Responses to Religious Division, c. 1580-1620: Public and Private, Divine and Temporal 9789004330771, 9004330771

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Responses to Religious Division, c. 1580–1620

St Andrews Studies in Reformation History Lead Editor Bridget Heal (University of St Andrews) Editorial Board Amy Burnett (University of Nebraska-Lincoln) Euan Cameron (Columbia University) Bruce Gordon (Yale University) Kaspar von Greyerz (Universität Basel) Felicity Heal (Jesus College, Oxford) Andrew Pettegree (University of St Andrews) Karin Maag (Calvin College, Grand Rapids) Roger Mason (University of St Andrews) Alec Ryrie (Durham University) Jonathan Willis (University of Birmingham)

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Responses to Religious Division, c. 1580–1620 Public and Private, Divine and Temporal By

Natasha Constantinidou

LEIDEN | BOSTON

Cover illustration: ‘Politique’, ‘Temperance’ and ‘Religion’. From J.B. Boudard, Iconologie tirée de divers auteurs. Ouvrage utile aux gens de lettres, aux poëtes, aux artistes, & généralement à tous les amateurs des beaux arts, 3 vols. (Parma: Philippo Carmignani, 1759) [Durham Palace Green Library, Kellett.13]. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Constantinidou, Natasha, author. Title: Responses to religious division, c. 1580-1620 / by Natasha Constantinidou. Description: Leiden ; Boston : Brill, 2017. | Series: St. Andrews studies in Reformation history, issn 2468-4317 | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: lccn 2017011278 (print) | lccn 2017024107 (ebook) | isbn 9789004330771 (E-book) | isbn 9789004330764 (hardback : alk. paper) Subjects: lcsh: Reformation. | Religion and politics--Europe--History. | Europe--Church history. | Charron, Pierre, 1541-1603. | Lipsius, Justus, 1547-1606. | Sarpi, Paolo, 1552-1623. | James I, King of England, 1566-1625. Classification: lcc BR305.3 (ebook) | lcc BR305.3 .C67 2017 (print) | ddc 274/.06--dc23 lc record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017011278

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 2468-4317 isbn 978-90-04-33076-4 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-33077-1 (e-book) Copyright 2017 by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill nv incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi and Hotei Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill nv provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, ma 01923, usa. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.



For Tim

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Contents Acknowledgements xi List of Figures xiii Introduction 1 Interpretations and Historiographical Approaches 5 The ‘Middle Way’ 9 Historical and Intellectual Context 11 Networks, Languages, Involvement 15 Contexts and Texts 18 1 The Republic of Letters: Authors, Contexts, Networks 22 Religious Wars, Reconciliation and Coexistence 22 Between Conflict and Learning: Charron and the French Religious Experience 25 Living the Dutch Revolt: Humanism in Times of Public Adversity 31 Interlude: Truce 40 The View from Venice: Sarpi’s Life 45 The International Stage: The Venetian Interdict (1606–07) and the Controversy over the Oath of Allegiance (1605–07), Sarpi and James vi and i 49 The View from London and the Turn of the Century: James vi and i and the Anglo-Scottish Experience 55 Networks and Exchanges in the Republic of Letters at the Backdrop of Religious Wars 59 Observing the Wars 68 2 Human Wisdom and Moderation versus Indifference and Superstition: Charron’s Response to Religious Conflict 71 Les Trois Véritez: Founding God on Human Reason 75 Religious Wars, Indifference and Atheism 80 Religion and the State: A Necessary Bond 83 Christianity, One of Many (Religions) 84 Nature of Religion – Sagesse 87 From Polemics to the Search of Common Ground and Alternatives 91 Human Wisdom: De La Sagesse, Trois Livres 93

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Human and Natural versus Divine Knowledge and Morality 96 Human Honesty: Nature or God? 106 Modifications, Reception, Interpretations and the Hardening of Confessional Lines 112 3 Prudence and Constancy: Justus Lipsius’s Advice for Times of Public Affliction 116 Constantia and Politica: Constancy and Prudence 119 Prudence, Constancy and Morality 124 (Neo)Stoicism as a Way Out of the Impasse: Stoic Elements in the Constantia 131 Lipsius on Religion and Politics in the Context of Religious Upheaval 140 A Response to Religious Strife: Lipsius’s Views in the Context of a Religious Landscape in a Constant State of Flux 153 4 The Limits between Lay and Ecclesiastical Jurisdiction: Paolo Sarpi’s Reaction to a Century of Confessional Conflict 161 An Account of Religious Divisions: The Historia del Concilio Tridentino (1619) 165 The Historia del Concilio Tridentino and the Debate over Jurisdictions 173 Resolving Religious Divisions: From Dual Jurisdiction to Temporal Supremacy 179 Addressing Religious Divisions in the Temporal Sphere: Institutional over Doctrinal Reform 182 Intellectual Development and International Context, 1606–1619: Unresolved Questions 187 Doctrine, Politics, Christianity, and Acculturation: Sarpi on Religion 194 The Historia del Concilio Tridentino on the International Stage 201 5 Peaceful Coexistence through Lay Supremacy: James vi and i and the Struggle for a ‘Middle’ Way 205 ‘Render Therefore unto Caesar the Things Which Are Caesar’s’: The Controversy over the Oath of Allegiance and the International Milieu 210 The Oath, Texts and Reactions 210 Texts and Arguments 217 The Oath Exported 226

 Contents

The Scottish Experience: Separating Jurisdictions or Keeping the Clergy at Bay 230 A ‘Moderate’ Approach: Princely Rule against Religious Extremism 236 Having to Realign the Middle Way: The Revival of Religious Divisions 243 Conclusions 248 Bibliography 255 Index 280

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Acknowledgements This book started its life several years ago as a doctoral dissertation at the University of Edinburgh. Throughout the years I have been developing this study I have accumulated great debt to a number of people and institutions. I am greatly indebted to Richard Mackenney for acting as my advisor, for his encouragement, and for inspiring the breadth of this research. I am also indebted to Patricia Allerston for her advice throughout the research and writing period as well as to Mark Greengrass and Michael Lynch, my examiners, for their useful comments. Chris Black, Tom Webster, Thomas Ahnert, Simon Ditchfield, Andrew Pettegree, Malcolm Walsby, Evelien Chayes, Emily Michelson, Roger Mason, Graeme Kemp, Flavia Bruni, Richard Kirwan, Jeanine de Landtsheer, David Allan, Rod Lyall, Christopher Brooke, Michael Angold, Bridget Heal, Glenn Burgess, David Howarth, Owen Dudley Edwards, Nicholas Philipson, David Wootton, Bruce Gordon at different stages of this process provided helpful comments, asked questions, offered suggestions, advice or support, all greatly appreciated. The person who first turned my attention to the early modern world of ideas as an undergraduate was Stelios Lydakis, during his History of Art courses; to the wars of religion in particular, Costas Gaganakis; I would like to thank them even at this later stage. Jill Stephenson, Perrti Ahonen, Lionel Glassey, Don Spaeth, Elizabeth Redgate, Stephen Tyre and Guy Rowlands as well as Craig Moffat, Keith Mears, Violet Nutting, Finn Pollard, Ben Schiller, Aggeliki, Dimitra and ­Maria in their own way helped me on my path with professional and personal support. The Department of History at St Andrews offered a warm welcome and an i­ntellectually stimulating setting during my time there. The team at the U ­ niversal Short Title Catalogue Project, in particular, headed by Andrew ­Pettegree helped me understand the world of printed matter and the means through which ideas such as the ones examined here, circulated. They also ­provided a familial and inspiring working environment that taught me the benefits of team work. I have also been lucky in the last years to be working in such a ­convivial and supporting environment as that of the University of Cyprus; it has helped the writing process a great deal. Portions and versions of this study have been presented in a number of seminars and conferences and I would like express my gratitude for all the feedback that I have received in these settings. A great part of the research for this book took place in the National Library of Scotland in Edinburgh, a beautiful place to work; I would like to thank the staff of the Library who throughout the years carried many different books to my desk and who had to answer ­difficult questions about how Continental books found their way to Scotland. A note of

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thanks also goes to the staff of the acquisitions and inter-library loan sections of the Library of the University of Cyprus, who accommodated my continual demands for books. Finally, I would like to thank Arjan van Dijk, Francis Knikker and Fem Eggers at Brill who helped a great deal in the process of bringing this book to publication. My love for (European) history came from my parents who supported me throughout the years of my studies, so in many ways this book would not  have existed had it not been for them. My mother, my father, my brother and my aunt have  always mentally followed me in my travels and I thank them for that. Both the early and later stages of the research and the writing of this study were marked by the passing of my grandmother and my mother; I hope they would be proud to see it. It was also marked by the birth of my daughter, who has changed the way I think and write and who always sees me surrounded by books. This book is dedicated to Tim – my indebtedness to him for his support, laughter, love and understanding cannot simply be expressed in words.



List of Figures 1 Wisdom triumphant amidst the embodiments of passion, opinion, superstition and pedantic knowledge. Titlepage of the English translation of Charron’s work, Of Wisdome, Three Bookes (London: for Luke Fawne, 1651) [Durham Palace Green Library, Cosin BB.1.27] 99 2 Superstition. From J.B. Boudard, Iconologie tirée de divers auteurs. Ouvrage utile aux gens de lettres, aux poëtes, aux artistes, & généralement à tous les amateurs des beaux arts, 3 vols. (Parma: Philippo Carmignani, 1759): vol. 3, im. 151 [Durham Palace Green Library, Kellett.13] 146 3 Piety. From J.B. Boudard, Iconologie tirée de divers auteurs. Ouvrage utile aux gens de lettres, aux poëtes, aux artistes, & généralement à tous les amateurs des beaux arts, 3 vols. (Parma: Philippo Carmignani, 1759): vol. 3, im. 75 [Durham Palace Green Library, Kellett.13] 147 4 Titlepage of James i, Apologia pro iuramento fidelitatis (London: excudebat John Norton, 1609) [Durham Palace Green Library, sb 2299] 214 5 Dedication to contemporary rulers, from James i, Apologia pro iuramento fidelitatis (London: excudebat John Norton, 1609); A2r [Durham Palace Green Library, sb 2299] 215

Introduction God’s Holy Word is received by few and read by still fewer [in our oppressed fatherland (=Southern Low Countries)]. Everywhere you find multitudes of atheists and libertines, some of whom openly scoff religion and call it a fable invention, saying that it is nothing more than a matter of policy, devised by crafty and cunning rulers to keep simple folk in fear and obedience. These therefore regard those who do, and suffer, so much for the sake of religion as mad. Others who wish to conceal their contempt for God say that such a variety of contending beliefs has arisen in our fatherland that they neither know which is true nor what they should believe. Some set their cap to the wind and outwardly conform with all sorts of religion….1 In the aftermath of Martin Luther’s protestation and up to the signing of the complex set of peace treaties known as the ‘Peace of Westphalia’ most of the European world became embroiled in bitter confessional conflict. The situation caused by the religious ruptures had profound effects on attitudes towards religion: it stirred entrenched passions, but it also caused part of the population to distance itself from current events and from religion, as witnessed by the contents of the letter from the Southern Low Countries of 1582 cited above. While religious divisions thus inspired fervour and rage, they also brought about outright indifference and contempt. They caused confusion and superficial conformity to some of the laity. Others still, were moved in such a way that set out to find solutions to the confessional rift. Solutions to the effects of divisions were offered by men concerned with the faith but also by men interested in the welfare of the state. This study focuses on four specific responses from different areas in Europe given to the religious mayhem in the second half of sixteenth- and early seventeenth century by authors incited by either personal experience or observation of religious discord. The French theologian Pierre Charron (1541–1603) and the Flemish scholar Justus Lipsius (1547–1606) lived through the religious warfare and were tormented by it either suffering arrest or having to flee conflict and having their house sacked. The Venetian Paolo Sarpi (1552–1623) and 1 Daniel de Dieu to the London Stranger Church (9 August 1582), in Ecclesiae Londino-Batavae Archivum, ed. J.H. Hessels 3 vols. (Cambridge, 1887–97), vol. 3, 679, as cited in Calvinism in Europe, 1540–1610, ed. A. Duke et als (Manchester and New York: Manchester up, 1992), 189 (my emphasis).

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi 10.1163/9789004330771_002

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Introduction

the Scottish James vi and i (1566–1625), both active political agents in the affairs­of their own states, observed closely the conflicts in France and the Low Countries and witnessed the outbreak of the Thirty Years’ War, the culmination of long-term unresolved politico-religious issues. Their responses focused on non-dogmatic piety and emphasised the necessity of religion within the state, under lay control, as a means of healing religious rifts. According to their respective viewpoint, each author’s responses aspired to offer suggestions in the way of settling the effects of the disintegration of Latin Christendom or to console the distressed people of a war-torn continent. At the heart of their examination was a concern to define religion’s role in the public and private realms as a way of providing some mental and political stability. From their different perspectives, they agreed that religion was at the root of a moral and political crisis and that belief and its practice ought to be circumscribed within distinct limits, separate from the public realm. In this, a more forceful response was given by the two latter, Sarpi and King James, who blamed the confessional strife on the role of the church and urged for a clear separation of political and ecclesiastical jurisdictions. Thus, by keeping the two kingdoms separate the fatal equation of orthodoxy with loyalty and dissent with sedition would cease. Even though of different confessional backgrounds, the four theorists belonged to an amorphous group of individuals disaffected with the fragmentation of Latin Christianity, whose biggest source of concern was the upsurge of religious fervour as the critical factor and an effect of confessional strife. They strongly denounced zeal and religious extremism as enemies to true faith and advocated a moderate approach to religion. Their stance on religious matters came from either a comparative or a historical perspective, both of which rendered them unable to accept religious dogmatism. At the same time, they agreed about the necessity of religion within the state for reasons of governance and preservation of peace and the commonwealth. All would ideally prefer a single religion within the state – yet they could see that, given the circumstances surrounding them, this had become an unrealistic prospect. Their specific view of the role of religion within the state, however, gave them the conviction that as in the temporal world, politics took precedence, religious coexistence was possible, as long as subjects of all confessions showed their loyalty to the head of the commonwealth and worked for the good of the state. A peaceful coexistence was achievable through the endorsement of a religious ‘middle way’ that would stress a few fundamental and universally shared principles of Christianity. In the words of the Chancellor of France, in his opening speech to the Estates-General of Orléans (December 1560): ‘Let us banish those devilish names – ‘Lutheran’,

Introduction

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‘Huguenot’, ‘Papist’ – which breed only faction and sedition; let us retain only one name: ‘Christian’.2 This emphasis on non-dogmatic piety and the role of religion within the state as means of healing religious rifts brought together the four theorists discussed in this study.3 Not all of them are normally seen by scholarship as holding analogous views even though the links between some of them have been variously addressed before. Beyond their emphasis on a-confessionalism and the political administration of religion, further parallel threads in their views can be detected on a number of topics. To a different degree, they all placed common stress on the separation of political and ecclesiastical authority, as they understood this distinction as an essential precondition and the only viable step towards resolving religious divisions. By keeping the two spheres separate, dissent would cease to mean sedition. This separation of authorities was in turn based on another principle that had an increasing appeal during the decades of civil strife, that of the separation of public and private domains. By keeping religion private, the dangers of religious upheavals were eliminated. Public life would have to be regulated by the lay authorities and religious coexistence and peace would (only) be possible in the context of a temporal political state. In the approaches adopted by the authors examined here, this perspective went hand in hand with certain syncretism and/or a historical perception of religion. By comparing Christianity with other religions and by looking at its development through the ages, the four thinkers distinguished the specific areas where the practice of faith had been shaped by humans. In effect, by assessing the human impact on religion, they held the decrees of the institutional­ 2 Michel de L’Hôpital, Oeuvres complétes, ed. P.J.S. Duféy, 3 vols. (Paris, 1824–25), cited in R.J. Knecht, The French Wars of Religion 1559–1598, 2nd edition (New York: Longman, 1996), 101. 3 Links between Charron and Sarpi’s views are discussed for instance, in V. Frajese, ‘Sarpi Interprete del De la Sagesse di Pierre Charron: I Pensieri sulla Religione’, Studi Veneziani xx (1990), 59–85 and D. Wootton, Paolo Sarpi: Between Renaissance and Enlightenment (Cambridge: cup, 1983), 24–28. For links between Charron and Lipsius see for instance, R. Kogel, Pierre Charron (Geneva: Librairie Droz, 1972), Ch. 6; for links between Sarpi and James see indicatively G. Cozzi, ‘Fra Paolo Sarpi, l’Anglicanesmo e la Historia del Concilio Tridentino’, Rivista Storica Italiana 63 (1956), 559–619 and F.A. Yates, ‘Paolo Sarpi’s History of the Council of Trent’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 7 (1944), 129–131. For links between Lipsius and intellectual circles around James vi and i see D. Allan, Philosophy and Politics in Later Stuart Scotland: Neo-Stoicism, Culture and Ideology in an Age of Crisis, 1540–1690 (East Linton: Tuckwell Press, 2000) and A. McCrea, Constant Minds. Political Virtue and the Lipsian Paradigm in England, 1584–1650 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997). For links between Sarpi and Lipsius see Wootton, Paolo Sarpi, 33, 69–72.

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Introduction

church as advice and not as directives. Men, after all, had understood and expressed their faith in different ways since the beginning of Christianity. However, by thus undermining the role of the Church, irrespectively of their confessional background, theorists such as Lipsius, Sarpi and James were at the same time calling for increased powers for the lay authorities in administrating the temporal face of the Church. All four of them drew a distinction between doctrine, worship, and instructions originating from the clergy. To the historical and comparative understanding of religion (and religious culture) of Charron, Sarpi and James, particularly during early Christianity, we should add the philosophical fusion of pre-Christian and Christian beliefs found in the texts of Lipsius, and to some extent, Charron’s. These were mainly Stoic in origin in the writings of the former, while the latter seemed to also be flirting with some aspects of neo-Platonism or ancient theology. The Stoic components were based on the principle of universal reason as the foundation of a moral code and man’s relationship with Deity, while the neo-Platonic-Hermetic elements were emphasising the syncretism of pre-Christian religions and philosophies. This last approach was also consistent with an emphasis on the basic elements of Christianity, based on the Scripture, away from the doctrinal details added later by humanity and considered less vital or, ‘indifferent’.4 Indifferent matters, or ‘adiaphora’ were mostly related to religious practices (‘outward things’), and had been a matter of discussion since St Paul but had come to the focus again in the 1540s in attempts to pacify the Holy Roman Empire.5 Finally, by de-emphasising doctrine and by increasing the stress on the rudimentary common elements, this approach elevated the importance of 4 Cf. Jean Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion ed. by John T. McNeill, trans. Ford Lewis Battles (Philadelphia, pa: Westminster Press, 1960), 834, 836, 838 and The Book of Concord, ed. T.G. Tappert (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1959), 610–615. 5 Cf. I. Dingel, ‘The Culture of Conflict in the Controversies Leading to the Formula of Concord (1548–1560)’, in R. Kolb (ed.), Lutheran Ecclesiastical Culture, 1550–1675 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 15–64; C.P. Arand et als (eds), The Lutheran Confessions: History and Theology of the Book of Concord (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2011); N. Rein, ‘Faith and Empire: Conflicting Visions of Religion in a Late Reformation Controversy – The Augsburg Interim and Its Opponents, 1548–1550’. Journal of the American Academy of Religion 71(2003), 45–74; W.R. Johnston, ‘These Adiaphoristic Devils: Matthias Flacius Illyricus in statu confessionis, 1548–1552’ (unpublished PhD dissertation, Erasmus University of Rotterdam, 2013); esp. 38–43, 51–58. On the eirenicism of adherents to the Hermetic tradition see F.A. Yates, Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press: 1964); D.P. Walker, ‘The Prisca Theologia in France’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 17 (1954), 204–259 and its revised form in his The Ancient Theology: Studies in Christian Platonism from the Fifteenth to the Eighteenth Century (Ithaca, n.y.: Cornell University Press, 1972), 63–131.

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morality in assessing how virtuous someone was over how closely he/she followed religious dictates. Jesus, after all, had advocated above all a moral code according to which a virtuous person ought to lead his life.6

Interpretations and Historiographical Approaches

The individual approaches of the authors discussed in this study have variously been interpreted as versions, or as different degrees of, scepticism or religious relativism, and even thinly veiled atheism.7 That scepticism and relativism/syncretism was one of the fruits of religious divisions is indubitable as the Reformation shook the very foundation of truth and people’s ability to ascertain it.8 Moreover, the sceptic notion of ataraxia (imperturbability) that implied detachment from passions could also be taken to mean detachment from belief.9 6 Concern with morality during this period is partly reflected in the heated debates concerning Machiavellism in politics, as well as notions such as ‘prudence’ and ‘dissimulation’; see indicatively, M. Viroli, From Politics to Reason of State. The Acquisition and Transformation of the Language of Politics, 1250–1600 (Cambridge: cup, 1992); N.O. Keohane, Philosophy and the State in France. The Renaissance to the Enlightenment (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton up, 1980), esp. Ch. 4; R. Bireley, The Counter-Reformation Prince: Anti-Machiavellism or Catholic Statecraft in Early Modern Europe (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1990); H. Höpfl, Jesuit Political Thought. The Society of Jesus and the State, c. 1540–1630 (Cambridge: cup, 2004), Chs. 5, 7–8; J. Martin, ‘Inventing Sincerity, Refashioning Prudence: the Discovery of the Individual in Renaissance Europe’, American Historical Review 102 (1997), 1309–1342. 7 See, among others, Frajese, ‘Sarpi Interprete del De la Sagesse di Pierre Charron’ and idem, Sarpi scettico. Stato e Chiesa a Venezia tra Cinque e Seicento (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1994); R. Tuck, Philosophy and Government 1572–1651 (Cambridge: cup, 1993), 59–64, 85–88, 97–101; Wootton, Paolo Sarpi. See also the discussion of Charron’s scepticism/fideism by R.H. Popkin in his The History of Scepticism from Erasmus to Spinoza, rev. ed. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1979), 55–62. The claim for atheism comes from Wootton, Paolo Sarpi, 13–43 and 119–145; Tullio Gregory, ‘Pierre Charron’s “Scandalous Book”’ in Michael Hunter and David Wootton (eds), Atheism from Reformation to the Enlightenment (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992), 87–109. 8 See especially Popkin, History of Scepticism, Ch. 1, as well as C.B. Schmitt, Cicero Scepticus (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1972); Hunter and Wootton, Atheism from Reformation to Enlightenment; Wootton, ‘Lucien Febvre and the Problem of Unbelief in the Early Modern Period’, Journal of Modern History 60 (1988), 695–730; idem, ‘Unbelief in Early Modern Europe’, History Workshop 20 (1985), 83–101; A. Levin (ed.), Early Modern Skepticism and the Origins of Toleration (Lanham: Lexington Books, 1999); S. Mendus, Justifying Toleration: Conceptual and Historical Perspectives (Cambridge: cup, 1987); Tuck, Philosophy and Government, Ch. 2. 9 Tuck, Philosophy and Government, 50–51.

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Introduction

Charron himself confirmed this tendency to atheism by devoting the first book of his Trois Véritez to its refutation.10 The relationship between scepticism and toleration is also one that has been raised, as suppressing strong religious beliefs would be to take them too seriously. Scepticism however, did not necessarily lead to arguments of religious coexistence such as those endorsed by the authors analysed here.11 Scepticism, moreover, in its early modern guise was not a current of thought that was necessarily an end in itself.12 Charron’s use of sceptical arguments pointed to a moral and religious relativism out of which man’s alignment with nature/God would be his salvation while Sarpi’s, on the other hand, to man’s inability to contemplate the Divine and deliberate on Christian doctrine. Lipsius’s use of scepticism can be detected in his discussion about depravity in politics. It is therefore difficult to categorise the thinkers discussed here simply as ‘sceptics’, but we can say with certainty that all four of them were trying to find ways of coping with the realities emerging from the religious fragmentation of Europe and the ensuing volatility. Other interpretations would see at least some of their arguments as contributing to the narrative of the rise of religious tolerance (or ‘toleration’) as all four of them wrote against doctrinal rigidity and called for peaceful coexistence – even if their positions had been based more on pragmatic considerations ­rather than principles.13 Similarly, other scholars would fit their approaches 10 11 12

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Pierre Charron, Les trois Veritez contre les Athees, Idolatres, Juifs, Mahumetans, Heretiques et Schismatiques (Bordeaux: Simon Millanges, 1593); ustc 2978. Mendus, ‘Introduction’, Justifying Toleration, 11. Cf. A. Levi, ‘The Relationship of Stoicism and Scepticism: Justus Lipsius’, in J. Kraye and M.W.F. Stone (eds), Humanism and Early Modern Philosophy (London: Routledge, 2000), 91–106; P. Burke, ‘Tacitism, Scepticism and Reason of State’, in J.H. Burns (ed.), Cambridge History of Political Thought 1450–1700 (Cambridge: cup, 1991), 247–253; Tuck, Philosophy and Government, Ch. 2: ‘Scepticism, Stoicism and ‘raison d’état’. For Charron see for instance M.C. Horowitz, ‘French Free-Thinkers in the First Decades of the Edict of Nantes’ in Levine, Early Modern Scepticism and the Origins of Toleration, 77–101; for Lipsius see indicatively: R. Crahay, ‘Le Problème du Pluralisme Confessionnel dans les Pays-Bas à la fin du XVIe Siècle: les Embarras de Juste Lipse (1589–1596)’ in M. Peronnet (ed.), Naissance et Affirmation de l’Idée de Tolérance, XVIe–XVIIIe Siècle, 5éme Colloque Jean Boisset (Xéme Colloque du Centre d’Histoire des Réformes et du Protestantisme), Montpellier: Université Paul Valéry, 1988) 157–187; M.P.O. Morford, Stoics and Neostoics: Rubens and the Circle of Lipsius (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton up, 1991). Debates regarding James’s ‘tolerant’ attitudes focus a great deal on the imposition of the Oath of Allegiance. Among others, that the King was on the whole promoting toleration is generally suggested by J. Sommerville, ‘Jacobean Political Thought and the Controversy over the Oath of Allegiance’, unpublished PhD dissertation (University of Cambridge, 1981); K. Fincham and P. Lake, ‘The Ecclesiastical Policy of King James i’, Journal of British Studies 24 (1985) 169–207; J.J. LaRocca, ‘“Who Can’t Pray

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into a narrative of ‘rationalisation’, or ‘secularisation’ against a background of ‘pre-modern’­religious culture, as their writings circumscribed religion to the private realm and detracted from the authority of the Church, whilst giving priority to the temporal realm over the divine.14 Regarding the ‘toleration narrative’, recent historiography has highlighted the circumstantial nature of some of the more pragmatic ‘tolerant’ attitudes of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, which were above all based on the need to compromise, or indeed survive.15 On the whole, this approach has been challenged variously in the last three decades by studies which stress the patchy – if anything – development of tolerant attitudes, eroding any notions of a grand linear process.16 Similarly,

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with Me, Can’t Love Me”: Toleration and the Early Jacobean Recusancy Policy’, Journal of British Studies 23 (1984) 22–36 and W.B. Patterson, King James vi and i and the Reunion of Christendom (Cambridge: cup, 1997). Cf. Z.S. Schiffman, On the Threshold of Modernity. Relativism in the French Renaissance (Baltimore and London: The John Hopkins up, 1991) and J.B. Schneewind, The Invention of Autonomy. A History of Modern Philosophy (Cambridge: cup 1998). On revisions of this view see indicatively, J. Sheehan, ‘Enlightenment, Religion and the enigma of Secularisation’, American Historical Review 108 (2003), 1061–80; D. Martin, On Secularisation: Towards a Revised General Theory (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005) and more recently the more relevant B.S. Gregory, The Unintended Reformation: How a Religious Revolution Secularized Society (Harvard: Belknap Press, 2012). A selection of such interpretations on the four authors examined here can be found in the following works: for Charron see M.C. Horowitz, ‘Natural Law as the Foundation for an Autonomous Ethics: Pierre Charron’s De la Sagesse’, Studies in the Renaissance 21 (1974), 204–227 and the older Rice, The Renaissance Idea of Wisdom; see also the review by H. Baron, ‘Secularization of Wisdom and Political Humanism in the Renaissance’, Journal of the History of Ideas 21 (1960), 131–150; for Lipsius see G. Oestreich, Neostoicism and the Early Modern State, eds Br. Oestreich and H.G. Koenigsberger, trans. D. McLintock (Cambridge: cup, 1982); for Sarpi see Wootton, Paolo Sarpi, op cit. and more recently for King James see B. Bourdin, The Theological-­Political Origins of the Modern State. The Controversy between James i of England and Cardinal Bellarmine, trans. S. Pickford (Washington d.c.: The Catholic University of America Press, 2010). See M. Greengrass, ‘Moderate Voices: Mixed Messages’ in L. Racaut and A. Ryrie (eds), Moderate Voices in the European Reformation (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005), 199–204, 209 and M. Turchetti, ‘Religious Concord and Political Tolerance in Sixteenth- and SeventeenthCentury France’, Sixteenth Century Journal 22 (1991), 15–25; C. Bettison, ‘The Politiques and the Politique Party: A Reappraisal’ in K. Cameron (ed.), From Valois to Bourbon: Dynasty, State and Society in Early Modern France. (Exeter: Exeter up, 1989), 35–49; A. Pettegree, ‘The Politics of Toleration in the Free Netherlands, 1572–1620’ in Grell and Scribner, Tolerance and Intolerance, 182–198. See for example Grell and Scribner, Tolerance and Intolerance, op cit.; Grell, J. Israel et al. (eds), From Persecution to Toleration: The Glorious Revolution and Religion in England (Oxford: oup, 1991); J.C. Laursen et al. (eds), Beyond the Persecuting Society: Religious Toleration­before the Enlightenment (Philadelphia: University of Penn Press, 1998);

8

Introduction

the ‘secularisation’ interpretative model is likewise based on a teleological assumption necessarily leading to a secularised state and society where morality and politics are independent of religion. We could of course point to secularising ‘tendencies’ or ‘secularising dynamics’ to which the effects of the writings of these authors, whether intentionally or not, could subscribe. Neither of the two aspects was evidenced by what followed. In any case, this study does not describe a phase in the ‘genealogy’ of either of the two ideas; it offers an incidental snapshot of two specific periods in time, in the aftermath of one wave of religious wars (c. 1580–1600), and before the onset of a second (c. 1605–1615), during which thinkers publicised their experiences of the effects of religious divisions and offered ways of settling these. What is more, their more cautionary, moderate and intellectual reactions were not the only ones possible. The wars of religion also spurred increasing religious fervour and radicalisation of the initial cause, ‘unleashing’ altogether ‘more murderous passions’.17 By and large, the theoretical background to this radicalisation was provided by authors who moved towards a theocratic point of view; for this ‘confessional response, religious uniformity was the ultimate aim’, to be achieved by any means.18 Lay rulers pursued an ecclesiastical policy that aimed at imposing religious uniformity in their lands, using persuasion and coercion.19 In this context there was

17 18 19

K. Cameron, M. Greengrass et al. (eds), The Adventure of Religious Pluralism in Early Modern France (Bern: Peter Lang, 2000); R. Whelan and C. Baxter (eds), Toleration and Religious Identity: The Edict of Nantes and its Implications in France, Britain and Ireland (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2003); A. Walsham, Charitable Hatred: Tolerance and Intolerance in England, 1500–1700 (Manchester: Manchester up, 2006); K.P. Luria, Sacred Boundaries: Religious Coexistence and Conflict in Early-Modern France (Washington dc: The Catholic University of America Press, 2005); B.J. Kaplan, Divided by Faith. Religious Conflict and the Practice of Toleration in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: The Bellknap Press of Harvard up, 2007). A. Pettegree, Europe in the Sixteenth Century (Oxford: Blackwell, 2002), 131. C. Scott Dixon, ‘Introduction’ in idem et als (eds), Living with Religious Diversity in Early Modern Europe (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2009), 2. H. Schilling, Konfessionskonflict und Staatsbildung (Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1981); idem, Religion, Political Culture and the Emergence of Early Modern Society (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1992); idem, ‘Confessional Europe’, in Handbook of European History 1400–1600, ed. T.A. Brady, H.O. Oberman et al., 2 vols. (Leiden: Brill, 1995): ii, 641–670; idem (ed.), Die reformierte Konfessionalisierung in Deutschland: Das Poroblem der ‘Zweiten Reformation’ (Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1986); W. Reinhard, ‘Reformation, Counter-Reformation and the Early Modern State: a Reassessment’, Catholic Historical Review 75 (1989), 385–403; idem and H. Schilling (eds), Die Katholische Konfessionalisieung (Gütersloh and Münster: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1995); J.M. Headley et als (eds), Confessionalization in Europe, 1555–1700 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004); R. Po-Chia Hsia, Social Discipline in the Reformation:

Introduction

9

no room for an approach that undermined the importance of doctrine, such as the one adopted by the four authors in question.

The ‘Middle Way’

The authors in this study were opponents of confessionalisation and theocracy – even if in the case of King James, this was a stance that he was perhaps forced towards. They were engaged in an attempt to ‘clarify the relationship of secular and religious values while somehow preserving both’ – by all means a difficult task.20 During the sixteenth century, a share of the faithful, often people from humanist circles, became increasingly less convinced about the insistence on doctrinal particulars and the dogmatism advocated by their religious leaders, focusing instead, on the significance of peace and coexistence (pax et concordia), with one of their earliest proponents being Erasmus (1466–1536). Recent scholarship has been exploring calls for accepting religious plurality, the effects of religious pluriformity and the practicalities of coexistence, despite a lingering emphasis on aspects of confessionalisation. Current historiography is also drawing our attention to a number of related issues such as the frequency with which some people changed church affiliations; the number of faithful who, whether consciously or not, remained in the ‘middle’ groups; the undecided who postponed the decision to join one confession or another; and finally the people who adopted a relatively lax approach to doctrine.21 It is possible that,

20

21

Central Europe 1550–1750 (London: Routledge, 1989). See also U. Lotz-Heuman, ‘Confessionalization’, in D.M. Whitford (ed.), Reformation and Early Modern Europe: A Guide to Research (Kirksville: Truman State up, 2008), 136–157. C. Trinkaus, ‘Humanism, Religion, Society: Concepts and Motivations of Some Recent Studies’, Renaissance Quarterly 29 (1976), 688–689. I discuss some aspects of the fluidity of the boundaries between sacred and profane in ‘Public and Private, Ethics and Politics in the Constantia and the Politica of Justus Lipsius’, Renaissance Studies 26 (2011), 345–364, esp. 345–347. W. Frijhoff, ‘How Plural were the Religious Worlds in Early-Modern Europe? Critical Reflections from the Netherlandic Experience’ in Dixon, Living with religious diversity, 40–41; J. Pollmann, Religious Choice in the Dutch Repulic: The Reformation of Arnoldus Buchelius (1565–1641) (Manchester: Manchester up, 1999); Luria, Sacred Boundaries, esp. Ch. 6; Philip Benedict, ‘Un roi, une loi, deux fois: Parameters for the History of CatholicReformed Coexistence in France 1555–1685’ in Grell and Scribner, Tolerance and Intolerance, 65–93; A. Höfele et als (eds), Representing Religious Pluralization in Early Modern Europe (Münster: lit, 2007); Cameron, Greengrass et al., Adventures of Religious Pluralism in Early Modern France; R. Po-Chia Hsia and H.F.K. van Nierop (eds), Calvinism and Religious Toleration in the Dutch Golden Age (Cambridge: cup, 2002); Schilling,

10

Introduction

all told, the number of these less easily classified people may have been greater than the more dominant and vociferous groups of zealots. Alongside these non-extremists, we should place political agents and intellectuals who actively promoted reconciliation either through political accommodation or through theological syncretism. It is in this amorphous and non-homogenous group that Charron, Lipsius, Sarpi and James belong. Individuals such as Philip Melanchthon (1497–1560), Martin Bucer (1491–1551), Georg Witzel (1501–73), Cardinal Reginald Pole (1500–58), Pierre du Chastel (1480–1552), Michel de L’Hôpital (1507–73), Arnaud Du Ferrier (1508–85), and Dirck Volckertszoon Coornhert (1522–90), among others, actively cautioned against extremism through a variety of viewpoints are once again a source of interest.22 Yet the primacy of temporal considerations and a political solution to the confessional divisions was perceived as heterodoxy by both extremes of confessionalism, given the intrinsic role religion held.23 Charron, Sarpi and Lipsius were members of the Catholic Church; the two former were members of the clergy, while the latter was educated by and retained close connections with the Jesuit order. Charron was accused of atheism. Lipsius and Sarpi were accused of traversing the confessional lines: Lipsius due to his taking up a professorship­at the Calvinist University of Leiden, while Sarpi due to his

22

23

‘Alternatives to the Lutheran Reformation and the Rise of Lutheran Identity’, in A.C. Fix and S.C. Karant-Nunn (eds), Germania Illustrata: Essays on Early Modern Germany presented to Gerald Strauss (Kirksville, Mo.: Sixteenth Century Journal Publishers, 1992), 99–120; Hsia, ‘Between State and Community: Religious and Ethnic Minorities in Early Modern Germany’, in Fix and Karant-Nunn, Germania Illustrata, 169–180; T. Wanegffelen, Ni Rome ni Genève: Des fidèles entre deux chaires en France au XVIe siècle (Paris: Honoré Champion, 1997); Kaplan, Divided by Faith, op cit. See, among others M.C. Smith, ‘Early French Advocates of Religious Freedom’, The Sixteenth Century Journal 25, (1994) 29–51; T. Mayer (ed.), Cardinal Pole in European Context: A via media in the Reformation (Burlington: Ashgate, 2000); G. Voogt, Constraint on Trial: Dirck Volckertsz Coornhert and Religious Freedom (Kirksville: Truman State up, 2000); V. Mignozzi, Tenenda est media via: l’ecclesiologia di Reginald Pole (1500–1558) (Assisi: Cittadella, 2007); Racaut and Ryrie, Moderate Voices in the European Reformation, op. cit; K. Seong-Hak, Michel de L’Hôpital. The Vision of a Reformist Chancellor during the French Religious Wars (Kirksville: Sixteenth Century Essays & Studies, volume xxxvi, 1997); T. Wanegffelen (ed.), De Michel de L’Hospital à l’édit de Nantes: politique et religion face aux Églises (Clermont-Ferrand: Presses universitaires Blaise Pascal, 2003); H.R. Guggisberg et als (eds), La liberté de conscience (XVIe–XVIIe siecles): Actes de Colloque du Mulhouse et Bale (1989), Etudes de Philologie et d’Histoire, vol. 44 (Geneva: Librairie Droz, 1991). L. Febvre, The Problem of Unbelief in the Sixteenth Century. The Religion of Rabelais. trans. B. Gottlieb (Cambridge: Harvard up, 1982), esp. Part iv; M.P. Holt, ‘Putting Religion Back into the Wars of Religion’, French Historical Studies 18 (1993) 524–551.

Introduction

11

polemics against the Papal Curia and his sympathies for the Reformed cause. King James, son of a Catholic Queen, but a Calvinist by upbringing, also received the same criticism, as his political persona did not appear to match his religious one: he refused to assume the role of the leader of Protestant Europe and he was in regular communication with Catholics. The existence of a body of thinkers interested in reconciliation based on temporal considerations should thus be set against the conceived confines of the religious intellectual milieu. This was by no means a uniform body of opinions: it combined views such as pleas to return to the original Christian religion and early Church before the human ‘distortions’, as various reformers had previously done; seeking alternatives of a classical or mystical flavour; or seeking a universal religion beyond Christianity, based on similar principles of knowledge and morality shared by all humans. The one element shared by most of these ‘moderates’ from across the confessional spectrum was the fact that they were not too attached to doctrinal particulars as dictated by clerical authority. Through their networks of communication and their correspondence we can see their perceived affinity to others who shared similar views rather than to those who were nominally of the same confession. Thus the Catholic Sarpi could write openly to the Calvinist Jérome Groslot (d. 1622) about his loathing and distrust of the Jesuits and the Calvinist James could abhor the ‘Puritans’ as much as he detested the Jesuits.24

Historical and Intellectual Context

The same amorphous body of opinions was greatly concerned with the state of religion and the manner in which religion was regulated. A combination of factors had conditioned the manner in which these authors responded to the confessional conflict. First and foremost, at the root of this conflict were issues that 24

Cf. James vi and i: ‘But it is no wonder he [Bellarmine] takes the Puritanes part, since Iesuits are nothing but Puritan-papists’ and ‘All the incendiaries and Nouelist fore-brands on either side being debarred from the same [General Council], as well Iesuites as Puritanes’; Premonition to All Most Mightie Monarches, Kings, free Princes and States of Christendome, in James I, The workes of the most high and mightie prince, James by the grace of God, King of Great Britaine, France and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, &c. Published by James, bishop of Winton, and Deane of His Majesties Chappel Royall. (London: Robert Barker and John Bill, 1616 [=1620]); stc (2nd ed.), 14345, 287–346, on 305 and 330. Cf. Sarpi’s letters to Groslot of 16 Sept. 1608 and 13 Oct. 1608 in Paolo Sarpi, Lettere ai Protestanti, ed. M.D. Busnelli, 2 vols. (Bari: Laterza, 1931).

12

Introduction

(re)surfaced with the Lutheran movement. One such problem was the question of who ought to deal with religious dissent: lay or ecclesiastical authority? This was also linked to the question of what was the real source of misgivings at the heart of Luther’s protest: if it was ecclesiastical transgressions, then perhaps it ought to be the lay authorities who would deal with them, so as to not risk any future recurrences – as the German Reformer himself suggested in his address To the Christian Nobility of the German Nation Concerning the Reform of the Christian Estate (1520).25 The flipside of this question was the critical issue of what dissenting subjects should do: obey or resist?26 As it gradually became obvious that neither of the two sides could eliminate the other, the choice faced by the peoples of war-torn Europe was reconciliation or mutual destruction. Yet the theoretical foundations behind peaceful coexistence were not that simple or easily acceptable. Calvin’s attitude towards Michael Servetus (c. 1509–1553) has been rendered symbolic of the former’s rigidity on this question and as has his determination against people who tried to survive concealing their true beliefs, the ‘Nicodemites’.27 The answers that theologians, political agents and intellectuals gave to the question of dissent also depended upon the relative position of power of the person writing, and the different configurations within which they operated. Propagandists of parties that had been on the defensive, such as the Catholic League in France, wrote in an entirely different tone and conveyed a very different message when circumstances­put 25 26

27

Luther’s Works ed. J. Pelikan and H. Lehman, 55 vols. (St Louis: Concordia; Philadelphia: Fortress; 1955–87): vol. 44, 126–140. Martin Luther, ‘A Sincere Admonition to all Christians to guard against Insurrection and Rebellion’ (1522); ‘On Temporal Authority: to what extent it should be obeyed’ (1523); ‘An admonition to Peace’ (1524), and ‘Against the Robbing and Murdering Hordes of Peasants’ (1525) in Luther’s Works, vols. 45–46. See also Q. Skinner, The Foundations of Modern Political Thought. (Cambridge: cup, 1978), vol. 2, 12–19. R.H. Bainton, Hunted Heretic: The Life and Death of Michael Servetus (Boston: Beacon Press, 1953); see also the response this affair generated in the famous Sebastian Castellio, Concerning Heretics: Whether They Are to be Persecuted and How They Are to be Treated (1554); trans. Roland H. Bainton (New York: Columbia UP, 1965). About ‘Nicodemism’ see among others, C.M.N. Eire, ‘Calvin and Nicodemism: A Reappraisal’, Sixteenth Century Journal 10 (1979), 45–69; idem, ‘Prelude to Sedition? Calvin’s Attack on Nicodemism and Religious Compromise’, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 76 (1985), 120–145; and for relevant discussions, see J.R. Snyder, Dissimulation and the Culture of Secrecy in Early Modern Europe (Los Angeles and London: University of California Press, 2009); P. Zagorin, Ways of Lying: Dissimulation, Persecution, and Conformity in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: Harvard up, 1990); C. Ginzburg, Il nicodemismo: Simulazione e dissimulazione religiosa nell’Europa del ’500 (Torino: Giulio Einaudi, 1970).

Introduction

13

them ‘on the offensive’, after the death of the Duc d’Anjou (1584).28 The reverse was also true, as in the case of the rhetoric of the Huguenots and Calvinists/ Protestants Europe-wide after the St Bartholomew’s day massacre, or the fate of the Reformed Englishmen under Mary Tudor (r. 1553–58) after the years of Edward vi’s reign (1547–1553) who were forced on the defensive. The rhetoric as well as the content of responses to these issues was also conditioned by intellectual traditions. Thus, preoccupation with the re-discovered works of ancient tradition that became popular in the sixteenth century also affected the way in which many thinkers responded to the divisions and the related issues. Their dissemination and study spread beyond the confines of the humanist circles with the preparation of new editions, and translations into Latin as well as, crucially, into the vernacular.29 This extended the realisation that morality and politics could be based on something other than revealed truth. The challenge coming from these texts was that if ancient philosophers such as Socrates/Plato, Aristotle, Plutarch or Cicero had reached viable conclusions without the help of religion, then the source of knowledge, politics and morality could be located elsewhere and could also exist independently of religion.30 Above all, in a world that was divided over basic notions of doctrine, employing the vocabulary of 28

29

30

Cf. among others, Höpfl, Jesuit Political Thought, Ch. 13; H.E. Braun, Juan de Mariana and Early Modern Spanish Political Thought (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), 80–90; F.J. Baumgartner, Radical Reactionaries: The Political Thought of the French Catholic League (Geneva: Librairie Droz, 1976); J.H.M. Salmon, ‘Catholic Resistance Theory, Ultramontanism, and the Royalist Response, 1580–1620’ in Burns, Cambridge History of Political Thought, 219–53; R. Mousnier, The Assassination of Henry iv: The Tyrannicide Problem and the Consolidation of the French Absolute Monarchy in the Early Seventeenth Century, trans. J. Spencer (London: Faber, 1973), Chs. 5–7. Cf. P. Burke, ‘A Survey of the Popularity of Ancient Historians 1450–1700’, History and Theory 5 (1966), 135–152; C.H. Lohr, ‘Renaissance Latin Translations of the Greek Commentaries on Aristotle’ in J. Kraye and M.F. Stone (eds), Humanism and Early Modern Philosophy (London: Routledge, 2000), 24–40; see more recently, O. Merisalo, ‘Translating the Classics into the vernacular in sixteenth-century Italy’ in B.M. Hosington (ed.), Translation and Print Culture in Early Modern Europe. Renaissance Studies Special Issue 29 (2015), 55–77; and my ‘Reconsidering the Popularity of the Greek Classics, c. 1450–1600’, forthcoming. See also the two recently completed projects ‘Renaissance Cultural Crossroads. Online Catalogue of Translations in Britain 1473–1640’ and the on-line catalogue at and ‘Vernacular Aristotelianism in Renaissance Italy, c. 1400–1650’ and the accompanying database at . C.G. Nauert, Humanism and the Culture of Renaissance Europe (Cambridge: cup, 2000), 28–29 and 192–215; Kraye, ‘The revival of Hellenistic philosophies’ in J. Hankins (ed.),

14

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the classics provided an alternative medium, through which intellectuals of all sides could communicate over affairs of the state and matters of ethics.31 Neither did the manner in which the religious divisions unfolded and were dealt with, inspired confidence in the state and authority of the Church as the keeper of the Christian faith and ethics. Trying to address the problem from a historical perspective both Sarpi and King James drew attention to the shortcomings of the Church itself. Like reformers of different guises they saw the Church as a corrupt institution tainted by worldliness and avarice, as evidenced by the Great Schism of 1378–417 and the Papacy’s infamous involvement in the long Italian wars (1494–1559). They sought their ideological ancestors in exponents of Conciliar arguments, articulations of devotional and reforming trends of the late middle Ages (Lollards, Hussites, and so on), as well as calls from within for ‘reform in head and members’ and a greater check on the Papal authority. This disillusionment had also fed into Luther’s protest, who capitalised on it, while the (perceived) inability of the Church to respond to the calls for reform deepened the sense of distrust some of the faithful felt towards the ecclesiastical institution. The realisation that religion was used as a pretext in a struggle for power, be it at a local, ‘national’ or international level further fuelled the resentment towards the Church and its relationship to faith among many believers. Combined with the ensuing fragmentation, cynicism, and the tiredness caused by the constant religious confrontation, this situation drove some people to seek unity by adopting alternatives. These could be the moral teachings of the classical world or a religion that would be based on the principles of nature rather than history, or the simple piety of the early Church as inherited by Christ – as they perceived it. Precisely because the conflicts had religion at their root, a more politicised approach was called for from various sides in order to resolve the problems peacefully. Thus the civil disorder caused by religious strife led to a reconsideration of the relations between Church and state. This combination of factors and circumstances constituted the background to the individual responses by the four authors under consideration in this study. That this context was common throughout Europe is evidenced by the international nature of the debates that it generated and of those who participated in them. Thus the different geographical standpoints of the authors examined here confirm the universality of these issues and their background.

31

The Cambridge Companion to Renaissance Philosophy (Cambridge: cup, 2007) 97–112, esp. 108–109. Cf. A. Visser, ‘Escaping the Reformation in the Republic of Letters: Confessional Silence in Latin Emblem Books’, Church History and Religious Culture 88 (2008), 139–167.

Introduction



15

Networks, Languages, Involvement

That similar ideas can be traced in different geographical contexts is also a testimony to the significance of the circulation of ideas through various exchange networks. Charron, Lipsius, Sarpi and King James, share some basic assumptions; this is partly the result of intellectual exchange and partly the sense of unity of interests and opinions. Several links can be established between the authors in question. They were certainly aware of one another’s work as it is obvious from their texts or references in their correspondence. Furthermore, a number of common friends and acquaintances among their vast correspondence networks also reveal connections between the four authors in question.32 Sarpi and Lipsius in particular had a number of correspondents within the same networks, as for instance, Gian Vincenzo Pinelli (b. 1535),33 William Camden (1551–1623), Philip Sidney (1554–86),34 Jacques de Thou (1533–1617),35 the famous François Hotman (1524–90), as well as his more eirenic son, Jean Hotman de Villers-St-Paul (1552–1636),36 Cardinal Robert Bellarmine (1542–1621),37 Jérôme Groslot,38 and the famous scholar and religious moderate Isaac Casaubon (1559–1614).39

32 Sarpi, Lettere ai Protestanti, op cit.; idem, Lettere ai Gallicani, ed. B. Ulianich (Wiesbaden: Steiner, 1961); idem, Opere, ed. G. and L. Cozzi (Milan: Ricciardi, 1969), 643–719; Lipsius, Iusti Lipsi Epistolae. 33 Fulgenzio Micanzio, The Life of the Most Learned Father Paul, of the Order of the Servie. Councellour of State to the Most Serene Republicke of Venice and Authour of the History of the Councell of Trent (London: for Humphrey Moseley and Richard Martin, 1651), 53–54, 60–61; A. Nuovo, ‘The Creation and Dispersal of the Library of Gian Vincenzo Pinelli’, in Books on the Move: Tracking Copies Through Collections and the Book Trade, ed. G. Mandelbrote et al. (New Castle, Delaware and London: Oak Knoll Press and The British Library, 2007), 39–68, esp. 45–46 and 61, n. 20. 34 ile vol. ii, 86 08 30; 86 09 14. 35 Wootton, Paolo Sarpi, 105 and see for example ile vol. ii, 86 02 11, 87 12 31, 88 06 03. 36 See for example ile vol. ii, 86 04 09; 86 05 11H; 86 05 17; 87 05 00H; vol. iii, 89 00 00; Sarpi, Lettere ai Gallicani, 192–211. 37 Micanzio, Life, 150. 38 For exchanges between Lipsius and Groslot, see for example ile vol. ii, 86 04 26, 87 10 12, 87 10 20, 87 10 29, vol. iii, 88 01 31 G. 39 M. Simon, ‘Isaac Casaubon, Fra Paolo Sarpi et l’Eglise d’Angleterre’ in idem (ed.), Aspects de l’Anglicanisme: Colloque de Strasbourg 14–16 juin, 1972 (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1974), 39–66 and for example ile vol. iii, 88 02 11, 88 12 20, 89 08 06, 90 08 22 C, 90 08 23.

16

Introduction

Other, less immediate links also associate James and Lipsius,40 or Sarpi and Charron.41 Apart from the similar circles within which these four authors operated, however, one should also point to elements of divergence between them. The authors discussed here reacted to the same events at different points in time. Sarpi and King James observed the religious wars from a vantage point, both geographical and chronological: they belonged to the generation that was very young during the conflicts and only received second-hand information about the events, whereas Lipsius and Charron experienced them in their mature adult years. We know, however, that the younger two were avid consumers of any information regarding these, in the form of memoirs, histories or personal accounts and polemical pamphlets – they thus adopted a historical and almost scholarly approach to the events. Conversely, the older pair sought refuge in books of moral philosophy and Stoicism in particular, to emotionally withstand the affliction. Individually, each one also belonged to and followed a different intellectual tradition, employing a different ‘language’ (humanistic, theological, juridical) to express their views.42 Yet in all four cases examined here, irrespectively of the tradition and language chosen, the theological reasoning is tempered and often overridden by the use of humanistic language, which by definition placed more emphasis on earthly values. Thus, as we will see, the humanist Lipsius used a primarily Stoic approach in the De Constantia, but modified it with theological elements in order to make it acceptable to his audience.43 40 41

42

43

For a ‘Lipsian’ circle around James see McCrea, Constant Minds, 15–16, 32, 34, 236; see also Patterson, King James vi and i, 148–149. Cf. Frajese, ‘Sarpi Interprete del De la Sagesse di Pierre Charron’, op cit. Sarpi corresponded with Peiresc, who was involved in the transcription of Charron’s letters to his editor, La Rochmaillet. These letters were copied in 1628 for Peiresc by Gabriel Naudé (1600–53), on request by Pierre Gassendi (1592–1655), who had expressed admiration for Charron’s work; see P. Miller, Peiresc’s Europe: Learning and Virtue in the Seventeenth Century (New Haven: Yale up, 2000), 220, n. 88. For discussions on languages and traditions available as well as their uses see J.G.A. Pocock, ‘The Concept of a Language and the Métier d’Historien: Some Considerations in Practice” in A.R. Pagden (ed.), The Languages of Political Theory in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: cup, 1987) 19–38; and A. Lockyer, ‘“Traditions” as Context in the History of Political Theory’, Political Studies 27 (1979), 201–217. R. Hoven, ‘Les Réactions de Juste Lipse aux Critiques Suscitées par la Publication du De Constantia’, in C. Mouchel (ed.), Juste Lipse (1547–1606) en Son Temps: Actes du Colloque de Strasbourg, 1994 (Paris: Honoré Champion, 1996) 413–422; J. Sellars, ‘Justus Lipsius’s De Constantia: A Stoic Spiritual Exercise’, Poetics Today 28 (2007), 339–362; J. Papy, ‘The First Christian Defender of Stoic Virtue? Justus Lipsius and Cicero’s Paradoxa Stoicorum’

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Despite being a theologian and canon of the Catholic Church, Charron’s use of humanistic arguments betray a deeper admiration for the pagan past and entail a fundamental – even if unintentional – challenge for the authority of the Church and the superiority of (Catholic) Christian religion.44 Similarly, although much of James vi and i’s line of reasoning depends on the theological language, his texts also make use of juristic, historical and conciliar argumentation which fits with the issues dealt with in his work but which also gives a strong temporal dimension to his views.45 Finally, even though writing on theological disputes, the history of the Church, spiritual authority and on the Council of Trent, Sarpi’s history has a strong ‘humanistic’ flavour influenced by the writings of Tacitus; in Sarpi’s text the temporal aspect, human interest and passion often supersedes divine considerations, Christian devotion and understanding.46 His approach reflects his fundamental belief that history belonged entirely to the temporal realm, with no metaphysical ultimate purpose.47 We can also point to differences regarding the respective author’s level of involvement in the religious strife and engagement in Church and state affairs. Charron and Lipsius moved a great deal during their lives, both due to their careers as well as because of the effects of civil warfare. Their immediate involvement in public affairs was minimal. Both were engaged in teaching, Charron as a preacher and an écolatre, and Lipsius as a university lecturer. The latter also served as rector at Leiden, from which he may have had contacts with government circles in the Hague and the circle around Leicester, the ‘governor’ of

44

45

46

47

in A.A. MacDonald et als (eds), Christian Humanism: Essays in Honour of Arjo Vanderjagt (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2009), 139–153. Cf. N. Constantinidou, ‘Popularising the Classics: the Soul and its Ascent in Pierre Charron’s De la Sagesse, Trois Livres (1601–07)’ in E. Chayes (ed.), Renaissance et Ascensions de l’Ame (Paris: Classiques Garnier, forthcoming). Cf. F. Oakley, ‘From Constance to 1688 Revisited’, Journal of the History of Ideas 27 (1966), 429–432; idem ‘Constance, Basel, and the Two Pisas: The Conciliarist Legacy in 16th- and 17th- century England’, Annuarium Historiae Conciliarum 26 (1994), 87–118; idem, The Conciliarist Tradition. Constitutionalism in the Catholic Church 1300–1870 (Oxford: oup, 2003), 143–145; Patterson, King James vi and i, 57–60 and 67–69; J.H. Burns, ‘The Conciliarist Tradition in Scotland’, Scottish Historical Review 42 (1963), 89–104; Sommerville, ‘Jacobean Political Thought and the Controversy over the Oath of Allegiance’, 97, 311. Eric Cochrane characterises Sarpi’s History as standing some halfway between sacred and profane history; in idem, Historians and Historiography in the Italian Renaissance (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1981), 472, and 477–478. Cf. W.J. Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense of Republican Liberty. Renaissance Values in the Age of the Counter Reformation (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968), 595.

18

Introduction

the Netherlands.48 They were both traumatised by the volatile circumstances that they found themselves in, as evidence in their writings confirms. Sarpi and King James on the other hand, were actively involved in ‘high politics’: the former, from the position of an adviser to the Republic of Venice and a high-ranking officer of his order; and the latter as sovereign of three Kingdoms. They experienced warfare to a lesser degree – or not at all, in the case of Sarpi. This difference of the level of engagement is reflected in the kind of ideas that they put forward as well as the manner and the tone which they use to do this. James and Sarpi’s texts deal more with the details of government and authority, as well as problems of jurisdiction in line with their respective positions. Charron’s texts, however, focus more on the theoretical and moral question of the essence of religion and knowledge and how these had been affected by religious strife. Through his writings he also offered means of coping with these challenges to wisdom and religion. Both he and Lipsius wrote from the perspective of a subject, praising the glories of private life and advising the non-involvement of subjects in public affairs.49 From his royal position James writes in the relevant tone of authority. In a way, there is an ascending theme in this study, as the writings of the two older authors provide the basic conceptual framework against which Sarpi and James’s views ought to be placed. The opinions of the Venetian friar and the King can be seen as the extension of the arguments of Charron and Lipsius. They also provide the natural conclusions to them. Simply put, if, as according to Charron and Lipsius, religion ought to be private then, according to Sarpi and James, lay authorities ought to administer its temporal face with the clergy only tending to the spiritual affairs of the faithful and the salvation of their souls.

Contexts and Texts

All the texts examined here were composed in the years between c. 1580–1620, a period of chaos and upheaval. This book picks up at the peak the religious 48

49

J. de Landtsheer, ‘Pius Lipsius or Lipsius Proteus?’, in eadem and Henk Nellen (eds), Between Scylla and Charybdis. Learned Letter Writers Navigating the Reefs of Religious and Political Controversy in Early Modern Europe (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 303–349, esp. 326–327 and J. Waszink, ‘Introduction’, in idem (ed.), Politica: Six Books of Politics or Political. Instruction. Justus Lipsius (Assen: Van Gorcum, 2004), 22. As was the trait and paradox of Stoic literature: R.W. Sharples, Stoics, Epicureans and Sceptics. An Introduction to Hellenistic Philosophy (London and New York: Routledge, 1996); B. Inwood (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics (Cambridge: cup, 2003), and esp. A.A. Long’s chapter, ‘Stoicism in the Philosophical Tradition: Spinoza, Lipsius, Butler’, 365–392.

Introduction

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and civil war in France and the Netherlands (c. 1580), after which the religious and political truces signed in France (1598) and the Low Countries (1609) and between England and Spain (1604) signalled a relative peaceful pause. Yet the illusion of stability that these major events had given received a great blow by the assassination of the French king (1610). In the Low Countries, the TwelveYear Truce signed with Spain divided the area along a confessional line. In Britain the hope for stability that was created with James vi’s accession to the throne of Elizabeth (1603) was critically tested with the Catholic attempt of 1605. In Italy, the relations between the Venetian Republic and Rome underwent serious tension between 1606 and 1607, the period of the Interdict. Both Sarpi and King James experienced these events as turning points and as signals for the beginning of a greater war, that of the ecclesiastical jurisdiction against the political. All these unresolved and interrelated issues caused a widespread uneasiness and some awareness that tension was building for a later clash, as it did in 1618. The individual lives and work of the four authors against the tumultuous decades of c. 1580–1620 and the periods of precarious peace are the topic of Chapter 1. The chapter also delves into the networks and the intellectual circles within which Charron, Lipsius, Sarpi and King James operated. The breeding of religious apathy and atheism but also extreme zeal and ‘supersition’ as products of the wars of religion are introduced with the work of Pierre Charron in Chapter 2, who wrote his two texts, the Troiz Véritez contre les Athées, Idolatres, Juifs, Mahumetans, Heretiques et Schismatiques (Bordeaux, 1593/95) and De la Sagesse, Trois Livres (Bordeaux, 1601 and Paris, 1604) in order to counter these effects. Instead, Charron promoted moderation and sought to establish a philosophically inspired natural foundation to religion, away from religious dogmatism of any kind. He wrote vehemently against passions and religious extremities and advocated the necessity of religion within the state for reasons of governing and for the preservation of peace and the commonwealth. His Trois Véritez is a blend of Catholic apologetics and a philosophical explanation for the existence of God. It also argued for the existence of a ‘revealed’ religion, namely Christianity, and for Catholicism as the oldest and only true form among the Christian confessions. The Sagesse was Charron’s attempt at constructing a compendium of received knowledge and a guide to (human) wisdom, founded primarily upon nature. He argued for the attainment of preud’hommie, which was attuned to nature and universal reason and would provide peace and tranquillity of mind in the midst of confessional upheaval. Chapter 3 focuses on the work of Justus Lipsius, and his parallel effort to make sense and cope with the instability of human affairs and religious strife. Through an analysis of his two main works, De Constantia Libri Duo (Antwerp, 1584),

20

Introduction

and Politicorum Sive Civilis Doctrinae Libri Sex (Leiden, 1589), it will show how Lipsius, much like Charron, disillusioned and hurt by the religious upheaval, realised that this had created the need for some to seal themselves off, withdrawing into their private lives and effectively separating their public and private personae. The instability of human affairs and religious conflict had shown for Lipsius that politics, as well as public worship, was best left outside the internalised self, where constancy, faith and reason could flourish. Stoicism’s disjunction between private and public, of the inner peace with the outer turmoil, gave further grounds to the encouragement of distinct public and private expressions of religion and, in the case of dissent, a promotion of outward conformity while maintaining inner freedom of conscience. At the same time, strong lay rulers would allow private dissent as long as the public welfare was preserved. Sarpi’s similar views regarding assigning authority on religious matters to lay rulers, as well as his concern over the origins of religious divisions are the main axes of Chapter 4. Sarpi was a scholar, polemicist and a historian. His texts placed all the wars of the sixteenth century in a wider historical perspective and viewed them as a part of a jurisdictional struggle caused by Church abuses. He argued that issues arising from confessional strife had not satisfactorily been resolved and that contemporary European debates could only be settled if the limits between ecclesiastical and political jurisdiction were settled. He endorsed the idea of an internalised religion and the political control of the institution of the Church, given the corruption and abuses that had crept up into the Church; lay supremacy was the only way to ensure peaceful coexistence, through marginalisation of religious zealots and some tolerance of religious diversity. The analysis considers Sarpi’s views on the separation of jurisdictions against the contemporary context and debates of his time. The examination will primarily be based on the Venetian’s magnum opus, the Historia del Concilio Tridentino (London, 1619), his critical assessment of religious conflict. That the management of ecclesiastical affairs had to be assumed by the secular authorities was the principle followed by King James and one he asserted in the many tracts he published during his reign. As discussed in Chapter 5, he, too, believed that this was the only way to ensure peaceful coexistence in his kingdoms. James was an eirenic king who pursued a middle way excluding religious zealots of all sides in order to maintain peace. With this policy, supported by his writings, he was responding to the religious divisions that had ensued locally and internationally, as peace at home was a prerequisite for concord throughout Christendom and vice versa. Concord was possible by distinguishing between Christian ‘points of saluation’ and ‘indifferent things’,

Introduction

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between ‘substance and ceremonies’. King James’s views came into being in the context of his efforts to establish his princely authority against the Church, first against the Scottish Kirk and later in England, against Papal interventions in the aftermath of the Gunpowder Plot. Rather, James asserted, that it was the responsibility of lay rulers to procure for the welfare of his subjects’ souls and bodies and to assist the ‘spiritual power with the temporal sword’. For him, as for the other three writers, lay supremacy was the only way to ensure peaceful coexistence within a well-ordered state. The troubled conditions under which Charron’s, Lipsius’s, Sarpi’s and King James’s calls for a middle way and peaceful coexistence under strong political government arose will be the subject of the first chapter.

chapter 1

The Republic of Letters: Authors, Contexts, Networks

Religious Wars, Reconciliation and Coexistence

In making sense of the views expressed in the work of Charron, Lipsius, Sarpi and King James and the positions adopted by them it is essential to consider the complex historical context in which they lived and wrote. These four authors lived through some of the most momentous events of the early modern era. The years between c. 1580–c. 1620 were turbulent and chaotic. They were dominated by five elements: religiously motivated war; the need for reconciliation and necessity of coexistence; the promotion of the reformation of the traditional Church; economic crises following almost a century of warfare, and a huge intellectual crisis. All these themes are deeply embedded in their writings. During the last decades of the sixteenth- and the first decades of the seventeenth centuries the religious wars were still raging with varying intensity both in France and the Low Countries. The wars had brought changes in the nature of religion, in political and ecclesiastical structures and to the fabric of society itself. Severely traumatised by the world having turned ‘upside down’, people were desperate to find solace, clear guidance, to rebuild their confidence in the existing structures and, as it became obvious that no one side would emerge as the clear winner, to seek a tolerable pacification. Religious, national, cultural and social identities were defined and redefined throughout this period, as people tried to make sense of the world around them and their position within it. Charron and Lipsius experienced the religious conflict which lasted between 1562 and 1598 in France and between 1566 and 1648 in the Low Countries. They also lived through the protracted and not always successful attempts at religious reconciliation such as the Council of Trent (1545–52, 1562–3). Although not exactly outright civil war, James vi and i experienced religious tensions from the moment he was born until his death in London. Sarpi’s encounter with religious warfare was more fragmentary, but perhaps no less dramatic. Fortunate not to have lived through religious warfare of a large scale himself, he was informed about it all his life and he wrote about it in his works. Lipsius and Charron died during the brief, albeit uneasy, respite of the relative peacefulness at the turn of the seventeenth century, while Sarpi and James lived long

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi 10.1163/9789004330771_003

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enough to see the failures of truce and the outbreak of the war that shattered all the hope that had been born during that same period. Throughout the age of confessional conflict, scholars, officials, political agents, and members of the clergy went through intensive soul-searching of what had gone wrong and what was to be done for the order to return and religious peace to be established. This consideration found two outlets: a return to classical letters, particularly philosophy, for inspiration and possible alternatives, was coupled with an inquiry into the past. Educated men examined the past with a double aim: to identify how events could have transpired differently as well as in order to build insights regarding possible resolutions to what they were experiencing.1 The four intellectuals whose work forms the basis of this book, never met each other. Pierre Charron (1541–1604) and Justus Lipsius (1547–1606) were almost exact contemporaries; born with six years difference, they both belonged to the second generation of reform and the responses it had generated. During their lives, lines between camps hardened as conflict became more desperate: from the 1540s onwards, it seemed, the different religious groups were fighting for survival. Charron and Lipsius were in their early twenties when civil conflict finally erupted in France and the Low Countries respectively. The extent to which they were affected by the struggle is clearly manifested both in their works as well as in their personal correspondence: ‘There is not a trouble more miserable, no more shameful, it is a sea of infelicities’, Charron wrote about civil war; it is not properly war, but a malady of the state, a fiery sickness, and frenzy. And to say the truth, he that is the author thereof, should be put out from the number of men, and banished out of the borders of human nature. … To conclude, it is nothing but misery.2

1 For the importance of history in the sixteenth century see D.R. Kelley, Foundations of Modern Historical Scholarship: Language, Law and History in the French Renaissance (New York and London: Columbia up, 1970); idem (ed.), History and the Disciplines: The Reclassification of Knowledge in Early Modern Europe (Rochester, ny: Rochester up, 1997); E.W. Cochrane, Historians and Historiography in the Italian Renaissance (Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 1981); I. Backus, Historical Method and Confessional Identity in the Era of the Reformation (1378–1615), (Leiden: Brill, 2003); A. Kess, Johann Sleidan and the Protestant Vision of History (Aldershot:Ashgate, 2008). 2 Unless stated differently the references are to Pierre Charron, De la Sagesse, Trois Livres (Paris: David Douceur, 1607): Book iii, 4, 564–6. The translation of the passages is largely based on that by Samson Lennard (London: Edward Blount, ?1608).

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In 1589, during the wars of the League (when Charron was in his forties), between the assassination of the Guise brothers and that of Henri iii by Jacques Clément, Charron was arrested. He wrote about his distress: ‘L’agitation publique m’afflige fort … J’ai envie de me cacher en quelque coin…’.3 In a similar context, Lipsius was in his early twenties when the iconoclastic revolt spread to the town of Antwerp, Ghent and Amsterdam in August 1566. About twenty years later, he famously composed one of his most popular books, De Constantia (Antwerp [=Leiden], 1584), from his need for support, as a means of selftherapy and consolation.4 ‘We are tossed, as you see, these many years with the tempest of civil wars: and like sea-faring men are we beaten with various blasts of troubles and sedition’, he wrote in it. If I love quietness and rest, the trumpets and rattling of armour interrupt me. If I take solace in my country gardens and farms, the soldiers and murderers force me into the town… [the country] is tossed and turmoiled grievously: What part of Europe is at this day free? … Nay surely, I will forsake my country, knowing that it is less grief to hear report of evils, than to be an eye-witness of them….5 An array of references to the wars can also be found in his correspondence.6 Lipsius’s life was deeply affected during the wars: pacifist, timid, but also concerned about his reputation, he fled from the troubles a number of times, seeking refuge at a safer place and a different university.

3 Letter from Angers, 1 July; in Lucien Auvray: ‘Lettres de Pierre Charron à Gabriel Michel de la Rochemaillet’ in Revue d’Histoire Littéraire de la France, i (1894) 308–329, 316. 4 Unless otherwise stated, I have used the 1589 edition of the text: De Constantia libri duo, quo alloquium praecipue continent in publicis malis. Quarta editio, melior et notis auctior (Leiden; ex officina Plantiniana, apud Franciscum Raphelengium, 1589); ‘Ad lectorem’; John Sellars, ‘Justus Lipsius’s De Constantia: A Stoic Spiritual Exercise’, Poetics Today 28 (2007), 339–362. 5 Justus Lipsius, De Constantia libri duo, quo alloquium praecipue continent in publicis malis (Antwerp=Leiden: Christophe Plantin, 1584); ustc 402040. I.1. The English translation is principally based on that of Sir John Stradling (London: Richard Johnes, 1594); eds R. Kirk and C.M. Hall (New Brunswick; New Jersey Rutgers up: 1939). 6 Some examples include: ile vol. ii, 87 08 13 go; 87 10 12; 87 12 16; ile vol. iii, 88 04 21; 88 06 03; 89 01 24; 89 06 02; 89 06 22; and T. Deneire, ‘“Laconicae cuspidis instar”. The Correspondence of Justus Lipsius: 1598. Critical Edition with Introduction, Annotations and Stylistic Study’; unpublished PhD dissertation (Catholic University of Leuven, 2009). Letters included in this edition will be heretofore referred to as ile vol. xi: 98 04 06T; 98 04 19; 98 05 31P; 98 05 31R; 98 08 02T; 98 08 10; 98 09 07M; 98 11 20.

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The wave of religious conflict which engulfed France and the Low Countries during the second wave of Reformation was a clear indication of the mounting tension between opposing sides after Luther’s death (1546). The Council of Trent (1545–52, 1562–3) had failed to reconcile the two bitterly opposing religious sides, while in the German Lands the only viable religious settlement seemed to be the Peace of Augsburg (1555), an essentially ‘political’ solution, which also ignored entirely the Reformed Protestants, the Calvinists. The publication of the Tridentine canons and decrees in some ways prepared the ground ideologically for the wars that began in the 1560s as it defined the limits of ‘Catholicism’ in a strict sense.7 During the 1580s, which is the beginning for the focus of this book, the religious and civil strife in France and the Netherlands was at its height. The English intervention in the Low Countries with the expedition of the Earl of Leicester (1585) had ended badly, while in France things escalated to a different level with the rebellion of the Catholic League (1585) and the assassination of Henri iii (1589). England had confirmed its status as a Reformed country in 1559, altering entirely the balance of power in North-Western Europe. Elizabeth’s excommunication by Pius v (Ghislieri, 1566–72) in 1570 sealed the sense of animosity felt between England and the Catholic world, while Scotland had already been through a radical reformation between the 1540s and 1567. The last hope for Catholicism to re-emerge in either of the two kingdoms was lost with the execution of Mary Queen of Scots in 1587 and the accession of the Calvinist James vi to the English throne on Elizabeth’s death in 1603. On the other hand, the Spanish Armada in 1588 marked the defeat of the main Catholic players in the wars and the reversal of their fate was confirmed when the French joined forces with the English and the Dutch against them in 1596. France’s road to relative stability was opened with Henri iv’s abjuration of his Huguenot beliefs in 1593 (receiving Papal absolution 1595), and with the signing of the Edict of Nantes in 1598. It is amidst this climate that Charron and Lipsius came to maturity.

Between Conflict and Learning: Charron and the French Religious Experience

Charron was born during the reign of Francis i, on the year that the Diet at Regensburg failed to reach an understanding between the Catholics and 7 J. O’Malley, Trent. What Happened at the Council (Cambridge, Mass. and London: The Belknap Press of Harvard up, 2013), 260–275; M. Mullett, The Catholic Reformation (London and New York: Routledge, 1999), 28–68, esp. 68.

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Protestants­(1541). That same year saw the establishment of Calvinism in Geneva and the outbreak of Reformation in Scotland, incited by John Knox (c. 1513–72). The information we have on Charron’s life is possibly the most fragmentary of the four authors discussed in this study and it is mainly based on two pieces of evidence: a set of 47 letters sent by Charron to his friend and later editor Gabriel la Rochemaillet (1562–1642) in the time-span of fourteen years (1589–1603), and an Éloge written by La Rochemaillet and printed together with the Sagesse from 1607 onwards.8 From the little that we know, he was born in Paris to a family of booksellers.9 Though printing had been a trade often associated with Protestantism from early on, Charron went to the University of Paris where he received a typical scholastic education.10 He obtained a degree in canon and civil law having studied in Orléans and Bourges (around 1562) while later on he turned to theology. According to the Éloge, he quickly gained a reputation as a preacher which earned him invitations by a number of bishops and prelates throughout his life.11 When the religious wars broke out in France in 1562 Charron was probably in Montpellier as théologal and canon.12 Though the first war of religion concluded with the Peace of Amboise (March 1563), the outbreak of the second, four years later indicated that the issues at stake were not going to be resolved easily. Charron was in fact taken prisoner in the course of the second civil war, when in 1567 Protestant forces took control of the area of Montpellier. He was captured together with other church officials and kept for a period of six to seven months until his ransom was paid. During the years of the escalation of the 8

9

10

11 12

Eloge Véritable ou Sommaire Discours de la Vie de Pierre Charron Parisien Vivant Docteur ès Droits, par G.M.D.R., in Sagesse, ē 1r. – A 1r; Auvray, ‘Lettres’. For his life the standard account is given by J.B. Sabrié, De l’Humanisme au Rationalisme. Pierre Charron (1541–1603). L’Homme, l’Œvre, l’Influence (Paris: Alcon, 1913), 19–141; see also J.D. Charron, The ‘Wisdom’ of Pierre Charron. An Original and Orthodox Code of Morality. (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1960), 59–84; R. Kogel, Pierre Charron (Geneva: Librairie Droz, 1972), 15–24. Alfred Soman has challenged these accounts on the grounds that their main source, the Eloge is not reliable; A. Soman, ‘Pierre Charron: A Revaluation’, Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance, xxxii (1970), 57–77. He was the son of Thibaud Charron; cf. P. Renouard, Répertoire des Imprimeurs Parisiens, ed. J. Veyrin-Forrer and Brigitte Moreau (Paris: M.J. Minard, Lettres Modernes, 1965), 75–76 and Éloge, ē 1r. Éloge, ē 1v. and N.Z. Davis, ‘Protestantism and the printing workers of Lyons: a study in the problem of religion and social class during the Reformation’, unpublished PhD dissertation (University of Michigan, 1959). Éloge, ē 1v.- ē 2r. L. Giraud, ‘Le Séjour de Pierre Charron à Montpellier, 1565–1569 et 1570–1571’, Bulletin Philologique et Historique (1913).

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conflict, with the Massacre of St Bartholomew (August 1572) and the premature death of Charles ix in 1574, Charron was working in the area of Bordeaux, acting both as a preacher and as an écolatre, supervising schools of the diocese. He had been invited there by Arnaud de Pontac, bishop of Bazas (near Bordeaux), who had heard him preach: his biographer describes Charron as having ‘la langue bien penduë’.13 In the course of his time in the area Rochemaillet and various scholars suggest that Charron met Michel de Montaigne (1533–92). Montaigne had been elected Mayor of Bordeaux in 1581 and Charron’s duties would have put him into frequent contact with the civil authorities.14 As evidence of their acquaintance, scholars refer to a copy of Bernardino Ochino’s Catechismo (Basel, 1561), a heretical work, which the essayist apparently gave to Charron.15 The other link between the two men is Charron’s friendship with Montaigne’s sister, Leonore, and her husband, to whom Charron left a sum of money and made an executor of his will.16 As however there is not a single reference to Montaigne in Charron’s letters, or any reference to Charron by Montaigne, the relationship between the two authors has been questioned.17 The connection – if any – between the two men has been discussed by scholars extensively, as it pertains to interpretations of the intellectual relationship between their works, and the similarities found in them. While in the area of Bordeaux, according to his biographer, Charron was invited to become the prédicateur ordinaire of Marguerite, the Catholic Queen of Navarre at the Protestant court in Nérac. Notably, among the guests f­ requenting the court were Du Plessis-Mornay (1549–1623), Julius Scaliger (1484–1558) and Montaigne. The biographer also suggests that while there, the future Henri iv heard Charron preach, who ‘s’est délecté et a pris plaisir extreme

13 14

15

16 17

Éloge, ē 1v. ‘…il prit cognoissance et vescut fort familièrement avec Messire Michel de Montaigne … et le sieur de Montaigne l’aimoit une affection reciproque, et avant que mourir, par son testament, il luy permist de porter apres son decez les plaines armes de sa noble famille, par ce qu’il ne laissoit aucuns enfans masles’; Éloge ē 3r. Bernardino Ochino, IlCatechismo o vero Institutione christiana di m. Bernardino Ochino da Siena, in forma di dialogo (Basel: Peter Perna, 1561). Cf. BnF (D2 5240 Rés); the book is inscribed ‘Montaigne’, and below that ‘Charron ex dono dicti domini de Montaigne in suo castello, 2 Julij, Anno 1586’; ustc 845213. ‘Testament de Pierre Charron’; 18 February, 1602, cited in Kogel, Pierre Charron, 18. Cf. Soman, ‘Revaluation’, 64–65. As further proof for a close relationship between the two men, scholars also take the information that in his will Charron left the sum of five hundred écus to Montaigne’s sister and made her husband Thibaud de Camain, his universal heir and executor of his estate.

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d’ouyr ses predications’, and that he had frequently honoured him with his presence.18 The situation in France deteriorated again with the death of Anjou in 1584, which made Navarre the next heir to the throne, inflaming the Catholic side and the League. We can perhaps assume that the level of volatile tension felt in the country was what spurred Charron’s attempt to join a Carthusian monastery in Paris in 1588 and a Celestine one later, as a means to escape events around him.19 Evidence of his continuing hope to enter a monastery can be found in his letters of the next year where he implored La Rochemaillet to visit the monasteries and plead his case.20 Charron’s request was refused, probably due to his age. Next, however, we find him in the midst of political and religious turmoil again, during the opening sessions of the Estates General of Blois (1588);21 soon after he was in Angers, a town full of Liguers and in an explosive state. This was the critical period after the assassination of the Duke of Guise by Henri iii (1589), the language and mood of violence of which is difficult to recapture.22 In this context Charron joined the League.23 As Henri of Navarre fought for his right to the throne, the town was taken under the control of his supporters just before Easter of the same year. Charron was once more placed under (house) arrest, by the Royalists this time. As part of his arrest he was forbidden to preach; in the midst of the fury passionate sermons would only make things worse.24 Charron had thus been confined twice on the grounds of his religious convictions and actions, once by Huguenot ‘heretics’ and the second by Catholic supporters of the Protestant heir to the French throne, who would offer a political solution to the crisis created by religious factionalism, and would not tolerate the radicalism of either side. In his more active engagement as a preacher, Charron would have felt it his duty to respond to some of the Protestant polemic being published during­the 18 Éloge, ē 1v. 19 See letters i–ix (February–August 1589); Auvray, ‘Lettres’, 314–317. 20 Letter viii (17 July 1589); Auvray, ‘Lettres’, 316. 21 Éloge, ē 2v. 22 M. Greengrass, France in the Age of Henri iv. The Struggle for Stability. (London and New York: Longman, 1984), 48–51; M.P. Holt, The French Wars of Religion, 1562–1629 (Cambridge: cup, 1995), 129–131. 23 Cf. Charron’s ‘Discours Chrestien qu’il n’est permis ny loisible au subject pour quelque cause et raison que se soit de se liguer, bander et rebeller contre son Roy’ in Toutes les œuvres. Dernière édition revue, corrigée et augmentée, 2 vols. (Paris: Jacques Villery, 1635). 24 ‘J’ai été inhibité de prescher et mis à arrest par la ville … j’ai permission maintenant de prescher et fus restitué hier en la chaire, jour de l’Ascencion, mais l’arrest dure encore…’; Letter from Angers, 12 May 1589; Auvray, ‘Lettres’, 315–316.

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conflict. Near the end of the religious wars, after Henri iv’s accession to the throne, he published his first book, the Trois Véritez.25 The book was part of the controversial literature of the time and was a treatise of apologetics and polemic for the Catholic faith.26 It attracted a great deal of attention and was quickly reprinted.27 The timing of the publication was crucial, as Henri iv had just abjured Calvinism.28 The first two books of the Trois Véritez, sought to establish the existence of God, while the third one, which bore a special, separate dedication to Henri iv as a means of convincing others to convert, was devoted to a refutation of the Huguenot leader, Du Plessis-Mornay’s Traité de l’Église (1579). The work in fact solicited Mornay’s response and also one by François Du Jon (the elder, 1545–1602).29 The next year, 1594, Charron was again in Protestant heartland in Quercy in Cahors. He had been invited by Antoine d’Hébrard de Saint Sulpice, bishop of Cahors, who had been impressed with the Trois Vérités.30 While there, he was working at the University, and also promoted to the post of Vicaire Général, usually the last step before elevation to a bishop’s seat.31 He also prepared the second version of the third edition (Bordeaux, 1595) in which he included a response to criticisms raised by Du Plessis-Mornay.32 In 1595 he took part in the 25

Les Trois Véritez contre tous athées, idolatres, juifs, mahumetans, heretiques et schismatiques (Bordeaux: Simon Millanges, 1593); ustc 2978. 26 On this topic see among others L. Racaut, Hatred in Print: Catholic Propaganda and Protestant Identity during the French Wars of Religion (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2002); S. Barker, Protestantism, Poetry and Protest: The Vernacular Writings of Antoine de Chandieu (c. 1534–1591) (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2009); G. Kemp, ‘The theme of religious conversion in Seventeenth-century French printed books’, unpublished PhD dissertation (University of St Andrews, 2013). 27 Éloge, ē 3r. 28 Greengrass, France in the Age of Henri iv, 58–61; Holt, French Wars of Religion, 149–153; M. Wolfe, The Conversion of Henri iv: Politics, Power, and Religious Belief in Early Modern France (Cambridge, ma: Harvard up, 1993). 29 François du Jon (Franciscus Junius), Amiable confrontation de la simple verite de Dieu comprise es escritures saintes, avec les livres de M. Pierre Le Charron (Leiden [=Amsterdam]: pour Christophorus Raphelengius et Pierre de Saint-André [=Jean Commelin], 1599); ustc 4357; Philippe du Plessis-Mornay, Response a un livre nouvellement mis en lumiere intitule les trois veritez (La Rochelle: Jérôme Haultin, 1594); ustc 14633. 30 Éloge, ē 3r. Cf. the dedication to him by Charron in the 1595 Bordeaux edition of the Trois Véritez by Simon Milanges: 2r.-a5v. 31 This position was usually the last step before elevation to the bishop’s seat. 32 Ler trois Véritez. Seconde edition reueüe, corrigée, & de beaucoup augmentée, auec vn aduertissement & bref examen, sur la Response faicte à la troisiesme verité, de nouueau imprimée à la Rochelle (Bordeaux: Simon Milanges, 1595); ustc 3165.

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general assembly of the clergy of France that Henri iv convened in Paris, as a representative of the province of Bordeaux and as a secretary to the assembly.33 He returned to Cahors after the completion of the proceedings, where from 1597–8 he seems to have undertaken the composition of the Sagesse, his philosophical work.34 This was the work which articulated his religious and philosophical views to an audience greater than that present in his sermons. Into it he distilled his experience of the civil conflict, which he had not been able to do during the years of the wars: the war had taught him that ‘it is impossible to be in a strife and sage at the same time’.35 Students of Charron have noted the close coincidence in timing between preparing the Edict of Nates in 1598–9 and Charron’s writing of the Sagesse (February 1597 through 1599) as they were both written with a moderate intention and a search for peace and stability based on political and moral solutions to the religious problems.36 This was a book of moral instruction, containing advice on how to attain human wisdom and lead a moral life according to God and nature. The work also promoted peace and tranquillity away from violent internal and external passions and emotions, and a certain cosmopolitanism in its Stoic version. The Sagesse was finished in mid-1599 or 1600, but its publication was only possible after Charron had obtained royal privileges for the printing.37 Charron also worked on a smaller tract, the Petit Traicté de la Sagesse which was composed as a summary and an apologetic in the face of reactions caused by the larger text. The Traicté only appeared posthumously, together with the Discours Chrestiens (1604). The latter includes material from some of his sermons possibly combined together with material from his theology classes.38 Charron spent the last years of his life writing and preparing a second revised edition of the Sagesse, the text that he clearly considered as his most 33

Éloge, ē 3v. J. Bergin, The Making of the French Episcopate 1589–1661 (New Haven & London: Yale up, 1996), 384. This assembly was one that drew a lurid picture of the state of the French church and forcefully complained against the subversion of the ecclesiastical jurisdiction by the secular magistrates; it demanded, moreover, the adoption of the Decrees of Trent, and the restoration of episcopal elections. 34 Letters from Cahors, 8 March 1597, and 4 June 1598; Auvray, ‘Lettres’, 318–319; Éloge, ē 4r. 35 Cf. Charron’s ‘Discours Chrestien qu’il n’est permis ny loisible au subject pour quelque cause et raison que se soit de se liguer, bander et rebeller contre son Roy’, op cit. 36 M.C. Horowitz, ‘French Free-Thinkers in the First Decades of the Edict of Nantes’ in A. Levine (ed.), Early Modern Scepticism and the Origins of Toleration (Lanham: Lexington Books, 1999) 77–101, on 80–81. 37 Letters xxvii (6 May 1600) and xxix (12 November 1600); Auvray, ‘Lettres’, 321–322. 38 Éloge, ē 3v.- ē 4r; Sabrié, Pierre Charron, 78.

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important. This revision of the Sagesse was dictated both by the reactions the work had caused (‘wrongly perceived’),39 and by Charron’s wish to obtain approbation from the Sorbonne before the publication.40 Charron was in Paris to supervise the publication of the second edition, when he died of a sudden apoplexy in 1603.41 La Rochemaillet completed the revision, some of which was prescribed by Pierre Jeannin (1540–1622), President of the Conseil Privé, while he also had to deal with the difficulties raised by the Sorbonne. De la Sagesse ‘revue corrigé et augmenté’ finally came out in 1604,42 but was still placed in the Index of Prohibited Books the year after.43 It is unclear whether this was due to its contents, or the result of factional differences, as other equally ­potentially subversive texts, such as Montaigne’s for instance, escaped the same fate.44 Overall, Charron led an intense life as a preacher during civil strife; he travelled and preached continuously around the South and West of France, and was deeply affected by the religious conflict that convulsed his country, trying to retreat into the peacefulness of monastic surroundings. His religious and philosophical work is a powerful response to the religious conflict; it encapsulates his concentrated understanding of it and offers alternative ways of looking at religion and morality, from a more intellectual perspective and in a more internalised manner, which would allow people of differing views to live together in a more peaceful way.

Living the Dutch Revolt: Humanism in Times of Public Adversity

Lipsius had a different but parallel life. He was born in 1547 while the Low Countries were still under Charles v’s control. Luther had died the previous year and the Protestant cause had suffered a major blow by the Holy Roman Emperor Charles v at Mühlberg. Information about Lipsius’s life is richer than it is for Charron. A great deal more self-aware and famous, Lipsius fashioned an autobiography which survives in the form of a letter to Woverius (Jan van der

39 Cf. Letter from Condom, 10 June 1602; Auvray, ‘Lettres’, 322–323. 40 Letters xxxvii, xli, xlii, xliv and xlvi; Auvray, ‘Lettres’, 324–328. 41 Éloge, ē 4v. 42 Éloge, ē 5v. 43 Index des Livres Interdits, ed. J.M. Bujanda, vol. xi: Index Librorum Prohibitorum 1600–1966 (Canada and Geneva: Médiaspaul and Librairie Droz, 2002), 214. 44 Soman, ‘Revaluation’.

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Wouver, 1576–1635), one of his close pupils.45 There is also the Vita Justi Lipsii by Aubertus Miraeus (1573–1640) which was included in the Opera Omnia (Antwerp, 1637).46 Lipsius was born in a Catholic family in Overisjsche, between Brussels and Louvain (Brabant). Developments in neighbouring countries prescribed the growing polarisation in which Lipsius would soon find himself in, as the ascension of Henri ii to the French throne (1547) signalled the intensification of Huguenot persecution and in England Edward vi’s short reign (1547–53) allowed for the firm, albeit short, establishment of Protestantism. Like many of his contemporaries, Lipsius was educated at the Jesuit College of Cologne (the Jesuits were only allowed to establish themselves in the Low Countries in 1556). His social origin seems to fit well the picture we have about the governing classes in the Netherlands being strongly imbued with humanist and anti-clerical traditions. At the college he zealously studied classical literature and history, alongside rhetoric and philosophy.47 Though he eventually left Cologne and the Society, he retained close relations with the Jesuits throughout his life.48 He continued his classical studies at the University of Louvain while he also studied Law. He was probably in Louvain during the period of the initial troubles and the outbreak of iconoclasm in the Low Countries in the 1560s. Despite these events, Lipsius was eager to further his studies and his career as witnessed by the composition of Variae Lectiones.49 The work was dedicated to Cardinal Antoine Perrenot de Granvelle (1517–86), one of the protagonists of the Dutch crisis. The work attracted his favour and Lipsius accompanied him as his secretary for Latin Letters on a journey to Rome where Granvelle was retreating­ 45

46

47 48 49

The letter dates from 1 October 1600; ile vol. xiii, 00 10 01. For an analysis of Lipsius’s self-fashioning see M.P.O. Morford, Stoics and Neostoics, Rubens and the Circle of Lipsius (Princeton: Princeton up, 1991), 96–100. For his life see also J.L. Saunders, Justus Lipsius. The Philosophy of Renaissance Stoicism (New York: The Liberal Arts Press, 1955), 3–58; L. Zanta, La Renaissance du Stoicisme au XVIe siècle (Paris: Honoré Champion, 1914), 151–166; J. Kluyskens, ‘Justus Lipsius (1547–1606) and the Jesuits. With four unpublished letters’, Humanistica Lovaniensia 23 (1974), 244–270 and M. Laureys (ed.), The World of Justus Lipsius: a Contribution Towards his Intellectual Biography (Rome: Institut historique belge de Rome, 1998). Miraeus based his Vita partly on Lipsius’s correspondence, and partly on his works: notes on the side of his text refer to his sources; Justus Lipsius, Opera Omnia, 4 vols. (Antwerp: officina Plantiniana Balthasar Moretus, 1637): vol. i, xlix–lxviii. Cf. Lipsius, Constantia, ‘Ad Lectorem’. Kluyskens, ‘Justus Lipsius and the Jesuits’, 245–246 and 262–264. Variae Lectiones (Christophe Plantin: ex officina Plantiniana, Antwerp, 1569); ustc 401432.

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after a difficult time in the Netherlands.50 Safely away from the events in his homeland, Lipsius spent two years in the ‘eternal city’, frequenting all the major libraries and becoming acquainted with important scholars of the age, such as Marc-Antoine Muret (1526–85).51 The latter had a profound influence on his scholarship as he was the reason Lipsius started working on Tacitus.52 After his return to Louvain in 1570, as a serious humanist in search of a powerful patron, he settled on presenting himself to the Emperor Maximilian ii (1527–76) in Vienna, though there is no evidence that this venture was successful. It was in the course of his journey returning to Louvain that he first heard about the escalating troubles in the Spanish Netherlands and the cruelty of the Duke of Alva (Fernando Álvarez de Toledo, 1508–83), sent by Philip ii to enforce order and the ‘true religion’. Alva’s ‘reign of terror’ through the ‘Council of Troubles’ involved looting, arrests, condemnations, executions and excessive taxation (the infamous ‘Tenth Penny’).53 In the midst of this disorder, Lipsius’s property was confiscated by Spanish troops. As a timid individual, he chose to keep away from the turmoil. With the recommendation of the famous German scholar and friend of Melanchthon (1497–1560), Joachim Camerarius (1500–74), the Flemish humanist managed to secure a chair as Professor of History and Eloquence at the University of Jena, in central Germany (1572).54 The university had been founded in 1559 within the context of boosting the Lutheran cause through the founding of educational institutions, and had become home to some of the leading Protestant scholars in Germany.55 Here, as a born Catholic, Lipsius would have been required to make a public confession of Lutheranism in order to be able to accept this position.56 This was fairly typical, though it was later revealed that Lipsius seems to have gone further than that, also delivering various orations

50 See ile vol. i, letters from 68 00 00 to 71 07 06. 51 ile vol. i, 69 08 15; 69 08 21; 69 08 31; 70 09 17; 71 07 06. 52 A. Momigliano, ‘The First Political Commentary on Tacitus’, Journal of Roman Studies 37 (1947), 91–100, on 97–98. 53 G. Parker, The Dutch Revolt. Revised edition (London: Penguin Books 2002), 130–142. 54 ile vol. i, 72 09 15J. 55 Morford, Stoics and Neostoics, 98–99 and 127. 56 D. Gehrt et als, ‘Gründing, Aufbau und Konsolidierung im 16. Jahrhundert’ in J. Bauer et als (eds), Die Universität Jena in der Frühen Neuzeit (Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Winter, 2008) 25–45, esp. 33–41; S. Wallentin, Fürstliche Normen und akademische ‘Observanzen’: die Verfassung der Universität Jena 1630–1730 (Cologne: Böhlau, 2009), 59–75. I am greatly indebted to Dr Richard Kirwan for these references.

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of strongly anti-Papal and anti-Spanish character while he was there.57 He left Jena in 1574, briefly stopping at Cologne on the way, where he married the Catholic widow Anna van der Calstere.58 He thus switched confessions again, for which he would be heavily criticised for the rest of his life. Soon after that Lipsius published his edition of Tacitus, on which he was working since his visit to Italy, where the manuscripts were.59 He also returned to the study of Law, acquiring the degree of Doctor of Law from the University of Louvain in 1576.60 Yet the political situation in the Low Countries was still unstable and was becoming increasingly radicalised: unpaid Spanish troops sacked Antwerp in 1576, the Southern Provinces declared loyalty to Catholicism and the Spanish king, while the Northern Provinces under William of Orange answered with the formation of the Union of Utrecht. In the meantime, Philip ii sent Don Juan of Austria (1547–78) in Gembloux (1578), to replace Requesens (Luis de Requesens y Zúñiga, 1528–76) who did manage a few victories for the royal cause.61 In the face of the new threat, Lipsius fled again, this time to Antwerp, where he stayed with his friend, the French printer Christophe Plantin (c. 1520–89).62 His close association with the printer has given rise to speculations about Lipsius’s involvement in the ‘Family of Love’, as Plantin was one of the key members of the sect; his involvement, however, can only be inferred.63 Lipsius’s flight from Louvain was just in time, as the soldiers sacked 57 Cf. Oratio in funere illustrissimi Principis ac Domini D. Ioannis Gulielmi, ducis Saxoniae (Jena: Andreas Ellinger, 1577); ile vol. i, 73 35 16, 73 06 03, and Morford, Stoics and Neostoics, 126–130. See also J. de Landtsheer, ‘Pius Lipsius or Lipsius Proteus?’ in eadem and H. Nellen (eds), Between Scylla and Charybdis. Learned Letter Writers Navigating the Reefs of Religious and Political Controversy in Early Modern Europe (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 303–349, esp. 309–312. I am grateful to Dr Landtsheer for sharing a copy of this article with me before it appeared in print. 58 Landtsheer, ‘Pius Lipsius or Lipsius Proteus?’ 309. 59 Publius Cornelius Tacitus, Historiarum et annalium libri, qui exstant. Liber de moribus Germanorum Julii Agricolae vita dialogus de oratoribus sui temporis (Antwerp: ex officina Christophe Plantin, 1574); ustc 403285. 60 Vita, Opera Omnia, vol. i, li. 61 See Parker, Dutch Revolt, 186–190. 62 Leon Voet, The Golden Compasses, 2 vols. (Amsterdam: Vangendt, 1969–72). 63 Lipsius’s involvement in the sect was first suggested by the Netherland theologian Adrian Saravia, in a letter sent to Richard Bancroft, Archbishop of Canterbury in 1608 and was based on Lipsius’s acquaintance with Hendrik Jansen Barrefelt (Landtsheer, ‘Pius Lipsius or Lipsius Proteus?’, 328–329). Moroever, Plantin was close friend of Hendrik Niclaes, the founder of the sect. For the ‘Family of Love’ more especially see A. Hamilton, The Family of Love (Cambridge: James Clarke and Co., 1981). For Lipsius’s possible involvement in the sect see among others G. Güldner, Das Toleranz-Problem in den Niederlanden in

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his house and took his manuscripts and books which he was only able to recover through the intervention of his Jesuit friend Martin Delrio (1551–1608).64 These were the circumstances during which came the offer by the United Provinces of a chair as Professor of History at the newly-founded University of Leiden.65 This was also the cause of his next conversion, since in order to take this position Lipsius had to confess allegiance to Calvinism, as was customary with confessionally established universities. In his autobiographical letter Lipsius professed that his time in Leiden was a ‘temporary exile from his home’; it did, however, prove to be one of thirteen years.66 Lipsius’s fame rose even higher while he was in Leiden, and he produced a number of works there. Scholars debate as to whether he ever settled in Leiden. There is some ­indication that he might have felt like an exile during his stay, as throughout his time in Leiden he maintained contact with friends living in Catholic countries. There is also evidence that he felt less at ease and increasingly apprehensive because of ­political circumstances, namely the murder of William i (the Silent) in 1584.67 It is ­possible that his uneasiness stemmed from his own religious outlook as there are suggestions that he may have remained a Catholic in secret or ­endorsed the Familist doctrines; in either case he would have had to dissimulate, and conform outwardly in a state that was gradually becoming less tolerant.68 It has also been suggested that perhaps these feelings of nostalgia made him immerse himself in work: De Constantia, a work of Stoic consolation during civil strife and the only text that he ‘did not compose for fame’, came out in 1584.69

64 65

66 67

68

69

Ausgang­des 16. Jahrhunderts (Lübeck and Hamburg: Matthiesen Verlag, 1968), 1­28–138; A.  Grafton, ‘Portrait of Justus Lipsius’s, The American Scholar 56 (1987), 389–390; ­Hamilton, Family of Love, 98. Landtsheer takes this suggestion to be far-fetched (op cit., 329). ile vol. i, 78 03 04. ile vol. i, 78 01 18; cf. K. Enenkel and C. Heesakkers (eds), Lipsius in Leiden. Studies in the Life and Work of a Great Humanist (Voorthuizen: Florivallis, 1997); Rijksuniversiteit te Leiden, Athenae Batavae. De Leidse Universiteit. The University of Leiden, 1575–1975 (Leiden: Universitaire Pers Leiden, 1975). ile vol. xiii, 00 10 01; for the fact that he perceived (or portrayed) his stay in Leiden as temporary cf. ile vol. i, 78 04 01; 78 09 03; 80 10 19 and others. Landtsheer, ‘Pius Lipsius or Lipsius Proteus?’ 316–317; cf. ile vol. ii, 84 09 23 R; 84 11 06T; 85 06 28 le; 86 04 01M; Vita, Opera Omnia, vol. i, liv–lv; also Morford, Stoics and Neostoics, 106–107. Landtsheer, ‘Pius Lipsius or Lipsius Proteus?’, 328–330; Grafton, ‘Portrait of Justus Lipsius’ and my ‘Public and Private, Ethics and Politics in the Constantia and the Politica of Justus Lipsius’; Renaissance Studies 26 (2012), 345–364. ile vol. xiii, 00 10 01.

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During the same period, possibly around 1586, he also started working on his Politica, the other one of his most famous and dearest works.70 Lipsius stayed in Leiden until 1591. During his years there developments in the Low Countries were both rapid and explosive. In 1571 the Northern and the Southern Provinces formally separated in two rival Unions, the Union of Arras and the Union of Utrecht, that ultimately signified the division of the Netherlands. In 1581 the Estates General of the United Provinces renounced Philip ii’s sovereignty with the Act of Dismissal, and appointed Duc d’Anjou as their official sovereign. The move was not successful; Anjou withdrew in 1583 and in July 1584 the situation escalated with the assassination of William of Orange. With Brussels and Antwerp capitulating to the Duke of Parma within a year, Elizabeth i pledged her support to the Dutch rebellion and sent Leicester (Robert Dudley, First Earl of Leicester, 1532–88) with forces to aid the Dutch.71 Leicester was accepted as ‘absolute governor and general’ in the Netherlands (1585) but was recalled within two years, after the emergence of opposition towards him. All the while, the news from France’s war of the League, the assassination of the Guise brothers and Henri iii, and Parma’s intervention on the side of the French Catholics against Henri iv, all did nothing to inspire confidence in the political situation in the wider region. The failure to establish the longed-for political stability in the area could explain Lipsius’ departure. This is consistent with the frequent references to the need for political stability in his correspondence, though some scholars suggest that Lipsius’s controversy with the humanist Coornhert over the role of religion within the state may also have had an effect on his decision.72 It is true, however, that he was also under a great deal of pressure from Catholic intellectuals, most notably Levinus Torrentius (Lieven Van der Beke, 1525–95, Bishop of Antwerp) and the Jesuit scholar Martin Delrio (1551–1608).73 Coornhert’s 70

ile vol. ii, 87 01 03 C; 87 10 25; 86 10 07. See also J.H. Waszink, ‘Virtuous Deception: The Politica and the Wars in the Low Countries and France, 1559–1589’, in G. Tournoy, et al. (eds), Iustus Lipsius Europae Lumen et Columen: Proceedings of the International Colloquium, Leuven 17–19 September 1997 (Leuven: Leuven up, 1999), 248–267, on 255. 71 Parker, Dutch Revolt, 261–221; cf. also Landtsheer, ‘Pius Lipsius or Lipsius Proteus?’ 321 and ile vol. ii, 86 04 05. 72 See Morford, Stoics and Neostoics, 106, 111, and 117; Landtsheer, ‘Pius Lipsius or Lipsius Proteus?’ 328. Cf. Franciscus Raphelengius’s view, as cited in Güldner, Toleranz-Problem,­ 117. For Coornhert (Dirk Volckertzoon Coornhert, 1522–90) see G. Voogt, Constraint on Trial: Dirck Volckertsz Coornhert and Religious Freedom (Kirksville: Truman State up, 2000); see also the older J. Lecler, Toleration and the Reformation, trans. T.L. Westow, 2 vols. (London: Longman, 1960): vol. 2, 273–286 and Güldner, Toleranz-Problem, 65–80. 73 Morford, Stoics and Neostoics, 90 and 119; cf. ile vol. ii, 84 04 05 T.

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criticisms against the Politica were focused on the crucial issue of toleration, one that was debated intensely in the new Dutch republic.74 Lipsius’s position in the Calvinist University of Leiden was made more vulnerable by Coornhert’s challenges to his religious affiliations and the insinuations that he was, in fact, supporting the Spanish side with his writings. In 1591 Lipsius left Leiden for Germany, never to return. At Mainz, and on his way to the Spanish Netherlands, he made peace with the Jesuits.75 Upon his return to the Catholic fold, he renounced his stay in the land of the ‘heretics’, asserted that he had been ‘compelled to stay there’ and that he had remained a true Catholic throughout his years in the North.76 The unpredictability of his decision is highlighted by the surprise of the Leiden authorities and the reaction of his friends who reproached him for his actions.77 Lipsius succeeded in obtaining a first pardon from Alessandro Farnese, Duke of Parma and governor-general of the Spanish Netherlands (1545–92), and then from Philip ii (r. 1556–98) himself. Lipsius’s fame made several Catholic princes claim his services after his return to the Catholic world, which he declined, possibly in an attempt to maintain some form of independence.78 In 1592 he returned to Louvain, as professor of History and Latin Literature at the University. Torrentius and the Catholic authorities were instrumental in ensuring him a chair there as they recognised that he would be influential in restoring some of its former glory to a university in poor state.79 74 75 76

77 78

79

See M. Van Gelderen, The Political Thought of the Dutch Revolt 1555–1590 (Cambridge: cup, 1992), esp. Ch. 6. Landtsheer, Pius Lipsius or Lipsius Proteus?’ 333. Cf. the letter (from Mainz) to Delrio, 14 April 1591, ile vol. iv, 91 04 14 and the letter certifying his orthodoxy written by the rector of the College of Liège, Johannes a Campis as cited in Landtsheer, ‘Pius Lipsius or Lipsius Proteus?’, 339; Vita, Opera Omnia, vol. i, lv. ile vol. iv, 91 07 02 L1; 9107 02 L2; 91 07 03, as cited in Landtsheer, Pius Lipsius or Lipsius Proteus?’ 337. Lipsius had been approached by the Duke William of Bavaria, his brother Ernest, the Prince-Bishop of Cologne, the Bishops of Salzburg, Würzburg and Breslau, Pope Clement viii, the Cardinal Ascanio Colonna, Bishop Gabriele Paleotti (later Archbishop of Bologna), Federico Borromeo, Francesco Sforza, Henri iv of France, the cities of Padua and Bologna, Duke Ferdinand i (de’Medici) of Tuscany, and others. Vita, Opera Omnia vol. i, lv–lvi; Kluyskens, ‘Justus Lipsius and the Jesuits’, 250. For the invitation to the university of Padua see A. Nuovo, ‘The Creation and Dispersal of the Library of Gian Vincenzo Pinelli’, in Books on the Move: tracking copies through collections and the book trade, ed. G. Mandelbrote et als (New Castle, Delaware and London: Oak Knoll Press and The British Library, 2007) 39–68, esp. 45–46 and 61, n. 20. Landtsheer, Pius Lipsius or Lipsius Proteus?’, 339–341; Morford, Stoics and Neostoics, ­122–124; Kluyskens, ‘Justus Lipsius and the Jesuits’, 251.

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After his return to the South Lipsius was both challenged and gratified. First, he was disillusioned to be informed that the Politica would be placed on the Index­of prohibited books. Cardinal Robert Bellarmine (1542–1621) from his position as censor for the Index informed Lipsius about the fact and he and Francesco Benci (1542–94) advised on some modifications on the text in order to avoid the censure.80 The incident with the Index lasted three years and caused him aversion together with great fear about being silenced or punished by the Catholic Church.81 Conversely, in 1594 he acquired his greatest recognition by receiving the rank of Historiographicus Regius by Philip ii, which brought a great honour and an annuity of 1,000 florins to the Flemish scholar. In 1598 he completed his Admiranda sive De Magnitudine Romana which he dedicated to Archduke Albert vii of Austria (1559–1621), newly married to Philip’s daughter Infanta Isabella (1566–1633).82 Lipsius appears to have had close ties with the court in Brussels, as he presented the book to Albert himself and the Archdukes attended one of his lectures in November 1599.83 While Lipsius had acquired his greatest fame in the 1580s, he seems to have been living a relatively comfortable life in Louvain, devoting his time to study and the instruction of his contubernium, teaching a number of young pupils from influential families, such as Philip Rubens (1574–1611), brother of the artist.84 The scholar cut all ties with the Northern provinces, except for Scaliger (1540–1609), and a couple of others. Scholars debate the extent to which Lipsius may or may have not lost his intellectual freedom and rigour in Louvain; yet Lipsius’s time there was quite productive, where he composed, among 80

81 82

83 84

Index des Livres Interdits, vol. ix: Index de Rome 1590, 1593, 1596, 420–421. See his letters to Benci, Baronio and Bellarmine between May and August 1593: ile vol. vi, 93 05 13; 93 05 30 bar; 93 05 30 bel; 93 05 30 ben; 93 07 31 bar; 93 07 31 ben; Güldner, Toleranz-Problem, 119–128 and 170–174; see also P. Godman, The Saint as Censor. Robert Bellarmine between Inquisition and Index (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 209–211 and 301–303 for the relevant documents from the Congregation of the Index and J. Waszink’s thorough analysis in his edition of the Politica: Six Books of Politics or Political. Instruction Justus Lipsius (Assen: Van Gorcum, 2004), 173–192. Vita, Opera Omnia, vol. i, lxiii; Morford, Stoics and Neostoics, 101–102; Kluyskens, ‘Justus Lipsius and the Jesuits’, 256–257. Admiranda, sive de magnitudine Romana libri quattuor (Antwerp: ex officina Plantiniana apud Jan I Moretus, 1598), ustc 415625; ile vol. xiii, 98 01 02; 98 01 03; 98 01 05; 98 03 16 D; 98 03 27 B; 98 03 27 M; 98 03 27 S. Vita, Opera Omnia, vol. i, lvi; ile vol. xiii, 98 02 04; 98 03 01 A; 98 09 24; 98 10 28; 98 04 22 D. Deneire, ‘The Correspondence of Justus Lipsius: 1598’, 73–78; Morford, Stoics and Neostoics, Ch. 2.

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other works, the Monita et exempla Politica (1605).85 He also produced a number of Christian apologetics which scholars interpret as an attempt by Lipsius to prove the sincerity of his faith; they were greeted with scorn and criticism from Catholics as well as Protestants.86 Lipsius also turned to classical sources, completing the great edition of Seneca’s works (1604), a great printing success, and two volumes on Stoic philosophy: the Manuductio ad Stoicam Philosophiam on Stoic ethics and the Philosophia Stoicorum on Stoic physics (both published in 1604). Lipsius finally died in March 1606. Lipsius had acquired great fame during his life; he was one of the few contemporary authors who enjoyed popularity similar to that of the classics. His edition of Tacitus remained the standard for centuries while his long awaited edition of Seneca was pre-ordered and sold out very quickly.87 He was also part of a wider intellectual network of scholars, in frequent contact with a number of famous men of his time.88 Lipsius’s flights and the associated doctrinal alignments attracted strong criticism from various sides – though he was not necessarily an exceptional case in crossing confessional boundaries – or not choosing sides, as the following quotation indicates: ‘why would I adhere any longer to a faction? Especially while it has never been in my character … to side with this or with that faction or camp’.89 His fame, however, attracted much 85

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Monita et Exampla Politica. Libri Duo, qui Virtutes et Vitia Principum spectant (Antwerp: officina Plantiniana, 1605); ile vol. xi, 98 11 20; Vita, Opera Omnia, vol. i, lxiii–lxiv. Cf. the recent edition of the Monita by M. Janssens, ‘Collecting Historcal Examples for the Prince. Justus Lipsius’ Monita et Exempla Politica (1605): Edition, Translation, Commentary and Introductory Study of an Early Modern Mirror-for-Princes’, unpublished PhD dissertation (Catholic University of Leuven, 2009). De cruce libri tres ad sacram profanamque historiam utiles (Antwerp: ex officina Plantiniana apud vid. Plantin & Jan I Moretus, 1593), ustc 406925, Diva Virgo Hallensis. Beneficia eius et miracula fide atque ordine descripta. (Antwerp: officina Plantiniana, apud Jan Moretus, 1605). D. Imhof, ‘From School Books to Luxurious Editions of Classical Authors: the Antwerp publisher Jan Moretus i’, paper presented at the 32nd Annual Conference on Book Trade History, The Book Trade and the Classical World from the 16th to the 19th Century (Warburg Institute, 26–27 November 2010). J. de Landtsheer et als (eds) Justus Lipsius (1547–1606). Een geleerde en zijn Europese netwerk. Supplementa Humanistica Lovaniensia xxi (Leuven: Leuven up: 2006). ile vol. iv, 91 04 28 mo, as cited in Landtsheer, Pius Lipsius or Lipsius Proteus?’, 334. For similar cases see J. Polmann, Religious Choice in the Dutch Repulic: The Reformation of Arnoldus Buchelius (1565–1641) (Manchester and New York: Manchester up, 1999); K.P. Luria, Sacred Boundaries. Religious Coexistence and Conflict in Early Modern France (Washington dc: The Catholic University of America Press, 2005); C. Scott Dixon et als (eds), Living with Religious Diversity in Early Modern Europe (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2009); and others.

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more interest than other similar examples. Yet it is clear that the public affliction and political instability were sources of anxiety for Lipsius, associated with his need to be free to pursue scholarship. At the end of his life, the prospect of peace appeared possible.

Interlude: Truce

At the end of the lives of the two authors, Lipsius and Charron, the wars that had beleaguered both so much looked as if they had come to an end. Both exhaustion and expediency brought one by one the major conflicts of the second half of the sixteenth century to an end. Philip ii and Henri iv signed the Peace of Vervins in 1598 and with the accession of James vi and i, a long-negotiated peace between England and Spain was signed in 1604. In the Low Countries, the bloody contention with Spain that had lasted for five decades (1566–1609) came to a halt in 1609 with the Twelve Years’ Truce that confirmed the division of the Low Countries along a confessional line. It was curious conjuncture that this was also the point when a monarch with European-wide ecumenical intentions, the Scottish James vi, had stepped onto the stage. After 1603 James presented himself as a promising major European player, aiming to act as a mediating force between the Catholic and Protestant states of Continental Europe.90 This was not the first time that hopes like these were raised at the succession of a monarch; the religious affiliation of Henri iv had also been considered as a source of hope for the reconciliation of Christians in the 1580s and 1590s.91 Thus the ceasefire during the first two decades of the seventeenth century marked a brief moment where this possibility seemed to be gaining another momentum and a number of political and intellectual figures were presented with the possibility that the truce could lead to a more permanent peace. This peace, according to old and new discussions, would be based on compromise either on theological or political grounds, or on the point of the reform of the ecclesiastical discipline. Figures who at different points in time advocated eirenicism such as Martin Bucer (1491–1551), Georg Cassander 90 91

W.B. Patterson, King James vi and i and the Reunion of Christendom (Cambridge: cup, 1997). Pierre La Primaudaye, Advis sur la necessité du concile et sur la forme de le rendre legitime et libre pour l’union chrestienne. A Messieurs de l’assemblée que le Roy conuoqué sur la restauration de l’Estat ([Saumur]: s.n., 1591); ustc 18065; A. Tallon, ‘Henri iv and the Papacy after the League’ in E. Nelson and A. Forestall (eds), Politics and Religion in Early Bourbon France (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), 26.

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(1513–66), Philippe du Plessis-Mornay, François Du Jon, Jacques-Auguste de Thou (1553–1617), Jean Hotman (de Villers-St-Paul, 1552–1636), Marcantonio de Dominis, Archbishop of Spalato (1560–1624), Hugo Grotius (1583–1645), and others, promoted a reconciliation which would be founded on the shared points between all Christian confessions and the need of reform of ecclesiastical abuses, playing down points of friction and differences in rituals and ceremonies. Some parties argued that differences between religious confessions were subordinate to religious peace and the essentials of Christian faith: the memorable ‘L’excommunié ne cesse pas d’estre citoyen’ that Michel de l’Hôpital (1507–73) uttered in 1562.92 In efforts such as Regensburg (Colloquy of Ratisbon, 1541) and the Colloquy of Poissy (1561), religious figures tried to listen to their opponents’ views. After the breakdown of communication at Regensburg and the abortive reconciliation attempt at Trent, some turned to reconciliation of a more strongly political flavour, in the guise of the Peace of Augsburg and the repeated attempts at pacification in France. Political moderates supported a tolerant stance which promoted peaceful diplomatic relations between states and regulated the religious situation within individual countries, in part as a means of controlling dissent. This would facilitate the double end of internal pacification within troubled regions such as France, England, and the Low Countries while at the same time promoting peace within the continent. Solutions comprising of different variations of confessional synthesis within a state could serve as examples in the wider European arena where confessions were still in a state of flux. Conversely, while confessional boundaries remained blurred, national churches could attempt syntheses of varying degrees of coherence.93 From the point of view of European erudites, peace on either of these two grounds would be an ideal settlement. The belligerent state of European affairs was disruptive to the pursuit of humanist studies. A number of scholars had either retreated or advocated retreat to a contemplative life, disillusioned with the harsh realities of the active. They sought solace and respite in the Stoic notions of constancy, as evidenced by the publication and circulation of works on this topic, and the popularity of Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius, and Seneca in this period.94 At the same time, their preoccupation with classical scholarship 92

Cited in M.C. Smith, ‘Early French Advocates of Religious Freedom’, Sixteenth Century Journal 25 (1994), 29–51: 37. 93 L. Racaut and A. Ryrie, ‘Introduction: Between Coercion and Persuasion’ in idem (eds) Moderate Voices in the European Reformation (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005), 5. 94 The ustc indicates that Epictetus was published 64 times between 1516 and 1600; Marcus Aurelius 8 times between 1537 and 1600, while the texts of Seneca appear in 481 cases,

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and the Church Fathers rendered their interests and language of communication, international and supra confessional. Men of letters thus continued their intellectual exchanges with scholars throughout Europe often irrespectively of religious differences. Their understanding of classical sources also made them aware of alternative moral paradigms, which were proven to be viable and went beyond the disputes over points of Christian doctrine. A number of prominent individuals of this heterogeneous category of scholars were indeed in positions from which they could act as advisers to political figures promoting a via media, that would allow for greater understanding and coexistence. As the confessional lines in Europe were in a continuous state of change and as religious communities lived in close proximity in more or less tolerable terms, the idea of a middle way was not that incongruous with some more or less accepted realities of coexistence – the practice of coexistence and moderation.95 All four authors discussed in this study can be located on different points of this wide spectrum of religious fluidity and potential compromise. Arguments for their positions could be found in different sources and could take different forms, as each thinker asserted a different ‘brand and flavour of moderation’. Charron and Lipsius thus drew on classical sources, Sarpi approached the issue from a political point of view based on historical analysis, while James combined a theological eirenicism with an ideology of political pacifism. Of course, as we have been cautioned, ‘moderate’ voices were neither in agreement nor did they articulate similar things, and while a great number of moderates wanted peace and unity, everyone wanted it on their own terms and principles. Eirenicism and moderation were symptomatic of the state of

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starting as early as 1470. Cicero’s Paradoxa Stoicorum started being published in 1465 and were printed 139 times until the end of the sixteenth century. Finally, the two major popularisers of Stoicism, Guillaume Du Vair (1556–1621) and Justus Lipsius are also presented well: Du Vair’s De la constance et consolation és calamitez publiques appeared 7 times between 1594 and 1597; his La philosophie morale des Stoïques appeared 7 times between 1585 and 1600 and his De la saincte philosophie was printed 12 times between 1587 and 1600. Lipsius’s Constantia (his only Stoic work before his edition of Seneca and his manual on Stoic philosophy appeared) was published 41 times in various languages and places between 1584 and 1600. In this list, of course, I am not including the essays of Montaigne, another major source for stoic reflection in the late sixteenth- and early seventeenth century. On the subject of the stoic revival cf. indicatively L. Zanta, La Renaissance du Stoicisme au XVIe siècle (Paris: Honoré Champion, 1914); J. Lagrée (ed.), Le Stoïcisme aux XVIe et XVIIe siècles. Actes du Colloque cerphi (4–5 juin 1993) (Caen: Université de Caen, 1994) and M.P.O. Morford, Stoics and Neostoics, Rubens and the Circle of Lipsius. (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton up, 1991). Dixon et als, Living with Religious Diversity.

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indecision prevalent in post-Reformation Europe and in many ways they were defined more by the resolution to avoid violent confrontations than by any clear or coherent ideological stances.96 The aspirations for a ‘middle’ ground during the first two decades of the seventeenth century were not to be fulfilled, however. The illusion of stability that the peacemaking of the beginning of the seventeenth century had given was quickly shattered by the religious overtone of the assassination of the French King (1610). The cautious foreign policy of Henri iv, moreover, had not concealed the fact that the period since the Edict of Pacification was a period of recuperation and preparation: while continuing his aid to the Dutch in an effort to weaken Spain, on the eve of his death, Henri was also preparing to defend militarily the Duchy of Jülich-Cleves against Habsburg forces. The temporary nature of the Twelve Years’ truce, moreover, left no delusions about the stability of the situation in the Low Countries. The Franco-Dutch and Anglo-Dutch defensive leagues (1608) were clear signs of preparation and polarisation. The state of affairs in Britain was far from stable either: James vi’s accession to the throne of Elizabeth may have initially settled the succession problem but it created a great number of others. For James’s Catholic subjects the attempt of 1605 against his life and his Parliament was their last hope of returning the country to the bosom of Rome. In the Italian peninsula relations between the Venetian Republic and Rome underwent serious tensions during the papacy of the not-exactly-peace-loving Pope Paul v (Borghese, 1605–21), with the latter’s interdiction against the Serenissima (1606–07). For a while, it seemed as if the confessional differences would be transcended by a unified front of ‘national’ churches and secular powers against a common Roman enemy.97 Had things developed differently, the opposing sides at a possible outbreak of conflict would not be Catholic and Protestant, but Papal against anti-Papal forces. But confessional divisions ran deep. Interrelated, unresolved issues caused a widespread uneasiness, and some awareness that tension was building for a later clash. This was confirmed with the situation that arose out of political and religious fissures within the Empire, which exposed problems not entirely settled with the Peace of 1555. Two pressure groups appeared within the Empire: the one was the 96 97

Racaut and Ryrie, ‘Introduction: Between Coercion and Persuasion’. Cf. J.H.M. Salmon, ‘James i, the Oath of Allegiance, the Venetian Interdict, and the reappearance of French Ultramontanism’ in J.H. Burns (ed.), Cambridge History of Political Thought 1450–1700, (Cambridge: cup, 1991), 247–253; also ‘Gallicanism and Anglicanism in the Age of Counter-Reformation’ in idem, Renaissance and Revolt, Essays in the Intellectual and Social history of Early Modern France (Cambridge: cup, 1987).

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Evangelical Union, formed in 1608 under the leadership of the Elector of the Palatinate which quickly sought the protection of Henri iv. The following year Catholic States formed the Catholic League which was led by Maximilian of Bavaria (1573–1651) and was placed under the patronage of Philip iii of Spain (1578–1621). The Jülich-Cleves succession crisis made things worse. The issue broke out when in 1609 William, the Catholic duke of Jülich-Cleves died without a legitimate heir. Due to the Duchy’s crucially strategic location, the Emperor Rudolf ii (1552–1612) and Henri iv of France were keen that the territory would be safeguarded from falling into the enemy sphere of influence. And if the death of the French King averted a wider scale confrontation, the Bohemian crisis did not. Having ‘deposed’ Ferdinand from the title of the King of Bohemia as a result of his religious policies in the area, Bohemian Protestant nobles offered the title to Frederick v of the Palatinate (1596–1632). As the head of the Evangelical Union since 1609 and being the son in law of James i (he had married Elizabeth Stuart in 1612) Ferdinand constituted a symbol for the Protestant cause in Europe. When Spanish Habsburg forces invaded his homelands therefore, the attack was perceived as an assault on the face of Protestantism in Europe and could not be left unanswered. The Bohemian conflict thus eventually developed into a wider one, and involved almost the whole of Europe in one way or another, for thirty years. Finally, by 1618 the situation in the Netherlands shattered any remaining hopes for pacification and confirmed the hardening of theologically defined confessional lines within the republic. In this context, the Synod of Dort was convened in 1618 in order to settle on the controversy and perhaps reach an agreement over the question of Arminianism. The Remonstrants, supporters of the doctrines of the Dutch theologian Jacobus Arminius (1560–1609) were accused of siding with Spain due to doctrinal parallels on the issue of the role of grace and predestination. The Synod resolved against them and condemned their leader Johan van Oldenbarnevelt (1547–1619) to death and Hugo Grotius to life in prison. This act was taken as confirmation of the authority of Maurice of Nassau (1567–1625) and a victory for the Calivinist orthodoxy. In the face of uncertainty and with the possibility of peace, thinkers active during the 1610s deemed that there were parallels to be drawn between events of their age and previous opportunities for conciliation, such as those during the critical decade of the 1560s. Pacification then had been promoted by national initiatives and against Papal pretensions. The relative peace and the renewed universal claims from Rome could bring together powers from across the confessional divide, who would resolve (on) their own internal divisions by accommodating conflicting practices and finding a common ground between differing doctrines. In any case, no one could know for certain whether this

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interval ‘would lead to a gradual amelioration of tensions, a renewed outbreak of conflict or, in the latter case, precisely what the alignment of forces might be’. Therefore, in line with necessary preparations for a variety of contingencies, policies remained somewhat fluid.98 Thus it was relevant to look back to the years of similar uncertainty when a search for common ground had been enacted, during the Council of Trent and the National Synods of France. This is evidenced by the renewed interest in the Council, and by the reprinting of a number of important works on Gallican positions, and on the role of the ecclesiastical council vis-à-vis that of the Pope.99 Living through these times of anxiety and apprehension of what was to come, and from the Venetian lagoon a Servite friar was actively seeking to underline the parallels between his age and that of the middle of the sixteenth century as a way of providing instruction for current events. He was also trying to play a part in the creation of a supra-confessional united front between a number of anti-Papal forces (Protestant and Catholic, Gallican and Anglican), to withstand what he saw as the Roman aspiration to a universal secular hegemony against any precepts of true Christianity. For him, the answer to most of the problems was the administration of the Church by the lay authorities.

The View from Venice: Sarpi’s Life

Paolo Sarpi (1552–1623) was a prominent figure within Venice and the Italian peninsula long before he assumed the international role of spokesman for the Venetian Republic. The main source we have for Sarpi’s early life is the biography by Fulgenzio Micanzio (1570–1654), one of his closest friends and associates.100 Without doubt, the most significant event in the Friar’s life was 98

M. Smuts, ‘The Making of Rex Pacificus: James vi and i and the Problem of Peace in an Age of Religious War’ in D. Fischlin and M. Fortier (eds), Royal Subjects. Essays on the Writings of James vi and i (Detroit: Wayne State up, 2002) 371–387: 382. 99 See Jacques Gillot’s edition of Traictez de droits et libertez de l’Église gallicane (Paris: Pierre Chevalier, 1609) which reproduced Pierre Pithou’s older text Les Libertez de l’Église Gallicane (Paris: Mamert Patisson, 1594), ustc 7525 (and other editions in Paris and Lyon in the same year); cited in A. Tallon, ‘National Church, State Church and Universal Church: The Gallican Dilemma in Sixteenth-century France’ in Racaut and Riley, Moderate Voices, 104–121: 104. 100 Vita del Padre Paolo de l’Ordine de’ Servi e Teologo della Serenissima Republica di Venezia (Leiden, 1646). As the Vita is the only source we have for Sarpi’s early life, it is difficult to establish its reliability; it appears, however, to be in agreement with other sources for Sarpi’s later years. As I was unable to consult a copy of the Italian version, references are

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his appointment as state theologian to the Venetian Republic, only one month before the Interdict of Pope Paul v – and his subsequent conduct during this struggle. Sarpi himself regarded this event as a turning point in his career, and an abrupt change from the contemplative to the active life, though as a highranking member of his order, the Servite friars (Servants of Mary), he must have had a more prominent role in public affairs than this assertion would have it.101 Three inter-related elements are of great significance for a consideration of Sarpi’s life. The first is his association with Augustinian theology through the Servites. Second, are his links with surviving reformers, some of whom had taken part in the Council of Trent. Third, come his profound distrust of Rome that made him seek the company of Protestants, Gallicans, Anglicans and eirenicists alike. Sarpi was born in 1552, during the second session of the Council of Trent; his father was a merchant, who died while Sarpi was still a child. The 1550s were a tumultuous decade indeed – it marked the accession of the Catholic Mary in England (1553), her marriage to Prince Philip of Spain and another violent reversal of fortune with the accession of Elizabeth i (1558), echoes of which reverberated throughout Italy.102 In the Empire, Charles v saw the ultimate defeat of his attempts to restore the Catholic faith and his bitter retirement into monastic life, and France’s Henri ii siding with Protestants, only to be fatefully wounded and leave the Crown at a very vulnerable state, open to subversion from competing Catholic and Huguenot factions. Henri ii had been celebrating the signing of the Cateau-Cambrésis Treaty with Spain (1559), which ended the decade-long Italian wars, battles of which have been commemorated by Vasari. The wars confirmed the direct (Milan, Naples, Sicily) and indirect (Tuscany, Genoa) Spanish hegemony over the Italian states, leaving the Republic of Venice as the almost single independent state on the peninsula. The Roman See, also under Habsburg influence, saw the rapid succession of the conciliatory Trent protagonists of Julius iii (del Monte, 1487–1555), the short-lived Marcellus ii (Cervini, 1501–55) to the other extreme of a Pope that was Paul iv to the English translation of his life, Fulgenzio Micanzio, The Life of the Most Learned Father Paul, of the Order of the Servie. Councellour of State to the Most Serene Republicke of Venice and Authour of the History of the Councell of Trent. (London: for Humphrey Moseley and Richard Martin, 1651). 101 Micanzio, Life, 85–86. Cf. also W.J. Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense of Republican Liberty. Renaissance Values in the Age of the Counter Reformation. (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1968), 362. 102 E. Michelson, ‘An Italian explains the English Reformation (with God’s help)’ in eadem et al. (eds) From Icons to Eternity: Studies in Religious and Cultural History in honor of Carlos M.N. Eire (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2012).

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(Caraffa, 1476–1559). The ecclesiastical and lay protagonists of the Catholic side in this period also represented different versions of Catholic Reform, echoes of which Sarpi encountered throughout his life. Sarpi was educated by his uncle and by the Servite Father Gian Maria Capella of Cremona, under whose influence probably he entered the Augustinian Order of the Servants of Mary at the age of fourteen.103 At eighteen the bishop of Mantua made him a reader in canon law and positive theology (1570). In Mantua he met Camillo Olivo (1510–73), one of the many attendees of Trent (concluded about eight years earlier) who Sarpi would encounter throughout his life. Olivo had been secretary to one of the legates at the Council, Cardinal Ercole Gonzaga (1505–63).104 While war was menacing in France and the Low Countries, Sarpi was ordained as priest at twenty-two (1574) and soon after moved to Milan. The move was dictated by the fact that he had been recruited by one of the leading promoters of the Catholic Reformation, the Archbishop Carlo Borromeo (1538–84).105 Sarpi also took a doctorate at Padua in 1578, while the next year he became Provincial of his Order in Venice (1579).106 While holding this position, he was chosen as one of three Servite scholars to revise the constitution and rule of the Order. For this task Sarpi spent several months in Rome studying the decrees of Trent.107 During his stay in Rome it seems that he came in contact with a number of surviving reformers which probably made him reflect upon the Church’s reforming objectives vis-à-vis the Council.108 His next promotion, as Procurator-General of his Order, came during the same year as the League was revolting against Henri of Navarre in France. His position required that he spent another three years in Rome. This time he formed a friendship with the Jesuit Robert Bellarmine (1542–1621) – ironically, since the two later became rivals in print. The latter had recently returned from the contested Louvain and was in the process of compiling his monumental work on polemical theology and dogmatic disputations, the celebrated Disputationes de controversiis christianae fidei.109 Sarpi also met Cardinal Castagna in Rome, the later Pope Urban vii (1590), who had taken part at the second phase of the Council at Trent 103 Micanzio, Life, 6. 104 Micanzio, Life, 10–11. 105 Micanzio, Life, 18. 106 Micanzio, Life, 22–23. 107 Micanzio, Life, 25–26. 108 S. Andretta, ‘Sarpi e Roma’, in M. Viallon (ed.), Paolo Sarpi. Politique et religion en Europe (Paris: Classiques Garnier, 2010), 139–162. 109 Disputationes de controversiis christianae fidei (Ingolstadt: David & Adam Sartorius, 1581–93).

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(1562–3) as well, as president of several commissions.110 During that time Sarpi formed an opinion concerning the extent of corruption at the Papal Court that convinced him that reform would not come from the ‘capita’ but from the members of the Church, under the guidance of the sword, that is to say the lay authorities.111 Back in Venice Sarpi taught philosophy and theology in the city’s Servite convent. He also frequented the house of Andrea Morosini (1558–1618), the future historian of Venice, as well as the famous Nave d’Oro in the Mercerie, both places of vigorous intellectual exchange, which hosted debates on a number of current issues. It was in these circles that Sarpi learned of the situation in France during the religious wars, a topic he was very interested in, and met with other famous thinkers of his time:112 At this time the civil wars in France flam’d out and the father was pleas’d to heare such as could discourse of them. And that pleasure continued with him to his lives end, to heare and understand anything of the state of the world and how things were carried… And for as much as the golden ship in the merchants street there used to meet a sort of gallant and virtuous gentlemen to recount their Intelligences, one with another … But his greatest pleasure was to discourse with those that had beene abroad, & would give him a true relation of coutryes, of customes, of people, & of religions…. Sarpi’s acquaintances and network were indeed wide-ranging and crossed the confessional boundaries; like most scholars of his time, he was in close communication with his intellectual circle, exchanging views and information about contemporary events, books and texts. Micanzio suggests that Sarpi had also been consulted on the major question of the efficacy of grace, the famous controversy de auxiliis. As an Augustinian friar, his conclusions on the issue emphasised the importance of grace in man’s salvation.113 It also seems that Rome twice refused him a bishopric, either on the basis of personal rivalries or because of his suspect beliefs, and it is of course possible that this rejection may have affected his attitude to the Curia.114 110 Micanzio, Life, 34. 111 Micanzio, Life, 37–38, 58–59; Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense, 361. 112 Micanzio, Life, 50–51; Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense, 360. 113 Micanzio, Life, 81–82. 114 Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense, 361.

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The International Stage: The Venetian Interdict (1606–07) and the Controversy over the Oath of Allegiance (1605–07), Sarpi and James vi and i

Sarpi’s combination of knowledge on theological and legal matters was the reason behind his appointment as consultore teologico-canonico on the eve of the Interdict crisis, a defining moment in his career.115 Between April 1606-April 1607, as the spokesman for the defence of Venice against the Papacy, Sarpi produced numerous pamphlets and engaged in a series of debates, for the most part against his former friend, Cardinal Bellarmine. There was nothing particularly novel about the causes of the Venetian Interdict: the Republic’s rhetoric of sovereignty and independence in the management of ecclesiastical affairs had long been the object of the Papacy’s discontent, and censures against the Serenissima had occurred twice before in the past, under Sixtus iv (1482) and by Julius ii (1509).116 The reasons alleged referred to issues of Church property rights and ecclesiastical jurisdiction.117 The Bull of Interdict and Excommunication of Paul v was issued on the 17th of April 1606, to which the Serenis­ sima responded with an edict pronouncing the Bull to be null and void.118 115 Micanzio, Life, 85–87; Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense, 358, 362–363; D. Wootton, Paolo Sarpi: Between Renaissance and Enlightenment (Cambridge: cup, 1983), 10. 116 Wootton, Paolo Sarpi, 48. For the Interdict see the relevant letters by Wotton in Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton, ed. Logan Pearsall-Smith, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1907), vol. i, 340–392; Calendar of State Papers: Venetian, ed. Horatio F. Brown (London: Longman Green, 1900–04), vols. 10–11 as well as P. Pirri (ed.), L’Interdetto di Venezia del 1606 e I gesuiti (Rome: Institutum Historicum S.I., 1959). For secondary accounts Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense, esp. 339–416; Wootton, Paolo Sarpi, 48–76; Gaetano and Luisa Cozzi, ‘Introduction’ in idem (eds) Opere (Milan: Ricciardi, 1969); Gaetano Cozzi, Paolo Sarpi tra Venezia e l’Europa (Turin: Einaudi, 1979), as well as A.D. Wright, ‘Why the Venetian Interdict?’ English Historical Review 89 (1974), 534–550; idem, ‘The Venetian view of Church and State: Catholic Erastianism?’ Studi Secenteschi 19 (1978), 75–106; and ‘Republican Tradition and the Maintenance of ‘National’ Religious Traditions in Venice’, Renaissance Studies 10 (1996), 405–416. See also F. Oakley, ‘Complexities of Context: Gerson, Bellarmine, Sarpi, Richer, and the Venetian Interdict of 1606–1607’, Catholic Historical Review 82 (1996), 369–396 on ideological complexities. F. de Vivo, Information and Communication in Venice. Rethinking Early Modern Politics (Oxford: oup, 2007), Chs. 5 and 6 on the Interdict as a war on communication. S. Tutino examines issues behind the Interdict and Bellarmine’s role in the controversy in Empire of Souls. Robert Bellarmine and the Christian Commonwealth (Oxford: oup, 2010), Ch. 3. 117 Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense, 339. 118 Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense, . 372–373. This edict also led to the famous expulsion of the Jesuits from Venice; see ibid., 374–375, 384–387.

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It soon became quite clear that the situation had reached an impasse, as neither party would concede. The stalemate was only resolved with the mediation of France, through Cardinal Joyeusse (1562–1615). Henri iv was trying to keep on the Papacy’s good side – and France traditionally had good relations with Venice.119 The Papal interdicts were removed and Venice revoked the relevant edict; the laws, however, that had led to the Interdict in the first place, were not withdrawn and the Republic did not publicly admit absolution from the Papal excommunication.120 Historians have read into the Venetian Interdict a wider importance, seen in the context of a series of contests between the Pope and temporal powers during the critical years of 1605–20, such as the major controversy, over King James vi and i’s attempt to establish an Oath of Allegiance (1606–07).121 In this light, Pope Paul v has been credited with renewing claims to interference in temporal affairs, associated with the rhetoric of ‘indirect power’ in temporal affairs, vigorously pronounced in the writings of Bellarmine.122 The Interdict crisis attracted, indeed, a European-wide attention, coinciding, as it did, with the controversy over the Oath of Allegiance in the British Isles. Both powers addressed a European audience during their struggle with the Pope, in an attempt to attract support.123 The twelve or so months of crisis generated a deluge of pamphlet and other literature on the matter of sovereignty and jurisdiction from the two conflicting sides, Venice and the Papacy. According to the stance adopted by the Republic and as expressed in Sarpi’s texts, the two authorities, namely the lay and the ecclesiastical could not, and ought not, to 119 Cf. Henri iii’s entry to Venice in 1574, on his way to France from Poland: M. Mc Gowan, ‘Festivals and the Arts in Henri iii’s journey from Poland to France (1574)’ in J.R. Mulryne et als (eds), Europa Triumphans: Court and Civic Festivals in Early Modern Europe (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), 122–130 and La reception du Roy par l’Empereur Maximilian & l’Archiduc Ferdinand & les Venetiens (Paris: Denis du Pré, 1574); Tallon, ‘Henri iv and the Papacy after the League’, 21, 34–35. 120 Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense, 408, 412–413. 121 Salmon and Oakley have a number of penetrating essays on this: see indicative Salmon, ‘Gallicanism and Anglicanism in the Age of Counter-Reformation’, op cit.; Oakley, ‘Constance, Basel, and the two Pisas: The Conciliarist Legacy in 16th and 17th cent. England, Annuarium Historiae Conciliarum 26 (1994), 87–118 and ‘Complexities of Context’, op cit. 122 Cf. J.C. Murray, ‘St. Robert Bellarmine on the Indirect Power’, Theological Studies ix (1948), 491–535. For a more recent discussion on potestas indirecta see H. Höpfl, Jesuit Political Thought. The Society of Jesus and the State, c. 1540–1630 (Cambridge: cup, 2004), 345–365; Tutino, Empire of Souls, esp. Ch. 1. 123 Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense, 393–394 and 370; Oakley, ‘Complexities of Context’; Vivo, Information and Communication, Ch. 5.

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interfere in the province of the other, and therefore Rome’s interference was an infringement upon the Republic’s sovereignty.124 This position was further broadcast during the famous Corpus Christi procession of 1606 where it was converted into a powerful public statement on behalf of Venice.125 The controversy over the Oath of Allegiance featured parallel problems and arguments.126 By taking the Oath, the subjects of the English Crown denied that the Pope had any authority to depose the King or to dispose of any of his kingdoms or dominions.127 Opposing this, Pope Paul v wrote a letter to the Archpriest George Blackwell (1545–1613), the head of the Catholic community in England since 1598, instructing him not to take the Oath (September 1606).128 King James considered this as an outright interference in his jurisdiction.129 As Blackwell had refrained from circulating the first Papal letter, a 124 Cf. Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense, 400, and Sarpi’s consulto of 1611, as cited in ibid., 490. 125 In the procession, there was a series of representations which dramatised the Venetian cause against the Pope; these included numerous tableaux bearing scenes and mottos that proclaimed the distinctions between sacred and secular authority; Wotton, Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton, vol. i, 350, Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense, 389–390 and E. Muir, ‘Images of Power: Art and Pageantry in Renaissance Venice’, American Historical Review 84 (1979), 48–49. 126 For accounts of the imposition of the Oath and the subsequent controversy see the Introduction in C.H. McIlwain, (ed.), The Political Works of James i (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard up, 1918); J.P. Sommerville, ‘Jacobean Political Thought and the Controversy over the Oath of Allegiance’, unpublished Ph.D. Dissertation (Cambridge, 1981), Chs. 1–2; Patterson, King James vi and i, Ch. 3; D.H. Willson, James vi and i (Oxford: Alden Press, 1962), 223–242; J. Brodrick, Robert Bellarmine. Saint and Scholar (London: Burns & Oates, 1961), 264–296; Höpfl, Jesuit Political Thought, Ch. 13 and Tutino, Empire of Souls, Ch. 4. Since the early seventeenth-century, there has also been the the theory that the Gunpowder Plot (Powder-Treason) had, in fact, been an orchestration from above that would unify James’s Protestant subjects – as it did; for a modern advocate see L.A. Ferell, Government by Polemic. James i, the King’s Preachers, and the Rhetorics of Conformity, 1­ 603–1625 (Stanford: Stanford up, 1998), esp. 62–67; cf. also Patterson, King James vi and i, 75–76. 127 Triplici Nodo, Triplex Cuneus or an Apologie for the Oath of Allegiance, in James i, The workes of the most high and mightie prince, James by the grace of God, King of Great Britaine, France and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, &c. Published by James, bishop of Winton, and Deane of His Majesties Chappel Royall. (London: Robert Barker and John Bill, 1616 [=1620]); stc (2nd ed.), 14345, 247–286: 250–251. Cf. also the Dictatus Papae of Gregory vii (Hildebrand, 1073–85); Sources for the History of Medieval Europe, ed. B.S. Pullan (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1966), 135–137. 128 Apologie, 250–251. 129 Apologie, 248–249.

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second one arrived less than a year later (August 1607), while a third, more personal letter was sent by Bellarmine to Blackwell (September 1607) repeating the instructions.130 Like many of his contemporaries, James perceived these moves as part of a wider struggle with the Papacy; he himself had followed very closely the assassination of Henri iv in France (1610) and the controversy instigated in the French Estates General over imposing an oath similar to the Oath of Allegiance (1614). Bellarmine, after all, had also been at the forefront of the dispute with Venice.131 The controversy also marked a turn in James’s ecumenical plans as from that point on, any effort at reconciliation would have to exclude the papacy. James’s first publication on this issue, the Triplici Nodo, Triplex Cuneus or an Apologie for the Oath of Allegiance came out anonymously in early 1607, and was answered also anonymously by Bellarmine.132 Within a year the King re-edited the Apology under his name prefixing a Premonition to All Most Mightie Monarches, Kings, Free Princes and States of Christendome (1609), personally addressed to the Emperor Rudolph ii and all the ‘temporal powers’. The dispute over the King’s jurisdiction was relevant to other areas and other debates such as Gallicanism in France, problems of heterodox groups at the Emperor’s court, Venice, as well as the issue of rising Calvinism in the Rhineland. Indeed, the discussion attracted an international involvement including the Jesuits Martin Becanus (1563–1624) and Jacob Gretser (1562–1625) in Germany; Francisco Suarez (1548–1617), the Jesuit Andreas ­Eudaemon-Johannes (1566–1625) as well as the Dominican Nicolas Coiffeteau in France; the Flemish Jesuit L­ eonard Lessius (1554–1623) and the Dutch theologian Adolf Schulken (1569–1626), all on the Papal stance. Conversely, the positions professed by the King were supported among others by William Barclay, a Catholic Scot who taught at ­Lorraine (1546–1608); the famous ­classical scholar Isaac Casaubon (1559–1614); the Calvinist pastor Pierre du Moulin (1568–1658); the ­Catholic-inclined poet John Donne (1572–1631); and the divine George Carleton (1559–1628), cousin of the diplomat. Yet James did not prove prepared 130 Apologie, 258, 260–262. 131 Sommerville, ‘Jacobean Political Thought and the Controversy Over the Oath of Allegiance’, 34 and 51–52. 132 Matthaei Torti responsio ad librum inscriptum Triplici nodo, triplex cuneus, sive apologia pro iuramento fidelitatis (St Homer: English College Press, 1608). Patterson, King James vi and i, 84–90; cf. R.J. Lyall, ‘The Marketing of James vi and i: Scotland, England and the Continental Book Trade’, Qærendo 32 (2002), 204–217: James’s defence of his policy appeared in at least nineteen separate editions, in five languages, and printed in at least eight different countries. The English ambassador to Venice, Sir Henry Wotton records that the Apologie was being read in Venice before the end of March; Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton, vol. i, 416.

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to take things further; he did not fulfil any aspirations for a greater anti-Papal alliance, to the disappointment of Sarpi and Du Plessis-Mornay.133 The international furore that these two contests aroused put Sarpi in a dangerous position. Though the Interdict crisis was finally resolved early in 1607, the attempt against his life in October 1607 can largely be accounted for by his conduct during the struggle against Rome.134 Sarpi himself named the stiletto (dagger) that stabbed him as Stylo Romanæ Curiæ, while Micanzio indicates the involvement of Cardinal Borghese, the Pope’s nephew (1577–1633).135 The period of the Interdict as well as the years following proved to be the most productive for the Servite. Besides the pamphlets he produced, he composed the History of the Interdict,136 which was intended to be included in Jacques de Thou’s History of his own times;137 the History of the Inquisition,138 requested by the Venetian Senate and completed in 1613; and the History of Benefices, most of them published posthumously.139 Last but not least, the History of the Council of Trent, which though completed in 1616, had preoccupied him throughout his life, acquiring material relevant to the Council. His interest had become more topical with the occasion of the Interdict, since during the crisis, the Papal side repeatedly cited Trent against the defiant Venetians. Sarpi indeed continued writing and working even after the affair (and after having been sidelined in politics), publishing his works for the most part abroad.140 There is further information that may suggest his involvement in a greater behind-thescenes anti-Papal plan, trying to create a general alliance of states with similar disposition towards the Curia, such as the British Isles and the Low Countries. This may have involved an invasion of the Italian peninsula with the ultimate aim being an attack on the Papacy. In this direction, he was in communication with a number of key Protestant figures, the most prominent of whom was Sir Henry Wotton (1568–1639), three times English Ambassador to Venice 133 Mark Sarpi’s disillusionment and disappointment in Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense, 526. 134 For the attempt against his life, and the warnings about a possible Papal-instigated assault, see the vivid descriptions of Micanzio, Life, 112–129. 135 Micanzio, Life, 126 and 118. 136 Historia particolare delle cose passate tra’l sommo pontefice Paolo v e la serenissima Republica di Venetia gl’anni mdcv, mdcvi, mdcvii (Geneva: P. Aubert, 1624). 137 Jacques-Auguste de Thou, Historiarum sui temporis 4 vols. (Paris: Ambrose et Jérôme Drouart, 1606–1609). 138 Historia della sacra Inquisitione (Serravalle: Fabio Albicocco, 1638). 139 Trattato delle materie beneficiarie (Mirandola[=Geneva]: s.n., 1676). 140 On Sarpi’s isolation see Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense, 512–516; Vivo, Information and Communication, 54–55, 210–211, 254.

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(1604–10, 1616–19, 1621–3).141 In this context an attempt to introduce the reformed religion into Venice also took place, with the involvement of Giovanni Diodati (1576–1649), the ‘Protestant Pope’, but plans fell though, partly because of Sarpi’s reluctance to commit to something so radical.142 Sarpi’s connections with the Protestant world were strengthened even further with the eventual publication of his History of the Council of Trent in London in 1619 and the circumstances surrounding this publication.143 The work was dedicated to King James i, and was signed by Marcantonio de Dominis, known for his anti-Papal convictions, but mostly famous for his flight to England, in 1616 where he converted to Anglicanism.144 De Dominis also had a keen interest in the reconciliation of the Eastern and Western Churches and of the Protestant and Catholic ones.145 The text was acquired by Nathaniel Brent at the Archbishop’s request and under order from the King who smuggled it back to England in several instalments and with the assistance of a network of Dutch merchants.146 The contents of the work were particularly useful in reinforcing James’s policies, as Wotton had already informed the King.147 For the same reason a few years earlier, in 1612, James had also invited the Servite through Sir Dudley Carleton, to make his home in England.

141 For Wotton’s role see Pearsall-Smith in Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton, vol. i, 80–92; Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense, 492–494; G. Curzon, Wotton and His Worlds. Spying, Science and Venetian Intrigues (Philadeplphia pa: Xlibris, 2003), 117–144. 142 For the attempt, see Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton, vol. i, 86–98; Wootton, Paolo Sarpi, 99–104; Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense, 505, 528–529. 143 For the story of the publication see F.A. Yates, ‘Paolo Sarpi’s History of the Council of Trent’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 7 (1944), 129–131; G. Cozzi, ‘Fra Paolo Sarpi, l’Anglicanesmo e la Historia del Concilio Tridentino’, Rivista Storica Italiana, 68 (1956), 559–619; idem and Louisa Cozzi, Opere, 721–731 and J.L. Lievsay, Venetian Phoenix: Paolo Sarpi and Some of His English Friends (1606–1700) (Lawrence, Manhattan, Wichita: The University Press of Kansas, 1973), 39–53. 144 For De Dominis, see Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton, vol. i, 149–150; W.B. Patterson’s article in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford: Oxford up, 2004); also idem, King James vi and i, 220–259, and H.-J. van Dam, ‘Italian Friends. Grotius, De Dominis, Sarpi and the Church’, Nederlands Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis 75 (1995), 198–215. 145 This was partly the subject of his massive, three-volume work, De Republica Ecclesiastica (London and Edinburgh, 1617–22). 146 Cozzi, Opere, 729. Lievsay, Venetian Phoenix, 44–45. For Nathaniel Brent (1573/4–1652) see the relevant article by A.J. Hegarty in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography; apart from Archbishop Abbot, he had close connections with Sir Dudley Carleton, with whom Lievsay suggests he was related. 147 Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton, vol. ii, 100 and 178.

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James’s attitude towards Sarpi and Venice was part of a wider strategy through which after 1603 the King was purposefully presenting himself as a major ruler, frequently intervening in the arena of continental politics as a peacemaker between the Catholic and Protestant sides. But James had already been a successful monarch for about eighteen years before his accession to the English throne and his religious, ‘moderate’ policies were inextricably linked both with his experience in Scotland and England, as well as with the contemporary European developments which he closely followed.

The View from London and the Turn of the Century: James vi and i and the Anglo-Scottish Experience

In the last twenty-five years the Scottish King of Britain has emerged as a serious, intelligent, moderate, ambitious and fairly successful king.148 Although the contextual difficulties arising from his move from Edinburgh to London (April 1603) are still not completely resolved among historians, a picture of a monarch with European aspirations has surfaced.149 His subjects and contemporaries found difficult to understand and accept his dual role as the king of Scotland and England and his aspirations. To complicate matters further, for James’s rule, European considerations at times mattered more than developments in his kingdoms.150 148 The literature on James and his reign is daunting. The most reliable is still the rather unfavourably disposed biography by D.H. Willson, King James vi and i (London: s.n., 1956).; see also M. Lee Jr., Government by Pen: Scotland under James vi and i (Urbana, London: University of Illinois Press, 1980) and idem, Great Britain’s Solomon: James vi and i in his Three Kingdoms (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1990). Two more recent books represent attempts to integrate new findings and reappraisals of James into a narrative: R. Lockyer, James vi and i. (London and New York: Longman, 1998); P. Croft, King James. (Basingstoke, Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003). 149 J. Wormald, ‘James vi and i: Two Kings or One?’ History 68 (1983), 187–209 and eadem, ‘James vi and i, Basilikon Doron and The Trew Law of Free Monarchies: the Scottish Context and the English Translation’, in L.L. Peck (ed.), The Mental World of the Jacobean Court (Cambridge: cup, 1991), 36–54. The problem of perspective is inextricably entangled with the problem of ‘British’ history as a whole; for some insightful perspectives cf. the collection of essays by R.A. Mason, (ed.), Scots and Britons: Scottish Political Thought and the Union of 1603 (Cambridge: cup, 1994); and G. Burgess’s critique of the problem of a ‘British’ historiography, in his review article ‘Scottish or British? Politics and Political Thought in Scotland, c. 1500–1707’, Historical Journal 41 (1998), 579–590. 150 J.P. Sommerville, ‘James i and the Divine Right of Kings: English Politics and Continental Theory’, in Peck, The Mental World of the Jacobean Court, 55–70, 59.

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James’s early experiences in Scotland were formative for his later policies and concerns. Though crowned at the young age of thirteen months (1567), James was eighteen before he managed to take the reign of his native kingdom (November 1585). The son of a Catholic Queen, he was parted from his mother as an infant during the coup against Mary, and raised as a Calvinist. The coup of 1567 in Scotland was part of a second, more determinedly Calvinist reform movement. The first Reformation had been led in 1560 by John Knox, recently returned from Geneva, and had as a result the deposition of the Catholic Regent Mary of Guise (regent between 1544–1560). James’s mother Mary had herself been treated as a ‘dynastic prize’ and was married as a child to Francis ii, the French Dauphin (1548). With her return to Scotland from France (1561) Mary found herself in a very difficult position during which she tried to keep a balanced approach between Catholics and reformers. After the coup against her which removed her son from her, the main feature throughout James’s minority was open hostility between supporters of her and supporters of James, and feuds regarding the control over the young king. By the time James reached his majority, the Calvinist Kirk had largely grown outside the crown’s control and had developed alongside the structure of the old Church. Fundamental questions about the polity of the Church were still unresolved as was the fate of the remaining adherents to Catholicism.151 James himself impersonated the complexities of the religious situation in Scotland: he was baptised to full Catholic rites at Stirling castle’s Chapel Royal but crowned (at thirteen months) by the reformed Adam Bothwell, Bishop of Orkney at the church of the Holy Rude, Stirling. The sermon at the coronation was preached by John Knox. Yet James emerged eager to establish himself as the ruler of a heretofore unstable kingdom; he dealt successfully with factional and ecclesiastical opposition and asserted a greater control over the Church in the aftermath of riots in Edinburgh (1596). As an English monarch, much discussion surrounds his political beliefs, his religious stance, the extent of his tolerance of religious dissent and nonconformity, and his ‘foreign’ policy.152 Apart from constituting topics for lively 151 The Concordat of Leith in 1572, for instance, was a settlement that was intended to operate as an interim: see A.R. MacDonald, The Jacobean Kirk, 1567–1625. Sovereignty, Polity and Liturgy (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1998), 11; Mason, ‘George Buchanan, James vi and the Presbyterians’, in idem, Scots and Britons, 112–137, 137. 152 Among others, see K. Fincham and P. Lake, ‘The Ecclesiastical Policy of King James i’, Journal of British Studies 24 (1985), 169–207; and ‘The Ecclesiastical Policies of James i and Charles i’, in K. Fincham (ed.), The Early Stuart Church, 1603–1642 (London: Macmillan, 1993), 23–49; Ferell, Government by Polemic, op cit.; J. Morrill, ‘A British Patriarchy? Ecclesiastical Imperialism Under the Early Stuarts’, in A. Fletcher and P. Roberts (eds),

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historiographical debates, however, these were all issues that caused anxiety to his subjects and brought about widespread opposition. His ascension to the English throne produced mixed reactions from his subjects and the European powers. Soon after his ascension James announced his plans for a reconciliation of Christendom through a General Council.153 Thus the orientation of early Stuart foreign policy was at the crux of James’s policy and his subjects’ expectations. His principal aim, to maintain friendly relations with all nations, preserve peace and stability in Europe, while pursuing at the same time his plan for religious reconciliation, ran contrary to the hopes of a great number of the King’s subjects.154 The failed Gunpowder Plot in 1605, therefore, was one first such reaction and a sudden reminder that his work was not going to be easy. The King’s response, namely the attempt to impose the Oath of Allegiance, caused the ire of the Papacy. From his part, James found the Roman Curia’s intervention to be offensive and potentially dangerous and consequently realigned his political and diplomatic objectives, adopting a more obvious anti-Papal stance. The difficulty for the King lay in pursuing this policy while at the same time trying not to alienate his Catholic subjects. From 1609 James became more closely associated with Protestantism on the European Continent. He joined a coalition including France, the United Provinces and the recently formed Evangelical Union of the German Lands. A result of this was a treaty with the Palatinate and the marriage between Frederick v and James’s daughter Elizabeth (1613). Prospects of a ‘Protestant’ union even inspired hope by Du Plessis-Mornay that the Scottish King would be the leader of such a coalition.155 Yet James had other plans. His ultimate aim remained that of acting as a mediating force between the Catholic and Protestant states of Continental Europe and among various factions of Protestantism. Thus when the contest over the succession of the Jülich-Cleves broke out, his efforts were primarily aimed at averting war. This was not an easy task. Similar tensions were caused later, after the Bohemian Revolt in 1618 and the disaster at White Mountain when Religion, Culture and Society in Early Modern Britain. Essays in Honour of Patrick Collinson (Cambridge: cup, 1994), 209–237. 153 A Speech, As it was Delivered in the Vpper Hovse of the Parliament to the Lords Spiritvall and Temporall, and to the Knights, Citizens, and Burgesses there Assembled, on Monday the xix. Day of March 1603, in James i, Workes, 485–497; 486–487. 154 Croft, King James, 107–108; Fincham and Lake, ‘The Ecclesiastical Policy of King James i’, 198–202. 155 Philippe du Plessis-Mornay, Mémoires et correspondence, ed. A.D. de la Fontenelle and P.R. Angius (Paris: Treuttel and Würtz, 1824–5), 12 vols; vol. ix, 538; vol. x. 75–8; xi, 376; xii, 420; cited in Patterson, King James vi and i, 162–3.

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the Protestant public opinion in England called for military intervention to restore Frederick to Bohemia. But war was not in James’s plans, who continued to negotiate such a restoration, adopting a more pro-Spanish policy and pursuing a Spanish Match for his son Charles (1622–3). The failure of these attempts and the enormous pressure by his subjects and the Parliament to adopt a more militant Protestant approach confirmed that James’s pro-Spanish policy had failed. A marriage was instead arranged with the daughter of Louis xiii, Henriette-Marie instead, while at the same time England signed an alliance with the Dutch Republic. James sent a British expedition to help restore Frederick in 1625, which failed to succeed in any of its tasks. As a result of the above, by the end of James’s reign the ‘public’ opinion in England was deeply polarised with regards to the war abroad. James’s religious policies and his interest in Continental affairs and a religious reconciliation also extended to an involvement in religious and theological debates abroad. He kept an eye on developments in France, trying to contain a theological dispute between Pierre du Mulin and Daniel Tilenus (1563–1638), and also encouraging the plans for reconciliation of the Reformed Churches advanced at the Synod of Tonneins in 1614.156 He also took a close interest at the theologicopolitical debates which were taking place in the newly formed United Provinces, sending a delegation to the Synod of Dort (1619).157 James’s religious policies were reflected by his pacifist policies with regards to the European states and vice versa. The reasoning was that if a degree of liturgical and theological conformity could be created within and between the Reformed Church of Scotland and the Church of England, this might inspire churches on the Continent to follow suit. Within a year of stepping onto the English throne he called the Hampton Court Conference (1604) where theologians from a broad spectrum of Protestant positions could debate their views. James also fashioned himself a as theologian and took his role as head and protector of the Church very seriously; the project for the translation of the Bible into English in 1610 fitted within this outlook. During his reign he tried to maintain a balance between Catholic and Protestant elements in his realm, marginalising extremists at both ends of the spectrum alike. To this end he employed a great number of propagandists, who wrote both for a local and foreign audience. After all, all confessions based their doctrines on shared scriptures and they had all been part of the greater Societas Christiana before any divisions.

156 Patterson, King James vi and i, 159–181. 157 A Declaration concerning the proceedings with the States Generall of the United Provinces of the Low Countries. In the cause of D. Conradus Vorstius, in James i, Workes, 347–380.

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This attitude was expressed in many ways, from his humanistic and theological pursuits to the policy of offering a refuge, and acting as a patron to a number of international thinkers of his time. Scholars of the likes of Isaac Casaubon, Pierre du Moulin, and Hugo Grotius among others, intelligent conversationalists, useful propagandists and advocates of ideas of religious reconciliation, had been entertained and found shelter at his Court.158 James’s European outlook and his concern for his continental reputation can also be gauged by his attitude to art, as he was responsible for opening up England to Europe in this respect.159 His wider networking activity can also be seen through the career and role of his two important diplomats, Henry Wotton and Dudley Carleton, whose consuls operated as sojourns for Britons on the nascent trend of the ‘grand tour’. The two of them were also responsible for developing cultural relations of all kinds, collecting art and acquiring important books and manuscripts for publication in London.160 This activity in turn was part of wider and overlapping networks of exchange, of people, products and ideas in which James from his position in London and through his agents was highly involved, and played a key role as patron and contributor. As parts of some of these concentric and overlapping circles of networks we also find the other three scholars of this study, Sarpi, Lipsius, and Charron.

Networks and Exchanges in the Republic of Letters at the Backdrop of Religious Wars

The communicative, political, patronage and ideological networks of the early modern world are the subject of increasing interest and research. Scholars investigate the manner in which early modern men of letters were in communication with one another, through correspondence, book and pamphlet exchange, acquaintances and frequent travelling. Early modern erudites reached out to similar minded men, through writing to them or sending them their works. Correspondence was the cornerstone of the so-called Republic of 158 See Patterson, James vi and i, Ch. 4; M. Simon, ‘Isaac Casaubon, Fra Paolo Sarpi et l’Église d’Angleterre’ in Aspects de l’Anglicanisme: Colloque de Strasbourg 14–16 juin, 1972 (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1974), 39–66; E. Levi, ‘King James i. and Fra Paolo Sarpi in the Year 1612’, The Athenaeum, no. 3689 (July 9, 1898), 66–67; also Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton, vol. i, 151. 159 D. Howarth, Images of Rule. Art and Politics in the English Renaissance, 1485–1649 (Basingstoke and London: Macmillan, 1997), 235. 160 Howarth, Images of Rule, 235–240; Curzon, Wotton and His Worlds, 105–116 and 145–166.

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Letters,­the imagined community of early modern scholars.161 Through letters, intellectuals and public figures exchanged comments on classical texts, theology and contemporary events, also using their correspondence for educational purposes and for publicity. It was through letters that they justified or defended themselves, or attacked their enemies and conducted controversy. The language of communication was Latin; texts, the means of intellectual exchange, were also published in Latin or quickly translated into that language to reach a wider audience. Universities, libraries, printers’ and booksellers’ shops frequented by travellers and men of letters were hubs of communication exchange, acquiring and selling books, exchanging views and trading news. The objects of exchange, including books, texts, pamphlets and news were regarded as commodities and were understood to be crucial in the way in which knowledge was disseminated and events were publicised.162 The authors who form the basis of this study belonged to these early modern communication networks with several links to other authors as well as between them. First, they were aware of one another’s work. As mentioned in the introduction, Charron made use of Lipsius’s Politica in the Sagesse, following closely his text on the issue of political prudence and acknowledging him in the text.163 He had read Lipsius’s work either in the original Latin editions, or through the French translations which almost immediately followed the publication of the Flemish scholar’s texts.164 Both Charron and Lipsius, moreover,­ 161 A. Grafton, ‘A Sketch Map of a Lost Continent: The Republic of Letters’, Republics of Letters: A Journal for the Study of Knowledge, Politics, and the Arts 1 (2009): http://rofl.stanford .edu/node/34(accessed July 2011) See the editions of correspondence of some ‘princes’ of this republic: Joseph Justus Scaliger. The Correspondence of Joseph Justus Scaliger, ed. P. Botley and D. van Miert, 8 vols. (Geneva: Librairie Droz, 2012); Gian Vincenzo Pinelli et Claude Dupuy. Une Correspondance entre deux humanistes, ed. A.M. Raugei, 2 vols. (Florence: Leo S. Olschki, 2001); P. Miller’s Peiresc’s Europe: Learning and Virtue in the Seventeenth Century. (New Haven; London: Yale up, 2000) is also based on Peiresc’s correspondence. An edition of the correspondence of Isaac Casaubon’s last years in England (1610–14) is under preparation under the direction of Paul Botley (forthcoming in 2018); see the relevant website http://www2.warwick.ac.uk/fac/arts/ren/projects/casaubon/ (accessed June 2015). Finally, for a more general project that aims at reassembling and interpreting the correspondence networks of the early modern period see http://www.culturesofknowledge .org/ (accessed June 2015). 162 F. De Vivo, ‘Paolo Sarpi and the Uses of Information in Seventeenth-Century Venice’, Media History 11 (2005), 37–51 and J. Raymond, ‘Introduction: Networks, Communication, Practice’, Media History, 11 (2005), 3–19. 163 Sagesse, iii, i, “Preface: De la prudence politique du souverain, pour gouverner estats”. 164 The book was published in French in 1590, 1594, 1597 and 1598 1598, apearing in about sixteen different editions; it was published in La Rochelle, Geneva, Tours and Paris. See

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shared an admiration for Michel de Montaigne and Marie de Gournay ­(1565–1645), while Charron is likely to have met and befriended the Essayist.165 Lipsius also exchanged a number of letters with the Essayist, in which the two authors complemented one another’s work and touched upon common interests.166 Sarpi’s texts also famously betray textual similarities and resonances with Charron, most prominently in his notebooks, the Pensieri.167 Sarpi also refers to Lipsius’s edition of Tacitus in one of his letters; we also know that he owned Lipsius’s Epistolica Institutio among his books, as these were recorded around 1599.168 James’s admiration for Sarpi’s polemics and histories has already been mentioned. The Venetian friar was also the recipient of James writings, via the English ambassadors in Venice, Wotton and Carleton. The King had also read and initially admired Lipsius and his version of Stoic constancy. Having followed his confessional conversions however, he denounced the Flemish humanist’s ‘inconstant behaviour’ which ‘belied his profession’ and advised his son Henry to avoid his example.169 A number of common friends and acquaintances among their vast correspondence network also reveal connections between the four authors in question. Both Lipsius and Sarpi were ardent correspondents, with an extended web of friends and acquaintances throughout Europe.170 Sarpi has been described as ‘being at the centre of a vast scholarly and political web’,171 and Lipsius was one of the most prolific letter-writers of his time with over 300 correspondents from different parts of Europe: Italy, France, German Lands, England, and Eastern Europe. These included public figures, humanists, classicists,­philologists,

165 166 167 168

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ustc 3079, 3654, 7239, 10819, 12648, 13385, 20448, 51128, 52495, 65054, 76093, 77122, 84443, 88688, 88689, 88829. ile vol. iii, 88 09 30. ile, vol. iii, 88 04 21; 88 08 30 M; 89 09 17. V. Frajese, ‘Sarpi Interprete del De la Sagesse di Pierre Charron: I Pensieri sulla Religione’, Studi Veneziani xx (1990), 59–85. Letter to Groslot of 27 May 1608 in Paolo Sarpi, Lettere ai Protestanti, ed. M.D. Busnelli, 2 vols. (Bari: Laterza, 1931); vol. 1, 15. Lipsius’s text is item no. 183 in the inventory of Sarpi’s books: see G.L.M. Zannini, ‘Libri di fra Paolo Sarpi e notizie biblioteche dei Servi (1599–1600), Studi storici dell’Ordine dei Servi di Maria xx (1970), 174–200; 197. See the relevant passage from the first and second edition of the Basilikon Doron (1599 and 1603) in J. Craigie (ed.), The Basilicon Doron of King James vi. 2 vols., (Edinburgh and London: Scottish Text Society, 1944–50), 156–157. For Lipsius’s network see de Landtsheer, Justus Lipsius. Een geleerde en zijn Europese netwerk, op cit. Vivo, ‘Paolo Sarpi and the Uses of Information in Seventeenth-Century Venice’, 38.

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antiquarians and university professors.172 Some notable names among these were the scholars Marc-Antoine Muret, Joseph-Juste Scaliger, Isaac Casaubon, Joachim Camerarius, Fulvio Orsini (1529–1600), Jacques-Auguste de Thou, ­Janus Dousa (1545–1604), Abraham Ortelius (1527–98) and others. In terms of political and religious orientations, his contacts varied at different points of his life from militant Protestants like Philip Sidney (1554–86) or Jérôme Groslot (d.1622), to eirenicists, Gallicans, Calvinist converts to Catholicism, Anglicans, such as Camerarius, Pierre Pithou (1539–96), de Thou, Casaubon, François Hotman (1524–90), and Hugo Blotius (1534–1608). Lipsius was also of course in communication with members of the alleged ‘Family of Love’, like Adrian Saravia (1532–1612) and Plantin. As part of his work, Lipsius was in frequent correspondence with a number of printers, most notably his own personal printers Christophe Plantin, Franciscus Raphelengius (1539–97), and Jan (1543–1610) and Balthasar Moretus (1574–1641); others however, such as Henri Estienne (the younger, 1528–98), and Adrien Turnèbe (1512–65) also feature in his letters. Sarpi’s correspondence was comparable in range and scope, with contacts in France and the Empire, but also Geneva, the Netherlands and England.173 In fact, some of his correspondents also belonged to Lipsius’s network. The Venetian was a friend of Arnaud du Ferrier (c. 1508–85), twice French ambassador to Venice and a man with close connections in Gallican circles. Du Ferrier had also been the person representing the French king during the last stages of the Council of Trent. Other friends and correspondents included: Galileo Galilei (1564–1642), the scholar and supporter of Gallican liberties Nicolas-Claude Fabri de Peiresc (1580–1637),174 Cardinal Robert Bellarmine and the juristhistorian­de Thou. He was in contact with a number of Protestants: the English Ambassador to Venice and Holland Dudley Carleton (1574–1632, ambassador to Venice between 1610–15); the scholar and religious moderate Casaubon – for whom he obtained a copy of the Koran in 1603; the Italian Huguenot based in Paris Francesco Castrino (1560–1630); Philippe du Plessis-Mornay, Jérôme Groslot de l’Isle based in London, as well as Daniel Heinsius (1580–1655), professor and librarian at Leiden University and a friend of Janus Dousa and Hugo Grotius. The Servite corresponded moreover with prominent Gallicans such 172 About six hundred letters were published during Lipsius’s lifetime, and another two hundred posthumously. Modern editions (Iusti Lipsi Epistolae) currently number about eight hundred and thirty, out of the surviving 4300 – two thirds of which have been composed by Lipsius. 173 Sarpi, Lettere ai Protestanti, op cit.; idem, Lettere ai Gallicani, ed. B. Ulianich (Wiesbaden: Steiner, 1961); Cozzi, Opere, 643–719. 174 Miller, Peiresc’s Europe, 6.

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as Edmond Richer (1559–1631), Jacques Gillot (c. 1550–1619) and Jacques Leschassier (1550–1625), and eirenicists such as Jean Hotman.175 Like Lipsius, finally, Sarpi was also in frequent communication with printers and booksellers from which he was acquiring both books and news.176 This varied group of correspondents apart from scholarly interests conversed about ideas of reform, challenges to Roman authority and ecumenism and was a cause for suspicion in Rome.177 Though no letters seem to have been exchanged between Lipsius and Sarpi, common friends from the politique, Gallican and Protestant circles link the two of them in intriguing ways within the same networks. To mention but a few, there is evidence for instance, that both Lipsius and Sarpi had enjoyed the hospitality of the Neapolitan scholar Gian Vincenzo Pinelli (b. 1535) in Padua, where he resided from 1558.178 Both corresponded with William Camden (who in turn was in communication with Philip Sidney and Jacques de Thou, all correspondents of Lipsius). Sarpi’s History of the Interdict was to be included in de Thou’s History of his Own Times.179 De Thou also corresponded with Lipsius.180 Both were in communication with the famous François Hotman as well as his more eirenic son, Jean Hotman de Villers-St-Paul.181 From a different aspect, both Sarpi and Lipsius were in the position to befriend and receive criticism from Cardinal Robert Bellarmine; the Cardinal warned and advised the Flemish scholar about ‘dangerous’ extracts of his work, while he was involved in a passionate and intense pamphlet exchange with the Venetian friar, whom he had once been friends with.182 Finally, Sarpi’s correspondent Jérôme Groslot, had been James’s co-pupil under Buchanan. Groslot also knew Philip Sidney, for whose death he wrote memorial verses183 and both of them were also in 175 Micanzio, Life, 170–171 (wrongly numbered 150–1). 176 P.F. Grendler, ‘Books for Sarpi: the Smuggling of Prohibited Books into Venice During the Interdict of 1606–1607’ in S. Bertelli and G. Ramakus (eds), Essays Presented to Myron P. Gilmore (Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1978), vol. i, 105–114. 177 Micanzio, Life, 59, 180 (wrongly numbered 160). See also W.G. Tarpley, ‘Paolo Sarpi, his networks, Venice and the coming of the Thirty Years’ War’, unpublished Ph.D dissertation (The Catholic University of America, 2009). 178 Micanzio, Life, 53–54, 60–61; P.F. Grendler, The Roman Inquisition and the Venetian Press, 1540–1605 (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton up, 1977), 288. 179 Wootton, Paolo Sarpi, 105. 180 See for example ile vol. ii, 86 02 11, 87 12 31, 88 06 03. 181 See for example ile vol. ii, 86 04 09; 86 05 11H; 86 05 17; 87 05 00H; 89 00 00; Sarpi, Lettere ai Gallicani, 192–211. 182 Micanzio, Life, 150. 183 I am indebted to Prof. Rod Lyall for bringing this connection to my attention.

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communication with Lipsius.184 Among many others, finally, both Sarpi and Lipsius corresponded with Casaubon.185 Casaubon had married the daughter of the famous printer Estienne and after having spent some time in Geneva and France, he finally found refuge in James’s Court, via the mediation of the English ambassador in Venice, Henry Wotton. Sarpi finally was admired by Hugo Grotius – whose father, Janus, was an acquaintance of Lipsius.186 Wotton and Carleton, the two English ambassadors to Venice, with whom the friar was in close connection were the strongest association between James and Sarpi. In 1612 Sarpi had received a pressing invitation from the king, transmitted through Carleton, to make his home in England.187 The admiration between Sarpi and the Scottish King was mutual, although the Venetian’s enthusiasm wore off as James proved less dynamic than the Venetian had hoped for. James sought out and secured the publication of his major work, the Historia del Concilio Tridentino, which he sponsored. A less evident connection emerges through the French translation of the History made by Jean (Giovanni) Diodati.188 Diodati’s brother, Theodore, was working as a physician in the court of James i.189 Sarpi was further admired by Hugo Grotius, an intellectual with close affiliations with James i’s circle.190 In the same way, a number of James’s associates were in correspondence with either Sarpi or Lipsius (or often, both) such as Jean Hotman and Isaac Casaubon, Sarpi’s and Lipsius’s correspondents.191 Jean Hotman in particular, had been Henri iv’s emissary to James vi 184 For exchanges between Lipsius and Groslot, see for example ile vol. ii, 86 04 26, 87 10 12, 87 10 20, 87 10 29; vol. iii, 88 01 31 G; for Lipsius and Sidney see vol. ii, 86 03 07 (Dedicatory epistle to Sidney), 86 08 30, 86 09 14. 185 G. Cozzi, ‘Paolo Sarpi tra il cattolico Philippe Canaye de Fresnes e il calvinista Isaac Casaubon’ in idem (ed.), Paolo Sarpi tra Venezia e l’Europa (Turin: Einaudi, 1979), 3–133; G. Tournoy, ‘Ad ultimas inscitiae lineas imus. Justus Lipsius and Isaac Casaubon in the Changing World of Classical Scholarship’, in M. Laureys et al. (eds), The World of Justus Lipsius: A Contribution towards his Intellectual Biography. Proceedings of a Colloquium held under the Auspices of the Belgian Historical Institute in Rome, Bulletin de l’institut historique belge de Rome, 68 (Brussels-Rome, 1998) 191–208; Landtsheer, Justus Lipsius. Een geleerde en zijn Europese netwerk, 454–460. 186 E.g. ile vol. ii, 86 08 02; 87 06 18; 87 08 13 gr. 187 Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton, vol. i, 150. 188 Histoire du concile de Trente (Genève: Estienne Gamonet, 1621). 189 I thank Prof. Rod Lyall for pointing out this connection to me. See also F.A. Yates, ‘Italian Teachers in Elizabethan England’, Journal of the Warburg Institute 1 (1937), 105. 190 Van Dam, ‘Italian Friends: Grotius, de Dominis, Sarpi’, 200, 211; Patterson, King James vi and i, Ch. 4, esp. 139–154. 191 For this circle see A. McCrea, Constant Minds. The Lipsian Paradigm in England, 1584–1650 (Toronto; London: University of Toronto Press, 1997), 15–16, 32, 34, 236.

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in Scotland and he was also responsible for the King’s translation of Basilikon Doron into French.192 James was also familiar with another one of Lipsius’s acquaintances, Adrian Saravia. Saravia was a contemporary of Lipsius at the University of Leiden and the two of them exchanged a number of letters.193 He had also fled the Low Countries in search of a refuge and ended up in England where he later served as one of the translators of the King James Bible (1611). Though fewer, there are also indirect links between Sarpi and Charron; the Venetian corresponded with Peiresc, who was involved in the transcription of Charron’s letters to his editor, La Rochmaillet. These letters were copied in 1628 for Peiresc by Gabriel Naudé (1600–53), on request by Pierre Gassendi ­(1592–1655), who had expressed admiration for Charron’s work.194 This can also account for the respect that the later French libertines had for both Sarpi and Charron. A smaller, indirect link between Lipsius and Charron can be established through the person of the Huguenot François du Jon (the elder), who was in communication with Lipsius but was also responsible for a refutation of Charron’s third book of Les Trois Véritez.195 Finally, the (?1605/1609) English translation of Charron’s Sagesse bears a dedication to Prince Henry, James i’s son. In the dedication the translator Samson Lennard, indicated that the book should be treated as a mirror for princes: ‘The subject of this work is wisdom: And what fitter for a Prince? If you honor it, it will honor you, as it hath done your royall Father…’.196 Further links can be included in the wider web of acquaintances and connections of the four main authors. Thus, in a letter to William Camden (a friend of Lipsius) Peiresc commented upon Sarpi’s recently published History of the Council of Trent complaining about the polemical preface that had been added by De Dominis. He was convinced that the preface threatened to discredit a great work in the eyes of those ‘who are not of his opinion’ while it 192 Patterson, King James vi and i, 148–149. 193 ile vol. ii, 87 10 31; 85 02 00 DO2; 85 02 07; 85 02 10; 85 09 01; 85 09 14 D; 85 10 06; 86 10 27 D. 194 Cf. Auvray, ‘Lettres di Pierre Charron’, 308–309. In a letter to Henri du Faur de Pibrac, Gassendi thanked him for sending a copy of Charron’s Discours chrestiens but explained that the Sagesse pleased him more: ‘Tu fais bien de me recommender d’emmener Charron dans ma solitude. Quel juge plus sûr? Surtout si on lui donne pour compagnons ceux dont il a lui-même fait son profit: Montaigne, Lipse, Sénèque, Plutarque, Cicéron’; quoted in Miller, Peiresc’s Europe 220, note 88. For the libertins see the classic by R. Pintard, Le Libertinage érudit dans la première moitié du XVIIe siècle (Paris: Boivin, 1943). 195 Amiable confrontation de la simple verite de Dieu comprise es escritures saintes, op cit. 196 Of Wisdome, Three Bookes, trans. Samson Lennard (London: Edward Blunt & Witt Aspley, ?1609).

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would also prevent it from making its way into the hands of Roman Catholics and even Italy.197 Sarpi befriended Arnaud du Ferrier who may have been a crypto-Calvinist; it seems that Montaigne was also on familiar terms with him, as he visited him in Venice in 1580 and may have referred to him in one of his Essais.198 Du Ferrier provides us with even more links between French eirenicists and Calvinists as he was also offered a position by Du Plessis-Mornay after his embassy had concluded (thus corroborating the Calvinist connection). Additionally, he was a close associate of Michel de l’Hôpital whom he apparently first met as a student in Padua.199 In the wider circle we also find the scholar and Hebraist Josias Mercier (1560–1626) who was also a friend of Camerarius. Mercier’s religious affiliations were also ambiguous as he had leanings towards Calvinism; his intellectual links to the network come in the form of a commentary on Lipsius’s Tacitus and the fact that he wrote a biography of Pierre Pithou.200 These connections and exchanges are indeed difficult to trace; yet letters, references, book prefaces and controversial writings all combine to give us a picture of this virtual informal network of individuals exchanging objects and information; men who were concerned particularly with the status, classification, and use of written matter. Beyond humanistic considerations, the acquisition and discussion of books, politics and religion, a dominant place in these exchanges was occupied by contemporary developments and events: the wars in France and the Low Countries, developments in the Italian peninsula and the Council of Trent, events in the Empire and the three Kingdoms of the British Isles, all of which were interrelated. Both Lipsius’s and Sarpi’s correspondence were full of references to the wars and contemporary events, and calls for all sides involved to reach lasting solutions and enduring peace. Both had friends in the right places and tried to play their role in this search: Lipsius, for instance, was friends with Jean Richardot (1540–1609), the head of the Belgian representatives of Albert of Austria during the negotiations of the Peace of Vervins (1598). Sarpi was closely associated with the two English 197 William Camden, Gulielmi Camdeni et illustrium virorum ad. G. Camdenum epistolae (London: Richard Ghiswell, 1691), 282. 198 In one of his essays Montaigne refers to a person who confessed to him that he had for a lifetime professed and practiced a religion contrary to the one he believed so as not to lose esteem and public office; Montaigne, Essais (i, 56) ‘Des prières’ ed. Pierre Villey (Paris: Quadrige/Presses Universitaires de France, 1999); cited in Smith, ‘Early French Advocates of Religious Freedom’, 43. 199 Smith, ‘Early French advocates of Religious Freedom’, 41. 200 Josias Mercier, Ad novam Taciti editionem aliquot notae (Paris: apud Ambroise Drouart, 1590); Vita Petri Pithoei, J.C. (S.l.: s.n., 1597).

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Ambassadors, Carleton and Wotton; he furthermore had unrestricted access to the dispatches sent by Venetian ambassadors abroad to the Senate.201 Lipsius was being informed about international developments by his colleagues both at the university and abroad, while Sarpi frequented Secchini’s shop Nave d’Oro in the Mercerie. Informing Rome about the Venetian’s whereabouts, the nuncio reported that Sarpi met with the English ambassador in the shop as well as ‘many Germans and Flemings’, and there in ‘a separate room they debated at length’ and spoke ‘as they pleased about the Court of Rome’.202 An important source of information for both of them, moreover, was the vast network of manuscript newsletters (avvisi, relazione, corantos) which would have provided ready information of occurrences from throughout the known world.203 Lipsius refers to Gazettes in 1602, three years before the beginning of their publication by Abraham Verhoeven.204 We also know from Sarpi’s correspondence that he was also receiving these and that he often transcribed news from them in his own letters.205 In fact, Sarpi was used by others as an ‘intelligence organiser’ that is, he was channelling information and arranging for news to arrive to ambassadors and other agents. The interplay between information and the influencing of wider events is manifest in the manner in which newsletters referred to published pamphlets as a way of marketing them, as well as news being used by pamphlet writers as a way to substantiate their positions. Much less information has survived about Charron’s sources of news but his travels and the circumstances of religious conflict which he lived in would have been enough of a stimulus. James of course as a King was the recipient of a great deal of intelligence from all different kinds of sources, from agents, ambassadors, visitors, pamphlets and news.206 As Lipsius and Charron lived through the conflicts, the responses of James and Sarpi ‘watching’, as it were, from afar take on a different dimension. Yet the significance of wars for the latter two is manifest in the stress they place upon them both in their exchanges and also in their works. 201 Vivo, ‘Paolo Sarpi and the Uses of Information in Seventeenth-Century Venice’, 40. 202 Cited in Vivo, ‘Paolo Sarpi and the Uses of Information in Seventeenth-Century Venice’, 41. 203 Z. Barbarics-Hermanik, ‘The Coexistence of Manuscript and Print: Handwritten Newsletters in the Second Century of Print, 1540–1640’ in M. Walsby and G. Kemp (ed.), The Book Triumphant. Print in Transition in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 347–368. 204 Morford, Stoics and Neostoics, 68, n. 59. 205 Letters to Groslot 22 December 1609, 7 June and 5 July 1611, and 22 November 1611, in Sarpi, Lettere ai Protestanti, vol. 1, 103, 177, 182. 206 Calendar of State Papers: Venetian, vols. 10–11.

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Observing the Wars

For both Sarpi and James the wars of religion were vivid recent events and more pertinent than ever, as they both saw the problems of their own generation as remnants of issues not fully or satisfactorily settled by the end of the conflicts. As a result, unresolved matters were having a great impact on the events surrounding them. Sarpi learned about the wars of religion in France and the Low Countries throughout his adult life through his friends, contacts and reports. The wars feature prominently in his History of the Council of Trent and provide a gripping background to the events at the Council, so much so that the Council is not centre-stage but runs parallel to the dramatic events in France, England and the Empire. Here is Sarpi describing the situation erupting in France and the Low Countries in 1562: …news came to Trent of the battle in France which happened the seventeenth of the month, in which the Prince of Conde was taken prisoner. That kingdom was very turbulent all that year, for the difference of religion, which gave rise to initially a gentle, and later a furious war. … War broke in all the provinces of France, between these parties … The sons fought against their fathers, brothers against brothers, and even women took arms on both sides, in defence of religion… Where the Huguenots overcame, the images were beaten down, the altars destroyed, the Churches spoiled, and the ornaments of gold and silver melted to make money for soldiers’ pay. Where the Catholics were conquerors, they burned the Bibles in the vulgar tongue, rebaptised children, and remarried those who had been married according to the new ceremonies. And the condition of the Clergy on both sides was most miserable, who, whenever they were taken, were cruelly murdered, without any humanity…. …And because the people in the Low Countries learned by this example to be more contumacious and obstinate, they attacked the King’s authority, diminishing it gradually so that it could not be repaired by the Governors. And the King refused to go there to oppose his person against the ill disposition of the people ….207 The religious wars are a focal point in James’s writings as well. In the year 1585, while France was going through its eighth war of religion, the ‘War of the Three 207 Historia del Concilio Tridentino. Nella quale si scoprono tutti gl’ artificii della Corte di Roma, per impedire che né la veritá di dogmi si palesasse, né la riforma del Papato, & della Chiesa si trattasse. Di Pietro Soaue Polano (London: John Bill, 1619); stc (2nd ed.), 21760, 630.

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Henris’, the King tells us that he was ‘moved by the stirring up of the League and cruel persecution of the Protestants in all countries, at the very first ranging whereof’, to write his poem Lepanto ‘being both begun and ended in the same Summer, wherein the League was published in France’.208 The relevance is also obvious in James’s writings of 1615/16 where he refers to the French clergy in a less than complimentary manner. James’s feelings about the wars are highlighted in a discussion of a contemporary issue, namely the possibility of an ‘oath of allegiance’ being imposed in France. The French clergy is the cause of ‘these calamities’: …haue not all the calamities, which the third Estate haue sought prouidently to preuent; have they not all sprang from the Clergie, as from their proper and naturall fountaine? From whence did the last ciuill warres, wherein a world of blood was not more profusely then prodigiously and vnnaturally spilt, …. From whence did these bloodie warres proceed, but from the deposing of the said king [Henri iii] by the Head of the Church? Were they not Prelates, Curats and Confessours; were they not Ecclesiastics, who partly by seditious preachments, and partly by secret confessions, powred many a iarre of oyle vpon this flame? Was not he that killed the forenamed King, was not he one of the Clergie?209 The above extracts demonstrate the centrality of the confessional conflict in Sarpi’s and James’s work and its impact in their thinking in terms of understanding their contemporary circumstances. Evidently, this was also the case with Charron and Lipsius. The works of all four authors were widely translated and circulated, indicating that contemporaries found them relevant in their perception of the world surrounding them and in ways of dealing with what they were facing. All four of them reacted to contemporary events; they were greatly concerned about the religious conflicts and their results and they looked to the past (both ancient as well as Christian) for inspiration of how to deal with the present. Their preoccupations are expressed not only in their works but also in their correspondence and in their contacts within the wider networks of exchanges. These networks as has been noted did not necessarily represent a group of people with identical views, as circumstances, doctrines and ideas were 208 The Poems of James vi. of Scotland ed. J. Craigie (Edinburgh and London: Scottish Text Society: William Blackwood and Sons, 1955), vol. 1, 198–199. 209 Remonstrance for the Right of Kings and the Independance of their Crownes, in James i, Workes, 381–484, 393.

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variable­in the decades under consideration (1580s to 1620s), but what most of them seem to share is some elements of attempts at reconciliation or at least viewing religion as an element which could be accommodated according to philosophical, social, and political considerations, provided that it retained its spiritual nature. All four of them emphasised to varying degrees personal piety and were sceptical towards institutionalised religion. They promoted one religion for the state without too seriously engaging with issues of doctrinal accuracy; if religious eirenicism were to fail, they could turn to moral philosophy and human considerations as necessary support in their search for peace and stability.210 Charron and Lipsius are the two authors out of the four who experienced the warfare first hand, and it is to the impact this had on the former that we will now turn our attention. 210 Güldner, Toleranz-Problem, 113.

chapter 2

Human Wisdom and Moderation versus Indifference and Superstition: Charron’s Response to Religious Conflict The nation, country, place, gives the religion, and a man professes that which is in force in that place and among those persons, where he is born, and where he lives…for religion is not of our choice. pierre charron, De la Sagesse II.5 (1604)

…

Experience has taught us that apostasy, atheism and irreligion are released by heresies and the dregs of long and dreary religious disputes and confrontations…. pierre charron, Les Trois Véritez I.1 (1593)

…

If I had undertaken to instruct the cloister…I must necessarily have followed the advice of the divines: but our booke instructs civil life, forms a man for the world, that is to say, human wisdom, not divine. pierre charron, De la Sagesse, preface to the second edition (1604)

∵ Pierre Charron’s work constituted an elaborate response to the confusion of religious conflict. His approach to religion was a reflection of his experience. He was appalled to discover that the strife had bred religious apathy and atheism but also extreme zeal and ‘superstition’. Confronted by the entrenchment of the opposing sides and the violent passions behind it, Charron promoted moderation and sought to establish a philosophically inspired natural foundation to religion, away from religious dogmatism of any kind. He wrote vehemently against passions and religious extremities and advocated the necessity

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of ­religion within the state for reasons of governing and for the preservation of peace and the commonwealth. He argued for the attainment of preud’hommie, which was atuned to nature and universal reason, and would provide peace and tranquillity of mind, a much longed-for state of mind in the midst of confessional upheaval. These positions are expressed in his pair of works, the Les trois véritez contre les athées, idolâtres, juifs, mahumétans, hérétiques et schismatiques (Bordeaux, 1593) and De la Sagesse, Trois Livres (Bordeaux, 1601).1 Charron’s work is indicative of the state of religious flux and questioning that took place at the end of the sixteenth century in response to the disruptive experience of religious division. In his effort to combat indifference and religious dogmatism, however, Charron essentially suceeded in challenging the importance of religion from different points of view. By equating Christianity with other religions (even though he was not alone in the attempt to establish similarities between various religions), he undermined it from a historical/ temporal perspective. He gave a similar impression by associating religion with nature. Lastly, by proclaiming piety to be inferior to honesty and probity (preud’hommie), he subordinated religion to human morality. This temporal aspect which, even if inadvertedly, arose from his work, is important evidence towards the critical state of religious attitudes following decades of civil strife. Of Charron’s two works, the Sagesse came to be at the centre of heated controversies for centuries following its initial publication. This was Charron’s attempt at constructing a compendium of received knowledge and a guide to (human) wisdom, founded primarily upon nature. His first book, Les Trois Véritez had been an interesting blend of Catholic apologetics and a philosophical explanation for the existence of God. Both works enjoyed great popularity, though undoubtedly of the two the Sagesse enjoyed the longest. Numerous editions bear witness to this book’s popularity: no less than twenty-five appeared between 1618 and 1634 in French,2 alongside at least five editions of the abridged version of the text, the Traicté de la Sagesse (Paris, 1614).3 Another nine editions of the English translation of the work appeared by the end of the seventeenth century.4

1 Pierre Charron, Les trois véritez contre les athées, idolâtres, juifs, mahumétans, hérétiques et schismatiques (Bordeaux: Simon Millanges, 1593); ustc 2978 and De la Sagesse, Livres Trois (Bordeaux: Simon Millanges, 1601). 2 Information from the Bibliothèque nationale de France catalogue (www.bnf.fr) and Copac (merged online catalogues of major University, Specialist, and National Libraries in the uk and Ireland; http://copac.ac.uk/), accessed 21 May 2012. 3 Traicté de la Sagesse, plus Quelques Discours Chrétiens qui on eté trouvé après son deceds (Paris: Durant, 1614). 4 Information from the English Short Title Catalogue (http://estc.bl.uk/) and Copac.

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The Trois Véritez was published in French fifteen times between 1594 and 1596, in Paris, Bordeaux, Lyon and Brussels.5 Studies on Charron had for a long time been coloured by the theologian’s association with Michel de Montaigne (1533–92), the nature of which remains unclear: throughout the centuries, critics have variously argued that Charron was Montaigne’s disciple, ‘herbier’ (plagiariser), or ‘synthesiser’.6 Conversely, some scholars have described him as a precursor to Hobbes, and more generally to natural law theorists,7 while the Sagesse has been labelled ‘breviary’ of the libertins.8 Contemporaries compared his writings to those of (the u ­ biquitous) Machiavelli’s; thus the Papal nuncio Innocenzo Del Bufalo Cancellieri (1566–1610) in 1604 proclaimed that: Every day some scandalous book comes out off the press, among them a recent one, similar to the impious doctrine of Machiavelli, entitled Wisdom, and composed by a theologal and canto of the Cathedral of Condom, who had no sooner finished this foul work filled with heresies when he suddenly died.9 5 Information is derived from the ustc (the Universal Short Title Catalogue, www.ustc.ac.uk), accessed April 2012. 6 The idea that Charron was closely following Montaigne either as a disciple or a plagiariser has a long history: it probably originated by Charles Sorel’s La bibliothèque Françoise de M.C. Sorel ou le Choix et l’Examen des Livres François qui Traitent de l’Éloquence de la Philosophie, de la Dévotion, et de la Conduite des Moeurs (Paris: Compagnie des libraires du Palais, 1664). For the persistence of the view, cf. C.A. Saint-Beuve, Causeries du Lundi, vol. iv (Paris: Garnier Frères, 1852–62); A. Delboulle, ‘Charron Plagiaire de Montaigne’, Revue d’Histoire Littéraire de France, 7 (1900), 284–296. M. Adam suggests that Charron ‘organised, classified, and divided Montaigne’s thought’ in his Études sur Pierre Charron (Bordeaux: Presses Universitaires de Bordeaux, 1991), 16. Cf. also J.R. Maia Neto, Academic Skepticism in Seventeenth-Century French Philosophy. The Charronian Legcy 1601–1662 (Heidelberg, New York: Springer, 2014), 34–39. 7 P.F. Grendler, ‘Pierre Charron: Precursor to Hobbes’, Review of Politics, 25 (1963), 212–224; M.C. Horowitz, ‘Natural Law as the Foundation for an Autonomous Ethics: Pierre Charron’s De la Sagesse’, Studies in the Renaissance 21 (1974), 204–227 and eadem, Seeds of Virtue and Knowledge (Princeton: Princeton UPress, 1998). 8 See R.H. Popkin, History of Scepticism. From Erasmus to Spinoza (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1979), chs. 3 and 5; J.-B. Sabrié, De l’Humanisme au Rationalisme. Pierre Charron (1541–1603) L’Homme, l’Œuvre, l’Influence (Paris: Alcon, 1913), Chs. xvi and xvii; C. Belin, L’ Œuvre de Pierre Charron 1541–1603. Littérature et Théologie de Montaigne à Port-Royal (Paris: Honoré Champion, 1995), Ch. 8. 9 Del Bufalo to Aldobrandini, 10 Feb. 1604, cited in A. Soman, ‘Pierre Charron: A Revaluation’, Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance, xxxii (1970), 71. J. Dagens refuted Charron’s ‘­machiavellism’ in ‘Le Machiavelisme de Pierre Charron’, Studies Aangeboden aan Gerard Brom (Utrecht and Nijmegen: Dekker et van de Vegt, 1952), 56–64.

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In the 1620’s, twenty years after its publication, the Sagesse was also part of a greater debate between Jesuits and their adversaries in France, as a text promoting naturalism and atheism. Contemporary scholarship has been debating whether Charron subscribed to stoic currents of thought, or to a sceptic approach, whether his work should be described as fideist, Augustinian, atheistic, or even, finally, whether his work is worth considering at all.10 Charron’s reputation and this ambivalence in interpretating his work lies first and foremost on approaches of the Sagesse, the richness of which allows for a variety of readings. Some scholars have even characterised it as a commonplace book which, though based on an overarching plan, it was comprised of less thought-out individual parts.11 Less attention has been paid to the Trois Véritez, which is most often treated simply as a work of Catholic polemics, one of the many that were produced in the second half of the sixteenth century. The two works differ in that, as he explained, in his first work Charron set out to deal with divine wisdom, while in the Sagesse he proposed to address and offer advice upon the question of human wisdom. This double output and its justification by the author present interpretational problems. Seen together, Les Trois Véritez and the knowledge of God could consitute the foundation of the Sagesse, namely divine wisdom forming the basis of human. Read independently, however, the two texts give good reason to infer that the author saw the source of knowledge and human wisdom for the most part detached from divine inspiration. More importantly, both works constitute an attempt to establish the fundamentals of religion, largely away from doctrinal particulars. In fact, Charron’s approach is for the most part of both works universalist and he frequently attacks religious dogmatism. In response to the intellectual, moral, religious and political crisis prevalent during the wars of religion and their aftermath, Charron tried to offer his contemporaries a particular way out on the issues of religion, faith, nature, morality and God. The results, however, were mixed: in his works, he wavers between trying to combat the spectre of indifference generated by confessional strife and arguing against religious passions. He argues for the existence of God and the necessity of religion based on rational and philosophical arguments. Finally, he proposes that human wisdom and virtue precede and can be independent of religion as they are based on nature. He thus leaves his audience with a sense of religious relativism and

10 11

Soman, ‘Revaluation’, 57. Cf. A. Moss, Printed Commonplace-Books and the Structuring of Renaissance Thought (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996) and more recently A.M. Blair, Too Much to Know. Managing Scholarly Information before the Modern Age (New Haven and London: Yale up, 2010).

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a utilitarian view of religion which would have resonated with some of his disenchanted and embittered contemporaries. France had already been enthralled in a series of civil conflicts for over three decades when Charron composed his first work. He himself had been arrested twice during this time by both sides of the confessional spectrum and had preached in defence of Catholic teaching. After the cessation of hostilities, Charron had taken part in the Synod of the clergy which was assembled by Henri iv in 1595 as part of the reconciliation process and his rapprochement with Pope Clement viii (Aldobrandini, 1592–1605).12 This was the immediate historical and personal background of the Trois Véritez, a work produced as a result of the experience of these upheavals, and addressing Charron’s disillusioned and confused compatriots.

Les Trois Véritez: Founding God on Human Reason

The Trois Véritez was aimed at ‘atheists, pagans, Jews, Mohammedans, heretics and schismatics’. It set out to prove three fundamental truths. First, the existence of God, and the necessity of religion. Second, the existence of a ‘revealed’ religion, namely, the religion whose founder was Jesus Christ. Finally, that among ‘Christian religions’ (that is, confessions) Catholicism was the oldest and only true form of Christianity. Though operating within the familiar pattern of religious polemics, the work is indeed unusual and thoroughly argued. The three truths correspond to three books; the third Book is the longest and the one that falls more squarely within the conventions of post-Tridentine Catholicism, as it praises the role and position of the Church of Rome as authoritative interpreter of God. Both the approach and the subject-matter reiterate the positions of the Catholic side, as these were confirmed at the Council of Trent in 1563. Two distinct editions can be indentified for the Véritez. After its first edition, Charron reissued the work with refutation to responses that had arisen.13 Thus the intellectual background of the work also fits the polemical exchanges of the time. The third Verité was primarily a response to the Huguenot Du PlessisMornay’s (1549–1623) treatise on Church. The Traité de l’Eglise was a fiercely Protestant tract, dedicated to Henri of Navarre, which set out to ­identify the 12 13

J. Russell Major, From Renaissance Monarchy to Absolute Monarchy: French Kings, Nobles, and Estates (Baltimore & London: Johns Hopkins up, 1994), 164. Les trois véritez, seconde edition, revue, corrigée et de beaucoup augmentée (Bordeaux: Simon Millanges, 1595), ustc 3165.

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signs of the ‘true Church’. It attacked the Catholic Church and the Pope and emphasised the importance of Scripture in helping to recognise the ‘true Church’.14 Accordingly, the book of the third Verité bears a separate titlepage, indicating that it was also intended to be sold independently. Further, it too bears a personal dedication to King Henri, now Henri iv of France, who had recently converted to Catholicism.15 In the dedication, Charron calls his third Book ‘le petit traicté de l’Église’, while in the preface to the book he indicates that he composed this work after his friends urged him to, as it would help the French nobility and anyone who did not know Latin to understand how ‘easy it was to respond’ to Mornay.16 We could assume that Charron also took occasion for composing the first two books of the Véritez by another one of Mornay’s works, De la Verité de la religion Chrestienne (Paris, 1582), which also responded to the same challenge, disbelief in the existence of God by calling upon all ancient non-Christian authorities whose work demonstrated conformity with Christian truth.17 On the whole, Charron’s text defies classification, even if it ostensibly appears to fit into conventional patterns of Catholic controversy. Works claiming to be establishing the (Catholic) truth against reformed preachings were familiar in the French sixteenth century book market and popular with readers. These included tracts on the truth of the Catholic faith, truth over the errors of the Lutherans, the truth of the true presence of the body and blood of Christ in the Eucharist, and truth of the Christian word.18 The difference in Charron’s text is his evident exasperation with the state of belief due to the decades of civil strife and his emphasis on human reasoning in proving the existence of 14 15 16 17

18

Philippe du Plessis-Mornay, Traité de l’Église ([Genève]: pour Antoine Chuppin, 1579); ustc 52859; and London: [Thomas Vautrollier], 1579; ustc 824. M. Wolfe, The Conversion of Henri iv: Politics, Power, and Religious Belief in Early Modern France (Cambridge: Harvard up, 1993). Pierre Charron, Toutes les œuvres. Dernière édition revue, corrigée et augmentée. 2 vols. (Paris: Jacques Villery, 1635); vol. 2, 117 [Au Roy], 122 [Au lecteur]. De la Verité de la religion Chrestienne. Contre les Athées, Epicuriens, Paiens, Iuifs, Mahumedistes, & autres Infideles (Paris: chez Jean Richer, 1582); ustc 2650; see J. Harrie, ‘­Duplessis-Mornay, Foix-Candale and the Hermetic Religion of the World’, Renaissance Quarterly 31 (1978), 499–514, esp. 505–507. Cf. St Vincent de Lérins, Verité de la foi catholique (Paris: Michel de Vascosan, 1541); ustc 40136; Ambrosius Catharinus, Traicté de la verité contre les erreurs et deceptions des lutheriennes (Paris: s.n., 1548); ustc 93532; Nicole Grenier, Institution catholique de la verite du precieux corps et sang de Jesuchrist (Paris: chez Sébastien Nivelle, 1552); ustc 10999; Gilbert de Coyffier, Defence de la verité de la foy catholicque contre les erreurs de Calvin (Paris: chez Guillaume Chaudière, 1586); ustc 14765 and many more.

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God. He states his intention in Book. I.1, the preface to the work. There he explains that he had originally planned to write only the third Verité, as the first two did not need to be established. He had discovered, however, that there were some who in fact denied the first truth, that is, denied the existence of God. He had also discovered that some considered the second truth, namely the existence of Christianity, as a revealed religion, a ‘lie and a pretense’. But with time experience made me realise that several monsters from the world there, who have the face, the form and the human manner, converse in familiar terms among men … and do not accept the first truth and mocked the second as a lie and deceit.19 The work thus takes instance of these elements of unbelief, to discuss religion in general, and the Catholic religion and Church in particular, at the backdrop of religious conflict. The whole work is a gradual and systematic exposition of arguments on the issue of religious truths. The first Book presents a number of arguments in support of the first truth, the existence of religion, a truth (which should be) accepted by all. The author discusses the extent to which the challenges and division that religion was facing during his time had damaged belief in God. He also provides definitions of religion and atheism, the main concepts relevant for the work. The rest of Book One argues in a systematic way about the existence of God employing, among others, arguments from pre-Christian thinkers as a way of strengthening his case. The author identifies political and ‘natural’ reasons for the existence of religion while he also points to internal (psychological) and moral reasons that support the existence of a Deity. Charron also considers man’s ability to perceive the existence of God and the extent to which it is possible to know God, given man’s feeble intellect and understanding of the world. This is an important chapter, powerful reverberations of which we also find in the Sagesse, as man’s ability to understand God relates to his ability to attain human knowledge. The chapter is significant: if man cannot know God, how could he believe in Him and how could he accept any of Charron’s arguments as proof for His existence? Charron however insists that ‘nature’ testifies to the Divine existence, as does the internal moral fulfillment and completeness that man finds when living according in accordance with God’s Word. The first Book concludes with a discussion on Divine Providence against the manner in which the ‘Epicureans and irreligious’ understand the issue. 19

Véritez, 3.

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Book Two sets out to establish that from all existing religions, Christianity is uniquely true. Charron pursues this in a twofold manner: he first compares Christianity with all other known religions to demonstrate its originality. Then he presents six ‘authentic and divine’ proofs which originate from within Christianity and which provide the evidence that the religion of Christ is the only true one. In the first group of arguments, Charron discusses the five main religions of the world, and their subdivisions (Chapters 1–2). After juxptaposing all religions the author pronounces Christianity’s excellence, one which is further substantiated by the fact that other religions recognise its primacy and precedence (Chapters 3–4). The second group of arguments (Chapters 5–10) demonstrates proofs in defence of Christianity. Charron also utilises as evidence of Christianity’s excellence, its victory over idols, daemons and oracles of the world. The Book analyses the circumstances of Christianity’s spread and popularity, and the manner in which it was received by the people. As final evidence Charron puts forth the complete satisfaction and perfection of man that Christianity offers to its believers. The Book concludes with responses to objections and doubts that one may have towards the person of Jesus and refutes any objections against the doctrine and substance of the Christian religion. The third Book, since it was originally planned first, can be read independently from the other two. The main thrust of the argument here is that from all the ‘parties’ that exist in Christianity, only the Roman Catholic Church is the true Church. The Catholic ‘true’ Church is moreover entirely in opposition to the multitude of ‘heretics’ and ‘schismatics’ present in the late sixteenth century world. Charron refers to the contemporary great divisions of Christianity, analysing their effects, causes and results, trying to ascertain the manner in which these troubles could be dealt with. Charron’s position is that in order to determine the religious disputes it is necessary to have a sovereign judge and a definite principle. There are three likely sources of this principle. The first, guidance from the private inspiration of the Holy Spirit, he dismisses. He then juxtaposes the second and the third, sacred scriptures versus the Church. Charron concludes that only the latter can be the ultimate and sovereign judge of religion, as the Chuch preceded scripture, and interpretation of scripture originates with the Church. The work then turns to a triumphant glorification of the Catholic Church; the Church, as the Council of Trent had confirmed, is infallible and does not ever err in the definition and determination of things that concern belief. The work discusses extensively the eight signs of the true Church, dismissing the signs that the reformed Churches (the ‘Schismatics’) use in order to recognise the true Church. The symbols of authenticity thus are: the antiquity of the Roman Catholic Church; its great assembly and spread

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throughout the world; its eternity and public prominence; the name of the Catholic Church as a reflection and evidence of its catholicity and universality; the continuity of doctrine and believers who have remained close to the original faith in contrast to the variety, uncertainty and constant division of the reformers (as demonstrated for example in their disagreement regarding the Eucharist). The third Book is brought to a close with a response towards those who had left the Church and the assertions they used in justifying their departure. The last chapter also operates as a conclusion to the whole work, and includes an exhortation to ‘schismatics’ to recover and return to the Catholic Church. Interestingly, although the main point of Book Three is to convince the reader about the authority of the Catholic Church, the approach is not absolute; on the contrary, Charron acknowledges as a starting point of his inquiry the troubles and the discord between Christians. The third Book is also by far the longest of the three, due to the magnitude of the ‘present evil’ facing the Catholics. The gravity of this attack was also the reason for him treating the topic with more ‘seriousness’ and in a more popular manner than the other two books. This explanation confirms the more conventional nature of the third Book. On the contrary, he explained, the first two truths are discussed more succinctly, almost in a form of notes: ‘briefly, without art, without extended discourse about, like abbreviated summaries of memoirs’.20 This indicates the more idiosyncratic character and tone of Books One and Two. It is in in these two Books that we find Charron’s purer views on the issue of religion and the effects of seven decades of confessional strife and religious hostilities in Europe – three decades within France itself – on people. Atheism and general indifference were paramount among these effects. Crucially however, as we will see, the elements of indifference that Charron tried to defy can also be traced in his work and the certain relativity in the manner in which he treats religion.21 This undermining is accentuated by Charron’s employment of philosophical – ultimately temporal – proofs for the existence of God in the Véritez. Finally, as we shall see, Charron also repeatedly raises the issue of the role of religion within the state. This had emerged as a crucial matter and a dominant concern in the author’s time, as the wars of religion shook the very foundations of civil life.

20 21

Véritez, Au lecteur, 4, and main text, 3. Cf. D.P. Walker’s assessment of the dangers of using arguments drwn from the prisci theology in his ‘The Prisca Theologia in France’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 17 (1954), 204–259, esp. 234–252.

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Religious Wars, Indifference and Atheism

The spectre of the religious wars is difficult to avoid in Charron’s work. He devotes a whole chapter on the ‘great divisions of Christianity, their effects, causes and fruits: and what is to be done in such troubles’ (Chapter III.1). He draws his readers’ attention to the disintegration of religion into many ‘heresies’, ‘superstitions’ and ‘wrong views’.22 Religion, he declares, is suffering attacks occasioned by humanity. ‘A thousand adventures, many heresies, many superstitions, many sects, many erroneous opinions’ attack religion from all fronts.23 Yet differences, divisions and schisms have been in some way endemic to Christianity since the time of the primitive Church.24 It is is a truly strange thing, exclaims the author, to think that the Christian religion, the only true and revealed religion has so many times been: shattered and torn into many parts, divided into many opinions, and opposite sects, so much so that there is no article of faith, nor point of doctrine that has not been debated and variously disputed and by this caused heresies and opposing sects.25 Disagreements on points of doctrine were therefore not unusual in the Christian Church. The situation for Charron’s contemporaries however, was a great deal worse: an upsurge in extreme views threatened the unity of the body of believers, as ‘each party wants to prove itself right, condemning all the other parties’. In the few cases where someone expressed desire to dispute and deliberate together, no-one appeared to have any intention to cede: everyone fought, assailed and defended in the same manner, employing the same ‘ammunition’, both in defense as well as in attack. Things were in such a state, that the image of all contesting parties had been damaged.26 Charron laments the polarisation of Christianity and passions. He cannot comprehend how things had reached such extremes in his lifetime that moderates were reprimanded and challenged as lacking in zeal. Meanwhile, to treat amiably the opposite party was considered to be ‘abominable’.27 Charron is thus obviously vying for 22 23 24 25 26 27

Véritez, 186. Véritez, 183. Véritez, 173. Véritez, 174. Véritez, 186. Véritez, 175.

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moderation, expressing his disdain at the extreme turn which religion and dogmatism has taken. For Charron the effects of religious divisions were frightening. First and foremost, the chaos and insecurity affected the policing of the state. Many republics, kingdoms, and peoples had been repeatedly subverted, empires had been divided, and the world was disrupted. This upheaval was marked by cruel, furious and bloody exploits.28 The fervour with which these differences had been expressed was fatal and damaging to religion and to religious belief: ‘in the name of [religious] zeal and love of religion, each side hates fatally all the others’. They think that it is permissible to perform acts of hostility and violence. Charron described the horror he and his contemporaries experienced: the situation had permitted some Christians to be murderers, traitors, to attack one another through all kinds of inhumanity, without any consideration, but with such a rage, that all consideration of parentage, alliance, friendship, merit or obligation count for nothing.29 This feature, Charron sharply asserts, does not exist in other religions. One of the most disturbing effects of this volatile situation was the encouragement of atheism. Charron identifies as a specific category of atheists, people who although born into religion and raised as believers, had become indifferent. This indifference was the product of the incessant religious warfare and discord between Catholics and Protestants: ‘Experience has taught us that apostasy, atheism and irreligion are released by heresies and the dregs of long and dreary religious disputes and confrontations…’.30 Some people used to be religious but are not any more. This group was ‘scandalised’ and ‘annoyed’ by so ugly, obstinate and bloody divisions and interminable disputes that had lasted such a long time. These divisions were ‘feeding upon them selves and multiplying in Chrstianity’; they had at times made people doubt the first truth [the existence of God], and induced them to ‘surcroyance’.31 Horrified, Charron placed the moderates in sharp contrast to the state of religion and the violence it had spurred. Moderates were the people who, amidst the passions of the militants on either side of the confessional divide, desired to not get involved, to uphold their faith, and to not let it be poisoned by events 28 29 30 31

Véritez, 174. Véritez, 175. Véritez, 2. Véritez, 5.

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and attitudes around them. Yet the balance was a delicate one and the impact of the conflicts on the strength of their belief system, considerable. This critical questioning had originated in part from the fundamental challenge posed by the reformers to the interpretation of God’s word. Nonetheless, overzealous moderates, namely people characterised by lack of interest and concern for religion were in Charron’s view similar to atheists, the people he aimed at converting with his book. Charron divides the ‘atheists’ into three categories, the main one being the ‘real’ atheists and the irreligious. The other two categories the author links to indifference. People who have not resolved on the existence of God, either on the negative or the affirmative, belong to the second category. These, ‘in the guise of the Academics and Pyrrhonians’, are in the habit of continuously doubting all things and do not attach themselves to any party. Charron characterises their manner as ‘stupid non-chalance’: nothing touches them, they let the world take its ordinary course without concern for the occult or any other higher power.32 The third kind of the so-called atheists and irreligious are those whom he calls ‘Epicureans’ and ‘libertins’. They believe in the existence of a ‘first Deity and sovereign cause’; they see this deity however as idle, without any plan or providence regarding humanity and the temporal world. Their God is weak, powerless, and non-chalant. Their approach, according to Charron, discredits and annihilates all religion, as it is not worse to believe in a God who is ‘weak’, ‘indifferent’, and without any plan for his works and creations, than it is to not believe at all.33 These two sorts of atheism are juxtaposed to the first and largest category, that of ‘pure’ non-believers, those who were indeed born predisposed to atheism and who vehemently oppose the existence of God, or the genuine atheists, who have never heard about God.34 Even though atheism and irreligion are not the focus of the third Book, Charron returns to those matters therein (Book III.1), partly reiterating his discussion of the devastating effects of the religious conflict, such as the problem of peace within a kingdom, subversion of republics and discipline in general, as well as moral disorder. In this list Charron repeats his earlier dictum that ‘we know too, how Apostasy, Atheism, irreligion are the products and the little bastard offspring of heresies’.35 Heresies thus, and confessional strife, breed atheism and irreligion with the challenge to established truth and the disgust they cause to mankind towards the ill effects of faith. 32 33 34 35

Véritez, 9. Véritez, 10. Véritez, 7–8. Véritez, 177.

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The cruel realisation that religious extremes and constant discord were causing indifference was behind Charron’s decision to compose the first two Books. Nonetheless, admitting the existence of indifference on paper almost amounted to accepting the possibility of atheism as an alternative option to that of religiosity. The author finds himself in a similar conundrum when he approaches the subject of the relationship between religion and the state.

Religion and the State: A Necessary Bond

In the Véritez Charron himself undermines the significance of religion by emphasising the human and temporal reasons for its existence, such as its importance in life and the state. Striking, in this respect, is the fact that in attempting to prove his point of God’s existence, Charron makes a case for the stability which religion can provide in a republic. To establish this he employs a rational philosophical approach. According to Charron’s line of argument in the Véritez, religion is necessary and good for the ‘republic’. It is necessary ‘for the establishment, conservation, and maintenance of the communal life, both economic and political’.36 Religion is the first and most powerful means of preserving republics and every other type of human society. It is a means of ruling men, of containing them and making them obey the laws and the magistrates, providing courage in the dangers of war and rendering them modest during peace. In brief, religion is the most effective way of making men flexible and manageable; without it, all other means of governing are ineffective and less durable. Without religion, there would be no respect, no obedience, and no modesty.37 Some of these points are also to be found in his later work, the Sagesse, in his discussion of political prudence as well as in his discussion of human feebleness and ignorance. Charron indicates that due to the utility of religion in politics some people have even suggested that it was invented by ‘political wisemen’ and founders of republics, even though this is not true. He also brings examples of tyrants in history who have made use of religion in their government and have taken great pains to present themselves as deeply pious.38 In his effort to provide evidence Charron uses examples of ungodly tyrants utilising religion, ultimately undermining his own argument. In sum, Charron concludes that, without 36 37 38

Véritez, 13. Véritez, 13. Véritez, 14–15.

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religion one would end up in a life ‘beastial, cruel and savage’.39 We find the same set of arguments in the Sagesse, where the author discusses extensively the misery of human existence comparing it with that of the animals, who lead a simpler life and in harmony with nature. By following nature, animals live more freely, securely, moderately, contentedly than men.40 The fact that religion is the foundation of republics explains the assertion that the effects of the confessional struggle were first and foremost felt in the governing of the state with the subversion of republics and kingdoms in the turmoil of the wars. The significance of the political role of religion as an argument for Charron’s work is underlined by the fact that the chapter on ‘political reasons as a proof for the existence of religion’ is the first in the line of arguments in support of the first Verité. It follows straight after the analysis of the damaging effects of religious divisions, the concept of religion, and types of atheism (Book I.3). Proof of the existence of religion thus, can be found in its necessity in a number of facets, starting with politics and political stability. Charron explains the need of religion in aspects of human existence as well, such as emotional support. Feeble people are in need of it as it provides support to weak souls. In contrast – and here Charron makes another controversial claim  – atheism can only find place in strong and courageous souls since it takes as much character to reject God. It may even take more character to reject Him than it takes to believe.41 Thus, by assigning strength to disbelief and moral and emotional weakenss to belief, the author is gravely compromising again his justification for the existence of God and the excellence of ­Christianity amongst religions.

Christianity, One of Many (Religions)

The same sense of inadvertedly undermining the declared aim of his book also manifests itself in Charron’s attitude to other religions. His stance betrays a sense of religious relativism. Religious relativism had been engendered to a certain extent by the great challenges to the unity of the Church in the sixteenth century, caused by the rift among doctrines. Considerable challenges however, had also come from the discovery of new peoples and cultures, via the encounter with the new world. The impact this questioning caused is apparent when considering the syncretic approach of the work of some of C ­ harron’s 39 40 41

Véritez, 6, 13. Sagesse, Book I.34–40. Véritez, 7–8.

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contemporaries, such as Jean Bodin’s Six Livres de la Republique, and Michel de Montaigne’s Essais. Perhaps a more imprtant set of challeges came from the the revival and the rediscovery of the ancient world via classical texts which in the sixteenth century circulated more widely through the medium of print. More in particular, the popularity of Platonism in humanist circles and the desire to integrate pre-Christian texts into Christianity encouraged a ­syncretic tendency by scholars, who were concerned with finding similarities between various philosophies and religions. One specific approach, that of writers interested in the prisca theologia, drew from a series of ancient theologians (the most famous of whom was Hermes Trismegistus) who in some measure ‘foresaw’ the Christian revelation.42 Aiming partly to show the universality and antiquity of the belief in one God, this method both ‘entailed and helped support’ religious liberalism.43 Though not an adherent of neo-Platonism or the Hermetic tradition as such, Charron’s attitude bears some similarities to them, in that he used a great deal of ancient non-Christian authorities in his arguments and in that he underlined the similarities between ancient religions.44 As part of his method to prove that Christianity is a revealed religion, in the second Book of the Trois Véritez he considers the principal religions in the world and their subdivisions. In this discussion Christianity is simply listed as one of the five principal religions. Despite the author’s intention to raise Christianity above all other faiths therefore, the fact that he places Christianity in the same category as the others effectively undermines both the essence of religion – as there could be many, and not just one – as well as Chrstiantity. The author’s stance on the issue is anticipated in the first Book of the Véritez, where he proposes the view that ‘the universal and unanimous consent of all nations and people is a great and very strong argument’ for the existence of God. This is despite the 42

43 44

See F.A. Yates, Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press: 1964); Walker, ‘The Prisca Theologia in France’ and its revised form in his The Ancient Theology: Studies in Christian Platonism from the Fifteenth to the Eighteenth Century (Ithaca, n.y.: Cornell University Press, 1972), 63–131; Jean Dagens, ‘Hermétisme et cabale en France de Lefèvre d’Etaples à Bossuet’, Revue de litterature comparé 35 (1961), 5–16. Walker, ‘Prisca Theologia in France’, 210, 252, 258. It is interesting to note that one of the few editions of Hermes Trismegistus’s Pimander (or De Sapientia et Potestate Dei) and the first translation in French appeared also in Bordeaux, in 1579, shortly before Charron’s own texts, and by the same printer: Hermes Trismegistus, Le pimandre (Bordeaux, Simon Millanges, 1579); ustc 5955; see E. Limbrick, ‘Hermétisme religieux au XVIe siècle: le “Pimandre” de François de Foix de Candale’ Renaissance and Reformation / Renaissance et Réforme 5 (1981), 1–14 and Harrie, ‘Duplessis-Mornay, Foix-Candale and the Hermetic Religion of the World’.

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variety of religions: ‘the diversity of religions is great in the world: diversity in belief, in prayers and sacrifices, but always [there exists] a universal sentiment of deity’.45 Importantly however, to accept religious plurality is one of the first steps to religious relativity and a lack of concern for particulars. Charron recognises that all five principal religions ‘have had great praise and reputation in the world’; they had been introduced one after the other ‘almost in the same place and small circle of earth’. The chapter lists them in order of appearance and area of influence: the ‘natural-gentile’; the Jewish ‘conceived at the time of Abraham’; the Christian, ‘by Jesus Christ’; the ‘Mohamettan’ in Arabia; the ‘Chaldean’ in the Arab region and Palestine. Charron compares the five traditions pointing to what he describes as the flaws of the other religions in contrast to the excellence of Christianity (Chapter II.2–II.4). Christianity is the only revealed one: it was predicted, promised and announced by the prophets, it has produced miracles and saints. Even if pagan philosophy is similar in substance, it does not hold the authority that Christianity does.46 The juxtaposition and almost equation of Christianity with other religions went counter to the official attitude of the Catholic Church at the time which was to anathematise any other religion and to treat their followers as infidels.47 By judging it against other religions Charron (and other h ­ umanists doing the same) was reducing Christianity, even if the aim was to demonstrate its excellence. He compares and contrasts Christian miracles with the alleged ‘miracles’ of the pagan faith, which could be explained by natural causes or by magic. These alleged miracles are so plainly false that even ancient commentators such as Aristotle, Pliny, Cato, Caesar and Cicero mocked them as such.48 Christianity’s excellence is also confirmed by the fact that (pagan) Emperors had amired Jesus49 and that Muslims believe in most of the Christian truths. The elements of syncretism by the author were expanded in the Sagesse, where Charron treats religion as an historical and sociological phenomenon, an approach that was also adopted by Sarpi, as we shall see. Thus, both of Charron’s texts convey the sense that all religions have much in common, not only in beliefs, but also in origin and reception, a point that resonated with moderates of all sides during this period of intense strife between contrasting views

45 46 47 48 49

Véritez, 40–41. Véritez, 113. Cf. the Bull of Indiction of the Council of Trent 22 May 1542 (11th of the calends of June). Véritez, 109. Véritez, 117.

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on faith.50 Most attempts at reconciliation, besides, were based on identifying the shared and essential elements of Christianity and dispensing with anything non-essential. Evidently, given that Charron’s intended audience was French, were they, in fact, convinced about the existence of God (the first truth), then there was clearly less need to be convinced about the second, namely Christianity’s excellence. Consequently, even though the second Book forms part of the author’s line of reasoning, it ultimately only serves to fill the space between Books One and Three – whilst at the same time it weakens Charron’s case. Two things were in fact really at stake: the battle against potential irreligion and the battle against reformed religion.

Nature of Religion – Sagesse

The author’s concern with the effects of religious wars, the role of religion in the state, and plurality of religions opens up questions about Charron’s overall outlook on the nature of religion itself. Reflecting contemporary intellectual trends and responding to issues prevalent in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Charron touches throughout the text upon the diptychs of religion and morality, religion and philosophy, and religion and nature. Each facet of these discussions is interesting in its own right but taken as a whole, they further corroborate the sense of relativity and questioning of the status of religion observed earlier. Charron’s positions regarding these issues emerge through his repeated attempts to demonstrate religion’s and God’s utility in the context of all facets of human temporal existence. If God (or religion) is useful, then it must exist. Charron defines religion as the knowledge of God, as well as the duty and the service of man towards God.51 We can know God through the observation of nature and miracles, and His divine revelation.52 By knowing and serving God people can reach virtue. Religion offers consolation in affliction, it doubles pleasure in man’s life, as well as offering him assurance that he is not alone.53 This stance views religion as indispensable since it is tied in with moral values. 50

51 52 53

Cf. Walker, ‘The Ancient Theology’, 131; see also however Harrie’s assertion that an explicit connection between the use of the prisca theologia and eirenicism is not yet fully established (‘Duplessis-Mornay, Foix-Candale and the Hermetic Religion of the World’, 512). Véritez, 1. Véritez, 44. Véritez, 93–94.

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The Trois Véritez clearly proposes that without religion there is little morality. Charron had already asserted that without religion man is nothing but a beast. The man-beast distinction is also employed in the discourse on religion (Book I.5) where man is set apart from animals on account of a number of uniquely human traits, such as laughter, speech, virtue, reason, judgement, and prudence. Above all, however, ‘man only is capable of wisdom and religion’; this highlights the centrality of religion in the temporal sphere and its link with reason. Virtue and religion are intimately linked, though Charron does not clearly determine as to which one of the two takes precedence. By having religion one is exercised into virtue.54 Apart from this virtue, religion provides infinite goods and ennobles the mind; by participating in this goodness man is contented. One can in fact find God by devoting himself to virtue.55 This is easy to see by observing the opposite: according to the author, immorality is evident in those who denied the existence of God. The affinity of Christian beliefs and morality is an obvious point; it is one, however, which he contradicts later in his second work. In the Sagesse, Charron argues that morality can also originate from nature and that it is something separate from – though ideally paired with – religion. In the Sagesse, Charron also asserts that nature and morality precede religion, whilst religion only ‘crowns’ and perfects virtue. In attempting to make God’s existence as relevant as possible, Charron utilises the argument of nature, also linked to the temporal domain: ‘the authority of nature tells us that there is a God’.56 Religion is in fact natural: there is ‘nothing more natural and universal than religion’.57 Charron devotes a whole ­chapter to the ‘natural reasons and proofs’ for the existence of God (Book I.6). The ‘nature and order’ of this world ‘forces us to recognise that there is a certain author and a sovereign cause to the temporal world’, that is, God.58 The world is a body composed by a number of different and divergent pieces, which fit together perfectly according to God’s design.59 Even the authority of A ­ ristotle is employed here, as the ancient author had said that the work of nature is the work of a certain ‘intelligence’.60 Thus, nature’s beautiful a­ rrangement,

54 55 56 57 58 59 60

Véritez, 75. Véritez, 93. Véritez, 16. Véritez, 5. Véritez, 28. Véritez, 29–30. Véritez, 32.

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­ armonious order and solid concord, are all evidence to the existence of God, h as are the properties found in things around us.61 The relationship between nature and God is a complicated one and is not always plain; nature is a living proof of God’s existence and can therefore both confirm as well as dictate the belief in God. It also bears on the relationship between religion and wisdom, as nature has a major role in our cognitive process; this is very crucial for Charron’s second work, the Sagesse. Wisdom is closely linked to religion in that the first aspect of religion is to know God. In the Trois Véritez Charron hesitates to identify wisdom with the knowledge of God even though retrospectively, in the preface to the Sagesse he refers to the Véritez as the work in which he dealt with the ‘sagesse Divine’, as opposed to the ‘sagesse humaine’.62 Wisdom ‘precedes and shows the path to religion’ as a guide that marches forward and points the will towards religion.63 To offer some explanation and very likely moderate his claim that wisdom takes precedence over religion, Charron expands on this extract in the second edition of the Véritez, indicating that wisdom and religion cannot be separated: the two form a pair, so much so that in the ancient times philosophers and priests were one and the same. It is a ‘sacred’ pair that cannot be divided, and by talking about religion we refer to both wisdom and religion. It is indeed monstrous, Charron asserts, to see ignorant priests or scholars who are irreligious.64 As one of the most crucial points of Book One, Charron devotes a whole chapter to the ‘Discourse on the knowledge of God’ (Book I.5), where he tries to explain man’s ability to know God. God is part unknowable, as He is infinite, he tells us. To demonstrate the extent of our ignorance of God he explains that what we know of Him ‘is less than what we do not know’.65 The author makes a reference to contemporary theories of knowledge and the senses, explaining that part of our inability to understand God comes from the means of perception, the senses. Thus if we cannot understand God it is because our senses are not able to perceive His glory. This argument culminates with Charron’s striking statement that ‘true knowledge of God’ is ‘perfect ignorance of Him’.66 61 Véritez, 35. 62 Cf. Sagesse, 4, 7–8. 63 Véritez, 4. 64 I have used the 1620 edition which repeats the second edition; Les trois véritez, seconde edition, revue, corrigée et de beaucoup augmentée (Paris: Pierre Bertault, 1620) [heretofore referred to as Véritez (second edition)], 4–5. 65 Véritez (second edition), 20. 66 Véritez, 24.

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This judgment, along with the author’s insistence on human ignorance, though made as a rhetorical ploy and in an effort to respond to positions put forward by ‘irreligious and atheists’, has been interpreted by scholars as evidence of Charron’s scepticism.67 Although a valid reading if taken out of context, this set of arguments is not consistent with the Véritez, since Charron uses the questioning as a way of persuading and converting his audience. Even if tempting, a characterisation of Charron as a sceptic is also not entirely consistent with the views expressed in the Sagesse, as we will see below. After all, at a different point in the Véritez the author suggests that philosophy – in contrast to his earlier point about leading the way to religion – engenders heresies in fact, nodding to the Catholic side’s awareness that independent interpretation of scriptures bore the danger of developing thought that strayed away from of God and religion. As if the author had not emphasised the point that knowledge of God is ignorance of Him enough, he returned to it in the second edition of the Trois Véritez. Expanding the passage he added that all superstition and error of our understanding of God arises from our ignorance of Him.68 Here he contradicts himself, as the initial point about the need of ignorance, is rebuffed by the later claim that ignorance is the source of human misconstruction of the Creator. Thus knowledge and wisdom, and by extension philosophy, act as complementary to religion and faith but can also be considered as endangering them. This position also seems to be turning Charron’s case against Pyrrhonians on its head, since in his exposition of the irreligious he described their questioning attitude as pernicious to belief.69 These contradictions along with Charron’s general discussion of the relationship between religion and knowledge, wisdom, morality and nature, all but help his case for proving the existence of an independent and supreme Deity as being distinct and greater than any other religion, or greater than nature. Philosophy, though partner to religion, becomes an enemy to belief, and nature is rendered greater than religion, serving as the foundation for the existence of God. By making use of so many arguments based on reason in order to prove (the Christian, Catholic) God’s existence, the author undermines the 67

68 69

Notably by Popkin in History of Scepticism, Chs. 3 and 5, even though his interpretation leans towards Charron using scepticism as means in promoting fideism. Cf. T. Gregory, ‘Pierre Charron’s “Scandalous Book”’ in M. Hunter and D. Wootton (eds), Atheism from Reformation to the Enlightenment (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992), 87–109 and M.C. Horowitz, ‘French Free-Thinkers in the First Decades of the Edict of Nantes’ in A. Levine (ed.), Early Modern Scepticism and the Origins of Toleration (Lanham: Lexington Books, 1999), 77–101. Cf. also Neto, Academic Skepticism, Ch. 2. Véritez (second edition), 22. Véritez, 9–10.

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very belief he strives to prove. This belief is damaged even further in the conclusion of the first Book, where Charron’s exposition reaches its climax with the declaration that believing in God gives someone an advantage over not believing in God: There is an advantage in believing in God – if you are right, you will have everything to win; if you are not, you will not be any worse than the non-believers.70



From Polemics to the Search of Common Ground and Alternatives

Where would this leave people whose fundamental beliefs had been challenged by the questioning produced from different interpretations of the same God? Charron’s struggle was aimed at keeping people in the Christian faith and at providing an authority to assess and pass judgment upon all the issues at stake: the Catholic Church. Yet the underlying questioning that forms the background of his analysis in the first two books of the Véritez is enough to illustrate the extent to which the Christian certainty had been shaken by the growing indifference encouraged by the religious conflict, as Charron himself admits. This went hand in hand with a search for alternative sources of knowledge and virtue, such as nature and philosophy. The two latter alternatives feature prominently in his other work, the Sagesse. The search for alternatives and for different ways of looking at religion is obvious thoughout the work, particularly in the author’s discussion of other religions. It also becomes apparent however, when one looks at the sources Charron cites throughout the Véritez, a text replete with references to classical authors. Of these, most prominent of all, not surprisingly, is Aristotle.71 Other authors make their appearance as well, some perhaps more expected than others: the author talks about ‘Socrates’ (i.e. Plato), Phocion, Seneca, Regulus, Papinian, Plinius, Cato, Caesar, Cicero and others. He also cites on more than one occasions the Epicureans and the Pyrrhonists, the modern followers of whom he is alleged to be writing against. Worthy of note is also the fact that some of these are used as evidence in the same sentences as Christ and the M ­ artyrs. This 70 71

Véritez, 98. Cf. his sources in my ‘Popularising the Classics: the Soul and its Ascent in Pierre Charron’s De la Sagesse, Trois Livres (1601–07)’, in E. Chayes (ed.), Renaissance et Ascensions de l’Âme (Paris: Classiques Garnier, forthcoming).

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use would in the eyes of the reader equate classical pagan sources with Christ and the Christian tradition and damage Christianity’s status even further. The explanation for this sense of relativity and questioning of religion’s status could perhaps lie in Charron’s own personal views and may also be consistent with a neo-Platonic interpretation of some of his views, though this is difficult to prove. It is inextricable, nonetheless, from the environment and the circumstances of confessional conflict surrounding him and his contemporaries. As mentioned earlier, Charron’s composition in many ways drew inspiration from the work of Du Plessis-Mornay against irreligion, with which he seems to be in a parallel conversation. In De la Verité de la Religion Chrestienne, Mornay had tried to turn the attention from the conflict between confessions to the conflict between faithful and infidels. Though ostensibly similar in name and content, therefore, the two works have a slightly different focus. Mornay’s aim was to convince his audience that the real enemies of Christianity were the ‘atheists, Epicureans, Pagans, Jews, Mahomedans and other infidels’, and not Christians of a differing confession. Ultimately, all Christians shared the same beliefs, which had as their source the Gospel and Jesus’s teachings. This was a text composed in the height of the French efforts at peacemaking, during which Mornay took a leading role and thus intended to emphasise the common ground between the embattled sides. Yet despite their similar title and conciliatory stance, the two texts diverge considerably in effect: Charron is trying to sway his readers towards the Catholic Church, but almost inadvertently, he recognises the increasing number of people indifferent or non-believing. Here lies the explanation for the author’s reference to the role of religion within the state. Given the uncertainty surrounding belief, the stability of the state, reinforced with the pillar of religion, would give people a new sense of confidence. The third Verité, Charron’s more direct response to Mornay, was a polemical tract.72 As such, it in turn triggered criticism and an answer from Mornay himself.73 Charron responded by reissuing his work with extended answers to the criticisms raised, so much so that the third Book grew disporportionately bigger than the first two.74 The Trois Véritez proved indeed popular with 72 Cf. Véritez, 190–191, 212, 224, 227–228, 230, 235–236, 239–240, 270, 275 etc. 73 Philippe du Plessis-Mornay, Response a un livre nouvellement mis en lumiere intitule les trois Véritez (La Rochelle: Jérôme Haultin, 1594), ustc 14633, as well as a response by Jean Gardésy, Epistolam ad Petrum Charronium Parisiensem (Montauban: excudebat Denis Haultin, 1597), ustc 110265, of which no known copy survives. 74 The third Vérité in the edition of 1620 was c.591 pages in 8o, in contrast to the c.361 pages in 8o of the 1593 edition. This compares with c.171 pages that occupy the first two Véritez together, in both editions.

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the French audience: it was reprinted fifteen times between 1594 and 1596, in Paris, Lyon and Brussells. It has been suggested that the realisation that exchanges on a confessional tone were not leading anywhere, was what made Charron decide to abandon the line of reasoning he adopted in the Véritez and its later editions. Any further attempts at converting the unbelievers of all sides would have to be based on something other than the teaching of the Catholic Church.75 A common basis had to be found from which both Protestants and Catholics could make a fresh start, cleansed from all human opinions, and ready to receive revelation. This was going to be achieved through the Sagesse. This interpretation is supported by a reference in Charron’s abridgment of the text, the Traicté de la Sagesse; in the relevant extract, Charron suggested that the Sagesse would be useful as a process in the conversion of Chinese, for example, as a means of cleansing the soul in order to receive the immaculate truth.76 At the same time however, attaining this human wisdom would offer man peace and tranquillity, the ultimate fruit in the midst of upheaval cause by confessional strife. We will now turn our attention to Charron’s Sagesse and its shift of emphasis away from religion in the manner that it was understood and accepted in the sixteenth century.

Human Wisdom: De La Sagesse, Trois Livres

The composition of the Sagesse thus had at its heart the author’s aim to reach to the foundation of human knowledge and morality as the common elements from which one could then discover his Creator and form a relationship with Him. Charron started composing the work in 1597,77 and although it may have started off as a short and succinct treatise, over the four years until its publication it also developed into a thorough handbook on how to achieve human wisdom and a guide on how to lead a wise and moral life according to the dictates of the four cardinal virtues. Up to four editions can be identified for the Sagesse. After the original version in 1601, the work was reissued in 1604 with rearranged structure, modifications and corrections dictated by criticisms

75 76 77

J.D. Charron, The ‘Wisdom’ of Pierre Charron: an Original and Orthodox Code of Morality (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1960), 92. Traicté de la Sagesse, plus Quelques Discours Chrestiens qui on esté trouvez apres son deceds (Paris: Jacques Villery, 1635) in Toutes les œuvres, vol. 1, 224–225. Letter of 7 March 1597; Lucien Auvray, ‘Lettres de Pierre Charron à Gabriel Michel de la Rochemaillet’, Revue d’Histoire Littéraire de la France, i (1894), 308–329, 318.

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and  by recommendations of Pierre Jeannin, president of the Conseil Privé (1540–1622).78 A third edition, however, can be identified: that of 1607, issued by Charron’s friend and editor, Gabriel La Rochemaillet (1562–1642), who retained the changes in the main body of the text but also added the extracts that had been removed or modified in an appendix.79 A fourth edition was created in 1635 by the publisher of Charron’s Oeuvres, who reinserted all the censored parts, maintaining however, the revised (1604) arrangement of the c­ hapters. These changes had an effect on the tone and the content/meaning of the work, particularly on the issue of human feebleness and on the role of grace, trying to make it more compatible with more widely accepted c­ ontemporary conventions. Some of these changes are addressed later on in this chapter. The first Book is an examination of human nature: starting with the Socratic dictum nosce te ipsum (γνώθι σεαυτόν, or know thyself), Book One works as a preparatory stage with the aim of purging man of any predispositions, in order to be able to accept the teachings of wisdom. Obtaining true wisdom would also elevate man above human and temporal opinions and passions, and make him resemble more his creator, since the sparks of Divine wisdom are instilled in man from the moment of creation. The second Book deals with the heart of the subject-matter, the foundations and the principal rules of wisdom, the primary of which, according to Charron, is true and essential honesty and probity (probité et preud’hommie). The second Book culminates with ‘the fruit and crown’ of wisdom, the (Stoic) skill to maintain oneself in true tranquillity of mind. Book Three differs from the previous two in organisation and style. It is a guide on how to lead a wise and moral life according to the dictates of the four cardinal virtues (prudence, justice, fortitude and temperance) and with the aim to combat human passions in order to lead a moderate life. The structure of the book is essential in its reading. As with the Véritez Charron’s original intention is primarily expressed in one of the three Books of the work; this is the middle one, the shortest of the three and the one that contains the substance of the work, as evidenced above all, by its greater originality. In the preface of the ­second edition, Charron indicated that he had intended to produce it on its own, and that it was ‘more properly his own’.80 78 79

80

De la Sagesse, Trois Livres. Seconde edition reveuë et augmentée (Paris: David Douceur, 1604). De la Sagesse, Trois Livres. Derniere edition. En laquelle, pour le contentement du curieux lecteur, a esté adjousté à la fin tout de qui pouvoit avoir este retranche aux precedents impressions. Plus une eloge veritable, ou sommaire de la vie de l’Autheur (Paris: David Douceur, 1607). ‘So here is in a few words the picture of human wisdom and folly, and the summary of that which I propose to handle in this work, and especially in the second Book, that expressly

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Charron’s level of originality has recurrently preoccupied students of the Sagesse; Anthony Levi’s evaluation, that the text is ‘little more than a systematic arrangement of opinions, phrases, sometimes whole paragraphs of other works’, encapsulates the general criticisms raised against the work.81 This is more relevant to Books One and Three of the text which are heavily dependent on secondary material. Borrowing and incorporating extracts from various works, usually unacknowledged, was of course commonplace, as a way of enhancing the text and adding more authority to it. The Sagesse, thus, can be seen as an original argument developed and supported by various authorities, or indeed as a type of commonplace book.82 This had also been Justus Lipsius’s approach, who only a few years before had composed a book on politics literally by sewing together citations from ancient classical authors.83 Charron himself acknowledged in his preface to the first edition, the use of material from other authors who had treated the subject of morality and politics, both classical and modern. He indicated that he had ‘collected the material during his studies’, but that ‘the order and the form’ of the book were his.84 He specifically indicated Seneca and Plutarch as sources, the two perhaps most popular and influential moralists for the late sixteenth century. Within the text itself Charron also acknowledged by name the French neo-Stoic moralist Guillaume du Vair (1556–1621) and Justus Lipsius, but did not reference authors no longer alive, such as Michel de Montaigne, the author to which he owed his greatest intellectual debt.85 Charron’s use of the material, however, makes for a very

81 82

83

84 85

contains the rules, traits and offices of wisdom, and which is more mine than the other two, and which I once thought to have produced (publish) by itself’; Sagesse, 9–10. A. Levi, French Moralists. The Theory of the Passions 1585 to 1649 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1964), 100. Fortunat Strowski, Pascal en son temps (Plon, 1907) as cited by Adam Études sur Pierre Charron, 86 and 128, n. 10–14; R. Tuck, Philosophy and Government 1572–1651 (Cambridge: cup, 1993), 84. Politicorum sive civilis doctrinae libri sex, qui ad principatum maxime spectant (Leiden: ex officina Plantiniana apud Franciscus i Raphelengius, 1589); ustc 422752; A. Moss, ‘The Politica of Justus Lipsius and the Commonplace-Book’, Journal of the History of Ideas, 59 (1998), 421–436. Sagesse, 748. Sabrié discusses his sources in detail; De l’Humanisme au Rationalisme, 255–284. See also F. Gray, ‘Reflexions on Charron’s Debt to Montaigne’ French review 35 (1962), 377–382; A. Boase, The Fortunes of Montaigne. A History of the Essays in France, 1580–1669 (London: Methuen & Co., 1935), 77–103; R. Kogel, Pierre Charron (Geneva: Droz, 1972), 30–42; Popkin, History of Scepticism, 55–65.

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interesting synthesis with regards to the foundation of knowledge and morality, and their relationship to religion.

Human and Natural versus Divine Knowledge and Morality

The preface to the second edition explained and defended Charron’s aims and method in the face of criticisms raised against the first edition. In the preface the author distinguishes three types and degrees of wisdom: ‘divine’, ‘human’, and ‘mundane’, which correspond in turn, to God, nature ‘pure and entire’, and nature ‘vitiated and corrupted’. The first sort of wisdom is the subject of theologians, and the second of the philosophers, each ‘according to its own manner and fashion’.86 The order of significance amongst the three should be obvious: worldly or mundane wisdom, associated with the common sort, is the lowest level of the three (‘la plus basse’), and is not worth addressing except to disparage and condemn it.87 Yet the relationship between the divine and human is less than clear throughout the work and in relation to the Trois Véritez. Wisdom according to those who practise philosophy, is the ‘knowledge of principles, first causes, and highest power to judge of all things’, even God, and is inherent to the understanding. It is, moreover, the first and highest of intellectual virtues, in such a way that does not require any moral virtue in order to be complete.88 Theologians, conversely, regard it as the knowledge of divine things, out of which derives a judgement and rule regarding human actions. They see it as twofold: either acquired by study, in which case it would resemble that of the philosophers, or infused and given by God, which could only be found in people who are just and free from sin.89 Evidently, in his attempt to establish human wisdom as an undisputed virtue (in contrast to the much disputed theological ones, claimed by religious zealots), Charron placed philosophy as an equal alternative means of understanding the world. In so doing, the author undermined the belief that all knowledge and understanding derived from Revelation. In the preface, Charron proclaimed that it is not his intention to speak of Divine wisdom because he had to some extent dealt with

86 87 88 89

Sagesse, 3. Sagesse, 3. Sagesse, 4. Sagesse, 4.

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it in the first of his Trois Véritez and in his Discours Chrestiens.90 In contrast to the practical aspect of philosophy, the wisdom of the philosophers and the divines is more concerned with relating theoretical underpinnings to practical issues. Thus while the philosophers link their subject to nature and action, the theologians relate it to divine wisdom and belief.91 Philosophy for Charron is more practical, relevant, and deals with matters regarding families, corporations, commonwealths, and empires, while theology is more interested in the eternal good and salvation of the faithful. Apart from the practical aspects, ‘… the Philosophers handle [the subject] more sweetly and pleasantly, and the Theologians more austerely and dryly’.92 The author indicates his intention to favour and follow the advice and sayings of philosophers over those of the theologians, for although the two agree in substance, his aim was to compose a book with instructions on civil life, for men of the world. As such, he had decided to use ‘those great men who have made singular and exemplary profession of virtue and wisdom’, such as ‘great politicians, kings, and generals’ as sources for his book, apart from the universally acknowledged ‘philosophers’ such as Solon, Pythagoras, Socrates, Plato, Aristotle.93 Had Charron undertaken to write for people who live in cloisters he would have followed the advice of the theologians, he explains; but his book was aimed at giving ‘guidance for the civil life, and shapes a man for the world, that is to say, for the human wisdom and not the divine’.94 Thus, the relationship between divine and human wisdom though central, here, as in the Trois Véritez, is at best ambiguously treated. The issue is further complicated by statements that betray Charron’s notion – echoing the Véritez again – that divine wisdom does not precede human wisdom, which comes from nature: ‘Nature is more ancient than Grace and the Natural precedes the Supernatural’.95 This confirms the suggestion that the Sagesse operates as the foundation of the Véritez and not the other way round, as some scholars have suggested.96 Having explained that he will not be dealing with divine wisdom, Charron returns to the Sagesse humaine describing it as ‘a kind of law, a beautiful and noble composition of the entire man’, inwardly and outwardly: his thoughts, 90

Sagesse, 4. Discours chrestiens de la divinité, création, rédemption et octaves du Sainct Sacrement (Paris: Pierre Bertault, 1604). 91 Sagesse, 5. 92 Sagesse, 6. 93 Sagesse, 7. 94 Sagesse, 7–8. 95 Sagesse, 6. 96 Belin, L’oeuvre de Pierre Charron, 19.

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his words, and all his actions. Sagesse is the excellence and perfection of man, according to the dictates of the first fundamental and natural law.97 Four qualities especially distinguish wise men: knowledge of one’s self; liberty of mind; imitation of nature; and true contentment, as the ultimate fruit of wisdom. Imitation of nature covers the greatest part of the various aspects of wisdom, so that even following it alone could suffice for someone to become sage. Lack of any of these qualities, Charron asserts, should be taken as an indication of an ill-advised person.98 Though some people are born with a natural predisposition to wisdom, it can also be acquired through the study of philosophy, especially moral philosophy. Natural philosophy is the most important part of moral philosophy. It is the light, guide and rule of our life explaining and representing in us the law of nature, which precedes grace and the supernatural.99 Charron emphasises that his view of wisdom is above all opposite to, and has to triumph against passions, opinions, superstition and pedantic knowledge. This central view was eloquently expressed in the frontispiece of his work, where wisdom was portrayed as a naked female figure on a pedestal triumphant over four female figures, embodiments of passion, opinion, superstition and pedantic knowledge100 [fig. 1]. The contrast between wisdom on the one hand and passion and opinion on the other, emerges strongly throughout the work, representing Charron’s attack against intellectual and religious dogmatism.101 Both these attacks are a response to Charron’s contemporary religious divisions, caused and p ­ erpetuated by passions, and confessional intransigence. The Sagesse therefore is particularly addressed to sensible, moderate and rational people, and not the vulgar sort, prone to passions, opinions and superstitions.102 The preface highlights, therefore, the main traits of human wisdom (sagesse humaine) that Charron expands on in the work. It is important to stress here the fact that Charron establishes this wisdom in contrast to the divine, and stresses its practical elements, as it functions as guidance for the civil life. The author specifically links this wisdom to nature and to the fundamental natural 97 98 99 100 101

Sagesse, 8. Sagesse, 9. Sagesse, 10–11. Sagesse, 10. Sagesse, 14–15; cf. 216. For similar attacks on pedantism, cf. Montaigne’s essay Du Pedantisme (I.24); Erasmus, The Praise of Folly (Moriae Encomion, 1509); Rabelais, Gargantua and Pantagruel (1532–4) et al. 102 Sagesse, 20.

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Wisdom triumphant amidst the embodiments of passion, opinion, superstition and pedantic knowledge. Titlepage of the English translation of Charron’s work, Of ­Wisdome, Three Bookes (London: for Luke Fawne, 1651) [Durham Palace Green Library, Cosin BB.1.27].

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law. It is also categorically against religious zeal. These points, together with the duties of a wise man are distilled and mainly expanded upon in Book Two, though extensive and intermittent suggestions of these are also to be found in the other two Books. The essential foundation on the road to achieving wisdom is knowledge of one’s self and awareness of human ignorance and feebleness. To this issue Charron returns time and again throughout the book. Know thyself is the core exhortation of Book One, visually expressed in the mirror that the personification of wisdom holds in the frontispiece. Man must look into his inward part (‘en son privé’) to achieve knowledge of himself and to reach sooner and better the knowledge of God; becoming truly wise cannot originate from anywhere else but within ourselves.103 Yet human ignorance also partly derives from within ourselves. The work contests the scholastic interpretation that all knowledge derives from the senses (Nihil est in intellectu, quod non fuerit prius in sensu).104 Following some of the contemporary sceptic trends, Charron warns of the senses’ weakness and incertitude.105 Senses are susceptible to the passions of the soul: bitterness, love, hatred have the power to ‘dull’ or ‘shut’ their operation. They need the assistance of the mind, as the interpreting faculty and it is the the senses that depend upon the mind rather than the other way round.106 Charron’s treatment of passions is primarily based on Guillaume du Vair’s works La Sainte Philosophie (Paris, 1587) and Traité de la Constance (Paris, 1594).107 Both works were popular with audiences during the troubled times of intense confessional strife, the former going through nineteen editions in French between 1585 and 1600 and one in English, and the latter going through seven editions between 1594 and 1597. Following du Vair, thus, Charron defines passion as a ‘violent motion of the soul in its sensitive part’ and juxtaposes it with mind, reason and will.108 Charron treats passions extensively in Book One, analysing each passion separately (Book I.18–I.33). He returns to the topic in Book Three, in his discussion of the virtues prudence and temperance where he offers advice as to how to remedy each one of them (Book III.28–III.35 and III.38–43). Man is moved by passions to such an extent, 103 Sagesse, 25 and 29. 104 Sagesse, (I.12) 69 and 88. There are differences on this between the 1601 version of the text which appears more Aristotelian, and the 1604/1607 version; Horowitz, ‘Pierre Charron’s View on the Source of Wisdom’, 446. 105 Sagesse, 73. 106 Sagesse, 90. 107 Guillaume du Vair, De la saincte philosophie (Paris: Abel L’Angelier, 1587); ustc 62776; idem, De la constance et consolation és calamitez publiques (Paris: [Mamert Patisson] chez Abel L’Angelier, 1594); ustc 37294 and 66753. 108 Sagesse, 111.

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that Charron compares him to beasts; it is only marginally that he surpasses them, with his ability to reason.109 Even the moral superiority is disputable: man is a mostly unjust, unthankful, traitorous, lying and deceitful animal; his principal quarrel is against other men.110 The human mind is dangerous and unruly, it has to be kept within narrow bounds, to be restrained and bound with religions, laws, customs, sciences, precepts, threats, mortal and immortal promises.111 The only way to live more freely, securely, moderately, and contentedly is to lead a life following nature, like animals do. Charron’s confidence in the human mind in the struggle against passions and opinions comes from the stoically-inspired belief that the seeds of virtue and knowledge are to be found in man by nature: the mind is ‘the highest and most heroic part, a diminutive, a spark, an image and dew of divinity’.112 ‘Sparks’, were an essential notion of the stoic tradition, together with the idea that the law of nature – at times equated with God – is imprinted in us by birth. let [the mind] be called the image of the living God, a taste of the immortal substance, a stream of the Divinity, a celestial ray, to which God has given reason, as an animated stern to move it by rule and measure, and that is an instrument of complete harmony; that by it there is a kind of kindred between God and man, and that he might often remember him, he has turned the root towards the heavens, so that he should always look towards the place of his nativity….113 The revival and popularisation of the stoic tradition of thought which marked the second half of the sixteenth century was closely connected to shifting intellectual patterns regarding the origins of knowledge and moral instruction. Part of this revival was the appearance of editions of Epictetus, Diogenes Laertius, Seneca and Cicero’s works that discussed Stoicicm as well as their sixteenth century reformulations by Lipisus, Du Vair and others.114 Above all, the 109 Gray, ‘Reflexions on Charron’s Debt to Montaigne’, 379. He also concludes that ‘there is a greater distance between a man and a man and a man and a beast’; Sagesse, 160. 110 Sagesse, 164. Cf. Machiavelli, The Prince, xvii; Montaigne, De la Presumption (II.17) and Hobbes, Leviathan, Ch. xiii: ‘On the Natural Condition of Mankind as Concerning their Felicity and Misery’. 111 Sagesse, 101. 112 Sagesse, 35. 113 Sagesse, 92. 114 As evidenced from the editions indicated in the ustc (see Chapter 1, n. 94). Similar statistical evidence is provided by the older but still impressive study by H.-J. Martin, Print,

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popularity of Stoicism was linked to the experience of displacement caused by the religious conflict, as it offered consolation from external passions and promoted a more internal and immediate connection with God and nature, the sources of knowledge, morality and tranquillity. The image of seeds implanted by God in man at birth was fundamental in the doctrines of the ancient Stoa.115 Seeds, semina, spermata, or ‘common notions’ were generically related to σπερματικός λόγος (translated as ‘seminal’ reason, ‘seminal principles’), the principal force and law according to which nature works. Implanted in man by nature, they provided him with the ability to reason and attain knowledge, since the seeds of it were within man already. This ‘ratio’ was also sometimes equated with God, as the principal reason behind existence, and nature.116 Charron thus refers to philosophers who have affirmed that the seeds of all sciences and virtues are naturally dispersed and insinuated into our minds, so that they may be rich and merry with their own.117 This is contradicting the author’s earlier strong arguments about intellectual feebleness and uncertainty. Throughout the work the author wavers between the strong sense of uncertainty and human feebleness and the stoic notion that if man follows nature, he will overcome his passions and the spectre of unawareness. This creates a fundamental ambiguity in the Sagesse, which is not satisfactorily resolved, thereby dividing critics as to whether he ultimately endorsed the stoic or sceptic point of view. Aristotle’s traditional standpoints regarding konlwedge had been variously challenged since antiquity. The sixteenth century, however, apart from the popularity of the Stoa, also experienced a revived interest in ideas originating from the Platonic Academy and Pyrrhonism.118 These arguments, generally Power and People in Seventeenth Century France, trans. D. Gerard (Metuchen and London: The Scarecrow Press, 1993), 342–344. On the topic of the revival of Stoicism see indicatively also L. Zanta, La Renaissance du Stoicisme au XVIe siècle (Paris: Honoré Champion, 1914); J. Lagrée (ed.), Le Stoïcisme aux XVIe et XVIIe siècles. Actes du Colloque cerphi (4–5 juin 1993) (Caen: Université de Caen, 1994) and M.P.O. Morford, Stoics and Neostoics, Rubens and the Circle of Lipsius (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton up, 1991). 115 R.W. Sharples, Stoics, Epicureans and Sceptics. An Introduction to Hellenistic Philosophy (London and New York: Routledge, 1996); B. Inwood (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics (Cambridge: cup, 2003): esp. A.A. Long’s chapter, ‘Stoicism in the Philosophical Tradition: Spinoza, Lipsius, Butler’, 365–392. 116 Horowitz, ‘Natural Law as Foundation for an Autonomous Ethic’, 204–207 and eadem, ‘The Stoic Synthesis of the Idea of Natural Law in Man: Four Themes’, Journal of the History of Ideas 35 (1974), 3–16. 117 Sagesse, 88. 118 Popkin, History of Scepticism, xiii and L. Floridi, Sextus Empiricus. The Transmission and Recovery of Pyrrhonism (Oxford: oup, 2002).

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recognised as ‘sceptical’ had come down to the early modern period through the writings of Cicero, Diogenes Laertius and St Augustine. Charron makes extensive use of them in the Sagesse in his analysis of human weakness and ultimate inability to reach the truth. The mind is inclined towards the search for truth: ‘there is no desire more natural than to know the truth’. In the end, nonetheless, all our efforts are insufficient: we cannot possess the truth. …we utilise all the means we can to attain [the truth], but in the end all our endeavours come short; for truth [will not suffer] to be possessed by any human mind. …We are born to search the truth, but to possess it, belongs to a higher and greater power… Errors are received into our soul, by the same way and channel as the truth is; the mind has no means either to distinguish or choose … The means that it uses for the discovery of the truth are reason and experience, both of them very weak, uncertain, diverse, wavering. The general argument of truth, is the general consent of the world.119 Man has no way to distinguish true from false, reason is ultimately weak, and the only case we have for truth is an imaginary consent by people. Charron’s argument on the relativity of knowledge forms the basis of his attack on ignorance. Man is incapable of telling the difference between truth and falsity; there are no shared views, and there are always two ways of looking at things. In fact, ‘we are ignorant of much more than we know’.120 Charron’s attack on dogmatists centres around the fact that their view of the world is so ‘conceited’ that it becomes presumption. We make too much of ourselves, yet ‘every ­human proposition has as much authority as another’, if reason is not able to distinguish amongst them. Truth ‘does not depend upon the authority and testimony of man: there are no principles in man if Divinity has not revealed them; all the rest is but a dream and smoke’.121 The dogmatists are unable to see that ‘there is a kind of ignorance and doubt more learned, more certain, noble and generous than all their science and certainty’; this was the virtue that made Socrates so renowed for his wisdom.122 To remind himself of human uncertainty, Charron discloses to the reader, he had the motto ‘I know not’ engraved over the gate of his house in Condom.123 119 120 121 122 123

Sagesse, 97–98. Sagesse, 330. Sagesse, 225–226. Sagesse, 333. Sagesse, 333.

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Presumption on the other hand, is the source of troubles, sects, heresies, and seditions. Charron attacks dogmatists of all sorts: formalists and pedants, as well as the religious equivalent of these, the superstitious (Book I.39: ‘On Misery’). The dogmatic nature of these three types of misery does not allow for adaptability to the realities around us. Charron’s disdain here aims not only at the rise and spread of Protestantism and its various sects, but more importantly, the troubles this religious division and obstinacy had created for his country. The sceptical approach to things, on the contrary, ‘does more service to piety, religion and divine operation’ because it cleanses and purifies people. This ‘tabula rasa’ effect prepares them to accept the teachings of nature (and the miracle of God’s revelation, as appears in the revised version of the work).124 Pedants are ‘inept, impertinent, presumptuous, obstinate’ men, who ‘have their memories stuffed with wisdom of other men’ and none of their own.125 Formalists are dangerous because of their exaggerated attachment to forms and their lack of involvement with tangible problems, in the same way that pedants are attached to theoretical knowledge with no practical appliance. The superstitious are ‘injurious to God, enemies to true religion’, people that ‘cover themselves with the cloak of piety, zeal and love towards God’.126 Superstition is the feature furthest apart from true piety and yet nothing resembles it as much.127 Though commonplace in the passionate polemical exchanges of the sixteenth century as an all-encompassing name for the ‘other’, the notion of ‘superstition’ never quite lost its association with error through ignorance.128 Thus, Charron attributes it to the ‘vulgar sort’ and ‘barbarous natures’. He also recognises however, that it is usually also favoured – or at least not hindered – by men in authority because they ‘know it is a very fit instrument to lead people’.129 Charron’s discussion on dogmatism is an eloquent response to the obstinacy of the religious conflict and the damage dogmatism did to any attempts at moderation, conciliation, or coexistence within a Christian human framework. Moreover, his grapple with the question of knowledge betrays a certain sense of relativity and a definite tendency towards a more moderate approach regarding religious issues. If there is no absolute criterion of truth,

124 125 126 127 128

Sagesse, 335–336. Sagesse, 216. Sagesse, 215; Sabrié, De l’Humanisme au Rationalisme, 243. Sagesse, 388. H. Parish and W.G. Naphy, ‘Introduction’ in idem (eds), Religion and Superstition in Reformation Europe (Manchester and New York: Manchester up, 2002), 1–22. 129 Sagesse, 390.

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men could be more prudent and accept variations, provided that they themselves act in accordance to nature and to universal reason/God.130 Similar inductions towards freedom from intellectual restraints are to be found in Charron’s discussion of the dispositions to wisdom. These are liberation ‘from a double captivity’, inward and outward; and ‘a universal and complete liberty of mind in both judgement and will’ (Book II.2).131 This multiple release from captivity translates to liberation from the corruption of the world, the popular opinions and vices, as well as inward release from the tyranny of passions. Shunning the company of ‘illiterate’ and ‘ill-composed’ people, and to remain ‘in the world, without being of the world’, would promote liberation from worldly corruption.132 The same detachment is linked to liberty of mind: ‘They shall govern as long as they will my hand, my tongue, but not my mind, for that, by their leave, has another master’.133 This provides the grounds for Charron’s distinction between outward behaviour and inward judgment, a crucial and topical question for Charron’s contemporaries. Confessional divisions encouraged the divergence between outward behaviour and inward thinking, particularly on the issue of religious dissent, which is eloquently expressed in the Sagesse: a wise man enjoying this right to judge and examine all things, it may occur often, that the judgement and the hand, the mind and the body, contradict one another, and that he will carry himself outwardly according to one manner, and judge inwardly according to another, will play one part before the world, and another in his mind, which he must do to preserve equity and justice in all. That general saying, uniuersus mundus exercet historiam, should properly and truly be understood of a wise man, who is another man within than he outwardly shows.134 Intensification of religious passions and strife strengthened the tendency to stress the importance of outward conformity even when private religious sentiment differed. From the viewpoint of religious minorities, the issue was centred around survival: fear of persecution, thus, religious heterodoxy and 130 Cf. S. Mendus, ‘Introduction’, in eadem (ed.), Justifying Toleration: Conceptual and Historical Perspectives (Cambridge: cup, 1987), 6–7. 131 Sagesse, 320. 132 Sagesse, 315. 133 Sagesse, 324. 134 Sagesse, 324–325. This contrast between outward behaviour and inward thinking does not appear in the 1601 version.

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atheism could lead to disguise (‘dissimulating’) of one’s innate belief. Outward compliance is recommended as a way of controlling the mind, but also in the case where justice and the sumum bonum are at stake.135 This would also imply that subjects did not revolt against their kingdom, as the king was the only source of stability and security within a state.136 The liberty of the mind is closely related to its universal nature; a wise man has to be a ‘citizen of the world’, much like Socrates was. After all, ‘the most beautiful and greatest minds are the more universal, as the more base and blunt are the more particular’.137 Partiality is an ‘enemy to liberty’, says Charron; partiality breeds fervour, and opposes concord. Seeking the universal as opposed to the partial and particular, thus, Charron reaches what he calls true and essential honesty which is based on nature. Only this common element could unite men in the face of religious civil war.

Human Honesty: Nature or God?

The first and fundamental part of wisdom is true and essential honesty and probity (probité & preud’hommie). Here Charron means a more basic human honesty – as opposed to the Christian:138 following the design of this book declared in the Preface, I speak of human honesty and wisdom, as it is human, whereby a man is called an honest man and wise, and not of Christian, though in the end I may chance to speak a word or two thereof.139

135 For relevant discussions, see J.R. Snyder, Dissimulation and the Culture of Secrecy in Early Modern Europe (Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2009); P. Zagorin, Ways of lying: Dissimulation, Persecution and Conformity in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: Harvard up, 1990); C. Bettison, ‘The Politiques and the Politique Party: A Reappraisal’ in K. Cameron (ed.), From Valois to Bourbon: Dynasty, State and Society in Early Modern France (Exeter: Exeter up, 1989), 35–49, and M. Turchetti, ‘Religious Concord and Political Tolerance in Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-Century France’, Sixteenth Century Journal 22 (1991), 15–25. 136 Cf. Charron’s text Discours chrestien, qu’il n’est permis ny loisible a un subiect, pour quelque cause et raison que ce soit, de se liguer, bander, et rebeller contre son Roy (Paris: David Le Clerc, 1606) and Sagesse, Book III.4. 137 Sagesse, 337–338. 138 Sagesse, 349. 139 Sagesse, 352; my italics.

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The author attaches firmly this (human) honesty to nature, from where it derives. Nature binds every man to be, and makes everyone conform and rule himself according to it. ‘Nature is both a mistress which enjoys and commands honesty, and a law and instruction which teaches it to us’.140 There is a natural and universal obligation for every man to be ‘honest’ following the intention of his creator. This honesty should come from within by an ‘inward instinct’ and not from any outward cause. Nature and natural law shines in every one of us as a ray of divinity and by following it, we follow nature and God. the pattern and rule is this nature itself, which absolutely requires us to be such, it is, I say, this equity and universal reason which shines and lights in every one of us. He who acts according to it, truly acts according to God, for it is God, or at least, his first fundamental and universal law, which He has placed into the world, and which came first from God, for God and nature are in the world, as in a state, the king, the author and founder, and the fundamental law which he has made for the preservation and government of state referred to. This is a lightning and ray of the divinity, a stream and dependence of the eternal law, which is God himself and his will… He acts also according to himself, for he acts according to the stern, and animated instinct, which he has within himself moving and stirring him … for this law and light is essential and natural in us, and therefore is called Nature, and law of nature. He is also by consequence an honest man, always and perpetually, uniformly and equally at all times and in all places. For this law of equity and natural reason is perpetual in us, edictum perpetuum, inviolable, which can never be extinct nor defaced, quam nec ipsa delet iniquitas; vermis eorum non morietur, universal and constant in all things ….141 Nature, natural law, the stoic reason and God are thus inextricably linked and equated.142 The law of nature is so substantial that any other kind of law is a small reflection of it.143 This law, as connected to God, is divine; yet it is at the same time inherent in man. Man partakes in this law as it was implanted in him at birth; the seeds of universal reason and virtues are thus within him, in his soul. As a result, by working according to this law, man works according 140 141 142 143

Sagesse, 352–353. Sagesse, 355. Sagesse, 356, 357 and 362. Sagesse, 356.

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to himself; by following nature, he works according to God. This constitutes a problematic relationship between honesty/wisdom, nature and God, which Charron was called to resolve in the second edition of his book, albeit not with great success. This curious relationship is again made apparent in Charron’s discussion of the offices of wisdom, where he describes the study of piety as a duty to wisdom (Book II.5). By classifying piety as an office to wisdom, even if ‘it holds first place in our duties’ Charron clearly subordinates it to wisdom.144 The subordination of piety and religion to wisdom is partially explained by Charron’s general treatment of religion, at the end of which he concludes that religion is, largely, not a matter of personal choice. ‘The nation, country, place, gives the religion, and a man professes that which is in force in that place and among those persons, where he is born, and where he lives…’.145 Charron’s discourse on religion follows closely his Trois Véritez in an exercise of intertextuality.146 It considers the existence of a great diversity in religions of the world and points to the great concurrence between them.147 Among the various religions, Christianity is the prominent and the only true one. All religions agree in that they are not based on reason, they are irrational.148 In contrast to his stance in his previous work, where he employed rational argumentation to prove the existence of religion and God, the revised Sagesse asserted that ‘religions’ can only reach humans by divine revelation, and by faith. Claiming that religion is subject to social conditioning is a powerful indication of the intellectual atmosphere of the time: not only was Charron able to present his views in print, despite the criticisms, but these also had a certain degree of appeal among his contemporaries, some of whom were disillusioned with the fervour being instilled by religious leaders and the rigidity of doctrine that the faithful were being conscribed to.149 The author distinguishes between piety and true honesty (preud’hommie), nevertheless advising those aspiring to wisdom, to not separate piety from true honesty, and so content themselves with one of them; much less, to confound them and mingle them together. 144 Cf. Horowitz, ‘Natural Law as the Foundation for an Autonomous Ethic’, 223–227. 145 Sagesse, 385. 146 Belin, L’Œuvre de Pierre Charron, 19 and 179–181. 147 Sagesse, 379–380. 148 Sagesse, 383–384. 149 Cf. the similar terminology used in a modern interpretation of religious forces at play in the age of the Reformation: R. Po-chia Hsia, Social Discipline in the Reformation: Central Europe 1550–1750 (London: Routledge, 1989).

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These are two things very different, and which have diverse jurisdictions, piety and probity, religion and honesty, devotion and conscience … should be jointly in the wise man – the one cannot be without the other entire and perfect.150 True, the preferred condition would be to have piety and true honesty combined. When, however, the author considers cases where a person has only one of the two qualities, he implies that the lack of honesty is graver than the lack of piety.151 He also reproaches people using ‘piety as a cover for their impiety’ or a ‘cloak’ for their wickedness. Yet religion is ‘easier to have’, is of greater show, and is the trait of ‘simple and vulgar minds’, whereas honesty is ‘far more laborious and difficult’ to practice, is of less show, and is for minds ‘valiant and generous’.152 The assertion first made in the preface and repeated here, that religion is a later virtue, also confirms Charron’s premises.153 In a similar manner, in an omitted extract of the first edition, while maintaining that religion is posterior to preud’hommie Charron makes the remarkable claim that true honesty can cause and engender religion, since the former is the more ancient and natural – but the reverse is not possible.154 Religious zealots conversely advanced that honesty should follow religious faith: These men [religious zealots] want a man be honest, because there is a paradise and hell … I want you to be an honest man, not because you would go to paradise, but because nature, reason, God wills it, because the law and general policy of the world where you are part, requires it – doubtless such honesty occasioned by the spirit of religion besides that it is not true and essential, but accidental, it is likewise very dangerous producing many times very base and scandalous effects under the fair and glorious pretext of piety. What execrable wickedness has the zeal of religion brought forth? Is there any other subject or occasion that has yielded the like? … And he that has religion without honesty, I will not say he is more wicked, but far more dangerous than he that has neither the one nor the other […] they believe things whatsoever, be it treason, treachery, sedition, rebellion, or any other offence to be not only lawful and sufferable, being coloured with zeal and the care of religion.155 150 151 152 153 154 155

Sagesse, 396; my italics. Sagesse, 396–397. Sagesse, 397–398. Sagesse, 6 and 398. Extracts from the 1601 edition; Sagesse, 788. Sagesse, 398–399; my italics.

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Honesty, thus, according to Charron, should originate from nature and not from religion, because when occasioned by the spirit of religion it turns into a dangerous feature; a person that has religion without honesty, is far more dangerous than a person who has neither. Zeal of religion has brought ‘wickedness’ as the conflicts of 1562–98 had shown. Religious people who lacked honesty were susceptible to the seditions and discords that had condemned the French society to a period of ‘malady’, ‘frenzy’ and, ultimately, misery, all under the pretext of piety.156 Regardless of all the various issues that Charron raised in his book, the one thing he was adamant about was his abhorrence of the fanaticism brought forth the confessional rift and the ensuing wars. The other duties of a man with the aspiration to be wise are to himself and the people around him. Returning to the issue of reason/mind and passions Charron exhorts him to govern his desires and pleasures and to carry himself moderately and equally in all conditions life may bring. A wise man should conform to the environment he lives in and especially conform to the laws, customs and ceremonies of his realm (Book II.8).157 Authority is important in the temporal realm, so people should respect the power of laws and custom.158 In other words, peace founded on political bases in a religiously divided kingdom ought to be obeyed. Although he does not state it in so many words, the author advances the position that in the circumstances that he and his contemporaries were living in, the state could be the only source of political, religious and social stability. Charron also highlights, however, the variety of laws and customs in the world, in a manner reminiscent of Montaigne’s writings on the diversity of custom, but also of Charron’s discussion of the different religions in the Véritez.159 Charron had prepared his discussion of social formations in Book One. Differences in men are affected by the environment: the sun, the air, the climate and the country in which each of us is born define the diversity in soul and body.160 This section provided evidence for sustaining a relativist position, historical and geographical, especially common amongst the French civil lawyers of the sixteenth century.161 Laws and customs of the realm are to 156 Cf. Sagesse, 615–618. 157 Sagesse, 422. 158 Sagesse, 423. 159 Cf. Montaigne, Essais (i, 23) ‘De la coustume et de ne changer aisément une loy receuë’; (i, 31) ‘Des cannibals’; (iii, 6) ‘Des coches’ ed. P. Villey (Paris: Quadrige/Presses Universitaires de France, 1999). 160 Sagesse, Book I.42. 161 D.R. Kelley, The Beginning of Ideology. Consciousness and Society in the French Reformation (Cambridge: cup, 1981), 206.

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be observed, not because of their justice and equity of necessity but essentially for ‘public reverence and their authority’.162 Laws are especially necessary for the common sort: they cannot do well, nor know what they ought to do, without laws.163 A wise man, however, is above the laws, even though publicly he voluntarily subjects to them.164 A wise man should moreover, examine separately all laws and customs, compare and judge them, faithfully and without passion, according to the rule of the truth and universal reason and nature, where his first obligation lies. If the human and universal laws are not in accordance we (i.e. the wise) can satisfy nature by keeping our judgements and opinions true and just according to it…the world has nothing to do with our thoughts, but the outward man is engaged to the public course of the world and must give an account to it.165 This passage repeats the pre-eminence of the law of nature, to which a wise man can be loyal even when he is required to comply with human laws, particularly in cases where the public good is at stake. This extract reverberates the predicament faced by those who had to reconcile between their inner religious belief and outside contstraints and it provides relief for the faithful who had to adopt dissimulation as a way of dealing with this dual set of obligations. Similar relief will be provided to the wise when they reach the ultimate fruit and crown of wisdom, that is the wise man’s skill to maintain himself in true tranquillity of mind. This would be the ultimate respite and liberation from the stress and oppression of the disorder and misery surrounding the inhabitants of the second half of the sixteenth century.166 To be able to reach this internal and personal retreat which would be in tandem with the rules of nature, is therefore the essential achievement for the person who went through the preparation of the Sagesse. On that, he could build his morality towards others, his attitude towards political things, the state and his belief in God.

162 163 164 165 166

Sagesse, 430–431. Sagesse, 433. Sagesse, 433. Sagesse, 434. Cf. Justus Lipsius’s De constantia libri duo, qui alloquium praecipue continent in publicis malis (Leiden: ex officina Christophe Plantin, 1584); ustc 422275 and Guillaume du Vair’s De la constance et consolation és calamitez publiques, op cit.

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Modifications, Reception, Interpretations and the Hardening of Confessional Lines

Evidence indicates that some of the heterodox points regarding nature and its relationship with religion were pointed out to Charron shortly after the first edition. The criticisms focused on the following issues, according to his ‘defence’, the Traicté de la Sagesse: the ‘novelty’ of some of the ideas he put forth; the scarce references to religion and religious virtues; the liberty of mind and the suggestion that it was free from everything as well as free to judge everything; the praise of preud’hommie as high virtue; and lastly, the dictum to follow nature.167 More specific evidence of the discontent that his views had given rise to is the amendments requested by Jeannin, the president of the Conseil privé. A number of points that could raise questions and doubts were therefore removed in the revised second version of the work. There are questions as to the extent to which the modifications were implemented by Charron himself or his editor (as the second edition came out after the author’s death) and the extent to which Charron had instigated some of the modifications himself as a response to criticisms, but neither of these can be fully answered. Some examples from this process can give us an idea of the extent of the problem and the effect these changes had on the meaning of the work. We can acknowledge with certainty, for instance, the revisions that aimed at reversing the exhaltation of preud’hommie’s over piety. In the revised version of the text, Charron attempted to offer an explanation concerning the stress he placed on nature that raised suspicions regarding the orthodoxy of the text: I will here add a word or two (according to promise) to rebate and blunt the point of detraction,…[those] that dislike that I attribute so much to nature (although it be God as has been said, and this book speaks not but of the natural and humane) as if that were all, and there were nothing else to be required.168 His main point of defence was that his work was concerned with the human things, thus accentuating the distinction between human and divinely inspired wisdom and morality. Equally evident is the added emphasis on the might of God and Divine grace.169 According to his revision, the grace of God is the only element missing from the equation of natural reason and human nature in 167 Traicté de la Sagesse in Toutes les œuvres, vol. 1, 196, 221–229. 168 Sagesse, 367. 169 Sagesse, 793–802.

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order to make the creation ‘complete and perfect’: ‘it is elevated, christened, crowned, that is to say, accepted, verified, approved by God, and made (after a sort) worthy its due reward’; this is a free gift from above, from where it also takes its name, ‘grace’.170 Honesty and grace, we are told, are not contrary; neither the latter destroys nature, but it perfects it: grace crowns man. Both nature and grace originate from God but each has its separate jurisdiction. Charron conceded to infidels and pagans attaining virtue, but somewhat clumsily tried to moderate his claim by asserting that virtue cannot be without grace. Naming Aristides (‘The Just’), Phocion (‘The Good’), Cato, and Socrates as ethical individuals contradicts this assertion, as pagan individuals would not be partaking in God’s grace.171 This is particularly significant, as it implies that the pagan cultures of antiquity ought also to be understood as potentially virtuous, independently of a Christian framework. Even with the changes, however, Charron’s text was still not convincing. The richness of the material in the Sagesse, the frequent contradicting claims and the radicalism of several of Charron’s assertions, made the text susceptible to diverse criticisms and conflicting interpretations. One of the greatest waves of criticism against Charron’s work appeared within the first two decades of its publication. The Sagesse was one of a number of texts targeted during the ideological debate between dévots (primarily Jesuits) and libertins in France between 1623–1626. Among the principal criticisms raised against Charron and his work, was the issue of relativism, the ambiguity of the text, as well as the issues regarding the relationship between nature, wisdom and God, and the implications that these had for temporal life. The exchange in the midst of which Charron’s work was caught was primarily between theologians, focusing around questions of atheism, naturalism, and the role of grace and free will. The intensity of polemical exchanges almost thirty years after the religious reconciliation in France demonstrates the extent to which unresolved, deep ecclesiological problems could still cause controversy.172 The arguments raised against Charron’s work confirm the weakness of the author’s arguments in trying to convince his audience about the relative significance of morality and wisdom over religion. They also point to the fundamental challenges which the religious conflicts posed to the essence of religion and the ways in which intellectuals responded to these challenges. The debate can be taken as an indication of the openness to views such as C ­ harron’s during the crucial few 170 Sagesse, 367–368. 171 Sagesse, 370. 172 Cf. M. de Certeau, The Writing of History, trans. T. Conley (New York: Columbia up, 1988), 150–154.

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years of (temporary) pacification at the turn of the seventeenth century. The call for moderating religious passions and for a different understanding of piety had not been successful, however. Only two decades later, the moment had passed and religious passions rose again on the eve of and during the Thirty Years’ War. In the first two decades of the seventeenth century Charron’s name was associated with the libertines, an erudite group that favoured reason and nature as the criteria for morality, politics, and law, thus questioning transcendental sources of truth and authority. Whether because of this endorsement or whether because of intellectual affinity, the Sagesse was included in the Jesuit père François Garasse’s attack on deists, atheists, libertine spirits and so on that first came out in 1623.173 A number of polemicists rallied either for or against Garasse’s writings. Among these were François Ogier (?1597–1667), the philosopher and theologian Marin Mersenne (1588–1648), Jean Silhon (?1596–1667), and the later Jansenist Jean du Vergier de Hauranne, more widely known as Abbé of Saint-Cyran (1581–1643). In the course of the debate Charron’s text was criticised on a number of points. Garasse made sure to clarify to readers that Charron’s work was not a spiritual book; it also did not offer a clear answer on major theological issues.174 Garasse also disapproved of Charron’s division of people according to their intellectual capacity (rather than their faith), as this equated uninformed Christians with Turks, ‘heretics’ and ‘idolaters’.175 Mersenne judged unfavourably the ambiguity of the work, which made it difficult to classify.176 He asserted that this ambiguity with regards to religion in particular made the work inherently attractive to the libertins, as it was full of maxims and thus open to interpretation.177 In this respect Mersenne condemned

173 Père François Garasse, Doctrine curieuse des Beaux Esprits de ce Temps ou Prétendus tells, Contenant Plusieurs Maxims Pernicieuseus à la Religion de l’Estat et aux Bonnes Mœurs (Paris: S. Chappelet, 1623). In a different work, Les Recherches des Recherches et Autres Œuvres de M.E. Pasquier (Paris: S. Chappelet, 1622), Garasse formulated a definition of the term libertin that permitted him to group all of his enemies under a common and practical denomination: thus a libertin encompassed Huguenots, atheists, Catholics, heretics, politiques, people who changed colours and moods according to the company and discourse in which they are present’; cited by Belin, L’Œuvre de Pierre Charron, 241. 174 Garasse, Doctrine curieuse I.27, and VIII.1015. 175 Garasse, Doctrine curieuse, I.4, 27–29. 176 Marin Mersenne, L’Impiété des Deistes, et des plus subtils libertins decouverte et refutée par raisons de théologie et de philosophie, (Paris: Pierre Billaine, 1624), 184. 177 Mersenne, Impiété, 184–185 and 190.

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Charron’s Pyrrhonist approach, because he was convinced that this mode of thought damaged the foundations of religion.178 Both he and Jean Silhon also condemned Charron’s statement that the immortality of the soul could not be proven, arguing that the belief in the soul’s mortality led man to conduct a licentious life on earth, without any concern for the after-life.179 The content of this controversy provides evidence as to the manner in which the Sagesse was read. It indicates that the author’s effort to establish a universally accepted source of morality against the backdrop of confessional rifts caused reactions, albeit fewer in the first fifteen years of its publication. This suggests that the intellectual confines of the religious milieu had perhaps by the mid 1620s shifted a bit further from more moderate approaches to religion as the one advocated by Charron, towards stronger confessional lines of demarcation. Charron’s exposition of religion, where it came from, its relativity and its relationship with nature and morality were the source of debate but were at the same time welcomed by the reading public, as the repeated editions of his work confirm. They were born in reaction to religious extremity and indifference caused by the religious divisions. In response to religious passions and in place of atheism and indifference, Charron praised moderation. Though achieving wisdom, man would also achieve tranquillity of mind, a much sought-after state in the midst of public affliction. In his desperate search for human virtue and in his attempt to convert unbelievers of all sides he bypassed the issue of religion, claiming that human virtue and wisdom precede religion. After all, religion was not a personal choice, but it was necessary within the edifice of commonwealth. Only moderation promoted by lay authorities could secure peace and tranquillity in troubled times. Religion was necessary in a state and wise subjects ought to respect its authority since their minds were in any case free and could not be subdued. The basis for this stance were ancient sources and a comparative perspective on the origins, development and use of religion. That to adopt such a perspective was not a unique reaction to the chaos in which Charron and his contemporaries found themselves, is evidenced by Lipsius’s work, who, emerging from a parallel background, reached similar conclusions.

178 Mersenne, Impiété, 190–191. 179 Jean de Silhon, Les Deux véritez de Silhon: l’une de Dieu et de sa providence, l’autre de l’immortalité de l’âme (Paris : L. Sonnius, 1626), 254; Marin Mersenne, La Vérité des sciences contre les sceptiques ou pyrrhoniens (Paris: Toussaint du Bray, 1625), cited in Sabrié, De l’Humanisme au Rationalisme, 404.

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Prudence and Constancy: Justus Lipsius’s Advice for Times of Public Affliction Ego e Philologia Philosophiam feci

lipsius to woverius, 3 November 1603 (ile 03 11 03)

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I am strongly of the opinion that in one realm, one religion must be preserved lipsius, Politica IV.2

∵ The response of the Flemish scholar Justus Lipsius (1547–1606) to religious divisions appears in his many publications where he considered issues parallel to Charron but enjoyed an even greater popularity.1 Having experienced the feeling of crisis and disruption caused by religious upheaval and strife, he discussed in his publications matters such as the separation of public and private domains, the relationship between politics and religion, and the role of religion within the state. Crucially, he suggested that the use of ancient tradition – ‘antiquus moribus’ was his motto – as example and alternative to contemporary circumstances and as a means of coping with public adversity. Lipsius realised in practice that the wars had created the need for some to seal themselves off from public afflictions, withdrawing into their private lives and in effect separating their public and private personae, much like Charron acknowledged in his own work by distinguishing between liberty of mind and social conventions. This differentiation and the emphasis on the internal aspect was also linked on a different level to the fact that the religious crisis forced a great number of the 1 His popularity is witnessed by the numerous editions of his work; between 1569 and 1600, namely before his great and long-anticipated edition of Seneca, about 300 editions of his works had been issued, in many languages and in many areas. This is quite a staggering number for a contemporary author in the 16th century. Publication information comes from the Universal Short Title Catalogue (www.ustc.ac.uk), accessed May 2013.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi 10.1163/9789004330771_005

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faithful to conceal their religious convictions in order to survive persecution, a practice that became widely known as Nicodemism.2 The instability of human affairs and religious strife had shown for Lipsius that politics, as well as public worship, was best left outside the internalised self, where constancy, faith and reason could flourish. The recent vogue surrounding Lipsius and his work echoes the fame he acquired during his lifetime.3 His recognition as a humanist was secured by his production of outstanding editions of Tacitus and Seneca during his life, while he also deserves recognition for his adoption and popularisation of the principles of Tacitism and neo-Stoicism amongst educated circles.4 He had a tremendous reputation as a teacher, corresponded with most of the great minds of his time and his services were claimed by princes throughout Europe. As with Charron, the Flemish humanist’s legacy was controversial even within 2 For relevant discussions, see J.R. Snyder, Dissimulation and the Culture of Secrecy in Early Modern Europe (Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2009); P. Zagorin, Ways of Lying: Dissimulation, Persecution, and Conformity in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: Harvard up, 1990); C. Ginzburg, Il nicodemismo: Simulazione e dissimulazione religiosa nell’Europa del ’500 (Torino: Giulio Einaudi, 1970); C.M.N. Eire, ‘Calvin and Nicodemism: A Reappraisal’, Sixteenth Century Journal 10 (1979), 45–69; idem, ‘Prelude to Sedition? Calvin’s Attack on Nicodemism and Religious Compromise’, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 76 (1985), 120–145. 3 The recent interest on Lipsius is primarily evidenced by the editions of collected essays, the results of a number of conferences on the Flemish humanist: see A. Gerlo, Juste Lipse. Colloque international tenu en mars 1987 (Brussels: Brussels up, 1998); C. Mouchel (ed.), Juste Lipse (1547–1606) en Son Temps: Actes du Colloque de Strasbourg, 1994 (Paris: Honoré Champion, 1996); M. Laureys et al. (eds), The World of Justus Lipsius: A Contribution towards his Intellectual Biography. Proceedings of a Colloquium held under the Auspices of the Belgian Historical Institute in Rome, Bulletin de l’institut historique belge de Rome, 68 (Brussels-Rome, 1998); G. Tournoy, et al. (eds), Iustus Lipsius Europae Lumen et Columen : Proceedings of the International Colloquium, Leuven 17–19 September 1997 (Leuven: Leuven up, 1999); G. Tournoy et al. (eds), Lipsius en Leuven: Catalogus van de tentoonstelling in de Centrale Bibliotheek te Leuven. Supplementa Humanistica Lovaniensia, 13 (Leuven: Leuven up, 1997); D. Sacré, et al. (eds), Justus Lipsius (1547–1606). Een geleerde en zijn Europese netwerk. Catalogus van de tentoonstelling in de Centrale Bibliotheek te Leuven, Supplementa Humanistica Lovaniensia, 21 (Leuven: Leuven up, 2006); J. Lagrée, Juste Lipse: la restauration du stoïcisme (Paris: Vrin, 1994). Three earlier works that also had a big impact on Lipsian scholarship should also be mentioned: J.L. Saunders, Justus Lipsius. The Philosophy of Renaissance Stoicism (New York: The Liberal Arts Press, 1955), one of the earliest studies of his stoic philosophy in English; the translation of part of G. Oestreich’s work into English: Neostoicism and the Early Modern State, ed. Br. Oestreich and H.G. Koenigsberger; trans. D. McLintock (Cambridge: cup, 1982); and finally, M.P.O. Morford’s Stoics and Neostoics: Rubens and the Circle of Lipsius (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton up, 1991). 4 Cf. R. Tuck, Philosophy and Government 1572–1651 (Cambridge: cup, 1993), esp. Ch. 2.

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his lifetime. The principal reproach against Lipsius was his ‘inconstancy’ in religious matters: having been born a Catholic, he took up positions first at a Lutheran and subsequently at a Calvinist University, before finally returning to Louvain and the Catholic fold. This ‘religious ambiguity’ stigmatised Lipsius for centuries while his views on the contentious issue of the role of religion within the state, became the issue of controversy.5 This chapter focuses on Lipsius’s fundamental concept of the divide between public and private matters as a response to the religious conflict. The discussion will be based on Lipsius’s two most widely circulated books, the Constantia and the Politica as they are the ones that demonstrate more plainly the impact which religious conflict had on the author and his thought. In the face of religious conflict the response that Lipsius provided had three key points. First and foremost, he attempted to distinguish the public and private facets of religion as a way of ensuring that religion would not cause dissent/ sedition. In conjunction with this, he assigned the administration of the Church (the public face of religion) under the jurisdiction of lay authorities. Lastly, by resorting to classical sources he tried to find and communicate solace from the devastation around him and to establish a type of moral code that would be universally acceptable and not subject to doctrinal disputes. The first of the two works examined here, De Constantia Libri Duo (Leiden, 1584), a book on moral philosophy prescribing the individual’s conduct in times of public afflictions, was printed thirty-seven times in the original Latin between 1584 and 1652, eight times in French and was also translated into Dutch, English, German, Spanish, Italian and Polish.6 The Politicorum Sive Civilis Doctrinae Libri Sex (Leiden, 1589) is a work on politics that can be located within the framework of cento and the ‘mirror for princes’ literatures. The Latin original went through twenty-one Latin editions within the first ten years of its appearance (1589 to 1599), and another eleven up until 1650. It was translated into Dutch, French (seventeen editions between 1589 and 1600), English, Polish, and German, followed by Spanish and Italian editions in 1604.7 5 Perhaps also partly accounting for the reluctance, particularly on the part of Protestant world, to recognise his value up until the last two to three decades; cf. Morford, Stoics and Neostoics, 18. 6 De constantia libri duo, qui alloquium praecipue continent in publicis malis (Leiden: ex officina Christophe Plantin, 1584); ustc 422275. Information regarding editions is derived from the Universal Short Title Catalogue and Copac (merged online catalogues of major University, Specialist, and National Libraries in the uk and Ireland; http://copac.ac.uk/), accessed May 2013. 7 Politicorum sive civilis doctrinae libri sex, qui ad principatum maxime spectant (Leiden: ex officina Plantiniana apud Franciscus I Raphelengius, 1589); ustc 422752.

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Several factors contributed to the popularity of these works. First and foremost was the appeal which the ancient philosophical teachings presented to people in their struggle to deal with public disruption. Lipsius demonstrated this application in his Constantia, in a very immediate and personalised manner, while he also used the authority of ancient wisdom in the form of sententiae in his guide to public affairs, the Politica. The wars of religion had increased the perception of and possibilities for people to participate in public affairs, while also raising serious questions over the role religion ought to have in a state. Both these issues were dealt with in Lipsius’s Politica. In parallel to Charron’s dualism concerning wisdom and morality brought about by the effects of the wars, the Flemish scholar presents his audience with the dualism of private conduct and morality dealt with in the Constantia, and civil conduct and the associated morality, discussed in the Politica. Lipsius’s positions and popularity are firmly positioned within the context of and are a direct response to the religious and civil conflict that he, together with many other Europeans, experienced during the second half of the sixteenth century. As discussed in the first chapter of this study, Lipsius’s life was marked by his frequent flights within war-torn Europe, away from the religious troubles of the time. It was also marked by the apparent changes of religious allegiance implied by these movements. Both these aspects attracted strong criticism. The same reaction was caused by his works which he was asked to amend in order to conform to accepted principles in a religiously contested environment. These key facets of his life and work are clearly reflected in his two major texts, the Constantia and the Politica.

Constantia and Politica: Constancy and Prudence

In his work Lipsius highlights the duality of the public and private domains by ascribing distinct guides to them: prudence and constancy. Accordingly, whilst the virtue required in private is constancy, the virtue directing one in public, where the whole of the population is concerned, and where matters are often subject to conflict, ought to be prudence.8 Significantly, this duality 8 Cf. the design of Lipsius’s 1637 Opera Omnia title-page by Rubens, where the two allegorical figures of virtue and prudence appear as the fundamental elements of his political and philosophical work, the Constantia and the Politica; they correspond, moreover, to two figures on the top of the picture, the personifications of Philosophy and Politics; Justus Lipsius, Opera Omnia, 4 vols. (Antwerp: officina Plantiniana, Balthasar Moretus, 1637). See Morford’s analysis of the frontispiece in Stoics and Neostoics, 139–143.

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also entails­the separation of public from private morality. Added to that, this separation is also parallel to a distinction between divine and temporal, political and religious. The two treatises complement one another. Their disparity and complementarity is above all evident from an overview of their substance. The Constantia is written in the form of a dialogue between the personae of Lipsius and Langius (Charles de Langhe, c. 1521–73). Lipsius had visited Langius during his journey to Vienna (1571–72) after which, it will be recalled, instead of Louvain, he ended up in Lutheran Jena. Drawing from a variety of ancient authors, but mainly from Seneca, the text is concerned primarily with the utility of the Stoic doctrines as a way of strengthening the mind in the face of internal and external troubles.9 The discussion revolves around the miseries of the civil conflict that plagued the Low Countries from which, Lipsius admits to Langius, he was running away.10 Yet as his interlocutor soberly observes, flight is not the solution, since Lipsius would not be able to find a part of Europe at that time which was free of turmoil.11 In fact, as the older sage explains, misery comes from inward opinions about outward events. Langius exhorts Lipsius to constancy, the virtue that will enable him to survive and endure the public calamities. The Politica, conversely, is a treatise composed in the fashion of ‘mirror for princes’ literature. Unusually for this genre, it consists of a compilation of quotations from ancient texts, a ‘learned and laborious tissue’, as Montaigne described it, thus also fitting within the cento tradition.12 The Politica draws a 9

Cf. A.A. Long, ‘Stoicism in the Philosophical Tradition: Spinoza, Lipsius, Butler’ in B. Inwood (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics (Cambridge: cup, 2003), 365–392, esp. 381. 10 Constantia, I.1. Unless otherwise stated, I have used the 1589 edition: De Constantia Libri Duo, Qui alloquium praecipuem continent in Publicis malis. Quarta edition, melior et notis auctior (Leiden: ex officina Plantiniana, apud Franciscum Raphelengium, 1589). The translation of the extracts is based on the edition of John Sellars (originally by Sir John Stradling): J. Sellars (ed.), Justus Lipsius on Constancy (Bristol: Phoenix Press, 2006). Another modern (bilingual Latin-English) edition has recently been produced by R.V. Young, Justus Lipsius’ Concerning Constancy (Tempe, Arizona: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2011). The latter is based on the Constantia edition of 1605. 11 Constantia, I.1. 12 Montaigne, Essais (I, 26), ‘De l’Instruction’ ed. Pierre Villey (Paris: Quadrige/Presses Universitaires de France, 1999). On the Politica as a ‘mirror-for-Princes’ treatise see J. Waszink (ed.), Justus Lipsius, Politica. Six books of Politics or Political Instruction (­Assen: Van Gorcum, 2004), ‘Introduction’, 35–36; for its relationship with the cento and commonplace-­book tradition see idem, 55–58; A. Moss, ‘The Politica of Justus L­ ipsius and the Commonplace-Book’ Journal of the History of Ideas 59 (1998), 421–436 and G.H. Tucker, ‘Justus Lipsius and the Cento Form’ in E. De Bom, M. Janssens et al. (eds), (Un)

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great deal from the Roman historian Tacitus, whose works Lipsius had recently edited.13 Using the hindsight acquired from the study of Tacitus the work dealt in realistic terms with the ‘mysteries of state’, or arcana imperii, offering advice on how princes ought to conduct themselves in political affairs. In this manner, whereas the Constantia was intended for subjects, the planned audience of the Politica, was the Emperor, Kings and Princes.14 Two separate guides are thus assigned, one to each of the two domains: the inner existence ought to be directed by constancy, whilst our social activities are to be administered by prudence. Lipsius defines constancy as a ‘right and immoveable strength of the mind’, deriving from judgement and sound reason that is not affected by external or casual accidents.15 This mental strength and endurance is therefore closely linked to wisdom or reason. The two are coupled as virtues essential to an individual in his struggle against the ‘diseases of the mind’.16 Constancy is regulated by the ‘rule of right reason’ and is directed against bodily and intellectual afflictions.17 Lipsius praises constancy and exhorts his readers to it. He advises them that they can be liberated from the repression of fortune and affections if they remain constant and ‘subject only to God’; this will keep them free from the sorrows surrounding them, all the turmoil and troubles, everything that may be afflicting their country: Are you likely to be cast down? Constancy will lift you up. Do you stagger in doubtfulness? She holds you fast. Are you in danger of fire or water? She will comfort you, and bring you back from the pit’s brink. Only take to yourself a good courage, steer your ship into this port, where is security and quietness, a refuge and sanctuary against all turmoil and troubles: where if you had once moored your ship, let your country not only be troubled, but even shaken at the foundation, you will remain unmoved.

13 14

15 16 17

masking the Realities of Power. Justus Lipsius’s Monita and exempla politica and the Dynamics of Political Writing in Early Modern Europe (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 163–192. Justus Lipsius, C. Cornelii Taciti Historiarum et annalium libri qui exstant (Antwerp: ­Christophe Plantin, 1574); ustc 403285. Epistle to the Reader: ‘Imperator, Reges, Principes’; Politica, 226–227. Unless otherwise stated, all my references are to the 1599 edition of Politica by Waszink (op. cit.), henceforth referred to as Politica. I have also mostly followed his translation for the extracts quoted here, indicating any differences. Constantia, I.4. Constantia, I.3 (title) ‘That it is the mind which is sick in us, which must seek remedy from wisdom and constancy’. Constantia, I.4. Cf. Montaigne, Essais (I, 12) ‘De la Constance’.

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Let showers, thunder, lightning, and tempests fall round about you, you will cry boldly with a loud voice, I lie at rest amid the waves.18 Constancy, accordingly, represents liberation from internal and external evils; it is the medicine for sorrows and the steadfastness to outer turmoil. The distinction between the interior being and the outer compartment takes different forms in the Constantia; in one instance it is highlighted in Langius’s reproach of the young Lipsius of the book – and through him any readers with similar feelings – for his alleged suffering by witnessing the calamities plaguing his country. The old sage demonstrates that the mourning and the distress of the people are not really for their country and the common adversities. Rather, people are fretting over the threat this situation poses to them and are lamenting their private misfortunes. The mishaps are only affecting one insofar as one is involved. The remedy, thus, is to disengage oneself from the disorder of the outside world and remain peaceful in one’s inner stability.19 A striking case in point of this detachment is the idyllic opening scene of Book Two of the work, where the readers are transported to the serene atmosphere of Langius’s garden. The ‘true end and use of the garden’ is quietness, withdrawal from the world, meditation, reading, writing – a scholar’s paradise. Time spent there and the training of the mind in these surroundings offer ammunition against the ‘mutability of fortune’. So soon as I put my foot within that place, I bid all vile and servile cares abandon me, and lifting up my head as upright as I may, I despise the delights of the profane people and the great vanity of human affairs… Do you think when I am there that I take any care what the Frenchmen or Spaniards are practising? Who possesses the sceptre of Belgica, or who is be deprived of it? … No; none of all these things trouble my brain. I am guarded and fenced against all external things, and settled within myself, careless of all cares save one…20 The image of internal and private tranquillity of the garden in the midst of war and outer turmoil, offers a place of peace and calmness – both literally as well as metaphorically. It also underscores the disjunction between inner peace and stability and outer disorder. In the peace of the garden, the war and the actions of the French and the Spanish cease to be of concern and Langius 18 19 20

Constantia, I.6. Constantia, I.7–I.9. Constantia, II.3.

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is even able to emotionally distance himself from the fate of his homeland. Constancy, accordingly, represents liberation from internal and external evils achieved through detachment from outer expressions of motion and tension. In such a peaceful seclusion, Lipsius’s readers should be able to protect themselves from the military and political developments affecting their country. Ultimately, immovable strength, mind, reason and wisdom, all come together and are marshalled in opposition to external affairs. Constancy is the virtue that ought to preside over the individual’s private life and provide him with the strength to endure any misfortunes, as well as the disorder caused by the passions. Prudence, on the other hand, is quite a different quality. In the Politica, Lipsius defines this as the virtue which selects and distinguishes between the honourable and the base, the useful and the detrimental, both in private, and in public. It is the skill of living [well] and it regulates the present, foresees the future, and remembers the past.21 Prudence derives from ‘use’, that is, experience, and ‘memory’, namely experience and knowledge read in books and histories.22 The use of prudence is necessary above all in government, where it has the role of the compass, navigating the ship.23 Prudence’s allocation is necessitated by the unruly nature of men, as Charron had argued: humans are stubborn creatures who need to be handled with great skill.24 Lipsius’s critical attitude towards common people is expounded in Book Four (IV.5), where very much like Charron he describes them as unstable and inconstant, subject to passions, void of reason, and prone to judge many things by opinion – namely, the exact opposites of a person with wisdom and constancy. Understanding, judgement and coming to the right decision are the three elements that comprise prudence; these are informed by experience of the past that furnishes the individual with foresight. Lipsius distinguishes between the general, universal prudence and the extraordinary and far more formidable prudence of the Prince (prudentia propria), to which he dedicates the whole of Book Four of the Politica.25 Regarding this ‘proper’ prudence, the author asserts, ‘no certain rules can be given’: it ‘can hardly be tied to precepts’ and its jurisdiction ‘extends very far’ as there are not many limits to the prince’s 21 22

23 24 25

Politica, I.7, 284. Cf. also the dedication: ‘Long ago Alfonso, that most outstanding of kings, on being asked who were the best counselors, answered: “the dead”, referring of course to books and similar documents, which, without flattering in any way or hiding anything pour forth the pure and undiluted truth’; Politca, 228–229. Politica, II.7, III.1, 346–348. Politica, III.1, 348. The differentiation, however, is manifest even in the face of a Prince: prudence ought to be the a guide in his actions, virtue as a guide in his (private) life; Politica, II.7.

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jurisdiction.26 Proper prudence is ‘diffused’ as the affairs of the world stretch out extensively. Prudence is also ‘confused’, as ‘all that we call prudence is unstable and wavering’. Prudence is nothing else than a critically informed choice between things that do not remain unchanged. And if these things are uncertain, then so certainly is prudence. The more so, since it is not only dependent on the things themselves, but also on other things related to them. It takes time, place, and people into consideration, and changes with the slightest change in them; and it is different in every place to such an extent, that it is not even the same with respect to one thing.27 To the stability of constancy, hence, Lipsius juxtaposes the instability and changeability of prudence. Prudence as a flexible virtue, however, can be more attuned to the unstable outside world and the challenges of public life. And although constancy has to face the instability of the outside world as well, it does not need to adjust. Man can escape the insecurity caused by wavering by remaining firm and steadfast: ‘Imprint constancy in your mind amid this casual and inconstant variableness of all things’.28

Prudence, Constancy and Morality

The adaptability of prudence in the face of constancy’s steadfastness is particularly explicated in the chapters dealing with what Lipsius calls ‘mixed prudence’ (prudentia mixta). Mixed prudence was a difficult issue in its own right as it raised questions pertaining to morality in politics. As such, it could be taken as evidence as to whether or not an author followed the principles of Machiavelli.29 The question of ‘mixed prudence’ in Lipsius’s own words is ‘whether it is permissible to mix it a little, and to add to it some of the sediment­ 26 27 28 29

Politica, IV.1, 382. Politica, IV.1, 382. Constantia, I.17. For discussions on the relation of Machiavelli and what scholars conventionally call ‘reason of state writers’ see for instance P.S. Donaldson, Machiavelli and Mystery of State (Cambridge: cup, 1988), 112–113; Tuck, Philosophy and Government, xii–xiv; R. Bireley, The Counter-Reformation Prince: Anti-Machiavellism or Catholic Statecraft in Early Modern Europe (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1990). For the association of ‘mixed prudence’ and ‘reason of state’ theories see Oestreich’s discussion in Neostoicism and the Early Modern State, 48–49. For Jesuitical considerations of the same issues

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of deceit’. His answer is affirmative.30 This position emerges from Lipsius’s view of the realm of politics, quite a cynical one. For him, like Sarpi as we shall see, politics was a sphere with extraordinary rules where, when the benefit of the people or state was at stake, princes had a greater allowance in the conduct of affairs. This allowance is consequent upon the other princes they have to treat with being ‘cunning men’, who seem to be made of ‘fraud, deceit and lies’. Though they appear as lions, in their ‘evil hearts’ they hide ‘a cunning fox’. Echoing the Prince, Lipsius reacts against people who oppose the use of deceit and dissimulation in politics: if kingdoms are overthrown by fraud and deceit should they not be saved by the same means? Similarly, if a prince has to deal with a ‘fox’, he should ‘play the fox’, especially if this would serve the well public profit and well-being: You definitely err. To forsake the common good is against nature, not only against reason … We want the Prince to be high and noble-minded: but still, it belongs to educated behaviour to mix the honourable and the useful.31 The author allows thus the intermingling of honesty with deceit, as he does not regard the integrity of prudence damaged by this combination – so long as honesty is still a part of the mixture. He explains this position by employing a simile sometimes used to describe the virtue of temperance: ‘Wine does not stop being wine when it is mixed with a little water, nor does prudence stop being prudence when mixed with a few drops of deceit…’.32 Lipsius explains how far deceits are to be accepted. He famously distinguishes three degrees of deceit, according to their distance from virtue: light, middle, and grave deceit. He recommends the first kind, to which distrust and dissimulation belong. He tolerates the second, to which he attributes bribery and deception, but he categorically condemns the third degree, to which breach of faith and injustice both belong.33

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see H. Höpfl, Jesuit Political Thought. The Society of Jesus and the State, c. 1540–1630 (Cambridge: cup, 2004), Chs. 5, 7–8. Politica, IV.13, 506. Politica, IV.13, 506–508. Cf. Machiavelli, The Prince, xviii. Politica, IV.13, 508; cf. the criticisms of this section raised by Laelius Peregrinus, ­Francesco Benci and Cardinal Robert Bellarmine as cited in Waszink, ‘Introduction’, 183–184. Politica, IV.14, 512; see 512–532 for the discussion of mixed prudence.

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The relationship between the Politica and Machiavelli(sm)’s perceived amoralism is a much debated one.34 Machiavelli is first referred to and defended in the preface to the Politica; he is later again mentioned in the text as the ‘Italian reprobate’, the ‘poor man’ who is flogged by everyone.35 This defence of the Florentine writer (‘he must not categorically be condemned’) was not very common occurrence in the late sixteenth century however, despite his tacit popularity. Any relation of a text to his writings was denied by contemporary authors themselves, even at the time when the unprecedented conditions of the second half of the sixteenth century called for ‘extraordinary’ policies.36 Despite the fact that political theorists had, in fact, gradually accepted that some stretching of conventional moral principles could be necessary in political life, Machiavelli’s positions were considered incompatible with any politics within a religious moral framework. Yet authors writing at the end of the sixteenth century, unlike their predecessor, made conscious attempts – whether successful or not – to shape political theory within the religious milieu.37 To this purpose, Lipsius adduced scriptural and patristic citations to indicate compatibility between his writings and Christianity.38 Yet, even though it could be difficult to substantiate an identity in Lipsius and Machiavelli’s views, even engaging in a dialogue with the (in)famous Italian (i.e. accepting the basic premises of his arguments) would be enough to make an author accept at least some of his views, as Lipsius seems to do in Book Four. This is a clear reflection of the effect which the experience of religious strife and the intermingling of political and religious interests had upon the manner in which politics were theorised, as they forced people to consider and reconsider seriously the relationship between religion and politics. One of the consequences of this was the transformation of the language of politics into a

34 For useful discussions on Lipsius and Machiavellism see Waszink, ‘Introduction’, 98–102; Bireley, Counter-Reformation Prince, Ch. 4; C. Brooke, Philosophic Pride: Stoicism and Political Thought from Lipsius to Rousseau (Princeton, nj: Princeton up, 2012), Ch. 1. 35 ‘De consilio et Forma nostri operis’, Politica, 230–232: ‘Nisi quod unius tamen Machiavelli igenium non contemno, acre, subtile, igneum…’; and Politica, IV.13, 510. 36 W.H. Bowen, ‘Sixteenth Century French Translations of Machiavelli’, Italica 27 (1950), 313–319. 37 Cf. Jesuitical attempts at reconciling Christian religious principles and the pragmatism of political dictates in Höpfl, Jesuit Political Thought, Chs. 5, 7–8, and H.E. Braun, Juan de Mariana and Early Modern Spanish Political Thought (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), esp. Ch. 4. Cf. also Brooke, Philosophic Pride: Stoicism and Political Thought, Ch.1; Bireley, CounterReformation Prince. 38 Waszink, ‘Introduction’, 129–130.

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more realistic and pragmatic one.39 This, nonetheless, also had a ‘distilling’ effect on it. The more depraved that people believed politics was, the more they felt the need to purify it by infusing it with theological values. The popularisation of treatises of political nature that referred to antiquity as an example made the distinction between Christian and pagan politics more apparent. In a possible reconciliation between the two, the ‘absolute’, ‘revealed’ Christian ethics and principles would be essentially undermined, by being adulterated by human ethics and principles.40 From a different perspective, this attempt also led to a moderate amalgamation of the languages available to thinkers of the period used to discuss politics, as their assimilation of Christian ethics and politics was aimed at exactly this. These moral considerations, a prominent and crucial dimension in Lipsius’s thinking, have not received adequate attention by scholars apart from discussions referring to a ‘Machiavellism’ context. They reveal the extent of the gap he perceives to be separating the two virtues which are intended to guide an individual in the two areas of his life. This disparity induces the readers to infer that the public and private domains are distinct – governed by different sets of rules, namely, that two distinct moralities were in place.41 This is above all, evident when considering the manner in which these two virtues related to virtue and deceit. It is clear throughout the two texts that Lipsius’s view of prudence allows for more laxity in moral conduct than his analysis of constancy does. Particularly telling is the fact that he allows for some degree of deception in public life, but not in private. A good example in this direction is Lipsius’s treatment of dissimulation. In the Constantia the use of it is gravely reprimanded: as noted above, Langius criticises severely the ‘vainglorious’ dissimulation of men who pretend to be grieving for the evils besetting their country, when they are in truth anxious for their own fortune. On the contrary, in the Politica the use of dissimulation is in fact recommended to the Prince: Clearly it is a necessary tool for a Prince. Even to such an extent, that an experienced Emperor said: he who knows not how to dissimulate, knows 39 40

41

M. Viroli, From Politics to Reason of State. The Acquisition and Transformation of the Language of Politics, 1250–1600 (Cambridge: cup, 1992). Cf. E. Durkheim’s contention, that the realms of the sacred and the profane are by definition absolutely and fundamentally different that it is impossible for the two to ‘approach each other and keep their own nature at the same time’; The Elementary Forms of Religious Life, trans. Joseph Ward Swain (London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd, 1964), 40. Cf. N.O. Keohane, Philosophy and the State in France. The Renaissance to the Enlightenment (Princeton: Princeton up, 1980), 130.

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not how to reign. And Tiberius, from the same conviction, Thought that he cherished none of his skills more than Dissimulation.42 The first of the two quotations in the above extract was commonly attributed to the French King Louis xi (r. 1461–83), but was widely in use in late sixteenthand seventeenth-century discussions about public affairs.43 The second citation was taken from Tacitus and was again a favourite in political writings.44 Dissimulation was a disputed quality but political theorists of every sort felt compelled to recommend it, even if it was with caution.45 Lipsius attempts to retain the integrity of private life by assigning the use of dissimulation in civil life only. He was aware that the advice that dissimulation could be used in private life could displease some who said that ‘feigning and dissimulation must be removed from every part of life’. He accordingly conceded that he agreed in eliminating it from private life but refused to eradicate it from public life.46 Intriguing are his justifications for the use of deceit in politics, in spite of the possible challenge to God’s commands and Christian ethics. In a rather poorly argued section he explains: But what if I consider just and divine law? Here I terribly stammer and sweat. Divine law seems to me to dismiss it all … What is your Politique reply to this? … Clearly it is difficult for me here to free you, or myself from guilt. Or it must be with what that same high-priest presents: That there are certain kinds of lies which do not involve great guilt, but which, on the other hand, are not without guilt. Let us consider small acts of Corruption and Deceit to be of this kind; and only then, when they are committed by a good and legitimate king against evil persons, for the sake of the Common Good. When not so: then they are often not just sins, but deep sins, however loud some veteran courtiers will laugh at me.47

42 43 44 45

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Politica, IV.14, 516. A.E. Bakos, ‘Qui Nescit Dissimulare, Nescit Regnare: Louis xi and Raison d’ État During the Reign of Louis xiii’, Journal of the History of Ideas 52 (1991), 399–416. Annales, IV.71: ‘Nullam aeque Tiberius, ut rebatur, ex virtutibus suis quam dissimulationem diligebat’. Cf. Jesuits’ discussion of dissimulation; Höpfl, Jesuit Political Thought, 150–155; Braun, Juan de Mariana, 119–128; and more generally Snyder, Dissimulation and the culture of Secrecy, op. cit. Politica, IV.14, 516. Politica, IV.14, 522–524.

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In this fashion, Lipsius defends deceit under the preconditions of the virtue of the prince, if directed against depraved individuals, or if its ultimate end is the public good. This confirms his perception of the realm of politics as being quite distinct to the private realm and subject to separate rules, not applicable to the private domain. It is commonly accepted that the rationale for the disjunction of these two treatises (and the two respective dominant virtues) lies in the fact that they were addressed to diverse audiences. This is partly due to Lipsius’s own suggestion in his epistle to the reader. As Charron in his preface tries to make clear that his intended audience were the ‘stronger and wiser’, so Lipsius addressed the Constantia to lawful subjects, but the Politica to princes and people generally involved in the affairs (or mysteries) of the state.48 This distinction was among others, based on the authority of Aristotle, but this interpretation, however true, is by no means sufficient to explain the paradox of the polarisation of the ethics of the Prince and the subject, and the consequent separation of the moral principles attached to the public and the private domain.49 Further remarks reinforce the view that Lipsius saw the realm of politics as one where virtue has a questionable role. The Politica advises courtiers to be patient and circumspect in court and show, above all, constancy, as this is an environment of deceit and conspiracy. Non-involvement in the court intrigues will secure the survival of the courtier from the enemies found in the princely entourage.50 Dissembling at court also serves as an analogy to the division of domains where the use of a mask was necessary in such a treacherous environment.51 More striking perhaps, is Lipsius’s pronouncement that ‘goodness’, 48

‘De Consilio et Forma Nostri Operis’: ‘Quod nunc tibi damus POLITICA esse vides. in quibus hoc nobis consilium, vt quemadomodum in Constantia cives formavimus ad patiendum & parendum; ita hic eos, qui imperant, ad regendum’; Politica, 230. Cf. also ‘Monita, quedam, sive cautiones’, 238; Vita, Opera Omnia vol. i, liv. See also J. Lagrée, ‘Juste Lipse: L’âme et la vertu’, in Tournoy, Iustus Lipsius Europae Lumen et Columen, 90–106: 103; and Seneca Epist. 67, 10. 49 Aristotle, Politics, III.iii.6. 50 Politica, III.11, 376–380. 51 As ‘Giving a good impression of oneself’ was one of the main instructions in Castiglione’s Book of the Courtier (1528); Il libro del Cortegiano, ed. Giulio Preti (Torino: Einaudi, 1965), II.36 and III.9. For the vicissitudes of the court for its courtiers see J. Martin, ‘Inventing Sincerity, Refashioning Prudence: the Discovery of the Individual in Renaissance Europe’, American Historical Review, 102 (1997), 1309–1342: ‘a courtier was a person who was frequently forced to erect a public façade that disguised his or her convictions, beliefs, or feelings’; on 1322. Cf. also my ‘Of Patronage, Fama and the Court: Early Modern Political Culture’, Renaissance Studies 24 (2010), 597–610.

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a constituent of virtue, one of the two guides to civil life, has no place in civil life as ‘it does not strictly speaking belong to this structure of politics, but to one of morality’, confirming the association of politics with corruption and dishonesty.52 In this scheme the realm of politics can be seen as corresponding to the ‘human’ or temporal, and consequently morally inferior, sphere. Conversely, the private sphere can be linked to the divine and morally superior sphere. The moral purity of the interior being is safeguarded by immediate and personal connection with the Deity while at the same time it remains detached from the outer corrupt (human) reality. This assumption is corroborated by the nature of constancy and its difference with prudence. Constancy, as a notion associated with stability and immobility represents the inner peace and equanimity (the Stoic notion of ‘ataraxia’/αταραξία) in the face of outer motion.53 Lending substance to this suggestion is the medieval sense of concordia, consonantia, a notion that was intimately linked to the worship of God. It denoted the accord between the internal self and one’s words and actions and rested on the assumption that the human person was fundamentally similar to God – yet human depravity had fundamentally undermined the possibility of concordia.54 In Lipsius’s scheme man can still be constant in his private life through the special relation with God through constancy. If this system is more of a paradox than a resolved relationship, it is a paradox inherent perhaps in the endeavour to fuse religion and politics, politics and morality, political participation and dispassionate non-involvement (or active and contemplative) against the frenzied background of the religious wars, where contemporaries had to reconcile the horror of war with inner peace. In Lipsius’s case, his response to these circumstances was above all informed by his understanding and preoccupation with Stoicism.

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Politica, I.6, 280. Cf. Braun, ‘Justus Lipsius and the Challenge of Historical Exemplarity’ in De Bom, (Un)masking the Realities of Power, 150–155. This was also the case with the Sceptis, Epicureans and neo-Platonists: for them private space was grounded in a privileged, vertical relationship with the truth – this relationship constituted the very condition of stable inner peace (αταραξία). History, on the other hand, and the public space was chaotic and menacing; see J.I. Abecassis, ‘« Le Maire et Montaigne ont tousjours esté deux, d’une separation bien claire »: Public Necessity and Private Freedom in Montaigne’, Modern Language Notes 110 (1995), 1067–1089: 1084–1085. Martin, ‘Inventing Sincerity, Refashioning Prudence’, 1327–1330; J. Bossy, Christianity in the West 1400–1700 (Oxford: oup, 1985), 97–98.

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(Neo)Stoicism as a Way Out of the Impasse: Stoic Elements in the Constantia

For some scholars Stoicism provides the answers to Lipsius’s paradoxes, as the ‘unifying force’ in his life.55 Another approach sees Stoicism as having provided Lipsius with ‘a comprehensive philosophical structure on which to hang theories about politics and ethics that could both coexist with and lend philosophical support to traditional Christian claims’.56 The significance of the contribution of the Flemish scholar to the revival and reformulation of Stoicism for contemporary audiences is nowadays also widely acknowledged. As mentioned in the previous chapter, neo-Stoicism enjoyed a great popularity throughout the second half of the sixteenth century and into the seventeenth, and surviving throughout the eighteenth century. Its popularity in this period is witnessed by a great upsurge in editions of ancient Stoic writings, such as those of Epictetus, Seneca, Marcus Aurelius, and Cicero’s works of a Stoic character, such as De Officiis or Paradoxa Stoicorum and others.57 However, despite the general consent on the appeal which these writings had for an educated audience of the early modern period, there is a recognised difficulty for the students of the resurgence of neo-Stoicism in defining this philosophical trend as a single coherent body of thought.58 We could accept as its main characteristic the attempt by early modern theorists to interpret a set of essentially pagan views, particularly Stoic ethics, within the Christian framework and belief – or more simply, to demonstrate that Stoicism and Christianity shared the same fundamental beliefs.59 The relationship between this strand of ancient philosophy and Christianity was a peculiar one in any case. Stoicism’s stress on strict moral behaviour always gave the sense of possible compatibility with Christian religion and

55 56 57

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L. Forster, ‘Lipsius and Renaissance Stoicism’, Festschrift for Ralph Farrel, ed. A. Stephens, H.L. Rogers et al. (Bern-Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1977), 201–220: 217. C. Brooke, ‘Stoicism and Anti-Stoicism in European Philosophy and Political Thought, 1640–1795’, PhD dissertation (Harvard University, 2003), 50. As evidenced from the editions indicated in the ustc (see Chapter 1, n 94). Similar statistical evidence is provided by the older but still impressive study by H.-J. Martin, Print, Power and People in Seventeenth Century France, trans. D. Gerard (Metuchen and London: The Scarecrow Press, 1993), 342–344. Cf. W.J. Bouwsma, ‘The two Faces of Humanism. Stoicism and Augustinianism in Renaissance Thought’, in idem, A Usable Past: Essays in European Cultural History (Berkeley: ­University of California Press, 1990), 23. M.C. Horowitz, Seeds of Virtue and Knowledge (Princeton: Princeton up 1998), 169.

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ethics.60 The congruence between the two systems, however, can also be attributed to the fact that the early Church fathers seem to have been to a certain extent attracted to Stoic teachings and writings.61 Both elements would work towards an explanation for the survival of Stoicism throughout the middle Ages and the interest of the Christian humanists such as Erasmus and ­Calvin in writings that underlined the importance of nature, reason and virtue.62 Stoicism gained an undisputably increased importance in the age of religious struggle as it was neutral enough to be accepted by people of all confessions. It could thus be employed as a mode to communicate issues about moral behaviour in a universal and undisputed vocabulary in a world where disorder was caused by the stress that confessions were placing on (non-universal) doctrinal particulars. Above all, however, it served as an essential consolation for the distressed inhabitants of a devastated Europe. The influence of the Stoic system can be discerned in many aspects of intellectual activity of the period under discussion. In philosophy, the principles of the Stoic cosmic scheme, with the role of providence, fate and destiny gave some people the ability to endure the devastation menacing them, while its insistence on the role of the intellect and reason gave individuals a sense of liberty in the inner world.63 Additionally, in direct contrast to the challenges of scepticism such as the ones discussed in the previous chapter, the assumption that since man partakes in the divine reason, he has the ability and the possibility of attaining some part of the truth, would have struck a chord of relief in a period when challenges to authorities both religious and secular, caused great agitation. This was at the heart of Charron’s approach and that would explain the popularity of his Sagesse. As a system, moreover, that advocated man’s participation in divine reason (the instrument responsible for moral conduct for the Stoics), it facilitated the assumption that man was able to find his own way on earth and define his own moral codes. More generally in terms of religion, the representation of God as fire and reason gave Him a more abstract form than the more specific doctrinal attributes that were at 60 61

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Cf. Bouwsma, ‘Two faces of Humanism’, 24. Cf. D. Allan, Philosophy and Politics in Later Stuart Scotland. Neo-Stoicism, Culture and Ideology in an Age of Crisis, 1540–1690 (East Linton: Tuckwell Press, 2000), 7–8; and M.L. Colish, The Stoic Tradition from Antiquity to the Early Middle Ages (Leiden: Brill, 1985), esp. vol. 2. One of the most famous elements interwoven with this idea is the suggestion of the alleged correspondence between St Paul and Seneca. Cf. Bouwsma, ‘Two faces of Humanism’, 28–31. Calvin for example had written a commentary on Seneca: Calvin’s Commentary on Seneca’s De Clementia, ed. F. Lewis Battles and A. Malan Hugo (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1969). Bouwsma, ‘Two Faces of Humanism’, 38.

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odds with one-another. Stoicism’s disjunction between private and public, of the inner peace with the outer turmoil, gave further grounds to the encouragement of distinct public and private expressions of religion and, in the case of dissent, a promotion of outward conformity while maintaining inner freedom of conscience. In politics, Stoicism’s dictates were twofold: on one side it promoted active participation, while on the other it recommended retreat from the ‘amorality’ of public affairs, and from impassioned civil wars.64 Lipsius’s initial attraction to Stoicism was precisely this withdrawal and the need for the Stoic comforting effect in the face of the disruption of the civil wars. Thus, the Constantia, his first obviously Stoically-inspired work, is more concerned with the utility of the philosophical trend, rather than with any intentional exposition of its doctrines. Lipsius’s engagement with Stoicism continued through his work on Seneca and the publication of the classic author’s complete works.65 His later Stoic works, the Manducutio ad Stoicam Philosophiam (Antwerp, 1604) and the Philosophia Stoicorum (Antwerp, 1604) were both a great deal more mature and comprehensive expositions of the Stoic principles.66 In contrast to his contemporaries’ exclusive preoccupation with the School’s ethics, Lipsius also paid considerable attention to its physics as well.67 This could be taken as evidence that he was attracted to Stoicism more than in a purely intellectual and moral sense and that he regarded it as a viable alternative to Christianity. In any case, Lipsius’s particular version of neo-Stoicism was not atypical of the eclecticism of the time and the attempt to reconcile Christianity with ancient philosophy.68 The need, however, to turn to ancient philosophy (as he informs us), had been created by the religious wars in the first place. Of the two works under consideration here, the Constantia is the one more obviously concerned with Stoic teaching. Langius was for Lipsius, the ideal of the Stoic sage, and it is to him that the author attributes the instructions 64 Allan, Philosophy and Politics in Later Stuart Scotland, 13. 65 L. Annaei Senecae Philosophi Opera, quae exstant omnia, a Iusto Lipsio emendata, et scholiis illustrata (Antwerp: officina Planitiana; apud J. Moretus, 1605). 66 Manuductionis ad stoicam philosophiam Libri tres : L. Annaeo Senecae, Aliisque scriptoribus illustrandis (Antwerp: officina Planitiana; apud Jan Moretus, 1604); Physiologiae stoicorum libri tres: L. Annaeo Senecae, aliisque scriptoribus illustrandis (Antwerp: officina Planitiana; apud Jan Moretus, 1604). 67 See esp. Saunders, Justus Lipsius. 68 Lipsius’s eclecticism is, among others, noted by L. Zanta, La Renaissance du Stoicisme au XVIe siècle (Paris: Champion, 1914), 165, and Long, ‘Stoicism in the Philosophical Tradition’, 379–381. As Long suggests, Lipsius did not know or did not use the evidence of Galen, Sextus Empiricus, Aristotelian commentators or Marcus Aurelius – even his citations of Cicero were few compared with what he drew from Seneca and Epictetus.

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intended­for the audience in distress.69 Four themes inform the exposition of Stoicism in the work: reason; constancy; the metaphor of the garden as a double symbol of nature, inner peace, and the vita contemplativa; and last but not least, the issue of providence. To start with, reason’s elevation to a prominent position as a guide was one of the School’s fundamental assumptions, associated with its role in the protection of the (isolated) self from both external evils, as well as from the even more detrimental tribulations originating from within. Reason constitutes the link between man and God, and human reason is thought to derive directly from Divine reason. The two are of the same essence. Reason is often depicted as fire or sparks, remnants of which are to be found in man, illuminating his conduct in life. This relationship is described by Langius: man partakes in this divine reason because some of the divine sparks are implanted in him.70 As a result of its kinship to God, human reason is always looking towards the divine as the flowers are continuously adjusted towards the sun: Reason has her offspring from heaven, from God: and Seneca gave it a singular commendation, saying ‘that there was hidden in man part of the divine spirit’. [Epist. 66.12] … For albeit the soul be infected and a little corrupted with the filth of the body and contagion of the senses. Yet it retains some relics of his first offspring, and is not without certain clear sparks of that pure fiery nature from which it proceeded. …Those little coals do always shine and show forth themselves, lightening our darkness, purging our uncleannes, directing our doubtfulness, guiding us at the last to Constancy and Virtue. As the marigold and other flowers are by nature always inclined towards the sun: so has Reason a respect for God, and to the fountain from which it sprang…71 As explained above, reason is also the guide to virtue, since for the Stoics virtue is identified with wisdom/knowledge, as Charron made explicit in his work. A wise person would always do what was right and this was possible only if he knew what was right; hence the virtuous man must be a wise man – and thus virtuous because he was wise.72 69 70 71 72

See Lipsius’s description of him in the opening of the Constantia, I.1.Cf. also Lipsius’s obituary for Langius, as cited in Morford, Stoics and Neostoics, 65. Cf. also Politica, I.5, 276: ‘Conscience is the small spark of right reason left in man, the judge and indicator of good and evil deeds’. Constantia, I.5. R.W. Sharples, Stoics, Epicureans and Sceptics. An Introduction to Hellenistic Philosophy (London: Routledge, 1996), 28; cf. Constantia, II.4.

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The images of sparks, coals, sun, and ultimately the struggle of light (reason) against darkness (passions, opinions) can be found throughout the Constantia. Reason’s brightness is set in opposition to the mist and clouds created by opinions (impressions) and the internal passions, in the same way that they are contrasted in Charron’s Sagesse. Grief, which in the Constantia is linked to the horrors afflicting the Low Countries, originates, in fact, from within oneself. Thus the young Lipsius of the work is carrying the angst with him wherever he goes and the only real remedy is not to forsake his country, but his affections.73 Man is susceptible to attacks only if reason lets her ‘sceptre’ fall down: ‘It is the mind that is wounded, and all this external imbecility, despair, and languishing, springs from this fountain, that the mind is thus prostrated and cast down’.74 Following the dictates of reason, the wise man ought to adopt an attitude of ‘apatheia’/απάθεια (indifference, composure) in order to become immune to these attacks, to face his passions and ultimately to control them. Constancy, the principal Stoic theme of the work, originates from and is regulated by reason.75 It liberates man from the ‘servile yoke of Fortune and affections’ – even if one cannot exert control on the outside world, one can still reach the desired state of freedom and inner peace.76 False goods and false evils are likely to attack constancy. From these two roots springs the Stoic set of passions, the adversaries of reason and constancy, against which one has to protect oneself: desire and joy, fear and sorrow.77 The false evils (public and private concerns) for Lipsius include his countrymen’s suffering: ‘war, pestilence, famine, tyranny, slaughters’ as well as the impact they had on them: ‘sorrow, poverty, infamy, death’.78 Lipsius stresses that of the two, the public evils are worse; they are the source of a number of affections: dissimulation, excessive love for one’s country – falsely termed ‘piety’ – and commiseration or pity. ­Lipsius treats more extensively the affections instead of the ‘evils’, as he places more stress on the passions rather than the misfortunes which cause them.79 The third theme with Stoic connotations, the garden, appears in the middle of the work, at the opening of the second Book. Though primarily associated 73 74

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Constantia, I.1. Constantia, I.2. Cf. also I.3; Langius/Lipsius continues the argument stating that all other affections have an end: a lover, to enjoy his desire; an angry man, to be revenged – while sorrow does not. Constantia, I.4–I.5. Constantia, I.6. Constantia, I.7; cf. also I.13. For an examination of the (Stoic) theory of passions and their sixteenth-century representations see A. Levi, French Moralists. The Theory of the Passions 1585 to 1649 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1964), Ch. 2. Constantia, I.7. Constantia, I.8–I.12.

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with the teachings of the Epicureans, as Mark Morford has shown, Lipsius reclaimed it and re-invented it within a Stoic framework.80 Here the symbolism of the garden alludes to the Stoic doctrine of life according to nature. It is a place of relaxation where men can withdraw from troubles and forget their sorrows. The garden is suitable for meditation, recreation and wisdom – a place for the negotium animi; in fact, a great part of philosophy had originated in gardens.81 Lipsius describes in a truly lyrical passage how the gardens are intended for the mind and for its recreation: ‘as a wholesome withdrawing place from the cares and troubles of this world’. They offer respite, breath and ‘new life’ from the ‘crowds of people’ and ‘worldly business’. Wise men of old times had their dwelling in gardens, as do the ‘studious and learned wits’ of Lipsius’s age. Gardens are the ideal location for learned meditations and writings: the mind lifts up and advances itself more to these high thoughts, when it is at liberty to behold its own home, heaven, than when it is enclosed within the prisons of houses or towns. Here you learned poets compose some poems worthy of immortality. Here let all the learned meditate and write: here let the philosophers argue and dispute of contentation, constancy, life, and death.82 The persona of Langius asserts that in the peacefulness of the garden he is free from all the cares of the world. There, he can concentrate on subjecting his ‘broken and distressed mind’ to ‘right reason’. The reference to the pagan notion of right reason Lipsius rendered as ‘right reason and God’ in subsequent editions, after criticisms of the divergence between Christian and Stoic teachings’.83 Undisturbed contemplation, away from troubles and passions would lead one to wisdom and virtue, and ultimately, God. Lipsius diluted the paganinspired elevation of human reason in retrospect by linking it with God and placing this activity in His province (and providence). The last Stoic theme in this discussion refers to the associated and debated concepts of Providence – Necessity – Destiny (Fatum) in the Constantia, and man’s role within the Divine scheme of things. The importance of the matter for Lipsius is witnessed by the fact that the discussion occupies ten chapters of the first book (I.13–22). Lipsius introduces the topic in his exposition of constancy: as public evils stem from God and his Providence, men are not in a 80 M.P.O. Morford, ‘The Stoic Garden’, Journal of Garden History 7 (1987), 151–175. 81 Morford, Stoics and Neostoics, 66. 82 Constantia, II.3. 83 Constantia, II.3. Cf. Young, Concerning Constancy, 116.

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position to complain.84 God’s Providence is described as ‘a watchful and continual care whereby he beholds, searches and knows all things… and knowing them, disposes and orders the same by an immutable course to us unknown’.85 Lipsius joins necessity to Christian Providence, claiming that it springs from God, and that it is a power of Providence. It is more linked to the nature of things; everything is naturally subject to alteration and eventually, decay.86 He gives an account of the Stoic definition of Fate and attempts to refute Christian criticisms of its teachings, stressing their common features. Whilst admitting to finding their teachings appealing, Lipsius notes what he understands to be the two main problems (‘impieties’) which Christians find with their interpretation: the fact that the Stoics appeared to make God subject to destiny and to deprive man of his liberty.87 Lipsius links Destiny with the Stoic fatum, and using the root of the word (fari: to speak) he describes it as the ‘saying and commandment of God’. By describing Destiny as the decree of God, thus, he is able to subject it to God. Aware of contemporary theological debates regarding liberty of the will, Lipsius displays his cautiousness, remarking in a marginal note that ‘Whatever I speak of here, let the wise be judges of it, I will amend anything upon admonition. And albeit happily I may be convinced of folly, yet will not of forwardness’.88 He brings the topic to a close by underlining how God’s Providence does not enforce man’s will: So God by the power of Destiny draws all things, but does not take away the peculiar faculty or motion of any thing. … He wishes that men should use deliberation and choice; so they do, without force, of their free will. And yet, whatsoever they were in mind to make choice of, God foresaw from all eternity: He foresaw it, I say, not forced it: he knew it, but constrained not: he foretold it, but not prescribed it.89 The effort to reconcile Stoic and Christian doctrines as a consolation in the face of contemporary woes, however, was not always successful or convincing, like in Charron’s case. Explicit questions concerning Providence, free will,

84 85 86 87 88 89

Constantia, I.14. Constantia, I.13. Constantia, I.15. Constantia I.18. ‘Quidquidble disputo; prudentum iudicii esto. corrigano monitus & erroris aliquis me convincet, nemo pertinacia’; Constantia, I.20. Constantia, I.20.

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and responsibility of sin in the Constantia were raised by Dirck (­Theodore) ­Volckertszoon Coornhert (1522–90). Coornhert was particularly sceptical about Lipsius’s treatment of sin. For him, there could not be any compatibility between free will and submission to Destiny.90 Lipsius could ignore Coornhert’s challenge but he could not do the same with his friend Laevinus ­Torrentius (Lieven Van der Beke, 1525–95), Bishop of Antwerp, a scholar and a humanist, who also reacted to the views presented in Constantia. Alarmed by the Flemish scholar’s apparent preference for Stoic views over Christian doctrine, ­Torrentius suggested that it would have been much better if the author had taken Christ and his followers as moral examples and urged him to add a third book to the Constantia, written from a Christian and not a profane point of view.91 Lipsius replied to Torrentius claiming that ancient philosophy paved the way to Christianity, and he defended his attempt to reconcile the two: ‘For I had wanted to reconcile ancient philosophy to the Christian truth, and some things crept in and slipped out which perhaps have more of the flavour of the former than the latter’.92 He also defended his use of classical sources and philosophy, reasserting his use of Epictetus and Seneca.93 Along the same lines was the defence which Lipsius used in an epistle to the reader he attached to the second edition of the work. There he repeated his claims about the benefits that the study of ancient philosophy could bring to Christian belief, proudly declaring that he was the first one to open up and secure the path of joining ancient philosophy with divine literature, one that can ‘lead to tranquillity and peace of mind’. He maintained that ‘secular literature’ provided support (if not the basis) to the road to salvation. Human wisdom derived from the ‘ancient and long collapsed edifice of Philosophy’ could provide reinforcement into the foundations of divine letters’.94 After all, ancient Fathers urged Christians to study philosophy.

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ile vol. ii, 84 04 09; 84 04 12; 84 04 15; 84 04 18; 84 04 21; 84 04 25C. Cf. the discussion in R. Hoven, ‘Les Réactions de Juste Lipse aux Critiques Suscitées par la Publication du De Constantia’, in Mouchel, Juste Lipse en son Temps, 413–422: 416–417; G. Voogt, ‘Primacy of Individual Conscience or Primacy of the State? The Clash between Dirk Volckerstz ­Coornhert and Justus Lipsius’, Sixteenth Century Journal 28 (1997), 1231–1249; idem, Constraint on Trial: Dirck Volckertsz Coornhert and Religious Freedom. (Kirksville: Truman State up, 2000), 199–202; G. Güldner, Das Toleranz-Problem in den Niederlanden in Ausgang des 16. Jahrhunderts (Lübeck and Hamburg: Matthiesen Verlag, 1968), 84–89. ile vol. ii, 84 04 05 T; cf. Hoven, ‘Les Réactions de Juste Lipse’, 418. ile vol. ii, 84 05 06; cf. Morford, Stoics and Neostoics, 105. ile vol. ii, 84 05 06. Examples of which are Constantia, I.20 and II.3, as discussed above.

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In a separate, published letter, Lipsius had claimed that it was his ignorance of theology that had aroused the slander against him: They say that elephants love rivers but do not rashly go into the water, because they do not know how to swim. This is the case with me and Theology; I love it, I value it, and I gladly dip my mind in its health-giving waters, but I do not immerse myself.95 In the preface added to the Constantia Lipsius reasserted the distinction between philosophy and theology in the same vein that Charron differentiated between theological and human wisdom. He insisted that he acted as a philosopher and that, aware of his inadequacy in religious issues, he left the matter to theologians, leaving the question as to whether his pen ‘may have slipped at points’ to the judgement of his readers.96 He suggested that he conducted himself not just as a philosopher but as a Christian philosopher, regretting the fact that his failings were likely to cause his work to be censured. The criticisms caused Lipsius to make some minor amendments to the text for the second edition, such as joining reason and God and adding some explanatory marginal notes.97 He further acknowledged that he may have placed more emphasis than was acceptable in his account of right reason, ‘as the ancients did’.98 Similar to Charron’s line of defence, Lipsius affirmed that he understood ‘right reason’ to be revealed by faith and only directed by God. It is of significance that despite repeated assurances that he would drastically revise the text of the Constantia, Lipsius ultimately defied suggestions of both Torrentius and Coornhert. This demonstrates his conviction in his views. Evidence of this is further provided in a letter to Abraham Ortelius (1527–98), where Lipsius maintained that the changes he made to the Constantia were few. He described that he had only added an epistle explicating his position against ‘some defenders of piety’, themselves ‘little pious and even less advised’.99 Despite his efforts to demonstrate common fundamental beliefs between Christianity/religion and Stoicism/philosophy, the greatest accusation

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ile vol. i, 83 10 15 P2; for the translation see Morford, Stoics and Neostoics, 106. ‘Ad lectorem’, Constantia, sig. *2v.–*3r. The most interesting marginal note is one where Lipsius professes to be inviting ‘the wise to be judges of [his comparison between Providence and Fate]’ and that he would ‘amend everything upon admonition’; Constantia, I.20. ‘Ad lectorem’, Constantia, sig. *2v. ile vol. ii, 84 08 23 O.

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against Lipsius and his Constantia had been that of impiety.100 Unfortunately for him, the work made apparent its author’s eclecticism and perhaps carelessness or lack of interest in what he may have considered to be doctrinal ‘details’. His preoccupation with Stoicism certainly pointed to a more holistic approach to religion and piety, facets of which we see emerging in other aspects of his work. At least two people from his circle linked Lipsius’s ‘mistakes’ in the Constantia with his treatment of religion in the Politica, where he put more emphasis on internal belief rather than the particulars of worship and famously accepted some extent of religious dissent in the state, on condition that people show outward conformity.101 It is to these views that we should now turn our attention to, as these are expressed in the Politica.

Lipsius on Religion and Politics in the Context of Religious Upheaval

The role of religion within the state was a crucial issue for everyone living during the era of religious conflict. Lipsius’s position that the realms ecclesiastical and political, public and private were best kept separate – and by implication that true religion was practiced in private, was by no means novel or exceptional for his time.102 Issues revolving around the problem of religion and its role within the state and subjects’ lives, alongside the question of religious pluralism, were repeatedly debated throughout the second half of the sixteenth century across the areas of Europe challenged by Reformed ideas, as was the case in France, in the immediate proximity to Lipsius.103 The matter presented itself 100 ‘Ad lectorem’, Constantia, sig. *2r. 101 According to Hoven, however, at receiving the Politica both Lampsonius and Du Jon reacted saying more or less that Lipsius had repeated the same mistakes he did not manage to correct in the Constantia; ‘Les Réactions de Juste Lipse’, 421. 102 Cf. the terms of the Edict of Amboise in France (March 1563): ‘iv. Every man may, within his own house, live and dwell entirely freely, without being investigated nor molested, forced or constrained in matters of his conscience’ in A. Duke, G. Lewis and A. Pettegree (eds), Calvinism in Europe, 1540–1610 (Manchester: Manchester up), 91. 103 Among the vast literature, see M. Greengrass, Governing Passions: Peace and Reform in the French Kingdom, 1576–1585 (Oxford: oup, 2007); K.P. Luria, Sacred Boundaries. Religious Coexistence and Conflict in Early Modern France (Washington d.c.: The Catholic ­University of America Press, 2005), esp. Ch. 6; Philip Benedict, ‘Un roi, une loi, deux fois: Parameters for the history of Catholic-Reformed Coexistence in France 1555–1685’ in O.P. Grell and B. Scribner (eds), Tolerance and Intolerance in the European Reformation (Cambridge: cup, 1996), 65–93; A. Spicer and Will Coster (eds), Sacred Space in Early Modern Europe

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with particular urgency and intensity in the Low Countries where Lipsius was teaching during the composition of the two texts under consideration – not only in the newly established republic of the North but also in the six Southern Provinces, which had recently reconciled with the Spanish king.104 Lipsius was thus one of many contemporary authors to be concerned with such matters. The chapters of the Politica dealing with the ‘divine’ part of the prudence of the Prince (IV.2–4) were under attack both during his stay in Protestant Leiden as well as during his time in Catholic Louvain. In the Protestant world – albeit against the Catholic Coornhert – Lipsius found himself defending his position from attacks that the polity he was proposing was too authoritarian and not tolerant enough. Later on however, and after his return to the Catholic South, the Roman Curia deemed that the same views were too tolerant. The opposition which Lipsius received from both parts occupies a notable chapter in the greater topic of tolerance and its limitations in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and has accordingly been discussed in this context.105 A look at the immediate politico-religious setting in which Lipsius was writing will help shed some light onto his specific standpoint. In the particular circumstances of the emerging United Provinces and especially in relation to the (Cambridge: cup, 2005); P. Roberts, ‘The Languages of Peace during the French Religious Wars’, Cultural and Social History 4 (2007), 293–311; eadem, ‘The Kingdom’s Two Bodies? Corporeal Rhetoric and Royal Authority during the Religious Wars’, French History 21 (2007), 147–164. 104 C. Kooi, ‘Strategies of Catholic Toleration in Golden Age Holland’, in R. Po-Chia Hsia and H.F.K. van Nierop (eds), Calvinism and Religious Toleration in the Dutch Golden Age (Cambridge: cup, 2002), 87–101 and eadem, ‘Popish Impudence: The Perseverance of the Roman Catholic Faithful in Calvinist Holland, 1572–1620’; Sixteenth Century Journal 26 (1995), 49–74. 105 On the general context see indicatively, B.J. Kaplan, Divided by Faith. Religious Conflict and the Practice of Toleration in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge and London: Bellknap Press of Harvard up, 2007); Hsia and van Nierop, Calvinism and Religious Toleration in the Dutch Golden Age; C. Berkvens-Stevelinck, et als (eds), The Emergence of Tolerance in the Dutch Republic (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1997); P. Zagorin, How the Idea of Religious Toleration came to the West (Princeton: Princeton up, 2003), Ch. 5; and the older but still indispensable J. Lecler, Toleration and the Reformation, trans. T.L. Westow, 2 vols. (London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1960); for Lipsius, see vol. 2, 281–285. See also Güldner, Toleranz-Problem, op. cit., 99–118; R. Crahay, ‘Le Problème du Pluralisme Confessionnel dans les Pays-Bas à la fin du XVIe Siècle: les Embarras de Juste Lipse (1589–1596)’ in M. Peronnet (ed.), Naissance et Affirmation de l’Idée de Tolérance, XVIe–XVIIIe Siècle, 5éme Colloque Jean Boisset (Xéme Colloque du Centre d’Histoire des Réformes et du Protestantisme), (Montpellier: Université Paul Valéry, 1988), 157–187; Voogt, Constraint on Trial, Ch. 8, esp. 197–229 as well as more specific references throughout the text, below.

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fundamental principle of ‘freedom of conscience’ as was formulated in article 13 of the Union of Utrectht (1579), authorities and citizens were forced to reconcile this freedom with dictates of political power and jurisdiction, religious diversity and concord.106 Yet in theory, conscience, as Luther had famously declared at Worms, ought to be completely in thrall to the Word of God, that is, beyond temporal dictates.107 The questions arising from this debate in the United Provinces were very publicly discussed in one way or another in numerous texts produced against this historical background, from pamphlets to personal accounts and from edicts to much more critical treatises, such as Lipsius’s.108 The views articulated within these texts varied depending on the genre as well as the relative power of the composer. Within the discourse, however, a wide spectrum of argumentation is discernible, the parameters of which involved the employment of biblical vocabulary, combined with political arguments advocating the contractual nature of the relationship with the authorities. Common within the texts for a majority of authors was the plea for ‘freedom of conscience’, provided that loyalty to the authorities was secured. Also frequently found in these texts was an attempt to indicate the lines of demarcation between ecclesiastical and political authority – either from the authorities, in their attempt to ensure obedience, or from subjects, in their attempt to achieve a degree of religious liberty. The principle of distinguishing between the two authorities was thus used to promote varying arguments, from a variety of standpoints. The most typical was that in principle political authority ought to act as the promoter and protector of the ‘true religion’ thus urging for religious tolerance on political grounds. A different point of view placed emphasis on the preservation of peace and stability; after all, to tolerate two religions was the lesser of two evils.109 From the position of religious minorities, a common argument put forward was that the care of the souls lay solely in God’s jurisdiction and as a result worldly authorities could not transgress ‘the body and goods of the subjects’. Arguments from a more overtly political 106 W. Frijhoff, ‘Religious Toleration in the United Provinces: From “Case” to “Model”’ in Hsia and van Nierop, Calvinism and Religious Toleration in the Dutch Golden Age, 27–52: 30. 107 C. Scott Dixon, ‘Living with Religious Diversity in Early Modern Europe’ in idem, D. Freist and M. Greengrass (eds), Living with Religious Diversity in Early Modern Europe (­Aldershot: Ashgate, 2009), 14–15. 108 M. Van Gelderen (ed.), The Dutch Revolt (Cambridge: cup, 1993), estimates the number of tracts on political debates published between 1555 and 1590 in the Low Countries to be more than 2000: vii. 109 M. Van Gelderen, The Political Thought of the Dutch Revolt, 1555–1590 (Cambridge: cup 1992), 260–261.

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standpoint were however also used to refute tolerance of religious diversity in the name of political stability. From a different angle, the more lenient approach was also firmly supported on the religious ground of Divine omnipotence vis-a-vis the transient nature of human affairs, and against a confessional organisation of the state. Amongst the contrasting views, differences arose also on the aspect of translating the principle into practice, since not all authors agreed as to what freedom of conscience meant in practice.110 Some raised the point therefore that ‘freedom of conscience’ was by definition private and that people’s consciences were free even during the most adverse circumstances, such as the reign of Duke of Alva (1508–83).111 The debate unfolded within the same framework but evidently not everyone agreed. From a final different stance, the argument of separation of public observance and private liberty came under an attack of a sort similar to these of Calvin against ‘Nicodemites’. From this point of view, religious indifference was in fact worse than the opposed doctrine. Discussing people who considered it legitimate to ‘conform outwardly’ to the ‘rules of a Church which they reject, provided their hearts are pure’, Franciscus Junius (1545–1602) pronounced that this amounted to ‘not taking religion seriously at all’: … for fear of losing their possessions or offices they do not want to attach themselves to the discipline and worship of some other religion and have become absolute atheists without faith and without law. There is even no small number of vile libertines who form separate sects, teaching that one should not serve God outwardly in any form or discipline, but only in spirit and liberty. And under this pretext they indulge in every possible villainy and abomination… thinking that such things do not matter as they merely pertain to the external side of life…112 According to this last interpretation thus, religion was not only a source of unity, but instead it was the essential foundation of morality and political 110 A. Pettegree, ‘The Politics of Toleration in the Free Netherlands, 1572–1620’ in Grell and Scribner, Tolerance and Intolerance in the European Reformation, 182–198. 111 Brief Discourse on the Peace Negotiations now Taking Place at Cologne between the King of Spain and the States of the Netherlands (Gragory Philerene: Leiden, 1579); as cited in Van Gelderen, The Dutch Revolt, 142. 112 François du Jon, Brief discours envoyé au roy Philippe, auquel est monster le moyen qu’il faudroit tenir pour obvier aux troubles et emotions pour le faict de la religion, et extirper les sects et heresies pullulantes en sesdicts pays (1566); in E.H. Kossman and A.F. Mellink (eds), Texts Concerning the Revolt of the Netherlands (Cambridge: cup, 1974), 56–57.

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guidance­and discipline within the polity.113 Though from a contradictory starting point to that of Lipsius, this argument brings us full circle to Lipsius’s own views about the role of religion. It also reminds us of Charron’s concern over the extent of unbelief and indifference he witnessed around him, as well as the extract at the very beginning of this study. Some preliminary remarks in the early chapters of the Politica provide clear indications of Lipsius’s views on the issue and role of religion (I.2–I.3). In his account, he associates the concept of virtue with piety and goodness.114 Piety for him is the belief in and the worship of God, in other words, the theory and practice of religion. In terms of worship, significantly, he differentiates between a double form of service, internal and external, that parallels his understanding of an inherent differentiation between the internal peace and the outside world.115 In the same chapter Lipsius talks about the difference between religion and superstition, an issue to which Charron also devoted considerable attention. Like Charron, he regards superstition as an enemy to religion, and he recognises that superstitious people are easily manipulated by princes. His aversion to superstition can be viewed from the lens of a Stoic: superstition is a blind passion that takes hold of one’s reason and threatens the individual’s tranquillity116 [figs. 3 and 4]. This duality of internal and external worship parallels Lipsius’s understanding of an inherent differentiation between the internal peace, where man is connected to God through reason, and the outside world. In keeping with his stress on internal peace, the inward manifestation of piety is for Lipsius, significantly more important than the external. This would also suggest that for him the substance of piety was in the meaning and understanding of it, the fundamentals of religion, and not in the doctrinal details or the differences in worship.117 This is consistent with earlier versions of 113 Cf. H. Schilling (ed.), Die reformierte Konfessionalisierung in Deutschland. Das Problem der ‘Zwetien Reformation’: Wissenschaftliches Symposion des Vereins für Reformationsgeschichte 1985 (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1986); idem and W. Reinhard (eds), Die katholische Konfessionalisierung: Wissenschaftliches Symposion der Gesellschaft zur Herasugabe des Corpus Catholicorum und des Vereins für Reformationsgeschichte (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1995). 114 Politica, I.2, 262. I prefer the term piety as a translation of Lipsius’s Latin ‘pietas’ to Waszink’s translation of the term as ‘faith’. 115 Politica, I.3, 266. 116 Politica, I.3, 268. 117 Cf. the Reformation and post-Reformation debates about ‘adiaphora’: I. Dingel, ‘The Culture of Conflict in the Controversies Leading to the Formula of Concord (1548–1560)’, in R. Kolb (ed.), Lutheran Ecclesiastical Culture, 1550–1675 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 15–64; C.P. Arand et als (eds), The Lutheran Confessions: History and Theology of the Book of Concord

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the text, where the same section included the assertion that most of the ‘externals’ ‘have more to do with custom than with religion itself’ (also reminiscent of Charron), which was expurgated later on.118 As the Politica however, was aimed at instructing people’s conduct in civil life, he exhorts the ‘wise man’ to conform to customs of worship for the good of the community in which he lives: ‘But you must not, however, disdain the exterior side of worship, unless it be ungodly. Because in these matters, too, religion must be obeyed, and traditional custom not stubbornly rejected’.119 In a strikingly similar manner to Charron’s discussion of the distinction between preud’hommie and piety, Lipsius also declares that piety is inadequate without honesty. Goodness is a ‘life upright in character and every action, from a principle of integrity’. Without ‘good conduct piety is vain’; it is empty and can disappear into smoke and steam ‘without this life-blood of deeds’.120 This is the background against which the author places his discussion on religion in the Fourth Book of the Politica. There he ascribes the role of the protector of religion to the Prince.121 Prudence is concerned with religious affairs, as it ‘handles and controls sacred matters and the religion, insofar as they fall within the Prince’s charge’. The Prince, however, does not have unlimited free power in religious affairs: ‘This must not be’. He can only ‘inspect’, instead, aiming at their defence.122 Above all, religion is, for Lipsius, the bond that keeps society together: ‘Remove this restraint, and the life of men shall be filled with folly, crime and barbarity’. Significantly, for Lipsius, ‘religion is the sole creator of unity. Mixing it up will always lead to chaos’.123 Lipsius was strongly of the opinion that in one realm, one religion must be preserved.124 The tragedy of his age and his personal experience of the disastrous results of religious strife made him resolute on this point. His despair is evident in the Politica: (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2011); N. Rein, ‘Faith and Empire: Conflicting Visions of Religion in a Late Reformation Controversy – The Augsburg Interim and Its Opponents, 1548–1550’., Journal of the American Academy of Religion 71 (2003), 45–74; W.R. Johnston, ‘These Adiaphoristic Devils: Matthias Flacius Illyricus in statu confessionis, 1548–1552’, unpublished PhD dissertation (Erasmus University of Rotterdam, 2013); esp. 38–43, 51–58. 118 Cf. Politica, I.3, 268. 119 Politica, I.3, 268; the older version of the text read: ‘… For the wise man shall preserve things as being required by law, not as being valued by the Gods’. 120 Politica, I.6, 280. 121 The title of Politica, IV.2, 386 includes: ‘The Prince’s own prudence …. That he must preserve religion, and defend it’. 122 Politica, IV.2, 386. 123 Politica, IV.2, 388. 124 Politica, IV.3, 390.

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Superstition. From J.B. Boudard, Iconologie tirée de divers auteurs. Ouvrage utile aux gens de lettres, aux poëtes, aux artistes, & généralement à tous les amateurs des beaux arts, 3 vols. (Parma: Philippo Carmignani, 1759): vol. 3, im. 151. Durham Palace Green Library, Kellett.13

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Piety. From J.B. Boudard, Iconologie tirée de divers auteurs. Ouvrage utile aux gens de lettres, aux poëtes, aux artistes, & généralement à tous les amateurs des beaux arts, 3 vols. (Parma: Philippo Carmignani, 1759): vol. 3, im. 75. Durham Palace Green Library, Kellett.13

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O better part of the world, which fires of strife has religion not ignited in thee! The heads of the Christian Commonwealth clash with each other, and some thousands of men have perished or are perishing under the pretence of Religion.125 People were being killed in the name of piety and religion. In these circumstances, the public good is harmed by the fanaticism that accompanies religious plurality (or ‘confusion’, in this context). Yet religion could lead to peace and tranquillity provided that it is observed by everyone in the state. And it is first and foremost the duty of the wise man to lead the way by maintaining the laws of his ancestors; only by keeping the inherited customs in public can society continue to exist in peace.126 A crucial set of questions dealt with in the Politica (IV.2–4) relates to whether public or private dissent is to be tolerated. In line with Lipsius’s primary concern for public order, he maintains that public dissent is far more damaging than private. For him private worship was to be tolerated, on condition that people show outward conformity: ‘No king can control hearts as much as he can control tongues. The Ruler of our minds is God’.127 The first version of the work also included the statement that kings cannot ‘command religion, because no one can be forced to believe against his will’.128 Referring to circumstances in Europe at the time, the author regretted the fact that dissenting minorities were ‘destroyed rather than corrected’.129 Reaction to these views was twofold. Coornhert raised objections to Lipsius’s advocacy of the observance of a single religion in the state and the persecution of (public) dissenters. The Roman Curia, on the other hand, condemned his more moderate claims of allowing (private) dissent. Both cases offer insights on Lipsius’s stance on the issue of religion and can provide evidence about the confessional landscape and the limits of ‘moderation’ and ‘middle way’. The debate between Coornhert and Lipsius started off initially as an exchange of letters.130 Coornhert had asked the Leiden professor to clarify his 125 126 127 128 129 130

Politica, IV.3, 390. Politica IV.2, 388. Politica, IV.4, 394, 398. Politica, IV.4, 396, citing King Theodoric (r. 494–526); Cassiod. Var. 2.27.2. Politica, IV.4, 396. For the debate between Lipsius and Coornhert see Güldner, Toleranz-Problem, 99–118; Voogt, ‘Primacy of Individual Conscience’ and idem, Constraint on Trial, ­ Ch. 8, esp. 197–229; Crahay, ‘Problème du Pluralisme Confessionnel’, 157–187; Lecler, Toleration and the Reformation, vol. 2, 281–285; Morford, Stoics and Neostoics, 112–118; Van Gelderen, Political Thought of the Dutch Revolt, 251–256; Waszink, ‘Introduction’,

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views regarding the role of religion in the state and the punishment of religious dissidents, as he understood them to be harsh. In the newly-formed United Provinces there were serious objections raised against the death penalty for people suspected of heresy and Lipsius’s phrasing could be interpreted as supporting such practices.131 Lipsius’s dismissive reply caused Coornhert to publish a refutation of the three chapters of the Politica in question, dedicating his work to the magistrates of Leiden.132 That he chose to publish the Trial of the Killing of Heretics and the Constraint of Conscience (Gouda, 1590) in Dutch, provoked Lipsius because it made the debate more public.133 Lipsius responded a few months later in Latin with De Una Religione (Leiden, 1590).134 Even though the circulation of the Trial was suppressed by the magistrates of Leiden within a year of its publication, Lipsius probably felt that his reputation was damaged by this exchange. According to some analyses, this controversy was one of the main reasons behind his permanent departure from Leiden in 1591, or at least the catalyst in a series of uncertainties, such as (what Lipsius perceived as) the ineffectiveness of the States General, both in ruling the country as well as fighting the struggle with Spain.135

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115–118. The first contact between the two seems to have taken place in 1584, when Coornhert asked Lipsius if he could translate the Constantia into Dutch (ile, vol. ii, 84 03 18). Waszink, ‘Introduction’, 41, 71–73. Dirck Volckertszoon Coornhert, Proces van ‘t Ketter-dooden ende Dwangh der Conscientien tusschen Iustum Lipsium, Schrijver vande Politien Anno 1589, daer voor ende Dirck Coornhert daer Teghen Sperkende (Gouda: Jasper Tournay, 1590); ustc 429294. Very little reference is made to Coornhert’s religion by scholars; this is rather surprising, considering the importance of such a piece of information for the greater understanding of the religious debates. Born a Catholic, he was very early on attracted to the works of the great reformers, Luther, Calvin and others. He never officially embraced Protestantism, and he, significantly, disagreed in theology in many points with all three denominations, whether Catholic, Calvinist or Lutheran. It seems, generally, that he was more influenced by the various spiritual tendencies of the period, such as the teachings of Sebastian Franck and Castellio; Lecler, Toleration and the Reformation, 273–276. W. Frijhoff, calls Coornhert a ‘Perfectist’: Perfectists, in opposition to the Protestants, considered that the grace of God in Jesus Christ was sufficient for man to observe God’s commandments during his earthly life; ‘Religious Toleration in the United Provinces’, 30 n. 8. Voogt, finally, characterises him as a ‘spiritualist’ and occasionally a ‘humanist-spiritualist’; Constraint on Trial, 103, 124, 177, 232, 197. Adversus dialogistam liber de una religione: in quo tria capita libri quarti politicorum explicantur (Leiden: ex officina Plantiniana apud Franciscus I Raphelengius, 1590); ustc 422906. Waszink, ‘Introduction’, 22; Voogt, Constraint on Trial, 206–207, 218; Güldner, ToleranzProblem, 117; Morford, Stoics and Neostoics, 117. We should not exclude the possibility that

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Importantly however, the views of the two men had a shared starting point, the separation of the two spheres and of the two jurisdictions, the ecclesiastical and political. Their arguments, nonetheless, were stemming from entirely opposing viewpoints: Lipsius’s main concern was the order of the state, whilst Coornhert focused on individual conscience and the independence of religion from any interference by temporal authorities.136 Coornhert was alarmed by what he saw as Lipsius’s breaching of this distinction of the two spheres by making the ruler the defender of one religion.137 He was, moreover, alarmed by Lipsius’s refusal to name explicitly this single religion, surmising that the Prince would defend whatever religion happened to be dominant in the state. This could well have been Lipsius’s case, but the Flemish scholar was prudent enough not to push his argument to its limits. In the same vein, he did not go all the way to explain that he was, in fact, aiming at the complete exclusion of theologians from the political sphere – which corresponded to the distinction between philosophers and theologians he had made in the Constantia – as this was a delicate claim to make explicitly in that current environment.138 Coornhert, on the other hand, was arguing from a purely theological background, excluding any classical authors from his list of sources.139 He acknowledged, thus, the primacy of the divine matters at the expense of politics: ‘I consider men’s eternal salvation to be of more importance than their or the state’s temporary prosperity. For states exist for the sake of the people, not the people for the sake of the state’.140 Equally, he maintained that the subjects ‘are not bound to obey the government in all its commandments’. In times of

the public debate with Coornhert exposed Lipsius’s insecurities: Lipsius himself admitted in his autobiographical letter to Woverius that it was Religio ac Fama (religion and reputation/fame) that compelled him to leave Leiden. Jeanine de Landtsheer suggests that ­Lipsius’s stay in the North was always temporary and his departure was linked to the apprehension caused by political changes. According to her, Lipsius’s decision to leave for the South dated to 1586, but earlier attempts had not been successful. Coornhert’s polemic confirmed to Lipsius that it was time to leave Leiden; in her ‘Pius Lipsius or ­Lipsius Proteus?’, in eadem and H. Nellen (eds), Between Scylla and Charybdis. Learned Letter Writers Navigating the Reefs of Religious and Political Controversy in Early Modern Europe. (Leiden: Brill, 2011) 303–349; esp. 313–324, 328. 136 Voogt, ‘Primacy of Individual Conscience’, 1237. 137 Voogt, ‘Primacy of Individual Conscience’, 1239; idem, Constraint on Trial, 213. 138 Güldner, Toleranz-Problem, 105. 139 Voogt, ‘Primacy of Individual Conscience’, 1240. 140 Cited in Voogt, ‘Primacy of Individual Conscience’, 1238–1239.

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conflict they should ‘obey God rather than man’.141 The two domains, temporal and ecclesiastical, politics and religion should be kept separate ‘for they are as different as heaven and earth’.142 Coornhert also addressed the question of human limitations: how could people trust the defence of the church to the princes, given the many examples of unwise, unjust or cruel princes throughout history? God gave to none power in His realm, besides Himself, not even the prince.143 Decisions about religious doctrines, in this respect should be made by the Church, which is spiritually guided by God and not the prince; conversely, the Church ought to engage only in spiritual considerations and not in worldly ones.144 One of Coornhert’s fundamental objections to Lipsius’s stance concerned his claim that people should follow the established religion as a matter of custom. The polemicist was aware that this position undermined the position of the Christian religion: …This would mean that one religion is not any better than another one, and that one can attain salvation in any religion, no matter how false or idolatrous it might be. And this would be complete Libertinism, and a shoe that is made to fit any foot.145 Coornhert pointed out that through this inferred syncretism Lipsius was essentially subordinating religion to the state. He accused Lipsius of using religion as an instrument of support for the state, in order to achieve temporal grandeur, the most abhorrent of things.146 As in ­Charron’s case, Coornhert challenged his adversary’s reliance on pagan, ­classical sources and mocked Lipsius for ­using them as a ‘fetish’. In contrast to his reaction regarding the composition of ­Constantia, Lipsius did not feel that he had to defend his sparse use of

141 Cited in Van Gelderen, Political Thought of the Dutch Revolt, 252. See also Voogt, ‘Primacy of Individual Conscience’, 1240; Güldner, Toleranz-Problem, 105. 142 Voogt, ‘Primacy of Individual Conscience’, 1240. 143 Cf. Van Gelderen, Political Thought of the Dutch Revolt, who cites Coornhert’s assertion that the government was not ordained to ‘punish the errant in matters of faith and even less to exterminate the weeds of God’s field’, 252. 144 Güldner, Toleranz-Problem, 106. 145 Cited in Voogt, ‘Primacy of Individual Conscience’, 1241–1242. 146 Voogt, ‘Primacy of Individual Conscience’, 1242; cf. Van Gelderen who states that ­Coornhert regarded Lipsius as a disciple of Machiavelli, who saw religion as an instrument of the ‘body’s comfort and peace’; Political Thought of the Dutch Revolt, 255.

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ecclesiastical writers in the Politica, a confirmation of his belief – and Coornhert’s charge – that theological writings did not have a place in politics.147 Lipsius based his response to Coornhert on the reiteration that the prince ought to promote one religion within the state which he had the duty to oversee; he had no rights over the church, but he had to prevent disorder. Two issues above all, infuriated Lipsius among Coornhert’s polemics. First was his opponent’s questioning of his private religion and the insinuation that he was on the Spanish side. This may be explained by his own sensitivity regarding the accusations and regarding his own faith, though he would have been unable to respond to any of these accusations. Lipsius’s anger was also centred on the fact that Coornhert had opened up the debate to the more general (literate) public, who ought to be excluded from the arcana imperii. The Politica had been written as a book for princes and those who rule; common ‘plebes’ ought to be kept out of these matters.148 Against the viewpoint of liberty of religious conscience and for some form of religious toleration, Lipsius’s position appeared too authoritarian. Passages of the Politica, however, were to appear on the Index Librorum Prohibitorum of Pope Sixtus v (Felice Peretti, 1585–90), as allowing too much religious freedom.149 Among the censured extracts many were related to private dissent and ­Lipsius’s stance that this was to be tolerated. Even though this Index was never published due to the sudden death of Sixtus, the same chapter of the Politica was included in the Index of Clement viii (Aldobrandini, ­1592–1605), which was published in 1596.150 Lipsius was warned in 1593 by the Jesuit ­Francesco Benci (1542–94) about its imminent publication and the inclusion of his text.151 After some exchanges with Benci, Cardinal Cesare Baronio ­(1583–1607), and Robert Bellarmine (1542–1621), Lipsius finally submitted his revised version in 1594 on which he had worked with the Louvain censor Cuykius (Hendrik van Guyk, 1546–1609).152 The amendments were probably based on 147 Waszink, ‘Introduction’, Ch. 5. 148 Politica, Dedicatory Epistle to the ‘Imperator, Reges, Principes’, 226–228; and ‘Monita quaedam, sive cautiones’, 234–238. 149 On the issue of the Politica and its inclusion in the Index see Waszink, ‘Introduction’, 173–189; see also P. Godman, The Saint as Censor. Robert Bellarmine between Inquisition and Index (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 209–211 and 301–303 for the publication of the relevant documents from the Congregation of the Index. 150 Index des Livres Interdits, ed. J.M. Bujanda, vol. xi: Index Librorum Prohibitorum 1600–1966 (Canada and Geneva: Médiaspaul and Librairie Droz, 2002), vol. ix: Index de Rome 1590, 1593, 1596, 420–421. 151 ile vol. vi, 93 02 10B. 152 Cf. ile vol. vi, 93 07 31 ba, 93 07 31 bel, 93 07 31 ben.

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an early censure by Laelius Peregrinus (1551–?1602) and comments dictated by Bellarmine and Benci. According to these, the significant citation that kings cannot ‘command religion, because no one can be forced to believe against his will’ was omitted in the new edition, and some edge was added to the rather moderate and less than forceful tone of the chapter.153 Both sources of criticism accused Lipsius of rendering more significance to politics and temporal affairs; Coornhert saw Lipsius only ascribing an instrumental role to religion as an ‘author of unity’, subordinating it to the dictates of the state. The Church of Rome held that by allowing private dissent provided that the subjects conformed outwardly, Lipsius was using religion as a political tool. Indeed, Coornhert and the Papacy represented two ideologically opposite poles, both based, nonetheless, on a theological perception of the world. Lipsius’s views can be positioned somewhere in the middle: a moderate view, supporting public uniformity of religion, that would ensure peace, allowing at the same time some liberty of conscience, so long as this was kept private.154

A Response to Religious Strife: Lipsius’s Views in the Context of a Religious Landscape in a Constant State of Flux

Lipsius’s via media can account for the contrasting interpretations of his work.155 His search for a middle way could not entirely satisfy the agents of either one of the two far opposite positions.156 Entirely consistent with this search for a middle way was Lipsius’s preoccupation with (neo) Stoicism as an alternative approach to use in order to contemplate about ethics.157 This stance should also be linked to the Flemish humanist’s assumed changes in confessional affiliations which have long troubled scholars. Born into Catholicism but living for a time first in a Lutheran, and later on in a Calvinist environment­before

153 Waszink discusses the corrections in ‘Introduction’, 179–187; Güldner, Toleranz-Problem,­ 119–128; see also his appendix, 170–174; Crahay, ‘Problème du Pluralisme Confessionnel’, 175–180. 154 Crahay, ‘Problème du Pluralisme confessionnel’, 167. 155 Cf. Kluyskens, ‘Justus Lipsius and the Jesuits’, 254–262. 156 Lipsius’s work is still subject to conflicting interpretations; cf. for example G. Voogt, who sees him as an advocator of authoritative policies, while M. Morford or R. Crahay regard Lipsius’s writings as rather tolerant for his time. 157 Cf. A. Visser, ‘Escaping the Reformation in the Republic of Letters: Confessional Silence in Latin Emblem Books’ Church History and Religious Culture 8 (2008), 139–167.

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finally returning to Catholicism, Lipsius’s alleged switches were usually linked to a move of a personal or a professional nature. Lutheranism was associated with his flight from Louvain and his position at the University of Jena; Catholicism with his marriage to Anna van der Calstere; Calvinism with his appointment at the University of Leiden; and, finally Catholicism with his return to the South for the remainder of his life, when he insisted that like an exiled Ulysses, he had remained faithful to Catholicism in secret.158 His c­ onfessional traverses gave reason to some to describe him as ‘inconstant’, ‘chameleon’, and ‘Proteus’.159 These came in two waves: first in the immediate aftermath of his surprise departure for the South, and second, after the publication of his book on the miracles of Mary.160 Speculation has also been generated about the possibility of Lipsius’s involvement with the ‘Family of Love’ through his printer and close friend, Christophe Plantin (c. 1520–89), concerning which, however, not sufficient evidence exists.161 The elite character of the sect, its Stoic principles and the ‘morality without belief’ approach were all elements 158 ile vol. i, 81 05 20 L1, 81 05 20 L2; ile vol. vi, 93 05 30 ben; cf. Landtsheer, ‘Pius Lipsius or Lipsius Proteus?’, 329–330, 339, 342–343. 159 Thomas Sagittarius, Lipsius Proteus ex Antro Neptuni Protractus et Claro Soli Expositus (Frankfurt: Johannes-Jacobus Porsius, 1614) provided evidence that Lipsius had professed Lutheranism while at Jena. Lipsius was ridiculed by the English divine Joseph Hall in his Mundus Alter et idem (1605); cited by R. Kirk in ‘Introduction’, Two Bookes of Constancie ed. idem (New Brunswick: Rutgers up, 1939), 12. James vi and i advised his son in the Basilikon Doron (Edinburgh, 1599): ‘keepe trew Constancie, … against all aduersities: not with that Stoicke insensible stupiditie that proud inconstant Lipsius persuadeth in his Constantia’. The passage was modified in the second edition of the work (1603): ‘not with that Stoicke insensible stupiditie wherewith many in our dayes, preassing to winne honour, in imitating that ancient sect, by their inconstant behaviour in their owne lives, belie their profession’; The Basilicon Doron of King James vi, ed. J. Craigie, 2 vols. (Edinburgh and London: Scottish Text Society, 1944–50), 156–157. 160 Diva Virgo Hallensis. Beneficia eius et miracula fide atque ordine descripta. (Antwerp: officina Plantiniana, apud Jan Moretus, 1605); Landtsheer, ‘Pius Lipsius or Lipsius Proteus’, 338. 161 Lipsius’s involvement in the sect was first suggested by the Netherland theologian Adrian Saravia, in a letter sent to Richard Bancroft, Archbishop of Canterbury in 1608 and was based on Lipsius’s acquaintance with Hendrik Jansen Barrefelt (Landtsheer, ‘Pius Lipsius or Lipsius Proteus?’, 328–329). Plantin, moreover, was close friend of Hendrik Niclaes, the founder of the sect. For the ‘Family of Love’ more especially see A. Hamilton, The Family of Love (Cambridge: James Clarke and Co., 1981). For Lipsius’s possible involvement in the sect see among others Güldner, Toleranz-Problem, 128–138; A. Grafton, ‘Portrait of Justus Lipsius’, The American Scholar 56 (1987), 389–390; Hamilton, Family of Love, 98. ­Landtsheer takes this suggestion to be far-fetched; ‘Pius Lipsius or Lipsius Proteus’, 329.

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that Lipsius would have found appealing. Yet it is extremely difficult to make assumptions about his secret doctrinal or spiritual affiliations while in Leiden, during which the composition of the two works under discussion took place – or indeed regarding his whole life.162 In 1584 Torrentius had written to him saying that ‘I hear that you are practicing our ancient religion … firmly and with constancy’.163 Similar assurances were given by the Spanish theologian Benito Arias Montano (1527–98) in a letter to Plantin.164 In either of the above set of circumstances, a Catholic in secret or a Familist, Lipsius would have been a dissenter, who had to conform outwardly – in which case his writings regarding inward constancy and accepting private dissent can be read as a justification for his own personal circumstances. He did not seem to be too concerned about doctrinal particulars: ‘Do not be too eager for mere words and the trivialities of doctrine. Concentrate on deeds’, he advised in the Politica.165 More to the point, for Lipsius, ‘externals’ had more to do with custom than with religion. Both in the Politica and in the Constantia he gave priority to internal worship: he felt that his age was ‘prolific of religions’, but more ‘barren’ of devotion.166 This ‘proliferation’ was at the root of the differences and controversies that these created. What is also equally likely, or perhaps symptomatic in this context, is that Lipsius’s sense of religious conviction was relatively lax, something perhaps reflected in his line of argument for primacy of temporal considerations and identified by some of his critics. It is significant that as Coornhert pointed out, even though Lipsius promoted a single religion in the state, he was reticent as to which one this ought to be – possibly reflecting his conviction that this did not matter a great deal. What was important was the peace that would ensue from this uniformity. According to anecdotal evidence, he is alleged to have stated that ‘all religion and no religion are to me one and the same’.167 Factual accuracy aside, the importance of this statement lies in the fact that it communicates well the sense of disengagement from strictly defined religious belief conveyed in Lipsius’s work. 162 163 164 165 166 167

The most thorough attempt at this is Landtsheer, ‘Pius Lipsius or Lipsius Proteus’. ile vol. ii, 84 04 05 T. Cited in Landtsheer, ‘Pius Lipsius or Lipsius Proteus’, 329–330. Politica, I.3, 270. Politica, I.3, 268; ‘Ad lectorem’, Constantia, *2v. ‘Nam omnis religio et nulla religio sunt mihi unum et idem. Et apud me lutherana et calvinistarum [et catholicorum?] doctrina pari passu ambulant…’; reported in a letter by Conrad Schlusselburg, one of Lipsius’s former colleagues at Jena; cited by Saunders, Justus Lipsius, 19, n. 4.

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Nonetheless, debates regarding the role of religion within the state and the subjects’ lives alongside Lipsius’s own confessional stance should be considered in conjunction with the religious landscape within which they were formulated. Was Lipsius’s ‘laxity’ of doctrine and confessional switches an exception to the contemporary historical context? Recent scholarship in the religious landscape of the Low Countries argues for a set of circumstances where a great number of people’s religious affiliations were in a state of flux, religious majorities were not always happy with the manner in which spiritual affairs were managed by the States, and religious minorities were in a chronic state of uncertainty within which they had to maneuver and accommodate themselves.168 It is suggested, moreover, that in practice things were not as rigid as either the rhetoric of ‘oppression’ or the people’s demands would imply. Thus, various levels and mechanisms of inter-group interaction were in place, allowing for a relatively balanced and peaceful coexistence between confessional groups – so much so, that scholars suggest that accommodation and coexistence was the norm.169 Echoing the observations of François Du Jon above, scholars have also identified a great number of individuals who were reluctant to commit to one confession, or who changed sides accordingly, like Lipsius may have done.170 This situation, alongside the pragmatism of the Dutch society and the realities of coexistence fostered what has been described as ‘a political solution to the problem of religion’ in the Low Countries, based on the principles of the separation of public and private, as Lipsius insisted.171 The political authorities, namely, maintained a distinction between the public freedom of worship and the private freedom of conscience. In practice, this implied that (to the dismay of the religious authorities) they did not go to great lengths to enforce the Reformation in people’s lives. In everyday worship a system was developed by which dissenting Churches could pay a sum of money to the local official in charge of supervising law and order (the ‘schou’) to buy a limited freedom of 168 Kooi, ‘Strategies of Catholic Toleration in Golden Age Holland’, 89. 169 See among others, J. Pollmann, Religious Choice in the Dutch Repulic: The Reformation of Arnoldus Buchelius (1565–1641) (Manchester and New York: Manchester up, 1999); B.J. Kaplan, Divided by Faith. Religious Conflict and the Practice of Toleration in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge and London: Bellknap Press of Harvard up, 2007); Hsia and van Nierop, Calvinism and Religious Toleration in the Dutch Golden Age, op. cit. 170 A famous such example was Arnoldus Buchelius, a humanist lawyer and antiquarian, who was raised in traditional Catholicism, was for some time without any confessional affiliation, later in his life joined the reformed Church of Utrecht, and ultimately developed into an orthodox Calvinist. See Pollman, Religious Choice. 171 Van Gelderen, Political Thought of the Dutch Revolt, 218.

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worship. As a result, according to Jodith Pollman, men and women of the United Provinces could decide to what extent they wanted to be involved in formal religious worship and could choose for themselves whether they wanted to join a Church. Many chose not to become formally affiliated to any confession at all: a considerable religious middle group continued to exist after the Revolt, who were very slow to commit themselves to any side, to the extent that by 1620 perhaps as much as half of the Dutch population were ‘unaffiliated’ and did not formally belong to any confession.172 However, there was a sense after the assassination of William the Silent in 1584 that attitudes would have hardened, particularly also after the fall of Antwerp and the influx of Protestant refugees from the South.173 Lipsius’s views, therefore, as expressed in the Constantia and the Politica reflect perfectly not only the experience and responses to the religious conflict, but the religious and political context of an environment in a constant flux, which he – alongside other contemporaries – found very difficult to deal with: ‘What controversies everywhere! What brawls!’174 In this respect, the interior-exterior divide and their respective link to divine and temporal is evidence of how he understood life and the world, how he responded to religious divisions but also the means he proposed in order to cope with these issues. This is illustrated in the different nature of the two virtues, prudence and constancy as Lipsius understands them. Constancy, as a notion associated with stability and immobility represents the inner peace and equanimity in the face of outer motion. Prudence, conversely, and as we have seen already, has a more flexible character. It is subject to change and as a result, prone to assimilate some of the elements of ‘depravity’ of temporal affairs. Both constancy and prudence accordingly are qualities that aid the individual in order to cope with the instability of public life, or fortune in general.175 Though scholars have discussed the role of Fate, Destiny, Providence, or Fortune in the Constantia and its relation to constancy, and even though it was originally noted in the Vatican censure by Peregrinus, less attention has been paid to how the issue appears in the Politica.176 Crucially, Lipsius’s earlier 172 Pollman, Religious Choice, 7–8. 173 Waszink, ‘Introduction’, 22, 26; Landtsheer, ‘Pius Lipsius or Lipsius Proteus’, 316, 321–322. 174 ‘Ad lectorem’, Constantia, sig. *3r. 175 Cf. J. Waszink, ‘Virtuous Deception: The Politica and the Wars in the Low Countries and France, 1559–1589’, in Tournoy, et al., Iustus Lipsius Europae Lumen et Columen, 248–267 and J. Sellars, ‘Justus Lipsius’s De Constantia: A Stoic Spiritual Exercise’, Poetics Today 28 (2007), 339–362. 176 Waszink, ‘Introduction’, 180.

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treatise seems overwhelmingly to undermine man’s control over his life in the face of the greater scheme of things; and even though there is an attempt in the Constantia to reconcile God’s Providence and the Christian stress on free will, his audiences were not always convinced by his reasoning. Though this incongruity was pointed out to Lipsius quite early on, it did not make him alter his position.177 Yet despite this evidently deterministic element in the Constantia, in a remarkable quotation from the Politica, Lipsius declares that ‘All that is, is slave to prudence. Even Chance [Fortune] itself’.178 This assertion is more intelligible when the etymology of the word prudence is considered, as it is a contraction of the Latin term providentia (foresight). The virtue of prudence, thus, makes man able to compete with God’s Providence when it comes to human affairs.179 This would also explain Lipsius’s claim of prudence’s superiority to virtue: ‘for what virtue can be there without prudence?’180 It would also shed light on Lipsius’s eclectic choice of three Stoic paradoxes in his Manuductio ad Stoicam philosophiam: two refer to man’s struggles with passion and distress in search for tranquillity, while one, strikingly, equates man with God: ‘That the wise man is equal to God’.181 Ultimately, the Flemish scholar’s two moral and political works convey the impression of the distancing between the temporal, where man under the guidance of prudence, an entirely human virtue, is in control of his fate, and the divine. Man can still be constant in his private life, however, through the special relation with God that the kinship of the human and divine reason gives him.182 So long as all evil and vice are expelled into the outside world, namely the ugly human reality of the temporal affairs, the individual can survive within a well regulated state, safe in his virtuous inner realm, and with an eye to the heavenly world that awaits him. What is important, however, is that this approach did not only suit Lipsius’s own specific circumstances. His work had an appeal throughout the war-ridden­ continent, as he himself was addressing it to a European-wide audience.­With the completion of the Politica he sent a number of complementary copies to 177 Both Torrentius and Coornhert had written to him challenging his writings as ‘too Stoic’; see Hoven, ‘Les Réactions de Juste Lipse’, 416–418; Voogt, Constraint on Trial, 199–202; ­Güldner, Toleranz-Problem, 84–89; Morford, Stoics and Neostoics, 104–105, 113. 178 Politica, I.7, 284. 179 Cf. Politica, III.2, 350. 180 Politica, I.7, 282. 181 J. Papy, ‘The First Christian Defender of Stoic Virtue? Justus Lipsius and Cicero’s Paradoxa Stoicorum’ in A.A. MacDonald et als (eds), Christian Humanism: Essays in Honour of Arjo Vanderjagt (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2009), 139–153. 182 Constantia, I.5.

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figures such as Frederick iv of the Palatinate (1574–1610), the Emperor Rudolf ii (1552–1612), Maurice of Hesse (1572–1632), Christian iv of ­Denmark (1577–1648), Maurice of Nassau (1567–1625), Johan van Oldenbarnevelt (1547–1619), William Louis of Nassau (1560–1620), Michel de Montaigne (1533–92), Isaac Casaubon (1533–1614), Christian I von Anhalt (1568–1630), Jean Hotman (Leicester’s secretary, 1552–1636), Marnix of St Aldegonde (1538–98) and many others.183 Through his vast network of connections Lipsius was also already well informed about the situation elsewhere on the continent and about people who were confronting the same problems. The shared nature of some of these moderate views amongst European scholars is witnessed by the fact that his ideas were seen as being close to those of the politiques, as contemporary associations with Bodin and Machiavelli attest to.184 The esteem Lipsius had for the work of Michel de l’Hôpital and the policies of Henri iv is also recognised.185 Evidence indicates, moreover, that the French King had invited the Flemish scholar to France after his departure from Leiden.186 His appeal thus, is also explained by the approach Lipsius took to solve his own main problems: the disruption he experienced by the religious wars. He turned to Stoicism as comfort and refuge from the devastation around him, and through the Constantia he managed to provide solace to other people as well. The Politica was his version of the kind of politics was needed for the circumstances which he and his contemporaries were living in, and the role religion ought to occupy within this type of politics. All the main issues in Lipsius’s work (his fundamental separation of public from private, and inward constancy from outward strife, as well as private conviction from outward conformity, the paradox of politics and ethics, and his search for an alternative source of morality) are thus only intelligible when set against the background of the religious wars to which he was responding. 183 Waszink, ‘Introduction’, 114–115 and 124–126. 184 ‘[Too many Englishmen]… studie Bodines Commentaries, Lipsius Politiques and Machiuells Prince…’; from a sermon preached before the English Parliament of 1621 in London by William Loe: Vox Clamantis: A Still Voice to the Three Thrice-Honourable Estates of Parliament (London, 1621; stc 16691); cited in A. McCrea, Constant Minds. The Lipsian Paradigm in England, 1584–1650 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997), 31. 185 Cf. the reference to Henri iv in the Monita (1605): ‘Gallorum regnum potens et florens, a Faramundo primo rege usque ad Henricum iv. qui tunc feliciter regnat…’; M. Janssens, ‘Collecting Historical Examples for the Prince. Justus Lipsius’ Monita et Exampla Politica (1605): Edition, Translation, Commentary and Introductory Study of an Early Modern Mirror-for-Princes’; unpublished Ph.D. Dissertation (Catholic University of Leuven, 2009); vol. ii, 14–15. 186 Vita, Opera Omnia vol. i, lvi.

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The backdrop of confessional strife can account for his responses but also for the reasons behind his (un)popularity. In the midst of civil conflict and the height of religious passions, a more moderate attitude to religious issues seemed to provide the answer for the problems which could only be solved on a temporal level, under the guidance of a prudent prince. Similar views would be expressed a couple of decades later by a friar in Venice. Despite undergoing a different experience of confessional strife, Paolo Sarpi followed and studied the contemporary events in France and the Low Countries from a distance, and reached similar conclusions as Lipsius.

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The Limits between Lay and Ecclesiastical Jurisdiction: Paolo Sarpi’s Reaction to a Century of Confessional Conflict God has instituted two governments in the world, one spiritual and the other temporal, each of them supreme and independent from the other. sarpi, from a consulto of 1608

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A natural implication of the distinction between public and private spheres was, as Lipsius was suggesting, the separation of jurisdictions responsible for the two areas. To render religion a private matter as a response to religious divisions was also to define the Church’s responsibility more clearly as care for the souls of the faithful. In this manner the management of ecclesiastical affairs would stop being a matter of contention between the two authorities, particularly when the mishandling of these led to disputes, controversies and war. The managing of ecclesiastical affairs by lay authorities would ensure that a middle way was followed which would accommodate religious variances and differences. These views of Lipsius were shared and promoted by the extraordinary figure of the Venetian friar Paolo Sarpi (1552–1623). Sarpi had no direct contact with the kind of religious warfare that either Charron or Lipsius had experienced; he was involved in a different sort of religious conflict however, that for Sarpi had the same root cause as the religious warfare of the sixteenth century. He defended, on behalf of the Venetian Republic, its claims on temporal jurisdiction against Papal encroachments. He spent a great deal of time writing polemics, trying to explain the origins of contemporary European politico-religious debates, and theorising manners in which these could be resolved. Sarpi considered extremely topical in the context of his contemporary circumstances the notion of the separation of ecclesiastical and political jurisdictions, the idea of an internalised religion and the political control of the institution of the Church, given the corruption and abuses that had crept up into the Church. The management of ecclesiastical affairs by the lay authority was the only way to ensure peaceful coexistence. Religious zealots would be marginalised and different opinions would be tolerated since they were all Christian, in order for all subjects to live in peace. © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi 10.1163/9789004330771_006

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An enigmatic and fascinating individual of this age, Paolo Sarpi was widely controversial, and divides scholars still, primarily for what was perceived as a stark contrast between his political (philo-Protestant) and religious (Catholic) convictions. He enjoyed varied and broad intellectual interests. Much like Charron and Lipsius, both of whose work he was aware, he combined theological with philosophical pursuits, as well as demonstrating a vivid interest in mathematics, natural philosophy and anatomy.1 Like Lipsius he was also an active member of the ‘Republic of Letters’, corresponding with a great number of prominent thinkers of his time, as well as people engaged in the affairs of state and religion.2 Two aspects underpin his legacy: the first is his appointment as state theologian to Venice (28 March 1606) and his subsequent conduct during the ensuing period of the Interdict crisis (April 1606–April 1607).3 Even though he had been a high-ranking member of his order, the Servi di Maria friars (Provincial and then Procurator-General) and was involved in the revision of its constitution before 1606, it was his polemical efforts during the 1 For Sarpi’s awareness of the work of Charron and Lipsius see V. Frajese, ‘Sarpi Interprete del De la Sagesse di Pierre Charron: I Pensieri sulla Religione’, Studi Veneziani 20 (1990), 59–85; and ‘nota introduttiva’ in Paolo Sarpi, Opere, ed. G. and L. Cozzi (Milan: R. Ricciardi, 1969), 23–24, 31–34; D. Wootton, Paolo Sarpi: Between Renaissance and Enlightenment (Cambridge: cup, 1983), 24–28, 70–71; letter to François Hotman of 22 July, 1608 in Paolo Sarpi, Lettere ai Gallicani, ed. B. Ulianich (Wiesbaden: Steiner, 1961). Sarpi refers to Lipsius’s edition of Tacitus in one of his letters: see letter to Groslot of 27 May 1608 in Paolo Sarpi, Lettere ai Protestanti, ed. M.D. Busnelli, 2 vols. (Bari: Laterza, 1931); vol. 1, 15. Lipsius’s Epistolica Institutio is item no. 183 in the inventory of Sarpi’s books: see G.L. Masetti Zannini, ‘Libri di fra Paolo Sarpi e notizie biblioteche dei Servi (1599–1600)’, Studi storici dell’Ordine dei Servi di Maria 20 (1970), 174–200: 197. 2 F. de Vivo, ‘Paolo Sarpi and the Uses of Information in Seventeenth-Century Venice’ Media History 11 (2005), 37–51. 3 On the Venetian Interdict crisis see the relevant letters by Wotton in Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton, ed. L. Pearsall-Smith, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1907), vol. i, 340–392; Calendar of State Papers: Venetian, (London, 1864–1947), vols. x–xi as well as P. Pirri (ed.), L’Interdetto di Venezia del 1606 e I gesuiti (Rome: Institutum Historicum s.i., 1959). For secondary accounts see W.J. Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense of Republican Liberty. Renaissance Values in the Age of the Counter Reformation (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968); G. and L. Cozzi, ‘Introduction’ in idem (eds), Opere (Milan: Ricciardi, 1969); G. Cozzi, Paolo Sarpi tra Venezia e l’Europa (Turin: Einaudi, 1979); A.D. Wright, ‘Why the Venetian Interdict?’, English Historical Review 89 (1974), 534–550; idem, ‘The Venetian view of Church and State: Catholic Erastianism?’, Studi Secenteschi 19 (1978), 75–106; and ‘Republican Tradition and the Maintenance of “National” Religious Traditions in Venice’, Renaissance Studies 10 (1996), 405–416. See also C. Pin, ‘Paolo Sarpi senza maschera: l’avvio della lotta politica dopo l’Interdetto del 1606’ in M. Viallon (ed.), Paolo Sarpi. Politique et religion en Europe (Paris: Classiques Garnier, 2010), 55–104.

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Interdict­which made him rise to an international status with his tracts circulating widely throughout Europe. The other part of the friar’s legacy rests on his most famous work, the monumental Historia del Concilio Tridentino (London, 1619), a text that can still daunt scholars.4 Similar to Charron and Lipsius, Sarpi’s name is surrounded by contention: a friar involved in political affairs, strongly anti-Papal and anti-clerical, excommunicated by Pope Paul v (Borghese, 1605–21), a competent and fierce ­polemicist, he was a figure that the Curia almost certainly wanted dead.5 Like the other two authors, Sarpi was described as an atheist, both by his c­ ontemporaries and by modern scholars,6 and as a (crypto) Protestant,7 while he himself would admit to often behaving like a chameleon, wearing the appropriate mask according to the person he was dealing with.8 More nuanced perspectives describe Sarpi as a sceptic, or a politique with an eirenicist agenda.9 Certainly undisputed, nonetheless, is his anti-Papalism. Interest on Sarpi has been rather inconsistent by scholars, though he has been receiving more attention in the past three decades, either as a thinker and a political agent in his own right, or within the context of the Venetian Interdict and the Thirty Years’ War. It is clear, however, that scholarship has not satisfactorily resolved issues relating to the interpretation of his work.10 4

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6 7 8 9

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As evidenced by the relatively scarce studies that focus on the text of the Historia. Historia del Concilio Tridentino. Nella quale si scoprono tutti gl’ artificii della Corte di Roma, per impedire che né la veritá di dogmi si palesasse, né la riforma del Papato, & della Chiesa si trattasse. Di Pietro Soaue Polano. (London: John Bill, 1619); stc (2nd ed.), 21760. Sarpi was excommunicated on 5 January 1607 and an attempt against his life was made in October 1607; Fulgenzio Micanzio, The Life of the most Learned Father Paul, of the Order of the Servie. Councellour of State to the most Serene Republicke of Venice and Authour of the History of the Councell of Trent (London: for Humphrey Moseley and Richard Marriot, 1651), 109–110, and 114–127. The central thesis of Wootton, Paolo Sarpi, op. cit. G. Cozzi, ‘Fra Paolo Sarpi, l’Anglicanesimo e la Historia del Concilio Tridentino’, Rivista Storica Italiana 63 (1956), 559–619. Letter to Gillot, 12 May 1609, Ulianich, Lettere ai Gallicani, 133. V. Frajese, Sarpi scettico. Chiesa e Stato a Venezia tra Cinque e Seicento (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1994); F. Chabod, ‘La politica di Paolo Sarpi’ in idem (ed.), Scritti sul Rinascimento (Turin: Einaudi, 1967), 459–590 respectively. Apart from the works by Bouwsma, Cozzi, Wootton, Chabod and the collection of essays edited by Viallon mentioned above, see C. Pin (ed.), Rispensando Paolo Sarpi. Atti del convegno internazionale di studi nel 450° anniversario della nascita di Paolo Sarpi (Venice: Ateneo Veneto, 2006); idem and P. Branchesi (eds), Fra Paolo Sarpi dei Servi di Maria. Atti del Convegno (Venice: Comune di Venezia, 1986); F. de Vivo, Information and Communication in Venice. Rethinking Early Modern Politics (Oxford: oup, 2007); W.G. Tarpley, ‘Paolo Sarpi,

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The ambivalence of his religious outlook, his profound questioning of the authority of the Church, and his strong views about the separation of ecclesiastical and political jurisdiction make him a critical part of this study. They provide a more political and proactive response to the conflicts of the sixteenth century that originates from Sarpi’s astute historical analysis, his stress on religious coexistence, and the common elements of Christianity, based on the primitive Church. His viewpoint underlines the political and ecclesiological implications which eight decades of religious struggle brought. As a scholar, polemicist and historian, Sarpi placed all the conflicts of the sixteenth century in a wider historical perspective and explained them from the point of view of a jurisdictional struggle caused by Church abuses. He also adopted the view that the issues arising from confessional strife had not satisfactorily been resolved by the end of the sixteenth century and that contemporary European debates could only be settled if the limits between ecclesiastical and political jurisdiction were to be accepted. The fact that the issues generated by the Lutheran protest and the wars of religion had not been concluded, was confirmed, for Sarpi, by the outbreak of the Thirty Years’ War, a continuation and an expression of matters undecided. This chapter will examine Sarpi’s fundamental notion of the separation of ecclesiastical and political jurisdiction as developed in his greater polemic against the Papacy. It will also discuss Sarpi’s views on ecclesiastical jurisdiction, relating it to some of the few pieces of evidence we have concerning his religious outlook. The analysis will also consider the contemporary context, and the links between Sarpi’s views and other contemporary debates. The examination will primarily be based on the Venetian’s magnum opus, the Historia del Concilio Tridentino, his critical assessment of religious conflict which was first issued in London (1619) in Italian, at the initiative of Archbishop Abbot (1562–1633) and almost certainly James vi and i himself. This monumental text was translated into Latin and English within a year of its publication (1620), as well as into French soon after (Geneva, 1621).11 It enjoyed wide popularity, in spite (or because) of having been placed on the Index of Prohibited Books immediately after its appearance.12

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His Networks, Venice and the Coming of the Thirty Years’ War’, unpublished PhD dissertation (The Catholic University of America, 2009). A fuller consideration is J. Kainulainen, Paolo Sarpi: a Servant of God and State (Leiden: Brill, 2014). For the history of the publication, see below. Index des Livres Interdits, ed. J.M. Bujanda, vol. xi: Index Librorum Prohibitorum 1600–1966 (Canada and Geneva: Médiaspaul and Librairie Droz, 2002), 807.

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Sarpi’s entrance into the active world of politics as the official adviser on theological matters during the Interdict dispute and the positions he advanced (whether official or unofficial) while in this position, form the essential background to this consideration. Crucial in this context is the Servite’s greater historical perspective as expressed both in his polemical tracts, as well as in the texts he composed after the Interdict and before the Historia del Concilio Tridentino. The Historia, however, was his life-long work. Even though it was composed in the second and third decade of the seventeenth century, it encapsulates the Venetian’s response to the religious wars of the previous century. As a historian and a polemicist, Sarpi was able to study carefully and reflect upon the framework of the Lutheran revolt and the subsequent series of issues that arose because of it, such as civil (or religious) obedience, religious tolerance and questions of authority and governance of the Church. The Historia presents his assessment of these, pointing to their wider European implications and drawing parallels with unresolved, contemporary issues.

An Account of Religious Divisions: The Historia del Concilio Tridentino (1619)

‘My purpose is to write the History of the Council of Trent’, Sarpi stated at the beginning of the work.13 He justified his undertaking by asserting that a study 13

For the Council see Concilium Tridentinum. Diariorum, Actorum, Epistolarum, Tractatuum nova collectio. (Freiburg: Herder, 1901–2001); for the decrees see N. Tanner (ed.), Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, 2 vols. (Washington d.c.: Georgetown up, 1990). Among modern interpretations and accounts, see F. Buzzi, Il Concilio di Trento, 1545–1563: Breve introduzione ad alcuni temi teologici principali (Milan: Glossa, 1995); A. Prosperi, Il Concilio di Trento: una introduzione storica (Turin: Einaudi, 2001); J. O’Malley, Trent. What Happened There (Cambridge, Mass. and London: Belknap Press of Harvard up, 2013); A. Autiero and M. Perroni (eds), Anatemi di ieri, sfide di oggi: Contrappunti di genere nella rilettura del concilio di Trento (Bologna: Editioni Dehonlane, 2011); H. Jedin and P. Prodi (eds), Il Concilio di Trento come crocevia della politica europea (Bologna: Mulino, 1979); P. Prodi and W. Reinhard (eds), Das Konzil von Trient und die Moderne (Berlin: Duncker und Humbolt, 2001); A. Tallon, France et le Concile de Trente (1518–1563) (Rome: École Française de Rome, 1992); M. Firpo and O. Nicoli (eds), Il cardinal Giovanni Morone e l’ultima fase del Concilio di Trento (Bologna: Mulino, 2010); H. Jedin, Geschichte des Konzils von Trent, 4 vols. (Freiburg: Herder, 1949–75) remains a reliable study of the council; see also his older study Papal Legate at the Council of Trent: Cardinal Seripando trans. F.C. Eckhoff (St Louis: B. Herder, 1947); H.O. Evennett, The Cardinal of Lorraine and the Council of Trent: A Study in the Counter-Reformation (Cambridge: cup, 1930) is also still useful. L.F. von

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adequately relating the causes and the events of the Council had not appeared so far. I will relate the causes and managings of an Ecclesiastical Convocation, secured and hastened for different ends by some, hindered and deferred by some others for the space of 22 years. And for another 18 years sometimes assembled, sometimes dissolved, always celebrated with diverse intentions, and which took a form and conclusion altogether contrary to the design of those who achieved its convocation, and to the fear of those, that with all diligence disturbed it; a clear instruction for us to refer ourselves to God, and not to trust in the wisdom of man.14 Sarpi dissects the Council for the benefit of his readers. He narrates the story of the ‘catastrophe’ as in his view the Council marked the failure of the reform movement. It had been called as a means to reconcile the religious divisions, but instead it confirmed them. It ‘established the Schism’ and radicalised the parties involved in such a way that the differences ‘became irreconcilable’.15 For Sarpi, the failure at Trent was directly linked with the controversy, conflict and corruption involved in the whole undertaking, all of which he set out to expose. Since the acts of Trent had not been published, people could not really understand what had transpired in that Synod.16 As a result, about five decades after its conclusion some of the interested parties still had particular reservations about the way matters were handled at Trent. What is more, lack

Pastor, The History of the Popes from the Close of the Middle Ages. 40 vols. trans. F.I. Antrobus et al. (St Louis: Herder, 1899–1953) also remains a stable point of reference. 14 Historia, 1. Unless otherwise indicated, the translation is that of Nathaniel Brent of the first English translation: The Historie of the Councel of Trent. In which (Besides the Ordinarie Actes of the Councell) are Declared Many Notable Occurences, which Happened in Christendome, During the Space of Fourtie Yeeres and More. And Particularly, the Practises of the Court of Rome, to Hinder the Reformation of their Errors, and to Maintaine their Greatnesse (London: R. Barker and John Bill [1620]); stc (2nd ed.), 21761. 15 Historia, 1. 16 O’Malley, Trent, 260–261. Cf. Sarpi, An Apology or apologiticall answere unto the Exceptions and Objections of Cardinall Bellarmine, against certain Treatises and Resolutions of Iohn Gerson, concerning the force and validitie of Excommunication (London: [Nicholas Okes] for William Delby, 1607), 32. The text is a translation from Sarpi’s Apologia per l’oppositioni fatte dall’illustriss. & Reverendiss. Signor Cardinale Bellarmino alli Trattati & Risolutioni di Gio. Gersone (Venice: Roberto Meietti, 1606) that I was unable to consult in its Italian edition.

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of knowledge of the proceedings had contributed to the drawing up of confessional lines.17 Sarpi would not have been more than eleven years old at the Council’s conclusion but as already mentioned, this became a life-long concern for him. He pronounced his early interest in the proceedings of the Council to his audience, underlining his efforts in collecting the relevant material, printed or manuscript, meeting people who had been involved in the procedures. As soon as he had ‘understanding of the affairs of the world’, he claimed, he became ‘exceedingly curious to know the whole proceedings of [the Council]’: after I had diligently read whatever I found written, and the public instructions, whether printed or divulged by pen, I betook myself, without sparing either pains or care, to search in the remainder of the writings of the Prelates, and others who were present in the Council, the records which they left behind them, and the opinions delivered in public, preserved by the authors themselves, or by others, and the letters of advice written from that city. In this manner I have had the luck to see even a whole register of notes and letters of those persons, who had a great part in those negotiations. Having therefore collected so many things as may provide me with sufficient matter for a narration of the progress, I am resolved to set it down in order.18 Most of the research he refers to, Sarpi conducted whilst in Rome, charged with revising the constitution of his order between 1585 and 1588. Among the people he met was Camillo Olivo (1510–73), the secretary to the Legate Cardinal Ercole Gonzaga (1505–63). He had also met with Cardinal Castagna in Rome (later Pope Urban vii, 1590), who had taken part in the second phase of the Council as the president of various commissions.19 He also had at his disposal, the letters of Cardinal del Monte (Giovanni Maria del Monte, later Pope Julius iii, 1550–5) one of the Papal Legates,20 while he was aware of the correspondence of Arnaud du Ferrier (c. 1508–85), the French Ambassador to the Council, with whom he was in communication.21 The reliability of his sources, 17 Cf. Historia, 131–132. 18 Historia, 1. 19 S. Andretta, ‘Sarpi e Roma’, in Viallon, Paolo Sarpi. Politique et religion en Europe, 139–162: 146. 20 Historia, 109. 21 Cf. C. Vivanti, ‘Introduzione’ in Paolo Sarpi, Istoria del Concilio Tridentino, 2 vols. (Turin: Einaudi, 1974); vol. 1, xxix–xcii: lxxi–lxxxvii and A. Asor Rosa, ‘Istoria del concilio

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however, as well as the manner in which he used them, is hard to verify. Sarpi’s composition must also include some degree of his own inventiveness: in the manner of ancient historians, such as Xenophon and Tacitus, whom he mentions, he would generally fill any gaps in the information he had, and put arguments and orations into the mouth of the assembled dignitaries.22 One of the most significant aspects of Sarpi’s Historia is the fact that it is a work that divides its attention equally between the ‘political’ and the religious sides of dealings relating to the Council. Sarpi devotes about four of the Historia’s eight books to the purely theological discussions taking place at the Synod and the other four to narrating the political, religious and military developments in Europe from the beginning of the sixteenth century through to 1563. These do not form merely the background of the discussions taking place in the small Italian town of Trent, but are a vital part of the author’s understanding and analysis. His approach can be described as an application of ‘humanist historiographical standards to sacred history’, standing some halfway between sacred and profane history.23 The Historia is a problem-centred work; it seeks to answer the question of what were the reasons for the failure of the Council of Trent not only to reconcile the divisions of Christendom but also to reform the abuses of the Church. ... and [the Council] being managed by Princes for reformation of Ecclesiastical discipline, has caused the greatest deformation that ever was since Christianity began; and hoped for by the Bishops to regain the Episcopal authority, usurped for the most part by the Pope, has made them loose it altogether, bringing them into greater servitude … on the contrary, feared and avoided by the See of Rome, as a potent means, to moderate the exorbitant power, mounted from small beginnings by various degrees to an unlimited excess, it has so established and confirmed the same, over that part which remains subject to it, that it was never so great nor so soundly rooted.24 The author’s intention was to present to the world the perspective of the side that for him had, in fact, lost in the Council. The defeated side, for him, was

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tridentino di Paolo Sarpi’ in Letteratura italiana. Le Opere, ed. idem, (Turin: Einaudi,1993), vol. 2, 799–866, 848–851. Historia, 220; Jedin, History of the Council of Trent ii, 518–520. Cf. E. Cochrane, Historians and Historiography in the Italian Renaissance (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1981), 472, and 476–478. Historia, 1.

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made up of a consortium of forces: the temporal princes, the bishops, the Protestants, and ultimately, the Church, in the shape of the reforming elements within the institution and the body of believers. Had these prevailed, the Church would have been reformed and the divisions would have been repaired. Sarpi relates this perspective through a carefully constructed narrative. The story of the Council itself does not start until halfway through the second of the eight books of the work. Book One starts with an overview of the situation and the problems of the Roman Church at the turn of the sixteenth century, such as the Hussites, and the contest between Louis xii (1498–1515) and Pope Julius ii (della Rovere, 1503–13).25 It recounts in detail Luther’s protest and its aftermath and renders all the political intricacies that dominated the long wait of almost twenty-eight years to the eventual convocation of the Council in 1545. It reveals the endless political manoeuvres for and against a Council set against the backdrop of the Italian wars, the formation of the Schmalkaldic League and the Habsburg-Valois war. The book also details the reconciliation attempts within the Empire and Rome’s aversion to any such efforts. In response to the situation in Germany the suggestion for a Council resurfaced as the place where the Lutheran issue might be decided, together with abuses, ‘long since brought into the church’.26 Various interest groups (Luther’s followers, the lay princes, the ‘meaner’ sort, the Roman Curia) aimed at taking advantage of a possible Council for their own ends.27 A Council, nonetheless, was not an easy undertaking, with the first and foremost obstacle being the unwillingness of the Papacy and the Curia in convening it, who resisted the losses in income that a reform would bring.28 As a result, the convocation of a Council turned into a matter of shrewd diplomacy, with things being further delayed during the papacy of Clement vii (de’ Medici, 1523–34) who had a distinct aversion towards councils.29 Finally, there was the problem of jurisdiction: under whose authority was it to call for a Council, the Pope’s, the Emperor’s (or even the Cardinals’)?30 That the Council was finally decided to be assembled under the auspices of the Pope (Book Two), as well as its location, ran against the explicit requests of the Protestants, who pleaded for a ‘free, Christian Council’ in the German 25 Historia, 2–3. 26 Historia, 12. 27 Historia, 17–18. 28 Cf. Historia, 17–18; 21–22, 27. 29 Cf. Historia, 40. 30 See Charles V’s promises in the Diet of Spira (1526) to secure a Council (Historia, 33) and his letter to the College of Cardinals exhorting to call one themselves (Historia, 38–39).

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Lands.31 Lack of specific orders to the Papal legates concerning the proceedings further reflected both the indecisiveness on what sort of Council Trent was intended to be and Pope Paul iii’s (Farnese, 1534–49) indifference towards it.32 The opening sessions debated the question of whether the Council represented the ‘universal’ Church and disagreed on whether reformation or doctrine should take prominence in the Council’s agenda.33 Discussions on residence, plurality of benefices and theological questions explicitly portray the dissent and disarray in the Council.34 Book Two ends with the translation of the Council to Bologna.35 Book Three narrates the stalemate of the Council and the intensification of the conflict between Charles v (1519–56) and Paul iii. It describes the Emperor’s attempts to reassemble the Council, his crushing victory over the Lutherans (Battle of Mühlberg, 1547) and the composition of the Interim of Augsburg (1548). To counterbalance the power of Charles v, Paul iii turned to Henri ii (1547–59), only for the alliance to fall out, however, in Book Four under the new Pope, Julius iii (del Monte, 1550–5).36 Meanwhile, among what was left of the original congregation in Bologna, issues such as the Eucharist and transubstantiation were debated. Book Four also marks the disappointing arrival and departure of the Protestant ambassadors after their Princes’ defeat to Emperor Charles.37 For Sarpi, the Protestant presence in the Council had accelerated Julius iii’s realisation that ‘nothing beneficial’ would come out of it.38 The Pontiff thus suspended it for two years under the excuse of the looming Habsburg-Valois war.39 Book Five relates the intense political developments during the suspension which turned into a ten-year interruption (1552–62). The author recounts the conflicts in England and France but also the Peace of Augsburg in Germany (1555) and Rome’s reaction to it. Paul iv (Caraffa, 1555–59), a violently

31 Cf. Historia, 25, 31, 59, 145. 32 Cf. Historia, 107, 129 [wrongly numbered 139], 142. 33 Cf. for example Historia, 137–139, 140–141, 161–162, 183. 34 The Council was seriously divided on the question of original sin (Historia, 167–176) and justification – by faith alone or not (Historia, 189–195). See also the differences between Dominicans and Franciscans on the issue of free will and grace in Sacraments; Historia, 210–211 and 232–233 respectively. 35 Historia, 254–255. 36 Historia, 268. 37 Historia, 348–366. 38 Historia, 315, 359–360, 371, etc. 39 Historia, 366–368.

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anti-Habsburg Pope,40 had no inclination in (re)convening the Council, and especially not in Trent.41 Things seemed to take a more positive turn after the Peace of Cateau-Cambrésis (1559) between Henri ii and Philip ii (1556–98), as the two monarchs agreed to work together in solving religious differences.42 Meanwhile the explosive situation in France during the minority of Francis ii (1559–60) dictated an urgent religious reconciliation, and only faced with the possibility of a French National Synod, did the Pope finally (re)convene the one in Trent. The ongoing religious unrest in France preoccupied the first sessions of the 1562 assembly together with the question as to whether this assembly was a ‘continuation’ of the previous sessions (Book Six).43 More problems were caused through discussions on the critical issues of episcopal residence, whether bishops were superior to priests, and whether their superiority was de iure divino or de iure pontifico.44 Book Seven traces the escalation of the dispute and the ruthless manipulation of the Council by the Legates.45 The situation was exacerbated with the arrival of the Cardinal of Lorraine (Charles de Lorraine, Duke of Chevreuse, 1524–1574), who assumed the position of the leader of the opposition party.46 During the last sessions, the Council was at an impasse, amidst which some voices – particularly French – found opportunity to utter the much feared call for the superiority of the Council over the Pope. At the same time the situation in France itself had exploded into a full-blown war. This had a serious impact on the Council, because upon receipt of the news of any national truce, the prelates at Trent felt their role being undermined.47 Book Seven concludes with a determination by the French Crown and the Emperor that the Council had to be concluded, as it was not serving the interests of either of them any more.

40

Cf. R. Bonney’s comments about Paul iv: ‘Though 79 at the time of his accession … he could remember the time when Italy was free from “those heretics, schismatics, cursed of God, a race of Jews and Moors, the dregs of the world” – free, that is, from the Spaniards’; European Dynastic States: 1494–1660 (Oxford: oup, 1991), 127. 41 Historia, 388. 42 Historia, 399–401. 43 Historia, 411–413; On the recurring issue of whether this was a continuation of the previous Council (1545–52) or not, see Historia, 422, 415, 428–30, 454, 491–493, 672, 786, 800. 44 See for example Historia, 481–483; 486–487; 490–491. 45 Historia, 592–594, 598–599, 601–602. 46 Cf. Historia, 541–543, 584–586, 600–601, 607–609. 47 Cf. Historia, 678–679.

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Book Eight narrates the long finale of the drama, during which a changed Lorraine worked hard to bring to a close the assembly’s remaining issues. Ironically, the Council was finally hastened by the Pope’s sudden sickness and the dreaded possibility of his death with the Council still in session. A number of problems remained unresolved due to this frenzied closure, such as the fate of the decrees of the earlier Synod.48 The Historia concludes with retorts to the Council’s outcome in Germany, Spain and France, a fitting ending for the ‘catastrophe’ that the author had announced at the very beginning of the work. Despite the Historia’s length and comprehensiveness, the author manages to maintain the interest of the reader throughout the work, treating his subject as a drama or an epic.49 The narrative reaches a peak twice: the first time with the disappointment of the Protestant arrival (Book Four); and the second time with the discussions during the final sessions on the issues of the communion of the cup, residence and episcopal jurisdiction (Books Six and Seven). The dramatic effect is accentuated by Sarpi’s intervention at every stage, preparing the reader for what to expect. He frequently uses irony and sarcasm to comment on incidents and protagonists of the story, making his text a morally charged history. For the author there is, in fact, someone to blame for the situation of Christendom and the subsequent failure of reform through the Council: the Papacy. Sarpi also emerges throughout the text as a very conscious and immediate, occasionally funny, writer. Every now and then he addresses himself directly to the reader, providing a greater sense of involvement in the story. He talks about the practical problems he encountered in composing the text and his choice of method. He occasionally excuses himself for all the details that he ‘had to’ incorporate, reassuring the audience that all the particulars of his account are indeed of some importance to the troubles that had engulfed Europe: ‘the writer of the story has thought it necessary to make known, from how small rivers, so great a lake, which possesses all Europe, has been raised…’.50 The most effective and important type of authorial interventions are his discussions (‘discourses’, as Nathaniel Brent refers to them in his translation) on specific issues considered at the Council. These are explanatory passages of one to two pages, usually preceding the narrative of prelates’ debate on the relevant topic. Without exception, they all refer to issues of ecclesiastical jurisdiction and its encroachments on the temporal. That was, for Sarpi, the main 48

49 50

The dispute of whether the decrees of earlier session were to be read at the closing of the Council confirmed for Sarpi that the question of continuation had been left unanswered (Historia, 786). He described the history of the Council as the ‘Iliad’ of his time; Historia, 1. Historia, 113; other examples on 87–88, 220–221, 567, and 616.

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crux behind the eruption of religious divisions, the complications at Trent, and one of the most crucial problems of his time. The Historia del Concilio Tridentino and the Debate over Jurisdictions The single most significant issue that preoccupied Sarpi in the Historia – as well as most of his other works – was the set of limits between temporal and ecclesiastical authority.51 For him the apparent increased preoccupation of the Papacy with worldly matters and the Holy See’s outlook as temporal principality was directly linked to the ‘abuses’ and the institutional decline of the Church that led to the Lutheran protest in the first place; furthermore, it was the main reason behind the disastrous outcome of the Council.52 Luther’s protest was brought about by the Church’s shortcomings, according to the author. Therefore, the response of the Curia ought to have been a comprehensive institutional reform. This reform would have also reversed the uncontrollable expansion of Papal power which had taken place at the expense of temporal authority. The two jurisdictions were distinct and ought to be separate; the ecclesiastical ought not to have any involvement in temporal matters, and no temporal gains: It is denied in words, that Ecclesiastical jurisdiction is dominion, as is the secular, yet one knows not how to put a difference between them. But St Paul did put it … that a Bishop should not be greedy of gain… Now on the contrary, they make men pay for processes, and imprison the parties, as is done in the secular Court.53 This is the thrust of Sarpi’s case: the power of Rome had increased at the expense of the temporal authority by breaching the prescribed limits between the two jurisdictions and getting transformed into a temporal court in the process. This was by no means an original view; it was put forward by a number of critics throughout the sixteenth century, not least of all Machiavelli and Luther,­

51 52 53

C. Vivanti, ‘I due governi del mondo negli scritti di Sarpi’ in Viallon, Paolo Sarpi. Politique et religion en Europe, 29–54. Cf. J. Delumeau, Catholicism Between Luther and Voltaire: A New View of the CounterReformation,­trans. Jeremy Moiser (London: Burns & Oates, 1977), 154–161. Historia, 325.

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from different perspectives.54 ‘It was a great fault of the Romanists’, Sarpi has Luther claiming, ‘to establish the Church with governments taken from human reasons, as if it were a temporal State’.55 Tracing back the history of Councils, Sarpi frequently repeats that their convening as remedies to problems and abuses had originally been the responsibility of temporal princes, beginning with the Roman Emperor Constantine i (306–337). This, the Papacy arbitrarily assumed after the division of the Roman Empire. Trent was thus inherently flawed, as the Papal claim of authority in convening and directing a Council was, in fact, an usurpation. Sarpi expands on this view in Book Four, where he explains how after the Christianisation of the Roman Empire, any arising problems were resolved by (episcopal) assemblies congregated by Princes. The Prince or magistrates were personally present in these Synods, and guided the deliberations. After the division of the Roman Empire, the political powers in the West were barred from interfering in ecclesiastical matters. The convocation of ecclesiastical councils was almost wholly assumed by the Pope, who seized the power that the Roman Emperor used to have.56 Having usurped the power to convoke Councils, the Papacy also sought to control them, Sarpi contends, and tries to demonstrate this point through ‘exposing’ what happened at Trent. Given the Conciliar threat of the past and the potential reforms of abuses resulting from such an undertaking, any Council after 1517 was a threat to the Papacy’s (temporal) power. These issues help explain the Papacy’s twenty-eight year delay of summoning the Council at Trent. The Papacy did, therefore, everything in its power to present the Christian world with copious obstacles, preconditions and false promises, procrastinating for as long as was possible an assembly to deliberate on the German protests and issues of reform.57 Even when a Council was eventually announced and summoned, it was entirely subjected to the Pope. Contrary to the persistent demands on the part of the Germans – Lutherans, but Catholics as well – for a ‘free, Christian general Council in the German lands’, the one convened at Trent ‘was not’.58 54

55 56 57 58

Cf. P. Prodi, The Papal Prince. One Body and Two Souls: the Papal Monarchy in Early Modern Europe, trans. Susan Haskins (Cambridge: cup, 1987). See also Machiavelli’s treatment of the Papacy as a temporality in his Discorsi, i, 12 and Il Principe, xi. Historia, 73. Historia, 323–327. Cf. for example Historia, 17–18, 29–30, 32, 34–36, 47–48, 58, 70, 83, 97–98, 105, 253–254, 297–298, 309, 387–389 and more. Cf. for example Historia, 25–26, 31, 52, 56, 59, 63, 74, 77–78, 93–94, 110–111, 121–122, 137, 145, 159–160, 178, 268, 300, 303, 347–348, 351–352, 354, 359, 399. Cf. also Jedin, History of the Council of Trent i, 211. Similar objections were raised by other parties, as well, such

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Papal manipulation was, for Sarpi, obvious in the actual proceedings of the Council. The Papal Legates exercised tight control on the agenda of the sessions being in frequent (and secret) communication with Rome, reporting on the Council’s business and receiving instructions on how to proceed.59 Sarpi’s sarcasm is scathing as he ‘reports’ the proverb that circulated on the topic of that communication, ‘that the Synod of Trent was guided by the holy Ghost, sent from time to time in a bag from Rome …’.60 Rome’s success in finally transferring the Synod in 1551 to Bologna, a town closer to the Papal See and easier to control, was for the author a firm confirmation of the Council’s servitude.61 After the transfer, in Rome the Court was glad they were delivered from danger… But none was so simple as not to believe that all was done by [the Pope’s] commandment, as it was certain that nothing, no matter how little, was handled in the Council, without order first had from Rome …62 The reader is also not particularly surprised when the author exposes the final suspension of the Council in 1552 under the pretext of war, after four years of what Sarpi deemed to be minor activities.63 As Rome did not want the Council in the first place, it would do anything to discontinue it. The Papal ‘deceit’ became apparent when the intended two-year suspension turned into a ten-year one. Even the resumption of the Council in 1562, Sarpi suggests, was dictated by an outside threat – and against the wishes of Rome. The possibility of a National Synod in France to deal with the religious conflicts, presented Rome

as Henri ii of France and the Parlement of Paris at the end of the Council; cf. Historia, 312–313, 399, 624. 59 Cf. Historia, 109–110, 129–130, 138, 142, 144–145, 158–159, 163–164, 165, 233, 244, 247–248, 250–251, 320–321, 330–331, 348, 351, 455–456, 467, 482, 486–487, 489, 491, 499–500, 527, 578, 583–584 and many more. 60 Historia, 482. Whichever the source of this proverb, it is indicative of the spirit of the opposition to the Council and the extent of Papal control. 61 Historia, 261–263. Although Jedin sees the decision as the work of the Papal Legate Cardinal Cervini, he agrees with Sarpi’s position (History of the Council of Trent ii, 416–421, and 437–443). He concludes that the translation was a great blow to the final outcome of the Council and the reformation in Germany (ibid, 443). For a thorough discussion see ibid., Ch. 11. 62 Historia, 262–263. 63 Historia, 367–368.

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with a twofold danger: the undermining of its authority in resolving religious problems on an international level, as well as the risk of a possible break of France from Rome.64 The last sessions (1562–3) were the most dramatic. During the critical debates on the issue of episcopal residence the Legates reacted by continuously postponing the congregations. For Sarpi, the dramatic climax of the whole undertaking was also the ultimate Papal manipulation, by managing to enlist the Cardinal of Lorraine, the chief of the opposition until then, to push the proceedings and persuade the prelates to conclude the convention.65 That the fears of the Papacy were justified is evidenced by all the key issues that were raised during the sessions, with most important of all, the question of the Council’s superiority to the Pope.66 Correction of all the main abuses would result in the diminution of Papal authority and encroachments on temporal authority. A ‘right and proper’ reformation would force the Church to return to its original and sole responsibility, that of the care of the souls. It would make the bishops return to their dioceses instead of serving as courtiers (the issue of residence), diminish papal superiority over the rest of the bishops (the issue of episcopal jurisdiction) and moderate the income of ecclesiastics (the issue of plurality of benefices). The most obvious display of the Church’s involvement with temporal matters is its contest with the lay rulers in the text. Sarpi’s perspective is situated squarely within the long tradition of the discussion of Caesaro-Papal struggle. He draws a great deal of his arguments from famous episodes such as the Investiture contest of the eleventh century or the ‘Babylonian’ exile of the Papacy in the fourteenth century (1309–77) and the subsequent Great Schism (1378–1417), all of which were characteristic of the swinging balance between the two sides. The author distinguishes the tensions between the Papacy and the Emperor(s), the two representatives of contrasting views of universal control, from those between the Pope and national rulers.67 The clash over the control of Societas Christiana was above all apparent in the case of Charles v, the Habsburg Emperor who had emerged in a position of power and territorial domination reminiscent of the position of the great medieval Emperors. He was also the last one to receive a Papal validation of authority with 64 Cf. Historia, 410–411, 462, 463–464, 778. This course of action was hinted at various occasions by the French side; see J. Parsons, The Church in the Republic. Gallicanism and Political Ideology in Renaissance France (Washington dc: Catholic University of America, 2004), 157. 65 Cf. Historia, 749–751, 762–763, 765, 760–762, 777–778, 794–795. 66 Historia, 640–644, 700–701, 711–712, 784–785, 800–801. 67 Cf. Historia, 104.

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his coronation­of 1530.68 Conversely, the clash with ‘national’ rulers lay in the threat of shattering the unity of Christianity through their claim to control their ‘national Churches’.69 The main contention between lay and ecclesiastical authorities in Sarpi’s text is the matter of handling the outbreak of the religious problems which had resulted in civil strife. This had many facets. One instance was the debate regarding whether the conflict was to be dealt with separately from the reformation, with the Emperor dealing with the former and the Church dealing with the latter.70 Disagreements arose also on the matter of whose responsibility it was to call the General Council, the Pope’s or the Emperor’s.71 Meanwhile, the Papacy abhorred any attempt at national Councils, first in the German Lands and later in France, that would challenge its jurisdiction on religious matters. Thus when a copy of the Interim of Augsburg (1548) reached Rome: ‘everyone was amazed … that a temporal Prince in a secular assembly, should meddle with Religion, and not in one Article only, but in all’.72 In contrast, Sarpi presents Charles as continuously endeavouring to secure a General Council that would deal with the problems of his subjects, as free  from the Papal influence as possible, and preferably within the confines of the Empire, while also trying to ensure that delegates of the Protestants would be present.73 Sarpi’s more favourable view towards the Emperor was  due to the author’s conviction that the appearance of Lutherans would have contributed to a better Council.74 Likewise, Sarpi has the French King Henri ii declaring 68

Historia, 47–50; Charles v had a ‘strong dynastic consciousness and a medieval conception of Imperial dignity’; Jedin, History of the Council of Trent i, 226. 69 Cf. Historia, 31, 49, 53–54, 85, 91–92, 410. Cf. also Jedin, History of the Council of Trent i, 215: ‘to permit the meeting of … an assembly would amount to allowing one nation to hold another faith than that of the universal Church and thus to conjure up a Schism. … The demand for a national Council was emphatically rejected by the Papal legate because it involved the danger of the apostasy of a whole nation’. 70 Cf. the terms of the Peace between the Pope and the Emperor in 1529, Historia, 44–45. 71 See for example Charles v’s letter to the College of Cardinals: Historia, 38; also 53–54 and 275. Cf. also Jedin, History of the Council of Trent i, 237–238. 72 Historia, 283. 73 Cf. Historia, 33, 38, 58–59, 270–271, 274–275, 294–295, 305, 711–712. This position agrees with Jedin’s assessment that the more the Papacy was delaying the matter, the more Charles proved to be the driving power in the convening of the Council; Jedin, History of the Council of Trent i, 224. Cf. also Charles’s account in his autobiography, as cited in R. Mackenney, Sixteenth Century Europe. Expansion and Conflict (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1993), 186. Charles’s endeavours were continued by Ferdinand: cf. Historia, 399–400, 665. 74 See for example Historia, 467, after the decree on safe conduct for the Lutherans.

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in 1551 that he did not recognise the Council either as ‘general’ or ‘free’ for the same reasons. He also relates that the Counsellors of Paris had ruled that the decrees of the Council could not be binding to states that had not been present during the deliberations.75 During the last sessions of Trent the French Crown was categorically against the Spanish and the Roman effort to name the Council a continuation, as this would cause the discontent of its Protestant subjects.76 Convening a new Council would promote the concept that the second assembly was disassociated from the previous decrees, preserving, thus, some hopes for a compromise.77 In all instances therefore, public interest dictated that the lay rulers oppose the Papal plans and aim for a more conciliatory approach which would keep open the possibilities for pacification in the temporal sphere. The most explicit expression of the Venetian’s view on the matter of jurisdiction appears in his account of the issue of the reformation of the Princes. Sarpi’s aversion to the notion that such a reformation was relevant to the issue at hand, or that an ecclesiastical body could even deliberate on such a matter is noticeable even through his ostensibly detached writing. According to his reading, the reformation of the Princes was used as a threat by Pius iv (Medici, 1559–65) in order to appease assaults against the Papacy during the second phase of the Council. The Pope resorted to this in the face of the continuous debates about residence and episcopal authority together with the dreadful prospect of the arrival of the French delegation.78 Sarpi’s position becomes apparent in Henri ii’s reaction, presented as a letter to the Council. Responding to proposed reforms the French King complained that the prelates at Trent had ‘passed lightly over the reformation of the clergy’. Furthermore, to suggest the reformation of the Princes ‘was to pare the King’s nails and to make those of the Ecclesiastics longer’. Henri ii was furious about the manner in which the prelates ‘assumed authority’ to take away the rights and prerogatives of Kings, to break their constitutions and customs, prescribed by time out of mind, to anathematise 75

See Henri ii’s letter criticising the Council, and the Counselors’ ruling (Historia, 312–313, 320). 76 There was no clear announcement whether the second assembly would be a continuation or not: Historia, 422. This of course caused the reaction of Princes (Historia, 414, 428–430). Moreover, the problem appeared repeatedly during the 1562–3 sessions, and it was not resolved even with the closure of the Council; cf. 454, 490–494, 672, 786, 800–801. 77 Cf. Historia, 415. See also 420–422, 428–430, 454, 490–494. 78 See the first threat by Pius iv, Historia, 490.

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and excommunicate Kings and Princes, all tending to sow disobedience, sedition, and rebellion of subjects against their sovereigns; whereas it is manifest to the whole world, that the power of the Fathers, and of the Council, extends only to the reformation of the Clergy, without touching matters of State, or of Secular power and jurisdiction, which is wholly distinct from the Ecclesiastical …79 Instead of focusing on ecclesiastical reform, the Papacy and the Council were seeking to undermine lay jurisdiction in ways that encouraged sedition and rebellion. Yet the scope of the Council’s jurisdiction was only over the clergy; matters of state were distinct to ecclesiastical jurisdiction.

Resolving Religious Divisions: From Dual Jurisdiction to Temporal Supremacy

Though Sarpi used the theory of dual authority as a foundation for his arguments, it is plain from the analysis above that he in fact promoted the assumption of the managing of ecclesiastical affairs by the lay rulers. This was based both on the moral degradation seen in the ecclesiastical authorities, but also on the superiority of temporal rulers in handling human things. The ‘deformation’ of the institutional face of the spiritual authority had generated the current state of affairs, the division of the faithful. The managing of ecclesiastical matters should therefore pass on to temporal monarchs whose responsibility entailed, in any case, the administrating of the affairs of this world. Their duty did not involve moral flawlessness, as the affairs of this world (politics) are devious and corrupt, anyway. For Sarpi the answer to this issue rested on the historical perspective he had adopted. Although the prescribed separation of profane and sacred had been in place in the early Church, particular circumstances resulted in its breach on the part of the Church. This infringement gradually led to a degeneration of the principles that governed the early Church. It also led to corruption, against which the religious protests of the sixteenth century was a reaction. In the Historia he presents this historical approach through his analysis of the issues at stake in the Council. His analysis of these issues starts with the appeal to the idealised past of the primitive Church, locates the beginning of the decline with the separation of the Western and Eastern Empires and the 79

Historia, 747–748. Cf. the Gallican Pierre Pithou’s comments on the inadequacy of the clergy to discuss matters of state, as cited in Parsons, Church in the Republic, 91.

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consequent assumption of additional influence by the clergy, and culminates with the landmark Papacy of Gregory vii (1073–85).80 Of these discussions, the one that encapsulates most accurately his viewpoint is Sarpi’s examination of episcopal jurisdiction. This is a very comprehensible analysis, in which Sarpi explains the episcopal abuse of the juridical power bestowed upon them by the Emperor Constantine. The clergy extended this power by starting to judge civil matters on top of religious matters. The author locates the start of this abuse in the separation of the Empire, as in the Western part the bishops became ‘counselors of the Prince’, thus mixing their spiritual and temporal duties. The climax of this usurpation came for Sarpi after 1050, when the bishops ‘placed themselves above the secular magistrates’ and ended up claiming that their authority did not derive from the magistrates, but that it was ‘essential to the episcopal dignity’, and given to them by Christ. They further asserted that ‘neither the magistrate, nor the Prince himself, can meddle in any of those causes which the clergy had appropriated, because they are spiritual, and of spiritual things the lay are incapable…’.81 Sarpi’s approach was thus similar to Lipsius: he advocated the limits of jurisdictions, but was in favour of the lay. He assigned priority to politics whilst in this world, and believed that religious matters of the sort that plagued Europe in the sixteenth and seventeenth century ought to be handled by the temporal rulers. As Christian Princes, aware of what was best for their dominion, Charles and other lay rulers would manage matters according to the public benefit. The clergy, conversely, as only interested in its private profit and greatness, was unsuitable to manage the fate of the faithful. The Curia, even worse, was too far away to have any awareness of the specific circumstances of the areas where problems arose and the complicated factors involved. Sarpi’s view is clearly presented in the following passage, thinly disguised as anonymous comments on the Peace of Nuremberg (1532). The author acknowledged that it was expedient to tolerate religious dissent if it was obvious that it could not be rooted out without resulting in the ruin of the state. Rome’s principle, that it was more appropriate to persecute heretics than infidels was not ‘to the benefit of Christendom’. … when a vice cannot be rooted out, without the ruin of the state, it is acceptable to the majesty of God to permit it … No one knows how to govern a territory, but the Prince himself, who alone knows all the necessities­ 80 81

Cf. contemporary Gallican arguments that ecclesiastical power came about through the absence of political; Parsons, Church in the Republic, 160. Historia, 324–327.

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of it… For the case was, whether every Christian country ought to be governed, according to its own necessity and profit…. The times following have taught, and will teach perpetually, that the Emperor’s resolution was conformable to the laws of God and man.82 Only the secular Prince would know how to govern his own territory, and every country should be governed according to its needs and for its benefit. It was absurd to recommend that a state should be ruled according to the interests of others, such as running Germany, for instance, according to Roman dictates, the equivalent of which would be to ask for Rome to be ‘run according to Dutch dictates’. A similar case is made in the discussions on the French religious strife.83 The author puts his view forward through an oration attributed to Michel de l’Hôpital (1507–73) during the 1562 Colloquy of St Germain. Debating the question of religious dissent, the Chancellor declared that ‘they were called to consult how to remedy the stirs raised in the Kingdom’. He distinguished between differences in religion and peace in the Kingdom, adding that … the differences of religion should be referred to the prelates, but when the peace of the Kingdom, and keeping of the subjects in obedience to the King is in question, that this could not belong to the ecclesiastics, but to those whom the King would appoint to consult of it. … That laws were to be fitted to the time and persons, as the shoe to the foot. … wherein they were not to dispute which religion was the better, because they did not undertake to frame a religion, but to put in order a republic; and that it was not absurd to say, that many might be good citizens, and not good Christians, and that those who were of different religions might live in peace.84 Sarpi was thus articulating the position common among politiques and moderates throughout Europe in the late sixteenth- and early seventeenth century, whose response to religious divisions was that a level of accommodation was necessary when the good of the republic was at stake. The problems they were called to resolve were not of a doctrinal, but of a civil nature: the peace of the kingdom and the manner in which they could put an order to the republic. This position also accepted the coexistence, if required, of people with  different­ 82 Historia, 60–61. 83 Cf. Historia, 408–409. 84 Historia, 456–457.

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beliefs­as being the lesser of two evils, since laws were made to fit circumstances as ‘the shoe to the foot’. This was a more pragmatic attitude, and for Sarpi the only viable one, as the history of the previous almost hundred years since Luther’s protest had demonstrated. As we have seen in the case of Lipsius, such an approach presupposed that, at least in the temporal world, politics had primacy over religion. This is evident in Sarpi’s calls for temporal supremacy in the debate concerning the limits between ecclesiastical and lay jurisdiction. A more moderate approach could also assume a more relaxed attitude concerning doctrine as only such lenience could tolerate confessional differences, even if it was only in times of crisis. This in the Historia is corroborated among other points, by the author’s jurisdictional interpretation of religious divisions and his emphasis on institutional reform.

Addressing Religious Divisions in the Temporal Sphere: Institutional over Doctrinal Reform

Institutional reform was, for Sarpi, the only remedy for the ‘deformation’ of the Church, its corruption and its stress on temporal supremacy at the expense of its spiritual duties. This position was linked to his interpretation that at least in the beginning, the Lutheran Reformation was a protest against institutional issues (Indulgences). In the Historia, Luther’s protest was brought about by the Church’s shortcomings: he first reacted about the ‘new excessive abuses’, that is, the Indulgences of Pope Leo x (Medici, 1513–21), and passed on to the authority of the Pope only when Rome’s representatives reprehended him on these grounds. Even as the movement took force, the issues Sarpi relates as affecting Luther were those of ‘confession’, ‘communion of the cup’ and the ‘abuses of the monastical order’, namely issues that concerned ecclesiology a great deal more than they concerned doctrine.85 Sarpi summarises that as ‘godly’ and ‘well disposed men’ came to realise, at the root of the innovations in the German Lands, were the Church abuses and the negligence of the pastors.86 As a result, ‘only remedying the abuses would remedy the confusions’. It was only later that Luther moved on to doctrinal issues.87 For the Venetian, the reaction of the Curia to the grievances ought to have been a comprehensive institutional reform – after all, as Sarpi makes Clement vii

85 86 87

Historia, 4–8. Historia, 17. Historia, 6, 18–19, 749. Cf. also Sarpi’s general assessment on 562–563.

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admit, ‘all had began with the deformation of the clergy’.88 This reform Trent failed to realise, precisely for the reason that it was handled by most interested sides as a ‘political battlefield’. Sarpi’s eagerness for institutional reform is also reflected within references in the Historia about the calls of the Emperor, the Imperial party, and the French prelates during the final sessions at Trent arguing that Church reform ought to take precedence over doctrine in the Council. They insisted that issues of doctrine ought to be debated subsequent to reform, and only during the presence of Lutherans.89 Sarpi’s analyses of individual issues are also a very good indication of the primacy he placed on ‘reformation’: as mentioned above, they all address institutional problems of the Church. The author devotes such ‘discourses’ – as the English translator calls them – to the changing role of the Councils throughout the ages and the way in which decisions were made in them (‘giving voices’); considerations on Indulgences; monastic exemptions; residence; plurality of benefices; episcopal jurisdiction; prohibition of books (Index).90 Most of these topics are also issues that he analysed more or less extensively elsewhere: in consulti that he wrote for the Venetian government and in the series of Histories he published after the Interdict and in the run-up to the composition of the Historia del Concilio Tridentino.91 Doctrinal questions, such as the most contested subjects of original sin, justification by faith, or free will, Sarpi does not explain to his audience. Even though he includes the relevant discussions throughout the Council sessions in his narration, he conceals his real views about these topics by adopting a writing style similar to that of a renaissance dialogue, thereby hiding behind the contesting voices. This is in direct contrast to his ‘discourses’, where the author’s voice comes across very clearly. The difference in emphasis eloquently conveys the sense that the author does not have a vested interest in the doctrinal matters, as opposed to the institutional reforms. Yet more telling as concerns the author’s interpretation, is the fact in the text he makes light of the doctrinal differences between Lutherans and 88 Historia, 34. 89 Cf. Historia, 129, 138–141, 161, 330, 355–356, 495–496, 553–554 and many more. 90 See the author’s analysis of the issue of Indulgences (Historia, 4); of the issue of ‘giving voices’ (130–133); of residence (211–213); of exemptions (214–215); of benefices and their plurality (245–247); of episcopal jurisdiction (323–327); of prohibition of books/ Index (457–458). 91 Cf. the corresponding titles: ‘Discorso dell’origine, forma, leggi ed uso dell’Uffizio dell’Inquisizione nella città e dominio di Venezia’; ‘Trattato delle Materie Beneficiarie’; consulti ‘Sull’ Indice dei libri proibiti’.

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Catholics.92 Even Jan Huss’s teachings, if one were to believe Sarpi, did not differ much from the doctrine of the Church of Rome, apart from the Bohemian sect’s assertion that communion ought to be received by the faithful in two kinds.93 He also reiterates Michel del’Hôpital’s significant pronouncement that the names of Lutherans, Huguenots and Papists were ‘no less factious than Guelphs and Gibelins’.94 Underplaying differences in matters of belief in the text has two effects: on the one hand it allows Sarpi to present his view that doctrinal questions were not entirely settled on the Catholic side. This is corroborated by his highlighting the differences and debates within the Council. This was especially the case between Dominicans and Franciscans on several questions and notably about issues which the Catholic Church had been challenged on by the reformers. Disputes for instance arise on the question of free will, grace in the sacraments, and the issue of transubstantiation regarding the Eucharist.95 The debates escalated to such an extent, Sarpi reports, that the Dominicans accused the Franciscans of embracing opinions ‘close to the Lutherans’. In response to this accusation, the Papal Legates had to call the Generals of the orders and ask them to abandon ‘partiality to their own sect, showing they were called to speak against heresies, and not to make new arise by disputes’.96 At another point, Sarpi has Pope Paul iii thinking that the differences of the Franciscans and the Dominicans ‘were no less than those with the Lutherans’.97 Sarpi even ascribes to the Cardinal of Lorraine near the end of the convocation the statement that ‘it was necessary to finish’ the Council, ‘not to hold Christendom in suspense any longer’ and ‘to show the Catholics what they ought to believe’, intimating that up until then the Catholic doctrine had not been determined.98 This is one of Sarpi’s main arguments that goes right to the heart of the problem of religious divisions and how to deal with them: if the Catholic Church itself could not agree what the official line was (‘what to believe’) how could they condemn the Lutherans as ‘heretics’?99 He asserts that many of the prelates at Trent were more or less ignorant of the main issues they had to deliberate on. The text indicates that, particularly during the first congregation when issues 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99

Cf. Cozzi, Opere, 735. Historia, 3. Historia, 424. Historia, 204–211, 230–231, 321–322. Historia, 233. Historia, 253. Historia, 778. Historia, 358–360.

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such as the authority of the Bible were being decided upon, there were not any prelates ‘remarkable for learning’ among the ones partaking in the debates: ‘some of them were lawyers, perhaps learned in that profession, but of little understanding in religion; few divines, but of less than ordinary sufficiency’. The greater number of the prelates assembled were gentlemen or courtiers.100 The diluted attention to doctrinal matters has an additional effect: it conveys the impression and Sarpi’s conviction, as will be discussed below, that doctrine in itself is relative and man’s perception of it is insufficient – man should not deliberate on matters of doctrine and should leave that to God. Sarpi’s view is plain in the comments articulated in response to discussions about authority of the Bible and its translations.101 He attributes amazement to people in Germany in response to the publication of the Decrees concerning the Canonical Scriptures and the edition and the use of the sacred books (1546). According to the text, the reaction in the German Lands was one of surprise ‘that less than fifty prelates could so easily define the most principal and important points of religion, never decided before, giving canonical authority to books held for uncertain and apocryphal, declaring authentic a translation differing from the original, prescribing and restraining the manner to understand the word of God’.102 Even more critical is Sarpi’s attitude towards the fact that the Vulgate was declared as the authoritative version of the Bible, commenting on how it was impossible to know ‘which one was the true’ among so many copies.103 Thus the very issue of the translation of the Scriptures, itself demonstrates the relativity of doctrine to its full extent: if the translation that the Catholic Church was using (i.e. the Vulgate) was not a reliable one, how could it claim that it was adhering to the ‘right’ doctrine? Man’s inability to deliberate on dogma, renders the confessional disputes over things not prescribed in the Scriptures redundant and only the source of quarrels and conflict. Sarpi has the French King Charles ix (1560–74) declare that since his Kingdom had been afflicted with seditions and tumults, slaughters, sacking of cities, and ruins of churches because of religion, experience taught him that ‘war’ was ‘not the proper remedy for this malady [religion]’.104 Attempts at reconciliation since the beginning of the Reformation had caused debate over issues not deemed essential regarding man’s salvation in matters

100 101 102 103 104

Historia, 158. Historia, 145–158. Historia, 158. Historia, 145. Historia, 678.

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of faith at their core.105 Supporters of peaceful coexistence within a well regulated state such as Sarpi and Lipsius had advocated a certain relaxed attitude not only towards matters of doctrine, but also in matters of external religious practice. In Sarpi’s case this is expressed clearly in his approach to the contested issue of communion in two kinds, a standard demand by the Protestants and more generally by the Imperialists during Trent. The text presents the view that this issue could be resolved simply and effortlessly by granting this demand to the faithful, thereby averting the conflict that would break out.106 The author reports on Ferdinand granting the communion of the cup in 1555 as a temporary measure, until things were to be further discussed at the Council.107 Sarpi underlines the fact that one of the main reasons the communion of the chalice was limited to priests, was to stress the differentiation between clergy and the rest of the body of believers, a principle that he himself categorically repudiated. The author’s view on the matter is decipherable in the debate of 1562, where the Imperialist party argued that in their experience the ‘most grievous contentions and complaints of people arose from the prohibition of the chalice’ and urged leniency towards the practice: the Church should not ‘suffer so many sacrileges and slaughters by enjoying the observation of a rite with too much severity’.108 This position is also discernible in a memorandum by the French ambassadors, during the same session, with which they also pleaded the same case. They argued that in matters of Positive Law, as this was, they ought to yield, and not to be so obstinate, but to consider the necessity of the time, and not give scandal to the world, by showing themselves so constant in observing men’s precepts, and neglecting God’s, by rejecting Reformations …109 As the above references make plain, for the author, communion in two kinds was only a matter of practice, not a matter of divine law, and thus of secondary importance (‘indifferent’) to the salvation of souls. This was a fundamental 105 See indicatively Erasmus’s view on this in his Inquisitio de Fide (1524), trans. Craig Thompson (New Haven: Yale up, 1950); cf. Gasapro Contarini’s view in E.G. Gleason, Gasparo Contarini: Venice, Rome and Reform (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 221–226; and Theodore Beza’s views as expressed at the Colloquy of Poissy in D. Nugent, Ecumenism in the Age of the Reformation. The Colloquy of Poissy (Cambridge: Harvard up, 1974), 121. 106 Historia, 320, 330, 386–388, 498, 504–516, 540–541, 543–546, 561, 804–805. 107 Historia, 386. 108 Historia, 540–541. 109 Historia, 515.

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position in various attempts at reconciliation and in the pursuit of a political solution to the problem of religious divisions. Sarpi’s views on the primacy of temporal authority in this world and the emphasis on political survival and coexistence over doctrinal particulars were shared both by other thinkers of his age as well as political and religious agents. The wide circulation that his responses to religious divisions received from the period of the Interdict onwards, the international profile of Sarpi himself, as well as his extensive network, all bear witness to this fact. What is important to remember, therefore, is that his views as expressed in the Historia del Concilio Tridentino were in a way the conclusion of a long period of deliberation and polemics that took place for the most part on an international level. It is the development of the author’s views in this longer context that we will consider next.

Intellectual Development and International Context, 1606–1619: Unresolved Questions

As Sarpi’s final work, the Historia del Concilio Tridentino contains in a distilled form thoughts and conclusions that the author had been deliberating upon for a few decades: certainly since the Interdict period, but more likely since his time in Rome (as a Provincial of the Servite order first, and Procurator General, later).110 During the 1606 conflict between the Venetian Republic and the Curia, the Servite plainly understood the terms of the quarrel as part of the debate on the limits between lay-ecclesiastical jurisdictions, which was also closely linked to the larger question of the authority of the Pope. The issues he first grappled with in his works associated with that conflict, went on to trouble him for a long time, and we can trace the continuation of his thought from the Interdict, through the series of Histories he issued in the aftermath of 1606, up to its ‘culmination’ with the 1619 publication of the Historia.111 As has been noted, Sarpi believed that once the pamphlet war stopped, ‘history was to play a major role in the confrontation’ after 1606.112 Sarpi’s historical approach in this body of works (1606–1619) assumes the increasing corruption of the Catholic Church throughout the centuries and its peak during the Council 110 Andretta, ‘Sarpi e Roma’, 139–162; esp. 139–152. 111 In 1609 he wrote to Leschassier that he was pursuing and deepening his historical research, he was studying precedents and collecting evidence for future use; letter of 6 January 1609, Lettere ai Gallicani, 35. 112 Vivo, Information and Communication, 225.

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of Trent. This series of texts follows similar patterns: they usually include a reference to Trent, or conclude with a mention to the manner in which the matter at hand (e.g. benefices, authority of the Pope, book censorship) was dealt with at the Council. As a rule, the texts put forward the view of how the Council’s decisions confirmed older malpractice or failed to resolve remaining issues in a satisfactory way. A few examples will highlight the development and consistency of Sarpi’s thought and will also demonstrate the relationship of his pre-1619 texts with the Historia del Concilio Tridentino. Here again, the key issue arising is the encroachment of the ecclesiastical authority into the temporal sphere. Relating to this was the renowned biblical motto ‘Regnum meum non est huius mundi’ to which the Servite referred to throughout the Interdict conflict, and also featured as the titlepage for one of his tracts.113 This was considered one of the main building blocks of the case for separate jurisdictions: as the kingdom of Christ was not of this world, the Church could not be claiming any authority on temporal things. Accordingly, in the Trattato delle materie beneficiarie (c. 1610), Sarpi chastised the acquisition and administration of temporal riches by the Church as a practice that promoted avarice and altered its spiritual nature. This income had originally stemmed from the alms of the faithful. Ultimately ending up to be used to the interest of the Church, however, its primary purpose was forgotten. This is elaborated elsewhere as well, where Sarpi returned to the point, adding that the clergy became more concerned with its benefices, than it was with its duty to care for the souls of the believers: ‘Clergymen, leaving their cares which are the cure of souls, became proctors and economists practicing things unbecoming to their ministry’.114 In the same text the author asserted that even the Papacy itself was a benefice as the institution combined a temporal position and income. What was more, its authority had not served any good historically, in the end introducing abuses instead.115 Contrary to Christ and the Apostles, who never pretended to ‘have or exercise any temporal coercion’ the Popes bore themselves as temporal princes and usurped temporal authority.116 According to Sarpi’s historical analysis, there had been 113 See the titlepage of Sarpi’s Apologia per l’oppositioni fatte dall’illustriss. & Reverendiss. Signor Cardinale Bellarmino alli Trattati & Risolutioni di Gio. Gersone (Venice: Roberto Meietti, 1606), as reproduced in Wootton, Paolo Sarpi, 12. 114 Sarpi, Considerazioni sopra le Censure dell santità di Papa Paulo v contra la Serenissima Republica di Venezia (1606), in Cozzi, Opere, 173. 115 Considerazioni sopra le Censure, 211–213. 116 Apology or apologiticall answere unto the Exceptions and Objections of Cardinall Bellarmine, 20–22 and 27.

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about ‘nine hundred and forty Popes’ since the first successors of Peter began to intermeddle with temporal matters.117 Superiority in civil matters, however, belonged to the Prince, even if the clergy enjoyed superiority in things spiritual, appertaining namely to the ‘health of the soul’.118 The role of the Prince according to the Venetian was protection and jurisdiction over God’s universal dominion.119 Temporal authority ought to be corrected and rectified by the spiritual in cases that it erred; again, however, this was to be understood as only valid in cases concerning the salvation of the souls. Ecclesiastical power over Princes could therefore only be spiritual.120 Addressing the heart of the question and considering where ecclesiastical authority derived from, Sarpi stressed that any exemptions the clergy enjoyed, had, in the first place, been granted to them by temporal princes.121 Princes could grant exemptions and privileges to ecclesiastical persons when deemed necessary for the planting or propagating of religion in their dominions.122 This was a crucial point that the author kept returning to: as granted by the lay authority, ecclesiastical jurisdiction therefore was, and ought to continue to be, wholly dependent upon the lay.123 He also enlisted the views of Bellarmine from the Papal camp in this, quoting the latter’s position that the ‘exemption of the clergy’ in matters political as well as regarding their persons and their goods, ‘was brought in by the law of man, and not God’.124 The Servite felt that the temporal authority was under attack in periods such as the Venetian Interdict, and that his texts contributed to defending the ‘lawful power and authority’ given to sovereign princes by God.125 He warned against the increased temporal authority that the Church claimed. This ­temporality 117 Apology or apologiticall answere unto the Exceptions and Objections of Cardinall Bellarmine, 6. 118 Apology or apologiticall answere unto the Exceptions and Objections of Cardinall Bellarmine, 40, 45. 119 Trattato delle Materie Beneficiarie (c. 1610), in Cozzi, Opere, 331–457; 373–374. 120 Apology or apologiticall answere unto the Exceptions and Objections of Cardinall Bellarmine, 17–18. 121 Considerazioni sopra le Censure, 162, 186–187. 122 Apology or apologiticall answere unto the Exceptions and Objections of Cardinall Bellarmine, 26. 123 Trattato delle Materie Beneficiarie, 338. 124 Apology or apologiticall answere unto the Exceptions and Objections of Cardinall Bellarmine, 64; S. Tutino also notes this interesting use of arguments in Empire of Souls. Robert Bellarmine and the Christian Commonwealth (Oxford: oup, 2010), 44–45, 89. 125 Apology or apologiticall answere unto the Exceptions and Objections of Cardinall Bellarmine, 1.

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was also evident in the Church laws, the celebrated Decretales, which according to Sarpi equated to temporal laws.126 The intermingling of the two spheres of influence was further demonstrated in the problem of ecclesiastical courts. In his view ‘the whole error’ was based on the fact that people had ever given power to the prelates over matters temporal in the first place, and had transformed the ecclesiastical ministry into a judicial, secular court. God, however, had assigned the ecclesiastical ministry with the care of souls, which had nothing to do with meddling directly with temporal punishments.127 This was such an obvious distinction in Sarpi’s mind that he suggested that since bishops were so involved in juridical matters, people should appoint jurisconsuls in this role, and not divines.128 The question of the role of ecclesiastical courts Sarpi tackles in depth in his History of the Inquisition (c. 1615) where he circumscribes the Inquisition’s jurisdiction to ecclesiastical matters only, underlining his view that the office should report to the lay authorities. Beyond the key issue of jurisdiction, other topics also persist all throughout Sarpi’s written work. An often repeated assertion in the Historia del Concilio Tridentino and his other texts was that the Church was the sum of the faithful.129 As Luther had famously claimed in his address To the Christian Nobility of the German Nation (1520), there was no difference in status between laymen and priests; every Christian was of the spiritual estate.130 Similarly, according to Sarpi, the clergy’s elevation to a discreet, superior body that enjoyed privileges and governed the rest of the Christian commonwealth was wrong and in contradiction with Christ’s dictates. During the Interdict exchanges, the Venetian friar criticised this invented elevation that allowed for a disproportionate allocation of riches in the priesthood’s favour. In this context he used the example of the German Lands where about ‘one thousand priests’ enjoyed ‘a fourth of the riches’ of the whole state of four million inhabitants.131 Sarpi’s position, that all the faithful partook equally to the Church (εκκλησία/‘ecclesia’ = congregation of the faithful), had the implication that no-one could be excluded from 126 Trattato delle Materie Beneficiarie, 399–440. 127 Apology or apologiticall answere unto the Exceptions and Objections of Cardinall Bellarmine, 93. 128 Trattato delle Materie Beneficiarie, 350. 129 Cf. Considerazioni sopra le Censure, 161; Trattato delle Materie Beneficiarie, 335; Apology or apologiticall answere unto the Exceptions and Objections of Cardinall Bellarmine, 46. 130 Luther’s Works ed. J. Pelikan & H. Lehman, 55 vols. (St Louis: Concordia; Philadelphia: Fortress; 1955–87): vol. 44, 126–140. 131 Apology or apologiticall answere unto the Exceptions and Objections of Cardinall Bellarmine, 38.

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the Catholic Church by excommunication. Moreover, the Church ought not to use such spiritual means for the purpose of increasing its temporal authority.132 Based on this, the Venetian was able to put forward the interesting argument that the faithful do not always have to subscribe to an absolute obedience to the priest, rather, that they ought to follow a prescribed observance.133 Sarpi’s interpretation of the state of the Church and the origins of Luther’s protest is also consistent in his polemics. In his view it was clear that the ‘novelties’ in Germany were a reaction to the introduction of Indulgences.134 It was a consequence, in other words, of the institutional corruption of the Church. As he put it in one of his Interdict tracts: It is manifest to the whole world, and the stories are full of it, that the very beginning of the separation that fell out some hundred years since in Germany, took not its original from any disobedience of the subjects, but of an abuse of power and greatness in the Prelates. It is well known that it grew out of indiscreet extortions and out of extravagant fashions of granting Indulgences.135 Anecdotal evidence suggests that Sarpi’s views about the German situation and the Pope’s claims were shared by others in the Papal camp. According to Fulgenzio Micanzio, the Venetian’s biographer (1570–1654), during a meeting at which participants were exalting the Pope’s ‘omnipotence’, Bellarmine commented to Sarpi: ‘these are the things that made Germany revolt, and the same will happen in France and other realms’.136 The above points confirm the significance which the Servite laid upon the subject of the reform of the Church and the correction of abuses. He praised (the few) Popes who endeavoured to remove these abuses which, ‘remaining’ made it ‘impossible’ for the faithful ‘to be saved’. He lamented the fact that ‘these many years, the world has sighed and groaned for such a reformation: and so many times they have been deceived and disappointed of their hopes’.137 This was 132 Apology or apologiticall answere unto the Exceptions Bellarmine, 74; Trattato delle Materie Beneficiarie, 393. 133 Apology or apologiticall answere unto the Exceptions Bellarmine, 75. 134 Trattato delle Materie Beneficiarie, 425–426. 135 Apology or apologiticall answere unto the Exceptions Bellarmine, 37–38. 136 Cited in Tutino, Empire of Souls, 89. 137 Apology or apologiticall answere unto the Exceptions Bellarmine, 27.

and Objections of Cardinall and Objections of Cardinall

and Objections of Cardinall

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a direct denunciation of Trent, the ‘failed’ Council, as he saw it. It was also linked to a demand for a new Council in the early seventeenth century, shared by a wider international circle. It was evident, ‘that all the kingdoms that are sequestered from the Church do desire and groan after a Council’.138 The most pronounced of these calls came from King James vi and i who had announced his intention to call a General Council of the Church barely two years before Sarpi’s aforementioned comments. The disillusionment associated with Trent was for the Venetian, gravely manifested by the fact that the acts of the Council had not been printed, meaning that the whole undertaking could not be accurately assessed. Most ironic of all for the author, was the fact that the acts of the first four Ecumenical Councils of the Church were readily available in print, in contrast to the all important acts of Trent.139 We thus come full circle to Sarpi’s thinking regarding the significance of Trent and his intentions in composing its Historia. As mentioned, however, his views were by no means isolated during the early part of the seventeenth century. Rather, Sarpi should be seen as a particularly vocal representative of a set of views promoted by scholars and by political and religious agents. They demonstrated similar hostility towards the Papacy, urged for temporal supremacy and religious reconciliation for the public interest, against a background of doctrinal moderation and a degree of tolerance of religious diversity as long as this did not cause civil disorder. The range of the group advocating these ideas, which included thinkers of all sides, was revealed during the controversy over the Interdict, undoubtedly one of the biggest grounds of political struggle of the period, a ‘war of words’.140 Sarpi was shrewd and intelligent enough to perceive that the issues debated during the controversy did not only concern Venice but were significant for a wider context, both in terms of geography, as well as in terms of historical precedents. In this respect, the fact that the Catholic side did not seem to be entirely settled on a variety of matters, worked to the friar’s advantage. On the question of the Papal authority, for example, an uncomfortable issue for Rome as recent scholarship has pointed out, the Venetian made full use of arguments uttered by supporters of the Roman side: ‘It is not yet decided who holds the better opinion touching the authority of the Apostolic Sea; whether Gerson or our author [Bellarmine]’.141 138 Apology or apologiticall answere unto the Exceptions and Objections of Cardinall Bellarmine,­ 35. 139 Apology or apologiticall answere unto the Exceptions and Objections of Cardinall Bellarmine,­ 32. 140 Vivo, Information and Communication, 157–159. 141 Apology or apologiticall answere unto the Exceptions and Objections of Cardinall Bellarmine,­ 36; see Tutino Empire of Souls, Ch. 3, esp. 88–110.

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This had further implications. First, it made the Interdict conflict and the issues that Sarpi was touching upon during that controversy, applicable to more than just Venice and relevant to an international audience, irrespectively of questions of confessional alliance. In this manner, issues protracted for centuries, then raised again by Luther and Calvin, later left unresolved or confirmed in the worse possible manner during Trent, and brought up once more during the Interdict, were still pertinent at the beginning of the seventeenth century to a number of countries and a variety of contexts. Sarpi understood full well thus, that issues raised by French Gallicans in response to the wars of religion, such as the ecclesiological and theological role of the Pope within the Church and clerical exemption, were comparable to questions debated during the Interdict.142 His case and the analogies between France and Venice were made explicit in the first track he published during the Interdict, a translation of two short treatises against the abuse of the power of excommunication, originally composed by the famous theologian and adherent of Conciliar theory, Jean Gerson (1363–1429).143 In response to Sarpi’s move, jurists in France such as Jacques Leschassier (1550–1625) and Louis Servin (1555–1626) published in Venice’s defence.144 The Sorbonne theologian Edmond Richer (1559–1631) also sent Sarpi through Pietro Priuli, the Venetian Ambassador to France, a list of works whose republication would have the desired effect.145 Similarities between the French and Venetian case had also been pointed out by others, such as the French ambassador in Venice.146 A recent Catholic convert from Calvinism, Philippe de La Canaye, sieur de Fresnes (1551–1610), wished the issue could end as from his 142 Tutino, Empire of Souls, 110. 143 For an analysis of the ideological context of this publication see F. Oakley’s ‘Complexities of Context: Gerson, Bellarmine, Sarpi, Richer, and the Venetian Interdict of 1606–1607’, Catholic Historical Review 82 (1996), 369–396. Edmond Richer of the Sorbonne himself also republished a treatise of Gerson on excommunication (Apologia pro Ecclesiae et Consilii Auctoritate Adversus Joannis Gersonii, Doctoris Christianissimi, Obtrectatores, 1607), the same one that Sarpi had translated into Italian the year before; Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense, 399; Oakley, ‘Complexities of Context’, 386–387. 144 Louis Servin, Pro libertate status et reipublicae Venetorum, Gallofranci ad Philenetum epistola (Paris: [s.n.], 1606); Jacques Leschassier, Consultatio Parisii cuiusdam de controversia inter sanctitatem Pauli Quinti et serenissimam rempublicam Venetam. Ad virum clarissimum. ([s.l]: [s.n.], 1607). 145 Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense, 399; Oakley, ‘Complexities of Context’, 386–387. 146 D. Foucault, ‘Sarpi, l’interdit de Venise et la France d’après ls correspondance de l’ambassadeur Canaye de Fresne’; M. Viallon et B. Dompnier, ‘Le Traité de la metière bénéficiale: le rapport à la France’, both in Viallon, Paolo Sarpi. Politique et religion en Europe, 189–208 and 209–257 respectively.

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‘own experience’­from his ‘kingdom’s similar troubles’ he knew the ‘great scandals which broke out every day, when good people entered churches, and invariably came out holding weapons and fire’.147 These parallels would explain Sarpi’s popularity in France, where we know that the famous Paris jurist Pierre L’Estoile (1546–1611) bought about fifty pamphlets issued during the Interdict.148 Sarpi’s letters enjoyed a vast circulation and news was reaching Rome that Henri iv (1589–1610) was leaning in favour of Sarpi.149 The other way round, of course, was also the case: the wars of religion in France had excited in Venetians and others, an interest and curiosity for news.150 Analogies with the Venetian Interdict were more immediately drawn with the case of King James’s Three Kingdoms and the Controversy over the Oath of Allegiance.151 This, as will be shown below, made the publishing of the Historia del Concilio Tridentino in London, an attractive prospect. The crucial point, that the issues raised by both Sarpi and his allies were on the whole independent of confessional allegiance, brings the discussion to the next subject, namely the question of Sarpi’s religious outlook.

Doctrine, Politics, Christianity, and Acculturation: Sarpi on Religion

Like Charron and Lipsius, Sarpi’s religious beliefs were seriously questioned during his life-time, and are still the subject of speculation and debate. Sarpi’s fierce anti-Papalism as expressed in his polemic and his contacts with Huguenots, Anglicans, and French Gallicans, raised questions about his religious orthodoxy. It also made his enemies at the Curia accuse him of Protestantism and even downright atheism. Modern critics share the same views.152 Ascertaining­ 147 Cited in Vivo, Information and Communication, 158. 148 Vivo, Information and Communication, 226. 149 Vivo, Information and Communication, 55, Tutino, Empire of Souls, 112. 150 Vivo, Information and Communication, 81. 151 On the similarities of the ideological background between the Venetian, French and English case see J.H.M. Salmon, ‘Catholic Resistance Theory, Ultramontanism, and the Royalist Response, 1580–1620’ in J.H. Burns (ed.), Cambridge History of Political Thought 1450–1700 (Cambridge: cup, 1991), 219–253. 152 Interpretations regarding his religious outlook vary; Cozzi suggests that Sarpi had Calvinist tendencies; Ulianich emphasises his hatred towards the political claims of the Papacy whilst ignoring spiritual matters (Sarpi e i Gallicani, esp. cxxiv–cxlvi); Yates sees Sarpi as an advocator of eirenicism; Chabod sees Sarpi as a would-be reformer of the Catholic Church, trying to enlist support from the Protestant side; Kainulainen’s view is that he

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his religious attitudes is a challenge, as Sarpi was careful not to articulate them: ‘one should conceal one’s true beliefs at all times’, he counselled in one of his texts.153 This can be explained either by his official position together with his and the Republic’s greater political interests, or by the dangers associated with the awareness that his views did not belong within the accepted frame of beliefs. As with Lipsius, both cases would have dictated concealment through outward conformity or dissimulation as a means of protection from religious persecution. It is also difficult to determine whether Sarpi’s religious convictions remained unchanged throughout his life.154 In his own words, My character is such that, like a chameleon, I imitate the behaviour of those amongst people who are reserved and gloomy I become, despite myself, unfriendly. I respond openly and freely to people who are cheerful and uninhibited. I am compelled to wear a mask. Perhaps there is nobody who can survive in Italy without one.155 Some evidence of Sarpi’s views on religion can be found in his enigmatic text Pensieri sulla religione which was almost certainly not intended for publication. The Pensieri is a set of very revealing but unsystematic notes which scholars date before the Servite’s involvement in politics (i.e. before 1606).156 Two main parameters can be deduced from this set of notes: one is the author’s fundamental premise that religion is to a great extent, tailored to people’s needs. Second is Christianity’s complicated relationship with politics, a product of the manner in which it evolved through the centuries. In the Pensieri, Sarpi emphasises the link between belief in God and people’s sense of fear, the desire of things, and the wish to explain inexplicable natural elements. Like Charron, the Venetian shows an acute awareness and acknowledgement

aimed at a religious universality based on the principles of the early Church and sympathised with Protestants because of their aspiration at reform; Bouwsma sees in Sarpi surviving elements of civic humanism combined with traces of Venetian evangelism; Wootton and Frajese have stressed Sarpi’s scepticism-cum atheism. 153 Pensieri medico-morali, in Cozzi, Opere, 92. 154 M. Simon, ‘Isaac Casaubon, Fra Paolo Sarpi et l’Église d’Angleterre’ in Aspects de l’Anglicanisme: Colloque de Strasbourg 14–16 juin, 1972 (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1974), 39–66: 55. 155 Letter to Gillot, 12 May 1609, Ulianich, Lettere ai Gallicani, 133; for the translation see Wootton, Paolo Sarpi, 119. 156 Cozzi, Opere, 1292.

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of the varieties of religion.157 The text offers a ‘typology’ of religions, classifying them according to the status they ascribe to God and man, as well as the function they attribute to sin. The text further discusses the range of religions that existed at the beginning of humanity, touching upon paganism and the Jewish faith.158 Throughout his text, the author draws attention to the fact that a religion is normally adapted to suit a country’s or a people’s specific customs. He points to the use of rites and mysteries in religion as a way of explaining matters to ‘simple minds’ and indicates that religion undergoes a degree of acculturation and influence through contact with other religions.159 Religion and its expressions for Sarpi also undergo changes through time, in keeping with political and historical developments, such as the spread of Christianity and its recognition as an official religion within the Roman Empire (313) by Constantine i. These views are consistent with Sarpi’s deep-seated conviction, discussed earlier, that the externals of religion were malleable and less important: they were essentially ‘adiaphora’ (indifferent) to man’s actual relationship with God. As he makes explicit in the Historia, Protestants were Christians too, though ‘dissenting in some particular rites’, something that was a ‘tolerable difference’.160 The syncretism of his approach – strikingly similar to Charron’s – also denotes the extent to which, according to the author, man had improvised the various components of religion. If this was the case, however, all aspects of worship had been invented and were hence subject to change. Catholic, or in fact more narrowly, Papal, insistence on them therefore, was at the very least unwise, unnecessary, and certainly obstructive towards any possibility of religious reconciliation. The second aspect that requires attention from the Pensieri is the relationship of the Christian religion with politics. The text repeats Sarpi’s stress on politics in keeping with his humanistic and historical approach: the ‘political element’ is ‘very strong in human life’.161 The Pensieri praises early Christianity as one of the best types of religion. In its first form, Christianity was a religion that dispensed with political considerations. Attention was drawn to life after death; social life and the temporal world in general were dismissed as vain, and 157 Frajese, ‘Sarpi Interprete del De la Sagesse di Pierre Charron’, and idem, Frajese, Sarpi scettico, 141–165. 158 Sarpi, Pensieri sulla Religione, in Cozzi, Opere, 101–105. 159 Pensieri sulla Religione, 100, 103 and 105. Cf. Kainulainen’s view that Sarpi treats religion as a social phenomenon: Paolo Sarpi, 2, 188–189. 160 Historia, 61. 161 Pensieri sulla Religione, 99.

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non-Christians as impious.162 The problems in the manner in which Christianity evolved, for the author, started when it expanded beyond the Hebraic context, and became popular amongst the gentiles. It was during this phase, Sarpi notes, that intense religious zeal and numerous doctrinal articles made their appearance as the gentiles were used to these and adapted their new religion to their old norms. Sarpi loathed both these elements, as we know; he considered zeal to be ill-advised and the doctrinal rules to be injurious to religion since they were the cause of factions. After all, man was unable to discern the ‘right’ doctrine. Sarpi saw Constantine i’s embracement of Christianity as the official religion of the Empire, to be a turning point in its development, since from that moment it was transformed from an isolated minority cult into a state religion. The text is unclear as to whether the author thought this transition was successful. His reference to Christianity’s tendency to ‘liberty’ as ‘expressed by the Peasants’ Revolt’ of 1527 is perhaps an insinuation that this shift did not entirely succeed in the end. We do know from his other texts, however, that he saw the position of religion within the Eastern Roman Empire as more fitting than in the context of Western Christianity.163 According to Sarpi, the authorities’ reaction to a revolt such as the Peasants’ War was to ‘mix religion with politics’.164 For Sarpi, part of the reason for the failure of this attempt was the fact that the theologians did not make the necessary adjustments in doctrine, adding politics to the virtues associated with religion. This effectively meant that in many ways the two kingdoms, the earthly and the heavenly, remained separate. The faithful, moreover, were forced to choose between political and humane (social) virtues on the one hand, and religious on the other: as Sarpi noted, the world was ‘tired of these contradictions’.165 The Pensieri offered a dense philosophical analysis of the components that made up the problematic situation that the Servite and his contemporaries had to face: the unresolved relationship between religion and politics and the stress on doctrinal elements that were not even present in the early years of Christianity. Sarpi highlights the changeability of religion over time and censures the organised religion’s insistence to appear, in contrast, unchangeable. He points out that this inconsistency is the cause for disputes between supporters of a certain religion’s past and the supporters of the present form of this religion.166

162 163 164 165 166

Pensieri sulla Religione, 106–107. Cf. the reference to Charlemagne, Pensieri sulla Religione, 108. Pensieri sulla Religione, 107. Pensieri sulla Religione, 107–108. Pensieri sulla Religione, 103.

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This very clearly alludes to the situation where reforming elements like Luther were calling for a return to the principles of early Christianity. Sarpi’s scepticism and distrust on the abilities of human reason that emerges from the Pensieri can be also be found in other parts of his work, such as the prominent example at the very beginning of the Historia. According to the author, the fact that the Council ultimately had an entirely unplanned and unpredicted conclusion was a ‘clear instruction for us to refer ourselves to God, and not to trust in the wisdom of man’.167 The implication of this distrust is that man is ultimately unable to reflect on religious issues: ‘one judges religion not with reason, but with affection’, he wrote to Isaac Casaubon in 1610.168 We could further associate these sceptical elements in the author’s thought with the emphasis he placed on the importance of divine grace as being essential for human salvation.169 Evidence for that comes from a few sources: first, the conclusions he reached when he was assigned to assess the de auxiliis debate between the Dominicans and Jesuits, the same controversy of which versions were meant to plague Catholic Christendom until well into the seventeenth century.170 These conclusions started off with the declaration that it was a ‘fundamental article of Christian belief that man needs divine grace, that is, divine help, in order to obtain salvation’.171 The other indication that we have on this is his approval of the outcome of the Synod of Dort (1619), as expressed in a letter to Daniel Hensius (1580–1655), the secretary of the Synod, which also makes similar references to grace.172 Finally, in the Council’s debates in the Historia, Sarpi subtly and consistently promotes the arguments of the Augustinian theologians who favoured divine grace. We could also perhaps see Sarpi’s Augustinian pessimism in the position expounded in the Pensieri, that to apply definitions and distinctions of human reason to the content of the faith was a ‘contamination’ of heavenly with earthly things. If human understanding was fundamentally flawed and doctrine was a human invention, any dispute on doctrine was entirely unfounded and out of place. The heavenly sphere was ‘pure and beyond human understanding’.173 167 Historia, 1. 168 Letter of 22 June 1610, cited in Kainulainen, Paolo Sarpi, 128. 169 Sarpi’s Augustinianism is discussed by Kainulainen, Paolo Sarpi, Ch. 4. 170 Micanzio, Life, 81–82. 171 Cited in Kainulainen, Paolo Sarpi, 146. 172 Letter of 4 June 1620 in Sarpi, Lettere ai Protestanti; B. Ulianich, ‘Sarpiana: la lettera del Sarpi allo Heinsius’, Rivista stoirca italiana 63 (1956), 425–446. Cf. Kainulainen, Paolo Sarpi, 153–154. 173 Kainulainen, Paolo Sarpi, 8, 130–131; Cf. Bouwsma, ‘Venice, Spain, and the Papacy: Paolo Sarpi and the Renaissance Tradition’, in E. Cochrane (ed.), The Late Italian Renaissance (London: Macmillan, 1970), 353–376: 371.

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The positions expressed during the debates at Trent were human and factional. Similarly, the triumph of the Papalist side, for Sarpi the result of intrigue and manipulation, was merely the triumph of one version of the received truth.174 Seen from this perspective, Sarpi’s convictions could on the other hand suggest an affinity with evangelical currents of thought, common in Venetian spirituality since the early sixteenth century.175 Gabriel Naudé (1600–53), one of the libertins érudits of the mid-seventeenth century who also admired Charron, thought that Sarpi could be a Lutheran.176 Locating Sarpi’s religious attitude within the spectrum of the more mystical, divinely-revealed Christianity that requires the assistance of grace (unlike Tridentine Roman Catholicism) and denies the importance of free will could explain the Venetian’s opposition to the decisions of the Council from a theological perspective. The views that Sarpi perhaps felt more affinity with were the ones that were condemned in Trent.177 Their exclusion from Catholic orthodoxy, moreover, pushed those beliefs and their adherents towards the margins and very close to what, postTrent, was defined as ‘heretical’ or ‘Protestant’.178 As was typical of moderate views, by the end of the sixteenth century they seemed to be excluded from the more intransigent views that dominated each Confession. Sarpi’s association, hence, with German Reformers, both on a political as well as possibly on an ideological level, rendered him akin to a Protestant in the eyes of his contemporaries, as well as some of his modern students.179 Sarpi’s belief that men could not deliberate on doctrinal matters is also in agreement with his distinct abhorrence of doctrine and doctrinal zeal and can 174 Cf. Apology or apologiticall answere unto the Exceptions and Objections of Cardinall Bellarmine, 32. That Sarpi’s position in questioning the outcome of the Council of Trent was not that unusual is evidenced by similar oppositions in Italy in the late sixteenth century: see J.J. Martin, ‘Religion, Renewal and Reform in the Sixteenth-Century’ in J.A. Marino (ed.), Early Modern Italy, 1550–1796 (Oxford: oup, 2002); O’Malley, Trent, 104, 115, 248–251. 175 J.J. Martin, Venice’s Hidden Enemies. Italian Heretics in a Renaissance City (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 71–96, 225; Kainulainen, Paolo Sarpi, 128–131. 176 R. Pintard, Le Libertinage érudit dans la première moitié du XVIIe siècle – La Mothe le Vayer, Gassendi, Guy Patin (Paris: Boivin, 1943), 261. 177 O’Malley, Trent, 86, 104, 106–109, 115, 236–237, 248–275. 178 Sarpi depicts the arguments of the Prelates in Trent during the theological debates as deliberately fashioning their view in opposition to Lutheran doctrines. Cf. for example Historia, 156: ‘to agree to this would be to yield to the Lutheran claims…’. This is consistent with O’Malley’s assessment, that ‘Luther set the agenda for the Council’, Trent, 12. 179 Kainulainen, Paolo Sarpi, 127, 129, 138, 198–199. Cf. F.E. Thiriet, ‘Fra Paolo Sarpi, un protestant très catholique’, in Bisanzio e l’Italia: raccolta di studi in memoria di Agostino Pertusi (Milan: Vita e Pensiero, 1982), 363–378.

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be viewed as a case for ‘supra-confessionalism’.180 This had strong political implications and brought him very close to ideas promoted by the politiques in France, who were some of the Venetian’s friends and associates and strong opponents of the Papal side. For Sarpi, nonetheless, as experience had showed, a ‘political’ accommodation was sometimes necessary for the sake of the public good.181 In these cases, it was the theologians with their insistence on trivial details, who presented the obstacle for the pacification of the people: they were ‘difficult and obstinate’, and as such one could not ‘come to such moderate counsels’ as was ‘necessary’.182 The political authority ought to take matters in hand, then, and provide for the general benefit. The primacy to politics that this view endorsed is consistent with both the atheistic and anti-clerical tendencies that Sarpi was accused of, but is also compatible with an internalised notion of religion and the Church, which did not care about externals, such as Lipsius advocated. As Diodati put it, Sarpi is rooted in that most dangerous maxim that God cares nothing for externals, provided the mind and heart are in pure and direct relation with Himself. And so fortified is he in this opinion by reason and examples, that it is vain to combat with him.183 According to anecdotal evidence, Sarpi was to have died having refused to say confession or to receive extreme unction.184 As with similar cases, whether true or not, this is a story that corresponds to the life and convictions of a strongly anti-Papal friar, who ascribed priority to politics in this world and spent a small part of his life serving the state officially. His views, however, did not represent an exception. They were shared by others who also gave precedence to peaceful survival and coexistence on political grounds over the more radical positions of the Papacy or zealous Protestants, by placing emphasis on the reformation of the Church(es), and on limiting the Church(es)’ responsibilities and jurisdictions to the spiritual world. This wider network and broader appeal of Sarpi’s is particularly obvious when we turn to consider, finally, the history 180 Simon, ‘Isaac Casaubon, Fra Paolo Sarpi et l’Église d’Angleterre’, 61; Kainulainen, Paolo Sarpi, 128. Henry Wotton, upon visiting Venice in 1603 had remarked that the Venetians had almost, ‘slipped into a neutrality of religion’; Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton, vol. i, 318. 181 Cf. Historia, 378–379. 182 Cf. Sarpi’s account of the Diet of Ratisbon (Historia, 178–179). 183 Cited by Pearsall-Smith in Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton, 88. 184 Wootton, Paolo Sarpi, 65.

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of the publication of his magnum opus on the Council of Trent and the links to the Scottish King of England, James i. The Historia del Concilio Tridentino on the International Stage After its completion, the work was published in London in 1619, by a printer to the King James vi and i bearing the royal coat-of-arms on the titlepage.185 It came out under the name Pietro Soave Polano, an anagram of Paolo Sarpio, Veneto. As Rome’s target, and having been marginalised by the Venetian state after the end of the Interdict, Sarpi would have felt safer to publish abroad.186 The book was issued in Latin, English and German within a year, and in French within two years.187 It was published in English another three times throughout the seventeenth century, and at least another five times in Latin (Frankfurt, Gorinchem, Leipzig) and seven times in French (Geneva, Paris, Troyes and Amsterdam).188 The book was issued with a dedication to King James i, signed by ­Marcantonio de Dominis, Archbishop of Spalato (1560–1624).189 De Dominis was known for his anti-Papal convictions but was above all famous for his 1616 flight to 185 For the story of the publication see F.A. Yates, ‘Paolo Sarpi’s History of the Council of Trent’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 7 (1944), 129–131; Cozzi, Opere, 721–731; J.L. Lievsay, Venetian Phoenix: Paolo Sarpi and Some of His English Friends (1606–1700) (Lawrence, Manhattan, Wichita: The University Press of Kansas, 1973), 39–53. 186 On Sarpi’s isolation see Bouwsma, Venice and the Defence, 512–516; Vivo, Information and Communication, 54–55, 210–211, 254, and Kainulainen, Paolo Sarpi, 202–203. Note that besides the pamphlets directly linked to the Interdict crisis, Sarpi’s works were either intended for publication abroad, or came out posthumously. 187 Petri Suavis Polani Historiae Concilii Tridentini libri octo, ex Italicis summa fide & accuratione Latini facti.(Augustae Trinobantum [=London]: [Bonham Norton and John Bill], 1620); stc (2nd ed.) 21764; The Historie of the Councel of Trent, op. cit.; Histoire du Concile de Trente, traduit de l’Italien de Pietro Soave Polano par Iean Diodate (Geneve: par Estienne Gamoner, 1621); Aussführliche Histori und Beschreibung dess Concilii zu Trient (Frankfurt am Main: Gottfrid Tampachen, 1620). 188 Information from Copac (http://copac.ac.uk/), estc (http://estc.bl.uk), WorldCat (http://www.worldcat.org/) and Bayerische Staatsbibliothek Munich (http://www .bsb-muenchen.de/). 189 For De Dominis, see Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton, vol. i, 149–150; W.B. Patterson’s article in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford: Oxford up, 2004); also idem, King James vi and i and the Reunion of Christendom (Cambridge: cup, 1997), 220–259.

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England, where he converted to Anglicanism.190 His migration, for which he quoted his ‘quest for truth’ and ‘distaste against the corruptions of Rome’, had caused a sensation among his contemporaries.191 He was also keen on the reconciliation of the Churches, Eastern and Western, Protestant and Catholic.192 It was initially thought that de Dominis was the person who secured the manuscript of the Historia directly from Sarpi himself, and brought it with him to England.193 In fact, the protagonists involved in acquiring and publishing the manuscript were King James himself and George Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury.194 The dedicatory epistle of Nathaniel Brent, the translator of the work into English, claimed that James had ordered the translation and he was the ‘chiefest cause why the originall crossed the Seas before the just nativitie of it and saw the first light within his Majesties dominions…’.195 Further evidence shows that Brent was in Venice during 1618, at the Archbishop’s request, in order to secure the text. He then smuggled it back to England in instalments with the assistance of a network of Dutch merchants.196 James vi and i’s awareness of the composition of the work and his specific interest in its contents in terms of his own policies, are clear from the following letter of 1616 from Sir Henry Wotton (1568–1639), the English ambassador in Venice: The book of Maestro Paolo touching the Council of Trent is newly finished. It containeth many rare things never discovered before, and surely be of much benefit to the Christian Church, if it may be published both 190 De Dominis had, in fact, taken part in the Interdict Controversy, with two (anonymous) works, on the side of Venice. Cf. also Papatvs Romanvs (1617) and The Rockes of Christian Shipwracke (1618), both anti-Papal. He also contributed to the controversy over Arminianism, by writing to the Synod of Dort (1618–9). He eventually returned to Rome, where he was arrested as heretic and died while in prison. 191 Marco Antonio de Dominis, Suae profectionis consilium exponit. (London: [Robert Barker] apud John Bill, 1616); stc (2nd ed.), 6996; cited in Lievsay, Venetian Phoenix, 30. 192 The subject of his massive De Republica Ecclesiastica (London and Hanau: officina Nortoniana apud John Bill; heirs of Levinus Hulsius, 1617–22). 193 Cf. the dedicatory Epistle signed by De Dominis in Historia, a2r.–a4r. 194 Cozzi, Opere, 729. 195 English edition op. cit., ¶6v. For Nathaniel Brent (1573/4–1652) see the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography; apart from Archbishop Abbot, he had close connections with Sir Dudley Carleton (1573–1632), with whom Lievsay suggests he was related; Venetian Phoenix, 45. 196 This stems from the letters of Nathaniel’s son, Basil Brent. The relevant correspondence is cited in Lievsay, Venetian Phoenix, 47.

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in Italian and in Latin. Whereunto the author, upon your Majesty’s persuasion, doth well incline; but I have not yet received his full resolution which he will take about his own person.197 Wotton also reported in June 1619 that he had been telling the German princes ‘of a discourse that was ready to come abroad’. In this discourse ‘all the practices of the Council of Trent, out of the original registers and secret papers would be discovered by an intelligent man …; wherein your Majesty had a hand for the benefit of the Christian world’.198 Sarpi’s value to James’s stance and intentions had been confirmed by an earlier invitation to England by the Stuart King in 1612, transmitted through Sir Dudley Carleton (1574–1632).199 This was consistent with James’s widely acknowledged policy of offering patronage to fugitive intellectual figures that suited his greater plans.200 The King fostered scholars and publicists such as Sarpi, who advocated a reconciliation of the Churches, or at least a peaceful coexistence between confessions under the control of the temporal sword. As in the case of Lipsius, however, the via media was a difficult path to tread; although Sarpi’s text could be employed as a work that promoted supraconfessionalism­and eirinecism, it could also be used as a strongly anti-Papal manifesto. With the addition of de Dominis’ epistle to the reader and a polemical subtitle, the work’s outlook resembled more the latter description. Carleton, a staunch Calvinist who was keen to expose the Council of Trent in an unfavourable manner, also saw the work from this point of view. Carleton has also been credited with convincing Sarpi to produce the book in the form of history, in place of the Venetian’s original intention to publish it as a collection of relevant documents.201 Across the Channel, the French (Catholic) scholar Peiresc (1580–1637), aware of the possible different readings of the text, complained that the preface by de Dominis threatened to discredit a great work in the eyes of those ‘who are not of his opinion’. Likewise, the preface would prevent the Historia from making its way into the hands of Roman Catholics and even 197 Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton, vol. ii, 100. 198 Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton, vol. ii, 178. 199 E. Levi, ‘King James i. and Fra Paolo Sarpi in the Year 1612’, The Athenaeum, no. 3689 (July 9, 1898), 66–67; also Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton, vol. i, 151. 200 See W.B. Patterson, King James vi and i, and the Reunion of Christendom (Cambridge: cup, 1997) Ch. 4; Simon, ‘Isaac Casaubon, Fra Paolo Sarpi et l’Église d’Angleterre’, 39–66. 201 Cozzi sees the trigger for this being a book by Carleton’s cousin: George Carleton, Consensus Ecclesiae Catholicae contra Tridentinos (London: John Bill, 1613). Cf. also Cochrane, Historians and Historiography, 475; Cozzi, Opere, 723–724; Simon, ‘Isaac Casaubon, Fra Paolo Sarpi et l’Église d’Angleterre’, 58.

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Italy.202 Indeed, the work was placed under the Index almost immediately.203 Even from such a small sample of reactions, one can get a clear glimpse of the Historia’s status as a work. Sarpi had composed a rich text that offered a great deal of material to be used for a range of purposes and by different camps – first and foremost, however, it constituted a challenge to the official Roman version of the Council. Sarpi’s positions, thus, represent another forceful response to the religious division and conflict that is affiliated to that of Charron’s and Lipsius’s; all three drew on the same intellectual traditions.204 Though he had not been through the experience of religious strife himself, by observing the same occurrences through time and from a geographical distance, he had come to the same conclusions. His response was direct and originated from historical and practical reflection, as exemplified in the Historia del Concilio Tridentino. His views were widely circulated and popular; they were also particularly useful to the via media combined with the lay supremacy that James promoted in his own three kingdoms. The Scottish King, as the actual head of his state (and after 1603 of the Anglican Church as well), had the ability to put these same views into practice.

202 Cited in Patterson, King James vi and i, 248. 203 Decreed on the 18th of November 1619; Bujanda, Index des Livres Interdits, vol. xi: Index Librorum Prohibitorum 1600–1966, 807. 204 Kainulainen, Paolo Sarpi, 4.

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Peaceful Coexistence through Lay Supremacy: James vi and i and the Struggle for a ‘Middle’ Way Giue vnto Caesar what is Caesars, and to God what is Gods. Regnum meum non est huius mundi... Christian Kings, within their owne dominions, [ought to] gouerne their Church, as well as the rest of their people, in being Custodes vtriusque Tabulæ, not by making new Articles of Faith, (which is the Popes office as I said before) but by commanding obedience to be giuen to the word of God, by reforming the religion according to his prescribed will, by assisting the spirituall power with the temporal sword, by reforming of corruptions, by procuring due obedience to the Church, by iudging, and cutting off all friuolous questions and schisms, as Constantine did…. james vi and i, Triplici Nodo, Triplex Cuneus or an Apologie for the Oath of Allegiance (1607)

∵ Sarpi’s conclusion that the management of ecclesiastical affairs had to be assumed by the secular authorities was, in fact, the principle followed by King James vi of Scotland and i of England (1566–1625) during most of his diverse reign. Like Sarpi, for James there was no question that this was the only way to ensure peaceful coexistence in his kingdoms. The Venetian friar had arrived to this conclusion through his analysis of the history of Christianity and the institution of the Christian Church, as well as an assessment of the bloody contentions of the sixteenth century. Although, like Sarpi, James did not directly experience the full extent of religious warfare himself, he had been through the aftershocks of the aggression of the Reformation in Scotland, at the other end of the notional area of Europe. He lived through the tension between the advocates of further and ‘complete’ reform and the remaining Catholics, the latter consistently regarded as a potentially subversive element in the kingdom of Scotland, and always in communication with Spanish forces. Similarly, as the successor to Elizabeth i, he also came face to face with one of the last waves of Catholic resistance to the Reformation in England, almost losing his life as a

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result. Also like Sarpi, he had to defend himself against Papal claims of temporal supremacy. Unlike the Venetian, however, who could only act as a political advisor, the Stuart King was in a position to enforce, to a considerable extent, the principles that the two men shared. James was a contemplative and a King at once, although perhaps not as dynamic as some of his international friends would have wished him to be. He was exceptionally widely read, and had a number of intellectual interests as evidenced by the diversity of his writings.1 He was aware of the work of both Lipsius and Sarpi, and probably also of Charron.2 Although in the end he lost his esteem for the Flemish scholar, he was an ardent admirer of the Venetian Friar, whose work he sponsored to be published in London.3 James and Sarpi shared a number of acquaintances, who belonged to similar circles; 1 James i, The workes of the most high and mightie prince, James by the grace of God, King of Great Britaine, France and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, &c. Published by James, bishop of Winton, and Deane of His Majesties Chappel Royall (London: Robert Barker and John Bill, 1616 [=1620]); stc (2nd ed.), 14345. A number of studies focus on James as a literary king; see, indicatively, D.H. Wilson, ‘James i and his Literary Assistants’, Huntington Library Quarterly 8 (1944–5), 35–57; J. Wormald, ‘James vi and i, Basilikon Doron and The Trew Law of Free Monarchies: the Scottish Context and the English Translation’ in L.L. Peck (ed.), The Mental World of the Jacobean Court (Cambridge: cup, 1991), 36–54; D. Fishling and M. Fortier (eds), Royal Subjects. Essays on the Writings of James vi and i (Detroit: Wayne State up, 2002), esp. idem, ‘“Enregistrate Speech”: Stratagems of Monarchic Writing in the Work of James vi and i’; J. Rickard, Authorship and Authority: The Writings of James vi and i (Manchester: Manchester up, 2007); eadem, ‘The Writings of James vi and i and Early Modern Literary Culture’, Literature Compass, 9/10 (2012), 654–664; eadem, ‘John Donne, James i and the Dilemmas of Publication’, in P. Langman (ed.), Negotiating the Jacobean Printed Book (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2011), 89–100. 2 James advises his son in the Basilikon Doron (1599): ‘keepe trew Constancie, not only in your kindnesse towards honest men; but also inuicti animi against all aduersities: not with that Stoicke insensible stupiditie that proud inconstant Lipsius persuadeth in his Constantia’. The quotation in italics was expunged from the second edition of the work (1603), and the passage read like this: ‘not with that Stoicke insensible stupiditie wherewith many in our dayes, preassing to winne honour, in imitating that ancient sect, by their inconstant behaviour in their owne lives, belie their profession’; The Basilicon Doron of King James vi, ed. J. Craigie, 2 vols. (Edinburgh and London: Scottish Text Society, 1944–50), 156–157. The English edition of Charron’s work bears a dedication to James’s son Henry by the translator, Samson Lennard: Of Wisdome. Three Bookes (London: Edward Blount and Witt Aspley, ?1608). 3 For the story of the publication see F.A. Yates, ‘Paolo Sarpi’s History of the Council of Trent’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 7 (1944), 129–131; G. and L. Cozzi (eds), Paolo Sarpi, Opere, (Milan: R. Ricciardi, 1969), 721–731; J.L. Lievsay, Venetian Phoenix: Paolo Sarpi and Some of His English Friends (1606–1700) (Lawrence, Manhattan, Wichita: The University Press of Kansas, 1973), 39–53.

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these included – apart from the two English ambassadors, Henry Wootton and Dudley Carleton – Isaac Casaubon (1559–1614), Jean Hotman (1552–1636), William Camden (1551–1623), Jacques de Thou (1553–1617) and Jérôme Groslot (d.1622).4 James had received an excellent humanistic education, having been taught by the famous humanist, George Buchanan (1506–1582), while he had also received very good theological training by his other, less famous tutor, Peter Young (1544–1628), a former student of Theodore Beza.5 The King thus became competent in theological debate, while also producing from an early age several texts in poetry, prose, scriptural exegesis and politics. As with the previous three figures examined in this study, James’s religious outlook was called into question throughout his life, especially in relation to his policies. Born of a Catholic mother, but raised under strict Calvinist supervision, he was criticised in Scotland for the lenience he showed towards his Catholic subjects, as well as his unwillingness to accept that his kingship was to be subjected to the spiritual control of the Kirk.6 Similarly, as the King of England, he came under fire for his stance towards Catholicism and Catholic powers and his decidedly ambiguous policies with regard to Protestant interests.7 Many of his subjects felt that he did not live up to the role of the leader 4 For further details, see Chapter 1. 5 D.H. Willson, James vi and i (Oxford: Alden Press, 1962), 19–25; R.A. Mason, ‘George Buchanan, James vi and the Presbyterians’ in idem (ed.), Kingship and the Commonweal. Political Thought in Renaissance and Reformation Scotland (East Linton: Tuckwell Press, 1998) 187–214; esp. 189–191. 6 For James’s rule in Scotland see among others, J. Wormald, Court, Kirk and Community: Scotland, 1470–1625 (London: Edward Arnold, 1981); J.M. Brown, ‘Scottish Politics, 1567–1625’ in A.G.R. Smith (ed.), The Reign of James vi and i (London: Macmillan, 1973), esp. 22–39; G. Donaldson, Scotland: James v to James viii (Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd, 1965), esp. 157–275; M. Lee Jr., Great Britain’s Solomon: James vi and i in His Three Kingdoms (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1990), esp. 1–92; Willson, King James vi and i, 13–137; P. Croft, King James (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), Ch. 1; J. Goodare and M. Lynch (eds), The Reign of James vi (East Linton: Tuckwell Press, 2000) and J. Goodare and A.A. MacDonald (eds), ­Sixteenth-Century Scotland. Essays in Honour of Michael Lynch (Leiden: Brill, 2008). 7 On James’s religious policy see indicatively, F. Shriver, ‘Hampton Court Re-visited: James i and the Puritans’, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 30 (1982), 48–71; P. Collinson, ‘The Jacobean Religious Settlement: The Hampton Court Conference’ in H. Tomlinson (ed.), Before the Civil War: Essays on Early Stuart Politics and Government (London: Macmillan, 1983), 27–51; idem, The Religion of Protestants: The Church in English Society, 1559–1625 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982); K. Fincham, Prelate as Pastor: The Episcopate of James i (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990); N. Tyacke, Anti-Calvinists: The Rise of English Arminianism, c. 1590–1640 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987), 9–28; D. Newton, The Making of the Jacobean Regime: James vi and i and the Government of England, 1603–1605 (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2005); C.W.A. Prior,

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of Protestant Europe, especially when compared to his predecessor, Elizabeth i. From the Catholics’ point of view, this was a king who did not grant them the much-anticipated toleration, but became embroiled, instead, in a decade-long controversy with their spiritual leader and with Rome’s publicists. Similar contention concerning his religious and ‘foreign’ policies has troubled modern scholars.8 James’s pacifism goes a long way towards explaining these ambiguities and disparate reactions to his politics. To maintain peace in his kingdoms he consistently promoted a middle way, excluding religious zealots of all sides. With this, he was responding to the religious divisions that had ensued on both a local as well as on an international level. Maintaining a via media was, for him, the only means to secure peace; furthermore, he believed that the only strategy to ensure a middle way was for the ecclesiastical polity to be administered by the temporal sword. Additionally, James saw himself as a European monarch whose purpose was to bring the dissenting Churches together. He thought of peace at home as a prerequisite for concord throughout Christendom and viceversa. This chapter will consider the King’s particular responses to the religious divisions, and the manner in which his views on jurisdiction went hand in hand with his eirenicist outlook and moderate religious approach. It will look at the King’s views as expressed in several of his writings, in conjunction with the manner in which he sought to put them into practice. James’s thoughts on the separation of jurisdictions and lay supremacy were frequently published. Either penned by himself personally, or in collaboration with his publicists, texts signed by James were often issued in response to critical occurrences of his reign, from the antagonism with the Scottish Kirk in the Defining the Jacobean Church: The Politics of Religious Controversy, 1603–25 (Cambridge: cup, 2005), and more specific references throughout the chapter. 8 On issues of foreign policy see among others, M. Smuts, ‘The Making of Rex Pacificus: James vi and i and the Problem of Peace in an Age of Religious War’ in Royal Subjects, 371–387; W.B. Patterson, King James vi and i and the Reunion of Christendom (Cambridge: cup, 1997); M. Lee, Jr., James i and Henry iv: An Essay in English Foreign Policy, 1603–1610 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1970); S.L. Adams, ‘Spain or the Netherlands?: The Dilemmas of Early Stuart Foreign Policy’ in Tomlinson, Before the Civil War, 79–101; idem, ‘Foreign Policy and the Parliaments of 1621 and 1624’ in K. Sharpe (ed.), Faction and Parliament: Essays on Early Stuart History (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978), 139–171; T. Cogswell, ‘England and the Spanish Match’ in R. Cust and A. Hughes (eds), Conflict in Early Stuart England (London: Longman, 1989), 107–133; R. Zaller, ‘“Interest of State”: James i and the Palatinate’, Albion 6 (1974), 144–175; G. Redworth, ‘Of Pimps and Princes: Three Unpublished Letters from James i and the Prince of Wales relating to the Spanish Match’, Historical Journal 37 (1994), 401–409 and more specific references throughout the chapter.

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early years, to the opposition he faced from ‘Puritans’ at the outbreak of the Thirty Years’ War.9 Though a lay ruler, his writings are rich with theological resonances. These constitute a reflection of his wider perception of his kingly role as a ‘divine’, or his ‘theological understanding of kingship’.10 According to his outlook, a King ought to act as a mediator between his subjects and God, and, as a result, as an administrator of the affairs of the Church. While responding to the same challenges and operating within the same theoretical framework of Charron, Lipsius and Sarpi in his acknowledgment of the distinctions of public-private, and lay-ecclesiastical as a starting point, the King took these arguments a step further. As we shall see, he redefined the lines of demarcation and promoted lay supremacy on the question of authority. James closely followed wider European affairs and developments and constantly referred to them in his writings. During his reign, but especially after his accession to the English throne, he aspired to partake in these affairs even if his rhetoric did not translate into active intervention.11 Many of his texts were written in response to events in the Continent and with a European audience in mind. His name on the title page ensured wide circulation.12 He had a number of eirenicist contacts, and invited and sheltered intellectuals and scholars of the same disposition to his court. Some of the most prominent ones included the French Huguenot scholar Isaac Casaubon, mentioned above, the Dutch jurist Hugo Grotius (1583–1645), the French diplomat Jean Hotman and the 9 10

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On this see esp. Wilson, ‘James and his Literary Assistants’, op cit. Cf. F. Oakley, ‘Jacobean Political Theology: the Absolute and Ordinary Powers of the King’, Journal of the History of Ideas 29 (1968), 323–346 and idem, ‘The “Hidden” and “Revealed” Wills of James i: More Political Theology’, Studia Gratiana xli (1972), 365–375. Cf. Mark Sarpi’s disillusionment on this point: ‘If the King of England were not a doctor’, he wrote in 1612, ‘we might hope for some good’, but, he noted, instead of arms and money James contributed nothing to the cause of political liberty but books and words; also: ‘It is one thing to be a clever theologian, quite another to be a valorous king’; cited by W.J. Bouwsma in Venice and the Defense of Republican Liberty. Renaissance Values in the Age of the Counter Reformation (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968), 526. J.P. Sommerville, ‘James i and the Divine Right of Kings: English Politics and Continental Theory’ in Peck, Mental World, 55–70. See the immediate issue of most of James’s works in Latin; e.g. James i, Serenissimi et potentissimi Principis Iacobi, Dei gratia, Magnæ Britanniæ, Franciæ, et Hiberniæ Regis, fidei defensoris, opera, edita ab Iacobo Montacuto, Wintoniensi Episcopo, & sacelli regij decano (London: John Norton and John Bill, 1619 [=1620]); stc (2nd ed.), 14346.5. On the marketing of James’s views see indicatively R.J. Lyall, ‘The Marketing of James vi and i: Scotland, England and the Continental Book Trade’, Qærendo 32 (2002), 204–217 and A. Stilma, A King Translated: The Writings of James vi & i and their Interpretation in the Netherlands, 1593–1603 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2012).

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German Lutheran theologian Georg Calixtus (1586–1656).13 These aspects indicate that he operated within an international intellectual milieu, as his main premise was to achieve religious reconciliation between embattled Christians. For James, as for Sarpi, the religious conflict that had lasted almost a century could be put to an end if ecclesiastical authorities left the temporal rulers to resolve the issues at a political level. After all, experience demonstrated that the clergy was responsible for inflaming passions and inciting conflict. The effects of ecclesiastical interference in politics became even more devastatingly obvious for James after the Gunpowder Plot in 1605 and his attempt to impose the Oath of Allegiance. It was in response to the Papal intervention after the latter that James officially entered the European arena of pamphlet war.

‘Render Therefore unto Caesar the Things Which Are Caesar’s’: The Controversy over the Oath of Allegiance and the International Milieu

The Oath, Texts and Reactions The decision to impose an Oath of Allegiance came in 1606, the year after the attempt on James’s life with the Gunpowder Plot.14 Interpretations for the objectives behind this decision run generally across two lines. The more favourable ones suggest that the Oath would simply distinguish the potentially subversive extreme Catholics from the moderates, and James’s action is perceived either to be granting covert toleration or simply trying to conciliate his moderate­Catholic subjects. Less favourable interpretations, conversely, argue 13 Patterson, James vi and i, Ch. 4. 14 For the imposition of the Oath and the subsequent controversy see, among others, ‘Introduction’ in C.H. McIlwain (ed.), The Political Works of James i (Cambridge: Harvard up, 1918); J.P. Sommerville, ‘Jacobean Political Thought and the Controversy over the Oath of Allegiance’, unpublished Ph.D. dissertation (Cambridge, 1981); Chs. 1 and 2; idem, ‘Papalist Thought and the Controversy over the Jacobean Oath of Allegiance’, in E.H. Shagan (ed.), Catholics and the ‘Protestant Nation’: Religious Politics and Identity in Early Modern England (Manchester: Manchester up, 2005), 162–184; Patterson, King James vi and i, Ch. 3; M.C. Questier, ‘Religion, Loyalism and State Power in Early Modern England: English Romanists and the Jacobean Oath of Allegiance’, Historical Journal 40 (1997), 311–329; S. Tutino, Law and Consicence: Catholicism in Early Modern England, 1570–1625 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), Ch. 5 and eadem, Empire of Souls. Robert Bellarmine and the Christian Commonwealth (Oxford: oup, 2010), Ch. 4; B. Bourdin, The Theological-Political Origins of the Modern State. The Controversy between James i of England and Cardinal Bellarmine, trans. S. Pickford (Washington d.c.: The Catholic University of America Press, 2010), Ch. 6.

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for a Jacobean policy of persecution, which the imposition of the Oath would put into force.15 James’s explanation that he wanted to set ‘a marke of distinction betweene good Subiects, and bad’, taken at face value, supports the first view.16 The clause that obliged soldiers fighting abroad to take the Oath also seems to add evidence that its purpose was the security of the polity.17 By taking the Oath, James’s subjects avowed that the Pope had no authority to ­depose their king, or to dispose of any of his kingdoms or dominions; that he could not authorise any foreign Prince to invade the country; and most important, finally, that the Pope had no authority to discharge any of the subjects from  their allegiance to the king or to allow any of them to rise against the person of the king or the government of the state.18 They also swore to regard as heretical the position that allowed the deposition and assassination of kings who had been excommunicated by the Pope. Pope Paul v’s (Borghese, 1605–21) written instruction to the head of the Catholic community, advising him not to take the Oath (September 1606), struck a chord with James. According to the Pope’s letter, swearing this Oath would be damaging to the Catholics’ faith and salvation of their souls, for it ‘contained many points’ that were ‘contrary to faith and salvation’.19 James considered this an outright interference in his jurisdiction, provoking his subjects 15

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K. Fincham and P. Lake in ‘The Ecclesiastical Policy of King James i’, Journal of British Studies 24 (1985), 169–207, seem to agree with the view that it was planned as a means to distinguish between the radical and the moderate Catholics; M. Questier in ‘Religion, Royalism and State Power’ sees the Oath as a powerful tool that James used as part of his policy of persecution; Patterson, King James vi and i, sees the Oath as part of James’s ecumenical plan; and J.J. LaRocca ‘“Who Can’t Pray with Me, Can’t Love Me”: Toleration and the Early Jacobean Recusancy Policy’, Journal of British Studies 23 (1984), 22–36 sees it as a move through which the King was in effect partially granting toleration. Similar stance is adopted by Sommerville in his range of works on the issue. The debate as to whether the plot was an orchestration from above aimed at unifying James’s Protestant subjects is perpetuated and exemplified by M. Nicholls, Investigating the Gunpowder Plot (Manchester: Manchester up, 1991) and F. Edwards, ‘Still Investigating the Gunpowder Plot’, Recusant History 21 (1992–93), 305–346. Triplici Nodo, Triplex Cuneus or an Apologie for the Oath of Allegiance, in James i, Workes, 247–286, 274 (heretofore referred to as Apologie). Cf. also Premonition to All Most Mightie Monarches, Kings, free Princes and States of Christendome, in James Workes, 287–346: 292 (heretofore referred to as Premonition). It was feared that soldiers who did not take the Oath would turn their swords not against the Dutch, but against England; Sommerville, ‘Jacobean Political Thought and the Controversy over the Oath of Allegiance’, 25–27. Apologie, 250–251. Apologie, 250–251.

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to refuse ‘to professe their naturall obedience’ to their sovereign.20 A second Papal letter (August 1607) repeated the order to the followers of the Catholic faith to avoid taking the Oath.21 A further, more personal letter by Cardinal Robert Bellarmine to the Archpriest George Blackwell (1545–1613) also advised against the taking of the Oath (September 1607). According to Bellarmine, the real objective behind the King’s measure was to deny the authority of the Apostolic See and to transfer this authority to the successor of Henry viii.22 The timing of this correspondence was significant: the first Papal letter had been dispatched right in the middle of the Venetian Interdict crisis (April 1606–April 1607), that the King was following very closely. It was difficult, therefore, not to perceive the situation as an orchestrated assault by the Papacy against temporal sovereignties – Bellarmine, after all, had also been at the forefront of the dispute with Venice.23 This was the context of James’s decision to enter the international pamphlet war that was already in full swing, giving a response to both the Pope and the Cardinal. One has also to remember the King’s fondness for theological disputation, especially when this was paired with a challenge to his own authority.24 Despite James’s fears of being either excommunicated or assassinated, whether there was actual danger of the Pope deposing him, or of a Catholic coup, is a matter for speculation.25 In any case, James resolved to publish his Triplici Nodo, Triplex Cuneus or an Apologie for the Oath of Allegiance (anonymously, in early 1607).26 French and Latin translations quickly followed.27 From the Papal camp, and particularly by Bellarmine, this 20 Apologie, 248–249. 21 Apologie, 258. 22 Apologie, 260–262; Tutino, Empire of Souls, 131–132. 23 Tutino, Empire of Souls, Ch. 3; Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense, Chs. 7–8 and Filippo de Vivo, Information and Communication in Venice. Rethinking Early Modern Politics (Oxford: oup, 2007), 207–208, 213, 215–216. 24 Patterson’s argument, that James was deeply moved by a conviction that his motives had been misunderstood in Rome, is a little more difficult to prove, especially if we consider that his later writings are of a more polemical nature; King James vi and i, 84. 25 See Sommerville, ‘Jacobean Political Thought and the Controversy over the Oath of Allegiance’, 39–41. 26 [James i], Triplici nodo, triplex cuneus, or, An apologie for the oath of allegiance, against the two breues of Pope Paulus Quintus, and the late letter of Cardinal Bellarmine to G. Blackwel the Arch-priest (London: Robert Barker, 1607); stc (2nd ed.), 14400. 27 [James i], Triplici nodo triplex cuneus. Siue Apologia pro iuramento fidelitatis: aduersus duo breuia P. Pauli Quinti, & epistolam Cardinalis Bellarmini, ad G. Blackuellum Archipresbyterum nuper scriptam. Authoritate regia (London: Robert Barker, 1607); stc (2nd ed.), 14403; and Triplici nodo, triplex cuneus, ou, Apologie pour le serment de fidelité, contre les deux brefs du pape Paul cinquiesme,& la lettre du cardinal Bellarmin escrite a G. Blackwell

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publication­was perceived as a challenge on a European level that could not go unanswered.28 Bellarmine’s response contained an unpleasant revelation: he brought to light information that the King had been in communication with Clement viii (Aldobrandini, 1592–1607) while still in Scotland, making serious insinuations about James’s inclinations to Catholicism.29 In order to refute the Cardinal, the King re-edited the Apology under his name with an added preface. The Premonition to All Most Mightie Monarches, Kings, Free Princes and States of Christendome (1609) personally addressed the Emperor Rudolph ii and all the ‘temporal powers’ and was specifically composed with the ‘intent to make the political implications of the Oath very explicit’ to all European rulers.30 [figs. 4 and 5] Indeed, this second tract had a much bigger impact than the first and was almost immediately translated into Latin and French, with Dutch and German editions following soon afterwards.31 This was a critical blow to the Curia as it resonated with all the different fronts which (Leiden: s.n., 1608). The English ambassador to Venice, Sir Henry Wotton records that the Apologie was being read in Venice before the end of March; Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton, ed. L. Pearsall-Smith, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1907); vol. i, 416. 28 Tutino, Empire of Souls, 131, 139. 29 Matteo Torti [=Bellarmine], Responsio ad Librvm Inscriptvm, Triplici nodo, Triplex Cuneus, Sive Apologia pro Iuramento Fidelitatis ([Rome?]: permisso superiorum, 1608). 30 James vi and i, An apologie for the oath of allegiance: First set foorth without a name: and now acknowledged by the author, the right high and mightie prince, Iames, by the grace of God, King of Great Britaine, France and Ireland; defender of the faith, &c. Together with a premonition of his Maiesties, to all most mightie monarches, kings, free princes and states of Christendome (London: Robert Barker, printer to the King’s most excellent Maiestie, 1609); estc: no. S107617. 31 Tutino, Empire of Souls, 140; Patterson, King James vi and i, 97–115. James vi and i, Apologia pro iuramento fidelitatis: primum quidem ανώνυμος: nunc verο ab ipso auctore, serenissimo ac potentissimo principe, Iacobo denuo edita. Cui praemissa est praefatio monitoria, sacratissimo Cæsari Rodolpho ii. caeterisque Christiani orbis serenissimis ac potentissimis monarchis ac regibus: illustrissimis celsissimisque; liberis principibus, rebus publicis atq[ue] ordinibus inscripta, eodem auctore (London: John Norton, 1609); stc (2nd ed.), 14405; Apologie pour le serment de fidelité que le serenissime Roy de la grand’ Bretagne requiert de tous ses sujets, tant ecclesiastiques que seculiers, tel que tout autre prince souuerain le peut & doit legitemement requerir des siens. Ensemble vn ample aduertissement, ou preface dudit Seigneur Roy, à tous les monarques, rois, princes, estats & republiques libres de la Chrestienté. (London: John Norton, 1609); estc no. S107671; [trans. J. Loiseau de Tourval]. The Dutch edition was issued in Leiden in 1609; there were another four Latin editions (London: Norton in 1610; the Hague; Amsterdam, both in 1609; [Cologne?], 1610) and two German ([Basel?], 1609; Erfurt, 1610). Information derives from Copac (merged online catalogues of major University, Specialist, and National Libraries in the uk and Ireland; http://copac.ac.uk/), accessed June 2014.

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Titlepage of James i, Apologia pro iuramento fidelitatis (London: excudebat John Norton, 1609) [Durham Palace Green Library, sb 2299].

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Dedication to contemporary rulers, from James i, Apologia pro iuramento fidelitatis (London: excudebat John Norton, 1609); A2r [Durham Palace Green Library, sb 2299].

were of concern to the Papacy in Europe: ‘Gallicanism in France, heterodoxy at the Emperor’s court, the anti-Papal stance of Venice, the growth of Calvinism in the Rhineland, and the loyalty of Roman Catholics in Britain’.32 Copies 32 Patterson, King James vi and i, 97–98. For the reactions and the anxiety in Rome see also Robert Peters, ‘Some Catholic Opinions of King James vi and i’, Journal of Recusant History 10 (1969) 292–303; esp. 299–303.

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were presented individually to all the princes and principalities. Papal nuncios were instructed to prevent the acceptance and circulation of the Premonition, albeit with mixed results.33 In his retort, James demonstrated that the problem of Papal claims to temporal authority was not a sole occurrence but that it had strong roots in history. Therefore, it ought to be of shared concern to all sovereigns, irrespectively of their or their subjects’ confession.34 That James’s rhetoric, underlined by the specific address to the European monarchs did have an effect, is witnessed by several reactions. Cardinal Du Perron (1556–1618), Henri iv’s adviser, deemed that the tract contained ‘some points worthy of consideration’. Henri iv’s own assessment was that the Premonition was more ‘anti-Puritan than anti-Catholic’, a confirmation that the King’s aim at chastising religious extremism was understood, while Henri also seemed convinced by James’s position that the Oath was about politics.35 In Venice, the climate was already anti-Papal and pro-James when the Premonition was issued. In response to the Inquisition’s request that the King’s work be prohibited, the Venetians unofficially enforced the same restriction to Bellarmine’s book.36 The impact of the King’s work is further substantiated by the subsequent heavy international involvement in the discussion. Within the next two to five years a pan-European controversy unfolded, debating the nature of temporal and spiritual authority and their respective limits. Some of the most notable contributions to the Papal stance, besides Bellarmine’s Apologia (1610),37 were tracts by two Jesuit theologians in Germany, Martin Becanus (1563–1624) and Jacob Gretser (1562–1625); a highly erudite response by the Spanish Jesuit Francisco Suarez (1548–1617), the Defensio Fidei Catholicae (1613); in France, two replies by the Jesuit Andreas Eudaemon-Johannes (1566–1625) as well as by the Dominican Nicolas Coiffeteau (1574–1623); a tract by the Flemish Jesuit Leonard Lessius (1554–1626) and the Dutch theologian Adolf Schulken (1569–1626). Conversely, the King’s positions were supported among others, by William Barclay (1546–1608); the famous classical scholar Isaac Casaubon (1559–1614); the Calvinist pastor Pierre du Moulin (1568–1658); the Catholic-inclined poet John Donne; and the divine George Carleton 33

Cf. Tutino, Empire of Souls, 143–148; Patterson, King James vi and i, 97–99; Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense, 510. 34 Cf. Premonition, 333. 35 Tutino, Empire of Souls, 145–148; Patterson, King James vi and i, 99–100. 36 Tutino, Empire of Souls, 143–145. 37 Apologia Robert S.R.E. Cardinalis Bellarmini pro responsione sua ad librum Iacobu Magnae Britanniae Regis cuius titulus est Triplici nodo triplex cuneus. (Rome: Bartholomeo Zannetti, 1610).

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1559–1628), cousin of the diplomat. This second wave of publications coincided with the volatile and complicated circumstances after the assassination of Henri iv in France (1610). The situation was thus further inflamed as the attack on the French King accentuated the significance of the issues at stake and hard-earned peace and religious coexistence proved vulnerable to violence incited by the clergy. Thus James’s text set off a vigorous debate; even if in the end the debate did not result in a real confrontation, James’s points were forceful and fuelled the controversy. Texts and Arguments The premise informing the Scottish King’s defence of the Oath of Allegiance was very similar to the one that formed the core of the Venetian rhetoric during the Interdict crisis and that of Sarpi, beginning with the anti-Papal sentiments expressed in their writings. Even though the King’s aversion towards the Papacy can safely be seen on confessional grounds, the confessional element alone is not sufficient in explaining his standpoint. This is above all evident in James’s assumption that all rulers, Catholic as well as Protestant, were on the same side of the conflict; they all shared the same interests and were all under the same threat of Papal intervention in the domain of their jurisdiction.38 It was in this context that James had enlisted a number of Catholic polemicists to write in defence of his stance. For both the Calvinist James and the Catholic Sarpi, the most abominable and dangerous feature of the Papacy was its claim to temporal power. The King’s line of reasoning also had the same starting point as the Venetian friar, the Biblical proverb ‘Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s and to God what is God’s’, in conjunction with Christ’s declaration that His Kingdom was ‘not of this world’. Both these mottos are repeated frequently in the King’s texts relating to the Oath controversy.39 The Venetian Republic made extensive use of both these dicta, as referred to already, employing them on banners in public processions – an event that the English ambassador Henry Wotton (1568–1639) reported on.40 The implications of these were that the holders of spiritual office did not have any jurisdiction within this world. Temporal matters were to be administered by sovereign rulers, who, in turn, were only answerable to God. The Pope and the clergy’s responsibilities and jurisdiction were limited on sacerdotal matters, entirely separate from 38 Cf. Premonition, 289. 39 Cf. Apologie, 256 and 284; Remonstrance for the Right of Kings and the Independance of their Crownes, in James i, Workes, 381–484, 417. 40 Life and Letters of Sir Henry Wotton, vol. i, 350.

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secular issues. James vi and i’s principal argument throughout the controversy that the Oath of Allegiance only ‘meddle[d] with the ciuill and temporall Obedience, due by Subiects to their naturall Soueraignes’, is located within this shared discourse.41 Conversely, the Pope insisted that the Oath contained elements quite contrary to Catholic beliefs and by taking it, the English Catholics would be damaging their faith and endangering the salvation of their souls.42 In his Apology, James indicated that there was a clear and obvious divide between earthly and celestial affairs. As a result, it was ‘incomprehensible’ to him how the profession of the ‘naturall Allegiance of Subiects to their [temporal] Prince’ and ‘ciuill and temporall obedience’ could be opposite to the faith and salvation of his subjects’ souls.43 In his Premonition, the King further explained his insistence that Papal excommunication could not warrant James’s subjects to go against his person or the state, thereby denying the deposition of Kings ‘to be in the Popes lawfull power’. Such perception would be ‘temporall violence’ and ‘farre without the limits of such a Spirituall censure as Excommunication is’.44 In contrast to this, Cardinal Bellarmine advocated that to deny the Pope the power to depose Kings was to deny his power of excommunication.45 To this categorical position, James put forward a much more accommodating one, making a distinction between ‘good subjects’ and ‘bad’. James’s attempt at taking a moderate stance is well illustrated in a juxtaposition of the Oath of Allegiance with that of Supremacy, devised by Henry viii (1534). Countering Bellarmine’s accusation that James’s Oath (1606) was merely a reiteration of that earlier one, the King explained that the Oath he proposed concerned only ‘the ciuill obedience of Subiects to their Soueraigne, in mere temporall causes…’. On the contrary, Henry viii’s Oath of Supremacy declared the King’s ‘absolute power’, instating him as a civil and ecclesiastical ‘judge’, the only supreme governor, ‘aswell in all Spirituall or Ecclesiasticall things or causes, as Temporall’ and excluding all foreign powers and ‘Potentates’ to be judges within his dominions.46 Whereas the objective behind the Oath of Supremacy had been to distinguish between followers of the Catholic faith and followers of ‘our own Profession’, James insisted that on the contrary, his intent was to differentiate between ‘ciuilly obedient Papists’ and the 41 42 43 44 45 46

Premonition, 295–299. Apologie, 250–251. Apologie, 254 and 256. Premonition, 292. Premonition, 295; Tutino, Empire of Souls, 133–134. Apologie, 263–264.

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‘peruerse­disciples of the Powder-Treason’.47 That his aim was understood correctly by at least some Catholics is evidenced by one of the King’s opponents, the Jesuit Robert Parsons (1546–1610) who in his own response to James mentioned, that ‘to proceede against any prince … this, I suppose was not the feeling of the Catholics who took the oath’.48 The distinction between ‘followers of the Catholic faith’ and ‘traitors’ is one that James returned to frequently in his texts.49 His classification of subjects into zealots and moderates rather than Protestants and Catholics adds credence to the fact that his position was not determined by confessional divides; his subjects’ religious affiliation was not important to him, so long as they professed their loyalty to him. The Papal camp, however, through Bellarmine’s pen, maintained that the clergy was above temporal sovereigns; they were ‘exempted from the power of the earthly Kings’.50 Even if the two jurisdictions were separate, spiritual authority was superior, since ‘the temporal end is subordinate to the superior end’.51 In this thinking, since ecclesiastical authority was concerned with eternal life, ‘to which all other ends are subordinated, the political art of governing people was subject and subordinate to it’.52 For Bellarmine, all secular power derived from men, as opposed to the power of the Pope that derived immediately from God. Accordingly, the Holy See had the right to depose kings once they were ‘in fault against Christian religion’. Furthermore, it had the right to exercise its indirect power in temporal affairs when a ‘concern of faith’, ‘the salvation of souls, the welfare of religion, or the preservation of the Church’ were at stake, or more in general, a ‘necessity of the Church’ required so.53 In order to remove any sacerdotal connotations from kingship, the Cardinal further argued that kings were created by the people who transferred the authority to the king and who could withdraw it from the kings.54 In this respect, although Bellarmine recognised boundaries between spiritual and temporal power, he nevertheless promoted the position that some breaching was occasionally­ 47 Apologie, 263. 48 Cited in Tutino, Empire of Souls, 139. 49 Cf. Basilikon Doron, 47–49. 50 Premonition, 296. 51 Robert Bellarmine, On Temporal and Spiritual Authority, ed. S. Tutino (Indianapolis: Liberty Fund Press, 2013), 252. Cf. also 43, 85, 127–128, 132, 157, 158, 161, 188, 237, 247. 52 Bellarmine, On Temporal and Spiritual Authority, 158. 53 See for instance, Bellarmine, On Temporal and Spiritual Authority, 123–144, 158, 161, 185, 188, 246 etc. Cf. also John C. Murray, ‘St. Robert Bellarmine on the Indirect Power’, Theological Studies ix (1948), 491–535; esp. 497–499; Apologie, 282. 54 Bellarmine, On Temporal and Spiritual Authority, 128; cf. Premonition, 331.

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necessary, as for him there was a clear priority of the spiritual over the temporal. Seen from this angle, the clerical order, as the representative of all things divine, ought to have more influence than the lay order. This is consistent with Bellarmine’s request to Blackwell, not to prefer a liberty in this world at the expense of a liberty in the world of God.55 Even though James conceded that celestial concerns ought to take precedence over temporal ones, he was adamant that in this world the secular leader ought to administer all earthly affairs. The King gave this view full expression in his Premonition, categorically denying that there was an earthly monarch of the Church: ‘Because earthly Kingdomes must haue earthly Monarches; it doeth not follow, that the Church must haue a visible Monarch too: for the world hath not One earthly temporall Monarch. Christ is his Churches Monarch, and the holy Ghost his Deputie’.56 The secular and ecclesiastical separation followed naturally from the temporal-divine separation; temporal bodies ought to have an earthly head; this, however does not apply to the body of the Church, which is directly guided by Christ. From this standard argument, James sustained two further related assertions. First, to refute the Papal claims of earthly monarchy, the King elaborated on the position that Papal usurpation of power stemmed from the Pontifical preoccupation with worldly gains at the expense of the Papacy’s pastoral duties. This eventually led to the arrogance and ambition expressed in the claims for temporal supremacy – a contention identical to Sarpi. Following from that, was James’s second claim that, in fact, not only was the role of the temporal and secular authorities entirely different and separate, but that certain control over ecclesiastical affairs ought to be under the lay jurisdiction. The King insisted that according to the Scriptures, Princes were invested with their authority by God. Obedience was thus rendered necessary in the Christians’ duties towards God, for the sake of peace and order, even in the case of an apostate king.57 To prove the first claim, James made use of ecclesiastical history and the Bible in a manner very similar to Sarpi.58 For him ‘this late vsurpation of Popes’ over the temporal power of Princes was against all Scriptures, ancient Councils

55 56 57 58

Apologie, 262. Premonition, 306. Cf. the example of Julian the Apostate (331/2–363) in Apologie, 255. For the centrality of historical argumentation in the literature produced by James himself and the circle around him see L.A. Ferell, Government by Polemic. James i, the King’s Preachers, and the Rhetorics of Conformity, 1603–1625 (Stanford: Stanford up, 1998), 129–130.

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and Church Fathers.59 The primacy of the Apostolic Sea had ‘slender grounds’ on the word of God: James had never read ‘of Pontifex Maximus’ in all the Scripture.60 Addressing the theological foundation of the Papal claims, he expressed his fury at the Catholic view that Christ had instructed Peter to oversee the whole world.61 James, in a similar manner to Sarpi, employed arguments from a historical stance presenting an overview of the lives of the Apostles, the early years of the Church, and the institutional history of the Church after the establishment of Christianity as the official religion of the Roman Empire. He used evidence to demonstrate that the primacy of the Papal See was not always recognised, mentioning the example of Pope Leo i (440–61) and his contention with the Patriarch of Constantinople on this matter. The King pointed out that the Council of Chalcedon (451) did not recognise any privilege to the Papal See – rather, the Council had decreed that both New and Old Rome were of the same status.62 Equally, the title of the universal bishop was refused by Gregory the Great (Pope Gregory i, 590–640) when it was offered to him.63 On the contrary, far from being similes Petro, contemporary Popes had lapsed into an unprecedented vanity and arrogance that made them equate themselves with Gods upon earth. James’s irritation towards this attitude is plain: But how they are now come to be Christs Vicars, nay Gods on earth, triple-crowned, Kings of heauen, earth and hell, Iudges of all the world, and none to iudge them; Heads of the faith, Absolute deciders of all Controuersies by the infallibility of their spirit, hauing all power both Spirituall and Temporall in their hands; the high Bishops, Monarches of the whole earth, Superiours to all Emperours and Kings; yea, Supreme Vicegods, who whether they will or not cannot erre: how they are now come (I say) to the toppe of greatnesse, I know not: but sure I am, Wee that are KINGS haue greatest neede to looke vnto it. As for me, Paul and Peter i know, but these men I know not: And yet to doubt of this, is to denie the Catholique faith….64

59 60 61 62 63 64

Premonition, 295 and 292. Apologie, 281 and 286. Premonition, 306–307, and 296. Apologie, 280. Cf. W. Ullmann, A Short History of the Papacy in the Middle Ages (London: Methuen & Co, 1972), 20, 25–26. Apologie, 279. Premonition, 307 and Apologie, 270.

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This form of corruption and the worldliness that went alongside it were for James unmistakeably manifested in the ‘dishonest’ manner that the Popes were elected.65 Additionally, history was ‘full of examples’ of Popes encroaching upon the temporal authority of lawful Emperors and monarchs, such as the humiliation of the Emperor Henry iv by Gregory vii (1076). Like Sarpi, James also condemned the Papacy’s use of excommunication in their struggle for temporal authority. The example closest to home was the challenge of Elizabeth i’s power as a result of her excommunication (1570) by Pope Pius v (Ghislieri, 1566–72) and the subsequent threats to her life.66 James’s account relates the fluctuating nature of the Caesaro-Papal disputes depending on the power of the two contestant parties. History showed in fact, that often, it was the emperors who were creating, controlling and deposing Popes.67 Kings adopted a similar attitude: a case in point was France, with examples such as the Pragmatic Sanction between Pius ii and Louis xi (1463). The Stuart King praises the immunity of the Gallican Church, and points out the great likelihood of France electing a Patriarch and declaring its independence from Rome.68 This was a serious threat to the Papal side and it was a possibility also frequently mentioned by Sarpi in the History of the Council of Trent.69 The links with France in James’s texts and a general defence of the liberties of a ‘National’ Church against Roman claims of control, further promoted the idea of a supra-confessional opposition to the Papacy. Any such assertions denoted a blow to Papal claims for superintending the universal Church and drew the attention of parties interested in such possibilities. The Papal supremacy in spiritual causes was regarded by James, as by other Christian theologians of his time, as a novelty that had not been irrefutably concluded upon, nor defined by any ‘complete generall Councell’. Even ‘their owne [Catholic] schoole Doctors’ were at ‘irreconciliable oddes and iarres’, as James was keen to point out.70 A similar challenge had come for centuries in 65 Cf. Premonition, 332. 66 Apologie, 272–273. For French discussions of the king’s ‘inexcommunicability’ see J. Parsons, The Church in the Republic. Gallicanism and Political Ideology in Renaissance France (Washington dc: Catholic University of America, 2004), 172–178. 67 Premonition, 297–298. 68 Premonition, 298–299. Cf. also Parsons, The Church in the Republic, 157. 69 Paolo Sarpi, Historia del Concilio Tridentino. Nella quale si scoprono tutti gl’ artificii della Corte di Roma, per impedire che né la veritá di dogmi si palesasse, né la riforma del Papato, & della Chiesa si trattasse. Di Pietro Soaue Polano (London: John Bill, 1619); stc (2nd ed.), 21760; 410–411, 462, 463–464, 778; cf. also Parsons, Church in the Republic, 157. 70 Apologie, 265. An interesting contradiction is apparent between Bellarmine’s positions and Cardinal Du Perron; see Remonstrance, 422–423, 448; Tutino, Empire of Souls, 101–110, 156–157 and esp. Ch. 5.

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the guise of Conciliar theory, advocates of which disputed the doctrine of Papal supremacy and insisted on conciliar checks upon potentially corrupted, ambitious, heretical or authoritarian Popes.71 The topicality of these doctrines is evidenced by Sarpi’s account of Trent where, he was keen to repeat, the issue was frequently invoked by the assembled prelates. The Venetian friar exposed the disagreements on the Pope’s supremacy between different factions at the Council and emphasised the strong voices supporting the Council’s superiority over the Pontiff.72 James’s criticism and arguments also fall within this intellectual tradition, even though an association of the King with Conciliar theories has not always been obvious.73 This can be attributed to the constitutional resonances inherent in the Conciliar tradition, which would have made it unattractive to a prince.74 James’s familiarity and employment of Conciliar arguments can be linked to his Scottish background. At least some of these ideas, it has been suggested, were communicated to the future King of England by his tutor, Buchanan, through a connection with John Major (Mair, 1467–1550), who taught Scottish students in Paris and in Scotland.75 The Premonition makes use of Jean Gerson’s work, linking it to the account of French Gallicanism. It discusses the ‘long subjection’ of the Popes to General Councils and mentions the Council of Constance (1414–18) that had deposed three Popes.76 James condemned the disuse of the institution of General Councils, and remarked bitterly on their replacement by the College of the Cardinals.77 Important is the fact that for both James and Sarpi, the Council which had finally 71

Cf. F. Oakley, The Conciliarist Tradition. Constitutionalism in the Catholic Church 1300–1870 (Oxford: oup, 2003), 101–127, 136–139. 72 J.O’Malley, Trent. What Happened There (Cambridge, Mass. and London: Belknap Press of Harvard up, 2013), 19–22, 31–32, 89, 220. 73 Scholars who discuss this aspect of his work include Charles McIlwain, Francis Oakley, J.H.M. Salmon, Roger Mason, William Paterson and Johann Sommerville. 74 Cf. Oakley, The Conciliarist Tradition, op cit.; also Patterson, King James vi and i, 57–60 and 67–69. 75 J.H. Burns, ‘The Conciliarist Tradition in Scotland’, Scottish Historical Review 42 (1963), 89–104: 102. The Remonstrance points to a number of writers: ‘Iohannes Maior, doctor of Paris’, ‘Almaines, doctor of the Sorbonnic Schoole’, ‘Occams’, and Gerson, who ‘otherwise was a deuoute Catholike’; 418–422. Cf. also Premonition, 298–299. Cf. F. Oakley, ‘Constance, Basel, and the two Pisas: The Conciliarist Legacy in 16th- and 17th- century England’, Annuarium Historiae Conciliarum 26 (1994), 87–118; on 109; idem, ‘“Anxieties of influence”: Skinner, Figgis, Conciliarism and Early Modern Constitutionalism’, Past and Present 151 (1996), 60–110, and ‘Complexities of Context: Gerson, Bellarmine, Sarpi, Richer, and the Venetian Interdict of 1606–1607’, Catholic Historical Review 82 (1996), 369–396. 76 Premonition, 307. 77 Premonition, 329.

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summoned in Trent had failed in its purpose.78 James repeated adamantly that there had not been a proper Council to deliberate on the questions raised by the Reformers.79 The perceived corruption of the Curia and the novelty of its temporal claims were the main reasons behind Sarpi’s assertion about temporal monarchs overseeing the institution of the Church. James’s views on this point are much stronger. Whereas Sarpi’s suggestions appear tentative and contingent upon his audience, the King was much firmer in declaring the secular control of the Church. James’s more resolute attitude about the position and the role of the clergy can undoubtedly be associated with his troubled past in Scotland. Not only did the King and Sarpi have different backgrounds, the two figures were also of a different status. James was writing from a greater position of power – and whatever his fears might have been for a possible excommunication in the aftermath of the Gunpowder Plot, he was still the sovereign of three Kingdoms, and resided considerably further away from Rome than the Friar. Advocating a position as drastic as the subjection of the Church to temporal authorities was potentially more dangerous for Sarpi, who was a subject and subordinate to the Venetian Senate, in whose defence he was employed to write. What is more, Venice was in a more vulnerable position and was in urgent need of international support, as there were rumours circulating about the possibility of a Spanish attack.80 James’s potential danger, on the other hand, came primarily from his subjects, who were not the intended audience of his texts; rather, his texts were mostly addressed to temporal authorities abroad as they formed part of his ‘foreign policy’. These differences are manifested in the manner by which the two authors articulate their arguments. While Sarpi used the motto ‘Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s and to God what is God’s’ as a justification and support for the separation of ecclesiastical and political jurisdiction, James’s use took the connotations of the same motto a step further. The rule of the Kings over the Church had after all, been ‘inscribed in the Bible’: In the old Testament Kings were directly Governors over the Church within their Dominions, purged their corruptions; reformed their abuses … [many examples in the Old and New Testament] warrant Christian Kings, within their owne dominions, to gouerne their Church, as well as 78 O’Malley, Trent: What happened there, 248–275. 79 Cf. for example Remonstrance, 423, 448. 80 This was particularly the case after the Nine Year Truce with the Low Countries (1609) that freed Spain for action in Italy; Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense, 502.

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the rest of their people … not by making new Articles of Faith, (which is the Popes office as I said before) but by commanding obedience to be giuen to the word of God, by reforming the religion according to his prescribed will, by assisting the spirituall power with the temporal sword, by reforming of corruptions, by procuring due obedience to the Church, by iudging, and cutting off all friuolous questions and schisms, as Constantine did…81 The above passage encapsulates James’s main views as to the type of involvement he envisaged the King to have in ecclesiastical matters. According to James, it was not in the kings’ jurisdiction to have a say in doctrinal matters, but it was their responsibility to command obedience, implement reform of abuses, and eliminate heresies and schisms; to assist, namely, the ‘spiritual power with the temporal sword’. The extract alludes, moreover, to the historical aspect of the problem. By using the Emperor Constantine I as a case in point, James, like Sarpi, referred to an ideal past where the Emperor had recognised Christianity’s dominant status among his subjects while retaining at the same time the imperial authority and control over the Church. Constantine had demonstrated his role as protector of the Church by summoning the first Ecumenical Council in Nicaea, to deliberate on the heresy of Arius (325). Thus James highlighted the subjection of Councils to the Emperor throughout Christianity’s early years, as the official religion of the Empire, pointing to the first four General Councils.82 James’s most decisive argument however, was his point about the position of Christian subjects: it was never ‘doubted by any Christian in the Primitiue Church, that the Apostles, or any other degree of Christians, were subiect to the Emperour’.83 This was crucial, as Christianity had ultimately been born and had flourished within an organised polity, the Empire. Further confirmation to this point was the practice of the primitive Church to adapt to the political structure of the Empire, thereby recognising its subjection to its authority.84

81 82

83 84

Apologie, 284. Apologie, 280. For James’s association with Constantine in literature and iconography see J. Doelman, King James i and the Religious Culture of England (Cambridge: cup, 2000), 73, 79–83, 100 and Ferell, Government by Polemic, 114–139. Premonition, 331. Similar arguments were raised by Gallican theorists, since after all in France the physical divisions of ecclesiastical jurisdiction followed exactly that late-antique administrative geography to which the Roman law referred; Parsons, Church in the Republic, 156.

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As this was a widely known and accepted fact, why did the relationship between Christianity and Empire have to be renegotiated in any way?85 Clearly, the implementation of such a view and its connotations would substantiate Bellarmine’s assertion that the King’s ultimate intention was to transfer the authority of the Church of England from the Pope to the King himself.86 Yet the King was careful enough to underplay the full extent of the implications of his views. He qualified it by differentiating between the role of the ‘guardian’ and that of the ‘leader’ of the Church, whilst emphasising that the authority of the Church rested on the King.87 As a monarch with an international outlook and plans for the whole of Christendom, James wished that lay supremacy was established throughout, and the dangers posed by the clergy and religious extremists were equally eliminated in all realms. He may not have predicted however, neither the extent of the pan-European crisis ensuing from the controversy over the Oath of Allegiance, nor later developments in the neighbouring Kingdom of France.

The Oath Exported

The Oath controversy continued until well after Henri iv’s assassination, which sparked its own set of exchanges.88 In the aftermath of this assassination, and during the Estates General of 1614–15, the Third Estate proposed the imposition of an Oath, similar to that of Allegiance, to be taken by all French Churchmen and officials as means to confirm their loyalty to the Crown.89 James’s European stance and the importance the Oath had acquired for his politics required that he intervened in the affair. He did so with the tract Remonstrance for the Right of Kings and the Independance of their Crownes (1615/16), published under the King’s name, but actually authored in great part by the Calvinist pastor Pierre 85 86 87 88

89

W. Ullmann, Principles of Government and Politics in the Middle Ages (London: Methuen & Co, 1961), 110–114, and idem, Short History of the Papacy, Ch. 1. Apologie, 260. Apologie, 279. R. Mousnier, The Assassination of Henry iv: The Tyrannicide Problem and the Consolidation of the French Absolute Monarchy in the Early Seventeenth Century, trans. Joan Spencer (London: Faber, 1973). On the international conjuncture of the Venetian, French and English case see J.H.M. Salmon, ‘Catholic Resistance Theory, Ultramontanism, and the Royalist Response, 1580–1620’ in J.H. Burns (ed.), Cambridge History of Political Thought 1450–1700 (Cambridge: cup, 1991), 219–253. J.M. Hayden, France and the Estates General of 1614 (Cambridge: cup, 1974), Ch. 8; the text of the proposed article is on 131–132.

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du Moulin.90 The tract was published first in French (1615) and in Latin and English the year after,91 and constituted a response to the oration of Cardinal du Perron, the person responsible for dissuading the Estates from approving the measure.92 It followed lines of reasoning similar to the King’s arguments in the two texts examined so far. Confuting resistance theories flourishing at the wake of Henri iv’s assassination, the tract focuses on the issue of obedience to the monarch.93 The clergy was responsible for the ‘recent’ calamities in both France and in England: …haue not all the calamities, which the third Estate haue sought prouidently to preuent; have they not all sprang from the Clergie, as from their proper and naturall fountaine? From whence did the last ciuill warres, wherein a world of blood was not more profusely then prodigiously and vnnaturally spilt ... From whence did these bloodie warres proceed, but from the deposing of the said king [Henri iii] by the Head of the Church? Were they not Prelates, Curats and Confessours; were they not Ecclesiastics, who partly by seditious preachments, and partly by secret confessions, powred many a iarre of oyle vpon this flame? Was not he that killed the forenamed King, was not he one of the Clergie? Was not Guignard a Iesuite? Was not Iohn Chastel brought vp in the same schoole? Did not Rauaillac that monster of men, … did not he referre his examiners to the Sermons made the Lent next before … Are not Bellarmine, Eudaemonoiohannes, Suarez, Becanus, Mariana, with such other monsters, who teach the doctrine of patricides … are they not all Clerics? … What were the heads, the chiefe promoters, the complices of the powder-conspiracie in 90 Willson, ‘James i and his Literary Assistants’, 50. 91 James vi and i, Declaration du serenissime Roy Iaques i. Pour le droit des rois & independance de leurs couronnes, contre la harangue de l’illustrissime Cardinal de Perron prononcée en la chambre du tiers Estat le xv. de Ianuier 1615 (London: John Bill, 1615); stc (2nd ed.), 14367; Serenissimi Iacobi Regis, declaratio pro iure regio, sceptrorumque immunitate. Aduersus illustrissimis Cardinalis Perronii orationem, in comitiis Franciae generalibus ad ordinem plebeium Parisiis habitam 18 Cal. Febr. 1615 (London: officina Nortoniana, John Bill, 1616); stc (2nd ed.), 14368; A remonstrance of the most gratious King Iames i. for the right of Kings, and the independencie of their crownes. Against an oration of the most illustrious Card. of Perron, pronounced in the chamber of the third estate. Ian. 15. 1615. Translated out of his Maiesties French copie ([London]: Cantrell Legge, 1616); stc (2nd ed.), 14369. 92 See Patterson, James vi and i, 183. See also Remonstrance, 389–390. 93 As well as the works by Mousnier and Salmon mentioned above, see Q. Skinner, Foundations of Modern Political Thought (Cambridge: cup, 1978), vol. ii, Chs. 7–9; H. Braun, Juan de Mariana and Early Modern Spanish Political Thought (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007).

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my Kingdome? were they not Ecclesiastics? … Is it not also the general belief of that order, that clerics are exempted from the condition of subjects to the king?94 The deposition of Henri iii in France (1589) was, for the author, at the root of bloody civil wars, further inflamed by prelates and priests. Likewise, in the case of England, the heads of the Gunpowder Plot had been churchmen. The ecclesiastical links of assassins (such as Ravaillac) and would-be assassins together with their sources of inspiration, texts namely, by famous Jesuits such as Bellarmine, Eudaemon-Johannes, Suarez and Becanus, proved his point of religious extremists being enemies to peace in the commonwealth. As subjects of an earthly kingdom, the clergy ought to obey the civil authorities of the state in which they resided. James emphasised that the offenders in the attempt against his person had been tried as traitors and punished by civil authorities, and not on the basis of their religious allegiance. In the text he also established that it was possible to obey the clergy while at the same time remaining loyal to the monarch, and the other way round.95 The Remonstrance also followed the standard motif of accusing Rome of crossing the boundaries of the spiritual domain on the grounds that Popes in the past had excommunicated and deprived Princes of their Estates for purely civil reasons, such as the control of monastic privileges and revenues, or the granting of benefices, as well as adultery and matrimonial matters.96 Like Sarpi, James and his publicists traced the origin of these abuses to the transformation of the heir of St Peter’s Seat into a temporal monarchy: ‘the Bishop’s chair’ had been changed into ‘a monarch’s throne’, and ‘St Peter’s net’ into a casting-net ‘to fish for all the wealth of most flourishing Kingdoms’.97 Without any foundation on Scripture, this transformation was the result of a long struggle between Rome and a series of lay monarchs. Moreover, it was only fully brought about at a period when princes were suffering temporary setbacks. A case in point was the role of Pope Gregory vii (1073–85), who famously excommunicated the Emperor Henry iv and forced him to appear in the guise of a penitent (1076).98 The text also condemned the corruption plaguing the Curia for the last ‘three 94 Remonstrance, 393. 95 Remonstrance, 433. 96 Cf. Remonstrance, 389, 396–397. For some of the same themes, see Sarpi, Historia, 215–216, 245–247, 647–648, 680–685, 718–720. 97 Remonstrance, 477. 98 Cf. Remonstrance, 402–403. For the episode, see Ullmann, Short History of the Papacy, 154–160.

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to five centuries’, mockingly commenting that if one were to judge the legitimacy of the Papal elections on the basis of simony, canvasses or bribery, there would ‘hardly be found’ two lawful Popes ‘in the three last ages’.99 This tract asserts the Conciliar check upon Papal power more forcefully than the two considered earlier, with frequent references to the Councils of Constance and Pisa (1409).100 The stronger Conciliar element can be explained by the French connection: both the primary author, as well as the (initially) intended audience were French, and therefore more sensitive to such references. The main criticism is raised against the decline of the role, function and purpose of the General Councils, especially in light of the appropriation by the Pontiff of the prerogative of their summoning.101 Councils ought to be summoned by the secular rulers, as was the custom in the early years of the Church. As Sarpi argued, the Emperors then made ‘good use of Councils’ by moderating the Synods, by assessing whether the prelates had come to decisions that would endanger the order of the Empire, and ultimately, by executing the Decrees.102 This analysis operated as a basis to the argument that Trent had not been a fair Council, since it did not provide a forum where the Protestant grievances could be heard and seriously addressed: ‘But as for the trewth professed by me, and those of the reformed Religion, it was neuer yet hissed out of the Schooles, nor cast out of any Council, … where both sides haue bene heard with like indifferencie’.103 As mentioned, this point was extremely topical; it coincided with the composition of Sarpi’s work, many of whose arguments it resonates. James protested that whatever Council had been offered, had been proposed with certain presuppositions such as the dominant role of the Papacy which was itself part of the problem. The location had also not secured safe access for reformed parties, and similarly not all representatives had the chance to be heard or to vote equally.104 James shared Sarpi’s view that all that was accomplished in Trent was a reaffirmation and continuation of authoritarian Papal policies and absurd claims. He also identified with Sarpi’s exasperation on the issue of the Reformation of the Princes, a decree which they both saw as effectively validating Papal claims for temporal interference.105 A consistent campaign 99 100 101 102 103 104 105

Remonstrance, 413. Remonstrance, 414, 417, 418–422, 424. Remonstrance, 423. Remonstrance, 427. Remonstrance, 448. Remonstrance, 448. Remonstrance, 49; O’Malley, Trent, 230–233, 236–237.

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to discredit Trent went hand-in hand with James’s plans for a religious settlement under the auspices of a lay-summoned and controlled General Council. Thus the Remonstrance draws attention to the common cause of all the temporal powers, praising the liberties of the Gallican Church, while also expressing admiration for the Venetian position during the Republic’s recent confrontation with the Papacy.106 A reference to the international nature of the contest completes the rhetoric of the text, stressing the parallels between the French case, the English case and the Venetian Interdict. All three were examples of Papal power encroaching on temporal power, and history had repeatedly showed that the clergy’s involvement could only cause trouble in civil matters. Thus the link between issues arising from the religious conflict and the matter of jurisdictions on a European-wide scale was (made) clear. A parallel examination of tracts written in the specific historical conjuncture of the almost concurrent critical circumstances in England, Venice and France such as this, demonstrates the extent to which these authors composed their tracts in a similar language, drawing from the same source material. This body of thought consisted of a collection of Conciliar elements, arguments on the separation of jurisdictions, and historical evidence from imperial and ecclesiastical history.107 This is also in keeping with the evidence of the popularity of Conciliar tracts during this period, which were copiously reissued.108 The history of Christian polity, the religious wars of the previous century, and international current events all confirmed that lay supervision of the clergy in civil matters was the only formula for peaceful coexistence. Apart from theory, in the case of James, such understanding also came from his Scottish experience, as his earlier work illustrates.

The Scottish Experience: Separating Jurisdictions or Keeping the Clergy at Bay

James’s two first treatises of government, the True Lawe of Free Monarchies (1598) and the Basilikon Doron (1599) were composed in response to specific circumstances surrounding his first years as the King of Scotland.109 Both texts 106 ‘Behold the Venetian Republique…’; Remonstrance, 482; cf., 382, 393, 394, 414, 416, 417, 418–422, 424, 452. 107 Cf. Parsons, Church in the Republic, 168. 108 Oakley, The Conciliarist Tradition, 152–154; Salmon, ‘Catholic Resistance Theory, Ultramontanism, and the Royalist Response, 1580–1620’, 247. 109 R.A. Mason, ‘George Buchanan, James vi and the Presbyterians’ and ‘James vi, George Buchanan and the True Lawe of Free Monarchies’, both in idem, Kingship and the

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have correctly been treated as royal assertions of a king eager to establish his emerging position as the ruler of a heretofore unstable kingdom.110 They were responses to the opposition which the Stuart King had experienced from mutinous nobles and the ecclesiastical establishment. Through these texts James attempted to refute flourishing resistance theories, while also responding to Presbyterian elements in Scotland. Ultimately, however, they also articulated James’s perception of his kingly role. The Reformation in Scotland had left a number of issues unresolved, possibly the biggest of which being the question of who would be the new head of the Church. The result was that, by James’s time, Scotland had a Calvinist Kirk, largely grown outside the crown’s control and alongside the structure of the old Church.111 This amounted to two problems. First, there were fundamental questions about the polity of the Church. Secondly, there was the question of the fate of the remaining adherents to Catholicism (mostly Scottish magnates), against whom the Kirk proposed exile, excommunication, or their coercion into denouncing their allegiance to Rome. James felt that the Kirk’s demands purported to interference with affairs of the state, since for political reasons he deemed it necessary to tolerate the powerful Catholic families of Scotland.112 Recent scholarship has challenged the extent of the opposition James had to Commonweal;­see also his earlier ‘Rex Stoicus: George Buchanan, James vi and the Scottish Polity’ in John Dwyer et al. (eds), New Perspectives on the Politics and Culture of Early Modern Scotland (Edinburgh: John Donald, 1982), 9–33; Wormald, ‘James vi and i, Basilikon Doron and The Trew Law of Free Monarchies’, in Peck, Mental World; A.R. MacDonald, The Jacobean Kirk, 1567–1625. Sovereignty, Polity and Liturgy (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1998), 87–89. 110 Cf. Mason’s observation: ‘There are not many kings who have felt the need to go into print to explain to their subjects why it is that they ought to be obeyed’; in ‘George Buchanan, James vi and the Presbyterians’, 195. Cf. Basilikon Doron, 75–89. 111 Apart from J. Wormald and A.R. MacDonald’s work cited above see also, indicatively, G.  Donaldson, The Scottish Reformation (Cambridge: cup, 1960); I.B. Cowan, Scottish Reformation. Church and Society in Sixteenth Century Scotland (London: Wiedenfeld and Nicholson, 1982); J. Goodare, State and Society in Early Modern Scotland (Oxford: oup, 1999); K.M. Brown, ‘In Search of the Godly Magistrate in Reformation Scotland’, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 40 (1989), 553–581; J.E.A. Dawson, Scotland Re-formed (Edinburgh: Edinburgh up, 2007). Cf. also M. Lynch, Edinburgh and the Reformation (Edinburgh: John Donald, 1981); D.G. Mullan, Episcopacy in Scotland: The History of an Idea, 1560–1638 (Edinburgh: John Donald, 1986); M. Todd, The Culture of Protestantism in Early Modern Scotland (New Haven: Yale up, 2002). 112 James had a number of reasons for tolerating the Catholic magnates: first, at least before 1603 he did not have the power to effectively control them. Secondly, demonstrations of good will towards Catholics were important when Spanish power at its height and when there was so much Spanish activity in the Low Countries. Lastly, the Kirk was especially

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face in his effort to control the Kirk, emphasising instead, the impact James’s toleration of the Catholic earls (the Earl of Huntly in particular) had in uniting the Kirk against him.113 In the context of this contest, both the opposition and James turned to the doctrine of the ‘two kingdoms’ in their rhetoric.114 The Trew Law of Free Monarchies and the Basilikon Doron were composed against this background, after James had resolved to assert a greater control over the Church (1596), in the aftermath of a disturbing riot in Edinburgh.115 Here James stressed, a great deal more than in the texts associated with the controversy over the Oath of Allegiance, the kingly duties of overseeing the conduct of the Church since by speaking from a different position and addressing himself to a different audience, he could be much more forceful. Yet the basic premises behind these two earlier texts are similar to the ones underpinning the tracts already examined. The author anchored his case on the limits between the spiritual and civil authority, but here he was keen to underline the limitations of the jurisdiction of the clergy, justifying a degree of royal control of the Church on the grounds of the special relationship that he believed existed between kings and God. From a slightly different perspective thus, the Basilikon Doron insists that spiritual officers ought not to interfere with affairs of the state. If, ‘passing their bounds’, they urge the King ‘to embrace any of their fantasies in the place of Gods word, or would colour their particulars with a pretended zeale’, the king should acknowledge them for ‘no other then vaine men, exceeding the bounds of their calling. In his advice to his son Henry (1594–1612), James advocates that in accordance to his office, he should ‘grauely and with authority redact them in ordour againe’.116 James is thus firm in proclaiming the boundaries within which the Church ought to operate. Also clear in this extract is the resentment it echoes from the early years of the King’s rule towards the animosity he had to deal with, because of extremist religious teachings. These dictated that all Kings and Princes were ‘naturally

agitated about James’s favourite, the earl of Huntly – but of course, James would not give up his favourite because the Kirk told him to do so. 113 A.R. MacDonald has shown that that the supporters of the liberties of the Kirk had gradually been won over by the King; Jacobean Kirk, 82. 114 In Scotland, ‘thair is twa Kings and twa Kingdomes … Thair is Chryst Jesus the King, and his Kingdome the Kirk, whase subject King James the Saxt is, and of whase kingdome nocht a king, nor a lord, nor a heid, bot a member’; from Andrew Melville’s diary, cited in MacDonald, Jacobean Kirk, 64; cf. also 64–67; 71–73; Mason, ‘George Buchanan, James vi and the Presbyterians’, 195–202, 212–214. 115 MacDonald, Jacobean Kirk, 67–74. 116 Basilikon Doron, 49–51.

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enemies to the libertie of the Churche’.117 The two texts convey forcefully the threat posed to the order of the state by people who feel directly subject to God by not acknowledging the mediation of God’s lieutenants on earth, the kings. For James, religious ‘purists’ of this sort held the civil magistrates in contempt. From their point of view, their own personal relationship with God was the criterion dictating everything else regarding their conduct on earth.118 Religious zealots of this kind did not recognise any distinction between the divine and the temporal, or if they did, they dismissed the temporal as insignificant, ‘temporary’, and entirely dependent on the celestial. James’s modifications to the standard rhetoric are an indication of skilful policy-making and expression by a King who was able to manipulate his way through established principles while maintaining balance and moderation. By using the same language, he was able to shift the boundaries of the lay and spiritual domains so that he would incorporate into his area of influence some jurisdiction over the institution of the Church. In this manner, his texts are more concerned with the limitations of spiritual jurisdiction than they are with delineating the boundaries between the two sorts of authorities. They also portray God as the sole judge of princely actions: even in the extreme cases of Nebuchadnezzar and Nero, James indicates, God still ordained His people to subject themselves to them, following the dictum ‘Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s and to God what is God’s’.119 This fitted perfectly with James’s outlook on kingship, according to which, kings were not ordinary people: their office required them to be in-between the temporal and the divine realms. The king is appointed by God with the responsibility to procure for the welfare of his subjects’ souls and bodies; he acknowledges his duty with the coronation oath, according to which he avows to maintain religion.120 For him, the king upholds two professions, he has two callings: his profession is mixed between the ecclesiastical and the civil. A king is not ‘mere laicus’, as the ‘Papistes and Anabaptistes’ would have him, an ‘error’ that the ‘Puritans’ also subscribe to.121 A Prince ought to be a ‘louing nourishfather to the Churche’.122 In this context and following the model of Emperor 117 Basilikon Doron, 77–79; cf. also 145–147. 118 Basilikon Doron, 77–79; cf. also 16, 47–49. 119 The Trew Law of Free Monarchies: or the Reciprock and Mvtvall Dvtie Betwixt a Free King and His Naturall Subiects, in Johann P. Sommerville (ed.), King James vi and i. Political Writings (Cambridge: cup, 1994), 69. 120 True Lawe, 61–62. Cf. Basilikon Doron, 5. 121 Basilikon Doron, 53, 173. Cf. also E.H. Kantorowicz, The King’s Two Bodies. A Study in Medieval Political Theology (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton up, 1957). 122 Basilikon Doron, 81–83.

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Constantine, the Scottish King asserts his right to summon, preside, and regulate the agenda of the General Assembly of the Kirk.123 It has been suggested that some of the sources of the Basilikon Doron may be Byzantine.124 Even if difficult to prove, this possibility fits well with the idea of James fashioning himself according to the example of the early Christian Roman Emperors. The perpetuation of this model, as Sarpi agreed, was to be found not in Rome any more, but in the Eastern Empire.125 There the Emperor was responsible for maintaining the welfare of the Church, including convening and presiding over General Councils. James’s proposition, therefore, for the responsibility of the temporal rulers in presiding over a General Council that would discuss the divisions of the Universal Church, was in accordance with both his Scottish experience, as well as the Imperial tradition. James’s perception of the potential threat posed by religious extremists also followed from his conviction that religious reform belonged to the duties and responsibilities of kingship. The Church, after all, was prone to ‘Pride, Ambition and Auarice’.126 The Basilikon Doron elaborates on this by giving an account of the way in which the Reformation came about in Scotland. Rather than it being introduced with the Crown’s initiative, it happened from the bottom up. Many things were done ‘inordinately’ by ‘popular tumult and rebellion’ by people who were ‘blindly doing the work of God’, filled with their own passions, and who ultimately damaged the Crown’s rule. This was contrary to the manner in which Reformation occurred in countries such as England, Denmark, and various areas in Germany, where it ensued from the ‘Prince’s piety’. Continental reformations made possible with the endorsement of the secular authority – what modern scholars have linked with the term ‘confessionalisation’ – allowed the containment of religious

123 See A.R. Macdonald, ‘James vi and the General Assembly, 1586–1618’, in Goodare and Lynch, The Reign of James vi, 170–185, and idem, Jacobean Kirk, esp. Chs. 2 and 3. Cf. Basilikon Doron, 145–147. 124 See I. Ševčenco, ‘Agapetus East and West: The Fate of a Byzantine “Mirror of Princes”, Revue des Etudes Sud-Est Européenes xvi (1978), 3–44 reprinted in idem (ed.), Ideology, Letters and Culture in the Byzantine World (London: Variorum Reprints, 1982), Ch. 3; on 19. Jean Hotman, the French translator of the work, had also suggested that in writing the Basilikon Doron James had been inspired by three ‘mirrors for Princes’ of Byzantine origin (ibid. n. 54). I am particularly grateful to Professor Michael Angold for this reference. 125 See indicatively G. Dagron, Emperor and Priest. The Imperial Office in Byzantium. trans. J. Birrell (Cambridge: Past and Present Publications, cup 2003); for a concise summary see W. Ullmann, Short History of the Papacy, Ch. 1. 126 Basilikon Doron, 73–75.

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divisions.127 An ‘inorderly’ reformation led by some ‘fiery spirited’ men threatened an attempt to impose a democratic form of government, the most inappropriate of polities for the late sixteenth-, early seventeenth centuries. The reformers in Scotland ‘settled themselues so faste vpon that imagined Democracie, as they fed themselues with the hope to become Tribuni plebes: and so in a populare gouernment by leading the people by the nose, to beare the sway of all the rule’.128 These were the serious implications of the breaching of the limits of ecclesiastical and political jurisdiction, both on a religious as well as a political level: they could pose threat to the social order of the state. The destructive traits of the bloody contentions of that period confirmed the urgent cry for a strong authoritative government that would control the public face of religion, the exclusion of religion from the affairs of the state, and the separation of the ecclesiastical and political jurisdictions. Charron, Lipsius and Sarpi attested to the same need for such a government and a change in political attitudes, as a response to religious divisions. This was, after all a pan-European problem, as James was fully aware. In the Trew Law he drew parallels with similar circumstances on the Continent, identifying extreme preachers ‘of whatsoeuer religion’ as culprits for the troubles afflicting France. He condemned the French uprisings as pure rebellion disguised under the ‘cloak of religion’. His attack against the Catholic zealots, namely the Catholic League’s opposition to the lawful king’s inheritance of the throne, reflected his own feelings towards the Puritans and the opposition that he himself had met in Scotland from Calvinist extremists.129 James’s aversion to religious zealots and what he saw as the two extremes of the religio-political spectrum was thus a conviction which originated from the time of his reign in Scotland. Religious fanaticism was a flawed approach to belief, to the point that it distorted religion. In James’s view, excessive zeal was at the root of superstition, an enemy to religion and piety, like it was for Charron and Lipsius.130 For James, as for Sarpi, Charron and Lipsius, superstition­ 127 For some fundamental statements of the confessionalisation concept cf. H. Schilling (ed.), Die reformierte Konfessionalisierung in Deutschland. Das Problem der ‘Zwetien Reformation’: Wissenschaftliches Symposion des Vereins für Reformationsgeschichte 1985 (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1986); idem and W. Reinhard (eds), Die katholische Konfessionalisierung: Wissenschaftliches Symposion der Gesellschaft zur Herasugabe des Corpus Catholicorum und des Vereins für Reformationsgeschichte (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1995). 128 Basilikon Doron, 75. 129 Cf. True Lawe, 80–81, 68. 130 Cf. Basilikon Doron, 47–49. See Pierre Charron, Les trois Veritez contre les Athees, Idolatres, Juifs, Mahumetans, Heretiques et Schismatiques (Bordeaux: Simon Millanges,

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was linked to passion and ignorance and was the mother of heresies. At the other end of the spectrum was ‘leaprosy’, a cauterised conscience which led to atheism.131 James urged a theological ‘middle way’ against the extreme internalisation of Anabaptism and ‘Popish’ ceremonial. One had to beware of the two extremes: the one, to consider the Church’s authority ‘better than one’s own knowledge’, as the Catholics did; the other, ‘to leane with the Anabaptistes’, to one’s ‘owne conceits and dreamed reuelations’. In both cases, either the authority of the Church or personal conceit would avert someone from true religion; true faith lay somewhere in-between. Christians ought to discern between ‘points of saluation and indifferent things’, and between ‘substance and ceremonies’. The former represented the will of God, the latter as both Lipsius and Sarpi insisted, were man’s invention whereas all that was necessary for salvation is in fact contained in the Scripture.132 The King’s ensuing distinction of subjects into moderates and zealots was consistent with these views. It further confirmed that the religious affiliation of his subjects was not important to him, so long as they professed their loyalty to the Crown. This attitude was in line with the views of the scholars examined so far in this study and the approach of other eirenicists, according to whom lawful subjects ought to acknowledge the supreme authority of the monarch in temporal matters while also submitting to the spiritual authority of their Church. In keeping with these principles, James pursued a policy of the middle way between the two religious extremes which he viewed as equivalent, attempting to conciliate subjects from both ends of the religious spectrum.133

A ‘Moderate’ Approach: Princely Rule against Religious Extremism

Throughout his reign, spanning over three kingdoms and over forty years, James did his utmost to maintain a policy of balance between the positions of adherents to Rome, and the advocates of ‘pure’ and complete reform. Historians have not always been in agreement about whether that was really his intention, or indeed about the extent to which he accomplished it.134 Yet peace

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1593), 186; idem, De la Sagesse, Livres Trois (Bordeaux: Simon Millanges, 1601), 10, 388; J. Waszink (ed.), Justus Lipsius, Politica. Six books of Politics or Political Instruction (Assen: Van Gorcum, 2004), I.3: 68. Basilikon Doron, 41–43. Basilikon Doron, 47–49. Basilikon Doron, 81–83. K. Fincham and P. Lake, for example, stress more the success of James’s attempt to follow a middle way, although they refer to the relative failure of the settlement by the end of his reign; see Fincham and Lake, ‘The Ecclesiastical Policy of King James i’, op cit. and

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was maintained and no significant problems seemed to arise for as long as there were no serious divisions concerning the Crown’s foreign policy. It was only after the outbreak of the Thirty Years’ War and the significant dilemmas that this posed, that the Jacobean religious consensus collapsed.135 James made a comprehensive exposition of his conciliatory stance and a delineation of his religious policy in his first address to Parliament after his accession to the English throne. In his famous speech of 19 March 1604, he distinguished his subjects into three groupings giving an indication of his understanding of the religious spectrum. He divided them first into the category of those professing the ‘trew religion’, namely the one that he himself recognised and followed, Calvinism. Second, those who called themselves ‘Catholics’, but ‘trewly Papists’; and lastly, to those who followed what he called ‘not really a religion’, but rather a ‘sect’, the Puritans. He pronounced his intention of not ‘The Ecclesiastical Policies of James i and Charles i’, in K. Fincham (ed.), The Early Stuart Church, 1603–1642. (London: Macmillan, 1993), 23–49. On the other hand, L.A. Ferell stresses the extent of the dissatisfaction and alienation of James’s subjects in Government by Polemic, op cit. J. Morrill’s article, ‘A British Patriarchy? Ecclesiastical Imperialism Under the Early Stuarts’, in A. Fletcher and P. Roberts (eds), Religion, Culture and Society in Early Modern Britain. Essays in Honour of Patrick Collinson (Cambridge: cup, 1994), ­209–237, is much more subtle in pointing out the areas in which Jacobean religious policies were successful and the areas that were not. On James’s religious policy more generally see also, among others, Shriver, ‘Hampton Court Re-visited: James i and the Puritans’, op cit.; Collinson, ‘The Jacobean Religious Settlement: The Hampton Court Conference’, op cit.;  idem, The Religion of Protestants: The Church in English Society, op cit.; Fincham, Prelate as Pastor, op cit.; Tyacke, Anti-Calvinists: The Rise of English Arminianism, 9–28; Newton, The Making of the Jacobean Regime, op. cit; Prior, Defining the Jacobean Church: The Politics of Religious Controversy, op cit. A. Milton discusses the ‘protean character of the Church of England’ ad the ‘constantly evolving spectrum of views’ in Catholic and Reformed: The Roman and Protestant Churches in English Protestant Thought, 1600–1640 (Cambridge: cup, 1995). E.H. Shagan offers a different interpretation of ‘moderation’ in The Rule of Moderation: Violence, Religion and the Politics of Restraint in E.M. England (Cambridge: cup, 2011). 135 For various aspects of James’s foreign policy and the dilemmas that this entailed see, indicatively, Lee, James i and Henry iv, op cit.; Adams, ‘Spain or the Netherlands?’ op cit.; idem, ‘Foreign Policy and the Parliaments of 1621 and 1624’, op cit.; C.H. Carter, ‘Gondomar: Ambassador to James i’, Historical Journal 7 (1964), 189–208; B.C. Pursell, ‘James i, Gondomar, and the Dissolution of the Parliament of 1621’, History (2000), 428–445; Cogswell, ‘England and the Spanish Match’, op cit.; Zaller, ‘“Interest of State”: James i and the Palatinate’, op cit.; R.E. Ruigh, The Parliament of 1624: Politics and Foreign Policy (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard up, 1971); A.J. Loomie (ed.), Spain and the Jacobean Catholics, 2 vols. (London: Catholic Record Society, 1973–78); G. Redworth, ‘Of Pimps and Princes: Three Unpublished Letters from James i and the Prince of Wales relating to the Spanish Match’, op cit.

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persecuting his Catholic subjects, as he did not mean to interfere in matters of conscience, as he put it. He further declared that for the benefit and the peace of his realm he was going to distinguish between his ‘own private confession’ and his ‘political government’ of the state.136 This echoes Lipsius’s separation between public and private, where the King had to draw a distinction between his own private profession and public practice.137 Thus for political reasons, the welfare of his subjects and the interests of his state, he had to acknowledge publicly subjects of a different profession, so long as they remained steady in number and otherwise loyal.138 James split the Catholics first into clergy and laity, and then further subdivided the laity into two categories: the quiet Catholics and the ‘factious stirrers of sedition, perturbers of the Commonwealth’. Thus the King used in 1604 the same classification that we saw in his Scottish writings and the one that within the next two years he felt he needed to put into effect after the disastrous Gunpowder Plot. This was a distinction among people who were willing to pledge their loyalty to him regardless of their religious allegiance, and people who would not. James identified early in his rule as the sovereign of the three Kingdoms the threat posed to him by the ‘seditious’ point of Papal supremacy. He would not accept the Pope’s claim to have an ‘Imperiall ciuill power ouer all Kings and Emperors’, dethroning and ‘decrowning’ Princes as he pleased, and ‘dispensing and disposing of all Kingdomes and Empires at his apetite’.139 An extension of this point was the principle that these subjects were (or felt) free of their obligation to loyalty once their monarch had been excommunicated by the Roman See. They were, thus, potentially subversive, as they were effectively sanctioned either to revolt or to assassinate their king. James also acknowledged in his speech that similar challenges were posed to him by the Puritan ‘sect’, who were ‘always’ discontented with ‘the present gouernment’. They were ‘impatient to suffer any superiority’; this made their ‘sect’ ‘unable to be suffered’ in any well governed state.140 The King confirmed his view that ‘Papists’, zealous Catholics and Jesuits, were in the same class as Puritans; the one set represented an external and the other an internal peril. 136 A Speech, As it was Delivered in the Vpper Hovse of the Parliament to the Lords Spiritvall and Temporall, and to the Knights, Citizens, and Burgesses there Assembled, on Monday the xix. Day of March 1603, in James i, Workes, 485–497: 490. 137 Cf. my ‘Public and Private, Ethics and Politics in the Constantia and the Politica of Justus Lipsius’; Renaissance Studies 26 (2012), 345–364. 138 Speech, 492. 139 Speech, 492. 140 Speech, 490.

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The latter, he admitted, did not differ much in doctrinal matters from the followers of ‘true religion’. What set James and them apart in points of policy, nonetheless, much like the Roman Catholics, was the fact that both sides were staunch advocates of the doctrine that secular jurisdiction ought to be subject to the spiritual authorities. James was keen to demonstrate his moderation in his speech; he affirmed that he was ‘neuer violent or unreasonable’ in his profession.141 Moderation of passions was certainly part of his duty as the leader of his state.142 This stance, however, was also determined by his view of his role as the supreme governor of the Church, and his relationship with his subjects as that of a ‘shepherd’ to his ‘flocke’.143 The King’s theological approach to his role was obvious here. He declared that ideally he desired to rule over his subjects’ souls; for as long as they would differ from him in terms of religion, they would be ‘half subjects’.144 This statement was quite radical, as it revealed that the King wished in fact, to control not only the public persona of his subjects but also their private sentiments, their ‘souls’ – or conscience. He nonetheless had to settle for an outward subjection on behalf of the religious dissidents. This speech operates as a bridge between the views James had expressed in his earlier writings in Scotland and the new realities he had to face in his new role as the King of a unified Britain, while at the same time it points to the issues he would raise within the next five years in defending the Oath of Allegiance. It continues the rhetoric of the separation of jurisdictions but punctuates it with an enhanced degree of royal control of ecclesiastical affairs in accordance with his assertions in Scotland and with his new role as the supreme governor of the Anglican Church. The speech, however, has to be seen also as part of the official proclamation of the greater eirenicist policies that James intended to pursue from the greater stage he had stepped on to. In this sense, the union of the English and Scottish crowns was a prelude to his larger vision of healing religious divisions through a reunification of divided Christendom.145 James’s pacifism was crucial for his domestic policies. According to the speech, ‘a general Christian union in Religion’ could be achieved if the two sides could meet half-way, so that ‘all nouelties’ might be renounced on either side.146 This call for Christian unity was founded on James’s moderate approach to religious 141 142 143 144 145 146

Speech, 491. Basilikon Doron, 137–139. Speech, 488. Speech, 493. Cf. Morrill, ‘A British Patriarchy?’, 216. Speech, 492.

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issues. As in Sarpi and Lipsius, this was paired with the underlying notion that Christianity comprised a number of fundamental and indispensable doctrines, and some matters on which ‘debate and disagreement were acceptable among Christian brethern’ that is, between ‘points of saluation’ and things indifferent.147 Thus in the Premonition he told his fellow lay rulers that they ‘all agree in the substance thereof, being all Baptized In the Name of the Father, the Sonne, and the holy Ghost: vpon which there is no variance amongst vs…’ James’s baptism in the same religious rites could render him neither an apostate nor a heretic. He affirmed that he was a Catholic Christian who believed in the three Creeds, namely all those established even before the division between Eastern and Western Church.148 The King’s ecumenism was conscious and purposeful and it corresponded with his domestic policies. His aim to encourage understanding and respect between Christian Churches throughout Europe was mirrored in his strategy of incorporating a wide spectrum of (moderate) theological opinion and practice while systematically excluding radicals and zealots of either side. These categories and their boundaries were admittedly not always constant. As Kenneth Fincham and Peter Lake have pointed out, they were mutable, contingent, as they were, on political circumstances.149 Yet such a theoretical framework left James with considerable room for manoeuvre. This in practice meant that having started from a reconciliatory position that appealed to his Catholic subjects – also giving them hopes about the King’s intentions to convert – he was then able to move to a strong anti-Papal rhetoric after Rome’s unwillingness to cooperate in such a project, and particularly after the events of November 1605 and Rome’s subsequent reaction to the Oath of Allegiance. This change in Roman stance permitted James to incorporate strong Protestant elements in his following as these rallied to his support against the

147 Fincham and Lake, ‘The Ecclesiastical Policy of King James i’, 182. Cf. Basilikon Doron, 49. On the subject of ‘adiaphora’ see I. Dingel, ‘The Culture of Conflict in the Controversies Leading to the Formula of Concord (1548–1560)’, in R. Kolb (ed.), Lutheran Ecclesiastical Culture, 1550–1675 (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 15–64; C.P. Arand et als (eds), The Lutheran Confessions: History and Theology of the Book of Concord (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2011); N. Rein, ‘Faith and Empire: Conflicting Visions of Religion in a Late Reformation Controversy – The Augsburg Interim and Its Opponents, 1548–1550’. Journal of the American Academy of Religion 71(2003), 45–74; W.R. Johnston, ‘These Adiaphoristic Devils: Matthias Flacius Illyricus in statu confessionis, 1548–1552’ unpublished PhD dissertation (Erasmus University of Rotterdam, 2013); esp. 38–43, 51–58. 148 Premonition, 301–302. 149 Fincham and Lake, ‘The Ecclesiastical Policy of King James i’, 171.

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Papacy.150 On the other hand, his more eirenic policies, such as the refusal to take sides later on in his reign on the face of international war, and his attempts to resolve part of the problem through an approach with Spain that would include a match for Charles, was appealing not only to his Catholic subjects, but also to ‘anti-Calvinist’ or ‘Arminian’ elements of his court. James’s plea for the convening of an ecumenical Council raised concerns in Rome.151 According to the Curia, there was no need for a new Council, as most of the issues that James insisted on had already been discussed in Trent. Sarpi’s work disproved that notion. A new Council, moreover, would raise again the questions of who would call it, who would preside, as well as the problem of how voting would take place. All those issues, of course, for both James and Sarpi, had not been sufficiently resolved in Trent, hence the need for a new Council. Rome’s dissuasion forced James to modify his approach. Thus, in his call for an ecumenical Council in the Premonition, Rome was taken out of the equation and James reverted to the idea of a princely-led convening of the Council, as was his practice in Scotland. The grounds upon which the proposed reunion in the Premonition ought to be based, was an alliance between temporal monarchs, the rightful superintendents of General Councils and religious matters in this world. The College of Cardinals did a ‘special harm’ to the lay Princes, ‘defrauding them from their common and Christian interest in General Councils’ by assuming a monopoly over them and replacing their role with the conclave. If there was ‘ever’ a possibility to bring all Christians to a ‘uniformity of religion’ it ought to be through a General Council. The meeting place ought to be truly neutral, ‘as all Christian Princes, either in their owne Persons, or their Deputie Commissioners, and all Church-men of Christian profession that beleeue and professe all the ancient grounds of the trew, ancient, Catholike, and Apostolike Faith, might haue tutum accessum thereunto’.152 From this Synod all the aggressive and provoking fire-brands on either side ought to be barred, as would Jesuits and Puritans. Religious reconciliation and peaceful coexistence could be achieved only under the auspices of the lay rulers, through a Council where all interested parties who shared the fundamentals of the Christian faith would be able to be heard equally, and through the total exclusion of religious extremists represented equally by Jesuits and Puritans. 150 L.A. Ferell has even suggested that the issue was in a sense too convenient for James in his endeavours to appease Puritan resistance, insinuating that it was probably a governmental invention; see Government by Polemic, esp. 62–67. 151 Patterson, King James vi and i, 42–43, 49, 56–57, 70–71. 152 Premonition, 329–330.

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Religious moderation or any sort of detachment, nonetheless, in an age of religious wars, carried the danger of being perceived as inherently ambiguous, as the example of Charron, Sarpi and Lipsius demonstrates. James also faced questions regarding his confessional identity. Accusations of religious ambiguity were apparently one of the primary reasons behind the original edition of the Basilikon Doron in 1599. In the text, James defended himself against men who ‘doubted the sincerity’ of his religion which he had ‘ever constantly professed’. This was the religion in which he was ‘brought up, and ever made profession of’ and was ‘the onely true forme of Gods worship’.153 In this, the Stuart King was rebutting criticisms raised against his plans to reintroduce the system of episcopacies, a system perceived as ‘Popish’ by the Scottish reformers. This was in addition to the criticisms received for his policy of favouritism towards Catholic earls.154 His via media made him susceptible to blows from all directions. His dealings with the Papacy, on the eve of his succession to the English throne and his continued communication after 1603, raised suspicions that he would follow the example of Anne of Denmark (1574–1619) when she converted to Catholicism. As a result, James was extremely disconcerted when Bellarmine made allusions in his writings that the King had negotiated better treatment for his Catholic subjects in exchange for Papal support to his claim to the throne. According to Bellarmine, there was a general impression that James did not ‘abhor the Catholic faith’.155 That this accusation was credible, and possibly severely damaging to his position, is verified by James’s urgent imprisonment of his former secretary in Scotland, James Elphinstone (?1553–1612). Bellarmine’s charge was also the reason behind the exposition of James’s doctrine of faith in the Premonition, where over five folio pages he laboured to prove that he considered himself to be neither an ‘apostate’ nor a ‘Puritan’.156 The ambivalence of the Stuart King’s position as reflected in his writings is evident through the easiness with which he retracts from his assertion that the Pope was the Antichrist. After arguing his point through two fifths of the Premonition, James added the startling offer that he was willing to refute the accusation, should the Pontiff withdraw his claims to temporal supremacy.157 This could be taken as evidence that James, albeit a Calvinist, was keener for the Pope to stop interfering in temporal matters than he was on maintaining his particular doctrinal affiliation. 153 Basilikon Doron, 14. 154 Cf. Basilikon Doron, 16–17. 155 Cited in Patterson, King James vi and i, 86–87. 156 Premonition, 301–307. 157 Premonition, 328–329.

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Having to Realign the Middle Way: The Revival of Religious Divisions

Evidently, the greatest problems for the King arose with the outbreak of the Thirty Years’ War, especially when combined with his attempts to secure a Spanish match for his son as a means of bringing the two embattled sides together. James strongly refused to take a confessional view on the issue of the Palatinate, writing to the Pope as ‘his holy father’ to request his cooperation in the restoration of European peace. His stance was not received well by his subjects and when opposition started to appear, James issued instructions that in their sermons the clergy were not to represent the conflict ‘as one of religion, which would stir up all Europe’.158 In spite of his measures, though, after 1621 the religious settlement he had so carefully built came to a breaking point, and James faced an insurgent wave of anti-royal pamphlet literature reflecting, mostly a resurgence of radical Puritanism.159 His attempt to maintain a via media and a balance between his foreign and domestic policies, thus, created problems, since in the process he alienated Protestant elements that had been supportive of him until the outbreak of war. In this manner and in the face of opposition, the King’s fears of extreme Protestantism resurfaced.160 To support his stance, James had to turn to divines whose theology was more receptive to a non-militant, Protestant attitude and a rapprochement with Catholic powers. The so-called rise of Arminianism in the Stuart court, therefore, with the parallel hardening of attitude towards ‘Puritans’ must be viewed within this context. This complex combination of domestic and foreign policies is the background against which we can read the final two tracts in our consideration, the Meditation vpon the Lords Prayer (2 December 1618–March 1619) and the Meditation vpon the 27.28.29. Verses of the xvii Chapter of St. Matthew or a Paterne for a Kings Inavgvration (December 1619), as they were both composed at the critical juncture of the onset of international war. In these, we can see how whilst maintaining a similar rhetoric to the one used so far, founded on the separation of authorities, James attempted to curb what he saw as religious extremism for the sake of the commonwealth. The middle way however, appeared to have shifted, and to have moved against extreme Calvinism.

158 Cited in Fincham and Lake, ‘The Ecclesiastical Policy of James i’, 198. 159 Croft, King James, 120–122, 176–179; Fincham and Lake, ‘The Ecclesiastical Policy of James i’, 199–200; Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 426–447, 506–515. 160 Fincham and Lake, ‘The Ecclesiastical Policy of James i’, 200.

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This is particularly the case with the first of the two tracts, the Meditation vpon the Lords Prayer, which set out to discuss the meaning and significance of this prayer as an integral part of a Christian’s service to God. With this tract James was trying to emphasise ‘the importance of personal devotion’ while he was also returning to the fundamentals and the shared elements of Christian religion. The text operates on many levels: first, as a theological treatise, identifying mistakes in doctrine and ecclesiology. Second, as a call for unity based on the fundamental elements common in all Christian varieties like the Lord’s Prayer, which was ‘agreed upon by all Christians’.161 Third, it represents the royal prerogative of protecting the Church, of commanding obedience to  the word of God, but most importantly, of resolving differences and seeing to the removal of heresies. The author tries to signal his own moderate and ‘middle’ approach by pointing out theological and ecclesiastical errors of both the ‘Papists’ and the ‘Puritans’. Nevertheless, the balance of the criticism within the Meditation leans more against the ‘Puritans’. James censures them for their emphasis on preaching instead of praying: ‘[they] will haue vs hunt for hearing of Sermons without ceasing, but as little prayer as yee will, turning the commandment of the Apostle from Pray continuallie to preach continually’.162 The King chastises their aversion towards ceremonies, their opposition to the polity of Bishops and condemns their ‘over-familiarity’ which he sees as having reached the point of becoming a lack of respect towards God.163 James was aware that averting the religious rifts from erupting in his kingdoms was a delicate act and developments abroad could affect this at any point. The particular text’s publication coincided with the deliberations of the Synod of Dort in the Low Countries (1618–19). Having sent a delegation to assist (and even direct, to an extent) with the deliberations, James composed this tract as a clarification of his position vis-à-vis his own subjects as well as the assembled delegates at Dort. Even though the position he is assumed to have supported at the Synod regarding the situation in the Low Countries and the teachings of Conrad Vorstius (1569–1622) was taken to be staunchly Calvinist and antiArminian, this tract gives a different impression.164 This is in keeping with the 161 A Meditation Vpoon the Lord’s Prayer, in James i, Workes, 571–599: 575. 162 Lords Prayer, 575. For expressions of the different forms of churchmanship between Puritans and Arminians (preaching and praying), see Fincham, Prelate as Pastor, 5, 300–304, and esp. 248–293. 163 Lords Prayer, 576. 164 Cf. Croft, King James, 175–176; Patterson, King James vi and i, Ch. 8; C. Grayson, ‘James i and the Religious Crisis in the United Provinces, 1613–19’ in D. Baker (ed.), Reform and Reformation: England and the Continent, c.1500–1750 (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1979), 1­95–219 and in the same volume, J. Platt, ‘Eirenical Anglicans at the Synod of Dort’, 221–243;

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view that James also saw Dort as an opportunity to promote his plans for a religious reconciliation, at least of the non-Catholic Churches, at this point. The text was also produced during a time when James was still hopeful that he would be able to negotiate a peace in Europe thus highlighting the via media, through which this would be made possible.165 The text reproaches the doctrines of free will advocated by the Dutch Arminians, while it also reprimands the development of numerous small sects who called themselves Churches.166 Trying to keep the balance, the King also critiqued ‘errors’ of Catholicism, such as their view of Purgatory and the associated sale of pardons (Indulgences) on behalf of the Pope. He criticises their use of a language that no-one comprehended in the liturgy, as well as their ‘invention of numerous mediators’ between Christians and their God.167 Despite finding faults with both ends of the confessional spectrum, ultimately James wished that the unity of the Christian Church would be restored, and that Christ’s Church on earth would return to the original shared Decalogue. It is only then that the Church would be freed of any Schisms, heresies and novelties. Peace, after all, was the gift of Christ.168 Wee are then to pray, that his reuealed will may bee obeyed in earth by his Militant Church, as it is by his Triumphing Church in heauen: then would this Militant Church vpon earth obserue better the two Tables of the Law, then now they doe, and then would the Church bee free of Schismes, Heresies, and all new opinions.169 The second tract under consideration, also composed as a meditation, was written within a year of the first. It was intended as an outline for another treatise on kingship, addressing his second son and heir Charles, as a forewarning and as preparation for his succession.170 The text reflected the difficult circumstances under which James found himself, facing impossible dilemmas on the M.W. Dewar, ‘The British Delegation at the Synod of Dort, 1618–19’, Evangelical Quarterly 46 (1974), 103–116; Tyacke, Anti-Calvinists, 87–180; Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 418–435; G.J. Hoenderdall, ‘The Debate about Arminius outside the Netherlands’, in T.H. Lunsingh Scheuerleer et al. (eds), Leiden University in the Seventeenth Century: An Exchange of Learning (Leiden: Brill, 1975), 137–159. 165 Patterson, King James vi and i, 339. 166 Lords Prayer, 576, 578, 581 and 594. 167 Lords Prayer, 581, 584–585, 593, 597. 168 Lords Prayer, 590. 169 Lords Prayer, 581. 170 Meditation vpon the 27.28.29. Verses of the xvii Chapter of St. Matthew or a Paterne for a Kings Inavgvration, in James i, Workes, 601–621: 606.

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brink of war. His concern about the looming war in Europe became greater after the Elector Frederick of the Palatinate (1596–1632) accepted the Crown of Bohemia that had been offered to him. James urged for Christian unity in this age of religious division and war, using the metaphor of Christ’s seamless coat. The coat signified ‘the indiuisible vnitie of the Church’, which James prayed God ‘the true Church of Christ would now well remember’.171 At the same time he was apprehensive of the impact a war would have in his kingdoms, given the deep divisions over foreign policy and the opposition he faced about his hesitation to act as the champion of the Protestant cause on the Continent, at the expense of peace. Employing as a metaphor the mocking of Christ by his captors, James reflected upon the burden of a king, his ‘thorny cares’, something he ‘daily and nightly’ felt himself.172 The tract returned to the familiar motif of lay and ecclesiastical jurisdictions and how the King’s role also entailed supervision of the Church. The Meditation confirms that the main issues preoccupying James did not change much throughout his life and reign, and neither did his approach to religious divisions. In the text we find reiterations of the notion that Christ did not exercise any temporal jurisdiction during his time on earth. Christ knew not how to ‘set both croune and mitre vpon one head’ and did not mix the two authorities. With biting sarcasm, James asserts that the Lord was not ‘yet’ familiar with the notion that a ‘Church-man may vse the temporall sword, to procure bonum spirituale’.173 The King re-emphasised the special relationship between God and kings, the ‘deputie-judges vpon earth’. He stressed the primacy of temporal authority in this world, as Christ himself had been born under the Roman emperor, and the kingdom of the Jews was subject to the Emperor of Rome.174 James repeated that the kings were responsible for their subjects’ souls as well as their bodies – mindful, however, to not interfere with the ecclesiastical jurisdiction. Both authorities ought to not exceed the limits of their respective spheres, as the two offices ‘were divided in Aaron’s priesthood’. As a figure inbetween a cleric and a lay person the king had the responsibility to oversee and compel the Church to do her office, to purge all abuses and to procure her due reverence and obedience of all his temporal subjects with his sword as duties of the king.175 The text finally underlined the significance of moderation and of maintaining a middle way. The King advised his son to exercise his wisdom 171 172 173 174 175

Meditation upon St Matthew, 611. Meditation upon St Matthew, 607. Meditation upon St Matthew, 619. Meditation upon St Matthew, 609–610. Meditation upon St Matthew, 611.

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in handling wisely and with great moderation, difficulties, ‘steering clear of extremities’. The objective was to ‘temper and tune all discords into a sweet harmony’.176 It is perhaps significant that the King decided that this Meditation would also be the concluding text in his collected Works. With this final call for temperance and moderation, we have thus come full circle in examining James vi and i’s views as articulated in texts issued in his name. For James, as for Charron, Lipsius and Sarpi, the rhetoric of the separate jurisdictions and a religious middle way administered by lay authorities was the answer to religious divisions. His theological understanding of kingship, based both on the scripture as well as on the temporal history of the early Christian Church within the Roman Empire, continued and renegotiated some of the fundamental premises discussed by Charron and Lipsius. James was convinced that the only way to overcome the confessional rift was through peaceful coexistence under strong lay leadership. This would restore the balance by curbing the Church’s usurpations and by eliminating religious passions and extremities. Doctrinal differences ought also to be seen in this light and the faithful should return to the shared Christian elements – after all, divisions had only materialised because of religious passions and emphasis on ‘unnecessary’ particulars. James’s response combined elements of the responses of Charron, Lipsius and Sarpi, from the unique perspective of a scholarly sovereign of three deeply divided Kingdoms, who had to maintain a religious equilibrium. The European experience reflected and informed both the situation in his realms as well as his views. The end of his reign, nonetheless, also marked the resurgence of these rifts, both in his Kingdoms, as well as in the Continent, during which the language of moderation became redundant as passions resurfaced and the brief, peaceful respite came to an end. In the meantime, views on the nature and role of religion had fundamentally changed.

176 Meditation upon St Matthew, 613.

Conclusions The eruption of a European war in 1618, a war which in many ways was underpinned by religious motivations, marked the end of the short interlude of peace that had lasted between c. 1580–1620. As religious passions flared once more, war also signalled the breakdown of attempts at reconciliation, as well as the failure of policies which aimed at a middle way. The intellectuals under examination in this study thus wrote in the aftermath of one wave of (religious) violence and disruption, and before the onset of a new one. Their writings responded to some of the problems that arose as a result of confessional division, and reflected the anxieties of the decades between the pacification of religious strife in France and the Low Countries and the outbreak of the Thirty Years’ War. Confessional conflict forced thinkers to understand and come to terms with the effects of religious division and spurred them to look for ways of settling these. In this search, they repeatedly had to (re)negotiate and reconfigure the limits between the public and private face of religion and by extension, the institution or authority that would have jurisdiction over the respective domains. The responses of the intellectuals analysed here were above all concerned with the surge in religious passions. They called for eradication of religious extremism and ‘superstition’ and advised for moderation and temperance. Charron, Lipsius, Sarpi and James aimed at peace and coexistence – even if temporary. The two former, having experienced the wars of religion first-hand, were also concerned with survival and emotional tranquillity amidst the chaos. Charron and Lipsius sought solace; they longed for a retreat from religious wars and the disruption that these caused. They put forward a distinction between public and private that would allow for peaceful (co)existence and engaged in an earnest examination of alternatives through which to understand and communicate religion and morality. Sarpi and James more actively sought to find solutions to what they saw as the root of the issue. Apart from the emphasis on the need to eradicate religious extremism, they attributed the cause of this problem to the clergy and recommended lay control of the Church. According to their view, it had been the Church’s abuse and extension of its powers that had caused the confessional rift in the first place. All four of them advised about the necessity of religion in the state as this was linked to the preservation of order and peace within a realm, and therefore to the welfare of the subjects. A personalised and internalised form of religion, such as Charron, Lipsius and Sarpi advocated (and James by necessity, promoted) would ensure peace and unity in a state, as it would prevent

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi 10.1163/9789004330771_008

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religious differences from being politicised and from being expressed by public confrontations. According to their analysis, religious dogmatism was at the root of factions and war. Excessive zeal amounted to disproportionate attention to particulars, to which, as far as Sarpi and others were concerned, man could not determine. Instead, in different degrees, the four authors in this study emphasised the common shared elements of all Christian doctrines. Beyond their specific occasional partiality as in the case of Charron and James, their works attempt to play down doctrinal differences in different ways and to communicate on a supra-confessional level. This was a means of dealing with the conflict which religious hatred had brought about, as well as a way of surviving. If all Christians agreed on a basic level, they could coexist peacefully. These scholars were critical of religious dogmatism and of the hardening of the confessional lines, such as, according to Sarpi, was the effect of the Council of Trent. James’s active promotion of policies that aspired to a reunion of the divided Christendom both affected and was inspired by his view of the common fundamental elements shared by all Christians. Both the friar and the King approached the Christian Church and religion from a historical perspective and appealed to the early years of Christianity before doctrinal differences had appeared. Similarly in Charron’s analysis, at the very basis of Christian religion was reason and nature. It was by following these universal principles that man could arrive to peace and salvation, and not by following particulars. Significantly, the syncretism that he and Sarpi displayed in their work also highlighted the shared elements between religions. Lipsius equally tried to find the core of religious belief, constancy in accordance with reason, by indicating the points where Christianity met with the ancient philosophical tradition of Stoicism. Evidently, by endorsing a more lenient view of doctrinal differences the four scholars examined here gained the reputation of religious ambivalence: Lipsius, Sarpi and James were criticised as heretics and accused of traversing confessional boundaries. Equally, Charron’s naturalism and use of philosophy made him susceptible to accusations of atheism. This was despite the fact that he had tried to combat atheism and indifference in his work, which he saw as significant offshoots of religious strife and division. The devastation of the religious wars had had profound effects on attitudes towards religion: people’s responses ranged from a turn to religious zeal to indifference, and a reluctance to commit to doctrinal dictates, as well as a general sense of anti-dogmatism. That their religious attitude was perceived as ambivalent is only intelligible against a backdrop of rigid confessionalism. This hardening of attitudes surfaced more forcefully at peak periods since the middle of the sixteenth century, such as in the aftermath of the St Bartholomew’s day massacre and the

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outbreak of war in Bohemia, as critical events demanded from people to take sides. The most crucial dimension in their responses to religious division was the elements of syncretism and historical approach in the four authors’ perceptions of religion, which also made them susceptible to criticism. This dimension had the double effect of highlighting a temporal aspect of religion and through that, of ascribing greater powers to temporal authorities. The shared components of religions revealed in Charron’s and Sarpi’s works indicated the human element in the construction of religion and its practice. Similarly, by examining the manner in which Christianity and the Christian Church advanced throughout the centuries from a congregation of believers to an institution (controlling the lives of believers), King James and Sarpi were thus pointing to the areas where Christian practice and belief had been shaped by man, often in a different direction from the one advocated by Christ. Similarly, Charron’s and Lipsius’s attempt at searching for the core elements of belief beyond the strict limits of Christianity by seeking points of convergence with pre-Christian philosophical traditions, also produced the effect of undermining the uniqueness of Christian religion. Since pre-Christian philosophical traditions were not necessarily derived by divine inspiration, the common points between them and Christianity highlighted the temporal aspects of the latter. Thus, whether intentionally or not, both of these approaches, syncretism and historicity drew attention to the human elements of religion. This had three interrelated implications. First, it seriously undermined the institutional facet of religion, namely the Church, as this was taken to be a human construction. At the same time, on the contrary, it elevated the role of temporal authority. If the rules of the Church were based on human inventions and if, as a considerable number of believers from across the confessional spectrum thought, the Church was an institution prone to corruption, then the management of its affairs should be left to lay rulers who were the most qualified in dealing with the affairs of this world. The clergy ought to concentrate on their pastoral duties and the care of the souls of the faithful, the internal aspect of faith. Religion ought to be a private matter, disassociated from any political connotations. In this context, all four theorists in question struggled to define the relationship between politics and religion, and to establish a claim for some form of independent existence of the former from the latter. This ran opposite to arguments promoted by theocratic writers exemplified in this study by Coornhert and Bellarmine, among others, according to whom politics ought to be subject to religion in all respects. The latter authors based their position on the writings of the Bible that underscored the temporary nature of this world, stressing that the ultimate end was the next world. Adherence to divine principles, thus,

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was to be preferred, in the same way that eternal salvation was to be preferred over this life. Our writers provided different responses to this stance. Influenced by stoic doctrines of free will and man’s participation in divine reason, Charron and Lipsius argued that God had provided man with everything he needs to survive on this earth. As a result, not only did politics exist independently, but it had, in fact, a priority over religion in this world; religion’s sphere of influence was in the afterlife, while in this life it was restricted to internal and privatised expressions of piety. Sarpi, likewise, although having considerably less faith in the abilities of man, like Charron, firmly believed that the divine sphere was at a great distance from the temporal, so men themselves had to mend the disorder caused by human feebleness. Beyond the separation of public from private, therefore, and political from ecclesiastical, there was a new hierarchy in place: the temporal was to take precedence in this realm even if ultimately everything was subject to the divine. Similar precedence was given to the private domain over the public. This was related to the more general question of the role of morality in politics that particularly exercised Lipsius and Sarpi. Simply put, if one accepted that this world is morally corrupt due to its dependence on human feebleness then, by definition, the administration of it would also be corrupt. This situation was only to be dealt with by an equal moral laxity in the realm of politics, represented by a notion as subtle and adaptable as prudence, provided that the primary interest of the prince was the welfare of the people in general. But then if politics was inherently corrupt and immoral, perhaps the road to salvation lay in people detaching themselves from the outside world and public life, secure and constant in their inner compartment. Charron and Lipsius thus talked about the disjunction between private and public conduct, and argued that as long as one adhered to societal and state precepts in public, one could maintain and practice one’s personal convictions in private. Bellarmine denounced this position, asserting that concealment of true religious allegiance and outward conformity amounted to the prioritisation of temporal interests at the expense of eternal salvation, as Calvin had done, earlier in the century. The third implication was that within this context the ‘petty’ doctrinal differences between denominations were also considered as later additions to the original faith, originating from human institutions. They were therefore less significant for people’s salvation, they were ‘indifferent’. By undercutting the role of the Church and its dictates, the importance of morality in assessing how virtuous someone was, was significantly elevated over how closely he/she followed specific doctrinal dictates, as evidently morality could not have many different interpretations. Religious zealotry, after all, was a menace to

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reasonable­thinking and moral conduct. As a way to preserve these two from passion, guidelines were sought in ancient texts, and through an appeal to a (shared) natural, human morality. Thus in the temporal realm moderation and prudence arise as the dominant virtues, provided they had the grounding of inner constancy. The views and the arguments of the authors considered in this study were expressed through and determined by a combination of languages and traditions. In this sense, the relation between the development of alternative possible perspectives to confessionalism, and the issue of languages is an important one to recognise. Through their adoption of a specific idiom in which to discuss politics, philosophy, religion and morality, thinkers of the period under consideration subscribed to a particular way of understanding the affairs of the world. The language employed in some ways dictated the perspective; correspondingly, the choice of language confirmed the view adopted. Evidently, as their views primarily gave precedence to the temporal, the scholars discussed in this study generally chose either the humanistic or juristic language of thought over the theological, though it is interesting that they combined them with some elements of the latter. Charron’s first two Véritez, for instance, read like a philosophical treatise, while his third like a treatise on theology. Similarly, in the revised version of De la Sagesse, he added arguments from the theology of grace in order to temper the naturalistic elements of the first edition. Lipsius used primarily a humanistic language in the Constantia, while also adding elements of Christian theology; when accused of impiety, because of his writings, he defended himself by asserting that he was a philosopher, albeit a ‘Christian philosopher’. The subject of the Politica, on the other hand, required the use of the humanistic reasoning, interwoven with juristic argumentation. The religious elements of the work are limited to the discussion of the duties of the prince towards God and the role of religion within the state. Sarpi’s approach is an amalgamation of the theological and the humanistic standpoints. The former is especially evident in his accounts of the doctrinal and sacramental deliberations in the Council, while the latter dominates his sense of ecclesiastical history, and his account of the events surrounding the Council. Ultimately, however, his theological language is a mere methodological tool: his approach reflects his fundamental belief that history belonged entirely to the temporal realm. In Charron, Lipsius and Sarpi, the language of theology is subject to the humanistic or juristic, a reflection of the primacy they ascribed to the earthly kingdom. This is less so in the case of James, who wrote in a much more overtly religious idiom and his texts are permeated by the sense of the ultimate divine purpose. His role as a king, however, and the experience derived from it, as well as the strong historical and juristic a­ rgumentation employed in his texts,

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also gave his style a more pragmatic outlook as most of his writings constituted political actions. Further to the different languages employed, it is also important to acknowledge the different genres in which the views examined here were expressed. The texts examined here range from philosophical treatises on the existence of God and the attainment of wisdom, to works on the consolation of the individual in the face of civil wars, mirrors for princes, histories of ecclesiastical councils, polemical pamphlets defending the Venetian republic’s political authority, works defending the royal supremacy in the face of spiritual assaults, meditations upon prayers, as well as ‘notes’ on religion, not necessarily intended for publication. The variety of genres in which we have located these views attests to the impact of the questions raised by the religious division. Apart from the issue of genres, differences have also already been pointed out throughout this study in terms of the authors’ experiences, backgrounds and also roles in politics or religion. Thus, whereas Charron and Lipsius had an immediate experience of civil strife, Sarpi and James only studied the conflict from a vantage point, whether that was a chronological or a geographical distance. This did not change the extent of the two latter authors’ interest in or the intensity of their preoccupation with the issues raised by division and confessional conflict. Nonetheless, it did change their perspectives and the purpose of their texts. As mentioned earlier, Charron and Lipsius were seeking refuge from the devastation they found themselves immersed in, like so many of their contemporaries. Sarpi and James, on the other hand, from elevated and ‘safer’ positions were trying to address the issues in a more practical manner and on a more general level. This is also related to their respective positions and their (non) involvement in public affairs. Charron and Lipsius were not political agents, in contrast to Sarpi and James. Since they were not as involved in the affairs of the state they were therefore concerned more with the effects the wars had on the individual and upon the body of the subjects as a whole, despite the fact that at least partly, they also aimed their views and advice at princes. All of the above aspects return to the point frequently made throughout this study, that the views and positions of the four scholars were not homogenous. In fact, the greater the difference between the authors, their contexts, their texts and the genres of those texts, makes the parallels between them all the more striking. All four of them were responding to different problems which emerged through the eruption of religious division and were dealing with different aspects of what was essentially one problem: the struggle Europeans went through in determining the role they wanted to ascribe to religion within their life, during the six to ten decades that had passed since Luther’s call for reform

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and the ensuing breakdown of the Societas Christiana. The universal nature of these problems and questions are demonstrated by the significance they had in the international network of exchanges throughout Europe through which the four authors were either immediately or indirectly connected. This international network comprising overlapping circles of common acquaintances of scholars and agents who exchanged books, ideas and information was by and large non-denominational and religiously moderate, as often advocates of religious moderation found it easier to communicate with one another than with others of the (nominally) same confession. Similarities, therefore, in the views of these authors can partly be accounted for through these connections. They are also explained by a shared ‘culture of knowledge’ and an appeal to common intellectual traditions involving a blend of ingredients drawn from the ancient cultures, the reforming elements of the Church (expressed in conciliarism and Luther’s call for reform), and the disillusionment produced from the breakdown of Christian Church and religious certainty. What united them above all, however, was the shock caused by the intensity of religious strife and the abhorrence of religious dogmatism and fervour that had brought it about. Their answer to this upheaval was moderation of religious passion and dogmatism, and coexistence and peace with prudence, in the context of a temporal political state.

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Index Aaron 246 Abbot, George, Archbishop of ­Canterbury  54n146, 164, 202, 202 n195 Abraham 86 adiaphora 4, 144n117, 196, 240n147 see also indifferent matters Albert vii, Archduke of Austria 38, 66 Aldegonde, Marnix of St 159 Allegiance, Oath of 6n13, 49–52, 57, 194, 205, 210–26, 232, 239–40 French Oath of Allegiance 69, 226–7 Alva, Duke of (Fernando Álvarez de Toledo)  33, 143 Amboise 26, 140n102 Amsterdam 24, 201 Anabaptism 236 Anabaptists 233 Angers 24n3, 28 Anglicanism 54, 202 Anglican Church 204, 239 Anglicans 45–6, 62, 194 Anjou, Duc d’ 13, 28, 36 Anne of Denmark 242 Antwerp 24, 34, 36, 138, 157 apatheia (indifference) 135 Aristides 113 Aristotle 13, 86, 88, 91, 97, 102, 129 Arius 225 Armada see Spain Arminianism 44, 202n190, 243, 244, 245 Arminians 241 Arminius, Jacobus 44 ataraxia 5, 130 atheism 1, 5–6, 10, 19, 7, 43, 163, 194, 195n152, 200, 249 Charron on 71, 74–5, 77, 79, 80–3, 84, 90, 92, 106, 113, 114, 115 James on 236 Augsburg, Peace of 25, 41, 170 Interim of 170, 177 Augustine of Hippo 103 Augustinian theology 46, 74, 198 authority ecclesiastical and political 2–3, 18–20, 30n33, 49–52, 248, 250, 253

Charron on 109, 113 Lipsius on 118, 123–4, 142, 150 Sarpi on 161–94, 200 James on 208–9, 211–2, 216–25, 230–9, 246–7 Papal claims to political authority 44, 50, 161, 172, 176, 188, 191, 194n152, 206, 216, 220–2, 224, 229–30, 242 Barclay, William 52, 216 Baronio, Cesare, Cardinal 38n80, 152 Barrefelt, Hendrik Jansen 34n63, 154n161 Becanus, Martin 52, 216, 227, 228 Bellarmine, Robert, Cardinal 11n24, 15, 38, 47, 49–50, 52, 62–3, 125n32, 152–3, 189, 191–2, 212–3, 216, 218–20, 222n70, 226, 227–8, 242, 250–1 Benci, Francesco 38, 125n32, 152–3 Beza, Theodore 186n105, 207 Bible 58, 65, 68, 185, 220, 224, 250 see also Scriptures New Testament 224 Old Testament 224 Blackwell, George, Archpriest 51–2, 212, 220 Blois see Estates General Blotius, Hugo 62 Bodin, Jean 85, 159, 159n184 Bohemia 44, 57–8, 184, 246, 250 Bologna 37n78, 170, 175 Bordeaux 27, 30, 73 Borghese, Scipione, Cardinal 53 Borromeo, Carlo, Archbishop 47 Borromeo, Federico, Archbishop 37n78 Bourges 26 Bothwell, Adam, Bishop of Orkney 56 Brabant 32 Brent, Nathaniel 54, 166n14, 172, 202 British Isles 50, 53, 66 see also Three Kingdoms Brussels 32, 36, 38, 73 Bucer, Martin 10, 40 Buchanan, George 63, 207, 223 Buchelius, Arnoldus 156n170 Caesar, Julius, Roman Emperor 86, 91, 205, 210, 217, 224, 233

Index Render unto Caesar the things that are Ceasar’s and unto God the things that are God’s 205, 210, 217, 224, 233 Cahors 29–30 Calixtus, Georg 210 Calvin, Jean 12, 143, 149n133, 193, 251 Calvinism 13, 25, 26, 29, 35, 52, 56, 62, 66, 149n133, 153–4, 155n167, 193, 215, 231, 235, 237, 243 Calvinists 13, 25, 66, 235 Camden, William 15, 63, 65, 207 Camerarius, Joachim 33, 62, 66 Capella, Gian Maria, of Cremona 47 Carleton, Dudley, Ambassador 54, 59, 61–2, 64, 66–7, 202n195, 203, 207 Carleton, George 52, 203n201, 216 Casaubon, Isaac 15, 52, 59, 60n161, 62, 64, 159, 198, 207, 209, 216 Castagna, Giovanni Battista see Urban vii Castrino, Francesco 62 Cateau-Cambrésis (Treaty) 46, 171 Catholic League 12, 24, 25, 28, 36, 44, 47, 69, 235 Cato, Marcus Porcius 86, 91, 113 Chalcedon, Council of 221 ‘Chaldean’ religion 86 Charles i Stuart, King of England 58, 241, 245 Charles v, Emperor 31, 46, 169n30, 170, 176–7, 180, 181, 183 Charles ix, King of France 27, 185 Charron, Pierre Trois Veritez 65, 71–75, 75–93, 235 De la Sagesse, Trois Livres 65, 71–75, 93–115, 135, 145, 151 Petit Traicté de la Sagesse 30, 93 Discours Chrestiens 30, 97 See also atheism; authority ecclesiastical and political; morality; nature; opinion(s); passions; pedantic knowledge; piety; preud’hommie; prudence; reason; religious conformity; religious diversity; religious dogmatism; religious indifference; religious unbelief; religious zeal; stoicism; wisdom Chastel, Jean 227 Church, early 11, 14, 80, 132, 164, 179, 195n152, 225, 247 Church, Eastern 54, 202, 240 Church, Western 54, 180, 197, 202, 240

281 Church, primitive see early Church Christian i von Anhalt 159 Christian iv, King of Denmark 159 Cicero, Marcus Tullius 13, 42n94, 65n194, 86, 91, 101, 103, 131, 133n68 Clement vii, Pope (Medici) 169 Clement viii, Pope (Aldobrandini) 75 Clément, Jacques 24 Coiffeteau, Nicolas 52, 216 Coexistence see religious coexistence College of Cardinals 169n30, 177n71, 223, 241 Cologne 34, 37n78 Jesuit College of 32 Conciliar tradition 14, 17, 174, 193, 223, 229–30, 254 Condom 31n39, 73, 103 Conformity see religious conformity conscience 20, 109, 133, 134n70, 140n102, 142–3, 149–50, 152–3, 156, 236, 238, 239 consolation 24, 35, 87, 102, 132, 137, 253 Constance, Council of 223, 229 constancy 20, 41, 61, 117–30, 134–6, 155, 157, 159, 249, 252 Constantine i, Roman Emperor 174, 180, 196–7, 205, 225, 234 Council, Ecumenical 192, 225, 241 Council, General 11n24, 57, 177, 192, 223, 225, 229–30, 234, 241 calls for 169, 174, 241 plans for 11n24, 57, 192 see also Trent Coornhert, Dirck Volckertszoon  10, 36–7, 138–9, 141, 148–53, 155, 158n177 Cuykius (Hendrik van Guyk) 152 Del Bufalo Cancellieri, Innocenzo 73 Del Monte, Giovanni Maria; Cardinal 167 see also Julius iii Delrio, Martin 35, 36, 37n76 democracy 235 Diodati, Giovanni 54, 64, 200 Diodati, Theodore 64 Diogenes Laertius 101, 103 dissent see religious dissent dissimulation 5n6, 35, 106, 111 Lipsius on 118, 125, 127–8, 132, 135 Sarpi on 195 diversity see religious diversity

282 doctrine 4, 6, 9, 11, 13, 35, 42, 44, 58, 69–70, 74, 78–80, 84, 108, 137–8, 140, 143–4, 151, 155–6, 170, 181–7, 194, 197–9, 223, 225, 239–40, 242, 244–5, 247, 249 dogmatism see religious dogmatism Dominican Order 170n34, 184, 198 Dominis, Marcantonio de; Archbishop of Spalato 41, 54, 65, 201–3 Don Juan of Austria 34 Donne, John 52, 216 Dort, Synod of 44, 58, 198, 202n190, 244–5 Dousa, Janus 62 Du Chastel, Pierre 10 Du Ferrier, Arnaud 10, 62, 66, 167 Du Jon, François 29, 41, 65, 140n101, 143, 156 Du Moulin, Pierre 52, 59, 216–7 Du Perron, Jacques Davy, Cardinal 216, 222n70, 227 Du Plessis-Mornay, Philippe 27, 29, 41, 53, 57, 62, 66, 75–6, 92 Du Vair, Guillaume 42n94, 95, 100, 101 Du Vergier de Hauranne, Jean, Abbé of Saint-Cyran 114 Dudley, Robert, First Earl of Leicester 17, 25, 36, 159 Dutch Republic see Low Countries Edinburgh 55, 56, 232 Edward vi, King of England 13, 32 eirenicism 4n5, 15, 20, 40, 42, 46, 62, 63, 66, 70, 87n50, 163, 194n152, 208–9, 236, 239, 241 Elizabeth i, Queen of England 19, 25, 36, 43, 46, 205, 208, 222 Elphinstone, James 242 England 19, 21, 25, 32, 40, 41, 46, 51, 54, 55, 58–9, 61, 62, 64–5, 68, 170, 201–3, 205, 207, 209n11, 211n17, 223, 226–8, 230, 234 Parliament of 43, 58, 159n184, 237 Epictetus 41, 101, 131, 133n68, 138 Epicureans 77, 82, 91, 92, 130n53, 136 Erasmus, Desiderius 9, 98n102, 132, 186n105 Estates General of Orléans 2 Estates General of Blois 28 Estates General of 1614–15 52, 226 Estienne, Henri ii 62, 64 Eucharist 76, 79, 170, 184 Eudaemon-Johannes, Andreas 52, 216, 227–8

Index Evangelical Union 44, 57 Family of Love 34, 62, 154 Farnese, Alessandro, Duke of Parma 37 fate 132, 137, 139n97, 157, 158 Ferdinand i, Emperor 44, 171, 177n73 Ferdinand ii, Emperor 186 fortune 121–2, 127, 135, 157, 158 France 2, 12, 19, 22–31, 36, 41, 44–8, 50, 52, 56–8, 61, 62, 64, 66, 68–9, 74–6, 79, 113, 140, 159, 160, 170, 171, 172, 175–7, 191, 193–4, 200, 215–16, 217, 222, 225n84, 226–8, 230, 235, 248 Francis i, King of France 25 Francis ii, Dauphin of France 56, 171 Franciscan Order 170n34, 184 Frederick iv, Elector Palatine 159 Frederick v, Elector Palatine 44, 57–8, 246 free will 113, 137–8, 158, 170n34, 183–4, 199, 245, 251 Galenus, Claudius 133n68 Galilei, Galileo 62 Gallican Church 62, 222, 230 Gallicanism 45, 52, 179n79, 180n80, 215, 222–3, 225n84 Gallicans 45–6, 62–3, 193–4 Garasse, François 114 Gassendi, Pierre 16n41, 65 Gembloux 34 Geneva 26, 56, 62, 64 Genoa 46 German Lands 25, 33, 37, 52, 57, 61, 169–70, 172, 174, 175n61, 177, 181, 182, 185, 190, 191, 216, 234 see also Holy Roman Empire Ghent 24 Gerson, Jean 192–3, 223 Gibelins 184 Gillot, Jacques 45n99, 63, 163n8, 195n155 Gonzaga, Ercole, Cardinal 47, 167 Gordon, George, sixth Earl of Huntly  231n112, 232 Gournay, Marie de 61 grace 44, 48, 94, 97–8, 112–3, 149n133, 170n34, 184, 198–9, 252 Granvelle, Antoine Perrenot de, Cardinal 32 Gregory i (the Great), Pope 221 Gregory vii, Pope 51n127, 180, 222, 228

283

Index Gretser, Jacob 52, 216 Groslot, Jérôme 11, 15, 61n168, 62, 63, 64n184, 67n205, 162n1, 207 Grotius, Hugo 41, 44, 59, 62, 64, 209 Grotius, Janus 64 Guelphs 184 Guise Charles, de Lorraine, Cardinal 171–2, 176, 184 Henry i, Duke of 24, 28, 36 Louis ii, Cardinal of 24, 28, 36 Mary of 56 Gunpowder Plot 19, 21, 43, 51n126, 57, 210, 211n15, 224, 228, 238, 240 Hébrard de Saint Sulpice, Antoine d’, Bishop of Cahors 29 Habsburg-Valois war 169, 170 Hampton Court Conference 58 Heinsius, Daniel 62 Henri ii, King of France 32, 46, 62, 170–1, 175n58, 177, 178–9 Henri iii, King of France 24, 25, 28, 36, 50n119, 69, 227–8 Henri iv, King of France 19, 27–30, 36, 37n78, 40, 43, 44, 47, 64, 75, 76, 78n37, 159, 194, 216, 217, 226–7 assassination of 19, 43, 44, 52, 217, 226–7 abjuration 25, 29 Henriette-Marie Bourbon 58 Henry iv, Emperor 222, 228 Henry viii, King of England 212, 218 Henry Stuart 65, 205n2, 232 Hermetic tradition 4, 76, 85, 87n50 history 14, 17, 23n1, 33, 35, 37, 53, 83, 130n53, 168, 174, 182, 187, 203, 205, 216, 220–22, 230, 247, 252 Hobbes, Thomas 73, 101n111 Hotman, François 15, 62, 63, 162n1 Hotman de Villers-St-Paul, Jean 15, 41, 63–4, 159, 207, 209, 234n124 Holy Roman Empire 4, 43, 46, 62, 66, 68, 169, 177, 197 see also German Lands Huguenots 3, 13, 28, 29, 32, 46, 68, 114n174, 194, 184 Huntly, Earl of see Gordon, George Huss, Jan 184 Hussites 14, 169

Index of Prohibited Books 31, 38,152, 164, 183, 204 Indifference see religious indifference indifferent matters 4, 20, 186, 196, 236, 240, 251 see also adiaphora Infanta Isabella 38 Interdict see Venice, Interdict crisis Italian states 19, 34, 43, 45, 46, 53, 61, 66, 171n40, 195, 199n174, 204, 224n80 Wars of 14, 46, 169 James vi and i, King 2, 3n3, 4, 6n13, 9–11, 14–21, 25, 40, 42–44, 49–70, 154n159, 164, 192, 194, 201–4, 200–47, 248–53 A Speech, Delivered in Parliament on 19 March 1603 57, 237–40 Apology for the Oath of Allegiance 52, 211–15, 217–22, 224–26 Basilikon Doron 61n169, 65, 154n159, 206n2, 230–36, 242 True Law of Free Monarchies 230–36 Lepanto 69 Meditation upon the Verses of St M ­ atthew 243, 245-7 Meditation upon the Lord’s Prayer 243–45 Premonition to all Most Mighty Monarchs  213–16, 218–26, 240–42 Remonstrance for the Rights of Kings  223n75, 226–30 See also atheism; authority, ecclesiastical and political; passions; piety; religious zeal Jeannin, Pierre 31, 93, 112 Jena 33–4, 120, 154, 155n167 Jesuit Order 10, 11, 32, 37, 49n118, 52, 74, 113, 128n45, 198, 228, 238, 241 Jewish people 75, 86, 192, 171n40, 246 faith 196 Joyeusse, François de, Cardinal 50 Judaism see Jewish faith Jülich-Cleves, Duchy of 43–4, 57 Julius ii, Pope (della Rovere) 49, 169 Julius iii, Pope (del Monte) 46, 167, 170 Jurisdiction see authority, ecclesiastical and political Knox, John 26, 56

284 L’Estoile, Pierre de 194 L’Hôpital, Michel de 2–3, 10, 41, 66, 159, 181, 184 La Canaye, Phillipe de 193 La Rochemaillet, Gabriel 26–8, 31, 94 Lampsonius, Dominicus 140n101 Langius, Charles de (Langhe) 120–2, 127, 133–6 Leiden 35–7, 141, 149, 150n135, 155, 159 University of 11, 17, 35, 37, 62, 65, 148, 154 Lennard, Samson 23n2, 65, 206n2 Leo i, Pope 221 Leo x, Pope (Medici) 182 Leschassier, Jacques 63, 187n111, 193 Lessius, Leonard 52, 216 libertins 1, 65, 73, 82, 113–14, 143, 151, 199 Lipsius, Justus 1, 3n3, 4, 6, 10, 15–21, 24–5, 31–40, 41n94, 42, 59–70, 95, 115, 116–60, 161–63, 180, 182, 186, 194–95, 200, 203–4, 206, 209, 235–6, 238, 240, 242, 247, 248–53 De Constantia Libri Duo 16, 19, 35, 41n94, 111n167, 118–22, 124, 127, 129, 131–40, 150–1, 154n159, 155, 157–9, 206n2, 252 Politicorum Sive Civilis Doctrinae Libri Sex 20, 37–8, 60, 95, 119–21, 123–30, 140–1, 144–53, 155, 157–9 Monita et exempla Politica 39, 159n185 see also authority, ecclesiastical and political dissimulation; morality; opinion(s); passions; piety; providence; prudence; reason; religious conformity; religious dissent; religious diversity; stoicism; wisdom. Lollards 14 London 1n1, 22, 54, 55, 59, 62, 159n184, 164, 194, 201, 206, Lorraine 52 Louis, Prince of Condé 68 Louis xi, King of France 128, 222 Louis xii, King of France 169 Louis xiii, King of France 58 Louvain 32–4, 37–8, 47, 118, 120, 141, 152, 154 University of 32, 34, 37 Lorraine (Cardinal de) see Guise, Charles Low Countries 34–8, 40, 41, 43, 47, 53, 57, 58, 65–6, 68, 120, 135, 141, 149, 156–7, 160, 231n112, 224n80, 244, 248 Northern Provinces 34–8, 57, 58, 141–142, 149, 156–7 Southern Provinces 34, 36, 141

Index Luther, Martin 1, 12, 14, 25, 31, 142, 149n133, 164, 169, 173–4, 182, 190, 191, 193, 198, 199n178, 253–4 Lutheranism 1, 12, 14, 33, 76, 149n133, 154, 155n167, 164–5, 169, 173, 174, 182, 183–4, 191, 199 Lutherans 2, 76, 170, 174, 177, 183–4 Lyon 73, 93 Macchiavelli, Niccolò 5n6, 73, 101n111, 124–7, 151n146, 159, 173, 174n54 Mainz 37 Major, John (Mair) 223 Mantua 47 Marcus Aurelius, Roman Emperor 41, 131, 133n68 Marguerite de Navarre 27 Mariana, Juan de 227 Mary, Queen of Scots 25 Mary Tudor, Queen of England 13 Maurice of Hesse 159 Maurice of Nassau 44, 159 Maximilian ii, Emperor 33 Maximilian I, Elector of Bavaria 44 Melanchthon, Philip 10, 33 Mercier, Josias 66 Mersenne, Marin 114–5 Micanzio, Fulgenzio 45, 48, 53, 191 Milan 46, 47 miracles 86, 87, 154 moderates 11, 41, 42, 62, 80–2, 86, 98, 181, 210, 211n15, 219, 236, 254 moderation 19, 30, 42, 55, 71, 81, 84, 94, 101, 104, 110, 114–5, 148, 153, 159–60, 182, 192, 199–200, 208, 218, 233, 236–40, 242, 244, 246–8, 252–54 Montaigne, Michel de 27, 31, 42n94, 61, 65n194, 66, 73, 85, 95, 98n102, 101n111, 110, 120, 121n17, 159 Montaigne, Léonore de 27 Montano, Benito Arias 155 Moretus, Balthasar 62 Moretus, Jan 62 Morosini, Andrea 48 Miraeus, Aubertus 32 Montpellier 26 morality 4, 5, 8, 11, 13–4, 30–1, 42, 248, 251–2 Charron on 72, 74, 87–88, 90, 93–96, 102, 11–15

285

Index Lipsius on 118–20, 124–30, 133, 143, 154, 159 Mühlberg 31, 170 Muret, Marc-Antoine 33, 62 Nantes, Edict of 25 Naples 46 nature 6, 14, 19, 30, 249 Charron on 72, 74, 77, 84, 87–91, 96–8, 101–2, 105–15 Lipsius on 125, 132, 134, 136 Naudé, Gabriel 16n41, 65, 199 Navarre see Henri iv Nebuchadnezzar ii 233 Nérac 27 Nero, Roman Emperor 233 Nicaea, Council of 225 Niklaes, Hendrik 34n63, 154n161 Nicodemism 117 see also dissimulation Nicodemites 12, 143 Nuremberg, Peace of 180 Ochino, Bernardino 27 Ogier, François 114 Oldenbarnevelt, Johan van 44, 159 Olivo, Camillo 47, 167 opinion(s) 245 Charron on 80, 93–4, 98–101, 105, 111 Lipsius on 120, 123, 135 Orléans 26 see also Estates General Orsini, Fulvio 62 Ortelius, Abraham 62, 139 Overijsche 32 Padua 37n78, 63, 66 university of 37n78, 47, 66 Palestine 86 Papal Curia 11, 48, 53, 57, 141, 148, 163, 169, 173, 180, 182, 187, 194, 213, 224, 228, 241 see also Rome Papinian (Aemilius Papinianus) 91 Paris 26, 28, 30, 31, 62, 73, 93, 178, 194, 201, 223 Parliament of 175n58, 178 university of 26, 223 Parsons, Robert 219 passions 5, 17, 19, 30, 252 Charron on 94, 98–102, 105, 110 Lipsius on 123, 135–6, 144, 158

James on 236, 239 Paul iii, Pope (Farnese) 169, 184 Paul iv, Pope (Caraffa) 169–70 Paul v, Pope (Borghese) 46, 170, 171n40 pedantic knowledge Charron on 98–9, 104 Peiresc, Nicolas-Claude Fabri de 16n41, 60n161, 62, 65, 203 Peregrinus, Laelius 125n32, 153, 157 Philip ii, King of Spain 33, 34, 36, 37, 38, 40, 46, 171 Philip iii, King of Spain 44 Pisa, Council of 229 Phocion 91, 113 piety 2, 3, 14, 70, 251 Charron on 72, 104, 108–10, 112, 114 Lipsius on 135, 139–40, 144–48 James on 234–35 Pinelli, Gian Vincenzo 15, 63 Pithou, Pierre 45n99, 62, 66, 179n79 Pius ii, Pope (Piccolomini) 222 Pius iv, Pope (Medici) 171, 174, 176, 178 Pius v, Pope (Ghislieri) 25, 222 Plantin, Christophe 34, 62, 154–5 Plato 13, 91, 97 Platonism 85, 102 Neo-Platonism 4, 85, 92, 102, 130n53 Pliny (Gaius Plinius Secundus) 86 Plutarch 13, 65n194, 95 Pole, Reginald, Cardinal 10 Pontac, Arnaud de, Bishop of Bazas 27 Poissy, Colloquy of 41, 186n105 preud’hommie 19, 145 Charron on 72, 94, 106–9, 112 Priuli, Pietro 193 providence Lipsius on 77, 82, 132, 134, 136–7, 139n97, 157–8 prudence 5n6, 60, 251–2, 254 Charron on 83, 88, 94, 100 Lipsius on 119–21, 123–30 (mixed prudence), 141, 145, 157–8 Puritans 11, 209, 233, 235, 237–8, 241, 243–4 Pyrrhonism 82, 90, 91, 102, 115 Pythagoras 97 Raphelengius, Franciscus 36n72, 62 Ratisbon, Colloquy of 25, 41, 200n182 Ravaillac, François 227–8

286 reason 4, 19, 20, 249, 251 Charron on 72, 75, 88, 90, 100–12, 114 Lipsius on 117, 121, 123, 125, 132–36, 139, 144, 149, 158 Sarpi on 198, 200 reconciliation 10–12, 22, 40–1, 44, 46, 52, 54, 57–9, 70, 75, 87, 92, 104, 113, 127, 169, 171, 178, 185, 187, 192, 196, 202, 203, 210, 236, 240–1, 245, 248 Regensburg see Ratisbon Reformation of the Princes 178, 229 religious coexistence 2, 3, 6, 9, 12, 20–22, 42, 104, 156, 161, 164, 181, 186–87, 200, 203, 205, 217, 230, 241, 247–8, 254 religious conformity 1, 20, 35, 58, 105, 110, 133, 195, 251 Charron on 110 Lipsius on 140, 143, 148, 155, 159 see also religious dissent religious dissent 2, 3, 12, 20, 41, 56, 105, 208 Lipsius on 118, 133, 140, 148, 152–3, 155, 156 Sarpi on 180–1, 196 religious diversity 3, 9, 20, 142–3, 192 Charron on 86–7, 108 Lipsius on 148 religious dogmatism 2, 9, 19, 249, 254 Charron on 71–2, 74, 81, 98, 104 see also religious zeal religious indifference 1, 135, 143–4, 249 Charron on 71–2, 74, 79–83, 91–2, 115 religious unbelief 144 Charron on 77, 82, 91–3, 115 see also atheism religious zeal 2, 10, 19–20, 249, 251 Charron on 71, 80–2, 96, 100, 104, 109–10, Sarpi on 161, 197, 199–200, James on 208, 219, 232–3, 235–6, 238, 240 Requesens (Luis de Requesens y Zúñiga) 34 Remonstrants 44 see also Arminius Rhineland 52, 215 Richardot, Jean 66 Richer, Edmond 63, 193 Roman Empire 174, 180, 196–7, 221, 225–6, 247 Rome 19, 32, 43–4, 46–7, 48, 51, 53, 63, 67, 167–70, 173, 175–7, 180–2, 187, 192, 194, 201–2, 208, 212n24, 215n32, 221–2, 224, 228, 231, 234, 236, 240–1, 246 see also Papal Curia

Index Rubens, Peter Paul 119n8 Rubens, Philip 38 Rudolf ii, Emperor 44, 52, 159, 213–5 Saravia, Adrian 34n63, 62, 65, 154n161 Sarpi, Paolo 1–4, 6, 10–11, 14–21, 22, 42, 45–8, 49–55, 59–69, 86, 125, 160, 161–204, 205–6, 209, 210, 217, 220–25, 228–9, 234–6, 240–2, 247, 248–53 Historia del Concilio Tridentino 20, 53–4, 64–5, 68, 163–87, 188, 190, 192, 194, 196, 198, 199n78, 222 Historia del Concilio Tridentino, publication history 201–4, 206n3 See also authority, ecclesiastical and political; dissimulation; reason; religious dissent; religious zeal; wisdom Scaliger, Julius 27 Scaliger, Joseph-Juste 38, 60n161, 62 Schism Great Schism of 1378–417 14, 176 scepticism 5–6, 74, 90, 100, 102–4, 132, 163, 195n152, 198 Schmalkaldic League 169 Schulken, Adolf 52, 216 Scotland 25–6, 55–6, 58, 65, 205, 207, 213, 223–4, 230–35, 239, 241–2 Scottish Kirk 21, 56, 207–8, 231–2, 234 Assembly of 234 Scriptures see Bible Seneca, Lucius Annaeus 39, 41, 41n94, 65n194, 91, 95, 101, 116n1, 117, 120, 129n48, 131–4, 138 Servetus, Michael 12 Servi di Maria, Order of 46–7, 48, 162, 167, 187 Servin, Louis 193 Sextus Empiricus 133n68 Sidney, Philip 15, 62, 63, 64n184 Sicily 46 Silhon, Jean 114–5 Sixtus iv, Pope (Rovere) 49 Sixtus v, Pope (Peretti) 152 Socrates 13, 91, 97, 103, 106, 113 Solon 97 Spain 19, 40, 43, 44, 46, 149, 172, 224n80, 241 Spanish Armada 25 St Bartholomew’s day massacre 13, 27, 249 St Germain, Colloquy 181 Stirling 56

287

Index stoicism 4, 16, 20, 30, 35, 39, 41, 41–2n94, 61, 206n2, 249, 251 Charron on 74, 94–5, 101–2, 107 Lipsius on 117, 120, 130, 131–40, 144, 153–4, 158–9 Suarez, Francisco 52, 216, 227, 228 superstition 71, 80, 90, 98, 99, 104, 144, 146, 235, 248 syncretism 3, 4, 5, 10, 84–6, 108, 151, 196, 249–50 Tacitus, Publius Cornelius 17, 33, 34, 39, 61, 66, 117, 121, 128, 162n1, 168 temperance 94, 100, 125, 247, 248 the Hague 17 Thirty Years’ War 2, 114, 163, 164, 209, 237, 243, 248 Thou, Jacques de 15, 41, 53, 62, 63, 207 Three Kingdoms 18, 66, 194, 204, 224, 238 Tiberius, Roman Emperor 128 Tilenus, Daniel 58 tolerance 6–7, 20, 37, 56, 141–3, 152, 165, 192, 208, 210, 211n15, 232 Tonneins, Synod of 58 Torrentius, Levinus (Lieven Van der Beke)  36–7, 138–9, 155, 158n177 tranquillity 19, 30, 72, 93–4, 102, 111, 115, 122, 138, 144, 148, 158, 248 Trent, Council of 17, 22, 25, 30n33, 41, 45–48, 53, 62, 66, 68, 75, 78, 86n47, 165–87, 188, 192–3, 199, 201–3, 223–4, 229–30, 241, 249 see also Sarpi Historia del Concilio Tridentino Turnèbe, Adrien 62 Tuscany 37n78, 46 Twelve-Year Truce 19, 40, 43 Ulysses 154 unbelief see religious unbelief Union of Arras 36 Union of Utrecht 34, 36

United Provinces see Low Countries Urban vii, Pope (Castagna) 47, 167 Van der Calster, Anna 34, 154 Vasari, Giorgio 46 Venice 18, 45–55, 61, 62, 64, 66, 160, 162, 192–3, 200n180, 202, 212–6, 224, 230 Interdict crisis of 19, 43, 45–6, 49–53, 63, 162–3, 165, 183, 187–94, 201, 202n190, 212, 217, 230 Verhoeven, Abraham 67 Vervins, Peace of 40, 66 Vienna 33, 120 virtues 93, 96, 100, 102, 107, 121, 127, 129, 157, 197 cardinal 93–4 see also constancy; prudence Vorstius, Conrad 244 Westphalia, Peace of 1 White Mountain 57 wisdom 18–9, 30, 65 Charron on 71–4, 88–90, 93–100, 103–6, 108, 111–5 Lipsius on 119, 121, 123, 134, 136, 138–9 Sarpi on 166, 198 William i of Orange (the Silent) 34–6, 157 William, duke of Jülich-Cleves 44 William Louis of Nassau 159 Witzel, Georg 10 Wotton, Sir Henry, Ambassador 53–4, 59, 61, 64, 67, 162n3, 200n180, 202–3, 213n27, 217 Woverius (Jan van der Wouver) 31, 116, 150n135 Xenophon 168 Young, Peter 207 zeal see religious zeal