Politics of Polemics: Marcin Czechowic on the Jews 9783110586565, 9783110583786

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Magdalena Luszczynska Politics of Polemics: Marcin Czechowic on the Jews

Magdalena Luszczynska

Politics of Polemics: Marcin Czechowic on the Jews

Published with the kind support of the Irene Bollag-Herzheimer Foundation, Basel.

ISBN 978-3-11-058378-6 e-ISBN [PDF] 978-3-11-058656-5 e-ISBN [EPUB] 978-3-11-058387-8 Library of Congress Control Number: 2018951349 Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2018 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Typesetting: Integra Software Services Pvt. Ltd. Printing and binding: CPI books GmbH, Leck Cover image: Caricature (flyer) against letters of indulgence. Woodcut, a.d. 1525 (Photo by ullstein bild via Getty Images) www.degruyter.com

To my Parents Rodzicom

Acknowledgements This work wouldn’t have been possible without financial support I received as a doctoral student at the Hebew University of Jerusalem. I wish to thank The Mandel Scholion Interdisciplinary Research Center in the Humanities and Jewish Studies for a three-year scholarship that enabled me to work as a member of the ‘Question of Identity’ research group as well as the Hebrew University for the award of the Presidential Scholarship for the years 2013–2016. I owe my deepest thanks and appreciation to the supervisors of my doctoral research on which this book is based, Prof. Israel Yuval of the Hebrew University and Prof. Magda Teter of Fordham University, for their most valuable feedback, constructive critique, and constant support. Special acknowledgment should go to my friends and colleagues from Mandel Scholion Research Center, and especially to the Center’s director, Prof. Daniel Schwartz, whose insight and advice were always helpful. My grateful thanks are also extended to Prof. Piotr Wilczek, Dr Michał Choptiany, and Dr Simon Burton of  the Faculty Artes Liberales at the University of Warsaw, the initiators and editors of two research initiatives concerned with Antitrinitarianism and religious minorities in Poland–Lithuania and in Early-modern Europe, for having kindly invited me to exciting and fruitful collaboration. I wish to thank the publishers of the two said volumes, the Warsaw University Press that issued “Antytrynitaryzm w Pierwszej Rzeczypospolitej w kontekście europejskim. Źródła − rozwój  – oddziaływanie” in the book series Culture of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in Dialogue with Europe: Hermeneutics of Values, and Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, the publisher of the “Reformed Majorities and Minorities” volume in the Refo500 Academic Studies series, for their consent to use previously published material in this book. I would also like to acknowledge my editor, Dr Julia Brauch of De Gruyter, for her kindness and help. Most of all, I wish to thank my beloved Parents, for having always supported my choices, my friends in Poland, the UK, and Israel for their support, wisdom, and sense of humour, and especially Eyal, whom I owe more than I can express.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110586565-201

Contents Acknowledgements 

 VII

 1 Introduction   4 Anabaptism in Poland: The Arians   6 Jews, Christian Hebraism, and “Judaizers”      The Arians and the Jews in Lublin 10  12 Marcin Czechowic and Arian-Jewish disputations   14 Odpis Jakoba Żyda   16 Gadki Żydowskie   17 The Arians and Czechowic in previous research  1

New Babylonian Jewry, judaisers, and Hebrew experts: Jews in Arian  27 literature prior to Czechowic     27 Grzegorz Paweł z Brzezin     Piotr z Goniądza 35  37 Szymon Budny 

2

 43 Gadki Żydowskie as the first Arian-Jewish polemic     43 Gadki Żydowskie as a part of the Arian catechism  45 Gadki Żydowskie as an anti-Jewish polemic   46 Types of arguments   50 Dialogue’s personae: How Jewish is the anti-Jewish polemic      Conclusion: Anti-Jewish stereotypes as a rhetorical move 56

3

 59 Gadki Żydowskie versus Odpis: The ideal meets reality      Planning the polemic 59  60 From theory to practice   60 Preparation: Handling the Jewish decorum   64 First disagreement: Who is the Chosen Nation? 

Why establishing common ground is harder than expected: how  71 to read the Scripture   74 Talmud and Tradition   74 The Talmud in Gadki Żydowskie: What is zakon   77 The Talmud in Odpis: A traditional exegesis or sola scriptura?      Sabbath: A shadow and a trap 83

X 

 Contents

 92 Circumcision and pedobaptism  The link between baptism and circumcision in Gadki Żydowskie   99 Circumcision in Odpis   106 Conclusion  4

5

 Sources of knowledge about Jews and Judaism in Czechowic’s  109 Odpis   109 The Hebrew Bible   113 The Talmud and Rabbinic commentaries  Narratives, common knowledge, and empirical observation   129 Conclusion 

 122

 131 Odpis as a literary portrait   131 Introduction: A literary text and the narrative self   135 The first self-portrait: Christian, or the value of consistency  Conversion: Divine election and coherence of choice. Identity  135 as consistency of actions  What’s in a name? Christian as opposed to Catholic or  138 Lutheran  The second self-portrait: Teacher, or Authority  142 and leadership   142 The Papist tradition and the question of authority  The Arian alternative to corrupt tradition: The correct reading of  145 Scripture  The Arian alternative to Church authority: The right  147 leadership   150 Legitimation as leader’s self-creation  The third portrait: Marcin Czechowic, or the leadership  152 of a Christian teacher   152 Marcin of Odpis as the embodiment of the Christian ideal      Consistency of beliefs 152  154 A Christian as opposed to a Papist   156 The ideal Christian scholar and teacher      Conclusion 161

Conclusions  Bibliography  Index 

 92

 179

 163  167

Introduction When in 1517 Martin Luther wrote his Ninety-Five Theses on the Power of Indulgences  and allegedly nailed them to the door of the Castle Church in Wittenberg,1 he could not have expected that he began a religious revolution. Yet, his insurgency found supporters who, like Luther, felt that the reform of the Church was necessary and the Reformation movement spread. In less than three  decades, new Christian denominations that came to be known as Lutheranism and Calvinism were recognised as official state Churches in many regions of Western Europe. Such interweaving of the religious leadership with secular governance and politics changed the structures of early-modern states, but also affected the character of the new Reform confessions. This process, the “magisterialisation,” was paralleled by the rise of Protestant purists, who insisted that the reforms initiated by Martin Luther and John Calvin stopped halfway and did not achieve their declared goals.2 Aspiring for a full restoration of the original ethical and social principles of Christianity, cleansing the ritual of “papist” influences, and a reform of individual and communal lives, these radical Christians established separate communities in Switzerland, Germany, Austria, Moravia and Bohemia, and the Netherlands. Since they advocated baptism of believers rather than the christening of infants, they came to be known Anabaptist as (anabeing the Greek suffix meaning ‘re-’ or ‘again’). The radical communities, which coexisted alongside the magisterial mainstream Protestant Churches, were first analysed according to the Troeltschian Church/Sect typology as non-institutionalised, voluntary organisations opposed to the official institutions and they were labelled as the Left-Wing or Radical Reformation.3 1 For the discussion whether Luther indeed nailed the theses to the Church’s door, see C. Scott Dixon, Contesting the Reformation (Malden: John Wiley & Sons, 2012), 205–208. 2 See Hans-Jurgen Goertz, The Anabaptists (London: Routledge, 1996), 6. 3 The terms introduced respectively by Roland H. Bainton and George H. Williams, see Roland H. Bainton, “The Left Wing of the Reformation,” The Journal of Religion 21 (1941): 124–134; George H. Williams, The Radical Reformation (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1962). Especially the latter term became a historiographical commonplace. To be sure, it has been criticised. For example, R. Emmet McLaughlin pointed to its ambiguity: the adjective “radical” may refer to theological extremism, or consistency, or to the radicalism of solutions to social problems. Such blurring the theological and political dimensions of the Reform poses historiographical difficulties in assessing, for example, the reasons for which the Anabaptists were persecuted. See R. Emmet McLaughlin, “Radicals,” in Reformation and Early Modern Europe: A Guide to Research, ed. David M. Whitford (Kirksville: Truman State University Press, 2008), 60. Another type of criticism relates to the unifying character of this umbrella term. However, as De Groot argued, the category can and, indeed, has been used as a heuristic tool, which does not limit the investigation into particular https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110586565-001

2 

 Introduction

Although traditional historiography of the Radical Reformation, represented chiefly by Mennonite North-American scholars, descendants of the European Radicals, held it to be a single movement that began with the Swiss “Ur-Anabaptism,”4 today the variety of origins, theological emphases, and political aspirations of early-modern Anabaptist movements is generally acknowledged.5 The more recent, revisionist historiography of Anabaptism brings into the picture the wider historical, political, and social context, seeing the Radical Reformation as a complex cultural and social phenomenon.6 Apart from recognising the diversity of Radical ideologies, the recent historiography of the Reformation and the Radical Reformation is attentive to the fact that the implementation of Protestant ideals, as well as the character of the Anabaptist movements, differed from state to state and depended on the character of local societies and policies.7

“radicalities” and refers to attitudes of Reformers rather than to the social and political outcomes of the Reformation. See Aart De Groot, “The Radical Reformation Revisited?,” Nederlands archief voor kerkgeschiedenis/Dutch Review of Church History 73.2 (1993): 199–207. 4 The expression used by Hans-Jürgen Groetz in Goertz, The Anabaptists, 34. 5 This approach was first proposed by James M. Stayer, Werner O. Packull, and Klaus Deppermann in their article “From Monogenesis to Polygenesis: The Historical Discussion of Anabaptist Origins,” Mennonite Quarterly Review 49 (1975): 83–122. Stayer, Packull, and Deppermann defined three main streams of the Anabaptist tradition: North-German-Dutch, South-German-Austrian and Swiss. 6 This interdisciplinary approach was introduced by the Stayer, Packull, and Deppermann as an opposition to the positivistic and apologetic research paradigm of the Mennonite School, and it remains the dominant trend in the methodology of the historiography of the Radical Reformation. See John D. Roth, “Recent Currents in the Historiography of the Radical Reformation,” Church History 71 (2002): 523–535.    Recently, Andrea Strübind proposed to introduce a new paradigm, against the “social revisionist historiography.” Strübind urged to shift the research focus from economic, political, and social dimensions of the Radical Reformation phenomenon back to the religious and theological motivations of the Reformers. See Andrea Strübind, Eifriger als Zwingli. Die fruhe Tauferbewegung in der Schweiz (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 2003). In response, James M. Stayer pointed out Strübind’s overly simplistic understanding of the methodological approach of the “revisionist school.” He reminded that the “revisionist paradigm” combined theological, sociological, and historical methodologies and it was far from reductionistic. In his view, Strübind’s research follows the broad interdisciplinary approach that began in the 1970s. See James M. Stayer, “A New Paradigm in Anabaptist/Mennonite Historiography?” Mennonite Quarterly Review 78 (2004): 297–302, followed by Strübind’s response: Andrea Strübind, “James M. Stayer, ‘A New Paradigm in Anabaptist/Mennonite Historiography?’ A Response,” Mennonite Quarterly Review 72 (2004): 308–313. 7 See, for example, Robert Scribner, Roy Porter, and Mikulas Teich, ed., The Reformation in National Context (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994).

Introduction 

 3

The Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth,8 which is the theatre of the events described in this book, is an excellent example of how local social context influenced the nature of the Reformation and vice versa.9 The Commonwealth was de jure a monarchy, but in fact, the power was divided between four parties: the king, the Diet comprised of the noble class – the szlachta, wealthy magnates who ruled almost autonomously in their private estates, and the Catholic Church. Such division of executive and fiscal powers allowed the country to become a proto-democracy, or to use the contemporary term, monarchia mixta, exceptional in the age of absolutisms.10 However, the political system was also a cause of constant conflicts between the ruling classes that weakened the Polish Crown. In the nobility’s eyes, the Church was a powerful rival: another landowner, which held significant jurisdictional power and collected tithes while being exempt from civil duties such as contribution towards military service and expenses.11 The arrival of new confessions was welcomed by the nobles as a way of gaining independence from ecclesiastical authorities. The szlachta understood that in order to resist the Catholic Church effectively and to ensure their impunity, the main Protestant confessions: the Lutherans, the Calvinists, and the refugee church of the Bohemian Brethren needed to establish a single political stance. In 1570 a coalition, known as the Union of Sandomierz, or Consensus Sandomiriensis, was formed, which declared the unity of reform confessions notwithstanding denominational divides. This unification indeed bore fruit three years later when, after the death of the last king of the Jagiellonian dynasty, 8 The Commonwealth of the Crown of Poland and the Great Duchy of Lithuania, typically referred to as the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, was a single political entity since 1569 Union of Lublin. 9 For the discussion on the idiosyncratic character of the Reformation in Eastern and Central Europe, see Howard Hotson, “Central Europe, 1550–1700,” in Reformation and Early Modern Europe: A Guide to Research, ed. David M. Whitford (Kirksville: Truman State University Press, 2008), 104–126. 10 There is a great amount of bibliography that deals with the political system and the society of the Commonwealth. See, for example, Anna Sucheni-Grabowska, and Alicja Dybkowska, ed., Tradycje polityczne dawnej Polski (Warsaw: Editions Spotkania, 1993); Edward Opaliński, Kultura polityczna szlachty polskiej w latach 1587–1652: System parlamentarny a społeczeństwo obywatelskie (Warsaw: Wydawnictwo Sejmowe, 1995); for English speakers, comparison of the Commonwealth’s system with the English counterpart might be revealing. See Tomasz W. Gromelski, “The Commonwealth and Monarchia Mixta in Polish and English Political Thought,” in Britain and Poland-Lithuania: Contact and Comparison from the Middle Ages to 1795, ed. Richard Unger and Jakub Basista (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2008), 165–182. For the discussion whether Poland-Lithuania should be classified as monarchia mixta or gentry-democracy, see Damian Chmielecki, “Ustrój państwa polsko-litewskiego w latach 1573–1581. Ustrój mieszany, czy demokracja szlachecka?” Acta Erasmiana 12 (2016): 65–79. 11 See Magda Teter, Jews and Heretics in Catholic Poland: A Beleaguered Church in the PostReformation Era (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 23–25.

4 

 Introduction

the szlachta were entitled to appoint a monarch for the first time. As a part of electoral negotiations, the Protestant noblemen required the main contender to the throne, Henry Valois, to sign a charter known as the Confederation of Warsaw12 that guaranteed freedom of confession to all religions and constituted the principle of religious tolerance as a part of the Commonwealth’s internal policy.13 Despite the declarations, the internal differences and disagreements undermined the unity of the Protestant camp. The rise of the Polish Anti-Trinitarian Anabaptists, the Polish Brethren, also known as the Arians,14 was one of the results of such disagreements.15 It has, therefore, to be seen in the context of the history of the Radical and Anabaptist movements across Europe on the one hand, and of the internal political situation in the Commonwealth, on the other.

Anabaptism in Poland: The Arians The majority of the Arians belonged to the nobility, born Catholic or RussianOrthodox, embraced the principles and values of the Calvinist church.16 Unlike most of the szlachta, they were determined to implement biblical ideals in their 12 For the history of the Confederation of Warsaw, see Mirosław Korolko, Janusz Tazbir, Konfederacja warszawska 1573 r. Wielka karta polskiej tolerancji (Warsaw: PAX, 1980); Mirosław Korolko, Klejnot swobodnego sumienia: Polemika wokół Konfederacji Warszawskiej w latach 1573–1658 (Warsaw: PAX, 1974). 13 On the history of Polish tolerance, see Janusz Tazbir, Dzieje polskiej tolerancji (Warsaw: Interpress, 1973). 14 Naming the Polish Brethren after Arius (256–236), an anti-Trinitarian theologian condemned as a heretic by the First Council of Nice, was an expression of a derogatory attitude of their opponents. The term has been accepted by the Polish and international scholarship alike, and so it turned into a neutral designation, which I have adopted in my research. Alternatively, I shall use the name “Polish Brethren,” less popular in the English-language literature of the subject, yet appropriate. The scholarship uses also the term “Socinians” after Fausto Sozzini (1539–1604) an influential theologian and a leader of the Arian community from the mid 1580s. Sozzini redefined significantly the movement’s ideology and for this reason, using this term to refer to the early stage of the Arian history is an anachronism. Terms such as “Anti-Trinitarians” and “Unitarians” are too generic and do not reflect the idiosyncrasy of the movement. For further discussion on the terminology, see George H. Williams, “Anabaptism and Spiritualism in the Kingdom of Poland and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania: An Obscure Phase of the Pre-History of Socinianism,” in Studia nad arianizmem, ed. Ludwik Chmaj (Warsaw: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1959), 231. Piotr Wilczek, Erazm Otwinowski: Pisarz Ariański (Warsaw: Gnome books, 1994), 10–11. 15 The Arians were, as the only Protestant denomination, excluded from the 1570 declaration of unity. 16 For the social makeup of the Arian church, see Stanisław Kot, Ideologja polityczna i społeczna braci polskich zwanych arjanami (Warsaw: Wydawnictwo Kasy im. Mianowskiego, 1932).

Anabaptism in Poland: The Arians 

 5

communities and soon broke from the Calvinist Ecclesia Maior to form a separate group, Ecclesia Minor – the Arian Church. Among their declared reasons for the dissent from Calvinism were chief ethical and theological differences: the Arians were opposed to any kind of violence and repression, including army service and even carrying weapons, and abstained from holding offices since they considered civil power to be a yet another form of domination. Theologically, not only did they reject the cult of the saints and the Virgin, the belief in purgatory, and vicarious atonement, as the Calvinists did, but they also denied the dogmas of the Trinity and incarnation, effectively renouncing the pre-existence of Christ. They believed that Jesus had been born a man and was subsequently raised to the messianic role. Thus, he was worthy of adoration, yet subordinate to God the Creator. The Arians criticised the notions of a single divine substance or essence, which they regarded as a sophism that lacks Scriptural basis. They were also fervent advocates of a return to the Scriptures, and a study of the New Testament alongside the Jewish Bible. The most visible signs that differed the Arians from other Christians were their observance of religious rituals and organisation of their communities. Like the Calvinists, the Arians rejected the sacraments of penance and confirmation, but they went further, replacing the weekly Lord’s Supper with communal study and prayer and rejecting the christening of infants. In their opinion, baptism should be given exclusively to adult believers as an expression of their free will. Their vision of society was rooted in the teaching of the Gospels, and they aspired to restore the “primitive” model of New Testament Christianity.17 These precepts laid the foundation for their radical social and political stance: the Arians defended egalitarianism (no division into social estates and classes), pacifism, and women’s position in society. In the formative years of the movement – from 1563 until the 1580s, when major leadership changes altered the group’s ideology – the Arian doctrine was a subject of constant internal debates. Although regarded by their opponents as a uniform religious entity, in the late sixteenth century, the Minor Church was far from homogenous. At early Arian synods, theological dogmas such as the principle of homoousianism (the doctrine that the divine persons share their nature), the pre-existence of Jesus Christ and his participation in the act of creation, or the hierarchy of the Divine persons caused soaring arguments

17 Restoration of the “primitive” Christianity has been considered an ideological foundation for Anabaptist movements, and more generally the Radical Reformation. See, for example, Franklin Hamlin Littell, The Origins of Sectarian Protestantism; a Study of the Anabaptist View of the Church (New York: Macmillan, 1968).

6 

 Introduction

and internal divisions.18 In the end, the Unitarian stance, according to which Jesus was subordinate to God the Father, became the movement’s mainstream theology. George H. Williams summarised that dogmatic development as the transition “from traditional trinitarianism through tritheism, by eschewing the concept of consubstantiality; ditheism, by rejecting the deity of the Holy Spirit, considered rather as a force or gift; adoptionism (Ebionitism); on to pure Unitarianism.”19 Also, socio-geographically, the movement was far from unified. In the second half of the sixteenth century, several Arian communities emerged, which differed, often substantially, from one another. One can distinguish three of the most important groups. First, the idealistic, egalitarian community in Raków, originally modelled after the communes of Hutterians in Moravia, which served as the main Arian centre until the mid-1570s and then regained its greatness in the early seventeenth century (partly thanks to its printing house and the Racovian Academy).20 Second, the Lublin congregation led by Marcin Czechowic, one of the most influential Arian leaders in the second half of the sixteenth century, which dominated the movement in the 1570s and 1580s. Finally, a less organised group of Lithuanian Arians centred around Szymon Budny, a Hebraist, a biblical translator, and a prominent scholar. The latter “Budny group” was known for their moderate social program paired with radical theology. They insisted on the primacy of the Old Testament Law and on non-adorationism: they rejected the cult of Jesus, including mentioning his name in prayers, as idolatrous.

Jews, Christian Hebraism, and “Judaizers” Even if, as Norman Davies suggested, Polish religious tolerance was a viable political choice rather than an ethical ideal,21 as a result of the country’s governance, Poland became a haven for dissidents and “heretical” refugees who fled religious 18 See Zbigniew Ogonowski, Socynianism polski (Warsaw: Wiedza Powszechna, 1960). 19 See Williams, The Radical Reformation, 646. 20 See Stanisław Cynarski, Raków – ognisko arianizmu (Cracow: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1968). For the importance of printing presses see Alodia Kawecka-Gryczowa, Ariańskie oficyny wydawnicze Rodeckiego i Sternackiego: Dzieje i bibliografia (Geneve: Librairie Droz, 1974); Alodia Kawecka-Gryczowa, “Prasy Rakowa i Krakowa w służbie antytrynitaryzmu,” in Studia nad arianizmem (Warsaw: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1959), 263–330. 21 Norman Davies, God’s Playground: A History of Poland. Volume 1: The Origins to 1795 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 126.

Jews, Christian Hebraism, and “Judaizers” 

 7

persecutions. In the sixteenth century, the country was a theatre for theological debates, synods of different denominations, and vigorous pamphleteering activity as various Christian groups sought to define their identities and ideologies.22 The refugees were not the only social group that benefitted from the politics of tolerance. Local ethnic and religious minorities enjoyed the advantages of confessional diversity, too.23 Jewish communities prospered in cities and in private estates, protected by royal privileges and charters confirming their right of permanent residence.24 From the second half of the sixteenth century, the Jews were allowed a significant degree of self-governance: a supra-communal institution, the Council of Four Lands (Va’ad Arba Aratzot), composed of delegates of local communities, was invested with authority as regards to fiscal, juridical, administrative, and sometimes religious matters.25 The Jewish community also thrived demographically and culturally. In 1534, the first Jewish printers, the Halicz brothers, opened their shop in Cracow’s neighbourhood, Kazimierz. At first, they produced only Hebrew titles but soon included also Yiddish literature so to appeal to the female readership.26 Rabbinic literature flourished on account of some of the greatest chalakhic minds of Ashkenazi Jewry, such as Moses Isserles, the author of the commentary to Shulchan Arukh, Solomon Luria, Mordecai Yoffe, and Joel Sirkis,27 and the yeshivot – rabbinical seminaries – in

22 Piotr Wilczek, “Catholics and Heretics – Some Aspects of Religious Debates in the Old PolishLithuanian Commonwealth,” The Sarmatian Review 2 (1999): 619–627. 23 With the exception of the anti-Trinitarians, who were excluded from the 1573 toleration pact. For a description of the multi-ethnic character of the Commonwealth, see Michał Kopczyński and Wojciech Tygielski, ed., Pod wspólnym niebem – narody dawnej Rzeczypospolitej (Warsaw: Muzeum Historii Polski and Bellona, 2010). 24 For the general characteristics of the Jewish experience in early-modern Poland-Lithuania, see Gershon David Hundert, “Some Basic Characteristics of the Jewish Experience in Poland,” in From ‘Shtetl’ to Socialism; Studies from ‘Polin,’ ed. Antony Polonsky (Oxford: Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1993), 19–38; idem, “Poland: Paradisus Judaeorum,” Journal of Jewish Studies 47 (1997): 335–348. For an image of everyday Jewish life seen through the rabbinic halakhic sources and analysed in its immediate context of non-Jewish legal culture, see Edward Fram, Ideals Face Reality: Jewish Law and Life in Poland, 1550–1655 (Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1997); Antony Polonsky, The Jews in Poland and Russia: Volume 1: 1350–1881 (Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2010), 46–47. 25 For the description of Jewish political organisation, see Haim Hillel Ben-Sasson, “‫ ”ועד ארבע ארצות שבמזרח אירופה‬in ‫ קיום ושבר יהודי פולין לדורותיהם‬vol. 1, ed. Israel Bartal and Israel Gutman (Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar, 2001), 145–159. 26 Magda Teter and Edward A. Fram, “Apostasy, Fraud and the Beginnings of Hebrew Printing in Cracow,” AJS Review 30 (2006): 31–66. 27 For the intellectual world of the Ashkenazi Jewry see the classical Haim H. Ben-Sasson, ‫הביניים‬-‫הגות והנהגה השקפותיהם החברתיות של יהודי פולין בשלהי ימי‬. (Jerusalem: Mosad Byalik, 1959). For an account of rational philosophy in the Early-modern Ashkenazi thought, see Leonard

8 

 Introduction

Cracow, directed by Ya’akov Pollak and in Lublin under Shlomo Shakhnah established Poland’s fame as a centre of Talmudic studies.28 The prosperity of the Polish Jewish community coincided with the interest of Christian scholars in Judaism and Jewish writings. Throughout Europe, Christian theologians studied Hebrew grammar to read the Jewish Bible in original, Jewish books were translated into Latin and vernaculars, Christian ethnographies of the Jews were written, and Hebrew became an academic subject included in the curricula of the main European universities.29 Poland followed suit and in 1528 a chair in Hebrew was established at the Jagiellonian University of Cracow. Leonard Dawid, a convert from Judaism who was appointed as the lecturer, also authored a Hebrew primer.30 However, while some gentile intellectuals appreciated Jewish learning, other Christians complained about Poland having been turned into “a heaven for nobility, hell for the peasants, and a paradise for the Jews.”31 The Churchinstigated anti-Jewish attitudes were alive and well: Jews were portrayed as unbelievers, Christ-killers, and stingy, money-loving usurers.32 The negative imagery often fuelled prejudiced behaviours. Jews were accused of desecration of the Host, proselytizing, and of forcefully circumcising Christians.33 The best-known case that documents the alleged success of the Jewish proselytising is the trial of Katarzyna Malcherowa (or Weiglowa), who was convicted of turning away from Christianity and burnt at the stake in Cracow in 1539.34 To be sure, the accusations of judaising and active proselytizing to Judaism were extended to non-Jews, too. According to Zbigniew Pietrzyk, there were two

Levin, Seeing with Both Eyes: Ephraim Luntshitz and the Polish-Jewish Renaissance (Leiden: Brill, 2008). 28 Elchanan Reiner, “,‫ ”תמורות בישיבות פולין ואשכנז במאות הט“ז‬in ,‫ ספר יובל להנא שמרוק‬.‫כמנהג פולין ואשכנז‬ ed. Israel Bartal, Ezra Mendelsohn, and Chava Turniansky (Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar, 1993), 9–81. 29 For the history and multi-dimensional character of the Christian Hebraism, see Stephen G. Burnett, Christian Hebraism in the Reformation Era (1500–1660): Authors, Books, and the Transmission of Jewish Learning (Leiden: Brill, 2012). 30 Henryk Barycz, Historja Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego w epoce humanizmu (Cracow: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego, 1935), 88–90. Robert Kaśków, Zainteresowanie Żydami i kulturą żydowską w XVI w. i na początku XVII w. w Polsce (PhD diss., Uniwersytet Wrocławski, 1996), 175–178. Andrzej Kazimierz Banach and Julian Dybiec, The History of the Jagiellonian University (Cracow: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego, 2000), 55. 31 See Janusz Tazbir, “Images of the Jew in the Polish Commonwealth,” Polin 4 (1989): 18–30. 32 Tazbir, “Images;” Tadeusz Kasprowicz, “Obraz Żyda w twórczości Mikołaja Reja,” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 32 (1987): 65–76. 33 Teter, Jews and Heretics, 44. 34 Teter, Jews and Heretics, 42–45.

Jews, Christian Hebraism, and “Judaizers” 

 9

main groups typically charged with judaisation.35 The first one was the “actual” judaisants: radical foreign thinkers who embraced many principles of Judaism, such as, for instance, the Transylvanian Sabbatarians, Ferenc David and Germanborn Matthias Vehe-Glirius.36 Another group of the “actual judaisers” were the so-called Novogorodian heretics, said to have appeared in the 1470s. This “heresy” is known from the records pertaining to the court trial of 1487, when a newly appointed bishop of Novogorod, Gennadii, discovered and investigated the case of a Jew who apparently converted two Russian Orthodox priests.37 The Archbishop tried and eventually burnt at the stake several Muscovites. The essence of their “heresy” was the use and dissemination of dangerous books: a Jewish prayer book and a Jewish astronomical treatise.38 Moshe Taube argued that the two types of writings were composed by different authors for a disparate readership. While the former work, the Fedor’s Psalter, was an early work of a convert from Judaism and contained Jewish prayers disguised as Christian Orthodox Psalter, the latter scientific writings were a result of a collaboration of Christian scholars who sought the expertise of Jewish translators.39 George Williams preferred to speak of Russian Judaisers as of a congeries of movements40 and to distinguish between three groups that came to be known as Judaisers and are often confused: humanists or adepts of mysticism who learned Hebrew and Jewish texts from the Rabbis; non-adorationists, who were inspired by the Old Testament and

35 Zbigniew Pietrzyk, “Judaisers in Poland in the Second Half of the Sixteenth Century,” in The Jews in Old Poland: 1000–1795, ed. Antony Polonsky, Jakub Basista and Andrzej Link-Lenczowski (London: IB Tauris & Company Limited, 1993), 23–35. See George H. Williams, “Protestants in the Ukraine during the Period of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth” Harvard Ukrainian Studies 2.1 (1978): 41–72. For the Russian Judaisers, see Jan Juszczyk, “O badaniach nad Judaizantyzmem,” Kwartalnik Historyczny 76 (1969): 141–151. 36 For the study on Vehe-Glirius see Janusz Tazbir, “Maciej Vehe-Glirius. Z dziejów propagandy judaizantyzmu w XVI wieku,” in Wieki Średnie. Medium Aevum. Prace ofiarowane Tadeuszowi Manteufflowi w 60. rocznicę urodzin, ed. Aleksander Gieysztor, Marian Henryk Serejski, and Stanisław Trawkowski (Warsaw: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, 1962), 292–297. 37 Andrei Pliguzov, “Archbishop Gennadii and the Heresy of the ‘Judaizers’” Harvard Ukrainian Studies 3 (1992): 269–288. 38 Constantine Zuckerman, “The “Psalter” of Feodor and the Heresy of the “Judaizers” in the Last Quarter of the Fifteenth Century,” Harvard Ukrainian Studies 11 (1987): 79–80. 39 Moshe Taube, “Transmission of Scientific Texts in 15th-Century Eastern Knaan,” Aleph 10 (2010): 315–353; idem, “The ‘Poem on the Soul’ in the ‘Laodicean Epistle’ and the Literature of the Judaizers,” Harvard Ukrainian Studies 19 (1995): 671–685; idem, “East Slavic Texts” in YIVO Encyclopedia of Jews in Eastern Europe, accessed March 03, 2018, http: //www.yivoencyclopedia. org/article.aspx/East_Slavic_Texts>. 40 The expression used by George H. Williams. See Williams “Protestants in the Ukraine,” 46.

10 

 Introduction

postulated its popularisation; and extreme Sabbatarians, whose admiration for the Jewish religion made them practically (if not actually) converts to Judaism.41 The second group of non-Jews accused of promoting the Judaism were the Radical Protestants42 and most often, the Arians. Unlike in the case of the Sabbatarians, the basis for such charges was less justifiable and the Arians, who saw themselves closer to the true Christianity than any other denomination, protested vehemently against being likened to the Jews. Moreover, Arian theologians used the archetypal image of a Jew in order to contrast it with their own creed and practices and thus, to refute the opponents’ charges.43 Soon after breaking away from the Calvinist Church, they sought to form their creed and a mode of worship, define themselves against other Christians – Catholics, Protestants, and the judaisers within their own camp – and strengthen their group identity. Distancing oneself from the Jew, an embodiment of an abhorred religion, offered a way to attain that goal.

The Arians and the Jews in Lublin Even though the Arian theologians wished to distinguish themselves from the Jews, scholars pointed out that the similarities of experience between the two marginalised outsider groups could explain their mutual interest and exchanges.44 Unlike many Western Reformers who may have lacked immediate contact 41 See Williams, “Protestants in the Ukraine, ” 41–72, especially 50–56. 42 The Arians were not the only group of Radical Protestants in Poland. For the history of the Dutch Mennonite Church in Prussia, see Peter J. Klassen, Mennonites in Early Modern Poland and Prussia (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2009). For the history of the Czech Brethren in Poland, see Jolanta Dworzaczkowa, Z dziejów braci czeskich w Polsce (Poznań: Instytut Historii Uniwersytetu im. Adama Mickiewicza, 2003). 43 Examples of such rhetoric will be presented in Chapter 1. 44 The view was first proposed by Haim Hillel Ben-Sasson. See Haim Hillel Ben-Sasson, “Jews and Christian Sectarians: Existential Similarity and Dialectical Tensions in Sixteenth-Century Moravia and Poland-Lithuania,” Viator 4 (1973): 369–386. Michael Driedger followed up on Rosenthal’s thought. He agreed with Rosenthal as regards the similarity of experiences and possibility of contacts between Anabaptists and the Jews, but pointed out the lack of equivocal evidence for actual contact. See Michael Driedger, “The Intensification of Religious Commitment: Jews, Anabaptists and Radical Reform, and Confessionalization,” in Jews, Judaism, and the Reformation in Sixteenth-Century Germany (Studies in Central European Histories 37), ed. Stephen G. Bell and Dean P. Burnett (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2006), 209–299. The problem of the contacts between the Jews and Reformers, particularly the Arians, was discussed in Judah M. Rosenthal, ‫ארייאני במחצית השניה של המאה הט’’ז בפולין‬-‫הויכוח היהודי‬, in ‫( מחקרים ומקורות‬Jerusalem: Rubin Mass, 1967), 457–474.

The Arians and the Jews in Lublin 

 11

with Jews,45 the Arian community of Lublin, which is the focus of this thesis, was in an unparalleled position to juxtapose their beliefs with the praxis of Judaism. In Lublin, the two religious minorities lived in the city’s outskirts and formed distinct communities, separated from the rest of the townsmen.46 The shared status of outsiders and geographical proximity notwithstanding, it would be incorrect to assume that the legal or social conditions of the Jews and the Arians were alike. Jewish communities in royal cities like Lublin were exempted from any municipal taxation except fees paid directly to the Crown.47 This privilege put them in economic competition with the burgers, who tried to enforce hostile local legislation, often contradictory to the royal privileges. In Lublin, the Jews were forced outside the city walls, to the quarter known as Podzamcze where they formed a community. However, from the mid-sixteenth century, their position improved and they were even invited to negotiate the contents of legal agreements.48 Lublin Jewry was subject to an independent jurisdiction and granted the right to manage separate educational institutions, most influential being the yeshiva in Lublin, established after King Sigismund August had granted the local community a special privilege in 1567.49 From around the 1580s, they could have also witnessed meetings of the Council of the Four Lands, as well as regular convocations of Rabbis of the principal kehillot, which would take place at a private property of R. Shalom Shakhna.50 In contrast to Jews, the Arians were consistently repressed by their opponents: Catholics and other Protestants alike. In 1564, soon after they split from 45 Achim Detmers, “Calvin, the Jews and Judaism,” in Jews, Judaism, and the Reformation in Sixteenth-Century Germany (Studies in Central European Histories 37), ed. Stephen G. Bell and Dean P. Burnett (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2006), 200. 46 Ryszard Szczygieł, “Ugoda Żydów Lubelskich z gminą miejską w sprawie udziału w życiu gospodarczym miasta z 1555 roku,” in Żydzi wśród Chrześcijan w dobie szlacheckiej Rzeczypospolitej, ed. Waldemar Kowalski and Jadwiga Muszyńska (Kielce: Kieleckie Towarzystwo Naukowe, 1996), 43–50. Aleksander Kossowski, Protestantyzm w Lublinie i lubelskiem w XVI–XVII w. (Lublin: Towarzystwo Przyjaciół Nauk, 1933). 47 For the history of Jews in Lublin, see Anna Kuwalek, “Żydzi i Chrzescijanie w Lublinie w XVI i XVII wieku: Przyczynek do dziejów Żydów w Lublinie w okresie staropolskim,” in Żydzi w Lublinie: Materiały do dziejów społeczności Żydowskiej Lublina II, ed. Tadeusz Radzik (Lublin: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Marii Curie-Skłodowskiej, 1998), 9–31. 48 Hanna Węgrzynek, “Jewish-Christian Agreements and Their Impact on the Legal Status of Jews in Polish Towns (the Case of Lublin),” Kwartalnik historii Żydów 1 (2011): 107–112; François Guesnet, “Agreements between Neighbours. The ‘Ugody’ as a Source on Jewish–Christian Relations in Early Modern Poland,” Jewish History 24, 3–4 (2010): 257–270. Szczygieł, “Ugoda Żydów Lubelskich.” 49 Szczygieł, “Ugoda Żydów Lubelskich,” 46–47. 50 Polonsky, The Jews in Poland and Russia, 61.

12 

 Introduction

the Calvinist alma mater, the representatives of the latter lobbied King Sigismund August to issue edicts against the Arians.51 The postulate to expel the Polish Brethren from the country was first presented in Sejm (the lower house of the parliament) in 1566. Although the proposed edict was rejected, the Arians remained personae non-gratae of the Polish religious landscape and in 1573 they were the only denomination excluded from the above-mentioned Warsaw Confederation, which guaranteed freedom of confession and religious tolerance to non-Catholic nobility. In Lublin, refused the right to public conventions and worship, the Arians gathered on the private properties of supportive noblemen.52

Marcin Czechowic and Arian-Jewish disputations The primary focus of this book has been to investigate the Arian attitudes to Jews and Judaism on the example of polemical writings by Marcin Czechowic (c.1532–1613), a prolific Arian theologian and the leader of the Lublin community. However, the exploration of his anti-Jewish rhetoric cannot be understood without a parallel study of the internal politics of the Arian movement, which, in turn, was entangled in a network of complex social and cultural dependencies. The early decades of the Polish Brethren were marked by defining the social and theological doctrines, establishing the Church’s place at the religious scene of PolandLithuania, and forming hierarchies and power structures within the movement. Czechowic’s anti-Jewish writings, as we will see in the following chapters, served not only as a platform to discuss theological differences between Arianism and Judaism, but also as a tool for creating and consolidating Arian group identity and for establishing the author’s own position within the movement. Czechowic was born and raised Catholic; he was ordained a priest thus fulfilling his parents’ dream.53 However, this phase of his life did not last long. While studying in Leipzig, he became drawn to Protestant theology and turned first to Lutheranism and not much later – to Calvinism. As a Calvinist theologian, he sought the patronage of one of the most prominent supporters of Protestantism in Poland-Lithuania, Prince Mikołaj Radziwiłł the Black. In his late twenties, 51 Stanisław Bodniak, “Sprawa wygnania Arjan w r. 1566,” Reformacja w Polsce 5, 19 (1928): 52–59. 52 Kossowski, Protestantyzm w Lublinie. For the description of the Lublin congregation see Stanisław Tworek, Zbór lubelski i jego rola w ruchu ariańskim w Polsce w XVI–XVII wieku (Lublin: Wydawnictwo Lubelskie, 1966). 53 For the most comprehensive biography of Marcin Czechowic see Lech Szczucki, Marcin Czechowic 1532–1613. Studium z dziejów antytrynitarianizmu polskiego XVI wieku (Warsaw: Państowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1964).

Marcin Czechowic and Arian-Jewish disputations 

 13

Czechowic moved to Radziwiłł’s court in Vilna, where he remained until the Prince’s death (1565). The time at court boosted Czechowic’s status and laid the foundations for his later career as a religious leader. In 1561 the Prince sent Czechowic to Geneva with a letter to John Calvin. The matter of the correspondence was the disagreement on the teachings of an Italian anti-Trinitarian theologian Giorgio Biandrata or Blandrata, whom Calvin considered heretical and dangerous and who had been gaining significant influence in Poland-Lithuania. Even though the Prince’s intervention and Czechowic’s mission failed to bring desired results and Calvin did not change his opinion about the Italian “heretic,” the expedition appears to have been consequential for Czechowic’s biography. For one thing, he had a chance to encounter various Protestant communities: he experienced Calvinist Geneva, and on his way back to Vilna he apparently visited54 what was considered the ultimate example of a Radical Protestantism, namely the community of the Moravian Brethren.55 However, what in retrospect seems to be the most significant aspect of his journey through Europe, was his stopping by the region of Kujawy (northern Poland), where he met a nobleman, affluent lawyer, and a supporter of Protestantism, Jan Niemojewski. This meeting set foundations for a life-long friendship and collaboration, and four years later, following Radziwiłł’s death, Czechowic moved to Niemojewski’s lands. At that time, a number of the more radical thinkers of the young Calvinist Church broke away forming what later became the Arian sect. Czechowic and Niemojewski were among the early enthusiasts of the movement, and they soon became recognised as its most prominent frontmen. Consequently, when the leader of the Arian community in Lublin passed away in 1570, they were appointed the chief ministers of the local Arian church. The early Lublin years were the 54 Most historians agree that Czechowic passed through Moravia. However, Lech Szczucki points out that the only first-hand information about Czechowic’s visiting the Moravian Brethren comes from writings of Catholic polemicists hostile to Czechowic. Szczucki does not deny the opinion categorically but advises caution when assessing the sources’ veracity. See Szczucki, Marcin Czechowic, 38 n83. 55 The success of the Moravian Unity was renown across Europe, both as a result of the Brethren’s missionary activity, and thanks to the testimony of transients. See The Chronicle of the Hutterian Brethren (Rifton, N.Y.: Plough Pub. House, 1987), 404, 407–408. The Italian, Hungarian, and Swiss visitors would come to experience what was believed to be a contemporary implementation of the Apostolic Community. See Henry A. DeWind, “A Sixteenth Century Description of Religious Sects in Austerlitz, Moravia,” Mennonite Quarterly Review 24 (1955): 44–53. For a report of an Italian visitor, Marcantonio Varotto, who sees in the Moravian Brethren an embodiment of the Apostolic Church, see Stella Aldo, Dall’anabattismo Al Socinianesimo Nel Cinquecento Veneto (Padua: Liviana, 1967), 107–109. For the analysis of Moravian missionary activity see Astrid Von Schlachta, “‘Searching through the Nations’: Tasks and Problems of Sixteenth-Century Hutterian Mission,” Mennonite Quarterly Review 74.1 (2000): 27–49.

14 

 Introduction

golden years of Czechowic’s career: he became a prominent author and a wellknown polemicist and the Arian community thrived under his and Niemojewski’s leadership. However, soon after the Jesuits came to Lublin with the mission to reclaim the local Christian population for Roman Catholicism (1582), the Arian community weakened and declined, and Czechowic lost his status. In the end, he was defrocked as the community’s minister (1590) and disappeared from the political and religious stage.

Odpis Jakoba Żyda The main hero of this book is a religious pamphlet composed by Czechowic in 1581 and entitled Odpis Jakoba Żyda z Bełżyc na Dyalogi Marcina Czechowica, na ktory zaś odpowieda Jakobowi Żydowi tenże Marcin Czechowic, ‘A response of Jacob the Jew of Bełżyce to Marcin Czechowic’s Dialogues, to which said Marcin Czechowic replies.’56 Odpis, as I am going to refer to it, can be classified as an anti-Jewish polemic, which on the one hand, draws upon the centuries-long tradition of Christian–Jewish disputations, and on the other, remains engaged in the contemporary ideological and theological Arian debate. Odpis was written in Lublin in 1581 and published soon after in the first of the Arian printing presses in Cracow run by Alexy Rodecki.57 The book is dedicated to the Royal Gamekeeper (Łowczy królewski) Andrzej Lasota, a Lublin nobleman who supported the Arian church. In the dedicatory letter, Czechowic explains his attitude towards the Jews, who, once elevated above all peoples to the status of the Chosen Nation, have since broken their covenant with God and as a consequence lost their land and privileges.58 However, despite the fact that the Old Testament commandments had become obsolete, the allure of Judaism was apparently still tempting to some judaisers, or as Czechowic calls them, “new, made-up Jews.”59 Yet, the discussion in the pamphlet is not conducted with one 56 Marcin Czechowic, Odpis Jakoba Żyda z Bełżyc na Dyalogi Marcina Czechowica, na ktory zaś odpowieda Jakobowi Żydowi tenże Marcin Czechowic (Cracow: A. Rodecki, 1581). All translations from Polish sources are mine. 57 For the history and importance of Rodecki’s printing press, see Kawecka-Gryczowa, “Prasy Rakowa i Krakowa.” 58 Czechowic, introduction to Odpis, iv. 59 Czechowic, introduction to Odpis, v. After the death of the Arian minister in Lublin, Stanislaw Paklepka (1567), judaisers were seen as a problem. A report of the synod in Cracow in 1567 mentions two individuals, Ezajasz and Walenty Krawiec, “false prophets” active in Lublin. See Stanisław Zachorowski, Najstarsze synody arjan polskich. Z rękopisu kołoszwarskiego (Cracow: Krakowska Spółka Wydawnicza, 1922), 232. As a solution, Czechowic and

Marcin Czechowic and Arian-Jewish disputations 

 15

of those “new Jews” but, as Czechowic explains to Lasota, with “a Jew whom you, sir, know very well (so that no one could say that I am making this up).”60 Czechowic explains that Rabbi Jacob of Bełżyce read his earlier book, Rozmowy christiańskie, ‘Christian talks,’61 that features an anti-Jewish polemic and that he wrote a letter in response. Czechowic turns this epistolary exchange into a dialogue, wherein arguments by Rabbi Jacob are intersected with Czechowic’s responses. Not only does such a presentation render the correspondence more accessible to the reader, but it also adds to Odpis’s aesthetic value. Scholars who studied the Odpis have tended not to question the authenticity of Jacob’s letter and to assume that the parts of the text ascribed to him are indeed unaltered citations. This assumption allowed them to treat Odpis as a reflection of a socio-historical reality of which no additional evidence is extant. Simon Dubnow in his classic History of the Jews in Russia and Poland, quoted Odpis to show the extent of Polish–Jewish disputations62; Adam Shear in a monograph on Sefer Kuzari brought Odpis up, albeit very briefly, as proof that the legendary story of conversion to Judaism was known in Poland,63 and Leonard Levin presented it as a piece of evidence that Jews were competent writers in Polish.64 These theses are contingent upon the acceptance of Odpis as comprising genuine Jewish text – an assumption that has not been evaluated sufficiently and has indeed been questioned,65 yet do not engage critically with the contents of either Jacob’s letter or Odpis. Niemojewski moved to the city and took over leadership of the Arian community. However, to the best of my knowledge, there have been no records of other judaisers in Lublin in 1580s when Czechowic wrote Odpis. 60 Czechowic, introduction to Odpis, v. 61 Marcin Czechowic, Rozmowy christianskie: ktore z greckiego nazwiska dialogami zowią a ty ie nazwać możesz wielkim katechizmem, w ktorych są rozmaite gadania o przednieyszych artykułach wiary christiańskiey (Cracow: A. Rodecki, 1575). 62 Simon Dubnow, History of the Jews in Russia and Poland. From the Earliest Times until the Present Day (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1916), 135–137. 63 Adam Shear, The Kuzari and the Shaping of Jewish Identity, 1167–1900 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 37: “some version of the Kuzari frame story seems to have made its way to Poland by the 16th century and was included by Jacob of Belzyce in his disputation with the Arian Christian Marcin Czechowic.” 64 Levin, Seeing with Both Eyes, 10–12. Levin refers to Rosenthal’s article as a source of his claim. 65 For example, pointing to the lack of Jacob’s letter and his absence from any other source, Wiktor Weintraub argued that Jacob was Czechowic’s invention. See Wiktor Weintraub, “Tolerance and Intolerance in Old Poland,” Canadian Slavonic Papers/Revue Canadienne des Slavistes 13 (1971): 30–31. Judith Kalik has countered this assertion by providing another reference to Jacob in a book by a Jesuit, Mikołaj Cichanowski. However, Kalik leaves room for doubt, too, acknowledging that it is possible that Cichanowski knew about Jacob from Czechowic’s book only. See Judith Kalik, “The Attitudes towards the Jews in the Christian Polemic Literature in Poland in the 16–18th Centuries.” Jews and Slavs 1 (2003): 67–68. Judah Rosenthal’s article aimed to prove Jacob’s existence but the author

16 

 Introduction

Gadki Żydowskie Another work by Czechowic that allows understanding of his attitude towards Jews is his first anti-Jewish polemic entitled Gadki Żydowskie, that is, ‘Jewish chats.’ Unlike Odpis, Gadki Żydowskie is not an independent composition, but a part of Czechowic’s opus magnum, Rozmowy christiańskie, published in 1575 in Cracow by Alexy Rodecki. Rozmowy was the most important book in Czechowic’s career, but it was also considered a foundational text of the newly formed Arian Church. In fact, Lech Szczucki noted that the Brethren were so proud of the composition and its persuasive force that they send it out to potential followers.66 Rozmowy christiańskie is composed of thirteen fictional conversations between a master (Czechowic’s apparent port-parole) and a student. The dialogues are divided into three sections. Two of them, the first and the last (that is dialogues 1–4 and 10–13), are entitled Gadki Christiańskie (‘Christian chats’), while the middle section (dialogues 5–9 and partially 10), which is of interest here is called Gadki Żydowskie (‘Jewish chats’). The dialogues that comprise Gadki Żydowskie form a set of directions how to conduct a successful disputation with a Jew, presented as a role-playing game, wherein the Student represents the Jews and the Master defends the Christian-Arian position. I posit that these two works, Gadki Żydowskie and Odpis, should be read together. The first reason to do so is their structural similarity: both were written in a form of an Arian–Jewish encounter. The second reason to bring together the two polemics is the connection between their plotlines. Rabbi Jacob of Odpis responds to the matters that were first discussed in Gadki Żydowskie. He questions the allegedly Jewish arguments presented by the Student and refutes the Master’s explanations. Therefore, the dispute contained in Odpis remains in an ongoing dialogue with the one in Gadki Żydowskie. The third reason to read the two dialogues together is not their correspondence, but the differences between them. Although they belong to the same literary genre, and despite the thematic similarities, in each case Czechowic chose to write anti-Jewish polemics for different reasons. The exposure of his agendas, detectable through the juxtaposition of the two texts, is one of the main objectives of this book. The present study is conducted in the perspective of cultural history, which allows for, and indeed requires, combining modes of analysis pertaining to various disciplines, such as literary criticism and dialogue analysis, religious and did not find undeniably conclusive evidence either. See Judah M. Rosenthal, “Marcin Czechowic and Jacob of Bełżyce: Arian-Jewish Encounters in 16th Century Poland,” American Academy for Jewish Research, Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research 34 (1966): 77–97. 66 Szczucki, Marcin Czechowic, 90.

The Arians and Czechowic in previous research 

 17

cultural studies, as well as sociological theory. My focus is on the rhetoric, ideology, and activities of a leader to a not yet fully-fledged religious group. This seemingly narrow and local phenomenon can serve, so I claim, as a lens through which one can observe broader cultural processes, such as (Radical Reform) Christian– Jewish relations, transmission of knowledge among early-modern intellectuals, and internal dynamics of the Anabaptist movement in the making. The type of my sources – polemical dialogues and theological works – have dictated the choice of methodological framework and analytical tools. Genre and discourse analysis has proved especially fruitful in exploring the formal and linguistic features of Arian anti-Jewish polemics and in comparing idiosyncrasies of these polemics to the “traditional,” mediaeval disputation conventions on the one hand, and contemporary Catholic, Lutheran, and Calvinist anti-Jewish discourses on the other. This structural-comparative approach reveals how stereotypical images of a Jew were employed in some cases to embellish an anti-Catholic critique, in order to strengthen internal Arian theological dispute, and at times to promote the author’s own self-image. The methodology of historical dialogue analysis67 provides a tool to unearth the covert dimensions of polemical rhetoric, which are not explicitly stated in the text and, possibly, not always realised and planned by the author himself. Treating Czechowic’s works as literary objects with a distinct social agenda that pertain to a particular historical moment has allowed me to introduce a broader perspective. I wish not to limit the scope of my research to an outline of the author’s theological proposition, a description of the social reality of the Arian movement, or a reconstruction of Czechowic’s biography. Rather, the present study invites to appreciate the complexity of the analysed phenomena and to withhold from simplistic statements on early-modern antisemitism, the reality of Arian-Jewish relations, or on Czechowic’s position within the Arian movement.

The Arians and Czechowic in previous research The intellectual and social history of the Polish Brethren has been a matter of scholarly investigations for decades. Since the early 1930s, a thorough archival research has been conducted, providing vital documentary evidence, and 67 For the historical dialogue analysis methodology see Andreas H. Jucker, Gerd Fritz, and Franz Lebsanft, eds. Historical Dialogue Analysis (Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing, 1999); Marcelo Dascal, “Types of Polemics and Types of Polemical Moves,” in Perspectives on Language Use and Pragmatics: A Volume in Memory of Sorin Stati, ed. Santi Cicardo and Alessandro Capone (Munich: Lincom, 2010), 77–97; idem, “On the Uses of Argumentative Reason in Religious Polemics,” in Religious Polemics in Context, ed. Theo L. Hettema and Arie Van der Kooij (Assen: Royan Van Gorcum, 2004), 3–20.

18 

 Introduction

preparing the ground for multi-directional scholarly investigations. Findings were typically published in two main academic journals, Reformacja w Polsce (published from 1921 until the Second World War and edited by Stanisław Kot), and its continuation, Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce (issued annually from 1956). The scholars associated with the two periodicals authored works considered today classics of the history of the Reformation in Poland. They framed the movement’s ideological development68 and covered a variety of topics, including the Arians’ egalitarianism in the context of humanist tolerance and renaissance philosophy,69 their relations with other Christian denominations, and their pacifism as a form of political dissent.70 Also, biographies (in the form of monographs or extensive journal articles) of the main Arian thinkers were published, including Fausto Sozzini,71 Marcin Czechowic,72 Szymon Budny,73 Erazm Otwinowski,74 Marcin Krowicki,75 Grzegorz Paweł,76 and others. Publication of anthologies of anti-Trinitarian writings (including polemical pamphlets) began very early after the expulsion of the Polish Brethren from Poland: the first collection, a multi-volume Bibliotheca Fratrum Polonorum quos Unitarios vocant (‘The Library of the Polish Brethren called the Unitarians’),77 was released in early seventeenth century Amsterdam thanks to the initiative of the grandson of Sozzini, and a former lecturer at the Racovian Academy, Andrzej 68 Most importantly, Kot, Ideologja polityczna; other works discussing the topic: Tworek, Zbór Lubelski; Maria Czapska, “Polemika religijna pierwszego okresu reformacji w Polsce,” Reformacja w Polsce 5 (1928): 1–51. 69 Zbigniew Ogonowski, “Racjonalizm w polskiej myśli ariańskiej i jego oddziaływanie na Zachodzie,” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 1 (1956): 141–163; Ludwik Chmaj, “Bracia polscy. Ludzie, idee, wpływy,” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 3 (1957): 133–157; Konrad Górski, “Zagadnienia etyczne w polskiej literaturze arjanskiej XVI wieku,” Przegląd filozoficzny 4 (1933): 307–317; Lech Szczucki, Nonkonformiści religijni XVI i XVII wieku: studia i szkice (Warsaw: Polska Akademia Nauk. Instytut Filozofii i Socjologii, 1993). 70 Janusz Tazbir, Nietolerancja wyznaniowa i wygnanie arian (Warsaw: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1957). 71 Ludwik Chmaj, Faust Socyn, 1539–1604 (Warsaw: Książka i Wiedza, 1963). 72 Szczucki, Marcin Czechowic. 73 Henryk Merczyng, Szymon Budny jako krytyk tekstów biblijnych (Cracow: Akademia Umiejętności, 1913). 74 Piotr Wilczek, Erazm Otwinowski. 75 Henryk Barycz, “Marcin Krowicki,” Reformacja w Polsce 9–10 (1924): 1–48. 76 Oskar Bartel, “Grzegorz Paweł z Brzezin,” Reformacja w Polsce 5 (1928): 12–31. 77 Johannes Crell and Jonas Schlichting, ed., Bibliotheca Fratrum Polonorum, Quos Unitarios Vocant. Vol. 1–10, (Amsterdam: [s.n.] 1668–1692). For a description of volumes and the history of their edition, see Philip Knijff, Sibbe Jan Visser and Piet Visser, Bibliographia Sociniana: a bibliographical reference tool for the study of Dutch Socinianism and Antitrinitarianism (Amsterdam: Hilversum: Doopsgezinde Historische Kring; Uitgeverij Verloren, 2004), 55–110.

The Arians and Czechowic in previous research 

 19

Wiszowaty. Modern critical editions of Arian writings include Literatura ariańska w Polsce XVI wieku,78 edited by the two leading experts in the field, Lech Szczucki and Janusz Tazbir; Zbigniew Ogonowski’s Myśl ariańska w Polsce XVII wieku79; and the English-language publication The Polish Brethren: Documentation of the History and Thought of Unitarianism in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth and in the Diaspora 1601–1685 edited by George Williams.80 Arian polemical activity has been one of the main foci of academic research. Here, the scholarly contribution was of two types: the publication of critical editions of accounts of early debates and polemical pamphlets,81 especially those less known; and attempts to conceptualise the early Arian polemics and to see them in a broader socio-historical context. The first analytical article devoted to the subject was published by Maria Czapska in 1928.82 According to Czapska, the sixteenth century should be seen as the beginning of the religious polemics in Poland, as the intellectual influence of the Jesuits became more pronounced while different sects of the Reformation churches were striving to define their ideological bases. Characterising early religious polemics, Czapska distinguished two phases, whence 1572, the end of Jagiellonian dynasty’s reign, was the watershed. At first, the ideologues of the Reformation in Poland – Protestants, Calvinist, Arians, and others, were preoccupied with the critique of the traditional ritual and distortion of Christian ideals, drawing upon Lutheran and Calvinist literature. After political changes linked to the death of King Sigismund August (1572), they turned to clarifying theological issues, engaging in often sophisticated and over-complicated discussions. Czapska analysed the main themes of the early religious polemics, 78 Janusz Tazbir and Lech Szczucki, ed., Literatura ariańska w Polsce XVI wieku. Antologia (Warsaw: Książka i Wiedza, 1959). 79 Zbigniew Ogonowski, ed., Myśl ariańska w Polsce XVII wieku: Antologia tekstów (Wrocław: Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolińskich, 1991). 80 George H. Williams, The Polish Brethren: Documentation of the History and Thought of Unitarianism in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth and in the Diaspora 1601–1685 (Missoula: Scholars Press, 1980). 81 The publication of hitherto unknown manuscripts and rare prints were the trademark of the two journals mentioned above, Reformacja w Polsce and Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce. Thus, for example, in 1934 Stanisław Kot edited and published fourteen disputations of the Polish Brethren with Jesuits dating from 1579 to 1615, compiled by a seventeenth-century Arian writer Jan Stoiński in the so-called Kolozsovar manuscript. See Stanisław Kot, “Dysputacje arjan polskich z rękopisu kołoszwarskiego,” Reformacja w Polsce 7/8 (1935–1936): 341–370. More recently, Wiesław Stec published an anthology of polemical writings of the Polish Brethren, yet he limited the collection to anti-Jesuit texts written between 1578 and 1625. See Wiesław Stec, Literacki kształt polskich polemik antyjezuickich z lat 1578–1625 (Białystok: Dział Wydawnictw Filii UW, 1988). 82 Czapska, “Polemika religijna.”

20 

 Introduction

which comprised chiefly Church hierarchy, its institutions, dogmas, and ritual, juxtaposed them with the treatment they received in European Reformation works (Luther, Zwingli, Melanchthon, and others), and outlined briefly Catholic responses. She argued that despite the Reformers’ battle for religious freedom, the early ideologues were rarely tolerant and inclusive and used methods similar to those of their Catholic opponents. Czapska’s study, although broad in scope, led to unavoidable simplification (the author herself acknowledges that her survey is a general overview). Nonetheless, it offers interesting insights into the directions in which polemics of the early Reformation developed, including the Arian ones. Arguably, the leading scholar concerned with the sixteenth-century religious climate of the Commonwealth is Janusz Tazbir, whose work on the history of tolerance, A State without Stakes, became a metonymy of the early-modern Polish religious politics.83 Tazbir saw religious disputations, and chiefly Arian– Christian (and among them, Arian–Jesuit) polemics, as a reflection of the unique character of the religious atmosphere in Poland, where Protestant and Reform nobility tended to unite against the Catholic Church for a political cause. He pointed to the specific socio-political environment in the Commonwealth, which meant that Poland was the only place where the representatives of the Radical Reformation – the Arians – engaged in polemics with Jesuits. He described all aspects of publicly organised polemics, as socio-religious events. Noting the initial lack of interest of the Jesuits, who had welcomed the idea of crowds listening to heresies voiced openly (and in vernacular, held unsuitable for theological nuances) with considerable apprehension, Tazbir explained how the successes of the counterreformation changed the monks’ attitudes and resulted in frequent public disputation. He noted that the public was attracted to such meetings mostly thanks to their theatrical character, but also noted that for the disputants themselves the debates had presented a challenging but enjoyable intellectual pastime. According to Tazbir, religious disputations, in the form of live events and theological pamphlets, contributed largely to refining the Polish theological rhetoric. Zbigniew Ogonowski offered a philosophical treatment of the later phase of the movement’s development when humanistic rationalism and moderate social theory overtook more insular and radical stances associated with Czechowic. In his monograph on the ideology of the Arian movement, Ogonowski analysed how internal debates on the role of Judaism and the Old Testament featured in the

83 Janusz Tazbir, “Dysputacje religijne w Polsce XVI w.,” in idem Państwo bez stosów. Szkice z dziejów tolerancji w Polsce w XVI i XVII w. (Cracow: Universitas, 2000), 279–300.

The Arians and Czechowic in previous research 

 21

writings of an Italian theologian Fausto Sozzini, who assumed leadership over the Polish Brethren after Czechowic (in the late 1580s).84 More recently, an innovative perspective was offered by Piotr Wilczek, an intellectual historian of early-modern Poland, who argued that the phenomenon of Catholic–Arian polemics could not be sufficiently analysed in the traditional, macro-historical way.85 Such study would produce but a shallow description and would fail to penetrate the very essence of the complex religious-cultural-historical phenomenon. Rather, a micro-historical approach advocated by Carlo Ginzburg is more suited for the purpose. To understand the mechanisms of interreligious polemics in the idiosyncratic historical context of multi-confessional and tolerant Poland, Wilczek envisages a series of micro-historical studies of various polemical exchanges. Aware of the enormous scope and variety of such writings as well as of the changing historical context in which they were composed, Wilczek posited that the multidisciplinary approach is the most appropriate methodology. In the research framework he envisaged, Wilczek differentiated between polemical strategies that ranged from aggressive, personal to intellectual theological disputes and discussed reasons why a given method had been used. Wilczek also called for stepping away from a narrow perspective according to which the Arians were the precursors of enlightened tolerance and innocent victims of Jesuits’ religious zeal and xenophobia. Instead, he forbore from employing the anachronistic notion of religious tolerance and read the social postulates of the Arians in a way that their contemporaries would have: as a utopian, politically dangerous social 84 Zbigniew Ogonowski, Socynianizm. Ogonowski outlined what he calls three types of heretical ideologies that Socinus opposed. The first was based on the constatation that the Old Testament with its obsolescence and illogicalities could not be of divine origin. Since the New Testament claimed the connection to the Old, it has to be human-made as well. The second type of “heresy” was also troubled by the differences between the two Testaments but draw opposite conclusions. According to this viewpoint, if the Old Testament was given by the Almighty, one can infer that the divergent New one, which lacks the authority of the former, had to be written by a human hand and is therefore fake. Contrary to the two outlined positions, the third type of heresy did not recognise the dissimilarities between the two parts of the Christian Bible to be significant. In fact, they were said to be so inconsiderable that Christianity should be seen as a mere branch of Judaism and not a new (and the only true) creed. The three approaches, albeit disparate, were all exposed by the contemporaries as “judaising tendencies” and passionately refuted by mainstream Arian theologians. 85 Piotr Wilczek, “Religijna proza polemiczna w Polsce na przełomie XVI i XVII w. Rekonesans,” in Polonice et Latine: Studia o Literaturze Staropolskiej (Katowice: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Śląskiego, 2007), 63–79; idem “Jezuici i arianie: Wprowadzenie do lektury polskich polemik wyznaniowych na przełomie XVI i XVII w.,” Czasopismo Zakładu Narodowego Im. Ossolińskich 10 (1999): 15–26.

22 

 Introduction

program. His method of analysing the polemics aims not to offer answers but, conversely, to make the reader appreciate the multifaceted character of the polemical reality in early-modern Poland. Wilczek’s theoretical postulates seem to be in line with the methodology applied by another scholar, Sławomir Radoń, in his doctoral dissertation published in 1993.86 Radoń was concerned with the latest stage of Arian polemics and focused specifically on the figure of Mikołaj Ciechowski, the Jesuit priest, who played the main role in expelling the Arians from Poland. Radoń analysed the Christological disputes between Ciechowski and the Polish Brethren and pointed how conflicting dogmatic bases rendered impossible any agreement and even understanding between the two parties. He expounded on the polemicists’ language and especially on the category of invective, which dominated Ciechowski’s writing, but was also an intrinsic feature of Arian and Calvinist texts. According to Radoń, the invective should be seen as a rhetorical device typical of the religious language of the Reformation rather than be judged according to contemporary ethical standards. A philological rather than historical take on Arian polemical writings was offered by Magdalena Hawrysz, who understands a polemic understood primarily as a pragmatic linguistic operation.87 To this end, Hawrysz defined various types of confrontational linguistic behaviours searching for their distinctive features, and at the backdrop of this theoretical structure, she analyses vocabulary and phraseology of Czechowic’s polemics. The work offers an innovative approach to Arian texts and highlights the characteristics of a sixteenth-century polemic, which is, however, according to the author, unchangeable and inherent to this type of socio-linguistic behaviour. The above very selective survey demonstrates that historians recognised the importance of the religious disputes in general and the Arian anti-Catholic polemics in particular for the understanding of the intellectual climate of the Commonwealth. It also shows how modern scholarship recognised the necessity to revisit the traditional historiographical models applied in researching the subject. However, the Jewish motifs featuring in the polemics of the Polish Brethren, as well as Odpis, which is the key work to study the Arian-Jewish relations, have received little attention.

86 Sławomir Radoń, Z dziejów polemiki antyariańskiej w Polsce XVI–XVII wieku (Cracow: Universitas, 1993). 87 Magdalena Hawrysz, Polemiczna twórczość Marcina Czechowica w perspektywie genologii lingwistycznej (Zielona Góra: Oficyna Wydawnicza Uniwersytetu Zielonogórskiego, 2012).

The Arians and Czechowic in previous research 

 23

This said, the attitude towards Jews did merit a philosophical treatment on the pages of Zbigniew Ogonowski’s monographs.88 Even though Ogonowski discussed Sozzini’s rhetoric exclusively, his study brought to light the important role that the internal anti-judaisant sentiments played in shaping the self-definition of the Polish Brethren community. But it was Judah Rosenthal who brought the Arian-Jewish polemics to scholarly attention. In three well-researched articles,89 Rosenthal considered the contact and exchange between the Arian theologians and the rabbis most probable given the context of Polish religious tolerance on the one hand, and Jewish familiarity with the world of gentile scholarship, on the other.90 Rosenthal analysed two texts that in his opinion validate such assertion. The first is the polemic between the Arian theologian and Rabbi Jacob in Marcin Czechowic’s Odpis that is the main focus of the present thesis. Rosenthal acknowledged that apart from Czechowic’s book, no contemporary source mentions Jacob, neither is there satisfactory evidence that Jacob existed.91 Yet, Rosenthal argued that it is very probable that Jacob did conduct polemics with Czechowic, knew the Polish language, and was familiar with the polemical literature.92 Rosenthal even assumed that Jacob wrote a book.93 The second example of Jewish polemicist against Christianity Rosenthal mentioned was the Karaite scholar, Rabbi Isaac of Troki, who in his Chizuk Haemunah (‘Strenghthening of faith’) mentioned Czechowic’s polemic with Jacob. Even though there is little evidence that Isaac of Troki knew of the polemic from elsewhere but Odpis, Rosenthal treats this reference as an additional proof for the historicity of Jacob polemics with the Arians.94 Even if some of Rosenthal’s

88 Ogonowski, Socynianism. Idem, Socynianizm a Oświecenie. Studia nad myślą filozoficznoreligijną arian w Polsce XVII wieku (Warsaw: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1966). 89 Rosenthal, “Marcin Czechowic and Jacob of Bełżyce.” 90 As evidence of such familiarity, Rosenthal quotes, for example, the information of Polish Jewish students at the University of Padua, and Moshe Isserless’ knowledge of Aristotle. See Rosenthal, “‫ארייני‬-‫הויכוח היהודי‬,” 459. 91 Rosenthal disagrees with the opinion of Meir Balaban, who assumed that Rabbi Jacob was an invention of Czechowic. See Rosenthal, “‫ארייני‬-‫הויכוח היהודי‬,” 457, 464. 92 Rosenthal, “‫ארייני‬-‫הויכוח היהודי‬,” 467. 93 In his other article devoted to Rabbi Jacob, Rosenthal suggested that Jacob wrote another book on the exegesis of alma. This assertion is based on a fragment of Odpis, where Czechowic writes “You [Jacob] told me long ago that you had written against me about “alma, or the virgin conceived and gave birth to a son.” From this single reference, Rosenthal infers that there was a book, which he believes was written in Polish, and could have been printed. Rosenthal, “‫ארייני‬-‫הויכוח היהודי‬,” 465. Judah M. Rosenthal, “‫ר’ יעקוב מבלזיץ וספרו הוויכוחי‬,” Gal-Ed, 1 (1973), 13. 94 Rosenthal, “‫ארייני‬-‫הויכוח היהודי‬,” 466. See also Rosenthal, “,‫ ”ר’ יעקוב‬18; Rosenthal, “Marcin Czechowic and Jacob of Bełżyce,” 84.

24 

 Introduction

conclusions might require reevaluation, his articles are of utmost importance for the history of Arian-Jewish encounters. Another important study of the work was published in 1973 by Haim Hillel Ben-Sasson. Ben-Sasson offered a socio-psychological perspective on Jews’ relations with dissident Christians. He was particularly concerned with the social status and group dynamics of the Radical Reformation sects, including among others the Polish Arians, and compared it to the Jewish experience of living in the Diaspora.95 He described the phenomenon of “dialectical approximation” between these communities which he argued was rooted in the shared feeling of exile from the mainstream society and religious culture (even though he saw the Arian exclusion as voluntary), the sense of superiority and “chosenness,” and a similar stance on traditional Christian dogmas, proven by the Jewish exegesis of the Torah. Ben-Sasson perceived Odpis to be an example – and indeed, an explicit expression – of this phenomenon. He focused on the subject of chosenness, which he considered to be a central motif of the polemic, and offered an insight into key elements of Jacob’s strategy of attesting Jewish exclusivity. This strategy included rejection of the reasons for Jewish apostasy as an opportunistic and insincere, assertion that God’s covenant with Israel is eternal and refutation of the claim that economic success proves divine election. Jacob’s argument was juxtaposed with Czechowic’s attempt to corroborate the same claim with regards to the Arians. This demonstrated a particular mixture of attraction and tension and led Ben-Sasson to conclude that for the Jews contact with Radical sectarians meant acknowledging the fact that the status of a divinely chosen yet persecuted religious minority who claimed to experience social and spiritual exile had been appropriated by others. Ben Sasson’s article brought to attention symbolic aspects of encounters between the Jews and the Radical sectarians and to the similarity of discursive goals and strategies but the Jewish–sectarian mutual influence upon which he merely hinted deserves to be explored further. The scholarly import of his work notwithstanding, Ben-Sasson’s assumption that the social status of the Jews and the Radical Sectarians was similar does not hold entirely true for Poland.96 Moreover, the exclusiveness of being the Chosen Nation does not seem to be a particularly prominent theme in the part of Odpis ascribed to Jacob. In fact, Jacob, contrary to Czechowic, does not aggressively promote the exclusiveness of his people but rather acknowledges the idea that virtuous gentiles could enjoy some type of eternal reward. Therefore, even though Ben Sasson’s contribution into the

95 Ben-Sasson, “Jews and Christian Sectarians.” 96 Ben-Sasson, “Jews and Christian Sectarians,” 369–385.

The Arians and Czechowic in previous research 

 25

Jewish–Sectarian relations is hard to overestimate, it does not further analysis of Odpis specifically. A short analysis of the two anti-Jewish polemics authored by Czechowic was presented by Czechowic’s biographer and a great expert on the Polish Brethren, Lech Szczucki.97 Szczucki read Gadki Żydowskie and Odpis through the prism of internal Arian theological and political disputes and saw them as works of a troubled leader who had to cope with numerous challenges, such as discrediting his antagonists and restraining the influence of competing ideologies. He attested this agenda in Czechowic’s main work, Rozmowy christiańskie, without giving much consideration to Czechowic’s choice to include an anti-Jewish polemic in his work. He also saw the subsequently-published Odpis to be of a lesser importance and argued that Jacob and his purported letter were a mere platform for Czechowic’s further voicing his opinion on the Jewish faith and tradition and for presenting an apology of the mainstream Arian creed contrasted with Judaism. Szczucki did not refute the existence of Jacob’s letter, indeed he calls Odpis a record of “a futile exchange between two sectarians,”98 who were so strongly attached to their beliefs (the core issue being a disagreement on which texts should be considered the foundation of faith) and convinced of their own truths, that they remained deaf to the opponent’s argumentation. Yet, he was concerned exclusively with Czechowic’s rhetoric and left off Jacob’s part. Another author interested in Christian–Jewish relations, Robert Kaśków, studied the matter in his doctoral thesis entitled Zainteresowanie Żydami i kulturą żydowską w XVI w. i na początku XVII w. w Polsce (‘Interest in Jews and the Jewish culture in sixteenth and early seventeenth century Poland’).99 Kaśków surveyed literary expressions of anti-Jewish sentiments in early-modern Polish literature, explaining the negative attitudes as a continuation of mediaeval anti-Judaism. Kaśków’s work is impressive in its scope: the author lists and briefly describes hundreds of titles featuring the Jews that span over two centuries. However, apart from providing an excellent guide to relevant literature, the work offers little original insight. By drawing on the many aspects of the social reality in which Czechowic’s works were produced, this book complements the research of Lech Szczucki100 and Judah Rosenthal.101 Both scholars contributed greatly to their respective 97 Szczucki, Marcin Czechowic. 98 Szczucki, Marcin Czechowic, 127. 99 Kaśków, Zainteresowanie. 100 Szczucki, Marcin Czechowic. 101 Rosenthal, “Marcin Czechowic and Jacob of Bełżyce,” Rosenthal, “‫ארייני‬-‫הויכוח היהודי‬,” Rosenthal, “‫ר‘ יעקוב‬.”

26 

 Introduction

disciplines. Szczucki’s primary interest was Czechowic’s biography as well as the examination of the theological and philosophical positions of Czechowic and the Arians in general. He regarded Odpis as a work of a lesser importance. In contrast, Rosenthal underscored Odpis’s importance, yet his focus was principally on the person of Rabbi Jacob. The questions that preoccupied him was the historicity of the Rabbi and his work (Rosenthal believes that Odpis authored by Jacob was a printed pamphlet), the plausibility that exchanges between Jews and Arians could have taken place, and their potential significance for filling the lacunae in scholarly knowledge about the Jews in early-modern Poland. The book corresponds also with Robert Kaśków’s doctorate.102 However, unlike Kaśków, who wanted to present a broad spectrum of Christian writings on Jews, I focus on a specific group in a particular moment of history. In this, I follow Piotr Wilczek’s call for a micro-historical study of Arian polemics that allows to fully engage with the unique character of the work.103

102 Kaśków, Zainteresowanie. 103 Wilczek, “Proza religijna.”

1 New Babylonian Jewry, judaisers, and Hebrew experts: Jews in Arian literature prior to Czechowic When Czechowic wrote his Odpis, Jewish themes were already in use in the early Arian literature. By Jewish themes, I understand primarily two literary phenomena. The first is lexical: the usage of terms Żydy or Żydowie (‘Jews’), Żydostwo (‘Jewry’), Żydowski (‘Jewish’), as well as their synonyms of different emotional charge, such as the People (or: Sons) of Israel, Israelites, etc. The second type of Jewish themes comprises rhetorical moves, such as the use of traditional Christian anti-Jewish polemical arguments and imagery, often stemming from anti-Jewish stereotypes and clichés. On the surface, the polemical and apologetic writings of the early Polish Brethren were not concerned with the Jews. The attacks and critique were primarily directed at other Christians: Catholics (predominantly Jesuits), Protestants, and those who officially belonged to the same Arian camp but whose ideas and beliefs were found controversial. Yet, even in these internal Christian debates, Jewish themes appeared in, and often shaped, the Arian discourse. As a label, “the Jews” functioned as a metaphor of disdained qualities that could have been used in a variety of contexts. But “the Jewish themes” played also a more substantial role in Arian theological discourse. At times, Arian writers used the traditional Christian anti-Jewish arguments to defend certain dogmas against more radical anti-Trinitarian Arian theologians, in other cases they adoption Jewish polemical arguments against Christianity, for example, to question the congruity of the dogma of Trinity with the principle of monotheism.104 This chapter will look at chosen examples of early Arian literature and the way in which their authors refer to Jews and Judaism.

Grzegorz Paweł z Brzezin An example of a very early Arian application of anti-Jewish stereotypical imagery is a pamphlet entitled Różność wiary uczniów stankarowych (‘The aberrant faith of

104 For a survey on anti-Jewish motifs in sixteenth-century Polish literature, see Kaśków, Zainteresowanie. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110586565-002

28 

 1 New Babylonian Jewry, judaisers, and Hebrew experts

Stancaro’s students’),105 authored by Grzegorz Paweł z Brzezin (at times referred to as Gregory Paul the English-language scholarship), one of the most authoritative Arian theologians of his times. Grzegorz Paweł, born and raised a Catholic, became attracted to Calvinist doctrine very early. He studied at Albertina, the Protestant Academy of Königsberg, visited Calvin in Geneva and travelled to Wittenberg to get to know Melanchthon (the former made on him much greater impression).106 Expelled from his position as a rector of a Catholic college in Poznań for his Calvinist sympathies, he left for his hometown, Brzeziny, but soon moved again, disappointed by what he considered low moral standards of his noble protectors, the Lasockis. Finally, Grzegorz settled in Raków, where he soon became a leader of the developing Arian commune.107 Różność wiary uczniów stankarowych was written in 1564, in the context of heated theological disputes over the character of the Godhead, the nature of Jesus, and controversial teachings and activity of Francesco Stancaro. Stancaro, known in Poland as Stankar, was an Italian Hebraist and an Anabaptist, imprisoned in his homeland for his heretical views and later, at the order of Ferdinand I, expelled from the University of Vienna where he taught Hebrew and Greek. He tried his luck in Augsburg, but wanted by the Inquisition, had to escape and eventually sought refuge in Cracow.108 Stancaro was the first to propose a comprehensive program of theological reforms, which combined humanistic insistence on studying biblical languages (Hebrew and Greek) and individualistic attitude to Scripture studies that combined Christian theology with Anabaptistic insights.109 However, his radical anti-Trinitarian theology led to divisions in the Polish Brethren camp, and eventually to his exclusion from the Polish Reform and Protestant congregations.110 105 Grzegorz Paweł z Brzezin, Różność wiary uczniów stankarowych, którzy się szczycą swymi kościoły w Helwecjej i indziej, z którymi się na fundamentowych miejscach Pisma Świętego nie zgadzają, ale z Stankarem są jedno (Nieśwież: Daniel z Łęczycy, 1564). 106 Bartel, “Grzegorz Paweł,” 15. 107 For Grzegorz’s biography, see Konrad Górski, Grzegorz Paweł z Brzezin: Monografja z dziejów polskiej literatury arjańskiej XVI wieku (Cracow: Polska Akademia Umiejętności, 1929). 108 See Williams, The Radical Reformation, 570–572. 109 For Stancaro’s theology and his influence on the Polish Brethren see George H. Williams, “Francis Stancaro’s Schismatic Reformed Church, Centered in Dubets’ko in Ruthenia, 1559/61– 1570,” Harvard Ukrainian Studies 3–4 (1980): 931–957. 110 Henryk Barycz, trying to reason about the perturbation that Stancaro stirred among the Polish Brethren, points to the innovative character of his propaganda. See Henryk Barycz, “Kilka dokumentów źródłowych do dziejów arianizmu polskiego,” in Studia nad arianizmem, ed. Ludwik Chmaj (Warsaw: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1959), 493. Historians tend to distinguish between three anti-Trinitarian ideologies that dominated in the early Arian church: tritheist, ditheist, and Unitarian. These theological trends are sometimes put in chronological order, and presented as evolving from tritheism through ditheism to finally culminate in the Unitarian stance, that became

Grzegorz Paweł z Brzezin 

 29

Różność wiary uczniów stankarowych reflects the major doctrinal disputes of its time. Like John Calvin before him,111 Grzegorz Paweł rose to oppose Stancaro’s writings labelling it Sabellianism. Sabellianism, called thus after Sabellius, a third-century theologian from North Africa, was a form of Unitarian belief that one God reveals himself under three different emanations, or “masks.” For a Sabellianist, the Holy Trinity would be, in a manner of speaking, a “perception flaw,” rather than an apt description of the divine reality.112 Grzegorz’s criticism aims at two aspects of Stancaro’s teachings. First, opposing the dogma that Christ is the Mediator in his divinity, Stancaro held that the role of the Mediator must be linked to Christ’s human nature only, a claim that, according to Grzegorz, led to introducing two gods – one who never became human, and one who did. Secondly, in order not to forsake monotheism, Stancaro distinguished between the One God – the divine essence, and the God’s three emanations. For Grzegorz, this is equivalent to introducing the fourth god: the personalised, highest Essence. An additional reason for which Grzegorz rejects Stancarian “Sabellianism” is the fact that in his understanding merging the three persons into one essence leads to logical fallacies. If there is one God, who only manifests himself in a threefold way, how should one understand the Scriptural teaching of Father sending his Son, or on an even more basic level, how can Jesus address his father if both the Father and the Son are the same being? His rationalistic critique is an example of what Wajsblum regards as the call against the identification of the unreachable deity with incorrect and inappropriate terminology.113 The second part of the pamphlet that exposes the errors and vices of the Stancarians-Sabellians is entitled Wiara Sabelliańska Żydowska (‘Sabellian Jewish Faith.’)114 Although Grzegorz calls the creed of Stancaro’s followers the “Jewish faith,” the reference to Judaism is devoid of any substantial theological

a hallmark of late Arianism and later – of Socinianism. For a critique of such “evolution” of the Unitarian ideology, see Marek Wajsblum, “Dyteiści Małopolscy,” Reformacja w Polsce 5 (1928): 42. 111 Following the excommunication of Stancaro, the Polish Brethren turned to Calvin to resolve the theological controversies that had arisen around the dogma of Jesus’ mediation. Calvin responded in two letters. For the analysis of the debate, see Stephen Edmondson, Calvin’s Christology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 14–39, especially 16–17. 112 For the theology of Sabellianism and its early criticism, see Joseph T. Lienhard, “Basil of Caesarea, Marcellus of Ancyra, and ‘Sabellius’” Church History 58 (1989): 157–167. For the background of the controversy, see also Wiliams, Radical Reformation, 653–666. 113 Marek Wajsblum, “O genezę antytrynitarianizu polskiego,” Reformacja w Polsce 6 (1934): 78–90, 83–84. For the theological aims of the early ditheists and tritheists in Ecclesia Minor see Wajsblum, Dyteisci, 37–42. 114 Grzegorz Paweł z Brzezin, Wiara sabelliańska żydowska to była, iako świadczy Ignatius, Tertullianus, Hilarius y inni, ktorą też Stankar trzyma z swoimi (s.l., s.n. 1564).

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basis. The adjective “Jewish” is used primarily as an insult, or at best – as a hyperbole. Grzegorz points to the fact that Stancaro’s insisting on one divine essence would actually “please a Papist, a Turk, and a Jew.”115 For Grzegorz, the similarity between the followers of Stancaro and the Jews hinges merely on the monotheism of the two religious systems and on the fact that Grzegorz Paweł’s opponents rejected Jesus as a divine (rather than human) mediator between the Creator and the humankind. Therefore, it seems that in this early stage of the development of the Arian doctrine any diversion from the Christology supported by Grzegorz Paweł was enough for him to label his adversaries “Jewish.” References to Jews and Judaism also appear in Grzegorz Paweł’s other work, Rozdział Starego Testamentu od Nowego, Żydostwa od krześcijaństwa (‘A distinction between the Old Testament and the New One, Judaism and Christianity’),116 wherein the apology of his version of Christianity was expressed through the opposition with (Biblical and Rabbinic) Judaism. Like Różność wiary uczniów stankarowych, this work too was composed in the heat of a discussion that divided the Arian camp, namely the debate on the preexistence and divine status of Jesus. Here, as in Grzegorz’s previous work, anti-Jewish language served to criticise not Jews (either the ancient or contemporary), but the Christians of his day who “despite calling themselves Christians, defend and follow the Antichrist and his decrees.”117 Rozdział is an exposition of contrasts between Christianity and the lore of the Antichrist as well as a call for a strict differentiation between them. According to Grzegorz, any non-Arian version of Christianity is the religion of Antichrist: a mixture of what he labels the Old Testament with pagan philosophy. The pamphlet is divided into two parts. In the first, Grzegorz points to discrepancies between the Old and New Testament. By the two Testaments Grzegorz understands two disparate clusters of meanings. Each “testament” comes therefore to signify a type of ethics (Grzegorz applies Pauline distinction between strict law and grace); ontology (he differentiates between the first creation described in the Genesis, single-handedly done by God the creator, and the New Testament second creation or rejuvenation, achieved by the New Adam – Jesus118); soteriology (salvation through law versus salvation through Christ); and type of observance (the

115 Rhetorical use of Jews and Muslims returned time and again in religious polemics. Much later use, both in the writings of Jesuits and Polish Brethren was flashed out by Sławomir Radoń, see Radoń, Z dziejów polemiki, 50. 116 Grzegorz Paweł z Brzezin, Rozdział Starego Testamentu od Nowego, żydostwa od krześciaństwa, skąd łatwie obaczysz prawie wszytki różnice około wiary (Cracow: A. Rodecki, 1568). 117 Grzegorz Paweł z Brzezin, introduction to Rozdział, ii. ‘choć się Krześcijany zowią, Antykrysta i jego ustaw Babilońskich naśladują i bronią.’ 118 Grzegorz Paweł z Brzezin, Rozdział, 13.

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Old Testament is a ritualistic practice which the New one rejects). Consequently, expounding on his theology, Grzegorz does not shy away from the traditionally Christian description of the Jewish Bible as the “carnal” Old Testament, preoccupied with the physical and sensual side of worship, and given specifically to the Jews (thus it was written in Hebrew) and the New, universal, “spiritual” one. In the second part of the pamphlet, Grzegorz presents a mythical explanation of the religious upheavals he experienced in his lifetime. According to his view, for centuries the Antichrist has been mixing the two Testaments creating a third, hybrid one. This is how a heretical Antichristian-Christianity was created. This distorted religion is preoccupied with material goods and ritualistic practices (an allusion to Catholicism), and tainted with pagan influences such as worship of three gods called a Trinity (an allusion to both Catholics and tritheists), or an Essence of the Trinity (an allusion to unitarianist tendencies). Grzegorz argues that the Antichrist’s idolatrous practices which ostensibly are rooted in the events from Jesus’s life distort, in fact, both the Gospel and Judaism: The confusion [of Testaments] brought about the distortion of Christ’s decrees. One feels free to transfer [ideas?] from one Testament to the other, to obscure light with shadows, to reject what is of Christ and accept what appears to be of Moses. This leads to their [Catholic] inventions being neither Christian nor Mosaic: neither did Moses baptise nor did he have the [Last] Supper as Christ did, even though this is what they try to argue. Also, in the New Testament, Christ did not order circumcision or sacrifices. This is the third testament of the Antichrist, which turns circumcision into baptism, and sacrifices into masses, while mixing in pagan decrees, so that nothing godly or Christian remained therein. [Keeping] God’s sincere Torah laws [Boże zakonowe ustawy szczere], even if now they are abolished, would be far better than those Antichrist’s Babylonian devilish ones.119

“Hybrid” practices, such as infant baptism which, instead of following the example of Jesus’s adult ablution, is rather a misrepresentation of the Mosaic tradition to circumcise babies, or erecting splendid churches that try to replace Jerusalem Temple, form a New Babylonian Jewry (nowe Babilońskie Żydostwo), an invention of the Antichrist, which has little to do with Christianity or with 119 Grzegorz Paweł z Brzezin, Rozdział, 25. ‘Wszytko to potarganie ustaw krystusowych za tym pomieszaniem przyszło, bo było wolno z jednego testamentu do drugiego przenosić, cieniami światło tłumić, krystusowe wyrzucić a rzekome mojżeszowe włożyć. A tym to sprawili, że ty ich wymysły ani kristusowe ani były ani mojżeszowe, bo Mojżesz nie krzcił ani wieczerzał jako Kristus, choć tego z niego dowodzą. Ani też Krystus w Nowym Testamencie postanowił obrzezania ani jakich ofiar cielesnych. Trzeci to testament Antykrystów, który z obrzezania krzci, a mszę ma z ofiar żydowskich i jeszcze pogańskich ustaw do tego namiotał, aby tam nic nie było bożego ani krysthusowego, gdyżby daleko lepsze były i teraz ony ustawy boże zakonowe szczere, choć też zniszczone, niźli ty antykrystusowe, babilońskie z czarta.’

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Judaism. Therefore, the advocated distinction between the Testaments forms a basis for a rationalistic criticism of Trinitarian rituals (such as pedobaptism or Eucharist) and dogmas (e.g. the cult of the saints). Putting aside the theological meandering of Grzegorz Paweł’s writing, let us briefly scrutinise the use of references to Jews and Judaism, and try to establish what different social and religious groups as well as theoretical concepts the author meant. In order to understand Grzegorz’s rhetoric, it is useful to apply the semiotic distinction between signifier and signified. Whilst the terminology Grzegorz Paweł uses – the signifiers – is fairly unvaried: he speaks about the Jews (Żydzi), Judaism (Żydostwo) and Israel (Izrael, lud Izraelski), the actual subject of his comments and reproaches – the signified – differs from case to case. At times, Grzegorz alludes to specific qualities he had found in other Christians, which he labels “Jewish;” in other cases, he refers to actual Jews. The former use of the charged term appears to be a metonymy. For example, the “Jewish Old Testament” can refer to Judaism (most probably, to the post-Temple ritual aspect of it), which is contrasted with Gospel. Accordingly, when explaining how the Antichrist lore came to being, Grzegorz writes: “Entire Babylon or the confusion of faith was intended by the Antichrist in order to confound the Gospel with foreign teachings, especially with pagan philosophy and with the Jewish Old Testament.”120 Here, the Old Testament does not signify the Jewish Bible; in fact, it does not even refer to Judaism. Rather, Grzegorz draws on a stereotype of Jewish morality and worship. In this sense, he uses “the Old Testament” interchangeably with other expressions, such as “Jewish Babylon”: “When the Old Masters and Fathers taught us pagan philosophy, we too were opposing Christ and his apostles. Now, through God’s grace, we are free and so we shall not look to pagan philosophy and leave behind Jewish Babylon [...].”121 Not only the Old Testament or Jewish Babylon but any elements of Jewish religion are mere mental images, situated on the opposite extreme to what he sees to be correct Christianity: “Who fails to perceive such obvious distinction [between the two Testaments], confuses the Law with Gospel, Christ with Moses, teaches Judaism to Christians, fails to see light over shadow and bodies over figures.”122

120 Grzegorz Paweł z Brzezin, introduction to Rozdział, ii. ‘Wszytek Babilon abo zamieszanie w wierze Antykryst zasadził na pomieszaniu Ewangeliej z cudzymi naukami. Zwłaszcza z philozophią pogańską a z Testamentem Starym Żydowskim.’ 121 Grzegorz Paweł z Brzezin, Rozdział, 3. ‘Albowiem póki oni jeszcze mistrzowie starzy, patresowie, pełni philozophiej pogańskiej nas uczyli, tedyśmy się imi zastawowali przeciwko Krysthusowi i apostołom jego. Theraz już na pogańską philozophię nic się już nie oglądając, z Babilonu żydowskiego wychodzić mamy (…).’ 122 Grzegorz Paweł z Brzezin, Rozdział, 24. ‘Kto thedy thak znacznego rozdziału nie widzi, przeto zakon z ewangelią miesza, Krystusa Mojżeszem burzy, Krześcijanów Żydostwa uczy.’

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Thus, references to the Old Testament, Jewish Babylon, the Law, Moses, and the like, are all synonymic expressions designed to evoke a specific set of associations in the reader. The second type of “Jewish motifs” in Rozdział are Grzegorz’s references to Jews. These also can be divided into two classes. The first class comprises references to the ancient Israelites and their worship as described in the Jewish Bible, as well as the Jews as portrayed in the Gospels and New Testament Epistles. The second, are remarks about the contemporary adherents to the Mosaic creed. However, since the main target of his admonition is the Antichrist (a personification of the Catholic establishment123) and his so termed “new Jewry” (Nowe Żydostwo), the references to the “literary” or “historical” or “contemporary” Jews are a mere background for the exhibition of the formers’ vices. When Grzegorz speaks of those “historical–literary” Jews, his attitude is largely neutral if slightly

123 Using the Pope as a metonymy of the Catholic Church and identifying him with the Antichrist began with Luther and became a view often found in the Protestant polemical discourse. For Luther’s view, see William R. Russell, “Martin Luther’s Understanding of the Pope as the Antichrist,” Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 85 (1994): 32–44. David M. Whitford, “The Papal Antichrist: Martin Luther and the Underappreciated Influence of Lorenzo Valla,” Renaissance Quarterly 61.1 (2008): 26–52. For the survey of the phenomenon see: Barbara Sher Tinsley, History and Polemics in the French Reformation: Florimond De Raemond: Defender of the Church (Selinsgrove: Susquehanna University Press, 1992), 79–92. For the most comprehensive survey of the Antichrist’s history, polemical employment of the image, see Bernard McGinn, Antichrist: Two Thousand Years of the Human Fascination with Evil (San Francisco: Harper, 1994), 200–220, where the author deals with the Protestant uses of the image. Among the theologians who later formed the Arian church the first and the boldest author to denigrate the Catholic Church calling it the Antichrist was Marcin Krowicki (1500–1573). Krowicki, a Catholic priest himself, became closely connected to the humanistic environment at the court of his noble patron, Piotr Kmita, and received education from the University of Wittenberg, the alma mater of Luther and Melanchthon. This embracement of new confession notwithstanding, Krowicki seems to have clothed reformed and anti-Trinitarian agenda with the preacher’s manner that he has retained from his Catholic past. The blade of criticism in Krowicki’s main work, Obrona Nauki prawdziwey y wiary starodawney Krześciańskiey, ktorey uczyli Prorocy, Krystus Syn Boży, y Apostołowie iego Swięci: Naprzeciwko nauce falszywey y wierze nowey, którey uczy w kościelech swoich Papież Rzymski [A defence of the true learning and the original Christian faith, which was taught by the Prophets, Christ the Son of God, and His Saint Apostles: Against the false teachings and new faith taught by the Roman Pope in his churches] (Pińczów: Daniel z Łęczycy, 1560) is directed at the Pope and Catholic monks. Krowicki accuses Rome of idolatry, ridiculing the entire spectrum of Catholic rituals, from minor ones, such as prayers directed to lamb figurines made of wax, to those foundational for Catholic piety, such as saint worshipping, prayers for souls in purgatory, and the Eucharist. For Krowicki’s biography, see Barycz, “Marcin Krowicki.” Barycz sees in the use of the Antichrist image influences of “one of those writings against Rome plentiful in mediaeval Western Europe” (ibidem, 36).

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condescending. He recounts the fact that Torah was given specifically to one nation, but also does not fail to mention that the Old Testament was a not perfect and the Jews were treated by God as immature children (under the Law they were like children, and the Torah was a children’s teacher124), interested exclusively in carnal goods. In over seventy cases where he mentions “Jews,” there are only very few instances in which he refers to his contemporaries. The most descriptive is his comment on the 1502 Messianic expectations: In short, while the Jews are under pagan slavery, they cannot keep their freedoms and religious laws (…). They cannot wed as prescribed because their generations [i.e. tribes] have been confused, and none of them knows to which [tribe] they belong. So was the tribe of Judah, of which the Messiah was born. Nobody can give any certain sign that the promised Messiah has already come, since everything is destroyed, and they have been failing to understand that for the last fifteen hundred years. If they were [right] to expect the Messiah, first they would have to obtain the Promised Land from the Turks, so it was inhabited by the Jews, and so the Messiah could be born in Bethlehem of them and not of the Turks, who currently live there. Because, according to the promise, the Messiah was to be born of the House of David and the seed of David – who can recognise that seed of David now? In 1502 after Christ, all Jews all over the world fasted for half a year, wore sack-clothes, and walked barefoot on ashes begging God for the Messiah. Yet, God did not respond, for He has already rejected them, as He had promised. When they were under the Law, He always listened to them.125

Grzegorz Paweł’s anti-Jewish statements do not seem to differ significantly from the traditional verus Israel argument. Speaking of Jews, Grzegorz Paweł refers almost exclusively to the Biblical Israelites and chiefly as a personification of immature, ritual-oriented religiosity. Despite criticizing a “Jewish belief,” he actually did not take issue with Judaism. In fact, what he abhors is this misleading mixture of Judaism, a religion which he regards as perhaps obsolete but not

124 Grzegorz Paweł z Brzezin, Rozdział, 41. See also Galatians 3:24. 125 Grzegorz Paweł z Brzezin, Rozdział, 57. ‘Krótko mówiąc, będąc Żydowie w niewoli u poganów nie mogą swych wolności i praw zakonnych trzymać. (…) Nie mogą i onych małżeństw opisanych zachować, gdyż się pomieszały już pokolenia a żadny nie wie, skąd jest. Już i ono pokolenie Juda, z którego mesjasz wyszedł, zniszczone. Żaden go nie ukaże kthóry znak jest pewny, że mesjasz obiecany już przyszedł, gdy wszystko upadło ani do tego mogą przyjść od półtora thysiąca lat. Bo jeśli jeszcze mesjasza czekają, musieliby pierwej onej ziemie obiecanej dobyć u Turków. A sami by w niej Żydowie mieli mieszkać, aby w Betleem z nich (nie z Turków, którzy tam teraz mieszkają) mesjasz się im narodził, boć tak było obiecano: z domu dawidowego i nasienia miał być mesjasz. A ten dom dawidowy i nasienie gdzie jest teraz, kto je ukaże tedy? Roku od Krystusa 1502 wszyscy Żydowie po wszystkim świecie przez cały rok pokutę stroili, poszcząc, boso chodząc, w worzech i w popiele, etc. Prosząc Boga o mesjasza. A Bóg nic im nie odpowiedział, gdy je na then czas porzucił, jako był obiecał. Bo gdy pod zakonem thrwali, wysłuchiwał je zawżdy.’

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evil, with pagan cults. Preoccupied with exposing Christian mistakes, Grzegorz avails himself of the pejorative designations “Jewish” or “New Jewry,” using them as rhetorical tools in his anti-Catholic and anti-unitarian attacks.

Piotr z Goniądza In the examples presented above, the anti-Jewish stereotypes provided a polemical idiom, which served the Arian writers to launch attacks against beliefs they disagreed with, inter- and intra-faith alike. The writings of Piotr z Goniądza show another way, in which traditional anti-Jewish polemics shaped early Arian apologetics. Even though Piotr did not label his opponents Jews, he levied against them charges that had been typically ascribed to Jews. Piotr z Goniądza was one of the most distinctive figures of early Arianism. In the 1550s, still as a Catholic monk, he travelled to Padua to take up theological studies. There he became acquainted with the teachings of Servetus and Matteo Gribaldi and became an adherent of the anti-Trinitarian theology.126 Dismissed from the university for “supporting the heretics,” he was forced to return to Poland. However, this incident did not affect Piotr’s convictions nor did it temper his boldness in voicing them. Upon his return, at a Calvinist synod in Secemin in 1556, he objected the dogma of consubstantiality and subsequently laid out his views in a pamphlet De filio Dei homine Christo Iesu (‘On the son of God, human Jesus Christ’), published the same year in Cracow.127 Consequently, he was expelled from the Calvinist church and banned from participation in the forthcoming synod.128 Once more, this did not discourage Piotr from addressing the controversial issues of the pre-existence and the nature of Christ. On the contrary, in 1570, he published another pamphlet on the matter entitled O Synu Bożym iże byl przed stworzeniem świata a iż iest przezeń wszystko uczyniono przeciw falesznym wykrętom Ebiońskiem (‘On the Son of God, that he existed before the creation of the world and everything was made through Him – against false Ebionic quibbling’).129 126 Stanislaw Kot, “L’influence de Servet sur le mouvement atitrinitarien en Pologne et en Transylvanie,” in Autour de Michel Servet et de Sebastien Castellion ed. Bruno Becker (Haarlem: H.D. Tjeenk Willink, 1953), 72–115. 127 Szczucki, Marcin Czechowic, 19. 128 The entire edition of Gonensius’s book, all copies of which are lost, was purchased by Mikołaj Radziwiłł, the great protector of the Lithuanian Calvinism, see Pieter Visser, Bibliographia Sociniana: A Bibliographical Reference Tool for the Study of Dutch Socinianism and Antitrinitarianism (Amsterdam: Uitgeverij Verloren, 2004), 13, n. 11. 129 Piotr z Goniądza, O Synu Bożym iże był przed stworzeniem świata, a iż jest przezeń wszytko uczyniono przeciw fałesznym wykrętom Ebiońskim (Węgrów: [s.n.] 1570).

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Piotr addressed his work to the Ebonites. This term of a biblical origin appeared already in the Patristic literature where it referred to the deniers of Jesus’s divinity and became a dismissive name given to Unitarians from among the Polish Brethren.130 As in the case of the term “a Jewish sect” in Grzegorz Paweł’s work, the use of “Ebonites” is but another label for “heretical” thinking of Piotr’s opponents. Unlike Grzegorz Paweł, Piotr did not rely on the power of conventional anti-Jewish stereotypes. His polemical strategy is different: his argument consists primarily of topological exegesis of the Bible buttressed with philological explanations. Piotr points to the mistaken hermeneutics of the Ebonites. According to Piotr, they take literally those fragments of Scripture in which the truth about the Son of God is revealed in an allegorical fashion (by the use of “figures” or “shadows”) and conversely – overlook the straightforward teachings and thus remain oblivious to the true message of the Gospels: Their [the Ebonites’] teachings about the Son of God are nothing else but some strange delusion, so that they, poor things, do not understand their own claims and yet they call it pure Scripture. Blinded with condemning the Antichrist, they condemn themselves and become unreliable – no one, except for those deluded by Satan, will believe them. To be saved from such delusion, one needs to look carefully into God’s Word and pay attention where it should be understood literally and where not. Mistakes result from a figurative understanding of what is said in God’s Word directly, and from a literal understanding of what is expressed figuratively.131

Thus, according to Piotr z Goniądza, faith and God’s gift of understanding are the prerogative for understanding and accepting the truth, expressed at times allegorically. The immediate connotation with the stereotypical Jew is inevitable: the spiritual blindness that precludes understanding the message of Scripture

130 Szymon Budny explicitly acknowledged that this nickname refers to him and his group. See: Szymon Budny, O przedniejszych wiary chrystiańskiej artikulech, to jest o Bogu jedynym, o Synu Jego i o Duchu Świętym. Wyznanie proste z Pisma Świętego (Łosk, [s.n.], 1576), 12. 131 Piotr z Goniądza, introduction to O Synu Bożym, VIb–VIIa. ‘Ich nauka o Synu Bożym nic nie jest jedno dziwne jakieś omamienie, tak iż choć sami niebożątka nie rozumieją się co mówią, a wżdy to szczyrym Słowem Bożym nazywają. Ponieważ tedy thak zaślepieni, iż też Antychrysta ganiąc i posądzając sami siebie ganią i posądzają, przeto nie są godni wiary, iż się sami czymby byli osądzili. I żadzien iem nie uwierzy, jedno thylko od dyabła ich matactwy omiamiony. Którego omamienia aby W. M. Pan Bóg uchować raczył, trzeba aby się W. M. Słowu Bożemu dobrze przypatrzył i obaczał gdzie właśnie ma być rozumiano, a gdzie nie. Bo tylko stąd błędy rosną, gdy kto nie właśnie thego rozumie w Słowie Bożym co właśnie jest mówiono, a gdy właśnie co nie właśnie ale figurate jest wyrzeczono.’

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was a lapse attributed to the “blindfolded Synagoga.”132 To “the Ebonites,” like to the Jews, the truth about Jesus will remain unknown. This similarity suggests that anti-Jewish polemics provided a paradigm for Piotr to construe his argument against “the Ebonites.” The early texts discussed heretofore evidence two ways in which anti-Jewish rhetoric was present in Arian polemics against other anti-Trinitarians and against the Catholic Church. Grzegorz Paweł’s works serve as an example of appropriation of the “Jew” and “Jewish” as pejorative labels that can be used to discredit the opponent. The work by Piotr z Goniądza, even though he did not use the anti-Jewish expressions explicitly, comes to show the structure of Arian argument echoed mediaeval anti-Jewish polemics.

Szymon Budny Another instance of how mediaeval Christian-Jewish polemics resonated in Arian writings is the rhetoric of the leader of the Lithuanian Arians, a prodigious biblical scholar and translator renowned for his bold thinking and uncompromised attitude, Szymon Budny. Budny, born a Russian Orthodox, became a “general Protestant” according to Williams133: at first he was nominated as a Calvinist pastor at Radziwiłł the Black’s court in Kleck but later joint the Arian Minor Church. However, Budny’s ideology differed much from the – still crystallising – stance of the Polish stream of the movement in two main domains: Christology and social order. Whilst Budny’s views on the ideal Christian society were more pragmatic than those of his Polish colleagues (he did not oppose office-holding or military service nor did he fight for equality of peasants), his theology was more radical than the teaching of the Poles. Budny held that Jesus, despite being a perfect man given to humanity as a leader and example to follow, should not be worshipped as God.134 These differences with the rest of the Polish Brethren led to Budny’s exclusion of the Arian community in 1582.

132 The artistic representation of the two faiths as women: a blindfolded Synagoga and a fierce Ecclesia is a common motif in medieval art across Europe. See Nina Rowe, The Jew, The Cathedral and the Medieval City: Synagoga and Ecclesia in the Thirteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). 133 Williams, The Radical Reformation, 54. 134 See Szymon Budny’s letter to J. Foxe published by Stanisław Kot. Stanisław Kot, “Źródła do historii propagandy Braci Polskich w Anglii. Szymon Budny do Johna Foxe’a,” Reformacja w Polsce 7–8 (1936): 316–323.

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Budny’s works do not contain the references to Jews and Judaism in the way that the works of Grzegorz Paweł or Piotr do. Yet, his knowledge of Hebrew combined with his unpopular theological views gained him the hostile attitude of his contemporaries epitomised in the name “judaiser.” The Lithuanian theologian exalted the Hebrew Bible over its Latin translations and made a considerable effort to comprehend the original.135 Apparently, he used commentaries of Rashi and Abraham ibn Ezra, as well as David Kimchi’s grammatical explanations to deepen his understanding of the Biblical text on all levels of interpretation from history to etymology. However, it has to be noted that alongside Jewish authors, Budny quotes Calvin, a Swiss reformer Leo Jud, a Dutch humanist and biblicist Erasmus, and a Christian Hebraist, Sebastian Münster, to name only a few. Budny’s attitude was this of a linguist and a biblical scholar, for whom Jewish texts, if instructive, were considered a valid study tool. Budny’s Hebraism (or, as his detractors would have it – “judaising”) is not limited to his referencing Jewish authors, but it is also his hermeneutics shaped by his proficiency in Hebrew. In both, his biblical commentaries, and theological writings that sought to disprove established Christian dogmas, the Lithuanian Arian discloses his familiarity with Hebrew grammar and Jewish pronunciation of the Biblical language. For example, in his attempt to disprove the dogma of Christ’s eternal existence, Budny addressed his opponents’ “sacred anchor,” the translation of the Hebrew na’ase (let us make/we shall make) in Genesis 1:26. Budny argues that the popular translation: ‘let us make,’ is the first person plural imperative form, while the rendition of the Hebrew should read ‘we shall,’ an affirmative phrase that suggests intention.136 He supports his argument with comparative biblical linguistics: This place [Gen 1:26] is different in Hebrew from its popular translations. It should not be translated “let us do,” but “we shall do.” Whoever doubts that, should ask Hebrew experts, either Jews or Christians, about the meaning of the word naase. I know that the Hebrews, similarly to the Greeks, abutuntur futuro indicativi loco imperative in prima persona pluralis numeri, qua omnino carent, that is, they order with the expression used also for speaking of future actions. Therefore, futurum can be translated as in imperativum. The translator must look at all places [to decide] where to translate [na’ase] as in futuro indicativi and where in imperativum (…). In the books of Moses, where the sons of Israel say Kol ascher diber Iehouach [sic] naase wenischma or (as Jews read) wenischmo the word naase should not be translated as “what let us do” but “what we shall do.” See, Reader, that “we shall make

135 Robert Dan, “Isaac Troky and his ‘Antitrinitarian’ sources.” Occident and Orient. A Tribute to the Memory of A. Scheibei. Ed. Robert Dan (Budapest, Leiden: Brill, 1988), 77–78. 136 For the history of interpretation of the ‘Let’s’ see Gerhard F. Hasel, “The Meaning of ‘Let Us,” in Genesis 1:26,” Andrews University Seminary Studies, 13 (1975), 58–66.

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a man” and “let us make a man” are two different things. (...) One who says “let us make” summons not only himself, but also another, but one who says “we shall make” does not summon either himself or another but describes that he wills and considers acting together with others or on his own.137

Not only does Budny prove his Hebrew skills, but he also advocates asking for the help of Jews or Christian Hebraists whenever in doubt while translating the Bible. The fact that he points to the difference in classical Hebrew pronunciation and the everyday Ashkenazi dialect seems to suggest that he took advantage of the help of Jewish “Hebrew experts himself.”138 Budny’s Hebraism became a source of his problems – even his translation of the New Testament from 1574 came to be seen as unreliable. The charge seems to have been grave enough that Budny took all effort to refute it. In the dedication he attached to the newly published volume and addressed to Jan Kiszka, he complained: “I have heard that my enemies […] dare to incriminate me in front of Your Excellency. They claim that I mingle with the new uncircumcised Jews, the enemies of God’s Son, and that I weaken [my translation of] the New Testament on purpose.”139 Budny defended his position explaining that, whilst “the judaising ones” (żydujący) ascribe the discrepancies in Gospels to the errors of the Evangelists 137 Budny, O przedniejszych, 20. ‘Naprzód ono pewna, że to miejsce nie tak w ebrejskim brzmi, jako je pospolicie tłumaczą. Bo nie “uczyńmy” ale “uczyniemy” ma być przełożono. Kto temu nie wierzy, niech pyta w tym języku uczonych, bądź Żydów, bądź krześcijan, co znaczy słówko naasse. Acz i to wiem, że Ebreowie, jako Grekowie, abutuntur futuro indicativi in prima persona pluralis numeri, qua omnino carent, to jest tymże słowem rozkazują, którym o przyszłym czym powiadają, lecz nie już tak zawżdy dlatego futurum odmieniać się godzi imperativum. Ma się tłumacz pilno na wsze strony oglądać, gdzie ma in futuri indicativi, a gdzie in imperativo tłumaczyć. (...) Też słowa masz w tych że księgach u Mojżesza, gdzie synowie Izraelowi mówią: “Kol asher diber Iehoshuah naasse we nishma albo, (jako Żydzi czytają) wnischmo. I tu toż słowo naasse, a nie lża go przełożyć “uczyńmy,” jedno “ uczyniemy” albo “czynić będziemy.” (...) Obaczże, czytelniku, jeśli to nie różne rzeczy, “uczyniemy człowieka,” a “uczyńmy człowieka.” Kto mówi: “uczyńmy,” ten napomina i siebie i drugie ku czynieniu, aby co z nim uczynili, lecz kto mówi “uczyniemy,” już ten nie napomina ani siebie ani drugich ku czynieniu czego, ale opowieda, że ma wolę i umysł co czynić abo sam, abo i z drugimi.” 138 It is believed that Budny prepared his translation hearing to a Jewish boy reading it out-loud. See Rajmund Pietkiewicz, W poszukiwaniu “szczyrego Słowa Bożego.” Recepcja zachodnioeuro­ pejskiej w studiach chrześcijańskich w Rzeczypospolitej doby renesansu (Wrocław: Papieski Wydział Teologiczny, 2011). 139 Budny, introduction to Nowy Testament znowu przełożony, a na wielu mieyscach za pewne­ mi dowodami odprzysad przez Simona Budnego oczysciony, y krotkiemi przypiskami po kraioch obiaśniony. Przydane też są na końcu tegoż dostatecżnieysze przypiski, ktore każdey iak miarz odmian (Łosk: Daniel z Łęczycy, 1574), [10–11].

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and thus they undermine the divine character of the composition, he sees the conflicted loca to be a result of distorting activity of heretics and imprudent writers (perhaps translators?). Moreover, he confesses that “the Jews reject all of the New Testament, and I – only the corrupted parts,”140 that is, only when the rejection could be supported by philological and historical research. In this defence, Budny reveals his position towards Jews and Judaism: he does not distinguish between the followers of the Mosaic religion and “new, uncircumcised Jews,” and distances himself from both groups. Yet, despite Budny’s declarations, his knowledge of Jewish texts shaped his writings, and, combined with his anti-Trinitarian theology, earned him the persistent label of a judaiser, even if the author himself denies any substantial links with Judaism or will to promote it.141 To conclude, Budny’s case is the most complex of the above presented. On the one hand, he seems to follow the typical disputation pattern which equates “the Jews” with any anti-Christian theology (be it Jewish or not). On the other hand, Jewish sources (and possibly – the collaboration with Jews) serve him as a fundament for erecting his own exegeses and prepare his translation. Furthermore, the types of accusations he posed to his Christian adversaries – arguing that the account of creation is a proof for the Trinity – resemble the Jewish arguments from mediaeval polemics. I have not attempted to present here the entire oeuvre of early Arian polemicists, nor even to examine the nuances of theological thought as presented in the works discussed above. This general overview of early Arian writing shows the lack of consistency in applying the term Jew/Jewish as a rhetoric tool in an interand intra-religious polemic. Moreover, it demonstrates that the traditional JewishChristian polemics served the Polish Brethren as a blueprint to construct arguments against both, their co-religionists and representatives of other denominations alike. In his monograph on the influence of Martin Luther on the racist idiom (especially of the Third Reich), Christopher Probst distinguished between two types of hostile anti-Jewish rhetoric used by the Protestant ideologue: anti-Semitic, irrational scolding of the Jews as a race on the one hand, and anti-Judaism, that is

140 Budny, Introduction, [11]. ‘Wiem, że przeciwnicy moi (…) W. Mci taką o mnie sprawę dawać śmieją, jakobym z nieprzyjaciółmi Syna Bożego z tymi nowemi nieobrzezanymi Żydy trzymał i jakobym umyślnie Nowy Testament im kwoli wątlił.’ For a discussion on Budny’s critique of translation from Hebrew, see Kaśków, Zainteresowania, 182–190. 141 Budny’s denial of the judaising claims agrees with Robert Dan’s definition of a judaiser. According to Dan, the basic criterion of the judaisation is the transgression of the basic ideological boundaries of Christianity. See Dan, “Isaac Troky,” 69–82. Thus, Budny, who never eschewed the dogma of redemptive role of Jesus, does not deserve this name.

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theological argumentation on the other.142 The first type, which Probst called a “late mediaeval anti-Jewish paranoia,” recruits traditional stereotypes and irrational fears and revokes accusations of host profanation, blood libels, unfair usury, witchcraft, poisoning wells and alike. The second type, albeit no less antagonistic,  is rooted in the interpretation of Scripture and ascribes the biblical features to the contemporary Jews. The survey of the early Arian literature suggests that the distinction proposed by Probst needs modification. The anti-Jewish rhetoric of the Polish Brethren consists almost entirely of Scripture-based negative generalizations, which, however, were used as a polemical weapon against a whole spectrum of political and theological opponents but almost never against contemporary Jews. In that sense, the Arian anti-Judaism is an example of the broader cultural phenomenon described by David Nirenberg.143 According to Nirenberg, throughout centuries, Judaism and anti-Judaism became not only terms related to religion and ethnicity, but heuristic categories, a “theoretical framework for making sense of the world.” Such an attitude appears to be characteristic of the early Arian polemical literature: whilst Jewish motifs permeated their polemics, the Polish Arians were neither interested in their contemporary Jewish neighbours nor, in most cases, in the intricacies of Judaism. Against the backdrop of this constatation, I shall approach the writings of Marcin Czechowic, which prove strikingly different in this respect.

142 Christopher J. Probst, Demonizing the Jews: Luther and the Protestant Church in Nazi Germany (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2012), especially 39–58. 143 David Nirenberg, Anti-Judaism: The Western Tradition (New York; London: WW Norton & Company, 2013).

2 Gadki Żydowskie as the first Arian-Jewish polemic Gadki Żydowskie as a part of the Arian catechism Rozmowy christiańskie (‘Christian dialogues’) is undoubtedly the most important of Czechowic’s works. The book was written in 1575 in order to aid the immediate internal difficulties of the early Arian church. The authority of the Ecclesia Minor (that is, the congregation of ministers who meet periodically at synods) felt that theological and ideological controversies within the movement reached the point when establishing a unified stance on major dogmatic points was most desirable. Accordingly, they commissioned Czechowic to compose a compendium of ArianChristian knowledge, practice, and ethics, which would become the official stance of the Minor Church (indeed, it remained so until the ideological shift, which came about in the last decade of the sixteenth century). Thus, Rozmowy christiańskie was born, which became not only the most famous of Czechowic’s compositions but also the single most influential piece of early Arian literature.144 It is also in Rozmowy christiańskie, or more precisely, in its part – Gadki Żydowskie, (‘Jewish chats’), that Czechowic tackled the subject of Christian–Jewish interaction for the first time. Writing Rozmowy christiańskie, Czechowic chose to present his teachings in the form of a dialogue, which he considered the most appropriate for educational (and apparently – propagandic) reasons. The book is a conversation between a Master (Czechowic’s literary alter ego) and his Student. The dialogues are initiated by the Student who turns to the Master for help: I, who am not yet trained sufficiently – like a physician to be, do not wish to infect others with a damaging mistake when trying to teach them something good. Also, not having been yet grounded, I wish not to be infected myself when listening to some other, led by him away from the truth of God’s Word. (...) Therefore, I ask you urgently, do not spare your time and effort and answer my questions. Whenever you feel the need [to clarify] what I cannot intuit by myself, do ask me in turn.145

This opening passage summarises aptly the intention of the book: the Master and the Student are going to conduct a series of classes-discussions on the principles of 144 Szczucki, Marcin Czechowic, 90. 145 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 1b. ‘A tak, abych abo sam, nie będąc dostatecznie wyucznony, jako niedoszły lekarz, drugiego błędem jakim szkodliwym, chcąc go rzekomo czego dobrego nauczyć, nie zaraził. Abo słuchając też sam lada kogo jeszcze, i też jako i ja nie do końca ugruntowanego, także zarażony nie był a za tym prawdy i sznuru Słowa Bożego nie odstąpił (...). Ciebie teraz pilno proszę, abyś pracy swej i czasu nie żałował opowiedać mnie na moje pytanie abo grzebyś tego potrzebę baczył mnie też o to pytał, czegobym się ja sam domyślić nie umiał.’ https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110586565-003

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the Christian (that is, Arian) faith. The book is comprised of thirteen chapters, each of which is a separate dialogue between the two protagonists. The first chapter discusses the unity of God and refutes polytheism (that is, the dogma of Trinity); the second deals with the nature and role of Jesus; the third dialogue concerns with Jesus’ss alleged pre-existence, and the following, with angels and epiphanies. These four initial chapters are grouped together and form the first part of the book called Gadki Christiańskie (‘Christian chats’). The next five chapters comprise the second part, Gadki Żydowskie (‘Jewish chats’). Here, the Master and the Student discuss Sabbath and circumcision (chapter five), the Torah, which according to the Master was replaced and “destroyed” by Talmud (chapter six), and then moves to “various Jewish ruminations,” such as the Jewish denial of the messianic role of Jesus (chapter seven), their “mistaken” reading of the Scripture (chapter eight) as well as charges against the New Testament (chapter nine). This section ends in Czechowic-Master’s proof that Jesus is the Messiah. Gadki Żydowskie part is followed by chapter ten, “Jewish and Christian chats,” which deals with Christ’s kingdom and constitutes a transition from the part concerned with Judaism to the Christian subjects that form the third section, entitled again Gadki Christiańskie. This last part contains three chapters: chapter eleven teaches about justification through faith in Jesus, chapter twelve discusses practical aspects of the Christian life, and the last one deals with the rituals of baptism and Lord’s Supper. The transition from Christian to Jewish Chats is justified by the turn of the plot: one day the Student arrives late, visibly upset, and asks for altering the planned order of classes-dialogues. He explains the reason of his distress: he has been a “victim” of an accidental polemic with the Jews. Not only were they aggressive, but also troublingly convincing. Therefore, the Student asks for in case he had to face the opponents again: It would be impossible for me to remember all [of their arguments], but I can recall quite a few because I made a point of it. Since some of them seemed to me rather strong, I figured to ask you today about those matters and to learn from you, so I knew how to respond to them the next time.146

The Master willingly concedes to his pupil’s request. The result – a set of “extra-curricular” classes on anti-Jewish rhetoric makes up Gadki Żydowskie, which will be the focus of this chapter.

146 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 68b. ‘Acz to jest niepodobna, żebym wszytki pamiętać miał, ale wżdy wiele ich pamiętam bom je sobie pilnie naznaczał. A iż mi się niektóre z nich jakoś potężne zdały, tedym bym umyślił dziś cię o nich pytać a tego się od ciebie nauczyć jakobym też na nie na potym miał odpowiedać.’

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Gadki Żydowskie as an anti-Jewish polemic Gadki Żydowskie consists of five conversations whose content is summarised at the outset. In translation, the content reads: Jewish Chats: Fifth: on Sabbath and circumcision, wherein you shall find a teaching how to talk to Jews. Sixth: on Mosaic Law and its meaning. Seventh: Various Jewish ruminations that try to prove that the Messiah has not come yet and that Jesus was not the Messiah. Eighth: More of Jewish ruminations that scold Lord Jesus and the New Testament as well as a defence of Matthew’s writing on Isaiah’s testimony: a virgin shall conceive, and give a birth to a son. Ninth: on the incongruities between the New Testament writers and on the conception of Jesus Christ from through the Holy Spirit. Also, on whether Matthew and Luke describe the ancestors of Joseph in the same fashion. Also, a demonstration that the Messiah has come and it is Jesus.147 The text opens with the Student’s summary of the Jewish “attack”: a mixture of apologetic assertions and criticisms of Christian dogmas. The Student recalls the Jews boasting with their status of the Chosen People, their certainty of the covenant with God, as well as their devotion to the Law for which they were ready to be killed. Jewish arguments against Christianity include the criticism of the New Testament, which they held to be is a novelty, contravening the sacred, God-given lore; Christian polytheism and worship of invented deities, as well as the multiplicity of different Christian denominations and heretical rituals practices in churches. Last but not least, the Jews are reported to be spreading blasphemies against Jesus.148 This introduction to the plethora of polemical subjects is followed by the Master’s exhortation how to conduct a disputation with a Jew in order to avoid defeat. Here, unlike mediaeval polemists, Czechowic (or at least, the Master) warns the Student that his aim should not be to proselytise. He holds that it is beyond human power to enkindle faith in a Jew: It is a difficult task for a Christian to convert a Jew; I hesitate [to say] if not more difficult than to teach a wolf not to kill sheep or a cat not to catch mice. Therefore thinking that you

147 Czechowic, Rozmowy, ii. ‘Żydowskie gadki. Piąta: o szabacie i obrzezce. Gdzie masz naukę jako z Żydy rozmawiać. Szósta: o zakonie mojżeszowym i znaczeniu jego. Siódma: Rozmaite żydowskie wywody, którymi przeprzeć chcą, iż jeszcze Mesjasz nie przyszedł, a iż Jezus Mesjaszm nie był. Ósma: Drugie wywody żydowskie, którymi Jezusa Pana i Nowy Testament skalują, a z osobna obrona Matheusza przywodzącego świadectwo Ezajaszowe ‘Oto panna pocznie i porodzi syna’. Dziewiąta: o niezgodach pisarzów Nowego Testament o poczęciu Jezusa Christusa z ducha ś. Item jeśli Matheusz i Łukasz jednako opisują przodki Józefowe. Item okazanie, iż już przyszedł Mesjasz, a iż nim jest Jezus.’ 148 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 67a–b.

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would lead them away from their ancient mistake and bring them to the belief in crucified Jesus Christ is aimless.149

Yet, when one finds himself discussing with a Jew as the Student did, one needs to avoid falling into the trap of Jewish demagogy: Gadki Żydowskie provides, therefore, a blueprint of a rhetorical strategy that is said to be the most efficacious.

Types of arguments The early Arian writings are considered as a watershed in Polish religious thought and polemics. On the one hand, the Arians fought against the established theological authorities and refuted the scholastic tradition of reasoning which they held to be illogical and far-fetched. This approach led to the advancement of Christian irenism. Arian schools, especially the Racovian Academy established in 1602 and exceedingly popular among all denominations of Polish Protestants, were renowned for a progressive curriculum that fostered “the emancipation of the rational mind.” However, as Zbigniew Ogonowski argued, these are characteristics of only the later phase of the Arian movement called Socinianism that became one of the main contributors to the European history of ideas. In contrast, the early Arian theology and rhetorical style, despite the anti-scholastic agenda, was still deeply rooted in the mediaeval tendency to prefer faith to rational reasoning and Scriptural exegesis to philosophical induction.150

149 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 68a. ‘Trudna to jest rzecz Żyda chrześcijaninowi nawrócić, a nie wiem by nie trudniejsza niż wilka od mordowania owiec abo kota od chwytania myszy oduczyć. Próżna to koniecznie o tym myślić jakobyś je odwieść miał od ich błędu zastarzałego a przywieść ku wierzeniu w Jezusa Christusa ukrzyżowanego.’ 150 In his work on the evolution of Arian philosophical and theological thought, Zbigniew Ogonowski denied much quality to the early Arian writings. He was of the opinion that the Arian thought in the earliest phases of the movement was torn between two coexisting yet opposed tendencies. On the one hand, Ogonowski acknowledged the Arian fight against established theological authorities and refutation scholastic tradition of reasoning which the Arians held to be illogical and far-fetched. This, he claimed, fostered the emancipation of the rational mind and made the late Arianism, or rather Sociniansm, as Ogonowski calls the movement, an important contributor to the European history of ideas. However, the later achievements of the spiritual heirs of Arianism do not alter the fact that, according to Ogonowski, the early Arian theology was backward and deeply rooted in the mediaeval illogical tendency to prefer faith over rational reasoning, a tendency to simplified Scriptural exegesis and despise for philosophy. See Ogonowski, Socynianism, 65.

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The analysis of the rhetoric of Gadki Żydowskie justifies this contention only partially: indeed, the Arian argument tends to be contingent on traditional biblical hermeneutics, but it also draws on the humanist scriptural criticism. Czechowic’s argumentation follows the traditional, scholastic line of reasoning. For example, the Master employs the hackneyed argument that the lack of Jewish sovereignty renders the Jewish ritual invalid. After all, the commandments were but a part of a covenant between God and the People, whose object was, according to the Master, the land of Israel. The land having been lost, the entire covenant became obsolete. Today’s lack of ritual infrastructure, the Master continues, signifies that the time of the old law has ended, and the prophecy of Jeremiah 3:14, has been fulfilled. This way, Jewish historical experience, interpreted in teleological light, becomes the foundation of a theological argument, and this is why details are of importance. In the section of Gadki Żydowskie, which deals with the praxis of Judaism, the Master’s rhetoric follows the lead of traditional anti-Jewish polemic, too. The rabbinic reading of the Bible is criticised for spiritual blindness that misses out the hidden truth and takes literally symbols, figures, and spiritual guidance: [the Jews] refuse to see in their Torah anything but the letter or in other words, the superficial, carnal worship described by Moses; they hold on closely to the shadow seeing no body; take pride in the body, they notice no spirit, which is more worthy of attention.151

The second mainstay on which the Master rests his argument is the contention that the Old-Testament commandments were not eternal. The “carnal” and “superficial” observance of Sabbath, which consisted of lazy indulgence is said to have been replaced with the real, spiritual celebration. When it comes to circumcision, a rite concerned with the flesh, as anything related to bodies, is finite, temporary, and contextual.152 Hitherto, Czechowic-Master’s argument does not differ significantly from the Christian stance as it had been presented throughout centuries of Christian–Jewish disputations including early-modern anti-Jewish Protestant and Reformed writings. His readers would be familiar with the stereotypical image of the Jewish religion – the 151 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 83b. ‘w tym zakonie swoim na nic więcej patrzać nie chcą tylko na literę, abo iż thak rzekę, na zwierzchowne i cielesne nabożeństwo, które Mojżesz opisał; prawie się za cień chwytając, ciała nie widzą abo więc z ciała się chlubiąc, ducha nie baczą, na co by więcej patrzyć potrzeba.’ To be sure, other Reform theologians tended to juxtapose the reading of Scripture according to the killing letter with its reading according to the life-giving spirit. For the analysis of the main attitudes, see Alister E. McGrath, The Intellectual Origins of the European Reformation (Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons, 2008), 148–166. 152 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 73a–80a.

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contention that the Rabbis cling to mere figures and shadows of the true spiritual promises and fail to realise that as well as the claim that the covenant between God and the Israelites has come to its end. Similarly, the analogy that likened God’s promises to earthly trade contracts, was a polemical commonplace, too.153 Not only the Master’s criticism of Judaism that follows the beaten path. The Jewish arguments quoted by the Student seem to be taken from the repository of mediaeval polemics. For example, when countering the Christian claim that the Jewish Law has been replaced with the New Testament, the Student ripostes: If it is as you claim, why did Jesus Christ himself say that he had not come to dissolve, which is to say – to destroy, but to fulfil the Law [zakon]? Certainly, he was not referring to any other law, but the Mosaic Law, about which he speaks further, whoever shall abolish one of the least commandments, and shall teach men so, he shall be called the least in the kingdom of heaven: but whosoever shall do and teach them, the same shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven. There he truly shows that the Mosaic Law is to last forever.154

Pointing to the relevant fragment from the gospel of Matthew had been a common strategy, example of which is to be found in the thirteenth-century Sefer Nizzahon Yashan (or, Vetus, as it came to be known in the Christian world; ‘Old book of victory’). There, the author provides guidelines to be used in a disputation with a Christian: One should ask the heretic: why do you uproot even one letter from the Torah? The fact is that Jesus himself said that he “did not come to destroy the Torah of Moses or the words of the prophets, for as long as heaven and earth exist, not one letter or punctuation mark will

153 Probably the most famous example is the problem of sacramental value and causality as presented by Thomas Aquinas in his commentary on Sentences by Peter of Lombard. Aquinas opposed a nominalist view according to which the value and efficacy of sacraments were guaranteed by God’s promise. To explain his stance, Aquinas used an analogy of a king who decided that anyone who owns a leaden coin is entitled to an award. In this example, the reason for a lucky owner to receive the payout it is not the value of the coin, but an arbitrary decision of the king. For the analysis and a discussion on the economic unsuitability of the allegory see William J. Courtenay, “The King and the Leaden Coin: The Economic Background of ‘Sine qua Non’ Causality,” Traditio 28 (1972): 185–209. 154 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 90b–91a. ‘Jeśli tak jest, jako mówisz, a czemuż sam Jezus Christus to powiedział, że on nie przyszedł rozwięzać, to jest skazić zakonu, ale pełnić. A pewnieć tego nie o którym inszym zakonie powiedział jedno o mojżeszowym, o którym jeszcze i to przydaje mówiąc, a ktobykolwiek rozwiązał jedno namniejsze z rozkazania tego i uczyłby tak ludzi, ten namniejszym nazwany będzie w królestwie niebieskim. a ktoby zaś czynił i uczył ten wielkim nazwany będzie w królestwie niebieskim. Tuć oto prawie znać daje, iżby zakon mojżeszów zawsze trwać miał.’ See also Matthew 5:17, 19.

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be uprooted or pass away.” If so, then, how do you ignore commandments like Sabbath and circumcision?155

However, in the second part of Gadki Żydowskie, when the discussion turns to the divinity of Jesus, the Master’s argument abandons the traditional polemical model and resorts to means of persuasion other than typological exegesis. One of the most prominent examples is the discussion on the virginity of Mary, contingent on the meaning of the Hebrew word almah in the prophecy of Isaiah (Isaiah 7:14).156 Czechowic sets out to establish if the key term refers to age and comes to describe a young maiden, or whether it implies virginity. He does so by listing other contexts in which the word almah appears. Unlike more radical Arian theologians who reprobated the Catholic translation of the term as “a virgin,” the Master shows that in a number of places (the reference to Rachel, to Miriam, Moses’ sister, and a young girl form Proverbs 30:18–19) the term almah could refer to a young woman, but from the context one can infer that its intending meaning is “a virgin.”157 In response, the Student quotes the Jews’ refutation of the Christian reading of the Isaiah 7:14, ‫הנה העלמה הרה וילדת בן‬, saying that the use of the definite article (haiedia) as well as the present participle of gerund (benoni participium praesens) suggest that the prophet was referring to a woman he knew (the function of the article), who has already conceived and is in labour (the grammatical function of gerund). Therefore, the grammar precludes the prognostic interpretation preferred by the Christians and thus the words refer to the prophet’s wife. The Master objects by showing that the definite article can also refer to whatever is certain, and not only physically present, and that if one insists on literal translation yoledet, which is indeed in the form of gerund, should be interpreted as “in the process of giving birth” rather than “the one who is about to give birth.” The fact that the Jews represented by the Student (and whoever follows them) dismiss the prophetic interpretation is rooted not in their proficiency in Hebrew, but in their wickedness and blindness to the true meaning.158 Linguistic arguments presented in the part of Gadki Żydowskie concerned with the Christian dogmas are not limited to Hebrew. The knowledge of Greek syntax is mustered to endorse the Master’s theological doctrine, too. In a discussion the

155 David Berger, The Jewish–Christian Debate in the High Middle Ages: A Critical Edition of the Nizzahon Vetus (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1979), 215. 156 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 129b–143a. The discussion on the correct translation of almah in Poland began with Servetus’ accepting Joseph Kimchi’s translation, replacing ‘a virgin’ with “a young maiden,” see Chmaj, “Bracia Polscy,” 27. 157 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 129b–131a. 158 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 135b.

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meaning of the passage in Luke 1:35, Czechowic-Master criticises the interpretation according to which Jesus was conceived through the Holy Spirit that entered into the body of Mary. He explains that such reading is a result of a linguistic ignorance. Had the Holy Spirit entered Mary’s body and dwelled there for nine months as if in a cloister, the Greek text would have used the preposition eis, meaning ‘into,’ as it does in the passage that speaks of evil spirits that entered a sounder of swine in Luke 8:30, 32, 33. Yet in the preposition crucial to understand the correct meaning of Luke 1:35 is epi, which means ‘upon,’ and is also in the description of Simeon: the Holy Ghost was upon him (Luke 2:25). Dismissing the Catholic doctrine of eternal Sonship upheld also by the ditheists, Czechowic-Master argues that the baby conceived in Mary’s womb was neither an angelic being nor the incarnated Holy Spirit, but a human child.159 For an exegetical argument to be efficacious, the disputants need to accept the common canon of authoritative texts. This applies to the first part of Gadki Żydowskie that deals with the observance of Sabbath and the status of circumcision. There, all proof texts are taken from the Hebrew Bible, on whose sanctity both parties agree. However, in the second part, the Master refers to a whole range of texts: Jewish ones, such as the Talmud, rabbinic commentaries, and Midrash, and Jewish anti-Christian polemical literature; works by Josephus, as well as Christian literature, including the Epistles and Gospels (in Greek and Latin translation), and the commentaries of a French Humanist, François Vatable.160 The Master poignantly disregards the fact that his initial opponent – a Jew whom his student met accidentally, would be unlikely to be familiar with and accept the authority of the Christian literature. In fact, such wide bibliography assumes that the target opponent is familiar with a library of a Christian Humanist Hebraist. Dialogue’s personae: How Jewish is the anti-Jewish polemic The change in the type of arguments in the second part of Gadki Żydowskie suggests that the roles ascribed by Czechowic to the actors of his polemic are redefined in the course of the text. This observation evokes questions about the identity of the dramatis personae and the type of relationship between them. Although the

159 Czechowic The, Rozmowy, 156b–157b. 160 François Vatable (d. 1547) was a French Humanist and a Christian Hebraist, distinguished lecturer and translator, the first to hold the Chair of Hebrew at the Collège de France. Among his most important literary achievements are an annotated Latin translation of the Hebrew Bible (1584), commentaries on numerous biblical books, and Latin translations of Aristotelian scientific works, including Meterologica and Parva naturalia.

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Student voices views that befit a Christian adept of theology, he also adopts other roles and quotes arguments that counter the Master’s teachings in various ways. His equivocal stance compels one to rethink the role of the Master, too: in what authority does he deliver his teachings: as a Christian anti-Jewish polemicist, a theology teacher, or perhaps a leading ideologue of the religious movement in the making? Does his role change depend on the Student’s argument? From the beginning, the Student’s questions appear to serve primarily as a springboard for the exposition of the Master’s teaching. However, not only does the Student have his own say, but he even undermines the Master’s opinion. At the same time, we are told that the Student is not presenting his own opinion, but is quoting arguments that he had faced himself. In other words, the Student serves as a mouthpiece for voicing a Jewish position. Let us examine closer this polyphony. Although apparently the dialogue features only two actors the Student and the Master, in the Student’s parts the third voice is heard, and indeed comes to the fore. Thus, the dispute plays out between three parties, the Master, who represents a certain view, the Student, who is already in the Master’s camp and shares the same dogmatic position, and the opponent, called “the Jews,” who represents the ultimate ideological and moral opposition. The Jews commence the disputation against the Christian praxis, which is said to be entirely a Pauline invention and a distortion of the divine commandments. The key arguments are that whilst Jesus observed the Law (kept Sabbath and was circumcised), his followers, chiefly Paul, rejected it, breaking with the holy tradition. They accuse the Christianity of idolatry and polytheism and claim that if it sees itself as rooted in the Torah, it should not fail to fulfil the divine orders therein, such as Sabbath rest and circumcision.161 The Student also quotes the professedly Jewish apologetic arguments, such as the eternal character of God’s covenant with Abraham and his offspring, which justifies maintaining the practice of circumcision,162 or the precept that the Law, as a word of God is ever true.163 The Master’s responses to these Jewish dicta do not deviate much from traditional Christian polemic: he argues that the first “carnal” covenant was tailored for the Jews – “immature” children, and was replaced with a perfect, “spiritual” one; that the covenant with Abraham was broken due to the Jewish disobedience and thus is no longer valid; and that, as Matthew has it, Jesus did not come to change the Torah but to fulfil it. Although both parties buttress their arguments with quotations from the same source, namely the Hebrew Bible, there is no prospect for agreement. The Master

161 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 67a. 162 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 72b–73a. 163 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 82a–82b, 84a.

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and “the Jews” arrive at different conclusions because their exegeses are rooted in separate traditions and two incongruent worldviews. As a result, both parties resort to irrational accusations: the Jews, as Student reports it, shout and interrupt, while the Master resorts to insults calling them “stupid, blind, and stubborn”164 in their mistaken ways. The author of the text ensured that the ideological divide between the opposed sides is presented as clearly as possible. Since the text is directed to a very specific readership, the community of the Polish Brethren whose ideology is represented by the Master, this initial arrangement seems calculated to bring a result. The author of the polemic sets the roles of the dramatis personae: the Jews, who dismiss Christian belief system and ways of reasoning from the outset, play the role of a villain who is destined to lose the argument. However, after the Master deals with the initial issues of the status of the Talmud, Sabbath, and the circumcision, the plot seems to be taking a somewhat unexpected turn. The Student announces his willingness to change the strategy: “let me talk to you not according to the Jewish but according to the Christian ways.”165 After such declaration, the Student should stop undermining the Christian stance represented by the Master. After all, he did so because he quoted the Jews. Yet the question he confronts his tutor with does not seem to differ significantly from the “Jewish” challenges he has been presenting thus far. He wishes to know the Master’s reasons for defending abolishing the Old Testament Law, despite the dictum of Jesus who explicitly stated that he wishes no overturn, but fulfil the law. From this moment onwards, the hitherto clear ideological division line between the Jewish stance represented by the Student and the Christian-Arian stance represented by the Master is blurred. The Student continues to oppose the Master and still presents arguments that he heard elsewhere, yet the voice of the “opponent” (that is, the Jews quoted by the Student) seems to have changed. The adversary is now well-versed in New Testament theology and far more interested in establishing what is the correct Christian praxis and theology. The Master’s responses change accordingly: no longer does his argument appeal to belief in particular theological precepts; now it contingent on objectively verifiable proof texts. To this end, the Master focuses on providing abundant evidence from Scripture and other external sources. For example, when discussing the virgin birth, or the pre-existence of Jesus, he provides a detailed etymological analysis of biblical terms in original languages, Hebrew in Greek, to legitimise his exegesis.

164 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 129b ‘Żydowie uporni, twardzi i głupi’. 165 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 87a. ‘będę ja sam o tym z tobą nie po Żydowsku już, ale po Christiańsku mówił.’

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He supports his argument with a variety of source material resorting not only to the Hebrew Bible and Jewish writings, but to a whole range of Christian texts, which could have been known only to a Christian reader, and what is more, one who is well-versed in Christian and Jewish exegetical and polemical tradition. Not only is the corpus of texts recognised as authoritative broadened, but the thematic range of subjects also shifts: instead of discussing the elements of Jewish praxis, the Master and the Student examine foundational elements of the Christian creed. In fact, in this part of the disputation, the “Jewish arguments” quoted by the Student resonates the discussions from the Arian synods rather than the traditional Christian anti-Jewish argument. For example, among the topics discussed is the quality of the new Polish translations prepared by Czechowic’s political opponent, Szymon Budny. Budny was unsatisfied with the first Polish translation of Scripture prepared by a Calvinist-Arian team and resolved to produce an alternative version.166 The approach to translation – whether to retain the character of the original or to provide the readers with more understandable read – was a major bone of contention between Budny and the mainstream Arian Church, yet it appears somewhat out of place in a Christian–Jewish polemic. Similarly, the above-quoted debate on almah resonates with the treatment of the same topic by Budny in the introduction to his translation of the Bible published a year before Czechowic’s text.167 Commenting on Matthew 1:23, which he translated as “A barren maiden shall conceive a son,” Budny justifies his choice by claiming that the Gospel was originally written in Hebrew, and thus the author must have had in mind the Hebrew almah from Isaiah when composing the baffling line. Budny recognises the theological weight and socio-political implications of his word choice: It is a particularly difficult place, especially due to the grave argument about it between Jews and Christians. For this reason today, there are some who, abandoning the Son of God, join the Jews and point us to this place this place claiming that the Gospel is incorrect. Thus, they try to prove that the evangelists and other apostles wrote not under the influence of the Holy Spirit, but composed fairy tales (one day God will respond to them). This is why I shall first write about this disagreement and then append my own opinion.168

166 This controversy and Czechowic’s stance on it will be discussed in Chapter 5. 167 The introduction was published by Henryk Merczyng, see Merczyng, Szymon Budny, 111–178. 168 Merczyng, Szymon Budny, 141–142. ‘Ale iż to miejsce poniekąd jest trudne, a zwłaszcza iż o nie jest spór niemały miedzy Żydy a miedzy krześciany, a k temu, iż teraz niektórzy, odstąpiwszy Syna Bożego, do Żydów się udają, i to nam miejsce zarzucają, powiedając, że je źle Ewangelista przywodzi, chcąc przez to pokazać, żeby Ewangelistowie i inni Apostołowie nie duchem świętym pisali, ale leda jakie baśnie składali (którym się, da Pan Bóg, inszego czasu odpowie), prze te, mówię, przyczyny, nieco tu o tem sporze na krótce przypiszę, a potem swe zdanie przydam.’

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After this opening, Budny brings up two main “Jewish arguments:” first, that Hebrew uses typically betulah to describe a pure virgin, whilst almah bears no such connotations; and second, that Isaiah’s prophecy referred to contemporary events, namely to the pregnancy of king Ahaz’s wife, and not to Mary’s childbirth. He then summarises a range of Christian refutations, which he reckons to be dissatisfactory: the linguistic analysis seems to support the “Jewish” reading. Budny found himself between a rock and a hard place: on the one hand, he apparently did not want to concede to the “heretical” claim that the author of the Gospel mistook the prophecy; on the other, he was convinced of the correctness of his translation. To resolve the impasse, he chose to explain that the original wording of the Gospel must have been corrupted and the reference to the Isaiah was later inserted by a copyist. In this context, Czechowic’s insistence on the virginity of almah well-supported by references to Hebrew grammar seems likely to be lifting Budny’s gauntlet. The criticism of Czechowic’s political rivals is expressed parenthetically in the course of the anti-Jewish polemic: rejection of misled “Jewish” theology is combined with the dismissal of translation of Hebrew Bible prepared by Budny. Trying to discredit the Bible of “the translator from Nieśwież,” the Master points to places where one Hebrew word is rendered differently, and concludes that such “Jewish” practice may lead to ultimate confusion: “[…] if we were to allow ourselves or the Jews, whose Rabbis practise [such translation], we would have to first question many more places and consequently – reject everything.”169 Another, ever more poignant example comes when the Student raises also the question of the status of Jesus: You certainly have no doubts that there is only God who is the Lord of heavens and earth, because only He is the Creator of all, the Lord, and the Maker. Thus your Jesus, being only a human, cannot be the Lord of heavens since he did not create it. Making him the Lord in heavens, not only do you create two gods, but you also deny God, refusing His rule over you.170

The Master’s response first scorns “the Jews, who speak thus in a stupid and obscene fashion about spiritual matters,” and then proceeds to explain that “[…] 169 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 129b. ‘Bo jeślibyśmy tak sobie abo Żydom tego pozwolić mieli, u których rabinów tożby się też pokazać mogło, tedybyśmy naprzod o wielu inszych zwątpić musieli a potym wszystko precz odrzucić.’ 170 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 123a. ‘A iż Bóg sam jest Panem na niebie i na ziemi o tym wątpliwości nie masz, ponieważ on sam tego wszystkiego jest stworzycielem, panem i sprawcą. Lecz wasz Jezus, iż jest człowiekiem, tedy panem nieba być nie może, ponieważ go nie stworzył. Którego iż wy panem na niebie czynicie tedy nie tylko dwu panów sobie zmyślacie, ale też jaśnie Boga, aby nad wami nie panował, od siebie odpychacie.’

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we claim according to Holy Scripture and according to the word of Jesus Christ himself, that he is the Lord not through or by himself, but by the will of God, who bestowed this dignity on him.”171 The discussion on the nature of Jesus and his role in the creation was included in the polemic because it was an Arian hot potato: it was one of the key divisive issues disputed at the Arian synods in the 1560s and early 1570s. The controversy was whether Jesus was the eternal Logos, as argued the ditheist stream of the Arian Church, if he was a human raised to the Messianic function by the God, as held the Unitarians, in whose ranks fell also Czechowic, or if he was a man (albeit exemplary and highly respectable), who should not be adored, as believed Arian non-adorationists. At the time when Gadki Żydowskie was composed, settling this dogmatic matter was one of the most urgent leadership tasks.172 Yet, once again, the matter might be better suited for agenda of an Arian synod and not an anti-Jewish polemic. Among issues discussed in Gadki Żydowskie there is also another apple of discord between the Czechowic and Budny’s Lithuanian followers, namely the issue of self-defence and military service.173 The Student (on behalf of the Jews) argues that if the Messiah would have come as the Christians claim, there would be no wars and “the swords would have been beaten into ploughshares.”174 Although this argument could have come from the repository of the traditional Christian-Jewish polemic, in Gadki Żydowskie it serves as a springboard for the Master’s delineation of his pacifistic doctrine: “Stupid and filthy Jews misunderstand two terms: ‘Christian’ and ‘peace.’ (…) those, who are true Christians and live under the rule of the quiet and peaceful King, neither fight, nor teach to fight, nor use the man-slaughtering, warfare tools.”175 What follows is the Master’s exhortation on “true peace” that cannot be obtained by the sword. This alleged response to the Jewish interlocutor appears to be aimed rather at Budny and like-minded Arians, and to reverberate the echo of the “controversy over the sword.” This was certainly one of the most divisive, 171 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 123b. ‘Albowiem z Pisma Ś. i z ust samego Jezusa Christusa to twierdzimy, iż on nie jest sam przez się ani sam od siebie tym panem, ale od Boga, który go zwierzchnością tą darował.’ 172 Wajsblum, “Dyteiści,” 64–70. 173 See the chapter “Controversy over the Sword, 1572–1575” in Williams, The Radical Reformation, 734–736. 174 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 112a. 175 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 112a–b. ‘się Żydowie głupi a sprośni na dwu słówkach mylą. Naprzód na tym słowie Christianin, a potym na drugim, pokój. (...) ci, którzy są prawdziwymi Christiany, a pod cichem i pokornem królem żywący, ani walczą, ani się walczyć uczą, ani się naczyniem wojennym i mężobójskim parają.’

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and to be sure – politically charged subjects in the early history of the movement and one unrelated to an anti-Jewish polemic. However, Czechowic equates the use of weapons with disbelief in Jesus as the Messiah, who taught peace and submission to authorities. This allows him to present the non-pacifist Arian stance as anti-Christian heresy voiced by the Jew. In this part of Gadki Żydowskie both the Student and the Master happen to refer repeatedly to the opponent as “new, uncircumcised Jews.”176 This term, used as a populist invective, would typically refer to the proponents of the radical Arian theology, such as Szymon Budny and Daniel Bieliński. In fact, when mentioning Budny’s one hundred thirty-nine incongruities found in the New Testament, Czechowic calls him a “new Jew.”177 Thus, “the Jewish argument” that at first incorporated traditional Jewish anti-Christian polemic features the line of reasoning represented by Czechowic’s opponents from amongst the Arian camp. Even though Gadki Żydowskie appears, at first sight, to be what Peter Burke calls a catechistic dialogue,178 that is a lesson given by the Master to the Student, a thorough analysis of the roles and the identity of the actors renders such classification misleading. The set of classes given by the Master is, in fact, a disputation between two opposing voices that assumes eventual victory of one of the parties in question.

Conclusion: Anti-Jewish stereotypes as a rhetorical move The fact that Rozmowy christiańskie, including Gadki Żydowskie, were directed against radical Arian ideologues has been suggested before.179 What has not been analysed is the way in which Czechowic employed the traditional genre of an

176 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 97b. 177 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 147b. 178 Peter Burke, who has written on the phenomenon of the popularity of a dialogue in Renaissance Latin and vernacular literature, recognised that focusing on the role and the extent of involvement of each of the disputants allows classifying various specimens of this literary form1. Burke offered a four-fold categorisation of dialogue. The first type comprises catechism-like exchanges, which play out between a student and a teacher, yet the role of the former is reduced to mere assertive utterances. The second type, a disputation, presents two distinguishable points of view but allows one party to win. The third, a conversation, differs from the disputation in this that the exchange of ideas has no preconceived aim, and thus neither of the parties convinces the other. Finally, a drama category describes a work, wherein the scenery, fabula, and the dialogue itself are equally important. See Peter Burke, “The Renaissance Dialogue,” Renaissance Studies 3 (1989), 3–5. 179 Kaśków, Zainteresowania, 117–119.

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anti-Jewish polemic and adapted it to take issue not only with the Jews, but also with “new, uncircumcised Jews,” that is those ideologues of the Arian movement who would oppose his views. I argue that this change, and ingenuity of the project, can be detected also on the level of rhetorical strategy. This tactical shift marks a significant change. From a verbal contest that aims at deriding the opponent, the polemic turns now into a discussion, which is designed to win the interlocutor (and the audience) by providing them with objective, convincing evidence. Thus, an inter-faith encounter between a Christian-Arian theologian and a stereotypical Jew, whose stance is recounted by the Student, is replaced by an intra-faith exchange. Although the new adversary is not formally introduced, the Student quotes now arguments he could have heard from a member of the Arian community. The new opponent comes from the same exegetical tradition but seems to be holding radical, and according to the Master’s standards, mistaken and heretical views that can be classified as “judaisation.” Gadki Żydowskie is exceptional among Arian writings for it makes a polemic with Jews its focal point, even if the polemic is used only as a stage for a different argument Czechowic set about to deliver. Disguising the polemic as a disputation with Jews, was a conscious, pragmatic decision of the author. His subtle transition from one type of polemical encounter – an inter-faith, anti-Jewish polemic to an intra-faith discussion is detectable in the change of his tactic: half-way through the text, Czechowic abandoned the negation of the entire belief system of his opponent and opted for rational, objectively verifiable proofs and with appeals to common values. Putting in the spotlight the change of rhetorical tactic and the interplay between the different types of polemical encounters helps to understand not only the logic behind the rhetorical choices the author made, but also his agenda. As a part of a canonical Arian book, Gadki Żydowskie played a vital cultural role. Arguably, the use of Jewish motifs plays a significant role in forming Arian group identity: the young movement needed a polemical “Other” to distinguish itself from. The moderate theology voiced by Czechowic was promoted by contrasting it with arguments labelled as Jewish. By drawing on negative stereotypes, Gadki Żydowskie sent a subliminal message to the readers to ward off from the misled ideology, promoting implicit values of the young Arian movement. At the same time, denouncing “Jewish” ideology, allowed Czechowic to repel a dangerous accusation of judaising. The choice of an anti-Jewish polemic as a framework for presenting his teaching had a second advantage, namely forming and/or reinforcing the personal identity of the author. By portraying himself as a defender of Christianity, Czechowic bolstered his authority within the movement, putting himself in the

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position of the leading Arian ideologue. Classical Aristotelian rhetoric speaks of three main modes of persuasion: through logos, the argument that appeals to logical evaluation of facts; through pathos, the appeal to the audience’s emotion, imagination, and feelings; and last but by all means not least, through ethos, the author’s self-presentation as a dependable authority, aimed at bringing the readers to accept the argument. Depending on the type of audience addressed, it might be accomplished through highlighting one’s knowledge, fame, or moral virtues. Czechowic’s Master is patient, able to address his Student’s doubts, learned in Scripture, and convincing. This effect is achieved partially by creating an environment wherein his alter ego is not only an authority on moral and theological issues – the first instance a troubled student would turn to – but also an ultimate opposition to the spiritually blind Jews. Therefore, a discussion with the opponent modelled as eternal Jews helps Czechowic harnesses the strength of the ethos quality. I shall return to this function of Czechowic’s dialogue in the last chapter.

3 Gadki Żydowskie versus Odpis: The ideal meets reality Planning the polemic Gadki Żydowskie was Czechowic’s first attempt to compose a disputation with the Jews, but it is his second text, Odpis, that makes an anti-Jewish polemic its core. The two works are related to one another in their contents and form: Gadki Żydowskie provides a paradigm of an efficacious disputation, whilst Odpis, a disputation per se, is an attempt to implement that ideal type in practice. At the very outset of Gadki Żydowskie, the Master instructs his Student about the form that such encounter should adopt. The first polemical aim is to establish a common denominator of the two religions. According to Czechowic-Master, this can be achieved through praising the noble character and unquestionable authority of Scripture passed on by Moses: I would speak to them about the dignity of the Word of God given through Moses and the Prophets (…). I would praise the Word of God, rejecting human inventions and additions. And I would show them the texts [fragments of Scripture?] that prescribe reliance on the Word and God’s ordinances alone, without adding to it or abridging it, without treading to the left or to the right.180

The Master believes that reaching an agreement on the basic tenet: the divinely inspired character of the Torah, will create the right ground for exposing the polemic’s first main point, namely differentiation between the Bible and all manmade appendices that are unreliable and should be eschewed of, the Talmud being the most evident example thereof. This assertion is but an initial step in preparing a fully-fledged attack on the Talmud. The repository of handy arguments comprises: the claim that the Talmud is a new composition; that it contains unconfirmed and nonsensical tales as well as self-contradictory fragments;

180 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 69a–69b. ‘A naprzód mówiłbym z nimi o zacności Słowa Bożego, przez Mojżesza i proroki podanego. (...) A jakbym im naprzód Słowo Boże zalecał ganiąc ludzkie wymysły i przydając ani umniejszając abo się od niego na prawo i lewo odchylając.’ Note: This chapter is an enlarged version of a text that will appear as a chapter ‘Inter-faith disputation, Christian Hebraism, or a leadership campaign? The multi-dimensional character of Marcin Czechowic’s anti-Jewish polemics’ in Michał Choptiany in Simon Burton, Piotr Wilczek (eds.) Reformed Majorities and Minorities. Refo500 Academic Studies (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck  & Ruprecht, 2018). By courtesy of Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110586565-004

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that the ancient Israelites kept moral discipline much better without the Talmud than their offspring do with it; and last but not least, that since human authors err, so do the Rabbis.181 Then, the Arian disputant can pass to the second main thesis of their polemic, namely assertion that Jesus is the promised Messiah. Employing a Socratic-like method of posing stimulating questions, the Master brings his potential Jewish interlocutor to admit that the prophecies regarding the Messiah fit to what is known about the birth of Jesus. This achieved, a Christological sermon is to be launched. The polemical template that Czechowic devised in Gadki Żydowskie can be therefore presented as a three-step endeavour: 1. Establishing a common ground: rooting the polemic in the shared holy text; 2. Distinguishing between inspired God-given lore and all human-made traditions and disparaging the Talmud as a quintessence and classical example of the latter; 3. Teaching about Jesus, the true Messiah. This chapter will examine how this polemical model was applied in Odpis and how the anti-Jewish disputation touched upon many other themes central to the Arian theological thought.

From theory to practice Preparation: Handling the Jewish decorum In Gadki Żydowskie, the Student’s first impression of the Jews is dominated by their unruly manner of conducting a debate. He complains that the Jews “[would not let him speak] talking themselves, yelling in unorderly fashion, mixing earth with heaven shout and refuse to hear out anyone, even if he was to speak words of gold.”182 The Master sympathises and advises his Student to first and foremost make the Jews respect the standards of a respectful conversation: “I would reprimand them to speak orderly,” as he puts it.183

181 Czechowic, Odpis, 59–137. 182 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 68a. ‘A jako było odpowiadać, a oni sami tylko mówią: wrzaskliwie i nieporządnie, niebo z ziemią mieszając wołają, drugiego, by też i złotymi słowy mówił, słuchać nie chcą.’ 183 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 68a. ‘tedybym (...) do porządnego mówienia onych upominał.’

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Odpis also opens with the discussion on polemical etiquette. The discussion begins with Jacob’s explanation why the Jews might at times come across as unruly when disputing with Christians. In response to Student’s complaints, Jacob compares the Jewish polemicists to hunting hounds chasing a hare: they run after the prey and bark at it simply because the hare evades them constantly: When hounds almost reach the hare, it sneaks away onto a path; the hounds follow it on the path, it runs away into bushes. Would not it be better to set a certain place and approach one another, and if [the contenders] cannot agree, should the witnesses decide who expounds Scripture better? But Christians do not act this way, and for this reason a Jew cuts in, fearing the hare would run away after finishing his matter, he [the Jew] catches it [the hare-Christian] in the middle of an argument discourse.”184

To be sure, the Christian way of presenting the Jews as noisy, angry, and even violent has been a standard polemical motif.185 For example, one of the earliest Christian–Jewish polemics, Dialogue with Trypho composed by Justin Martyr in mid the second century, records the Jewish misbehaving: Then again those who were in his company laughed and shouted in an unseemly manner. Then I rose up and was about to leave; but he, taking hold of my garment, said I should not accomplish that until I had performed what I promised. “Let not, then, your companions be so tumultuous, or behave so disgracefully,” I said. “But if they wish, let them listen in silence; or, if some better occupation prevents them, let them go away; while we, having retired to some spot, and resting there, may finish the discourse.”186

This and similar stereotypical representations of the Jewish decorum could have served as an inspiration for Odpis. Alternatively, Czechowic’s writings could 184 Czechowic, Odpis, 21–22. ‘Jako kiedy charci zająca mało nie dościgają tedy się umknie z tej drogi na ścieżkę i oni charci na tej ścieżce chcąc uchwycić on się zaś w chrust im zemknie. Azaby nie lepiej statecznie jedno miejsce wyprawić, a potym do inszego przystąpić a jeśli się zgodzić nie mogą, tedy ci, którzy przy tym bywają niechaj zeznają, który z nich lepiej i słuszniej Pismo Ś. wykłada. Ale iż tego krześcijanie nie czynią tym się dzieje, iż się Żyd w rzecz jego wrywa w połowice bojąc się, żeby mu się nie zemknął jako zając domówiwszy swej rzeczy, a przeto go chwyta w pół rzeczy jego.’ 185 For the symbolic representation of Jews as dogs in Christian polemic, see Kenneth R. Stow, Jewish Dogs. An Image and Its Interpreters (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2006). The role of the hunting motif in Christian anti-Jewish rhetoric, as well as symbolic meanings of its Jewish adaptations, particularly in medieval Haggadah illustrations, have been analysed by Marc Michael Epstein. See Marc Michael Epstein, Dreams of Subversion in Medieval Jewish Art and Literature (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997). 186 Justin Martyr, The First Apology, The Second Apology, Dialogue with Trypho, Exhortation to the Greeks, Discourse to the Greeks, The Monarchy Or The Rule of God (The Fathers of the Church, Volume 6) (Washington: CUA Press, 2010), 12.

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have reflected social reality: since the thirteenth century, spontaneous polemics wherein the Jews would take the lead became more popular,187 serving often as a channel for venting social frustrations.188 Representing Christian–Jewish relations as a hunting dogs’ chase after a hare is not new, either. The motif reappears in the mediaeval art and literature as a metaphor for the pursuit of innocent Israel by the Gentiles, one that will, however, be avenged in the world to come.189 However, in Odpis the situation is turned around since it is the Jewish polemicist who compares his fellow believers to aggressors – the hunting dogs. This reversal of roles appears puzzling; the very fact that Jacob would imagine Jews as engaged in hunting runs counter the social norms of the time. Hunting was a pastime of noblemen and landed gentry. As such, it was prohibited from other social classes (in fact an illegal hunting was considered a grave offence and was punishable by death penalty).190 Moreover, the Rabbi’s line of reasoning seems counterintuitive: by admitting that unruly, aggressive behaviour of fellow Jews is a familial social fact, Jacob supports anti-Jewish stereotype and scores an own-goal. Yet, the continuation of Jacob’s response to Gadki Żydowskie brings a solution to the apparent puzzle: Jacob does not refute the image, but reinterprets it, claiming that the Jewish polemical attacks on Christians stem not from aggression, but from desperation: Because in this world we [Jews] have no pleasure, either in authority or in delightful goods. We have lived only in constant fear and anxiety, we have suffered retribution and we have been robbed or punished heavily of old. What else do we have to look forward to other than eternal comfort in the salvation of the soul? If someone wants to take this away [as well], then he [a Jew] because of immeasurable grief is swept by fervidity, forsakes his common manners and his usual way of conduct and interrupts.191

187 David Berger, “Mission to the Jews and Jewish–Christian Contacts in the Polemical Literature in the High Middle Ages,” The American Historical Review 91 (1986): 576–591. 188 Ram Ben-Shalom, “Between Official and Private Dispute: The Case of Christian Spain and Provence in the Late Middle Ages,” AJS Review 27 (2003): 71. An example of such private disputation that took place in Majorca in 1286 was published by Ora Limor. See Ora Limor, “Polemical Varieties: Religious Disputations in 13th Century Spain,” Ibéria Judaica 2 (2010): 55–79. 189 Epstein, Dreams of Subversion. 190 According to Lithuanian Statutes from 1529. 191 Czechowic, Odpis, 21. ‘Bo nie mamy na tym świecie żadnej rozkoszy jako w państwie, tak w używaniu rzeczy rozkosznych, jedno zawżdy w strachu a w przelęknieniu i w buzowaniu i jesteśmy i w łupiestwie abo karaniu okrutnym czasów swych bywałych były. A czymże się tedy cieszymy, jedno w dusznym zbawieniu wieczną pociechę otrzymać. A gdy mu to chce odjąć i od tego go odsędzić, tedy z onego wielkiego żalu zapalczywość przystąpi i od porządku swego odstępuje i do ćwiczenia pospolitego i wrywa mu się w rzecz.’

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To make his point, the Rabbi uses a metaphor from the Bible, quoting a story from the Book of Samuel, which speaks of Prophet Nathan who approached King David asking for a verdict in what appeared to be a legal case.192 Nathan describes a forlorn and destitute man who had but one sheep, which he loved and took great care of. One day a rich neighbour of the former hosted a guest and, in order to receive him properly, wanted to slaughter a sheep. The animal he chose was the poor man’s beloved pet-sheep. Such injustice enraged the king, who ruled in favour of the poor man, understanding that the single sheep constituted his entire livelihood. In the original biblical story, David voicing the verdict fell into a trap set for him by Nathan: what was presented as a legal case was, in fact, a metaphor for immoral conduct of the king himself after he took Bathsheba from her husband. Jacob, however, ignores the moral of the story and presents the narrative as an apt description of the Jewish situation: I am asking you, why it did not bother David that he [the poor man] approached him [the king himself] to settle the case of a single sheep in spite of the great number of judges available in Jerusalem? Why did David rule against God’s law and instead of ordering a four-fold value of the sheep to be paid, he sentenced [the guilty wealthy neighbour] to death? The reason is that that the poor man had lost all his possessions and led by this feeling of grief and despair, he did not go to judges but to the king himself. David understood that and for this reason ruled the death penalty for the offender, since he [the wealthy man] had taken all the possessions of the claimant.193

At first sight, we are confronted with Jacob’s (intentional?) misreading of the original moral of the biblical story: he presents his fellow Jews as desperate, indignant underdogs, whose only merit – being God’s favourite – can be so easily denied by oppressors. However, stripping the story of its original context emphasises the king’s love and compassion for his mistreated servant and promises a merciless vengeance to the oppressor – themes much more fitting to the Jewish discourse of a persecuted yet chosen Nation. The expectation of the happiness in the world-tocome is the only hope that the Jews cherish and are ready to fight for: For this reason Jews cut in on the Christian’s word, without waiting for the latter’s conclusion in an orderly fashion. For when a Christian claims that every Jew is going to be

192 2 Sam 12. 1–7. 193 Czechowic, Odpis, 20–21. ‘pytam cię, czemu Dawid skazał przeciwko Pismu Bożemu, gdyż Bóg nie rozkazał jedno czworako płacić, a on go na śmierć skazał. Ale taż przyczyna, iż mu wszystką majętność ubogiemu wzięto z onego wielkiego żalu i zapalczywości nie szedł do sędziów według porządku pospolitego skarżyć, ale zamszywszy się, do samego króla przyszedł. Tak Dawid zrozumiał i dla tej przyczyny na gardło skazał, ponieważ iż mu wszytkiego maiętność wziął.’

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condemned forever, it is as if taking from the Jew all his hope and all in which he lays his only consolation.194

The disputation model presented and promoted in Gadki Żydowskie assumed that the Jew, being instructed to obey polemical etiquette would easily conform to the Christian rules and the dispute will smoothly move to the first polemical goal of the Arian interlocutor. In Odpis, the discussion on Jewish decorum grew out of proportions and lead to a debate on the Jews’ social situation and expected divine retribution. First disagreement: Who is the Chosen Nation? According to the Master’s paradigm presented in Gadki Żydowskie, the first polemical goal is an agreement on the authoritative text. However, since in Odpis the Rabbi dictates the order of matters under discussion, instead of agreeing that they both believe in the divinely inspired character of the Old Testament, the disputants find themselves entangled in the dispute on Jewish decorum, wherein Jacob skilfully turns the Arian criticism into a proof of Jews relationship with God. Then the Rabbi takes issue with a passage from Gadki Żydowskie wherein the Student asserts that the Jews derive their pride from a hearsay story and use those to buttress the veracity of their religion: To support their argument, they [the Jews] recalled a certain fairy tale, resembling the old Papist stories. A certain king, wishing to try which faith [or: religion] is the firmest, called for a Jew, an Armenian priest, and a Catholic priest and, talking to each of them separately about their beliefs, tried to drive them away from their faith. His menace and persuasion convinced the Catholic and Armenian priests, but he fails to persuade or threaten the Jew. Thus, he understood that it was the abiding of faiths, he turned Jewish himself and so did the priests. They [the Jews] support the certainty of their faith by this fairy tale and similar stories.195

Thus, the Student ridicules this apparent reference to the story of the conversion of the Khazar kingdom calling it “a fairy-tale, similar to those old Papist stories.” Similarly, Jacob rejects this narrative as unheard of:

194 Czechowic, Odpis, 21. ‘Także z tej przyczyny Żydowie się wrywają w rzecz nie czekając domówienia statecznego krześcijańskiego. Gdy krześcijanin mówi Żydowi, że każdy Żyd pójdzie na potępienie wieczne, tedy mu też jakoby wziął wszytko dufanie jego i w czym pokłada swoje wszytkie pociechy.’ 195 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 67b–68a.

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You [Czechowic through the Master] cite there [in Gadki Żydowskie] that Jews support their faith on [the account of] a certain king, who wished to establish which faith [religion] is true and to this aim he called for representatives of three faiths, that is a Christian, a Jew and an Armenian, to persuade and threaten them. He had the Papist and Armenian priests forsaking their faiths [religions], but he failed to persuade or threaten the Jew to renounce his. Seeing that the Jewish faith was firmer, the king converted [to Judaism] himself. I shall answer you that, truly, I have heard enough about Christian disputations with Jews organised in front of kings and other authorities. Recently, there were disputations between Jews and baptised Jews [converts] and other selected Christians [disputants] organised time after time in front of popes. A given pope would invite distinguished figures: kings and bishops, in order to listen to these disputes together. Yet, I cannot find any account of any Jew supporting [his argument] or taking to his aid that [story of] the conversion of the king who tried all faiths as you mentioned. I find support and buttress my faith in Holy Scripture given by God Himself, a more worthwhile and more certain bolster. The story about the king may or may not be true. Therefore, it is not a sure support, since none of us has either seen or heard about it or found it in Scripture. If so, such support is like leaning on a straw when walking on ice. If I wanted to support my faith on something other than Scripture, I could have found stronger proofs than [the story about] the king, and I shall bring up what you, anyone, and I could see and hear.196

The narrative to which both the Student of Gadki Żydowskie and Rabbi Jacob of Odpis refer is the story of the Khazar king. Until recently, the historicity of the existence of the Khazar kingdom, as well as instalment of Judaism as the official religion thereof, has been generally accepted not only by pre-modern Jews, 196 Czechowic, Odpis, 26–27. ‘Przywodzisz też tam, iż się Żydowie barzo tym podpierają i wiarę swoją twierdzą, iż jeden król doświaczać chciał któraby wiara była prawdziwsza i wezwał do siebie ze trzech wiar ludzi, to jest krześcianina, Żyda i Ormianina, namawiając i grożąc naprzód księdza papieskiego i Ormiańskiego, iż odstąpił każdy od wiary swej, lecz Żyda nie mógł ani namówić ani odstraszyć od jego wiary. Obaczywszy to król, iż była wiara żydowska pewniejsza, sam żydem został. Odpowiem ci na to, zaprawdę, iżem dosyć słychał o rozmowach krześcijańskich z Żydy i które rozmowy i dysputacje były przed królem i przed zacnymi osobami. Na ostatek były przed trzemi papieżmi czas po czasie rozmowy i dysputacje między Żydy z krzczonym Żydem i z inszymi nauczonymi krześciany, do której rozmowy każdy papież z osobna zwiódł wielkiej zacności osób jako królów, kardynałów, z nimi wespół chcąc tego przesłuchać w tych wszystkich rozmowach i dysputacyjach, a nie mogę naleźć napisania, aby który Żyd tym podeprzeć się miał, abo sobie to na pomoc brać, iż ten król o którym piszesz izby miał próbować wiary i potym żydem zostać. Bowiem zacniejsza i pewniejsza rzecz jest Pismo Ś. od samego Boga nadane, którym się podpierać mogą i utwierdzać wiarę swą. Albowiem ta historyja o tym królu może być, iż się tak działo, i może też być, że się to nigdy nie działo. A przeto tym się podpierać nie jest pewna, gdy tego nie widział z nas żaden, ani słychał, ani w świętym piśmie tego nie najdzie. A gdy tak, tedyby tym się podpierać jakoby na gołym ledzie podpierać się trzciną wziąwszy ją w rękę. Ale gdybym chciał wiarę swoją podpierać nie Pismem, abo iżbym Pisma nie rozumiał, tedy lepszych dowodów ukażeć i pewniejszych niźli o onym królu, ale co ukażę co teraz widzę i słyszę, ty i każdy z nas.’

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but also by modern scholars.197 One of the sources regarded as evidence for the existence and conversion of the Khazars is the correspondence between Hasdai Ibn Shaprut, a minister at the court in Cordoba, and the Khazar king named Joseph. The document was discovered by Abraham Akrish and published for the first time in 1577 in Constantinople. Another document that confirms the story was found in the Cairo Genizah and published by Solomon Schechter in 1912 (the so-called Schechter Letter).198 The story of the conversion entered into the popular consciousness and the canon of Jewish literature with its inclusion in a twelfth-century philosophical treatise Sefer Kuzari or Book of the Kuzari written in Spain in Judeo-Arabic by Judah Halevi. Halevi’s book, whose main thrust is a polemical dispute presented in a form of a dialogue between representatives of various viewpoints, describes an initiative of the Khazar king who summoned a philosopher, a Muslim, a Christian, and a Jew to have them discuss principles of faith. The testimony of the latter contender proved convincing and, as a result, the king adopted Judaism and installed it as the official religion of the kingdom. Halevi’s treatise was translated into Hebrew by Judah Ibn Tibbon in 1167, but it was only three centuries later that it gained broad recognition, and, among others, popularised the story of the Khazar conversion.199 In the context of Christian–Jewish polemics, the story of the conversion of the Khazar kingdom provided an invaluable Jewish counterargument to the Christian interpretation of the much-quoted passage from the Book of Genesis: “The sceptre shall not depart from Judah, nor a lawgiver from between his feet, until Shiloh come; and unto him shall the gathering of the people be (Genesis 49:10).”200 Christians interpreted this verse claiming that the fact that the Jews lost sovereignty in Judea, that is the sceptre was indeed removed from Israel, confirms that the Messiah, i.e. Jesus, has come. This argument loses its validity with the existence of a Jewish king and a political entity wherein Judaism is the state religion. The conversion of the Khazar kingdom was therefore much more than a historical-political event: in the world of Jewish–Christian polemics, it was saturated with theological

197 Most recently, the conversion of the Khazar people to Judaism was disproved by Shaul Stampfer. See Shaul Stampfer, “Did the Khazars Convert?,” Jewish Social Studies 19 (2013): 1–72. 198 Solomon Schechter, “An Unknown Khazar Document,” Jewish Quarterly Review 3 (1912), 182–219. 199 For a discussion on the Jewish uses of the book of Kuzari in various contexts, see Shear, The Kuzari. 200 The uses of Genesis 49:10 in polemical Christian literature was analysed by Adolf (Zeev) Posnanski in Adolf Posnanski, Schiloh: Ein Beitrag Zur Geschichte Der Messiaslehre (Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs, 1904), 345–449.

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meaning. The Rabbi’s rejection of the Khazar conversion as an unconfirmed narrative of dubious origin is an understandable rebuttal of the Arian charge, but also – a remarkable divergence from typical Jewish apologetics. By distancing himself from what he holds to be a mere legend, Jacob fails to recognise the theological potential of the story and thus proves himself ill-prepared to lead an inter-faith disputation.201 Denying that this uncertain story could be of any use as a support of Jewish beliefs, which would be “as if I was leaning on a reed when walking on bare ice,”202 Jacob points to four true pillars – “fundaments,” as he calls them, on which his people’s faith rests. First, the Jews are constantly reaffirmed in their convictions by comparing themselves to Christians, who are always prone to trust any unproven, anti-Jewish gossip, such as the blood libels: “Christians claim and believe it strongly, that Jews need Christian blood and your holy bread and that they [the Jews] cannot dispense with it.”203 According to Jacob, the Jewish religious consciousness and identity are strengthened by the contrast with those ludicrous Christian beliefs: We know that they do us harm [by their accusations] since such things [ritual use of blood and Host] are foreign not only to our actions but even to our thoughts. This certainty may be a support for my faith and the faith of any Jew, and consequently, Christian faith is bound to weaken.204

The second “fundament” presented by Jacob also derives its strength from the comparison with (Roman) Christianity: The Church is said to succumb to peasants’ stories about the saints appearing unexpectedly: just like in our fathers’ times so today – one hears often that when a man or a woman claims that some saint appeared to them in a given spot, they [the Christians], without even examining [that claim] thoroughly, found churches on that spot, establish indulgences, even

201 Nota bene, later during the discussion on Talmud’s role in explaining Scriptural apparent illogicalities, Jacob addresses the difficulty posed by Genesis 49:10. He points that collation of facts in the political history of the kingdom of Judah appears to render the verse untrue: ‘the sceptre’ cannot be a reference to the uninterrupted rule of the kings of Judah, given that the after rebuilding the Temple, the rule of Judah was discontinued. See Czechowic, Odpis, 82–83. 202 Czechowic, Odpis, 28. ‘Krześcianie mówią i wielką wiarę w tym swą pokładają, iż Żydowie potrzebują krwię krześcijańskiej i chleba waszego ś. i przez tego Żydowie nie mogą być.’ 203 Czechowic, Odpis, 28. ‘a ja wiedząc to, iż nam na tym krzywdę czynią, nie tylko w uczynności, ale i w pomyśleniu tego u nas nie masz. A gdy taką pewność mamy każdy Żyd, który by chciał swoją wiarę utwierdzić, tedy tym się podeprzeć może a stąd słabieć musi wiara krześciańska.’ 204 Czechowic, Odpis, 28; Compare Israel Yuval’s description of a completely different Jewish reaction to blood libel Israel J. Yuval, “‘They Tell Lies: You Ate the Man’: Jewish Reaction to Ritual Murder Accusations,” in Religious Violence between Christians and Jews: Medieval Roots, Modern Perspectives, ed. Anna Sapir Abulafia (New York: Macmillan, 2002), 86–106.

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though the stories are obviously made up. This strengthens our faith [religion] and weakens yours.205

Such charges against the Catholic Church were commonplace in the repertoire of Reformed preachers. The Protestant campaign against the mediaeval cult of saints questioned the validity of miracles, apparitions by claiming their diabolic or magical provenience. This rhetorical move helped to establish Catholicism as a false religion, which needs the support of necromancers and miracle-makers to support their ideology.206 Jacob’s references to Catholic beliefs as a “fundament” of Jewish faith strike as possibly inauthentic. To begin with, deriving certainty of Jewish creed from the erroneous Christian belief in the blood libels and their pagan-like cult of saints seems to be a logically dubious argument. Moreover (or perhaps – for this reason), such a claim has never been produced by a Jewish polemicist in a dispute with a Christian. As Israel Yuval has shown, throughout the Middle-Ages, Jewish discourse tended to internalise the accusations, reversing their symbolical meanings and construing counter-narratives. It was only in the sixteenth-century Shevet Yehuda by Solomon Ibn Verga that doubt was cast upon the veracity of the libel. However, even there the Jewish author put the dismissal of the calumny in the mouth of his Christian character, a sage named Thomas.207 In his analysis of the text, Yuval agrees with Po-Chia Hsia’s opinion that shift of the discourse was possible only in Reformation Europe, which for the first time saw a variety of competing Christian churches.208 If genuinely voiced by Rabbi Jacob, this rejection of the

205 Czechowic, Odpis, 29. ‘widzę też za czasów ojców naszych, czasów niedawnych i teraz i słychać tego dosyć, iż się tak działo gdyby przyszedł lada chłop abo niewiasta, którzy by powiedzieli, iż się im ukazał jaki święty bądź na jakimkolwiek miejscu będzie tedy nie doświadczając tego statecznie wnet że kościoły zakładają, odpusty ustawiają, co jest rzecz doświadczona i jawna, iż to zmyślone rzeczy są. Tedy stąd się twierdzi wiara nasza, a wasza nieco upaść ma.’ 206 Helen L. Parish, “‘Lying Histories Fayning False Miracles’: Magic, Miracles and Mediaeval History in Reformation Polemic,” Reformation & Renaissance Review 4 (2002): 230–240. 207 A Christian scholar who denied the libel on theological grounds was Andreas Osiander. Following the murder of a boy in Poessing in 1529, Osiander argued that the ritual murder would be against the principles of Judaism and instead suggested that the murdered children could have fallen on knives. See Ronnie Po-Chia Hsia, The Myth of Ritual Murder: Jews and Magic in Reformation Germany (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988), 136–143. Notably, Osiander’s pamphlet Whether it is True and Credible that the Jews Secretly Kill Children and Make Use of their Blood was published anonymously. See Joy Kammerling, “Andreas Osiander, the Jews, and Judaism,” in Jews, Judaism, and the Reformation in Sixteenth-Century Germany, ed. Stephen G. Burnett and Phillip Bell Dean (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 219–248. Osiander’s claim was refuted by another Lutheran theologian, Johannes Eck. 208 Yuval, “‘They Tell Lies,’” 100–102.

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blood libel and presenting its ludicrousness as a buttress for Jewish faith would be an original polemical move in the history of Christian–Jewish disputations. However, the argument that predicates Jewish self-confidence on the Christian belief in the blood libels – a calumny decisively rejected by Czechowic as one of the Papists’ fabrications – presents an opportunity for the Arian theologian’s contra. Jacob’s case can be summarised as follows: Christians believe in the blood libels, which the Jews know for a fact are a baseless defamation; therefore Christian faith is proven to rest on unreliable bases whilst Judaism gains credibility. This could be just convincing (although the logic of such implication is problematic) had the argument been presented to a Catholic, or anyone believing in the blood libels. But Czechowic denies the veracity of the calumny, and Jacob’s point only helps him to attain a double goal: expose that the Jewish faith rests on shaky foundations (because its verification comes through comparison with Christian superstition), and present his version of Christianity as the true and free from nonsensical folk wisdom. In the light of the above, Jacob’s argument presents itself as almost too convenient for his opponent to be genuine. The third of Jacob’s “fundaments” returns to the theme of the gentile conversion to Judaism. Even though he does not give credence to the conversion of the Khazar king, the Rabbi draws upon current Christian conversions to Judaism, occurring everywhere from Spain, and Ottoman Empire, to Poland, to prove that the Scriptural evidence that the Jews are the Chosen People is recognised even by Christians.209 As the last “fundament” supporting Jewish belief in their “chosenness,” Jacob mentions the miracles through which God showed his love to Israel in the Bible. This argument, consistent with the Jewish identity emphasised daily in the liturgy, is also an elegant reference to the opening of the current discussion. Jacob began with the image of a Jews who are like the desperate, poor peasant whose only hope is the just judge, and finished it with the almost triumphant image of God performing miracles on behalf of His People. In response to Jacob, Czechowic ridicules the “fundaments of the Jewish faith:”

209 In their analysis of the phenomenon of conversion to Judaism in early-modern Europe, Martin Mulsow, and Richard Henry Popkin acknowledged different reasons and circumstances of cases of conversion to Judaism. They point to the fact that the European adherents of anti-Trinitarian doctrine comprised a significant percentage of the proselytes. The usual route of the converts to be led through Eastern Europe to Lithuania and further to the Islamic Ottoman Empire. Jacob’s comments seem therefore to be confirmed by modern research. See Secret Conversions to Judaism in Early Modern Europe. Vol. 122 ed. by Martin Mulsow and Richard Henry Popkin (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 3–5.

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Dear Jacob, you showed me four proofs of your Jewish faith, which you call “fundaments” for their strength – so that any Jew can build upon them with no need for the Scripture. I believe you that in your eyes they can appear as made of oak-tree. But whoever looks at them more closely, as I do myself and as I show to you, would see that they are made of weed or shrubs – although they could have served your ancestors they do not serve you at all.210

The Arian leader declares that he sees no value in undermining other religions: neither does he open by reference to phenomena belonging to the surrounding reality, nor does he see a comparison with another religion a valid identity-forming factor: “It is a very poor and weak proof to support one’s faith by repudiating another’s. Personally, I would not buttress my own faith by weakening somebody else’s.”211 Instead, Czechowic presents four pillars (a mock counterpart of Jacob’s four fundaments), on which his people support their belief. These are theological dogmas: the existence of God the Father, Jesus, His Son raised to Messianic function, the Holy Spirit, through which understanding is gained, and Scripture, whose directives are implemented and kept pure, unadulterated with folk superstitions (as the Jewish ritual is). This delineating of the four theological principles can be seen as outlining what Max Kadushin calls organic concepts: a set of fundamental, irreducible principles on which the Arian Christians found their faith.212 According to Kadushin’s definition, each of such organic notions is interwoven with all concepts within a given religious system, and thus it implies the entire structure, without being descriptive of it, the same way a genotype contains all features of a given life form. Czechowic’s response is clearly demagogical: by presenting organic concepts of the Arian faith, he seems to be contrasting Judaism predicated on ever-changing observable events and circumstances (such as contemporary conversions to Judaism) with true Christianity that relies on nothing but eternal and spiritual truths. Czechowic’s pillars of the Christian faith open the discussion on who is the true Chosen People – Verus Israel. Czechowic brings up what he calls, pieces of evidence that God has chosen a new people of His – the true Christians (i.e. the 210 Czechowic, Odpis, 36. ‘Wskazałeś, mój miły Jakubie, cztery dowody teraźniejszej swej wiary żydowskiej, które jakoby od pewnej mocy ich podeszwami nazywasz. Dla tego, że się na nich każdy Żyd budować bez pisma bezpiecznie może. W tymci ja nie wątpię, że się tobie mogą zdać dębowymi, ale kto się im dobrze przypatrzy, jako się im ja przypatruję i ony też tobie pokazuję (iż chociaż to przodkom waszym służyło, ale wam bynajmniej), dozna tego, że trzciniane abo z sitowia urobione są.’ 211 Czechowic, Odpis, 29. ‘A to słaby i barzo głupi dowód ku utwierdzeniu wiary swej z zwątleniem a ohydzeniem cudzej. Jabych tak pewnie nigdy podeprzeć swej nie chciał wątląc cudzą.’ 212 Max Kadushin, Organic Thinking: A Study in Rabbinic Thought (Whitefish: Kessinger Publishing, 2001), 183.

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Arians), and that He approves of their worship. These proofs include an immediate and discernible change of hearts of the chosen ones, abandonment of bad habits, brotherly love beyond any ethnic or social divisions, but also numerous contemporary conversions to the true religion – for the spiritual reasons, rather than a search of earthly gains. Having juxtaposed the Jewish arrogance with highly ethical and saturated with brotherly love conduct of the Arians, Czechowic argues that even God’s miracles speak in favour of the Arian election. As an example, he recalls fruitless attempts of Lutheran and Calvinist nobility to lobby the king and to expel the Polish Brethren from Poland.213 The fact that the decrees were not implemented and the Arians enjoyed legal protection is for Czechowic a sign of God’s providence: “the stormy council [i.e. the Diet of 1569] was not inspired by God and could not survive against God, Christ, and against us. Instead, it passed away, as a cloud passes without producing any rain. Does one need naming any more signs through which God shows that we are His Chosen People?”214 The entire discussion on the “fundaments” (or pillars) of faith, which is initiated by the Rabbi constitutes a digression from the polemical ideal outlined by the Master in Gadki Żydowskie, aptly showcases the polemical abilities of the two opponents. Taking up the Student’s comments regarding Jewish decorum, the Rabbi turns the apparent haughtiness into a sign of injustice that will be vindicated by God and follows with an original reading of King David’s judgement story, which he then ties to the ultimate proof of God’s providence. In response to his witty and innovative rebuttal of the Arian criticism, Czechowic proclaims the Arians as the New Chosen People, a status established not only in spite of Jacob and the Jews, but also against other Christians, particularly those who participated in the “stormy council” of 1569.

Why establishing common ground is harder than expected: how to read the Scripture Had Odpis followed the paradigm that Czechowic described at the beginning of Gadki Żydowskie, Marcin would have by now convinced Jacob that the Bible is the only reliable support for arguments, and would have him to relinquish the 213 The events took place in 1569 on a Sejm in Lublin and were the first organised attempt to expel the Arians from Poland. See Stanisław Bodniak, “Sprawa Wygnania,” 52–59. Also Szczucki, Marcin Czechowic, 129. 214 Czechowic, Odpis, 49. ‘A wżdy się ta burzliwa rada, iż z Boga nie była, ostać przeciw Bogu nie mogła, ale jako chmura bez dżdżu tak żadnej szkody nie uczyniwszy przeminęła. Ale co potrzeba więcej znaków wyliczać, którymi to Bóg znacznie pokazuje, iż jego obranym ludem jesteśmy?’

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Talmud and other traditional commentaries and eventually accept the Arian exegesis. Apparently, having realised that the polemic drifts away from the desired path, Czechowic made an effort to redirect the discussion back to the planned track. In Gadki Żydowskie, the Master preached that after curbing the Jews’ arrogance, the Christian polemicist ought to establish the common ground – point to the highest authority of the shared Holy text while debunking man-made traditions (“I would praise the Word of God, rejecting human inventions and additions”). Construing one’s argument based on the Bible and not on human tradition should become the foundation of the polemic. In Odpis, the necessity of establishing disputation ground rules is felt by the Rabbi, too. However, whilst Czechowic-Master wishes the Jews to “reject their Rabbis” since “by not relying on the Word of God alone like on the springs of the living water, they dig for themselves wells that cannot retain healthy water,”215 the Rabbi’s concern is the exegetical method practised by Czechowic: It is hard to argue with you since each time when I present a fragment of the Holy Writ against you, you respond immediately that here Scripture should be understood in the spiritual sense. When I show another fragment, which could shatter your writing, you say that it should be understood figuratively, not according to what the text itself says [...] if you can agree to give up on these tricks, I shall be happy to discuss with you in writing or in person.216

Elsewhere he adds: “do not take away from me what you yourself use, that is [the use of] the exposition of Scripture. If you want to employ the Talmud, which is a biblical exegesis, why would you deny me doing the same? I wish to apply exegesis that explains Scripture, and not abuses or damages it.”217 What the Rabbi seems to be supplicating is for both parties to focus on the literary meaning of Scripture. However, neither does he deny the manifold levels

215 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 69 b. See Jeremiah 2:13 “My people have committed two sins: they have forsaken me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water.” 216 Czechowic, Odpis, 54. ‘Też to trudna przeciwko tobie pisać. Gdy które miejsce świętego pisma przywiodę, które będzie przeciwko tobie, tedy wnet odpowiesz, iż tam to ś. pismo rozumie się być duchownym obyczajem wykładane. A jeśli zaś drugie miejsce Ś. Pisma pokażę, które będzie burzyło pisanie twoje, tedy mówisz, iże to ono miejsce figurą jest, ani tak wyrozumiano być ma jako szczyry tekst opiewa (...). Ale raczysz mi to pozwolić tych trzech fortylów nie używać, rad będę pisał abo ustnie mówił z tobą.’ 217 Czechowic, Odpis, 59. ‘Ale mi tego nie odejmuj czego sam używasz, to jest wykładania pisma. Bo gdy Talmudu używać chcesz to jest wykładania pisma: a czemu byś go mnie bronić miał? Gdyż ja wykładu takiego używać chcę, który by pismo objaśniał, nie który by je gwałcić abo psować miał.’

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of interpretation, nor is he ready to ignore them. He follows up with a suggestion: “unless Scripture itself speaks through an example or a figure – and there are a few such places – let it be forbidden for us to uproot the text and read it as a figure, exemplum, or [a reference to] a spiritual matter.”218 Following the traditional approach of the ancient and mediaeval biblical exegetes, the Rabbi believes that certain parts of Scripture were written in a figurative language, which does not shy away from allusions, omissions, and other features that require elucidation. Not only does the Bible provoke the interpretation; the interpretation becomes an approach to the text, that “speaks through” metaphors and allegories. At the same time, Jacob is aware of the alternative, spiritual (that is – Christological) exegesis practised by the Christians, which he sees as uprooting the original text. In response, Czechowic declares his full commitment to support arguments with Scripture only, but refuses to relinquish the exegetical “tricks:” In a discussion and in a correspondence alike, one needs first to bring up arguments from Holy Scripture. Whatever is brought correctly and truly ought to be accepted; whatever is not [explained clearly in Scripture], should be explained through Scripture itself and [with the help of] other sources. The first thing [such exegesis] should take into account is the reasoning and purpose of the author and the character of the matter at hand. In Scripture, there are different modes of speech. As you admit yourself and as anyone would: why should one refuse that wherever [Scripture uses] a figure it should be explained as a figure; wherever [Scripture speaks through] a spiritual sense it should be [accepted as] a spiritual sense, whenever [Scripture uses] the similarity [of one thing] to another, why should not the character of this similarity be explained?219

For example, he clarifies, how could one believe that a real snake spoke to Eve in the Garden of Eden? If it was a real snake indeed, how could one explain that despite God having declared the eternal war between the reptile and a human species, contemporary Italians keep pet-snakes that never bite them and of which they take care? Hence, concludes Czechowic, the snake from the book of Genesis has to be a metaphor, the true meaning of which is Satan. Despite attempts to establish the ground rules for the polemic, Czechowic and Jacob are both deeply committed to their understanding of the tasks of

218 Czechowic, Odpis, 55. ‘Chyba, żeby samo pismo mówiło przykładem abo figurą, jakoć kilka miejsc ukażę, ale nam niech nie będzie wolno szczerego tekstu z korzenia swego wyrywać abo wykopać, a na figurę abo na przykład, abo na duchowne rzeczy wykładać.’ 219 Czechowic, Odpis, 56. ‘A iż w Ś. Piśmie są rozmaite sposoby mówienia: jako i sam przyznawasz i każdy to zeznać musi: a czemuż by to musiało być zahamowano aby gdzie figura jest jako figura nie miała być wykładana, a gdzie zmysł duchowny jako duchowny, a gdzie podobieństwo od jakiej rzeczy, aby własność onego podobieństwa nie miała być wyrażona?’

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the correct biblical hermeneutics. For Czechowic, the main objective is to exclude traditional exegetical works; Jacob wishes to ensure that his opponent will not read his own meaning into the text. Yet the Rabbi’s criticism cannot make the Arian theologian reconsider his hermeneutic principles: Czechowic is convinced of the existence of a single interpretation, which can be uncovered or not, but cannot be compromised. Seemingly, this lack of common methodological fundaments is the chief reason why the disputation between Jacob and Czechowic cannot follow the polemical paradigm envisaged in Gadki Żydowskie.

Talmud and Tradition The Talmud in Gadki Żydowskie: What is zakon In the first of Czechowic’s anti-Jewish polemics, Gadki Żydowskie, the Talmud is hardly discussed. Not only does the Master fall short to cite the text, but he hardly deals with its contents: the only specific references to the Talmud as a piece of literature are the Master’s accusations of it being human-made, self-contradictory, and full of unbelievable tales (this feature, known as stultitiae, was the reason why mediaeval polemicists would invariably indict the Talmud).220 Otherwise, the Master treats the Talmud as a generic term that signifies the entirety of the Jewish oral tradition, which he holds was rendered obsolete with the coming of Jesus. Almost unnoticeably does the Master switch from talking about the Talmud to referring to the Jewish law, which, in turn, comes to mean the Jewish Bible. He uses the word zakon, which translates as ‘covenant,’ but also as ‘the Law,’ and ‘the Torah,’ and thus sustains more than one meaning.221 This generalisation was in line with the Master’s rhetorical agenda: defending the foundation of Protestant theology, the sola scriptura principle, he opposes any other religious tradition, which was, or could be, raised to the authority of a divine lore. Elevation of exegesis to the status of a dogma, he argues, is an idolatrous feature of Rabbinical Judaism and “Papist” Christianity alike. However, such syllogistic generalisation poses a theological difficulty, pointed out by the Student:

220 For the charge against stultitiae in mediaeval polemics see Judah M. Rosenthal, “The Talmud on Trial: The Disputation at Paris in the Year 1240 (1),” The Jewish Quarterly Review 47 (1956): 58–76. 221 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 82a–83a.

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[the Jews] began to question me: “do you believe that our Torah [zakon] is the word of God?” To which I responded: “I believe.” Thus they asked: “do you believe that it is perfect and sufficient?” I answered: “I believe that it used to be but now it has lost its importance because it has expired, faded, and ceased […].” [They said:] “you confirmed that you believe that [Torah – zakon] is the word of God and that the word of God is eternal. Thus, Torah [zakon] is eternal.” You [the Master] also claim that it used to be perfect, but is no longer, and that it has faded. Can the word of God fade? Does its perfection not bespeak the fact that God would not allow to add or take away from it, but rely on what is in it?222

The Student seems to imply that by criticising the broadly understood Jewish lore [zakon], the Master rejects the authority of the Torah. Apparently, his question strikes a sensitive note, as it makes the Master address a more complex matter. At first, instead of giving a straightforward answer, the Master shields himself behind the alleged equivocality present already in the Jewish rhetoric. He reverts the question back at his interlocutor asking him to define what precisely the Jews mean by zakon: I ask you [the Student], tell me, in your understanding, what do they [the Jews] mean by the word zakon? All writings composed in the Jewish language before Christ’s coming by Moses and the Prophets? Or else, what we refer to as the Old Testament, in contrast to our [New Testament]? Or only the books of Moses [the Pentateuch]? Or perhaps, only God’s instruction, which we call the Decalogue or the Ten Commandments? Or only the part of Mosaic writings concerned with ritual laws and government in the Israelite state? Or divine promises passed on to us in writing by Moses and other scribes according to God’s order? Or the spiritual, natural, and eternal law, which the corporeal one foretold?223

222 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 82a–83a. ‘thak mię pytać poczęli mówiąc: a wierzysz ty temu, iż nasz zakon jest zakonem i Słowem Bożym? Jam odpowiedział, iż wierzę. Potym pytali: wierzyszli theż, iż jest doskonałym i dostatecznym? Powiedziałem, wierzę, iż był, ale już teraz nie jest w tej wadze, ponieważ wziął swój koniec, zwiotczał a ustał. (...) Powiedziałeś na pytanie, iż wierzysz, że jest Słowem Bożym, a Słowo Boże na wieki trwa. Otóż zakon na wieki trwa.’ 223 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 83a–83b. ‘Otóż ja ciebie pytam, powiedz mi, jakoś to z nich wyrozumiał, co też oni przez to słowo zakon rozumieją? Czyli to wszystko, cokolwiek zdawna przed przyściem Christusowym językiem żydowskiem pisano przez Mojżesza i proroki, co my też wzglądem naszego Nowego, Testamentem Starym nazywamy? czyli tylko samy księgi mojżeszowe? czyli jeszcze samo przykazanie Boże, które dziesięcią słów, abo dziesięciorgiem przykazanim nazywamy? czyli część tylko tę pisma mojżeszowego, która w sobie zamyka ustawy około służby Bożej i rządu rzeczy pospolitej Izraelskiej? Czyli z osobna o zacnych obietnicach bożych, tak przez Mojżesza, jako i przez insze pisarze po nim z rozkazania Boga wiecznego na piśmie nam zostawionych i oddanych? czyli o zakonie duchownym przyrodzonym i wiecznym, który on cielesny zalecał ku niemu pokazował?’

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In other words, continues the Master, do the Jews speak of the written word, which gave foundation to the rituals of flesh or the eternal spiritual covenant? This question seemingly perplexed the Student, and made the Master finally clarify his own stance: By Mosaic this-worldly law [zakon] I mean all regulations, superficial orders described in the Books of Moses and concerned with ritual, jurisdiction, and social norms, that the Israelites were obliged to keep diligently lest they were deemed guilty and punished. By God’s eternal law I mean, following Paul [Romans 2:14–15224] the natural law and order that is the internal guard of human conscience, which instructs them whenever they act right or wrong either towards God or towards a fellow man […].225

By pointing to the misleading use of the word zakon that fails to distinguish between “the world of flesh” and “the world of spirit,” Czechowic-Master once again reinstates the basic distinction between the two, leaving unscathed the accusation that he had renounced the divine status of the Torah. The status of the Old Testament was one of the apples of discord between Czechowic and various steams of Arian radicals and judaisers.226 The Student’s question, which seems to suggest that the Master could be a proponent of this heretical, judaising stance, might have been included in the disputation to provide a springboard for the Master’s authoritative confession of Arian faith. In all, the discussion on the nature and role of the Talmud as conducted in Gadki Żydowskie gyrates around the Master’s chief rhetorical goal: to present the book as a metonymy for carnal, Old Testamental Judaism.

224 “For when the Gentiles, which have not the law, do by nature the things contained in the law, these, having not the law, are a law unto themselves: Which shew the work of the law written in their hearts, another.” 225 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 87b. ‘Przez mojżeszów zakon doczesny rozumiem wszystkie inne ustawy, rozkazanie zwierzchowne, w księgach mojżeszowych porządkiem swym opisane, tak około nabożeństwa, jak około sądów miejskich, także i około obyczajów, których wszyscy Izraelczycy pod pewną winą i karaniem, bez folgi i miłosierdzia, przestrzegać byli powinni. Zakon zaś on Boży wieczny nazywam wedle Pawła zakonem i prawem przyrodzonym, Rzym. 2, v 14, 15. To jest wnętrzne ono rządzenie sumienia człowieka a narodu każdego, które człowieka winuje i wymawia, gdy co abo złego abo dobrego uczyni tak z strony Boga jako też i bliźniego.’ 226 Main radical opinions on the relationship between the two testaments, and consequently – between Christianity and Judaism, had been discussed in Ogonowski’s Socynianizm a Oświecenie. One of the approaches that Ogonowski presents is a humanist view of the Hebrew Bible as a relic of a bygone, barbarian morality the link to which discredits Christianity, too.

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The Talmud in Odpis: A traditional exegesis or sola scriptura? Contrarily to Gadki Żydowskie, the disputation in Odpis makes the Talmud a subject discussed on its own rights, whose treatment takes up almost half of the entire polemic. The dispute is prefaced with Jacob’s expressing his surprise with Czechowic’s criticism of the Talmud, of which, so he claims remembering the one-dimensional treatment of the subject in Gadki Żydowskie, the Arian author has but superficial knowledge based on secondary sources exclusively. The Rabbi says: I am surprised by your writing that mocks and tramples our Talmud since I know you never learned it, and that you are merely informed about some stories and sermons taken out of the Talmud and collected by some of our Rabbis. One is free to accept and believe in these sermons and stories, as passed on by a rabbi. But as to our own Talmud, every Jew should keep and fulfil it and trust that it had been given by the Holy Prophet Moses and whatever it contains is not taken out of the blue [lit: out of a silly, barren head], but is [an explanation of the] Biblical text: a superfluous word or a letter, or inflection of a word.227

This argument of Rabbi Jacob follows the line of defence of the Talmud introduced by Nachmanides in the 1263 Barcelona disputation. In the course of probably the most famous of Christian–Jewish polemics, the Christian speaker, Friar Pablo Christiani, resorted to the use of the Talmud to prove Church’s messianic teachings. The successful counter-strategy of Nachmanides was to distinguish between different categories of the Jewish texts: the Bible, accepted as authoritative and God-given; the Talmud that explains the 613 commandments given in the Torah; and Midrash, that is rabbinic sermons and aggadic stories, the belief in which is up to the individual, but cannot be held as representative of Jewish beliefs.228 Jacob’s claim seems to be based on this division, but he also argues

227 Czechowic, Odpis, 9. ‘Dziwuję się barzo temu pisaniu twemu, szkalając a nadeptając ganisz Talmud nasz, o czym wiem iżeś go nie barzo świadom i nauki jego nigdy się nie uczył jedno, co wiem, iż niektórych gadek, abo kazania Talmuda zebrane niektórych rabbinów naszych pisanie, wiadomość o nich masz, które kazanie abo gadki takie wolne są każdemu Żydowi przyjmować i wierzyć im według onego rabina pisania. Ale własny Talmud, który każdy Żyd powinien trzymać i wypełnić, i wierzę, iż jest z ust świętego proroka Mojżesza nam dany, i cokolwiek napisano w nim jest tedy za dowodem ś. Bibliey z tekstu i przyczyny zbytniego słowa napisane w Bibliey abo zbytniej litery, abo odmienienie słowa, a nic nie ustawiono z głowy czczej i próżnej.’ 228 For the translation of Nachmanides’ explication see Frank Talmage, ed., Disputation and Dialogue: Readings in the Jewish-Christian Encounter (New York: KTAV Publishing House Inc., 1975), 82–83. For an analysis of the disputation, see Robert Chazan, Barcelona and Beyond: The Disputation of 1263 and Its Aftermath (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992); Cecil Roth, “The Disputation of Barcelona (1263),” The Harvard Theological Review, 43 (1950), 117–144.

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that Czechowic’s knowledge is restricted only to the Midrash, since knowing the Talmud (the Rabbi refers to it as “our Talmud”) comes only through learning it. In his attempt to demonstrate the pragmatic and beneficent role of the Talmud, Rabbi Jacob explains how the four-partite division of the book responds to the daily needs of the community, defining and shaping their worship, dietary laws, jurisdiction, and the relationship between sexes. He says: The Talmud [was written in order to] understand the Five Books of Moses. How to properly observe Sabbath and other holidays as well as days of God’s glory [out of gratefulness] for His generous gifts – this constitutes the first section. The second section deals with eating [ritually] impure foods, such as cattle, game, birds and fish, blood and carcass [the information about which] was not passed down by Moses. How would one know what is allowed and what is not? But he [Moses] taught that orally, hinting at various issues. The third section is on marriage and divorce, [treating] dowry and impurity of pregnancy. The fourth section deals with all types of conflict, material goods, inheritance after ancestors and relatives: [the laws] that are not expressed in the books of Moses – in the text itself. However, Moses passed full and perfect knowledge to his servant Joshua and to seventy men who had God’s Spirit.229

This structure of the work, matching the Arba’ah Turim chalakhic code rather than the Talmud itself, is swiftly corrected by Czechowic, who points to the distinction between Mishnah and Gemarah and formal, six-partite division of the Mishnah on orders.230 This difference in how the two sides view the structure of the Talmud appears important: the Rabbi, who as noted, believes that “knowing our Talmud means learning it,” refers to the division followed by the yeshiva curriculum.

229 Czechowic, Odpis, 60. ‘Ale własny Talmud jest naukę wyrozumieć, pięciory księgi mojżeszowe. To jest, jako Szabat i inszych świąt i chwały Bożej powszechne dni za hojne dary jego jakoby wcale i porządnie miały być: to jest jeden rozdział. Drugi rozdział około jedzenia rzeczy nieczystych, jako bydło źwierz i ptactwo i ryby i krwię z łów i trupów, których Mojżesz nie wyraził jakby każdą rzecz poznać, która by wolna ku używaniu, a która nie wolna. Ale usty nauczył i znaki dawał o różnościach. Trzeci rozdział o małżeństwie i o rozwodzie, i o wienie białogłowskim i o nieczystości czasu białogłowskiego. Czwarty rozdział o wszelakie sądy, zwady, dóbr pieniężnych i imion i dziedzictwa przodków swych, które nie są wyrażone wszytkich artykułów i akcej w księgach mojżeszowych w szczyrym tekście. Lecz Mojżesz wiernemu słudze swemu Jozue i onym 70. mężom, którzy byli obdarzeni duchem Bozym naukę zupełną i doskonałą ustnie ich nauczył.’ 230 Arba’ah Turim is a thirteenth-century chalakhic code composed by R. Ya’akov ben AsherArba’ah Turim is divided into four thematic parts: Orah Hayyim – ‘The Path of Life,’ deals with individual worship and ritual; Yoreh De’ah – ‘Teach Knowledge,’ concerns dietary laws and impurity regulations; Even Ha-Ezer – ‘The Rock of the Helper,’ speaks of marriage and divorce; Hoshen Mishpat – ‘The Breastplate of Judgment,’ deals with matters of civil law. This structure was later adopted in Shulkhan arukh, the most common chalakhic code.

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Czechowic, on the other hand, approaches the Talmud as (a set of) published volumes. The disagreement is, therefore, much deeper than only a different division of the content and it hinges on the understanding of the cultural role of the Talmud. Jacob is mostly concerned with proving the value of the Talmud, understood as a type of a practical exegesis, for the Jewish community. To this end, the Rabbi brings up a selection of hermeneutical and legal difficulties to which the Talmud provides answers that could not be solved otherwise. For instance, the Biblical testimony regarding the history of the Jebusites is confusing: were they driven away from the land of Canaan as Joshua 12 reports, or did they continue to dwell in the Holy Land after the Israelites’ conquest, as related in Joshua 15?231 Since the fragments are mutually exclusive, only with the aid of reliable oral exegetic tradition can one cohere a consistent narrative. Another type of practical support that the Talmud offers is to translate the vague, biblical dicta into a well-defined law, such tort laws on the example extracted from the paradigm the goring ox described in the book of Genesis.232 Last but not least, the Talmud provides a manual for holiday celebration (for example, Sukkot in Nehemiah 8:17)233 as well as a unified blueprint for ritual practices that frame all life events, from grief234 to rites of marriage and divorce, ensuring global uniformity of Jewish ritual: You [i.e. Czechowic] say that Moses did not pass on any teaching orally to his students, nor to the seventy Elders, as God had ordered him to do. But I see that amongst you [Christians] there are many discrepancies in the way you wed. How can you know who fulfils God’s will? We, on the other hand, believe that Moses passed on to us, according to God’s order and through his students the exact words by which a woman is given to her husband. This is why in Judaism there are no differences but everywhere a woman is wed by the same pronouncement.235

231 Czechowic, Odpis, 79–80. 232 Czechowic, Odpis, 85, see Genesis 21.29. 233 Czechowic, Odpis, 99. 234 Czechowic, Odpis, 96. see Ezekiel 24:16–17 “Son of man, behold, I am about to take from you the desire of your eyes with a blow; but you shall not mourn and you shall not weep, and your tears shall not come. Groan silently; make no mourning for the dead. Bind on your turban and put your shoes on your feet, and do not cover your moustache and do not eat the bread of men.” 235 Czechowic, Odpis, 90–91. ‘A ty powiadasz, iż Mojżesz też nie podał żadnej nauki ustnie uczniom swym, abo onym 70. mężom starym, których Pan Bóg kazał Mojżeszowi nauczyć jako i ja widzę między wami wielkie różności w dawaniu ślubu abo w oddawaniu żonę mężowi iż jedni takimi słowy, drudzy zaś takimi. A cóż tedy wiedzieć, który z was ugadza woli Bożej? Ale iż my wierzym, iż nam Mojżesz z rozkazania Bożego podał przez ucznie swoje jakimi słowy i przez jakie słowa ma być oddana biała głowa mężowi za żonę, dla tego we wszystkim żydostwie nie masz różności jedno wszędzie jednakimi słowy oddana bywa biała głowa mężowi.’

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The reliability of the Talmudic reading of the Torah is confirmed by pseudo-historical evidence extracted from the Pentateuch, namely the surmise that the Israelites had been familiar with and obedient to the religious law even before the Talmud was written down. Jacob finds support for that claim in the writings of the Prophets. For example, Nehemiah mentions that trading on Sabbath was considered a violation of the holy day,236 whilst the book of Daniel, when recounting the events of the prophet’s captivity, mentions he would refrain from eating bread from the gentile king’s table.237 Jacob infers from these narratives that the people knew that commerce on Sabbath day and sharing food with non-Jews was prohibited even if the Torah does not mention it explicitly. This strategy of “rabbinisation of the Torah,”238 is not new to the Jewish thought. In fact, the notion that the Prophets and even the Sages were aware of and faithful to the rabbinic law claim has a long-standing tradition in Jewish thought and resonates in various texts.239 The search to prove the historicity of the lore brings Jacob to quote from the Gospels, pointing that even Jesus insisted that the disciples respected the Jewish law invested with Moses’s authority.240 Isaiah Gafni pointed out that this anachronistic attitude to Scripture that contributed to “a clouding of delineation between past and present,” was a reaction to the typological exegesis of the Christian theologians.241 Arguably, Jacob’s extensive reference to biblical figures who apparently observed rabbinic laws serves a similar purpose: it provides a

236 Czechowic, Odpis, 101. See also Nehemiah 10:31: “And if the people of the land bring ware or any victuals on the sabbath day to sell, that we would not buy it of them on the Sabbath, or on the holy day: and that we would leave the seventh year, and the exaction of every debt.” Nehemiah 13:16–17: “There dwelt men of Tyre also therein, which brought fish, and all manner of ware, and sold on the Sabbath unto the children of Judah, and in Jerusalem. Then I contended with the nobles of Judah, and said unto them, What evil thing is this that ye do, and profane the Sabbath day.” 237 Czechowic, Odpis, 102–103. See Daniel 1.8 “But Daniel purposed in his heart that he would not defile himself with the portion of the king’s meat, nor with the wine that he drank: therefore he requested of the prince of the eunuchs that he might not defile himself.” 238 Isaiah Gafni, “Rabbinic Historiography and Representations of the Past,” in The Cambridge companion to the Talmud and rabbinic literature, ed. Charlotte E. Fonrobert and Martin S. Jaffee (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 295–312. 239 For example, Mishnah in Kiddushin 4:14 states that Abraham had been observing the entire law before it was given, Midrash Genesis Rabbah recounts that Jacob sought to establish a Talmudic yeshiva in Egypt, whilst Aggadah Bereshit goes as far as to claim that Abraham kept the eruvim of cooked foods (laws dealing with preparation of food for Sabbath). See Lieve M Teugels, ed., Aggadat Bereshit: Translated from the Hebrew with an Introduction and Notes. Vol. 4 (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 41. 240 Czechowic, Odpis, 111. 241 Gafni, “Rabbinic Historiography,” 307.

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counterweight to Czechowic’s Christological reading of the Jewish Bible. Thus, Jacob’s defence of the Talmud aims at showing its practical dimension, which was recognised by the ancient Israelites and has remained, in his view, unchanged since. This way, Talmud is presented not only as a tool useful in Biblical hermeneutic, but also as a source authorised by biblical heroes. Responding to these theses, Czechowic refutes Jacob’s claim that the ancestral exegesis is indispensable to reveal the true meaning of Scripture by showing how etymological study and collation of synonyms and various contexts in which they appear can be of equal help. A satisfactory answer to each of the allegedly unsolvable problems could be determined through individual scriptural hermeneutics, unmediated by any secondary sources and yet thorough: “Whoever cannot understand from the text [of the Torah] itself that trade is prohibited on Sabbath day is blind like a mole. Whoever learns that from your Talmud resembles a man who in the brilliance of the sun at noon cannot distinguish black colour from white, unless they light a candle for him.”242 Treating the Talmud as a valid exegesis of Scripture is for Czechowic the ultimate antithesis of personal reading. He makes it clear when commenting on Numbers 11:24–25243: “You can see, my dear Jacob, that those elders did not receive their wisdom from some Mosaic Talmud that he [Moses] would teach to them, but from the Spirit that God detracted from Moses and granted to those seventy.”244 The understanding of Scripture cannot be inherited (in the form of the Talmud or any other oral tradition), but it is a result of the individual encounter with the Spirit which bequeaths one with the grace of understanding. In his influential analysis of Christian conceptions of the relationship between Scripture and exegetical tradition, Heiko Oberman distinguished between two approaches that he calls “Tradition I” and “Tradition II.” From the start, Christian theology considered Scripture as the essential and sufficient source of religious beliefs. However, the rise of the ancient gnostic movements brought about the need for developing an “authorised” method of interpretation: one that would preserve the unity of the Church. This agreed upon method of exegesis Oberman

242 Czechowic, Odpis, 101. ‘Kto tego z samego szczyrego tekstu o szabacie napisanym nie widzi, że się w szabat kupować nie godzi, ten ślepszy jest niż kret. A kto zasię aż dopiero z tego tam waszego Talmudu tego uczyć chce, ten podobny jest onemu, który w południe, gdy dobrze słońce świeci, nie może rozeznać farby czarnej od białej, aż mu jeszcze świecę zaświecą.’ 243 “And Moses went out, and told the people the words of the Lord, and gathered the seventy men of the elders of the people, and set them round about the tabernacle.” 244 Czechowic, Odpis, 109. ‘Tu też widzisz, mój miły Jakubie, że onym starcom nie przyszła mądrość z jakiego Talmudu mojżeszowego, którego by ich tam uczyć miał, ale z ducha onego, którego Bóg ująwszy Mojżeszowi, użyczył onym to 70. mężom.’

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called Tradition I. The second approach, Tradition II, refers not to the method of interpretation, but to additional body knowledge, the Apostolic teachings not included in the Bible that supplemented Scripture. This Tradition II, and subsequently the Church that preserved it, was considered the second, authoritative source of religious doctrine.245 The two approaches, coexisting already in the early Church, in the time of Reformation became a basis for the division between Protestant Churches and the Rome. Thus, the rejection of Tradition II provided the basis for the Protestant sola scriptura principle, whilst the theology of the Catholic Church, which advocated the double source of revelation and ratified it at the Council of Trent, became the clearest expression of that Tradition II approach.246 Oberman’s analysis was developed further by Allister McGrath who added “Tradition 0” to describe an approach characteristic of the so-called left-wing Reformation,247 that is Anabaptist movements.248 This approach advocated riddance of any exegetical authority and individual approach to the Bible, guided solely by the Holy Spirit. Thus, Czechowic’s stance could be understood as an example of McGrath’s Tradition 0 approach: his anti-Talmudic chiding it is first and foremost a protest against reliance on any tradition, and endorsement of the individual, divinely inspired exegesis. This attitude to Scripture becomes the foundation of his rejection of any religion that is based on orally transmitted knowledge elevated to the status of religious dogma. He expresses this stance in his criticism of Jacob’s polemical strategy: Throughout your argument, you show not a word from the true Scripture (as you had said you would) that would endorse the Talmud. The [only] evidence you find in Scripture is Moses oral teachings. However, although it is possible that Moses passed on orally more than he did in writing, he never obliged any Israelite to obey [the oral teachings] under the threat of losing God’s grace, as was the case with matters described in Scripture itself.249

245 Heiko A. Oberman, The Dawn of the Reformation (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1992), 280–289. 246 For the distinction between Tradition I and Tradition II see Alister E. McGrath, The Intellectual Origins of the European Reformation (New York: Blackwell, 1987). 247 For the discussion on which movements classify as “left-wing Reformation” see Bainton, “The Left Wing,” 124–134. 248 Alister E. McGrath, Reformation Thought: An Introduction (Oxford: Blackwell, 1993), 144. See also his discussion on the understanding of Tradition I and Tradition II in McGrath, The Intellectual Origins, 137–147. 249 Czechowic, Odpis, 121—122. ‘żeś we wszytkich twoich dowodziech i jednego słowa nie pokazał z tekstu szczyrego Pisma Ś. (jakoś był obiecał), w którym by ten Talmud zalecony był i to za sobą świadectwo w piśmie miał, że jest ustną nauką Mojżeszową. Bo chociażby to mogło być, że nad księgi napisane uczył czego więcej Mojżesz ustnie, ale iż przedsię nie przywięzował żadnego

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Like Gadki Żydowskie, Odpis treats the Talmud as a metonymy of misled religious practice. If in his first work he criticised the “carnality” of zakon, in Odpis the references to the Tamud served Czechowic to distinguish between religious regulations and hermeneutics rooted in tradition on the one hand, and God’s law and sola scriptura approach to Scripture, on the other. The prominent place of the Talmud in the Jewish life – the fact that the study Gemarah was the very foundation of Jewish curriculum and the basis and paradigm for everyday practical ruling – might have been the reason why the Rabbi felt inclined to defend the authority and indispensability of the composition and make it a central part of his apologetics. This position is unacceptable to Czechowic, for whom the Talmud is not a hermeneutical methodology that leads to the unearthing of the true meaning of the Bible, but rather the epitome of any human-made tradition, that was arbitrarily announced as binding and prevents one from individual exegesis. His polemic with the Jewish regious observance is informed by and indeed modelled on the Protestant criticism of Catholic dogmas.

Sabbath: A shadow and a trap In Gadki Żydowskie the discussion about the celebration of the Jewish weekly holiday is limited to the Student’s single question: if the Christians believe in the Bible and wish not to reject it, why do they fail to celebrate Sabbath? In response, the Master denies that the Christian creed advocates a complete abrogation of Sabbath; the only aspect of it that needs to be done away with is the carnal, external ritual, which mocks the holiness of the day: For us, the true Christians following Paul’s teachings and other writings that point to the New Covenant such as Isaiah’s prophecy (Isaiah 58.13, 56.1, 4), the true Sabbath has not ceased (we neither dismiss, nor criticise it, except for its mere shadow [that is: the ritual observance], to which the Jews cling until this day – and not even to the whole of it, but only to part); on the contrary, only now it is alive. Since certainly, and with God’s grace, those keep and love it, who conduct themselves according to the word of God.250

Izraelczyka do tego, żeby tego winien był pod łaski Bożej utraceniem, przystrzegać; jako przywięzował do słuchania i przystrzegania rzeczy w szczyrym tekście źrzetenie opisanych.’ 250 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 71b. ‘U nas tedy, Christian prawdziwych, podług nauki pawłowej i podług pism inszych, które się do nowego przymierza ściągają, z których theż jest i ono proroctwo Ezejaszowe Eza 58 v 13 et 56 v 1, 4, nie ustał szabat prawdziwy (ani go my ganimy abo odrzucamy, oprócz samych cieniów jego, których się jeszcze po dziś dzień Żydowie, i to już tylko po części, a nie cale, trzymają), ale owszeki prawie dopiero ożył. Bo go też koniecznie za łaską Bożą ci pilnują i w nim się kochają, którzy podług Słowa Bożego żywot swój prowadzą.’

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According to the Master’s view, the Jewish observance of Saturday is constituted of but sinful laziness, an opinion that originated in antiquity and became a standard polemical charge.251 To convince the Student that Sabbath celebrations had been abolished, the Master linked them to the existence of the Temple, as per Hosea 3:4: [God spoke through Hosea that] the Israelites will be left not only without Sabbath but without anything else necessary for celebrating Sabbath: the king, the priest, the sacrifices necessary for your Sabbath to be valid, without the statue, Ephod, and teraphim […]. Because when it [the Sabbath] was a ceremony or a service to God, it consisted not only of mere laziness [...] but also of those sacrifices that God had ordered to perform: of showbreads, incense, and all the rest of Sabbath ceremony.252

The Master sees the destruction of the Temple to be a part of the God’s wrath, caused by the Israelites’ disobedience. Although the unavailability of conditions required for the ritual observance is not a reason for Sabbath sacrifice having been annulled, it did turn the contemporary celebration into indulgence in laziness, which displeases God. This is where the discussion on Sabbath in Gadki Żydowskie concludes – the Master and the Student pass onto matters of graver importance. This is not the case in Odpis, where, possibly as a result of Rabbi Jacob’s initiative and vivid interest in the subject, nearly half of the entire work is devoted to the subject. In his response to the Master’s view, Jacob’s aim is to prove that Sabbath is eternal and has never been nullified. His strategy combines three lines of argument. First, he provides what could be called an ontological argument – the eternal character of Sabbath is predicated on the holiday’s core nature. Sabbath

251 Gentile perception of Sabbath as a day of laziness dates back to antiquity, for example, it can be found in the lost work by Seneca De Superstitiones, which was quoted by Augustine in his De Civitate Dei: “that their practice [of the Sabbath] is inexpedient (inutiliter), because by introducing one day of rest in every seven they lose in idleness (perdant vacando) almost a seventh of their life.” Augustine, De Civitate Dei, VI, vol. 1, no. 186, quoted after Peter Schäfer, Judeophobia: Attitudes toward the Jews in the Ancient World (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2009), 87. This ancient perception was taken up by Justyn Martyr in Dialogues with Trypho. For an analysis thereof see David Rokeah, Justin Martyr and the Jews (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 49–51. 252 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 72 a. ‘Bóg przez Ozeasza ślubował, że ony szabaty odrzucić miał tedy żeby jeszcze i nad to też przydał Kap 3 v 4, że nie tylko bez szabatu, ale też i bez inszych wszystkich rzeczy ku nabożeństwu szabatniemu należących przez długi czas siedzieć mieli Izraelczycy. Jako bez króla, książęcia, ofiary (bez który nie ważny jest szabat), słupa, bałwana. (...) Gdyż on, i z tej strony ile był ceremonią abo zwierzchowną służbą Bożą, nie w samym próżnowaniu należał, (...) ale też w onych ofiarach, które Bóg na ten dzień rozkazał czynić i z pokładanim na każdy szabat nowego chleba, z kadzidłem i ze wszytkim, co ku szabatniej ceremoniej należało.’

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is inseparably linked to God’s holiness,253 its observance is a reminiscence of the creation of the world, and thus the celebration of this holiday is an expression of belief in God the Creator. Jacob repeats this argument a number of times, finding different ways to support it: he points to the importance of giving testimony in front of all nations, and especially the “Epicureans” who deny the existence of a single creator,254 thus showing how the Jewish ritual helps to promote a Scripture-based monotheism. Jacob also tries to reverse the relation between the observance of the holiday and the support for what is a simplified version of the cosmological argument. He suggests (committing, nota bene, the confusion of the inverse fallacy expressed as “if A then B, therefore if not A then not B”), that since keeping Sabbath affirms the existence of God the creator, dissent from it becomes a sign of refuting the belief in the maker of the universe: In Leviticus 19:3 [God] says: ‘keep my Sabbaths: I am the Lord your God.’ Hence, He commands on the Sabbath declaring ‘I am the Lord your God’. This shows that the commandment relates to God Himself, and if one does not keep it, one demonstrably refrains from giving evidence that God designed to create the entire world in six days.255

Second, Jacob counters the argument that without full access to sacrificial infrastructure the celebration is invalid, and counters it by showing that the holiday is connected to the divine glory and not earthly constructions. The Rabbi parses Leviticus 26:2 “Ye shall keep my Sabbaths, and reverence my sanctuary: I am the Lord,” a statement that provides evidence that the holiday is linked to the nature of the God.256 This reading of the biblical verse comes to emphasise the connection of Sabbath with the divine nature rather than with the existence of the earthly sanctuary. The next line of Jacob’s argument that supports the same claim is predicated on the Scriptural prescriptions regarding Sabbath: its importance precedes any other commandment,257 it is to be observed by every Israelite both in the Holy Land and

253 Czechowic, Odpis, 157, 163. ‘W księgach 3 Moj 10 v 3. mówi tak: szabaty moje macie strzec, jam jest Pan Bóg wasz. Tu też przestrzega o szabatu i mówi: Jam jest Pan Bóg wasz, to się znaczy, iż to rozkazanie szabatnie samego się Pana Boga tknie to jest gdyby go nie święcił, tedyby z siebie pokazało to, że nie świadczy, iż Pan Bóg przez sześć dni raczył stworzyć wszytek świat.’ 254 Czechowic, Odpis, 192. 255 Czechowic, Odpis, 161. 256 Czechowic, Odpis, 163. 257 Czechowic, Odpis, 166.

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outside it,258 and its violation is subject to highest punishment.259 Therefore, Jacob ascertains, even after the destruction of Jerusalem Temple Sabbath is to be kept.260 The final line of Jacob’s reasoning is calculated to provide arguments that his Christian interlocutor would find beyond recall. To this end, the Rabbi appeals to Czechowic’s highest authority, namely the words of Jesus, as recorded by the Gospel of Matthew. Not only did Jesus’s actions and teachings certify that Sabbath was still observed (rather than rendered obsolete with the coming of the Jesus-the Messiah, as the Christians would like to see it), but also Jesus himself never denied it, even when he violated the prohibition to work: When his [Jesus’s] disciples picked the heads of rye grain, and the Pharisees asked your Christ why they violate Sabbath, your Christ responded this way: “have you not read about King David’s deed, how he ate bread from the House of the Lord?”261 Thus, I ask you, why Christ did not answer them straightaway that Sabbath ceased and it had been only a shadow until his own coming, so it needs not to be celebrated? Especially that he did teach extensively his disciples and others who gathered around him. Why, then, neither in Matthew, nor in any of the other Gospels can I find that he [Jesus] taught them not to observe Sabbath, but I do [find] that he commanded not to obliterate it?262

Finally, Jacob continues, the destruction of the Temple and the consequent removal of the ritual infrastructure required for Sabbath sacrifices may have put an end to the form of celebration, but not to the holiday itself: Thus I say, a reason for which Sabbath has not ceased even though [the ritual infrastructure necessary for Sabbath sacrifices] are gone is that they were never bound to Sabbath. At the time when God commanded to celebrate it, [the Israelites] had not yet been given the

258 Czechowic, Odpis, 163. 259 Czechowic, Odpis, 161. 260 Czechowic, Odpis, p. 166. 261 Matthew 12:1–4: “At that time Jesus went on the sabbath day through the corn; and his disciples were an hungred, and began to pluck the ears of corn and to eat. But when the Pharisees saw it, they said unto him, Behold, thy disciples do that which is not lawful to do upon the sabbath day. But he said unto them, Have ye not read what David did, when he was an hungred, and they that were with him; How he entered into the house of God, and did eat the shewbread, which was not lawful for him to eat, neither for them which were with him, but only for the priests?” 262 Czechowic, Odpis, 223–224. ‘Gdy uczniowie jego wyrywali w szabat jego kłosy żytnie i pytali faryzeuszowie waszego Christusa, czemu twoi uczniowie gwałcą szabat? Christus wasz odpowiedział im tak, azaliście nie czytali, co czyni Dawid król, że jadł chleb z domu Bożego. Pytam cię, czemu Christus nie odpowiedział im tak zgoła, iż już szabat ustał i do jego przyścia cieniem był a dalej go święcić nie trzeba. I zwłaszcza, iż wiele rzeczy uczył uczniów swych i ludzi, którzy się do niego zgromadzali. Czemuż tę naukę też nie pisze ani tej nie mogę naleść u Matheusza a i inszych Ewangelistów, aby szabatu nie mieli strzec abo święcić, ale go Christus nie kazał burzyć.’

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precept of sacrifices, nor the King, nor ephod, and not even the Ark [of the Covenant], as you can find it in Exodus 16:24: “Tomorrow is the rest of the holy Sabbath unto the Lord.”263

Jacob thus negates the Christian understanding of Sabbath as established by Moses (as, for example, John of Damascus would argue)264 and replaced by Christ’s passion. Notably, Jacob’s apology of Sabbath celebration is eschewed of any messianic hopes and the holy day is presented as an expression of the Chosen People’s eternal duty to God, not a token of future delivery.265 Michael Wyschogrod pointed out to two approaches that govern Christian– Jewish discussions on Sabbath. According to one, the weekly festival was given for the benefit of the people; the alternative view is that the holiday is a reminiscence of the creation of the world. Depending on the interpretation, violation of the holiday has a different status and repercussions: it becomes a transgression of the established social order or a blasphemy against the Creator.266 Whilst Jacob’s defence of Sabbath is an emblematic example of the latter approach, Czechowic’s critique of the Jewish ritual is firmly rooted in the former understanding. Just like Jacob’s, Czechowic’s response also heads towards a well-defined aim: the main thrust of his argument is a juxtaposition of the Jewish “carnal” celebration of Sabbath with the Christian, “spiritual” one, and disparagement of the former. He argues that Isaiah’s eternal Sabbath, to which Jacob has referred, is not the Jewish “carnal” Sabbath, but the Christian spiritual one, which consists of “rising above one’s sin, repenting, and turning to God.”267 In defence of this claim, he recurs to a linguistic argument. In Isaiah’s admonition regarding Sabbath observance (Isaiah 56:2), “keepeth Sabbath from polluting it, and keepeth his hand from doing any evil,” Czechowic parses the Hebrew word ve, ‘and,’ which he holds is the key to understand the meaning of this verse. He explains that,

263 Czechowic, Odpis, 243–244. ‘A ja tak powiedam, iż stąd powód mogę mieć, iż szabat nie miał ustać, choćby ty rzeczy ustały, ponieważ iż ty rzeczy nie były nigdy przywiązane do szabatu. Ponieważ iż na on czas, kiedy Pan Bóg rozkazał szabat święcić, tedy jeszcze nie mieli rozkazania o usthawnych ofiar, ani o króla, i efota nie mieli i skrzynie jeszcze nie mieli, jako najdziesz w księgach 2 Moj kap. 16 v 24 dnia siódmego po wyjściu z Egiptu, mówi tak do nich, to jest to, co Pan Bóg mówił: odpoczywajcie odpoczywanie święte Panu Bogu jutro.’ In KJB the verse is Exodus 16:23. 264 John of Damascus, Exposition of the Orthodox Faith. Book 4, Chapter 23: “Against the Jews on the question of the Sabbath.” 265 Notably, this contradicts the message of the havdalah service that ends Sabbath. 266 Michael Wyschogrod, “On the Christian Critique of the Jewish Sabbath” in Sabbath: Idea, History, Reality ed. by Gerald J. Blidstein (Beer Sheva: Ben-Gurion University of the Negev Press, 2004), 43–56. 267 Czechowic, Odpis, p. 170.

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although it might appear to be a simple conjunction ‘and,’ in fact it is a conjunction ‘that is,’ whose function is to introduce a description on the correct way of celebrating: one should observe the holiday through guarding one’s hand against doing anything wrong, but not from abstaining from all types of work.268 Furthermore, he claims, the fact that Sabbath was installed as a practical solution for the sake of the historical people predicates its finite character. The Jewish understanding of the eternal validity of the holiday based on the expression olam read as ‘for ever.’ However, Czechowic argues, other uses of this word indicate that it is more probable that the intended meaning was ‘for a long time’ (nota bene, this observation is unlikely to be originally Czechowic’s, as it is to be found in other contemporary Christian apologetics, including Galatino’s De Arcanis, from which Czechowic drew extensively).269 Not only is Jewish Sabbath bound by time, but also its celebration was confined to a specific territory. Here, Czechowic disproves Jacob’s reading of Numbers 35:29 “[you shall celebrate] in all your dwelling” as denoting any place in which the Jews would find themselves, and argues that the expression merely describes all different territories circumscribed by the borders of the Land of Canaan, that God promised to Israel. Since the Israelites lost their authority over the country and were forced to leave all the lands that Scripture refers to, the celebration of Sabbath lost its territorial anchor, too: “In none of the Mosaic passages that you have brought up can I see that this Sabbath was to be celebrated still today. You cannot prove this with the text because it does not extend to today nor to these lands.”270

268 Czechowic, Odpis, 170–171. 269 See Petrus Colonna Galatino, Petri Galatini Opus de Arcanis Catholicae Veritatis: Hoc est, In omnia difficilia loca Veteris Testamenti, ex Talmud, aliisque Hebraicis libris, quum ante natum Christum, tum post scriptis, contra obstinatam Iudaeorum perfidiam, absolutissimus Commentarius (Basel: Hervagius 1561). Book 11, 293a–294a: “Nam ubicunque his in locis nos aeternum siue sempiternum in nostra editione habemus: hebraicus textus ‫ עולם‬olam habet: quod pro perpetuo aut pro saeculo ibidem accipitur. Si igitur ‫ עולם‬olam eisdem in locis pro perpetuo accipiatur: tunc olam idem est quod continuum, quodque pro rei alicuius saeculo, siue aetate sine interruptione durat. Perpetuum enim propriae idem est, quod continuum [...]. Cum nulla igitur harum dictionum in lege ponat: ubi de circumcisionem, de sabbao, de sacriticiis, deque caeteris cerimonialibus sit mentio: sed dum taxat ‫ עולם‬olam: ut uisum est: palam absque dubio manifestum est:cerimonialia illa non fuisse ad aeternum ad literam seruanda: sed ad tempus terminatum: uidilicet usque ad Messiem aduentum.” 270 Czechowic, Odpis, 166. ‘Ale żeby jeszcze i teraz tak miał być sprawowan on szabat, tego jako ja z tych miejsc wszystkich z Mojżesza przywiedzionych upatrzyć nie mogę thak mu też ty tego tymi świadectwy okazać ani dowieść nie możesz. Bo się już tho wszystko do czasów tych, ani do tych ziem nie ściąga.’

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Czechowic plays a traditional trump card known to all Christian polemicists, namely the argument from Jewish sin, which posits that since any festivities and rituals held by sinners cannot be accepted by God, the Jews, expelled from the Promised Land and therefore in the state of obvious disgrace, celebrate in vain. The point against the eternal character of Sabbath is reinforced by another polemical ace in the hole, namely the argument from discontinuity: any claim of the eternal character of Sabbath is questioned by quoting Scriptural descriptions of times at the desert and in the Babylonian exile when the Israelites did not observe the weekly rest. Once again, by resorting to similar rhetorical solutions, the text proves to be engaged in the dialogue with earlier anti-Jewish polemics. Thus understood, the Arian understanding of Sabbath, wherein “keep sabbath is understood as keep nothing different but your hand from committing any evil,”271 is an exact opposition of the Jewish, and indeed Catholic, holiday: independent of time and space, and therefore universal and eternal; concerned with righteousness and self-discipline rather than “ritual laziness.” To make his point, Czechowic picks on a play on words employed by Jacob. The Rabbi criticised the Master’s reference to the Old Testament as full of “shadows” and not “flesh.”272 The original term used in Gadki Żydowskie, cień, ‘shadow,’ had in Old Polish two other meanings: a bird-trap or a snare and a draft or a sketch. This homonymy is played upon by Jacob: you claim that in our ritual there are more shadows (cienie) than flesh. Hence, you set up your snares (cienie) like each good hunter would. However, you are bound to fail at catching pure birds that God would accept as a sacrifice since your net is severed and torn.273

The hunting imagery used as a popular metaphor of interreligious polemics originated in the language of biblical narratives, but was revived and extensively used

271 Czechowic, Odpis, 172. ‘także coby strzec szabatu wykłada: iż nieco inszego jedno strzec ręki swej od czynienia wszego złego.’ 272 In Rozmowy, 71, the Master says: “In Mosaic Law, there was more flesh than spirit and more shadow than flesh.” 273 Czechowic, Odpis, 138. ‘mówisz, iż więcej cieniów niż ciała, tuż tedy nastawił cieniów wiele, jako który myśliwiec dobry, ale pewnie nie zwabisz ptaków czystych, które by się panu Bogu do ofiary godziły. Albowiem sieć, którąś nastawił barzo się zdarła i barzo durawa jest.’ Magdalena Hawrysz points out to the importance the hunting imagery played in Czechowic’s polemics. She links it to, on the one hand, the noble status of the hunting metaphors, and on the other, stylisation on biblical rhetoric that uses the imagery of hunting and traps to speak of satanic deception and spiritual struggle of believers. See Hawrysz, Polemiczna twórczość, 124–126. However, examining usage cases, she misses the shadow/snare reference and the confusion between polemicists that it evoked.

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in mediaeval and early-modern discourse thanks to the popularity of hunting, falconry, and fowling, much-favoured forms of noble entertainment.274 To be sure, also in Czechowic’s writing the use of hunting similes was far from uncommon.275 Surprisingly here, it is the Rabbi, and not his Christian polemicist, who resorts to a hunting metaphor. As mentioned above, Jews were dissociated from the noblemen’s world of hunting. It appears unlikely that the Rabbi’s first connotation with the word was the snare and not shadow. Moreover, the wordplay, however witty, gave a chance for Czechowic to ridicule it for populist reasons. The Arian writer linked the Jewish misunderstanding of the metaphor with his claim about the spiritual blindness of the Jews: not only are they preoccupied with shadows and thus fail to grasp spiritual meaning of their Scripture; they also fail to understand the very metaphor of a shadow and mistake it for a crude, palpable object. Yet again, the question arises as to the extent of Czechowic’s interference with alleged Jacob’s letter. This uncertainty aside, Czechowic turns Jacob’s pun into a support of his theology, condescendingly implying that Jacob must have misunderstood the meaning of the word. What he meant, explains Czechowic was that the Old Testament in general, and Sabbath celebration in particular, are nothing more than a shadow of the illuminated truth enclosed in the New Testament: I see that you fail to understand the word “shadow,” since I spoke not of snares, but of painter’s draft made in coal prior to painting a picture. Similarly, everything was at first delineated in the Law (w zakonie) and then it was painted in the New [Testament].276

Following the Epistle to the Colossians, Czechowic describes the Jewish Sabbath as a shadow of the true celebration that is yet to come.277 As a rhetorical device, the metaphor of shadow acquired new meaning in the Reformation discourse: Thomas Henry Louis Parker argues that reference to shadow [umbra] and its coalescence with a painter’s sketch were one of key elements of Calvin’s polemical

274 See above, chapter 1, n. 56. 275 A catalogue of hunt-related vocabulary and its linguistic analysis was offered by Hawrysz (interestingly, she did not mention the ‘cień’ case). See, Hawrysz, Polemiczna twórczość, 124–126. 276 Czechowic, Odpis, p. 139. ‘Aleć baczę, iż i słówka tego cień nie rozumiesz, gdyż ja wedle pisma nowego przymierza nie mówiłem o cieniu myśliwskim, ale o onym malarskim, który sobie wągliczkiem wprzód czyni, niż obraz jaki maluje. Bo też tak w zakonie pierwej tako było naznaczone co się potym skutkiem w nowym wymalowało.’ 277 See Colossians 2:17: “Therefore no one is to act as your judge in regard to food or drink or in respect to a festival or a new moon or a Sabbath day – things which are a mere shadow of what is to come; but the substance belongs to Christ.”

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imagery.278 In his Institutes of the Christian Religion, Calvin observed the similarity of a natural shadow and the painter’s practice wherein the artist draws with a piece of coal a draft of a figure, which subsequently, after having been filled with colourful paint, becomes a dark shadow of the intended shape.279 Thus, a sketch that partially takes on the characteristic of a shadow, becomes an even more apt metaphor for his distinction between the Old and the New Law: it is drawn by the same artist – God, it presents the same reality, but once the painting is completed, it remained a mere shade of the depicted model. Czechowic’s use of the shadow-sketch metaphor acquires a different meaning than that intended by Calvin for a reason: the Arian theologian would not see in the Old Law something essentially akin to the New Testament. Instead, he used the shadow-sketch imagery to shed light on the differences between the two types of lore. To make his point clearer, Czechowic brings up examples of biblical narrative that presents “a shadow” and “a painting”: two apparently similar elements, which, however, turn out to be utterly different, such as, for instance, the opposition between Isaac and Ishmael: It seems to be enough [to agree] that the Abraham’s two sons were so different from one another and born of two so different mothers. All the more – the twins born to Isaac: you cannot but accept that in this carnal birth shows has two meanings: not everything went according to nature. God shows with this figure that one father, Abraham, begot two peoples: carnal, according to the flesh, like Ishmael, and spiritual, according to God’s promise, [born] against the laws of nature, that is Isaac. (…) Having, thanks to God’s grace, a better understanding of the Scripture than you do, we call the Old Testament – the shadow in many places where it presupposes the New.280

278 Thomas Henry Louis Parker, Calvin’s Old Testament Commentaries (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1986), 56–62. 279 The motif comes up manifold throughout the Institutes. In the quoted book, Parker grouped and analysed its uses. 280 Czechowic, Odpis, 139–140. ‘Bo by też dobrze nie było nic więcej jedno oni dwa synowie Abrahamowi z sobą niezgodni, Izmael a Izaak, ze dwu matek urodzeni, a z sobą także niezgodnych: tedybyś i tak na to zezwolić musiał. A nad to jeszcze i oni dwa Izaakowi jednym poczęciem zaraz też urodzeni, tedybyś i tak zezwolić na to musiał, iż się tam w tym cielesnym rodzeniu dwie zaraz rzeczy zamykały. A szło to wszystko nie biegiem przyrodzonym, ale iż przez takie rodzenie pod podobieństwem Bóg pokazował, że z jednego ojca Abrahama dwojaki się temu lud rodzić miał: to iest, i cielesny wedle ciała jako był Izmael, i duchowny, to jest wedle obietnice Bożej, przeciw biegowi przyrodzonemu, jako był Izaak. (...) co my, z łaski Bożej więcej niż wy mając wyrozumienia w Piśmie Ś., mówiemy a iż oto Stary Testament, względem Nowego, w wielu rzeczach cieniem nazywamy.’ For the discussion on typological readings of the Jacob and Esau story, both in Early Christian and in Jewish theology, see Israel J. Yuval, Two Nations in Your Womb: Perceptions of Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (Berkeley: University of

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The biblical story shows that the distinction between these two poles, the spiritual opposed to carnal, is already present in the Jewish sources, and thus renders Czechowic’s argument irrefutable. Like first-born Ishmael, Jewish Sabbath is “carnal,” by which Czechowic understands temporal and local; the Christian-Arian celebration is spiritual that is, eternal and universal, free from inflexible ritual laws and prescriptions, and spontaneous rather than bound to a specific time.

Circumcision and pedobaptism The third and the last of Jewish subjects dealt with in Odpis is circumcision. As in the above cases, the discussion begins with Jacob’s response to the Master’s treatment of the subject in Gadki Żydowskie. The discussion deals with two main issues. First is the ontology of circumcision, that is whether the ritual was a seal of the eternal covenant between God and Israel or a mere “stamp” on an agreement that concerned the Land, whose validly expired when the said territory was lost. The second matter is the purported expiry of the ritual: the Jewish claim is that circumcision is still binding even though it was rejected by Christians; the Christian stance is that the ritual was rendered invalid by God.

The link between baptism and circumcision in Gadki Żydowskie In Gadki Żydowskie, the discussion on circumcision is opened by the Student. Having heard out the Master’s view on the annulment of Sabbath, the Student reports a Jewish claim that not only the Saturday celebration, but also circumcision has a special place in Judaism. He states the Jewish claim about the nature of the ritual: unlike any other commandment save Sabbath, the precept of circumcision precedes even the revelation at Sinai, and thus even if all the other mitzvoth are to be obliterated, this one should be preserved. After all, he adds, it is a seal of an eternal covenant between God and Abraham, an external sign of Israel’s “chosenness:” To me, it also appears that circumcision should not be confused with any other commandment of the Torah, since God himself decreed it to be His eternal covenant (as I have mentioned beforehand) even before [the gift of] the Torah. Much later, it was confirmed in the Torah. Thus, even if other commandments should cease, circumcision is to last. Especially

California Press, 2008). Yuval notes that the first to understand the twins as the allegory of Jews and Christians was Iranaeus in Adversus Haereses. Yuval, Two Nations, 14.

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as it is the seal of the covenant between God and Abraham and his offspring. And since He does not destroy Israel as he did many other nations, hence the proof that He certainly has not altered His commandment and it is still valid. For this reason, the seal of the commandment is to be sustained.281

The Student presents circumcision as a seal or a sign of Abraham’s covenant with God, designed as everlasting, which has nonetheless been disrespected by Paul: “Indeed Paul rejected it, a faithful servant and disciple of your Jesus […]. Is that Jesus of yours, together with his servants and disciples, not a God’s enemy, if he rejects eternal divine decrees?”282 In response, the Master agrees that circumcision was indeed a sign of an agreement between God and Abraham, yet its object was the land and offspring – matters related to the physical, material world, and not the promise of redemption. He reiterates the fundamental opposition of two aspects of reality: the temporary-related to flesh dimension is incongruent and should never be confused with the eternal-spiritual one. This principle should organise one’s analysis of any agreement between God and his people. One needs to focus on three aspects thereof: the signatories, the conditions, and the object of the deal, and recognise which one of the two dimensions of human existence they engage. In the case at hand, the object of the covenant was “this-worldly” – the Land of Canaan and the offspring that God promised Abraham. Consequently, the condition was also temporary and related to the flesh: the circumcision of male bodies. Were the object of the covenant eternal and spiritual, as the Jews wish to believe, the seal would have to relate to the spirit, too. Now, not only was the agreement fulfilled  – Abraham became the father of many nations and his descendants took possession of the temporary kingdom – but it was also terminated: the Jews lost the Land due to their transgressions of God’s commandments. As a result, the seal of the abrogated covenant – circumcision – lost its value and meaning.

281 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 73b–74a. ‘Mnie się tak samemu zda, że obrzeska nie ma być z szabatem i z innym zakonnem postanowieniem mieszana. Bo przed zakonem była postanowiona od Boga samego, aby była wiecznym przymierzem jego (jakom pierwej tego dotykał). A potym nierychło i zakonem była utwierdzona. A tak chociaby insze zakonne ustawy swój koniec wzięły, ale wżdy nie obrzezanie. A zwłaszcza, iż ona jest pieczęcią przymierza onego Bożego z Abrahamem i potomstwem jego raz uczynionego, że Bóg chciał być Bogiem ich i potomstwa ich. A iż i teraz Bogiem ich jest, bo ich nie wygładza, jako wiele innych narodów wygładził, tedy pewnie i przymierza swego z nimi nie odmienił. A gdy przymierze stoi, tedy koniecznie i pieczęć przymierza stać ma.’ 282 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 73a. ‘A wżdy je też Paweł, wierny on sługa i uczeń Jezusa waszego odrzucił (...). A więc że ten wasz Jezus z takimi uczniami i sługami swoimi nie jest Bożym nieprzyjacielem? Gdy tak ustawy Boże wieczne odmienia i odrzuca.’

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The Student contradicts this conclusion quoting the Epistle to Romans 4:11, which reads: “And he [Abraham] received the sign of circumcision, a seal of the righteousness of the faith which he had yet being uncircumcised,” and thus states explicitly that the circumcision is a seal of justification by faith, rather than of any earthly deal. The way the Student phrases the question – replacing the Biblical “seal of the righteousness of the faith” with the “seal of the justification by faith,” allows the Master to redirect the discussion to the question of justification. He responds that the Apostle spoke not about the covenant and its object but about faith, which grants one justification. The final aspect of circumcision that the Student wishes to discuss is its eternal character. The Students brings up the Jewish claim that it was only the early Christians who denounced circumcision and that God never intended it to be abolished. This conjecture is supported by the description of the decision made at Jerusalem Council, according to which the annulment of circumcision commandment applies only to pagan converts, not the Jews, who were expected to continue the ancient ritual: It appears to me that the Apostles did not rebuke everybody who kept circumcision, nor did they reject it [the ritual], but [that the rejection of circumcision was decided] in regard to pagans. That is to say, [the Council debated if] when a pagan person came to believe, should he be circumcised or not. Since circumcision did not belong to pagans [i.e. pagan tradition], they [the Council] freed them from it [...].283

Responding to this claim, the Master explains that the Council’s laxity towards the proponents of the ancient ritual was a political decision, a concession that did not reflect any spiritual necessity. In fact, this early practice must have been abolished in order to avoid divisions in the community: “[a community] wherein a Jew who believed in Christ was to care for circumcision whilst others had done away with it, could not be one body, for the Jews would remain Jews on the basis of their circumcision and would hold others [i.e. the uncircumcised members of the community] in contempt.”284 In contrast, the circumcision of the heart, that is immersion in Christ’s blood, is necessary. Through this ritual, an

283 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 76a–b. ‘Mnie się tak zda, iż Apostołowie niw zgoła we wszystkich ganią obrzeski ani odrzucają, ale tylko w poganiech. A tego stąd dochodzę, iż na onym synodzie jerozolimskim nie szło o Żydy, ale o same pogany: to jest, jeśliby też ci, co z poganów uwierzyli, mieli być obrzezani i mieli ustawy zakonne chować abo nie? A iż to do poganów nie należało, przeto ich tego wolnymi czynią (...).’ 284 Czechowic, Rozmowy, p. 78 a. ‘A gdzieby Żyd w Christusa uwierzywszy obrzeski pilnować miał, a inszy by bez niej przestawali, tedyby jednym ciałem nie byli. Boby przedsię Żydowie Żydami byli, i na swą się obrzeskę oglądając innymi by gardzili.’

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egalitarian community was formed, in which there is no sign of an external difference between members: a new people has been chosen. Thus, Master’s treatment of the circumcision seems to be directed towards a single goal: to emphasise the carnal, finite character of the Old Testament covenant, which is concerned with material matters and sealed with physical circumcision. He juxtaposes it with the New Testament’s covenant, whose sign – spiritual circumcision – is eternal, and he presents the two as incongruous. The Student quotes Jewish concerns with the Christian anachronism: if the circumcision was to be abolished with the loss of the land, why did the Israelites continue practising the ritual after the land was conquered for the first time by Nebuchadnezzar? They [the Jews] would say that the land had already been lost to King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon, and yet the covenant did not cease then, nor was the seal of it reproved. Thus even now despite the fact that they do not possess the land, they are still bound by the covenant with God and thus can enjoy the seal and please God as they used to.285

The Master specifies that it is not the political situation, but the freedom of worship in the Land and the availability of ritual infrastructure that matters. Despite losing sovereignty, the majority of Israelites were on Nebuchadnezzar’s land, the remains of the religious sovereignty were still present: “Back then, they had their elders, who remained on their land; they had the prophets and the priests and the Ark of covenant together with Ephod had not yet been obliterated. Now they have none of this.” The contemporary Jews are left with no chance to return to their land and to continue the ancient practices. Even though in this section of Rozmowy christiańskie (i.e. in Gadki Żydowskie) Czechowic does not yet link the “spiritual circumcision” to the ritual of baptism, he does so in the later part of the book, which is concerned with Christian matters. There he renounces christening infants by using the juxtaposition of old, obsolete, carnal Law and New, spiritual and everlasting. In the thirteenth dialogue, the Student, hearing the Master’s opposition to child ablution, draws on the analogy between the two rituals – circumcision and baptism  – asking: ‘Why then were the sons of Israelites circumcised [as infants]?’ The Master responds:

285 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 79a. ‘Ale oni rzeką, iż też ziemię tę utracili byli za króla Nabuchodonozora babilońskiego, a wżdy przymierze Boże z nimi nie ustało, ani pieczęć była naganiona. A przeto teraz, choć ziemi nie mają, przedsię w przymierzu z Bogiem są i także się pieczęcią jako i przedtym cieszyć i Bogu podobać mogą.’

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That was God’s will and so He ordered Abraham and his offspring to do, as it is clearly and diligently described in Mosaic Books (Genesis 17:12, Leviticus 12:3). Yet there is no decree nor example of their [infants’] ablution neither in the Old nor in the New Testament.286

Drawing analogy between the Old Testament circumcision and Christian baptism has a long tradition that can be traced to the first centuries of Christianity. The analogy was especially exploited in the context of the inner-Christian debate on pedobaptism (that is, whether babies should be christened shortly after birth, or whether baptism should be administered to mature believers). In his survey of the development of the analogy between the two rituals as well as its use to support the principle of infant baptism, J. P. T. Hunt distinguished two phases.287 In Patristic literature, circumcision was seen as a sign of inclusion into the covenant with God, which was replaced by its spiritual counterpart, “circumcision of the heart,” with the coming of Jesus. At first, this discarnate circumcision was understood primarily in ethical and theological and not ritual terms: as adherence to Jesus’s teaching and the change of heart (“reception of Spirit through faith,” as Paul puts it in Epistle to Galatians 3:11), rather than as a metonymy of the rite of baptism. The shift of meaning was brought about by the rise of sacramental typology,288 which linked Christian religious acts to Jewish ritual and transformed the meaning of “spiritual circumcision.” Now “circumcision of the heart” became synonymic with the physical rite of baptism that, in turn, came to be understood as Christian counterpart of the ritual of circumcision. This shift allowed for advocating the practice of pedobaptism: just as Jewish babies were circumcised in their infancy, so should be the newly born Christians baptised as early as possible. However, pedobaptism posed a theological challenge: admittedly, Abraham’s circumcision was in response to God’s call, whilst baptism of children was

286 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 259 b. ‘Uczeń: A czemuż je u synów Izraelskich obrzezowano? Nauczyciel: iż się tak Bogu podobało i tak był czynić rozkazał Abrahamowi i potomstwu jego, co jest jaśnie i źrzetelnie w księgach mojżeszowych opisano Gen 17 v 12, Lev 12 v 3. Ale o ponurzaniu ich nie masz nigdzie ani rozkazania ani przykładu, tak w Starym, jako i w Nowym Testamencie.’ 287 J. P. T. Hunt, “Colossians 2:11–12, The Circumcision/Baptism Analogy, and Infant Baptism,” Tyndale Bulletin 41 (1990): 227–244. 288 For typology as a feature of Christian theology, see Jean Daniélou, From Shadows to Reality: Studies in the Biblical Typology of the Fathers (London: Burns & Oates, 1960). Daniélou saw typology as a teleological view of history, where the same elements of the divine plan were sequentially revealed, first in the Old, then in the New Testament. This allowed Christian exegetes to see allegorical meaning of the events from the Old Testament. For the analysis of this approach and a survey of its critics see Marc C. Nicholas, Jean Daniélou’s Doxological Humanism: Trinitarian Contemplation and Humanity’s True Vocation (Eugene: Wipf and Stock Publishers, 2012).

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performed in an arbitrary fashion: the child became an object of the baptismal practice, not an agent. This potential difficulty was resolved by Augustine, who distinguished between reception of the sacrament and its potency. Reception of the sacrament had a function of inclusion of the baptised in the community of believers bound by the covenant, but it is the faith that ensures salvation. The paradigmatic figure is here Isaac who was circumcised as an eight-year-old. At the same time, it is the faith that makes the ritual truly effective and turns it into “the circumcision of the heart.” Here, Abraham is the role model.289 This way, even though circumcision (and thus, baptism) could be seen as a sign of divine election and of a covenant between God and human, the role of subsequent faith was not reduced. This vantage point formed what Hughes Oliphant Old names an “argument from typology”290 and it was later adopted by the leading figures of Magisterial Reformation, such as Martin Butzer, Huldrich Zwingli, or Jean Calvin it in their confrontation with, on the one hand Catholic dogma of salvific function of baptism, and on the other hand – with Anabaptist theology. Calvin made probably the most daring use of the biblical story of Abraham. For him, the two “seals,” circumcision and baptism, related to the same promise – the only difference being that baptism was an updated version thereof. The similarity between the two rituals are threefold: both circumcision and baptism are seals of a covenant between God and His People, both are ritual acts of inclusion in the body of the recipients of that covenant; and last but not least, neither of the two rituals could guarantee salvation unless paired with faith.291 Czechowic’s theological position presented in Rozmowy christiańskie has to be read in the context of this tradition and of the contemporary debate. In the sixteenth century, the baptismal controversy was in the eye of the storm between Anabaptist and Antitrinitarian Churches on the one side and Catholic, Protestant and Reformed denominations on the other. Zwingli, the most radical of the magisterial reformers saw the water baptism as a symbol of spiritual baptism – he thus distinguished between the thing itself – the justification (res), and its symbol, or sign (signum) – the visible ritual of baptism. In his view, baptism was not necessary, or even required to salvation (as the Catholics, and indeed Lutherans would have it), yet it marked a symbolic inclusion of the christened 289 Paula Fredriksen, Augustine and the Jews. A Christian Defence of Jews and Judaism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008). 290 Hughes Oliphant Old, The Shaping of the Reformed Baptismal Rite in the Sixteenth Century (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1992). 291 John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion Chapter 15: Of Baptism (Grand Rapids: Christian Classics Ethereal Library, 2002), 794–806.

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infant into the community of the Church.292 In his Refutation against the Tricks of the Catabaptists (1527), Zwingli quotes the challenge posed by his opponents: Baptism should be administered to all who have been taught penitence and change of life, and who believe really that their sins are done away with through Christ, and in general who wish to walk in the resurrection of Jesus Christ, and who wish to be buried with himself into death that they may rise again with him. So we administer it to all who demand it and require it of us themselves after this manner. By this all baptism of infants is excluded – that chief abomination of the Roman pontiff.293

Zwingli’s response equates circumcision and baptism arguing the existence of a single covenant, which however was signed a number of times with different peoples: The Israelites were God’s people with whom he entered into covenant, whom he made especially his own, to whom also he gave a sign of his covenant from the least to the greatest, because high and low were in covenant with him, were his people and were of his church […]. The same covenant which he [God] entered into with Israel he has in these latter days entered into with us, that we may be one people with them, one church, and may have also one covenant.294

Similarly, Calvin’s doctrine has been viewed as a polemical response to Anabaptism, and particularly to the writings of a Spanish radical, Miguel Servetus.295 Servetus, a brilliant biblical scholar and a daring thinker, categorically opposed the practice of infant baptism. As his intellectual biographer, Jerome Friedman observes, the Spanish thinker saw the opposition between circumcision and baptism as a metonymy to the difference between the carnal Law and spiritual Gospel296: the two were ontologically different. Speaking of similarities between circumcision and baptism is fruitless, let alone establishing pedobaptism as a sacramental practice on the basis of analogy to the Old Law. Calvin decisively disagreed with this stance, regarding all sacraments to be essentially

292 For the distinctions regarding infant baptism in the theology of the mainline reform theologians, see Karen E. Spierling, Infant Baptism in Reformation Geneva: The Shaping of a Community, 1536–1564 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005), 31–60. 293 Huldrich Zwingli, Selected Works of Huldrich Zwingli (1484–1531) The Reformer of German Switzerland, Translated for the First Time from the Originals, ed. Samuel Macauley Jackson (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 1901), 131–132. 294 Zwingli, Selected Works, 159–160. 295 Galen Johnson, “The Development of John Calvin’s Doctrine of Infant Baptism in Reaction to the Anabaptists,” Mennonite Quarterly Review 73 (1999): 803–823. 296 Jerome Friedman, “The Reformation and Jewish Antichristian Polemics.” Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance 40.1 (1979), 85.

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of the same nature.297 In Calvinist theology, God’s promise to the people remains unchanged, it is only the outward nature of the covenant that is being “updated:” there is no difference in the internal meaning, from which the whole power and peculiar nature of the sacrament is to be estimated. The only difference which remains is in the external ceremony, which is the least part of it, the chief part consisting in the promise and the thing signified. Hence we may conclude, that everything applicable to circumcision applies also to baptism, excepting always the difference in the visible ceremony.298

Seen in this context, Czechowic-Master’s regarding of circumcision as a seal of an agreement concerned with material goods, ontologically different from the “circumcision of the heart,” follows the line of the Anabaptist thought.299 In Rozmowy christiańskie, his responses to the Jewish questions could be responses to proponents of infant baptism: he substitutes the Catholic ritual with the Jewish one and dismisses both on the basis that they reflect earthly deals and not eternal relationship with God. This way, the anti-Jewish polemic becomes not only an intra-faith dispute with Arian judaisers, as I have argued in the previous chapter, but it also positions the author in the Anabaptist–Reform debate.

Circumcision in Odpis The exchange on circumcision in Gadki Żydowskie wherein the Student speaks on behalf of Jews and the Master presents an Arian view, laid the ground for Jacob’s treatment of the same topic in Odpis. Like the Master, Czechowic in Odpis considers circumcision was a separate historic event – a seal of the contract on the land, which was later broken, and which had no relation to the covenant that established Israel as a Chosen People. In Rozmowy, Czechowic-Master argues: Circumcision of the male body was a seal of a promise and a covenant regarding earthly matters, namely abundant offspring and the Land of Canaan; it was established [as a sign] that God will keep everything that he had promised to Abraham, which He indeed did. But

297 Johnson, “The Development of John Calvin’s Doctrine.” 298 Calvin, Institutes, 809. 299 To be certain, to speak of “Anabaptist doctrine of baptism” is a simplification. In the early sixteenth century there were a number of Anabaptist communities, or “Anabaptist alternatives” as Hans-Jürgen Goertz speaks of them. According to Goertz, the Anabaptist thinkers agreed as to the general principle that the water baptism should be administered exclusively to believers who confessed faith, but they differed as far as theological explanation goes. For his excellent survey of the main positions see Goertz, The Anabaptists, 68–84.

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they [the Jews] violated the covenant maliciously and lost the land given to them by God. Why should they care about the seal of a broken covenant?300

Rejecting this interpretation of the nature of circumcision as a seal of the “offspring and Land” promise, Jacob presents a manifold argument. To begin with, he purports that God’s promise usually comes with a sign given from the donor and does not require a symbolic marking of the body of the recipient. The bible shows that the signs may vary: the rainbow after the Deluge, the dew on fleece given to Gideon, or turning Moses’s staff into a serpent to convince doubtful amongst Israel, and alike; in all those cases, argues Rabbi Jacob, a sign comes from God: “I shall show you in the Holy Scripture that whenever God promises something, He gives a sign or performs a miracle so to reassure the one to whom the promise has been made.”301 But the Arian mistake lies not only in confusing the function of circumcision in Abraham’s agreement with God, but also in seeing it as a part of the “land and offspring” promise. According to the Rabbi, the biblical narrative itself renders the Master’s interpretation of circumcision implausible: God’s promise to give Abraham offspring and the land was confirmed by his acceptance of an animal offering as described in the fifteenth chapter of the Book of Genesis: This sign [i.e. circumcision] cannot be extended to [mean] the confirmation of the promises given to Abraham regarding Sarah’s childbirth and the land of Canaan […]. In Genesis 15:8 [Abraham] asks God: “Lord God, whereby shall I know that I shall inherit it? And God said unto Abraham, Take an heifer of three years old, and a she goat of three years old, and a ram of three years old, and a turtledove, and a young pigeon. And he took unto him all these, and divided them in the midst.” Thus, he [Abraham] received the sign or miracle he had asked for from God that came to confirm that Sarah would bear a child. Therefore, how can you [Czechowic] claim that [the sign Abraham asked for is] circumcision, which is mentioned only in Chapter 17 and separated [from the promise of offspring and land] by the story of Hagar?302

300 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 79a. ‘Iż obrzezanie ciała mężczyńskiego było pieczęcią obietnic i przymierza rzeczy ziemskich i cielesnych jako potomstwa obfitego i ziemi onej Kanannejskiej tym umysłem uczynione, iż się w tym wszystkim Bóg Abrahamowi uiścić miał, co mu był obiecał. Co iż uczynił, a oni złośliwie to przymierze zgwałcili i ziemię już od Boga darowaną utracili.’ 301 Czechowic, Odpis, 265. ‘I owszem ja tobie ukażę ze Świętego Pisma, iż kiedykolwiek Pan Bóg co komu obiecał, a chciał iżby on komu to obiecał był pewien tej obietnicy, tedy Pan Bóg dał mu znak abo uczynił cuda.’ 302 Czechowic, Odpis, 267–268. ‘[Abraham] mówi: Panie Boże, zaczym mam to pewnie wiedzieć, iż ją mam dziedziczyć? I mówił do niego, weźmij cielicę trzecioletnią i barana trzecioletniego i gołębicę etc. I kazał mu to wszytko rozsiekać na sztuki. Thamże mu się dosyć stało znaku abo cudu według zadania jego, iż prosił Pana Boga, iżby mu dał jaki znak, za którym znakiem miał być pewien, iż jego potomek, którego z Sarą miał mieć, miał dziedziczyć w ziemi Chananejskiej. A cóż tedy możesz mówić, iż obrzezanie, które dopiero w kap. 17. rozkazał, a wszytką historią

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Therefore, according to Jacob’s exegesis, the promise of offspring and inheritance of the Land of Canaan was sealed with the animal sacrifice, while circumcision, commanded only two chapters later, constitutes a separate deal – a covenant of election: God’s commandment of circumcision given to Abraham was not a confirmation that Sarah was going to bear offspring and that this offspring will be given the Land of Canaan. Rather, it was a sign and a seal of a covenant, according to which he [Abraham] was to be God’s perfect servant and that all his children, unless they renounce the faith in God, would accept God the Almighty as their Lord.303

Such distinction between the two stages of God’s agreement with Abraham allows Jacob to distinguish between the earthly part of the deal – the “real estate contract” and the identity-forming divine election, which was confirmed by circumcision.304 This comes as a negation of Czechowic’s position, according to which circumcision was only an element of the former agreement. Next, the Rabbi points out that had circumcision been a sign of the “land and offspring deal,” it would have to end once the promise was fulfilled, that is upon reception of the aforementioned land and offspring. The fact that Abraham’s descendants have continued the practice since proves that it was not the case. This argument seals the discussion on the nature of the commandment and brings the Rabbi to the second aspect of the discussion, namely the allegation that circumcision has been abolished.305 If, the Rabbi stipulates, one accepts the Master’s claim that circumcision was linked to Israel’s presence in Canaan and Abrahamic

z Haggarą między tymi, jako on znaku żądał od Pana Boga i Pan Bóg mu kazał cielicę wziąć, a między tym, jako mu się Pan Bóg kazał obrzezać, który dopiero o tym pisze w kap. 17.’ 303 Czechowic, Odpis, 268. ‘A przeto to rozkazanie Boże do Abrahama, aby się obrzezać miał, nie był znak upewnić Abrahama, iż potomka miał mieć z Sarą, iżby temu potomkowi ziemię Chananejską miał dać, jedno znak przymierza, iżby miał być sługą Bożym doskonałym i wszytkie potomki którzykolwiek nie odstąpią od wiary Bożej, tedy to pieczęć i znak jest, iż oni przyjęli na się Pana Boga wszechmogącego za Pana.’ 304 The function and the meaning of the word ‘sign’ – the Hebrew ‫ – אות‬in the Old Testament, and more precisely, in the context of circumcision in the Priestly sources, was analysed by Michael Fox. Fox distinguished three types of signs. First category comprises proof signs that convince the receiver of certainty of a given proposition; then come symbol signs that represent a given event, entity, or notion by the virtue of resemblance of features or convention; and finally cognition signs that enrich people’s understanding of reality either by raising awareness of something already known (mnemonic signs) or by categorising elements of known reality (identity signs). See Michael V. Fox, “The Sign of the Covenant: Circumcision in the Light of the Priestly ‘ot Etiologies,’” Revue Biblique 81 (1974): 557–596. 305 Czechowic, Odpis, 288–289.

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offspring, why did it continue after the expulsion from the Land? And, on the other hand, if it was to be annulled with the coming of Jesus, why did Paul himself ensure that circumcision of Timothy had been conducted – a proof of both, the internal inconsistency of the Apostle’s doctrine and the affirmation of the Jewish ritual.306 The Master’s teaching on circumcision having been abolished is based on the claim that the “carnal” commandments, like all material creation, are temporary and finite. Jacob denies this, arguing against the very idea that commandments could be abrogated. According to him, even if the world shall cease to exist, this does not mean that the commandments should have their “validity date:” I cannot see that Lord God commanded any of his decrees to cease so that one would not be obliged to keep it any longer. God himself says that the decrees are to be in force until the Sun and the Earth exist. Since the Sun and the Earth remain intact, so does every one of the decrees according to God’s command.307

Next, Jacob turns to the argument previously employed by the Student, namely that it was Paul and the Jerusalem Council who were responsible for cancelling circumcision, not God, and not even Jesus. Whilst the Student argued that circumcision was revoked only for Gentile believers and therefore there is no reason the Jews should not continue the practice, Jacob’s argument goes beyond far beyond a defence. Jacob reads the fifteenth chapter of the Acts: For it seemed good to the Holy Ghost, and to us [i.e. the members of the Council], to lay upon you [recipients of the letter: the Gentiles in Antioch and Syria and Cilicia] no greater burden than these necessary things; That ye abstain from meats offered to idols, and from blood, and from things strangled, and from fornication: from which if ye keep yourselves, ye shall do well.308

Taken aback by the Council’s members effectively equalling themselves with God by uttering “it seemed good to the Holy Ghost, and to us” Jacob objurgates Christian audacity: [everyone should see how] Paul dared to reject this first Patriarchal commandment so bluntly since I cannot find [anywhere in Scripture] that God was consulting him when the latter commanded Abraham to circumcise himself. None of the prophets sent to Israel

306 Jacob refers to the story described in the Acts: 16. 307 Czechowic, Odpis, 288. ‘nie widzę, aby jaśnie Pan Bóg raczył rozkazać, aby która ustawa z jego rozkazania miałaby ustać i już nie potrzeba jej wypełnić, jako mówi Pan Bóg i niebo i ziemia zniszczeć mają tedy w swej mocy być ma aż do czasu, iż sam Pan Bóg nas rozwiąże z niego, jako niebo i ziemia stoją i urząd im ich odejmuje, także każda ustawa z rozkazania Bożego.’ 308 Acts 15: 28–29.

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by God had ever said ‘it pleased God and us.’ In this case, [such expression] is even more unworthy and unjustified, for [Paul] spoke against God’s commandment that is against circumcision.309

Even if we entertain the thought that the finite character of creation procures nullification of the commandments, argues Jacob, why then should the rulings of the Jerusalem Synod be ever-lasting? Besides, Jacob adds, if the temporary suspension of ritual practice was to evidence its abolition, the ritual of adult baptism was discontinued, too, until restored by the Arians, and thus should not be practised any longer: I heard from you manifolds that your ceremony [adult baptism] has been quenched for a long time by the Pope and could not come out to light until it emerged recently and has dazzled brightly. Therefore, one could imagine somebody arguing the same way you do: since immersing adults rather than children was discontinued for a considerable amount of time, it lost its authority and power.310

The fact that the argument about adult baptism being the original form of Christian ritual comes from the Rabbi deserves attention for two reasons. First, it allows us to assume that Jacob was aware of the core theological differences on baptism between the Arians and Protestant, Reform, and Catholic Churches. He also proves to be able to use this knowledge against Czechowic. Second, Jacob refers to the allegory between circumcision and baptism yet does it in an innovative, truly virtuosic fashion. Having drawn parallels between the two rites (which is, nota bene, a traditional Christian rhetorical move), he then turns sides and dooms pedobabtism as a mere diversion from the right course, a break in the correct tradition of baptising adults. This way he seemingly adopts Anabaptist stance in the debate. Yet then, he turns the tables once again and uses the Arian argument (support for adult baptism) against Czechowic in a way a Christian of any other denomination would not do.

309 Czechowic, Odpis, 277. ‘Tu niechaj każdy obaczy, jeśli Paweł mógł to rozkazanie Boże najpierwsze Patriarchowe wykopać zgoła, gdy nie najduję, ani to jest, aby Paweł miał być z Panem Bogiem w radzie, kiedy Pan Bóg Abrahamowi obrzeskę rozkazał. A zwłaszcza, że nie najduję tego u żadnego proroka kiedykolwiek byli przysłani od Pana Boga do Izraela, iżby miał mówić prorok, tak się upodobało Panu Bogu i nam też. Daleko thu więcej niesłuszna i nierówna, ponieważ iż tho przeciwko rozkazaniu Bożemu mówi, to jest, iż sam Pan Bóg rozkazał obrzeskę.’ 310 Czechowic, Odpis, 298. ‘Gdy jam to nie raz słyszał od ciebie, iż ta sekta wasza ze wszystkimi ceremoniami przez papieża zburzona i zatłumiona była czas długi i na światłość nie mogła przyjść, aż czas niedawny zaiste się wynurzyła i rozszyrzyła. Tedyć by też to mógł zadać, kto inszy mówiąc tak, jako ty mówisz. Ponieważ takie nurzanie w leciach, a nie dziećmi będąc, już swojego tytułu i mocy nie może mieć, ponieważ iż czas niemały ustało było i przerwane było.’

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The Rabbi’s treatment of the circumcision issue is much more elaborate than the Jewish stance quoted by the Student of Odpis. The Arian response does not fall short, either. While in Gadki Żydowskie, the Master’s anti-circumcision tirade emphasised consistently one point, namely that circumcision partakes in the carnal dimension of human existence and has been replaced by its spiritual counterpart, Czechowic’s dissension with the Rabbi’s stance as presented in Odpis appears multifaceted. At first, he takes issue with the logical, pragmatic argument Jacob has presented, namely that a person bequeathed a covenant is not obliged to provide any sign that would secure the deal. Czechowic’s counter hinges on determining the role of Abraham in the deal: he was not a recipient, but rather a broker, who “signed” the deal in the name of his patron: It is customary that kings and noblemen when they give their promises, they do not write in person what and to whom they bestow or promise. Instead, they instruct somebody else, at times the recipient themselves, to write on their behalf. Also, they do not seal [the document] themselves but order others to do it. This notwithstanding, the written and stamped promise does not have to involve the very person who wrote and sealed it, but the one who ordered to do so. The same way you should understand Abraham’s case, who did not act on his own behalf, but on behalf of God. Hence, God does not call the covenant Abraham’s but his own, neither does he call the seal, that is circumcision, Abraham’s seal but his own (Genesis 17:2, 4, 7, 9, 10, 13).311

Should circumcision be seen as a sign of a covenant of Israel with God, as Jacob upholds? – by all means yes, according to Czechowic, but not the eternal one. The covenant was broken when Israel sinned: a palpable result thereof is the diaspora, so obvious a proof that even “a simple parish bard of Bełżyce could judge for himself and understand correctly.”312 Czechowic compares the case to a feudal land agreement: if one obtains land together with a sealed privilege, losing the land renders the document, and all the more its seal, worthless.

311 Czechowic, Odpis, 270. ‘Bo i królowie i inszy panowie nie sami tego piszą co komu obiecują abo darują, ale abo komu inszemu, abo i onemu samemu komu co obiecują pisac każą i nie sami też zawżdy pieczęci przykładają, ale ją abo onemuż abo komu inszemu przyłożyć każą. A wżdy już i napisanie onej obietnicy i zapieczętowanie tak uczynione nie bywa onemu przyczytane, który pisał i pieczętował, ale onemu, co obietnicę uczyniwszy napisać i zapieczętować kazał. Także rozumieć masz o Abrahamie, który nie czynił nic podług woli swej, ale podług woli Bożej. Przetoż też Bóg onego przymierza z Abrahamem uczynionego i onej pieczęci, to jest obrzeski, nie zowie abrahamową, ale swoją, 1 Moj 17 et 2. 4, 7, 9, 10, 13.’ 312 Czechowic, Odpis, 274. ‘którą by prosty rybało u fary w Bełżycach mógł zrozumieć i rozsądzić.’

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Such “translation” of spiritual truth into the language of sixteenth-century legal agreement plays a double role. On the one hand, it provides an easily understandable analogy, a literary equivalent of biblia pauperum: a visual representation of biblical scenes that would bring salvation history to illiterate plebs. In similar fashion, imagining the God in the role of an affluent magnate who rents his land to a tenant handing him a sealed document could be a licentia poetica of the Arian preacher used to teach simpletons. However, presenting the covenant between God and Abraham in the form of an earthly contract strips it of the pretence of eternal, spiritual covenant that Jacob wished to see, making the contrast with New Testament covenant look even starker. Referring to Jacob’s point that God’s promises require no ritual response on the part of the people, Czechowic revokes cases when the Israelites were obliged to perform a specific ritual upon reception of God’s grace – the blood of the paschal lamb being one of the examples. Thus, circumcision is a stamp that confirms the mutual agreement between the signatories. Jacob’s next argument, namely that circumcision was the outset of Abraham’s  – and any of his followers’ – faith, brings Czechowic to employ a charge he has oftentimes levelled against pedobaptism. As mentioned above, the Magisterial Reformation retained infant baptism as a symbol of the mystical baptism of faith. Although the christened babies did not receive faith through the ritual, the practice of infant christening was an external sign of faith that the newly born were believed to have possessed, as well as of their inclusion into the community of the elected. The Anabaptist theologians rejected such distinction between the baptism of faith and the baptism of water. According to them, the water baptism was meaningful only after a catechumen had expressed his or her faith and had explicitly committed to Christianity.313 Czechowic adopted this mode of thinking when referring to circumcision. Were Jacob’s argument correct, he says, anyone circumcised would be automatically included in the community of believers. This is obviously cannot be the case since circumcised children eight days of age are not able to confess their faith or to fulfil God’s will. Circumcising them without knowing whether or not they are going to be believers is akin to infant baptism: futile and wrong. The final aspect of the discussion on the eternal character of circumcision once again links circumcision with baptism. Responding to Jacob’s claim that the ritual, by the virtue of being a God’s ordinance, cannot be invalidated, Czechowic contrasts the God’s given laws that his Church keeps and those dictated by Satan. In the latter category, he includes Catholic infant baptism, and Jewish

313 See for example Goertz, The Anabaptists, 68–84.

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commandments, which were, according to his reading of the Talmudic tale about Bar Temalion, of satanic origin.314 This leads him to conclude with evoking once more the opposition of spiritual and carnal types of worship; however, this time the latter refers in equal measure to Old Testament ritual and to “mistaken” Christian practices. Whilst the Rabbi continues presenting circumcision as a mitzvah – a commandment given by God to His people as a part of an eternal covenant, for Czechowic, the Jewish ritual of circumcision is theologically relevant only as a paradigm for the Catholic infant baptism. Arguably, this is the main reason why he refuses to consider circumcision as anything more than a seal of an earthly deal, akin to trade contract, that has been abrogated. The practice itself does not reflect the relationship with God and there is no reason for it to be continued. Thereby, Czechowic’s response to Jacob’s criticism of Gadki Żydowskie is once again preoccupied not with responding to the Jew, but with highlighting the Arian teaching on baptism.

Conclusion In the previous chapter, we saw that while Gadki Żydowskie is ostensibly a model of a successful disputation with a Jew, the text serves, in fact, a different agenda: the inter-faith polemic in Gadki Żydowskie can be seen as a mere framework for Czechowic intra-faith dispute with his co-believers, concerned with Christian theological issues. In Gadki Żydowskie the arguments of the “hermeneutical Jew”315 play but an auxiliary role, allowing the Master to expound on Christian (Arian) theology. This agenda is a reason why the “Jewish” subjects received but sketchy covering in the first of Czechowic’s texts: they play an important role in setting up the roles of the Master and the Student, but are far from the main interest of the author. Both, the literary form of a Platonic dialogue,316 and the proposed model of an anti-Jewish polemic are tailored to suit this agenda: the Student introduces only topics that are useful as a springboard for the Arian apologetics and his questions serve the Master to expose

314 To be discussed in Chapter 4. 315 The term used by Jeremy Cohen in idem, Living Letters of the Law: Ideas of the Jew in Medieval Christianity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999). 316 Leo Strauss in his discussion on the literary character of Kuzari, posits that a distinctive feature of Platonic dialogues is the fact they consist of a conversation between a superior and inferior man, rather than intellectual equals. Leo Strauss, Persecution and the Art of Writing (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988), 104 n.27.

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his views in the most convincing fashion. Indeed, eventually, the Student concedes with his teacher theses. In contrast, Odpis is less successful as an inter-faith polemic. Although the effort to conduct the discussion according to the model outlined in Gadki Żydowskie is discernible at the beginning of the text, later the attempt fails. Instead of passing smoothly from a discussion on the Talmud, which is an example of detrimental human-made ritual and hermeneutics, to proofs for the Messianic role of Jesus, Czechowic is led to discuss elements of Jewish ritual and creed. The “double authorship” of Odpis is to blame for the polemic to run off the envisioned tracks. Czechowic’s decision to incorporate what appears to be actual arguments of Rabbi Jacob, rather than construing a “straw Jew of Christian imagination,”317 made his venture more complicated than when he wrote Gadki Żydowskie. In Odpis, it is the Rabbi who decides which topics and how extensively should be discussed. As a result, the Jewish theology becomes a dominant theme, and Christological exhortation passes on a further plan. Moreover, even though Czechowic apparently took the liberty to edit Jacob’s parts and trim them to fit his purpose, the fact that only one side – Czechowic himself – can respond to his adversary’s arguments, leaves the impression that the contenders are doomed never to find a common ground. Indeed, the Arian theologian and his Jewish friend seem to speak a completely different religious language. Although both maintain that Scriptural exegesis forms a foundation of their religious practices, they agree neither on the method nor on the meaning of key notions. Their disputation reveals deep, unconformable differences in understanding what a covenant of election comprised, what is the relationship between the two Testaments, what kind of worship is desirable, and the like. Jacob represents the Jewish thought, where the Bible requires authoritative hermeneutical tradition, which would not only provide a reliable understanding of seemingly contradictory fragments but would also help to organise daily communal life according to biblical precepts. For him, the Talmud satisfies these pragmatic goals. However, Jacob is familiar with an alternative reading of the sacred texts, namely the Christian tradition of supersessionist exegesis of the Old Testament, and he sees it as the main obstacle in conducting any theological discussion.

317 The expression used by Marcel Simon in his summary of Harnack’s take on anti-Jewish literature in antiquity. See Marcel Simon, Verus Israel: A Study of the Relations between Christians and Jews in the Roman Empire (ad 135–425) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985), 137.

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Czechowic speaks from the position of a Protestant theologian, for whom true Christianity begins with the sola scriptura principle. He declares his contempt for any tradition that forsakes an individual reading of Scripture in favour of reliance on an officially established interpretation invested in divine-like status. Yet, his take on sola scriptura principle merely substitutes one official reading with another, leaving little more room for freedom of interpretation than the Churchauthorised exegesis did, and dooming any competing readings as blind and erroneous.

4 Sources of knowledge about Jews and Judaism in Czechowic’s Odpis In chapter two, we have seen how references to Jews and Judaism, which drew upon stereotype images of the biblical people of Israel and on the negative connotations of the adjective “Jewish,” functioned in early Arian texts. The Arian writers typically did not concern themselves with nuances of the Jewish belief or practice, nor did they have recourse to Jewish literature saving the Hebrew Bible, which served them as the sole source of their knowledge about the Jews. In contrast to those works, Odpis impresses with the wide range of Jewish texts referred to by the author, discernible even upon a superficial skimming through the book. Among the sources of which Czechowic availed himself when composing his anti-Jewish polemic were writings of Jewish authors, in original and in translation, as well as the works of Christian Hebraists who aimed at the opening for the Christians the repository of Jewish classical literature, from the Torah and the Talmud to mediaeval commentaries and Kabbalah. I will discuss Czechowic’s attitude to the quoted texts, the rationale for their citing, and the role he envisaged for the Jewish scholarship to play in his rhetorical venture. Such reconstruction of Czechowic’s library will add to the understanding of the process of transmission of knowledge between Jews, scholars of Judaism, and the community of Polish Brethren. It will also set the stage to asses Czechowic’s knowledge of Hebrew and to discuss whether the Arian theologian deserves to be counted in the community of Christian Hebraists and European Humanists.

The Hebrew Bible Unsurprisingly, among texts referred to in the course of the polemic in Odpis the Jewish Bible, the book recognized as a holy text by both interlocutors, holds a dominant place. The preliminary choice Czechowic had to make when responding to Rabbi Jacob was whether to use the original Hebrew version, or its translation – the Latin Vulgate, recognised as the canonical translation by the Rome, a Note: This chapter is an enlarged version of a text that appeared previously in Polish as ‘Odpis Jakuba Żyda Marcina Czechowica i chrześcijański hebraizm w wersji ariańskiej’ Piotr Wilczek, Michał Choptiany (eds.). Kultura Pierwszej Rzeczypospolitej w dialogu z Europą. Hermeneutyka wartości, Vol. X. Antytrynitaryzm w Pierwszej Rzeczypospolitej w kontekście europejskim. Źródła − rozwój – oddziaływanie. (Warsaw: University of Warsaw Press), 316–333. By courtesy of Warsaw University Press. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110586565-005

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Protestant translation of the Rabbinic Bible, such as Sebastian Münster’s Biblia Hebraica, or one of the Polish translations.318 The standard tool of a Hebraist’s workshop was a printed Hebrew edition of the so-called Rabbinic Bible, or Biblia Rabbinica, as it came to be known in Renaissance Europe. The Rabbinic Bible featured the masoretic Hebrew text was accompanied with Targumim (traditional Aramaic translations) and commentaries. It was standardised – or, in Stephen Burnett’s words, invented as a genre319 – at the beginning of the sixteenth century by a Christian printer, Daniel Bomberg and published twice: in 1517 and in 1525 (the 1525 edition proved to be favoured by Humanist scholars). The Bomberg Bible was produced in two versions, one intended for the Jewish and one for the Christian audience320 – in the latter version Bomberg used the chapter division popularised by the Vulgate edition rather than retaining the traditional Jewish schema and appended a Latin introduction.321 Notwithstanding this editorial accommodation of the target readers’ preferences, the study of Biblia Rabbinica required a thorough linguistic preparation and so Bomberg’s publication was often unavailable to less proficient Hebraists. To support those whose linguistic skills were not sufficient, Latin versions of Biblia Rabbinica, in its entirety or in parts (for example, commentaries and glosses published separately in the form of pamphlets), were produced – Sebastian Münster’s annotated editions of 1534–35 and 1546 being among the most famous.322 This subgenre was remarkably popular among adepts of Hebrew literature and the leading figures of the Christian Reformation alike: it has been demonstrated that Luther learned Nachmanides’ commentaries from Münster’s writing, rather than as a result of perusing the original.323 Czechowic would not have to put much effort to get hold of a printed Hebrew edition: it was obtainable in Lublin, printed by a local Jewish printing shop in

318 In the late seventies of the sixteenth-century Poland when Odpis was composed, a Polishlanguage biblical scholar would have access to the Catholic so-called Cracow or Leopolita’s Bible, published in 1561, the Calvinist Brześć or Pińczów Bible published two years later, as well as a translation prepared by Szymon Budny, an Arian minister, in 1572. 319 See Stephen G. Burnett, “The Strange Career of the ‘Biblia Rabbinica’ Among Christian Hebraists, 1517–1620,” in Shaping the Bible in the Reformation; Books, Scholars, and Their Readers in the Sixteenth Century, ed. Bruce Gordon and Matthew McLean (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 68. 320 David Stern, “The Rabbinic Bible in its Sixteenth-Century Context,” in The Hebrew Book in Early Modern Italy, ed. Joseph R. Hacker and Adam Shear (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011), 80. 321 Burnett, “The Strange Career,” 64. 322 Burnett, “The Strange Career, 2 especially 74–77. 323 Burnett, Christian Hebraism, 93.

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1558 324 and seems to have been popular among the Arian readers.325 Moreover, given the identity of Czechowic’s polemical opponent, quoting from the Hebrew original would seem a natural choice. Yet, all proof texts in Odpis are rendered in Polish, according to the so-called Brześć or Pińczów Bible.326 This first Protestant translation of the entire Bible into Polish from original languages was prepared in the Calvinist milieu at the court of Prince Mikołaj Radziwiłł the Black.327 The patron, a great supporter of the Reformation in general and later of the Polish Brethren movement, funded the enterprise and assembled a group of translators, including, among others the future founding fathers of the Arian Church, such as Grzegorz Paweł of Brzeziny or Marcin Krowicki. However, the final result, the Brześć Bible (1563), met with harsh criticism of more radical thinkers, most notably of Szymon Budny, an alleged judaiser and Czechowic’s political opponent. Budny criticised especially the fact that the editors of the Brześć Bible aided themselves with other translations, rather than translate the Hebrew original directly: the translators from Brześć did not keep their promise. At the beginning, or in the title they stated that they had translated the books from the Hebrew, or as they put it – from the

324 Pietkiewicz, W Poszukiwaniu, 168. 325 For example, according to Maria Stankowa and Stanisław Tworek, a library of Wojciech Calissius, one of the most prominent Arian intellectuals, a pastor and the rector of the famous Arian school in Lubartów who lived in in sixteenth-century Lublin, included Biblia Hebraica in octavo and Hebrew dictionary (dictionarius hebraicus in the same format). The contents of Calissius’ library became known thanks to a catalogue of his books and in fact all his earthly possession, which the owner prepared in 1579 anticipating his journey to Germany. Calissius’s book collection comprised a total of eighty-eight books on theology, philosophy, music, botanic, and other subjects, written mostly in Latin, Polish, and Greek. For the annotated inventory, see Maria Stankowa and Stanisław Tworek, “Inwentarz ksiąg i rzeczy Wojciecha Calissiusa z 1579 roku,” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 13 (1968), 199–204. 326 The first translation of the entire Bible into Polish was the Christian Leopolite Bible (1561), which however used the Latin Vulgate as a base. The identity of the Bible’s translator remains unknown. For the hypotheses of the authorship and their assessment, see Rajmund Pietkiewicz, Pismo Święte w języku polskim w latach 1518–1638. Sytuacja wyznaniowa w Polsce a rozwój edytorstwa biblijnego (University of Wrocław: 2003. PhD thesis available at: https://www.google.co.il/url?sa=t&source=web&rct=j&url=http://digital.fides.org. pl/Content/728&ved=2ahUKEwjlyMuRzuzdAhWMb1AKHa_eB54QFjAAegQIBRAB&usg= AOvVaw03nwZStP_b_HcZKe-Jdpbr), 217. 327 For a history and comparative analysis of Polish translations of the Bible, see Pietkiewicz, W Poszukiwaniu, 181–27.

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Jewish [language] and from Greek and yet clearly in many places they missed the Greek and the Hebrew, and without putting much effort, translated only from Latin and French.328

As a result of the disappointment with the Brześć version, Budny prepared (apparently almost single-handedly329) his own translation, in which he introduced a number of neologisms and retained Hebrew names whenever possible: I should like to translate proper names of men, women, cities, and the like in the way they should be read in Hebrew, that is instead of Noe [traditional Polish translation] I would put Noach, instead of Abraham – Avraham, instead of Moiżesz – Moszeh, instead of Jeruzalem – Jeruszalaim. Yet I understand that the simple folks would feel strange and disappointed. Therefore, I was careful to translate well-known and important names according to the tradition, while translating the less common according to the way local Jews write and pronounce them: Achaw, Chyshijahu, Choryw, Checron, Caddok, Cyion instead of commonly written [in Polish] Achab, Ezechiasz, Horeb, Hezron, Sadok, Sion.330

However, this feature of Budny’s translation did not appeal to Czechowic, who found it hard to follow – he confessed that even he himself failed to understand odd words and had to ask others331 – and thus unlikely to be preferred by uncultivated readers. The translation Czechowic preferred and used was the Brześć one. When in Odpis Jacob launches an attack on the Calvinist Polish translation (he disagrees with the translators rendering of the word path (,‫ פת‬which he transliterates ‘pas’ according to the Ashkenazi pronunciation), as ‘meal’ suggesting that it refers to bread only), Czechowic provides a detailed linguistic exegesis essentially proving that the Brześć translators made the right editorial decision.332

328 Szymon Budny, preface to Biblia, to jest ksiegi Starego i Nowego Przymierza (Łosk: Daniel z Łęczycy 1574), 2. ‘Brzescy tłumacze swej obietnicy dosyć nie czynili. Bo na przodku abo w tytule ich napisali, że te księgi z ebrejskiego abo, jako oni zową, żydowskiego a z greckiego przełożyli, ale się jawnie (jak oni rzekli) pokazało, że i greckiego i ebrejskiego na wielu miejscach chybili a mało się ich dokładali, znać iż tylko z łacińskiego a k’temu z francuskiego przekładali.’ 329 Pietkiewicz, W poszukiwaniu, 184. 330 Budny, preface to Biblia, 15. ‘Własne imiona mężów, białych głów, miast i innych rzeczy radbym tak kładł, jako się w księgach hywreyskich czytają to jest miasto Noego, Noacha, miasto Abrahama Avrahama, miasto Moiżesza Moszecha, miasto Jeruzalem Jeruszalaim. Lecz rozumiałem temu, żeby co prostakom przykro nie jedno dziwno było. A tak tego przystrzegałem, żeby o to te imiona znajome a znaczniejsze tak, jako zwyczaj niesie były zachowane, zaś tak znajome tak są położone jako je Żydowie tuteczni piszą i czytają jako są Achaw, Chyshijahu, Choryw, Checron, Caddok, Cyion miasto tego co pospolicie mówią i piszą: Achab, Ezechiasz, Horeb, Hezwra, Sadok, Sion.’ 331 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 127a. 332 Czechowic, Odpis, 102. This fragment of the polemic between Czechowic and Jacob is going to be analysed in paragraphs to follow.

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The question arises, why did Czechowic use a Polish translation of the biblical text when composing a polemic against Jacob, who would be potentially much easier convinced by quotations from the original Hebrew? Apparently, the target reader of Odpis was not the Rabbi of Bełżyce, but a member of the Arian community: those who supported Czechowic, and those in opposing camps. For the sake of his readers, Czechowic’s choice of the Polish translation seems but propitious. Moreover, Odpis was conceived at the time when the discussion which translation to prefer – the earlier Brześć Bible, or the new “judaising” Budny’s translation – was a highly divisive issue. One may assume that siding with the former was not only a random choice between available Polish translations or a sheer literary preference but an expression of political sympathies. The criticism specifically of Budny’s translation seems to suggest that Odpis was a strategical move against the Lithuanian minister, who was not only a brilliant biblical scholar and a Hebraist but also Czechowic’s competitor in the internal power struggle and an ideological opponent.

The Talmud and Rabbinic commentaries Czechowic’s use of a Polish translation of the Bible – moreover, the version less concerned with preserving the Hebrew original, could have been an effective political move, but it came at a price: the author of Odpis risked to leave his readers with the impression that he is ignorant of Jewish literature. In this context, Czechowic’s decision to introduce ubiquitous references to the rabbinic literature, including the Talmud, exegeses and commentaries, as well as other sources that confirm his familiarity with Jewish intellectual tradition, could have been motivated at least partially by his will to dispel any shade of doubt in his competence in the Hebrew language. The fact that Czechowic resorted to using the Talmud in his polemic does not make him exceptional. In fact, Czechowic’s attitude to and use of the Talmud does not differ from that of other Christians engaged in anti-Jewish polemic. Harnessing the Talmud to affirm the Church’s doctrine was apparently initiated by Peter the Venerable,333 popularised as a novel strategy in Christian–Jewish polemics by Pablo Christiani during the Barcelona disputation of 1263,334 and implemented 333 See Yvonne Friedman, “Introduction,” in Petri Venerabilis Adversus Iudeorum Inveteratam Duritiem. Corpus Christianorum, Continuatio Mediaevalis 58 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1985), vii–lxx. 334 Amos Funkenstein, “Basic Types of Christian Anti-Jewish Polemics in the Later Middle Ages,” Viator 1 (1971): 373–382; Robert Chazan, Daggers of Faith: Thirteenth-Century Christian Missionizing and Jewish Response (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 24.

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extensively in disputations since. By the mid-sixteenth century, quotations from and references to the Talmud have already entered the anti-Jewish repertoire of the Christian polemicists. The constant effort of Hebraists of various Christian denominations to make this foundational text of Judaism available to their cobelievers contributed further to its popularity. This resulted in the paradoxical situation when, whilst the lion’s share of Odpis is devoted to dispelling the authority of the Talmud, the same Talmud serves as a supply of trustworthy accounts of the past and authoritative opinions.335 Like earlier Christian polemicists, Czechowic recognised the polemical potential that Talmudic passages may have. He resorts to selected quotations from the Talmud without necessarily accounting for the original context in which the rabbinic statements were originally used or engaging with the message they were meant to convey, turning the work into a peculiar anthology of dicta that can be used for buttressing his point.336 At the same time, he conceives of the Talmud as hampering spiritual growth: “Hurl against the floor your mistaken Talmud which leads you away from the truth,”337 he instructs his interlocutor. This approach was hardly a novelty in the world of Christian polemics; what is noteworthy, however, is Czechowic’s apparent effort to convince his reader of the extent of his scholarship. Czechowic attempts to show off his theoretical knowledge of Jewish scholarship is discernible, for example, in the opening section of Odpis concerned with the Talmud. Jacob, attempting to convince his interlocutor about the practical functionality of the Talmud, divides it according to the chalakhic code Arba’ah Turim into four parts, each of which helps to apply the Mosaic Law in particular spheres of everyday life. The first teaches how to celebrate Sabbath and holidays; the second provides guidance on forbidden foods; the third deals with marriage

335 For example, the Talmudic aggada on Bentamalion and R. Eliazar is taken as factual and serves later as a basis for an attack on the validity of Jewish commandments. The story and its use will be analysed later in the chapter. 336 For example, responding to Jacob’s claim that Paul had usurped God’s role when he decided whether or not circumcision should be obligatory among the early Christians, Czechowic brings up a quotation from the Talmud that says that one is allowed to violate biblical commandments if told so by a prophet. Czechowic concludes that Judaism puts the authority of a prophet or even a learned Rabbi over the authority of the Torah. In fact, the discussion in the Talmud (Sanhedrin, 90a) concerns only cases when the obligation to perform a given commandment can be temporarily suspended, never abolished. Moreover, in order to be listened to, the prophet to has to prove he is a true prophet at the moment of his controversial teaching (that is to say, caution is required when obeying a person who used to be known as a true prophet as he could have turned into an idolatrous prophet since, like Chananyah ben Ozer). See Odpis, 286. 337 Czechowic, Odpis, 106. ‘A zatym uderz o ziemię ten twój obłędliwy Talmud, który cię od poznania prawdy odwodzi.’

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laws, while the fourth deals with tort and inheritance laws.338 Czechowic condescendingly corrects this information, explaining the difference between Mishnah and Gemarah, pointing out that there are two Talmuds – the Babylonian and Palestinian one, and naming the six Talmudic orders and describing their contents in much more detail. He does not hold himself back from mocking the Rabbi: “It surprises me, my dear Jacob, that you speak of one only, and somewhat shortened, Talmud that you divide only into four parts [...]”339 To reassure his readers of his Hebraist scholarship, Czechowic quotes from Jewish sources providing a Polish translation, often enriched with philological remarks, and phonetic transliteration. As if to bolster the impression, Czechowic brings in a whole range of Jewish texts: rabbinic biblical commentaries, Midrash literature, and Aramaic translation of the Bible – the Targumim. Czechowic shows that he is able to appropriate the texts that come from his opponent’s cultural tradition and turn them into a textual support for his ideology. At the same time, he is careful not to blur the boundaries between on the one hand, Jewish texts that can enhance biblical scholarship and complement historical knowledge such as commentaries that supply the reader with a basic meaning of a given biblical passage or fill lacunae in the reader’s linguistic knowledge, and on the other hand, those that should be condemned. Whilst by and large his attitude to commentators like David Kimchi, Rashi, whom he calls Rabbi Shlomo, and Abraham ibn Ezra is positive and the Rabbis he quotes appear in the role of figures of authority, polemical anti-Christian texts of Joseph Kimchi’s Sefer haGalui, Sa’adia Gaon’s Emunot ve-deot, as well as Nizzahon books,340 Toldot Yeshu, and kabbalistic literature are referred to with unmitigated contempt: You cannot accuse me that I disdain everything in your Talmud – I disdain only what is worthy of disdain, contrary not only to pious opinions and to the Rabbis, but also to the Holy Writ itself. This I especially hold of books that you conceal from Christians who know Hebrew very well, having learnt it from you, such as the books called Nidzachon [sic], Tholdot [i.e. Toldot Yeshu], and Hagaluy [i.e. Joseph Kimchi’s Sefer haGalui], book Emunot and the like.341

338 See chapter 3. 339 Czechowic, Odpis, 69. ‘Dziwna to u mnie, że mi ty tu, mój miły Jakubie, jeden tylko jakiś mały Talmud przed oczy wystawiasz i na cztery tylko cząsteczki on dzielisz (...).’ 340 Czechowic refers to them in the plural, yet does not specify which of the Sifrei Nizzahon he is familiar with; since he mentions exclusively the title, the reference makes the impression to have been copied from Galatino’s work, wherein the Italian theologian refers to the Nizzahon books in the same fashion. 341 Czechowic, Odpis, 64. ‘tego mi zadać nie możesz, abych ja tak zgoła o wszytkim Talmudzie źle trzymać miał. Gdyż ja o tym tylko źle trzymam, co jest złego. A nie tylko o inszym pobożnym i

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Czechowic shunned the works a priori, making no effort to refute their logic, presenting himself not only as a connoisseur, but also a censor, whose role is to warn the reader against literature the study of which is dangerous. Even though Czechowic seemingly tries to demonstrate his extensive knowledge of Jewish literature, not only by referring to multiple authors throughout his work but also by quoting in Hebrew, his knowledge of rabbinic literature appears to be mediated by Christian Hebraist’s canon: the commentaries of Rashi, David Kimchi, and Abraham ibn Ezra, which were a standard addition to the Christian edition of Biblia Hebraica.342 He also quotes from Midrash on Psalms, Lamentations, and Genesis, as well as the Targumim: Yerushalmi, Yonathan, and Onkelos, all of which were oft-cited by others, including Paul Fagius, a German scholar and one of the pioneers of Christian Hebraism and a translator from Hebrew to German, and Pietro Galatino, a Dominican friar from Italy (in fact, Fagius published a translation of Targum Onkelos into Latin in 1546).343 Among other Jewish authors whom Czechowic mentions, albeit sporadically, are Ya’akov ben Asher (referred to as Ba’al ha-Turim), Moses of Coucy (in Odpis: Kutzi), and Moses Darshan, whom he quoted in reference to the annulment of the prohibition of sexual intercourse with a menstruant is due to be abolished in Messianic times. Explaining the meaning of the key term, nidda, Czechowic provides in Latin only (even the usual Polish translation is missing!): “nidda significat menstruae faeminae usus [nidda is used in the meaning of ‘a menstruating woman’].”344 This provides yet another proof for a contingent character of his work. The style of quotations resembles other Hebraists’ works, too. The context of a quote is either recounted very briefly or, oftentimes, omitted completely. However, unlike those writing in Latin, Czechowic does not quote the Hebrew passages in full. Instead, the main point of a given rabbinic statement is paraphrased, and followed by a keyword or a key phrase spelled out in Hebrew, with its transliteration and translation into Polish. One of the perhaps most evident examples of the derivative character of Czechowic scholarship is the story of Bar Temalion.345 The Talmudic legend (TB Me’ilah 17 a–b) relates the Jewish struggle to restore religious laws abolished

inszym rabbinom, ale i samemu Pismu Ś. przeciwnego. A nawięcej to rozumiem o onych księgach waszych, które teraz barzo przed krześcijany, którzy tak dobrze język hebrejski, jako którzy z was nauczeńsi, rozumieją kryjecie. Jako są one księgi, które zowią ‫ נצחון‬Nidzachon. Także księgi ‫ תולדות‬Tholdos. Item ‫ הגלוי‬Hagaluy. Nad to księgi ‫ אמונות‬Emunot i insze tym podobne.’ 342 Burnett, Christian Hebraism, 101. 343 Czechowic, Odpis, 26. 344 Czechowic, Odpis, 150. 345 Czechowic, Odpis, 300.

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by the Romans after Bar Kochba revolt. Rabbis Shimon bar Yohai and Eleazar resolved to try and make Caesar annul the legislation. On their way to his residence in Rome, they met a demon named Ben Temalion (Czechowic spells it as a single word) who offered help. They make an agreement that the demon would temporarily possess the Caesar’s daughter and surrender only to the Rabbis. When the plan came to its fruition, the Caesar allows the Rabbis to choose their reward, and they opt for the anti-Jewish decree, which they destroy. Even though the Gemarah recounts the legend in relation to the ritual purity of certain foods, Czechowic disregards the context and uses the story to discredit the validity and ontological status of Jewish commandments. In his interpretation, the core message of the Bar Temalion legend is the demonic provenience of the commandments, as they are observed in their today’s form. The original, divinely established law was annulled and replaced with what essentially is a Bar Temalion’s gift for the Jewish people. For Czechowic, this contention provides yet another reason for the Mosaic Law to be abrogated. To be sure, extracting fragments from the original source and stripping them of their intended meaning to use for polemical purposes was a commonplace practice among Christian polemicists. Also, the story of Bar Temalion was a well-established polemical tool. The first to popularize it was a Catalan Dominican convert from Judaism, Friar Ramon Martí, who related the tale in his ground-breaking Christian apologetic, Pugio Fidei (completed after 1278).346 As Alexander Fiodra has shown, the Talmudic legend was later copied from Martí’s work by a Franciscan monk, Francesc Eiximenis in his multi-volume summa of Christian faith, Lo Crestià (1379–1392) written in Catalan.347 However, both Martí and Eiximenis interpreted the story not to disqualify the commandments, as Czechowic did, but to prove that the Jews were not the Chosen Nation anymore: once they offered themselves to the demon, they separated themselves from God.348 Czechowic’s interpretation is heavily dependent on Pietro Galatino’s De Arcanis Catholicae veritatis (1518).349 Galatino monumental book was composed

346 Raimundo Martí, Pugio Fidei Adversus Mauros et Judaeos (Leipzig: Lancki, 1687), 454–455. On Pugio Fidei and Ramon Martí, see Chazan, Daggers. 347 Alexander Fiodra, “Ramon Martí in Context Subtitle: The Influence of the Pugio Fidei on Ramon Llull, Arnau de Vilanova and Francesc Eiximenis,” Recherches de Théologie et Philosophie Médiévales 79 (2012): 373–397. 348 Fiodra, “Ramon Martí,” 389. 349 Galatino, de Arcanis Catholicae Veritatis. Golda Akhiezer sees Czechowic’s interpretation as an innovation, even though she acknowledges that Czechowic used Galatino’s work. See Golda Akhiezer, “The Karaite Isaac Ben Abraham of Troki and His Polemics against Rabbanites,” in

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soon after the publication of Johann Reuchlin’s Augenspiegel (1511), which advocated that the use of Jewish books in the Christian context should be condemned as “scandalous and offensive to the pious ears of Christian believers and […] favourable to the impious Jews.”350 Even though Galatino’s work, requested by the Pope, endorsed Reuchlin’s point regarding the import of familiarity with Jewish texts for a Christian, it had, unlike Augenspiegel, an unequivocally anti-Jewish character. It drew so heavily upon Martí’s Pugio Fidei that has been often criticised as a case of plagiarism, despite, as Yaacob Dweck argued, Galatino’s profound familiarity with the Jewish sources which he quoted.351 Such “profound familiarity” with the rabbinic literature cannot be attested in the work of Czechowic; the version in Odpis appears to be a translation of Galatino’s work. For example, concluding the story, Czechowic writes: This shows, my dear Jacob, that now you have got circumcision, Sabbath etc. not from God but from Bentamalion the Satan, because God through the Romans took away everything from you. Were the Romans on their own, without God [‘s intervention] those who took [the commandments] away, God would have restored them either by himself or through one of the prophets or a good angel […]. Since now you practice [the ritual] not because of divine revelation and order but because of a diabolic trickery, what is there to take pride in? Is there, or can there ever be, anything brought about by Satan that pleases God?352

When compared to the conclusion found in Galatino’s rendering of the story353 the, similarity of the two fragments is striking: like Galatino, Czechowic mentiones Tradition, Heterodoxy and Religious Culture: Judaism and Christianity in the Early Modern Period, ed. Daniel J. Lasker et al. (Beer-Sheva: Ben Gurion University of the Negev, 2006), 457. 350 Quotation from Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann, who translates the report from Reuchlin’s process. Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann, “Political Theology in Renaissance Christian Kabbala: Petrus Galatinus and Guillaume Postel,” Hebraic Political Studies 1 (2006): 288. 351 Yaacob Dweck, The Scandal of Kabbalah: Leon Modena, Jewish Mysticism, Early Modern Venice (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2011), 156. 352 Czechowic, Odpis, 300. ‘Skąd się o to znaczy, mój miły Jakubie, że teraz obrzeski, szabatu etc. nie od Boga macie, ale od szatana Bentamaliona. Gdyż wam Bóg wszytko przez Rzymiany odjął. A gdyby wam to odjęli byli Rzymianie bez Boga, tedyby wam tho zasię przywrócił był Bóg abo przez proroka którego, abo przez anioła dobrego, (...) a gdy tego i wy teraz nie z objawienia and rozkazania Bożego używacie, ale z matactwa diabelskiego: a jakoż się z tego chlubić możecie, abo się tego upornie thrzymać i jako by się to Bogu podobało twierdzić, jeśli co abo możeli być co przez szatana wniesionego co by się Bogu podobać miało?’ 353 Galatino, De Arcanis, 419 “[…] Deum per Romanos ab iudaeis sabbatum, circumcisionem, ceaterasque cerimonias abstulisse. Confregit enim in ira furoris sui omne cornu eorum de quibus unum erat legis, ipsamque legem neque per seipsum, neque per angelum, neque per alium quemuis sanctum uirum, eis unquam restituit: sed diabolo procurante, sabbatum, circumcisionem, ceateraque eius generis recuperauerunt, ut in praemissa traditione liquido patet. Nemo igitur ulterius nisi daemoniacus, ea obseruare debet: quae Deus ipse abstulit et diabolus tam libens se

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“circumcision, Sabbath etc.” (“sabbatum, circumcisionem, ceaterasque cerimonias”) and notes that they were taken away by God who used the Romans as his tool (“Deum per Romanos ab iudaeis abstulisse”). The way, in which God allowed for the commandments to be restored is also phrased in both texts in an identical fashion: “neither by himself nor through one of the Prophets nor a good angel” but through “diabolic agency” (“neque per seipsum, neque per angelum, neque per alium quemuis sanctum uirum, eis unquam restituit: sed diabolo procurante”). Even the rhetorical question Czechowic asks at the end of the quoted text – how can any satanic doing be good? – resounds in Galatino’s conclusion: “quando uel ubi unquam diabolus bonum aliquod homini?” Not only did the Arian author avail himself of Galatino’s Latin translation of the Talmudic legend, but he also copied its interpretation. In fact, Czechowic did not try to conceal his familiarity with Galatino’s work (even if he failed to reference their work when adopting it): he mentions him in passing on a different occasion.354 The above-discussed characteristics of Czechowic’s work: the choice of the Polish translation of the Bible as a foundation of his anti-Jewish polemic, the style of fragments quoted in Hebrew, the appropriation of the Italian Hebraist’s conclusion, as well as the superficial treatment of rabbinic literature imply that Czechowic was relying on secondary sources; most likely on “Talmudic digests” prepared by Christian Hebraists. This seems to suggest that Czechowic’s linguistic skills might not have been sufficient to read rabbinic literature unabridged and conduct independent Hebraist research – a conclusion that counters the scholarly consensus on his proficiency in Hebrew and familiarity with the Jews. Czechowic’s Polish bibliographer, Lech Szczucki, refers to Czechowic as a homo trium linguarum: a scholar who mastered Ancient Greek, Latin, and Biblical Hebrew.355 The opinion of English-speaking scholarship on this point relies in this respect entirely on an article by Judah Rosenthal, discussed above,356 wherein the author presents Czechowic as an Arian leader who enjoyed extensive contacts with the Jews. Rosenthal supports his contention with the opinion of a nineteenth-century historian, Alexander Brückner, from whom he learns that “Czechowic met many Jews, with whom he used to debate and was nicknamed ‘the Rabbi of Lublin’ by his opponents, because of it.”357 He In fact, Brückner

uisibiliter ingerendo, Iudaeis restituit. Quando enim uel ubi unquam diabolus bonum aliquod homini, nisi forte ubi perspexit maius malum mortemque pessimam inde illi imminere, libens procurauit.” 354 Czechowic, Odpis, 70. 355 Szczucki, Marcin Czechowic, 98. 356 Rosenthal, “Marcin Czechowic and Jacob of Bełżyce.” 357 Rosenthal, “Marcin Czechowic and Jacob of Bełżyce,” 81.

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casually mentions the name “the Rabbi of Lublin” (alongside a “heretic” and “immersionist Pope”) without revealing his sources and with no connection to alleged debates with Jews.358 Rosenthal’s second argument for Czechowic’s knowledge of Hebrew stems from the Arian writer’s biography and oeuvre. The historian points out that Czechowic studied in Leipzig, where Hebrew was included in the curriculum, and that Hebrew words and phrases appear in Czechowic writings.359 However, such argumentation borders with the fallacy of insufficiency. Although Czechowic did study in Leipzig in 1554, he spent there no longer than a year and there is no record of what and how much he learned. According to Stanisław Kot, the skills Czechowic acquired there as “good knowledge of Greek and mediocre knowledge of Hebrew.”360 Rosenthal acknowledged that Czechowic’s Hebrew is not proficient. He pointed to what he understood to be the Arian writer’s Hebrew mistakes, most importantly Czechowic’s alleged distortion of an infamous anti-gentile statement: […] it is evident that Czechowic knew some Hebrew [...]. Odpis contains a great number of Hebrew expressions and Rabbinic quotations. Some are at times distorted, indicating the limits of his Hebrew knowledge. For example, in his attack on the Talmud, he quotes the famous Talmudic passage .‫ טוב שבגוים הרוג‬The word after ‫ הרוג‬is ‫ סיב‬evidently corrupted from ‫ טוב‬of the next statement .‫ טוב שבנחשים רצוץ את מותו‬Czechowic translates the statement in the following way: “to iest nalepszy z poganów godzien iest aby mu glowę starto iako węzowi” (the best of the gentiles deserves to have his head smashed like that of a snake.) Czechowic combined here two statements of the Talmud into one.361

Rosenthal also pointed out an incorrect marginal note that accompanies the quote: “Czechowic refers to the Targum on Exod. 13.1. It should be Rashi on Exod. 14.7.”362 Thus, Rosenthal assumed that Czechowic, knowing some Hebrew and having access to Rashi’s Biblical commentary, had understood it only partially, and translated according to his faulty reading. In fact, Czechowic did not do either of the above. The marginalis that Rosenthal thought to be mistaken, is correct: it actually reads Vidi Paulum Fagium in Exod 23:1 and refers to the aforementioned Paul Fagius’s

358 Brückner, Różnowiercy Polscy. Szkice obyczajowe i literackie (Warsaw: Księgarnia Naukowa, 1905), 263. 359 Rosenthal, “Marcin Czechowic and Jacob of Bełżyce,” 89. 360 Stanisław Kot, “Czechowic Marcin,” in Polski słownik biograficzny vol 4, ed. by Władysław Konopczyński (Cracow: Polska Akademia Nauk, 1938), 307. 361 Rosenthal, “Marcin Czechowic and Jacob of Bełżyce,” 89. 362 Rosenthal, “Marcin Czechowic and Jacob of Bełżyce,” 89 n57.

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commentary to his own edition of Targum Onkelos, published in Latin, in 1546.363 In an extensive note on Exodus 23:1, Fagius brings the quotation from Rashi (without mentioning his name), and translates it into Latin: “Unde et quidam magnus Rabbi apud illos sic dicit (!) ‫כשר שבגוים הרוג טוב שבנחשים רצץ‬ ‫מותו‬, id est, optimus qui inter genes est, dignus est ut caput illi conteratur tanquam serpenti.” It seems most probable that Czechowic had never read Rashi’s work; moreover, he appears uncertain to whom he should attribute the anti-gentile dictum. Czechowic wrote (addressing Rabbi Jacob): “[…] I read in your Rabbis, one of whom, a respectable one, wrote ‫כשר שבגוים הרוג‬ ‫( סיב‬sic!).”364 In other words, no knowledge of Hebrew was necessary for the Arian writer to make use of Rashi’s commentary – he copied both the quotation and its translation from Fagius’s Latin work. Thus, Rosenthal’s evidence of Czechowic’s alleged (albeit far from advanced) knowledge of Hebrew and Jewish literature falls short. Another proof for Czechowic’s limited familiarity with Hebrew is his reference to the codification of the laws of ritual purity, which he names “books of ‫”אישור והתר‬365 wherein the samekh (‫ )ס‬in the original ‫ איסור‬is replaced by a sin (‫)ש‬. In theory, the apparent spelling mistake could have been a result of Yiddish influence: the confusion between ‘sh’ and ‘s’ as transliteration of ‫ ש‬could be explained by a feature of Ashkenazi Hebrew, which, unlike its Sephardi counterpart, would typically use ‫ ס‬to denote all ‘s’ sounds (that is both sin and samekh), while ‫ש‬ should be pronounced ‘sh’ exclusively.366 Had Czechowic learnt the Ashkenazi spelling and pronunciation, the seemingly erroneous ‫ אישור‬could, paradoxically, evidence his actual knowledge of the contemporary, living language. However, Czechowic also transliterates the ‫ ש‬as an ‘sh’ sound, for which there is no socio-linguistic explanation. Moreover, in another case where sin is used (‫)לעשות‬, there is no mistake in either spelling or transliteration. The work contains also other minor mistakes, such as reversed order of Hebrew letters (‫ )יתש וערב‬instead of (‫)שתי וערב‬, or confusing ‫ ח‬with ‫ חכל ( ה‬instead of ‫ ;)הכל‬however, in those cases Czechowic might not be the one to blame as such typographic errors could probably be attributed to printer’s ignorance.

363 Paul Fagius, Pentateuchus, Sive Quinque Libri Moysi; Thargum, Hoc Est, Paraphrasis Onkeli Chaldaica In Sacra Biblia (Strasbourg: Georgius Machaeropoeus, 1546). 364 Czechowic, Odpis, 26. 365 Czechowic, Odpis, 129. 366 Alice Faber, “Early Medieval Hebrew Sibilants in the Rhineland, South Central and Eastern Europe,” Hebrew Annual Review 6 (1982): 81–96. Czechowic’s confusion in transcription of ‫ ש‬is evidenced in other places, too. For example, his transcription of ‫משושה‬, ‘joy,’ reads meszoszah, sz being the Polish equivalent of ‘sh,’ instead of the correct mesosah. See Czechowic, Odpis, 219.

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To sum up, Czechowic appears to have some rudimentary knowledge of Hebrew, possibly not sufficient to conduct an independent research on Hebrew sources. He does not admit that though. Rather, in an attempt to bolster his credentials, he shows off his familiarity with Jewish literature, drawing heavily upon other scholars’ writings and neglect giving them credit for most of the times.

Narratives, common knowledge, and empirical observation Among the sources of Czechowic’s information about Jews and Judaism one more type of texts has to be mentioned, namely narratives, commonly held opinions, and folk stories. Here too, Czechowic positions himself as a critic, whose role is to establish which piece of information is trustworthy. For example, an interesting exchange of ideas revolves around the meaning, reliability, and value as a polemical tool of the account of the conversion of the Khazar king, the historicity and rhetorical uses of which were discussed in the previous chapter. The story of a certain king who adopted Judaism is referred to for the first time in Gadki Żydowskie, as a part of the Student’s report of his meeting with Jews.367 The Student does not provide many details of the story: he mentions that in their fruitless polemical attempt, the Jews quoted a legend about a pagan monarch, who had tried to force three of his subjects, a “Papist Christian,” an Armenian (an Orthodox Christian), and a Jew to forsake their religion. Despite threats and intimidations that made the other two comply, the Jew remained faithful. This persevering devotion impressed the king, as well as the two Christians, and resulted in all three of them converting to Judaism. The Student quotes the story in passing, without referencing its source (other than his anonymous Jewish interlocutors) and he brings it up merely to exemplify how meagre and unreliable are the polemical arguments the Jews tend to use.368 Even though the Student seems to be referring to Judah Halevi’s Sefer Hakuzari, the narrative in Gadki Żydowskie differs from the most popular version of the events as passed on by Halevi369: the tolerant philosophical dispute arranged by the king of Sefer Hakuzari becomes here a narrative about a threat of a forceful conversion. This take on the events reminds more the version of the story told in Sefer Nizzahon Yashan. This late-thirteenth century anti-Christian composition written by an unknown Ashkenazi author tells of a king who tried to force a Muslim, a Christian, and a Jew to convert. Only the Jew remained faithful

367 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 67b. 368 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 67b–68a. 369 See chapter 4.

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announcing that he prefers to die rather than forsake his creed.370 This could suggest that Czechowic was familiar not with Halevi’s book, but that he knew the story from Sefer Nizzahon. The proposition that Czechowic knew the story from Sefer Nizzahon seems even more feasible when we take into account how Czechowic refers to it in his second anti-Jewish text, Odpis. Here, it is the Rabbi who brings up the subject of the alleged conversion to Judaism of the king and his subject. Like the Student of Gadki Żydowskie before him, Jacob treats the story with reservations. For the Rabbi, the mass-judaisation narrative is so unreliable that it has little rhetorical value: there is no reason why the Jewish interlocutor of the Student would resort to such unconvincing argument in favour of the legitimacy of their creed; neither does he believe that the described occurrence had ever taken place. He is aware that various other disputations between Christian and Jews have been taking place, often ordered by local kings and organised in the presence of members of the Church hierarchy, yet never has he heard about the king’s conversion to Judaism as a result of a public polemic. What is more, the story seems unfounded and he himself would never use it as a support for his argument – this would be as if he chose to rely on a reed for support when walking on ice.371 These two references to the conversion of the Khazar king – the one in Gadki Żydowskie, which seems to be adopted from Sefer Nizzahon, and Rabbi Jacob’s response to it in Odpis – disregard the story ascribing to it a low status of a mere legend, unworthy attention and unproven. Unlike them, Czechowic in his answer to Jacob on the pages of Odpis approaches the narrative not as an orally-transmitted tale, but as a Jewish text worthy attention. To begin with, he reveals details previously omitted by the Student in the Gadki Żydowskie, and corrects what he detects to be an aberration: “it was not a king but a Caesar, since the original (which, nota bene, he does not name) reads: Keisar ehad ratza lenasot – that is, ‘a certain Caesar wanted to woo or try.’”372 Moreover, Czechowic expresses his surprise with the fact that Jacob was not familiar with the story of the “king of Kuza” [król kuzański]: “I am surprised that you have not heard nor read this story although you have read a lot. Let me then show you the story in your Hebrew language.”373

370 David Berger pointed out that this rendition of the dialogue was aimed at glorifying Jewish martyrdom, regarded a virtue in Ashkenaz. See Berger, The Jewish-Christian Debate, 334. 371 Czechowic, Odpis, 26–27. See the quotations and discussion in chapter 4. 372 Czechowic, Odpis, 27. ‘co oni o królu przede mną bajali tedy w druku stoi o cesarzu jednym w ty słowa ‫ קיסר אחד רצה לנסות‬Keisar ehad radza lenasoth to jest cesarz jeden chciał spróbować.’ 373 Czechowic, Odpis, 27. ‘A żeś jej nie słychał ani czytał chociaś wiele czytał więc ci ja waszym hebrejskim językiem drukowaną pokażę.’ Interestingly, Adam Shear in his monograph on the

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The Kuzari story in Odpis underwent apparently a process typical of folk tales and acquired a local flare to suit better the multicultural reality of the PolishLithuanian Commonwealth as perceived by Czechowic (Armenian instead of a Muslim, and Papist instead of a Christian). Similarly, a mistaken reference to the Khazar king as król kuzański suggests that the story takes place in the German city of Kues (pl. Kuza, denominal adjective: kuzański, as opposed to Chazaria or Kozaria, adj. chazarski or kozarski). There is also a change of the dialogue participants (Hakuzari spoke of a king, not a Caesar, who interviewed a philosopher, a Christian, a Muslim and a Jew rather than an Armenian, a Papist and a Jew). Speaking of the Hebrew version with which heis familiar, Czechowic could not have meant the “original” Ibn Tibbon’s Hebrew translation of Halevi’s work. The only Hebrew phrase that Czechowic quotes is missing from the Ibn Tibbon’s translation – in fact, the Hebrew Sefer Hakuzari does not mention a caesar at all. Rather, Czechowic’s quotation is an exact translation of Sefer Nizzahon version,374 a Jewish polemical composition widely read by Christian Hebraists.375 This seems to confirm the earlier suggestion that the first reference to the story, which Czechowic put into the Student’s mouth, and which presented the narrative as a dramatic threat of a forced conversion, was also based on Sefer Nizzahon. Although Czechowic also considers it to be a mere legend of no historical value and therefore irrelevant as a polemical tool, he presents it as a well-known Hebrew text, which he had read and was able to quote (even though Rabbi Jacob does not know it) further bolsters the impression that the author of Odpis is an expert Hebraist. Odpis serves Czechowic not only to showcase his expertise in reading Hebrew, but also to display his knowledge of entire Jewish experience, including ritual

social history and transmission of the Kuzari legend, mistakenly pointed to Jacob’s familiarity with the narrative, suggesting that this fact might prove that the narrative was known to Jews in Poland in the 16th century. Given that Odpis seems to be the only evidence for this claim and that even here the Jew was not familiar with the story, one might like to take Shear’s suggestion carefully. See, Shear, The Kuzari, 37. However, Shear does acknowledge that if Jacob was a literary invention of Czechowic, the source of the Arian writer’s knowledge must have been different. Ibidem, 194. 374 Beger, The Jewish–Christian Debate, 216–218. 375 Reimund Leicht, “Johannes Reuchlin’s Lost Polemical Manuscripts and the Archetype of the Sefer Nizzahon Vetus – A Reconstruction’ in Envisioning Judaism: Studies in Honor of Peter Schäfer on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday, ed. by Ra’anan S. Boustan et al. (Tubingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 1295–1300; See also Ora Limor and Israel Jacob Yuval, “Skepticism and Conversion: Jews, Christians, and Doubters in “Sefer Ha-Nizzahon”’ in Hebraica Veritas?: Christian Hebraists and the Study of Judaism in Early Modern Europe ed. by Allison Coudert and Jeffrey S. Shoulson (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004), 166.

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practices, mannerisms, and even common expressions. He begins with dispelling an old myth about Jewish practices: the common claim that Jews use human blood and the Host for religious rituals. Czechowic holds this stereotype to be false: “[…] regarding blood, which all Jews need: I would not know for what kind of purification they [would they use it]. The same goes for the Papists’ wafer–I do not believe in that. It is a mistake and a fabrication”376 but he also explains where this common contention could possibly originate: What I do know is that some magicians need human blood and that those are more numerous among the Jews then elsewhere. It is correct to believe that King Solomon invented the art of adjuring evil spirits, as it is written in Jewish Antiquities, book 8 ch. 2. Thus, I suppose this is the source of the conviction regarding the Jewish purification ritual. When it comes to whether there are witches among you or not – about this I have completely no idea. I have heard though that among the Papists there are numerous witches who perform magic using that bread [the Host] and other things.377

Thus, Czechowic drives away the commonly-held anti-Jewish prejudice, relegating the use of blood to heretical practices of witches; he also disagrees to accuse all Jews of the use of blood. If it occurs, it has to be among Jews magicians: “The actions of one or another evil man, no matter in what religion, cannot affect the worship of those who do not follow him and despise his deeds.”378 Czechowic’s rejection of blood libels and Host desecration accusations was a theological statement. Both charges have been seen as linked to the Catholic polemical discourse, although the nature of this connection remains a matter of discussion among historians.379

376 Czechowic, Odpis, 28. ‘A co się tknie krwi, żeby jej wszytkim Żydom potrzeba było nie wiem, dla jakiego oczyszczenia abo i tego papieskiego opłatka o tym nic nie trzymam ani temu wierzę. Błąd to i wymysł.’ 377 Czechowic, Odpis, 29. ‘Ale to wiem, że czarnoksiężnicy niektórzy człowieczej krwi potrzebują, a ci się między Żydy najdują i więcej ich niż gdzie indziej. Bo to sobie mają za rzecz słuszną wierząc temu, że tę naukę czarty zaklinać Salomon wynalazł, jako pisze Joseph. Antiqui, Iud, libro 8 Cap. 2. Tedy mniemam, iż z tej przyczyny musiało to mniemanie o powszechnym was Żydów oczyścianiu uróść. O czarownicach też, jeśli w was są albo nie, tego zgoła nie wiem. Ale iż się ich w papiestwie wiele najduje, tedym o tym słychał, że ony tym chlebem i czym inszym mogą czarują.’ 378 Czechowic, Odpis, 29. ‘Wszakże to, co jeden i drugi zły czyni w jakimkolwiek będzie nabożeństwie, inszym którzy tego nie naśladują, owszem się tym brzydzą, dla spólnego nabożeństwa szkodzić nie może.’ 379 Alan Dundes explained the charges as a psychological mechanism of projective inversion, wherein the act of devouring the Saviour’s body in the sacrament of the Eucharist resulted in the feeling of cannibalistic guilt, which in turn was projected onto the Jews. Gavin Langmuir argued that the accusations were a pragmatic strategy of the Church aimed at endorsing the theology of

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While desecration of the consecrated bread and the ritual murder were perfectly viable from the Catholic point of view, for the Protestants who rejected the dogma of transubstantiation, they were but anathema. Accordingly, a Calvinist historian Marcin Bielski could refute the alleged Jewish crimes against Christian babies in his monumental Chronicle of the World published in 1564: “that they [Jews] shall drink Christian blood, which they draw from innocent children, as our people say, I can not explore with certainty.”380 Czechowic’s dismissal of the narratives of Host desecration and ritual use of Christian blood as “unreliable” and “mistaken” follows, therefore, the example of other Protestant theologians. Moreover, his attitude could have been dictated by sheer pragmatic caution: in line with privileges granted to the Jews in 1505 by the Polish Sejm, an unproven accusation of ritual murder was punishable by death.381 Seen against this background, Czechowic’s position seems neither particularly vanguard, nor indeed exceedingly rational, but moderate, not to say opportunistic. Similar polemical pragmatism is detectable in Czechowic’s treatment of other Jewish stories: he dismisses these narratives that fail to support his rhetorical agenda. For example, as discussed above, the existence of the Jewish Khazar kingdom offers rhetorical value as a strengthening of a Jewish anti-Christian argument: it counters the Christological reading of Genesis 49:10 according to which Jewish political subordination is a result of the coming of Jesus, the promised Messiah. Since the latter is also Czechowic’s stance, upholding the veracity

transubstantiation, while David Biale claimed that the belief that the Jews use Christian blood for ritual purposes was a side-effect of increased popular eucharistical piety: the desire to experience the bodily presence of Christ in the Host and wine was so strong that it became a foundation of such beliefs as Host bleeding when hurt by the Jews. See Alan Dundes, “The Ritual Murder or Blood Libel Legend: A Study of Anti-Semitic Victimization through Projective Inversion,” in The Blood Libel Legend: A Casebook in Anti-Semitic Folklore, ed. Alan Dundes (University of Wisconsin Press, 1991), 336–378. Gavin I. Langmuir, Toward a Definition of Antisemitism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996). David Biale, Blood and Belief: The Circulation of a Symbol between Jews and Christians (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), 112. 380 Quoted after Janusz Tazbir, “Die Reformation in Polen Und Das Judentum,” Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas, Neue Folge 31 (1983): 392, citing Marcin Bielski’s, Kronika to jest historyja świata, (1564). A more acute example of how an alleged Host desecration accusation divided between Christan denominations was discussed by Magda Teter. Teter analysed a lengthy process and trial of Jews accused of a ritual murder and defilement of a Host in the town of Sochaczew in 1556. She showed how these events sparkled a vibrant disputation in print, where Protestant writers accused Rome of spreading falsehood while the Catholics responded by charging their opponents with the sin of blasphemy against sacraments. See Magda Teter, Sinners on Trial (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2011), 148–156. 381 Tazbir, “Die Reformation,” 392.

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of the Khazar conversion would be counter-effective, and therefore Czechowic dismisses its historical value. Elsewhere, Czechowic does not hesitate to give credence to a folk legend if only it suits his agenda. For instance, denouncing the inhuman, overly-legalistic character Judaism, Czechowic buttress his argument with the story of the Jew of Magdeburg,382 who found himself drowning in an open public privy on a Sabbath and his fellow Jews refused help fearing to desecrate the holy day. Having heard that, the local bishop prohibited to rescue the Jew on Sunday, too, not to desecrate the Christian holiday. The legend exists in two versions. According to the first, the pitiful event took place in 1278 (or alternatively, in 1270) during Bishop Conrad’s tenure, the other sets the story in 1493, when Ernst was the bishop of Magdeburg.383 Czechowic recounts the story in its latter rendition, which he might have been familiar with through the work of Hans Wilhelm Kirchhof, who quoted it in his 1563 collection of folk stories and fables entitled Wendunmuth,384 or from an anthology of stories collected by Johannes Manlius, a student of Melanchthon, who also mentions the name of the bishop.385 The legend displays features of a popular satire: it scorns Jewish devotion to the religious law and at the same time employs a literary trope that Bakhtin calls the grotesque body, a feature typical of peasant humour.386 Analysing an English version of the story, which is set in the town of Tewkesbury, Anthony Bale points to possible intertextual references and to the inter-faith dispute in which the narrative participates.387 He notes the most probable Biblical and/or Talmudic inspiration (the precepts of keeping Sabbath), recalls Jesus’s criticism of the law, and links the story to the anti-Christian Jewish narrative that

382 Czechowic, Odpis, 148. 383 For the two versions see Johann Georg Theodor Grässe, Sagenbuch Des Preußischen Staats, Vol.1 (Glogau: Verlag von Carl Flemming, 1868), 229–230. The earliest version of the story, dating the tragic event to 1270 during Conrad’s tenure, is included in Sebastian Münster, Cosmographiae universalis vol 6 (Basel: Petri, 1554), 738. 384 Hans Wilhelm Kirchhof, Wendunmuth. Darinnen Fünff Hundert Und Fünffzig Höflicher, Züchtiger Und Lustigen Historien, Schimpffreden Und Gleichnüssen Begriffen Und Gezogen Seyn Auß Alten Und Jetzigen Scribenten (Frankfurt: Georg Rabe, 1525). 385 Johannes Manlius, Locorum communium collectanea (Basel: Operinus, 1562–63), see Timothy J. Wengert, “Philip Melanchthon and the Jews: A Reappraisal,” in Jews, Judaism, and the Reformation in Sixteenth-Century Germany, ed. Dean Phillip Bell and Stephen G. Burnett (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 118–119. 386 See Mikhail Bakhtin, Rabelais and His World (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993). 387 Anthony Bale, The Jew in the Medieval Book: English Antisemitism 1350–1500 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 23–53.

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envisages Jesus boiling in excrement.388 According to Bale, the story is a Christian exemplum, which moralises and speaks of the present by recreating the past. Had Czechowic approached the narrative critically, he would have had to question its reliability. However, his take on the story is also a type of exemplum – he mocks both parties involved, pitying the trapped Jew, who became the ultimate victim of arbitrary decisions made by merciless religious authorities. Thus read, the legend provides a much-sought-for endorsement of Czechowic’s contention that following the law leads to emotionless insensitivity. What is more, it equates Jewish soulless legalism with the Catholic feigned religious fastidiousness, a feature that makes it even more desirable as a polemical tool. These qualities of the Magdeburg story suffice to make Czechowic give up a rational approach for the sake of populism. Czechowic’s criticism of Jewish practices draws also upon empirical data, not only on written sources. For example, Czechowic reveals his familiarity with Jewish behaviours in his disapproval of irrational celebration of the Yom Kippur holiday, when sincere contrition is replaced by the ritual of kapparot.389 Similarly, the tradition of putting a mezuzah on one’s doorframe, wearing phylacteries (tfilin) and attaching ritual fringes to the prayer shawl (tzitzit) are denounced as magical superstitious practices,390 while men wearing female attire on Purim are condemned outright for violating the biblical prohibition.391 Czechowic disapproves also of non-religious customary behaviours, such as swearing on Hay Adonay, which he finds blasphemous.392 To be sure, neither of these observations is unprecedented: the details Czechowic mentions are typically pointed out by Christian Hebraists,393 constituting what Yaacov Deutsch calls Christian polemical ethnography.394 Yet, even if conceived as a polemic, and despite being

388 Bale quotes Gittin 57a. Bale, The Jew in the Medieval Book, 33 n. 45. 389 Czechowic, Odpis 132. 390 Czechowic, Odpis 102. 391 Czechowic, Odpis 133. 392 For Christian mocking of the expression Hay Adonay (rendered as caiadonai) in Italy, see Don Harrán, “‘Adonai Con Voi’ (1569), a Simple Popular Song with a Complicated Semantic about (what Seems to Be) Circumcision,” in The Jewish Body: Corporeality, Society, and Identity in the Renaissance and Early Modern Period, ed. Maria Diemling and Giuseppe Veltri (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 427–463. 393 For comparison of themes and their appearance in Hebraists’ works, see Burnett, Christian Hebraism. 394 In his monograph devoted to the subject, Deutsch rectified Ronnie Po-chia Hsia’s description of the phenomenon as “Christian ethnography,” asserting that the primary motivation of the authors who produced this type of writing was polemical. As a result, they dwelled on those aspects of Jewish everyday life that they could expose as superstitious, blasphemous or ridiculous.

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derivative, Odpis deserves attention for harnessing of knowledge of contemporary Jewish practices and bringing it to the Polish reader. In the Polish lands, unlike in Western Europe, the genre of Christian polemical ethnography was yet to gain popularity and Odpis can be considered its harbinger.

Conclusion Writing Odpis, Czechowic presented himself as a Christian Hebraist, who has mastered Biblical literature and was well-versed in Jewish literature and contemporary praxis of Judaism. Notably, the knowledge of Hebrew as highly regarded in Arian circles.395 However, the overreliance on Latin sources that served as the true basis for the composition of Odpis, as well as a dubious level of his Hebrew skills, render his place in the community of Christian Hebraists questionable. Yet, even though Czechowic’s use of the Talmud and Jewish scholarship appears to be neither original nor impartial, it plays an important cultural role. Neither explanation on how the Talmud is constructed, extensive quotations from a variety of Jewish sources, nor the use of the Hebrew language (even if sporadically) in the work intended for a Christian reader had featured in the texts of early Arian writers.

However, Deutsch pointed out that this agenda notwithstanding, the accounts of Jewish customs seem to be accurate nonetheless. See Yaacov Deutsch, Judaism in Christian Eyes: Ethnographic Descriptions of Jews and Judaism in Early Modern Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012); Ronnie Po-Chia Hsia, “Christian Ethnographies of Jews in Early Modern Germany,” in The Expulsion of the Jews: 1492 and After, ed. Raymond B. Waddington and Arthur H. Williamson (New York; London: Garland Publishers, 1994), 223–235. Giuseppe Veltri dismisses the idea that early-modern engagement in foreign ritual was an expression of “ethnographical,” interest in other culture. In his opinion, descriptions of Jewish ritual and customs were linked to the controversy over the validity of Jewish ceremonial law. See Giuseppe Veltri, Renaissance Philosophy in Jewish Garb: Foundations and Challenges in Judaism on the Eve of Modernity. Supplements to The Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy (Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2009), 174–187. 395 The Arian reverence for Hebrew is implied in the writings of Kasper Wilkowski, who was raised in the Arian church but converted to Catholicism. Summarising the Arian criticism of the Catholic ignorance of the Hebrew source and over-reliance on the traditional exegeses, which leads them to non-scriptural belief in the Trinity, Wilkowski writes: “with regards to [your claim] that the Church Fathers relied on those places [where the Trinity is alluded to but not written about explicitly] because they did not have the Hebrew language, it is a very nasty thing to look down so proudly on distinguished men among whom many were born as Jews and converted.” Kasper Wilkowski, Dziesięć mocnych dowodów iż adwersarze Kościoła Powszechnego w porządney o wierze dysputacyey upaść muszą [...] A przytym na antidotum Kalwińskie odpowiedź y z Nowokrzczeńcami rosprawa (Vilna: [s.n.], 1584), 76.

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What is more, unlike other Arians who relied on a mere virtual image of a biblical Jew, Czechowic deals with contemporary Jewry describing everyday Jewish practices and ritual behaviours, and even dispelling commonly held anti-Jewish myths. Even if his examination of Jewish practices and evaluation of the veracity of common prejudices is biased by his rhetorical agenda, Czechowic’s Odpis can be regarded as an avant-garde representative of polemical ethnography tendency in Poland. As such, by the virtue of providing a thorough insight into variety of Jewish texts, from introduction to the structure of the Talmud, through biblical exegesis and etymological insights, to Jewish history and folk tales, the work can be considered a medium through which the achievements of contemporary Christian Hebraism are transmitted and distributed in the milieu of the Polish Brethren. This cultural input earns Czechowic a place within the network of the Christian Hebraism, even if remote from the network’s centre.

5 Odpis as a literary portrait Introduction: A literary text and the narrative self In the previous chapter, we saw that one of the reasons why Czechowic incorporated into his writing the genre of anti-Jewish polemics texts, references to Jewish sources, and displays of his Hebrew literacy was the author’s aspiration to liken himself to a Christian Hebraist. This chapter will develop this conclusion and focus on Czechowic’s self-representation. Indeed, Odpis seems instrumental in Czechowic’s crystallisation of his Christian identity, legitimising his leadership, as well as forging and promoting his vision of Arian group self-definition and introducing Jewish characters to his two dialogues – first, the anonymous, imagined stereotypical Jew in Gadki Żydowskie, and then Rabbi Jacob in Odpis – play a prominent role in these processes. Czechowic’s career as a Protestant minister took its beginnings in the early 1560s when he lived in Vilna enjoying the patronage of Prince Mikołaj Radziwiłł the Black.396 Czechowic was entrusted with the position of a teacher in a Calvinist school, and apparently gained the Prince’s confidence, so that in 1561 he was delegated to Geneva with a mission to Jean Calvin.397 After Radziwiłł’s death (1565), Czechowic felt forced to leave Vilna, and he moved to live with Niemojewski in Kujavy. There, he had a chance to spread his wings as a leader of a Radical Reform movement for the first time. He became a minister of a congregation, free to teach his doctrine and implement it in practice: he insisted on the noblemen’s modesty and initiated, as the first among the Polish Brethren, the adult baptism of his followers. It came as no surprise that Niemojewski was among his first catechumens and adherents of his teachings. From a marginal figure, Czechowic became a prominent religious innovator, and the Kujavian congregation – a stronghold of Arian Christianity. However, the true opportunity to rise to power presented itself to Czechowic only after Stanislaw Paklepka, a minister of an Arian community in Lublin, passed away in 1567. Without a leader, troubled by judaising ideologues, the local Arian congregation was in decline until 1570 when Czechowic, Niemojewski, and other members of the Arian church decided to revitalise it.398 Throughout the 1570s, Czechowic was at the top of his career: the Lublin congregation now

396 For the most comprehensive biography of Czechowic to date, see Szczucki, Marcin Czechowic. 397 For the details of the mission, see the Introduction. 398 Szczucki, Marcin Czechowic, 87–89. For the history of the Arian community in Lublin see Kossowski, Protestantyzm w Lublinie. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110586565-006

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thrived and his writings, predominantly Rozmowy christiańskie, brought him fame and recognition.399 However, the bright phase of Czechowic’s life ended with the arrival of the Jesuits to Lublin in 1582. The following decades saw the Arian church under constant attacks of the Society of Jesus.400 Having arrived in Lublin, the Jesuits began to preach and to organise public debates with representatives of Protestantism, including the Arians. The robust action against the congregation had a negative impact not only on the movement’s image and the morale of the Brethren but also, apparently, on Czechowic’s performance as the congregation’s representative. One would expect that Czechowic, as one of the most prominent Arian theologians of the threatened congregation, would be available and ready to face the opponent. Yet, the Arian leader failed to deliver: once an avid polemicist, Czechowic had begun losing his rhetorical brilliance. The story told by Kasper Wilkowski, a former Arian who converted to Catholicism in the early 1580s, illustrates aptly Czechowic’s shortcomings in this matter.401 Soon after his conversion, Wilkowski visited the Arian congregation – his alma mater – seeking an occasion to debate with Czechowic, his former mentor; yet he was sent away on the pretext that the Arian leader was “not at home.” This did not discourage the Arian apostate. The next opportunity to face Czechowic occurred when “two respectable noblemen” ordered an ArianCatholic disputation. In no time was everything prepared: the time, the venue, and the subject matter were set. However, to Wilkowski’s disappointment, not long before the event was to take place, a note was sent from the Arian congregation to inform that Czechowic was not going to participate.402 Even when Czechowic did agree to conduct a public disputation against Catholics, he was not successful. For example, in 1587, during his public disputation with the Jesuits, Czechowic was too weak to lead the dispute and Niemojewski had to step in and replace him halfway through the event in order to avoid Arian defeat.403 Was his bad health to blame, or did his rhetorical abilities failed him – one can only speculate. Whatever the reason, his polemical impotence seems to have affected his public image: the Jesuits would not see him as a real opponent anymore. Accordingly, when the Arians’ arch-enemy, father

399 Szczucki, Marcin Czechowic, 84. 400 See Józef Płokarz, “Jan Niemojewski, studium z dziejów arjan polskich.” Reformacja w Polsce 5 (1922): 90–99. 401 Kasper Wilkowski described his experience in his autobiographical work Przyczyny nawrocenia do wiary powszechney od sekt Nowokrzczeńcow Samosateńskich (Vilna: Wilkowski, 1583). 402 Wilkowski, Dziesięć mocnych dowodów, 85–86. 403 Płokarz, “Jan Niemojewski,” 93.

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Powodowski arrived at Lublin to dispute with Czechowic, he realised soon after meeting the author of Dialogues that the latter was not a suitable contestant. In the end, Niemojewski, despite his poor health, was chosen to represent the Arian position against Powodowski.404 Not only were Czechowic’s polemical skills brought into question, but also his literary output lost its appeal. According to Wilkowski, his 1582 book Zwierściadłko panienek Chrystyjańskich (A Mirror for Christian Ladies) was mocked and laughed at.405 In short, Czechowic’s career was in a downhill spiral; it reached the rock bottom when, following Niemojewski’s death in 1598, he was stripped of his ministerial position.406 Destitute and forgotten, the formerly most illustrious Arian leader died fifteen years later.407 Czechowic’s life can be therefore divided into two phases. The first, which spanned for over fifteen years, was marked by his gaining influence within the movement. Almost all of Czechowic’s works were composed during these successful years. The arrival of the Jesuits in Lublin marks a symbolical watershed in Czechowic’s biography. Czechowic’s subsequent decline that led to eventual destitution continued for the period almost as equally long as his rise to power. During this second phase of his life, from 1582 onwards, Czechowic lost his status of the movement’s leader, gave up participation public polemics, and apparently stopped writing (or at least, publishing). Seen this way, Czechowic’s literary activity seems to have been intrinsically connected to his success and to have been the expression of his persona of an Arian leader and ideologue. This link between Czechowic’s writings and his self-understanding suggests that Czechowic’s polemical works, apart from their immediate political agenda, were also an act of self-creation. In his literary dialogues where Czechowic makes his alter ego one of the dramatis personae, the author asserted and modelled his public image as well as the sense of his personal identity as a pious Christian, a learned, involved teacher, and a leader. Czechowic composed three main texts that fall into this category, and their examination has shaped the structure of this chapter.

404 Płokarz, “Jan Niemojewski,” 98–99. 405 Marcin Czechowic, Zwierściadłko panienek Chrystyjańskich (Warsaw: Neriton, 2011). Wilkowski mentions that everybody mocked the book and that even the Brethren did not approve it. See Wilkowski, Przyczyny, 131. 406 Stanisław Szczotka, “Synody Arjan Polskich. Od założenia Rakowa do wygnaina z kraju (1669–1662),” Reformacja w Polsce 7–8 (1936): 48. 407 Czechowic was still trying to fight for his position and defend his views against the new leaders of the congregation at the Lublin synod in 1599. His “stinging remarks” brought no results. See Szczotka, Synody, 49.

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His first major literary work, Trzech dni rozmowa (‘A three-day conversation on infant baptism,’ written in 1562)408 is composed as a conversation between three agents introduced as a Papist, an Evangelist, and a Christian, wherein the latter is a mask disguising Czechowic’s own persona. The three characters meet on three consecutive days and discuss divergent theological matters. The dominant theme of the dialogue is the question whether or not baptising children is concordant with the apostolic teachings and, accordingly, if it should be practised in the church that deems itself Christian. Given the fact that from the very outset the readers are presented with three alternative visions of Christianity, only one of which seems to deserve the name “Christian,” the matter that begs for attention is Czechowic’s understanding of the Christian religion in general, and of his own Christianity in particular. In 1564, when this text was written, the ideology of the Arian movement, as well as its internal structure, were not yet defined. Czechowic, who at that time lived in Vilna at Radziwiłł’s court, was but one of many ministers of the Church in the making. His first dialogue ostensibly did not make a major impact. In fact, Arian historiographers tend to see Grzegorz Paweł, a minister of the Cracow congregation, as vested with leadership authority throughout the 1560s.409 However, according to Czechowic’s biographer, Lech Szczucki, Trzech dni rozmowa already contained the germs of Czechowic’s later ideology, and thus it “shows that as early as in mid-the sixties Czechowic played a major role in [the Arian] Ecclesia Minor.”410 Not only does this conclusion counter the prevailing scholarly opinion, but it also provides a basis for regarding Trzech dni rozmowa as a work of a self-conscious ideologue with aspirations for leadership. Although the thorough analysis of the dialogue still awaits scholarly attention,411 here, I shall merely

408 Marcin Czechowic, Trzech dni rozmowa o niektórych artykułach tych czasów w zruszonych a zwłaszcza o nurzaniu niemowiątek i inych nierozumnych dziatek, w ktorey sie wiele potrzebnych rzeczy (nie iedno ktemu Sakramentowi ale y ku inem sprawam należących) z pisma ś. a nad to zdawnych theologów y z rozmaitych autorow przywodzi i rozbiera (Wieliczka: Jan Karcan, 1578). 409 Lech Szczucki, “Szymona Budnego relacja o początkach i rozwoju anabaptyzmu w zborze mniejszym,” Odrodzenie i Reformacja w Polsce 31 (1986), 95–96. For the role of Grzegorz Paweł in shaping the Arian theological dogmas, see Bartel, “Grzegorz Paweł,” 12–31 and Górski, Grzegorz Paweł. 410 Szczucki, “Szymona Budnego relacja,” 96. 411 The dialogue was briefly summarised by Szczucki in “Szymona Budnego relacja.” However, Szczucki’s focus was one of the texts appended to the main work, which describes the beginnings of the Anti-Trinitarian movements and which was identified by the historian as composed by Szymon Budny. Linguistic aspects of fragments of the work were discussed by Magdalena Hawrysz in Polemiczna twórczość.

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focus on selected aspects thereof, namely the self-portrait of the author conveyed by its means. Czechowic’s second dialogue to be discussed here is Rozmowy christiańskie (1575), analysed in detail in previous chapters. In this work, the character of the Master represents the self-fashioning of the author in the most dazzling phase of his career. The final dialogue, and the culmination of Czechowic’s self-presentation project, is Odpis composed in 1581, shortly before the arrival of Jesuits in Lublin, when Czechowic’s position within the movement began to decline. As means for construing his identity, these three dialogues use the rhetorical Others, with whom the author contrasts his own personae. To be sure, there is nothing revolutionary either in Czechowic’s composing a dialogue wherein one of the characters is but a mask that conceals the author’s face or in the fact that each time his opponent serves as a mirror reflecting the author’s desirable qualities. The originality of Czechowic’s project becomes apparent when the three dialogues – the three literary portraits – are set side by side. Such juxtaposition of the alter-ego characters reveals the development of the author’s conception of his identity. The three self-portraits that can be entitled: Christian, Teacher, and Marcin. Unveiling the first canvas, which presents the author as an ideal believer and promoter of the true faith, I shall bring my attention to its two key aspects: Czechowic’s understanding of his conversions, and the name he used to refer to the true faith.

The first self-portrait: Christian, or the value of consistency Conversion: Divine election and coherence of choice. Identity as consistency of actions For Czechowic’s generation, the choice of a religious denomination was a relatively new experience, and certainly not an easy one. Rejecting a tradition that permeated every aspect of life and putting one’s trust in the words of outcast preachers, especially in the context of culture suspicious of any change, was a complex, courageous, and certainly life-altering decision.412 As such, the account of conversion should be treated as an important part of an intellectual biography

412 Andrew Pettegree, Reformation and the Culture of Persuasion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 1–9.

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of Reform leaders. In his publication on John Calvin’s life, William Bouwsma advocated regarding the act of conversion as an event worth analysis on its own right: “[…] religious conversion is a more problematic conception than is ordinarily recognized. It is as much a cultural artefact as an individual experience,” he wrote.413 Czechowic’s biography, as well as his account thereof, offer an insight into his attitude to adopting a religious denomination. It is worth reminding that Czechowic might be described (even if he would certainly oppose) as a triple apostate. Born, raised, and educated in the Catholic faith, he was ordained a priest. However, shortly after the ordination, he acquainted himself with (and indeed adopted) the Lutheran Reform, only to turn to Calvinism (he became a teacher in a Calvinist school in Vilna), which he consequently forsook in favour of Ecclesia Minor. To him, however, this stormy spiritual life did not seem inconsistent. In fact, he recognised only one watershed in his religious experience: from the Papist faith to “Christianity” (that is, Ecclesia Minor). This shift was for him God’s doing: How terrifying it is, my dear Jacob, to fall into the hands of the living God, from which no one can set themselves free. Look at me, my dear Jacob, I was born, as many others, in a different religion; I was brought up in it and practised it diligently until the age of seventeen, if I recall correctly. I reasoned that there is nothing better, more perfect, more Godpleasing. I was satisfied with everything it entailed (consider the greatness of the Papist religion yourself, it indeed spread over the most of the world). Yet, when God in his mercy began bringing me to something else, and through His word showing me my mistakes to which I was oblivious, I did, according to God’s will, disavow my own inherited religion. Thus, I renounced all man-made “Talmuds” that the Papist religion has seemingly more than you, Jews, and I clang to God’s Word alone. I determined that people might lead me astray, as they lose their ways themselves (because everyone is a liar, as the Holy Spirit enunciates, and everyone sins). God alone, truthful and ever unmistaken, will never fail in His word.414

413 William James Bouwsma, John Calvin: A Sixteenth-Century Portrait (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), 9. 414 Czechowic, Odpis, 135–136. ‘Straszliwasz to jest rzecz, mój miły Jakubie, wpaść w ręce Boga żywego, z których nie masz kto by wyrwać mógł. Przypatrz się, mój miły Jakubie, i temu, żeciem ja też i z wiela inszych w inszym się nabożeństwie urodził. W nimem z młodości podobno do lat 17 (ile baczyc mogę) nie leda, jako wychowany i wyćwiczony był. O którymem też tak rozumiał żeby nad nie nie miało być lepszego, doskonalszego i Bogu milszego. Tak mi się w nim wszytko podobało (jako o to i sam baczyć możesz, żeć to nie lada co wiara i nabożeństwo papieskie, które się mało nie po więtszej części świata z dawna rozkrzewiło), a wżdy gdy mię Bóg z łaski swej do czego inszego przywodzić i błędy mi przez słowo swe pokazować, którychem przedtym nie baczył począł, tedym ja kwoli Bogu samemu i onego mojego własnego, ojczystego i dziedzicznego nabożeństwa tak odstąpił, żem też potym i wszystkich Talmudów ludzkich, których

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This is not the only autobiographical account of Czechowic’s conversion. In his later work written in 1583 and entitled Epistomium Na Wędzidło Jego Miłości Xiędza Hieronima Powodowskiego, Kanonika Poznańskiego: Ku Okazaniu Niesłusznego Jego Postępku Przeciw Niewinnym: Y Ku Zamknieniu Ust Niesłusznie Się Na Prawdę Zbawienną Targających (Epistomium, to a curb by his Reverence, Father Hieronim Powodowski: in order to present his incorrect deed against the innocent and to gag those, who unjustly menace the truth of deliverance415), Czechowic’s account of his apostasy is more radical: “In my youth, my parents, and especially my mother, wanted me to [become] not an artisan, but a priest. [Yet] God the Lord wished to save me from the jaws of fierce Satan, drawing me away from the abominable antichrist idolatry, for which may He be praised for ever.”416 This almost militant attitude towards his parents’ faith and a much harsher than before criticism of the Papist faith might be explained by the context of the work: at the time of writing the Epistomium, Czechowic was the sole most assaulted victim of the Catholic clergy, who did not save him from ad hominem attacks, and downright offensive invectives.417 In fact, Epistomium was written as a response to one of such assails, launched by a Catholic priest, Hieronim Powodowski. While the rejection of Catholicism marked a significant breakthrough in Czechowic’s life, his consequent changes of denominations, are not mentioned. On the contrary, he does not seem to recognise them as acts of conversion or change of heart. The underlying interpretation of his spiritual life is a consistent spiritual growth: when enlightened by divine grace, Czechowic might have altered the course of his spiritual life, as if the path he had always trodden suddenly took a turn, yet he has not forsaken it for a moment. Even when describing his abandonment of Catholicism, Czechowic did not see his conversion as a miraculous experience, a lightning bolt that struck him, or a voice of a child spreading a symbolic message. A gentle (albeit terrifying) guidance through Scripture led him to podobno jeszcze więcej jest w papiestwie niż u was Żydów zaniechał, a do samegom tylko Słowa Bożego przystał. To u siebie osądziwszy, iż mię ludzie (ponieważ wszyscy kłamcami są, jako Duch Boży świadczy, i wszyscy są grzeszni) mogą w błąd wprowadzić sami zabłądziwszy. A Bóg sam, który kłamać ani się omylić nie może, ten mię nigdy w słowie swym nie zawiedzie.’ 415 Marcin Czechowic, Epistomium na Wędzidło Jego Miłości Xiędza Hieronima Powodowskiego, kanonika poznańskiego: ku okazaniu niesłusznego jego postępku przeciw niewinnym: y ku zamknieniu ust niesłusznie się na prawdę zbawienną targających (Cracow: A. Rodecki, 1583), 64. 416 Czechowic, Epistomium, 64. ‘Bo mię rodzicy z młodu nie chcieli mieć rzemięśnikiem, a zwłaszcza matka, ale raczej księdzem, czego, iż mię Pan Bóg uchować raczy, iż mię szatanowi srogiemu z paszczęki wyrwał od sprośnego pogańskiego Antichristusowskiego bałwochwalstwa odtargnąwszy, jemu za to niech będzie wieczna cześć i chwała.’ 417 See Radoń, Z dziejów polemiki, 108.

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renounce the ancestral religious tradition and to distrust any spiritual leadership. In his eyes, his conversion was not an act of revolution, but of evolution; a result of consistent pursue of divine guidance that culminated in Czechowic’s becoming an Arian leader. Psychological research into the nature of personal identity has established that the principle of integration is one of the fundamental strategies that a person uses to make sense of their biography. Integration consists of seeing consistency in one’s own past actions and aims for future goals to be congruous with one’s envisaged self-image. “The primary function of narrative articulated in the humanities and social sciences has been one of integration. The individual constructs a life story to reduce the multitude of motley information about the self to manageable personified categories and to provide our lives with a sense of inner sameness and continuity,” writes Dan P. McAdams.418 In this context, Czechowic’s conversion narratives could appear surprising at first: after all, the Arian leader does not downplay the rupture between his Catholic childhood and the life after conversion, apparently disregarding the continuity principle. Quite the opposite, the religion he used to respect as “the most perfect” of faiths, he then renounces as an abominable idolatry. Yet, the principle of consistency does govern Czechowic’s understanding of his spiritual path. The continuity, or integration, is not anchored in the constancy of belief but it is warranted by God. In other words, the attribution of all changes in Czechowic’s life to the single and unaltered principle of serving the divine will allows the Arian leader to present his biography as consistent. Moreover, this principle is the source of the sense of inner sameness, which he regards as (and calls) his true Christianity.

What’s in a name? Christian as opposed to Catholic or Lutheran The need for the sense of continuity, and for reassuring his self-definition as a Christian thinker, is expressed not only in Czechowic’s explicit statements on the matter of his beliefs, but it also reverberates in the way he regards other denominations: in his first dialogue, Trzech Dni Rozmowa, Czechowic opposed 418 Dan P. McAdams, “The ‘imago’: A key narrative component of identity” in Self, situations and social behavior ed. Phillip Shaver (Beverly Hills, CA: Sage, 1985), 115–141. Note: This part of the chapter is a revised version of a text that will appear as ‘So What’s Really in the Name? Theology of Etymology in the sixteenth-century Arian Thought’ in Geoffrey Herman et al. (eds.) A Question of Identity: Formation, Transition, Negotiation (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2019).

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“a Christian” (i.e. himself) to Lutheran and Catholic speakers, hence suggesting that the latter denominations do not deserve to be counted as Christian. This choice of the dramatis personae stems partially from the need to emphasise that the very core of his Christian faith is consistent with the original Apostolic teachings and this gives him the right to call it “Christianity.” In a general yet brilliantly insightful overview of renaissance culture by Anthony Grafton and Eugene Rice Jr. discuss the paradigm shift that occurred in the early-modern Europeans’ approach to history.419 Whilst the mediaeval intellectuals regarded history as composed of two eras, the caesura being the birth of Jesus, the humanists adopted a tripartite division, wherein the age of antique masters was disrupted by the dark ages, which in turn gave way to the return to the rebirth of the ancient traditions and ideals-the Renaissance. In other words, the humanists saw the history as a valley enclosed by two hills connected by a bridge – an intellectual affinity between the two “bright” epochs. This paradigm of the new vision of history can be applied to speak about the Reformers’ understanding of the Christian tradition. In order to prove his being a true Christian one does not contrast a Christian with representatives of entirely different faiths, but instead points to the inherent divergence between various Christian Churches. Accordingly, in his first dialogue, Czechowic establishes a bridge between his own Christianity and this of the ancient masters – the Apostles, Evangelists, Paul, and Jesus himself. The in-between stages, Catholicism, Calvinism, and Lutheranism, belong to the valley of dark ages. In order to highlight the contrast between various interpretations of Christianity (only one of which he regards authentic and thus legitimate), Czechowic goes even further than contrasting his mouthpiece-character with the representatives of two other denominations: he uses nomenclature that enunciates distinctly his agenda. In Polish, the commonly used term for a Christian was (and still is) chrześcijanin, a word whose etymology can be traced to the Greek christos – ‘anointed.’ The Greek term, adapted in Slavonic languages as krĭst, gave origin to the name of Christ (Chrystus), as well as baptism (chrzest, originally pronounced and spelled as krzest), a distinction retained only in Catholic Slavic languages (in other languages, to speak of baptism, another Greek word, baptismos, meaning ‘to immerse,’ was adapted instead).420 The term chrześcijanin, although cognate to its Greek source, invites an immediate association to the act of christening, which in the ears of a sixteenth-century Pole could well have sounded like 419 Eugene F. Rice, and Anthony Grafton, The Foundations of Early Modern Europe, 1460-1559 (New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 1994), 79–81. 420 Aleksander Brückner, Słownik etymologiczny języka polskiego entry ‘chrzest’ (Cracow: Krakowska Spółka Wydawnicza, 1927), 185–186.

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referring to the Catholic ritual. As early as 1558, Piotr of Goniądz, considered a founding father of the Arian movement, pointed to the gravity of misunderstanding stirred by the Polish terminology. In Piotr’s view, people who fail to recognise the Christological etymology of the word ‘Christian’ are susceptible to believe that one could become Christians only when baptised in the Papist church. As an adherent of the doctrine of predestination, Piotr recognised the crucial importance of correct nomenclature that would shape the beliefs of the Polish Christians. In order to eradicate any trace of correlation between Catholic baptism and Christian identity, Piotr coined a neologism – christianin.421 This term was popularised by Czechowic, in his introduction to the translation of the New Testament. Krzciciel (‘Baptist’) and Krzest (‘baptism’) have nothing in common with the Greek word baptistis and baptizo. Krzciciel comes from kreślenie (‘crossing’) or krzyż (‘cross’), called krest by old Slavs, and this is because the infant-baptisers use the cross when they perform their magic over the babies. Alternatively, it comes from krzyżmo (‘chrism’), which they use for anointment, [quoting] the word of God and [referring to] apostolic example. However, [this ritual] does not baptise [i.e. it is not efficient as a baptism], because chrisma in Greek refers to all types of anointment and the apostles did not administer any anointment except as a cure for the sick. Baptism requires immersion [of the full body in water]. They [the Catholics] say that themselves in their books called De Sacramentis: a question is asked if [during baptism] one should be immersed once or thrice, and whether it is necessary to immerse the entire body or only a part. To confirm the meaning [of the Greek baptisma], one should consult Greek lexicons. That [the full body immersion] was the practice in the apostolic community, one can deduce from John’s, Jesus’s, Filip’s, or eunuch’s stepping into water [to be baptised]. Moreover, the writers of old understood it the same way, translating the Greek baptisma as mersionem and tinctionem. This is the origin of [the custom of] Easter drenching, observed by the people misguided by the errors of the antichrist. They call it tingus, or by another, even more distorted word – dingus, that comes from [the word] tigendo, which used to refer to the true immersion.422

421 Williams, The Radical Reformation, 649–650. Piotr’s stance was expressed in his work o Ponurzaniu chrystiańskim. See Szczucki, Literatura ariańska, 259–273. 422 Marcin Czechowic, introduction to Nowy Testament. To jest wszystkie pisma Nowego Przymierza z greckiego języka na rzecz polską wiernie i szczerze przełożone (Raków: A. Rodecki, 1577). ‘Krzciciel też i krzest z greckim słowem baptistis i baptizo nic nie ma spólnego i podobnego. Bo krzest i krzciciel abo od kreślenia abo od krzyża, który starzy Słowacy krestem nazywają, jest nazwany, przeto iż tego dzieciokrzczeńcy przy dziatkach małych, gdy je czarują używają. Abo więc od krzyżma, którym je smarują, oprócz Słowa Bożego i przykładu apostolskiego, co i tak nie krzeczy. Albowiem chrisma znaczy mazanie wszelakie. Jako i sami w onych książkach swych, które De sacramentis wydali przekładają: tam, gdzie ono pytanie czynią jeśli raz jeśli trzy ponurzyć i jeśli całego człowieka, czyli cząstkę którą potrzeba. A iż ponurzenie słowo to znaczy, niechże się kto zechce greckich leksykonów poradzi. A iż tak czyniono przedtym w starym onym zborze apostolskim, tak z janowego i jezusowego do wody wstępowania i występowania, także i filipowego i eunuchowego każdy baczyć może Mat 3 v 16, Mar 1 v 10, Dzie 8 v 38, 39. Nad to

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The new name comes as a response to the derogatory sobriquet used by Czechowic’s opponents. One needs to remember that at the time when Trzech dni rozmowa was composed, the Arians were not a well-organised and well-defined group, and neither was the language their adversaries used when referring to them. Thus, the Polish Brethren were called mockingly either after a heretic believed to epitomise their theology or after one of their apostate rituals. Among the patronyms of the first type, most common were “the Arians” (after Arius, who countered the doctrine of Jesus’s divinity) and “the Sabbelians” (after Sabbelius, who regarded the three personae to be emanations of one God). The second type names included “anabaptists” (used interchangeably with the Polish version, nowokrzczeńcy) or simply nurkowie, ‘the plungers,’ both of which denounced the sect’s practice of adult baptism. Another way to refer to the new movement was to use a term that harkened back on common prejudice, such as judaisers, new Jews, or simply heretics. The neologism responded to all those labelling practices. Firstly, it suggested who the group “founding father” is: neither Arius or Sabbelius, as they opponents would claim, nor Luther, Calvin, or the Pope, but Christ; secondly, it repudiated any connection to baptism (so emphasised by detractors); finally, by restoring the audible link to the word Christ, it gave out the group’s adherence to Christianity, rather than Judaism or heresy. Like Piotr z Goniądza, Czechowic also felt that the new name – christianin – retains only the correct associations: “I call myself a Christian [Christianin] for this reason that I believe in Christ and I hold tightly to His teachings and I do not let closer teachings of any, who disagree with Him.”423 Not only did he agree with the author of the neologism, but he also took a step further in propagating the new name: he created the first literary portrait of a

starzy oni pisarzenie inaczej o tym rozumieli ani słowa tego inaczej baptisma przekładali jedno immersionem & tinctionem, skąd też jeszcze w zawiedzionym ludze błędy antichristowemi na Wielkę Noc ich ono nurzanie zostało, które a tingendo jedni tingusem a drudzy jeszcze bardziej zepsowanym słowem, dingusem, szalejąc a z prawdziwego ponurzenia, które przed tymże tak i na ten czas bywało, nazywają.’ The erroneous etymology was rejected by Jesuite polemicists, Jakub Wujek in the introduction to his 1594 bible translation. David Frick mentioned Czechowic’s translation and the Jesuit’s refutation thereof in the context of Polish biblical philology and biblical translations, see David A. Frick, Polish Sacred Philology in the Reformation and the CounterReformation: Chapters in the History of the Controversies (1551–1632) (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 128–129, 158–159. Czechowic’s neologism was also mocked by another Jesuit, Marcin Łaszcz, in a polemic against Czechowic written in 1597. See Marcin Łaszcz, Recepta na Plastr Czechowica ministra Nowokrzczeńskiego (Cracow: Januszowski, 1597), 58–59. 423 Czechowic, Trzech Dni Rozmowa, 26. ‘[ja] się Christianinem nazywam, a to stąd, że w Christusa wierzę, a mocno się nauki jego trzymając, inszych uczycielów nauki, jeśliby się z nim nie zgadzali, nie przypuszczam.’

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Christianin. On the pages of A three-day conversation, this true Christian receives for the first time not only a new name, but also a distinctive face and voice. He appears as an inspirited, uncompromised hunter for the truth. In fact, the Christianin’s attitude is often so vigorously agitated that the impassionate conformism of the other denominations appears to be the chief reason to strip them of the name of true Christians. Seemingly, Czechowic makes an effort to show that the use of the newly-coined term, whose etymology harkens back to the original source of faith – the name of Christ, is justified since it describes reawaken (that is, original and not newly-created) apostolic enthusiasm. By making the Christian his mouthpiece, Czechowic achieves a double goal: he creates an ideological self-portrait and at the same time, he promotes a new ideal of a Christian who returns ad fontes – to the wells of the apostolic Church and thus is given a new name, Christianin.

The second self-portrait: Teacher, or Authority and leadership If the first self-image can be interpreted as designed to emphasise spiritual qualities of the author, the second one – the ideal teacher, represented most fully by the character of the Master of Rozmowy christiańskie – highlights his exegetical abilities, which became also the basis for his status as a leader. To understand what the notion of teaching meant for Czechowic, one needs to examine the way he portrays the difference between the “Papists” and true Christian Church.

The Papist tradition and the question of authority Inasmuch as the “correct spirituality” of Christianin was defined against the erroneous ways of other Christians, so is his authoritative religious instruction juxtaposed with the unreliable teachings spread by the “Papists.” According to Czechowic, the Catholic lapse in delivering a trustworthy doctrine can be attributed to two misdeeds. The first is their replacement of Scripture with orally transmitted, dubious tradition: “Their [Catholics’] teachings stem in part from decrees, which they call unwritten word, claiming that the Apostles passed on orally another Word, other than God’s Word that we have written in the books of the New Testament.”424

424 Czechowic, Zwierściadłko, 62. ‘(…) wywody ich częścią od ustaw, które oni niepisanym słowem nazywają, kładąc to na apostoły, żeby oni nadto Słowo Boże, które mamy wypisane w księgach Nowego Testamentu, mieli insze słowo Boże ustnie, nie pisząc go, podać.’

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Condemning the “unwritten word,” that is the teachings not contained in the New Testament and yet considered binding by Rome, Czechowic follows the Calvinist criticism of the Catholic doctrine of the authority of tradition. According to the Council of Trent (1545–1563), the divine revelation was contained in and available through both, Scripture and oral traditions, the living magisterium.425 The latter are either Jesus’s teachings, received by the Apostles and subsequently passed down to, and secured by, the Catholic Church, or truths revealed later to the Church through the Holy Spirit.426 Thus defied tradition, “the unwritten verities,” was invested with the authority equal to the Bible. The Calvinists saw in this doctrine Rome’s way to arbitrarily impose any dogma and ritual upon the believers, and they presented it as dialectically opposed to drawing authority from Scripture alone, which they advocated.427 Czechowic’s writings follow suit. According to him, the Catholic Church teaches the believers not the Holy Writ, but a set of customs, which they claim to have inherited from the Apostles. The authority of the Church is therefore rooted in the clergy’s alleged access to esoteric knowledge, passed on from generation to generation. For Czechowic, this characteristic of the Catholic Church invites comparison with the Jews, whose Talmud – the “Oral Torah,” serves as a basis for the religion. The correspondence between the two mistaken religions is 425 The opening statements of the fourth session of the Synod’s read: “The sacred and holy, ecumenical, and general Synod of Trent, lawfully assembled in the Holy Ghost, the same three legates of the Apostolic See presiding therein, keeping this always in view, that, errors being removed, the purity itself of the Gospel be preserved in the Church; which (Gospel), before promised through the prophets in the holy Scriptures, our Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, first promulgated with His own mouth, and then commanded to be preached by His Apostles to every creature, as the fountain of all, both saving truth, and moral discipline; and seeing clearly that this truth and discipline are contained in the written books, and the unwritten traditions which, received by the Apostles from the mouth of Christ himself, or from the Apostles themselves, the Holy Ghost dictating, have come down even unto us, transmitted as it were from hand to hand; (the Synod) following the examples of the orthodox Fathers, receives and venerates with an equal affection of piety, and reverence, all the books both of the Old and of the New Testament – seeing that one God is the author of both – as also the said traditions, as well as those appertaining to faith as to morals, as having been dictated, either by Christ’s own word of mouth, or by the Holy Ghost, and preserved in the Catholic Church by a continuous succession.’ Quoted after William Craig Brownlee, The Doctrinal Decrees and Canons of the Council of Trent (New York: American Protestant Society, 1845), 3–4. 426 For the discussion on the Protestant approach to authority, see Helen L. Parish, Peter Webster, and Elaine Fulton, The Search for Authority in the Reformation (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013). 427 Peter Marshall, “The Debate over “unwritten Verities” in Early Reformation England,” in Protestant history and identity in sixteenth-century Europe, ed. Bruce Gordon (Aldershot: Scholar, 1964), 60–77.

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drawn upon when Czechowic (the Master) comments on the errors of the Jewish creed: [The Jews], pitiful ones, do not know what they say [repeating] after their ancestors, just like the papists when they defend their persisting mistakes [saying that] their Fathers – they use this word – passed it [the teachings] in writing, the same way as the Rabbis passed [their teachings] to the Jews. If only did the Jews renounce their Rabbis and the Papists – their fathers, and instead turned to Scripture alone, they would have recognised their mistake and would abandon it immediately.428

Likening the “Papists” to Jews has been long established in the Protestant parlance and rhetoric, perhaps most commonly in the writings of John Calvin. Although the Genevan reformer was not the first to posit the parallel between the idolatry of Catholicism and that of ancient Israel, he made it a foundation of his doctrine of two churches: the abominable Papal Church and the Reformed congregation of the elect.429 Czechowic borrows from Calvin this rhetorical paradigm. However, while Calvin spoke of the Papists’ idolatry and thus referred to the Biblical Jews, especially to the sinful kingdom of Israel, as a basis for comparison, Czechowic likens the Catholics to the contemporary Jews, focusing on their sheepish following the tradition instead of reverting to the Word of God. The “Papist”–Jewish reliance on tradition instead of on Scripture is presented as the first shortcoming of the “Papist Christianity.” In the further exposition of the Catholics’ treacherousness, Czechowic notes their second misdeed, namely the justification and legitimisation of the ecclesiastical authority by their links with Church Fathers: Partially, [their teachings] stem from the principality and dignity of, as they say, the universal Church that is the Roman one, because they refuse to recognise any other […]. Instead of [being rooted] in the living people, this church of theirs is rooted in [the authority of] longgone, whom they call the holy Fathers and pillars of the Church, and whose books, together

428 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 69 a. ‘Cić niebożęta mówią, sami nie wiedząc co, a to wedle podania przodków swych. A nie inaczej jedno jako papieżnicy, gdy też błędów swych zastarzałych bronią. A to dlatego, iż im tak ojcowie ich, jako je oni sami zowią, jako też i Żydom rabinowie, na piśmie podali. Ale gdyby Żydowie rabiny swe, a papanowie ojce swe porzucili, a do samego się Pisma Ś. udali, tedyby pewnie nie tak mówili i błąd by też swój tym snadniej poznali i porzucili.’ 429 Jon Balserak, “The Authority of Scripture and Tradition in Calvin’s Lectures on the Prophets,” in The Search for Authority in the European Reformation, ed. Helen L. Parish, Peter Webster, and Elaine Fulton (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2014), 37. Idem, Establishing the Remnant Church in France. Calvin’s Lectures on the Minor Prophets, 1556–1559 (Leiden: Brill, 2011), especially 24–25, where he discusses the history of parallel Roman vs. Jewish idolatry in Protestant discourse.

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with this “unwritten word” of theirs (even though it had been put down in writing a long time ago) they kiss through leather.430

These two flaws: replacing the Word of God with their own laws and doctrines, and presenting it as inherited from the Apostles and Church Fathers and thus reliable, strip the Papists Church of its legitimacy. To be certain, Czechowic was not content with reiterating the Calvinist anti-Catholic arguments, but he also offered a solution to the untrustworthy authority. Since the “Papist” Church leads the believers astray (“they blind and deceive people without any shame, common sense, or the fear of God”431), the alternative, legitimate Christian Church should not only eschew the “man-made” Roman teachings, but also trample established hierarchies and shun leaders, whose authority is derived therefrom. The next step in establishing such true Christian community is the return to the correct reading of Scripture and the appointment of teachers-leaders, whose knowledge comes from instantaneous divine inspiration.

The Arian alternative to corrupt tradition: The correct reading of Scripture One facet of Czechowic’ redefinition of the Christian Church was his effort to provide the Brethren with direct access to Scripture and reliable exegesis. This was realised by his translating the New Testament into Polish, accomplished in 1577. The other aspect of this redefinition was a promotion of a new leadership, whose authority would stem from the ability to expound the Bible rather than from the knowledge inherited from previous generations. To no surprise, Czechowic envisaged himself in the role of such teacher-leader. Even though this tendency to play the part of a scholar-teacher-leader is detectable throughout his literary oeuvre,432 Czechowic’s self-portrait is epitomised by the character of 430 Czechowic, Zwierściadłko, 62. ‘Częścią idą od zwierzchności i powagi, jako oniż sami zowią, Kościoła powszechnego, a mianowicie rozumieć wam trzeba, od rzymskiego, bo oni nad ten żadnego inszego znać nie chcą. O którym to Kościele swoim śmiele też przeciw rozumowi twierdzą, że nigdy nie błądzi. A ten Kościół swój więcej na z dawna już pomarłych ludziach niźli na żywych zasadzają, które Ojcami świętymi i słupami kościelnymi nazywają, których księgi i z tym swoim niepisanym słowem (chociaż dawno już w księgach ich napisane jest) i przez skórę całują.’ 431 Czechowic, Zwierściadłko, 62. ‘Co czynią na oślep, prawie mamiąc ludzi, bez wszego wstydu, bez zdrowego rozsądku i bez bojaźni Bożej.’ 432 In her study of dedicatory letters with which Czechowic opened his writings, Magdalena Hawrysz analysed how the addressees and the sender are presented. According to Hawrysz, the latter is a conscious auto-creation of Czechowic, composed of a number of roles that the author

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the Master who features in second of Czechowic’s literary dialogues, Rozmowy christiańskie. Speaking of this work, Czechowic justifies his writing enterprise as follows: I shall present to you a number of the foremost reasons that brought me to compose Rozmowy [christiańskie] and to dedicate it to you all. I shall present it for your consideration so that, using your common sense of justice, you shall never again object to the truth of deliverance and shall not hold that your own knowledge and understanding is perfect and sufficient. Moreover, I do that for some of you, so that you do not wish to stubbornly cling to the enduring mistake if it is overthrown by God’s Word out of fear to leave God’s Word and the confession of your Christian faith. You know well that for over thousand years it [i.e. the Christian faith] has been so disfigured, confused, and muffled by the Antichrist’s superstitions, rituals, and bizarre ideas, so that a pious man can hardly know how to comfort his conscience, in what to believe about the true God, His Son, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit, what to say, or understand, about the delivering faith, redemption, Christian life, and the sacraments.433

Thus, Czechowic-Master’s explanations, next to his translation of the Bible, should become a “curriculum” for those, who wish to understand the theological principles of true Christianity. Accordingly, in Rozmowy christiańskie Czechowic has his Student declaring:

accepts: the mentor, the caring guardian, the loving father, the guide who shows the way to salvation, the executor of God’s will and finally the gift-donor, who grants the readers with the book as a precious present. These roles aim at establishing Czechowic as a leader and at building the sense of community amongst his readers. Magdalena Hawrysz, “Genologiczne ukształtowanie listów dedykacyjnych Marcina Czechowica,” Studia językoznawcze: synchroniczne i diachroniczne aspekty badań polszczyzny 9 (2010): 62–64. 433 Czechowic, introduction to Rozmowy, iii b. ‘A iżbyście wiedzieli, co mię do pisania rozmów tych przywiodło i co mię też tu ku przypisaniu ich wam wszystkim pobudziło, wszytkiego tego kilka przyczyn przedniejszych usłyszycie, które ja tu temu wam końcowi przed oczy przełożę, żebyście i ony obaczywszy, a swój zdrowy i sprawiedliwy rozsądek ku nim przyłożywszy, nigdy się już na potym prawdzie zbawiennej nie sprzeciwiali, a teraz żebyście tak zgoła o sobie nie trzymali, żebyście już doskonale i dostatecznie wszystkiego doszli, wszystko umieli i wszystko rozumieli. I nadto jeszcze, żebyście niektórzy przy błędzie zastarzałym, gdyby wam zburzony był słowem Bożym, uparcie trwać nie chcieli tak sobie tusząc, żebyście w czym ustąpić od sznura porządnego słowa Bożego i od wyznania wiary zdrowej christiańskiej nie mieli. O której to dobrze wiecie, iż więcej niż przez tysiąc lat od Antychrysta rzymskiego rozmaitymi i dziwnymi wymysłami, zabobony i nabożeństwy była zeszpecona, zawikłana i zatłumiona, że trudno człowiekiem pobożny to wiedzieć miał, na czym miał bezpiecznie sumnienie swe uspokoić i którym sposobem o Bogu prawdziwym, o Synu jego, Jezusie Chrystusie, i o Duchu Św. wierzyć. co o wierze zbawiennej, o usprawiedliwieniu, o żywocie christiańskim i o sakramentach mówić, trzymać, rozumieć.’

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I understood your teaching on baptism. I would like you to explain shortly your understanding, belief, and teaching with regard to the Lord’s Supper. What concerns more detailed lectures and evidence related to baptism, I will read those later in your Rozmowa [i. e. Trzech Dni Rozmowa] and Wotum,434 which you wrote ten years ago.435

To do Czechowic justice, the promotion of Rozmowy christiańskie as the ultimate sourcebook for Arian theology was not a mere whim of the author’s megalomania: the import of the book was indeed acknowledged by his coreligionists. For example, when Lithuanian Arians questioned the movement’s prohibition to hold official position outside the Church, their opponents, determined to keep their position, refused any discussion and instead sent the Lithuanians to the twelfth book of Rozmowy christiańskie, the Brethren’s official stance on divisive issues.436

The Arian alternative to Church authority: The right leadership However, the question still may be posed, what qualities make Czechowic-Master the right leader. In the introduction to Rozmowy christiańskie, Czechowic outlines reasons, for which he decided to put his teaching into writing. The foremost are his God-given oratory and rhetoric abilities: Lord God has willed, in His fatherly grace, to show me alone, [chosen from] amongst many others and greater ones, Antichristian errors; to lead me away from His deadly trial; and to grant me the salubrious knowledge of His Son, Jesus. Moreover, He willed to grant me a tiny fraction of His great talents, which He distributes generously among His servants and custodians of His mysteries. He entrusted them to me and inserted them into my hand for me to trade loyally to His benefit. Therefore, fearful of being indebted (in case I failed to trade with that tiny fraction that had been entrusted to me), and since I could not talk to each of you in private, I put it down in writing.437

434 Reference to Czechowic’s 1578 work Wotum albo zdanie ministra zboru wileńskiego Mikołaja Wędrogowskiego na pytanie: Jesli grzech niemowiątka krzćić albo nie? Przestroga na to Wędrogowskiego Wotum Marcina Czechowicza (Wieliczka: Jan Karcan, 1578), which is going to be discussed below. 435 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 259–260. ‘Jużem o ponurzeniu według potrzeby naukę i wyznanie twoje wyrozumiał. Dobrze by, abyś mi też na krótce i o Wieczerzy Pańskiej rozumienie twoje, naukę i wyznanie oznajmił. Bo co się tknie szerszych i dostateczniejszych wywodów około ponurzenia, ty potym czytać będę w owych twoich Rozmowach i Wotum, któreś przed dziesięciu lat spisał.’ 436 The decision to respond this way was made at the synod of at Lutosławice in 1578. See Szczotka, “Synody,” 29–30. 437 Czechowic, Rozmowy, dedicatory letter, 4–5. ‘Otóż tedy, iż mnie jednemu między inszymi mnogimi i zacnymi pośledniejszemu raczył Pan Bóg mój z łaski swej ojcowskiej błędy

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Czechowic’s above-quoted words seem an embodiment of the paradigmatic humanist individual: a confident, bold statement could be only uttered by a sixteenth-century intellectual fully aware of his God-given “salubrious knowledge” and “divine talents,” and proudly affirming his claim to authority rooted therein.438 One of his ways of proving himself is through his literary creativity. Czechowic belongs to the first generations of authors cognisant of the benefits of the printing press, which allowed for the mass distribution of one’s writing while keeping it from copyists’ errors and alterations. Czechowic’s trust in teaching through publishing resonates in the last words of the passage quoted above: “since I could not talk to each of you in private, I put it [i.e. my teaching] down in

Antychrystowe pokazać i z onej szkoły ćwiczenia jego śmiertelnego wyprowadzić, a swojej mi i Syna swego Jezusa znajomości zdrowej i żywotnej użyczyć. A imo to wszystko raczył mi się też niejakiej małej cząstki zacnych onych talentów swych, hojnie między insze sługi swe i szafarze tajemnic swoich rozdzielonych i ku handlowaniu wiernemu z pańskim pożytkiem oddanych, zwierzyć i do ręki podać. Tedy ja, obawiając się tego, żebym w tym Panu mojemu na liczbie nicz ostał gdybym tą maluczką cząsteczką talentu mnie zwierzonego handlować nie miał, iżem o rzeczach tych wielkich i poważnych ustnie z każdym z was rozmawiać nie mógł, umyślniem to wam na piśmie podał.’ 438 Jacob Burckhardt viewed fourteenth-century Italy as a birthplace of a new cultural phenomenon, the spiritual individual. Unlike in the middle ages, when “man was conscious of himself only as a member of a race, people, party, family, or corporation – only through some general category,” the Renaissance world was dominated, according to Burckhardt, by the individual man determined to haughtily assert this newly discovered self in all areas of life. See Jacob Burckhardt, The Civilisation of the Renaissance in Italy (London: Penguin Books, 1990).    The Burckhardtian model admittedly counts amongst the most formative historiographical myths that have been discussed, challenged, and discarded. For the summary of the centuries-long debate with Burckhardt’s see William Kerrigan and Gordon Braden, The Idea of the Renaissance (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991); John J. Martin, “Inventing Sincerity, Refashioning Prudence: The Discovery of the Individual in Renaissance Europe,” The American Historical Review 102 (1997): 1309–1042; idem, Myths of Renaissance Individualism (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004).    Protestant theology, and particularly the emphasis on personal reading of the Bible, has been recognised as a factor in the rise of individualism, too. Most recently, Brad Gregory traced modern hyperpluralism, which characterises Western culture, back to the Reformed axiom of sola scriptura. See Brad S. Gregory, The Unintended Reformation: How a Religious Revolution Secularized Society (Cambridge: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2012). Although his conclusions have been criticised, Gregory’s critics do not deny the importance of sola scriptura as an important factor in the strengthening of the early-modern individualism. See Nico Vorster, “Sola Scriptura and Western Hyperpluralism: A Critical Response to Brad Gregory’s Unintended Reformation,” Review of European Studies 5 (2013): 52–64; David Martin, “The Unintended Reformation: How a Religious Revolution Secularized Society,” Journal of Contemporary Religion 27 (2012): 510–511.

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writing.” Being a successful and efficient teacher-leader is therefore inseparable from, and conducted through, the literary activity. So far we have seen how Czechowic’s confidence in his version of Christianity was linked to the (subjective) sense of consistent following God’s directions. In a similar fashion, his certainty that he possesses essential qualities of a teacher is vindicated by the correctness of his biblical exegesis, which in turn is a result of revelation and thus cannot be questioned: If you find that my response, which is [drawn] from God’s Word, failed to satisfy you (as it is truly a difficult task to always please everyone), for it contradicts human reason, you shall not be surprised nor should you reject it, but analyse it and think thus: only God opens human hearts and gives understanding of His Word. In his nature, without God’s Spirit, man does not understand divine matters, which he considers foolish (he was born out of flesh and remains flesh). In the same way, I still fail to understand the Word of God, which He says to me through His servants and messengers or through His tools until He himself reveals it to me and opens my heart. However, when God grants it to me, I will be able to understand.439

In other words, the Student should not reject Czechowic-Master’s teachings even when he finds them contradicting the common sense or unconvincing. Instead, he needs to trust that they stem from the Master’s divinely granted hermeneutics. Yet again God becomes the warrant for the correctness of Czechowic’s selfrepresentation. Not only is Czechowic chosen to do his job from amongst many others endowed with a set of skills necessary to spread his teachings, but he is also granted the divine wisdom and the inspired understanding of Scripture. As a result, all those, whose hearts shall be open by God’s will understand and accept Czechowic’s exegeses and instruction. Czechowic’s views on teaching and leadership can be therefore summarised as follows: correct biblical hermeneutics is the ultimate source of religious authority. The Catholic Church (like Judaism) erroneously puts trust in distorted,

439 Czechowic, Rozmowy, 2b. ‘Jeszcze i to, gdybym też i ja nie mógł tobie w czym, wedle zdania twego, usłużyć ( bo tez to nie mniej rzecz trudna każdemu zawżdy w notę ugodzić) odpowiedzią swą, która by jednak była ze słowa Bożego, lecz rozumowi cielesnemu przeciwna, tedy się i temu dziwować nie będziesz, ani theż zgoła mej odpowiedzi odrzucisz, ale radszej tak to pierwej ze sobą rozbierać i tak o tym myślić będziesz. Bóg sam tylko ten jest, który serca ludzkie otwarza i on też sam słowa swojego zdrowe wyrozumienie dawa. Człowiek zaś z przyrodzenia swojego rzeczy boskich (iż się i z ciała urodził i ciałem jest), które u niego są za jedno głupstwo, nie pojmuje ani ich bez Ducha Bożego nie wyrozumiewa. Otóż ja, podobno też jeszcze tego dla tego rozumieć nie mogę, co Bóg do mnie w słowie swym przez swe sługi i posłańce mówi abo przez naczynie swe mnie odpowiada, że mi jeszcze tego on sam nie objawił, ani serca otworzył, ale potym będę mógł rozumieć, gdy mi to od Boga będzie darowano.’

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uncertain traditions and builds on them their hierarchy of power, which leads a believer astray, shutting the gates of salvation for him or her. To remedy this situation, the “correct” reading of Scripture should become a basis for the new Christian Church, that practices its religion according to God’s will. The propriety of instruction is guaranteed by the divine election of a teacher-leader and thus can be recognised by scrutinising the contents of the leader’s teaching. Czechowic does not elaborate on how the movement’s authorities should be elected. Once the teacher’s interpretation has been recognised as correct (as a result of God’s enlightening the hearts of potential believers), he becomes the leader in an almost natural, spontaneous fashion.

Legitimation as leader’s self-creation Arguably, Czechowic’s self-portrayal as a teacher-leader is not only a socialreligious enterprise. It has another, inward-looking dimension to it. If we think of a conscious self-presentation as of an act of performance, we can understand it fully by peeping behind the scenes. Social psychology offers a method of doing it by suggesting to shift perspective and to look not at the legitimacy of power but at the process of legitimisation. The attempts to classify types of authority and consequently, types of legitimacy dates back to the theory proposed by the father of modern sociology, Max Weber.440 Weber defined legitimacy as a belief that those in the position of power are rightly elevated, a belief whose bases are rooted either in the shared will to preserve traditional power-structures, or in the appreciation of the given leader’s personal traits, or in the position he or she was entrusted. Thus, he distinguished three ideal types of authority: traditional, charismatic, and legal. Czechowic’s rejection of the supremacy of Rome and presentation of his task of an educator and writer as a duty that he owes to the Creator is essentially a claim for charismatic authority that would oust the traditional one. However, since Weber’s typology was proposed, the concept of legitimacy has been stirring discussions and controversies in generations of social sciences ideologues. As François Bourricaud mentioned ironically, “they [the scholars] fluctuate between an obsession with legitimacy and the cynical thesis that there is no such thing as legitimacy.”441 The idea that individuals possess characteristics

440 Max Weber, Economy and Society: An Outline of Interpretive Sociology (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), 212–301. 441 François Bourricaud, “Legitimacy and Legitimization,” Current Sociology 35 (1987): 57.

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that qualify them as leaders has been questioned. Consequently, scholarly attention has shifted to a related concept of legitimization, understood as continuous human action rather than an acquired trait. “What characterizes government is not the possession of a quality defined as legitimacy, but the claiming, the activity of legitimation,” explains Rodney Baker.442 Baker denounces legitimacy as a fiction, a metaphor that is irrelevant to describe any government and serves exclusively in a normative description of authorities (that is, in a discussion whether a given leader and his decision are justified or not). On the other hand, the notion of legitimation presents itself as a valuable analytical tool in any empirical research enquiring into the character of government – be it sociological, or historical. Conceived this way, legitimation is an active, politically charged form of communication, carried out on a regular basis by any ruler. It takes many forms and is akin to what Erving Goffman described as the presentation of self.443 Accordingly, legitimation is an ongoing performance that aims at and results in the creation and validation of the leader personal identity. This process is possible through the leader’s identification with a set of desired values that are at the same time held in high esteem by the community who plays the role of both the audience and the judges of the performance. This close link between communal norms and values that shape the type of leader’s identity, which in turn is enacted and confirmed in the process of validation of power, provide yet another backdrop, against which Czechowic’s dialogues can and indeed should be analysed. The legitimisation of political leadership and creation of identity through literary creation are two inseparable sides of one coin. Consequently, not only Czechowic’s actions, but also his literary oeuvre conceived in the peak years of the early Arian history can be successfully seen as an expression of (and tools for) legitimation. Czechowic’s three dialogues, Trzech dni rozmowa (1562, printed 1578), Rozmowy christiańskie (1575) and Odpis (1581), can be regarded as vehicles for asserting his status in the movement and at the same time, creating his personal image. In each of the two former texts, Czechowic’s mouthpiece has a clearly defined character and role, presenting himself as a Christian and as a teacher-leader correspondingly. These characters, who also bear appropriate names: Christian and Master, are two ideal types, which Czechowic believes he embodies (or wishes to). In the third text, Odpis, Czechowic seemingly relinquishes guises and allows his literary persona to speak under his own name – Marcin.

442 Rodney Baker, Legitimating Identities (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 14. 443 Erving Goffman, The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life (Garden City, NY: Anchor, 1959).

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The third portrait: Marcin Czechowic, or the leadership of a Christian teacher Odpis, the third polemic, becomes yet another vehicle to impart Czechowic’s literary self-portrait and arguably, serves to promote Czechowic as an embodiment of the afore-established two ideals – the true, pious Christian and the accomplished Arian leader.

Marcin of Odpis as the embodiment of the Christian ideal Consistency of beliefs One of the most effective ways of creating self-identity is through regarding and narrating one’s actions and beliefs as coherent and consistent. Odpis can be successfully read as an exemplar of such identity-forging enterprise. The discussion on the subject of undeviating ideology is initiated by Rabbi Jacob, interested primarily in the practical value of firm beliefs for the purpose of an inter-faith polemic. He complains that Czechowic cannot be trusted in this matter, and recalls events that took place a number of years earlier. Then, during a random disputation that Czechowic led with the Rabbi in the presence of distinguished individuals whom the Arian leader hoped to convince to his faith, Czechowic emphasised his belief that Jesus was a human being. However, Rabbi continues, on another occasion, when discussing with Daniel Bieliński known for his radical anti-adorationism, Czechowic clearly stated his belief in the divinity of Jesus: I remember once, soon after you came to Lublin, you talked to me in front of many respected men on what we Jews think about Jesus – whether according to Scripture it is viable and correct to consider him God or a human […]. Then you did not regard Jesus as but a prophet, a prophet greater than other prophets, who brought God’s commandment. [You claimed that] whoever believes that commandment shall be saved since he [Jesus] is God’s agent. Yet later, during your discussion with Daniel [Bieliński], I heard you say otherwise. Also in your writing, I read that [you ascribe to Jesus] all divine power, from the moment he was born until the Last Judgement, when, according to you, he is to judge the living and the dead.444 444 Czechowic, Odpis, 49. ‘A ja pamiętam kiedyś najpierwej do Lublina przyjechał i mówiłeś ze mną przed wielą zacnych ludzi, cobyśmy my Żydowie rozumieli o Jezusie, jeśli według Pisma jest rzecz podobna i słuszna, żeby Bogiem miał być, abo człowiekiem. I zadali abo chcieli ci panowie po mnie iżbym ci miał na to odpowiadać dla jednej persony, która tam była, a wszak com ja na to odpowiedział, nie trzeba tu tego pisać. Ale ty na ten czas Jezusowi nie więcejeś nie przypisał aniś przydawał, jedno iż był prorok nad wszytki insze proroki i pośrednikiem, który przyniósł rozkazanie od Boga i kto jego rozkazaniu będzie wierzył, zbawion będzie, bo on przyczyńcą samym

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Such self-contradictions make any polemic on religious matters immensely difficult to conduct, complains Rabbi. In response, Czechowic took the charge of ideological fickleness for a serious slander and rushed to explain that the confusion at the first of the described occasions must have stemmed from his rhetorical strategy: Back then, the subject matter was not Jesus; although you [Jacob], trying to show off your wisdom as I can understand it now, turned the conversation to Jesus. But the subject was the Messiah (…). The question of mine [concerning the Jewish Messiah]445 was directed to you, my dear Jacob, to gain one person. I still do it until this day – I ask those who are inflicted by anti-Christian poison so that they could see their mistake.446

This said, Czechowic proceeds to respond to the charge of inconsistency: Many learned and God-fearing men are my witnesses that since God lead me away from the Antichrist error and let me truly get to know Jesus the Messiah, whom He [God] Himself gave to us, never did I change my mind. Other witnesses are some of my books written before my arrival at Lublin that are consistent with my works written already in Lublin. Third, those with whom I spoke manifold at synods testimony can provide a testimony.447

This apologetic statement appears as if Czechowic wanted to silence any (potential?) charges of inconsistency. Was he trying to convince those ready to accuse him of changing his doctrine upon arriving at Lublin and assuming a key position in the Arian movement? Was he afraid of losing credibility? In the first dialogue discussed in this chapter, Trzech dni rozmowa, Czechowic holds that unalterable

będzie do Boga. Ale potym, kiedyście z Danielem rozmowę mieli, tedym zaś inaczej od ciebie słyszał i z tego pisma twego widzę, iż wszytkę władzę boską od początku urodzenia jego aż do ostatniego sądu przypisujesz mu, iż on ma sądzić żywych i martwych.’ 445 Czechowic approached Jacob asking him to explain Jewish teaching concerning the Messiah. 446 Czechowic, Odpis, 52. ‘Otóż na on czas nie o Jezusie rzecz była, chociaż i wnet, jakoby mądrość swoją chcąc pokazać jako i teraz tego dochodzę, okołoś Jezusa mówić począł. Ale rzecz moja była o mesjaszu zgoła. (...) Toć pytanie moje było do ciebie, Jakubie miły, dla pozyskania onej osoby, a nie insze. A to jest i dnia dzisiejszego we mnie, że się tak rad pytam tych, którzy są jadem antychrystowym zarażeni: aby się w błędzie swym obaczyć mogli.’ 447 Czechowic, Odpis, 51. ‘Naprzód świadectwem mi są wiele uczciwych, bogobojnych ludzi, że od czasu gdy mnie Bóg wywiódł z błędu antychrystowego a dał prawdziwie poznać Jezusa Mesjasza od siebie darowanego, nigdy ta odmiana we mnie nie pokazywała. Potym świadkiem mi też są księgi niektóre moje, którem pisał dobrze przed tym niżem do Lublina przyjechał, które zgodne są z tymi w Lublinie pisanymi. Trzecia, dadzą mi świadectwo i ci, z którymim częstokroć na wielu synodziech mawiał.’

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faith constitutes a foundation for Christian integrity: apparent inconsistencies, such as his own threefold conversions, can be explained by his adamant search for true Christianity. In Odpis, written two decades later, that did not seem enough and Czechowic is ready to go as far as to muster witnesses in order to show that he has never renounced Christian dogmas. A Christian as opposed to a Papist Czechowic’s emphasis on how consistent his beliefs are was one way of expressing his self-understanding as a faithful Christian. Another way he put the same message across is through repeated opposing himself to representatives of erroneous denominations. This notion became an organising principle of Trzech Dni Rozmowa. There, Czechowic fashioned himself as a true follower of Christ by juxtaposing invented epitomes of various Christian churches and by ­promoting the neologism, Christianin, a name that served as a tool for distinguishing between denominations. In Odpis the tension between a true Christian (Czechowic himself) and fake ones (the Papists) is conveyed in a dialogue with a Jew. Starting his exposition on Christian principles of faith, Czechowic exhorts his Jewish interlocutor: First of all, bear in mind that you are not talking to a Papist, who defends his Papist faith, but to a Christian [who speaks] about the true Christian faith. I warn you again, you should know that I together with many others have nothing in common with the Papist faith and worship. I do not understand why you so often return to it, as if our Christian faith was one with the Papists. You note the Papists’ mistakes and atrocious idolatry wishing to defile the true Christian faith and worship.448

The distinction between a Papist and a Christian is not marginal but becomes a precondition for Jacob’s understanding what Czechowic’s doctrine entails. Therefore, the true Christian is defined in the opposition not to one, but to two counterparts – Others. The first is the ultimate negation of everything what Christianity stands for – a spiritually blind Jew, who rejects the Christian beliefs openly and is therefore rejected by God (as Czechowic says: “Contemporary Jews, [...] for the hardness of their hearts that made them hold Jesus the Messiah in

448 Czechowic, Odpis, 37. ‘naprzód weźmi przedsię, że nie mówi z tobą papieżnik, ani też broni swojej wiary papieskiej, ale o wierze prawej chrystiańskiej z tobą mówi christianin dowodząc tej prawdziwej wiary christiańskiej. A przestrzegam cię w tym już to podobno po kilkakroć dlatego, iż ty aczkolwiekbyś dobrze wiedzieć miał, że ja z wiela inszych nic spólnego z wiarą i nabożeństwem papieskim nie mam. Jednak nie wiem czemu się do tego często wracasz, jakoby to jedna była wiara, nasza christiańska z papieską. Bo tak zgoła patrząc na błędy i bałwochwalstwa sprośne papieskie, tym samym prawdziwą wiarę i nabożeństwo christiańskie plugawić chcesz.’

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contempt, have been punished with confused senses and abandoned by God”449). The second is a seemingly “closer Other” – a Roman Catholic. However, while Czechowic follows the suit of generations of Christians in his opposition to the Jew – a “standard” opponent, the Papist becomes a new, dangerous, and indeed, the utmost adversary. This unusual hierarchy of enemies is expressed in a conversation on circumcision, when Jacob accuses Czechowic that he ascribes to the Jews made-up anti-Papists arguments for no other reason but to antagonise the two parties and thus, to endanger the Jews. Czechowic fends off such imputation, claiming that such conflict would be against his own interest: It is unreasonable, that if one, having a perennial enemy, [i.e. the Papists] should bring animosity between that enemy and another, less harmful person, [i.e. the Jew] and as a result turn the latter one into as hostile a foe as the first one. Moreover, trying to win favour of one’s perennial enemy, as if conceding to him on something, is the least appropriate. That is all I have to say.450

Therefore, for Czechowic, the Arian and the Papist have so little in common that the former is more likely to display loyalty towards a Jew than towards a Catholic. The stylistic choice of an anti-Jewish polemic offers the author a new means of pronouncing this split between the two denominations that at first sight appear closely akin. Trzech dni rozmowa – the Arian dialogue with a Papist and a Lutheran – served Czechowic as a framework within which the Arians are situated as one of the Christian options; in Odpis – the anti-Jewish polemic written when the Jesuit order was winning over the hearts and consciences of the Lublin dwellers – they are defined as a direct antithesis of the Papists. The dividing line between religious denominations appears to have been shifted; it is no longer drawn between a Christian and a Jew but between a Christianin and a nonChristianin, wherein the latter category encompasses both Jews and Papists. The symbolic Jew becomes a reference tool: a yardstick that helps discern between the Arian leader and the Papists who are Jew-like yet more harmful, or a catalyst that facilitates such differentiation and thus fosters the construction of the Christian’s self-image.

449 Czechowic, Odpis, The Letter to Sir Łowczy, 3a. ‘terażniejszy Żydowie (...) są zmysłem opacznym pokarani i od Boga, dla zatwardziałości serca którego Jezusem Mesjaszem pogardzili, opuszczeni.’ 450 Czechowic, Odpis, 263–264. ‘Iż to nie k rzeczy (co się tknie ostatniego), aby ten, który ma na się nieprzyjaciela srogiego, onemuż to nieprzyjacielowi swojemu miał w nieprzyjaźń wprowadzić drugiego, o którym tho trzyma, że mu tak szkodzić jako pierwszy nie może, ani mu na koniec takim jest nieprzyjacielem jako pierwszy. A nad to, gdy on sam o łaskę onego nieprzyjaciela swego, jakoby mu w czym ustępując, najmniej nie stoi. To na tym dosyć.’

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The ideal Christian scholar and teacher Czechowic’s two goals aimed at in his dialogues – the creation of his self-portrait and the legitimation of his religious leadership – are two aspects of the same process. According to Czechowic, the authority of a Christian leader boils down to his status of a divinely inspired biblical exegete and scholar. Therewith, one who can evince such intellectual and spiritual qualities has an obligation, in Czechowic’s view, to guide and instruct his co-believers. Czechowic took the latter obligation seriously and promoted his writings as a comprehensive source of religious instruction. This agenda can be traced, for example, in Odpis, when he commits Jacob to search for any queries he might have in Rozmowy christiańskie (“look carefully into the book you are responding to [i.e. Rozmowy christiańskie]. First read it thoroughly and you shall find an answer to your question”451). Evidently, Czechowic is convinced that he possesses the necessary attributes of a teacher – a quality that makes him a desirable leader of the Arian Church – and he felt obliged to show that he fulfilled his duties faithfully. At the same time, he ostensibly strives to present additional endorsement of his assumed position. With scholarship playing a pivotal role in Czechowic’s concept of spiritual leadership, it comes not as a surprise that any imputation of his ignorance touches Czechowic’s raw nerve. In Odpis, Jacob suggests that Czechowic could be unfamiliar with the contents of Talmud: I am surprised by your writing that mocks and tramples our Talmud since I know you never learned it, and that you are merely informed about some stories and sermons taken out of the Talmud and collected by some of our rabbis. One is free to accept and believe in these sermons and stories, as passed on by a rabbi.452

Here, the Rabbi is explicitly sceptical regarding Czechowic’s familiarity with Talmud and implies that the Arian scholar’s knowledge could have stemmed from an anthology of Talmudic legends. The expression which he uses, “stories and sermons collected by the rabbis,” could be a reference to one of the ancient or mediaeval anthologies of midrash, but it most probably alludes to a compilation of Talmudic legends – aggadot, with their commentaries entitled En Ya’akov,

451 Czechowic, Odpis, 84. ‘A wejrzyj pilnie w te książki, na które odpisujesz, pierwszy ich dobrze i pilnie nie przeczytawszy, a już tam w nich najdziesz na to swe pytanie odpowiedź.’ 452 Czechowic, Odpis, 9–10. ‘Dziwuję się barzo temu pisaniu twemu, szkalając a nadeptając ganisz Talmud nasz, o czym wiem iżeś go nie barzo świadom i nauki jego nigdy się nie uczył jedno, co wiem, iż niektórych gadek, abo kazania Talmuda zebrane niektórych rabbinów naszych pisanie, wiadomość o nich masz, które kazanie abo gadki takie wolne są każdemu Żydowi przyjmować i wierzyć im według onego rabina pisania.’

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collected by Ya’akov Ibn Habib, and published in Salonika in 1516. Not only was En Ya’akov a bestseller, reprinted manifolds in the presses of Ottoman Empire, Italy, Poland-Lithuania and elsewhere; but it also enkindled interest in Talmudic aggada.453 Compilations like En Ya’akov provided the readers with textual sources and, as Marjorie Lehman notes, allowed “comfortable approaching [the Talmudic aggada] with a greater degree of interpretive freedom than they did the halakhic material of the Talmud.”454 Popular as they were, Jacob argues that Talmudic legends cannot be any indicator of what the Talmud is, nor should they be seen as axiomatic. Raising the point, the Rabbi follows the footsteps of Nachmanides who argued the same in the polemic against Pablo Christiani in Barcelona in 1263.455 In response, Czechowic does not unequivocally deny that his knowledge is second-hand; instead, he sarcastically rebuts it: “I shall, therefore, speak to you about this Talmud, about which, as you claim, my knowledge is limited and secondary.”456 What follows is an apparent attempt to prove Jacob wrong: a fifteen-page-long description of the structure of Mishnah and Gemara (borrowed, as I have argued, from Galatino’s work,457 so Jacob’s allegation that Czechowic never studied the Talmud might be true). Apparently, Czechowic takes imputations of his ignorance hard. Then again, the above quotation does beg an explanation as to why a Christian scholar-leader should feel upset by a suggestion that he is unfamiliar with, or just insufficiently versed in books considered heretical, such as Talmud. The answer becomes clear if one appreciates Czechowic’s understanding of what inspired wisdom entails. He gives it away in Trzech Dni Rozmowa, where he advocates studying external wisdom: There are some who say, and mostly in front of ignoramuses and simpletons, that all other books are worthless except for the Bible, but even about it [the Bible], they care little [...]. However, no matter how much people were to stray in their writing, a diligent reader may find in their writing something that will comfort him and will make him more prudent. Thus 453 As Joseph Hacker argued, Ibn Habib’s collection represented a shift in the curriculum of Spanish Jewry in the Ottoman Empire. The knowledge and exposition of Talmudic legends and dicta of Rabbis, which beforehand were considered of marginal importance, became the focus of learning and scholarly debates. See Joseph Hacker, “Rabbi Jacob B. Solomon Ibn Habib: An Analysis of Leadership in the Jewish Community of Salonika in the 16th Century,” The Sixth International Congress of Judaic Studies 6.2 (1973): 117–26. 454 Marjorie Suzan Lehman, The En Yaaqov: Jacob Ibn Abib’s Search for Faith in the Talmudic Corpus (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2012), 176. 455 See the above, chapter 4. 456 Czechowic, Odpis, 62. ‘A tak niż o Talmudzie, o którym według mniemania twojego nic nie wiem, nieco mało co z drugich wiem, z tobą mówić będę.’ 457 See chapter 5.

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indeed Augustine and Hieronymus did when they instructed to read heretical books and confessed that they too had read them. Thistle, nettle, and datura are all evil and poisonous herbs, and yet a bee makes good honey out of them, by using what is good and leaving out what is bad. Similarly, a true and diligent teacher should do. Especially, always having the Bible as a yardstick, he should read these and those and reason by God’s Word whether they write correctly or wrongly. Not like many who disdain books: a Papist – the books of a Lutheran, and a Lutheran together with the Papist – ours. They close in front of themselves the gates to knowing God and they have contempt for God’s gifts and the means by which he admonishes them.458

A scholar’s interest in heretical writings is therefore not only allowed, but also desirable since it can serve as an indicator of their true faith: a reader of genuine faith will be able to arrive at correct, divinely inspired, and thus entirely canonical and constructive conclusions. The comparison of books to herbs, from which a reader-bee can extract the honey of knowledge, is not Czechowic’s original idea. In his Recommendation whether to confiscate, destroy, and burn all Jewish books, Johann Reuchlin defended Talmud that he believed to be “no barren tree unable to bring forth good fruit, not a tree to be hewn down and cast into the fire. Rather, it contains much that is good, and learned experts can derive much good from it.”459 What one gets out of reading Talmud depends on the reader’s character and cannot be blamed on the book: However, if the ignorant one finds cause for annoyance in this, that is their own fault and not the fault of the book! Goats graze on bitter weeds and make sweet milk of it, and from the self-same flower do honeybees derive their sweet honey and spiders – their deadly poison. This is not the fault of the blossom or the flower, but rather the quality and nature of those creatures that feed them. In this same way, there are bad-natured people who

458 Czechowic, Trzech dni rozmowa, 29–30. ‘Są też insi, co powiedają, a najwięcej przed nieuki i prostaki, że nic po wszytkich innych księgach okromią Bibliej, ale i o tę mało dbają (…). Ano chociaby najwięcej ludzie w swym pisaniu błądzili, jednak pilny czytelnik i w nich może nieco takiego naleźć, czem się pocieszy i uczeńszym i opatrzniejszym stanie. Co Augustyn czynił i Hieronim, gdy żydowskie i heretyckie księgi czytać każą i powiedają, że je sami czytali. Teżci oset, pokrzywa i bieloń zioła złe i jadowite są, a przedsię z nich pczółka dobry miód robi. Bo to, co jest dobrego bierze, a złe opuszcza. Także by każdy pilny i prawdziwy nauczyciel czynić miał, a zwłaszcza w ręku zawżdy Biblię miasto próby mając, aby i tych i owych czytał, a jeśli dobrze abo źle pisali, aby ze Słowa Bożego rozsądek działał. Nie tak, jako mnodzy działają, co się księgami brzydzą: papieżnik luterskimi, luteran zaś i papieżnikiem i naszymi. A tak sobie sami drogę ku poznaniu prawdy Bożej zamykają, a dary Boże i środkami, przez które ich upomina, gardzą.’ 459 Johann Reuchlin, Recommendation Whether to Confiscate, Destroy, and Burn All Jewish Books: A Classic Treatise against Anti-Semitism ed. Peter Wortsman (New York: Paulist Press, 2000), 56.

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misappropriate good words for an evil purpose; and then again, there are good people who can give a felicitous turn to ill-conceived words.460

Reuchlin’s metaphor used in his defence of Jewish books was borrowed by Martin Luther to vindicate his own writings deemed heretical by the Catholics. Luther recalls that his work is not the first to be ostracised by the Catholics; in fact, similar calumnies were told about the Bible: [...] it was the same with the Bible under the pope; it was publicly said that the Bible was the book of heretics, and it was with giving its sanction to the most condemnable opinions. [...] If, then, the Bible, the book and the word of the Holy Spirit, has such things to endure at their hands, we, surely, may be contented to submit to their imputing to us all the heresies and seditions that burst forth from time to time. The spider sucks poison from the sweet and gentle rose whence the bee derives only honey is it the fault of the flower that in the foul spider its honey becomes poison. [...] The living God is the Judge of us all: he will one day settle all this business; he will one day let it be clearly seen whether or no ‘tis a heretical book, and not to be believed, this sacred Scripture, which so many times has testified of him.461

Luther’s rhetorical point is stronger than Reuchlin’s: not only can allegedly dangerous texts be safely read by a right-minded scholar, but the safest of texts, the Bible, can become a source of heresy if read in an inappropriate way. The image of a divinely inspired scholar compared to a bee able to extract honey from the readings and opposed to a spider that can suck out only poison out of valuable herbs (that is, a Catholic unable to appreciate Luther’s writings), became a commonplace image of the Protestant exegesis, but it was used also against the Reformers. For example, it appears in the last speech of Sir John Gates, executed at the Tower of London as a heretic, who was reported to confess: I was the greatest reader of Scripture, that might be, of man of my degree; and worse follower thereof there was not living. For did not read, to be edified thereby, nor to seek the glory of God: but contrariwise, arrogantly to be seditious, and dispute thereof: and privately to interpret it, after my own brain and affection. Wherefore, I exhort you all, to beware how, and after what sort, you come to read God’s holy word. For it is not trifle, or playing-game, to deal with God’s holy mysteries. Stand not too much in your own conceits. For like as bee of one flower gathers honey, and the spider poison of the same: even so you, unless you humbly submit yourselves to God, and charitably read the same to the intent to be edified thereby, it is to you as poison, and worse; and it were better to let it alone.462

460 Reuchlin, Recommendation, 56. 461 Jules Michele, ed. The Life of Luther, Written by Himself (London: Bell & Daldy, 1872), 887–888. 462 Quote after William Eusebius Andrews, A Critical and Historical Review of Fox’s Book of Martyrs: Showing the Inaccuracies, Falsehoods, and Misrepresentations in that Work of Deception, Vol. 2 (London: W. E. Andrews, 1824–1826), 351–352.

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Here again, the books are not to blame: it is the spiritual makeup of the reader – a bee or a spider – that decides what will be the result of learning. Thus, all three thinkers blamed the readers, who fail to recognise the value of books: for Reuchlin the Talmud’s critics were “bad-natured people who misappropriate good words for an evil purpose,” Luther viewed his detractors as those who “impute heresies and seditions,” and John Gates warned against arrogant readers who poison even the noblest of texts. In Czechowic’s his version of the metaphor, the Arian theologian is more than just a bee as opposed to a spider (that is, a heretical reader), but a bee able to work even with poisonous herbs, that is Jewish books like Talmud. Therefore, proving intimate familiarity with Jewish literature while remaining faithful to the true doctrine is a sign of (and even the proof of) the highest spiritual dexterity. In Odpis, Czechowic portrayed himself as a true Christian and exponent of the divine truths – the new Christian leader. It seems that this self-fashioning was successful and became indeed recognised as the head of the entire Arian Church. A confirmation of Czechowic’s reputation can be found in the harsh criticism of Kasper Wilkowski, a convert from Arianism to Catholicism.463 Wilkowski, with the enthusiasm of a neophyte, felt strongly about the particularism of the Polish Brethren, their rejection of the Catholic authorities and pretence to a monopoly on correct Scriptural exegesis. In the early 1580s, around the time when Odpis was published, Wilkowski published his repudiation of the Arian Church, in which he promises cynically: “[…] if they prove that either Luther, Calvin, Servetus, or Czechowic is the Head of the Christian Church and the Angel of Great Counsel and of the Testament, then I shall leave the [Catholic] Church aside and listen to him and put my trust in him, without caring about the Church anymore.”464 Even if the Catholic convert is equally disapproving of all “heretical” theologians, his equating Czechowic with the unquestioned dignitaries of the magisterial Reformation, Luther and Calvin, and the chief and most famous theologian of the Radical stream of Protestantism, Servetus, seems to confirm how wellestablished Czechowic’s position within the movement was. Not only did Wilkowski place Czechowic in the Pantheon of Reformation leaders, but he also called him the Arian Pope. The telling epithet, which appears to be used in Arian

463 This is a recurring motif in Wilkowski’s Przyczyny nawrócenia. 464 Wilkowski, Przyczyny nawrócenia, 45. ‘Albo niech dowiodą, że Luter, albo Kalwin, albo Serwet, albo Czechowic jest Panem Kościoła Chrześcijańskiego i aniołem wielkiej rady i Testamentu, tedy Kościół puściwszy, na stronę jemu wierzyć i onego słuchać, nie oglądając się na Kościół powinien będę.’

Conclusion 

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circles465 as much as, albeit mockingly, in Jesuit camp,466 gives an impression that Czechowic’s self-promotion as the foremost leader was successful: he was ascribed a status of an ultimate luminary, who enjoys outright authority within his Church. The third of Czechowic’s self-portraits can be characterised as the embodiment of the two ideal types promoted in previous dialogues: the true Christian, and the charismatic teacher whose authority is warranted by God. This personification of the two key features of an Arian leader receives a specific name: Marcin. This makes Odpis the clearest example of Czechowic’s self-fashioning through literature.

Conclusion A literary text, and especially a dialogue in which one of the characters serves as the author’s alter-ego, has a significant bearing on the construction of the author’s identity. Such literary polemic has an outward-oriented goal, of which the author is cognizant, to present the readers with an idealized self-portrait. However, this goal is paired with an internal, intimate, and less conscious process of self-realization, or crystallization of self-image. Czechowic’s model persona comprises two interrelated ideal types. Firstly, it is an epitome Christian who, consistent in his religious path, sees himself as a direct continuator of the apostolic tradition (hence the use of the newly-coined name, Christianin, that shuns any connotations to the Catholic Church). The second ideal is that of an inspired teacher-leader, whose role is to guide his co-believers to the correct interpretation of the Bible. For Czechowic, this role of the mediator of the true Scriptural meaning does not seem contradictory to his declared adherence to the sola scriptura principle. Like other Reform theologians, Czechowic understood that unsupported reading of the Holy Writ might lead to the distortion of what he assumed to be the pure and clear message of the text. Thus, somewhat paradoxically, even the pure meaning, if devoid of correct

465 Wilkowski refers to Czechowic as the “Lublin Pope.” See Wilkowski, Przyczyny nawrócenia, 59; he points to Budny as the one who coined the title, quoting his O urzędzie, 134, see Wilkowski, Przyczyny nawrócenia, 33. 466 Jesuit Marcin Łaszcz called Czechowic “the divers’ pope,” see Marcin Łaszcz, Pogrom Lewartowski to iest o wygraney [...] Adryana Radzimińskiego [...] disputacyey ktora roku 1592 dnia 13 y 14 stycznia z Ewangeliki y Nowokrzczeńcami iawnie miał w Lewartowie. Rozmowa Katholika, Nowokrzczeńca, Ewangelika, y Lutheranina przez Grzegorza Piotrowskiego (Cracow: Jakub Siebeneicher, 1592), 5a. Wojciech z Kalisza reminds this name quoting said pamphlet as an anonymous “Pogrom Lewartowski,” See Tazbir and Szczucki, ed., Literatura ariańska, 527.

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explanation, may lose its value altogether. This requirement of trustworthy (i.e. divinely inspired) hermeneutics creates a need for a new spiritual and intellectual authority; hence the ideal Christian teacher becomes an ideal ChristianArian leader. After voicing his stance through anonymous characters – the Christianin and the Master – in Odpis Czechowic speaks as himself, Marcin. He takes the effort to ensure the reader that the Rabbi Jacob’s opinions are impartial and that their reporting is reliable. This way their epistolary dialogue, and by extension, Czechowic’s self-presentation conveyed thereby, gain veracity. Yet, the persona of Marcin is not only meant to be an indubitable self-image of the author; it also inherits much from the two previous self-portraits. The two ideal types established by means of Trzech dni rozmowa and Rozmowy christiańskie provide a basis for Czechowic’s final self-portrait. On the one hand, Marcin is an ever-consistent, true Christianin, who shares no similarities with an idolatrous Papist; on the other, he is also a divinely-inspired teacher, whose works constitute the compendium of Christian doctrine. As such, he demonstrates the necessary attributes to be an Arian leader and the book comes to make it clear to the community of his readers. I also that the fact Arian opponents like Wilkowski tended to perceive Czechowic as the movement’s leader suggests that the latter self-promotion, a constant legitimization of his authority, to use Bourricaud’s terminology, bore expected fruit.

Conclusions Marcin Czechowic, as one of the first leaders and ideologues of the Arian Church, took upon himself the task of construing and enforcing the Arian group’s identity. At the same time, he sought to promote his leadership within the movement. Czechowic’s polemics, and especially rhetorical references to Jews and Judaism, were a primary vehicle for achieving both of those goals. In mid-sixteenth-century Lublin, the Arians and the Jews formed two religious minorities marginalised socially and forced to settle outside the city walls. For the Arians, the Jews were therefore not only theoretical other but a close neighbour. Yet, the Jews hardly featured in the early Arian literature. Arian writers contemporary to Czechowic engaged with Jews and Judaism but marginally, referring mostly to the biblical People of Israel, or using adjective “Jewish” as a derogatory label to disparage beliefs or practices with which they disagreed. Any attempt to engage with elements of the rabbinic faith or to speak of present-day Jews is conspicuously missing from the early Arian literature. Against this background, Czechowic’s works, in which the author sets out to discuss at length elements of Judaism: Talmud, Sabbath, and circumcision, stand out as unique. The first of Czechowic’s Arian–Jewish polemics, Gadki Żydowskie, was presented by its author as a model for a polemic against Judaism, a disputation handbook. The scholars of Christian–Jewish relations argued that anti-Jewish writings had often been a covert denunciation of non-Jewish adversaries, defined as heretics and labelled “Jews” for propaganda reasons. The use of “hermeneutical Jew” as a tool in a political battle holds true also for Czechowic’s Gadki Żydowskie: the polemic has been described as assailing not the Jews but an “internal” opponent, judaising Arians. Yet Czechowic’s polemic is not only a covert intra-faith disputation; it is also a sophisticated and original rhetorical project that harnesses anti-Jewish stereotypes held by his target readers. The analysis of the structural elements of the work: the types of arguments employed, the presentation of the dialogue’s personae, and the polemical strategies used by the author reveal a rhetorical shift, which divides this first anti-Jewish dispute into two parts. The first part, which follows the model of a traditional Christian–Jewish polemic, sets roles for the “winning party” (the Arian Master) and “the losing one” (the Jews represented by the Student). The second part discusses inner Arian matters ascribing them however to the “Jew.” This way, Czechowic conflated a standard Jewish anti-Christian stance with contemporary arguments of his Arian adversaries. Following the footsteps of preceding polemicists, Czechowic successfully adapted the literary genre of a Christian anti-Jewish polemic, reiterating the stereotypical characterisation of the spiritually blind Jew, who trusts misled tradition rather than the divine truth of the New Testament. He also deployed the https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110586565-007

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 Conclusions

genre’s potential to serve as a tool in a battle against heretics. Having adjusted this traditional Christian genre to his own ideological purposes, Czechowic utilised the inter-faith, Christian–Jewish polemic as a framework for an intra-faith, Arian dispute. Not only was Gadki Żydowskie a polemic with Czechowic’s Arian opponents, but it was also conceived as a paradigm for a successful disputation. This aspect of the work becomes apparent when Gadki Żydowskie is compared with the second of Czechowic’s anti-Jewish writings, Odpis. Whilst the former text delineates a model of a disputation conducted against an invented Jew, the latter ostensibly attempts to realise this model in practice by imposing it on the epistolary exchange between Czechowic and Jacob. Although initially the structure of Odpis indeed resembles the polemical model proposed in Gadki Żydowskie, it soon deviates from the planned Christian apology focusing instead on elements of Jewish ideology and ritual, which in Gadki Żydowskie have received far less prominent treatment. The reasons for the discrepancy between the “polemical theory” of Gadki Żydowskie and “the practice of polemic” in Odpis were twofold. Firstly, the input from Rabbi Jacob had diverted the course of the dispute from the planned path. Making himself a respondent rather than a moderator of the dispute, Czechowic relinquish the full control over the flow of the discussion. The second reason why the polemic in Odpis differs significantly from the model outlined in Gadki Żydowskie stems from the fundamental discrepancy between the two interlocutors’ understanding of the notion of “reading the Bible alone.” When Czechowic-Master planned an effective polemic in Gadki Żydowskie, he envisaged that once interlocutors agree to support their arguments by the words of the Bible only, a stable basis for mutual understanding will be established, providing a prerequisite for the Arian stance’s victory in the debate. This endeavour proved more complicated in practice. For Rabbi Jacob, the written Bible is a part of the Divine Word – the second component being the Rabbinic tradition of exegesis, or the Oral Torah, without which a correct understanding of the Holy Writ is impossible. Czechowic, on the other hand, proclaims the reliance on a traditional hermeneutic to be an anathema. He postulates the return to the individual, personal exegesis that, if inspired by God, will yield the only true understanding of God’s Word. Being certain that his own exposition of Scripture is a result of such divine revelation, he foregoes the sola scriptura principle, effectively replacing traditional religious hermeneutics, be it Christian or Jewish, with another interpretation. If Czechowic’s aim were to convert or convince his Jewish opponent, the publication of Odpis would only expose his failure. Yet, Odpis appears to have fulfilled a different rhetorical goal: composed with the Arian readers in mind,

Conclusions 

 165

Odpis succeeded to demonstrate the author’s creed and exegetic skills in a contrast to Jewish beliefs and rabbinic biblical hermeneutics and, by extension, to the Catholic sanctified tradition of reading. At the same time, the text became a vehicle for Czechowic to show off his knowledge of Jewish literature, language, and ritual. This observation steered my research to explore why this display of a Hebraist’s workshop seemed so important for an Arian theologian. A close reading of Czechowic’s work allows for a reconstruction of the author’s Hebraist library and a survey of texts from which he acquired his knowledge of Judaism and Jews. The derivative character of Czechowic’s comments on rabbinic writings as well as textual features of the quotations in Hebrew, such as mistakes and inconsistencies in transliteration, indicate that although he appears to portray himself as well-versed in Jewish literature, Czechowic relied mostly on works by Christian Hebraists composed in Latin. This dependence on other authors can be attributed to Czechowic’s insufficient knowledge of Hebrew and Aramaic. However, the lack of linguistic skills did not discourage him from quoting rabbinic literature in original, and commenting on Jewish religious practices and habitual behaviours. In fact, Czechowic’s unusual in-depth engagement with what I termed “Jewish motifs” allows to count Odpis in the body of Christian ethnographical literature, much underrepresented in Poland-Lithuania of that time. Not only were Czechowic’s Jewish writings a means to forge Arian group identity, but they were also a vehicle for coining and strengthening his self-understanding as a leading Arian intellectual. Since one of the ways to construe self-identity leads through a narrative composition, Odpis may be considered an example of Czechowic’s self-portrayal. In fact, in all of Czechowic’s dialogues, one of the characters serves as the author’s surrogate. In his early works, Trzech dni rozmowa, and Rozmowy christiańskie, Czechowic’s literary mouthpiece is a personification of qualities that the author regarded highly, and that he recognised in himself: Trzech dni rozmowa features an ideal Christian and Rozmowy christiańskie promotes a model of an Arian teacher-leader. Odpis is the final and the most sophisticated example of self-presentation through the writing of a polemical dialogue. The text features the character of Marcin, who embodies both, the ideal Christian and the Ideal teacher. The figure of his polemical opponent – the Jew Rabbi Jacob – serves as a catalyser of these features, a mirror in which the desirable qualities can be reflected. In sixteenth-century Lublin, encounters with Jews were more than frequent and anti-Jewish religious stereotypes were commonplace but, at the same time, Jewish literature was recognised as a carrier of theological knowledge most useful if not indispensable for a pious follower of Jesus. It is therefore not surprising that the literary genre of an anti-Jewish polemic and the play on the connotations

166 

 Conclusions

linked to the image of a Jew proved conducive to the creation of the group identity of a newly formed Christian sect and of the self-identity of the sect’s leader. Czechowic drew on two types of “Jewish” connotations, each of which denotes a separate semantic field. The first is the traditional Christian motif of a spiritually blind, tradition-bound Jew. Harnessing this stereotype in Gadki Żydowskie enabled Czechowic to deride his Arian opponents and thus define the group identity of his co-believers. The second type of a Jewish image, of which Czechowic took advantage when portraying himself in Odpis, is the humanist-Renaissance perception of the Jews as natural masters of Hebrew, potential teachers of the “sacred philology,” and thus eponyms of skills necessary for a Christian and especially Protestant theologian. By depicting himself as outshining the Jew in understanding Jewish texts was linked to Czechowic’s legitimization of his position in the Arian Church, and to coining of his own personal identity.

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Index Ben Asher, Ya’akov 116 Ben Nachman, Moshe (Nachmanides) 77, 110, 157 Ben-Sasson, Haim Hillel 24 Biandrata, Giorgio 13 Bieliński, Daniel 56, 152 Bourricaud, François 150 Bouwsma, William 136 Brzeziny 28, 111 Budny, Szymon 6, 18, 27, 41, 53, 54, 55, 56, 111, 113 Burke, Peter 56 Butzer, Martin 97 Calvin, Jean 97, 98, 131 Christiani, Pablo 77, 113, 157 Ciechowski, Mikołaj 22 Constantinople 66 Cracow 7, 8, 14, 16, 28, 35, 134 Czapska, Maria 19, 20 Czechowic, Marcin 12–26, 27–41, 44, 45, 50, 54, 57, 59, 67–70, 74, 82–86, 91, 93, 94–97, 99, 101–108, 109–121, 142–150, 153–156 David, Ferenc 9 Davies, Norman 6 Dawid, Leonard 8 Dubnow, Simon 15 Eiximenis, Francesc 117 Erasmus of Rotterdam 38 Fagius, Paul 116, 120, 121 Ferdinand I (Holy Roman Emperor) 28 Friedman, Jerome 98 Galatino, Pietro 88, 116, 117, 118, 119, 157 Gates, John 159, 160 Geneva 13, 28, 131 Ginzburg, Carlo 21 Gribaldi, Matteo 35 Grzegorz Paweł z Brzezin 27–35 https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110586565-009

Halevi, Judah 66, 122, 123, 124 Hawrysz, Magdalena 22 Hsia, Ronnie Po-Chia 68 Hunt, J. P. T. 96 Ibn Ezra, Abraham 38, 115, 116 Ibn Shaprut, Hasdai 66 Ibn Tibbon, Judah 66, 124 Isaac of Troki 23 Isserles, Moses 7 Jud, Leo 38 Kadushin, Max 70 Kaśków, Robert 25, 26 Kimchi, David 38, 115, 116 Kimchi, Joseph 115 Kiszka, Jan 39 Königsberg 28 Kot, Stanisław 18, 120 Krowicki, Marcin 18, 111 Lasota, Andrzej 14 Lehman, Majorie 157 Leipzig 12, 120 Levin, Leonard 15 Lublin 6, 8, 10–12, 13, 14, 110, 119, 131, 132, 133, 135, 152, 153, 155 Luria, Solomon 7 Luther, Martin 1, 20, 40, 110, 141, 159, 160 Malcherowa, Katarzyna 8 Martí, Ramon 117, 118 McGrath, Alister E. 82 Melanchthon, Philip 20, 28, 127 Moses Darshan 116 Moses of Coucy 116 Münster, Sebastian 38, 110 Niemojewski, Jan 13, 14, 131, 132, 133 Novogorod 9 Oberman, Heiko 81, 82 Ogonowski, Zbigniew 19, 20, 23, 46

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 Index

Old, Hughes Oliphant 97 Otwinowski, Erazm 18 Parker, Thomas Henry Louis 90 Peter the Venerable 113 Pietrzyk, Zbigniew 8 Piotr z Goniądza 35–37 Pollak, Ya’akov 8 Poznań 28 Probst, Christopher 40, 41 Radoń, Sławomir 22 Radziwiłł the Black, Mikołaj 12, 37, 111, 131 Raków 6, 28 Reuchlin, Johann 118, 158, 159, 160 Rodecki, Alexy 14, 16 Rosenthal, Judah 23, 25, 26, 119, 120, 121 Sabellius 29 Schechter, Solomon 66 Servetus, Miguel 35, 98, 160 Shakhna, Shalom 8, 11 Shear, Adam 15 Sigismund August, King of Poland 11, 12, 19 Sirkis, Joel 7

Shalom Shakhna 11 Solomon ben Isaac (Rashi) 38, 115, 116, 120, 121 Sozzini, Fausto 18, 21, 23 Stancaro, Francesco 28, 29, 30 Szczucki, Lech 16, 25, 26, 119, 134 Taube, Moshe 9 Tazbir, Janusz 19, 20 The Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth 3, 124 Trent, Council of 82, 143 Vatable, François 50 Vehe-Glirius, Matthias 9 Vilna 13, 131, 134, 136 Wilczek, Piotr 21, 22, 26 Wilkowski, Kasper 132, 133, 160 Williams, George H. 6, 9, 19, 37 Wittenberg 1, 28 Yoffe, Mordecai 7 Yuval, Israel 68 Zwingli, Huldrich 20, 97, 98