On Długosz & Brückner – Part I

One of the more peculiar persons in Slavic historiography was the erudite Teuton Aleksander Brückner.

An erudite enjoy certain privileges.  For one, his command of facts allows an erudite to dominate discourse to the point that – should he choose to make something up – he is more likely to go unchallenged (prerogative no. 1).  After all, if someone is right 99 times in a row, are you really going to question the next fact that he posits as truth?  See, for example, the BS written by well-known (well-known among historians – fame’s relative) historians such as Karl Müllenhoff or, more recently, Herwig Wolfram.

Another benefit of being an erudite is that an erudite just sounds smart.  In other words, all too frequently, an erudite’s audience is likely to mistake his command of facts for intelligence and wisdom (prerogative no. 2).  But being able to memorize lots of things does not mean you can process them equally well.  As the story of John Nash shows, sometimes too many facts/neurons firing can also lead to information overload and the result is, well, crap.

Which brings us back to Brückner – the erudite.

OGRE

Brückner seemed happier in his youth

Brückner, was considered the preeminent Prussian Slavist of the late 19th century.  He was not only a walking encyclopedia but also a workaholic (the latter, no doubt, leading to the former).   He had, however, also a number of less attractive qualities.  For purposes of this entry, let it suffice to say that he was not half as smart as he thought himself to be and he could also be a rather unpleasant individual.

Specifically, Brückner’s particular form of “stream of consciousness” writing appears at times to lack any basis in fact and any logic in its conclusions.  He tosses facts into a verbal stew that is his writing through mere assertions, not troubling to document them (fact creation – erudite’s prerogative no. 1) and then builds his sand castle theses in the thinnest of air usually based on overactive criticism of anything that does not fit his, obviously, preconceived notions of historical truth (making sweeping conclusions that sound “smart” so long as they are not carefully scrutinized – erudite’s prerogative no. 2).

In addition, and more concerning, was Brückner’s seeming eagerness to obviously pleasure himself by mocking, belittling and deriding his opponents – real or imagined – current or past.  Of course, no man – great or otherwise – should be exempt from criticism.  On the other hand, few things are as nettlesome as a great man being mocked by an overweening mediocrity who, to top it off, is not even witty.

Therefore, it bugs the proverbial shit out of us that nearly five hundred years after he wrote his Polish Annals, the Polish chronicler Jan Długosz became yet another target of Brückner’s assinine ridicule.  While some of what Długosz wrote could be (and was) subjected to healthy criticism, Brückner’s variant of such criticism appears notable not for its astuteness but for its boorish mean-spriritedness and lack of logical thinking.

(A more interesting dissertation on the subject may have been Bandtke’s De Jessa et Nia duobus Polonorum diis which, unfortunately, seems to have been preserved in only one notebook/manuscript (number 702) and was burned down by the Germans in 1944 when they – purposefully – torched the Biblioteka Ordynacji Zamojskiej  or the Zamoyski Library in the Blue Palace in Warsaw).

The Cantankerite in Action 

Specifically, Brückner took it upon himself to describe, “Polish Mythology” devoting less than eighty pages to the task in his rather derisive pamphlet of the same name.  The title of the first chapter, “The Birth of the Alleged Polish Olympus” sets the tone for the rest of it and the first contemptuous words bring to mind a flehming Brückner:

“Deeply did the Cracovian canon Jan Długosz fall into his thought, in his room* cluttered with manuscripts and parchments: he felt on his shoulders the weight of the task placed upon him by his spiritual father Zbigniew,* the Cracow bishop.  It was for him that he undertook to write the histories of the fatherland, from the beginning till that day even but then got stuck right at the beginning.  Having completed the physical topography of the land as well as the moral topography of its inhabitants, it behooved him to say something with respect to the pagan times and their primeval idolatry: what kind of idols* did the old Poles worship?  The complete picture of this prehistory could not be written without this detail, which seemed to be both rather easy and rather hard all at the same time.  Easy, since all idolatries were, after all, the works of the same satan who traps humans in his snares; for everywhere it was the same; Greek idols were the same as Roman: Athena-Minerva, Ares-Mars, and so too among the Poles there must have been the same Mars, Pluto, Venus, Jupiter as among the Romans and only their names were local, Polish. That was easy and simple but where should these names be found?  After all, the scrupulous scholar knew how futile it would be to ask these of the common folk who, Christian now for five centuries, gave up all such idols.  It was thus not without reason that the canon did fall so pensive; but his brow suddenly cleared, for he recalled now that he’d read somewhere the names of these pagan idols.  And indeed, after a long search, he did locate the above-mentioned note… But what was this note?  We too have it in our possession.”

* While the above lengthy introduction makes for good reading it’s hard to fully convey the condescension in Brückner’s voice.  Thus, the text is filled with diminutives – a typical Polish (though not only) derisive device; the form “room”  Brückner refers to as izdebka, a diminutive of izba as if Długosz – the parchment nerd – were locked in some rathole the size of a standard Japanese hotel room, sweating on how to please his clerical boss – the bishop Zbyszko (a diminutive of Zbigniew) – more than the miller’s daughter sweated trying to figure out how to spin straw into gold.  Also, the word bożki – “idols” – is, in Polish, in effect, a diminutive of “God” (Bog).

jandlugosz

Perhaps Brückner drew inspiration from the Matejko painting of Długosz

The royal “we”, Brückner proceeds to tell us, “too have” this note in “our possession” – referring to the Statuta provincialia breviter discussed here.  He then continues his harangue:

“all the mentions of the Polish idols can be derived from this single source… So finally Długosz found what he was looking for: pagan idol names… all that was left was to provide a classification of these which he took on the responsibility of doing himself.  In the front he placed JesseJassa because the name reminded him of Jove; perhaps he heard somewhere about gardzina – a hero when he also heard lado and so he designated the latter one as Mars; in rather than ileli [reference to yleli in Sermones per circulum anni Cunradi – see here] he’d read somewhere about some dzileli and threw in Venus/Aphrodite and Nya… became Pluto.  And so, all four main Roman gods did he happily place on the ‘Polish Olympus.’ But what sort of names were these?”

Put aside the fact that it is rather untrue that Venus and Pluto were part of the “four main Roman gods” as Brückner claims. (Where is Juno/Hera?  Where is Minerva/Athena?  If Mars is part of this, where then is Quirinus?)…

Put aside the derisive tone of the whole thing.

Let’s focus on other things such as the fact that Brückner offers statements that are either false or completely baseless.  As regards the latter, Brückner had, of course, no idea how Długosz found the names he mentioned. Brückner had as much information about what Długosz read or “perhaps… heard” as he had about the size of the room that Długosz wrote in.

Why did, according to Brückner, Jassa remind Długosz of Jove? Brückner implies this is because of the name similarity.  But that seems a major stretch.  If anything, the name Jassa should have reminded Długosz of the Greek demigod Jasion.  Długosz did apply an interpretatio romana but Jassa likely became Jupiter/Jove not by reason of any name similarities but rather because in all the documents that Długosz may have come across (or at least that Brückner claims, Długosz came across) the name Jassa appeared and, usually, appeared first.  The notion that Długosz heard something about a gardzina (basically, “guardian”) and therefore made Lado equivalent to Mars is silly.  The primary function of Ares was as God of War, not as a guardian of Jupiter.  Brückner’s argument regarding how Didilela became Venus/Aphrodite, is unintelligible (to us).  Moreover, he does not explain how or why Nya became Pluto.

Of course, one can question Długosz but the problem is that Brückner has no idea so he lets his imagination run wild for a moment in much the same way that he accuses Długosz of having done.  When Brückner tires of this mental masturbation, he basically, stops pretending to make any arguments and, basically says, “Długosz just made it up and I won’t spend time on this any further.”

There is also the fact that Brückner was wrong about the variety of sources available to Długosz.   The canon may well have relied on Statuta provincialia breviter but we now know that there were earlier* sources such as the Pentacostal Postillas.  Moreover, those postillas (written by the rector of Cracow University) are quite explicit that they discuss heathen Gods and, again, name the names of the same in much the same way as three of Długosz’ names.

More importantly, none of the various sources mentioned shows any indication of being derivative of the Statuta.  The only reason for this claim in Brückner’s mind seems to be that the Statuta were the earliest source known to him.  However, it is illogical to suggest, without more, that, each written source must be derivative of an earlier written source.  If the Postillas came before the Statuta, Brückner’s logic would suggest that the latter must be derived from the former simply because the former preceded the latter.  The discovery of a yet earlier source wouldn’t matter either as, based on this line of thought, we’d just be discovering the “real” autograph (until an earlier one still were found and so on).

To claim that a work is derivative of another one has to show dependencies.  Here, however, no such dependencies are evident.  For one thing, the Statuta only discuss two names – Długosz has a number of others.  Moreover, the Statuta do not mention Nya who was mentioned by the earlier Postillas.

So why did Brückner say what he said?

Brückner’s Spelunking

Brückner’s basic argument is that these Names meant all kinds of things except what the numerous authors claimed them to be, i.e., pagan Divinity Names.

How is then that all the scribes were mistaken about them?  Brückner’s argument here is that priest in the 14th and 15th century were all superstitious morons who saw the devil plotting everywhere and any kind of dance or frolic was interpreted as some form of idolatry by these primitives.  To support this claim he gives an example of a Czech priest – Jan from Holešov – who, apparently, misinterpreted “vele” in an old Czech carol “Vele, vele, stojí dubec vprostřed dvoru” (apparently, the oldest Slavic carol) as being a reference to the Mesopotamian deity Baal.

A number of things come to mind.

First, as regards the Czech example, it is hard not to note that the refrain “vele, vele” appears very similar to the East Slavic God Veles (who, albeit by later writers, may also have been mentioned among Czech Deities, as Hecate, in the form Wyla).  While, Veles is obviously not Baal, he was a pagan divinity and Brückner’s objection can hardly be merely that Jan from Holešov misidentified the idol.  In fact, if one thought that the reference was to a non-Christian divinity but one had not heard of Veles, it would be not altogether unnatural to try to make sense of this by referring to Baal about whom Jan was no doubt well informed by reason of his Bible Study and all.  And that’s before we even note that the oak (the dubec above) was certainly often associated with various pagan Gods.  The fact that the song was a carol does not necessarily change its roots.  While all of this is supposition, so are Brückner’s fancies regarding the astuteness of Jan from Holešov’s observations.

Second, even if one priest in Bohemia could have been mistaken, a whole host of priests being repeatedly mistaken seems a bit much.  While priests, like all people of that time, were obviously limited in their education and outlook, they were, nevertheless, the most educated caste among the people.  It seems it is for this reason that Brückner needs all his God mentions to be derivative from the Statuta.  Then only the first priest would need have been mistaken.  (Of course, that priest would have to have been someone writing the Statuta at a synod (so not just some local parish priest)).  Nevertheless, as we’ve shown above, there is no basis for concluding that the various sources for the existence of Polish (Venetic? Slavic?) Gods are in any way interrelated.

Third, given Brückner’s tone in his introduction and given some of his other writings, it is difficult to escape the impression that Brückner’s perception of the priest class was coloured by the time that he was living in.  Recall that he was a citizen of a reborn Germany, driven by its main engine – Protestant Prussia.  Poland, on the other hand, had been partitioned as a failed state.  In the narrative justifying partition, the Prussian occupiers stressed the backwardness of the Polish nobility and of its (Catholic) clergy (of course, it was that nobility and clergy that also were, to a large extent, the carriers of the national spirit – something that the Prussians and Russians did not fail to notice – hence another reason for the official disparagement of them).  Based on his style, it seems that, to a not insignificant extent, Brückner was influenced by that narrative and transplanted his perceptions of the present to help himself in making a point about the past.

But what of these Names!?

gosz

We’ll be back to that.

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July 9, 2016

2 thoughts on “On Długosz & Brückner – Part I

  1. Pingback: On Bruecknerism | In Nomine Jassa

  2. Pingback: Signs of Lada – Part III | In Nomine Jassa

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