Calvin. History and Reception of a Reformation Week 4. The Spread of Calvinism Sequence 1. The Myth of Geneva Welcome to today's sequence, which will focus on the myth of Geneva. What do I mean by that? Today, Geneva is a very small city. In fact, with a population of less than 200,000 (excluding the surrounding suburbs), it is microscopic on the planetary scale. It would be difficult to name any other city of similar size that has acquired such renown. This is what is referred to as the "myth of Geneva." This myth of Geneva owes a lot to the city as it existed in the 16th century, and to John Calvin himself. One book in particular illustrates the point quite well, even though its prose might seem overly lyrical to our modern sensibilities: "The Spirit of Geneva," published by a noted man of letters,
Robert De Traz, in 1929. For De Traz, Geneva, among all the cities of the world, has a unique destiny, which he traces back to the 16th century. He likens Geneva to a "Sparta in which psalms are sung." For him, the city is in a constant relationship with God and with others. To quote Robert De Traz directly: "Yet, ever loyal to its dual mission, the mystical citadel welcomes the outcasts of faith,
regardless of their language and place of origin. It adopts them and educates them with its churches and its schools, in Italian, in Spanish, in Flemish and in English, and trains them to evangelize the world." De Traz continues: "Under Calvin's efforts, the world teeters: Scotland, Holland, Brandenburg, New England." (In fact, this mirrors what is written on the International Monument to the Reformation, which we'll learn more about next week.) The myth of Geneva, for De Traz, "endures through the centuries." De Traz explains that in the mind of Rousseau, in the 18th century, "Geneva transformed itself into the model of all virtues." In the 18th century, Geneva embodied the idea of the "enlightened republic." In the 19th century, it became associated with humanitarianism. Henri Dunant, only a century and a half ago (in 1862), published "A Memory of Solferino,"
which contributed to the creation of the International Committee of the Red Cross. The myth of Geneva continued to grow during the 20th century, when the city became the meeting-place of all nations, with the founding in 1920 of the League of Nations. Here is another quote from De Traz, which typifies the lyrical style I mentioned earlier: "Over 50 nations gathered, with their delegates, their experts, their secretaries and their secret advisors. Here, noble Hindus displayed their turbans and beards; there, somber and solemn Abyssinians, wearing all white with black silk capelets, invoked the Lion of Judah. English could be heard on almost every tongue. With its double row of plane trees, the Quai Wilson, whose passersby were virtually all illustrious figures, became the political walkway of the entire universe." As you can see, it would be hard to be any more grandiloquent... Geneva as the "political walkway of the entire universe." De Traz would later become very critical of the League of Nations. But in 1929, when his book was published, it was still much too early for a definitive assessment of the League, which would tragically prove unable to inhibit
the rise of totalitarian regimes and, above all, to prevent the Second World War. Geneva was imbued with what De Traz called a "mystical hope." For him, this "mystical hope" was born in the 16th century, with Calvin. Indeed, Geneva acceded to "myth" status as early as the second half of the 16th century. But what do we mean exactly by "myth"? In short, a myth can be defined as a "collective mental representation." Here I am basing myself on an old, but still enlightening, article written by Alain Dufour on the myth of Geneva in the 16th century. This myth has two facets: the first is positive, and is illustrated by the glowing reviews of Geneva penned by Protestants, mostly foreign, who visited the city. For example, in 1550, the Italian writer Vergerio published a pamphlet in which he praised Geneva profusely. Written in Italian, it was designed to increase the city's notoriety among the Italian public. This pamphlet, in effect, was the equivalent of an advertising campaign for the city. In it, Vergerio described Geneva as "a republic of which God is the sole sovereign." According to Vergerio, "Ministers preach up to ten times on Sunday and up to four times on the other days of the week. Its ecclesiastical discipline is a model to be followed.
The entire population personifies piety and harmony." Needless to say, Vergerio's description was far from an accurate reflection of reality. In 1550, Geneva was home to deep political discord. As we learned earlier in our course, Calvin, at the time, was hated by a large segment of Geneva's population. Vergerio did not mention any of this because it did not fit with the "myth of Geneva" he was seeking to promote among his countrymen. There are many other examples of this trend. A few years later, a writer named Whittingham published a text praising Geneva, this time in English (here again
I am basing myself on the work of Alain Dufour): "The provision of religious knowledge is abundant, so much so that the city can be viewed as the mirror and the model of true religion and true piety." "The model of true religion"... Thus we see how the myth of Geneva was spread by the works of a certain number of Protestant writers, among whom we could also mention the Scotsman John Knox, who likened Geneva
to a new Jerusalem. Two factors helped further the image of an idealized Geneva. The first is the fact that all the Reformed churches of France were turned towards Geneva. The constitution of the Genevan church seemed to them the ideal constitution. Geneva has a consistory; well then, we must have consistories in France. Geneva has a company of ministers; though we cannot have a company of ministers because our parishes are so scattered, we will establish synods -- on the provincial and national levels -- which will serve a similar function. Thus the Genevan model appeared to French Protestants, the majority of whom had never set foot in Geneva, to be the ideal model. The second factor was the large number of theology students, not only from France but from all parts of Europe -- Hungary, Poland, Holland, Germany and even sometimes England -- who came to Geneva to learn and, returning to their homes in Transylvania, Scotland, etc., as ministers, spread positive accounts of the city among their parishioners. As Alain Dufour points out, every myth has two sides, depending on whether it supports a certain doctrine or opposes it. So while texts sympathetic to Geneva depicted it as a paradise, its opponents were quick to portray it as a hellish place. Among such portrayals -- and there were many -- was a pamphlet published in Paris in 1556, which described the population of Geneva as people whose main activity was to constantly
"fornicate in secret." Elsewhere, Geneva was described as a "trash heap of all kinds of heresy." And here I'd like to quote three famous verses written by the poet Ronsard in his "Discourse on the Miseries of These Times" (1562): "A city lies in the fields of Savoy Which by fraud has banished its ancient lords
Miserable sojourn of apostasy..." One of the tasks of the historian is to deconstruct myths. The study of myths is very rewarding and fruitful because it helps to bring out the way something -- in this case, Geneva in the 16th century -- was perceived. Of course, it's essential not to take myths at face value. Whether positive or negative, they conveyed an image of Geneva over which Geneva itself lost all control. What, then, is the relationship between this mythical Geneva of the 16th century and present-day Geneva? Such a relationship is difficult to define. Nonetheless, when Geneva was selected in 1920 to become what some people called "the capital of the world" -- i.e., the headquarters of the League of Nations --,
it was under the impetus of one man: Woodrow Wilson, 28th President of the United States. Wilson fought tooth and nail for the creation of the League, even in the face of his own country's subsequent refusal to take part in its membership. Geneva was chosen as headquarters in part because Wilson, who had previously served as president of Princeton University, was a Presbyterian through and through. He knew Geneva well, and the writings of Calvin -- and everything they represent -- were very important to him. One could say that two foreigners made Geneva the Geneva we know today. The first was of course John Calvin, the 16th century Frenchman. And for my part, I am convinced that the second was Woodrow Wilson, the 20th century US president. Without these two foreigners, the Geneva of the Reformation would not have acquired the dimension it did during the 16th century, and it would not have become the international city it is today. There is one aspect of the myth of Geneva that we've hardly mentioned: Geneva as a city of refuge. We'll be discussing this a little more in the very next sequence. We've reached the end of this sequence; thank you for your attention.
