DESERT HARVEST—Spring 2003
Vol. 11, No. 1

The view through the round window
by Professor Susan C. Karant-Nunn

   Martin Luther looked back on his days as a schoolboy in Eisenach, and probably, too, as a university student in Erfurt and the practice of supporting himself through a combination of tuition and the practice of traversing the city with bowl in hand saying, “Panem pro Deo,” or “Bread for the sake of God.” After the Reformation, he and other prominent leaders, including John Calvin a generation later, were convinced that informal, individual importunity should cease and that the needy, including talented schoolchildren whose parents could not afford their tuition, should be supported from public funds and publicly administered philanthropy.
     Conditions have not changed as much as we sometimes suppose. Public coffers today are manifestly short of the money required to sustain superior education, yet parents of every economic category desire the very best for their children. Achieving the best requires collective resolve.
     Every particular setting demands a specially tailored response. In the Division, I know that maintaining the highest quality for our doctoral students means absolutely achieving the endowment of the Heiko A. Oberman Chair in Late Medieval and Reformation History and the acquisition of the Oberman Research Collection. This will guarantee the continuation of our outstanding program into the indefinite future. It will ensure the presence of a stellar scholar as the occupant of the Oberman Chair and the ongoing availability of an exceptional body of published resources for training and research.
     We have just passed the half-million-dollar mark in our trek to $2 million. This is an amazing and uplifting achievement, based exclusively upon your having done as sixteenth-century citizens did and put your gifts where your values lie. As the Director, I confer on each donor my figurative crown of thanks. The final laurel wreath will come, however, when even more of us turn to and complete this task. Well begun does not, alas, take us all the way to the goal.
     A planned gift or legacy counts now toward the total reached. Please, then, tell us now of your plans toward us for the future. In the meantime, all the members of the Division’s Fundraising Committee expend our energy in the search for a broader constituency and appropriate foundations to which to apply. Our minds never rest.
     With one hand, I heap gratitude upon you for your fine generosity; with the other I extend the mendicant’s bowl outward.

Annual Lecture 2003:
Professor William Chester Jordan waxes poetic
by Ben Kulas

At the feet of visiting scholars
Professor William Chester Jordan, Princeton University
by Kathryn Jasper, doctoral student, History Department

   The Division was honored to welcome Professor William Chester Jordan of Princeton University to our Thursday evening seminar on March 13. Reminiscent of years past, the seminar met in Mrs. Toetie Oberman’s living room. Besides the members of the seminar, Mrs. Oberman, Dr. Hester Oberman, Rev. Karen Borek, and Professor David Graizbord were present. With his seven authored books and directorship of Princeton University’s Program for Medieval Studies, Jordan’s stellar reputation preceded him. But students like me, trained to be critical, must ever put great scholars’ renown to the test. My first reading of one of Jordan’s articles had dispelled this admittedly salutary skepticism. He argued tightly and creatively, dispassionately considering contrary points of view. As a student concentrating on the high Middle Ages, I had been naturally delighted to learn that this most admirable medievalist would be the 2003 Town and Gown Lecturer and attend our seminar meeting the next evening.
   Jordan’s lecture topic, the expulsion of the Jews from France in 1306, constituted a fascinating departure from our set subject of Anabaptism. We had all read selections from Jordan’s published work in preparation. The reading list ranged over numerous topics on which this man is expert—from plague to youth and the building of a French state. But the expulsion of the Jews proved the irresistible focus of most inquiry on this occasion. Where had they gone? Who had received them? What was their subsequent fate?
     One student followed up on a query from the previous evening concerning the differences between religious and racial discrimination in 1306. Jordan again urged caution in applying modern concepts to the past. Jews who converted to Christianity in medieval France experienced nothing that one could label as racial prejudice, and so the target of Christian hostility was actually religion. Interpretations of the past—to adopt an anthropologist’s vocabulary—should derive from an “emic” rather than an “etic” perspective; historians should attempt to see past the biases of their own societies and examine the standpoint(s) of the people whom they study.
     Responding to the question that over many years Heiko Oberman presented to distinguished visitors to the seminar, “What makes you tick as an historian?” Jordan generously related some of the influences that had shaped him as an African American growing up in Chicago. He attended Ripon College in rural Wisconsin. These and other contrasting environments may have helped him to acknowledge that there is always another possible interpretation. History, he repeated, is not an exact science. His answers to student questions were punctuated with anecdotes and jokes. Everyone present felt privileged to know the person as well as the scholar. 

At the feet of visiting scholars
Professor James M. Stayer, Queen's University, Ontario
by Joel Van Amberg, doctoral student

   On Thursday evening, February 20, the Division’s graduate seminar was pleased to welcome into its midst the visiting scholar, James M. Stayer, professor emeritus of history at Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario. This semester, the seminar has focused on various facets of Anabaptism, and over the course of his career, Professor Stayer has been at the forefront of a remarkable effort to transform the way that historians consider this pluriform and revealing phenomenon of sixteenth-century society. Anabaptists, being dissatisfied with both traditional Catholic religion and with the alternatives offered by the state-supported Protestant reformers, set out on their own path. The exact nature of this path varied significantly among the different Anabaptist groups. This makes a unified description of their beliefs and programs impossible. It would, however be safe to say that Anabaptist groups were characterized by a profound sense of disillusionment with the ability of a state-sponsored institutional church to produce the moral and religious reform envisioned in the early years of the Reformation. As a result, they tended to meet in conventicles and sectarian groups, which used adult baptism as an initiation ceremony, and called into question many traditional principles of religious and secular authority.
     Our current understanding of Anabaptism is due in large measure to the efforts of Professor Stayer to bring historical analysis to bear on a subject which had hitherto been the domain of confessionally-oriented theologians. Earlier generations of scholars had interpreted Anabaptism as a discrete, coherent theological system, emerging from a single geographic location, Switzerland. They sought thereby to demonstrate either its deviation from the ‘true’ Lutheran Reformation, or its harmony with the message of Jesus in the New Testament. Stayer managed, through a series of important books and articles, to break apart this old paradigm and show that Anabaptism was in fact a complex historical movement emerging in a variety of geographical centers, and displaying great variation in belief and program.
     During the seminar, Professor Stayer treated us to a captivating and revealing account of his experiences in the changing field of Anabaptist studies. After his introductory remarks, we had the opportunity to ask this leading scholar questions that had arisen as we read through his body of work. An invigorating and wide-ranging discussion followed.
     The tradition of inviting a senior scholar to address the graduate seminar is always one of the highlights of the semester. This visit was no exception. The intellectual stimulation and cross-fertilization that goes on in these encounters cannot be duplicated by any other means. 

Of TVs, taxes, and theological debates
by Robert Christman, doctoral student

   In Germany, every household pays taxes on televisions and radios. I don't mean when you buy them, I mean in order to possess them. And you don't pay per household, you pay per appliance. Normally, a month or so after arriving in a new town, having dutifully trudged to city hall and officially registered your presence there, one recieves an envelope with a form enclosed, asking how many of each appliance you own and informing you of the price of their ownership. There is also a box on the form with the words next to it, “I have no radio/car radio and no television,” but I suspect that it is rarely checked. Upon my arrival in the central German town of Wolfenbüttel, I too received such a form. Wolfenbüttel sits on the northern rim of the Harz mountains, an area known for its quaint towns and a landscape that provides ample opportunities for hiking, biking, and skiing. But Wolfenbüttel also happens to be the site of one of the most spectacular libraries of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century printed materials in the world. Rumor has it that the sixteenth-century Duke Julius of Brunswick was bent on creating an army to rival those of the princes from the surrounding territories, but the funds were just not available. Instead, he put what money he did possess into collecting books, a practice that his descendants and now the German state have continued to this day. Many of his contemporary rulers won (or lost) fame on the battle-fields of history, but Duke Julius has left behind the foundations of a library that today draws scholars from around the globe.
     For me, Wolfenbüttel was the last step in an odyssey that has taken me through a sequence of libraries and archives, primarily in areas of Germany that are part of the former communist east, where even in the wake of reunification, such resources are notorious for being underfunded and unorganized. By now, deep into the process of writing the dissertation, Wolfenbüttel was supposed to be a last stop, a chance to tie up a few loose ends, one final library that must be consulted in order to give one the peace of mind that no major sources, no obvious treatises, no bombshells that could potentially change the entire direction of a dissertation, have been forgotten. It did not take more than a few hours to realize that within the library's well-catalogued walls there exists a wealth of material, all of which I desperately desired to consult before that final, forebidding, permanent step of committing my findings to paper. 
     In the end, while I did not find any sources that changed the direction of my thesis, I did discover many marvelous details that will add spice and verve to my dissertation, which examines the effects of a late Reformation theological controversy over original sin on a small territory in central Germany. Without my time in Wolfenbüttel I would not have known that the citizens of a small city central to my research had yelled obscenities and thrown stones at the house of their dying pastor, because he had taken a side in the debate with which they did not agree. Nor would I have known about the Latin elegy one pastor wrote for his deceased daughter, in which he purported to speak in the voice of the dead girl. She, now in heaven, had consulted with God about the theological controversy and returned to tell her father that he should remain confident in his position in the debate, for it was the orthodox one. What's more, God had planned eternal, fiery destruction for his opponents. Nor would I have found the reply of one of those opponents, who also composed a poem in which he employed the deceased girl's voice, this time to chastise her father for putting false words into her mouth. Such gems made my time in Wolfenbüttel worthwhile, adding detail and animation to a dissertation that might have otherwise focused more on the theology and less on how the debate was experienced by contemporaries.
     Such discoveries really transported me into the events I was studying. In fact, my time in Wolfenbüttel was so focused on writing and researching that I had little contact with any human beings outside of those in the pages of the texts I was reading and writing. More than a few months of such concentrated and intense work in one stretch would undoubtedly be unhealthy (my girlfriend was not always pleased with my life in this alternate universe). However, during the final push of the writing of a dissertation, it was exactly the atmosphere I needed.
     Throughout my time in Wolfenbüttel, there was one individual I fully expected to meet standing before me in flesh and blood. I waited for a knock at my door, to be confronted by that bureaucrat whose job it was to investigate whether individuals had lied when registering the number of televisions and radios they possessed. After all, who in the world checks the box, “I have no radio/car radio and no television?” One answer is: scholars whose minds are completely in the sixteenth century.

Archives, beer, and chocolates
by Victoria Clisham, doctoral student

   My first sojourn into the Dutch archives two years ago did not go very smoothly. I began at the “information” desk, where I explained that I was researching the Dutch inquisition of the sixteenth century. The archivist’s response? “Inquisition? Oh, we didn't have one, dear. You'll have to go to Spain for that!” Hmm. Not too encouraging. Perhaps I could phrase it differently. How would I fare if I were looking for evidence of the early Protestant martyrs and their resistence to Spanish oppression? “Oh yes, I'm sure we can find you some of that!”
     It seems that all archival research is, to some degree, an exercise in cultural diplomacy. I discovered during my year in the Netherlands that, despite the initial response of this archivist, Dutch-language research into the religious laws of the sixteenth century is actually flourishing. Once I had (finally) gained a grasp of this language, I plowed my way through hundreds of pages of secondary literature and was encouraged to find that the Dutch are among the most organized people on the face of this earth. Almost all the archives are well-catalogued, carefully inventoried, and in many cases newly renovated. I was delighted. Murphy’s law won out, however, as I soon realized that the majority of the documents I needed were actually in . . . Belgium.
     Thus, with a certain degree of sadness, I waved goodbye to the Netherlands in September of 2002 and embarked upon my fifth relocation in eighteen months (there is a rather severe housing shortage in the Netherlands!) and set off for my new home town of Antwerp, Belgium, leaving good friends and several newly-forged academic ties. The past few years have seen an increased interest in historical work that crosses the modern boundary between Belgium and the Netherlands. Despite the importance of this region in the sixteenth century, there is relatively little English-language literature available for our period, and the Dutch and Belgian scholars I have met are keen to encourage such work.
     I secured a Fulbright Scholarship and a Belgian American Educational Foundation Fellowship, which provide me with funding for this year of research. The Fulbright organization here is very active, and through it I have had the opportunity to visit some of Belgium’s most beautiful cities, tour its rich array of breweries, and sample its exquisite food. Did I mention the breweries? Belgium is home to over 200 different brews. Not wishing to squander all of my funding on hops and yeast, however, I am balancing my healthy living with generous doses of Belgian chocolates, another staple in this country in which people really love to live. In between the beer sampling and chocolate consumption, I am getting much work done. My dissertation examines the popular reactions to the harsh anti-heresy legislation introduced by Charles V in the first half of the sixteenth century in the cities of Brussels, Leuven, ‘s-Hertogenbosch, and Antwerp. To give the lie to my first archival experience, I have already amassed details of the trials of over 400 people prosecuted as heretics under Charles and am gathering information on local riots and popular unrest connected with these events. I chose to live in Antwerp primarily because it is home to Professor Guido Marnef, an outstanding scholar of the sixteenth century, who offered to help me in my research. One of the most intimidating elements of dissertation research is the constant, nagging fear that one's “idea” may not be feasible at the end of the day. In this struggle, I have been fortunate to be able to call upon the expertise of Professor Marnef, who has spent the past two decades fully entrenched in these archives and is generous in sharing his wisdom. Not all graduate students find such a person upon their arrival in Europe, and I am grateful for all of his help, which is not limited to the sphere of academia. Both Guido and his wife have Ph.D.s in sixteenth-century history and have helped me battle the emotional turmoil of paleographical crises, translation disasters, and all the other wonderful difficulties one encounters on this long, slow road.
     I am far from the end of this lengthy academic journey, but the path so far has been paved with good experiences. The hard work and (it must be said) mediocre weather are easily mitigated by good company, excellent food, and ubiquitous availability of well-brewed beverages!

Unofficial ambassador to France
by Brandon Hartley, doctoral student, DeConcini Martin scholar

   Living in France this last year has been stimulating. I study Catholic polemical pamphlets during the sixteenth-century French Wars of Religion, and so I always find “my country” intriguing. But modern political developments have made me an overnight expert on contemporary American mentalité, a fact that might make many of my fellow citizens shudder with apprehension. Nevertheless, I am the go-to guy at the dinner table and during random discussions of all things “Américaine”: What is Monsieur Bush’s real motivation? Does everyone think Président Jacques Chirac and French foreign minister Dominique De Villepin went too far? Do you eat many frites de la liberté?
     These conversations are sometimes heated, frequently illuminating, and always enjoyable for a hopeless debate junkie. Also, they have only been possible after rapid and much-needed improvement in my spoken French, which received a crucial jump-start after a three-week immersion program last September. The DeConcini Martin family provided the financial means for  this incredibly useful string of courses, so the U.S. has them to thank, or blame, for my being an unofficial ambassador to France for some three or four dozen French citizens. I owe more than simple thanks for my linguistic skills to this generosity, however, since I also met my host family, Nicola and Mary Schindler, through one of the same courses. They have graciously given me constant correction of my French, invited me to frequent luncheons or dinners with friends and family, and inculcated in me the fervent belief that liberal doses of red wine greatly improve any meal.
     Research in Lyon has been more rewarding than I could possibly have hoped (and more athletic than imaginable since the enormous Departmental Archives of the Rhône are 300 steps up the local “hill”). This crossroads of southern Europe was a printing capital in the sixteenth century, so my subject matter—cheap, often vitriolic, treatises—are quite numerous despite significant losses over the centuries. They were ten to twenty pages long and were frequently read on street corners and at other public forums. They run the gamut of themes from the period. Many urge the extermination of the “heretical Protestant plague” in France, but many others attempt to refute reformed doctrine and win back converts to the Catholic fold. Depending on the author’s economic or social perspective, some harshly criticize the nobility, the king, the clergy, or the common masses. Others advocate peace and irenicism, while still others call for an end to this seemingly endless river of cheap print itself; it serves only, they argue, to inflame public emotion and, more worryingly, popular violence.
     I find the wealth of varying opinions absolutely fascinating since history books all too often give short shrift to the internal development and dissension within groups of Catholics or Protestants. Some of the spiritually laden rhetoric can sound shockingly similar to that of today. It simply goes to prove that Professor Oberman was on to something when he claimed that so many issues today have roots or parallels in the European tumult of the sixteenth century.

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