example, the Virgin Mary is joyfully carried by angels into heaven, yet St Sebastian must endure brutal physical torment because of his faith. As the Jesuit Fathers sought to guide their students and other members of their congregation, they now could enlist the help of the Society's own canonized and beatified members, Ignatius, Francis Xavier, Francisco Borja, and Aloysius Gonzaga. Although their stories differed, each found a way to dedicate himself to Christ through the Society of Jesus. Furthermore, at the time when the building in Landshut was first being used, these men had been dead for less than a century. They were modern men living in a modern world rather than remote personages residing in the distant past. The cycle at St Ignatius distinguishes the Jesuits as Christ's newest servants and the latest champions of the Catholic church. For many in the congregation, the Society's role in this campaign must have been inspiring, as they heard stories of Francis Xavier's successes in India or of his death while trying to enter China. Here were that age's apostles, who lived and died doing God's bidding on every continent. The Jesuits in Germany fully embraced art. Acting at a moment when religious art was still reeling from Protestant censures and iconoclasm, the Society recognized its visual, mnemonic, and spiritual potentials. Art is no longer conceived primarily as illustrations for the illiterate. The Jesuits fully understood its benefits for all viewers. Harnessed to their educational theories as well as to their profound belief in the benefits of catechisms, litanies, and different types of prayer, art played a crucial role in their efforts to bolster Christian faith and, returning to their initial aim, to defeat Lucifer. A knowledgable Christian is much less likely to be lured astray by Lucifer. Through carefully planned artistic programs that supplemented their other teachings, the Jesuits offered every willing soul an opportunity to strive for salvation. Ultimately, however, the individual must select his or her own course of action while also bearing responsibility for success or failure. As these three churches demonstrate, the individual who consciously choses to make this journey is never alone. Christ, the Virgin Mary, archangels and other angels, and saints, including Jesuit ones, having travelled this path before, willingly provide the individual with spiritual guidance and companionship. Erected at a time of continued confessional disruption, including the worst period of the Thirty Years' War in the cases of Neuburg and Landshut, these churches reveal a distinctive Jesuit approach to art rather than to any common artistic style. In their quest to bolster faith and spread Christian knowledge, the Jesuits in Germany brilliantly wedded art and their corporate mission.

594

Jeffrey Chipps Smith NOTES

This paper presents a brief distillation of a few issues that are discussed at length in my book Sensuous Worship: The Jesuits and the Art of the Early Catholic Reformation in Germany (in preparation). Below I provide only the most essential literature. I wish to thank the Alexander von Humboldt Stiftung of Bonn and the University Research Institute of the University of Texas at Austin for their financial support. I also appreciate the comments on my talk made by other Boston College conference participants. 1 Since presenting my talk at Boston College, I have received Baum. Rom, an outstanding catalogue especially in its attention to St Michael's Church, which is celebrating the four hundredth anniversary of its consecration. Nevertheless, the content of the catalogue has not altered my thoughts on the church or on Jesuit art. 2 Jacob Gretser and Matthaus Rader, Trophaea Bavarica Sancto Michaeli Archangelo (Munich, 1597), between fols F2 and F3. The attribution of this print to Sadeler, who did the frontispiece and at least one other engraving in this book, is questioned by some scholars, who credit it to an unknown master working with Sadeler; Isabelle de Ramaix, Les Sadeler: Graveurs et editeurs (Brussels, 1992), pp. 11 and 39. 3 Herbert Schade, 'Die Monumentalisierung des Gewissens und der Kampf zwischen Licht und Finsternis: Zur Fassade der St Michaelskirche in Miinchen und zur "Genealogie" ihrer Herrscherbilder,' in St. Michael in Miinchen: Festschrift zum 400. Jahrestag der Grundtsteinlegung und zum Anschluss des Wiederaufbaues, ed. Karl Wagner and Albert Keller (Munich and Zurich, 1983), pp. 37-40; Dorothea Diemer, 'Bronzeplastik um 1600 in Miinchen: Neue Quellen und Forschungen -1. Teil,' Jahrbuch des Zentralinstituts fur Kunstgeschichte 2 (1986): 110.1 have discussed the choice and role of St Michael as patron in 'The Jesuit Church of St Michael's in Munich: The Story of an Angel with a Mission,' in Infinite Boundaries: Order, Disorder, and Reorder in Early Modern German Culture, ed. Max Reinhart (Kirksville, Mo., 1998), pp. 147-69. 4 Ignatius of Loyola, The Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, trans. Anthony Mottola, introduction by Robert W. Gleason (Garden City, N.Y., 1964), #136-43. All references to and quotations from this book cited below employ its standard numbering system. 5 Via vitae aeternae, 7th ed (Antwerp, 1630), plate 4, opposite p. 156. My translation is from the French edition, Le chemin de la vie eternelle (Antwerp, 1623), p. 180; the engraving is opposite this page. The book first appeared in 1620. In addition to being among the period's most popular Jesuit authors, Sucquet (1574-1626) served as rector of the Society's college in Brussels and provincial of the Flemish-Belgian province. 6 For instance, in the Dialogue of Udo, Archbishop of Magdeburg, attributed to Jakob

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10

11

12

13

14

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Gretser, which was first performed in Munich and Ingolstadt in 1598, and Matthaus Rader's Theophilo, which was performed in Munich on 2 July 1597, the protagonists either fail to act or act badly. Both Gretser and Rader were actively involved in the celebrations for the consecration of St Michael's in 1597, and they wrote the commemorative booklet. See Thomas W. Best, Jacob Bidermann (Boston, 1975), pp. 20-34, on these plays. William V. Bangert and Thomas M. McCoog, Jerome Nadal, S.J., 1507-1580 (Chicago, 1992), pp. 135 and 147, citing M Nadal 1:298 and 301. Antonio M. de Aldama, The Formula of the Institute: Notes for a Commentary, trans. Ignacio Echaniz (St Louis, 1990), p. 3 (chap. 1.1). On these churches, see Braun Kirch. Here as elsewhere across Germany, the early Jesuit churches often fell victim to the Society's success as they were replaced with new buildings or radically redecorated in the later seventeenth or the eighteenth century. In other instances, the suppression of the Society in 1773 plus damages caused by subsequent wars have further depleted our corpus of early churches. Construction did not cease altogether, since there were a few palace chapels, such as those at Wittenberg, Berlin, and Innsbruck, and minor parish churches built during these years. On this see Jeffrey Chipps Smith, German Sculpture of the Later Renaissance, c. 1520-1580: Art in an Age of Uncertainty (Princeton, 1994), pp. 31-126. On the subject of catechisms, see Bernhard Duhr, Geschichte der Jesuiten in den Ldndern deutscher Zunge, 4 vols in 6 (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1907-13, and Munich-Regensburg, 1921-8), I 454-62; O'M. First, pp. 87-90, 115-26, 159; and John Patrick Donnelly, 'Canisius's Cathechism,' in The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Reformation, ed. Hans J. Hillerbrand, 4 vols (New York, 1996), I 254-5. One such performance is illustrated in Georg Schere's Catechismus oder Kinderlehr (Bruck, 1600). See Duhr, Geschichte der Jesuiten, I 455-6; Die Jesuiten in Bayern, ed. Albrecht Liess (Weissenhorn, 1991), no. 92. The most immediate precedent was the Gesu in Rome, the Jesuits' mother church. Here a master program was planned but never completely carried out because of the demands of powerful patrons and the church's need for financial support. See Hib. "Utpict." The best general discussions of the church's artistic program are Herbert Schade, 'Die Berufung des Jesuiten nach Miinchen und der Bau von St Michael,' in Der Monch im Wappen (Munich, 1960), pp. 209-57; Lothar Altmann, 'St Michael in Miinchen, Mausoleum, Monumentum, Castellum,' Beitrdge zur Altbayerischen Kirchengeschichte (1976), pp. 11-114; and idem, 'Die urspriingliche Ausstattung von St Michael und ihr Programm,' in St. Michael in Miinchen, ed. Wagner and Keller, pp. 81-111. My comments in this paper are quite brief. I have borrowed

596 Jeffrey Chipps Smith liberally from their readings of the church. Beyond a few general remarks, neither author addresses the cycle's function, the complex interrelations of its various parts, its origins in Ignatian spirituality, or any association with a broader assessment of Jesuit art. I am concerned above all with how the Society conceived of and employed art as a means for educating and directing the worshipper. 15 A special litany entitled Litaniae novae, ad Devm et eos praecipve sanctos, qvorvm memoriae vel reliqviae in basilica nova S. Michaelis Archangeli honorifice feruantur was published in Munich in 1597. See Baum. Rom, no. 105. 16 For general comments on the Spiritual Exercises, their giving, and the role of the spiritual director, see O'M. First, pp. 37-50, 127-33, and On Giving the Spiritual Exercises: The Early Jesuit Manuscript Directories and the Official Directory of 1599, trans, and ed. Martin E. Palmer (St Louis, 1996). 17 O'M. First, p. 129. 18 Cited by Antonio T. de Nicolas, Powers of Imagining: Ignatius de Loyola (Albany, 1986), p. 63. 19 Cited by John Patrick Donnelly, 'Petrus Canisius,' in Shapers of Religious Traditions in Germany, Switzerland, and Poland, 1560-1600, ed. Jill Raitt (New Haven, 1981), p. 142. 20 Ignatius's methods of 'seeing the place' and engaging the senses also apply here but are beyond the scope of the present paper. 21 The Penitent Mary Magdalene, destroyed in 1945, was designed by Hans von Aachen and painted in 1588 by Hans Thonauer the Elder and completed the next year by Alessandro Scalzi. Peter Candid produced The Martyrdom of St Ursula in 1588. The frames for these and the church's other secondary altars were replaced in 1697, as part of the centennial celebration. These new frames contain brief inscriptions that help explain the essential point of the altarpiece. Beneath the Magdalene is COR CONTRITUM, 'contrite heart,' and beneath St Ursula is COR IMMACULATUM, 'immaculate heart.' Whether these texts replicate earlier ones is a matter of debate. The high altar still retains its original frame, which contains inscriptions relevant to the meaning of Christoph Schwarz's painting; St. Michael in Munchen, ed. Wagner and Keller, p. 104, figs 56-8. 22 See especially #73-90. 23 On the subject of confessions, see O'M. First, pp. 136-52, and W. David Myers, 'Poor, Sinning Folk'- Confessions and Conscience in Counter-Reformation Germany (Ithaca, 1996). 24 Christoph Schwarz and Alessandro Scalzi painted The Martyrdom of St Andrew, and Scalzi made The Martyrdom ofSt Sebastian. These date to 1588-9. See St. Michael in Munchen, ed. Wagner and Keller, pp. 104 and 106, figs 59-60. 25 For an excellent discussion of these and the church's other terracottas, which however, focuses upon issues of attribution and condition rather than meaning, see

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27 28 29 30 31 32

33

34

35 36

37 38

39

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Dorothea Diemer, 'Hubert Gerhard und Carlo Pallago als Terrakottaplastiker,' Jahrbuch des Zentralinstituts fiir Kunstgeschichte 4 (1988), especially 61-96, 110-24. On Peter Candid's Annunciation (1587) and Antonio Maria Viani's Christ Giving the Keys of the Church to Sts Peter and Paul (1587-88), see St. Michael in Munchen, ed. Wagner and Keller, p. 106, figs 61-2. #230-6. See St. Michael in Munchen, ed. Wagner and Keller, fig. 7. Viani painted both the Trinity altarpiece and the Name of Jesus altarpiece in 15889. See St. Michael in Munchen, ed. Wagner and Keller, pp. 99 and 102, figs 54-5. Ibid., figs 16-17. Ibid., figs 39-41. Adam Horn and Werner Meyer, Die Kunstdenkmdler von Schwaben, V. Stadtund Landkreis Neuburg an der Donau (Munich, 1958), especially pp. 82-107; Reinhard H. Seitz and Albeit Lidel, Die Hofkirche Unserer Lieben Frau zu Neuburg an der Donau (Weissenhorn, 1983), especially pp. 65-80 (Lidel's useful discussion of the program); and Albert Lidel, Hofkirche Neuburg an der Donau, 3rd rev. ed. (Munich, 1984). Lidel in Seitz and Lidel, Die Hofkirche Unserer Lieben Frau, pp. 67-72. On the Litany of Loreto, see Stephan Beissel, Geschichte der Verehrung Marias im 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1910), pp. 475-93; Caspar Lefebvre et al., Saint Andrew Daily Missal (St Paul, Minn., 1956), pp. 1116-17 for a good English translation, which I cite below; and C.H. Bagley, 'Litany of Loreto,' in New Catholic Encyclopedia (New York, 1967), VII 790-1. Made in Venice between 1601 and 1604. Before and after this brief period in Venice, Raphael the Younger lived in Munich, where he and members of his family frequently worked for the Wittelsbach court and for the Jesuits; see volume 1, part 3 of Deutsche illustrierte Flugbldtter des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts, ed. Wolfgang Harms (Tubingen, 1989), no. 34. Seitz and Lidel, Die Hofkirche Unserer Lieben Frau, pp. 67 and 70. I have used the German edition published by Christoff Mang, Pancarpium marianum - Dass ist Marien gart... (Augsburg, n.d.), p. 75, plate 10. For an illustration of the ship relief, see Seitz and Lidel, Die Hofkirche Unserer Lieben Frau, plate 19. A cast of this Virgin and Child hangs by the entry beneath the organ gallery. See Seitz and Lidel, Die Hofkirche Unserer Lieben Frau, fig. 14. See n42 below. In the modern version of the litany, additional titles (Queen conceived without Original Sin, Queen assumed into Heaven, Queen of the Most Holy Rosary, and Queen of Peace) have been attached by later popes. Peter Canisius, Catechismus durch Figuren fiirgestellt (Augsburg, 1614), pp. 143-4.

598 Jeffrey Chipps Smith 40 On the painting, see Rudolf Kahn, 'Peter Paul Rubens: Das grosse "Jiingste Gericht" fur die Jesuitenkirche in Neuburg a. D.,' in Land und Reich - Stamm und Nation: Festgabe fur Max Spindler, ed. Andreas Kraus, 3 vols (Munich, 1984), II 91-105; and especially Konrad Renger, Peter Paul Rubens Altdrefiir Bayern (Munich, 1990), pp. 22-66 (including Rubens's paintings The Descent of the Holy Spirit and The Adoration of the Shepherds made respectively for the church's north and south side altars). 41 It was replaced by an Assumption of the Virgin painted by Paul Bock, a Jesuit brother, in 1653. This altarpiece, which was more closely related to the Litany of Loreto, was in turn supplanted by Domenico Zanetti's Assumption of the Virgin in about 1720. On its subsequent history, see Renger, Peter Paul Rubens, pp. 64-6. 42 Pope Sixtus V approved the church's use of the Litany of Loreto in 1587; see Bagley, 'Litany of Loreto,' p. 791. 43 Joseph Braun, 'Die St Andreaskirche zu Diisseldorf und ihre Stuckdekoration,' Zeitschrift fur christliche Kunst 19 (1906), cols 75-94; and Ria Schulte, Die pfalzgrdflichen Schwestern Unsere Liebe Frau zu Neuburg an der Donau und St. Andreas zu Diisseldorf (Munich, 1981). 44 As in Neuburg, the Jesuits have included a carved cycle of Marian emblems and titles, which are inspired by David's Pancarpium marianum, in the nave. See Wilfried Hansmann, St. Mariae Himmelfahrt in Koln (Cologne, 1981); Die Jesuitenkirche St. Mariae Himmelfahrt in Koln, ed. Hans Peter Hilger (Diisseldorf, 1982). 45 On the early history of the imaging of Ignatius and, to a lesser degree, Francis Xavier, see Kon.-Nord. Ign. 46 St. Michael in Miinchen, ed. Wagner and Keller, figs 51-2. 47 Baum. Rom, no. 110. In Smissek's engraving the wall just left of this altar is covered with votive plaques left by the faithful. 48 The church was constructed between 1618 and 1629; see Hansmann, St. Mariae Himmelfahrt in Koln, pp. 19-20. 49 Annette Schommers, Rheinische Reliquiare: Goldschmiedearbeiten und Reliquieninszenierungen des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts (Rheinbach-Merzbach, 1993), pp. 65-9, for miracles connected with relics of Sts Ignatius and Francis Xavier. 50 Landshut was not the first northern European church dedicated to our saint, since St Caroms Borromeus (Carlo Borromeo) in Antwerp, erected between 1615 and 1621, was originally consecrated as St Ignatius. Elector Maximilian I of Bavaria, Wilhelm V's son and Wolfgang Wilhelm's brother-in-law, encouraged the construction of the church in Landshut. The majority of the funding for the building was given by Countess Magdalena von Haunsperg; several patrons contributed to the cost of the artistic decoration. Rupert Jakob Reiter, 'Die ehemalige Jesuitenkirche St Ignatius

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51 52

53 54 55 56

57

zu Landshut,' Ph.D. dissertation. University of Munich, 1976, and Erich Stahleder, St. Ignatius in Landshut (Munich, 1987). Reiter, 'Die ehemalige Jesuitenkirche,' pp. 100-1, and Stahleder, St. Ignatius in Landshut, p. 6. For the story and the following quotations, see Ignatius of Loyola, The Autobiography of St. Ignatius Loyola with Related Documents, trans. Joseph F. O'Callaghan and ed. John C. Olin (New York, 1974), p. 89, and Joseph de Guibert, The Jesuits, Their Spiritual Doctrine and Practice: A Historical Study, trans. William J. Young (Chicago, 1964; repr. St Louis, 1994), pp. 37-9. De Guibert, The Jesuits, p. 39. Ignatius, The Autobiography, p. 23. The majority are attributed to Gregor Nay; see Stahleder, St. Ignatius in Landshut, p. 12. Von Sandrart also painted the St Sebastian altarpiece. Both date to 1644. See Christian Klemm, Joachim von Sandrart: Kunstwerke und Lebenslauf (Berlin, 1986), pp. 130-5. Reiter, 'Die ehemalige Jesuitenkirche,' pp. 105-8, figs 78-9, and Stahleder, St. Ignatius in Landshut, pp. 6 and 8. The crucifix is thought to have been cast by Bernhard Ernst of Munich perhaps after a model by Hans Joachim Krum, who had trained with Georg Petel. It was likely inspired by Giambologna and Hans Reichle's Crucifixion with Mary Magdalene in St Michael's in Munich, which also was originally situated at the entrance to the choir. Positioning a crucifix in this spot is not so unusual, though most often the sculpture is suspended from the vault, as in St Martin's in Landshut, rather than set on the ground. Since 1958 the crucifix has stood at the other end of the nave just opposite the single public entrance to the church.

28 / Henry Hawkins: A Jesuit Writer and Emblematist in Stuart England KARL JOSEF HOLTGEN

The English Jesuit Henry Hawkins (1577-1646) is now recognized as an important prose writer and emblematist of the earlier seventeenth century.1 He is the author of the two most important English recusant emblem books, Partheneia sacra (1633) and The Devout Hart (1634), and he translated or adapted six other books. His entry in the Dictionary of National Biography needs corrections and additions. Recusants were Catholics who refused to attend the services of the established church. To suppress recusancy, a succession of harsh, though irregularly enforced, penal laws were made in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and Catholic publishing became illegal in England. Recusant books, accordingly, are Catholic books published abroad or secretly in England. Hawkins's two emblem books were published at Rouen by Jean Cousturier, who did much of his printing for English recusants. Partheneia sacra shows the greater artistry in prose, a wider range and variety of subject-matter, and more inventiveness in the design of the emblematic and meditative structure. It is a devotional or meditative work in honour of the Blessed Virgin, the Parthenos of the engraved titlepage, where she is represented as the woman of the Apocalypse and Immaculata (fig. 28.1). It is a beautiful book and a remarkable and ingenious example of the fusion of emblem and meditation. The Devout Hart deserves attention as the English representative of the widespread and popular series of emblems of the heart known as Cor lesu amanti sacrum by Anton Wierix. The emblematic plates in Partheneia sacra, which are unusually good, were executed - apart from the engraved title signed by Pieter van Langeren - by Jacob van Langeren. His signature, 'I.V.L.f.,' appears on the engraving of the garden (A6v) and, in full, on page 271. Work in a similar style under the same name is to be found in England at the time.2 The original and sophisticated program of emblematic picturae for Partheneia sacra must have been carried out by the members of this Dutch family of artists in accordance with the author's

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28.1. Title-page of Hawkins, Partheneia sacra. The Virgin (the Parthenos) as Immaculata and Woman of the Apocalypse. Photo courtesy of Glasgow University Library.

detailed instructions. It is not known to what extent the necessary collaboration took place in England or on the Continent. This program is even more elaborate and innovative than other emblematic work produced in Jesuit institutions, such as the affixiones from the Brussels college.3 Hawkins was a cultivated and learned Kentish gentleman who had been at Gloucester Hall, Oxford, as a youth and, as I discovered, entered the English College, Rome, five years after the death of his young wife, Aphra Norton, in 1605.4 Many aspects of his life and literary and pastoral activities are obscure because they had to be kept secret at the time. His books had to be smuggled into

602 Karl Josef Holtgen the country. He was ordained priest in Rome in 1614, went to Flanders, where he joined the Society of Jesus, returned to England, was expelled and banished, but returned again to work as a missionary priest. He continued his ministry for about twenty-five years and died in a Jesuit house in Ghent in 1646. On the splendid family monument in the church of Boughton-under-Blean, Kent (c. 1617), he is represented as the second son of Sir Thomas Hawkins, of Nash Court, near Canterbury. Several members of the family displayed literary and scholarly abilities. There is evidence that Hawkins and his family were somewhat privileged through connections with the court and the nobility and may at times have been protected from the full rigour of punitive measures that other recusants had to suffer. To know about Hawkins's background and early marriage helps us to appreciate that the author of Partheneia sacra was not a cloistered young seminarian but a well-connected, widely educated, and mature man in his early fifties who had seen something of the world and, very likely, of the courts of London, Brussels, Paris, or Rome. His books show his firm and fervent Catholic faith, a remarkable freedom from narrow sectarianism, and an emphasis on divine love, the consolations of the spiritual life, and the beauty and richness of creation, which he turned to meditative use within the framework of a 'symbolical theology,' a concept derived from the Theologia symbolica (1626) of Maximilian van der Sandt. On the letterpress title-page of Partheneia sacra Hawkins disguises his name under the initials H.A. Doubts about his authorship and the suggestion of other candidates, such as Henry Annesley and Henry or Herbert Aston, can now be discarded. Hawkins's authorship is definitely established by the early Jesuit bibliographers Alegambe and Southwell. He used the initials H.A. instead of H.H. in four of his works from 1632 onward, probably for the sake of greater secrecy. In the Ushaw College copy, a contemporary owner has expanded the letters H.A. so as to read 'HAwkins S:J:,' and this may be the solution. When Henry was admitted to the English College by the rector, Father Robert Persons, it was as 'Henricus Broke alias vero nomine Haukins.' The alias, a usual precaution against spies, was modelled on the name of Sir Basil Brooke, a Catholic friend of the family, as Hawkins's dedication of Fuga saeculi (1632), To the Noble and Most Worthy Knight Syr B.B.,' reveals: 'so that I, viewing the BROOKE, like NARCISSVS (though I saw nothing before, but my Vnworthynesse) behold my self.' The friendship and support of Brooke must have been important for Hawkins. Brooke was himself a devotional writer and he travelled in Italy. He was an active royalist and a confidant of Charles I's Catholic queen, Henrietta Maria, and generally prominent in Catholic affairs and at court. He was also a man of means and an entrepreneur involved, together with Endymion Porter, in the

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mining and smelting of iron ore in the Forest of Dean and his native county of Shropshire. He owned the Old Furnace at Coalbrookdale; an inscription on the furnace, with puns and emblems, alludes to his name and that of his first wife, Etheldreda Brudenell. Monuments to his own family and that of Sir Thomas More survive in the church of Madeley nearby, as does his handsome manor house, Madeley Court, which could have offered a refuge to Hawkins when his missionary travels led him to the West Midlands. Partheneia sacra shows that its author was well acquainted with divine and secular learning and with Elizabethan literature: he quotes from the epitaph of Argalus and Parthenia in Sidney's Arcadia (p. 158) and from Southwell's Saint Peters Complaint (p. 263), he alludes to Dowland and 'al his Plaints and Lachrymies' (p. 139), and he seems to echo 'the winter of our discontent' from Richard III in his 'Epistle' (Alv), 'Now then the winter past of melancholic thoughts ...' After his first book, a translation (1617) of a controversial tract by John Floyd, probably undertaken at the request of his superiors, Hawkins wrote only hagiographical and other works of spiritual edification. It appears that Partheneia sacra, his most original and accomplished work, was in fact written after the more traditional and derivative Devout Hart (1634), although the latter was published a little later. His books must have been of great help to suppressed English Catholics, harassed by fines and persecutions, cut off from the normal life of their own church, and in danger of cultural and intellectual isolation. The dedications in some of his books give an idea of where he found support and encouragement and, perhaps, an occasional resting place from his labours. Apart from Sir Basil Brooke there were his 'Maecenas,' Henry Nevill, Lord Abergavenny (see The Sweete Thoughts of Death and Eternity, 1632), and Lady Mary Teynham (see The History of S. Elizabeth, 1632). Both were from his native county of Kent and belonged to that network of related noble Catholic families which included the Ropers, Petres, Sackvilles, andVauxs of Harrowden. Lady A.W., in The Life of S. Aldegond (1632), can be identified as Lady Anne Arundell of Wardour. She supported the church and distressed Catholics, and was patroness of a Marian sodality in England, perhaps the same for which Hawkins wrote Partheneia sacra. Of particular interest is the dedication in 1634 of The Devout Hart To the R. Worthy and Vertvovs Covple, W. Standford Esqr, and Elizabeth his wife.' They appear to belong to the ancient Staffordshire families of Stanford or Standfort of Packington and Perry Hall, and Comberford of Comberford, all places in or near the present city of Birmingham. Hawkins had probably been introduced to them by another Jesuit missionary and author, Robert Stanford of the Perry Hall branch of the family, who became rector of the English College, Rome, in 1641. Hawkins's intimate mode of addressing the

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Stanfords, 'My Dearest,' and his desire to profess himself 'to al the world, to be Your most obliged and denoted H.A.,' suggest that he knew them well. Anthony Raspa has suggested that Partheneia sacra was designed as an aesthetic equivalent to the Spiritual Exercises for the young members of a Marian sodality attached to a Jesuit school or college, who were too inexperienced to follow the rigorous mystical progress of the Exercises? However, such a view would be too restrictive. The wording of the letterpress title makes it clear that the author writes 'For the pleasure and devotion especially [emphasis added] of the Parthenian Sodalitie.' But he also addresses, as has been shown, a wider adult audience of Catholic nobility and gentry. There are in fact two prefaces, one to the sodality and a second one 'To the Reader.' Here he says that the book is meant for Our Lady's 'especial Familie; yea, Gentle Reader, for thy solace too, if thou art pleased to accept of my poore endeauours.' Raspa thinks of a sodality of English Catholics on the Continent, but Hawkins seems to be more concerned with a sodality existing secretly in England, 'yet greeued and groaning with the burden of... pressures' (Al v), and with ordinary English Catholics, too. Partheneia sacra was popular with Catholics. Verses from it can be found in manuscript miscellanies compiled by recusants. Partheneia sacra is Hawkins's seventh book in order of publication and the first in which he employed the strategy of combining emblem and meditation. The most influential earlier example of this strategy had been the Jesuit Herman Hugo's Pia desideria (1624), which was adapted with-notable success by the Anglican poet Francis Quarles in his Emblemes of 1635.6 Quarles's Emblem V,8 has a gruesome picture of the Soul or Anima imprisoned in the ribcage of a skeleton, with the motto after Romans 7:24, 'O wretched man that I am; who shall deliver me from the body of this Death?' It is an emblematic version of a metaphor or conceit from the Spiritual Exercises. The founder of the Society of Jesus recommends as the first part of a meditation the composition of place (compositio loci), a visual scene drawn from memory or imagination (my translation): The first preamble is the composition of place. In contemplation or meditation on visible matters, such as the contemplation of Christ our Lord, who is visible, the composition consists in seeing with the eye of imagination the corporeal place where the subject you wish to contemplate is found. If you want to meditate on something invisible, like sin, look with the eye of imagination how your soul is incarcerated in this corrupt body. (The First Preamble of the First Exercise for the First Week, #47)

The pictura of the devotional or meditative emblem represents the compositio loci, where the application of the senses takes place. The explanatory poem of the

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emblem stands for the analysis, and the final epigram for the colloquium (the second and third parts of the Ignatian meditation, #50-4). In another book of emblematic meditations, Antoine Sucquet's Via vitae aeternae (1620), the reader is simply advised (on p. 469), 'Compositio loci, ut in imagine' (for thecompositio loci, look at the pictura). Although indebted to Hugo and the threefold Ignatian pattern, Hawkins's realization is different and quite new. In his chosen symbolic concept of the garden, he manages to gather more of the richness, beauty, and variety of creation than Hugo's fervent and ascetic quest of the Soul for Divine Love or Jan David's emblematical lessons in his Veridicus christianus (1601) and in his other emblem books, where the figure of the Devil is often employed in the service of religious instruction. The Jesuits did not adhere to a canonical form of the emblem but developed a variety of devotional and educational applications. Hawkins felt free to experiment with a form he evidently knew well. In his Preface, he tells the reader that he is aware 'how much thow art taken and delighted ... with change and varietie in al things.' Therefore he has made variety the handmaid to piety. If the instruments he uses may seem profane, 'as Deuises consisting of Impreses, and Mottoes, Characters, Essayes, Emblemes, and Poesies,' yet they may be like the heathen Pantheon, converted and consecrated to the honour of the glorious Queen of Heaven. Hawkins does what St Augustine had sanctioned in De doctrina Christiana, that is, he follows the example of the Israelites and 'converts' the profane Egyptian vessels of gold and silver 'to a better use,' in his case to the 'seruice of my Ladie and Mistris, and for the pleasure and deuotion of her especial Familie.' An occasional marginal note shows that these converted Egyptian 'vessels' included hieroglyphics. In The Proeme to his Genius,' Hawkins alludes to another such conversion and, at the same time, reveals an important rhetorical model for his work: while Isocrates, 'that elegant and terse Sophister,' fashioned his praise of Helen with 'the riches of a wanton and luxuriating wit,' his own encomium extols the far greater perfections of the Virgin, which, on the authority of St Epiphanius, require also a devout description of her physical beauty (A5rv). His choice of an encomiastic genre, the praise of perfect female beauty, lies at the bottom of the spiritual eroticism that Hawkins shares with other devotional writers of the time. Partheneia sacra makes use of the long tradition of garden symbolism in Marian devotion, from the hortus conclusus of the Church Fathers to the 'garden' of the Litany of Loreto, with its titles of honour, the rose, star, house, and ark or ship. Parthenian sodalities had adopted emblems or devices of their own. Some are to be found in Pietrasanta's collection De symbolis heroicis (1634).7 Unlike Hawkins's coherent and extended meditations, they are separate, brief inventions, such as the famous one of the Roman sodality, Arcanis nodis: like a

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28.2. Arcanis nodis, device of the Roman Parthenian sodality. From Silvestro Pietrasanta, De symbolis heroicis libri IX (Antwerp, 1634), p. 400. Photo courtesy of Anglistische Institutsbibliothek Erlangen.

magnet, the spiritual power of the Virgin holds the seemingly unconnected links of a chain together by secret knots (fig. 28.2). Hawkins provides an engraved conspectus of the symbols he employs (The Platform of the Garden, fig. 28.3), and also a list on the verso of the title-page. He alone transforms the traditional symbols into full emblematic meditations. Here we have indeed 'wayes so new, and strange, and (for ought I know) as yet vntraced or trod of anie.' In spite of the originality of design and meditative structure, substantial portions of the book (in the 'Discourses' and 'Theories') were adapted or translated from the sermons of Jacobus de Voragine's Mariale (1484) and from the emblematic sermons of van der Sandt, expecially his Aviarium marianum (1628) and Maria flos mysticus

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28.3. The Platform of the Garden, or hortus conclusus, with Mariological symbols. From Partheneia sacra. Photo courtesy of Glasgow University Library.

(1629). The title-page of Flos mysticus shows a garden with symbolic flowers, for instance the Rose for the Purification, the Lily for the Annunciation, the Sunflower for the Assumption. In Partheneia sacra, each of the twenty-two emblematic units or 'Symbols' has a complex structure of nine parts. This is a long way from the three parts of

608 Karl Josef Holtgen the emblems of Andrea Alciato, the celebrated pater et princeps emblematum, whose first collection of emblems appeared in Augsburg in 1531. It is a development typical of the meditative emblem. Yet even within this sub-genre, such a degree of differentiation and aesthetic and psychological sophistication in building up a carefully planned meditative structure is quite unusual: two pictures (Devise and Embleme), a poem (Poesie), and six prose passages (Character, Morals, Essay, Discourse, Theories, and Apostrophe). Two additional symbols, the Phoenix and the Swan, which were 'annexed ... without the Garden,' have only five parts. The emblematic unit begins with the Devise, the picture of the flower or other symbol in its natural appearance, together with a motto. Then follows an introductory prose passage, the Character. It offers definitions and first impressions in a witty, concise, and graphic style not unlike that of the seventeenth-century character essay. Here the Character of the Garden: THE GARDEN is a goodlie Amphitheater of flowers, vpon whose leaues, delicious beauties stand, as on a stage, to be gazed on, and to play their parts, not to see so much, as to be seen; and like Wantons to allure with their looks, or enchant with their words, the ciuets and perfumes they weare about them. It is euen the pride of Nature, her best array, which she puts on, to entertaine the Spring withal. It is the rich Magazin or Burse of the best perfumes or Roman wash: A poesie of more worth, than a bal of pomander, (pp. 5-6)

In the next part, the Morals, Hawkins selects a moral aspect of the device or res picta, such as chastity in the lily, and links it, for the first time in the meditative scheme, with Mary, frequently using those concetti predicabili recommended by Tesauro in // cannocchiale aristotelico and defined by him as 'symbolical witticisms, lightly hinted at by the Divine Mind, elegantly revealed by the mind of man, and reconfirmed through the authority of some sacred author.'8 Each of the flowers or other res pictae in the garden functions as a symbol of Mary, but also of the garden as a whole. The best examples of Hawkins's sensuous and imaginative prose can be found in the Essays. They advance from detailed and vivid description of physical features to an evocation of the Platonic essence or idea of the thing. The following quotation is from the Essay on the Dove: Her neck being opposed to the Sun wil diuersify into a thousand coulours, more various then the Iris it-self, or that Bird ofluno in al her pride; as scarlet, cerulean, flame-coulour, and yealding a flash, like the Carbuncle, with vermilion, ash-coulour, and manie others besides, which haue no name, but as you borrow them from other things, (p. 201)

The extraordinary sensitivity to light, colour, and movement seems to anticipate

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28.4. Etienne Binet (pseudonym Rene Fran§ois), Essay des merveilles de la nature et des plus nobles artifices (Rouen, 1631). Photo courtesy of Universitatsbibliothek Erlangen-Nurnberg.

Hopkins's 'Windhover,' and yet, as Werner von Koppenfels has recently discovered, most of these Essays are skilful translations of selected passages from Father Etienne Binet's Essay des merveilles de la nature et des plus nobles artifices, a standard encyclopaedia on the marvels of nature and art for orators and preachers, which was first published in Rouen in 1621 and saw many later editions (fig. 28.4).9 Binet's Essay supplies the essential link with the French Jesuit 'rhetorique des peintures,' whose chief representatives were Louis

610 Karl Josef Holtgen Richeome, Nicolas Caussin, and Binet himself.10 Vivid descriptions of natural phenomena following Quintilian's rhetorical principle of enargeia, and a concettistic treatment of the marvellous variety of created things paved the way for a multiple spiritual symbolism. It enabled Hawkins to devise a composite symbolic portraiture of the Blessed Virgin through a series of Protean allegorical transformations. We now know better how to account for the wealth of learning and the sense of the marvellous mPartheneia sacra, but it hardly diminishes our admiration for the author, who has subtly woven the borrowed material into the texture of the whole. The Protean quality of the work is mainly due to the fact that the reader has to visualize the Virgin under numerous conceits as a garden, a rose, a lily, a sunflower, the dew, a bee, the heavens, the rainbow, a house, a hen, a pearl, a fountain, the sea, a ship, and so on. Hawkins and Binet subject these conceits to further paradoxical inversions by representing heaven through earth, large through small, nature through art, and animate through inanimate things. The everchanging Protean element of water plays a major role, culminating in the discussion of the dew. The dewdrop is the true 'Protheus and Chamaeleon of creatures' because it is said to assume the quality of whatever it falls upon and thus becomes the nourishing milk of the Universe (The Deaw, pp. 60-3). Hawkins rivals Marvell in the mannered and concettistic treatment of the dewdrop (compare the latter's 'On a Drop of Dew'), but their intentions and meanings are different.11 With the Essay, the devotee is still in the early stages of a meditation, still close to nature, the senses, and the compositio loci. In the next sections, beginning with the Discourse and the Theories, the full theological application of the natural symbol to the Virgin takes place. These theological considerations are often taken from the Doctors and Fathers of the Church, conveniently available in the homiletic collections of Jacobus de Voragine and van der Sandt. The Discourse on the Star may serve as an example: Now therefore as that Starre guides and directs the saylers to their port: So this blessed Virgin is worthily called the Starre of this tempestuous Sea of the world, while in the midst of the stormes of this life, she lends so her light to such as sayle to heauen-wards; and through her example and patronage continually directs them to the Hauen of the Heauenlie countrie. (p. 121)

In the Discourse on the Pearl, the growth of the pearl prefigures the conception of Christ, the new pearl, in the womb of the 'mother-pearl,' Mary. Each Discourse is, in fact, closely related to theological analysis, the second part of the Ignatian meditation. Strikingly new in Hawkins's book is the duplication of the emblem-

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atic icon into Devise (natural symbol) and Embleme (the symbol applied to Mary and to her role in the history of salvation). Devise and Embleme are here given a new meaning in the context of the meditative scheme, and their difference is fundamental to the typological method of Hawkins's 'Symbolical Theologie': it signifies the progress from nature to grace. In the Devise of the Heliotropion or Sunflower we see 'the Gnomon of the Garden' (p. 49); in its Embleme we contemplate Mary, the 'handmaide of the ... Sunne of Justice,' that is, the Lord (p. 56). Incidentally, in the description of the Heliotropion, Hawkins alludes to the delightful invention of the floral horologe, 'a Dial artificially made in hearbs, to expresse al the howers of the day.'12 He is not the only Jesuit to do so. Binet mentions it in his chapter on the garden (chap. 23). To Famianus Strada the floral dial in the garden of the Villa Aldobrandini suggested the invention of an impresa for the power of oratory with the motto DOCET ET DELECTAT, and Pietrasanta reproduced the impresa in De symbolis heroicis.13 Andrew Marvell, it seems, had enough models to choose from for the new dial of his poem The Garden.' We have seen that Hawkins gives to Devise and Embleme a new theological application. But he also observes the traditional rules of impresa and emblem theory;14 for instance, the picture of an impresa or device should not contain more than two things, while the picture of an emblem can have many. Thus, the Devise of the Star on page 114 (fig. 28.5) has two things: a star and a ring of clouds (several things of the same species count as one). The Embleme of the Star on page 122 (fig. 28.6) has at least six: star, clouds, sunset, ship, the sea, and a whale. In the case of the Dove, the one-figure picture of the bird as natural symbol of love and bird of Venus (Devise, p. 198) and the complex typological scene, based on the Canticles and the story of the Annunciation, depicting the Dove of the Holy Ghost (Embleme, p. 207) conform to the doctrines of theology as well as the rules of emblem theory (figs 28.7, 28.8). It may be added that the visual appearance of the icons in Partheneia, with rectangular frames, finely executed symbols, and the mottoes inscribed on scrolls, reminds one of Italian books of imprese such as Jeronimo Ruscelli's Imprese illustri. Van der Sandt defines 'theologia symbolica' as 'Doctrina de Deo, Divinisque, Symbolo involuta, vel explicata'15 (the doctrine of God and divine matters, hidden in a symbol or explicated). His work was one of the few treatises on symbol and emblem theory by a Jesuit available to Hawkins (Pietrasanta, Masen, and Menestrier came later). It is in some ways a predecessor of Picinelli's Mundus symbolicus, but less accessible because of its bulky apparatus of definitions, divisions, and partitions of the various types of symbol. Hawkins used van der Sandt's work mainly as a treasure trove of symbols taken from the Scriptures and the sacred and profane authors. Hawkins's marginal reference to Pierius (on p. 207) suggests that his sources included the 'christianized' collections of

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28,5. The Devise of the Star. From Partheneia sacra, p. 114. Photo courtesy of Glasgow University Library.

hieroglyphics by Pierius Valerianus and, perhaps, Nicolas Caussin (1618 ff). With his alert mind and skilful pen, he was able to turn things dry as dust into a beautiful Marian garden or Marian universe where all things speak of the divine scheme of creation and redemption. In the 'Epilogue to the Parthenians,' he tells them that 'these irrational Species of things ... are but they only, which wayte and attend vpon her, in her GARDEN; and that she hath infinit other Clients and Deuotes besides, in created things, as forward al, to offer vp themselues, in her

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28.6. The Embleme of the Star. From Partheneia sacra, p. 122. Photo courtesy of Glasgow University Library.

seruice; I meane, in this Symbolical Theologie, to giue forth Elogies, Encomiums, and Panegyricks, to her sacred prayse' (p. 261). He seems to regard emblematics or symbolical theology as a practice involving the rediscovery of preordained meaning and conferring it upon chosen symbols. With the unfolding of the spiritual truth embedded in the Embleme, the devotee has reached the high point in the meditative process. From here, he advances to the joyful ecstasies of the final Apostrophe or Colloquy with the Queen of Heaven and her son, Jesus:

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28.7. The Devise of the Dove. From Partheneia sacra, p. 198. Photo courtesy of Glasgow University Library.

Flower of flowers, O Rose of roses, O Flower of roses, O Rose of flowers! Shore me vp with flowers, because I languish for loue of thy loue IESVS, the bud ofthee, 6 Rose, little in thy womb, greater in thine armes, & then fayrest of al, when opened throughly and displayed on the Crosse. (p. 27)

Behind the calculated succession of mental states and types of discourse, the threefold Ignatian ground plan is always recognizable. Hawkins achieves subtle changes of visual, intellectual, and emotional emphasis, of activity and 'Pause.'

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28.8. The Embleme of the Dove. From Partheneia sacra, p. 207. Marginal reference to Pierius Valerianus's Hieroglyphica. Photo courtesy of Glasgow University Library.

Pause, like Motto, Review, and Survey, is one of the secondary, marginal terms which he uses in order to explain the special function of certain parts in the meditative scheme. Pause refers to the poem (The Poesie) which accompanies the picture of the Embleme. The word also occurs in a newly discovered manuscript of metrical psalms by Francis Quarles, where it signifies a meditative or reflective review after each psalm. In this sense it can be seen as an equivalent of the Hebrew word Sela in the Book of Psalms. Ignatius had recommended an occasional contemplation or 'tasting' (gustatio) of the meaning of each word of

616 Karl Josef Holtgen the Lord's Prayer and other prayers before resuming the normal progress of praying (The Fourth Week, The Second Way of Prayer). It has to be admitted that Hawkins's penchant for rhetorical varietas, copia, and continuous concettistic metamorphosis creates a certain tension between the variety of representation and the devotional purpose. However, the reader is always kept aware that every single symbol or conceit contributes to the totality of the Marian garden. This garden is the 'Parthenian Paradise,' where, according to the divine plan, the cosmic drama of the Incarnation is enacted with the help of the free consent of the Virgin. With St Cyprian, Hawkins calls Mary 'an ample, compleat, and universal World within herself, adorned with the Species of al creatures' (The Sea, p. 238). It is, of course, 'GOD only, who truly... comprehends al, is Al in Al.' But 'this great Al, whom the Heauen ofHeauenscan not containe,' was conceived and carried in her womb by the Virgin, who therefore deserves the epitheton and motto capacitatis immensae (The Heavens, pp. 83-^4-).16 With his powers of observation and the symbolical view of 'this great rich Magazin of the treasures of Nature' (p. 257), Hawkins makes a notable contribution to English literature of the Stuart period. His book also shows his connoisseurship in music and his interest in the theory and practice of painting and architecture. As a man fully at home in the Renaissance cultural milieu, he was able to follow Ignatius and find God in all things and all things in God. Thus he could express through his writings a sense of redemption-in-creation, as Gerard Manley Hopkins was later able to do. Hawkins elaborates in Neoplatonic terms on the consecration of love and beauty to the Blessed Virgin, whose physical beauty reflects her spiritual beauty, so that 'a certain Diuinitie of beautie dazeled the aspects of men' (A5v). In a recent study of Queen Henrietta Maria, it has been suggested that Hawkins's elegant, courtly, and meditative book played a part in the revival of Marian devotion and the Neoplatonic cult of idealized love and beauty promoted by the Catholic queen of Charles I and her court.17 The queen and her husband cherished the 'beauty of holiness,' a concept not unlike the 'Diuinitie of beautie' celebrated by Hawkins. The richness and variety and the almost kaleidoscopic impact of Hawkins's bimedial work of art has affinities with the Stuart court masque as well as with the Jesuits' dramatic multimedia performances for edification and public celebration. For example, there are close similarities between the verbal and pictorial representation of the Virgin in the garden of Partheneia sacra and the idealization of Henrietta Maria as Queen of Divine Beauty in the garden settings of the masques Chloridia (1631) and Tempe Restored (1632), designed for her by Inigo Jones.18 Furthermore, when Hawkins describes 'the Theater of the Annunciation1 with the Archangel Gabriel 'bringing in his hand a sprig of green and flourishing Oliue ... as the ensigne of his Legation' (p. 133), he may indeed recall a dramatic performance in a Jesuit

Henry Hawkins: A Jesuit Writer and Emblematist 617 college. On a more technical point it is worth mentioning that Hawkins was probably the earliest designer of multiple emblems (mehrstandige Embleme), an invention usually attributed to Franz Julius von dem Knesebeck in Braunschweig, who first published ten years later, in 1643.19 In spite of the many attractions of Partheneia sacra, the pervading spirit of Marian devotion effectively prevented any Protestant adaptation. In recent times, the book has been widely acclaimed for its literary, artistic, and emblematic qualities. As a rich amalgam of native English, traditional Latin, and contemporary French and Dutch cultural influences, it is a truly European book. Of Hawkins's second emblem book, The Devout Hart (1634), only a short summary can be given here (fig. 28.9).20 It is a translation of works by the French Jesuits Etienne Luzvic and Etienne Binet with certain additions by Hawkins himself. His immediate source was a Latin version of the Luzvic-Binet book by the Jesuit Charles Musart (Douai, 1627). On the title-page, Hawkins is at pains to give a fair indication of the several writers' contributions to the work, disguising himself under the description of 'a new hand.' The structure of the book follows even more closely that of the Spiritual Exercises, with Preamble, Preparatory Prayer, Preludes, Points, and Colloquy, each meditation to be concluded by Pater noster andAve Maria. But the book also incorporates the series of eighteen, later twenty, heart-shaped emblems called Cor lesu amanti sacrum created by Anton Wierix in Amsterdam towards the end of the sixteenth century. These plates had already been secured for Luzvic and Binet's Le coeur devot (1627). Here Christ, represented as a childlike amor divinus, knocks at the door of the heart (fig. 28.10), enters, sweeps out the dust of sins, sprinkles and purges the heart with his blood, and finally reigns in it. Ignatian meditation involves the consideration, apprehension, and acceptance of spiritual truth through the senses, the mind, and the will. Ignatius had devised a program of exercises or meditations for four weeks. It begins with preparation, self-examination, and the realization of the powers of sin and hell, continuing with contemplations of the life of Christ up to his Ascension, and the most important mysteries of the Christian faith. This program, which had itself been derived in part from the old scala mystica of purgation, illumination, and union, could easily be adapted to the notion of spiritual ascent embodied in the twenty plates of the Wierix series and their Latin epigrams, which form the emblematic backbone of Hawkins's book. Until recently only copies with blank pages for the missing plates were known; but illustrations have been found in a reissue dated 1638. Hawkins is quite clear about the combined effect of emblem and meditation which he wants to achieve: / heer present you with a HART, notfram'd of flesh and bloud ... but lively deciphered with devout Embleams. Pictures (as Symonides saith) are silent Poesies, and Poesies

618 Karl Josef Holtgen

28.9. Title-page of Hawkins, The Devout Hart. Hawkins is the translator of the book and author of the 'Hymnes by a new hand.' Photo courtesy of Anglistische Institutsbibliothek Erlangen. speaking pictures. Both the one and the other are heer exhibited to your viewes, accompanyed with devout Meditations, where every title speakes but the love o/IESVS. (pp. 3-4)

Each of the twenty emblematic and meditative units consists of the picture (or a blank page), a sonnet-like poem of fourteen lines called The Hymne composed by Hawkins, a prose passage by Binet originally called Imaginis expositio and now The Incentive, and a Meditation after the Ignatian pattern by Luzvic. The icons, with their wealth of emblematic detail, offer abundant opportunity to

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28.10. Jesus knocks at the door of the heart. From The Devout Han, p. [45]. Photo courtesy of Anglistische Institutsbibliothek Erlangen.

demonstrate that meditation (according to the English translator of Frangois de Sales) 'considereth by peece-meale the objects proper to move us.'21 Hawkins seems at times to be carried away by the tenderness of his love for Christ and the direct visual impact of the picture: Thy little IESVS, the purest ioy and delight of Heauen, raps at the doore: the golden locks of his head are wet yea trickle with nightly dewes; his fingers stil the primest mirrh ...' (The Preamble to the Third Meditation, p. 48). Hawkins increases the tenderness, fervour, and sensuousness of his original. His language is, throughout, imbued with the imagery of the Song of Songs, the spiritual marriage between Christ and the soul, the 'religious Petrarchism' of the baroque. The book is less encyclopaedic and more Christocentric than Partheneia sacra.

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There had been isolated examples of religious heart emblems before, but Cor lesu amanti sacrum is the first fully developed series of cardiomorphic emblems. This Wierix type of heart emblems, which exhibits Christ entering, and acting in, a large human heart, has a particularly strong imaginative and emotional impact on the viewer - stronger even than the other type represented by the equally successful books of Daniel Cramer (Emblemata sacra, 1624) and Benedictus van Haeften (Schola cordis, 1629), in which a small heart has to undergo all sorts of physical and mechanical manipulations interpreted in a spiritual way. The difference is conceptual, not denominational: Wierix was taken up by Jesuits, Cramer was a Lutheran divine, van Haeften prior of the Benedictine abbey of Afflighem. The Wierix sequence, as it is found in The Devout Hart, reflected and promoted the growing cult of the Sacred Heart which had been developed in the late Middle Ages, especially by the Carthusians. Although the devout heart is the human heart, there has always existed in religious heart symbolism a tendency towards identification of the human heart with that of Christ. Wierix's engravings (later reworked by his pupil Martin Baes or Basse) are of excellent workmanship. They were produced either as a series or as single prints, or for the illustration of various devotional books, with many editions and versions in French, Latin, Dutch, German, and Italian. The Devout Hart has remained the only English example. In England, the Wierix emblems may have influenced, directly or indirectly, some of the cardiomorphic imagery of Donne, Herbert, Vaughan, Bunyan, and other seventeenth-century authors. While the direct influence of a recusant publication such as The Devout Hart would have been limited, 'Popish prints' were sometimes illegally imported from the Low Countries by certain printsellers or brought back by travelling collectors. On the Continent the sequence became immensely popular, mainly with Catholics. But these emblems allow a wider Christian application. From 1684 onwards, a Lutheran pastor in Helmstedt, Johann Rittmeyer, adopted ten of the pictures in numerous editions of his Himmlisches Freuden-Mahl, a book of prayers for confession, the Lord's Supper, and other occasions.22 The reasons given in Rittmeyer's preface for the inclusion of the pictures echo those given by Hawkins (my translation of the German original): 'In this edition, the intention was to improve the little book by pious figures in copperplate. In these, the special working of divine grace in the heart is demonstrated to faithful and enlightened souls as though it took place before their own eyes. Thus they are led the more to prayer and the love of God.' Obviously, both Hawkins and Rittmeyer rely on that often discussed perceptual advantage of pictures, namely, their immediacy and directness in entering the soul. In the words of Ben Jonson: 'Picture is the invention of Heaven: the most ancient, and most a kinne to Nature ... It doth so enter, and penetrate the inmost

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621

affection (being done by an excellent Artificer) as sometimes it orecomes the power of speech, and oratory.'23 Only recently, Wierix emblems in the form of gallery pictures and glass paintings in Norwegian Lutheran churches have been reported.24 These pictures date from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In some cases they appear together with emblems from Hugo. (Homiletic emblem programs from Hugo's Pia desideria in German Lutheran churches are well known.) The emblematic pieces from Stavanger Cathedral and the churches of Norddal and Forr have now been removed to the Historical Museum of Bergen University. The original six lines (two tercets) of Latin verse under each picture were replaced by Danish two-liners. The pictures were probably modelled after the Wierix engravings in one of the Dutch printings. Trade links between Bergen and the Netherlands may have facilitated communication. Here, then, is another piece of evidence for a widespread Lutheran piety of the heart and for a doctrine of images and emblems inspired by an inner picture in the heart or soul (Seelenbild orMerkbild).25For Lutherans, as opposed to Calvinists, images are adiaphora (Mitteldinge); they do not represent an article of faith. Luther approved of non-idolatrous pictures which conform to the superiority and guidance of the word, excite pious emotions in the heart, revive the memory of the deeds of the Lord recorded in the Scriptures, and teach lessons of faith through seeing. Lutheran emblem books and applied emblematics endeavour to meet these conditions. In spite of dogmatic differences there is here some common ground shared with contemporary Catholic piety and emblematic practice. In many Catholic emblem books the pictures are treated as allegories or signs of the way to salvation, and they are accompanied by quotations from the Scriptures and the Church Fathers. The controversial question of the veneration of images (sometimes polemically referred to as image worship) does not arise. Friedrich Spec, the famous Jesuit preacher and baroque poet, commended meditative pictures and emblems (my translation): 'With each picture, you perform an act of faith ... and, at the same time, delight your eyes ... When turning a page, say in your heart: "My God, this I believe.'" Elsewhere he states, 'Such a picture often stands there like an apostle preaching serious words.'26 Such partial interconfessional congruence accounts for a certain adaptability of Jesuit texts and their transmission to Protestant books of edification. Even a simple nineteenth-century version of the Wierix series by Johannes Gossner (1773-1858), Das Herz des Menschen (The Heart of Man), is still being published in German and English for Protestant Pietist communities in Germany and the United States. The most spectacular case of a pictorial motif from the Wierix series to be revived in Victorian England is William Holman Hunt's PreRaphaelite painting The Light of the World (1851). It depicts Christ knocking at the door of the heart, and it led to a reappraisal of the role of allegorical art by

622 Karl Josef Holtgen Protestants.27 After initial controversy, it was widely accepted as a Protestant Anglican icon by the nation and the British Empire. Owing to the adverse conditions affecting the fate of recusant works, The Devout Hart remained a short-lived English offshoot of the long Wierix-based tradition of devotional books. This brings us to the question of Hawkins's achievement as a Jesuit author. Undoubtedly there was a need for a book such as The Devout Hart. The contemplation of lively and attractive pictures heightened by a commentary in fervent and tender language must have created an experience of Jesusminne, of the close and loving presence of Jesus in the heart of the devotee. This was an excellent book of consolation. It was meant to comfort oppressed and persecuted Catholics at home and in exile, who were addressed by another Jesuit missionary as 'the ornament of your Country, the high honour of the Catholicke Religion (which with hazard of your Hues and daylie losse of goods and liberty you so constantly defend).'28 If the keynote of The Devout Hart is emotion and tenderness, that of Partheneia sacra is beauty and brilliancy. The book offers a dazzling display of the variety of creation, worked out with the utmost refinement of structure and rhetoric, all as a means to a higher end. In the prefatory Epistle the author suggests to his readers that, with the arrival of this book, in which the Blessed Virgin 'presents her selfe for your delights in Garden-attire,' the winter of melancholy thoughts and the tears of persecution have been overcome. When Gerard Manley Hopkins (in a letter to Canon Dixon of 1881) reviewed the Jesuits' record in art and literature, he thought that striving for artistic perfection was not part of their vocation, and came to the conclusion, 'Brilliancy does not suit us.'29 Maybe the brilliant Hawkins was not a typical Jesuit? So little is known of his personality that we can only speculate. The shaping influence of the Society of Jesus began informally in his early thirties while he was training for the priesthood at the English College, and formally with his admission to the Society in Flanders at the age of thirty-eight. It continued while he worked, secretly and endangered, on the English mission, although, one imagines, there was now greater independence and a need to make personal decisions. Coming from a family in the higher echelons of the landed gentry, Hawkins had considerable social and educational advantages; it is said that he inherited an estate of his own from his mother. Until he went abroad he seems to have enjoyed the life and accomplishments of an English gentleman. In a document written in Italian in the English College30 he is called a mature man, learned in matters of government and English law, who held an office and had many other possessions and expectations. It is known from local records that the young lady to whom he was for a short time married came from a prosperous merchant family. What made the widower turn his back on all this in order to become a Jesuit we cannot know. The

Henry Hawkins: A Jesuit Writer and Emblematist 623 move brought a unique opportunity to merge his English Elizabethan cultural heritage with the learning of Renaissance Christian Humanism enriched by the principles of Jesuit rhetoric and the mystic inspiration of the Spiritual Exercises. The finest flower of that merger is Partheneia sacra. The Society of Jesus made Hawkins a writer. Realizing his literary talent, his superiors, notably Binet (successively rector of the colleges of Rouen and Paris and provincial of France), mapped out for him a program of translating Latin and French religious books, some of which had been written by other Jesuits. This was part of a corporate missionary undertaking to win back England for the Old Faith. In carrying out his assignment Hawkins produced eight books and managed, to some extent, to follow his own ideas and preferences. His first task was uncongenial but urgent: exposing the apostasy of Archbishop Marco Antonio De Dominis of Spalato, who had just been received by King James and the Church of England with open arms (1617). Hawkins never again wrote on theological controversies. In the next years he must have prepared the hagiographical and devotional works which appeared from 1632 onwards. In Partheneia sacra he followed no single model and reached, through ingenious structure and a personal poetic voice, the highest degree of artistic independence - a remarkable achievement, because the Society, as a rule, did not encourage original literary work. They rather preferred the adaptation of what already existed for current needs.31 Partheneia sacra has been more widely read and appreciated than his other works. Since the 1950s its literary qualities have been placed on a level with those of seventeenth-century metaphysical poetry.32 ADDENDUM

The engraved title-page of Hawkins's Partheneia sacra and the engraving The Platform of the Garden' seem to have been modelled on a painting by Giovanni Battista Fiammeri or a similar representation of the Immaculata as the Woman of the Apocalypse and Virgin of the Assumption. This is an altar painting (after 1598) in San Vitale, Rome, the church of the Jesuit novices; it is reproduced in Baum. Rom, page 480. As a student at the English College from 1609 to 1614, Hawkins would have seen it. The Virgin stands on the moon, adorned with stars and surrounded by an aureola of golden light and clouds of putti's heads. On the title-page this central part of the composition has been retained and an architectural framework added. In the painting the Virgin appears in a garden landscape with symbols taken from the Litany of Loreto. To avoid overcrowding the title-page, these and other symbols have been rearranged on the separate plate 'The Platform of the Garden.' The altar painting and other pictures from the Jesuit college of Sant'Andrea al Quirinale are described by Louis Richeome, S.J., in Lapeinture spirituelle (Lyon,

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1611). He commends religious pictures after the Tridentine rule 'honos refertur ad prototypa.' His method of meditation advances from visual impression and rhetorical ekphrasis to allegorical meaning and spiritual truth. The book has eleven plates by Matthaeus Greuter which provide a kind of compositio loci or memory place for meditation; for example, a synoptic view of the several gardens of the Jesuit house (p. 472) leads on to a meditation on the devout soul as the garden of Jesus. Richeome delights in the richness and beauty of gardens, the variety and 'virtues' of flowers and trees, and the marvels of fountains and water. Images of created things should inspire the beholder to praise and admiration of the Creator. La peinture spirituelle is neither a Mariological nor an emblem book, but these striking similarities prove its influence on Partheneia sacra. NOTES

1 On Hawkins, see Rosemary Freeman, English Emblem Books (London, 1948), chap. 7 and appendix 3; Wolfgang Lottes, 'Henry Hawkins and Partheneia sacra,' Review of English Studies 26, new series (1975): 144-53, 271-86; my introductions to the Scolar Press editions of Partheneia sacra (Menston, 1971) and The Devout Hart (Ilkley and London, 1975) in the series English Emblem Books (nos 10 and 11), and my note The Wife of Henry Hawkins,' Notes and Queries 222 (1977): 507-10. A reissue of the edition of Partheneia sacra with a new introduction by the present writer was published by the Scolar Press, Aldershot, Hampshire, 1993.1 have used material from this introduction and from my essay on Hawkins in Renaissance Poetics, ed. Heinrich F. Plett (Berlin, 1994), pp. 338-61. 2 Margery Corbett and Michael Norton, Engraving in England in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries: Charles I (Cambridge, 1964), p. 269. 3 Porte. Embl. Similar material is available in Marc van Vaeck and Toon van Houdt, 'One in a Thousand': Ephemeral Emblems in the Mechelen Seminarium Archiepiscopale (Louvain, 1996); this is not a Jesuit institution. 4 A portrait brass in the church of Fordwich, near Canterbury, with a likeness of Aphra survives and tells the sad story of her brief marriage. 5 See Abstracts of Papers, Fourth International Emblem Conference, K.U. Leuven, 1996 (Louvain, 1996), p. 136. 6 For further details of Quarles's life and career, see my Francis Quarles, 1592-1644 (Tubingen, 1978), and chap. 1 of my Aspects of the Emblem (Kassel, 1986). See also John Horden's Bibliography of Francis Quarles to the Year 1800 (Oxford, 1953). An edition of Quarles's Emblemes (1635) and Hieroglyphikes of the Life of Man (1638), ed. Karl Josef Holtgen and John Horden, was published by Georg Olms Verlag (Hildesheim and New York, 1993). 7 Silvestro Pietrasanta, De symbolis heroicis libri IX (Antwerp 1634), pp. 399-411.

Henry Hawkins: A Jesuit Writer and Emblematist 625 8 Emanuele Tesauro, // cannocchiale aristotelico, 5th ed. (Turin, 1670), p. 501. The Italian wording is 'vn'Argutia leggiermente accennata dall'Ingegno Diuino: leggiadramente suelata dall'Ingegno humano: & rifermata con I'autorita di alcun sacro Scrittore.' 9 Werner von Koppenfels, 'Miroirs flottants: Barocke Naturreflexion im anglofranzosischen Dialog: Die "Poetes libertins," Etienne Binet, Henry Hawkins, und Andrew Marvell,' Poetica 24 (1992): 1-31; English version in New Comparison: A Journal of Comparative and General Literary Studies 19 (1995): 145-66. 10 Fum. L'dge. 11 Von Koppenfels, 'Miroirs flottants,' pp. 16-17; Barbara K. Lewalski, 'Marvell as Religious Poet,' in Approaches to Marvell, ed. C.A. Patrides (London, 1978), p. 262. 12 It is clear that Hawkins knows the ornamental floral sundial; he may even have seen one in Rome. He does not actually describe it but uses it as a metaphor or conceit for the Heliotropion. Therefore, the picture of the Devise of the Heliotropion on page 48 looks different from the real floral horologe reproduced by Pietrasanta and others (a rod or tree with flower-beds and Roman numerals for the hours from one to twelve). See Karl Josef Holtgen, 'Floral Horologes Prior to Marvell's "Garden,"' Notes and Queries 214 (1969): 381-2, and von Koppenfels, 'Miroirs flottants,' pp. 14-15. 13 Pietrasanta, De symbolis, p. 355. 14 Bernhard F. Scholz, The Brevity of Pictures: Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century Views on Counting the Figures in Impresas and Emblems,' in Renaissance Poetics, ed. Plett, pp. 315-37. These rules were originally set forth by Giovio, Ruscelli, and others in the sixteenth century and later summarized by William Drummond of Hawthornden in an undated letter to the Earl of Perth under the title 'A Short Discourse upon Impresa's and Anagrams'; see Drummond's Works (Edinburgh, 1711), pp. 228-9. 15 Theologia symbolica (Mainz, 1626), p. 11. 16 I owe some of these observations to the chapter on Hawkins in Michael Bath's excellent Speaking Pictures: English Emblem Books and Renaissance Culture (London, 1994). 17 Erica Veevers, Images of Love and Religion: Queen Henrietta Maria and Court Entertainments (Cambridge, 1989). 18 Ibid., pp. 127-33 and ill. 24 and 25. 19 Dreistdndige Sinnbilder zu Fruchtbringenden Nutze ... angefertigt durch den Geheimen (Braunschweig, 1643); 'der Geheime' appears to be Franz Julius von dem Knesebeck. The work is dedicated to Prince Ludwig von Anhalt-Kothen, founder of the 'Fruchtbringende Gesellschaft.' 20 For further details see my introduction to The Devout Hart (nl above).

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21 Fran?ois de Sales, A Treatise of the Love of God, trans. Miles Car [Miles Pinkney] (Douai, 1630), p. 336. 22 Johann Rittmeyer, Himmlisches Freuden-Mahl (Luneburg, 1761), preface. After the first edition (Helmstedt, 1648) at least eleven further editions were published. 23 Benjamin Jonson, Timber, or Discoveries, 'De Pictura,' lines 1523-8, in volume 8 of Works, ed. C.J. Herford and P. and E.S. Simpson (Oxford, 1947), p. 610. 24 I am grateful to Dr Henrik von Achen, Historical Museum of the University of Bergen, for information and photocopies. 25 For the Lutheran position on images, see Friedrich Balduin, Aussfiihrlicher und in Gottes Wort wolgegriindeter Bericht von Bildern (Wittenberg, 1621). 26 Friedrich Spec, Guldenes Tugendbuch, 1 vols (1649; Koblenz, 1850), I 63-4, II 272. 27 Richard Glover, The 'Light of the Word,' or Holman Hunt's Great Allegorical Picture Translated into Words (London, 1862). The 'Light of the Word' was an early alternative title of the painting. 28 Robert Stanford, Nicetas, or The Triumph ouer Incontinencie [Rouen, 1633], sig. a2v. This is a translation from Jeremias Drexel, S.J. 29 Letter XXII, 1 December 1881, Correspondence of Gerard Manley Hopkins and Richard Watson Dixon, ed. Claude C. Abbott (Oxford, 1955), p. 95. 30 Ms. Stonyhurst Ang. 4, p. 4, entry 25; see my The Wife of Henry Hawkins' (nl above). 31 Cf. Pierre Janelle, Robert Southwell the Writer (London, 1935), p. 184. 32 See the handsome reprint by the Hand and Flower Press with a valuable introduction by Iain Fletcher (Aldington, Kent, 1950).

29 / Jesuit Casuistry or Jesuit Spirituality? The Roots of Seventeenth-Century British Puritan Practical Divinity JAMES F. KEENAN, S.J.

Five years ago I became interested in the relation between morality and spirituality.1 At that time I came across a type of literature described as Puritan casuistry.2 In secondary sources Puritan casuistry was represented as a unique achievement in the history of Christian ethics because it integrated morality and spirituality. Anyone familiar with the history of Catholic moral theology would delight in this news, since Catholic moral theology had distinguished itself from spirituality, or what has been called devotional or ascetical theology.3 Catholic moral theology was written for priest confessors, to help them understand whether an action was sinful and, if so, its gravity and its appropriate species and penance. This concern of morality with external actions to be avoided contrasted with the thrust of the devotional manuals, which aimed to direct the interior life towards perfection. Both ethicists and historians commenting on the successful Puritan synthesis contended that Puritans appropriated Jesuit casuistry and incorporated their spirituality into it.4 The roots of the integrated Puritan casuistry, commentators claimed, was Jesuit casuistry; the Puritans saw the inadequacy of a moral focus that confined itself to examining actions to be avoided, and added the dispositions for an interior life to be pursued. When I began reading what was called Puritan casuistry, I could not find much casuistry. This Puritan casuistry, which really should be called 'practical divinity,' was not at all like Continental casuistry. For instance, Continental casuistry investigated questions about lies, deception, and equivocation, but the Puritan father of British practical divinity, William Perkins, had no standard cases in 'The Whole Treatise of Cases of Conscience.' Instead he asked, 'What must a man doe, that findes himselfe hard hearted, and of a dead spirit, so as he cannot humble himselfe as he would?' and examined 'how a man may be in conscience assured of his owne salvation.'5 The discernment of one's interiority was not terribly casuistic. In fact, by their own admission and on the evidence of their

628 James F. Keenan, S.J. libraries, British practical divines clearly believed that in all their practical divinity there was little casuistry.6 Commentators developed the idea that British practical divinity was rooted in Jesuit casuistry from remarks made by three later British divines. In 1632, the Puritan William Ames acknowledged an indebtedness to Jesuit casuistry. Thirty years later the Anglican Jeremy Taylor wrote in his Doctor dubitantium (1660), 'But for any public provisions of books of casuistical theology, we were almost wholly unprovided, and like the children of Israel... we were forced to go down to the forges of the Philistines.' Thirteen years after Taylor the Puritan Richard Baxter echoed this sentiment in his Christian Directory? Thus, fifty years after reformed practical divinity began, three British divines who did write casuistry acknowledged that their Jesuit competitors dominated the field. But Ames, Taylor, and Baxter are not the sum total of British practical divinity. Fifty years before Ames wrote, his forebears - Richard Greenham, Edmund Bunny, Richard Rogers, William Perkins, Arthur Dent, Henry Smith, William Gouge, John Dod, and John Downame - wrote practical divinity, not casuistry. Did even Ames, Taylor, and Baxter actually read Jesuit casuistry? Probably not. Taylor and Baxter relied solely on Blaise Pascal's Provincial Letters* Moreover, despite their attacks on the Jesuits' reputed positions, the Reformers' own arguments suggest that they did not realize their own positions were quite similar to those of the Jesuits.9 But whereas British divines apparently did not read Jesuit casuistry, they did read Jesuit devotional texts.10 For instance, in the preface to the first major Puritan treatise on ordinary Christian life, The Seven Treatises (1603), Richard Rogers gave as one reason for his having written the work, 'that the Papists cast in our teeth that wee have nothing set out for the certaine and daily direction of a Christian, when yet they have published (they say) many Treatises of that argument... I grant that there are two which I have scene, set forth by them in our English tongue, the one called a Christian Directorie, the other the Exercise of a Christian life.'11 When Rogers wrote, both Robert Persons's The Christian Directory and Gaspar Loarte's The Exercise of a Christian Life had been in circulation throughout Britain for more than twenty years. Rogers's reference to the Jesuits, then, was hardly made in passing. In his extended preface, in fact, he presented his treatise as an alternative to that of Persons.12 After twenty years of Puritan pamphlets, the first sustained work of practical divinity defines itself not in relation to Jesuit casuistry, but in relation to Jesuit works of devotion. The roots of British practical divinity are found not in the sin manuals of Jesuit casuistry, but in Jesuit ascetical theology.13 The achievement of British practical divinity is not that it grafted a spirituality and an ethics of interiority onto Jesuit casuistry, as

Jesuit Casuistry or Jesuit Spirituality? 629 many supposed; instead, out of devotional works the Puritans developed a moral theology for ordinary life. In order to outline the contribution of Loarte and Persons,14 I must first introduce Luis de Granada. This Portuguese Dominican (1504-88) was one of the first to formulate a method of prayer for the laity; his Of Prayer and Meditation provided fourteen meditations, one for every morning and evening of the week. Originally written in Spanish in 1544, it was translated into English in 1582. It was reprinted for Catholics twice again.15 But in 1592 the Puritan Mr Bannister 'puritanized' it for a Protestant readership, and this edition sold more copies, being reissued in five later printings.16 (To puritanize a text meant to delete any passages that hinted at works righteousness or any other theological position rejected by the Reformers.) In 1565 Luis de Granada wrote A Memoriall of a Christian Life, which was translated into English in 1586 and reprinted on three later occasions. The Memoriall was broken into three parts: the first highlighted the need for conversion; the second provided a lesson of vigilance for the newly converted, or 'beginners'; and the third gave devotional exercises for those who were more advanced. Granada's Memoriall was a thoroughly comprehensive work, then, because it addressed the 'needs' belonging to all three stages of spiritual development: the need for conversion, the need for vigilance proper to the beginner, and the need for specific exercises proper to the one advancing to perfection. These three stages were addressed in various ways throughout devotional literature.17 The Spanish Jesuit Caspar Loarte (1498-1578) wrote The Exercise of a Christian Lifein 1557. This work went through fifteen Continental editions before the end of the century. It was translated into English and published in England in 1579, the year before Robert Persons and Edmund Campion arrived. It too was reprinted on three later occasions, and in 1594 the Puritan Mr Bannister 'puritanized' it for Protestants.18 Loarte's work was successful because it served as a guide for those who were already among the converted but whose journey on the road to perfection was at its beginning stages. Written for the laity, who did not have the assistance of the regimented daily order of religious life, Loarte's Exercise of a Christian Life focused on the second of the three stages of devotional growth.19 Towards this end, Loarte's reader, with a new book in hand for the new life, was provided with six initial warnings: watch your company; avoid idleness, dangerous places, and excess; search out right models; and do not be surprised by temptation (4b-8a). These six warnings became a commonplace in early Puritan writings.20 The genius of Robert Persons was to address those whom Loarte's work would not have reached: that is, those needing conversion, in particular those needing to be converted to a more committed Christian life.21 Originally conceived as the

630 James F. Keenan, SJ. first book of two (Loarte's was obviously the second), Persons's The First Booke of the Christian Exercise, as it was initially called, appeared in 1582. Two years later Persons made major additions. At the same time the Puritan Edmund Bunny 'puritanized' the text. In 1585 Persons, aware of Bunny's actions, issued his third edition, now named A Christian Directory. This edition, amended by Persons, contained a lengthy attack against Bunny and the Puritans. Bunny responded by taking this new edition, attaching his response to it, and later complaining that Persons had never responded to his first reply.22 Persons's own unaltered text went through eight editions published by Catholic printers23 and was translated into French, German, Latin, and Italian; the Italian version itself ran through nine editions.24 Bunny's adaptation of the first and the second editions of Persons's work went through forty-seven editions between 1584 and 1640, and had about twice the sales of either of the two great Puritan classics, Arthur Dent's The Plaine Man's Pathway to Heaven and William Perkins's The Foundation of Christian Religion.25 No Puritan text enjoyed such popularity,26 and no contemporary work of devotion compared with it, 'the most popular book of devotion among both Catholics and Protestants in Elizabethan and Jacobean England.'27 The fact that this Catholic text became 'puritanized' is drenched with irony. It was penned by a Jesuit who sought to reclaim Catholics conforming to the institutional Church of England. It was pirated by a Puritan preacher, Edmund Bunny, who used it not only to answer the needs of his listeners, but also to convince Catholic readers that the differences between Catholics and Reformers were minor. That is, Bunny found the text useful in his attempt to get Catholics to conform to the Church of England.28 Moreover, the Jesuit author, Robert Persons, had been tried for treason against the crown, convicted, and sentenced to death; later, along with Dr William Allen, had organized the missionary effort to England; and lastly, had urged the Spanish invasion of England. No man sought with more passion, conviction, intelligence, and cunning to wrestle the authority of the Reformers away from the crown than Robert Persons; yet his most successful writing achievement not only gave succour to his opponents, but also was used to help devout Catholics in good conscience to accommodate conformity. As one commentator writes, Persons's 'strategy seriously backfired.'29 Why was this work so adaptable?30 Like most devotional works, Persons's work appealed to the individual. Though they have been described as 'dumb preachers,'31 devotional manuals were not like sermon texts heard by attentive congregations. Rather they were received and savoured as they were addressed, to individual readers. The Jesuits were especially inclined to this individual attention, both by their spiritual direction, which encouraged a unique relationship with the Lord,32 and by their moral theology, which defended the individual

Jesuit Casuistry or Jesuit Spirituality? 631 conscience.33 Their devotional manuals supported the powerful introspection that both Jesuit priests and Puritan divines promoted among the people to whom they ministered. Persons's work is divided into two parts. The first is an extended consideration of the need for resolution, because the reader has hitherto ignored the call of Christ. It offers the reader, who has neither a spiritual director nor, evidently, a prayer life, and who has never experienced the Spiritual Exercises, the opportunity of undergoing the same conversion experience that an exercitant encounters during the First Week of those Ignatian Exercises. Such a focus on experience, the self, one's sinfulness, God's bounty, and the terror of God's just judgment resonated with a soul inclined to becoming a devout Catholic. But it was also congruent with the interests of a reader possibly disposed to a Calvinist spirituality of a profoundly Puritan pietistic bent. Uncannily, the deeply introspective yet profoundly relational spiritualities of both traditions approach one another asymptotically, precisely when they stand at opposite ends of the religio-political identity of England at the end of the sixteenth century. Thus readers from either tradition, convinced by Persons of the need for resolution, turn to pursue it in the second part, where they can discern both the impediments which may keep them from resolution and the remedies for removing those obstacles. But unlike the casuistic manuals which addressed solely the confessor, this devotional masterpiece directed lay readers to care for their own souls. Moreover, the remedies were not to avoid specific acts but to fortify vulnerable dispositions, cultivate newer virtuous ones, and root out dangerous, vicious habits. Rather than guiding readers in external actions, as did the manuals of casuistry, the remedies in the second part aim at the same personal and experiential depth as the meditations did in the first part. Though Persons's and Bunny's texts are not identical, the puritanizing was not extensive. While Victor Houliston is right to argue that the authors' different understanding of the relation between good works and justification distinguishes them,34 Brad Gregory is also right to declare that the difference between the two is hardly noticeable: much more than 90 per cent of the text remains intact. But Gregory also argues that both Persons and Bunny held one world-view, 'shared by both groups but dependent on the specifics of neither.'35 That is, Gregory believes that Bunny presented a sanitized Christian spirituality, free of Catholicism. But Bunny has not accessed an 'Ur-Christian spirituality,' as Gregory implies. Rather, Bunny appropriated a very specific expression of Catholic devotional spirituality: an expanded set of meditations that follows the structure, content, and theme of the First Week of the Ignatian Spiritual Exercises and a series of remedies to help one follow through on one's resolution. Against the established Church of England, two very different groups, Jesuit

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priests and Puritan divines, sought to awaken in the hearts of the potentially devout a conversion to Christ. Both groups believed in the priority of God's commandments over the nation's, and both looked at the future life as more important than the present. For these reasons, each sought both remedies for their temptations and exercises for being vigilant; they also sought spiritual nourishment, whether the mass for Catholics or godly preaching for Puritans. Each gave order to their members' lives and, in a time of upheaval, a measure of security, purpose, and vision.36 They provided these services not as preachers of locally established churches. In the absence of toleration, they preached as itinerants, the Jesuits more clandestinely than the Puritans. They addressed individual readers, not large congregations, and they also directed the lone reader to search his or her soul and to turn to the Lord. The call to conversion, like the act itself, was deep but radically singular.37 Let me conclude with three questions. First, why would Calvinists, so easily seen in Geneva as robust extroverted believers, need manuals of introspection in order to discern the assurance of faith or to comfort the afflicted? Unlike other Calvinists, Puritans followed the soteriology of Theodore Beza. While Calvin directed the uncertain Christian to look on the Christ who saves, Beza suggested that the conscience could detect whether or not one enjoyed the faith that saves by discerning the effects of regeneration.38 Second, how could such a Counter-Reformation figure as Robert Persons hold a spirituality that was supportive of the most progressive of the English Reformers? As the first question prompts us to re-examine our presuppositions about Calvinism, the second one prompts us to do the same for Jesuits. Guided by their own experience of the Spiritual Exercises, the first Jesuits sought to awaken in other individuals the same ardent desire to serve Christ that they felt. Jesuit ministry was above all rooted in this experience; they sought not institutional change but personal conversion and growth. Like some of the Reformers, the Jesuits sought the reformation of individuals more than they sought the structural change of the institutional church, as John W. O'Malley has noted.39 Third, if the foundational texts were similar for both Jesuits and Puritans, why do they develop subsequent devotional works differently? Persons's First Booke was not appropriating the entirety of Ignatian spirituality, but only the First Week of the Exercises, that is, the most introspective section and the only 'preconversion' part of the Exercises. After the conversion of the First Week, the Catholic exercitant makes a general confession and begins discerning what his or her specific vocation ought to be. No longer an inconsiderate sinner but an ardent disciple, the exercitant looks with great new-found freedom at his or her relationship with the world, and sees it not as threatening but as the place where God

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works. Puritan spirituality does not go in this direction and is far more at home with the First Week of the Exercises than with any other week. We should note, then, that the Puritans achieved something the Jesuits never did, and that in this respect the Puritans' work in moral literature was considerably more successful than that of their Jesuit forerunners, as we may call them. For from this spiritual foundation the Puritans later developed guidelines not only for removing the impediments to resolution, but also for discerning one's assurance of faith, for living out that faith, for following God's commands, for learning to create a just society both at home and in the wider world. From a spirituality, they developed a morality. Perhaps because the Jesuits continued to support the differentiation of spirituality and morality, of devotional manuals and casuistic ones, they were trapped both by a notion of morality as the avoidance of sin and by a concomitant understanding of sin as something defined in terms of particular acts. In approving this division between spirituality and morality, they left the latter animated by the law, not the Spirit. If the Jesuits had developed a morality out of their spirituality (and out of more of their spiritual foundation than just the First Week), they might have had a remarkable moral theology. NOTES

1 See my essay 'Catholic Moral Theology, Ignatian Spirituality, and Virtue Ethics: Strange Bedfellows,' The Way Supplement: Spirituality and Ethics 88 (1997): 3645. Recent works on the topic include Spirituality and Morality: Integrating Prayer and Action, ed. Dennis Billy and Donna Orsuto (Mahwah, N.J., 1996); James Keating, The Good Life,' Church 11:2 (1995): 15-20; James F. Keenan, 'Morality and Spirituality,' Church 12:3 (1996): 40-2; Mark O'Keefe, Becoming Good, Becoming Holy: On the Relationship of Christian Ethics and Spirituality (Mahwah, N.J., 1995); William Spohn, 'Spirituality and Ethics: Exploring the Connections,' Theological Studies 58 (1997): 109-23. Norbert Kigali is the moral theologian who first recognized the importance of pursuing the relation between the two fields. His essays are numerous; a few salient ones are The Unity of the Moral Order,' Chicago Studies 8 (1969): 125-43; 'Christian Ethics and Perfection,' Chicago Studies 14 (1975): 227-40; The Future of Christian Morality,' Chicago Studies 20 (1981): 281-9; The Unity of Moral and Pastoral Truth,' Chicago Studies 25 (1986): 224-32. 2 On seventeenth-century English casuistry, see Elizabethan Casuistry, ed. Peter Holmes (London, 1981); Holmes, Resistance and Compromise: The Political Thought of the Elizabethan Catholics (New York, 1982); Kevin Kelly, Conscience: Dictator or Guide? A Study in Seventeenth-Century English Protestant Moral Theology (London, 1967); Henry McAdoo, The Structure of Caroline Moral

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Theology (London, 1949), and 'Anglican Moral Theology in the Seventeenth Century,' in The Anglican Moral Choice, ed. P. Elmen (Wilton, 1983), pp. 33-62; John McNeill, 'Casuistry in the Puritan Age,' Religion in Life12 (Winter, 1942-3): 76-89; George Mosse, 'Puritan Political Thought and the "Cases of Conscience,"' Church History 23 (1954): 109-18, and The Holy Pretence (New York, 1968); Elliot Rose, Cases of Conscience: Alternatives Open to Recusants and Puritans under Elizabeth I and James I (New York, 1975); Thomas Wood, English Casuistical Divinity during the Seventeenth Century (London, 1952). For more recent works, see James F. Keenan, 'William Perkins (1558-1602) and the Birth of British Casuistry,' in Context of Casuistry, ed. J. Keenan and T. Shannon (Washington, 1995), pp. 105-30, and 'Casuistry,' in The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Reformation, ed. Hans J. Hillerbrand, 4 vols (New York, 1996), I 272-4; Richard Miller, 'Moral Sources, Ordinary Life, and Truth-telling in Jeremy Taylor's Casuistry,' in Context, ed. Keenan and Shannon, pp. 131-58; Margaret Sampson, 'Laxity and Liberty in Seventeenth-Century English Political Thought,' in Conscience and Casuistry in Early Modern Europe, ed. Edmund Leites (New York, 1988), pp. 72-118; Johann P. Sommerville, The "New Art of Lying": Equivocation, Mental Reservation, and Casuistry,' in Conscience, ed. Leites, pp. 159-84. 3 In 1908, in the first manual written in English, the Jesuit Thomas Slater wrote that the manuals of moral theology were 'technical works intended to help the confessor and the parish priest in the discharge of their duties. They are as technical as the text-books of the lawyer and the doctor. They are not intended for edification, nor do they hold up a high ideal of Christian perfection for the imitation of the faithful. They deal with what is of obligation under pain of sin; they are books of moral pathology'; A Manual of Moral Theology, 2nd ed., 2 vols (New York, 1908), I 5-6. Likewise, thirty years later the Jesuit moralist Henry Davis wrote at the beginning of his four-volume work: 'It is precisely about the law that Moral Theology is concerned. It is not a mirror of perfection, showing man the way of perfection'; Moral and Pastoral Theology (London, 1941), I 4. 4 See McAdoo, The Structure, which discusses casuistry on pp. 64-97, and compares Protestant writings only with works of casuistry, ignoring any comparison with devotional sources. See also his 'Anglican Moral Theology in the Seventeenth Century,' pp. 33-62. Wood responds to McAdoo's work, with its singular focus on 'Anglican' writers, and provides in his writings a study of Puritan writers, but again presumes comparison only with casuistry; Mosse, The Holy Pretence, does likewise. When Kevin Kelly turned to the insights of Anglican and/or Puritan writings as a remedy for Catholic moral theology, he did not investigate the Catholic devotional writings that were prior to or contemporary with his Protestant heroes, in his otherwise brilliant book Conscience: Dictator or Guide? F. Ernest Stoeffler describes Edmund Bunny editing the 'casuistry' of Robert Persons in The

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Rise of Evangelical Pietism (Leiden, 1965), p. 60. Margaret Sampson also restricts herself to a comparison of the British divines with the Jesuits as casuists in 'Laxity and Liberty.' I, too, influenced by these writers, read the Protestant texts with the same blinders, seeing Roman Catholic casuistry as the only relative of Puritan practical divinity, in 'William Perkins,' pp. 105-14. Historians like Holmes, McNeill, and Rose operate on the same assumption. William Perkins, The Whole Treatise of Cases of Conscience,' in William Perkins, 1558-1602: English Puritanist, ed. Thomas Merrill (Nieuwkoop, 1966), pp. 103, 111. It has been noted that in 1672, for instance, in the British divinity curricula, English Protestants had only William Ames, the Wittenberg Lutheran professor Frederick Baldwin, and the Anglican Bishop Sanderson to turn to for casuistry; Kenneth Kirk, Conscience and Its Problems: An Introduction to Casuistry (New York, 1948), pp. 106-7. Likewise an inventory of British university libraries at that time shows that the standard texts of casuistry are European Roman Catholic, predominantly Jesuit; see J.C. Aveling, 'The English Clergy, Catholic and Protestant, in the 16th and 17th Centuries,' in Rome and the Anglicans, ed. Wolfgang Haase (New York, 1982), pp. 55-142, at 123. William Ames wrote in De conscientia, 'The children of Israel should not need to goe downe to the Philistines'; quoted in Wood, English Casuistical Divinity, pp. 39^0. See Wood, English Casuistical Divinity, pp. 60-1, 106-7, and also James Brodrick, The Economic Morals of the Jesuits (London, 1934). See Sommerville's argument that the Protestant tradition on lying was either identical to or more relativistic than the Catholic position, in The "New Art of Lying,"' pp. 159-84. See also Mosse, The Holy Pretence, pp. 48-67. On overall Jesuit influence in Britain, see Jean Delumeau, 'Prescription and Reality,' in Conscience, ed. Leites, pp. 134-58. J.C. Aveling notes, 'Pamphleteers amongst moderate Catholics and Anglicans were agreed that Jesuits and Puritans were tarred with the same brush,' in The English Clergy,' p. 95; see also D.M. Loades, 'Relations between the Anglican and Roman Catholic Churches in the 16th and 17th Centuries,' in Rome and the Anglicans, ed. Haase, pp. 1-53; given the antipathy towards the Jesuits, it is remarkable that they had any influence. On antiJesuit sentiment, see Catholic opinion in E.J. Mahoney, The Theological Position of Gregory Sayrus, O.S.B., 1560-1602 (Ware, 1922), and Puritan opinion in Wood, English Casuistical Divinity, pp. 59-63, 103-8. Rogers adds: The first is nothing lesse than a direction for a Christian, though it be called a Directorie, tending rather to perswade men to resolve with themselves to leave some grosse evils, then to show them soundly how to attaine pardon, or teaching how to live Christianly: the other is a ridiculous tying men to a daily taske;

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but indeed nothing lesse than a daily directing, after the wille of God, him who desires to lead a Christian life. Both of them I dare boldly affirme, being deceived themselves doe deceive others especially'; Richard Rogers, The Seven Treatises, Containing Directions Out of Scripture, Leading to True Happiness, 3rd ed. (London, 1610), fifth page of preface. Ibid., fifth to tenth pages of preface. Patrick McGrath mentioned in passing that research needed to be done on the influence of Catholic devotional literature on British practical divinity in his Papists and Puritans under Elizabeth I (London, 1967), pp. 384-406. Elizabeth Hudson remarked that no historian had followed up on McGrath's suggestion in her influential essay 'The Catholic Challenge to Puritan Piety, 1580-1620,' Catholic Historical Review 77 (1991): 1-20. Charles Hambrick-Stowe is the only scholar other than Hudson who acknowledges the importance of contemporary Catholic devotional writings, but after a brief two pages he abandons any interest in them; The Practice of Piety: Puritan Devotional Disciplines in Seventeenth-Century New England (Chapel Hill, 1982). Even outstanding studies of New England Puritan spiritual writers look only to their British Protestant forebears. For instance, Norman Pettit does not consider whether the English preparationists were at all a part of or related to a broader British devotional movement, in The Heart Prepared: Grace and Conversion in Puritan Spiritual Life, 2nd ed. (Middletown, Conn., 1989). On English devotional literature, see Elizabeth Hudson, 'English Protestants and the Imitatio Christi, 1580-1620,' Sixteenth Century Journal 19 (1988): 541-58; John Roberts, A Critical Anthology of English Recusant Devotional Prose, 15581603 (Pittsburgh, 1966); A.C. Southern, Elizabethan Recusant Prose, 1559-1582 (London, 1949); Helen White, English Devotional Literature, 1606-1640 (Madison, 1951); idem, The Tudor Books of Private Devotion (Madison, 1951); idem, Tudor Books of Saints and Martyrs (Madison, 1963). When the missionaries first arrived in 1574, they brought with them books of spiritual comfort from the Continent. Six years later, when Robert Persons arrived in England with Edmund Campion, he set up the secret Greenstreet House press, with Stephen Brinkley (who had already published Caspar Loarte's work). Brinkley's press, like others, provided a devotional foundation for Catholics. See Southern, Elizabethan Recusant Prose, pp. 207-10, 347-63. Luis de Granada, Of Prayer and Meditation (Paris, 1582); reprinted in the Scolar Press English Recusant Literature series, no. 64 (Menston, 1971). On the publishing history, see Anthony Francis Allison and David Rogers, A Catalogue of Catholic Books in English Printed Abroad or Secretly in England, 1558-1640 (Bognor Regis, 1956), p. 88. See also Alvaro Huerga, 'Louis de Grenade,' in DS 9:1043-54; Alvaro Huerga, Fray Luis de Granada: Una vida al servicio de la Iglesia (Madrid, 1988).

Jesuit Casuistry or Jesuit Spirituality? 637 16 In 1596, 1599, 1601, 1602, and 1611; see A.W. Pollard and G.R. Redgrave, A Short-Title Catalogue of Books Printed in England, Scotland, and Ireland, 14751640, 2 vols (London, 1976), II 122. 17 The first four treatises appear in Luis de Granada, A Memoriall of a Christian Life (Rouen, 1586); reprinted in the Scolar Press English Recusant Literature series, no. 272 (London, 1975). The last treatise appears as 'Treatise of the Love of God,' in Six Bookes Ful of Marvelous Pietie and Devotion (London, 1611); reprinted in the English Recusant Literature series, no. 343 (London, 1977). 18 Gaspar Loarte, The Exercise of a Christian Life (London, 1579); reprinted in the Scolar Press English Recusant Literature series, no. 44 (Menston, 1970). Its Continental editions were nine Italian, two Spanish, one Catalan, and three French. In English, it was published in 1579 by Stephen Brinkley, reprinted by Persons's press in Rouen in 1584, secretly reprinted in England in 1596, and revised by Stephen Brinkley again in 1610. Bibliographical material is from Manuel Ruiz Jurado, •Loarte,' in DS 9:950-1, and Pollard and Redgrave, Short-Title Catalogue, II 108. 19 On related Jesuit ascetical instruction of lay colleagues, see John W. O'Malley, 'Early Jesuit Spirituality: Spain and Italy,' in Christian Spirituality: Post Reformation and Modern, ed. Louis Dupre and Donald Saliers (New York, 1989), pp. 3-27. 20 Loarte's The Exercise begins, 'For that, as Augustine saieth, it is not possible for ani man to beginne a newe and laudable life, but if he firste forsake and utterly detest his former loose and lewd life' (la). To achieve this departure from the former life, the general confession helped 'greatly, aswel to cancel and cleere al old reckoninigs of thy former life (Being fully bent henceforth to live a newe, and to beginne a newe booke)' (Ib). 21 John Gerard writes that he sought out Robert Persons in Rouen, where Persons was secretly staying after returning from England and trying to write the Christian Directory; Gerard describes the work as 'a most useful and wonderful book which I believe has converted more souls to God than it contains pages,' in The Autobiography of a Hunted Priest, trans. Philip Caraman (Chicago, 1988), p. 13. Likewise in his 1607 edition, Persons acknowledged great success - that God 'hath byn content to use it as an externall meane, with the cooperation of his inward grace, to recall divers from the damnable estate of sinne and wicked life unto his favour and service'; Robert Persons, A Christian Directory, 1607 edition, reprinted in the Scolar Press English Recusant Literature series, no. 41 (Menston, 1970), 3b. On Persons see Francis Edwards, Robert Persons (St Louis, 1995); Joseph Crehan, 'Fr. Persons, S.J.,' in English Spiritual Writers, ed. Charles Davis (London, 1961), pp. 84-96. On Persons's written positions regarding the queen, see Thomas Clancy, 'English Catholics and the Papal Deposing Power, 1570-1640,' Recusant History 6 (1960): 114-40, 205-27; 7 (1961): 2-10. On the extraordinary antipathy felt towards him, see Victor Houliston, 'The Fabrication of the Myth of Father

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28

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Parsons,' Recusant History 22 (1974): 141-51. Finally, on his own change regarding political efforts after the death of Campion, see John Bossy, 'The Society of Jesus in the Wars of Religion,' in Monastic Studies: The Continuity of Tradition, ed. Judith Loades (Bangor, 1990), pp. 229-44, and The Heart of Robert Persons,' in The Reckoned Expense: Edmund Campion and the Early English Jesuits, ed. Thomas McCoog (Woodbridge, England, 1996), pp. 141-58. Peter Milward, Religious Controversies of the Elizabethan Age: A Survey of Printed Sources (London, 1977), pp. 73-6. Pollard and Redgrave, Short-Title Catalogue, II 217-18. Letters and Memorials of Father Robert Parsons, ed. L. Hicks (London, 1942), p. xliv. Brad Gregory, 'The "True and Zealous Service of God": Robert Parsons, Edmund Bunny, and The First Booke of the Christian Exercise,' Journal of Ecclesiastical History 45 (1994): 238-68, at 239. In fact Bunny's printers petitioned the Privy Council in 1585 (after having issued fifteen editions that year!), complaining that another publisher was printing copies at Oxford and thereby interfering with 'the most vendible copy that happened in our company these many years [, which] would have kept us in work for a long time'; Herbert Thurston, 'Catholic Writers and Elizabethan Readers,' The Month 87 (1894): 457-76, at 468. Milward, Religious Controversies, 73^; Helen White calls it 'incomparably the most popular book of spiritual guidance in sixteenth-century England' (The Tudor Books of Saints and Martyrs, p. 205). Appending his 'Treatise toward Pacification' to The First Booke, Bunny wrote: 'I have added this other Treatise withal; so to bring before their eies, how the case for that matter doth stand betwixt us, and how little cause there is for them to be afraid of our profession as som hav born them in hand that they ought: trusting withal, that as they do already agree with us in manie points of great importance; so they can be content to condescend unto us in the rest likewise, if it may appeer unto them, that in so doing they shal do no otherwise, than as of conscience, and dutie they ought' (A3a). Bunny sought 'to exhort those that are not yet persuaded, to join with us likewise in the truth of Religion' (A2a); Edmund Bunny, A Booke of Christian exercise appertaining to Resolution, that is shewing how that we should resolv our selves to become Christians in deed: by R.P. Perused, and accompanied now with a Treatise tending to Pacification (London, 1585). See 'Bunny, Edmund,' in The Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford, 1973), III 271-2; Nancy Lee Beaty, The Craft of Dying: A Study in the Literary Tradition of the Ars moriendi in England (New Haven, 1970), pp. 157-96. Gregory, 'The "True and Zealous Service of God,"' p. 267. Persons's and Bunny's work was in its turn adaptable. Emanuel Sonthom's

Jesuit Casuistry or Jesuit Spirituality? 639

31 32

33

34

35 36

37

38

Gueldenes Kleinod der Kinder Gottes (Frankfurt, 1612), one of the most famous books in the German Lutheran and pietist tradition, is nothing more than a translation of Bunny's work. See the important discovery by Karl Josef Holtgen, 'Die Losung des alten Ratsels: Emanuel Sonthom, Das Guldene Kleinod und das englische Original,' Anglia: Zeitschrift fiir englische Philologie 100 (1982): 357-72. For the influence of English devotional literature on seventeenth-century German piety, see A Catalog of British Devotional and Religious Books in German Translation from the Reformation to 1750, ed. Edgar McKenzie (Berlin, 1997); Udo Straeter, Sonthom, Bayly, Dyke, und Hall: Studien zur Reception der englischen Erbaungsliteratur in Deutschland im 17. Jahrhundert (Tubingen, 1987). E.g. Roberts, A Critical Anthology, p. 5. This took particular expression in the warning in the Spiritual Exercises that the director ought never get between the exercitant and the Lord, and rather should 'permit the Creator to deal directly with the creature, and the creature directly with his Creator and Lord'; Louis Puhl, The Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius: A New Translation Based on Studies in the Language of the Autograph (Westminster, Md., 1957), p. 6 (#15). O'M. First, pp. 136-52. Persons, in particular, stressed the individual conscience both in his Brief Discours and, later, in the Memoriall. On Christian individualism and Jesuit spirituality as well as Persons's own defence of the conscience, see Thomas Clancy, 'Notes on Persons's Memoriall for the Reformation of England (1596),' Recusant History 5 (1959): 17-34, especially 26-7, and Papist Pamphleteers: The Allen-Persons Party and the Political Thought of the Counter-Reformation in England, 1572-1615 (Chicago, 1964), pp. 142-58. Victor Houliston, 'Why Robert Persons Would Not Be Pacified: Edmund Bunny's Theft of The Book of Resolution,' in The Reckoned Expense, ed. McCoog, pp. 15978. Gregory, The "True and Zealous Service of God,"' p. 267. McGrath, Papists and Puritans under Elizabeth 1 (n!3 above), pp. 384-90. On the stability that conversion offered Puritans, see Michael Walzer, The Revolution of the Saints (Cambridge, Mass., 1965). Charles Cohen in his study of Puritan conversion notes that 'conversion transformed single unregenerates into members of communities dedicated to opposing ungodliness.' But 'conversion became less the initiation into a group charged with a holy mission than a private act of supreme individual importance'; God's Caress: The Psychology of Puritan Religious Experience (New York, 1986), pp. 273-4. Cohen writes: 'The path of assurance, which for Calvin ascends from the believer to the Redeemer at God's right hand, for Beza descends back into the self, a change of direction fraught with implications for thinking about conversion. The emphatic link between grace and works, identifying the performance of holy duties as a pre-

640 James F. Keenan, S.J. eminent sign of election, transforms assurance from a concomitant of faith into an act of perception, and in so doing generates an increased concern with states of mind as indicators of conversion's progress.' He continues: 'Election is revealed not in Christ but in thoughts and affections, the moods and motives that plot the Spirit's passage - in which case it behooves the evangelist intent on breeding Saints to study these internal phenomena and exhibit them for the edification of the regenerates who crave assurance and, by extension, of people not yet regenerate who wish to understand how grace proceeds.' He concludes, 'By the end of the sixteenth century the Spiritual Brotherhood had clothed Reformed soteriology in a distinctive experiential dress' (ibid., p. 11). See also Cohen's 'The Saints Zealous in Love and Labor: The Puritan Psychology of Work,' Harvard Theological Review 76 (1983): 455-80. 39 John W. O'Malley writes: 'Although the first Jesuits rarely indeed spoke about reform of the Church, they with some regularity used the term reformatio. By it they meant two things. Sometimes it referred to their work in helping convents elect better superiors and otherwise deal with their morale and religious observance. Much more often it referred to the change of heart in individuals through the Spiritual Exercises and the other ministries in which the Jesuits were engaged. It meant conversion'; 'Was Ignatius Loyola a Church Reformer? How to Look at Early Modern Catholicism,' Catholic Historical Review 77 (1991): 177-93, at 182.

30 / The Use of Music by the Jesuits in the Conversion of the Indigenous Peoples of Brazil PAULO CASTAGNA

Introduction From the time of their arrival in Brazil in 1549 until their expulsion in 1759, the Jesuits made extensive use of music in their attempt to bring about the conversion of the Indians to the Catholic faith. They used music in two ways. The first, intended as a means of teaching basic Christian doctrine, was to have the Indians sing prayers or didactic texts in Portuguese or the native Indian language to melodies taken from existing plainchants or secular songs (the Portuguese cantigas}. The second, developed for the celebration of masses or offices and for use in processions, was to have the Indians participate as singers and instrumentalists in performances of polyphonic music of Iberian origin. In spite of the fact that all the plainchants and secular songs have been lost, some documents have remained from the period that allow us to reconstruct the history of the Jesuit practice and the forms adopted. Even though the apostolic objectives of the Jesuits in Spanish and in Portuguese America were the same, the results arrived at within the two regions were completely different. The economic thrust of the colonization process in the Portuguese regions of America - manifest in the setting aside of large parcels of land for growing sugar cane and breeding cattle; in the capture and selling of Indian slaves by slave hunters (bandeirantes);and in the wars against the Dutch and against hostile Indians - resulted in the extinction of the American natives on the Brazilian coast during the seventeenth century. The exploitation of precious materials such as gold and diamonds which began in the late seventeenth century created an economic boom in the area of Minas Gerais and substantially increased the number of pioneers in Brazil. These pioneers were for the most part the Portuguese and their African slaves, who pushed the few Indians that still remained to the centre and north of the jungles. Whereas in Spanish America

642 Paulo Castagna today mestizos or native Indians make up a large part of the population, in Brazil most of the inhabitants of the big cities are of European and/or African descent. The largest concentration of Indians and mestizos in Brazil is in the centre-west and north of the country. These are regions, still dominated by tropical forests, which were not economically important in the colonial era. The Jesuits who arrived in Brazil in 1549 to proselytize the natives faced two principal problems: first, the strong resistance of the Indians to the conversion process until the early seventeenth century, and second, the actual disappearance in the late seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries of indigenous cultures in consequence of the advance of colonization. The Brazilian Indians also lived with two problems: first, the loss of their culture owing to the Christian ideal promoted by the missionaries, and second, the submission to European colonization through slavery, death, or expulsion from their native lands. The history of the Jesuits in Portuguese America began on 29 March 1549 with the settlement of four missionaries in Bahia, among them Manoel da Nobrega, the first Father Provincial of the Society in Brazil. Other orders had sent missionaries to Portuguese America, but it was the Jesuits who became most involved in the catechesis of the Indians, and they maintained their presence in that ministry until 1759, when they were forced to leave all Portuguese regions throughout the world. From the beginning, the missionaries used music in the first of the two ways to which I have referred - a practice which continues to this day in inland Brazil - that is, as a teaching of prayers and anthems in their own or the Portuguese (or other European) language. The teaching of music itself during the pre-suppression era in Brazil was significant and played an important role in Jesuit ministry to the Indians. Documentation about the Jesuits in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries informs us that in native Brazilian settlements the Indians were trained to play musical instruments and to sing plainchant (cantochao) and polyphony (canto de orgdo) for important parts of the Christian ceremonies. At the beginning of the seventeenth century, when the number of coastal settlements began to decline, the nheengaribas, or 'musicians of the land,' as they would become known by the Portuguese, were young Indians who, using their own musical instruments, especially the shawm, spread the music of the Christian cults from settlement to settlement. On the Brazilian coast, however, the large musical tradition was not recorded, nor was there any significant preservation of musical documents related to the Jesuit period. This was in contrast to the better-preserved musical documentation of the seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Jesuit missions of Spanish America. It may be explained by the disappearance of the natives from the coast of Brazil, beginning in the seventeenth century. In this paper, however, I am especially interested in the teaching of songs at

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Jesuit schools and Indian settlements, whereby the cummins (Indian boys) received elementary knowledge of the Christian faith and life. This way of using music in effect brought about the replacement of traditional native music with an essentially Christian repertory, so that an element of the native culture of the Indians was lost.1 Whereas the function of the great ceremonies, with their singers, choirs, and instruments, was to show the exuberance of the Christian universe, the function of these simple anthems, usually sung in the native language, was to transmit the principal Christian symbols and mysteries in a fashion that was unambiguous. The Jesuits and the Brazilian Language Tupi, the native Brazilian language in most widespread use, was soon adopted by the Jesuits. On 10 April 1549, only twelve days after his arrival, Manoel da Nobrega noted that he was working 'to translate into the Indian language the prayers and some anthems of our Lord.'2 On 6 January 1550, while in Porto Seguro, Nobrega wrote that his colleague Father Joao de Azpilcueta 'Navarro' 'made the Indian boys sing at night some prayers which he had taught them in their language, giving them that tune in place of certain diabolical and lascivious songs which they had used before.'3 Nobrega's statement shows that even at that early date Navarro was composing or adapting existing European melodies and setting to them words in the Indian language. Navarro was, in fact, the first Jesuit dedicated to this new practice of teaching by means of songs. From a letter he wrote from Bahia on 28 March 1550, we know that he taught prayers in both Portuguese and Tupi, and also 'in the style of Indian songs,'4 that is, with Indian melodies. Very quickly these prayers were used as practical instruments of catechesis. They could be found in the settlements of Pernambuco in 1551,5 Rio de Janeiro in 1552,6 Sao Vicente in 1553,7 and Piratininga (today Sao Paulo)8 and Espirito Santo in 1554.9 Portuguese versions helped the Indians learn the new language, and Tupi versions helped them acquire Christian content. Not only prayers but also 'the chants to our Lord in the Indian language'10 were easily learned and well received by the 'boys of the land.' It was most likely through this technique that the Jesuits achieved their greatest success in teaching Christian doctrine during the sixteenth century, especially since the difficulties of making or maintaining contact with the Indians were always present and the goal of conversion in Brazil remained a very distant ideal. Few significant results were obtained, though Nobrega refers to two boys who 'can read, write well, and also sing,' whom he planned to send to Lisbon, 'to learn the virtues there over the course of a year, as well as a little Latin, so that they will

644 Paulo Castagna be ready to be ordained when adult.'11 Most of the time what was learned was forgotten, because the Indians would escape back into their own culture. But there were a few Indian boys, if we can believe the contemporary documentation, who were able to learn the Catholic musical tradition as observed in Portuguese churches. The documents show that in 1551 there were Indian boys who 'could sing at mass every day,'12 others who could sing 'polyphonic masses,'13 and some others who could learn 'to sing, or play flutes.'14 These results were surprising, especially in the sixteenth century, but unfortunately I will be able to examine them only in future works. Manoel da Nobrega and the Option of Christian Music in the Catechism In the beginning, the practice of using songs in Portuguese andTupi for catechesis was very efficient, but Nobrega and his followers encountered several problems from 1552 on. Pedro Fernandes Sardinha, the first bishop of Brazil, who arrived in Bahia in October 1551, did not accept the use of traditional Indian music in the catechism. In July 1552 Bishop Sardinha wrote to the Jesuit Father Provincial of Portugal, Simao Rodrigues, condemning this practice on the part of the Portuguese Orphan Youths, a confraternity of boys that had come from Lisbon in the beginning of 1550.15 The bishop informed the provincial that in the company of Father Salvador Rodrigues the Orphan Youths had sung anthems to Our Lady on Sundays and holy days using Indian melodies and Indian instruments. Nobrega, in his turn, wrote to the provincial about the opinion of the bishop, declaring that 'nothing is well done except what he orders, and he despises all the rest.'16 Whether he agreed or not, Nobrega knew that there were two forms of musical teaching in Bahia, one which used 'chants in Indian languages and in Portuguese' (in the words of Francisco Pires on 7 August 1552),17 and the other, which involved 'singing and playing in the style of the Indians, with their melodies and tunes, changing the words in favour of our Lord' (in the words of the Portuguese Orphan Youths, on 5 August 1552).18 There is no doubt that the Confraternity of Orphan Youths was responsible for the diffusion of this practice, even though the bishop would accuse Father Salvador Rodrigues and the Portuguese settler Caspar Barbosa of being the inventors of this 'curious and superstitious form of paganism.'19 From the letter of 5 August we may conclude that the Portuguese Youths took prayers, songs with lyrics, and Christian melodies to the Indian settlements, since they refer to 'music never heard before' and music 'in their style,' with bamboo and maracas (an Indian percussion instrument); that is, they refer to the use of Christian lyrics with Indian music, thereby substantiating Sardinha's claim.20 The Orphan Youths continually asked for flutes and small percussion instruments to be sent from Portugal to help them in their activities.

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Shortly after this, Nobrega wrote again to Simao Rodrigues asking for more advice on this matter, because 'when the bishop arrived, some doubts appeared, which beforehand had not existed.' Among all the problems to discuss, he singles out one - the possibility of singing 'songs to our Lord in their language, with their melodies, and of playing instruments they usually play in their festivities.'21 We do not have the answer of the provincial, but it is almost certain that the idea of using Indian instruments and melodies was not well accepted in Portugal, since the matter is not mentioned again, even after the death of the bishop. Following this incident, Indian dances and music were forbidden on several occasions, as shown in documents of the village of Sao Paulo dated 19 January 158322 and 21 October 1623,23 or were permitted only on specific days and at specific times, such as on the 'visit of Father Antonio Vieira to Para' in 1658.24 Plainchant and Songs in the 'Brazilian Language' It seems that from 1553 on, the use only of Christian music was permitted in Jesuit establishments in Brazil. Indian music was used solely to emphasize information that would help with the catechism. On 6 October 1553 Bishop Sardinha informed the dean of the College of Santo Antao in Lisbon that he had written a 'little treatise' on this subject; it is now unfortunately lost.25 To try to recover this Christian music, used only on specified occasions in the form of Portuguese plainchant, is an extremely difficult process, and one which I will not outline in this work. Some texts inTupi are already known, however, though they have not been adequately studied from a musicological perspective. In October 1552 Jeronimo Domenech sent a version of the 'Paternoster in the Brazilian language' to Ignatius of Loyola,26 which unfortunately was never found. However, a few religious texts in Tupi from this first phase of the catechism were printed by Andre Thevet, the geographer of the king of France, in his Cosmographie universelle of 1575 (fig. 30.1). Thevet was in Rio de Janeiro between 10 November 1555 and 31 January 1556, where he met Cunhambeba, a chief of the Tupmamba Indians, allied to the French. Because of the chief's curiosity, Thevet notes, he was pressed upon to 'translate into their own language, with the help of a Christian Indian slave, the Our Father, the Hail Mary, and the Apostles' Creed, aiming to convert the king and his vassals to the knowledge and admiration of God's works.'27 We have to remember that the French did not introduce any kind of catechism in Rio de Janeiro, and that the Jesuits had already been there with the Indians, where in 1552 they intended to 'make the Indians learn to sing by heart songs to our Lord in their own language.'28 Thevet probably obtained Jesuit versions of the principal texts used in the catechism he heard from an Indian,29 or from the Jesuit

646 Paulo Castagna

30.1. Title-page of Andre Thevet, La cosmographie universelle, vol. 2 (Paris, 1575). Photo courtesy of Institute de Estudos Brasileiros da Universidade de Sao Paulo.

missionaries, or perhaps even from his Christian slave. Whether of Jesuit origin or not, these are the oldest versions in existence of the Our Father, the Hail Mary, and the Apostles' Creed in Tupf (fig. 30.2). At this time a new phase began, with the increased use of prayers andcantigas, a kind of Portuguese profane song, but now with new Christian lyrics and usually translated intoTupi. These songs were different from prayers sung in plainchant, because they used measured melodies, implying the use of the basso continue. It is from this era that there are references to 'chants of our Lord in their

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30.2. Texts of the Our Father, Hail Mary, and Apostles' Creed in Tupi, the most important Brazilian Indian language in the sixteenth century. From Thevet, Cosmographie universelle, fol. 925r. Photo courtesy of Institute de Estudos Brasileiros da Universidade de Sao Paulo.

648 Paulo Castagna language,'30 'Salve Regina and litanies,'31 the 'Rosary of the Name of Jesus,'32 'devotional chants,' and 'Veni Creator Spiritus.'33 These are over and above the usual music for masses and festivals, which included the use of instruments. Father Jose de Anchieta had an extremely important role in this phase in Brazil during the years 1553 to 1597. His first biographer, Father Quiricio Caxa, informs us (in 1598) that 'he composed devout songs in the Indian language for the young to sing,'34 and Pedro Rodrigues wrote in 1607 that 'he would change profane music to holy music and composed new songs in honour of God and the saints, which were sung in churches, streets, and squares, and with which people are edified and know the fear and love of God.'35 A great amount of poetry by Anchieta has survived and has been published.36 A great deal of this poetry, in Portuguese, Tupi, Spanish, and Latin, was meant to be sung. In seventeenth-century documents consulted in the course of Anchieta's beatification process, there is information about people who spoke of having sung these tunes.37 Most important here is the fact that some of this poetry contained indications of the melody to be used. Anchieta indicated five Iberian melodies, of which we only know the titles: 'Can§ao do moleiro' (Miller's Song), 'El ciego amor' (Blind Love), 'Graci G.co G.tz' (abbreviations of unknown meaning), 'O sem ventura' (The Man without Luck), 'Querendo o alto Deus' (Will of God), and 'Quien tiene vida en el cielo' (He Who Lives in Heaven). Anchieta mentions only existing melodies, and his doing so suggests that it was common practice in the sixteenth century to make use of what was already in existence. The Brazilian musicologist Rogerio Budasz has recently demonstrated that even in the poetry without any melodic indications the process by which some texts were constructed, known as 'divinization,' enables us to suggest melodies to which the poetry might have been sung. It was recently found that poetry in some Spanish and Portuguese song collections was changed in the sixteenth century, by this process of 'divinization,' so that its profane content became religious. Anchieta, for his part, transformed the Iberian 'Venid a sospirar al verde prado' into 'Venid a sospirar con Jesu amado,' and he probably maintained the original melody.38 Catechisms in the 'Brazilian Language' The proliferation of this style and the need for its systematization caused an increased production of catechism books in Tupi for the use of missionaries in the 1570s. An unknown sixteenth-century author informs us that 'Father Leonardo do Vale composed this year [1574] a work of Christian doctrine in the language of Brazil, almost transcribing what Father Marcos Jorge had already done [in

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1571].'39 Writing about the Indians of the villages of Bahia on 17 December 1577, Luis da Fonseca declared that 'on Sundays and holy days, the Indian children sing the catechism in Brazilian and in Portuguese in the streets, and do as good a job as the Portuguese Youths.'40 Jose de Anchieta had an important role in this process. By the end of the sixteenth century he had prepared a grammar of the Brazilian language and a work of Christian doctrine in the form of dialogues,41 the publication of which was authorized by the Holy Office in 1594. Only the grammar book, however, was published.42 The first catechism in the language of the Indians of Brazil, edited by Antonio de Araujo and called Catechism in the Brazilian Language (Catecismo na lingua brasilica ...), was not published until 1618.43 It was republished in 1686 with corrections and revisions by Bartolomeo de Leao as The Brazilian Catechism of Christian Doctrine (Catecismo brasilico da doutrina christd ...).44 This book contains the principal Catholic prayers, such as the Our Father, Hail Mary, Hail, Holy Queen, and Apostles' Creed, in Tupi - these were usually sung by the Indian boys - and also the text of four 'Canticles of Holy Doctrine in Indian Language for Youths, Issued by Father Cristovao Valente, Theologian and Master in the Indian Language.'45 In the 1686 edition, the new title is 'Brazilian Poetry by Father Cristovao Valente, Jesuit Theologian, Composed for Boys to Sing to the Most Holy Name of Jesus.'46 These songs, similar to those of Anchieta, were circulated widely. In 1698, eighty years after its first publication in Lisbon, Joao Felipe Bettendorf wrote that one of them, Tvpa ci angaturama / Sancta Maria xejara,' was still being sung in some villages of Para.47 During the time of Cristovao Valente (1566-1627), chants and prayers in Tupi were commonly used by the Jesuits in the Indian settlements, as indicated by authors such as Pierre du Jarric in 161048 and Sebastiano Berettari in 1618.49 New Orders and New Places In the seventeenth century the Jesuit mission practice with respect to music began to move from the east coast to the interior and to the north. In Maranhao, which had independence from Brazil after 1621, the missionaries began to teach the Indians 'the dogmas of our faith, which were brought from the Brazilian Indian settlements, where they were already being taught,' according to Jose de Moraes in 1759.50 The same author also comments that in Para in 1637 Father Luis Figueira, who 'wanted the Jesuits to be less severe in their teaching of Christian law, composed the Christian doctrine in Indian songs, so that the Indians could pray to our God, to Our Lady, to the angels, and to the saints.'51 Andre de Barros informs us in 1746 that among the Indians of 'Serra de Ibiapaba'

650 Paulo Castagna (Ceara) in 1656-7, the missionaries 'composed the holy doctrine in lyrics and would teach the small children to sing it in a very pleasant way.'52 Joao Felipe Bettendorf was the last Jesuit of the century to publish a catechism in Tupi, designated for teaching in Maranhao, the Compendia da doutrina christad na lingua portugueza, & brasilica (Book of Christian Doctrine in the Portuguese and Brazilian Language), of 1678.53 It contains the Sign of the Cross, Our Father, Hail Mary, Hail, Holy Queen, and Apostles' Creed in a Portuguese-Tupi bilingual edition.54 In this century the Jesuit enterprise penetrated inland not only to expand the faith among the natives: on the east coast, the dream of 'conversion' was becoming little by little a dead hope, forcing the Jesuits to search for new places. The historian Mecenas Dourado best illustrates the drama of the Jesuits in Brazil at this time: At the beginning of the seventeenth century, there were no more Indians to catechize, because they had emigrated, run away from this doctrine, which they could not understand, and in which they could not see meaning. The Jesuits [in Brazil] were interested in those Indians who remained, and in a few newcomers for their own service and for the service of the settlers. Converted? No. Badly domesticated, and receiving passively the external ceremonies that the Jesuits wanted them to enact, as they had always done before, in imitation and without psychological content, as usually happens with the aborigines.55

The method of proselytization developed by the Jesuits in Brazil in the sixteenth century was used until their banishment in 1759. From 1590 on, this method was used by other orders as well. In villages of Paraiba in 1593, the Franciscans were already using Christian chant in Tupi, according to Antonio de Santa Maria Jaboatao in 1761: 'The Indians used to sing different lascivious and pagan songs. It was the Indians' nature to enjoy music, and at times they would sing these songs, which the clergy changed to Christian songs.'56 Manuel da Ilha, in a text written on 30 August 1621, confirms the practice of the Franciscans in the village of Sao Miguel de Iguna (Paraiba) at the end of the sixteenth century: 'Many of them are masters in both vocal and instrumental music, which they use to celebrate the divine mysteries.'57 The Capuchins, a division of the Franciscans, would continue using this Jesuit technique in 'La France Equinociele,' a French settlement in the north of Brazil, between 1612 and 1615. The French Capuchins translated into Tupi the 'Oraison Dominicale' (Our Father), 'Salutation Angelique' (Hail Mary), 'Symbole des Apostres' (Creed), 'Dix Commandemens de Dieu' (Ten Commandments), 'Commandemens de la Saincte Eglise' (Commandments

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of the Church), and 'Sept Sacremens' (seven sacraments); these were published by Yves d'Evreux in 1615.58 Claude d'Abbeville wrote in 1614 about one of the catechized Indians in Maranhao, who 'would start the Sunday prayer (Our Father) in the Indian language, and would follow the priest word for word. He discovered a way of singing the different prayers by heart: the Ave Maria, the Credo, the Commandments of God [Ten Commandments], the Commandments of the Church, and the Seven Sacraments.'59 D'Evreux also recorded some information obtained from the settler youths, who mentioned that 'they invite the nheengaribas, that is, the Indian musicians, to sing the greatness of Toupan [God].'60 In the second half of the seventeenth century, another phase began. With the disappearance of the Indians as a result of advancing colonization, the Tupi or 'general language' gradually became unimportant to the Portuguese government, and it was forbidden in Indian and Portuguese settlements by a royal law of 1727. From this time the missionaries began to use native languages other than Tupi. The Franciscans, principally the Capuchins, were the first to expand musical teaching to the Cariri Indians. The Capuchin Martin de Nantes lived in a Cariri settlement on the Sao Francisco River between 1671 and 1686. There, he taught the Indians to sing the Pater noster, Ave Maria, Credo, and Salve Regina in Portuguese. In a book published in 1707 he mentions that, in this settlement, 'they sing every evening, after their supper, the rosary of the Virgin, divided in two choirs, one with boys and the other with girls, and they sing it in the Portuguese way very pleasantly, in a kind of faux bourdon.'61 Martin de Nantes is also the author of two Spiritual Canticles 'Cantico espiritual sobre o mysterio da encarnacao do Verbo Divino'62 and 'Cantico espiritual a S. Francisco, orago da igreja matriz dos indios de Wracapa'63 - in a published Portuguese-Cariri bilingual version - by his brother Bernard de Nantes in 1709.64 These two canticles are probably among the first examples of religious poetry sung in a native language other than Tupi in Brazil (figs 30.3, 30.4). The examples of Martin de Nantes are as old as those which Lodovico Vincenzo Mamiani della Rovere printed in his 1698 Catechism in the Cariri language, Catecismo da doutrina christda na lingua brasilica da nagao kiriri.65 Mamiani della Rovere was a Jesuit who travelled to the interior of the country and who wrote three 'Cantigas na lingua kiriri para cantarem os meninos da doutrina com a versao em versos castelhanos do mesmo metro' (Canticles in the Cariri Language, for Youth to Sing Christian Doctrine, in a Spanish Version, and with the same Metre) and also a Cariri version of the Stabat Mater dolorosa. For the first time, the author left a space in his book for the musical notation of these texts. This is the first time in Portuguese America that questions of music theory

652

Paulo Castagna

30.3. Title-page of Bernard de Nantes, Katecismo indico da lingua kariris ... (Lisbon, 1709). Photo courtesy of Institute de Estudos Brasileiros da Universidade de Sao Paulo.

are considered important. The space was perhaps left blank, however, so that each missionary could write therein the music he preferred. In Spanish America, catechisms which used printed music were common, especially in the eighteenth century,66 but it is possible that the disappearance from the indigenous peoples of the Brazilian coast undermined this type of publication in Brazil.

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30.4. Martin de Nantes, 'Spiritual Canticle,' in Portuguese and Cariri. From Bernard de Nantes, Katecismo indico, pp. 152-3. Photo courtesy of Institute de Estudos Brasileiros da Universidade de Sao Paulo.

Conclusion In the first centuries of the colonization of Brazil, all the basic techniques for catechizing the Indians were developed, especially those which refer to the use of music. Innovation occurred only with the appearance of modern technology, when the catechism no longer exercised a colonizing function, and while Indian territories were being invaded by other populations. In recent times, music has been used also for an opposite kind of purpose, aimed towards 'release' and 'freedom,' rather than for the teaching of doctrine.

654 Paulo Castagna NOTES

This paper is based on my M.A. thesis, 'Fontes bibliograficas para a pesquisa da pratica musical no Brasil nos seculos XVI e XVII' (Bibliographic Sources for the Research of Musical Practice in Brazil during the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries), developed at Escola de Comunicagoes e Artes da Universidade de Sao Paulo, 1988-91, with the support of grants from the Fundacao Nacional da Arte and the Fundacao de Amparo a Pesquisa do Estado de Sao Paulo. See also my article 'A musica como instrumento de catequese no Brasil dos seculos XVI e XVII,' D.O. Leitura 12:143 (1994): 6-9. 1 Jose Ramos Tinhorao, 'A decultura§ao da musica indigena brasileira,' Revista brasileira de cultura 13 (July/September 1972): 9-25. 2 'Por tirar em sua lingoa as ora9oes e algumas practicas de N. Senhor'; M Bras. 1:112. 3 'Fa etiam a la notte cantare a li putti certe orazioni che li ha insegnato nella loro lingua, dandoli esso il tuono, et queste in loco di certe canzone lascive et diaboliche che usavano prima'; M Bras. 11:159. 4 'En modo de sus cantares'; M Bras. 1:180. 5 Antonio Pires to the priests and brothers of Coimbra, Pernambuco, 2 August 1551, MBras. 1:258. 6 Anonymous letter to the priests and brothers of Portugal, Sao Vicente, 10 March 1553, MBras. 1:429. 7 Letter by Antonio Rodrigues to the priests and brothers of Coimbra, Sao Vicente, 31 May 1553, MBras. 1:478-9. 8 Pero Correia to Bras Lourengo, Sao Vicente, 18 July 1554, M Bras. 2:70. 9 Bras Lourengo to the priests and brothers of Coimbra, Espirito Santo, 26 March 1554, MBras. 2:43. 10 'Cantigas de Nosso Senhor polla lingoa'; Manoel da Nobrega to Simao Rodrigues, Bahia, 10 July 1552, MBras.1:350. 11 'Sabem bem ler e escrever e cantar' and 'aprenderem la virtudes hum anno e algum pouco de latim, pera se ordenarem como tiverem idade'; MBras. 1:353. 12 'Cantam todos una missa cada dia'; Antonio Pires to the priests and brothers of Coimbra, Pernambuco, 2 August 1551, M Bras. 1:258. 13 'Missa de canto de organo'; anonymous letter to the priests and brothers of Portugal, Sao Vicente, 10 March 1553, MBras.1:429. 14 'Cantar y taner frautas'; Manoel da Nobrega to Luis Gongalves da Camara, Sao Vicente, 15 July 1553, MBras. 1:497. 15 MBras. 1:359-60. 16 'Sam eu tao mao, que sospeito que nom ha por bem feyto senao o que elle ordena e faz, e todo o mais despreza'; Manoel da Nobrega to Simao Rodrigues, Bahia, July 1552, MBras. 1:373.

The Jesuits, Music, and Conversion in Brazil 655 17 'De cantigas, pella lingoa e em portugues'; M Bras. 1:396. 18 'Cantando ... y taniendo a modo de los negros [sic] y con sus mesmos sones y cantares, mudadas las palabras en loores de Dios'; M Bras. 1:385. 19 'Curiosa y suprestiosa gentilidad'; M Bras. 1:359-60. 20 'Miisica que nunca oyeron' and 'al modo dellos'; M Bras. 1:383-4. 21 'Com a vinda do Bispo se moverao algumas diividas, nas quais eu nao duvidava, porque sam soberbo e muito confiado em meu parecer' and 'cantar cantigas de Nosso Senhor em sua lingoa pello seu toom e tanger seus estromentos de musica que elles usam em suas festas'; Manoel da Nobrega to Simao Rodrigues, Bahia, August 1552, M Bras. 1:406-7. 22 Atas da Cdmara da Vila de S. Paulo, 1562-1700,1 vols (Sao Paulo, 1914-15), I 201. 23 Ibid., Ill 56. 24 Serafim Leite, Historia da Companhia de Jesus no Brasil, 10 vols (Rio de Janeiro, 1938-50), IV 113. 25 MBras. 1:11. 26 'Pater Noster en lingua brasil.' 27 Tourner & reduire en leur lague, auec vn esclaue Chrestie, nostre oraison Dominicale, la salutatio Angelique, & le Simbole des Apostres: afin d'attirer ce grand Roy, & tous ses sublets, a la cognoissance de leur salut, & admiration des fails de Dieu'; Andre Thevet, La cosmographie universelle ..., 2 vols (Paris, 1575), II, fol. 294v. 28 'Les hazia decorar cantares de N. Sefior en su lengua y les hazia cantar'; anonymous letter to the priests and brothers of Portugal, Sao Vicente, 10 March 1553, M Bras. 1:429. 29 Thevet, Cosmographie universelle, II, fol. 925r. 30 'Cantares de Dios en su lingua'; Jose de Anchieta to Ignatius of Loyola, Piratininga, September 1554, M Bras. 2:112. 31 'Salve e ladainhas'; Antonio Rodrigues to Manoel da Nobrega, Paragua9u (Bahia), 28 September 1559, MBras. 3:155. 32 'Rosario do Nome de Jesu'; Rui Pereira to the priests and brothers of Portugal, M Bras. 3:296. 33 'Cantares devotos y diversos' and 'Veni Creator Spiritus'; Amaro Goncalves to Francisco Borja, Bahia, 16 January 1568, M Bras. 4:440, 445. 34 'Compos tambem Cantigas devotas na lingua, para que os mofos cantassem'; Quiricio Caxa, 'Breve relacao da vida e morte do P. Jose de Anchieta' (1598), in Serafim Leite, 'A primeira biografia inedita de Jose de Anchieta,' Broteria 18 (March/April 1934): 14. 35 'Mudaua cantigas profanas ao divino, e fazia outras nouas, ha onrra de Deus e dos santos, q. se cantaua nas Igrejas e pellas ruas e pra9as, todas muy devotas com que.

656 Paulo Castagna

36 37 38

39

40

41 42 43 44 45 46 47

48

49

a gente se edeficaua, e mouia ha temor e amor de Deus'; Pedro Rodrigues, 'Vida do Padre Jose de Anchieta pelo Padre Pedro Rodrigues conforme a copia existente Biblioteca Nacional de Lisboa' (1607), Annaes da Biblioteca National do Rio de Janeiro 29 (1907): 209. Jose de Anchieta, Poesias, ed. M. de L. de Paula Martins (Sao Paulo, 1954). From the preface by Helio Abranches Viotti, ibid., pp. xxiv-xxv. Rogerio Budasz, 'A presenca do cancioneiro iberico na lirica de Jose de Anchieta: Um enfoque musicologico,' Revista de musica latino americana / Latin American Music Review 17:1 (Spring/Summer 1996): 42-77. 'El pe. Leonardo [do Vale] compuso este ano [1574] una doctrina en la lengua del Brasil quasi tresladando la q hizo el Pe. Marcos Jorge [in 1571]'; 'Historia dos colegios de Brasil: Manuscripto da Bibliotheca Nacional de Roma (copia),' Annaes da Biblioteca Nacional do Rio de Janeiro 19 (1897): 117. 'Les Dimanches & iours de festes leurs enfans vont chantant par les rues le Catechisme en langue Brasiliane, & Portugaise si dextrement, qu'ils ne adent en rie aux enfans des Portugalois'; Lettres du Jappon, Peru, et Brasil... (Paris, 1578), p. 54. Antonio de Araujo, Catecismo na lingua brasilica (1618; Rio de Janeiro, 1952), pp. ix-xi. Jose de Anchieta, Arte de grammatica da lingoa mais usada na costa do Brasil... (Coimbra, 1595). Antonio de Araujo, Catecismo na lingoa brasilica ... (Lisbon, 1618). Antonio de Araujo, Catecismo brasilico da doutrina christad ... (Lisbon, 1686). 'Cantigas na lingoa, para os meninos da Sancta Doctrina. Feitas pello Padre Christouao Valente Theologo, et mestre da lingoa.' 'Poemas brasilicos do Padre Christovao Valente, Theologo da Companhia de Jesus, Emendados para os mininos cantarem ao Santissimo nome de Jesus.' Joao Felipe Bettendorf, 'Chronica da missao dos padres da Companhia de Jesus no estado do Maranhao (1698),' Revista do Instituto Historico e Geogrdfico Brazileiro 72:1 (1910): 271. 'De la vingt que ces barbares commencerent prendre goust & s'affectioner aux choses de nostre saincte foy, si que plusieurs demanderent d'estre enroolez au nombre des Catechumenes, lesquels faisoyent retenir les bois, le chalups, & les riuages des noms sacrez de lesvs, & de Marie, chantans auec vn singulier goust & plaisir, le Pater, 1'Aue, le Credo, & les autres oraisons Chrestiennes.' 'Despues que se tocan, y se rezan las Auemarias, antes de oyr Missa se juntan a la puerta de la Iglesia los muchachos, y muchachas Brasiles, y diuididos en dos ordenes cata a coros en alta voz el Rosario de la Virgen. Da principle al rosario los muchachos diziedo. Bendito y glorificado sea el Sdtissimo ndbre de lesvs; y respoden las ninas, y el de la Santissima Virgen Maria su madre, par siempre jamas

The Jesuits, Music, and Conversion in Brazil 657

50

51

52

53 54 55

56

57

58

59

amen. Y luego comiencan cantando su Rosario; despues de cada diez Auemarias, dizen el Gloria Patri; y acabado el Rosario entran en la Iglesia; y oyen con los demas la Missa ...' 'Os dogmas da nossa fe, pelo methodo que para isso traziao, conforme o louvavel costume das nossas aldeas do Brasil'; Jose de Morais, 'Historia da Companhia de Jesus na extincta provmcia do Maranhao e Para,' in Candido Mendes de Almeida, Memorias para a historia do extincto estado do Maranhao ... (Rio de Janeiro, 1860), bk l , p . 76. 'Querendo-lhes fosse mais suave o jugo da lei que professarao, Ihes compoz em devotas can9oes pela sua mesma lingua, com que haviao de louvar a Deos, e sua Mae Santissima, aos Anjos e Santos do Ceo'; ibid., bk 2, p. 202. 'Compuzerao a santa doutrina em verso, e a ensinavao a cantar com agradaveis tons aos meninos, que a aprendiao'; Andre de Barros, Vida do apostolico padre Antonio Vieira ... (Lisbon, 1746), bk 2, p. 232. Joao Felipe Bettendorf, Compendia de doutrina christaa na lingua Portugueza, & brasilica ... (Lisbon, 1678). 'Orafao do sinal da Sancta Cruz,' 'Padre Nosso,' 'Ave Maria,' 'Salve Rainha,' and 'Creio em Deos Padre.' 'E nos principles do seculo XVII ja nao havia indios para catequisar, porque haviam emigrado, fugindo a essa catequese da qual nada compreendiam e nem Ihe sabiam o proveito. Os jesuitas entretinham - se com os que puderam ficar ou com os que se renovavam - a servi§o deles proprios e dos colonos. Convertidos? Nao. Mai domesticados e recebendo passivamente - como sempre fizeram - ou por mera imita§ao, sem conteudo psicologico, como soi acontecer aos primitives, as cerimonias externas que os jesuitas Ihes queria fazer representar'; Mecenas Dourado, A conversao do gentio (Rio de Janeiro, 1958), pp. 101-2 (my translation). 'Costumavao tambem os Indios cantar muitas cantigas brutaes, e gentilicas; e como, elles naturalmente sejao affei9oados a musica, algumas vezes de noite cantavao as ditas cantigas, ao que os Religiosos acudindo, Ihes compuzerao algumas devotas, que elles cantavao'; Antonio de Santa Maria Jaboatao, Orbe serafico novo brasilico ... (Lisbon, 1671), p. 36. 'Et illorum quam plurimi musicis artibus canendi et pulsandi omnia instrumenta, quibus diebus festivis rem divinam decantant, sunt periti'; Manuel da Ilha, Narrativa da custodia de Santo Antonio do Brasil, 1584-1621, ed. Ildefonso Silveira (Petropolis, Vozes, 1975), p. 89. Yves d'Evreux, Svitte de I'histoire des chases plus memorables advenues en Maragnan, e annees 1613, & 1614, Second Traite (Paris, 1615), fols 286v-290r; reprinted in Voyage dans le nord du Bresilfait durant les annees 1613 et 1614 par le Pere Yves d'Evreux, ed. Ferdinand Denis (Leipzig and Paris, 1864). 'Commen^oit 1'Oraison Dominicale en leur langue, qu'il leur faisoit dire mot a mot

658 Paulo Castagna

60 61

62 63 64 65 66

apres luy. Et pour leur faire retenir plus aisement, il trouua inuention de leur faire dire en chantant, auec 1'Aue Maria, le credo, les Commandements de Dieu, de 1'Eglise, & les Sept Sacremens'; Claude d'Abbeville, Histoire de la mission des peres capucins en I'isle de Maragnon et terres circonvoisines ... (Paris, 1614), fol. 118v. 'Ils feront venir des Miengarres [nheengaribas] c'est a dire, des chantres Musicies, pour chanter les grandeurs du Toupan'; d'Evreux, Svitte, fol. 247v. 'Us ont de coutume de chanter tous les soirs la Couronne de la Vierge portages en deux coeurs, chacun de son sexe, & cela apres leur souper, & ils chantent a la maniere Portugaise fort agreablement avec une espece de faux bourdon'; Martin de Nantes, Relation succinte et sincere de la mission du Pere Martin de Nantes ... (Quimper, [1707]), pt 2, p. 33. 'Cantico espiritual sobre o mysterio da encarnagao do Verbo Divino.' 'Cantico espiritual a S. Francisco, orago da igreja matriz dos indios de wracapa.' Bernard de Nantes, Katecismo indico da lingua kariris ... (Lisbon, 1709), pp. 15267. Lodovico Vincenzo Mamiani della Rovere, Catecismo da doutrina christda na lingua brasilica da naqao kiriri... (Lisbon, 1698). Alfred E. Lemmon, 'Jesuit Chroniclers and Historians of Colonial Spanish America: Sources for the Ethnomusicologist,' Inter-American Music Review 10:2 (Spring/Summer 1989): 119-21.

31 / The Jesuits in Manila, 1581-1621 The Role of Music in Rite, Ritual, and Spectacle WILLIAM J. SUMMERS

The five-voice motet Ave, Virgo sanctissima by Francisco Guerrero appeared in his first book of motets, published in 1570 in Venice (see appendix 1). Guerrero was one of the renowned trio of Spanish Renaissance composers that included Cristobal de Morales and Tomas Luis de Victoria.1 A copy of this book or of his second (published in the same city in 1589) was in the inventory of the Manila book merchant Pedro de Zuriiga in 1607, as attested to in his will.2 As Ave, Virgo was published three times and in two of Guerrero's three motet collections, it was probably known in late sixteenth- and early seventeenth-century Manila.3 Since this is to date the earliest identified example of printed polyphonic music brought to Manila, collections such as Guerrero's must have formed a significant portion of the musical foundation for the musical life of this city, especially since they contained compositions which could be performed on various liturgical and ceremonial occasions. For whatever else we may know about the founding of Manila and its first two centuries of existence, we can show that its celebratory life was densely intertwined with the bifocal projection of Spanish colonialism, that worldwide enterprise undertaken by the inextricably interlocked institutions of the Roman Catholic church and the Spanish crown. Even though economic historians long ago identified the fact that significant financial outlays from both the church and the cabildo (or city government) supported public ceremony and spectacle in Manila, no current historical study that I have been able to consult makes an attempt to explain the implications of this support, or to offer any analysis of the central role that the performing arts, music, dance, and drama, contributed to the ceremonial life of the city, save of course Wenseslao Retana and Vincente Barrantes, who have both written about the history of drama, in the Philippines.4 Having introduced this contentious salvo, I must point out that a long and remarkable tradition of Jesuit writings devoted to the history of the Philippines

660 William J. Summers does in fact provide the oldest and in some cases the richest sources of information about the performing arts and their place within the public life in Manila. This tradition begins in the early seventeenth century with Pedro Chirino and Francisco Colin,5 continues into the eighteenth century with Pedro Murillo Velarde,6 is reinvented in the nineteenth century by Pablo Pastells, and is continued in the twentieth by Horacio de la Costa.7 In fact, de la Costa's impressive account of the history of the Jesuits in the Philippines served as my first encounter with the general history of this royal city. It remains a font of information, with many veins of pure gold remaining to be mined even today. But de la Costa's seminal work8 in particular portrays surprisingly less of the Jesuit way of life in Manila before the expulsion than does that of many of his pioneering confreres. Whereas the Jesuits in Manila were clearly the early leaders in higher education and were especially active in their use of music, dance, poetry, and drama to enrich the rites, spectacles, and school curricula of the city, recent Jesuit scholarship on Manila, including de la Costa's, has devoted little or no attention to an assessment of these artistic activities. This is no more tellingly demonstrated than in de la Costa's two-sentence account of the Jesuit acquisition of the first 'organized' orchestra in Manila, the ensemble of slaves donated to the parish of San Ignacio in 1596 by Capitan Esteban Rodriguez de Figueroa.9 De la Costa's opaque portrayal of events involving the arts is not specific to him, of course, but represents a fundamental failing of late twentiethcentury historical writing: specialization of the type promoted in modern academic historical scholarship systematically militates against the inculcation of any sense of responsibility on the part of historians to construct narratives that take into account the implications of the fine and performing arts for the lived existence of peoples in the past. Leaving polemic aside for a moment, let us return to the story of what appears to be Manila's first organized orchestra. There are mentions made of an orchestra in the Augustinian convent church of St John the Baptist very soon after its founding in 1571,10 though I have not yet uncovered documentary corroboration for this. The same holds true for the Franciscans, who arrived in 1578.n We know definitely that Bishop Domingo de Salazar, a Dominican and the first bishop in Asia, brought with him to Manila in 1581 a pipe organ, music books, and flutes and chirimiras (an instrument related to the oboe).12 His first chantre (the member of the cathedral chapter responsible for music) was Francisco de Morales. By 1582, under Morales's direction, a chorus and orchestra of boys and men was performing polyphonic music for solemn masses with instrumental accompaniment in the cathedral.13 The pipe organ was lost, and also, it appears, some if not all of the music books, in the fire in 1583 that burned the nipa and bamboo cathedral along with almost every other structure in the city.14

The Jesuits and Music in Manila, 1581-1621 661 Morales departed for Spain in 1584 to represent the new diocese before the king. Though music appeared to be in the able hands of the new chantre, Sanchez de Castro,15 there is no question that the fire, the loss of musical instruments and books, and the departure of Morales must have caused a significant diminishment in the cultivation of music at the cathedral, and, one can imagine, in the other churches in the city as well. Bishop Salazar himself left Manila in 1591, leaving the see vacant until the arrival of the Franciscan Ignacio de Santibanez in 1598.l6 Given these calamitous circumstances, the importance of the orchestra of slaves given to the Jesuits in 1594/5 (de la Costa states that they were Negro slaves) looms large, especially in the current absence of direct information about musical ensembles from other churches in the city from before this time. This orchestra of nine slaves, who were professional musicians (of a type), would have been of critical importance for music making of all kinds in the city. They played flutes and chirimiras, those very instruments brought by Salazar, and they could also sing, both of which activities demanded significant musical literacy. Professional musicians who could read music and also teach both instruments and singing would have been a very valuable commodity to the small Jesuit community, especially one that had been located within the city walls only since 1587. Though I have no evidence for this, I firmly believe that these musicians would also have possessed a collection of music that included sacred and secular compositions. Very soon after their 'donation' in 1595, this ensemble was enlisted to teach music to the Maylayan (Tagalog-speaking) population who attended mass in the city.17 In fact, they apparently founded a choir and an orchestra of native Filipinos, both men and boys. These indigenous ensembles eventually were permitted to sing a solemn mass, presumably polyphonic, on all Sundays and feast days when a sermon was preached. They as well as the ensemble of slaves apparently were also permitted to participate in performances in other churches in Manila, a state of affairs reflecting a level of cooperation among the religious groups in the city. Music for devotions seems to have been cultivated at San Ignacio as well, especially the kind used during certain evening penitential devotions.18 According to Pedro Chirino, the flagellation exercises held during Lent for the first time in 1597 were attended by the esteemed prelate Canon Diego de Leon from the cathedral, and the choir, and presumably the ensemble of slaves, sang a solemn Miserere (Psalm 50/51) at the end.19 I have not been able to reconstruct from contemporary service books the actual number of Sundays and feast days on which the orchestra would have performed, but it is known that the city government was required to attend mass on at least twenty-eight occasions throughout the year (a total which does not include all of

662 William J. Summers the individual days belonging to the major feasts of Christmas and Easter), among them the feast of Corpus Christi, major Marian feasts, and the feasts of St Potentia (19 May) and St Andrew (30 November), the patron saints of Manila.20 I suspect that the Filipino choir, orchestra, and orchestra of slaves would have had a similar number of occasions on which to perform at mass during the course of a year. Attempting to divine the implications of these performance requirements, I would suggest that the choir was probably performing a solemn mass at about the rate of one every other week, though not literally every other week. Assuming that a polyphonic mass was sung and that some reuse of a mass ordinary cycle took place simply out of necessity, I suggest that this choir would have been learning no fewer than twelve different polyphonic masses a year. If the average printed collection of masses produced in Italy and Spain in the final third of the sixteenth century contained approximately four masses, at least five printed volumes of masses or their equivalent in manuscript music books would have been needed by these ensembles in the course of a year.21 A good amateur choir today that rehearses three times a week for two hours can learn about one mass cycle in a week. The total of the rehearsal time and the time spent singing at mass would have been at least ten hours for choir members. Please remember that this time outlay would be enough only for the celebration of the mass; the time spent in preparing and performing the music for the Salve services, the penitential rites, and the more irregularly occurring funeral or memorial liturgies has not been factored in. While keeping this admittedly speculative rehearsal/performance information in mind, let us examine two spectacular events that took place in Manila, documented in Jesuit eyewitness accounts. The new orchestra of slaves would have had a central role in and lent special dignity to the festivities that began on 12 June 1597, devoted to the permanent installation of the large collections of holy relics that had been brought to Manila by Father Alonso Sanchez the year before. As Chirino states, 'The holy relics were deposited [in the recently dedicated church of St Anne] with such rejoicing and festive show as had never been known before.'22 The nine days of celebration appear to have required extensive use of music. Chirino writes: The relics were borne in procession through the principal streets of the city, which although handsome in themselves were decorated so elegantly that their very elegance expressed the devotion of the people ... [They were] borne on six platforms, no less splendid than costly, since they carried nearly all the gold, precious stones, and jewelry of the city, which had been offered with much readiness and good will. [Chirino does not mention music in this procession, but clearly it must have been there, provided, no doubt,

The Jesuits and Music in Manila, 1581-1621 663 by a variety of performers.] The Augustinian fathers began the festivities ... They conducted many kinds of music and dances, and besides these were many furnished by our Indians, and the Chinese and Japanese.

Chirino details places and activities for the other eight days without any additional mention of music, and concludes this portion of his account as follows: The Divine worship was also improved in the new church [of St Anne] by the addition of some silver lamps, candlesticks, etc ... Besides all these things, there was the chapel of the singers, who with voices and music of flutes and clarions [chirimiras?] serve in the masses, vespers and Salves, at least on the principal feast days.'23 Later in this discussion he takes special account of the importance of these nine days for the Filipino members of the parish by noting, 'To show appreciation of their great devotion, and to inspire them to more, a short discourse in their own language was delivered to them every afternoon, preceding the Salve sung by the choir, and accompanied by the music of the wind instruments.'24 Already we can see that the contribution of the orchestra of slaves was no longer limited to their singing at mass. They now were involved in the Salve service and in the music in special processions along with Filipino parishioners. I also suspect we have here an early witness of the existence of a separate capilla at the College of San Jose. Moving ahead fourteen years to 1611, we find a remarkable account by the Jesuit provincial, Gregorio Lopez, of the festivities that took place in Manila upon the arrival of the news of the beatification of Ignatius of Loyola (which had taken place earlier in Rome, in December 1609). Again, de la Costa provides a one-paragraph summary of these events, but the letter describing them is over four thousand words long (see appendix 2 for the text in Spanish).25 One's breath is nearly taken away by imagining the scope of the preparations that must have preceded these festivities. To summarize only some of the points dealing with music, the celebration began at the initiative of the governor and of Archbishop Diego Vazquez de Mercado, who ordered the ringing of bells and the playing of loud wind instruments, chirimiras, clarines, and small bells in alternatim with the singing of canzonettas, motets, and villancicos. In the Jesuit church of St Anne the music continued, with organs, harps, and other instruments. Later, in their church, the Dominicans sang a polyphonic Te Deum laudamus accompanied by instrumentalists. A gathered ensemble of seven groups of three chirimira players each led the procession the next day, interrupted by the ringing of bells. On the next night many of the same people returned to the Jesuit church and were greeted with beautiful music in the form of villancicos. Multiple choirs of both native and Spanish populations performed together, new works were composed by the

664 William J. Summers Augustinians, and polyphonic music was performed for mass, Vespers, dramatic events, and so on. Suffice it to say that with this description we encounter a whole other realm of information about ceremonial music making in Manila involving the Jesuits. We also cannot help but notice that while there are regular and significant contributions from musicians associated with the parish and the college, special musical performances are now something that the other orders - the Augustinians, the Franciscans, and the Dominicans as well as the capilla of the cathedral - were fully capable of offering on momentous occasions such as this. This remarkable collegiality, with both cooperative and competitive components, is maintained to this day in Philippine culture. Virtually every known genre of composed music is mentioned, including mass ordinary cycles, polyphonic music for Vespers and the Salve service, motets, villancicos, canzonettas, and the polyphonic Te Deum, a textual category that is not regularly set in polyphony. The sheer quantity and variety of the musical instruments is staggering, notably the pipe organ in the Church of St Anne, the harps, and the wide variety of brass instruments. While there is no mention of percussion, it is known that all of the military regiments posted in Intramuros had at least one drummer and a fifer on salary.26 There is every reason to suppose that these instruments were played during the processions of the military companies. Perhaps the most spectacular note on performance is the use of alternatim performance between the bells from the many towers and the loud instruments on the one hand and the singers and soft instruments on the other. Though no mention is made of the genres in which these instruments performed, they no doubt included works from both the composed and the improvised traditions. To put it mildly, the wonderful picture of seventeenth-century acoustical surround-sound in this account is truly dazzling. Given the extensive use of luminarias on the major buildings and the ubiquitous fireworks displays, I cannot imagine a more spectacular son et lumiere even today. Just eight years later, another important milestone was celebrated in Manila. The Jesuit chronicler Father Francisco de Lira provides a detailed and unique account of the festivities for the feast of the Immaculate Conception in Manila in 1620. As with so much other news, the notification of the approval by Pope Urban VIII of the public observance of this feast (strongly supported by King Philip II) had taken over a year to reach Manila. The celebrations began on 8 December and lasted for nineteen days. The author writes: Leaving aside the celebration by the laity - the bull fights, masquerades, etc., and the many illuminations and fireworks which took place every night, and for which the Chinese are very famous -1 will describe only the ecclesiastical part. The festivities were

The Jesuits and Music in Manila, 1581-1621 665 held [as a rule] in the Cathedral. On the first day ... they were celebrated with great magnificence [undoubtedly with a solemn sung mass]. In the afternoon there was given a drama on the beauty of Rachael... On Monday the religious of St Francis held their fiesta in the same church. In the morning one of the grandest processions ever seen in this vicinity set out from their house to the cathedral. First came the whole force of Manila in perfect order ... Next came a rich standard bearing the image of the conception of the Virgin... After the standard... came a lay friar called Fray Junipero ... he was dancing, and calling out a thousand silly phrases about divine things. Now followed banners, crosses, and candlesticks ... After this came on floats eight saints of this order... These saints were accompanied by eight groups of Indian dancers ... The last sang while dancing ... In the afternoon they presented a very devout drama on the Martyrs of Japan ... On Tuesday the feast of St Augustine began. In the morning the order likewise had a very grand procession ... In the afternoon there were balls, Indian dancers [mitotes], and a thousand other lesser amusements. On Wednesday we of the Society began our festivities; and although we had no procession, as is our custom, the celebration at night was by no means inferior.. Our people played a thousand musical instruments. During the day we held mass, in our impressive manner, and then had a sermon; and in the afternoon we presented a remarkable drama on the conception. All the people said they had never seen anything like it. On Thursday the feast was again held in the cathedral. In the afternoon there was another drama, about the sale of Joseph. On Friday the Augustinian Recollects began their fiesta. In the morning there was a great procession. In the afternoon there was presented the drama of the Prince of Transylvania, in which they brought out our father assistant Alonso Carrillo, in a long taffeta robe and a linen frill with points. In order to announce who he was, a person who took part in the drama said, This is one of those who are called Jesuit, and here we name Theatines.' On Saturday there were two fiestas. One was held in the cathedral, as the preceding ones had been, while the other was at our house - where it seemed expedient to hold it in order that the cathedral and the religious of St Francis should not monopolize the entire celebration ... At nightfall our collegians of St Joseph formed a procession remarkable enough to have appeared in Madrid. At the head were three triumphal chariots. In the first were the clarion players; in the second the singers, singing motets and ballads, and in the third various musical instruments - harps, guitars, rebec, etc ... Next came a very prominent collegian carrying a staff. Upon it was a placard with the oath (which they took the following day) always to defend the immaculate conception of the most holy Virgin. Finally, came a very beautiful triumphal chariot drawn by two savages, and decorated with many arches of flowers and gilded figures of angels ... Before the chariot was a band of clarion players. Then followed eight children dressed in silk garments and carrying silver candles ... singing and reciting praise of the Virgin ... The next day there was another magnificent fiesta, in which a dance was given by more than sixty Japanese, who danced and sang to the accompaniment of various instruments, according to their custom.27

666 William J. Summers As this account indicates, we are no longer dealing with a single orchestra of slaves in the Jesuit residences, but have moved into the realm of significant music making, dance, drama, and public spectacle carried out by all elements of the Jesuit community. Most interesting for our consideration is the important part played by the collegians of the College of San Jose. Not only was their procession magnificent, but their use of music is as elaborate as any that I have encountered in chronicles from the first two centuries - clearly supporting this chronicler's claim of heretofore unseen brilliance. Quite obviously the collegians, as well as others, performed polyphonic music of many genres, including motets and ballads. It is also worth noting that some important practices are maintained in this procession that are found also in other accounts. The brass instruments lead each segment of the procession, with the soft, fixed-dynamic instruments grouped together after the singers, lending accompaniment for the voices (again no percussion is mentioned). This extraordinary procession involved considerably more musicians than the nine original orchestra members who had been donated to San Ignacio. I speculate that some of these original slave musicians may have participated and that the other participants may have been collegians, members of the Filipino orchestra attached to the parish, and instrumentalists from other religious establishments. Clearly both groups of clarion players were supplying 'marching' music. Of particular significance is the presence of children, who are singing and reciting poetry. They are not identified as to their race, but it is possible that they were Spanish children who would have been performing music and poetry they had been taught in the Jesuit school. The descriptions of motets and ballads make our mouths water, knowing as we do that the music books performed from must have arrived in Manila along with the other supplies that supported the educational undertakings of the order. Retracing the transmission channels for these various materials would no doubt help identify some of the music and also assist with the reconstruction of this marvellous event. I have focused almost exclusively upon music, notwithstanding the copious information here concerning utilization of the other performing arts within spectacle in Manila. I am fully aware that these moments of high rejoicing were complex human pageants which involved the other arts. What I am most anxious to convey is the degree to which Jesuit witnesses considered these events and their constituent parts, especially the music, to be of special importance for reporting to their superior general. Besides the practical fact that these letters are available for study, I consider them particularly valuable witnesses to the life lived by the entire population of Manila. Their contents were judged of central importance also by the late nineteenth-century scholar Pablo Pastells, who felt obliged to add them to his greatly expanded 1902 edition of Colin's Labor

The Jesuits and Music in Manila, 1581-1621 667 evangelica. What we as scholars need to recapture from these letters and Pastell's example is a view of the lives of people from the past that presses beyond the confines of our own narrowly circumscribed interests to a type of research that is willing to ask far-reaching questions about the lacunae in our knowledge, and to deal with the uncertainty of our own limitations as we forge more threedimensional narratives. Clearly, profound questions remain to be asked and answered about the human responses that these spectacular festivals elicited from some of the most literate, widely travelled, and highly educated individuals living in Manila. It is also perplexing and sobering to realize that we have not yet even begun the daunting task of reconstructing the myriad contributions of composers, poets, orators, and performers to the spectacular events in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Manila so vividly described above. Nor can we escape the collateral requirement to try to identify as much of the music performed as possible, and also to give names to those individuals who made all this happen. While this process in large part will have to be conducted indirectly, if we do not attempt to gain some knowledge of the actual sounding music, the printed sources, the names of the leaders of the ensembles, and so on, we will have no foundation on which to build our future understanding of what was deemed so beautiful, so nuanced, or so remarkable in these celebrations. After all, almost a quarter of the annual budget of the Manila city government was spent on events such as this. We must also begin to press for the recovery of the many dramas that were performed, struggle to decipher what kinds of dance steps and music characterized Japanese public dance in the early seventeenth century, and scour archives for information about Tagalog poetry that may have survived from these events. Until we press to the limits of the surviving evidence in our attempt to accomplish these and the thousand other tasks involving the fine and performing arts, we will be forever witnesses of a brilliant past that is being played out before our eyes in black and white on the bottom half of the viewing screen with the sound disconnected. This research process cannot involve just the musicologist or the drama historian or the ethnomusicologist, but must become a requirement for all who purport to study the history of this great royal city. I strongly suspect that we would demand nothing less of those who will attempt to portray us within our cultural matrix three hundred years from now. NOTES

1 For biographical information on these composers, see Robert M. Stevenson, La musica en las catedrales espafiolas del Siglo de Oro (Madrid, 1993), pp. 48-9, 56-7, 435-7 (Guerrero); 161-2, 274, 478-9 (Morales); 123-4, 161-3, 297-8, 33940 (Victoria); and The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, VII 787-9

668 William J. Summers (Guerrero); XII 553-8 (Morales); XIX 703-9 (Victoria). There is an outstanding recorded performance of this motet, Westminster Cathedral Choir, David Hill, conductor, Treasures of the Spanish Renaissance (London: Hyperion, pi 986, compact disc #CDA66168). The text is as follows: 'Ave, Virgo sanctissima, Dei Mater piissima, mans Stella clarissima. Salve semper gloriosa, margarita pretiosa, sicut lilium formosa, nitens olens velut rosa' (Hail, Holy Virgin, most blessed Mother of God, brightest star of the sea. Hail, ever glorious, precious pearl, beautiful as the lily, shining and giving perfume like the rose). 2 See Antonio Garcia-Abasolo, The Private Environment of the Spaniards in the Philippines,' Philippine Studies 44 (1996): 349-73, especially 365. 3 See Francisco Guerrero, Opera omnia, ed. Vicente Garcia and Miguel Querol Gavalda, Monumentos de la musica espanola no. 36 (Barcelona, 1997), pp. 80-95 (Tabla de materias). Ave, Virgo sanctissima was published in 1566 in Guerrero' s first book of masses, in 1570 in his first book of motets, and again in 1597 in a collection of motets that included works from the first two books (1589) of his motets. The music is edited in no. 36 of the Monumentos on pp. 72-6 (Parte musical). 4 Luis Merino, The Cabildo secular, or Municipal Government of Manila: Social Component, Organization, Economics (Iloilo, 1980), p. 213, states that 22.42 per cent of the total expenditure of the cabildo for the years 1571-1800 was devoted to public spectacle. The next largest expenditure was on the reception of governors, at 5.35 per cent. For drama, see Wenceslao Retana, El teatro en Filipinas (Madrid, 1909), and Vincente Barrantes, El teatro tagalo (Madrid, 1889). 5 See Francisco Colin, Labor evangelica, ministerios apostolicos de los obreros de la Campania de Jesus, fundacion, y progressos de su provincia en las Islas Filipinas. Nueva ed. ilustrada con copia de notas y documentos para la critica de la historia general de la soberania de Espana en Filipinas por el p. Pablo Pastells, S.J., 3 vols (Barcelona, 1900-2). 6 See Pedro Murillo Velarde, Historia de la provincia de Philipinas de la Compania de Jesus: Segunda parte, que comprehende los progresos de esta provincia desde el ano de 1616, hasta el de 1716 (Manila, 1749). 7 Cost. Jes. Phil. 8 For other studies, see Horacio De la Costa, Intramuros: The Beginnings (Manila, 1976), and 'Jurisdictional Conflicts in the Philippines during the XVI and XVII Centuries,' Ph.D. dissertation, Harvard University, 1951. 9 Cost. Jes. Phil., p. 175. Compare Colin, Labor evangelica, ed. Pastells, II 42 nl. 10 See Emma Helen Blair and James Alexander Robertson, The Philippine Islands, 1493-1803 ..., 55 vols (Cleveland: 1903-9), especially X 134-5. 11 See Pablo Fernandez, History of the Church in the Philippines (1521-1898) (Manila, 1979), p. 411. See also M. Conception Echeverria Carril, 'La musica franciscana en Filipinas (ss. XVI-XIX),' Nassare 9:2 (1993): 197-210, especially 197-200.

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12 See Robert William Harold Castleton, 'The Life and Works of Domingo de Salazar, O.P. (1512-1594)/ Ph.D. dissertation, University of London, 1974, p. 306. 13 Ibid., p. 67. 14 Ibid., p. 308. 15 See Colin, Labor evangelica, ed. Pastells, III 248ff; also I 586, II 255-6 and 482, III 499-500. There appears to be some confusion in Pastells concerning Sanchez de Castro and Santiago de Castro, individuals both identified as chantre. Since both held the post. Sanchez seemingly earlier, 1 identify him as Morales's successor. 16 Cost. Jes. Phil., p. 600. Santibanez occupied the see from 28 May until 14 August, after which the see was vacant again until 1603, when the Dominican Miguel de Benavides was installed. 17 Ibid..p. 175. 18 Ibid. 19 Ibid. 20 Merino, The Cabildo secular, II 262-4. Though the list includes special days for the monarchy which changed through time, the days listed here are those that gained fixed status in Manila: 17 January, St Anthony the Abbot, patron of Manila against fires: 26 January. St Polycarp, patron of Manila against earthquakes; 2 February, the Purification of Mary: 5 February, the Franciscan Martyrs of Japan; (on Ash Wednesday and the five Sundays of Lent the city attends the cathedral; on Palm Sunday. Holy Thursday, and Good Friday, the city attends the cathedral); 6 April, St Mark the Evangelist; 19 May, St Potentia, patron of the city against typhoons; (on Corpus Christi with its octave, the city attends the cathedral); 29 June, Sts Peter and Paul: 25 July. St James the Greater; 4 August, St Dominic; 12 August, St Clare; 14 August, the Ascension of Our Lady; 28 August, St Augustine, patron against locusts; 30 August, St Rose of Lima, patron of the Indies; 10 September, St Nicholas of Tolentino, patron of Manila for the protection of ships; 2 October, the Holy Guardian Angels: 4 October, St Francis, patron of Manila; 29 November, Commemoration of the Most Holy Eucharist; 30 November, St Andrew, patron of Manila: 4 December, the Tears of St Francis; 8 December, the Immaculate Conception, universal patron of Spain and the Indies; 18 December, the Expectation of Our Lady: 27 December, St John the Evangelist, patron of Manila against lightning. 21 This is admittedly a very speculative number. 22 Blair and Robertson, The Philippine Islands. XII 246. 23 Ibid., p. 249. Emphasis added. 24 Ibid. 25 See Colin, Labor evangelica, ed. Pastells, III 268-74; Cost. Jes. Phil, p. 365. 26 Blair and Robertson, The Philippine Islands, XIV 264, 266, 268. 27 Ibid., XIX 6Iff.

670 William J. Summers APPENDIX I

Francisco Guerrero, Ave, Virgo sanctissima (opening only). From Francisco Guerrero, Opera omnia, ed. Jose M. Llorens Cistero and Karl H. Muller-Lance, Monumentos de la musica espanola no. 36 (Barcelona, 1978), pp. 72-3.

XIV. Ave, virgo sanctissima

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672 William J. Summers APPENDIX 2

From Francisco Colin, Labor evangelica ..., ed. Pablo Pastells, 3 vols (Barcelona, 1900-2), III 268-72 n2. The text has not been modernized. Page breaks in the original are indicated by a bullet (•). Boldface type has been added for emphasis. Es digna de leerse la descripcion, que de las Fiestas celebradas en Manila con motive de la Beatificacion de San Ignacio, hizo al P. General Claudio Aquaviva el Provincial de Filipinas, Gregorio Lopez, al tratar del Colegio de Manila, en la Anua de 1611. Su contenido es del tenor siguiente: Collegio de Manila: Aunque el ano pasado enuie a V. P. especial relacion de las fiestas con que esta ciudad recibio el Brebe de su Santidad de la Beatificacion de ntro. glorioso Padre, con todo, por ser punto perteneciente a este ano de mil y seiscientos y once, hare una breue suma de la solemnidad y demostracion de regocijo que ubo en ella. Llego, pues, a esta ciudad la nueua a 20 de Junio, de que luego se dio parte al Senor Gouernador Don Juan de Silua, mandando su senoria que se pusiesen luminaries en la ciudad, y preparasen la artilleria de los fuertes, que es mucha y buena, para que hiciesen la salve a tan alegre nueua, de que tambien se did parte al Sr. Arzobispo D. Diego Vazquez de Mercado, que, parte por la deuocion que al santo tiene, parte por el amor paternal con que es vien afecto a ntra. Compania, la recibio con grandes muestras de alegria, y mando que a la noche se encendiesen muchos fuegos en la Iglesia Catedral y se repicasen las campanas. Lo mismo preuinieron las demas Religiones, que aquella tarde nos vinieron a dar mill parauienes. En tocando las Auemarias comenzo el repique de campanas en la Iglesia Mayor, respondiendo las Torres de las Religiones y de la ntra., mediando entre las chirimias, clarines y campanas, que se tocaban alternatim, una mui suaue y concertada musica de chanzonetas, motetes y villancicos. A este tiempo hizo una hermosa salua la artilleria toda. Estaba ntra. iglesia ricamente aderezada con colgaduras de fina seda y muchas luces de cera blanca, y con la continua musica de organos, arpas y otros instrumentos musicos parecia un cielo. En el altar mayor estaba en un quadro de diestro pincel retratado el Santo Patriarca; en la una mano tenia el libro de las Constituciones, y en la otra embanderado un IHS, y a los pies rendido el dragon infernal como tropheo de su victoria. El rostro graue y que mouia a deuocion. Concurrio lo mejor de la Ciudad, y los muy Religiosos Padres de Santo Domingo al Te Deum laudamus, que se dixo a canto de organo acompanado de los instrumentos musicos. Yo sail a decir la oracion pro gratiarum actione y la de ntro. glorioso Padre Ignacio con otros seis Padres, todos con ricas capas. Con esto y con el repique de campanas y musica que duro buena parte de la noche, • se dio fin a

The Jesuits and Music in Manila, 1581-1621 673 fiesta primera demostracion y se dispertaron las voluntades de algunos vecinos que otro dia binieron a ofrecer buenas limosnas y su industria para las fiestas de la Otua. Acudio assi mismo este dia, como si fuera festiuo, casi todo el pueblo a ntra. Iglesia a ver y adorar la nueua imagen del Santo. Luego se comenzo a dar ordenes y a prebenir las cosas necesarias para la fiesta principal, a que ayudo el Regimiento de esta Ciudad, dando una buena limosna, que con otras piezas de plata y sedas que algunos deuotos ofrecieron, hizo un buen numero de ricos premios para un certamen, en que se conuidaban los poetas para alabar y decir algo en varies generos de composiciones de las virtudes y proezas del Santo. En mediando el mes de Julio, dia de ntro. Beato hermano Luis Gonzaga, parecio tiempo competente para publicar el cartel, y fue publicacion y acompafiamiento mui ilustre. Sacole de nuestra iglesia el general Don Fernando de Silua, sobrino del Sr. Gobernador, en nombre de su Senoria, que mostro deseo de sacarle por su misma persona, si no lo impidiese una enfermedad que le tenia en la cama. Acompnaban al general vestidos de ricas libreas el Sr. Gouernador de las islas Molucas Don Geronimo de Silua, y el maese de campo, general de estas islas, con la nobleza de esta ciudad, sargentos mayores, capitanes de infanteria, alcaldes y regidores, con la familia y guardia del Senor Gouernador; a que dio no poco lustre el Seminario de S. Joseph, de donde salieron nuestros collegiales, hixos de vecinos, en caballos de rua con sus gualdrapas, y ellos vestidos con mantos de seda de color leonado, las becas y bonetes sembrados de ricas piezas de oro y pedreria, y al cuello preciosos joyeles, cada qual con sus lacayos y paxes. Hacian mui vistosa distincion entre los demas caballeros. Precedian a este acompafiamiento siete ternos de chirimias, que alternandose no dexaban de dar la musica, la qual no falto entre el repique de campanas mientras duro el paseo. El cartel estaba dibuxado con mucho primor en vitela, todo guarnecido de ricas piezas de oro, y fixado en una bermosa bandera de raso bianco con sus borlas y caireles y rapacejos de seda y oro. Lleuose en casa del Sr. Arzobispo leyendosele con mucho gusto de su Senoria; y dada su bendicion, se Ileuo al Sr. Gouernador, que con estar enfermo le leyo todo, alabando el buen estilo y dando muestras de su interior alegria. Al salir de palacio hizo una hermosa salua toda la artilleria de los fuertes y muros, cosa que notablemente alegro toda la ciudad. Con la misma pompa y orden voluieron a ntra. iglesia a prima noche, donde fueron reciuidos con buena musica de villancicos y el cartel se fixo en la iglesia debajo de un rico dosel. Prosiguieronse las luininarias, cohetes voladores, bombas y morteruelos, ruedas de fuego, campanas, chirimias, clarines y trompetas, que hizieron aquella noche mui alegre. Ayudo mucho a esta solemnidad el haberse acabado pocos dias antes el techo de la iglesia, que por estar antes con incomodidad cuuierto con sola teja, se cubrio nueuamente de artesones intermedios de molaue, madera incorruptible, curiosamente

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labrada de la£os y pinas de oro. El cuerpo de la Iglesia y coro estaba, comenzando desde lo mas alto del techo hasta el suelo, adornado de ricos tapices de sedas bordadas, con lazos y figuras de varios animales y bolateria, hecha un ascua de oro. En cada valcon estaban arboladas dos banderas de diuersos colores, y entre los balcones se formaban con grande correspondiencia diez mui vistosos altares, con frontales de ricas telas, y en cada uno un quadro de pincel mui primo, ante quien ardian quatro candelas en sus candeleros de plata. La colgadura fue rica y uniforme con mui vistosa y apacible variedad. El altar se aderezo con mucha magestad y grandeza. Tenian a trecho las columnas y valaustres del retablo, que es vien acabado, muchos angeles con gallardetes en las manos y algunos ninos Jesuses con ropas rozagantes de mucha hermosura, y la daban al retablo, acompanado de apacibles ramilletes y flores, pebetes y luces que ardian, ultra de ocho cirios grandes en sus blandones, y tres lamparas de plata que estaban pendientes delante del altar; a cuyo lado derecho se hizo otro, en donde estaba un nifio Jesus de extremada belleza, vestido de pontifical a guisa de bendecir al pueblo. A este altar correspondia otro con una hermosa imagen de ntra. Senora, ambos con ricos frontates bordados, mucha plumeria de martinietes, macetas de china con variedad de rosas vien fingidas de seda y oro, que campeaban entre el adorno ordinario de los altares; pero lo que mas se lleuaua la vista era una deuota imagen de bulto del sancto Patriarca, que con grande magestad estaba collocada encima del Sagrario en un tabernaculo de finissmo brocado, en cuyo cielo estaban bordadas de oro estas letras: B. Ignatius ad majorem gloriam Dey. Tenia el Santo en una mano un libro y el rostro deuotamente inclinado, contemplando un IHS que en la otra mano tenia. El manteo y sotana era de terciopelo negro, apedrezado de cadenillas de oro y labores de perlas, sembrada de ricos broches y joyas de mucho valor. El cingulo era un cinto de grande estima, por ser todo de rubies, esmeraldas, zafires y diamantes; pendia del cuello un pectoral de hermosos diamantes, que remataba en un aguila de emeraldas, que valia muchos centenares de ducados, y delante un Rosario de oro bien labrado; la diadema y IHS que en la mano tenia estaban enriquecidos de muchas piedras preciosas y, en lugar de resplandores y raios, puntas de cristal con sus cabos de oro. Todo el vestido era tan tesoro, y tal que remedaba al de la gloria. Adorno de la manera dicha at Santo el almirante Diego Ruiz de Ayala, deudo de Pedro Quadrado, tan deuoto de nuestro santo Padre y Fundador del Collegio de Medina. Llego el dia treinta de Julio y a la hora competente ntra. torre que es muy vistosa, y lo estaua mas con muchas banderas y gallardetes, comenzo un solemne repique de campanas, que son muchas y buenas, alternando los clarines y chirimias, a que luego respondieron con la misma musica las torres de la Iglesia Mayor y Religiones, cuyos religiosos y Clero acudieron luego a ntra. Iglesia a cantar las visperas, que se dixeron a coros con extremada musica, juntandose la capilla de la Iglesia Cathedral con las del pueblo de Dilao, doctrina de los Padres

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de San Francisco, y la de Pasig, de Padres Agustinos, y la ntra.; que cada una era suficiente, y juntas hicieron dulce armonia de escogidas voces. En llegando la noche comenzo de nueuo el repique general, y mas de veinte y quatro • ternos de chirimiai, y aunque en toda la ciudad se pusieron luminarias, pero entre todas campeaban las de las Religionies, que se esmeraron en onrrar el Santo tomando por propia la fiesta. Era la noche serena, y los muchos cohetes que por el aire volaban y las varias y artificiosas inuenciones de fuegos, en que parecian en el aire imagenes del Santo, estrellas, hombres, animales, racimos, arboles, flores, castillos, galeras, peces, aues, cometas, etc., la hacian mas apacible; y el concurso de la gente que a ver estas fiestas acudia causo grande regocijo en la ciudad. El dia siguiente 31 de Julio preuino el alborada una muy excelente musica de canto de organo, que de nuestra torre llena de luces dieron diestros musicos, cantando unos motetes y villancicos en alabanza del Santo, y con la quietud de la manana se oia vien en toda la vecindad; y prosiguiendo otros instrumentos de clarines, chirimias y campanas entro el dia claro, y con el en ntra. Iglesia a la solemnidad de la missa toda la ciudad y Religiosos y ambos cabildos, el Sr. Arzobispo, el Sr. Gouernador, y Real Audienicia. Dicho el Euangelio, hizo el Sr. Arzobispo un mui graue y docto sermon, en que con grande afecto trato de las excelencias del Santo y su religion. Acabado el sermon salieron doce ninos ricamente vestidos a hacer un breue e ingenioso razonamiento a lo pastotil y vizcaino, todo a proposito de la fiesta presente; y a instancia del Sr. Arzobispo, que quiso hacerles este fauor, subieron a recitalle al mismo tablado donde acababa de pedricar, quedando Su Senoria a oirlos en su sitial. Acabada la Missa, los mismos ninos dieron las gracias al auditorio en muy graue y gustosa poesia; luego se fueron siguiendo quatro danzas que hizieron los naturales de nuestras doctrinas. Comio este dia con las religiones y cabildo eclesiastico el Sr. Arzobispo en ntro. refitorio, que estaba con no menor adorno de colgaduras y poesias en bien pintadas tarxas, de que tambien auia gran numero en la iglesia. En el testero estaban debaxo de ricos cielos las imagenes de ntro. Santo Padre y el Beato Francisco Jauier. Mientras duro la mesa, en que acudio al regalo de los huespedes con aparato y moderacion religiosa, explico un Padre un lugar de la sagrada escritura con mucha erudicion en lengua latina, griega, hebrea y castellana, que contento mucho. A la tarde hicieron los indios de nuestra doctrina de S. Miguel un breue colloquio en lengua tagala, mezclando en lugar de entremeses tres danzas con mucha destreza; la l.a vestidos como espanoles, la 2.a a su usanza con lancilla y adarga; en la 3.a se fingieron coxos, mancos y ciegos, y habiendo bailado un rato, cayendo a veces los coxos tropezando los ciegos, sin poderlos ayudar los mancos, se leuantaron al mismo compas del son y pidieron al Santo los sanase para seguir la danza; como lo hicieron con cimitarra y adarga con mucha destreza y curiosidad.

676

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Tocaba el dia siguiente a la Religion de Sto. Domingo hacer la fiesta, y comenzando de la noche antes conuidaron para su casa al Sr. Arzobispo y a los ntros. para que gozasen de las fuegos yngeniosos que aquella noche hubo. Comenzo la fiesta por el repique de campanas ordinario, musica y luminaries, y en obscureciendo la noche comenzaron doce diferencias de ingenias, que en su placeta tenian preparados al modo que arriba se toco, y remato la fiesta en buena musica de instrumentos y voces, y colacion, que se dio al Sr. Arzobispo y huespedes. Al dia siguiente vinieron los Padres Dominicos, no obstante la mucha agua que aquella noche y manana Ilouio. Recibieronlos en la iglesia los mismos doce ninoss que el dia precedents con un bien trazado y breue razonamiento al proposito de la fiesta y huespedes, que, para mas solemnidad de la fiesta, traxeron su musica, que es de las mejores de la ciudad, para la missa que se canto con diacono y subdiacono; pedrico el P.e Fray Thomas Mayor, persona muy estimada en estas islas, docta y graue, que alabo al Santo y a la Compania en un curioso sermon. Onrro este dia ntro. refitorio el conuento de Santo Domingo. El martes, por ser dia celebre en San Francisco por el antiguo Jubileo de la Porciuncula, no hubo fiesta, pero llenose ntra. Igiesia de gente que acudio a comulgar; y a la tarde pasaron por ella dos companias de soldados, haciendo su salua a la puerta y abatiendo sus banderas at Santo Capitan; lo qual hicieron por mandado del Senor Gobernador todos los dias de la octaua, excepto uno 6 otro que lo impidieron las muchas aguas. A la noche los Padres de San Francisco, a quien pertenecia hacer fiesta el miercoles, pusieron sus luminaries y fuegos atficosos, respondiendo nuestra torre con los suyos, que nunca faltaron par toda la octaua, y el Seminario de S. Joseph, que todas estas noches se senalo en variedad de fuegos. Acompanaron en esta fiesta a los Padres franciscanos el pueblo y natuales de Dilao, extramuros, que parecia un cielo estrellado con las muchas luces; la iglesia, que es de piedra bien labrada, parecia de perlas; de que los naturales, como nueuos christianos, se admiraron y edificaron con ver la solemnidad y deuocion con que se hacia fiesta al Santo; y a esta causa acudieron a esta ciudad de todos los pueblos conuecinos, sin poderselo estorbar el rigor de las aguas y malos tiempos. En amaneciendo vinieron a ntra. Iglesia todos los Religiosos de San Francisco, a quien saludaron los doce ninos con un graue razonamiento. Cantose la Missa con toda solemnidad, y pedrico el Padre Definidor de esta sagrada Orden, fray Juan de Noguera persona docta y graue y muy affecta a ntra. Compania. Quedaronse a comer en ntro. refitorio entreteniendolos en la quiete con una concertada musica. Los padres Agustinos, no contentandose con lo que habian visto hacer a las demas religiones, se esmeraron en hacernos merced. Estaba el Padre Prouincial Fray Miguel Garcia fuera de Manila, y no contento con haber ordenado que el conuento de esta ciudad hiziese fiesta igual a su deseo, conuido tambien por cartas a muchos priores, que con sus personas y fiesta de sus pueblos acudiesen i la solemnidad juntandose en

The Jesuits and Music in Manila, 1581-1621 677 Manila ... (enviando?) por delante un mui cumplido regalo de frutas y otras cosas; y sobre todo, interrumpio la visita de los pueblos, en que actualmente estaba, per hallarse presente a su fiesta, mando aderezar las calles hasta nuestra iglesia, que con las aguas estaban mal tratadas. Leuantaronlas de arena con mucho gasto y asistencia de algunos religiosos; enuiaron cantidad de cera tabrada y cirios grandes, mucha plata y aderezo de dos altares; que armaron junto a la rejilla, sin que estorbasen la vista de ntros. altares, que estaban superiores. El jueues, pues, a • las dos, comenzando la solemnidad acostumbrada, vino el P.e Prouincial acompanado del P.e Prior y todo el conuento a nuestra casa. Precedian gran numero de danzas de varies pueblos de sus doctrinas con bariedad de ynuenciones, todos vestido de seda y oro de mucho balor, en diferentes trajes de Borneyes, tagalos, espanoles, etc., unos a caballo y otros a pie, y algunos de ellos despues de las visperas, que se dixeron con grande solemnidad y concurso de lo mejor de la ciudad, Gobernador y audiencia, conuidados par los mismos Padres agustinos, recitaron un colloquio en espanol bascongado con mucha gracia y destreza; acabando la fiesta las muchas danzas, que apenas hubo tiempo para todas. Esta demostracion causo grande edificacion al pueblo, y no menos la que se siguio de la noche, qua ultra el regocijo acostumbrado, tenian su torre e iglesia llena de flamulas y galardetes y banderas de sus pueblos. Sacaron dos carros muy bien aderezodos a lo rustico, tirados de mansos bueyes, y acompanados de buen numero de saluajes en sus caballos, y al tiempo que el Rey barbaro, que iba en su trono, hacia senal con una trompeta ronca y destemplada, salian de los carros tantos fuegos, cohetes voladores, bombas y buscapies, que, juntandose los alaridos y vocingleria de los saluajes, hacian una horrible y espantosa musica. Pero a esta se seguia otra mui concertada y suaue de boces e instruments a lo pastoril, y en lugar de los espantosos fuegos, que habian precedido, salian hermosas cometas y estrellas, alegrando a una los oidos y vista de la gente innumerable que concurrio a la fiesta. Esto iban repitiendo a menudo por toda la ciudad, mientras en la plaza de su iglesia se hicieron 24 diferencias de fuegos tan ingeniosas, que con ser ordinaries en esta ciudad causaron mucha admiracion. Duro la fiesta dos oras sin cesar de volar cohetes desde las azoteas, que estaban hechas unas piras de fuego con mas de 300 hachones. Viernes por la manana amanecio la calle de San Agustin hasta la ntra. colgada de ricas piezas y panos de seda, y el suelo sembrado de juncia y palmas; y ia su tiempo comenzo salir muy lucida procesion: la Cofradia de los Nazarenos con su estandarte y mas de 200 hachas; tras esta venian mas de 19 cruces de plata, con sus ciriales, y delante de cada cruz una danza con ricos vestidos de seda y oro; luego se seguian muchos Religiosos en compania de los Augustinos, y doce dos sacerdotes reuestidos con ricas capas con otras tantas insignes reliquias de santos en sus basos de plata y oro, y ultimamente unas andas aderezadas ricamente en qua traian al gran Padre San Agustin vestido de Pontifical, sembrado de ricas piedras y plazas de oro. En llegando a

678 William J. Summers una placeta, donde los ntros. estaban aguardando, tomaron las andas quatro de ntros. sacerdotes y las pusieron en uno de los altares, que diximos tenian preparados, y en el otro las santas reliquias y en entrambos mas de sesenta candeleros de plata con candelas de cera blanca y hachones y mucho adorno de pebetes y ramilletes etc. Cantose la missa con grande solemnidad; y porque quisieron durase su fiesta dos dias en compania de los Padres Recoletos de su orden, que son pocos, dexaron el sermon para el dia siguiente, a lo qual ayudo tambien la yndispusicion del Padre Prior, que habia de pedricar, y estaba con calentura desde la noche antes. Hubo antes y despues de la misa dos dialogos de ntros. estudiantes, con los quales y con la mucha musica de villancicos, compuestos por los mismos Padres Augustinos, fue la manana mui regocijada; quedaronse a comer en ntro. refitorio nueuamente adornado por los mismos con muchas y vistosas tarjas, composiciones poeticas, y hieroglificos. Tambien nos alegraron la quiete con la musica que truxeron, pero sabre todo did mucho gusto un nino nacido entre los Itas 6 barbaros del monte, de hedad de siete anos, que danzo, volteo y alabo en latin y castellano a ntro. Santo Padre, con la gracia qua lo pudiera hacer un diestro danzate y eloquete orador. El sabado por la manana vinieron ambos conuentos de S. Agustin calzados y descalzos, y cediendo a una fiesta propia de la transfiguracion del Senor, quisieron onrrar la ntra. Cantose la missa con buena musica y pedrico el Padre Prior, fray Pedro de Salcedo, un raro sermon, que sobrepujo toda expectacion, en qua monstro bien quan de corazon aniaba a ntro. Santo Padre y a su Compania, dejandola muy obligada. El sabado por la tarde comenzo su fiesta la Congregacion, haciendo el gasto magnificamente la de los seglares, ayudando la de estudiantes con muchas e ingeniosas composiciones en tarxas muy bien pintadas, y en la representacion que adelante dire. Cantadas las visperas con excelente musica de la Cathedral, hizieron los del pueblo de S. Miguel, que es doctrina de la Compafina, extramuros, un colloquio en lengua tagala, que did mucho gusto asi por las cosas que dixeron como por el buen aderezo de vestidos y aparato. En la noche hubo en ntra. plazuela muchos fuegos artificiosos, y el que lleuo la ventaja a todos fue un gigante de extremada grandeza, que como otro hercules peleaba con una sierpe de siete cabezas, qua despues de haber resistido al gigante con muchos cohetes y bombas, pretendia escaparse huyendo; pero el gigante le dio tanta bateria de fuego y golpes con la maza, que la rindio, quedando el entero y sin quemarse con ser de canas y papel y haber parecido muchas veces como una llama de fuego. El Domingo fue ntro. conuidado el Sr. Gobernador del Maluco, Don Jeronimo de Silua, que en estas fiestas se senalo animando y conuidando a los ciudadanos a celebrarlas sin perdonar gastos y trabaxo. Concurrio ansimismo la Real Audiencia, Ciudad y Religiones y todo el pueblo, a quien se le dieron las gracias por lo bien que hablan acudido a las fiestas, en el sermon, que trato de las admirables virtudes del Santo.

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A la tarde concurrio con el yllustre auditorio de la manana innumerable pueblo a un muy graue colloquio de la vida y singulares virtudes del Santo, qua debaxo de varios simbolos e ingeniosos enredos representaron ntros. estudiantes costosa y curiosamente aderezados; cuyo remate fue una bien compuesta danza al compas de extremada musica, cosa qua mouio el auditorio a diuocion, y todos quedaron contentisimos y apesarados de que no hubiese durado mas de dos oras. El lunes y martes siguientes, habiendose concluido el tiempo que el certamen dio para las cornposiciones, se juntaron en nstra. casa para juzgar als personas que el nombro, qua fueron lo mas • noble y docto desta Ciudad, y entre ellos el Sr. Gobernador de Maluco, el dean de este Arzobispado, el Padre Comisario general del Santo Oficio de la inquisicion y el Maese de Campo, y otras personas, todas mui benemeritas. Entraron en competencia mas de doscientas y cincuenta composiciones latinas, griegas, italianas, castellanas, portuguesas, vizcainas, tagalas, vissayas y mexicanas, de varios generos de metres, en que hubo mucho que ver y pudieran parecer en la uniuersidad mas rica de poetas de Europa. Dispusieronse los premios; y otro dia, que fue de S. Lorenzo, acudieron sin ser conuidados a ntra. iglesia el Sr. Arzobispo, Real Audiencia, Ciudad y Religiones a gozar de las poesias, a que dio principio un breue y sentencioso colloquio, en que se represento el bien que ntro. Sto. Padre y la Conipania ha hecho al mundo por medio de las letras. Luego se fueron leyendo las composiciones premiadas y algunas otras, muchas de Religiosos de Sto. Domingo y San Francisco y San Agustin, las demas de Capitanes y estudiantes y soldados; quedando todos admirados de que lo ultimo del orbe, y donde mas se trata de guerras qua de letras, tenga tan excelentes poetas como en esta ocasion parecieron. Las muchas aguas y recios vientos deste dia y nocbe no dieron lugar a las inuenciones y fuegos, que la Congregacion tenia preparados; y ansi se dilataron para el domingo siguiente, dia del B. Hermano Estanislao, cuyo dia dio fin a las fiestas que tuuieron principio dia del B. Ludouico Gonzaga. Concurrio toda la Ciudad a ver tres carros triunfales mui vistosos, hechura de sangleyes, a costa de la Congregaci6n, que gasto en esto muchos ducados. Representaban la magestad de los mandarines y el modo qua tienen en juzgar. En anocheciendo comenzaron setenta variedades de fuegos admirables, y porque la mucha gente no daba lugar, salia a hacerle de quando en quando un caballo de fuego, que, corriendo a todas partes de la placeta y calle, repartia gran numero de cohetes, buscapies, quedando el sin lesion alguna. Los fuegos fueron muy vistosos, que hacian parecer en el aire a S. Ignacio, caballeros con lancillas en las manos, toros, sierpes, aguilas, rayos, cometas, todos con grande viueza y propiedad. Ultimamente dos galeras combatieron a un gran castillo, qua causo tanto estruendo y ruido de tiros, quanta habian sido los fuegos primeros apacibles. Dexo por breuedad otras fiestas, qua la ciudad hizo.

32 / Jesuit Devotions and Retablos in New Spain CLARA BARGELLINI

It is difficult to exaggerate the importance of the Jesuits in New Spain. They arrived in 1572, and, until their expulsion by Charles III in 1767, they played a crucial role in many aspects of life within the viceroy alty.1 The Society dedicated itself to mission work in remote areas, far from the capital city, that had been left untouched by the regulars, who had arrived earlier in New Spain (Franciscans, Dominicans, andAugustinians principally), and to the education of its own members and of other young men in the cities. I shall focus on the second of these very different contexts. In contrast to the importance assigned to the religious, social, economic, and intellectual presence of the Jesuits in New Spain, the role of art and architecture in the Society's enterprises and the place of its creations among the arts of the viceroyalty have received relatively little attention. Information is scattered in historical studies and in documents which, to a great extent, remain unexamined by art historians. Architecture has received most of the attention, since many buildings survive and since it is closely related to the Society's role in nonreligious activities. There is one basic and useful survey, written by Marco Diaz and published in 1982, on Jesuit architecture in New Spain.2 It provides a compendium not only of the buildings, but also of some of the retablos - retables or altarpieces - of the Jesuit churches, to which I shall refer here. A few of the individual buildings in Mexico City have been the subject of monographs which, at least, compile documents and information: the churches of the Profesa3 and of Loreto,4 the College of San Pedro y San Pablo,5 that of San Ildefonso,6 and the novitiate at Tepotzotlan.7 Finally, we know of two Jesuit architects: the lay brother Bartolome Larios, who in 1583 supervised the construction of a fountain in Oaxaca, and the Czech brother Simon Boruhradsky (alias de Castro), who arrived in New Spain in 1680 and died in 1697.8 A few of the authors of the studies just mentioned go beyond description and

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attempt to relate the buildings to particular Jesuit needs or inclinations. Among them, Marco Diaz, in his survey, concludes that in the buildings which survive, all of which date to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, there is a tendency to seek originality and to oppose what was current in each locality. He associates this tendency with the Jesuits' being in the forefront of intellectual developments in New Spain.9 Karen Christiansen de Casas, in her study of the Profesa, explains the siting of the church - on a corner, and the fa$ade flush with the street - in terms of the practical needs of the community of Jesuits that lived there. As for the interiors of the churches and the Jesuits' commissioning and use of sculpture and painting, a few Mexican retablos have been the subject of specific studies. Notable among these is the iconographic analysis of the eighteenthcentury retablos of the church at Tepotzotlan,10 the study of the documents for some of these same retablos,'' and the recent suggested reconstruction of the main retablo of the Profesa of Mexico City, on the basis of a description of the festivities for the 1672 canonization of St Francisco Borja.12 Other studies examine the interior of the old Jesuit church in Puebla; 13 present documents concerning the patronage of the first Jesuit church built in Zacatecas, now replaced by a new building begun in 1746;14 and analyse the late seventeenthcentury retablo of the chapel of the Jesuit hacienda of Santa Lucia, north of Mexico City, in relation to the cult of the Virgin of Sorrows.15 In addition, there are scattered references in many sources to paintings known to have originated in Jesuit settings or with Jesuit iconography. Notable and most recent is the study of the St Ignatius cycle painted by Cristobal de Villalpando in 1710.16 In this essay, I shall give a general introduction to the altarpieces of Jesuit churches in the cities of New Spain, so as to provide a context for the examination of three examples of cults and their retablos that can be identified as Jesuit initiatives. This will make it possible to go a bit beyond reconstruction and iconographic recognition, and to explore some of the processes at work in the decoration of Jesuit churches. I must begin by stating that one of the reasons for the scarcity of studies on the art commissioned for Jesuit churches in Mexico's viceregal period is that a great deal of it no longer exists. Not only the 1767 expulsion but also the nineteenthcentury Reform movement contributed to the dispersal and destruction of much of Jesuit material culture. However, the shortage of materials from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries is due mostly to the very success of the Jesuits themselves. Most of their major institutions were rebuilt or refurbished or both in the eighteenth century. Indeed, more than one Jesuit monumental church in New Spain was dedicated the very year of the expulsion or shortly before, as, for example, in Puebla and in Guanajuato. In urban centres, no retablos survive from the sixteenth century, very few from

682 Clara Bargellini the seventeenth century, and only two almost complete interiors from the eighteenth century, at Tepotzotlan and Zacatecas. Most of the seventeenth-century examples are not on general public view in the churches, but in more restricted spaces. Chief among these is the domestic chapel of the novitiate in Tepotzotlan, north of Mexico City. Although it, too, was altered in the eighteenth century and heavily restored in our own times when the entire establishment became the National Museum of the Viceroyalty, some of the elements of the chapel do survive: parts of the main retablo, which was rebuilt in the eighteenth century, and an older retablo, sometimes referred to as 'el relicario.' Indeed, relics and agnus Dei wax reliefs from Rome were among the objects displayed in these retablos, along with small paintings on copper and statuettes. In addition, the main retablo is decorated with mirrors, as is often the case in Mexican churches when relics are involved. The miniature size and precious nature of the objects and paintings of these retablos at Tepotzotlan are appropriate to the relatively small space they occupy and to the restricted access to the chapel, which was open only to Jesuits. This sort of altarpiece also existed at San Pedro y San Pablo in Mexico City, as we know from documents. We also know that restricted veneration of relics was important in Jesuit institutions elsewhere,17 and its occurrence in New Spain is one instance of a response to universal practices of the order. Another demonstration of this universality is the presence in the interior decoration of Jesuit churches of arrangements and devotions that were common to many other churches of the Society. Since so few actual retablos survive, we must look to documents to learn about what was in the churches. This obliges us to speak of iconography more than of form, since inventories typically list retablos and their images but say little of retablo structure or ornament. Now that, thanks to Rogelio Ruiz Gomar, we know something about the main retablo of San Pedro y San Pablo in Mexico City, we can state that, like many other Jesuit altars throughout the world, it celebrated St Ignatius and the Name of Jesus, in a representation of the Circumcision. It is also evident that practically all Jesuit churches in New Spain, in the eighteenth century, included retablos to St Ignatius and to St Francis Xavier, on either side of the main altar, in the crossing. At Tepotzotlan, where the church is dedicated to St Francis Xavier, he is at the centre of the main retablo, and St Francisco Borja takes his place in the Epistle transept. Although this is by no means a closed topic, there is nothing unusual in the presence of the first Jesuit saints in these locations. Another general point to be made here is that some scholars have noted the iconographic correspondence between the facade figures at Tepotzotlan and the main retablo.18 This is true and certainly important to a discussion of viceregal baroque, but it is not particularly Jesuit, since we have it in parish churches as well, in Zacatecas for example.

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In New Spain, the Society's emphasis in their retablos on Jesuit saints is striking. Franciscan retablos, by contrast, typically honour both St Francis and St Dominic - no doubt at least in part an acknowledgment of the more or less equal role of these two orders in the original sixteenth-century evangelization. This observation serves to introduce the topic of traits that may have been peculiar to the New World, or at least to New Spain, in Jesuit retablos, to which I shall now turn. What follows is not exhaustive; I shall make a general point that seems to be valid especially for earlier Jesuit retablos, and then examine some aspects of the situation in the later seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In its earliest years in New Spain, the Society seems to have emphasized apostolic iconography. Their first church, finished in 1573, was dedicated to Sts Peter and Paul. In the original main retablo of the Profesa in Mexico City, probably finished shortly after 1622, the apostles surrounded St Ignatius (fig. 32.1). Of about the same time, the main retablo of the Church of the Holy Spirit in Puebla also had images of the twelve apostles.19 In several of the early missions, too, the apostles were venerated; there is specific information about this for Parras in 1598, for different parts of the Sierra Madre west of Durango around 1600,20 and for several of theTarahumara missions later in the century; at Cusihuiriachi, for example, there was, again, a retablo dedicated to the apostles.21 Further examination of documents will probably disclose more instances. Surprising as it may seem, this emphasis on the apostles in altarpieces was not so common in New Spain. In the few sixteenth- and early seventeenth-century retablos preserved in Franciscan churches, as at Huejotzingo, Huaquechula, and Xochimilco, the apostles are present, but as relief busts in the predella. They are the 'foundation' on which the figures of later saints, many of them Franciscans, stand. However, at the Profesa, the Jesuits commissioned a composition in which St Ignatius stood in the centre, among the apostles - one with them, in other words. It is perhaps too easy to relate this iconography to the many references in Jesuit documents to the apostolic nature of their mission in the New World, and also to the fact that many of their first churches in New Spain were basilicas, at least in plan, perhaps in conscious imitation of early Christian architecture. This was true of their very first church,22 of the Profesa itself, erected between 1597 and 1610,23 and of the large mission churches of Sinaloa, built before 1634.24 At the very least, this iconography in Mexico City must be seen in relation to the debate within the Society about the establishment of the Casa Profesa. In brief, there were those who wanted to concentrate efforts and funds in the missions, and others who thought that a casa profesa was necessary and that, indeed, it would benefit the missions; discussion went on between 1577 and 1592, when the second opinion prevailed and also won approval from Rome.25 In this context, St Ignatius among the apostles over the Profesa high altar was the

684 Clara Bargellini

32.1. Reconstruction of the main retablo of the church of the Profesa, Mexico City. Drawing courtesy of Rogelio Ruiz Gomar.

expression and affirmation, in visual terms, of the decision that had been taken. The role of the Profesa in the apostolic mission was highlighted at its liturgical focus. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, once the Society was firmly established in New Spain, some peculiarities of Jesuit church decoration appear, especially in relation to specific cults, which were assigned places in the minor, or nave, retablos of the churches. Thus far I have found little evidence of any specific distribution of these altars in the interiors. However, some of these cults are noteworthy because of the impact of their images, or the altarpieces made for them, on the arts of New Spain more generally. Since they predominate, and also for the sake of unity of focus, I shall confine myself to three Marian images belonging to major cults promoted by the Society. Besides, a Jesuit, Francisco de Florencia, wrote about them,26 and his work has been analysed recently.27 The first and earliest example is the cult of the Virgin of Loreto.28 A

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congregation, or sodality, dedicated to her was established in the Casa Profesa in 1615. Some years later, Father Juan de Burgos, who wrote a book on the Virgin of Loreto that was published in Madrid in 1670, had an altar erected to her in the Jesuit church of Puebla. Around the statue of the Virgin were sculptures of her parents, as well as of St Joseph and St John the Baptist, indicating that the cult was concerned with domestic virtues, a notion confirmed by the writings of Florencia. A special impulse was provided by the Italian Jesuits Giovanni Maria Salvatierra and Giovanni Battista Zappa, who in 1677 brought from their homeland the exact measurements of the house, as well as reproductions of the heads and hands of the Virgin and Child. For the history of art and architecture the Virgin of Loreto is particularly important, because her veneration involved not only altars, but, owing to the very nature of the cult, entire constructions. The Santa Casa - the Virgin's house, which was carried by angels to Loreto - was reproduced in various locations in New Spain, most notably at the Jesuit college of San Gregorio in Mexico City in 1679-80; next to the parish church of San Jose in Puebla; in the Jesuit colleges of Merida (Yucatan) and Guadalajara; and, in the eighteenth century, next to the Jesuit church at San Luis Potosi, at Tepotzotlan, and next to the church of the oratory at San Miguel de Allende. The last two survive practically intact. Furthermore, Salvatierra dedicated the first mission in Baja California to the Virgin of Loreto in 1697; and the Jesuit church in Chihuahua, which served as base for the Tarahumara missions, was also erected in her honour (fig. 32.2). One curious fact about the Virgin of Loreto in New Spain is that in the many altars dedicated to her in Jesuit churches during the seventeenth and, especially, the eighteenth centuries, she is not black, as she was in the original. In fact, I know of only one painting in Mexico of the Virgin of Loreto that shows her in the original black, now in the Church of Nuestra Sefiora del Pilar (the Ensenanza). This may well be an image brought from Italy, since it does not seem to be a Mexican work. In all other cases, the Virgin is white, as she often is in European and South American representations. Florencia refers to this issue rationally in his book on the image, and attributes the darkness of the Virgin of Loreto to the effects of smoke from the lamps lit in devotion to her for over sixteen hundred years. He insists on her beauty, and he also says that the original sculpture was carved by St Luke. The Virgin of Loreto, therefore, despite her colour, fits into the category of 'true' images of Mary, of great interest in Counter-Reformation Catholicism. Incidentally, Florencia also relates how Francisco Borja had copies made of the famous icon in Santa Maria Maggiore, said to have been painted by St Luke, in order to send them throughout the world, and how four of these were destined for New Spain in 1576. We have in the Virgin of Loreto, then, two issues that touch on the history of art and that deserve future treatment in depth. One is

686

Clara Bargellini

32.2. Anonymous Mexican, Virgin of Loreto, eighteenth century, parish church of Santa Eulalia (Aquiles Serdan), Chihuahua; originally in the Jesuit church of Loreto. Photo courtesy of Libertad Villarreal.

that of likeness and representation. The other has to do with colour and culture, because the appearance of the Virgin's skin was a sensitive subject in New Spain. Although Burgos, Salvatierra, and Zappa were personally associated with the cult of the Virgin of Loreto in New Spain, this is not simply an example of a Marian devotion projected by individual Jesuits into the public sphere, as Florencia and, perhaps to a greater extent, Oviedo, who lived in the eighteenth century,

Jesuit Devotions and Retablos in New Spain 687 tend to present it. The Jesuits had been charged by Pope Julius III with direct responsibilities at her sanctuary in Italy, and not only the first mission in Baja California but also the first Moxos mission in Bolivia was dedicated to the Virgin of Loreto. It is, therefore, likely that corporate concerns were just as important as personal ones in the spread of the Loreto cult in New Spain. Furthermore, the presence of a Santa Casa next to the parish church of San Jose in Puebla, which was not Jesuit, probably was due to the role of the cult in the promotion of family virtues, and attests to its importance in a broader context. My second example brings us closer to questions of visual invention and manipulation. An important Marian cult promoted by the Jesuits and orginating in their principal Mexico City church of San Pedro y San Pablo is that of the Virgen de Dolores, or Virgin of Sorrows. The cult itself originated with the Servites in the thirteenth century and was by no means unknown in Mexico outside Jesuit contexts. However, it was the Jesuit Jose Vidal who established a sodality of the Virgin of Sorrows in Mexico City in 1673, and it had a large following. For our purposes, this sodality is of great importance, because it became the occasion for the construction of a retablo which codified a formal type that was repeated with variations throughout the viceroyalty well into the eighteenth century. Fortunately, although the original retablo of the Virgin of Sorrows in the Church of San Pedro y San Pablo no longer exists, we know something of its appearance because of the sermon preached on the day of its dedication in 1678. We also have the contract that tells us who made it. Furthermore, important elements of its construction were echoed in another, smaller Jesuit retablo which does survive.29 The sermon, given by Juan del Pozo, another Jesuit, emphasizes two characteristics of the retablo, one formal and one iconographic. The retablo as a whole was enclosed within an arch, and the decoration of the arch consisted of a display of the arms of Christ, that is, of the symbols of the Passion. Del Pozo goes to considerable lengths in relating the Passion and Mary's participation in it to the idea of eternal victory, so that the arms of Christ are seen as adornments of a triumphal arch. Because of the existence of the smaller retablo of the Jesuit hacienda of Santa Lucia, north of Mexico City, the income of which was destined for the support of the College of San Pedro y San Pablo, we have a clear sense of what this triumphal arch was about (fig. 32.3). The arch may even have been more visibly three-dimensional, that is, it could have consisted of paintings on the actual arch that encloses the space alloted to the retablo in the Church of San Pedro y San Pablo. An example of this type of ornamentation can be seen in one of the chapels of the cathedral in Mexico City, adorned at a later date, in which the intrados of the arch is lined with paintings of angels with Passion symbols. The retablo of the Virgin of Sorrows in the nave of San Pedro y San Pablo gave

688 Clara Bargellini

32.3. Anonymous Mexican, retablo of the hacienda of Santa Lucia, late seventeenth century. Photo courtesy of Centra Cultural Arte Contemporaneo, Mexico City.

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rise to a significant number of reproductions in New Spain. We see a version not only at Santa Lucia, but also in non-Jesuit contexts, such as in a Passion retablo at Tlalmanalco, also of the late seventeenth century and perhaps designed by the same sculptor. More examples are known from the eighteenth century, such as the one at Mapete, Hidalgo, where, although the formal language of the retablo is totally different, Vidal's basic idea and the corresponding and essential arch of its form have been preserved. Vidal's retablo was original also in its principal cult image of the Virgin of Sorrows. The sermon makes much of the fact that, whereas the Virgin usually was shown standing, here she was represented as seated in front of the cross.30 This was to emphasize both her overwhelming sorrow, which made it impossible for her to stand, and her determination to bear it, since by being seated she could not move away. Furthermore, the image was a painting, not a sculpture, as we know from the contract. It was executed by Juan Correa and, thanks to the sermon, can probably be identified with a painting now in a private collection in Mexico City (fig. 32.4). The composition was repeated several times by Correa, and his more talented contemporary, Cristobal de Villalpando, produced several variations on the theme of the seated sorrowful Virgin. We also know that Father Vidal was responsible for another retablo, dedicated to an Ecce Homo in 1696. It faced the one of the Virgin of Sorrows in the Church of San Pedro y San Pablo and took it into account. One of its principal images was an unusual painting the iconography of which had to be explained at length in a leaflet written by Vidal, because it became, apparently, the object of some controversy (fig. 32.5).31 The specific iconography of the painting of the seated Virgin and that of this Christ, unlike the triumphal arch of the entire retablo of the Virgin of Sorrows, seem not to have had a following beyond their immediate late seventeenth-century context. The case of the Virgin of Sorrows draws our attention to the impact of the Jesuits on art in New Spain in a broad sense. Marco Diaz suggested that in architecture the Jesuits displayed originality and a willingness to innovate. The retablo of the Virgin of Sorrows points to a similar conclusion. The design of the retablo was sponsored by the Jesuits and spread elsewhere. Although it is the only instance documented with some certainty thus far, more careful studies of existing retablos and of documents may well uncover others. Furthermore, it is clear, as one would expect, that some Jesuits were deeply involved in the problems of the genre of devotional art in New Spain. Vidal and del Pozo were conscious of their roles as religious and intellectual leaders. They not only promoted cults and sodalities and originated retablo designs, but also explained them in sermons and writings. Another documented case is that of Father Alexandra Favian, who, a few years earlier in Puebla, had founded the

690 Clara Bargellini

32.4. Juan Correa, Virgin of Sorrows, c. 1678. Private collection, Mexico City. Photo courtesy of Institute de Investigaciones Esteticas.

Company of Jesus Christ the Nazarene, a sodality of priests, and had had success in a polemic about the appropriate way of representing Jesus carrying the cross.32 Also, in the texts on the retablo of the Virgin of Sorrows we can perceive clearly the close relationship between the college and daily worship in the church. Furthermore, both Vidal and del Pozo make references to contemporary events. They want to emphasize the need for the cult of the Virgin of Sorrows within a context that they represent as one of crisis: the loss of New Mexico to Indian

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32.5. Cristobal de Villalpando, Christ at the Column, late seventeenth century. Private collection, Mexico City. Photo courtesy of Institute de Investigaciones Esteticas.

rebellion in 1680, the 1692 food riots in Mexico City, during which a part of the royal palace was destroyed, and the repeated attacks of the pirate Lorencillo on the Gulf and Caribbean coasts. Meditation on Christ's and Mary's sufferings is proposed as a way to mitigate and handle crisis. The specific approach of Vidal in particular was inspired, not surprisingly, by the Spiritual Exercises in that it recommends personal identification and the use of the imagination. The retablo and its paintings were intended to help one visualize the circumstantial details of Mary's suffering. The approach also helps explain the insistence on painting instead of sculpture. Indeed, on this point Vidal was conservative in terms of the

692 Clara Bargellini overall history of New Spanish retablos. The general tendency was towards sculpture, but painting is more discursive - it lends itself more easily to the telling of a story and the specifying of time, place, and atmosphere to aid in meditation. Whereas the Virgin of Loreto remained associated to a great extent with Jesuit churches, and the Virgin of Sorrows provided the occasion for artistic invention and religious disquisitions by members of the Society, another Marian cult soon developed independently. One crucial factor is chronology. The Most Holy Mother of Light (fig. 32.6) was introduced by the Jesuits considerably later, in 1732, when the territory of New Spain was more extensively covered by religious establishments. This Sicilian image, today little known even in Italy, spread everywhere throughout New Spain, well beyond the confines of Jesuit churches. Its introduction is associated with Father Giuseppe Maria Genovese, who initially considered the Mother of Light as a patron for the missions. Her image was given to the recently established Jesuit church in Leon.33 This Virgin also is a 'true' image. Its story is that Mary appeared in Palermo to a woman, who described her to a painter so that he might render her on canvas. Both events are illustrated in two mid-eighteenth-century paintings in Tepotzotlan. The first shows Mary appearing to the woman. In the second, in which the woman is in the painter's studio, the graceful figure of the Virgin is also present, as if posing.34 Indeed, Mary is said to have guided the painter's hand. The relatively few images of the Mother of Light in Europe are concentrated chiefly in Sicily,35 but many can be found in Mexico and in South America, and some even reached the Philippines. There were altars dedicated to her in the Jesuit churches of New Spain in the eighteenth century, but in numerous parishes as well. Possibly because of an association with relief for the souls in Purgatory, the cult of Our Lady of Light36 took firm root. She can be considered the Jesuit equivalent of Our Lady of Mount Carmel, also an intercessor for the Holy Souls, who enjoyed great popularity outside Carmelite contexts. The Mother of Light seems easily to have transcended her original Jesuit context, and after the expulsion of 1767, her image was manipulated freely. Indeed, the full assimilation of this cult in the viceroyalty resulted in adaptations in the visual arts. Even before the expulsion, still within Jesuit contexts, the most important of these changes, and specifically for retablos, was the transformation of the painted image into sculpture. Even the famous Virgin of Guadalupe, whose original was thought to have been painted by God himself, and whose image was also promoted by the Jesuits, was represented in three dimensions in many eighteenthcentury examples. It is not surprising, therefore, that the same should have happened to the Mother of Light. These transformations of paintings into sculpture should be understood in conjunction with the predominantly sculptural

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32.6. Anonymous Italian, Most Holy Mother of Light, early eighteenth century, cathedral, Leon, Guanajuato. Photo courtesy of Jose Luis Diaz.

694 Clara Bargellini character of eighteenth-century retablos in New Spain, to which I have already referred. There was a general tendency - not particularly Jesuit - for painting to occupy the wall spaces between retablos and to fill cloisters and homes, while retablos became fully sculptural; by contrast, a combination of painting and sculpture had characterized altarpieces in earlier times. The three-dimensional realism of a sculpture of Our Lady of Light gave rise to the legend that a fire that partially destroyed the newly completed interior of the Jesuit church in Zacatecas was started by the angry and resentful monster spouting flames under her feet (fig. 32.7).37 The popularity of the Mother of Light and the fact that her image had become fixed in the imagination of New Spain made it possible to integrate other elements into the basic painted composition. One example shows Our Lady of Light without direct references to hell and salvation and in conjunction with other saints. Although this adaptation may have been made in response to the controversial character of the image itself, referred to in the Inquisition texts cited below,38 it is analogous to the adaptation whereby the Virgin of Guadalupe appears in representations of the Holy Family, for example. Complete assimilation to New World needs sometimes took place, as when the Mother of Light underwent a metamorphosis and became St Joseph of Light: the figure of St Joseph is simply substituted for that of Mary. This metamorphosis is to be seen as part of the general phenomenon of the great popularity of St Joseph in New Spain. Such a representation occurred only in paintings and prints, and it seems to have been controversial, since in at least one instance one of these images, collected in Guadalajara, became the occasion for the intervention of the Inquisition.39 There was a chapel in Sombrerete, in northern New Spain, dedicated to St Joseph of Light, and I have seen paintings as far south as Guatemala, but I know of no instance of a full retablo dedicated to him. I doubt that this iconography originated in a Jesuit context, but, whatever the case, the image is evidence of the impact and assimilation of the painting introduced by the Jesuits. The three examples just discussed serve to highlight the importance of the Society in the creation of works of visual art in New Spain at various levels. There were corporate tendencies which, though not unchanging, were fairly constant. Certain cults, that of the Virgin of Loreto among them, seem to have been promoted quite universally, and their attendant images were multiplied in predictable contexts. The history of other cults is associated more specifically with individual Jesuits, who, in turn, used them to stimulate personal devotion among the faithful. This sort of phenomenon, illustrated here by the Virgin of Sorrows of San Pedro y San Pablo, probably acquired more importance as both the Society and the viceroyalty matured in the New World. Thus, we find more evidence of attention to personal sensibilities in the later seventeenth and the

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32.7. Anonymous Mexican, retablo of Our Lady of Light, mid-eighteenth century, Santo Domingo (previously the Jesuit church), Zacatecas. Photo courtesy of Institute de Investigaciones Esteticas.

696 Clara Bargellini eighteenth centuries. Specific and original works of painting and sculpture resulted from Jesuit involvement with particular devotions. Finally, the fact that, alone of all the religious orders in New Spain, the Jesuits counted in their number men from all over Europe, made possible the introduction into the viceroyalty of cults, like that of Our Lady of Light, that were practically unknown in Spain. These, once established, could be transformed for local needs. Although I began by drawing a line between the urban and the mission contexts, it is evident from parts of this essay that the separation between these two spheres of Jesuit activity cannot be maintained absolutely. They were closely related, as much in art and architecture as in other aspects of the life of the Society. The same cults were present in Jesuit churches everywhere, and individual members of the order went from one type of establishment to another within the province. Indeed, one of the most interesting studies by an art historian that reflects on Jesuit activity in New Spain is Emily Umberger's recent exploration of how the Society in Mexico City, especially through its College of San Gregorio, served as an important force in the study and promotion of native culture.40 Thus far, only the architecture of some of the missions has received a measure of scholarly attention, but the fuller study of mission material culture, including objects we now call 'art,' that is yet to be undertaken will certainly complement and possibly even alter the still too bare picture outlined here of the Jesuit contribution to the visual arts of New Spain. NOTES 1 Gerardo Decorme, La obra de los jesuitas mexicanos durante la epoca colonial, 2 vols (Mexico City, 1940-1) remains the basic general source. 2 DiazArq. 3 Karen Christiansen de Casas, 'Estudio arquitectonico,' in Lorenza Autrey Maza et al., La Profesa (Mexico City, 1988), pp. 127-65. 4 Sonia Lombardo, La plaza de Loreto (Mexico City, 1971). 5 Clementina Diaz y de Ovando, El Colegio Maximo de San Pedro y San Pablo (Mexico City, 1951). 6 Jose Rojas Garciduenas, ElAntiguo Colegio de San Ildefonso (Mexico City, 1951). 7 Pablo C. de Gante, Tepotzotldn: Su historia y sus tesoros artisticos (Mexico City, 1958); Institute Nacional de Antropologia e Historia, Colegios de Tepotzotldn: Restauraciones y museologia (Mexico City, 1964); Rodrigo Martinez et al., Teptzotldn: La vida y la obra en la Nueva Espana (Mexico City, 1988). Besides the mentions in Diaz Arq., only two Jesuit churches outside Mexico City have received more than passing art historical attention: Salvador Diaz-Berrio and Victor Manuel Villegas, El templo de la Campania de Jesus en Guanajuato (Guanajuato,

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8

9 10 11

12

13 14

15 16 17

18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

1969); Marco Diaz, 'La iglesia del Colegio del Espiritu Santo en Puebla,' in Retablo barroco a la memoria de Francisco de la Maza (Mexico City, 1974), pp. 103-13. Heinrich Berlin, 'Oaxaca: La iglesia de San Felipe Neri: Noticias de artifices,' Archive espanol de arte 56 (1983): 55, and Pavel Stepanek, 'Simon de Castro Simon Boruhradsky: Un arquitecto checo del siglo XVIII en Mexico,' Cuadernos de arte colonial 2 (1987): 19-36. Diaz Arq., pp. 186-96. Maria del Consuelo Maqufvar, Los retablos de Tepotzotldn (Mexico City, 1976). Guillermo Tovar de Teresa, 'La iglesia de San Francisco Javier de Tepotzotlan: Eco de la vida artistica de la ciudad de Mexico en los siglos XVII y XVIII,' in Martinez et al., Tepotzotldn, pp. 62-103. Rogelio Ruiz Gomar, 'El retablo de la Profesa y su efimera transfiguration en 1672,' Los discursos sobre el arte, ed. Juana Gutierrez Races (Mexico City, 1995), pp. 91-106. Efrain Castro Morales, 'Las yeserias de la iglesia vieja de la Compania de Puebla,' Anales del Instituto de Investigaciones Esteticas 28 (1959): 85-90. Marco Diaz, 'El patronazgo en las iglesias de la Nueva Espana: Documentos sobre la Compania de Jesus en Zacatecas en el siglo XVII,' Anales del Instituto de Investigaciones Esteticas 45 (1976): 97-105. Clara Bargellini, El retablo de la Virgen de los Dolores (Mexico City, 1993). Juana Gutierrez, 'Vida de San Ignacio,' in Gutierrez et al., Cristobal de Villalpando (Mexico City, 1997), pp. 326-9. Manuel Arias Martinez y Jose Ignacio Hernandez Redondo, 'La Compania de Jesus y las capillas relicarios vallisoletanas: Medina del Campo,' in Struggle for Synthesis: The Total Work of Art in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, ed. Luis de Moura Sobral, forthcoming. Barbara Anderson, 'The Figural Arrangements of 18th Century Churches in Mexico,' Ph.D. dissertation, Yale University, 1979. Diaz An?., p. 48. Decorme, La obra de los jesuitas, II 20, 114, 124, 136, for both Parras and the Sierra Madre. Clara Bargellini, La arquitectura de la plata: Iglesias monumentales del centronorte de Mexico, 1640-1750 (Mexico City and Madrid, 1991), p. 83. Diaz Arq., pp. 25-6. Christianson de Casas, 'Estudio,' p. 134. Clara Bargellini, 'La arquitectura religiosa de Sinaloa: Estudio documental,' in Regionalizacion en el arte (Mexico City, 1992), pp. 119-21. Lorenza Autrey Maza, 'Estudio historico,' in Autrey Maza et al., La Profesa (n2 above), pp. 16-28.

698 Clara Bargellini 26 Francisco de Florencia y Juan Antonio de Oviedo, Zodiaco mariano (Mexico City, 1755; new ed. 1995). 27 Especially by Pilar Gonzalbo Aizpuru, 'Las devociones marianas en la vieja provincia de la Compama de Jesus,' in Manifestaciones religiosas en el mundo colonial americano, ed. Clara Garcia Ayluardo and Manuel Ramos Medina, 2 vols (Mexico City, 1994), II 2, 105-16. 28 Florencia, Zodiaco, p. 154. Florencia also wrote La Casa Peregrina solar ilustre ... (Mexico City, 1689). What follows comes from these sources. 29 The documents and information are treated in Bargellini, El retablo de la Virgen. 30 My thanks to Andres Jimenez Garcia, who located the complete text of del Pozo's sermon. He is now doing a full study of the interior of San Pedro y San Pablo. 31 Rogelio Ruiz Gomar, 'Cristo en el aposentillo,' in Gutierrez et al., Cristobal de Villalpando (Mexico City, 1997), pp. 290-2. 32 Ignacio Osorio, La luz imaginaria (Mexico City, 1993), pp. 29-39, 75-82. 33 Mariano Gonzalez Leal, Leon: Trayectoria y destino (Leon, 1990), pp. 36-9. 34 Museo Nacional del Virreinato 10-241485 and 10-241484. 35 Luis Cabrera Cruz, Imdgenes de la Madre Santisima de la Luz en la Isla de Sicilia (Leon, 1964); one of the oldest, possibly of the seventeenth century, is in the sacristy of St Stanislaus, Palermo. There is also a 1738 print identified as Spanish; see Santiago Sebastian, 'La pintura del siglo XVIII en Cali y Popayan,' Cuadernos coloniales 1 (1986): 76. Finally, I know a drawing by the eighteenth-century Roman artist Giuseppe Cades, published by Jacob Bean and William Griswold, 18th Century Italian Drawings in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York, 1990), no. 18, p. 40. 36 The original title is that of Most Holy Mother of Light (Madre Santissima del Lume), but in Mexico she is often called Our Lady of Light (Nuestra Senora de la Luz). 37 Diego Jose Abad, Rasgo epico descriptivo de lafdbrica y grandezas del templo de la Companfa de Jesus de Zacatecas (Mexico City, 1750). 38 The basic problem of the image is that it can be interpreted as showing Mary taking a soul out of hell, something that not even the Virgin is capable of doing. 39 Renato Gonzalez Mello, 'Arte e Inquisicion,' ElAlcaravdn 2:7 (1991): 24-6. The case came up in 1784. 40 Emily Umberger, 'The "Monarchia Indiana" in Seventeenth-Century New Spain,' in Converging Cultures, ed. Diana Fane (New York, 1996), pp. 46-58.

Joseph Connors Two vedute of 1665 by the Flemish artist Lievin Cruyl show the Gesu (with the Casa Professa) and Sant'Ignazio (with the Collegio Romano) in Rome (figs 33.1, 33.2). This is a century and a quarter after the foundation, and the artist is well aware of the axis of Jesuit power that ran between the two huge complexes. They provide a setting for themes discussed in several papers in this volume. The view of the Gesu (fig. 33.1) shows us a broad swath of Farnese Rome. Pope Paul III began the transformation of the Capitoline Hill, built the great tower that Cruyl shows on its northern edge, and opened up the street leading to Michelangelo's piazza. His descendants Cardinals Alessandro and Odoardo Farnese built the Gesu and the Casa Professa, which are bounded by the urban network Paul III had laid out. Cruyl's eagle eye catches issues of power and patronage written into the town plan and treated in Clare Robertson's paper on the patronage of the two Farnese cardinals. But what we must remember is that the Jesuits were not alone. Many new religious orders were trying to establish a foothold in the crowded urban fabric of the papal city. The Theatines, Oratorians, and Barnabites as well as the reformed or scalzi branches of the older orders - Carmelites, Franciscans, Augustinians, Trinitarians, and Mercedarians - all needed to establish a presence in the city. Building projects made them all confront the dilemma of poverty versus wealth. All had to keep alive an inner flame and simultaneously attract patronage from the court and the College of Cardinals. The representatives of any of these groups could say the same thing as the Jesuit general Gian Paolo Oliva: our houses will be austere in the extreme, but our churches are dedicated to God. 'They cannot in any way attain the infinite merit of the Trinity either through their splendor or through the richness of their architecture and decoration.'l Oliva certainly accelerated the adoption of high baroque art by the Jesuits. Francis Haskell goes so far as to call Jesuit art of this period the 'Oliva style.'2 But his dichotomy between houses and churches goes back to the earliest formulation of Jesuit building policy in 1558. Schools and houses, it was then said, had to be plain and strong ('utilia, sana et fortia ... in quibus tamen pauperitatis nostrae memores esse videamur. Unde nee sumptuosa sint, nee curiosa'). But no policy was decided on for churches ('De ecclesiis tamen nihil dictum est'), and it was the churches that allowed the Jesuits to display the wealth that patrons were willing to lavish on them. Different orders made different choices in these matters. The Jesuit Casa Professa is plain and functional, but the Casa dei Filippini, built by Borromini for the Oratorians a generation later, reminds us that the 'dress' of a religious house need not be so austere. In the Boston College conference production of Domenico

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33.1. Lievin Cruyl, view of the Gesii of Rome, 1665 (photo reversed). Cleveland Museum of Art, Dudley P. Allen Fund 43.271. Photo courtesy of the Cleveland Museum of Art.

Zipoli and Martin Schmid's opera San Ignacio de Loyola, the contrast between the saint and the devil was one not only of voice but of dress, the soutane of St Ignatius versus the red greatcoat of the hidalgo worn by the devil. So too the Jesuits had to decide on the dress of their buildings. The soul-searching that went on as the older ideal of poverty confronted the new realities of patronage is the subject of a probing analysis in Dauril Alden's recent monumental study of the Jesuits in the Portuguese empire.3 The coats of arms on Jesuit buildings were flashpoints where conflicting views on poverty and patronage came out into the open. Bartolomeo Ammannati, not only the architect but also the donor of the Jesuit college in Florence, proposed a palace-like fa?ade with a splendid coat of arms bearing the Jesuit symbol, IHS. But when Claudio Acquaviva, the genera], saw the designs, he diplomatically

702 Part Seven

33.2. Lievin Cruyl, view of Sant'Ignazio in Rome, 1665 (photo reversed). Cleveland Museum of Art, Dudley P. Allen Fund 43.266. Photo courtesy of the Cleveland Museum of Art.

proposed moderation: 'si moderasse assai qual Hiesu, ch'e troppo sonutoso.'4 Similar negotiations took place between the Jesuits and Cardinal Farnese over the arms that were to go on the fagade of the Gesu in Rome. The cardinal thought himself in sole charge of the project and rejected Vignola, after years of loyal service, in favour of the more progressive style of della Porta. But both Vignola and della Porta had proposed fagades with the Farnese arms looming large over the main portal. This is not where they stand on the church today. They have been exiled to the very top of the fagade, a position that might have looked prominent on paper but is almost invisible from the street. Instead we now have a magnificent marble coat of arms, with IHS inset in gleaming bronze letters, over the door, where it confronts every visitor. Klaus Schwager has traced this change to a meeting of the Jesuits, in which it was suggested that the arms would be better if they broadcast less of the temporal and more of the spiritual. And it was their wishes that in the end were carried out.5

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Ever since the work of Joseph Braun scholars have played down the issue of a Jesuit style. As Gauvin Alexander Bailey has shown, it is the theorists who have been reluctant to let this concept go. Thomas DaCosta Kaufmann's extraordinary paper, which spans the distance between the German-speaking lands of Central Europe and Latin America, has illuminated the precise ways in which the Jesuits practised a circumspect adaptation to local conditions while forging a character of their own. In Vienna a synthesis was effected between Roman models and local precedents. Outright copying of Roman designs is rare in the Jesuit buildings of Central Europe, but when it occurs it is extremely interesting. Kaufmann shows how the Church of Sts Peter and Paul in Cracow reproduces pieces of the Gesu, Vignola's dome and della Porta's fa£ade, with consummate accuracy. He then puts these trends, Vienese adaptation and Polish copying, into a larger political context. It was most interesting to learn that only 5 per cent of the churches built in Poland at this time were of stone; the vast majority of the population worshipped in churches of wood. The great stone copy of the Gesu must have seemed like a creature from outer space to the general population, but a reassuring benchmark of political direction to the urban aristocracy. Many of the papers have touched on similar problems of adaptation and accommodation in the large Jesuit world. David M. Kowal's paper on the churches of Goa has shown that Serlio enjoyed an afterlife in India that he could never have imagined when he left Venice to try his luck in France, povertystricken, in 1542, shortly after the approval of the Jesuit rule. But as Kowal demonstrates, Goan architecture is fascinating not only for its adaptation of Italian textbook models but also for decorative motifs that could be understood in different ways by the indigenous and by the colonizing cultures. Floral festoons could be read either as Roman baroque or as Hindu, like a phoneme of common sound but different sense in two languages. Political borders were porous, and Kowal has demonstrated that architectural motifs crossed them easily. The bell towers of the Christian churches, symbols of a militant campanilismo, were transformed on the other side of the border into the towers of Indian temples. The box plan of the Goan churches, while it echoes the openness and unity that the Jesuits strove for in their Italian churches, reflects the values of a different society, one that rejected church burials, private endowments, and family chapels. If Jesuit style is no longer a pressing issue, Jesuit corporate strategy, especially the reshaping of the urban fabric of the cities in which the Society settled, is the focus of intense interest. Whatever the style, the Jesuit presence is impressive. The schools and colleges are certainly not curious or sumptuous, but they can be extremely large, fortia, and as has been shown by Johannes Terhalle and others, they were regarded as extraordinarily imposing by competing religious orders.

704 Part Seven The Collegio Romano was one of the largest buildings in Rome after the Vatican Palace. The church and college of the Jesuits in Munich, St Michael's, is the largest building complex after the Residenz of the Dukes of Bavaria. The fagade of this church, treated with sensitivity in Jeffrey Chipps Smith's paper, has a massive presence in the urban fabric. Not like a Roman fagade with its architectural orders, but like a Biirgerhaus of gargantuan dimensions, pierced by the many windows that flood the nave with light and the unusual double doors, it proclaims the majesty of the house of the Lord. Bell towers were impossible on a fagade of this type, so the Jesuits began a massive tower at one corner of their property. Had it not collapsed it would have lifted the symbols of Jesuit presence high over the city. Smith has stressed the liminal quality of the Munich fagade, its air of being a threshold between the world of Lucifer and the world of St Michael. Gerhardt's colossal bronze statue of the saint casting the devil into the abyss marks the militant presence of the Society in the urban fabric. The arms of the dukes of Bavaria are displayed, in bronze, right under this statue, at eye level, and the spiritual ancestry of the dukes is exhibited in the gallery of the statues that occupies the upper levels. In the interior the overwhelming unity of the architecture, which eliminates a crossing and cupola and turns all eyes to the altar, is reinforced by statues that tie nave and choir together. The interior of St Michael's is the site of a pilgrimage, like the Spiritual Exercises themselves. I am reminded by this comparison between a building and a book of Marc Fumaroli's illuminating essay on the anniversary volume of 1640, Imago primi saeculi. Here a book is seen to have the structure of a building, complete with frontispiece-fagade and emblematic side chapels; it becomes a livre-fete, a public rejoicing for success given by God.6 Jesuit cults are a ripe field of research, and their diffusion in New Spain is the subject of Clara Bargellini's paper. She has suggested that the cult of the Virgin of Sorrows grew in New Spain amid an atmosphere of political crisis and personal insecurity. She has also studied the way in which a little-known cult of the Virgin spread from Palermo to the New World, and crossed over from painting to sculpture to produce the famous Nuestra Sefiora de la Luz, prominent wherever the Jesuits went in New Spain. My second Lievin Cruyl veduta illustrates Sant'Ignazio and the Collegio Romano, with the Gesu in the background (fig. 33.2). It shows Orazio Grassi's fagade and a project for the cupola which, to Andrea Pozzo's advantage, was forever left unfinished. The building across the street from Sant'Ignazio is the Dominican convent of Santa Maria sopra Minerva. Two rival orders had expanded to the limits of their property and stood in uneasy propinquity. In the veduta the little obelisk of San Macuto still stands next to the church fagade.

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Kircher did not put it there, but he must have enjoyed its presence. It stayed at Sant'Ignazio until its removal to the Pantheon in 1711. The volume has treated this huge Jesuit complex in great detail and from the viewpoints of many different disciplines. Margaret Murata has illuminated the world of Athanasius Kircher's music of marvels, which rang through the corridors of the Collegio Romano. His machines for devising new sequences of notes according to mathematical permutations are like nothing so much as the ringing of changes in English bell towers. Louise Rice has taken us into the strange 'inverted world of Jesuit symbolism,' and shown how Jesuit degree ceremonies evolved into elaborate performances in which music, heraldry, prints, and the rhetoric of praise all contribute to a kind of aristocratic theatre. Federico Cesi, founder of the Accademia de' Lincei and author of a famous discourse called The Natural Desire to Know,' would not have been surprised by this theatricality, since he was convinced that the doctorate was essentially a worthless degree ('doctores sed non docti'). But he would have been quite surprised to see that his vision of a system of licei, centres of the new learning that would spread the culture of experiment from Palermo to Peru, was in some way fulfilled by the network of Jesuit colleges. Michael Kiene has reminded us recently that 669 of them had been founded by 1750, more than Cesi could have dreamt of.7 Many papers here have explored the multifaceted world of Jesuit science. Michael John Gorman has taken us into the distillery and the Kircher Museum, that space of science in the Collegio Romano, and shown that science was organized around the principle of the marvellous experiment. Several papers have referred to northern European criticisms of Kircher. We know of Leibniz's initial enthusiasm but then long-standing coolness towards Kircher; and Gorman has mentioned Christopher Wren's reservations and the criticisms from many others. But for better or worse Kircher was the centre of a far-flung web that tied together missionaries and scientists, as Paula Findlen recently8 and Gorman now have shown. For all this intense research in music, science, pedagogy, painting, and architecture, what we still need is someone to treat the Collegio as a unified 'cultural field.' Orazio Grassi the scientist has been studied by Pietro Redondi, and Christoph Scheiner's laboratory for the observation of sunspots is the subject of a long line of studies from Antonio Favaro to Gorman's paper. Grassi the architect stands at the centre of Richard Bb'sel's work on Jesuit architecture. But no one so far has tried to pull all these strands together. Steven J. Harris has remarked that many Jesuit intellectuals are known to the various specialists, but for different accomplishments. Will we be able one day to look at Pozzo's frescos, Kircher's museum, the distillery, and the mathematics classes and see their interaction? Will Grassi's architecture and his astronomy ever be studied together?

706 Part Seven To take one example of the possibilities that await us, there is a drawing for a new cupola for Sant'Ignazio, now preserved in the albums of Virgilio Spada in the Vatican Library.9 It is by Grassi. It is quite different from the project shown in the Lievin Cruyl veduta, which may also stem from Grassi but is more a conventional cupola. The Vatican drawing shows a huge obelisk standing on top of the lantern and bearing the IHS monogram in a sunburst. The obelisk is very tall, as tall as the one over Bernini's fountain in Piazza Navona. Grassi got the idea, I think, from a print in Rosa ursina, the book on sunspots by his fellow anti-Galilean, Christoph Schemer (see fig. 7.3, p. 184). Scheiner in turn seems to be anticipating some of the interests of Kircher, like the display of miniature obelisks in the museum. Will there ever be a study that ties many of these seemingly disparate threads together? Marc Fumaroli's paper has helped us all admire the 'gargantuan ambition,' against the grain of modern speculation, that gripped the Jesuit intellectual of the baroque period. Many of the contributors to the volume have reminded us that one cannot enter into the world of the Jesuits with a narrow vision. An attempt to perceive Sant'Ignazio and the Collegio Romano as a unified cultural field would would be a worthy response to the challenges they have issued. NOTES 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Quoted by Hask. 'Role,' pp. 61-2. Ibid., pp. 61-2. Alden Ent., pp. 614-17. Michael Kiene, 'Bartolomeo Ammannati et 1'architecture des jesuites au XVIe siecle,' in Giard Jes. bar., p. 194 n49. Klaus Schwager, 'Die Porta Pia in Rom: Untersuchungen zu einem verrufenen Gebaude,' Munchner Jahrbuch der bildenen Kunst 34 (1973): 96 n269. Fum. 'Bar.' Kiene, 'Bartolomeo Ammannati,'p. 183. Findlen 'Spec.' The drawing is reproduced in Bosel Jes. Italien, fig. 138, and in Joseph Connors, 'Borromini's S. Ivo alia Sapienza: The Spiral,' Burlington Magazine 138 (1996): 68, fig. 59.

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Luce Giard When the announcement of the conference at Boston College began to be circulated, it could have raised some questions and apprehensions. Would this proposal turn out to be outdated, morally unacceptable, and meaningless in a postmodernist, postcolonial, secular era? Actually the conference turned out the other way around, to the relief of its organizers, because in the last few years many historians with a postmodernist and postcolonial approach had encountered the Society of Jesus while working on religious or secular issues in Europe or elsewhere during the early modern period. The Jesuits' versatility and the extensive range of their actions and explorations whether considered at the geographical, social, cultural, or apostolic levels also partly explain this outcome, while the relocation of frontiers between the separate fields of religious history, intellectual history, the history of science, and the like raised some new interest in Jesuits for varied reasons. The very multiplicity and heterogeneity of those unexpected historical encounters with the Jesuits - some happening by chance, others too brief to make full sense - called for a special occasion that would allow scholars to compare and contrast their documents and opinions, to review the work done in the last twenty years, and, last but not least, to point to specific issues still needing scrutiny. The Boston College conference provided a friendly setting for such a meeting, some hundred and twenty-five scholars from Asia, the Americas, and Europe taking part. It was well planned, cleverly designed, and highly profitable for historians specializing in different fields of study and cultural areas, who could share insights, collect supplementary or comparative information, test assumptions, and qualify interpretations. The meeting was very successful in bringing together a strong international and intergenerational cross-section of professionals doing religious history (including the missions), the history of art (from ballet and music to architecture and church decoration), and intellectual history (from the history of books and print culture to science and philosophy). The many Jesuits whose works and actions were discussed had been trained in different countries, and had operated in diverse social settings in changing circumstances, among friendly people or in hostile territories, with or without the support of the crown, from Rome to Poland and England, from New France to the Rio de la Plata, from Peru to Goa, from the Philippines to China. The objective diversity among Jesuits from the past was reflected in the subjective differences among contemporary historians, whose specialties and objectives were heterogeneous. But the common desire to deepen one's own knowledge and understanding of the Jesuits from 1540 to 1773 proved sufficient to give momentum and unity to this ephemeral scholarly community. The conference raised everyone's

708 Part Seven awareness of the limitations of one's own knowledge, which was a humbling experience and a sweet 'spiritual exercise' for academic egos. This experience befitted the occasion, and for a brief moment it brought historians slightly closer to their Jesuit 'objects.' The conference was scheduled at the right time to enhance thedesenclavement of the study of Jesuit history that is under way.1 By that term I mean the breaking out from the 'enclave' or circle in which Jesuit history was enclosed and regarded as subject-matter belonging to religious history, mainly Reformation versus Counter Reformation, described above by John W. O'Malley. Recently some historians have restored Jesuits to a major role in the history of art, science, and philosophy. Thus much strong and innovative work has been focused on the Jesuits in the early modern period. Historians have investigated new kinds of primary sources, such as theatre scenarios from the Collegio Romano, the analysis of which nicely complemented earlier studies of printed sources concerning drama in Jesuit colleges in Germany,2 or they have investigated the artistic emblems (affixiones) commissioned for yearly exhibitions and celebrations in some colleges educating students from the nobility, which show how Jesuits met the requirements of a courtly culture.3 Other studies have benefited from a computerized recycling of older and well-known sources, such as the Jesuit bibliography compiled by Carlos Sommervogel, used along with other archival data (catalogiprovinciarum et domorum) to draw up a prosopography of Jesuits teaching and publishing on certain topics and to measure their involvement in the Republic of Letters or of Science.4 In some cases large-scale investigations of learned culture during the Renaissance have brought back the important part that Jesuits had played in it; for example, investigations of Renaissance Aristotelianism have recalled the major influence of some Jesuit regional varieties, from the Collegio Romano to Salamanca with Francisco Suarez, or to Coimbra and the Conimbricenses, whose commentaries on Aristotle were highly praised at German Protestant universities.5 Two other factors have contributed to the revival of Jesuit historiography. First, the Society of Jesus from the time of its inception was organized and managed in a way that produced detailed archival records, many of which have survived the Society's tribulations. Moreover, since the late nineteenth century Jesuits have collaborated through the Monumenta Historica Societatis lesu to publish their primary sources.6 Second, new trends in intellectual history have raised a scholarly interest in early modern private correspondence and learned networks through which the spreading of new scientific theories, the formation of 'public opinion,' and the impact of travel narratives from far-off countries could be documented.7 Contemporary Jesuits have made contributions to this trend in scholarship, either

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with helpful reference works or with well-conceived and up-to-date syntheses,8 while lay historians of science have at the same time been especially efficacious in investigating the role of mathematics and natural philosophy at the Collegio Romano and throughout Europe, wherever Christoph Clavius's former students were sent to teach.9 Now for the conference itself. What did it accomplish, where was it lacking? The steering committee formulated clearly two crucial questions for all participants to consider: Was there such a thing as a Jesuit 'way of proceeding'? If there was, can some of its component parts be identified? My reflections here on these questions as they were dealt with in the conference are not intended to close the debate. I wish to emphasize that, however successful the conference, it left much room for further work on several key issues. To the best of my knowledge, no one at the conference claimed definitively to answer both questions. I had the impression that everybody tended to give an affirmative answer to the first question but was much more hesitant about the correct answer to the second. The discrepancy among answers to the latter question reflected the versatility of the Jesuits themselves, which came from their dispersal in many nations and territories almost around the globe and from the variety of tasks and commitments they answered for. Moreover, the conference was by design oriented more to 'external history' than to 'internal history,' if I may transfer to Jesuit historiography this familiar distinction in the history of science. No special attention was directed to Jesuits per se, and the inner life of the Society was not explicitly taken into account. As a result, the contributors presented well-documented case studies, they focused on Jesuits' actions and products, they studied realia, tangible results from actions whose agents happened to be Jesuits, and with few exceptions they did not seem much concerned with what might be considered specifically Jesuit. No paper dealt with the training of Jesuits or with Ignatian spirituality. Speakers analysed or described the visible output of their Jesuits, whether that was artistic, scientific, or cultural. This approach proved excellent for inserting Jesuits back into the general cultural context of their times, but it missed the problem of their motives, their inspirational drive, and the problem of the successive versions of their specific identity. Little attention was given to the history of spirituality, to theology, or to Jesuit curricula as required in the training of the Jesuits themselves. Thus we had no opportunity to learn who was drawn to join the Society of Jesus, or when and why they did so. Nor did we learn how candidates to the Society were evaluated, accepted, instructed, trained, tested, apportioned among the several levels of membership or 'grades' (gradus), then inspired and guided, motivated, and further evaluated. Nothing was said about the choice of persons put in charge of their brethren, whether in missionary territories or in colleges,

710 Part Seven whether at court or in Rome, even if such different kinds of responsibilities called for different types of skills and virtues. All in all, the conference provided no instrument for probing the cognitive, mental, and social procedures through which Jesuits would build their identity as members of a particular religious order. I had the feeling that the conference, as a whole, was behaving like somebody who wants to learn a foreign language but has no intention of ever speaking to a native speaker, and, even more, does not really care for the native speakers. We regarded Jesuits as 'producers' in the realm of culture, learning, and the arts, or as patrons of producers, as collectors of works of art and church builders, and the like. We did not study Jesuits as persons who had taken a major decision at a certain point in their lives and now had with greater or lesser effort and success to live their lives in accordance with the Society's high standards.10 This attitude had a damaging effect on our ability to understand the Society's vicissitudes, for spiritual conflicts and theological divergences within the Society itself or with princes, kings, and governments had much to do, along of course with other historical circumstances, with determining the political and social acceptance of the Jesuits in any given country. Historians who are attracted to the Jesuits because of their mobility and because of the eventful history of the order have to address the 'hard core' of Jesuit identity, that is, Ignatian spirituality, the academic and other requirements in the exacting and long training of members of the order, and the importance given in it to philosophy and theology as well as to broader intellectual culture all factors whose interaction coloured and nurtured the long journey of the Society from 1540 to 1773. None of these factors can be regarded as superfluous or irrelevant, even for the history of art or of science, once the inquiry is centred on Jesuits, for these agents were at one and the same time scientists and Jesuits or artists and Jesuits. The specificity of their artistic or scientific practices had also to do with the specificity of their inner Jesuit identity. If historians of art or of science feel ill prepared to address these issues, they need to work in collaboration with specialists in religious history. If we do not dare or do not care to launch such historical inquiries, we will deprive our scholarship of the most valuable information about Jesuits and insight into them that we can attain. Another slight disappointment in Boston came from the overwhelming role given to intellectual history. I do not wish to be misunderstood on this point. I myself practise intellectual history, and I appreciate its positive effect in what I call the desendavement of Jesuit historiography in recent years. But intellectual history is not self-standing. It needs to be supplemented by social history, economic history, political history. We cannot understand the successes and failures of the Jesuits as teachers, authors, art patrons, royal confessors, mission-

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aries, controversialists against Protestants, and the like if we do not take into account their situation and context, that is, capitalism, colonial empires, trade competition, class structures, racial prejudices and discrimination, slavery, and much more. It is not enough to bring Jesuits back into the general intellectual context of their time period, for we need to consider them within the social, political, and economic framing of their place and time. Jesuits belonged to the real world of their time, and they shared all of it with their contemporaries. They could be selfish, cowardly, greedy, stubborn, shortsighted. Neither their special relationship with the pope nor their remarkable Constitutions, so carefully elaborated by Ignatius and the first Jesuits, had the power to grant them a special divine grace that would have restored them to some prelapsarian innocence.11 At every time and in every place Jesuits were simply human beings. To emphasize their natural condition does not mean to lower one's estimate of the Society's past achievements. Historians of every conviction must deal with realistic history, not with wishful thinking or hagiography. What Jesuits were able to launch and achieve throughout the world is all the more fascinating and intriguing in that they did it as real human beings, not as angels. To study Jesuit 'corporate culture,' if there was such, to define specific Jesuit identity, if we are able, and to learn about the Society's standards would enlarge our historical understanding of humankind and, perhaps, help us improve our personal and social standards at the present time. In our postlapsarian, postmodern, postcolonial world, such a possibility should be welcomed. NOTES 1 See Luce Giard, 'Le devoir d'intelligence ou 1'insertion des jesuites dans le monde du savoir,' in Giard Jes. Ren., pp. xi-lxxix, especially Hi. 2 See Bruna Filippi, 'La scene jesuite: Le theatre scolaire au College Romain au XVIIe siecle,' dissertation, Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales, Paris, 1994. A catalogue of these scenarios, edited by B. Filippi, is to be published in Rome in 1999. See also Jean-Marie Valentin, Le theatre des jesuites dans les pays de langue allemande, 1554-1680: Salut des dmes et ordre des cites, 3 vols (Bern, 1978), and Nigel Griffin, Jesuit School Drama: A Checklist of Critical Literature (London, 1976), with a supplement under the same title, 1986. 3 See Porte. Embl. 4 See Steven J. Harris, 'Les chaires de mathematiques,' in Giard Jes. Ren., pp. 239-61. 5 See Charles H. Lohr, Latin Aristotle Commentaries, volume 2, Renaissance Authors (Florence, 1988); The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy, ed. Charles B. Schmitt and Quentin Skinner (Cambridge, 1988); and Jean-Fran§ois Courtine, Suarez et le systeme de la metaphysique (Paris, 1990).

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6 See Polgar Bib. 1 See Clav. Corr., and Anthony Pagden, The Fall of Natural Man: The American Indian and the Origins of Comparative Ethnology, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, 1986). 8 See e.g. For Matters of Greater Moment: The First Thirty Jesuit General Congregations: A Brief History and a Translation of the Decrees, ed. John W. Padberg et al. (St Louis, 1994); O'M. First', and Mario Scaduto, L'epoca di Giacomo Lainez, 1556-1565, 2 vols (Rome, 1964-74). 9 See e.g. Bald. Leg.; Romano Gatto, Tra scienza e immaginazione: Le matematiche presso il collegia gesuitico napoletano (1552-1670 ca.) (Florence, 1994); Dear Disc.; and Antonella Romano, 'La Compagnie de Jesus et la revolution scientifique: Constitution et diffusion d'une culture mathematique jesuite a la Renaissance (1540-1640),' dissertation, University of Paris I, 1996. 10 See Michel de Certeau, The Mystic Fable (Chicago, 1992- ), 1241-93; idem, The Writing of History (New York, 1988), pp. 117-205; idem, 'La reforme de 1'interieur au temps d'Aquaviva' and 'Le XVIIe siecle fran9ais,' in DS 8:985-1016. 11 See Luce Giard, 'Relire les "Constitutions,"' in Giard Jes. bar., pp. 37-59.

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Michael J. Buckley, S.J. As the Boston College conference drew to a close, two questions were put to the participants: What have we learned? Where do we go from here? They are appropriately addressed at the conclusion of this volume. Let me make one suggestion in response to each. I. What Have We Learned? The American philosopher John Dewey maintained that if one wants to understand the United States, one must do so in terms of two metaphors: the frontier and American business. These two images, he thought, embody and express much of the American historical experience and spirit. I wonder if something similar has not emerged here - that if we want to understand the Society of Jesus, we can do so in terms of three metaphors: the colleges, the missions, and the urban churches. Over and over again these three realities figure in the volume. The colleges engaged the Jesuits in mathematics, astronomy, and art, in rhetoric, music, and drama. The missions elicited cultural accommodation and social experimentation, skills in engineering and architecture, the Chinese and Malabar rites, and so forth. And the urban churches localized preaching and confessions, Eucharistic devotions and casuistry, confraternities and engagement with the baroque. And yet - and yet. We really cannot make the divisions and the allocations of commitments so separate. If the Collegio Romano fostered the astronomy and mathematics of Christoph Clavius, this did tell in the Chinese mission of Matteo Ricci and Johann Adam Schall von Bell. If all missions, foreign and domestic, demanded cultural adaptation, we have seen that this habit of mind was not so much different from the casuistry of the confessional practice of the urban churches or the rhetorical skill needed to determine circumstances taught in the colleges. If Spanish Jesuits were engaged in an anti-Machiavellian political theory, political skills also figured in books written from the Collegio Romano about the direct temporal powers of the pope and in the missionaries' recognition of legitimate authority in Japan. Three metaphors, yes, but not isolated from one another. They often demanded or were enriched by the same disciplines and commitments. Confraternities in the churches, the colleges, and the missions; letters from the missions, read in the colleges and spoken about from the pulpits. There was drama in the colleges, drama in the churches, drama in the missions. We notice that sculpture and political theory, music and mathematics, catechetics and art could support and even express one another. One commitment or achievement fed into the other.

714 Part Seven We have encountered an enormous diversity, but I wonder if we have not also encountered in that very diversity an unplanned organic unity -varietas together with unitas. The Society of those centuries seems to present not a single culture, certainly not a single set of perspectives, but something of an evolving ecosystem of individual units - of disciplines, skills, commitments, achievements, whatever - that in fact fed into one another in the churches, on the missions, and through the colleges and even supported one another as do living elements in a vital biosphere. We debated during the conference whether there was a Jesuit corporate culture and answered often by giving different weight to each of the terms. Perhaps that question can be rephrased in terms of life-systems. This is not a common culture or logistic structure in which one unit simply follows from the other. But what confronts us in the Jesuits of those centuries is an international system of lifesupports, a cultural ecosystem, if you will, in which all these wildly diverse elements such as drama in Germany and relationes from the missions do not distract from the Society's fundamental ministry of the Word but are integrated into it. They are integrated with one another in their mutual and reciprocal influence, becoming something of an international network that seems unprecedented in the history of this planet. The operating of Jesuits within this ecosystem gave a crucially important characteristic to the 'way of proceeding' of the entire Society of Jesus of those centuries. II. Where Do We Go from Here? Perhaps we need to probe into what made such a life possible. We cannot detail the commitments of the Jesuits of those centuries without asking: Why was it that these men, many of whom were extraordinarily talented and some of whom came from noble and aristocratic families, vowed themselves to a life that renounced the very possibility of a family, private property, and the pursuit of their own careers? Why or how could they pour so much of their religious energies into teaching rhetoric, directing drama, exploring mathematics, taking care of kids in the European colleges, or volunteering by the thousands for Paraguay, China, or New France? That is to probe for motive, love, and spirit. We cannot understand this historical reality in its uniqueness and at the same time bracket all inquiry into motive and spirit. If we do, it will not happen that no motive will be ascribed, but rather that motives such as desire for cultural dominance and control will be given a priority made credible because we will deliberately have omitted the actual, historical spirituality of these men. That would be to secularize what is insistently a religious commitment. The conference intermittently raised this issue but did not explore it. The issue

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was advanced most emphatically at the beginning of Domenico Zipoli and Martin Schmid's San Ignacio de Loyola, in the direction given to St Ignatius. The opera opens with Ignatius praying for death, not out of a Tristan-and-Isolde longing for the eradication of all consciousness, but that he might come to the vision of God. To bring out by way of contrast what is at stake here, let me cite a few verses from another such prayer, actually a well-known Spanish poem from the sixteenth century. jOh llama de amor viva, que tiernamente hieres de mi alma en el mas prof undo centro; pues ya no eres esquiva, acaba ya, si quieres; rompe la tela de este dulce encuentro.1 O living flame of love That tenderly wounds my soul In its deepest center! Since Now You are not oppressive, Consummate! if it be your will: Tear through the veil of this sweet encounter!

This is very similar to what Ignatius prays as the opera opens. Indeed, it uses some of the same images and words. This prayer is also a prayer for death, death in order to come to the vision of God, but it is from John of the Cross. It expresses ecstatic love in a state of transformation. It is for John the highest possible advance of the soul towards God. For Ignatius, however, it would be reprehensible to rest here; it is from this that he is called: 'Leave your withdrawal ... Go now, go quickly.' He is to enter into a world of struggle with evil; the fourth scene of the opera ends with, 'Let us go quickly and without delay since the battle is joined.' What is the summit of John's spirituality is not so for Ignatius. Could Ignatius's spirituality, as reflected in the opera, lie causally behind the commitments that support the multifarious activities this volume describes? In John of the Cross we are dealing with an ascent spirituality, one that gradually leaves finite reality either in imagination or in concept, to be alone with God. In Ignatius we are dealing with a descent spirituality, one that follows the path of the Incarnation and enters more and more into matter and history. John moves towards rest and retirement from the world, Ignatius towards engagement and struggle in the world.2 It is certainly possible to exaggerate the differences here, but I believe the following can be said of Ignatius. All things, according to

716 Part Seven him, are to be caught up in this movement of historical struggle: 'Not that we may put our confidence in them,' he wrote in the Constitutions, 'but that we may cooperate with the divine grace according to the arrangement of the sovereign providence of God our Lord. For He desires to be glorified both through the natural means, which He gives as creator, and through the supernatural means, which He gives us as the Author of grace. Therefore, the human ... ought to be sought with diligence.'3 Where do we go from here? I hope to an inquiry that will see the many Jesuit commitments, ranging from the humanities to the confessional, as rooted in and manifesting the spirituality out of which they came, a spirituality that struggled for that palpable presence of God within all things that is called his glory. NOTES

1 San Juan de la Cruz, 'Llama de amor viva,' in Vida y obras de San Juan de la Cruz, ed. Crisogono de Jesus et al., 5th ed. (Madrid, 1964), p. 828. The text is taken from the B redaction. English translation, The Collected Works of St. John of the Cross, trans. Kieran Kavanaugh and Otilio Rodriguez (Washington, 1979), pp. 578-9. 2 See Hugo Rahner, Ignatius the Theologian, trans. Michael Barry (New York, 1964), pp. 3-31. 3 Ganss Const., p. 333 (#814).

Index

Page references to illustrations are in italic type. Abbeville, Claude d', O.F.M.Cap., 651 'Abd al-Sattar Ibn Qasim Lahori, 383, 386 Abgarus, King ofEdessa, 395, 396 Abromson, Morton Colp, 69 absolute monarch, theory of. See monarchist theory Abu'l-Hasan, school of, 382 academic defence: as art, 163; disputations in, 149, 159, 165 n2; as spectacle, 158-9; and thesis prints, 148-58, 160-5 Academie Royale des Sciences, Paris, 210; and exploration, 241-3; Jesuit involvement with, 243-51; reform of geography by, 242, 243; reorganization of (1699), 252 n3 'Academy of St Luke,' 52 Accademiade' Lincei, 182, 705 accidents, in Scholastic philosophy, 546; species as, 529-30 accommodation/cultural reconciliation, 623; in adoption of native customs, 402; in architectural style, 142, 278, 703; in China, 11, 100,352,357, 364-5; vs. cultural imperative, 357;

danger of excessive, 441, 558-60; of elite and popular cultures, 26; and 'freedom of dress,' 343, 345-6, 352; influence of 'the Other' on, 357; in Japan, 344, 352, 354; in Jesuit science, 183; and Jesuit 'way of proceeding,' 339, 344, 357, 497, 713; 'kernel-husk' model of, 336-7; from missionaries' work with native languages, 434; in Mughal India, 383; through music, 318-19, 322; as process, 73; role of negotiation in, 26; and use of native motifs in mission churches, 318, 488, 493, 495, 497-8, 500; Vilnian Academy as linking East and West, 556; through visual arts, 323, 330. See also globalism; inculturation; transcultural expressions acculturation: and differing nonEuropean peoples, 308; of Guarani Indians, 309, 312; and studies of reduction sculpture, 56. See also accommodation/cultural reconciliation; inculturation Ackerman, James S., 44 Acosta, Jose de, S.J., xiii, 213, 226, 230;

718 Index and idolatry, 408; opposition of to campaigns of conquest, 345 acoustics, 140 Acquaviva, Claudio, S.J., 7, 419, 701-2; banning of church organs by, 559; warning of against vanity, 558-9 Acquaviva, Rodolfo, S.J., 380 Acta sanctorum (Bollandists), 7 active intellect, 527 activities of the senses, immanent vs. transeunt, 531 adaptation: in Jesuit art and architecture, 293-4, 703; in various aspects of Jesuit life, 703. See also accommodation/ cultural reconciliation; pragmatism Adnotationes et meditationes (Nadal), 28, 385-7. See also Evangelicae historiae imagines Aeneid (Virgil), 317, 329-30 affection, as cause of idolatry, 407 affixiones (emblematic works), 601 Africa, xv Africans, perception of as backward, 347. See also racial issues; slave(s)/ slavery Afshar, Sadiqi Beg, 390 afterlife. See immortality Agra, 'Old Cathedral' at, 383 Agresti, Livio, 70 Ahmed, Khalid Anis, 59 air pressure: and Chinese concept of qi, 373; and experimental science, 542-3 Akbar (Mughal emperor), 380, 391; and images, 390; and interfaith debates, 381, 385; library of, 386-7 Akiyama, Terukazu, 52 Albertus Magnus, St, 123 Albuquerque, Afonso de, 385 alchemy, 359; at Collegio Romano, 179, 181

Alciato, Andrea, 608 alcohol, excessive consumption of, 558 Alden, Dauril, 26, 341,701 Aleni, Giulio, S.J., 349, 355, 364, 369 Alexander VII (pope), 466; and music of 'ancient' composers, 191 Alexander the Great, 455, 457 Alfonso II d'Este (duke of Ferrara), 450 Algardi, Alessandro, 447 algebra, 112; assimilation of, 121; and Cartesian geometry, 121-2; and motion of the earth, 124, 125; as pure mathematical science, 119 Allahu Akbar, 382 allegory: in Christian art, 389; of triumph of Jesuit missions, 274,275,277 Allen, Dr William, 630 Aloysius Gonzaga, St, S.J., 177, 592, 593 altar(s), 487, 490, 580, 590, 592; dedicated to Mary, 692; of St Ignatius, in Gesu, 67 altarpieces, 579, 592; by Pozzo, 274; by Stadler, 289. See also retablos (retables) alternatim, performance of bells and musical instruments, 663, 664 Altieri, Giovanni Battista, 156 Alvares, Afonso, 486 Alvarez, Manuel, S.J., 385 Alzina, Francisco, S.J., 418, 423-8 amazement, as cause of idolatry, 407 Americas, music in, 192. See also New France; New Spain Ames, William, 628 Am Hof, church (Vienna), 287 Ammannati, Bartolomeo, 68, 701 Anabaptists, 280 Anchieta, Jose de, S.J., 648 Anderledy, Anton Maria, S.J., 14

Index Andrade, Antonio de, S.J., 213 Andrea, Johann Valentin, 514 Andreaskirche (Diisseldorf), 281, 282 Andrew, St, image of martyrdom of, 579 Anerio, Giovanni Francesco, 191 angels: as guardians of princes vs. ordinary men, 450; images of in churches, 323, 324, 580, 581, 592, 593; Indianized, 495; putti, 390; visions of, 263 Anglican church. See Church of England Anglican moral theology, 634 n4. See also Puritan casuistry Anglican spirituality: and British practical divinity, 628; and W.H. Hunt's The Light of the World, 621-2 Anjiro, 342 Annales school, approach to historiography in, 22-3 Annunciation, depiction of, 577 Annunziata, church of the (Rome), 45 anthems, teaching of by missionaries, 642 anti-Humanism, 39, 42, 64, 100 anti-intellectualism, 42 anti-Jesuit polemic, 39, 40, 42, 43, 90-1, 635; illustrations of, 16, 41; Le cabinet jesuitique, 12, 13; and myth of Jesuits as devils, 7, 8; success of in causing Society's suppression, 11. See also historiography, Jesuit anti-Machiavellianism, 102; and defence of Christian moral principles, 442, 446, 450, 466; elements from Scholasticism in, 442, 452; and Jesuit tradition of moral statesmanship, 466; and theory of prince-hero, 446, 450, 466, 470 Antiquities (Fauchet), 192 anti-Semitism, Jesuits' alleged, 341

719 Antoninus, St, Chronicles of, 385, 386 Antwerp, and Jesuit art and imagery, 69, 70 Aperger, Sigismund, S.J., 231, 321 apostles: images of in Jesuit churches, 576, 586, 593, 683; as models for missionaries, 267 Apostles' Creed. See Creed apostolate. See mission(s) apothecaries, Jesuit, 179, 181, 225, 227, 231 apotheosis, classical imagery of, 448, 456 Apotheosis sive consecratio SS. Ignatii et Francisci Xaverii (Kapsberger), 67, 319, 320, 330 appearances, vs. reality, in Islamic writing, 390 Arcanis nodis (device for Roman sodality), 605, 606 Archangel Michael Vanquishing Lucifer, The (Gerhard), 568, 569, 577, 580 Archimedean focus/theories, 114, 121, 123, 125 architectural details: bays, 482, 488, 490, 493, 495; entablatures, 482, 488, 490; pilasters, 293, 488, 490, 493, 495, 497; portals, 482-4, 490, 493; transepts, 486, 487, 489, 493, 497. See also ceiling(s); fa§ades architectural fundamentalism, 509 architectural orders, classical, 510. See also Corinthian-composite order architectural plans, publication of, 64 architecture: and efforts to reconstruct Temple of Jerusalem, 505-17; God's good taste in, 511, 517; 'Gothic' style in, 279-81; hybridized features in, 495, 497-500; importance of understood by Francis Xavier, 481;

720 Index influence of classical tradition on, 484-5,487,500,509-11 architecture, Jesuit: allegation of banal taste in, 42; Corinthian-composite order in, 484; and focus on pastoral issues, 486, 497, 500, 574; Gesu as example, 43, 45, 134-42, 282, 703; influence of economic necessity on, 72; innovation in, 64, 500, 681; issues of practicality in, 64, 278, 280, 287; Italianate, 279, 281, 284, 287, 484, 485; in Italy, 64, 65; and 'Jesuit style,' 39^6; magnificence in, 40, 138^0, 144, 700-2; Manueline, 481, 485; mission, 696; in New Spain, 680-1; and patronage issues, 26 (see also patronage); plain style, 485, 487; in Portugal, 65; in Portuguese India, 481-500; recent studies of, 63-4; use of Roman models in, 703; Vitruvius as theorist of, 509; and work of Grassi, 705. See also church(es), Jesuit Architecture of Humanism, The (Scott), 42 archival materials: and concern for documentation, 4; potential for misinformation from, 6; preservation of, 708 Archivum Historicum Societatis lesu, founding of, 15 Argentina: Jesuit architecture in, 297; Jesuit church in, 48, 50, 51; study of Jesuit art in, 56 arioso, 319-20 Ariosto, Azzone, 154 Aristotelianism, 708; adaptation of in China, 357, 369-76; and Catholic doctrine, 524; and discussion of motion of the earth, 123; and human nature, 364, 367-9; incompatibility

with Copernican theory, 118; and Jesuit science, 111, 174, 541-2, 548; model of soul in, 368, 376; physics, 118, 528; Protestant suspicion of, 174; scarcity of manuals based on, 113; in students' thesis defences, 148, 149. See also Scholasticism Aristotelian scientia, 116 Aristotle, 455, 523; De anima commentaries, 364, 367, 369, 372, 376, 52335; on dreams, 376; and intellectual cognition, 531-4; Metaphysics, 531; Parva naturalia, 364, 369; as philosophical authority, 523, 541; Politics, as source of idea of princehero, 455; and sensory perception, 528 arithmetic, 110; as branch of mathematics, 118-20; historical aspects, 117 'ark,' musarithmetic, 200-3 ark, Noah's, 505 Ark of the Covenant, 505 armour, suit of for Henry II, 461 Arnauld, Antoine, 93, 546 ars combinatoria, of Kircher, 201-2 Ars magna lucis et umbrae (Kircher), 220 art(s): as access to the 'real,' 390; allegory in, 389; anagogic qualities of, 388; changed conception of, 593; ignored by many scholars, 18, 660; importance of in spectacle in Manila, 659, 666-7; in mission churches, 310; in Mughal empire, 381, 383, 386, 391-7; revitalization of, 573; role of in propagation of faith, 274, 277; transcultural aspects of, 323. See also architecture; art(s), Jesuit; art history; images/imagery; music; painting(s); sculpture art(s), Jesuit, 708; in Asia, 52; as basis

Index for other ministry, xiii, 28; distinctive approach in, 593; as framework for prayer, 577; in Iberian Peninsula, 67; images of martyrs and martyrdoms in, 70, 577, 579; images of plague in, 70; innovation in, 689; in Italy, 64-5; and 'Jesuit style,' 38, 39; Nadal's contribution to, 70; pedagogical role of, 572, 588; and visual imagination, 27-8. See also patronage Art and Architecture in Italy (Wittkower), 43 Art and Architecture of France, The (Blunt), 42 art history, 18, 28, 39-46; connection with other types of history, 667; and images of Mary, 685-6; importance of, 666; and interest in social and economic concerns, 55; in recent studies, 47-8, 52-3. See also historiography, Jesuit Art religieux apres le Concile de Trente, L' (Male), 69 Arundell of Wardour, Lady Anne, 603 ascetical literature, as source of British practical divinity, 628 Asia: Goa as mission centre for, 480; as locus for 'the Other,' 24; study of Jesuit art in, 52 assimilation. See accommodation/ cultural reconciliation; acculturation; cultural transformation Assumption (of Mary), statue dedicated to, 289 Astrain, Antonio, S.J., 17 astrology, 110; as legitimate branch of cosmography, 121; signs of zodiac as images, 514 Astronomia europaea (Verbiest), 247 astronomical observatories: Beijing, 243,

721 250-1; Louvo (Siam), 246-7; Paris, 242-4. See also Chinese Imperial Astronomical Bureau astronomy, 111; as branch of cosmography, 121; consensus in, 118; involvement of Jesuits in, 173, 184, 227, 307-8; and Ptolemaic, Copernican, and Tychonic hypotheses, 121. See also Galilei, Galileo; telescopes ateliers, Jesuit, 55 atheism, 406 atomism, 176 atoms, 547, 548 Augustine, St, 92, 388, 590, 605; debate over interpretation of, 97 Augustinianism, 267 Augustinians, 419, 660, 700; and celebrations in Manila, 663, 665 Aula Leopoldina, 293, 294 Austria, Jesuit architecture in, 287-9 Authier, Christophe, 266 authoritarianism, spiritual, 267 authority: administrative, and reliable agents, 229; and Jesuit mobility, 215. See also obedience Ave Maria, 617, 651; bell tolled for, 430; in native language, 645-7, 650 Averroism, 523, 535, 541 Ave, Virgo sanctissima (motet by Guerrero), 659, 670-1 avvisi, as proto-newspapers, 159 Baciccio. See Gaulli, Giovanni Battista Bacon, Francis, 314 Baes (Basse), Martin, 620 Baglione, Giovanni, 72 Bairam Khan, 390 Baka, Jozef, S.J., 560 ballads, 665, 666 bandeirantes, 641

722 Banfi, Fabrizio, S.J., 558 Bannister, Mr (Puritan writer), 629 'Barbarians,' 266 Barberini, Antonio (cardinal), 164 Barberini, Francesco (cardinal), 152, 757 Barbosa, Caspar, 644 Bargellini, Clara, 71 Barlow, Thomas, 174, 175 Barnabites, 65 Barock als Kunst der Gegenreformation, Der (Weisbach), 21 barometer, and understanding of air pressure, 543 Baronio, Cesare (cardinal), 141 'baroque,' as epithet, 39 'baroque' art/style: and affinity of sciences and art, 68; and concept of 'Jesuit style,' 39, 42-4, 52, 56; as historiographical category, 21; influence of Quarant'ore on art of, 71; and Italianate churches, 39, 42-4; Jesuits seen as connected with, 278; Jesuit transmission of culture of, 56, 305, 308, 310; presumed ugliness of, 20; as striving after infinity, 323; use of gold in, 511 Baroque Art: The Jesuit Contribution (Wittkower and Jaffe), 43^ Barozzi, Francesco, 117 Barroco hispano-guarani, El (Pla), 53 Bartoli, Danielle, S.J., 8-9, 11, 98, 176 basilicas, as architectural plan in Mexico, 683 Bassein, Jesuit college church in, 481, 487 Batavia, 245 Bathory, Stephen, 556 Baucke, Florian, S.J., 307 Baudelaire, Charles, 41 Bavaria, Jesuit churches in, 568-93

Index Baxter, Richard, 628 Beale, John, 173 beatification, of Ignatius of Loyola, celebrated, 663 Beijing, China: astronomical observatory in, 243, 250-1; as objective of Jesuit evangelization, 358 Belen, Caspar Aquino de, 435 Bellarmine, St Robert, S.J., 69, 181, 455 bells, use of in musical celebrations, 663, 664 bell towers, 703, 704 Bencivenni, Mario, 65 Bendl, Jan Jiff, S.J., 293 Benedetti, Sandro, 64, 65 Benedictines, and music history, 193 Ben-Ezra, Juan Josaphat, S.J., 520-1 n35 Bergen, Norway, 621 Bernard, Henri, S.J., 52 Bernard-Maitre, Henri, S.J., 342 Bernardoni, Giovanni Maria, S.J., 281, 284 Bernini, Gianlorenzo, 72; bust of Francesco I d'Este, 442, 443, 446, 448; bust of Louis XIV, 444,455; and classical imagery of apotheosis, 448; equestrian portrait of Louis XIV, 445, 452, 455, 460, 462, 463; focus on glory in works by, 462-6, 511; image of ideal Christian monarch by, 446, 455-70; and Jesuits, 75 n23, 446, 472 n6; and Spiritual Exercises, 42, 69 Bettendorf, Joao Felipe, S.J., 650 Beza, Theodore, 632 Bianchi, Giovanni Andrea, S.J., 56, 310, 321 Bianci, Giuseppe, S.J., 111, 123 Biard, Pierre, S.J., 260 Bible. See Scriptures Bibliotheque Nationale (Paris), 46, 64

Index Bibliotheque universelle et historique, 249 Bigio, Nanni di Baccio, 138 Binet, Etienne, S.J. (pseud. Rene Fran?ois), 609, 610, 617, 623 Bitterich, Johann, S.J, 296, 297, 300; statues by, 298, 299 Bitti, Bernardo, S.J., 48, 276 Bloch, Marc, 22 Blunt, Anthony, 42 body: care of among native Filipinos, 421; and soul, 364,368,372 Boeckl, Christine, 70 Bohemia: Jesuit art and architecture in, 276, 289, 292-3; Protestants in, 278 Bohmer, Heinrich, 17 Bohomolec, Franciszek, S.J., 560 Bohr, G. Ted, S.J., 56 Boldi, Bartolommeo, 757 Bolivia, 323; influence of Jerusalem temple on church in, 573, 514 Bollandists, and Acta sanctorum, 7 Bologna, Jesuit mathematics in, 111 Bolswert, Boetius, 571, 577 Bolton, Herbert, 212 Bom Jesus, church of the (Goa), 46, 488, 490-3 Bonfa, Jean, S.J., 249 Bonnet, Jacques, 191, 192 Bontempi, Giovanni Andrea, 191 books. See catechisms; Jesuit libraries; printing presses Borghese, Scipione (cardinal), 755 Borja, St Francisco, S.J., 139, 339, 557, 586, 592; celebration of canonization of, 681; and governance of the Society, 340; and images, 38, 685; and need for biography of Ignatius, 6-7; and 'true philosophy,' 523, 524 Borromeo, Carlo, St, 281

723 Boruhradsky, Simon, S.J., 680 Bosch, David, 336-7 Boscovich, Roger Joseph, S.J., xv, 544 Bosel, Richard, 64, 65, 705 Bossy, John, 23 botanical studies, 213, 215; and herbal remedies, 227, 228 Boulez, Pierre, 201 Bourdieu, Pierre, 107 Bouvet, Joachim, S.J., 244-8 Bovio, Carlo, S.J., 164 Boxer, C.R., 52 Boyle, Robert, 182,542 Brabender, Johann, 280 Braga, Jesuit college at, 486 Brahe, Tycho, 232 Brasanelli, Giuseppe, S.J., 56, 310 brass instruments, 664, 666 Braun, Josef, S.J. (professor of logic), 543 Braun, Joseph, S.J. (architectural historian), 39, 47, 72, 278, 279, 703 Braunsberger, Otto, S.J., 14 Brazil: Jesuit catechesis of indigenous peoples in, 641-53; Jesuit churches in, 48; and Portuguese colonization practices, 641-2; slavery in, 641, 642 Brebeuf, St Jean de, S.J., 262 Brest, Union of, 556 Brethren of Purity, 389 Brethren of the Common Life, 96 Briano, Giacomo, S.J., 67, 284 Brief Outline of the Study of Human Nature, A (Aleni), 364, 369-76 Brittany, Jesuit missions in, 210, 259-67 Brizio, Giuseppe, 284 Brooke, Sir Basil, 602 Buddhism, 52, 72, 342; and Christianity, 356, 361; and Confucianism, 353, 356; and doctrine of transmigration,

724 Index 365; Jesuit relation to in China, 352-3, 355, 359 Buddhist attire, Jesuit adoption of, 343, 344, 352, 355 Buenos Aires, 306 Buglio, Ludovico, S.J., 349 Bunny, Edmund, 628; and 'puritanized' version of A Christian Directory, 630-1 Burgos, Juan de, S.J., 685, 686 Burkhauser, Nikolaus, S.J., 545 Burriel, Andres Marco, S.J., 11 Burrows, William, 337 Bus, Cesar de, 259 Buschiazzo, M.J., 48 Bustamente, Bartolome de, S.J., 68 Cabbala, 514, 517 Cabeo, Niccolo, S.J., 111; and Philosophia magnetica, 124 Cabinet jesuitique, Le (anti-Jesuit publication), 12,13 cabinets: assembling of, 213; experimental, 543 Cabral, Francisco, S.J., 347 caciques, 309 Cahill, James, 59 Cajetan (cardinal) (Tommaso De Vio), 385 calendar, lunar, 308 calligraphy, Jesuit abstention from in China, 357 'Call of the Temporal King,' in Spiritual Exercises, 577 Calvinism, 93, 101; 'confessionalization' in, 22; in Lithuania, 558; path of assurance in, 639 n38; pietistic, 631; and soteriology of Beza, 632; among szlachta (Polish gentry), 287 Camus, Jean-Pierre (bishop), 266

Canada, 213, 266. See also New France Candide (Voltaire), 40, 317 Canisius, St Peter, S.J., 555; catechisms of, 573; correspondence of, 14; and Litany of Loreto, 582; struggle of against Averroism, 541; and transformation by Spiritual Exercises, 576 canonization: campaign for, 293; of Jesuit saints, 319, 588, 681; process of, 450 'Canon of Sacrifices,' 361 canticles, 651 cantigas, 641, 646, 651 canzonetta, 664 Cape of Good Hope, astronomical observations at, 244-5 Cape Verde, astronomical observations at, 242-3 Capponi, Luigi (cardinal), 156 Capuchins, 258, 259, 265, 650, 651 Carafa, Vicenzo, S.J., 558 Caramuel de Lobkowitz, Juan, 513 Caravaggio, 64, 69, 72 Carbonieri, N., 67 Carcelen de Coronel, Jimena, 56 Cardenosa, Bartolome, S.J., 51 Cardiel, Jose, S.J., 310, 311 cardinal virtues, 450, 452. See also virtue(s) cardiomorphic imagery. See heart imagery Cariri (native Brazilian language), 651-3 Carleton, Thomas Compton, S.J., 546 Carmelites, 700 Carracci, Annibale, 141 Cartesianism, 112; German Jesuit reaction against, 546-7; and physics of the Eucharist, 545-7; role of algebra in, 121-2

Index Casa Professa (in Rome), 136, 141, 184, 700 Casas, Bartolomeo de las, O.P., 338 Casati, Paolo, S.J., 176 Casimir, St, 284 Cassini, Jean-Dominique, 242^4, 248 Castelli, Antonio, Michele, and Pietro, 582 Castello, Matteo, 284 Castiglione, Baldassare, 96 Castiglione, Giuseppe, S.J., 52, 59, 357 casuistry. See Jesuit casuistry; Puritan casuistry catafalque, of Francesco I d'Este, 451, 454 Catechisme des jesuites, Le (Pasquier), 7 catechisms and catechetical practice: absence of in French territory, 645; in Brazil, using texts set to music, 64153; in Germany, 573-4; in Guarani mission, 311; Persian-language, in Mughal India, 383, 386-97; and Peter Canisius, 673, 686; in the Philippines, 430; translations of, 342-3 Catholic Encyclopedia, The, 20 Catholicism/Catholic church: and centralization of mission, 338, 345; 'confessionalization' in, 22; Early Modern, 23-4, 365, 366; models of mission in, 336-8; in opposition to Protestantism, 19-23, 572, 630 (see also Counter Reformation; Reformation, Protestant); role of Jesuits in, 20, 24-5, 592, 593; Sarmatianization of, in Poland, 556; and Spanish crown in colonialism, 659; symbolic representations of, 484, 579; universality of, 365, 495, 500 Catholicisme entre Luther et Voltaire, Le (Delumeau), 23

725 Catholic Reform/Reformation: arts at service of, 321; as historiographical category, 20-5; and repression, 21 causality, in Aristotelian metaphysics, 532 Caussin, Nicholas, S.J., 610, 612 Cavalieri, Bonaventura, 125 ceiling(s): flat vs. arched or vaulted, 140, 296; frescoed, in Sant'Ignazio (Rome), 274-6 celibacy, 356 Celsius, Anders, 308 censorship, in Society of Jesus, 116, 541; and objection to term atoms, 548 Central Europe, Jesuit art and artists in, 274-93, 703; influences of in New World, 294-300. See also specific country, e.g. Germany; Poland Centrobaryca (Guldin), 118-23 Ceremoniale, II (Valignano), 343, 344 ceremonies. See liturgical ceremonies Cesi, Federico, 705 Champaigne, Philippe de, 42 Champlain, Samuel de, 192 Chan, Albert, S.J., 343 chancel(s), in Jesuit churches, 486-7, 490, 497; and features denoting special sanctity, at Diu, 495; in Sao Paulo, Goa, 485 chant: in Christian liturgy, 190, 642, 644; for didactic texts in catechesis, 641; in native language, 644, 645; restoration of, 193. See also choirs; music, liturgical Charles I (king of England), 602, 616 Charles II (prince, later king of England), 175 Charles University (Prague), 293 Charlevoix, Pierre Francois-Xavier de, S.J., 8

726 Charme, Alexandre de la, S.J., 373 Charpentier, Marc-Antoine, 322 Chemnitz, Martin, 6 Chico, Mario T., 53, 61, 482, 484 Chile: Jesuit art and architecture in, 48, 297; Jesuit mission in, 295 China: astronomical observatory in, 243, 250, 251, 353; cultural imperative in, 356-7; exploration of, 213; and Jesuit accommodation, 11, 100, 343, 357, 364-5; and Jesuit corporate culture, 354—62; Jesuit missions in, 176, 210, 243-4, 336-8, 343-9, 352-61, 364-76; and Jesuits in the Philippines, 419; Late Ming learning in, 359; proposal for Spanish invasion of, 345; Rites Controversy in, 250, 355, 360-1; royal patronage sought in, 348, 358; and scholar-painter tradition, 59; study of art history in, 52, 59 China Vision, 59 Chinese catechisms, 365 Chinese culture, 349, 357 Chinese Imperial Astronomical Bureau, 243, 250, 251, 353, 360 Chinese language: attempt to express Christian concepts in, 366-8, 371-5; importance of learning, 352 Chinese literati, 337, 343, 347, 351 n33, 358; and civil service exams, 353; fingernails of, 356 Chinese people, presumed uncorrupted nature of, 437 Chiovenda, Beatrice Canestro, 67 Chiquitos reductions: and Islamic influence, 56; restorations of buildings of, 53 chirimiras, 660, 663 Chirino, Pedro, S.J., 418-23, 660, 661; description of religious celebration by, 662-3

Index choirs: in festive academic defence, 159; in Guarani missions, 310; in Manila, 661-3 Christ. See Jesus Christ Christ, Yvan, 38 Christ at the Column (Villalpando), 691 Christian Directory (Baxter), 628 Christian Directory, The (Persons), 628-30; 'puritanized' version of, 630 Christian doctrine: compared with Islam, 386; ignorance of, 572; philosophical foundation for, 523^1; 'solidity and uniformity' of, 541; translated into Indian terminology, 405 Christianitas, as category of interpretation, 25 Christianity: as aid to weak human nature, 386; and classical architecture, 484; compared with Buddhism and Confucianism, 356; mission as expansion of, 337; non-Roman, Kircher's recognition of, 202; presumed normative nature of, 427. See also Catholicism/Catholic church; Protestants/Protestantism Christianity in the West, 1400-1700 (Bossy), 23 Christianization: of African slaves, 308; and destruction of mosques and temples, 480-1 Christian perfection: achievement of through political life, 451; ideal of, as focus of devotional manuals, 627, 629 Christian political thought: Machiavelli's critique of traditional, 442, 446; role of morality in, 446, 466; tract by Saavedra Fajardo on, 468. See also anti-Machiavellianism; prince-hero, theory of Christian ruler, ideal. See prince-hero, theory of

Index Christina (queen of Sweden): conversion of, 171, 176; visits of to Roman colleges, 132, 167 n 10, 171, 175-8 Christmas music, 323 Christ's Appearance to St Ignatius at La Storta (Storer), 597 Chronicles (St Antoninus), 385, 386 church(es): in the Americas, Jerusalem temple as model for, 513, 514; institutional, as dominant focus, 25, 632; of this world linked to heavenly, 324 church(es), Jesuit: baroque, 43-5, 310; in Bohemia, 289, 292-3; building materials used in, 295, 296; in Central Europe, 274-94; de' Rosis's plans for, 143; fortified, 430; in Germany, 68, 279-82, 568-93; in India, 63, 480500; large building programs for, 572, 573; and links with Jesuit education, 481, 576; music in, 310, 660-5; in New Spain, 295-7, 680-96; parish, 481; in the Philippines, 60, 61, 42930; in Poland, 281-7; in Portugal, 65, 66, 482, 486; in Slovakia, 290, 297; in South America, 48, 50, 323; as spiritual guides, 574; theological impact on interiors of, 71; towered fa£ades as norm, 497; urban, as metaphor, 713; and use of existing buildings from other traditions, 72; and work of native artisans, 488, 497500. See also architecture, Jesuit; Gesu; specific churches, e.g. Bom Jesus Church Fathers, 92; images from, 605; statues of, 580; use of as authority, 424, 610, 621 church history, as historiographical category, 26 Church of England: vs. focus on

727 individual conscience among Jesuits and Puritans, 630-2; and Hawkins's role in theological controversy, 623; pressure on Roman Catholics to conform to, 600, 603, 630 cinchona ('Jesuit's bark'), 227, 228, 231 circle, quadrature of, 114 Cittiyar, 409 civilization, and stages of culture, 426 'civil rites,' 361 civil service (Chinese): examination for, 352-3, 357; and imperial calendar reform, 360 classical tradition: and anthropomorphic proportions of Vitruvius, 511, 572; Chinese, 347-9, 352-3; Christianity and Islam rooted in, 385; expressive of connection with Christian centre, 484; and idea of hero as demigod, 448, 450, 452; Ignatius's defence of, 347; and image of apotheosis, 448, 458; influence of in church architecture, 484-5, 487, 500; influence of in historiography, 7; influence of in study of indigenous languages, 422, 432-3; influence of in work of Bernini, 455-6, 462, 467-8; and Jesuit historiography, 6, 7; linked with present by music, 319, 320; presumed biblical justification for, 510-11; reflected in presumed quotation from Virgil, 32930; renewed appreciation for in Renaissance, 505; in style of Jesuit missionary text, 423; in thesis prints, 156, 158, 164 Claudius (emperor), monument of, 456, 458; importance of to Bernini's circle, 475 n31 Clavius, Christoph, S.J., 538, 713; and broadened range of mathematics, 110, 545; and commentary on Euclid, 110,

728 116-18, 353; and Galileo, 181; legacy of at Collegio Romano, 109-10, 709; and proposal for mathematical academies, 172-3; Ptolemaic-Aristotelian synthesis of, 118; strategies of inclusion in work of, 116-18 Clean Polishing Tool for the Brightening of the Truth-Showing Mirror, A (Sayyid Ahmad), 397 Clement XIV (pope), 11 Clementinum (Prague), 293 clocks, accurate, and astronomical observation, 242, 243 coats of arms: for Jesuit buildings, 701-2; in thesis prints, 149, 151-3, 165 Coccejus, Johannes, 513 Cochin, 481 Cochinchina (Vietnam), 213 Codaccio, Pietro, S.J., 134, 136 Coeur devot, Le (Luzvic and Binet), 617 cognition: intellectual, 531^; sensory, 527-31 Coimbra, University of, 227 Coimbran commentators/commentaries. See Conimbncenses/Conimbricenses Colbert, Jean-Baptiste, 241, 243, 244 Colegio de Sao Paulo (in Diu): and classical tradition, 493; illustrated, 494, 495; incorporation of Hindu and Islamic decorative features in, 495 Colegio de Sao Paulo (in Goa): architecture of, 482-6; as centre of Jesuit missions in area, 482; and Corinthiancomposite architectural order, 485; portal of, 483 Colin, Francisco, S.J., 660, 666; Labor evangelica, 666-7, 672-9 College-Louis-le-Grand, Paris, 29, 244, 322

Index College of San Jose, 663, 666 Collegio Clementino, 167 n 10 Collegio di Propaganda Fide, 43 Collegio Germanico, 166 n5 Collegio Romano, 44, 108, 132, 170, 455, 700, 704, 708, 713; academic defence at, 148-65; Catholic Humanism of, 349; and Galileo, 125; and goals of Jesuit education, 115; importance of, 29; and Jesuit expertise, 171-3; Kircher's work at, 179,180, 191, 705; and legacy of Clavius, 109-10, 172, 173; and mathematical research, 109-10; musical tradition at, 318, 319; pharmacy at, 179, 181; plan of, 777; size of building, 704; as unified 'cultural field,' 705, 706; visit of Queen Christina to, 167 nlO, 171, 175-8 Cologne, Jesuit church in, 279, 280 Colombe, Ludovico delle, 181 colonialism/colonization: and catechesis, 653; combination of secular and religious aspects in, 481, 659; differences in Portuguese vs. Spanish regions, 641-2; and Iberian vs. Italian approach to mission, 337-8, 345, 349; of language, 430-4; and native populations, 641-2, 651; Portuguese, 481, 641-2; Spanish, 659, 680 Colonna, Francesco, 151 Columbus, Christopher, 318 combinatorial studies, 196-203, 705 Commandments, Ten, 386; in native languages, 650, 651 'common good,' pursuit of, 28 Compania, church of the (Cordoba, Argentina), 51 Compania, church of the (Quito), 56

Index Company of Jesus Christ the Nazarene, 690 composite order. See Corinthiancomposite order compositio loci (composition of place), 69, 604, 605, 610; and visualization of biblical characters, 392 concetti predicabili, 608 conclusions, in academic defences, 148, 152, 153 Conelli, Maria, 67, 69, 71 confession (sacrament): at Cape of Good Hope, 247; as focus of church design, 486, 487; Jesuit insistence on, 577; in mission context, 263; in Spanish America, 311; weeping in, 264-5 'confessionalization,' as historiographical category, 22 confessors: Jesuits sought as, 556; manuals for, 627, 634 n3 confraternities: and care for the dying, 434; Confraternity of the Holy Faith, 481-2; of orphan boys from Lisbon, 644 Confucianism: adaptation to, 355-6, 359, 365, 368; and Buddhism, 353, 356; and Christianity, 356; ideal of sagehood in, 365, 368; and immortality of the soul, 364-7; Jesuit relationship to, 343, 352-3; 'original,' 349, 353; and Rites Controversy, 355, 3601; view of human nature, 364, 369-72 Congregation for the Propagation of the Faith (Propaganda), 338-9 Congress of Vienna, 14 Conimbncenses/Conimbricenses (Coimbra Latin commentators, commentaries), 523, 525, 538, 708; Aleni's modification of, 364, 369, 372, 374

729 Connors, Joseph, 47, 69 conquistador spirit, and approach to mission, 345, 349, 354 conscience: and focus on personal experience, 632; Jesuit attitude towards, 630-2; Puritan attitude towards, 627, 632 consent, as basis for monarchy, 450, 455 consolation, from devotional books, 622 Constitutions, Jesuit, 6, 353, 385; adaptability recommended in, 346, 348; and correspondence network, 217; and engagement in the world, 716; and freedom of dress, 346; importance of, 28; texts of Aristotle prescribed in, 523 control, mechanisms of, 115-16; and idea of motion of the earth, 124 Controriforma, 20. See also Counter Reformation conversion, of heart: call for in Catholic spiritual literature, 95, 629-31; individual focus of call for, 630, 632; Puritan, 639 n37 conversion, of unbelievers: missionary strategy for, 261-6; questionable potential for, 425-6; as virtually unattainable goal, 381, 397. See also evangelization converses, 341 converts, elites among, 358 Copernican (heliocentric) theory, 121, 123; continued teaching of, 547; rejection of by Clavius, 117-18; as threat to old cosmology, 122 Cordoba, University of, 307, 311 Cor lesu amanti sacrum (Wierix), 600, 617 Corinthian-composite order, 488, 493;

730 Index and Colegio de Sao Paulo, 485; symbolic of triumphant church, 484 corporal punishment, for offending functionaries of indigenous religions, 428 corporate culture, Jesuit, 711, 714; accommodation as ideal in, 132, 138 (see also accommodation/cultural reconciliation); characteristics attributed to, 352-4; and cross-cultural encounters, 305; and fine arts, 319; vs. global missionary phenomenon, 258-9; marginal practices in, 359; missionary, 267; as oversimplified concept, 354; role of 'the Other' in shaping, 47, 356-61. See also 'Jesuit style'; 'way of proceeding,' Jesuit corporate geography, of Society of Jesus, 216-22; 'Ignatian Tree' showing, 219, 220 'corporate strategy,' vs. 'Jesuit style,' 47, 703 Corpus Christi, feast of, 310 Correa, Juan, 688, 689 correspondence. See Jesuit correspondence Cortona, Pietro da, 68, 70 Cortorim (Salcete), parish church in, 497 Cosmographie universelle, La (Thevet), 645, 646, 647 cosmography, 119; astrology and astronomy as branches of, 121 cosmology: Aristotelian, 118; various hypotheses in, 121 Costa, Balthasar da, S.J., 403 Costa, Horacio de la, S.J., 660, 661, 663 Costa, Liicio, 278 Counter Reformation: art and architecture associated with, 39-40, 43, 65; art of, 134; era of, as 'baroque era,' 21,

39; Gesu as embodiment of, 43; as historiographical category, 19-22, 708; Jesuit role in, 21, 24-5; and medieval thought, 450, 452; origin of term, 19; presumed abolition of reason in, 42; and 'true' images of Mary, 685 Cousturier, Jean, 600 Coutinho, Maria Ines, 56 Cracow: Jesuit church in, 284, 285, 703; opposition to Jesuit presence in, 556 Cramer, Daniel, 620 credibility, in Jesuit science, 171, 175, 181-3 credit system, regional, 306 Creed, 651; in native language, 645, 650 Croce, Benedetto, 20 cross-cultural encounters. See cultural encounters crosses/crucifixes, 592; as part of missionary holy war, 265; potential for dishonour in image of, 389 Crucifixion with Mary Magdalene (Reichle), 581 Cruyl, Lievin, 700, 701, 702, 706 Cueva, Bartolomeo della (cardinal), 138 cultural bridges. See accommodation/ cultural reconciliation; acculturation cultural encounters, 397; potential for learning from, 412-13; relativistic approach in, 305. See also accommodation/cultural reconciliation; interfaith debates cultural exchange, and acceptance of foreign elements, 360 cultural field, 107-9; Jesuit, tensions involved in, 122, 126; unified, attempts to perceive, 705, 706 cultural homogeneity, in Society of Jesus, 210 'cultural imperative,' 356-7

Index 731 cultural incommensurability: of Christian and Confucian psychology, 364-76; of Christian ideas in Hindu context, 408-13 cultural pursuits, Jesuit, unity of with religious pursuits, 364 cultural reconciliation. See accommodation/cultural reconciliation cultural relativism, Jesuits and, 305 cultural representation, and Jesuit colleges, 171 cultural transformation: attempted, in China, 376; by colonialization, 418, 435; of image of Mary, 694 culture: Alzina's concept of stages of, 426; broad perspective on, 305; European (see Eurocentric focus); presumed unity of, 427; and social structure of the Tagalog, 421. See also corporate culture, Jesuit Cunigunde, St, statue of, 299 cupolas: for the Gesu, 704; proposed for Sant'Ignazio, 706 Cuzco style, 327 Cyprian, St, 616 Dainville, Francois de, S.J., 45, 64, 212 Daman (Damao), 481 dance(s): Japanese, 667; native, forbidding of in Brazil, 645; in religious festivals in Manila, 663, 665, 667 Dara Shukoh (prince), 395 datu, 421,424 Davenport, John, 514 David, Jan, S.J., 582, 605 De administratione guaranica (Peramas), 312 De anima (Aristotle), commentaries on. See Conimbricenses/Com'mbn-

ssssss

death: of Christ, 579; Christian victory over, 452, 577; and vision of God, 715. See also martyrs/martyrdom debates, interfaith, in Mughal empire, 59, 380-1, 385, 389 De doctrina Christiana (St Augustine), 605 De Dominis, Marco Antonio, S.J. (archbishop of Spalato), 111; Hawkins's task of exposing apostasy of, 623 deepmala (Hindu light tower), 498, 499 defence, academic. See academic defence De Glos, Guillaume, 243 degree ceremonies, theatricality in, 148-65, 705 deification, in portrayal of prince-hero, 448, 450 De la Montre (French astronomical observer), 243 Delaune, Etienne, 461 Dell'huomo di lettere (Bartoli), 176 Delumeau, Jean, 23, 263 De Mattel, Rodolfo, 442 Dent, Arthur, 628, 630 De procuranda indorum salute (Acosta), 408 De Sanctis, Francesco, 20 Descartes, Rene, 91, 94, 112, 232. See also Cartesianism desenclavement, of Jesuit historiography, 708, 710 Des Hayes (French astronomical observer), 243 Desideri, Ippolito, S.J., 213 Desmarest, Henry, 322 De symbolis heroicis (Pietrasanta), 605, 606 Deubler, Leonard, S.J., 297

732 Index Deutsche Geschichte im Zeitalter der Reformation (von Ranke), 19 devices, 608; of dove, 614; in Jesuit thesis prints, 149; by Rubens, 456, 459. See also emblems/emblematic works devil(s): Jesuits seen as, 3, 8,12; operatic portrayal of, 701; and spirit world of Visayan culture, 427. See also Lucifer; Satan Devise du royjustifee, La (Menestrier), 460 Devotio Moderna, 91, 95 devotional art: in New Spain, 689; use of in Mughal India, 382^, 389-95. See also emblems/emblematic works; iconography; images/imagery devotional literature: appeal of to the individual, 630; English Protestant adaptation of Catholic works, 621, 627-33; German adaptation of English works, 638-9 n30; Litany of Loreto, 583, 586, 623; and prayer formulated for laity, 629; religious heart symbolism in, 620; spiritual eroticism in, 605. See also emblems/emblematic works; Loarte, Caspar, S.J.; Persons, Robert, S.J. Devout Hart, The (Hawkins), 600, 603 617-22 Dewey, John, 713 Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems (Galileo), 176 Dialogue on Eternal Life (de Nobili), 402, 404-8 Diaz, Marco, 56, 680, 681, 689 Difficulties of Cartesian Physics (Saur), 547 Dimler, G.R., S.J., 71

disease, as metaphor for religious ignorance, 265-6 Disputationes metaphysicae (Suarez), 540 disputations, 149, 159, 165 n2, 174 Dissertatio de motu terrae (Guldin), 123, 124 Diu, church at, 493-5 divine descent, in Hindu theology, 411 Divine Office. See liturgical hours (Divine Office) 'divinization,' of profane poetry, 648 Dixon, Richard Watson, 622 Dobritzhoffer, Martin, S.J., 307 doctorate, as worthless degree, 705 Doctor dubitantium (Taylor), 628 doctrine. See Christian doctrine documentation. See archival materials Domenech, Jeronimo, S.J., 645 Dominic, St, 5, 8, 590; images of, 683 Dominicans, 353, 419, 660, 663, 704; and Chinese Rites controversy, 355, 361; and concept of mission, 338 Dompnier, Bernard, 265-6 Donati, Alessandro, S.J., 162, 168 n25 Dondini, Guglielmo, S.J., 160, 161,163 Donnini, Alfonso, 179 Dourado, Mecenas, 650 dove, images of, 614, 615 doxa. See glory drama. See theatre dreams: as evidence of immortality of the soul, 376; and perception of the divine, 390 'dress, freedom of,' 343, 345-6, 352 drum, 664 drunkenness, accusations of, 558 Druzbicki, Kacper, S.J., 560 Duhr, Bernhard, S.J., 17

Index Dunhuang, Buddhist caves of, 52 Diisseldorf, Jesuit church in, 281 Dutch East India Company, 245 Early Modern Catholicism, as historiographical category, 23-4, 47. See also Catholicism/Catholic church earth, motion of: and centre of gravity, 122-4; and equilibrium, 124, 125; role of mathematics vs. philosophy in proofs of, 123-6. See also heliocentric theories Eastern rite, 556 Ecce Homo (retable), 589 eclecticism, and Jesuit architecture, 142 eclipses, observations of, 242, 244-6, 248, 249 economic issues, 26; effects of on church architecture, 134, 138, 142; Jesuit involvement in, 306; in Paraguay, 309 Ecuador, Jesuit art in, 56 education: and civilized christianized culture, 427; as cure for idolatry, 408 education, Jesuit, 210; Aristotelianism in, 522-3; as core of Jesuit activity, 107; disputations in, 149, 159, 165 n2, 174; and elite families, 165, 310; goals of, 172, 573; importance of, 5, 522; innovation in, 96, 114-15; mechanisms of inclusion and control in, 115-17, 121-2; music used in, 641-5, 660; in the Philippines, 429, 660; and proposal for mathematical academies, 172-3; and Protestant Reformation, 572, 573; science curriculum in, 544-6; social context of, 111; sought by Polish gentry, 556; and teaching of doctrine and theology, 115, 572-3; and teaching of math-

733 ematics, 109-10, 114; transmission channels for materials used in, 666; variations in welcome for, 111-12. See also Jesuit schools and universities; specific institutions, e.g. Collegio Romano Egyptians, and history of mathematics, 117 Elements (Euclid), 109; Clavius's commentary on, 109, 110, 116-18 Elements of Philosophy Composed According to the Guidance of Reason (Hauser), 544 Elia, Pasquale M. d', S.J., 52 elites: guidance of, 225; and heraldry, 165; Islamic, 381; Jesuit mission among, 352, 358-9; Jesuit recruitment from, 306, 312-13; mobility of, 358; in Poland, 556-60; and social disciplining, 26. See also Chinese literati; social status Ellspacher, Franz, S.J., 543 Emanuele Filiberto (duke of Savoy), 450 emblems/emblematic works, 71, 600; affixiones, 601; of Andrea Alciato, 608; Christian integrated with non-Christian, 488, 493, 495; in colleges, 708; and cult of the Sacred Heart, 620; of the dove, 614; English recusant audience for, 600, 602-3; by Francis Quarles, 604; of the heart, 600, 617; by Henry Hawkins, 600-23; by Herman Hugo, 604; Jesuit IHS, 488, 493; of Louis XIV, 456, 459, 460; Lutheran, 620-1; Marian, in Litany of Loreto, 582, 584, 585; and meditation fused in Partheneia sacra, 600; representing composito loci, 604; of star, 611, 613; study of, 71; and thesis prints, 162, 164

734 emotions: moving of, as missionary method, 203, 263-5; religious sentiment, 26 empirical observation, of Visayan people and culture, 423^1 encyclopaedia, Polish Jesuit, 560 Encyclopaedia universalis, 41 Enggass, Robert, 67 England: and anti-Protestantism, 25; Jesuit missions in, 602, 622, 629, 630; Marian sodalities in, 603, 604 English Catholics: cultural isolation of, 603; devotional works published for, 600-20, 630-2; status of, 600, 603, 630 English College, Rome, 601, 622, 623 English literature, Hawkins's contribution to, 616 engravings: in Evangelicae historiae imagines, 38, 70; in Persian-language catechisms, 386 Enlightenment, 540; 'Catholic,' 308; and experiment in science, 542; Jesuits and, 99-101, 308; and view of Jesuits as enemies of progress, 539 Ensenanza, church of the (Mexico), 685 Epiphanius, St, 605 episteme. See missionary episteme Epistulae Sancti Ignatii Loiolae, 11 equestrian monuments, 445, 460, 462, 463 equilibrium, and idea of motion of the earth, 124, 125 Erasmus, Desiderius, 93, 95 Escobar, Ticio, 56 Escorial palace-monastery, 508, 509 Espirito Santo, church of the (Evora), 486-7 d'Este, family of, 442, 443, 446, 448, 454

Index estilo chdo (Portuguese plain style), 485 estilo moderno, 485 estilo romano, 485, 486 ethical systems. See moral theology; Puritanism Ethiopia, and history of art, 61 ethnomusicology, 318, 667 Eucharist: and Cartesian physics, 545-7; exposition of, 70-1; power of, 581; and trial of Galileo, 545 Euclid, 117; translations of, 353. See also Elements (Euclid) Eurocentric focus: and concept of time, 309; emergence from, 24; identification of European culture with Christianity, 341; and models of mission, 338; and myth of Taj Mahal's origin, 52. See also globalism Europe. See Central Europe; see also specific country, e.g. Germany; Italy Evangelicae historiae imagines (Nadal), 38, 70. See also Adnotationes et meditationes evangelisme, 20 evangelization: in Brazil, 641, 642, 650; expressed in art, 274, 277; focus on in Jesuit churches, 481, 487, 572, 574; 'from top down,' 353, 358-9; in Mughal India, 381-3; in Portuguese India, 481, 484, 487, 500; and potential for conversion in the Philippines, 423; resistance of indigenous peoples to, 642; role of languages in, 431, 434 evil, struggle with, 568, 715. See also Satan Evora, church in, 486-7 Evreux, Yves d', O.F.M.Cap., 651 Exercise of a Christian Life, The (Loarte), 629

Index Exercitia spiritualia. See Spiritual Exercises exhibition catalogues, 63 exorcisms, 359 experience, focus on in Jesuit and Puritan spirituality, 631-2 experimental process, 111, 171, 174-5; concept vs. practice of, 543; and development of physics, 542-5, 548; focus on in Jesuit science, 705; and Jesuit theatricality, 175, 183, 185. See also observations, scientific exploration, Jesuit involvement in, 213, 214, 226 Ezekiel (prophet), and vision of Jerusalem temple, 505, 508-9, 516 Ezguerra, Domingo, S.J., 431; study of Visayan language by, 432-3 Fabri, Honore, S.J., 182 Fabrici, Susana, 53 facades, of Jesuit churches, 45; of the Casa Professa, 141; with Farnese arms, 702; of the Gesu, I35, 140, 703, 704; impressive, 139; Italianate, 281, 284-7, 289, 290, 292; liminal, 704; monumental, 482^1; square, 490; towered, as norm, 497 faces. See holy faces faith: and intellect, 412; and knowledge of God through revelation, 410 Falconi, Giovanni Battista, 284 Falkner, Thomas, S.J., 307 Farnese, Alessandro (cardinal), 43, 69, 134, 136, 700; and designs for the Gesu, 137-41,702 Farnese, Odoardo (cardinal), 134, 141, 700 Fatehpur Sikri, Akbar's palace at, 381 Father General, of Society of Jesus, 225

735 Fathers. See Church Fathers Fauchet, Claude, 192 Favaro, Antonio, 705 Favian, Alexandra, S.J., 689-90 Favre, Pierre, S.J., 590 fear, pastoral of, 359 Febvre, Lucien, 22; and 'question mal posee,' 23 Feltre, Vittorino da, 96 Fenicio, Jacobo, S.J., 413-14 n2 Feo, Vittorio de, 67 Fernandes, Domingo, S.J., 488 Fernandes Sardinha, Pedro (bishop of Brazil), opposition of to native music in catechism, 644, 645 Fernandez, Gonfalo, S.J., 413 n2 Ferrari, Giovanni Battista, S.J., 68 Ferrier, Jean, S.J., 466 festivity, Jesuit cultivation of, 98; celebration of holy days, 310, 661-2, 664-5; in Mughal India, 391; and role of music in Manila, 659-7; and slave management, 308. See also spectacle(s) Fiammeri, Giovanni Battista, S.J., 70, 623 Figueira, Luis, S.J., 649 Findlen, Paula, 705 fingernails, of literati, 357 Fischer, Rainald, 56 flagellation, music for, 661 flexibility, of Jesuit program, 574. See also accommodation/cultural reconciliation Florencia, Francisco de, S.J., 684, 685 Floyd, John, S.J., 603 Folco, Giulio, 138, 140 Fondo Gesuitico, 260 Fontana, Carlo, 67 Fontenay, Jean de, S.J., 243-6

736 Index Fontenelle, Bernard le Bovier de, 99 form (Aristotelian), 530; and matter, 368, 375; 'substantial,' 369 Formula of the Institute, 6, 572 Fortaleza do Monte (Macao), 53 fortification, of churches, 430 Foucault, Michel, 22, 259 Foundation of Christian Religion, The (Perkins), 630 France: ancien regime, 91, 93, 100, 102; anti-Jesuit literature in, 40; historiography in, 20; institutionization of mathematical studies delayed in, 114; Jesuit assistancies in, 218; and Jesuit missions, 241-51, 258-68; and Louis XIV as model of princehero, 460-70; music in, 191-3; personified in opera, 320; role of Jesuit colleges in scientific culture, 114; suppression of the Jesuits in, 11, 100, 101 Francesco I d'Este (duke of Modena): Bernini's bust of, 442, 443, 446, 448; catafalque of, 451, 454; as ideal prince-hero, 452 Franciscans, 353, 511, 650, 660, 700; and celebration of feast of Immaculate Conception, 665; and Chinese Rites controversy, 355, 361; and development of Jesuit visual culture, 72; and division of mission regions in the Philippines, 419; founding of mission villages by, 308; iconography of, 683; and mission churches, 295; and musical teaching of Cariri Indians, 651; Observant, in Goa, 480; work of in Tagalog language, 431 Francis of Assisi, St, 5, 8, 590; images of, 683; life of, 383 Francis Xavier, St, 54, 213, 397, 593;

arrival of in Goa, 480; attempts at Japanese translations by, 342-3; canonization of, 319, 588; and colonization practices, 337; depictions of miracles of, 70; images used by, 38; as model of Jesuit mobility, 212; statue of, 592; tomb of, 46, 493; understanding of architectural form, 481 Fran?ois de Sales, St, 259, 576 Frangipane, Lelio, bust of, 447 Frankiewicz, Jan, 284 Freedberg, David, 68 'freedom,' as modern purpose of music, 652 free will, 571-2 French Academy, 90, 94 French Revolution, 11 frescos, 141, 293; by Pozzo, 274-6 Friedrich, Philipp, S.J., 548 Fritz, Samuel, S.J., 213 Fulop-Miller, Rene, 17 Fumaroli, Marc, 71, 704 functionalism, 65. See also pragmatism funeral decorations, and image of princehero, 452 Furetiere, Antoine, 265 Furlong, Guillermo, S.J., 48 Furtado, Francisco, S.J., 369 Galilei, Galileo, 94, 232; controversies about, 124-5, 319; discussed by Queen Christina, 176; and the Jesuits, 538, 540; observations and discoveries of, 111, 181, 242, 540; and physics of the Eucharist, 545; trial of, 182, 538 Galluzzi, Tarquinio, S.J., 168 n25, 455 Gamberti, Domenico, S.J., 451-2, 453; community of thought of with Bernini, 455

Index garden symbolism, in Marian devotion, 605, 608, 617, 623 Garimberto, Girolamo (cardinal), 140 Gaulli, Giovanni Battista (Baciccio), 67, 70 Gegenreformation. See Counter Reformation Genovese, Giuseppe Maria, S.J., 692 geodesy, 118 geography: corporate, of Society of Jesus, 216-22; mathematical, 227; observations involved in, 213; reform of, 242, 243 geography of knowledge, 212-16; role of travel in, 227-8 geology, 227 geometry, 110, 117; as branch of mathematics, 118-20 Geometry (Descartes), 112 Gerbillon, Jean-Francois, S.J., 255 n26, 257 n56 Gerhard, Hubert, 568, 569, 574, 577, 581 Germany, 17; anti-Jesuit atmosphere in, 14, 16, 539; catechisms in, 573^4; confessional disruption in, 572, 593; Jesuit assistancy of, 218, 222, 225; Jesuit churches in, 68, 279-82, 56893, 704; Jesuit mathematics in, 11214, 548; and Jesuit mission to New Spain, 294; Jesuit philosophy in, 5403; Jesuit physics in, 543-8; and Lutheran images, 621; as mission focus for Jesuits, 5, 278, 572-3, 593; and musical style, 194. See also Reformation, Protestant Gesu, church of the (Rome), 68, 132, 321, 455, 484, 700, 701, 703; altar of St Ignatius in, 67; and anti-Jesuit attitudes, 43; austerity vs. magnifi-

737 cence in, 134, 138^0, 144; chapels in, 69, 276; cupola of, 704; fa9ade and plan, 735, 136; inspiration for, 65; as model for other Jesuit churches, 45, 282, 703; and patronage issues, 43, 44, 69, 138-41; and Spiritual Exercises, 69 Gesu Nuovo, church of the (Naples), 67 Giambologna, 581 Gisbert, Teresa, 48 Giulio Romano, 455, 457 globalism: and bridging of cultures, 25, 318; and decreased Eurocentric focus, 24; and encounter with 'the Other' in Asia and Americas, 24, 25; in Jesuit art patronage, 47-8, 52-63; of Jesuit missions, xiii, 8, 274, 275; and Jesuit travel, 226; role of Jesuit schools in, 28. See also accommodation/cultural reconciliation; geography of knowledge glory: expressed in works of Bernini, 462-6, 511; of God, 716; of heroes, 462, 464; Louis XIV portrayed in possession of, 462-6; and visual brilliance and use of precious metals, 511 Goa: arrival of Francis Xavier in, 480; Jesuit church architecture in, 481-5, 495-9, 703; as Manueline city, 481 God: as architect, 505, 517; dialogue with, 101; doctrine of through symbols, 611; focus on presence of in all things, 713; and gift of free will, 572; as giver and gift, 581; good taste of, 511, 517; images as offering access to, 390; Islamic proclamation of, 382; limits to human knowledge of, 404; minimal definition of, 407; mistaken ideas about, 411; and musical com-

738 Index position, 294; and purpose and work of the Society, 8, 572; role of in mathematical sciences, 120; as source of harmony, 133; as source of power of absolute monarch, 450, 451; translation of concept of, 342-3; trust in providence of, 427; as universally accessible, 412 Godinho, Nicolao, S.J., 190 Goes, Bento de, S.J., 213 Goes, Emmanuel de, S.J., 523, 530, 533 Golden Legend (Voragine), 590 Goldsmith, Jane ten Brink, 64 Gon£alves da Camara, Luis, S.J., 339-40, 349 Gongora, Mario, 308 Gonsalvez, Diego, S.J., 413 n2 Gonzalez, Roque, S.J., 309 Gossner, Johannes, 621 Gothein, Eberhard, 20 'Gothic' style, 279, 280; as pragmatic choice, 281 Gouye, Thomas, S.J., 247-9 Gozzadino, Marcantonio (cardinal), 160, 767, 163 grammar, Visayan, 431—4 Gramsci, Antonio, 330 Granada, Luis de, O.P., 629 grandeur. See magnificence Grassi, Orazio, S.J., 67, 173, 179, 181, 319,704-6 gravity, 114; centre of, and displacement of the earth, 123^1; centre of, as mathematical concept, 122-3; sensible nature of, 120-1. See also earth, motion of Greeks, ancient, and music, 190, 193, 194 Gregorian calendar, 117 Gregorius a S. Vincentio, S.J., 114

Gregory XV (pope), 151 Gregory, Brad, 631 Greuter, Johann Friedrich, 756, 757 Greuter, Matthaeus, 754, 624 Grienberger, Christoph, S.J., 173, 181 Grimaldi, Francesco Maria, S.J., 111 Grimau, Jose, S.J., 57 Guaranf Indians. See indigenous peoples, Guaranf Guaranf language. See native languages, Guaranf Guarini, Guarino, of Verona, 96 Guercino, 72 Guericke, Otto von, 543 Guerrero, Francisco, 659, 670 Guevara, Francisco di, 164 Guibert, Joseph de, S.J., 18, 590 Guldin, Paul, S.J., 114, 181; Centrobaryca, 118-23; Dissertatio de motu terrae, 123-6; and inclusion of algebra as pure science, 119; and scientific discourse, 118, 123 Gutierrez, Ramon, 53, 56, 297 Gutierrez de Ceballos, Alfonso Rodriguez, S.J., 68 Habsburg empire, 460; Jesuits distrusted because of ties to, 557 Hager, Hellmut, 67 hagiography: importance of avoiding, 711; in Jesuit biographies, 6-8, 27 Hail Mary. See Ave Maria hall church plan, 485, 487 Handel, George Frederick, 323 Harls, Anton, S.J., 50, 297 harmonic proportions, 190 harmony, in Renaissance and baroque music, 202 Hartlib, Samuel, 173, 174 Haskell, Francis, 39, 44, 69, 274

Index Hassenmiiller, Elias, 7 Hausberger, Bernd, S.J., 294 Hauser, Berthold, S.J., 544 Hawkins, Aphra Norton, 601, 622 Hawkins, Henry: birth and background of, 601-2; The Devout Hart, 600, 603, 617-22; emblematic plates of, 601, 607, 612-15, 618, 619; marriage of, 601, 622; Partheneia sacra, 600, 602-17, 622, 623 Hawkins, Sir Thomas, 602 Haymhausen, Carlos (Karl), S.J., 295 heart, missionaries as connoisseurs of the, 263, 264. See also conversion, of heart heart imagery: image of Jesus knocking at door of heart, 617, 619; in Persianlanguage catechisms, 384; presence of Jesus in believer's heart, 622; Sacred Heart, 620; in seventeenth-century authors, 620. See also Devout Hart, The heaven: church as gate of, 580; idea of in Christianity vs. Confucianism, 356 hebdomadarius, 225 Hebrews, music of, 193 'hegemony,' relationships of, 330 Heldman, Marilyn, 61 heliocentric theories: Copernican, 11718, 121, 123, 547; vs. geocentric view, 541; and motion of the earth, 123-6; Tychonic, 111, 121 Helios (sun god), 455, 456 Heliotropion. See sunflower, image of hell, 356; preaching about pains of, 263 Henner, Blasius, S.J., 545 Henri III (king of Poland and France), 556 Henri IV (king of France), 114 Henrietta Maria (queen of England),

739 602; and revival of Marian devotion, 616 Hemiques, Leao, S.J., 339, 340 heraldry, in thesis prints, 149, 151-3, 160-2, 165 herbal remedies, 213, 227-8 Hercules: as image of virtue, 468; as model for prince-hero, 462, 466, 467 heresy, 5, 8, 466-7, 541; triumph over, 293 Hermann, Georg, S.J., 541 hero, classical, as demigod, 448, 450, 452. See also prince-hero, theory of Heroici, Gli (Pigna), 450 heroic virtue, and canonization of saints, 450. See also virtue(s) Herrera, Juan de, 68, 508 Herz, Alexandra, 70 Hen des Menschen, Das (Gossner), 621 Hibbard, Howard, 44, 64, 68, 69 hijuela, 217 Hildebrandt, Johann Lucas von, 297 hilya, 395 Himmlisches Freuden-Mahl (Rittmeyer), 620 Hincza, Marcin, S.J., 559 Hinduism, 395; accommodation to, 380, 402; beliefs and practices of, 413 n2; mythological narratives of, 407, 409-11; and response to de Nobili's Dialogue, 408-11; use of Thomistic principles in understanding of, 405 Hindu motifs: incorporated into Jesuit church architecture, 493, 495, 497-9; in Indo-Islamic culture, 383 Hindu temples. See temples, Hindu Histoire de la Chine (Martini), 192 Histoire de la musique (Bonnet), 191 'Historia de las islas e indios de bisayas' (Alzina), 418, 423-8

740 Index Historia del principle y progresso (Valignano), 343 Historia general de Espana (Mariana), 7 Historia jesuitici ordinis (Hasenmiiller), 7 historical consciousness, and music, 190 Historica musica (Bontempi), 191 histories, Jesuit, 7; of the Philippines, 419-27. See also historiography, Jesuit historiography, Jesuit: concern for documentation in, 4, 6, 7, 14; desenclavement of, 708, 710; in history of science, 3, 18, 26, 28, 171, 540; Humanistic influences on, 28; old frameworks for, 3-7; polemic against Jesuits (see anti-Jesuit polemic); in province histories, 17-18; in recent studies, 17-18, 26-9; revival of, 708; 'substantialism' in, 6; tendency to hagiography in, 7. See also art history Historische Beschreibung (Printz), 191, 195 History of Art, The (Janson), 43 Holl, Johann, S.J., 588 holy days, observances of in Manila, 661-2, 664-5 holy faces: Jesus, 395; Mary, 392; Muhammad, 395; of prophets, 390 Holy Family, images of, 694 Holy Land, 590. See also Jerusalem holy war, image of mission as, 260-1, 265 Hopkins, Gerard Manley, S.J., 622 Horoscopium catholicum, 220 horror vacui, 542 hortus conclusus, 605, 607 Houliston, Victor, 631 Hozjusz, Stanislaw (Stanislaus Hosius, bishop of Varmia), 555 Hugo, Herman, S.J., 604, 605, 621

human commonalities, 323; and music as cultural bridge, 318 Humanism, 525, 574; and 'baroque era,' 308; Catholic, 349; Christian, 623; and inculturation, 349; Italian, 91, 94, 349; and Jesuit historiography, 28; Jesuits and, 91-2, 96-9, 164, 321; and music, 190; opposition to (antiHumanism), 39, 42, 64; 'philosophical' vs. secular, 99; role of drama and arts in, 321. See also rhetoric, Humanist humanity/human nature: Aristotelian view of, 368-9, 376; Confucian vs. Christian views of, 364-5, 369-76; images as aid to weakness of, 386, 388; Molinist view of, 100; need of for revelation, 405; normative, 367-8; and soul, 371 hun (soul), 366, 371 Hunt, William Holman, 621 Huygens, Christiaan, 255 n32 hydrostatics, 120 hylomorphic model. See form (Aristotelian) hymns, use of in missions, 264. See also chant; music Iberianization, in mission policy, 338; avoidance of, 344, 349 Iberian Peninsula, vs. Italy as focus of study, 67. See also Portugal; Spain Ibn al-'Arabi, 390 iconoclasm, 593; Anabaptist, 280-1 iconography: Antwerp as centre for, 69; in Jesuit art, 69-70, 72, 276; Jesuit vs. Franciscan, 683; Litany of Loreto as source, 583, 586; in Mexican retables, 681-9; in thesis prints, 156, 158, 163. See also images/imagery

Index idea (Platonic), and prince-hero theory, 452 Idea di unprencipe, U (Gamberti), 451 Idea principis christiano-politici (Saavedra Fajardo), 468, 469 identity, as shaped by 'the Other,' 356 idolatry, 347; forms of, 406; as ignorance, 408; images perceived as, 38990; origins of, 406-7; among Visayan, 422. See also images/imagery Ignatian meditation: and composition of place, 69, 392, 604, 605, 610; structure of, 614, 617. See also Spiritual Exercises Ignatian spirituality. See Jesuit spirituality 'Ignatian Tree,' 219, 222; representations of, 220, 227 Ignatian water, 588 Ignatian year (1990-1), 63 Ignatius of Loyola, St, xiv, 69, 70, 216, 645; and accommodation, 357; autobiography of, 4-5; beatification and canonization of, 319, 588, 663; biographies of, 6-8, 10; contemplation recommended by, 615; correspondence of, 4, 11, 14,212,218,231,555; as directorial genius, 96; and engagement with world, 715-16; founding of Society by, 4-7, 95, 590; images and veneration of, 67, 177, 274, 276, 277, 495, 586, 588, 683; and images as focus of meditation, 38; intercession of, 262; as Jesuit centre, 210, 219; as model, 20, 616; operatic portrayal of, 701; relic of, 262; and 'rhetorica divina,' 95; and rhetoric of warfare, 265; and vision at La Storta, 590, 597; works of in Mughal library, 385. See also Constitutions, Jesuit; Jesuit

741 spirituality; Society of Jesus; Spiritual Exercises ignorance, as cause of idolatry, 408 igreja saldo (hall church), 485; abandonment of plan, 486, 487 illiteracy, among Chinese Christians, 358 images/imagery: access to God through, 390; as allegories, 621; of angels, 323, 324, 580, 581, 592; of battle between good and evil, 568; as 'captivating,' 388; of Christ, 388, 577, 577-81, 586, 590-2; and composition of place, 69; cult of, 395; distribution of, 264; hostility towards (iconoclasm), 593; and idolatry, 389-90, 408; of institution of the church, 579; as instruments of propaganda, 383; inversion of, 610; Jesuits as promoters of, 38; of life of St Ignatius, 495; Luther's attitude towards, 621; and metaphor of mirror, 388; and metaphor of ship for Jesuit mission, 317, 330; miraculous, 38, 390, 395; as objects of desire, 431-2; of praise, 158; of saints, 388, 576-80, 586, 593, 683; textual, in devotional works, 608, 610; 'true,' 685, 692; usefulness of, 386, 388-91, 620; and visualization in Spiritual Exercises, 691. See also art(s); emblems/emblematic works; holy faces; idolatry; Marian devotion; symbols/symbolism Imago primi saeculi Societatis Jesu (1640), 8, 10, 71, 704 Imbart de la Tour, Pierre, 20 Imitatio Christi, 95 Immaculate Conception: celebration of feast of, 664-6; and church interiors, 71 immortality: in Confucianism vs.

742 Christianity, 356, 365-8; personal, perceived threat to concept of, 532 Imperial Astronomical Bureau, Beijing. See Chinese Imperial Astronomical Bureau impresa, 611; in Jesuit thesis prints, 149 'impression,' and inducement to conversion, 263 Incarnation: impact of on church interiors, 71; and spirituality of Ignatius, 715 inclusion, Jesuit mechanisms and policy of, 115-17, 121-2; in De anima textbooks, 525 inculturation, xiii; and issues of translation, 342-3; Lascasian tradition, 338; radical, and policy of Valignano, 341, 343-9; 'Sarmatianization' of Jesuits in Poland as case study of, 560. See also accommodation/cultural reconciliation; acculturation; transcultural expressions; translations India, 213; and architectural development, 480-500; and encounter with Hindu experience, 402-13; Jesuit missions in, 339, 343, 345, 347, 380-97, 480-500; and observations about nature, 212; study of Jesuit art in, 52, 53 Indian Customs (de Nobili), 409 'Indies,' the, 210; Europe as, 260. See also India indigenous influences, 318, 487, 488, 493, 495, 497-8, 500; in mission art, 56,63 indigenous languages. See native languages indigenous peoples: attitudes about, 266, 311, 347, 427, 432; eligibility of for

Index priesthood, 338, 342; Jesuit missions to, 278; just treatment for, 338; as 'Savages,' 266 indigenous peoples, Guarani, 40; acculturation of, 308-13; art of, 56, 323, 324, 329; Jesuit attitudes towards, 311; and reconciliation of cultures, 309, 323; uprising of, 312 indigenous peoples, in Brazil: catechesis of using musical settings for texts, 641-53; disappearance of, 650, 651; enslavement of, 641, 642; resistance of to proselytizing, 642 indigenous peoples, in New France, vs. mission subjects in Brittany, 258-65 indigenous peoples, in Portuguese India, incorporation of by integrating elements of culture, 495 indigenous peoples, in the Philippines, 661; Ayta, 420, 421; choir and orchestra composed of, 661; potential for conversion of, 423; Tagalog, 420-2, 430; Visayan, 420-2, 423-8 indigenous religions: and assertion of pre-eminence of Christianity, 481; functionaries of, 427-8; seen as idolatry, 406-8; superstitious practices attributed to, 422, 425, 427 Indipetae, as source of information about missions, 260 individual: appeal of Jesuit and Puritan texts for, 630-2; deification of, in portrayal of prince-hero, 448, 450; Jesuit stress on conscious action of, 348, 572; as never alone, 593 inertia, 124 In Ezechielem explanationes (Villalpando), 505, 507, 508-9, 514, 516 'infidels': categories of, 266; missionaries' attitudes towards, 258

Index infinitesimal calculation, 114 'inflated difference,' 355-6, 361 innovation, Jesuit: application of outside the Society, 440; in approach to mission, 344, 346, 348-9, 354, 653; architectural, 64, 294, 296, 500, 681; in art, 276, 300, 689; balanced by focus on doctrinal uniformity, 541; criticism of, 440; cultural, 440; in education, 115; in scientific pursuits, 117, 120,541 Institutionum physicae (Scherffer), 544 Institutum Historicum Societatis lesu ('Institute'), 15, 17 intellect: active vs. passive, 527; agent, and intellectual cognition, 531^4; limits of, 404; reliance of on sense perception, 376 intellectual history, need for supplementation of, 710 'intentional' being, 529 interfaith debates, in Mughal India, 380-1, 385, 389, 397 interior life, devotional literature as aid for, 627-33 Intorcetta, Prospero, S.J., 349 Islam, 381; compared with Christianity, 386; and images, 389-90; and interfaith debates, 380-1, 385; Jesuit attitudes towards, 426, 427 Islamic influence, in Jesuit art and architecture, 56, 57, 493, 499 Isnardi, Giovanni Francesco, 160 Isocrates, 605 Italianate style, 279, 281, 284; baroque choices, 287; and patronage issues, 287; in sculpture, 300. See also architecture, Jesuit, Italianate Italy, 17; as influence on mission approach in China and Japan, 341,

743 345, 349; Jesuit art and architecture in, 64-5, 67, 68; Jesuit assistancies in, 219 her exstaticum (Kircher), 176 Jahangir (Mughal emperor), 380, 381, 393 Jansen, Bernhard, S.J., 540 Jansenism, Jesuits and, 11, 71, 92, 97, 99, 241 Janson, H.W., 43 Japan, xv; accommodation in, 344, 352, 354; art history in, 52, 59; commemoration of martyrs of, 665; Jesuit missions in, 8, 336-8, 341-9, 354; policy of Valignano in, 354 Javellana, Rene B., S.J., 59 Jedin, Hubert, 24, 29; Katholische Reformation oder Gegenrefortnation, 19; and terminology for Tridentine era, 21-2 Jehudah Leon, Jacob, 513 Jerusalem: heavenly, 579; as locus for ministry, 5, 590; reconstruction of city of, 514. See also Temple of Jerusalem Jesuit(s): as agents of social change, 435; as anti-Humanists, 39, 42, 64; as Aristotelians, 524, 534; and art, 38, 572, 588, 593, 660 (see also art(s), Jesuit; patronage); attitudes towards, 3, 8, 258 (see also anti-Jesuit polemic; historiography, Jesuit); and baroque art, 278 (see also baroque art/style); bookishness of, 225; and catechesis, 383, 386-97, 430, 573-4, 576, 641-53; collegiality with members of other religious orders, 664; and confession, 311, 486, 487, 577; confidence of in rationality, 411-12; differences among, 354, 707; eco-

744 nomic base for, 306; as experts and polymaths, 26, 172-3, 318, 319; as explorers, 226; formation of, 230; in France, 114; French, and scientific observations, 241-51; as human beings, 711; Ignatius as paradigm for, 5; inner identity of, 710; intellectual contributions of, 412, 681, 710; and Jansenism, 11, 71, 92, 97, 99, 241; 'Jewish,' 520-1 n35; lay brothers, 306; and Litany of Loreto, 582; motivation of, 714-15; and music, 310, 318-23; and obedience, 228, 230; paternalism of, 427, 432; polemical writing by, 98; and Polish aristocracy, 556-60; as polymaths, xiii, 28, 176, 318, 319; as professionals, 28; and reformation of individuals vs. institutional church, 632; and reliability, 228-30; and role of morality in political life, 446, 466; seen as alien element, 557; and slave labour, 308; versatility of, 707. See also architecture, Jesuit; corporate culture, Jesuit; mathematics, Jesuit; science(s), Jesuit; Society of Jesus Jesuit aesthetics, and God's good taste, 511,517 Jesuit assistancies, in various regions, 218-22 Jesuit bibliography, 708 Jesuit casuistry: basis for in Humanism, 97; persisting distrust of, 11; as presumed basis for Puritan practical divinity, 627-8 Jesuit correspondence, xiv-xv; administrative, 217-18; autonomy of, 340; and goals of Society of Jesus, 216-17; of Ignatius, 4, 11, 14, 212, 231, 555; importance of, 4, 98, 229, 231-2, 708;

Index Litterae annuae, 218; major figures involved in, 232; mission issues raised in, 342, 418; in periodicals, 218; of Peter Canisius, 14 Jesuit culture, and mathematics, 108. See also corporate culture, Jesuit Jesuit dress, freedom of, 343, 345-6 Jesuitenstil, as term, 40. See also 'Jesuit style' Jesuit experts, goal of creating, 173 'Jesuitical,' 39-41. See also anti-Jesuit polemic Jesuit intellectuals, 705 jesuitiques (anti-Jesuit satire), 40 'Jesuitism,' 17, 40, 90 Jesuit libraries, 312; typical content of, 385-6 Jesuit mobility, 96; effect of schools on ideal of, 6; reasons for, 214; regulation of, 215-16; travel to the New World, 317, 330; trust involved in, 217, 231 Jesuit offices, 224-5 'Jesuitphobia,' 11. See also anti-Jesuit polemic Jesuit press, in the Philippines, 434, 435 Jesuit provinces, 218-22 Jesuit relations/relaciones, 259, 261, 418-20 'Jesuit's bark.' See cinchona Jesuit schools and universities, 91, 93, 307, 310; academic defence in, 148-65; and church building, 572-3; churches associated with, 481; curriculum of, 542, 543; drama in, 708; importance of in Jesuit history, 6, 28; Jesuit building policy for, 700; and Jesuit 'college towns,' 224; and Jesuit organizational structure, 219; large size of, 703; in Liege, 175; in Manila, 663, 665-6; as metaphor, 713; number

Index of, 705; in Poland, 560; in Portuguese India, 486; quality of teaching in, 307; role of in cultural representation, 171; role of in dissemination of knowledge, 214-15, 224-6, 232; royal visits to, 175-8. See also education, Jesuit Jesuit science. See science(s) Jesuit spirituality, 574, 709, 710; its aim a devout life, 27; devotional texts adapted by Protestants, 632; differentiated from morality, 628, 633; flexibility of, 574; and focus on individual relationship with the Lord, 630; and focus on presence of God in all things, 716; history of, 18 'Jesuit State,' in New Spain, 311 'Jesuit style,' xv, 134; vs. adaptation to regional style, 39; association of with the baroque, 39^40; vs. 'corporate strategy,' 47; as historiographical concept, 39^4; and interest in aesthetics, 64; as Jesuitical, 73; origin of term, 38, 40; in painting and architecture, 38-9, 42-3; and patronage issues, 136^2; tenacity of term, 39, 44, 703. See also corporate culture, Jesuit; historiography, Jesuit; 'way of proceeding,' Jesuit Jesuit theatre. See theatre, Jesuit involvement in Jesuit urbanism, 700, 703; churches as metaphor of, 713; and Jesuit colleges, 171; in Latin America, 56; and location of the Gesii, 136; and resettlement program in the Philippines, 428-30, 435; studies of, 65; and urban strategy, 69. See also urban planning Jesus Christ: call of, 577, 579, 592; Colloquy addressed to, 617; contemplation of life of in Ignatian medita-

745 tion, 617; images of, 274, 390, 393, 395, 571, 577-81, 586, 590-2, 617, 619, 687; life of compared with Muhammad's, 386; love for, 619; as new pearl, 610; passion and death of (see Passion, of Christ); postResurrection, 580; role of in the Society, 8, 590. See also Eucharist Jewish ancestry, Jesuits of, 340, 341 Jewish influences: Cabbala, 514, 517; on Scripture study, 511 Joao III (king of Portugal), 485 John of Damascus, St, 388 John of the Cross, St, 715 Jones, Inigo, 616 Jonson, Ben, 620 Joseph, St, 694 Journal de Trevoux, 100, 218 journey, Jesuits and. See Jesuit mobility 'jugglers,' Jesuit scientists as, 183, 185, 189 n58 Julius III (pope), 687 Jumilhac, Pierre-Benoit du, 193 Jupiter, astronomical observation of satellites of, 242, 244, 245, 248; attack on method of determining longitude, 249 Kapsberger, Johannes Hieronymous, 319, 330; Apotheosis sive consecratio SS. Ignatii et Francisci Xaverii, 67, 320 Katholische Reformation oder Gegenreformation (Jedin), 19 Kazimierz (Casimir), St, 284 Kennedy, T. Frank, S.J., 67 Kepler, Johannes, 125, 232 Kerber, Bernhard, 67 'kernel-husk' model of cultural accommodation, 336-7

746 Index Kessler, Eckhard, 524 Kiene, Michael, 68, 705 al-Kindi, 389 Kino, Eusebio, S.J., 213, 228, 295 Kircher, Athanasius, S.J., 101, 113, 132, 172, 173, 231, 705; and combinatorial studies, 196, 201-3; criticism of, 182, 705; and 'Ignatian Tree,' 219, 220; museum of, 179, 227, 228; musical composition method of, 196-203; as music historian, 193-5; Musurgia universalis, 132-3, 193-203; and 'universal script,' 202; views of on musical differences, 194-5, 203; and visit of Queen Christina, 175-8 Kleinbrodt, Anton, S.J., 542 Knesebeck, Franz Julius von dem, 617 knowledge: geography of, 212-16, 227-8; Jesuit pursuit of, 214; universalist ideal of, 376 Koch, Ebba, 59 Kochowski, Wespazjan, 560 Konfessionsbildung, 22 Koran, 386 Kraus, Johann, S.J., 297, 300 Kromer, Marcin (Martinus Cromerus, bishop of Varmia), 555 Kriiger, Theodor, 160, 161 Kulturkampf, 14, 539 Labor e\'angelica (Colin), 666-7, 672-9 La Chaise, Francois de, S.J., 246 Lacunza, Manuel, S.J., 520-1 n35 Lafitau, Joseph Francois, S.J., 226 La Hire, Philippe de, 243, 248, 249 Lainez, Diego, S.J., 4, 7, 590 Laire, Sigismondo, 72 laity: devotional manuals addressed to, 629, 631; movements addressed to,

91; and Spiritual Exercises, 576; Tagalog lay collaborators, 434. See also lay brothers, Jesuit Lalemant, Jerome, S.J., 262 Lamy, Bernard, 513 Lanfranco, Giovanni, 752, 160, 161 languages: importance of in Jesuit missionary effort, 96, 342-3, 431; as instrument of empire, 430; musarithmetic applied to, 202; Portuguese, in Brazil, 642, 644; and 'universal script' of Kircher, 202. See also native languages; translations Larios, Bartolome, S.J., 680 Lascasian tradition, 338 Last Judgment (Rubens), 586, 587, 588 La Storta, vision of Ignatius at, 590, 597 Latin, categories from applied to native languages, 432-3 latitudes, calculation of, 248 Latour, Bruno, 229 Law, John, 229 lay brothers, Jesuit, 306; positions filled by, 225 LeBeuf, Jean, 193 Le Comte, Louis-Daniel, S.J., 250 Leczycki, Mikotaj, S.J., 560 Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm, 232, 543, 705 Leinkauf, Thomas, 195 LeJeune, Paul, S.J., 261 Lemaire, Philippe, S.J., 57 Le Nobletz, Michel, 259 Leon, Diego de, 661 Letter from India (St Francis Xavier), 212 Levinton, Norberto, 55-6 Levy, Evonne E., 65 libraries. See Jesuit libraries Life ofAnnibale (Bellori), 141

Index lifestyle: of Jesuits in Poland, 559; of Polish gentry, 558 Light of the World, The (Hunt), 621 Ligorio, Pirro, 138 Lilio, Andrea, 162 Lima, Peru, 514; cathedral in, 296 Li Madou, practices of, 337, 343, 350 n5. See also Ricci, Matteo, S.J. Line, Francis, S.J., 175 linghun (soul, rational soul), 366, 371 Lingyan lishao (Sambiasi), 369 Lira, Francisco de, S.J., 664-5 Lisbon, 643, 644; conference in (1997), 67; Jesuit church in, 486 Litany of Loreto, 582, 586, 623; visual renditions of, 583-5 litany of saints, 576 literati, Chinese. See Chinese literati Lithuania, 284, 555; and Eastern rite worship, 556. See also PolishLithuanian Commonwealth Litterae annuae, 98, 218. See also Jesuit correspondence liturgical ceremonies: in Brazil, 641-2, 644; elaborate or lavish, 310, 391, 559, 642, 660-4; in the Philippines, 430,431,660-4 liturgical hours (Divine Office): in Filipino mission villages, 430; Jesuits not obliged to recite in common, xiv; in Manila, 664; music for, 190 Li Zhizao, 353 Loarte, Caspar, S.J., 629 Loehr, George, 52 Lohr, Charles H., S.J., 524, 525 long-distance networks, 210; elements involved in, 233; as key to success of Jesuit organization, 215, 229-30 longitude, astronomical determination of, 242-8

747 Longobardi, Nicolo, S.J., 349, 366, 367 Lord's Prayer. See Pater noster Lorenz, Hellmut, 287 Loreto. See Litany of Loreto; Santa Casa; Virgin of Loreto Los Andes, church of (Chile), 298, 300 Louis XIV (king of France): Bernini's portraits of, 445, 455-6, 459, 460, 462, 463; heroic virtues attributed to, 460, 464-70; as Le Roi Soleil, 455; and scientific expeditions, 241-3, 248 Louis XV (king of France), 40 Loureiro, Joao de, S.J., 213 Louvre, 442 Loyola, church at (Spain), 67 Lucas, Thomas M., S.J., 64, 69 Lucian, 452 Lucifer: combat against, 568, 569, 572, 581; outside world as domain of, 574. See also devil(s); Satan Ludolph the Carthusian, 95 Ludovisi, Ludovico (cardinal), 160 Lully, Jean-Baptiste, 322 Luovo, Siam, astronomical observatory in, 246-7 Luther, Martin: acceptance of images by, 621; works of, 14 Lutheran(s)/Lutheranism, 5, 93, 101; ascetic, 176; attitude towards Jesuits of, 9, 11; churches, 582; and concept of Catholic Reform, 20; 'confessionalization' in, 22; emblem books, 620-1. See also Reformation, Protestant Luzvic, Etienne, S.J., 617, 618 Lwow (L'viv), 284, 286; Jesuit college at, 558 lying, 627; Catholic vs. Protestant positions on, 635 n9

748 Index Macao, 59, 61, 345; Jesuit church at, 62, 352; Jesuit conference at (1621), 366; Jesuit fortress at, 53 Machiavellianism, 442, 446; and practice of virtue, 450. See also antiMachiavellianism Machida City Museum of Graphic Arts, 59 Macioce, Stefania, 69 Maclagan, Sir Edward, 52 Maderno, Carlo, 284 Maeder, Ernesto, 53, 55 Maffei, Giampietro, S.J., 7, 11 Maggio, Lorenzo, S.J., 557 magic, popular, 359 magnetic variation, 173 magnets, 111, 179 magnificence: vs. austerity, 65, 700-2; and patronage issues, 138-^-0, 144 magpapahesus (Tagalog lay collaborator), 434 Mahal na passion (Passion narrative in Tagalog), 434 Maimonides, Moses, 505 Malaysia: approach to mission in, 343, 345, 347; Jesuit church in, 54 Male, Emile, 69, 70 Malines, Francesco, S.J., 176 Mamiani della Rovere, Lodovico Vincenzo, S.J., 651 Mandarin, translation of mass into, 346 Mangold, Josef, S.J., 544 Manila: fire in (1583), 660-1; focus of first Jesuit missionaries to the Philippines, 419; music and lavish ritual in, 659-67; slave orchestra in, 660-2; synod in, 431. See also Philippines mannerism, 42; in Jesuit architecture, 279

Manohar, 391; school of, 394, 396 Manquiri, eighteenth-century sanctuary of, 513, 514 manuals: aimed at confessors, 627, 634 n3; mission, 267 Manuel I (king of Portugal), 485, 501 n4 Manueline style, 481, 485 maps/mapmaking: and Jesuit exploration, 213; Jesuit offer of participation in, 249; as way of responding to Sinocentrism, 359 Maquivar, Maria del Consuelo, 56 Marathas: city captured by forces of, 487; temples of, 498-500 Maratti, Carlo, 70 'marching' music, 666 Marciano, Carlo, 164 Margao (Salcete), parish church of, 497, 499 'marginal' practices, Jesuit involvement with, 359 Mariae Himmelfahrt, church of (Cologne), 279, 281, 588 Mariana, Juan de, S.J., 7 Marian congregations (sodalities): in Bavaria, 573; in England, 603, 604; in New Spain, 685, 687, 689; Roman, device for, 605, 606 Marian devotion: garden imagery in, 605, 608, 616; Litany of Loreto, 582-6. See also Mary Maria Teresa (empress of Austria), 462 Marie de 1'Incarnation, 262 Marini, Remigio, 67 Marino, Angela, 65 Marquette, Jacques, S.J., 213 marriage: customs among native Filipinos, 423; promotion of among slaves, 308 Martellange, Etienne, S.J., 46

Index Martin, Luis, S.J., 14, 17 Martini, Martino, S.J., 192, 213, 349 martyrs/martyrdom: desire for martyrdom, 98, 261, 262, 265; as glory of the Society, 8; images of in Jesuit art, 70, 577, 579; of Japan, commemorated, 665 Marvell, Andrew, 610 Mary ('Blessed Virgin,' 'Immaculata,' 'Parthenos'), 601; Colloquy addressed to, 622; image of seated at foot of cross, 689; images of, 38, 55, 382, 389, 394, 610, 623, 685, 687; intercessory role of, 262, 588; lavish celebration of feast of, 664-5; meditative work in honour of, 600, 622; as model of female beauty, 605; Mother of Light, 692; presumed house of (Santa Casa), 685, 687; skin colour of image of, 685; titles of, 486, 582, 588, 616; Virgin of Guadalupe, 692; Virgin of Loreto, 71, 684-7, 694; Virgin of Sorrows, 681, 687, 689-90, 694, 704; Virgin of St Luke, 61, 71. See also Marian congregations; Marian devotion Mary Magdalene, St, images of, 577, 581 mass(es): attendance at required for Manila officials, 661; church architecture suitable for, 487; as gathering point in Jesuit settlements, 429, 430; music for, 190, 559, 644, 661; solemn, 661-2. See also liturgical ceremonies Masse, Ennemond, S.J., 261 materialism, in Confucianism, 366 materiality, 529 'Mathematiciens du Roi,' 241, 244 mathematics: and gravity, 122-3; history of, 117; mixed vs. pure, 110, 111, 118,

749 121; modified boundary of with physics, 119, 123; and philosophy, 109, 113, 119, 122, 173; vs. philosophy in problem of motion of the earth, 123-6; practical, 118; and reconstruction of Jerusalem temple, 509; role of scriptors in, 109, 110, 115; speculative vs. practical, 122. See also mathematics, Jesuit; mixed mathematics; science mathematics, Jesuit, 108, 174; academies for, 109-14, 172-3; and assimilation of innovation, 125; and astronomical observations, 241-51; as bridge between abstract and sensible entities, 110; chairs of, 545; and claim of autonomy, 124; constraints of, 118; and involvement with geography, 213; legitimization of, 118-26; and mechanisms of inclusion and control, 115-17, 121-2, 125; and patronage, 111-12, 210, 241-2, 245-7; and Ptolemaic-Aristotelian synthesis, 118; regional variations in, 108-14; Rome as centre of, 109-10; and subversive elements in new fields of knowledge, 121-2 matter: Aristotelian view of, 365, 368; atomist theory of, 176; Catholic perspective on, 371; Confucian, 374-5 Maunoir, Julien, S.J., 260, 262; missionary methods used by, 263^4 Maurenbrecher, Wilhelm, 20 Maurienne, Cherubin de, O.F.M.Cap., 265 Mayr, Anton, S.J., 544 Mazzocchi, Domenico, 320 McCall, John, 52 mechanical philosophy (of particles), 547-8

750 Index mechanics, 118; redefined as statics, 120 Medici, Carlo de' (cardinal), 160 Medici, rivalry of d'Este family with, 451 meditation. See Ignatian meditation Meditations (Descartes), 546 Meinecke, Friedrich, 442 Meleghino, Jacopo, 137, 138 Melia, Bartomeu, S.J., 309, 313 Mellan, Claude, 755 melodies: measured, vs. plainchant, 647-8; native Indian, 643-4. See also chant; music Memoriall of a Christian Life, A (Granada), 629 memorials, imagery in, 448 Menchaca, Roque, S.J., 11 Mencius, 367 Menestrier, Claude-Fran9ois, S.J., 460, 462, 464, 465 Mercado, Diego Vazquez de (archbishop), 663 Mercurian, Everard, S.J., 7, 339-40 Mersenne, Marin, O.Min., 173 Mesa, Jose de, 48 metaphysical poetry, 623 metaphysics, 119; and mathematics, 110 Metaphysics (Aristotle), 531 meteorology, 227 Mexico: exploration in, 213; Jesuit mission in, 295. See also New Spain Mexico City: cathedral in, 687; disturbances in, 691; Jesuit churches in, 680, 683; role of Jesuits in promotion of native culture, 696 Michael, St (Archangel): help for believers from, 581; images of, 568, 569, 580 Michelangelo, 137, 138, 700 microscopes, 241, 247

Milan, symposium in (1990), 65 Milobe/dzki, Adam, 282 miracles, 588; depictions of, 70; and intercession of saints, 262; of La Storta, 590; miraculous images, 38, 390, 395 Mirat al-Quds. See Mirror of Holiness (Mughal catechism) Miro, Diego, S.J., 340 mirror(s): as metaphor in Persian catechisms, 384, 388-9; in retables in New Spain, 682 Mirror of Holiness (Mughal catechism), 391-2 Miserere, sung in Manila, 661 mission(s): and Catholicism, 25, 336-7; diocesan clergy in, 259; ecumenical modern paradigm of, 336; Lascasian model of, 338; medieval paradigm for, 337; models of, 317, 336-7; Protestant, 336, 341. See also missionary work, metaphors for mission(s), Jesuit: allegory of, 274, 275, 277; apostles as model in, 267; and attitudes about indigenous peoples, 266, 311, 347, 407-8, 427, 432; in Brazil, 642-53; in Central Europe, 278, 287-93; from Central Europe to New World, 294-300; in China, 176, 213, 243^, 250, 336-8, 343-9, 352-61, 364-76; and combat against Satan, 260, 265, 571, 572; cultural, 28; and cultural relativism, 305; in education, 6, 573 (see also education, Jesuit); in England, 602, 622, 630; and European concept of time, 309; foreign, 98-9; in France, 259-67; in Germany, 5, 278, 572-3, 593; to Guarani, 305-13; as 'help of souls,' 5, 6, 572, 574; histories of, 8; in India,

Index 343, 345, 347, 380-97, 402-13, 480500; internal vs. external, 259-65; in Japan, 8, 336-8, 341-9; and Jesuit travel, 214, 216-17, 226; and lay collaborators in care of the dying, 434; life in mission settlement, 430; in Malaysia, 343, 345, 347; as metaphor, 713; and native languages (see native languages); in New France, 8, 258-67; in New Spain, 294-5, 680-4, 696; in Paraguay, 8, 317, 323-30, 338; as pastoral failure, 381; in the Philippines, 418-35; in Poland, 555-60; in propagation of the faith, 572, 574 (see also evangelization); reciprocity in, 26; role of art in, 593 (see also art(s), Jesuit); role of emotions in, 203, 263-5; role of Ignatius in character of, 5; role of music in, 202-3, 641-53; role of science in, 170, 171, 247, 359-60; in Siam, 244-50; in Spanish vs. Portuguese regions of America, 641; strategy in various regions, 258-67; tabula rasa approach to, 342; triumph of, displayed in art and architecture, 274, 484; in Vietnam, 213 missionaries: perfect, in tradition of apostles, 267; role of personal example in effectiveness of, 264 missionary episteme, 259, 266, 267 missionary methods, 263-4 missionary work, metaphors for: holy war, 260, 265; medical vocabulary in, 265-6; ship, 317, 330; vineyard and harvest, 261, 265 'mission music,' 321-2 Missions Etrangeres de Paris, 241, 256 n41 mixed mathematics, 110, 118 mixed sciences, 119

751 mobility, in Chinese society, 358. See also Jesuit mobility 'moderation in drinking,' recommendation for, 558 modernity, Jesuits and, 97 modo soave, il, 340, 344 modus, Jesuit. See 'way of proceeding,' Jesuit Moisy, Pierre, 46 Molina, Juan Ignacio, S.J., 296 Molina, Luis de, S.J., 97 Molinist theology, 95, 100 monarchist theory: anti-Machiavellian approach to, 446, 450, 451, 470; notion of ruler's self-sacrifice in, 466. See also prince-hero, theory of Monita secreta (Zahorowski), 7-8, 40 Monssen, Lief Holm, 70 Monteverdi, Claudio, 191 monument(s): bust of Francesco I d'Este, 442, 443, 446, 448; bust of Louis XIV, 444, 455; of the emperor Claudius, 456, 458; equestrian portrait of Louis XIV, 445, 452, 453, 460, 462, 463 Monumenta Historica Societatis lesu, 4, 11, 14,218,708 Moore, Derek, 65, 68 Mora, Victor Nadal, 48 Morales, Francisco de, 660, 661 moral theology: avoidance of sin as focus of, 627, 633; Catholic manuals of written for priest confessors, 627, 634 n3; and development of British practical divinity, 628, 630-2; heritage of Thomism in, 403, 405; individual conscience as focus of, 630-1; Jesuit casuistry, 11, 627-8; Puritan casuistry, 627-33; relation of to spirituality, 627, 628, 633; universal norms in, 404-5 Moran, Joseph F., 344

752 Moravia, Jesuit art and architecture in, 276 Moray, Sir Robert, 172, 182 Morna, Teresa Freitas, 67 Morner, Magnus, 258 mosques, 482; destroyed or appropriated in Portuguese India, 480-1 Most Holy Mother of Light (painting), 692, 693 motets: in academic defences, 159, 163; in Manila, 659, 664, 670-1 Mother of Light, image of Mary as, 692,

693 motivation, Jesuit, 714-15 mudejar style, 56, 57 Mughal empire: Christian devotional art in, 382-4, 389-95; Christian festivals in, 391; imperial library, 385-6; interfaith debates in, 380-1, 385, 389; Jesuit mission to, 59, 380-97; and Persian-language catechisms, 383-5 Muhammad, 386; face of, 395 Muhammed, K.K., 59 multicultural perspective. See globalism Mundus subterraneus (Kircher), 181 Munich, Jesuit church in, 568, 574, 704 MUnster: cathedral in, 281; Jesuit church in, 279, 280 mural paintings, Mughal, 392, 393, 395 Muriel, Domingo, S.J., 307, 308 musarithmetic, 133, 198-203; and rhythm of human language, 202 Musart, Charles, S.J., 617 Museum Kircherianum, 179,180, 111 museums, experimental, 543 music: in the Americas, 192, 321-2, 641-53; ancient vs. modern, 190-1, 193; Christmas, 323; combinatorial procedures in, 196-203; composition of, 203; concern for acoustics, 140;

Index diatonic, 195; didactic texts set to, in catechesis, 641-53; for flagellation exercises, 661; in France, 191-3; Greek theories of, 190, 191, 194; history, 191-6; indigenous melodies for, 643-5; Jesuits and, 310, 318-23; Jewish, 193, 194; liturgical, 140, 430, 642, 644, 660-7; 'marching,' 666; and mathematics, 117, 118; as means towards freedom rather than the teaching of doctrine, 653; 'mission,' 321-2; as mixed science, 119; in Mughal mission, 391; opera, 319-20; as oral art, 190; oratorio, 322-3; profane, changed to holy, 648; and professionalism of slave orchestra in Manila, 661; for thesis defence, 158-9; as transcultural bridge, 318-19, 323; use of in missions, 202-3, 264, 641-53 musical instruments: fife, 664; flute, 660, 661, 663; Kircher's focus on, 195; in lavish rites and spectacles in Manila, 660-1, 663-6; loss of in fire in Manila, 660-1; used by Brazilian Indians, 642, 644 music notation, 190, 193, 194, 202, 203 music theory, and work of Kircher, 193-204 Muslim religion. See Islam Musurgia universalis (Kircher), 132-3; and musarithmetical composition, 196-203; music history in, 193-5 Mysteries of Our Lord Jesus Christ, The (Desmarest), 322 mystery plays, 391, 392. See also theatre mythology, rationalistic interpretation of, 407,411 Nadal, Jeronimo, S.J., 4, 7, 27, 572;

Index Adnotationes et meditationes, 28, 385-7; Evangelicae historiae imagines, 38, 70; and images, 5, 38; and Jesuit 'way of proceeding,' 346; role of in promoting schools and colleges, 6, 172 Nagayama, Tokihide, 52 Nantes, Martin de, O.F.M.Cap., 651, 652 Naples, Jesuit mathematics in, 112 Narai (king of Siam), 241, 245, 246 Nash Court, Kent, 602 native crafts and culture: Jesuit promotion of, 696; in Portuguese India, 488, 493. See also indigenous peoples native languages: Cariri (in Brazil), 651-3; Chinese, 352; Christianization of, 309; Guarani, 307, 309; Japanese, 342-3; Quechua vs. Guarani, 307; role of in evangelizing and teaching, 431, 434, 435; Tagalog (in the Philippines), 421-2, 431, 434; Tupi (in Brazil), 643-9, 651; Visayan (in the Philippines), 421, 431-3. See also indigenous peoples natural history: Jesuit writings and studies in, 213-15, 226, 227, 248; mapping of, 223; museum of, 179, 227; of the Visayas, 423-6. See also nature natural philosophy, 171, 174-5; and development of physics, 542-5, 548. See also science(s), Jesuit nature: bounty of in the Philippines, 424-5; in Tagalog indigenous religion, 422; as teacher of music, 195; in Visayan indigenous religion, 427. See also natural history 'Navarro,' Joao de Azpilcueta, S.J., 643 'Navarro,' Martin de Azpilcueta, 385 nave(s): elongated and narrow, 495;

753 rectangular, 487; single, boxlike, 486, 487, 497, 500; triple, 485 Necker, Louis, 309 'negotiation,' as Jesuit strategy, 26, 47 Neoplatonism, 511; and cult of idealized love, 616; in Islamic thought, 385, 389; in Persian-language catechisms, 385 Nepomuk, Jan, St, 293 networks. See long-distance networks Neuburg an der Donau, Jesuit church in, 582, 588 Neumann, Johann Baptist, S.J., 310 New France, 15; Jesuit missionary strategy in, 210, 258-67 New Haven, Connecticut, layout of influenced by reconstruction of Jerusalem temple, 514-15 New Spain: altarpieces in Jesuit churches, 681-96; Central European Jesuits in, 294; cult of the Virgin in, 704; Jesuit art and architecture in, 56, 58, 680-1 Newton, Sir Isaac, 232, 514 Newtonian physics, 544 New World, European artistic influences in, 276. See also specific country or area, e.g. New Spain; Paraguay Nickel, Goswin, S.J., 176, 183 Nicolaus of Lyra, 505; and plan of Jerusalem temple, 506, 511; Villapando's criticism of, 511 Nishimura, Tei, 52 Noah's ark, 505 Nobili, Roberto de, S.J., 337, 380, 403; confidence of in rationality, 411-12; Dialogue on Eternal Life, 402, 404-8; Hindu audience of, 409-11; Indian Customs, 409 nobility, derived from ancestry and virtue, 452

754 Index Nobrega, Manoel da, S.J., 642, 643; and use of Indian music, 643-5 non-Christian religions. See indigenous religions Norton, Aphra. See Hawkins, Aphra Norton Norwegian churches, emblems in, 621 noster modus procedendi. See 'way of proceeding,' Jesuit Nouveaux memoires (Le Comte), 250 Nuestra Senora del Pilar, church of (Mexico), 685 Nussdorfer, Bernard, S.J., 321 obedience: at a distance, 217; vs. reliability, 228, 230; unquestioning, 42, 229 obelisk, with IHS monogram, 706 observations, scientific, as Jesuit focus, 173, 242-51. See also experimental process Observations physiques et mathematiques (Gouye), 248, 249 Oestreich, Gerhard, 22 Office, Divine. See liturgical hours (Divine Office) Of Prayer and Meditation (Granada), 629 Oldenburg, Henry, 182 Oliva, Gian Paolo, S.J., 39, 42, 43, 69, 71, 466, 700 O'Malley, John W., S.J., 346 On the Nature of Mathematics (Bianci), 123 opera: in China, 357; development of, 319-20; about life of St Ignatius, 56, 700-1, 715; in Paraguay reduction, 56 optics, 111, 119 Oratorians, 72, 265, 700 oratorio, 322-3

Orban, Ferdinand, S.J., 227 orchestras: in Manila, 660-2; in Poland, 559 Ordinatio pro studiis superioribus, 541 organ(s): banning and reintroduction of, 559; in Manila, 660, 663, 664 original sin, 365 Orlandini, Niccolo, S.J., 7 ornamentation, baroque, 140; in 'Jesuit style,' 40; in Manila celebration, 511 Orosz, Laszlo, S.J., 307 Orsini family, 184 Ortelius, Abraham, 385 Orthodoxy, 276, 279; in Belarusan and Ukrainian population of Poland, 287; and Union of Brest, 556 'Other': attempt to dissolve status as, 364, 376; concern for salvation of, 210, 267; debt to, 47; Descartes as, 545; determinative nature of, 73, 356; Dominicans and Franciscans as, 361; encounter with in non-European cultures, 24, 25, 305, 348, 356-60; respect for, 413; and use of science, 359 Ottonelli, Giovanni Domenico, S.J., 68 Our Lady of Light, cult of (Mexico), 692, 695, 694 Pachtler, Michael, S.J., 14 Padroado, 338, 339, 345, 418, 480 Padua, Jesuit mathematics in, 111 Paez, Pedro, S.J., 45, 213 paganism: and moral superiority of the Japanese, 347; use of native melodies condemned as, 644 painting(s): European, studies of, 63; in the Gesu, 141; introduced in China, 353; in Italy, 65; and Jesuit adaptation, 357; miniature, 61, 391; Mughal, 386,

Index 391, 395; Pozzo's influence on, 276; preference for architecture vs., 63; preference for vs. sculpture, 689, 691-2; in retables in New Spain, 681, 689-94, 696; St Ignatius cycle, 681; surveys reassessing, 65; transformations of into sculptures, 692; of the Trinity, in Cuzco style, 327; Westernstyle, in China, 59. See also frescos Pallavicino, Pietro Sforza, S.J., 168 n25 Pamphili, Benedetto, 164 Pancarpium marianum (David), 582 Paolucci, Giuseppe, 159 papacy: diminished authority of, 94, 100; history of, in Mughal library, 385; images related to, 324; and request for exclusive mission territory, 344; and Tridentine era, 21, 26; varying attitudes towards, 451 Paracuaria, province of, 306, 307, 312. See also Paraguay Paradise, in artistic scheme, 580 Paraguay, 213; demographic changes in, 306; as mythic Jesuit 'kingdom,' 40; reductions in, 48, 49, 53, 57, 308, 317, 318, 323-30 parapetasma, 448 Paravagna, Nicola di, 167 n 10 Pardies, Ignace Gaston, S.J., 226 Paris: astronomical observatory in, 242-4; Bernini's visit to, 442, 466; mathematical studies in, 114; music at Jesuit college in, 322 Paris Academy of Sciences. See Academic Royale des Sciences, Paris Parma, welcome to Jesuits in, 111-12 Partheneia sacra (Hawkins): audience for, 604; beauty and brilliancy of, 622; as contribution to literature, 616; as fusion of emblem and meditation, 600;

755 Hawkins's disguised authorship of, 602; plates from, 601, 607, 612-15 Parthenian (or Marian) congregations. See Marian congregations particles, motion of, 547 Parva naturalia (Aristotle), 364, 369 Pascal, Blaise, 40, 73, 628; discovery of air pressure by, 373; Provincial Letters, 11,93 Pasek, Jan Chryzostom, 560 Pasio, Francesco, S.J., 349 Pasquier, Etienne, 7 Passion, of Christ, 265; images of, 70, 389, 434, 579, 581, 592, 687, 690; meditation on, 95, 691; Tagalog narrative, 434 Pastells, Pablo, S.J., 660, 666, 667, 672 Pastor, Ludwig von, 20, 39-40 'pastoral of fear,' as missionary method, 263 paternalism, Jesuit, 427, 432 Paternoster, 617, 651; in Brazilian language, 645-7, 650; defective recitation of, 266-7; zealous recitation of, 264 Patetta, Luciano, 68, 73 Path of Eternal Life(Sucquet), 571 patronage: in academic defences, 159-64; in architecture and art, 26, 38, 68, 287; and dilemma of poverty vs. wealth, 700-2; global nature of, 47-8, 52-63; of Jesuit science, 225, 227, 233; mechanisms of, 69; negotiation involved in, 26; in New Spain, 681; and plans for Gesu, 43, 138-41; in Rome, 700; in thesis prints, 163. See also art(s), Jesuit; royal patronage Patronato Real. See Padroado Patrons and Painters (Haskell), 69

756 Index Paucke, Florian. See Baucke, Florian, SJ. Paul III (pope), 134, 136, 137; approval of Society by, 5, 95, 590; and urban scene in Rome, 700 Paul V (pope), 164 pause, in emblematic works, 615 peace, as achievement of true hero, 466 Peace of the Pyrenees, 460, 462 pearl, as image in Marian devotion, 610 Pecchiai, Pio, 46, 68 Pelliot, Paul, 52 penance, sacrament of. See confession (sacrament) penitential devotions, music for, 661 Peramas, Jose Manuel, S.J., 311-12 Peripatetic Philosophy (Mayr), 544 Perkins, William, 628, 630 permutation tables, for musical composition, 196-202 Perpinya, Pedro Joao, S.J., 96 Perrault, Claude, 513 Persian language, Jesuit texts in, 380, 384-97 Persons, Robert, S.J., 602; and attempt to reclaim Catholics conforming to Church of England, 630; and The Christian Directory, 628-30; conviction of for treason, 630; and 'puritanized' text of his work, 630-1 perspective, 353; as 'mixed science,' 118; Pozzo as writer on, 274, 276 Peru, 213; discussion of idolatry in, 408; Jesuit architecture in, 48 Petau, Denis, S.J., 97 Petrikirche (Munster), 279, 280 Petrucci, Girolamo, S.J., 168 n25 Pevsner, Nikolaus, 39 Pfefferkorn, Ignaz, S.J., 295, 296

phantasms (sensory perceptions), 527; and intellectual cognition, 532^ pharmacies, Jesuit, 179, 181, 227, 228 Phaulkon, Constance, 255-6 n37 Philip II (king of Spain), 56, 508, 664; and wealth of Americas, 511 Philippines, 213; custom and law, 421; effect of Europeans on culture of, 418, 435; indigenous religion, 422, 425, 427; Jesuit churches in, 59, 60, 61; Jesuit mission in, 418-19, 427-35; languages in, 421-2, 430-2; marriage practices, 423; natural resources, 424-5; peoples, 420-1, 425-6; resettlement program, 428-30; slavery in, 429-30, 660-3; strategic importance, 420. See also Manila philosophers, consensus among, 118 philosophes, 114 Philosophia magnetica (Cabeo), 124 Philosophia naturalis (Redlhamer), 544 philosophy: Aristotle as authority in, 523-4, 541; causation, 370-1; and changed boundaries of scientific discourse, 125-6; Confucianism seen as, 353; and emergence of physics as separate discipline, 544; Enlightenment, 99-100, 539^0, 542; in Germany, 540-3; and mathematics, 109, 113, 119, 122; vs. mathematics in problem of motion of the earth, 123-4; mechanical, 547-8; 'modern,' 307; natural (see physics); openness of, 541; and orthodox doctrine, 535; peripatetic, 541-3; Scholastic, 540-1; textbooks in, 541-2; vs. theology, 115; 'true,' 523, 524; as 'wisdom,' 113 physics, 119; Aristotelian, 91, 175; and attempts to reconcile science and theology, 547, 548; changed boundary

Index of with mathematics, 119, 123; of the Eucharist, 545-7; experimental, 545, 548; as independent discipline, 544; and motion of the earth, 125; and philosophy, 542^. See also science(s) Pia desideria (Hugo), 604 Picard, Jean, 243 Picon Salas, Mariano, 308 picturae, emblematic, 600, 604 Pietrasanta, Silvestro, S.J., 168 n25, 605, 606 Pigna, Giovanni Battista, and theory of prince-hero, 450-2 pilgrimage(s): church interior as, 704; sites for, 573; spiritual, 581 pipe organs. See organ(s) Pirri, Pietro, S.J., 44, 46 Pius V (pope), 149 Pla, Josefina, 53, 55 plague, images of in Jesuit art, 70 plainchant. See chant Plaine Man's Pathway to Heaven, The (Dent), 630 plain-style architecture, 485, 487 plant specimens, gathering of, 213 Plascencia, Juan de, O.F.M., 431 'Platina,' Bartolomeo Sacchi, 385 Plato, 117, 119; and definition of idea as divine model, 452; and metaphor of steersman, 375; vs. Sophists, 92. See also Neoplatonism Plattner, Felix, 48 Pliny the Elder, 423 pneumatics, 542 poetry: children reciting in Manila festival, 666; 'divinization' of, 648; in Jesuit thesis prints, 160 Polanco, Juan Alfonso de, S.J., 4, 14, 134, 136,231 Poland: aristocracy in, 556, 558; Jesuit

757 churches in, 281-7, 703; Jesuit mission to, 555-9; and problems over Sarmatianism, 559-60; Protestantism in, 278, 287; style of religious feeling in, 559; and Union of Brest, 556 polemic. See anti-Jesuit polemic Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, 557-60 political thought. See Christian political thought Politics (Aristotle), 455 Pollen, John H., S.J., 20 polygamy, among native Filipinos, 423 Polyglot Bible, 385 polymaths, Jesuits as, xiii, 26, 318; Grassi as, 319; Kircher as, 176 polyphony, in sacred music: attitudes towards 'modern' vs. 'ancient' works, 190-1; in Brazil, 641, 642, 644; in Manila, 659-64 polytheism, Hindu, 410 Pomarancio, Antonio, 154, 155, 156 'popular culture,' baroque, 305 Porta, Giacomo della, 44, 282, 702, 703 Port-Royal, 92, 93 Portugal: art and architecture in, 61, 65-7; border treaty with Spain (1750), 312; colonization policies of, 337-8, 480-1, 641-62; Jesuit assistancies in, 218; and Jesuit missions, 339, 341, 484; Jesuit provincial policy in, 340; and missions in Japan and China, 344-5; and suppression of the Jesuits, 11 Portuguese Orphan Youths, 644 Possevino, Antonio, S.J., 69, 96 postmodernity, Jesuits and, 102 Potocki, Waclaw, 560 poverty: dilemma about in building projects, 700, 701; ideal of, 64, 65

758 Index power, as cause of idolatry, 407 Power and Secret of the Jesuits, The (Fulop-Miller), 17 Pozo, Juan del, S.J., 687, 690 Pozzo, Andrea, S.J., 67, 300, 704; baroque style of, 278; and decorations for Church of Sant'Ignazio (Rome), 46, 274-6 Pozzo, Cassiano del, 68 practical divinity, British, 627-8; and Jesuit devotional texts, 628-9, 636 n!3 Prado, Jeronimo de, S.J., 505, 508 pragmatism: in architectural style, 279, 281; vs. evangelism as goal, 279. See also Society of Jesus, practical aims as focus of Prague, Jesuit architecture in, 289, 292-3 praise, as focus of Jesuit thesis prints, 158, 160, 705 Prantl, Carl, S.J., 539 prayer(s): art as structure for, 577; for the dying, 434; method of formulated for laity, 629; as strategy for inducing emotional response, 264; sung, in teaching Christian doctrine, 641, 651; 'tasting' of each word in, 615-16; translated into native languages, 643, 646-51; for union with God, 715 preaching: and church architecture, 138, 486, 497; eloquent, as part of missions, 263; in Poland, 556. See also evangelization; mission(s) Presentation of the Virgin, The (school of Manohar), 394 'Prierius,' Silvestro, 385 priesthood: eligibility of indigenous peoples for, 338, 342; in Society of Jesus, 225

Primoli, Gianbattista, S.J., 48, 49, 310, 321 prince-hero, theory of: as anti-Machiavellian concept, 450; and bust of Francesco I d'Este, 446, 448, 450; glory pertaining to image of, 462-6; and identification of hero with the sun, 451; as link of Bernini to Jesuits, 446; Louis XIV as embodiment of, 455-70; role of virtue in support for, 446, 450, 466, 470 Principe, II (Pigna), 450 printing: in China, 360; of Jesuit thesis prints, 149, 153-6 printing presses, in Guarani missions, 310-11, 360 Printz, Wolfgang Caspar, 191, 192, 195 Priorato, Galeazzo Gualdo, 178 processions: in Mughal India, 391; in Poland, 559; in sacred festivals in Manila, 663-6 Proclus, 110, 117 procurador, 312 Prodi, Paolo, 22 Profesa, Mexico City, Jesuit church of the, 681, 682; retable in, 683, 684 progress, Jesuits viewed as enemies of, 539 'Prolegomena' (Clavius), 110, 116-18 Propaganda. See Congregation for the Propagation of the Faith proselytizing. See evangelization Protestants/Protestantism: and adaptations of devotional texts, 617, 620-1; Anabaptists, 280; and anti-Jesuit attitudes, 39, 174; in Cape of Good Hope, 247; in Central Europe, 278, 287, 292; and commentaries on Aristotle, 708; Eurocentric focus of, 341; and iconoclasm, 593; Jesuit

Index response to, 573. See also Lutheran(s)/ Lutheranism; Puritanism; Reformation, Protestant Provincial Letters (Pascal), 11, 93, 628 Prutenic tables, 117 Psalm texts: metrical, by Quarles, 615; in Persian, 384; set to music, 321-2 psychology: Aristotelian/Scholastic, 364, 368, 369, 527-34; Confucian, 368 Ptolemaic-Aristotelian synthesis, 118 Ptolemaic hypothesis, 121 Puccerini, Pietro Paolo, S.J., 227 Puebla, church of, 685, 687 Puritan casuistry: presumed origins of in Jesuit casuistry, 627-8; roots of in Jesuit devotional manuals, 628-33 Puritanism: differences of from other forms of Calvinism, 632; and Jerusalem as model for plan of New Haven, Conn., 514; and synthesis of morality and spirituality, 627, 633 'puritanized' texts, 630-2 Putter, Johann Stephan, 19 putti, 161, 390 Pyrenees, Peace of the, 460, 462; allegory of, 460, 465 Pythagoras, 110, 117 qi (primordial energy, vital breath), 368, 371, 373-4 Qing court, 52, 59 quadrivium, 190, 191, 195 Quadros, Antonio de, S.J., 482 Quarant'ore, influence of on baroque art, 70-1 Quarles, Francis, 604, 615 Quechua, taught at university, 307 Querejazu, Pedro, 56 Querini, Manuel, S.J., 321 Quito, Compafna church at, 56

759 Qu Taisu (Qu Rukui), 356 Rachol (Salcete), 63, 495 racial issues: and Africans, 347; and Asian peoples, 344, 347; and Filipinos, 427, 432; and Guarani, 311; and Jesuits of Jewish ancestry, 340, 341 Radziwitt, Mikolaj Krzystzof, 287 Radziwitt family, 558 Raggi, Lorenzo, 152, 757 Rainaldi, Girolamo, 44 Rama, 407, 410; nearness of, 411 Ramism, 92 Ranke, Leopold von, 14, 19, 20 Rashi (Solomon-ben-Isaac, Rabbi), 505, 511 Rational and Experimental Philosophy (Mangold), 544 rationalism. See reason/rational faculty Ratio studiorum, 14, 116, 307, 524, 538; and Aristotelianism, 90, 523, 534; capacity for change in, 542; departure from, 543 reality, vs. appearance, in art in India, 390 realpolitik, Machiavellian vs. ideal, 442 reason/rational faculty, 526; confidence in, 411-12; and education as cure for idolatry, 408; in interpretation of religion and revelation, 407; universal, 404, 405 Reconquista, 337 recruitment, cycles of, in Jesuit administration, 230 recusants, 600; devotional texts addressed to, 600, 603, 622-3, 629-31 Redlhamer, Josef, S.J., 544 Redondi, Pietro, 545, 705 reductions/reducciones: Chiquitos, 53,

760 Index 56; indigenous influence in art of, 56; Paraguayan, 40, 53, 56, 308, 317, 318, 323-30; in the Philippines, 429-30; sculpture in, 55, 56 reform: of ecclesiastical abuses, 23, 24; of institutional church, vs. of individuals, 24-5, 632. See also Catholic Reform/Reformation; Counter Reformation; Early Modern Catholicism; Reformation, Protestant Reformation, Protestant: abuses dismissed as cause of, 23; and confessional disruption in Germany, 572, 593; and interpretation of the Bible, 505; and Jesuit mission, 5, 572-4; and locus of human welfare, 101; opposition to (see Counter Reformation). See also Lutheran(s)/Lutheranism; Protestants/Protestantism Regina coeli, 264 Regnart, Valerien, 151 Reichle, Hans, 581 Reinhard, Wolfgang, 22 Relation de las Islas Filipinas (Chirino), 418-23 reliability: and administrative authority, 229; vs. obedience, 228, 230; value of for scientific pursuits, 231 relics, 390, 588; procession with in Manila, 662; in retables in New Spain, 682 religion(s): diffused, in Confucianism, 356, 361; as focus of study, 23; rational element in, 404, 405. See also indigenous religions religious orders: architectural features in churches of, 45, 46, 65, 72; collegiality among in Philippines, 664; and focus on conquest of souls, 265; and mission in China and Japan, 344,

345; need for presence of in papal city, 700; need for study of, 27; in New Spain, 680; preference of for severe church fa$ade, 484; rivalry among, 361; similarities among, 72. See also Augustinians; Dominicans; Franciscans; Jesuit(s) religious practices, rationalistic interpretation of, 407-8 Renaissance: and renewed interest in antiquity, 190, 505; role of Jesuits in, 708. See also Humanism Renaissance rhetoric. See rhetoric, Humanist Renaissance style, in architecture, 279 Renan, Ernest, 42, 90, 91, 94 Renaudet, Augustin, 20-1 Reposta breve (Longobardi), 366 repression, and Catholic Reform, 22 Republic of Letters (and Sciences), 93, 100, 708; and Jesuit correspondence, 232 Restivo, Paolo, S.J., 311 resurrection, musical image of, 323 retablos (retables): in New Spain, 680-96; in Portuguese India, 482, 488, 495; in Slovakia, 289. See also altarpieces revelation: Hindu concept of, 410; and moral norms, 405; Veda as, 404, 406, 410 rhetoric: Ciceronian, 92, 96; classical, 7, 388; Humanist, 91; and Jesuit historiography, 7; Jesuits and, 90-2, 95-102, 623; and justification of images, 388; in missionary lands, 98-9; performative aspects of, 91, 95-6; of praise in thesis defence, 160 Rhetorica ad Herennium, 95 rhetorica divina, 91, 92, 95

Index rhetoricians, Jesuit, 321 Ribadeneira, Pedro de, S.J., 7-8, 11 Ribera, Adolf Luis, 53 Ribera, Juan Antonio, S.J., 57 Ricci, Bartolomeo, S.J., 70 Ricci, Matteo, S.J., 52, 217, 231, 250, 336, 337, 354, 355, 365, 713; and 'ascent to Beijing,' 358; and Buddhism, 356; and Chinese culture, 352-3; and idolatry, 408; mission of dependent on Valignano, 343; world map drawn by, 359 Ricci method, 364, 369, 376; opposition to, 365, 366 Riccioli, Giovanni Baptista, S.J., 111, 248 Richard of St Victor, 505 Richelieu (cardinal), 93, 94 Richeome, Louis, S.J., 265, 609-10, 623-4 Richer, Jean, 248 Rio de Janeiro, 56, 645 Rio de la Plata, Jesuit mission in, 305-13 rites: Chinese, controversies concerning, 250, 341, 343, 350 n7, 355, 361; Eastern, 556. See also liturgical ceremonies ritornello, 320 Rittmeyer, Johann, 620 Rivosecchi, Valerio, 202 Robertson, Carol E., 318 Robertson, Clare, 69 Rodrigues, Salvador, S.J., 644 Rodriguez de Figueroa, Esteban, 660 Rogers, Richard, 628 Rohr, Johann, S.J., 296 Roman Catholic Church. See Catholicism/Catholic church Romanelli, Gian Francesco, 757 'Roman mean time,' 219

761 Rome: and architectural issues, 44, 284, 484, 500, 700; centrality of, 132, 219, 700; and debate over Galileo's work, 124-5; Ignatius in, 210, 590; image of intellectual freedom in, 176; Jesuit apothecary in, 179, 181; Jesuit mathematics in, 109-11; urban missions in, 64 Romstock, Franz Sales, S.J., 539 Rosis, Giovanni de', S.J., 143, 284 Rosselmino, Francesco, 755, 160 Rosso, G.B., 289 Rottgen, Herwarth, 70 Royal Library of Belgium (Brussels), 71 royal patronage: in China, 52, 59, 348, 358; in Japan, 348; in Paris, 241-4, 248; in Siam, 245-7 Royal Society of London, 182 Rubens, Peter Paul, xv, 70, 456, 459; Last Judgment, 586, 587, 588 Rubio, Antonio, S.J., 523, 525, 530 Ruggieri, Michele, S.J., 343, 349, 355, 365 ruler, as hero. See prince-hero, theory of Ruscelli, Jeronimo, 611 Saavedra Fajardo, Diego de, S.J., 468, 469 Sacchini, Francesco, S.J., 7 Sacred Heart, cult of, 620 Sacrobosco, 109, 117 Sadeler, Jan, the Elder, 568, 570, 580 Sadeler, Raphael, the Younger, 582, 585 Sagard, Gabriel, 265 sagehood, Confucian ideal of, 365, 368 saints: canonization or beatification of, 319, 588, 681; images of, 70, 177, 293, 300, 381, 390, 395, 576-80, 586, 588, 592, 593, 683; intercession of, and miracles, 262; invocation of, 586;

762 Index Jesuits seen as, 3; place of in the Society of Jesus, 8, 592, 593; role of in salvation of believers, 577, 581, 588, 593. See also Ignatius of Loyola, St; specific saint, e.g. Francis Xavier, St Saiva community, 409-10 Salazar, Domingo de, O.P., 419; musical instruments brought to Manila by, 660; and use of vernacular, 431 Salcete, churches in, 63, 495, 497-500 Salim (prince). See Jahangir Salmeron, Alfonso, S.J., 555 Salvatierra, Giovanni Maria, S.J., 685, 686 salvation: Catholic vs. Confucian views of, 365; and knowledge of Christ, 578; and Last Judgment, 586-8; and need for revelation, 405, 406; path of depicted in Bavarian church art, 572, 581, 592; as pilgrimage, 572; role of saints in, 577, 581,588 salvator mundi, Christ as, 581 Salve Regina, 648, 663 Sambiasi, Francesco, S.J., 369 Sanches Martins, Fausto, 65 Sanchez, Alonso, S.J., 349, 419, 662; proposal by for Spanish invasion of China, 345 Sanchez, Matheo, S.J., 431-2 Sanchez Labrador, Juan, S.J., 307 Sandaeus, Maximilianus. See van der Sandt, Maximilian San Fedele, church of (Milan), 68 San Giovanni dei Fiorentini, church of, 284 San Gregorio, college of, 694 San Ignacio, church of (Buenos Aires), 297, 300 San Ignacio de Loyola (Zipoli and Schmid), xiii, 56, 700-1,715

San Macuto, obelisk of, 704 San Martin, church of (Tepotzotlan, Mexico), 58 Sanneh, Lamin, 342 San Pedro y San Pablo, church of (Mexico City), 680, 683, 687, 689, 694 Santa Casa (house of the Virgin) (Loreto), 685, 687 Santa Catalina, church of (Argentina), 50, 297 Santa Lucia, retable in church of, 688, 689 Santa Maria sopra Minerva, Dominican convent of (Rome), 704 Santi, Leone, S.J., 164 Sant'Ignazio, church of (Rome), 700, 704-5; and iconography of Jesuit order, 276; Pozzo's decoration for, 46, 274-6; proposed cupola for, 706 Santisima Trinidad, church of (Paraguay), 323, 329; images in, 324-7, 329; view of, 49 Santos de Oliveira, Beatriz, 56 San Vitale, church of (Rome), 70 San Xavier del Bac, church of (New Spain), 295 Sao Francisco, church of (Evora), 488 Sao Miguel, church of (Brazil), 48 Sao Paulo, church of. See Colegio de Sao Paulo Sao Paulo, church of (Diu; Goa). See Colegio de Sao Paulo Sao Paulo, church of (Malacca), 54 Sao Roque, church of (Lisbon), 65, 66, 67, 486 Sarmatianism, in Polish Catholicism, 556-60 Satan: mission focus as war against, 260, 265, 267; temptations from, 568, 571-2. See also devil(s); Lucifer

Index Saur, Georg, S.J., 547 Sauveur, Joseph, 243 'Savages,' missionaries' attitudes towards, 266. See also indigenous peoples Savelli, Jacopo (cardinal), 149, 150 Savoia, Maurizio di (cardinal), 160 Sayyid Ahmad Ibn Zain al-'Abidin, 397 Schall von Bell, Johann Adam, S.J., 250, 355,713 Scharlau, Ulf, 193, 195 Scheffler, Felix Anton, 276, 277 Scheiner, Christoph, S.J., 113, 184, 705, 706 Schenone, Hector, 48 Scherffer, Karl, S.J., 544 Schilling, Heinz, 22 Schipper, Kristofer, 345 Schlaun, Johann Conrad, 281 Schmid, Joseph, S.J., 321 Schmid, Martin, S.J., xiii, 56, 701, 715 Schofield, Richard, 68 scholar-painter tradition, in China, 59 Scholasticism: aesthetic, 511; Aristotelian, 364, 522, 524, 525, 534; elements retained in anti-Machiavellianism, 442, 452; Humanist critique of, 91; and Jesuit science, 540-2, 544; in Mughal library, 385. See also Aristotelianism; Thomism Schonborn, Lothar Franz von (archbishop of Mainz), 297 Schonherr, Simon, S.J., 296 schools. See Jesuit schools Schott, Kaspar, S.J., 113, 183, 542 Schurhammer, Georg, S.J., 52 Schutte, Joseph, S.J., 52 Schwager, Klaus, 68, 134, 136, 137, 702 Schwarz, Christoph, 580 science(s): experimental, 111, 171,

763 174-5, 542-5, 548; mixed, 119; music as form of, 190, 195. See also mathematics; scientific discourse science(s), Jesuit, 99, 107, 307-8; accommodation in, 183; and 'applied mathematics,' 113; in China, 353, 354, 359-60; condemnation of 'jugglers' in, 183, 185, 189 n58; credibility in, 171, 175, 181-3; cultural field of, 107; eclecticism of, 541; eighteenthcentury, 539^18; and the Enlightenment, 539-^0, 542; in France, 107, 114; and Galileo, 538, 540; goals of, 170; history of, 3, 18, 26, 28, 540; inclusiveness of, 117; interaction of with theology, 174, 540, 545; and Jesuit schools and universities, xiii, 224-6, 232, 539^5, 548; mapping of, 222-8; as part of mission enterprise, 170, 171, 247, 359-60; role of travel in advancement of, 212-16; solidification of in 1620s, 109; tensions within, 112; and themes of thesis prints, 151 Science et la pratique du plain-chant, La (du Jumilhac), 193 scientific discourse: analysis of, 126 n2; changed boundaries of, 118; contested boundaries of, 125-6; Jesuit, 107; role of communication in, 115 scientific expeditions, Jesuit involvement in, 241-51 scientific instruments, 227, 241 scientific knowledge, centres of concentration of, 226 Scientific Revolution, 538 Scienza nuova (Vico), 101 Scott, Geoffrey, 42 'script, universal,' of Kircher, 202 scriptor, 109, 115; Clavius as, 110 Scriptures: allegorical interpretation vs.

764 literal reading of, 505; as authority, 424; emblem books as reviving memory of, 621; illustrated, 38; imagery from, 580, 582, 611; Jesuit approach to, 97; military vocabulary from, 265; native-language versions of, 342-3, 384, 386, 434; non-Christian parables related to, 383; Polyglot Bible, 385; threat of Copernican theory to traditional interpretation of, 118, 122; visualization of characters from, 392 sculpture: of battle between St Michael and Lucifer, 568, 569, 574; by Bitterich, 297, 298, 299; of Christ, 581; European, 63; painting preferred to, 689, 691; paintings transformed into, 692; of prince-heroes, 442-70; in reductions, 55, 56, 323, 324-6; in retables in New Spain, 681-7; Virgin of Loreto, 585 Sebastian, St, images of, 298, 300, 570, 593 Seckendorff, Veit Ludwig von, 11 secular missionary orders, 258, 259 Sedeno, Antonio, S.J., 419 Seghers, Gerard, 70 self-conquest: as basis for just rule, 470; in ideal prince-hero, 466, 467 self-criticism, in modified view of motion of the earth, 124, 125 self-examination, 577, 579 self-sacrifice, as model for missionaries, 267 seminaria, as boarding houses in the Philippines, 429 Seminario Romano, 149, 160, 161, 163 senses: active or passive, 530-1; and cognition, 527-31; interior, 388, 389; reliance of intellect on, 376

Index Sepp, Anton, S.J., 306, 310 Serbat, Louis, S.J., 39, 72 Serlio, Sebastiano, 45, 67, 292, 484, 703 Serrano, Juan, S.J., 311 Seven Treatises, The (Rogers), 628 Seyfrid, Johann, S.J., 543 shamans, in Guarani society, 309 shangdi (God), 366 Shapin, Steven, 231 shikara (Hindu sanctuary tower), 497, 498 Shimmura, Idzuru, 52 ship, as metaphor for Jesuit mission, 317, 330 Siam, Jesuit mission in, 244-50 Sidereus nuncius (Galileo), 242 Sidney, Sir Philip, 603 Sigismund II (Sigismund Augustus, king of Poland), 555 Sigismund III (Sigismund Vasa, king of Poland), 287, 556 Silesia, Jesuit art and architecture in, 276 Simoncelli, Paolo, 22 Simplicissimus, 16 sin, original, 365 Siva, 409 Skarga, Piotr, S.J., 557, 560 skin colour, of image of Mary, 685 slave(s)/slavery: African, 306, 641; Brazilian natives, 641, 642; Filipino natives, 429-30; orchestra of, in Manila, 661-3 slave labour, Jesuits and, 308 slave raiders, 429, 430 Slovakia, Jesuit churches in, 276, 290, 297 Smissek, Johann, 588 Smith, Jeffrey Chipps, 71 Smith, Robert, 48

Index snakestone, as Jesuit pharmaceutical, 227, 231 Scares, Caspar, S.J., 493, 495 Soarez, Manoel, S.J., 256 n41 Sobron, Dalmacio, S.J., 56 social control: confession as means of, 311; of slaves, 308 'social disciplining,' 22, 25 social status: and background of Jesuits, 306, 312, 558-9; and focus of Jesuit education, 165, 310; and orientation of Jesuits vs. other religious orders, 352-3; as primary bond in Poland, 558. See also elites Society of Jesus, 225; administrative structure and practices of, 222-5, 229; approval of by Pope Paul III (1540), 5, 590; assistancies and provinces of, 218-22; attempts at centralization in, 44, 132, 144, 229; banishment from Venice (1606-56), 111; censorship in, 116, 541; centenary of, 71; and Chinese Rites controversy, 360-1; complexity of enterprise of, 317; corporate geography of, 216-22; correspondence within (see Jesuit correspondence); education at core of activity of, 107; first centenary of (1650), 8, 10; forced to leave Portuguese regions (1759), 642, 650; formative influence of, 622-3; Formula of the Institute, 572; in France, in relation to Rome, 114; homogeneity within, 210; Iberian vs. Italian focus, 67, 68; image of as monolithic, 5; inclusiveness of focus of, 71; leadership in, 224-5, 230, 340; long-distance networks as key to organization of, 229, 233; mission of (see mission(s), Jesuit); openness to innovation of, 114-15, 125, 440;

765 organizational structure of, 215-22; origins and early history of, 4-8, 588, 590; practical aims as focus of, 46, 64, 278; preference for literary adaptation vs. originality, 623; priests and lay brothers in, 225; province tree of, 227; religious dimension of, 27; restoration of (1814), 11; role of Jesus in, 8, 590; Rome as centre of, 219; satires about, 40; suppression of, 11, 100, 101; threat to autonomy of, 339; travel within (see Jesuit mobility); trust within, 217, 231, 232; welcome for, 111-12. See also corporate culture, Jesuit; Jesuit(s) Society of Jesus, General Congregations: First (1558), 64, 134; Fourth (1594), 172; Twenty-first (1829), 11; Twentyfourth (1892), 17 sodalities, Marian (Parthenian). See Marian congregations Sola, Miguel, 48 Soldi, Organtino Gnecci, S.J., 344, 349 Solomon-ben-Isaac, Rabbi (Rashi), 505, 511 Solomon the Wise, king, 505; presumed wealth of, 511. See also Temple of Jerusalem Sombrerete, chapel in, 694 Sommervogel, Carlos, S.J., 14, 708 songs: of children in Manila festival, 666; used for catechesis in Brazil, 641, 644, 649; used in Brazilian liturgies, 641, 644. See also music Sophists, 90, 92 Sorbonne, 250 sorcery, 267, 359 sorrow, as cause of idolatry, 407 soteriology, of Beza vs. other Calvinists, 632

766 Index Soto, Domingo de, O.P., 385 soul(s): Aristotelian model of, 368, 372; and body, 364, 368, 372, 374; Confucian views of, 364-6, 372; 'conquest' of, 265; domination of, as presumed plan of Jesuits, 258; help or progress of, 4, 5, 364, 572, 574; Holy, 692; immortality of, 365, 374, 524; rational, 371, 372, 374, 376, 523-4; salvation of, 261; sensitive or vegetative, 371, 376, 531 South America, Jesuit art and architecture in, 48, 55-6. See also specific country or region, e.g. Paraguay Southwell, St Robert, S.J., 603 Spada, Virgilio, 160 Spain, 15, 17; border treaty with Portugal (1750), 312; colonization practices of, 337-8, 641; Habsburg, power of broken, 460; Jesuit art and architecture in, 67, 68; Jesuit assistancies in, 218; and missions in Japan and China, 345; and the Philippines, 418, 420, 659; proposal for invasion of China by, 345; recruitment of missionaries from, 306; seen as reactionary, 20; and suppression of the Jesuits, 11 speaking tube, 179 species: metaphysical nature of, 529; sensible, 528-30 spectacle(s): lavish celebrations in Manila, 662-6; as missionary method, 263; thesis defence as, 158, 164-5 Spee, Friedrich, S.J., 621 Sphere (Bianci), 111 Sphere (Sacrobosco), 109, 117 Spinola, Carlo, S.J., 62 Spiritual Exercises (St Ignatius of Loyola), 5, 385; adaptability recom-

mended in, 346, 348; alleged manipulative nature of, 43; and Bernini's art, 42; and call of Christ, 577, 579, 592; contemplation recommended in, 615-16; controlled sequence in, 574; and conversion of heart, 95, 631; The Devout Hart related to, 604; and emblem in composition of place, 604; and exposure to trial and temptation, 568, 571-2; First Week of, 577; formative role of, 27, 353; Fourth Week of, 577, 581, 615-16; global implications of, 226; as iconographical source, 69, 574, 576-7, 579-80; introspective focus of, 577, 631, 632; Partheneia sacra related to, 604, 622; as pilgrimage, 704; Puritan appropriation of First Week of, 631, 633; relationship of director and exercitant in, 639 n32; 'Two Standards,' 568; use of visualization in, 691. See also compositio loci spirituality. See Jesuit spirituality Stabat Mater dolorosa, 651 Stadler, Veit, 289 St Andreas, church of (Diisseldorf), 281, 282 Stanford, Robert, S.J., 603 St Anne, church of (Manila), 662; church music at, 663, 664 star, images of, 611-13 Staserio, Giacomo, S.J., 112 state, ideas of, and Sarmatianism, 556-7 statics, as science of weights, 120 Stefonio, Bernardino, S.J., 164 Steinhofer, Johann, S.J., 231 St Ignatius, church of (Landshut), 588, 592; art in, 590, 591; interior of, 589 St Michael, church of (Munich), 68, 568,

Index 767 569, 570, 574-81, 704; interior of, 575; as pilgrimage site, 704 Storer, Johann Christoph, 590, 591 Storia e tipologia (Patetta), 73 St Salvator, church of (Prague), 292 Sts Peter and Paul, church of (Cracow), 284, 285, 703 style, vs. function, 64. See also 'Jesuit style' Suarez, Buenaventura, S.J., 307, 308 Suarez, Francisco, 414 n7, 538, 541, 708; commentary of on Aristotle, 523, 530; Disputationes metaphysicae, 540 substance, in Scholastic philosophy, 529, 546, 547 'substantialism,' as historiographical category, 6 Sucquet, Antoine, S.J., 571, 605 Sufism, 384, 390; metaphorical language of, 388 Sullivan, Michael, 59 Sumario, Japanese (Valignano), 343, 347 Summa contra gentiles (St Thomas Aquinas), 385, 405 Summa theologiae (St Thomas Aquinas), 385, 405 sumptuousness. See magnificence sun, metaphor of: in Jesuit thesis prints, 161-3; and Louis XIV as Le Roi Soleil, 455; and prince-hero, 451, 455, 456, 459-60 sundials, 309 sunflower, image of, 611 sunspots, 705 superstitious practices, attributed to indigenous peoples, 422, 425, 427 Sustersic, Bozidar Darko, 53, 55, 56 symbols/symbolism: doctrine of God hidden in, 611; function of, 390;

temple as, 515. See also images/ imagery syncretism, in Mughal court, 381 szlachta (Polish gentry): accusations of drunkenness against, 558; Calvinism among, 287; ideas of the state held by, 556-7; Jesuit accommodation to ways of, 558-60 Tacchi Venturi, Pietro, S.J., 17 Tachard, Guy, S.J., 242-9 Tacquet, Andre, S.J., 114 Tagalog language, 421-2, 661; lexicon of, 431; Passion narrative in, 434; poetry in, 667 Tagalog people, 418; described, 420-3; Jesuit mission to, 419; native religion of, 422 Taine, Hippolyte-Adolphe, 41 Taj Mahal, 52 Tamil language, 402; translation of Thomistic principles into, 405 Tanner, Mathias, S.J., 70 Taoism, 359 tattoos, in indigenous peoples, 421, 425 Taylor, Jeremy, 628 Taylor, Rene, 196 Taytay, mission in, 419, 430 Tazbir, Janusz, 556 tears. See weeping Te Deum, 663, 664 Teixeira, Manuel, 53 telescopes, 173, 181, 241, 245-6. See also astronomy Temple of Jerusalem, 508, 517; and columns of Old St Peter's Basilica, 505; Ezekiel's vision of, 505, 508-9, 517; God as architect of, 505, 517; plans of, 506, 508, 509; repartition of lands around to Twelve Tribes, 514, 516

768 temples, Hindu: destroyed or appropriated in Portuguese India, 480-1; and interchange of architectural motifs with Christian churches, 498-9 temporal coadjutors. See lay brothers, Jesuit temptations, in Jesuit spirituality, 568-72 Tent of Meeting, 505 Tepotzotlan, Jesuit architecture at, 56, 58, 681, 682, 692 tercet, Armenian, Kircher's setting of, 200 Terence, 347 Terhalle, Johannes, 64, 703 Tesauro, Emanuel, 608 textbooks: De anima commentaries, 523-35; in philosophy, 541-2; in physics, 543^4 Thamrat al-Faldsafa f'Abd al-Sattar), 386 theatre: mystery plays, 391, 392; presentation in Manila festival, 665 theatre, Jesuit involvement in, 321, 616, 708; and focus on individual, 572; intermedium from, 324, 328; in Mughal empire, 392; representation of Temple of Solomon, 520-1 n35; role of Galluzzi in development of, 455; Spiritual Exercises as, 95-6 theatricality: of baroque art, 278; in devotional art, 392, 616; in Jesuit degree ceremonies, 148-65, 705; in Jesuit experimental science, 132, 175, 183, 185; Quarant'ore as example of, 71. See also spectacle(s) Theologia symbolica (van der Sandt), 602, 611 Theologica dogmata (Petau), 97 theology: interaction of with science, 540, 545, 547; reflected in devotional

Index texts, 610-11; in relation to other academic disciplines, 115 theorhetoric, 101 Theresa, St (Bernini's portrayal of), 42 thesis prints: and academic defence, 132, 148, 158-60; as art, 163; heraldry in, 149, 151-3, 165; iconography in, 156, 158-64; luxuriousness of, 153-6; as spectacle, 165 Thevet, Andre, 645, 646, 647 'Thirty Missions' (Guarani), 306, 309 Thomas Aquinas, St, works of, 385, 405; in Mughal library, 385 Thomism: and anti-Machiavellianism, 452; and Aristotelian thought, 368; heritage of in moral theology, 403, 405; in Persian-language catechism, 386; and rational interpretation of religion, 407, 412; used in understanding Hinduism, 405. See also Scholasticism thread maps, tracing Jesuit travel, 226-9 Thwaites, Reuben Gold, 15 Tianzhu shiyi (Ricci), 365 Tibaldi, Pellegrino, 68 Tieffenthaller, Joseph, S.J., 213 time: accurate measurement of, and astronomical observation, 242, 243; European concept of, 309; local vs. Roman, 219 Tinctoris, Johannes, 190 Toledo, Francisco de, S.J. (cardinal), 523; commentaries of, 525, 530, 533 Tondi, Martino, 152 Torre, Stefano Delia, 68 Torricelli, Evangelista, 542 towers: of Christian churches, 497, 500; of Hindu temples, 500 Traite historique et pratique sur le chant ecclesiastique (LeBeuf), 193

Index transcultural expressions: failure of (see cultural incommensurability); and Indian melodies used in teaching Christian doctrine, 643; in Jesuit gravestone, 329-30; in Mughal art, 381, 391; in music, 318-19, 323; of philosophical and religious ideas, 402, 405. See also accommodation/cultural reconciliation Transforming Mission (Bosch), 336-7 translations: of catechisms and Scripture, 342-3, 360, 384-6, 434; cultural as well as linguistic, 364; and inculturation, 342-3; of mass into Mandarin, 346; as part of missionary enterprise, 359, 623; of scientific works, 359. See also native languages transmigration, in Sino-Buddhist doctrine, 365 transubstantiation, physics of, 545-7 Trattato della pittura e scultura (Ottonelli), 68 travel. See Jesuit mobility Treadgold, Donald W., 342 Trent, Council of, 68, 346, 434, 555; Jedin on, 19, 21; and supposed ecclesiastical abuses, 23 Trentman, John, 524 Trevano, Jan, 284 Trigault, Nicolas, S.J., 346 Trinity: artistic representations of, 323-4, 326, 327; intervention of, 590 Tristano, Giovanni, S.J., 44, 45, 67, 72, 134, 140, 142,485 Triumphus Jesu Christi crucifixi (Ricci), 70 Trnava, Slovakia, Jesuit church in, 290, 291 Trota Jose, Regalado, 59

769 trust, within Society of Jesus, 217, 231, 232 Truth-Showing Mirror, The (Xavier), 386-91 Tucuman, province of, 306 Tupi (native Brazilian language): adoption of by Jesuits, 643; catechetical texts in, 644, 648-9; decline in use of, 651; prayers taught in, 643, 645-8 Tupmamba Indians, 645 'Two Standards,' 568 Tychonic (geo-heliocentric) theory, 111, 121 Ugonio, Pompeo, 149,150 Uitzinger, Ellen, 59 Umberger, Emily, 696 uniformity, mechanisms of, 541 universal reason: attempt to establish Catholic truths using, 365, 376; and moral norms, 404-5, 411-12 'universal script,' 202 universe, geocentric view of, 541. See also heliocentric theories university church, Vienna, 287, 288 Unsere Liebe Frau, church of (Neuburg an der Donau), 582-8 Urban VIII (pope), 181, 319, 664 urban planning: influence of plans of Jerusalem on, 514; in Rome, 136-7. See also Jesuit urbanism Ursula, St, images of, 577 Ushaw College, 602 vacuum, nature's fear of, 542 Vagnone, Alfonso, S.J., 355, 369 Vaisnavism, 410-11 Valeriano, Giuseppe, S.J., 67, 142 Valerianus, Pierius, 611, 612, 615

770 Index Valignano, Alessandro, S.J., 217; innovation of, 344, 348-9, 354; and Jesuit mission in East, 336-49, 354; leadership style of, 340; racial and cultural attitudes of, 341, 347 Valle, Pietro della, 193 Vallery-Radot, Jean, 46, 47 Valone, Carolyn, 69 Valverde, Fernando de, O.S.A., 514 van der Sandt, Maximilian, S.J., 101, 602, 606, 610 Vanderstappen, Harrie, 59 van Haeften, Benedictus, 620 vanity: and preference for gentlefolk's surnames, 559; warning against, 558 Van Langeren, Jacob, 600 Van Langeren, Pieter, 600 Van Reede (commissioner-general at Cape of Good Hope), 245 Varca (Salcete), parish church in, 497, 498 Varin (French astronomical observer), 243 Vasa dynasty, 287 Vassallo e Silva, Nuno, 65 Veda, true, 404, 406, 410 vedute, 700, 704, 706 Velarde, Pedro Murillo, S.J., 660 Velez, Jose Maria, S.J., 14 Vendrix, Philippe, 193 Venice: Jesuit banishment from, 111-12; Jesuit mathematics in, 108 Veni Creator Spiritus, 648 Venturelli, Sebastiano, 153 Vera, Melchor de, S.J., 430 Veralli, Fabrizio (cardinal), 752 Verbiest, Ferdinand, S.J., 250, 355, 360; and mission in China, 243, 247 Vernukken, Wilhelm, 280

Vespers, sung in Manila, 663, 664 vicars apostolic, 256 n41, 338 Vico, Giambattista, 101 Vidal, Jose, S.J., 687, 689, 691 Vienna: Jesuit architecture in, 287-9; Jesuit mathematics in, 112-14 Vietnam, 213 Vigarani, Gaspare, 452 Vignola, Giacomo da, 44, 140, 287, 702, 703 Villacastin, Thomas de, S.J., 434 villages, native, vs. Jesuit reductions, 429-30 Villalpando, Cristobal de, 681, 689 Villalpando, Juan Bautista, S.J., 68; influence of on art and architecture, 511, 513-15; and reconstruction of Jerusalem temple, 505, 507-12, 517 Villamena, Francesco, 752, 753 villancicos, 663, 664 Vilnian Academy, 556, 560 Vincent de Paul, St, 266 vineyards, as missionary metaphors, 261, 265 Virgil, 317, 329-30, 347 Virgin of Guadalupe, 692 Virgin of Loreto, cult of, 71, 684-7, 694 Virgin of Sorrows, cult of, 681, 687, 694, 704 Virgin of Sorrows (Correa), 687, 689 Virgin of St Luke, 61,71 virtue(s): vs. ancestry in derivation of nobility, 452, 467, 470; cardinal, 450, 452; Greek and Roman, 347; heroic, and canonization of saints, 450; inculcation of as role of just ruler, 451; as instrument of conversion, 264; Japanese, 347; personified in art, 149; as true basis for monarch's just rule, 446, 450, 466-7, 470

Index Visayan culture, presumed movement of towards hispanized society, 427 Visayan language: attempt to use Latin as model for, 433; compared with Tagalog, 422; vocabulary and grammar of, 431-3 Visayan people, 422; indigenous religion of, 422, 425, 427; presumed uncorrupted condition of, 426-7; as recipients of God's providence, 425 Visdelou, Claude de, S.J., 244-8 visions, and religious experience of missions, 262-3 Visnu, 410 visual imagination, and Spiritual Exercises, 27-8, 691 Vita Beati P. Ignatii Loiolae Societatis Jesu, 70 Vita Christi (Ludolph), 95 Vitelleschi, Muzio, S.J., 98, 558 Vitruvius, 509-10; anthropomorphic proportions of, 511 vocabulario, Visayan, 431-2 Volksmissionen, 218, 225 Voltaire, 99, 317; anti-Jesuit writing of, 40; debt of to Jesuit education, 100 voodoo, 425, 427; as presumed cause of sickness, 428 Voragine, Jacobus de, 606, 610; and Golden Legend, 590 Vossius, Isaac, 249 Voyage de Siam des peres jesuites (Tachard), 244 Voyage to America (Champlain), 192 Waibl, Andreas, S.J., 300 Wanderlust, Jesuit, 210. See also Jesuit mobility Wang Yangming school, 360 Wang Zheng, 353

771 warfare: as metaphor for missionary work, 260-1, 265; in spirituality of Ignatius, 715 Wargentin, Per, 308 water, as symbol, 610 'way of proceeding,' Jesuit, 17, 322, 517; adaptation as aspect of, 142, 713 (see also accommodation/cultural reconciliation); in art and architecture, 44-6, 65, 72; commitment to, 230; different understandings of, 339-40, 344; distinctive features of, xiv-xv, 27-8; diversity within, 72-3; in education, 522; and 'freedom of dress,' 346; in internal vs. external missions, 259-65; projection of into sciences, 230; questions relating to, 709; reflected in Jesuit gravestone, 330; as 'rhetorical field,' 92; role of schools in, 28-9; shortcomings in, 101. See also corporate culture, Jesuit; 'Jesuit style' Weber, Max, 22 weeping, as sign of response to mission, 264-5 Weibel, Walter, 42, 69 weights, statics as science of, 120 Weil, MarkS., 71 Weinhart, Andreas, 581 Weisbach, Werner, 21, 39 Welsch Chapel (Prague), 289 Welser, Anton, S.J., 582 wenren hua tradition, 59 Wessels, Cornelius, S.J., 212 Westervelt, Benjamin, 23 Westphalia, Jesuit churches in, 279, 281 'Whole Treatise of Cases of Conscience, The,' (Perkins), 627 Wierix, Anton, 600, 617, 620; adaptation of images of, 620-1

772 Wierix brothers, and engravings for work by Nadal, 70 Wilhelm V (duke of Bavaria), 574, 582 Wilno (Vilnius), 284 Winterer, Georg, S.J., 297 Wisdom (as opera character), pagan sources for, 319 witches, 425, 427 Wittkower, Rudolf, 42,43-4, 278, 279 Wolf, Johann, S.J., 321 Wolff, Christian, 543, 544, 545 Wolfgang Wilhelm (Count Palatine), 582, 586 women: avoidance of contact with, 309; and patronage of Jesuit foundations, 69; and Spiritual Exercises, 576 wonders: and inducement to conversion, 260-3; natural, 264. See also miracles Wood, John, 513 world, engagement with, 715-16. See also globalism Wren, Sir Christopher, 183, 513, 705 Wroclaw, Poland, university in, 293 Wujek, Jakub, S.J., 560

Index Wu Li, S.J., 59

Xavier, Francis. See Francis Xavier, St Xavier, Jeronimo, S.J., 380, 381, 383; and The Truth-Showing Mirror, 38691 xing (human nature), 367, 371 Xingli zhenquan (de la Charme), 373 Xingxue cushu (Aleni), 364, 369-76 Xu Guangqi, 353, 360 Yang Tingyun, 353 Yapuguay, Nicolas, 311 Zahorowski, Hieronymus, 8 Zappa, Giovanni Battista, S.J., 685, 686 Zebrzydowski, Mikolaj, 557 Zeeden, Ernst Walter, 22 zheng ('orthodoxy' in Confucianism), 356 Zipoli, Domenico, S.J., xiii, 310, 321-2, 700-1, 715 Zuccari, Alessandro, 69, 70 Zurcher, Erik, 59, 356