LUTHER

[ii]

Nihil Obstat

C. Schut, s.t.d.,

Censor Deputatus.

Imprimatur

Edm. Can. Surmont,

Vic. Gen.

Westmonasterii, die 10 Julii, 1913.

[iii]

LUTHER

BY

HARTMANN GRISAR, S. J.

PROFESSOR AT THE UNIVERSITY OF INNSBRUCK

AUTHORISED TRANSLATION FROM THE GERMAN BY

E. M. LAMOND

EDITED BY

LUIGI CAPPADELTA

Volume II

LONDON KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRÜBNER & CO., Ltd.
BROADWAY HOUSE, 68-74 CARTER LANE, E.C.
1913

A FEW PRESS OPINIONS OF VOLUME I

“His most elaborate and systematic biography ... is not merely a book to be reckoned with; it is one with which we cannot dispense, if only for its minute examination of Luther’s theological writings.”—The Athenæum.

“There is no room for any sort of question as to the welcome ready among English-speaking Roman Catholics for this admirably made translation of the first volume of the German monograph by Professor Grisar on the protagonist of the Reformation in Europe.... The book is so studiously scientific, so careful to base its teaching upon documents, and so determined to eschew controversies that are only theological, that it cannot but deeply interest Protestant readers.”—The Scotsman.

“Father Grisar has gained a high reputation in this country through the translation of his monumental work on the History of Rome and the Popes in the Middle Ages, and this first instalment of his life of Luther bears fresh witness to his unwearied industry, wide learning, and scrupulous anxiety to be impartial in his judgments as well as absolutely accurate in matters of fact.”—Glasgow Herald.

“It is impossible to understand the Reformation without understanding the life and character of the great German. The man and the work are so indissolubly united that we cannot have right judgments about either without considering the other. It is one of Father Grisar’s many merits that he does not forget for a single moment the fundamental importance of this connection. The man and his work come before us in these illuminating pages, not as more or less harmonious elements, but as a unity, and we cannot analyse either without constant reference to the other.”—Irish Times.

“Professor Grisar is hard on Luther. Perhaps no Roman Catholic can help it. But it is significant that he is hard on the anti-Lutherans also.... He shows us, indeed, though not deliberately, that some reformation of religion was both imperative and inevitable.... But he is far from being overwhelmed with prejudice. He really investigates, uses good authorities, and gives reasons for his judgments.”—The Expository Times.

“This Life of Luther is bound to become standard ... a model of every literary, critical, and scholarly virtue.”—The Month.

“The most important book on Luther that has appeared since Denifle’s epoch-making ‘Luther und Luthertum.’ ... It is an ordered biography, ... and is therefore very probably destined to a wider general usefulness as a Catholic authority.”—The Irish Rosary.

CONTENTS

[xii]
[1]

VOL. II.

THE APOSTASY

LUTHER

CHAPTER XI

THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE GREAT APOSTASY

1. Allies among the Humanists and the Nobility till the middle of 1520

As his work progressed the instigator of the innovations received offers of support from various quarters where aims similar to his were cherished.

In the first place there were many among the Humanists who greeted him with joy because they trusted that their ideals, as expressed in the “Epistolæ obscurorum virorum,” would really be furthered by means of Luther’s boldness and energy. They took his side because they looked upon him as a champion of intellectual liberty and thus as a promoter of noble, humane culture against the prevalent barbarism.

Erasmus, Mutian, Crotus Rubeanus, Eobanus Hessus and others were numbered amongst his patrons, though, as in the case of the first three, some of them forsook him at a later date. Most of the Humanists who sought, in verse and prose, to arouse enthusiasm for Luther in Germany were as yet unaware that the spirit of the man whom they were thus extolling differed considerably from their own, and that Luther would later become one of the sternest opponents of their views concerning the rights of reason and “humanity” as against faith. Meanwhile, however, Luther not only did not scorn the proffered alliance, but, as his letters to Erasmus show, condescended to crave favour in language so humble and flattering that it goes far beyond the customary protestations usual among the Humanists. He also drew some very promising Humanists into close[4] relation with himself, for instance, Philip Melanchthon and Justus Jonas, whom he won over to his cause at an early date. Crotus Rubeanus, the principal author of the “Epistolæ obscurorum virorum,” sought to renew his old acquaintance with his friend by letter in October, 1519. To him Luther appeared as the man of whose courage in opposing tyrants all the world was talking, and who was filled with the Spirit of the Lord. Crotus, at the instigation of Hutten, was anxious to bring about an understanding between Luther and the Knight Franz von Sickingen.[1]

The nobility was another important factor on whose support Luther was later to rely.

Ulrich von Hutten, the Franconian Knight and Humanist, a typical representative of the revolutionary knights of the day, speaks to the Monk of Wittenberg in the same devout terms as Crotus. The language, well padded with quotations from the Gospel, which he adopts to please Luther and the Reformers, makes a very strange impression coming from him, the libertine and cynic. His first dealings with Luther were in January, 1520, when, through the agency of Melanchthon, he promised him armed protection should he stand in need of such. The message was to the effect, that Franz von Sickingen, the knight, would, in any emergency,[2] offer him a secure refuge in his castle of Ebernburg. As a matter of fact Sickingen, in 1520, made over this castle—called the “Hostel of Justice”—to Hutten, Bucer and Œcolampadius as a place of safety. Representatives of the nobility who had fallen foul of the Empire there made common cause with the theologians of the new teaching.

As yet, however, Luther felt himself sufficiently secure under his own sovereign at Wittenberg. He maintained an attitude of reserve towards a party which might have compromised him, and delayed giving his answer. The revolutionary spirit which inspired the nobility throughout the Empire, so far as we can judge from the sources at our disposal, was not approved of by Luther save in so far as the efforts of these unscrupulous men of the sword were directed against the power of Rome in Germany, and against the payments to the Holy See. His own appeals to the national[5] feeling of the Germans against the “Italian Oppression,” as he styled it, were in striking agreement with the warlike proclamations of the Knights against the enslaving and exploitation of Germany.

Thus sympathy, as well as a certain community of interests, made the Knights heralds of the new Evangel.

In February, 1520, Hutten, through the intermediary of Melanchthon, again called the attention of Luther, “God’s Champion,” to the refuge offered him by Sickingen.[3] Luther did not reply until May, nor has the letter been preserved; neither do we possess the three following letters which he wrote to Hutten. Cochlæus, his opponent, says, he had seen “truly bloody letters” written by Luther to Hutten.[4] He does not, however, give any further particulars of their contents; how the words “bloody letters”—probably an unduly strong expression—are to be understood may be gathered from some statements of Luther’s regarding another offer made him about the same time.

The Knight Silvester von Schauenberg, a determined warrior, at that time High Bailiff of Münnerstadt, declared he was ready to furnish one hundred nobles who would protect him by force of arms until the termination of his “affair.”[5] Luther made Schauenberg’s letter known amongst his friends and adherents. He informs Spalatin, that “Schauenberg and Franz von Sickingen have insured me against the fear of men. The wrath of the demons is now about to come; this will happen when I become a burden to myself.”[6] “A hundred nobles,” he repeats in another letter, “have been promised me by Schauenberg in the event of my fleeing to them from the menaces of the Romans. Franz Sickingen has made the same offer.”[7]

He had already, several months before this, spoken openly in his sermon “On Good Works” (March, 1520) of the intervention of the worldly powers which he would like[6] to see, because the spiritual powers do nothing but lead everything to ruin.[8]

Hutten, who was more favourably disposed towards an alliance than Luther, continued to make protestations of agreement with Luther’s views and to hold out invitations to him. On June 4 he wrote to him among other things: “I have always agreed with you [in your writings] so far as I have understood them. You can reckon on me in any case.” “Therefore, in future, you may venture to confide all your plans to me.”[9] In another letter Hutten gave him to understand that, on account of the action of the Papal party, he would now attack the tyrant of Rome by force of arms,[10] at the same time informing also the Archbishop of Mayence, and Capito, of his resolution.[11] Luther was so carried away by this prospect that he wrote to Spalatin that if the Archbishop of Mayence were to proceed against him (Luther) in the same way as he had done against Hutten, viz. by prohibiting his writings, then he would “unite his spirit [meaning his pen] with Hutten’s,” and the Archbishop would have little cause to rejoice; the latter, however, “by his behaviour would probably put a speedy end to his tyranny.”[12]

In the autumn of 1520 it was said that, near Mayence, Hutten had fallen upon the Papal Nuncios Marinus Caraccioli and Hieronymus Aleander, who were on their way to the Diet at Worms; Luther believed the report, which was as a matter of fact incorrect, that Hutten had attacked the Nuncios and that it was only by chance that the plot miscarried. “I am glad,” he wrote at that time, “that Hutten[7] has led the way. Would that he had caught Marinus and Aleander!”[13]

Luther’s threats to use brute force soon became a cause of annoyance, even to certain of his admirers. We see this from a friendly warning which Wolfgang Capito addressed to him in the same year, namely, 1520. After recommending a peaceable course of action he says to him: “You affright your devoted followers by hinting at mercenaries and arms. I think I understand the reason of your plan, but I myself look upon it in a different light.” Capito advises Luther to proceed in a conciliatory manner and with deliberation. “Do not preach the Word of Christ in contention, but in charity.”[14]

He had thus been forewarned when he received from Hutten, that turbulent combatant, a confidential account of his work and a request to use his influence with the Elector in order that the latter might be induced to lend his assistance to him and his party; the Prince was “either to give help to those who had already taken up arms or at least, in the interests of the good cause, to shut his eyes to what was going on, and allow them to take refuge in his domains should the condition of things call for it.”[15] Hutten, with his proposed alliance, became more and more importunate. To such lengths Luther was, however, not inclined to go; he prized too highly the favour in which he stood with his sovereign to be willing to admit that he was in favour of civil war or a supporter of questionable elements. In his reply he thought it necessary to declare himself averse to the use of arms, notwithstanding the fact that he hailed with joy Hutten’s literary attacks which, according to his own expression, “would help to overthrow the Papacy[8] more speedily than could have been anticipated.”[16] We learn from his own lips that he wrote to Hutten, saying, “he did not wish to carry on the struggle for the Gospel by means of violence and murder.” Writing of this to his friend Spalatin, at Worms, he adds a reflection, intended for the benefit of the court: “The world has been conquered, and the Church preserved by the Word, and through the Word it will be renewed. Antichrist who rose to power without human assistance will also be destroyed without human means, namely, by the Word.”[17]

On the other hand, in a letter to Staupitz, who was already at that time staying at Salzburg, he again makes much of the importance of Hutten’s and his friends’ literary work for the advance of the new teaching. “Hutten and many others are writing bravely for me.... Our Prince,” he adds, “is acting wisely, faithfully and steadfastly,” and as a proof of the favour of the Ruler of the land he mentions that he is bringing out a certain publication in Latin and German at his request.[18]

“The Prince is acting faithfully and steadfastly,” such was probably the principal reason why Luther refrained from joining the forward movement as advocated by the Knights of the Empire. The clever Elector was opposed to any violent method of procedure and was unwilling to have his fidelity to the Empire unnecessarily called in question. To Luther, moreover, his favour was indispensable, as it was of the utmost importance to him, in the interests of his aims, to be able to continue his professional work at Wittenberg and to spread abroad his publications unhindered from so favourable a spot. He was also not of such an adventurous disposition as to anticipate great things from the chimerical enterprise proposed by Hutten’s Knights. He was, however, aware that the religious revolution he was furthering lent the strongest moral assistance to the liberal tendencies of the Knights, and he on his part was very well[9] satisfied with the moral help afforded by their party. His coquetting with this party was, nevertheless, a dangerous game for Germany. As is well known, Sickingen appealed in exoneration of his deeds of violence, and Hutten in defence of his vituperation, to the new gospel which had recently sprung up in the German land.

Efforts have frequently been made to represent Luther as treating the efforts of the party opposed to the Empire with sublime contempt. But it is certain “he was as little indifferent to the enthusiastic applause of the Franconian Knight [Hutten] as to the offers of protection and defence made him by Franz von Sickingen and Silvester von Schauenberg, the favourable criticism of Erasmus and other Humanists, the encouraging letters of the Bohemian Utraquists, the growing sympathy of German clerics and monks, the commotion among the young students, and the news of the growing excitement amongst the masses. He recognised more and more clearly from all these signs that he was not standing alone.”[19]

His language becomes, in consequence, stronger, his action bolder and more impetuous. He casts aside all scruples of ecclesiastical reverence for the primacy of Peter which still clung to him from Catholic times and he seeks to arrogate to himself the rôle of spokesman of the German nation, more particularly of the universal discontent with the exactions of Rome. Both are vividly expressed in his book “Von dem Bapstum tzu Rome” which he wrote in May, 1520, and which left the press already in June.

In the same year, 1520, Luther hurled his so-called “great reforming writings,” “An den Adel” and “De captivitate babylonica,” into the thick of the controversy. They mark the crisis in the struggle before the publication of the Bull of Excommunication.

Before treating of them, however, we must linger a little on what has already been considered; in accordance with the special psychological task of this work, it is our duty to describe more fully one characteristic of Luther’s action up to this time, viz. the stormy, violent, impetuous tendency of his mind. This, as every unprejudiced person will agree, is in striking contrast to the spiritual character of any undertaking which is to bring forth lasting ethical results and true blessing, namely, to that self-control and circumspection with which all those men commissioned by God for the salvation of mankind and of souls have ever been endowed, notwithstanding their strenuous energy.

Hieronymus Emser, who had met Luther at the Leipzig Disputation and before, might well reproach him with his passionate behaviour, so utterly lacking in calmness and self-control, and liken him to “the troubled sea which is never at rest day or night nor allows others to be at peace; yet the Spirit of the Lord only abides in those who are humble, in the peaceable and composed.”[35] In another work he laments in a similar way that, “in the schools and likewise in his writings and in the pulpit Luther neither displays devotion nor behaves like a clergyman, but is all defiance and boastfulness.”[36]

It was in vain that anxious friends, troubled about the progress of their common enterprise, besought him to moderate his language. It is true he had admitted to his fellow-monks, even as early as the time of the nailing up of his theses, his own “frivolous precipitancy and rashness” (“levitas et præceps temeritas”).[37] He did not even find it too hard a task to confess to the courtier Spalatin, that he had been “unnecessarily violent” in his writings.[38] But these were mere passing admissions, and, after the last passage, he goes on to explain that his opponents knew him,[15] and should know better than to rouse the hound; ... “he was by nature hot-blooded and his pen was easily irritated”; even if his own hot blood and customary manner of writing had not of themselves excited him, the thought of his opponents and their “horrible crimes” against himself and the Word of God would have been sufficient to do so.

Such was his self-confidence that it was not merely easy to him, but a veritable pleasure, to attack all theologians of every school; they were barely able to spell out the Bible. “Doctors, Universities, Masters, are mere empty titles of which one must not stand in awe.”[39]

2. The Veiling of the Great Apostasy

Besides his stormy violence another psychological trait noticeable in Luther is the astuteness with which he conceals the real nature of his views and aims from his superiors both clerical and lay, and his efforts at least to strengthen the doubts favourable to him regarding his attitude to the hierarchy and the Church as it then was. Particularly in important passages of his correspondence we find, side by side with his call to arms, conciliatory, friendly and even submissive assurances.

The asseverations of this sort which he made to his Bishop, to the Pope, to the Emperor and to the Elector are really quite surprising, considering the behaviour of the Wittenberg Professor. In such cases Luther is deliberately striving to represent the quarrel otherwise than it really stood.

If the cause he advocated had in very truth been a great and honourable one, then it imperatively called for frank and honest action on his part.

The consequence of his peaceable assurances was to postpone the decision on a matter of far-reaching importance to religion and the Christian conscience. Many who did not look below the surface were unaware how they stood, and an inevitable result of such statements of Luther’s was, that, in the eyes of many even among the nobles and the learned, the great question whether he was right or wrong remained too long undecided. He thus gained numerous[16] followers from the ranks of the otherwise well-disposed, and, of these, many, after the true aims of the movement had become apparent, failed to retrace their steps.

In fairness, however, all the means by which the delay of the negotiations was brought about must not be laid to Luther’s charge, and to his intentional misrepresentations. It is more probable that he frequently assumed an attitude of indecision because, to his excited mind, the stress of unforeseen events, which affected him personally, seemed to justify his use of so strange an expedient. Be this as it may, we must make a distinction between his actions at the various periods of his agitated life; the further his tragic history approaches the complete and open breach which was the result of his excommunication, the less claim to belief have his assurances of peace, whereas his earlier protestations may at least sometimes be accorded the benefit of a doubt.

To the assurances dating from the earlier stage belong in the first place those made to his Ordinary, Hieronymus Scultetus, Bishop of Brandenburg. To him on May 22, 1518, he forwarded, together with a flattering letter, a copy of his “Resolutions,” in order that they might be examined.[40]

When Bishop Scultetus thereupon declared himself against the publication of the Resolutions, Luther promised to obey; he even made this known to those about the Elector, through Spalatin the Court-preacher. On August 21, 1518, the work nevertheless appeared. Had Luther really been “released” from his promise, as has been assumed by one writer in default of any better explanation?[41]

Let us consider more closely Luther’s letter to Pope Leo X, which has already been referred to cursorily (vol. i., p. 335). As is well known, it accompanied the copy of the Resolutions which, with singular daring, and regardless of the challenge involved in their errors, he had dedicated to the Supreme Teacher of Christendom.[42] Luther had lavished flattery on his Bishop, but here he surpasses himself in expressions of cringing humility.

As a matter of fact, the principal result of the dedication to the Pope was a wider dissemination of the work among[18] the learned, Luther’s Bishop, the weak and uninformed Scultetus of Brandenburg, being likewise hindered from taking any action against his unruly subject. The move, if it really was intentional, had been well thought out.

After a lengthy delay Luther, in accordance with his promise to Miltitz, drafted a second letter to Pope Leo X, on January 5 or 6, 1519.[43]

Luther assumes an entirely different tone in the historic third and last letter to Leo X, with which, in 1520, he prefaced his work “Von der Freyheyt eynes Christen Menschen”; this letter was really written after October 13 of that same year.[45]

Luther also approached the Emperor Charles V in a letter addressed to him at the time when Rome was about to take action. He begged the Emperor to protect him, entirely innocent as he was, against the machinations of his enemies, especially as he had been dragged into the struggle against his will. The letter was written August 30, 1520,[48] and safely reached the Emperor, possibly through the good offices of Sickingen; when it was again submitted at the Diet of Worms such was Charles’s indignation that he tore the missive to pieces.

In order rightly to appreciate its contents we must keep in mind that Luther had it printed and published in a Latin version in 1520, together with an “Oblation or Protestation” to readers of every tongue, wherein he offers them on the title-page his “unworthy prayers,” and assures them of his humble submission to the Holy Catholic Church, as whose devoted son he was determined to live and die.[49] Nevertheless, at the end of August[50] part of his work “On the Babylonian Captivity of the Church” already stood in print, in which, at the very commencement, the Papacy is declared to be the Kingdom of Babylon and the empire of Nimrod, the mighty hunter, and in which, as a matter of fact, an end is made of the whole hierarchy and Church visible.

Luther’s Prince, the Elector Frederick, had grave misgivings concerning the hot-headed agitator who had fixed his residence at the University of Wittenberg, though, hitherto, thanks to the influence of Spalatin, his Court Chaplain, he had extended to Luther his protection and clemency. Both the Emperor, who was altogether Catholic in his views, and the laws of the Empire, called for the greatest caution on his part; were the Church’s rights enforced as the imperial law allowed, then Luther was[21] doomed. It was by the express advice of the Elector that Luther drew up the above-mentioned letter to Charles V and the pious “Protestation.” It was to these documents that the astute Elector appealed when, towards the end of August, he warned his agent at Rome, Teutleben, of the ostensibly dangerous disturbances which might result in Germany from any violent action against Luther unless he had been previously confuted by “strong and veracious proofs and statements clearly set forth in writing.”[51] This letter too had Luther himself for its author, Spalatin having, as usual, acted as intermediary. Spalatin in fact received both documents from him beforehand for revision.[52]

This manifesto was sufficient to satisfy the Elector Frederick. The growing esteem in which Luther was held and the delay in the settlement of his case served admirably Frederick’s purpose of making himself less dependent on the Emperor and Empire. Calculation and politics thus played their part in an affair which to some extent they shaped.

At a later date, it is true, Luther asserted in the preface to his Latin works, that his success had been the result only of Heaven’s visible protection; that he had quietly “awaited the decision of the Church and the Holy Ghost”; only one thing, namely, the Catechism, he had been unable to see condemned by the interference of Rome; to deny Christ he could never consent. He was willing to confess his former weaknesses “in order that—to speak like Paul—men may not esteem me for something more than I am, but as a simple man.”[53]

From the pulpit, too, where honest truth usually finds expression, he declared that it was not violence or human effort or wisdom that had crowned his cause with the laurels of victory, but God alone: “I studied God’s Word and preached and wrote on it; beyond this I did nothing. The Word of God did much while I slept, or drank Wittenberg beer with my Philip [Melanchthon] and Amsdorf, so that Popery has been weakened and suffered more than from the attacks of any Prince or Emperor. I did nothing; everything was achieved and carried out by the Word.”[54] His object here is to oppose the violence and fanaticism of the Anabaptists, and, if he points out to them that he has achieved his mighty work without force of arms, and that the great success of his movement was out of all proportion to the means he could employ as professor and preacher—the truth being that his success was chiefly due to the circumstances of the time—there is much in his contention.

In the circle of his friends, at a later date, he thus expressed his conviction: “I did not begin the difficult business of my own initiative ... rather it was God who led me in a wonderful manner.... All happened in[23] accordance with God’s will.”[55] “I thought I was doing the Pope a service [by throwing light upon the question of Indulgences]; but I was forced to defend myself.” “Had I foreseen that things would turn out as, thank God, they have, I would have held my tongue; but had I kept silence it would have fared much worse with the Papacy; the Princes and the Powers, enraged at its usurpations, would finally have made an end of it.” “I acted with moderation and yet I have brought the Papacy to an evil day.”[56]

The genius of history could well hide its face were such statements accepted as reliable testimonies.

Certain extracts from Luther’s correspondence with Spalatin deserve special consideration.

The worldly-wise Chaplain of Frederick, the Saxon Elector, frequently gave Luther a hint as to how to proceed, and, in return, his Wittenberg friend was wont to speak to him more openly than to others. It is, however, necessary, in order to arrive at a right appreciation of this correspondence, to distinguish between the letters written by Luther to Spalatin as a personal friend and those he sent him with the intention that they should reach the ruling Prince. It would betray a great lack of critical discrimination were the whole correspondence with Spalatin taken as the expression of Luther’s innermost thought. The fact that Spalatin’s letters to Luther are no longer extant makes it even more difficult to understand Luther’s replies. Nevertheless, it is easy to trace a persistent effort throughout the correspondence, to secure in the Saxon Electorate toleration both for the new teaching and its originator without arousing the misgivings of a prudent sovereign. The Court had to be won over gradually and gently.

All the diplomacy which he cultivated with so much calculation did not, however, hinder his giving free course to the higher inspiration with which he believed himself to be endowed; the result was a series of works which may be numbered among the most effective of his controversial writings. He there fights, to employ his own language, “for Christ’s sake new battles against Satan,” as Deborah, the prophetess, fought “new wars” for Israel (Judges v. 8).[64]

In Luther we find a singular combination of the glowing enthusiast and cool diplomatist. Just as it would be wrong to see in him nothing but hypocrisy and deception without a spark of earnestness and self-sacrifice, so too, at the other extreme, we should not be justified in speaking of his success as simply the result of enthusiasm and entire surrender of earthly considerations. History discerns in him a combatant full of passion indeed, yet one who was cool-headed enough to choose the best means to his end.

[26]

3. Luther’s Great Reformation-Works—Radicalism and Religion

It was at the time when the Bull of Excommunication was about to be promulgated by the Head of Christendom that Luther composed the Preface to the work entitled: “An den christlichen Adel deutscher Nation von des christlichen Standes Besserung.”[65] The booklet appeared in the middle of August, and by the 18th four thousand copies were already in circulation, eagerly devoured by a multitude of readers hungry for books of all kinds. Staupitz’s warning not to publish it had come too late. “Luther’s friends, the Knights, were urging him on, and something had to be done at once.”[66]

This inflammatory pamphlet, so patronised by the rebellious Knights, was, with its complaints against Rome, in part based on the writings of the German Neo-Humanists.

It was, however, the promise he received of material help which spurred Luther on to give a social aspect to his theological movement and thus to ensure the support of the disaffected Knights and Humanists. Concerning Silvester von Schauenberg, he wrote to a confidant, Wenceslaus Link: “This noble man from Franconia has sent me a letter ... with the promise of one hundred Franconian Knights for my protection, should I need them.... Rome has written to the Prince against me, and the same has been done by an important German Court. Our German book addressed to the whole Nobility of Germany on the amelioration of the Church is now to appear; that will be a powerful challenge to Rome, for her godless arts and usurpations are therein unmasked. Farewell and pray for me.”[68]

By the end of August another new book by Luther, which, like the former, is accounted by Luther’s Protestant biographers as one of the “great Reformation-works,” was in the press; such was the precipitancy with which his turbulent spirit drove him to deal with the vital questions of the day. The title of the new Latin publication which was at once translated into German was “Prelude to the Babylonish Captivity of the Church.”[69]

This end was yet better served by the third “reforming” work “On the Freedom of a Christian Man,” a popular tract[28] in Latin and German with its dangerously seductive explanation of his teaching on faith, justification and works.[70]

In spite of all reservations it is very doubtful whether the work “On the Freedom of a Christian Man” was capable of improving the many who joined Luther’s standard in order to avail themselves of the new freedom in its secular sense. “By faith” man became, so Luther had told them, pure and free and “lord of all.” They might reply, and as a matter of fact later on they did: Why then impose the duty of works, especially if the interior man has, according to his own judgment, become strong and sufficiently independent? Such was actually the argument of the fanatics. They added, “to become altogether spiritual and interior,” is in any case impossible, moreover, as, according to the new teaching, works spring spontaneously from the state of one who is justified, why then speak of a duty of performing good works, or why impose an obligation to do this or that particular good work here and now? It is better and easier for us to stimulate the spirit and the interior life of faith in the soul merely in a general way and in accordance with the new ideal.

As a matter of fact, experience soon showed that where the traditional Christian motives for good works (reparation for sin, the acquiring of merit with the assistance of God’s grace, etc.) were given up, the practice of good works suffered.

There is, however, no doubt that there were some on whom the booklet, with its heartfelt and moving exhortation to communion with Christ, did not fail to make a deep impression, more particularly in view of the formalism which then prevailed.

To appreciate the effects of the three works just mentioned it may be worth our while to examine more closely two characteristics which there appear in singular juxtaposition. One is the deeply religious tone which, as we said, is so noteworthy in Luther’s book “On the Freedom of a Christian Man.” The other is an unmistakable tendency to dissolve all religion based on authority.

Luther, as we said before, positively refused to have anything to do with a religion of merely human character; yet, if we only draw the necessary conclusions from certain propositions which he sets up, we find that he is not very far removed from such a religion; he is, all unawares, on the high road to the destruction of all authority in matters of faith. This fact makes the depth of religious feeling evinced by the author appear all the more strange to the experienced reader.[78]

Some examples will make our meaning clearer.

The religious tone which Luther assumed in the work “On the Freedom of a Christian Man,” and his earnestness and feeling, made his readers more ready to overlook the perils for real religion which it involved. This consideration brings us to the other characteristic, viz. the pietism which, as stated above, is so strangely combined in the three works with intense radicalism.

The religious feeling which pervades every page of the “Freedom of a Christian Man” is, if anything, overdone. In what Luther there says we see the outpourings of one whose religious views are quite peculiar, and who is bent on bringing the Christian people to see things in the same light as he does; deeply imbued as he is with his idea of salvation by faith alone, and full of bitterness against the alleged disfiguring of the Church’s life by meritorious works, he depicts his own conception of religion in vivid and attractive colours, and in the finest language of the mystics. It is easy to understand how so many Protestant writers have been fascinated by these pages, indeed, the best ascetic writers might well envy him certain of the passages in which he speaks of the person of Christ and of communion with Him. Nevertheless, a fault which runs through the whole work is, as already explained, his tendency to narrow the horizon of religious thought and feeling by making the end of everything to consist in the mere awakening of trust in Christ as our Saviour. Ultimately, religion to him means no more than this confidence; he is even anxious to exclude so well-founded and fruitful a spiritual exercise as compassion with the sufferings of our crucified Redeemer, actually calling it[36] “childish and effeminate stupidity.”[91] How much more profound and fruitful was the religious sentiment of the genuine mystics of the Church, whom the contemplation of the sufferings of Christ furnished with the most beautiful and touching subject of meditation, and who knew how to find a source of edification in all the truths of faith, and not only in that of the forgiveness of sins. Writers such as they, described to their pious readers in far greater detail the person of Christ, the honour given by Him to God and the virtues He had inculcated.

The booklet “To the Nobility,” likewise, particularly in the Preface, throws a strange sidelight on the pietism of the so-called great Reformation works.

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4. Luther’s Followers. Two Types of His Cultured Partisans: Willibald Pirkheimer and Albert Dürer

Owing to the huge and rapid circulation of the three “Reformation works,” the number of Luther’s followers among all classes increased with prodigious speed.

The spirit of the nation was roused by his bold words, the like of which had never before been heard.

Too many of those whose Catholicism was largely a matter of form were seduced by the new spirit that was abroad, and by the “liberty of the Gospel,” before they rightly saw their danger. The fascination of the promised freedom was even increased by Luther’s earnest exhortations to commence a general reformation, to cultivate the inner man, and to assert the independence of the German against immoral Italians, the extortioners of the Curia and the spiritual tyranny of the Pope. Even better minds, men who despised the masses and their vulgar agitation, were powerfully attracted. At no other time, save possibly at the French Revolution, was mankind more profoundly stirred by the force of untried ideas, which with suggestive power suddenly invaded every rank of society. Scholars, writers, artists, countless men who had heard nothing of Luther that was not to his advantage, and who, from lack of theological knowledge, were unable fully to appreciate the spirit of his writings, were carried away by the man who so courageously attacked the crying abuses which they themselves had long bewailed.

In explaining this universal commotion we cannot lay too great stress upon a factor which also played a part in it, viz. the comparative ignorance of most people regarding Luther, his antecedents and his aims. Eminent men, and his own contemporaries, who allowed themselves to be borne away by the current, were incredibly ignorant of Luther as he is now known to history. They knew practically nothing of the whole arsenal of letters, tracts and reports which to-day lie open before us and are being read, compared and annotated by industrious scholars. It is difficult for us at the present day to imagine the condition of ignorance in which even cultured men were, in the sixteenth century, regarding the Lutheran movement, especially at its inception.

To show the seduction and fascination exercised by[39] Luther’s writings even on eminent men, we may take two famous Nurembergers, Willibald Pirkheimer and Albert Dürer.

Willibald Pirkheimer, a Senator of Nuremberg and Imperial Councillor, was one of the most respected and cultured Humanists of his day. He edited or translated many patristic works. After taking a too active part in the Reuchlin controversy against the theologians of Cologne, owing to his zeal for a reformed method of studies, he put himself on Luther’s side, again out of enthusiasm for reform, and under the impression that he had found in his doctrine a more profound conception of religion. He received Luther as his guest when he passed through Nuremberg on his return journey from Augsburg, after his appearance before Cardinal Cajetan. In a letter to Emser he declared that the learned men of Wittenberg had earned undying fame by having been, after so many centuries, the first to open their eyes, and to distinguish between the true and the false, and to banish from Christian theology a bad philosophy.[97] Eck even inserted his name in the Bull of Excommunication which he published, though Pirkheimer was absolved on appealing to Pope Leo X. He wrote, in Luther’s favour, a letter to Hadrian VI which, however, was perhaps never despatched, in which he calls him “a good and learned man.” The entire blame for the quarrel was thrust by this disputatious and peculiar man on Eck and the Dominicans.

In later years, however, he withdrew more and more from the Lutheran standpoint, chiefly, as it would appear, because he perceived the unbridled nature of the Reformers’ views and the bad moral and social effects of the innovations. He died in 1530 at peace with the Catholic Church.

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We see also from the example of Albert Dürer of Nuremberg, who is rightly accounted one of the greatest masters of Art, how overwhelming an influence the stormy energy, the calls for reform and the religious tone of Luther’s writings could exert on the susceptible minds of the day. Of a lively temper,[103] full of imagination and religious idealism, as his sixteen wonderful illustrations to the Apocalypse proved in 1498, he, like his Nuremberg friend Willibald Pirkheimer, gave himself up from the very first to the influence of the Lutheran writings, with which to a certain extent he was in sympathy. In his enthusiasm for freedom he considered that Christianity was too much fettered by oppressive rules of human invention, and was profoundly troubled by the desecration of holy things introduced in many regions by the greed and avarice of a worldly-minded clergy.

The man who wrote this was clearly better able to wield the pencil or brush than to pass theological judgment on the questions under discussion. Dürer was already among the most famous men of the day. Led astray by the praise of the Humanists, he, and other similarly privileged minds, easily exceeded the limits of their calling, abetted as they were by the evil tendency to individualism and personal independence prevalent among the best men of the day.

On his return to Nuremberg in the autumn of 1521 he lived entirely for his art and remote from all else, clinging to the opinions he had already embraced, or at least suspending his judgment. How greatly the real or imaginary abuses in Catholic practice were capable of exciting him, especially where avarice appeared to play a part, is proved by his indignant inscription in 1523 to an Ostendorfer woodcut, representing the veneration of a picture of our Lady at Ratisbon: “This spectre has risen up against Holy Scripture at Regenspurg ... out of greed of gain”; his wish is that Mary should be rightly venerated “in Christ.” In 1526 he presented his picture of the four Apostles, now the ornament of the Munich Pinacothek, to the Nuremberg bench of magistrates who had just established Protestantism in the city, exhorting them “to accept no human inventions in place of the Word of God, for God will not allow His Word to be either added to or detracted from.” The “warnings,” in the form of texts, afterwards[43] removed, which he placed in the mouths of Peter, John, Paul and Mark in his celebrated picture, also refer to religious seducers and false prophets, more particularly those who seize on the possessions of the poor through avarice and greed. We can hardly do otherwise than apply these texts to the abuses which met with his disapproval, and alleged false teaching of the Catholic Church. It is plain that the Elector Maximilian I of Bavaria understood them in this sense when he ordered their removal. This view is also supported by Dürer’s letter in 1524 to Nicholas Kratzer, in which he says: “We are derided as heretics,” but this must be endured. At a later date Pirkheimer seems to have regarded him as merely “on the way to becoming a Lutheran” (p. 40). It cannot be affirmed with certainty that, when he died suddenly at Nuremberg, on April 6, 1528, he was either entirely convinced of the justice of Luther’s cause or had reverted to Catholicism.[106] At any rate, his art grew up on the soil of the Church.

The spiritual experiences of Pirkheimer and Dürer help to bring before our eyes typical instances of the false paths followed by many of their contemporaries and the struggles through which they went.

CHAPTER XII

EXCOMMUNICATION AND OUTLAWRY SPIRITUAL BAPTISM IN THE WARTBURG

1. The Trial. The Excommunication (1520) and its Consequences

On June 15, 1520, Leo X promulgated the Bull condemning forty-one Propositions of Luther’s teaching, and threatening the person of their author with excommunication.[110]

The Bull was the result of a formal suit instituted at Rome on the details of which light has been thrown in recent times by Karl Müller, Aloys Schulte and Paul Kalkoff.[111]

The trial had taken a long time, much too long considering the state of things in Germany; this delay was in reality due to political causes, to the Pope’s regard for the Elector of Saxony, the approaching Imperial Election and to the procrastination of the German Prince-Bishops. Even before Dr. Johann Eck proceeded to Rome to promote the case the negotiations had been resumed in the Papal Consistories at the instance of the Italian party. The first Consistory was held on January 9, 1520.

After this, from February to the middle of March, the matter was in the hands of a commission of theologians who[46] were to prepare the decision. A still more select commission, presided over by the Pope in person, then undertook the drafting of the Bull with the forty-one Propositions of Luther which were to be condemned. Upon the termination of their work, in the end of April, it was submitted to the Cardinals for their decision; four more Consistories, held in May and June, were, however, necessary before the matter was finally settled. Certain differences of opinion arose as to the question whether the forty-one Propositions were, as Cardinal Cajetan proposed, to be separately stigmatised as heretical, false, scandalous, etc., or whether, as had been done in the case of the Propositions of Wiclif and Hus at Constance, they should be rejected in the lump without any more definite characterisation. The latter opinion prevailed. In the last Consistory of June 1 the Pope decided on the publication of the Bull in this shape, and by June 15 it was complete.

Two Cardinals, Pietro Accolti (Anconitanus) and Thomas de Vio (Cajetanus), had all along been busy with the case. The moving spirit was, however, Cardinal Giulio de’ Medici.[112] Everything points to “the matter having been treated as a very grave one.”[113]

Legally the case was based on the notoriety of Luther’s doctrines, he having proposed and defended them at the Disputation of Leipzig, according to the sworn evidence of the notaries-public. The Louvain theologians and Eck had their share in selecting and denouncing the Theses. It would seem that during the trial Eck submitted the official printed minutes of the Leipzig Disputation in order to prove that the errors were really expressed in Luther’s own words.

This utilisation of the Leipzig Disputation was justified, as it rendered nugatory Luther’s appeal to a General Council. At the Disputation in question he had denied the authority even of Œcumenical Assemblies.

Eck’s efforts were of assistance in elucidating and pressing on the matter. But we may gather how incorrectly the question was regarded in Rome by many, who, it is true, had little[47] to do with it, from the fact that, even on May 21, persons were to be found holding the opinion that the publication of a solemn Bull would tend to injure the cause of the Church rather than to advance it, and that the scandal in Germany would only become greater if it were apparent that so much importance was attached to Luther’s errors.[114]

In the final sentence pronounced by the Pope, i.e. in the Bull commencing with the words: Exsurge Domine, the forty-one Propositions are condemned in globo as “heretical or false, scandalous, offensive to pious ears, insulting, ensnaring and contrary to Catholic truth.”[115] A series of Luther’s principal doctrines on human inability for good, on Faith, Justification and Grace, on the Sacraments, the Hierarchy and Purgatory were there condemned.

The Papal sentence did not proceed against Luther’s person with the severity which, in accordance with Canon Law, his fiercest adversaries perhaps anticipated. Even the errors mentioned as occurring in his writings are designated only in the body of the Bull, and with much circumlocution. The only penalty directly imposed on him in the meantime was the prohibition to preach. The Bull declares that legally, as his case then stood, he might have been excommunicated without further question, particularly on account of his appeal to a General Council, to which the Constitutions of Pius II and Julius II had attached the penalties of heresy. Instead of this he is, for the present, merely threatened with excommunication, and is placed under the obligation, within sixty days (i.e. after a triple summons repeated at intervals of twenty days) from the date of the promulgation of the Bull, of making his submission in writing before ecclesiastical witnesses, or of coming to Rome under the safe conduct guaranteed by the Bull; he was also to commit his books to the flames; in default of this, by virtue of the Papal declaration, he would, ipso facto, incur the penalties of open heresy as a notorious heretic (i.e. be cut off from the Communion of the Faithful by excommunication); every secular authority, including the Emperor, was bound, in accordance with the law, to[48] enforce these penalties. A similar sentence was pronounced against all Luther’s followers, aiders or abettors.

With respect to the terms in which the Papal Edict is couched, the severe criticism of certain Protestant writers might perhaps have been somewhat less scathing had they taken into account the traditional usages of the Roman Chancery, instead of judging them by the standard of the legal language of to-day. Such are the harsh passages quoted from Holy Scripture, which may appear to us unduly irritating and violent. When all is said, moreover, is it to be wondered at, that, after the unspeakably bitter and insulting attacks on the Papacy and the destruction of a portion of the German Church, strong feelings should have found utterance in the Bull?

Luther was aware that, after the promulgation of the Bull, he could place no further hope in the Emperor Charles V, whose devotion to the Church was well known, but he was sure of the protection of his Elector.[116] It was clear to Luther that, without the support of the Elector, the execution of the Bull by the secular power after the excommunication had come into force would mean his death.

Before publicly burning his boats he launched among the people his booklet “Von den newen Eckischenn Bullen und Lügen,”[117] pretending that the Bull (which he knew to be genuine) was merely a fabrication of Dr. Eck’s. Here, with a bold front, he repeated that his doctrine had not yet been condemned, nor the controversy decided, and that all the hubbub was merely the result of Eck’s personal hatred.

This was shortly after followed by the pamphlet “Against the Bull of ‘End-Christ,’”[118] issued by his indefatigable press. The Latin version of the little work, brimming over with hatred, was ready by the end of October, 1520.

In view of the existing political conditions there was but little hope that it would be possible for the General Council, to which Luther had appealed, to meet at an early date. At the time of Luther’s uprising, moreover, the state of feeling, both in ecclesiastical circles and among the laity, gave little promise of good results even in the event of the calling together of a great Council. The stormy so-called Reforming Councils of the fifteenth century had shown the dangers of the prevailing spirit of independence, and the feeling among the ecclesiastical authorities was, from motives of caution, averse to the holding of Councils. Luther, on his part, was well aware how futile was his appeal to a General Council.

That his request was useless and only intended to gain time was apparent to all who had any discernment, when, on November 17, 1520, he again appealed to a “free Christian Council.” Luther’s appeal was published at the same time as his Latin work “Against the Bull of End-Christ” Its character is plain from its invitation to the people “to oppose the mad action of the Pope.” It was a method of agitation calculated to call forth the applause of those who had become accustomed to the ecclesiastical radicalism of the so-called reforming Councils.

Luther gave practical effect to his view regarding the[51] value to be set on solemn Papal decrees on faith by his famous act before the Elster Gate of Wittenberg.

On December 10 he there proceeded to burn the Bull of Excommunication amid the acclamations of his followers amongst the students, whom he had invited to the spectacle by a public notice exhibited at the University. Not the Bull only was committed to the flames, but, according to the programme, also “books of the Papal Constitutions and of scholastic theology.” Besides the Bull the following were cast into the great fire: the Decretum of Gratian, the Decretals with the “Liber Sextus,” the Clementines and the Extravagants, also the Summa Angelica of Angelus de Clavasio, the work then most in use on the Sacrament of Penance, books by Eck, particularly that entitled “Chrysopassus,” some by Emser, and others, too, offered by the zeal of private individuals. The recently discovered account by Johann Agricola says, that the works of Thomas and Scotus would also have been consigned to the flames but that no one was willing to deprive himself of them for this purpose. According to this writer, whose information is fuller than that of the authority generally quoted, Luther, while in the act of burning the Bull, pronounced the words: “Because thou hast destroyed the truth of the Lord, the Lord consume thee in this fire” (cp. Josue vii. 25).[122]

A few weeks later Luther related, not without pride, how the students “in the Carnival days made the Pope figure in the show [the students being dressed up to play the part], seated on a car with great pomp; it was really too droll. At the stream in the market-place they allowed him to escape with his Cardinals, bishops and attendants; he was then[52] chased through various parts of the city: everything was well and grandly planned; for the enemy of Christ is deserving of such mockery, since he himself mocks at the greatest Princes and even Christ Himself. The verses which describe the whole scene are now being printed.” This was how Luther wrote to Spalatin, who was then with the Elector at the Diet of Worms.[123]

Evil things were in store for Luther at Worms. It seemed that his summons thither was unavoidable, since Pope Leo X, in the new Bull, “Decet Romanum Pontificem,” of January 3, 1521, had declared that Luther, owing to his persistent contumacy, had, ipso facto, incurred excommunication and become liable to the penalties already decreed by law against heretics.

Certain historians have extolled the great calmness which Luther preserved even during the stormy days when the excommunication arrived; they will have it that his composure of mind never deserted him. He himself, however, speaks otherwise.

Never before had Gutenberg’s art been of such service to any public cause; all Germany was flooded with Luther’s writings with bewildering rapidity.

He commenced printing the booklet “To the Christian Nobility” before it was fully written, and its plan he settled whilst a second pamphlet of his against Prierias was passing through the press. This, in turn, was accompanied by a booklet against the Franciscan Alveld. Between the publication of the three so-called great “Reformation works,” which, with the new editions immediately called for, followed each other in rapid succession, came the printing of a sermon on the New Testament and the tracts already mentioned: “Von den newen Eckischenn Bullen,” and “Against the Bull of Antichrist” (in Latin); then followed the publication of his “Warumb des Bapsts und seyner Jüngern Bücher vorbrant seyn,” then the “Defence of all the Propositions” condemned in the Bull (in Latin), then the controversial pamphlets: “An den Bock zu Leyptzck” (Hieronymus Emser), and “Auff des Bocks zu Leypczick Antwort.” At the same time, however, he published some religious works of a practical nature, namely the “Tessaradekas,” a book of consolation for suffering and perturbed Christians, and the commencement of his exposition of the Magnificat. The latter he dedicated to Johann Friedrich, the Elector’s nephew; it is not only improving in tone, but was also of practical use in increasing the esteem in which he was held at Court.

Such incredible overtaxing of his strength naturally resulted in a condition of serious mental strain, at the very time, too, when Luther had to weigh in his mind profound and momentous questions, vital problems, the treatment of which called for the most utmost recollection and composure.

His perturbation, which had become to him almost a life-element, served to dispel his fears and his doubts: “I am battling with the floods and am carried away by them (“fluctibus his rapior et volvor”). “The noise [of strife] rages mightily. Both sides are putting their heart into it.”[128] Catholics discern with grief in this uncanny joy a sad attempt on his part to find encouragement in the preposterous notion he fostered of the “devilishness” of the Papacy. They will also perceive in his outbursts of rage, and in the challenges to violence in which he indulges in unguarded moments, the effect of the excommunication working on a mind already stirred to its innermost depths. When we hear him declare in a popular pamphlet, after the arrival of the Papal Bull, that it would not be surprising were the Princes, the nobility and laity to hit the Pope, the bishops, priests and monks over the head and drive them out of the land,[129] we find that such language agrees only too well with his furious words in his tract written in 1520[55] against Prierias, where he compares the Pope and his followers to a band of cut-throats.

The menacing attitude of the Knights seemed to Luther sufficiently favourable to his cause without their actually declaring war. We shall return later to Luther’s ideas regarding the use of force in support of the Evangel (vol. iii. xv. 3).

As for the above-mentioned references to Antichrist, we can only assume that he had gradually persuaded himself that the Pope really was the Antichrist of the Bible. According to his opinion the Antichrist of prophecy was not so much a definite person as the Papacy as a whole, at least in its then degenerate form. So thoroughly did he imbue his mind with those biblical images which appealed to him, and so vivid were the pictures conjured up by his imagination of the wickedness of his foes, that we cannot be surprised if the idea he had already given expression to, viz. that the Pope was Antichrist,[134] took more and more possession of him. Owing to the pseudo-mysticism, under the banner of which he carried on his war against the Church of Rome, he was the more prone to indulge in such a view. His lamentations over Babylon and Antichrist, and his intimate persuasion that he had unmasked Antichrist and that therefore the second coming of Christ was imminent (see below), undoubtedly rested on a morbid, pseudo-mystic foundation.

At about that time he set forth his ideas regarding Antichrist in learned theological form, for the benefit of readers[57] of every nation, in a Latin exposition of the prophecies of Daniel, in which, according to him, the Papacy is predicted as Antichrist and described in minutest detail. This strange commentary is found in his reply to the Italian theologian Ambrose Catharinus: “Ad librum Catharini responsio.”[135] Cultured foreign readers can scarcely have gained from these pages a very favourable impression of the imaginative German monk’s method of biblical exposition. This curious tract followed too quickly upon that to which it was a reply. Luther received a copy of the book against him by Catharinus on March 6 or 7, yet, in order to forestall the effect of the work on the Diet of Worms, in the course of the same month he composed the lengthy reply which is all steeped in mystical fanaticism. From that time forward the crazy fiction that the Pope was Antichrist gained more and more hold of him, so that even towards the end of his life, as we shall see, he again set about decking it out with new and more forceful proofs from Holy Scripture.

Luther’s frame of mind again found expression in a tract which he launched among the people not long after, viz. the “Deuttung des Munchkalbes.”[136] Here he actually seeks to show in all seriousness that the horrors of the Papacy, and particularly of the religious state, had been pointed out by heaven through the birth of a misshapen calf, an occurrence which at that time was attracting notice. Passages from the Bible, and likewise Apocalyptic dreams, were pressed in to serve the author of this lamentable literary production.

Yet, in spite of all these repulsive exaggerations with which his writings were crammed, nay, on account of these images of a heated imagination, the attack upon the old Church called forth by Luther served its purpose with all too many. Borne on the wings of a hatred inspired by a long-repressed grudge, his pamphlets were disseminated with lightning speed by discontented Catholics. Language of appalling coarseness, borrowed from the lips of the lowest of the populace, seemed to carry everything before it, and the greater the angry passion it displayed the greater was its success. What one man’s words can achieve under favourable circumstances was never, anywhere in the history[58] of the world, so clearly exemplified as in Germany in those momentous days. Luther’s enthusiastic supporters read his writings aloud and explained them to the people in the squares and market-places, and the stream of eloquence falling on ready ears proved far more effective than the warnings of the clergy, who in many places were regarded with suspicion or animosity.

Spalatin, in the meantime, was engaged in trying to prevent Luther from incurring the only too well-founded reproach of openly inciting people to revolt against the authority of the Empire; with such a charge against him it would have been difficult for the Elector of Saxony to protect him.

As, during Spalatin’s stay at Worms, the burning of Luther’s books had already begun in various places, owing to the putting in force of the Bull “Exsurge Domine,” the courtier was at pains to advise his impetuous friend as to what he should do respecting such measures. He counselled Luther to compose a pamphlet addressed to penitents, dealing with the forbidden books, the matter being a practical one owing to the likelihood of people confessing in the tribunal of penance that they possessed works of Luther. It was no easy task to deal with this question of the duty of confession. Luther, however, felt himself supported by the attitude assumed by the Elector, at whose command, so he says, he had first published his new booklet against the Bull, “Grund und Ursach aller Artickel” (Ground and Reason of all the [condemned] Articles), in German and Latin.[137]

He therefore determined to carry his war into the confessional and, by means of a printed work, to decide, in his own favour, the pressing, practical question regarding his books. The flames were blazing in the bishoprics of Merseburg and Meissen, and to them were consigned such of Luther’s writings as had been given up by Catholics or halting disciples. Easter, too, was drawing near with the yearly confession. Many a conscience might be stirred up by the exhortations of pious confessors and be aroused to renewed loyalty to the Church. Luther’s pamphlet, entitled[59] “Unterricht der Beychtkinder ubir die vorpotten Bücher” (An Instruction for Penitents concerning the prohibited books), which appeared in the earlier part of February, 1521, affords us an insight into the strategies adopted by Lutheranism at its inception.

Thus, in this ingenious work, each one found something suited to his disposition and his scruples and calculated to lead him astray. The culmination is, however, in the words already adduced: Nothing against conscience, nothing against the Word of God! The “enslaved conscience” and the “commanding Word of God,” these are the catchwords of which Luther henceforth makes use so frequently and to such purpose. He employs these terms as a cloak to conceal the complete emancipation of the mind from every duty towards a rule of faith and ecclesiastical authority which he really advocates. The “commanding Word of God,” on his lips, means the right of independent, private interpretation of the sacred Books, though he reserves to himself the first place in determining their sense.

Conscience and the Word of God, words with which Luther had familiarised the masses from the commencement of his apostasy, were also to be his cry at the Diet of Worms in 1521, when he stood before the supreme spiritual and temporal authorities there assembled around the Emperor. Uttered there before Church and Empire, this cry was to re-echo mightily and to bring multitudes to his standard.

2. The Diet of Worms, 1521; Luther’s Attitude

The Diet had been assembled at Worms around the Emperor since January 27, 1521.

Charles V showed himself in religious questions a staunch supporter of the Catholic Church, to which indeed he was most devotedly attached. He was not, however, always well-advised, and the multitudinous cares of his empire frequently blinded him to the real needs of the Church, or else made it impossible for him to act as he would have wished.

On February 13, 1521, in the presence of the Princes and the States-General of the Empire, Hieronymus Aleander, the Papal Legate accredited to the Diet, delivered the speech, which has since become historic, on the duty of the Empire to take action against Luther as a notorious, obstinate heretic, definitively condemned by the supreme Papal Court.[62] He did not fail to point out, that “it was a fact of common knowledge that Luther was inciting the people to rebellion and that, like the heretics of Bohemia, he was destroying all law and order in the name and semblance of the Gospel.”[143]

On March 6 Luther was summoned to appear before the Diet at Worms, the Emperor furnishing him with an escort and guaranteeing his safe return. Encouraged by the latter promise, secure in the favour of his own sovereign, and assured of the support of the Knights, he decided to comply with the summons.

The thought of bearing testimony to his newly discovered Evangel before the whole country and enjoying the opportunity, by his appearance in so public a place, of rousing others to enthusiasm for the work he had undertaken urged him on. Severe bodily ailments from which he was suffering at that time did not deter him. His illness, he declared, was merely a trick of “the devil to hinder him”; on his part he would do all he could to “affright and defy him.” “Christ lives, and we shall enter Worms in spite of all the gates of hell and the powers of the air.”[144] To Spalatin we owe an echo from one of Luther’s letters at that time: “He was determined to go to Worms though there should be as many devils there as there were tiles on the roofs.”[145]

The journey to Worms resembled a sort of triumphal progress, owing to the festive reception everywhere prepared for him by his friends, and in particular by the Humanists.

His arrival at Erfurt was celebrated beforehand by Eobanus Hessus in a flattering poem. On April 6 the Rector of the University, Crotus Rubeanus, with forty professors and a great crowd of people, went out to meet him when he was still three leagues from the city. The address delivered by Rubeanus at the meeting expressed gratitude for the “Divine apparition” which was vouchsafed to them in the coming of the “hero of the Evangel.”[146]

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On the following day Luther preached in the Church of the Augustinians. He spoke of good works: “One erects churches, another makes a pilgrimage to St. James of Compostella or to St. Peter’s, a third fasts and prays, wears a cowl or goes barefoot ... such works are of no avail and must be done away with. Mark these words: All our works are worthless. I am your justification, says Christ our Lord, I have destroyed the sins with which you are loaded; therefore believe only that it is I alone who have done this and you will be justified.” Luther fired invectives against the intolerable yoke of the Papacy and against the clergy who “slaughtered the sheep instead of leading them to pasture.” Himself he represents as persecuted by the would-be righteous, the Pope and his Bull, on account of his teaching which was directed against the false self-righteousness arising from works.[147]

On the occasion of this sermon Luther, as his followers asserted, performed his first miracle, quelling a disturbance excited by the devil during the sermon in the overcrowded church; the interruption ceased when Luther had exorcised the fiend.[148]

At Erfurt the enthusiasm for his cause became so great that on the day after his departure riots broke out, the so-called “Pfaffensturm” or priest-riot, which will be considered below (xiv. 5), together with other circumstances attending the introduction of the new Evangel at Erfurt. Luther was at the time silent concerning the occurrence.[149] Not long after his arrival at the Wartburg, referring to similar scenes of violence, he says, in a letter to Melanchthon: “The priests and monks raged against me like madmen when I was free; but now that I am a captive they are afraid and have restrained their insane action. They cannot endure the common people who now have them under their heel. Behold the hand of the Mighty One of Jacob, Who is working for us while we are silent, suffer and pray.”[150] Nevertheless, when all was over, he protested against the acts of violence committed at Erfurt in a letter to Spalatin, which was found in that courtier’s library.[151]

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On the journey through Thuringia he met the Prior of the Rheinhardsbrunn monastery, whom he exhorted as follows: “Say an Our Father for our Lord Christ that His Father may be gracious to Him. If He upholds His cause, then mine also is assured.”[152] Such was the strange manner in which he expressed his real inward feelings. Those who expected him to recant at Worms did not know their man.

Reaching Worms on April 16 he was, on the following day, submitted to the first interrogation. To the question whether he was the author of the books mentioned, he replied in the affirmative, and when exhorted to retract his errors he begged for “a respite and time for consideration” that, as he says in his own notes at the time, “as I have to give a verbal answer I may not through want of caution say too much, or too little, to repent of it later,” especially as it was a matter concerning “the highest good in heaven or on earth, the Holy Word of God and the faith.” The respite granted was only for one day. On April 18 he declared boldly, at his second interrogation, that any retractation of the books he had written against the Pope was impossible for him, since he would thereby be strengthening his tyranny and unchristian spirit; the consciences of Christians were held captive in the most deplorable fashion by the Papal laws and the doctrines of men; even the property of the German nation was swallowed up by the rapacity of the Romans. He would repeat what Christ had said before the High Priest and his servants: “If I have spoken evil, give testimony of the evil”; if the Lord was willing to listen to the testimony of a servant, “how much more must I, the lowest erring creature, wait and see whether any man brings forward testimony adverse to my teaching.” He asks, therefore, to be convinced of error and confuted by the Bible. “I shall be most ready if I am shown to be wrong to retract every error.” He owed it to Germany, his native land, to warn those in high station to beware of condemning the truth. After recommending himself to the protection of the Emperor against his enemies, he concluded with the words: “I have spoken.”

On returning after this to the inn through the staring crowds, no sooner had he reached the threshold than “he[65] stretched out his arms and cried with a cheerful countenance: ‘I have got through, I have got through.’”[153]

The Emperor bade him begone from that very hour, but the Estates, who were divided in their views as to the measures to be taken, feared a “revolt in the Holy Empire,” owing to the strength of the feeling in his favour and the threats uttered by his armed friends, should “steps be taken against him so hurriedly and without due trial.” Accordingly an effort was made to persuade Luther by friendly means, through the intermediary of a commission consisting of certain clerical and lay members of the Diet under the Archbishop of Treves, Richard of Greiffenklau. Their pains were, however, in vain.[154]

Even some of his friends besought him to commit his cause to the Emperor and the Estates of the Empire, but likewise to no purpose. He also refused the proposal that he should submit to the joint decision of the Emperor and certain German prelates to be nominated by the Pope. All he would promise was to hearken to a General Council, but even this promise he qualified with a proviso which rendered his assent illusory: “So long as no judgment contrary or detrimental to the truth is pronounced.” Who but Luther himself was to decide what was the truth? Cochlæus made an offer, which under the circumstances was foredoomed to refusal, that a public disputation should be held with the Wittenberg monk; to this Luther would not listen. Neither would he give an undertaking to refrain from preaching and writing.

His final declaration at the Diet was as follows: Seeing that a simple and straightforward answer was demanded of him, he would give it: “If I am not convinced by proofs from Scripture or clear theological reasons (‘ratione evidente’), then I remain convinced by the passages which I have quoted from Scripture, and my conscience is held captive by the Word of God. I cannot and will not retract,[66] for to go against one’s conscience is neither prudent nor right.” He concluded this asseveration, after a protest had been raised and caused a tumult amongst the audience, with the words which passed almost unheard: “God help me, Amen!” The tragic and solemn setting which was very soon given to these not at all unusual concluding words, was an uncalled-for embellishment not in agreement with the oldest sources.[155]

After this, on April 26, in accordance with the command of the Emperor, he was obliged to quit Worms. An extension of the safe conduct for twenty-one days was expressly granted him, coupled, however, with the injunction not to preach or publish anything on the way. Two days later, while on his journey, Luther forwarded a missive to the Emperor and another to the Estates in his own defence, the latter being immediately printed by his friends as a broadsheet. The print depicted Luther with a halo, and the dove or symbol of the Holy Ghost hovering over him.

The fact that at the time the Diet was sitting a committee of the Estates brought forward, under a new form, the so-called “Gravamina of the German Nation” against the Roman See, was greatly to the advantage of Luther’s cause. They consisted largely of legitimate suggestions for the amelioration of ecclesiastical conditions and the removal of the oppression exercised by the Curia. These were made the subject of debate, and were exploited in Luther’s interests by those desirous of innovations. Those among the Humanists who sided with him, and likewise the Knights of the Empire, had taken various steps during his stay at Worms to strengthen his position and to frighten the Estates by hinting at violent action to be undertaken on his behalf.

At the Diet the Elector of Saxony made no secret of his patronage of Luther.

He it was who, on the evening before Luther’s departure, informed him in the presence of Spalatin and others, that he would be seized on the homeward journey and conducted to a place of safety which would not be told him beforehand.[160]

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After having received this assurance Luther left Worms.

On the journey such was his boldness that he disregarded the Imperial prohibition to preach, though he feared that this violation of the conditions laid down would be taken advantage of by his opponents, and cause him to forfeit his safe-conduct. He himself says of the sermons which he delivered at Hersfeld and Eisenach, on May 1 and 2, that they would be regarded as a breach of the obligations he had undertaken when availing himself of the safe conduct; but that he had been unable to consent that the Word of God should be bound in chains. He is here playing on the words of the Bible: “Verbum Dei non est alligatum.” “This condition, even had I undertaken it, would not have been binding, as it would have been against God.”[161]

After the journey had been resumed the well-known surprise took place, and Luther was carried off to the Wartburg on May 4.

In his lonely abode, known to only a few of his friends, he awaited with concern the sentence of outlawry which was to be passed upon him by the Emperor and the Estates. The edict, in its final form of May 8, was not published until after the safe-conduct had expired. “To-morrow the Imperial safe conduct terminates,” Luther wrote on May 11 from the Wartburg to Spalatin; “ ... It grieves me that those deluded men should call down such a misfortune upon their own heads. How great a hatred will this inconsiderate act of violence arouse. But only wait, the time of their visitation is at hand.”[162] The proclamation of outlawry was couched in very stern language and enacted measures of the utmost severity, following in this the traditions of the Middle Ages; Luther’s writings were to be burnt, and he himself was adjudged worthy of death. Of Luther the document says, that, “like the enemy of souls disguised in a monk’s garb,” he had gathered together “heresies old and new.” The impression made by Luther on the Emperor and on other eminent members of the Diet, was that of one possessed.[163]

There was, from the first, no prospect of the sentence[69] being carried into effect. The hesitation of the German Princes of the Church to publish even the Bull of Excommunication had shown that they were not to be trusted to put the new measures into execution.

The thoughts of retaliation which were aflame in Luther, i.e. his expectation of a “Divine judgment” on his adversaries, he committed to writing in a letter which he forwarded to Franz von Sickingen on June 1, 1521, together with a little work dedicated to him, “Concerning Confession, whether the Pope has the power to decree it.”[164] In it he reminds Sickingen that God had slain thirty-one Kings in the land of Chanaan together with the inhabitants of their cities. “It was ordained by God that they should fight against Israel bravely and defiantly, that they should be destroyed and no mercy shown them. This story looks to me like a warning to our Popes, bishops, men of learning and other spiritual tyrants.” He feared that it was God’s work that they should feel themselves secure in their pride, “so that, in the end, they would needs perish without mercy.” Unless they altered their ways one would be found who “would teach them, not like Luther by word and letter, but by deeds.” We cannot here go into the question of why the revolutionary party in the Empire did not at that time proceed to “deeds.”

3. Legends

The beginning of the legends concerning the Diet of Worms can be traced back to Luther himself. He declared, only a year after the event, shortly after his departure from the Wartburg, in a letter of July 15, 1522, intended for a few friends and not for German readers: “I repaired to Worms although I had already been apprised of the violation of the safe-conduct by the Emperor Charles.”

Luther always adhered obstinately to the idea, which ultimately passed into a standing tradition with many of his followers, that no one had been willing to dispute with him at Worms or elsewhere during the period of his outlawry; that he had, in fact, been condemned unheard; that his opponents had sought to vanquish him by force, not by confronting him with proofs, and had obstinately shut their ears to his arguments from Holy Scripture. He finally came to persuade himself, that they were in their hearts convinced that he was right, but out of consideration for their temporal interests had not been willing or able to give in.

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That Luther, at the Diet of Worms, bore away the palm as the heroic defender of entire freedom of research and of conscience, and as the champion of the modern spirit, is a view not in accordance with a fair historical consideration of the facts.

He himself was then, and all through life, far removed from the idea of any freedom of conscience in the modern sense, and would have deemed all who dared to use it against Divine Revelation, as later opponents of religion did, as deserving of the worst penalties of the mediæval code. “It is an altogether one-sided view, one, indeed, which wilfully disregards the facts, to hail in Luther the man of the new age, the hero of enlightenment and the creator of the modern spirit.” Such is the opinion of Adolf Harnack.[176]

At Worms, Luther spoke of himself as being bound by the Word of God. It is true he claimed the freedom of interpreting Holy Scripture according to his own mind, or, as he said, according to the understanding bestowed on him by God, and of amending all such dogmas as displeased him.

But he would on no account cease to acknowledge that a revealed Word of God exists and claims submission from the human mind, whereas, from the standpoint of the modern free-thinker, there is no such thing as revelation. The liberty of interpreting revelation, which Luther proclaimed at Worms, or, to be more exact, calmly assumed, marked, it is true, a great stride forward in the road to the destruction of the Church.

Luther failed to point out at Worms how such liberty, or rather licence, agreed with the institutions established by Christ for the preservation and perpetual preaching of His doctrine of salvation. He was confronted by a Church, still recognised throughout the whole public life of the nations, which claimed as her own a Divine authority and commission to interpret the written Word of God. She was to the Faithful the lighthouse by which souls struggling in the waves of conflicting opinions might safely steer their course. In submitting his own personal opinion to the solemn judgment of an institution which had stood the test of time since the days of Christ and the Apostles, the Wittenberg Professor had no reason to fear any affront to his dignity. Whoever submitted to the Church accepted her authority as[73] supreme, but he did not thereby forfeit either his freedom or his dignity; he obeyed in order not to expose himself to doubt or error; he pledged himself to a higher, and better, wisdom than he was able to reach by his own strength, by the way of experience, error and uncertainty. The Church plainly intimated to the heresiarch the error of his way, pointing out that the freedom of interpretation which he arrogated to himself was the destruction of all sure doctrine, the death-blow to the truth handed down, the tearing asunder of religious union, and the harbinger of endless dissensions.—We here see where Luther’s path diverged from that followed by Catholics. He set up subjectivity as a principle, and preached, together with the freedom of interpreting Scripture, the most unfettered revolt against all ecclesiastical authority, which alone can guarantee the truth. The chasm which he cleft still yawns; hence the difference of opinion concerning the sentence pronounced at Worms. We are not at liberty to conceal this fact from ourselves, nor can we wonder at the conflicting judgments passed on the position then assumed by Luther.

To return to the historical consideration of the event at Worms, the words already mentioned, “God help me, Amen!” call for remark.

The celebrated exclamation put into Luther’s mouth: “Here I stand. I cannot do otherwise. God help me, Amen!” usually quoted as the briefest and most characteristic expression of his “exalted, knightly act” at Worms, is a legend which has not even the credit of being incorporated in Luther’s Latin account of his speech.

Apart from the legends in circulation among Luther’s friends, there were others which went the rounds among his opponents and later polemics. Such is the statement to the effect that Luther played the coward at Worms, and that his assumed boldness and audacity was merely due to the[77] promises of material assistance, or, as Thomas Münzer asserts, to actual coercion on the part of his own followers.

The unfavourable accounts, circulated from early days among Luther’s opponents concerning his mode of life at Worms, must not be allowed to pass unchallenged.

A capital opportunity for a closer study of Luther’s mind is afforded by his life and doings in the Wartburg.

4. Luther’s sojourn at the Wartburg

The solitude of the Wartburg afforded Luther a refuge for almost ten months, to him a lengthy period.

Whereas but a little while before he had been inspirited by the loud applause of his followers and roused by the opposition of those in high places to a struggle which made him utterly oblivious of self, here, in the quiet of the mountain stronghold, the thoughts born of his solitude assailed him in every conceivable form. He was altogether thrown upon himself and his studies. The croaking of the ravens and magpies about the towers in front of his windows sounded like the voices which spoke in the depths of his soul.

Looking back upon his conduct at Worms, he now began to doubt; how, indeed, could an outlaw do otherwise, even had he not undertaken so subversive a venture as Luther? To this was added, in his case, the responsibility for the storm he had let loose on his beloved native land. His own confession runs: “How often did my heart faint for fear, and reproach me thus: You wanted to be wise beyond all others. Are then all others in their countless multitude mistaken? Have so many centuries all been in the wrong? Supposing you were mistaken, and, owing to your mistake,[80] were to drag down with you to eternal damnation so many human creatures!”[193]

He must often have asked himself such questions, especially at the beginning of the “hermit life,” as he calls it, which he led within those walls. But to these questionings he of set purpose refused to give the right answer; he had set out on the downward path and could not go back; of this he came to convince himself as the result of a lengthy struggle.

This is the point which it is incumbent on the psychologist to study beyond all else. Luther’s everyday life and his studies at Worms have been discussed often enough already.

Two phenomena which accompanied this frenzy render it still graver in the eyes of an onlooker. These were, on the one hand, certain occurrences which bordered on hallucination, and, on the other, frightful assaults of the tempter.

Concerning both, his letters of that time, and likewise his own accounts at a later date, supply us with definite information. It is, indeed, a dark page on which they direct our attention. All the circumstances must carefully be borne in mind. First, much must be attributed to the influence of his new and unaccustomed place of abode and the strange nature of his surroundings. His gloomy meditations and enforced leisure; a more generous diet, which, in comparison with his former circumstances, meant to the Monk, now metamorphosed into “Squire George,” an almost luxurious mode of living; finally, bodily discomfort, for instance, the constipation to which he frequently refers as troubling him,[197] all this tended to develop an abnormal condition of soul to which his former psychological states of terror may also have contributed. He fancied, and all his life maintained, that in the Wartburg he had suffered bodily assaults of the devil.

Luther believed that he had not only heard the devil tormenting him by day, and more particularly by night, with divers dreadful noises, but that he had seen him in his room under the form of a huge black dog, and had chased him away by prayer. His statements, to which we shall return in detail in another connection (vol. vi., xxxvi. 3; cp. vol. v., xxxi. 4), are such as presuppose, at the very[82] least, the strangest illusions. Some have even opined that he suffered from real hallucinations of hearing and sight, though they have adduced no definite proof of such. The disputes with the devil, of which he speaks, are certainly nothing more than a rhetorical version of his own self-communings.

If Luther brought with him to the Wartburg a large stock of popular superstition, he increased it yet more within those dreary walls, thanks to the sensitiveness of his lively imagination, until he himself became the plaything of his fancy. “Because he was so lonely,” writes his friend the physician Ratzeberger, on the strength of Luther’s personal communication, “he was beset with ghosts and noisy spirits which gave him much concern.” And after quoting the tale of the dog he goes on: “Such-like and many other ghosts came to him at that time, all of which he drove away by prayer, and which he would not talk about, for he said he would never tell anyone by how many different kinds of ghosts he had been molested.”[198]

The temptations of the flesh which he then experienced Luther also attributed, in the main, to the devil. They fell upon him with greater force than ever before. Their strength displeased him, according to his letters, and he sought to resist them, though it is plain from his words that he realised the utter futility of his desire to rid himself of them. In this state of darkness he directed his thoughts more vigorously than heretofore to the question of monastic vows and their binding power. He seems to be clanking the chains by which he had by his own vow freely pledged himself to the Almighty.

Hence, at the beginning of November, 1521, when he was engaged on the momentous work “On Monastic Vows,” he believed he had found decisive biblical arguments against the state of chastity and continence, recommended though it had been by Christ and His Apostles.

Previously the case had been different, when Carlstadt[84] and others first began to boggle at vows; Luther was then still undecided, seeking for ostensibly theological arguments with which to demolish the difficulty. At that time he had been troubled by such plain biblical words as those of the Psalmist, “Vow ye and pray to the Lord your God” (Ps. lxxv. 12). Even in August, 1521, he had confided his scruples to Spalatin from the Wartburg: “What can be more perilous than to invite so large a number of unmarried persons to enter into matrimony on the strength of a few passages of doubtful meaning? The consequence will only be that consciences will be still more troubled than they are at present. I, too, would fain see celibacy made optional, as the Gospel wills, but I do not yet see my way to proving this.”[203] We likewise find him criticising rather unkindly Melanchthon’s reasons, because they took a wrong way to a goal after which he was himself ardently striving, viz. the setting aside of the vow of celibacy. He was suffering, he admits, “grievous pain through being unable to find the right answer to the question.”[204]

Such efforts were naturally crowned with success in the end.

Five weeks later he was able to inform Melanchthon: “It seems to me that now I can say with confidence how our task is to be accomplished. The argument is briefly this: Whoever has taken a vow in a spirit opposed to evangelical freedom must be set free and his vow be anathema. Such, however, are all those who have taken the vow in the search for salvation, or justification. Since the greater number of those taking vows make them for this reason, it is clear that their vow is godless, sacrilegious, contrary to the Gospel and hence to be dissolved and laid under a curse.”[205]

Thus it was the indefinite and elastic idea of “evangelical freedom” which was finally to settle the question. Concerning his own frame of mind while working out this idea in his tract, he says to Spalatin, on November 11, in a letter of complaint about other matters: “I am going to make war[85] against religious vows.... I am suffering from temptations, and out of temper, so don’t be offended. There is more than one Satan contending with me; I am alone, and yet at times not alone.”[206]

The book was finished in November and sent out under the title, “On Monastic Vows.”[207] The same strange argument, based on evangelical freedom, recurs therein again and again under all sorts of rhetorical forms; the tract is also noteworthy for its distortion of the Church’s teaching,[208] though we cannot here enter in detail into its theology and misstatements. The very origin of the book does not inspire confidence. Many great and monumental historical works and events have originated in conditions far from blameless, but few of Luther’s writings have sprung from so base a source as this one; yet its results were far-reaching, and it was a means of seducing countless wavering and careless religious, depicting the monasteries and furthering immensely the new evangelical teaching. While writing the book Luther had naturally in his mind the multitude he was so desirous of setting free, and chose his language accordingly.

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But what were his thoughts concerning himself at that period, when the idea of matrimony had not yet dawned upon him?

[88]

It was not in his nature to be really idle.

His chief German work, which was to render him so popular, viz. his translation of the Bible, was commenced in the Wartburg, where he started with the translation of the New Testament from the Greek. We shall speak elsewhere of the merits and defects of this translation. The general excellence of its style and language cannot hide the theological bias which frequently guides the writer’s pen, nor can its value as a popular work allow us to overlook the fact that he was often carried away by the precipitation incidental to his temperament.[215]

Another work which he finished within those quiet walls treated of the Sacrifice of the Mass. His thoughts early turned with aversion from this centre of Catholic worship; indeed, he seemed bent on robbing the Church of the very pearl of her worship. He appears to have said Mass for the last time on his way to Augsburg to meet Cardinal Cajetan. In the Wartburg he refused to have anything to do with the “Mass priest” living there. On August 1, 1521, he wrote to Melanchthon, that the renewal of Christ’s institution of the celebration of the Supper, proposed by his friends at Wittenberg, agreed entirely with the plans he had in view when he should return, and that from that time forward he would never again say a private Mass.[216]

The work just mentioned, which appeared in 1522, is entitled, “On the Abuse of the Mass.” He dedicated it in the Preface “to the Augustinians of Wittenberg,” his dear brethren, because he had heard in his solitude, so he says, “that they had been the first to commence setting aside the abuse of Masses in their assembly [congregation].”[217] He is desirous of fortifying their “consciences” against the Mass, because he is anxious lest “all should not have the same constancy, and good conscience, in the undertaking of so great and notable a work.” In the same way as he in his struggle had attained to assurance of conscience, so they, too, must act “with a like conscience, faith and[89] trust, and look on the opinion of the whole world as nothing but chaff and straw, knowing that we are sent to a death-struggle against the devil and all his might, yea, against the judgment of God, and, like Jacob (Gen. xxxii. 28), can only overcome by our strength of faith.”

To despise the protests of the world was not so difficult, but to pay “no heed to the devil and the solemn judgment of God” was a harder task.

It would seem that some of the Augustinians were not capable of this, and had become uneasy concerning the innovations. He is thereupon at pains to assure them that he is an expert in the matter; he declares that he has learnt from experience how “our conscience makes us out to be sinners in God’s sight and deserving of eternal reprobation, unless it is well preserved and protected at every point by the holy, strong and veracious Word of God.”[218] This “stronghold” he would fain open to them by demonstrating from the Word of God the horrors of the Sacrifice of the Mass.

His self-confidence and arrogance had not been shaken by the many weary hours of lonely introspection in the Wartburg, but, on the contrary, had been nourished and inflamed. That was the period of his “spiritual baptism”; he felt volcanic forces surging up within him. He believed that a power from above had commanded him to teach as he was doing. Hence he called the Wartburg his Patmos; as the Apostle John had received his revelation on Patmos, so, as he thought, he also had been favoured in his seclusion with mysterious communications from above.

The idea of a divine commission now began to penetrate all his being with overwhelming force.

When the ecclesiastical troubles at Wittenberg necessitated his permanent return thither, he declared to the Elector, who had hitherto never heard such language from his lips, “Your Electoral Grace is already aware, or, if unaware, is hereby apprised of the fact, that I have not received the Gospel from man, but from heaven only, through Our Lord Jesus Christ, so that I might already have accounted myself and signed myself a servant and evangelist, and for the future shall do so.”[228] We must also refer to the days of his Saxon Patmos—which exercised so deep an influence on his interior life—the remarkable mystical utterance to which his pupils afterwards declared he had given vent at a later date, viz. that he had been “commanded,” nay, “enjoined under pain of eternal reprobation (‘interminaretur’) not to doubt in any way of these things [of the doctrines he was to teach].”[229]

Every road that led back to his duty to the Church and his Order was barred by the gloomy enthusiasm Luther kindled within himself, subsequently to his spiritual baptism in the Wartburg.

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The time spent in the Wartburg brought him his final conviction in his calling as a prophet and his divine commission, but if we are to understand Luther aright we must not forget that this conviction was a matter of gradual growth (cp. vol. iii., xvi. 1).

We cannot doubt that even in the first years of his public career, certainly in 1519 and 1520, the belief in his own divine mission had begun to take firm root in his mind.

In order to explain the rise of this idea we must turn first of all to his confidential letters dating from this period; his public writings in this respect are of less importance. With their help it is possible to recognise to some extent the course of this remarkable psychological development. So soon as he had perceived that his discovery, of the worthlessness of good works, and of justification by faith alone, was in permanent contradiction to the teaching of the Roman Church, the presentiment necessarily began to awaken within him, that the whole body of the faithful had been led by Rome into the greatest darkness. He fancied himself fortified in this idea by the sight of the real abuses which had overspread the whole life of the Church in his time. He thought he descried a universal corruption which had penetrated down to the very root of ecclesiasticism, and he did not scruple to say so in his earliest sermons and lectures. He felt it his duty to bewail the falling away. In the hours in which he gave free play to his fancy, it even seemed to him that Christ and the Gospel had almost disappeared.

The applause which greeted the appearance of his first writings, and which he eagerly accepted, confirmed him in his belief that he had made a most far-reaching discovery. He lacked the sense and discrimination which might have enabled him to see the too great importance he was ascribing to his invention. He says in May, 1518, to an elderly friend who opposed his views: My followers, prelates of the Church and scholarly men of the world, all rightly admit, that “formerly they had heard nothing of Christ and the Gospel.” “To put it briefly, I am convinced that no reform of the Church is possible unless the ecclesiastical dogmas, the decisions of the Popes, the theology of the schools, philosophy and logic as they exist at present are completely altered.... I fear no man’s contradiction[93] when defending such a thesis.”[230] In the same year, in March, he wrote to a friendly ecclesiastic, that the theologians who had hitherto occupied the professorial chairs, viz. the schoolmen, did not understand the Gospel and the Bible one bit. “To quibble about the meaning of words is not to interpret the Gospel. All the Professors, Universities and Doctors are nothing but shadows whom you have no cause to be afraid of.”[231]

If he wished to proceed further—and we know how he allowed himself to be carried away—he could not do otherwise than assume to himself the dignity of a divinely appointed teacher. No one save a prophet could dare condemn the whole of the past in the way he was doing.

During the excitement incidental to periods of transition such as Luther’s, belief in a supernatural calling was no rare thing. Those who felt within themselves unusual powers and wished to assume the command of the movements of the day not unfrequently laid claim to a divine mission. Not only fanatics from the ranks of the Anabaptists, but worldly minded men, such as Hutten and Sickingen, dreamt, in Luther’s day, of great enterprises for which they had been chosen. In short, there were only two courses open to Luther, either to draw back when it was seen that the Church remained resolutely opposed to him, or to vindicate his assaults by representing himself as a messenger sent by God. Luther was not slow to adopt the latter course. The idea to him was no mere passing fancy, but took firm root in his mind. He assured his friends that he was daily receiving new light from God in this matter through the study of the Scripture.

It was under the influence of this persuasion that, in January, 1518, he wrote the following remarkable words to Spalatin: “To those who are desirous of working for the glory of God, an insight into the written Word of God is given from above, in answer to their prayers; this I have experienced” (“experto crede ista”); he says that the action of the Holy Ghost may be relied on, and urges others[94] to do as he has done.[232] It would also appear, that, believing firmly that he was under the “influence of the Holy Ghost,” he, for a while, cherished the illusion that the Church would gradually come over to his teaching. When at length he was forced to recognise that the ecclesiastical authorities were, on the contrary, determined to check him, he decided to throw overboard all the preceding ages and the whole authority of the Church. As a natural consequence he then proceeded to reform the old and true idea of the Church. The preserving and proclaiming of the faith is committed to no external teaching office instituted by Christ, such was his teaching, but simply to the illumination of the Spirit; each one is led by this interior guide; it is the Spirit who is directing me in the struggle just commenced and who, through me, will bring back to the world the Gospel which has so long lain hidden under rubbish.

5. Wartburg Legends

Luther’s adversaries have frequently taken the statements contained in the letters of the lonely inmate of the castle[233] concerning his carnal temptations, and his indulgence in eating and drinking (“crapula”), rather too unfavourably, as though he had been referring to real, wilful sin rather than to mere temptation, and as though Luther was not exaggerating in his usual vein when he speaks of his attention to the pleasures of the table. At least no proof is forthcoming in favour of this hostile interpretation.

On the other hand, the attempts constantly made by Luther’s supporters to explain away the sensual lusts from which he tells us he suffered there, and likewise the enticements (“titillationes”) which he had admitted even previously to Staupitz his Superior, as nothing more than worldliness, inordinate love of what is transitory, and temptations to self-seeking, are certainly somewhat strange. Why, we may ask, make such futile efforts?[234] Is it in order[95] to counteract the exaggerations of Luther’s opponents, who, in popular works, have recently gone so far as, in all good faith, to declare the “trouble” (“molestiæ”) of which Luther complained in his correspondence at that time, was the result of disease arising from the sins of his youth, though, from the context, it is clear that the “trouble” in question was simply a prosaic attack of constipation.[235]

Luther related later, according to the “Table-Talk,”[236] how the wife of “Hans von Berlips [Berlepsch, the warden of the Wartburg] coming to Eisenach,” and “scenting” that he (Luther) was in the Castle, would have liked to see him; but as this was not permitted he had been taken to another room, while she was lodged in his. Luther mentions this when alluding to the annoyance from which he complains he suffered owing to the noisy ghosts of the Wartburg, whom he took for devils. Two pages, who brought him food and drink twice a day, were the only human beings allowed to visit him. He relates that during the night she spent in his room this woman was likewise disturbed by ghosts: “All that night there was such a to-do in the room that she thought a thousand devils were in it.” The fact is that Berlepsch, the Warden of the Castle, was not then married, wedding Beata von Ebeleben only in 1523.[237] Hence we have here either an anachronism when the visitor to the Wartburg is spoken of as being already his wife, or a case of mistaken identity. Luther speaks of the visit quite simply. The woman’s object in calling at the Castle may very well have been to gratify her feminine curiosity by a sight of Luther, and to pay a visit to the Warden. The supposition that the slightest misconduct took place between Luther and the visitor can only be classed in the category of the fictitious.

The mention of the diabolical spectres infesting the[96] Wartburg calls to mind the famous ink-stain on one of the walls of the Castle.

The tradition is that it was caused by Luther hurling his inkpot at the devil, who was disputing with him. The tradition is, however, a legend which probably had its origin in a murky splash on the wall. In Köstlin and Kawerau’s new biography of Luther this has already been pointed out, and the fact recalled that in 1712 Peter the Great was shown a similar stain in Luther’s room at Wittenberg, not in the Wartburg, and that Johann Salomo Semler, a well-known Protestant writer, in his Autobiography published in 1781, mentions a like stain in the fortress of Coburg where Luther had tarried.[238]

CHAPTER XIII

THE RISE OF THE REFORMED CHURCHES

1. Against the Fanatics. Congregational Churches?

Luther quitted the Wartburg March 1, 1522, after having previously paid a secret visit to Wittenberg between December 3 and 11. He now made his appearance at the birthplace of the Evangel in order to recommence his vigorous and incisive sermons, which had become imperatively necessary for his cause.

The action of Carlstadt, even more than that of the “Prophets of the Kingdom of God,” who had come over from Zwickau, called for his presence in order that he might resist their attacks. In his absence the Mass had already been forcibly abolished, sermons had been preached against confession and infant baptism, and the destruction of the images had commenced. Like Luther himself, those who incited the people to these proceedings, appealed on the one hand to the plain testimony of Holy Scripture as the source of their inspiration, and on the other to direct illumination from above.

Infant baptism, argued the Zwickauers, was not taught in Holy Scripture, but was opposed to the actual words of the Saviour: “He that believes and is baptised.” The “prophets” met, however, with little encouragement. Carlstadt had not yet taken their side either in this matter or in their pseudo-mysticism.

Against the Elector, Carlstadt, however, appealed expressly, as Luther had done, to his duty of proclaiming the understanding of the Bible which he had been granted.

“Woe to me,” he cried with the Apostle St. Paul, “if I do not preach” (1 Cor. ix. 16). He declared that the diversions arose merely from the fact that all did not follow Holy Scripture; but he, at least, obeyed it and death itself[98] would not shift him from this firm foundation; he would remain “firmly grounded on the Word of God.” In demanding the removal of the images he cried: “God’s voice says briefly and clearly in Scripture: ‘Thou shalt not adore them nor serve them’; and hence it is useless to argue: ‘I do not worship the images, I do not honour them for their own sake, but on account of the Saints whom they represent.’”

Carlstadt, it is true, also suggested that it was for “the supreme secular power to decree and effect the removal of the abuse.”[239] When occasion arose he also advised “proceeding without causing a tumult and without giving the foes cause for calumny.” That was his advice,[240] but most of those who thought as he did were little disposed to wait until the authorities, or the “priests of Baal themselves, removed their vessels and idols.”

The first step towards liturgical change in Wittenberg was, however, taken by Melanchthon when, September 29, 1521, he and his pupils received the Sacrament in the Parish Church, the words of institution being spoken aloud and the cup being passed to the laity, because Christ had so ordained it. A few days later the Augustinians, particularly Gabriel Zwilling, commenced active steps against the Mass as a sacrifice, ceasing to say it any longer. Melanchthon and the Augustinians knew that in this they had Luther’s sympathy. As those who agreed with Luther followed Melanchthon’s example concerning the Mass and the Supper, and ceased to take any part in the Catholic Mass, introducing preachers of their own instead, a new order of Divine worship was soon the result. “Alongside of the congregation with the old Popish rites rose the new evangelical community.”[241] But here Carlstadt stepped forward and gave a new turn to events; he was determined not to see the followers of the Gospel left in a corner, and without delay he set about altering the principal service at Wittenberg, which was still celebrated in accordance with Catholic usage, so as to bring it into agreement with the “institution of Christ.” This[99] new service was first celebrated at Christmas, 1521. Those portions which express the sacrificial character of the Mass were omitted, and a new Communion service introduced instead, the laity partaking of the chalice and the words of institution being spoken aloud. Confession was not required of the communicants. The novelty and the ease of receiving communion attracted crowds to the new ritual, which was first held in All Saints’ Church, then in the parish church, and was subsequently introduced by his followers, such as Zwilling, for instance, in the neighbouring parishes.

Great disorders occurred at the very first service of this sort.

Many communicated after eating and drinking freely. In January, 1522, a noisy rabble forced its way into the church at Wittenberg, destroyed all altars, and the statues of the saints, and cast them, together with the clergy, into the street.

The Elector and his Councillors, for instance Hieronymus Schurf, were very angry with the business and with the “pseudo-prophets,” i.e. Carlstadt and his followers; the Zwickauers, who, as a matter of fact constituted an even greater source of danger, held back on this occasion.

Melanchthon, then at Wittenberg, inclined to the belief that the Zwickauers were possessed by a higher spirit, but it was, he thought, for Luther to determine the nature of this spirit. The prophets, on the other hand, argued that Luther was certainly right in most he said and did, though not always, and that another, having a higher spirit, would take his place.

The purer and more profound view of the Evangel upon which they secretly prided themselves was a consequence of their eminently reasonable opposition to Luther’s altogether outward doctrine of justification and the state of grace. To them the idea of a purely mechanical covering over of our sinfulness by the imputation of Christ’s merits, seemed totally inadequate. They wanted to be in a more living communion with Christ, and having once seceded from the Church, they arrived by the path of pseudo-mysticism at the delusion of a direct intercourse with the other world; thereby, however, they brought a danger on the field, viz. religious radicalism and political revolution. “It seems to me a very suspicious circumstance,” so Luther writes of the[100] Zwickau prophets, “that they should boast of speaking face to face with the Divine Majesty.”[242]

Luther, after his period of study at the Wartburg, had at once to define and prove his position, particularly as he disapproved of much of the doctrines of Carlstadt’s party, as well as of his over-hasty action. Without delay, he mounted the pulpit at Wittenberg and staked all the powers of his personality and eloquence against the movement; he was unwilling that the whole work of the Evangel which had begun should end in chaos. In a course of eight sermons he traced back the disorders to “a misapprehension of Christian freedom.” It grieved him deeply, he declared, that, without his order, so much was being altered instead of proceeding cautiously and allowing the faith to mature first. “Follow me,” he cried, “I have never yet failed; I was the first whom God set to work on this plan; I cannot escape from God, but must remain so long as it pleases my Lord God; I was also the first to whom God gave the revelation to preach and proclaim this His Word to you. I am also well assured that you have the pure Word of God.”[243]

What he says is, however, rather spoilt by a dangerous admission. “Should there be anyone who has something better to offer and to whom more has been revealed than to me, I am ready to submit to him my sense and reason and not to force my opinion upon him, but to obey him.”[244] He, of course, felt that he could convict the so-called “fanatics” of error, and was sure beforehand that his professed readiness to submit to others would not endanger his position. His whole cause depended on the maintenance of outward order and his own authority at Wittenberg; he knew, moreover, that he was backed by the Elector.

His success against his adversaries, who, to tell the truth, were no match for him, was complete. Wittenberg was saved from the danger of open adherence to “fanaticism,” though the movement was still to give Luther much trouble secretly at Wittenberg and more openly elsewhere, particularly as Carlstadt, in his disappointment, came more[101] and more after 1522 to make common cause with the Zwickauers.[245]

The success of his efforts against the fanatics secured for Luther the favour of his Ruler and his protection against the consequences of his outlawry by the Empire. Luther was thus enabled to carry on his work as professor and preacher at Wittenberg in defiance of the Emperor and the Empire; from thence, till the very end of his life, he was able, unmolested, to spread abroad, with the help of the Press, his ideas of ecclesiastical revolution.

In view of the movement just described, and of others of a like nature, he published towards the close of his Patmos sojourn the work entitled “A True Admonition to all Spirits to Avoid Riot and Revolt.”[246] This, however, did not prevent him shortly after from furthering the idea of the use of force with all his habitual incautious violence in the tract “Against the Falsely-called Spiritual Estate of the Pope and the Bishops” (1522),[247] in which, in language the effect of which upon the masses it was impossible to gauge, he incites the people to overthrow the existing Church government.

As a demolisher Luther proved himself great and strong. Was he an equally good builder?

The decisive question of how to proceed to the construction of a new ecclesiastical system seems to have been scarcely considered at all by Luther, either at the Wartburg, or even for some time after his return. His mind was full of one idea, viz. how best to fight the Church of Antichrist. He had no real conception of the Church which might have assisted him in an attempt to plan out a new system; his notion of the Church was altogether too dim and indefinite to serve as the basis of a new organisation. Even to-day Protestant theologians and historians are unable to tell us with any sort of unanimity how his ideas of the Church are to be understood; this holds good of him throughout life, but most of all during the earliest days of Protestantism, when the first attempts were made to consolidate it.

In the Wartburg Luther received the fullest and most definite assurance that the temporal powers who were opposed to him at Worms would submit themselves in these latter days to the Word which he preached, and that the weakening of the Church’s authority which had been begun had not proceeded nearly far enough. It was revealed to him that his work was yet at its beginning and that there yet remained to be established new communities of Christians sharing his views. Hence we find him writing to Frederick, his Elector, on March 7, 1522: “The spiritual tyranny has been weakened, to do which has been the sole aim of my writings; now I perceive that God wills to carry it still further as He did with Jerusalem and its twofold[104] government. I have recently learnt that not only the spiritual but also the temporal power must give way to the Evangel, willingly or unwillingly; this is plainly shown in all the Bible narratives.”[253] With the Bible in his hand he seeks to prove, from the passages relating to the end of the world, and the reign of Antichrist, that, before the end of all, Christ will overthrow the anti-Christian powers by the “breath of His mouth.”

“It is the mouth of Christ which must do this.” “Now may I and everyone who speaks the word of Christ freely boast that his mouth is the mouth of Christ.” “Another man, one whom the Papists cannot see, is driving the wheel, and therefore they attribute it all to us, but they shall yet be convinced of it.”[254]

Meanwhile some practical action was necessary, for, as yet, the Evangelicals formed only small groups and unorganised congregations which might at any time drift apart, whilst elsewhere they were scattered among the masses, almost unnoticed and utterly powerless. The mere attacking of Popery was not sufficient to consolidate them. The “meetings” of those who had been touched by the “Word,” Gospel-preaching and a new liturgy, did not suffice. The further growth and permanent organisation of the congregations Luther hoped to see effected by the help of the authorities, by the Town-councillors, who were to play so great a part later, and, better still, by the Princes whom he expected to win over to the new teaching as he had already done in the case of Frederick, the Elector of Saxony. It is true he would have preferred the setting up of churches to have been the work of the newly converted Faithful, i.e. to have taken place from below upwards. Those who had been converted by the Gospel, “the troubled consciences” as he calls them, who were united in faith and charity, were ever to form the nucleus around which he would fain have seen everywhere the congregations growing, without the intervention of the worldly power. The force of circumstances, however, even from the commencement, compelled him to fall back on the authorities.

In short, the ideas he advanced concerning organisation[105] were, not only various, but frequently contradictory. His favourite idea, to which we shall return later, of a community of perfect Christians was utterly incapable of realisation. “To maintain within the Congregation a more select company forming a corporation apart was hardly feasible in the long run.”[255] At the back of his various plans was always the persuasion that the power of the Gospel would in the end do its own work and reveal the right way for the building up of a new organisation, just as of its own power it had shattered the edifice of Antichrist. Instead of searching for the link connecting his discordant utterances, as Protestant[256] theologians have been at pains to do, it will be more practical and more in accordance with history to present them here in disconnected groups. For any lack of clearness which may be the result Luther must be held responsible.

In one and the same work, shortly after his visit to Wittenberg from the Wartburg, the destruction of the Papacy is depicted first as the result of the action of the governments (who accordingly are bound to provide a new, even if only temporary, organisation), then as taking place through no human agency and without a single blow being struck.[257] In writing thus, he was the plaything of those “states of excitement” which constitute a marked feature of his “religious psychology.”[258] Luther was then aware of the threatening movement at Wittenberg and elsewhere, and attempted to stem it with the assurance that the kingdom of Antichrist was already crumbling to pieces; he does not, however, omit to point to the governments as the real agents of which Christ was to make use to achieve the victory: “Hearken to the government; so long as it does not interfere and give the command, keep your hands, your mouth and your heart quiet and say and do nothing. But if you are in a position to move the authorities to intervene and to give the order, you may do so.”[259]

[106]

It would seem from all this as though he expected the help necessary for the change of faith to come solely from those in authority, an opinion which he had expressed in his pamphlet to the nobility, the Princes and the gentry; the secular power after making its “submission” to the Evangel was to do all that was required in the interests of the Evangel; it was its duty to see that uniformity prevailed in the “true worship” throughout its dominions, to watch over the public services and exclude false worship. But whether the “Kingdom of God was to be introduced by the Princes, or to rise up spontaneously from the Christian Congregation, he does not clearly state.”[260] From 1522 to 1525 he frequently speaks as though it were to proceed solely from the congregation, which by reason of the common priesthood of its members was possessed of the necessary qualifications.

In any case, we may gather the following regarding Church organisation: no outward government, no power or legislative authority exists in the Church itself; on earth there is but one outward authority, viz. the secular; the Church lives only by the Word of God and supports and governs itself by this alone.

Luther, however, generally prefers to give expression to other less violent thoughts anent the building up of the congregations to be formed from the Church of Antichrist.

The holy Brotherhood of the Spirit, he says in his idealistic way, was to arise, knowing no constraint but only charity, and having a ministry (“ministerium”), but no “power.”[267] “The freedom of the Spirit which must reign, makes things which are merely corporal and earthly, indifferent and not necessary.” “All things are indifferent and free (‘omnia sunt indifferentia et libera’).” “Paul demands the preservation of unity, but this is unity of the spirit, not of place, of persons, of things or of bodies.”[268] We here again note the advent of that mysticism which had[108] formerly dragged him down to the depths of a passive indifference. How these pseudo-mystical ideas were to further the building up of the new ecclesiastical system it is hard to understand.

The Brotherhood, however, is not intended to introduce an altogether new ecclesiastical system. We are simply “Christians,” the true Christians, members of the Churches which have always existed, but purified from a thousand years of deformation. “To create sects is stupid and useless”;[269] according to Luther, it is not even necessary for the task of uniting under the Christian name, before the end of the world, all the faithful and the pious consciences elected from the Kingdom of Antichrist.

At that time he wished all his followers to be known simply as “Christians”; and in the first days of the Protestant Churches he very frequently makes use of this term.[270] Even at a later date he was loath to hear them called after himself, in spite of his practical action to the contrary, because they “share with the rest the common teaching of Christ.”[271] The term “Evangelicals” does not appear to have been much in use in Luther’s immediate surroundings.[272] As “Christians” and “Evangelicals” they had not left the “Church,” indeed, Luther always insists on the fact that it was they who really constituted and represented the “Church.” According to the Augsburg Confession in 1530 they belonged to the Catholic Church; they wished to define their position rather as that of a party within the Church, fighting for its existence, a party which accepted the Church’s recognised articles of belief, sheltered itself under the testimony of recognised Catholic authorities, and which had merely introduced certain innovations for the removal of the abuses which had crept in.[273]

[109]

Although, according to Luther, the inward organisation of the Brotherhood referred to above was a matter of indifference, and the approaching end of the world admonished him to suffer and wait to see what Christ willed to do with it, yet we read in other passages of his writings that it is necessary to work and to make great efforts to provide every city with a bishop or elder to preach the Gospel; “every Christian” is bound to help towards this end, both by personal exertion and with his goods, and more particularly the secular power, the authorities, whose duty it is to protect the pious. Those who are now already parsons may, indeed must, at once “withdraw from their obedience, seeing that they promised obedience to the devil and not to God.”[274]

This is certainly “something more than passive suffering and waiting for the end.”[275]

The apostasy of the clergy, which had begun, made the question of definite, external organisation a pressing one, for the new preachers and the clergy who were coming over had, after all, to be responsible to someone and had also to be maintained; it was also necessary that they and their followers should receive external recognition for their Churches and extricate themselves from the numerous ties which united so closely the spiritual with the secular in Catholic life. The appointment of pastors and the representation of the faithful by them was one of the factors which called for further organisation of the Churches: another factor, as we may notice in the case of Wittenberg, was the manner of celebrating the Supper. It was, as a matter of fact, the trouble at Wittenberg under Carlstadt which impelled Luther to take into serious consideration the establishment of an independent ecclesiastical organisation in that town, and which called for a definite system of appointing the Lutheran pastors even elsewhere, so as to[110] prevent Carlstadt’s followers from getting the upper hand throughout the country.

After Luther had set aside Carlstadt’s innovations at Wittenberg, with the approval of the Elector who had forbidden them, he appointed the celebration of the Supper for those of the new faith at Wittenberg on the lines previously followed by Melanchthon; the communion became the principal part of the ceremony, the offertory was omitted and the words of consecration were spoken aloud either with or without certain of the prayers of the Mass. Thus the abuses introduced by Carlstadt were, in his opinion, removed, and the swarms of worldly minded and fanatical nominal Christians, “Christian in name but almost heathen at heart,” were no longer brought in contact with the true Evangelicals; the employment of force towards those weak in the faith, whose convictions Luther did not consider ripe for the purely congregational ritual of Carlstadt, was also put an end to. All the external forms which had been introduced, and to which, Luther feared, the people would have clung in an unevangelical fashion as had formerly been the case in Popery, were removed.

In order more particularly to avoid any compromising abuse of the Sacrament of the Altar, Luther sought to establish a Christian congregation in which confession should exist, though not as a compulsory practice, and in which a certain supervision was exercised.

In order to proceed cautiously and in accordance with the Elector’s ideas, he refrained from directing the bestowal of the chalice in the order of Divine Service drawn up for the use of his followers; at any rate, this was the case at Easter, 1522, though in the autumn of that same year the chalice was again in general use.[276] In spite of this, up to 1523, a special form of communion with the cup was in use for true Evangelical believers, who were subject to a special form of supervision. This arrangement agreed with Luther’s idea of an “Assembly of true Christians,” on which he was to enlarge in 1523 in his Maundy-Thursday sermon (see below). The special communion was, it is true, speedily abandoned, but the idea of the select Assembly ever remained dear to him.[277]

[111]

The other factor which called even more urgently for internal organisation was the appointment of pastors.

The induction of new pastors could not well take place independently of the authorities, indeed, it imperatively demanded their co-operation. At Wittenberg the later alteration in the liturgy and the final prohibition of the Mass, after it had been insisted on by Luther, was carried out by a threatening mob with the connivance of the Government.[278] Yet, in spite of the impossibility of dispensing with the secular power, until 1525, Luther was for various reasons more inclined to the Congregational ideal, which was less subject to Government interference.

This congregational ideal tended to promote his plan of an “Assembly of true Christians.”

In the newly erected congregations the “true believers,” according to what Luther repeatedly says, formed the nucleus. It is to these that he appeals in his instructions in 1523 (“iis qui credunt, hæc scribimus”); “those whose hearts God has touched are to meet together,” so he says, in order to choose a “bishop,” i.e. “a minister or pastor.” Even though the congregation numbers only half a dozen, yet they will draw after them others “who have not yet received the Word”; the half a dozen, though but a handful and perhaps not distinguished by piety, so long as they do not live as obstinate and open sinners, are the real representatives of the true Church at their home. They must also rest assured, that if in their choice they have prayed to God for enlightenment, they “will be moved, and not act of themselves (‘vos agi in hac causa, non agere’).” “That Christ acts through them is quite certain (‘plane certum’).”[279] “Hence even a small minority of the truly pious among the congregation possess not only the right but also the duty to act; for to stand by and let things take their course is contrary to the faith.”[280] The election[112] derives its “true validity solely from the half-dozen.”[281] Of any election by the remaining members of the congregation or of any action of the magistracy Luther says nothing whatever; he is speaking only to those within the body of the congregation whose hearts God has touched.

He might say what he pleased against the abuses of the old Church, such systematic disorder never prevailed within her as that each one should teach as he pleased and even correct the preacher publicly, or that the Demos should be acknowledged as supreme. It is in vain that, in the writing above referred to, he mocks at this city set on a hill, with her firmly established hierarchy, saying: “Bishops and Councils determine and settle what they please, but where we have God’s Word on our side it is for us to decide what is right or wrong and not for them, and they shall yield to us and obey our word.”[291] We may well explain the saying “to obey our word” by Luther’s own eloquent paraphrase: “Pay no heed to the commandments of men, law, tradition, custom, usage and so forth, whether established by Pope or Emperor, Prince or Bishop, whether observed by half the world or by the whole, whether in force for one year or for a thousand!” “Obey our word!” For we declare that we have the “Word of God on our side.”[292]

The new congregations will, in spite of their own and every member’s freedom to teach, agree with Luther, so he assures them with the most astounding confidence, because “his mouth is the mouth of Christ,” and because he knows that his word is not his, but Christ’s. We must emphasise the fact, that here we have the key to many of the strange trains of thought already met with in Luther, and also a proof of the endurance of his unpractical ultra-spiritualism.

Luther, in fact, declares that he had “not merely received his teaching from heaven, but on behalf of one who had[115] more power in his little finger than a thousand popes, kings, princes and doctors.”[293] Before receiving his enlightenment he had had to learn what was meant by being “born of God, dying often and surviving the pains of hell.”[294] Whoever differed from him, as the fanatics did, had not been through such an experience. “Wouldst thou know where, when and how we are vouchsafed the divine communications? When that which is written takes place: ‘As a lion, so hath He broken all my bones’ (Isa. xxxviii. 13).... God’s Majesty cannot speak in confidence with the old man without previously slaying.... The dreams and visions of the saints are dreadful.”[295] Such was the mysticism of the Wartburg.

2. Against Celibacy. Doubtful Auxiliaries from the Clergy and the Convents

In establishing his new ecclesiastical organisation Luther thought it his duty to wage war relentlessly on the celibacy of the clergy and on monastic vows in general. Was he more successful herein than in his project of reforming the articles of faith and the structure of the Church?

According to Catholic ideas his war against vows and sacerdotal celibacy constituted an unwarrantable and sacrilegious interference with the most sacred promises by which a man can bind himself to the Almighty, for it is in this light that a Catholic considers vows or the voluntary acceptance of celibacy upon receipt of the major orders. Luther was, moreover, tampering with institutions which are most closely bound up with the life of the Church and which alone render possible the observance of that high standard of life and that independence which should distinguish the clergy. Yet his mistaken principles served to attract to his camp all the frivolous elements among the clergy and religious, i.e. all those who were dissatisfied with their state and longed for a life of freedom. As a matter of fact, experience speedily showed that nothing was more[116] calculated to bring the Reformation into disrepute. Lutheranism threw open the doors of the convents, burst the bonds imposed by vows, and reduced hundreds of the clergy to a moral debasement against which their own conscience raised a protest. In outward appearance it was thereby the gainer, for by this means it secured new adherents in the shape of preachers to spread the cause, but in reality the positive gain was nil; in fact, the most vital interests of the new work were endangered owing to the low moral standard of so many of its advocates. Apart from the preachers, many followers of the new Evangelical teaching, fugitive religious and more especially escaped nuns, played a very lamentable part.

In various writings and letters Luther sought to familiarise the clergy and monks with the seductive principles contained in his books “On the Clerical State” and “On Monastic Vows.” His assurances all went to prove that the observance of priestly celibacy and the monastic state was impossible. He forgot what he had once learnt and cheerfully practised, viz. that the sexual renunciation demanded in both professions was not merely possible, but a sacrifice willingly offered to God by all who are diligent in prayer and make use of the means necessary for preserving their virtue, and the numerous spiritual helps afforded by their state.

The powerful and seductive language he knows how to employ appears, for instance, in his letter to Wolfgang Reissenbusch, an Antonine monk,[296] who was already wavering, and in whose case Luther’s strenuous efforts were crowned with success. The letter, which is dated March 27, 1525, was written shortly before Luther’s union with Catharine von Bora.

Luther was then in the habit of employing the strongest and most extravagant language in order to show the need of marriage in opposition to the celibacy practised by the priests and monks. It is only with repulsion that one can follow him here.

Still further to strengthen his seductive appeals to the clergy and religious, Luther, as he himself informs us, advised those who were unable to marry openly “at least to wed their cook secretly.”[305]

To the Prince-Abbots he gave the advice that on account of the laws of the Empire they should, for the time being, “take a wife in secret,” “until God, the Lord, shall dispose matters otherwise.” In 1523 he advised all the Knights of the Teutonic Order, who were vowed to chastity, “not to worry” about their “weakness and sin” even though they had contracted some “illicit connections”; such connections contracted outside of matrimony were “less sinful” than to “take a lawful wife” with the consent of a Council, supposing such a permission were given.[306] This last letter, too, was at once printed by Luther for distribution.[307]

His spirit of defiance led him to clothe his demands in outrageous forms. On one occasion he declared in language resembling that which he made use of concerning the laws of fasting: “Even though a man has no mind to take a wife he ought, nevertheless, to do so in order to spite and vex the devil and his doctrine.”[308]

The Fathers of the Church accordingly found little favour with him when they required of the clergy, monks and nuns, not merely the observance of celibacy, but also the use of the means enjoined by asceticism for the preservation of chastity; or when they betrayed their preference for the vow of chastity, though without by any means disparaging marriage. They quoted what Our Lord had said of this doctrine: “He that can take it, let him take it” (Matt. xix. 12). The Fathers, in the spirit of St. Paul, who, as one “having obtained mercy of the Lord,” joyfully acquiesced in His “Counsel” of chastity (1 Cor. vii. 25), frequently advocated the doctrine of holy continence. But Luther asks: Of what use were their penitential practices for the preservation of their chastity to the Fathers, even to[121] Augustine, Jerome, Benedict, Bernard, etc., since they themselves allow that they were constantly troubled by temptations of the flesh? In his opinion, as we already know, the attacks of sensuality, the movements of the carnal man and the enduring sense of our own concupiscence are really sins.

Jerome in particular, the zealous advocate of virginity, received at Luther’s hands the roughest treatment. This saint is erroneously reckoned among the Fathers of the Church; he is of no account at all except for the histories he compiled; he was madly in love with the virgin Eustochium; his writings give no proof of faith or true religion; he had not the least idea of the difference between the law and the Gospel, and writes of it as a blind man might write of colour, etc. His invitations to the monastic life are described by Luther as impious, unbelieving and sacrilegious. Scoffing at the Saint’s humble admission of his temptations in his old age and the severe mortifications he practised to overcome them, Luther says: The virgin Eustochium would have been the proper remedy for him. “I am astounded that the holy Fathers tormented themselves so greatly about such childish temptations and never experienced the exalted, spiritual trials [those regarding faith], seeing that they were rulers in the Church and filled high offices. This temptation of evil passions may easily be remedied if there are only virgins or women available.”[309]

All these fell doctrines and allurements which without intermission were poured into the ears of clergy and religious alike, many of whom were uneducated, already tainted with worldliness, or had entered upon their profession without due earnestness, were productive of the expected result in the case of the weak. The sudden force of Luther’s powerful and well-calculated attack upon the clergy and upon monasticism has been aptly compared to the effect of dynamite. But whoever fell, did so of his own free will. Such language was nothing but the bewitching song of the Siren addressed to the basest though most powerful instincts of man.

The historic importance of the attack upon ecclesiastical celibacy is by no means fully gauged if we merely regard it[122] as an effective method of securing preachers, allies and patrons for the new Evangel. It was, indeed, closely bound up with Luther’s whole system, and his early theories on holiness by works and self-righteousness. His war on vows was too spontaneous, too closely connected with his own personal experience, to be accounted for merely by the desire of increasing the number of his followers. The aversion to the practice of good works which marked the commencement of his growth, his loathing for the sacrifices entailed by self-denial, the very stress he lays on the desires of nature as opposed to the promptings of grace, the delusion of evangelical freedom and finally his hatred of those institutions of the old Church which inspired her adherents with such vigorous life wherever they were rightly understood and practised—all this served as an incentive in the struggle.

A strange element which, according to his own statements, formed an undercurrent to all this and which indicates his peculiar state of mind, was that he looked upon the temptations of the flesh as something altogether insignificant in comparison with the exalted spiritual assaults of “blasphemy and despair” of which he had had personal experience.[310] In the passage already referred to, where he chides the Fathers with their “childish temptations,” he says: Why on earth did they make such efforts for the preservation of their beloved chastity, or exert themselves for something entirely, or almost entirely, impossible of attainment? The temptations of the flesh are nothing at all, he proceeds, “compared with the Angel of Satan who buffets us; then indeed we are nailed to the cross, then indeed childish things such as the temptations which worried Jerome and others become of small account.” In Paul’s case, according to him, the “angelus colaphizans” (the angel who buffeted him, 2 Cor. xii. 7) was not a sting of the flesh at all, but exalted pangs of the soul, such as those to which the Psalmist alluded when he said: “God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?” where he really means: “God, Thou art become my enemy without a cause,” or again, that a sword has pierced his bowels (pains of the soul). He himself, Luther, had endured such-like[123] things, but “Jerome and the other Fathers never experienced anything of the sort.”[311]

Luther complains as early as 1522, i.e. at the very outset of this “Evangelical” movement, of the character of the auxiliaries who had been attracted to him by his attack on priestly and monastic continence.

In later years, as his pupil Mathesius relates in the “Historien” of his conversations with him, Luther was anxious to induce the Elector to erect a “Priests’ Tower” “in which such wild and untamed persons might be shut up as in a prison; for many of them would not allow themselves to be controlled by the Evangel; ... all who once had run to the monasteries for the sake of their belly and an easy life were now running out again for the sake of the freedom of the flesh.”[316] According to Lauterbach’s “Tagebuch,” however (1538), the Elector had before this decided to rebuild the University prison as a jail for such of the clergy of Luther’s camp who misbehaved themselves,[317] and the Notes of Mathesius recently edited by Kroker allow us to infer that the prison had already been built in 1540.[318] Thus the account given by Mathesius in the “Historien” and quoted by him in sermons at a later date must be amended and amplified accordingly.

Even Luther’s own followers looked askance at many of the recruits from the clergy and the monasteries, who came to swell the ranks of the preachers and adherents of the new Evangel. We are in possession of statements on this subject made by Eberlin, Hessus and Cordus.

Protestant historians are fond of limiting the moral evils to the period which followed the Peasant Wars of 1525 as though they had been caused by the disorders of the time. The above accounts, given by followers of the new movement, extend, however, to earlier years, and to these many others previous to 1525 will be added in the course of our narrative.

It has also frequently been said that the confusion which always accompanies popular movements which stir men’s minds must be taken into account when considering the disastrous moral effects so evident in the camp of the Reformers. But this view of the matter, if not false, is at least open to doubt. The disorders just described were not at all creditable to a work undertaken in the name of religion. The results were also felt long after. If all revolutions easily led to such consequences, in this instance the lamentable moral outcome was all the more inevitable, seeing that “freedom” was the watchword.

The undeniable fact of the existence of such a state of things was all the more disagreeable to its authors, i.e. Luther and his friends, since they were well aware that the great ecclesiastical movements in former days, which had really been inspired by God, usually exhibited, more particularly in their beginnings, abundant moral benefits. “The first fruits of the Spirit,” as they had been manifested in the Church, were very different from those attending the efforts of the Wittenberg Professor, who, nevertheless, had[126] himself designated this period as the “primitiæ spiritus.”[322] It was but poor comfort in their difficulty to strive to reassure themselves by considerations such as Cordus brings forward to meet the complaints we quoted above: “Maybe the Word of God has only now opened our eyes to see clearly, to recognise as sin, and abhor with fear, what formerly we scarcely heeded.” This strange fashion of soothing his conscience he had learnt from Luther. (See vol. iv., xxiv.)

It is worth while to observe the impression which the facts just mentioned made on Luther’s foes.

It is obvious that Ickelsamer and his party went too far when they asserted that not one man who led an honest life was to be found among the Lutheran preachers, for in reality there was no lack of well-meaning men who, like Willibald Pirkheimer and Albrecht Dürer, were bent on making use of their powers in the interests of what they took to be the pure Gospel. This, however, was less frequently the case with the apostate priests and monks. The thoughts of the impartial historian revert of their own accord to the moral disorders prevalent in the older Church. We are not at liberty to ignore the fact that it was impossible for the Catholics at that time to point to any shining examples on their side which might have shamed the Lutherans. They[128] were obliged to admit that the abuses rampant in clerical and monastic life had, as a matter of fact, prepared the way for and facilitated the apostasy of many of those who went over to Luther and became preachers of the new faith. The Church had to lament not only the fate of those who turned their back on her, but the earlier decay of many of her own institutions; under the influence of the spirit of the age this decay was hourly growing worse. At the same time the secession of so many undesirable elements was itself a reason for not despairing of recovery.

A great contrast to the lives of the apostate monks and clergy is nevertheless presented in an account which has been preserved by one of the adherents of the new faith of the conditions prevailing in certain monasteries where the friars, true to the Rule of their founder, kept their vows in the right spirit. The Franciscan Observants of the Province of Higher Germany were then governed by Caspar Schatzgeyer, a capable Bavarian Friar Minor, and, notwithstanding many difficulties, numbered in 1523 no less than 28 friaries and 560 members. In the course of the fifteenth century the Franciscan Observantines had spread far and wide as a result of the reform inaugurated within the Order and approved of by Rome. The Franciscan foundations at Heidelberg, Basle, Tübingen, Nuremberg, Mayence, Ulm, Ingoldstadt, Munich and other cities had one after the other made common cause with the Observants and, unlike the Conventuals, observed the old Rule in all its primitive strictness.

3. Reaction of the Apostasy on its Author. His Private Life (1522-1525)

The moral results of Luther’s undertaking and its effect upon himself have been very variously represented. The character of the originator of so gigantic a movement in the realm of ideas could not escape experiencing deeply the reaction of the events in progress; yet the opinion even of his contemporaries concerning Luther’s morals in the critical years immediately preceding his marriage differ widely, according to the view they take of his enterprise. While by his adherents he is hailed as a second Elias,[329] some of his opponents do not hesitate to accuse him of the worst moral aberrations. Ickelsamer, however, one of the spokesmen of the “fanatics,” who did not scruple to raise an angry voice against Luther’s preachers, and even against Luther himself, was unable to adduce against him any[130] evidence of sexual misconduct during those years. It is also very remarkable that Ickelsamer’s friend, Thomas Münzer, in his violent and bitter controversial attack upon Luther dating from that time, was also unable to bring forward charges of immorality. Both would doubtless have gladly availed themselves of any offences against the moral code of which Luther might have been guilty between 1522 and 1524, but in spite of their watchfulness they failed to detect any such.

Nevertheless, accusations of Ickelsamer’s, in which he speaks more in detail of Luther’s “faulty life,” are not lacking.

It has recently been asserted by an eminent Protestant controversialist that Luther’s contemporaries never accused him of moral laxity or of offences against chastity, and that it was only after his death that people ventured to bring forward such charges; so long as he lived “the Romans,” so we read, “accused him of one only deed against the sixth commandment, viz. with his marriage”; Pistorius, Ulenberg and “Jesuits like Weislinger who copied them,” were the first to enter the lists with such accusations.

To start with, we may remark that Weislinger was not a Jesuit and that Ulenberg does not mention any moral offence committed by Luther apart from his matrimony. In fact the whole statement of the controversialist just quoted must be treated as a legend. As a matter of fact, serious charges regarding this matter were brought against Luther even in his lifetime and in the years previous to his union with Catherine von Bora.

In 1867 a less timorous Protestant writer, who had studied Luther’s history, brought forward the following passage from a manuscript letter written in 1522 by a Catholic, Count Hoyer von Mansfeld, to Count Ulrich von Helfenstein: “He had been a good Lutheran before that time and at Worms, but had come to see that Luther was a thorough scoundrel, who drank deeply, as was the custom at Mansfeld, liked the company of beautiful women, played the lute and led a frivolous life; therefore he [the Count][132] had abandoned his cause.”[335] From that time Hoyer von Mansfeld resolutely opposed Luther, caused a disputation to be held against him in 1526, and, to the end of his life (1540), kept a part of the Mansfeld estates loyal to the Catholic faith. Hoyer was an opponent of Luther when he wrote the above, but he must have received a very bad impression of Luther’s private life during the period subsequent to the latter’s stay at the Wartburg if this was the reason of his deserting Luther’s cause. It is conceivable that at the time of the Diet of Worms, when Hoyer declares he was still a “good Lutheran,” the contrast between Luther’s behaviour and the monastic habits of his earlier life had not yet become so conspicuous. (See above, p. 79.) After his stay at the Wartburg and subsequent to his attacks both literary and practical on the vow of chastity and on celibacy, a change such as that which Hoyer so distinctly refers to may have taken place. Wittenberg, the rallying point of so many questionable allies and escaped nuns in search of a refuge, was, in view of Luther’s social, not to say jovial, disposition, scarcely a suitable place for him. His want of self-restraint and the levity of his bearing were censured at that time by others, and even by Melanchthon. (See below, p. 144.)

The following year, 1523, after the arrival at Wittenberg of the nuns who had been “liberated” from their convents, there is no doubt that grave, though grossly exaggerated reports, unfavourable to Luther’s life and behaviour, were circulated both in Catholic circles and at the Court of Ferdinand the German King. Luther’s attacks upon the Church caused these reports to be readily accepted. An echo from the Court reached Luther’s ears, and he gives some account of it in a letter of January 14, 1524. According to this, it had been said in the King’s surroundings “that he frequented the company of light women, played dice and spent his time in the public-houses”; also that he was fond of going about armed and accompanied by a stately retinue; likewise, that he occupied a post of honour at the Court of[133] his sovereign Prince. The tale regarding his bearing arms and occupying posts of honour Luther was able easily to repudiate by the testimony of his friends. He also confidently declared the remaining statements to be merely lies.[336]

Proof is wanting to substantiate the charge of “fornication” contained in a letter written from Rome by Jacob Ziegler to Erasmus on February 16, 1522. Ziegler there relates that he had been invited by a bishop to dinner and that the conversation turned on Luther: “The opinion was expressed that he was given to fornication and tippling, vices to which the Germans were greatly addicted.”[337] Abroad, and more particularly in the great Catholic centres, such reports met with a more favourable reception than elsewhere. The Germans were always held up as examples of drunkenness, and, regarding Luther, such accusations were at a later date certainly carried too far. (See vol. iii., xvii. 7, “The Good Drink.”)

In order to judge objectively of Luther’s behaviour, greater stress must be laid upon the circumstances which imposed caution and reticence upon him than has been done so far by his accusers.

Luther, both at that time and later, frequently declared that he himself, as well as his followers, must carefully avoid every action which might give public scandal and so prejudice the new Evangel, seeing that his adversaries were kept well informed of everything that concerned him. He ever endeavoured to live up to this principle, for on this his whole undertaking to some extent depended. “The eyes of the whole world are on us,” he cries in a sermon in 1524.[338] “We are a spectacle to the whole world,” he says; “therefore how necessary it is that our word should be blameless, as St. Paul demands (Tit. ii. 8)!”[339] “In order that worthless men may have no opportunity to blaspheme,” he[134] refuses later, for instance, to accept anything at all as a present out of the Church property of the bishopric of Naumburg,[340] and he reprimands a drunken relative, sternly admonishing him: On your account I am evil spoken of; my foes seek out everything that concerns me; therefore it was his duty, Luther tells him, “to consider his family, the town he lived in, the Church and the Gospel of God.”[341] Mathesius also relates the following remark made by Luther when advanced in years: “Calumniators overlook the virtues of great men, but where they see a fault or stain in any, they busy themselves in raking it up and making it known.” “The devil keeps a sharp eye on me in order to render my teaching of bad repute or to attach some shameful stain to it.”[342]

In 1521 Luther thinks he is justified in giving himself this excellent testimonial: “During these three years so many lies have been invented about me, as you know, and yet they have all been disproved.” “I think that people ought to believe my own Wittenbergers, who are in daily intercourse with me and see my life, rather than the tales of liars who are not even on the spot.” His life was a public one, he said, and he was at the service of all; he worked so hard that “three of my years are really equal to six.”[343]

His energy in work was not to be gainsaid, but it was just his numerous writings produced in the greatest haste and under the influence of passion which led his mind further and further from the care of his spiritual life, and thus paved the way for certain other moral imperfections; here, also, we see one of the effects of the struggle on his character. At the same time he exposed himself to the danger of acquiring the customs and habits of thought of so many of his followers and companions, who had joined his party not from higher motives but for reasons of the basest sort.

[135]

In 1522 Johannes Fabri writes of the moral atmosphere surrounding Luther and his methods of work: “I am well aware, my Luther, that your only object was to gain the favour of many by this concession [the marriage of priests], and as a matter of fact, you have succeeded in doing so.” Why, he asks, did you not rather, “by your writings and exhortations, induce the priests who had fallen into sin to give up their concubines?” “I see you make it your business to tell the people what will please them in order to increase the number of your supporters.... You lay pillows under the heads of those who, from the moral standpoint, are snoring in a deep sleep and you know how difficult, nay dangerous, it is for me and those who think as I do, to oppose the doctrine which you teach.”[344]

That his work was leading him on the downward path and threatened to extinguish his interior religious life, Luther himself admitted at that time, though in some of his other statements he declares that his zeal in God’s service had been promoted by the struggle. He confesses in 1523, for instance, to the Zwickau Pastor Nicholas Hausmann, whom he esteemed very highly, that his interior life was “drying up,” and concludes: “Pray for me that I may not end in the flesh.” He is here alluding to the passage in St. Paul’s Epistle to the Galatians where he warns the latter, lest having begun in the spirit they should end in the flesh.[345] This Pastor was a spiritual friend to whom, owing to his esteem for him, he confided much, though his confessions must not always be taken too literally.

The well-known incident of the flight of the nuns from the convent at Nimbschen, and their settling in Wittenberg, was looked upon by Luther and his followers as a matter of the greatest importance. The apostasy of the twelve nuns, among whom was Catherine von Bora, opened the door of all the other convents, as Luther expressed it, and demonstrated publicly what must be done “on behalf of the salvation of souls.”[346] Some of these nuns, as was frequently the case, had entered the Cistercian convent near Grimma,[136] without a vocation, or had gradually become disgusted with their state owing to long-continued tepidity and want of fidelity to their profession. They had contrived to place themselves in communication with Luther, who, as he admits later in a public writing, himself arranged for them to be carried away by force, seeing that their relatives would do nothing. The plan was put into effect by one of the town councillors of Torgau, Leonard Koppe, aided by two other citizens of that town. Koppe had shortly before displayed heroic energy and skill in an attack upon a poor convent; with sixteen young comrades he had stormed the Franciscan friary at Torgau on the night of Ash Wednesday, 1523, thrown the monks who offered any resistance over the wall and smashed the windows, doors and furniture.[347] At the close of the Lenten season of the same year he signalised himself by this new exploit at Nimbschen.

On the Saturday in Holy Week, 1523, agreeably with an arrangement made beforehand with the apostate nuns, he made his appearance in the courtyard of the convent with an innocent-looking covered van, in which the nuns quietly took their places. As the van often came to the convent with provisions, no one noticed their flight. So runs the most authentic of the various accounts, some of them of a romantic nature, viz. that related by a chronicler of Torgau who lived about the year 1600.[348] Koppe brought the fugitives straight to Wittenberg, where they were safe. After a while they were received into different families in the town, or were fetched away by their relatives. Thus set free from their “bonds” on that memorable day of the Church’s year, they celebrated their so-called “resurrection.”

Luther declared, in a circular letter concerning this occurrence, that as Christ, the risen One, had, like a triumphant robber, snatched his prey from the Prince of this world, so also Leonard Koppe might be termed “a blessed robber.” All who were on God’s side would praise the rape of the nuns as a “great act of piety, so that you may rest[137] assured that God has ordained it and that it is not your work or your conception.”[349]

The twelve nuns were, as Amsdorf writes to Spalatin on April 4, “pretty, and all of noble birth, and among them I have not found one who is fifty years old.... I am sorry for the girls; they have neither shoes nor dresses.” Amsdorf praises the patience and cheerfulness of the “honourable maidens,” and recommends them through Spalatin to the charity of the Court. One, namely the sister of Staupitz, who was no longer so youthful, he at once offers in marriage to Spalatin, though he admits he has others who are prettier. “If you wish for a younger one, you shall have your choice of the prettiest.”[350]

Soon after this three other nuns were carried off by their relatives from Nimbschen. Not long after, sixteen forsook the Mansfeld convent of Widerstett, five of whom were received by Count Albert of Mansfeld. Luther reported this latter event with great joy to the Court Chaplain, Spalatin, and at the same time informed him that the apostate Franciscan, François Lambert of Avignon, had become engaged to a servant girl at Wittenberg. His intention, and Amsdorf’s too, was to coax Spalatin into matrimony and the violation of his priestly obligation of celibacy. “It is a strange spectacle,” he writes; “what more can befall to astonish us, unless you yourself at length follow our example, and to our surprise appear in the guise of a bridegroom? God brings such wonders to pass, that I, who thought I knew something of His ways, must set to work again from the very beginning. But His Holy Will be done, Amen.”[351]

Luther at that time was not in a happy frame of mind. He knew what was likely to be his experience with the escaped monks and nuns. The trouble and waste of time, as well as the serious interruption to his work, which, as he complains, was occasioned by the religious who had left their[138] convents, appeared to him relatively insignificant.[352] The large sums of money which, as he remarks, he had to “throw away on runaway monks and nuns,” he might also have overlooked, as he was not avaricious.[353] Yet the disorders introduced by the arrival of so many people bent on matrimony were distasteful to him. In a letter to Spalatin, July 11, 1523, this complaint escapes him: “I am growing to hate the sight of these renegade monks who collect here in such numbers; what annoys me most is that they wish to marry at once, though they are of no use for anything. I am seeking a means to put an end to it.”[354] The good name of his undertaking seemed to him to be at stake. On the occasion of the marriage of a Court preacher to a very old but wealthy woman, a match which was much talked about, he complains bitterly that the step was a disgrace to the Evangel; the miserly bridegroom was “betraying himself and us.”[355]

Above we have heard him speak of the monks who were desirous of marrying; he was more indulgent to the nuns who had come to Wittenberg. According to Melanchthon’s account he entered into too frequent and intimate relationship with them. (See below.)

Of the twelve who escaped from Nimbschen, nine, who were without resources, found a refuge in various houses at Wittenberg, while only three went to their relatives in the Saxon Electorate. To begin with, from necessity and only for a short time, the nine found quarters in the Augustinian monastery which had remained in Luther’s hands, in which he still dwelt and where there was plenty of room; later they found lodgings in the town. Luther had to provide in part for their maintenance. Catherine von Bora was lodged by him in the house of the Town-clerk, Reichenbach.

There was no longer any question of monastic seclusion for those quondam nuns, or for the others who had taken refuge at Wittenberg. Bora started a love affair in 1523 with Hieronymus Baumgärtner, a young Nuremberg[139] patrician; he, however, married another girl in the commencement of 1525.[356] Christian, the exiled King of Denmark, made her acquaintance during his stay at Wittenberg in October, 1523; she showed, at a later date, a ring he had presented to her. In 1524 she was to have been married to Dr. Glatz, then Pastor of Orlamünde, in consequence of Luther’s stern and repeated urging. She let it, however, be understood that she looked higher, refused Glatz’s proposal, and announced quite frankly to Amsdorf that she would give her hand only to Luther himself, or to Amsdorf, his confidant. Amsdorf was not to be allured into matrimony, and remained single all his life. Luther, on the other hand, was also not then desirous of marrying and, besides, stood rather in awe of a certain haughtiness of bearing which was said to be noticeable in her, and which was attributed to her aristocratic descent.

Had he wished to marry at that time Luther, as he declared later, would have preferred one of the other nuns, viz. Ave von Schönfeld, who, however, eventually married a young physician who was studying at Wittenberg. He also speaks on one occasion, at a later date, of a certain Ave Alemann, a member of a Magdeburg family, as his one-time “bride,” but simply, as it seems, because Amsdorf had proposed her to him as a wife. Confirmed bachelor as he was, Amsdorf appears to have developed at that time a special aptitude for arranging matches.

Luther’s intercourse with his female guests at Wittenberg naturally gave rise to all sorts of tales among his friends, the more so as he was very free and easy in the company of women, and imposed too little restraint upon his conduct. When it was said, even outside Wittenberg circles, that he would marry, he replied, on November 30, 1524, that, according to his present ideas, this would not happen, “not as though I do not feel my flesh and my sex, for I am neither of wood nor of stone, but I have no inclination to matrimony.”[357]

He was all the more zealous, however, in urging others, his friend Spalatin in particular, to this step. Spalatin once jokingly reproved him for this, saying he was surprised he did not set the example, being so anxious to induce others[140] to marry. To this friendly poke Luther replied with a strange admixture of jest and earnest. He wrote to him, on April 16, 1525, that, notwithstanding the fact that he himself was far removed from thoughts of marriage, yet, after all, as God was wont to bring the unexpected to pass, it might well be that of the two he would be the first to wed. He also speaks of himself jestingly as a “famous lover.” It was doubtless surprising, he says, that he, such a famous lover, had not married, though, as he wrote so frequently about marriage and had so much to do with women (misceor feminis), it was still more astonishing that he had not long ago become a woman.[358] The letter, which has been much discussed in recent times, is not to be taken seriously; here it is that he speaks, with misplaced pleasantry, of the “three wives” whom he had already had on his arm.

Just as he had urged his friend Spalatin, so, though in more serious language, Luther exhorts the Elector Albert, Archbishop of Mayence, to matrimony.

At this critical period of his life the free and unrestrained tone which he had employed at an earlier date becomes unpleasantly conspicuous in his letters, writings and sermons. It is sufficient to read the passages in his justification of the nuns’ flight where he treats of his pet conviction, viz. the need of marrying, in words which, from very shame, are not usually repeated. “Scandal, or no scandal,” he concludes his dissertation on the nuns who had forsaken their vow of chastity, “necessity breaks even iron and gives no scandal!”[361] He had already once before complained that our ears have become “much purer than the mouth of the Holy Ghost,” referring to certain sexual matters spoken of very openly in the Old Testament.[362] He himself, however, paid little heed to such conventions, and, especially when jesting, delighted to set them at defiance.

Many passages already quoted from his letters to friends prove this. The “misceor feminis” and the “three wives” on his hands were unbecoming jokes. Kawerau, the historian of Luther, admits the “cynicism of his language”[363] and this unpleasing quality, which is more particularly noticeable when he becomes abusive, is also to be met with even elsewhere, especially in the years which we are now considering.

Luther, for instance, jocosely speaks of himself as a virgin, “virgo,” and, in a letter to Spalatin where he refers playfully to his own merry and copious tippling at a christening at Schweinitz, he says: “These three virgins were present [Luther, Jonas and his wife], certainly Jonas [as a virgin], for as he has no child we call him the virgin.”[364] Jonas, one of the priests who married, had celebrated his nuptials February 22, 1522.

[144]

On account of his habit of making fun Luther’s friends called him a “merry boon companion.”

No one could, of course, blame his love of a joke, but his jokes were sometimes very coarse; for instance, that concerning his friend Jonas in his letter of February 10, 1525, to Spalatin, of which the tone is indelicate, to say the least, even if we make all allowance for the age and for the customs in vogue among the Wittenberg professors. Jonas, he there says, was accustomed to write his letters on paper which had served the basest of services; he (Luther) was, however, more considerate for his friends. “Farewell,” he concludes, “and give my greetings to the fat husband Melchior [Meirisch, the stout Augustinian Prior of Dresden, who had married on February 6]; my wishes for him are, that his wife may prove very obedient; she really ought to drag him by the hair seven times a day round the market-place and, at night, as he richly deserves, ‘bene obtundat connubialibus verbis.’”[365]

The reference in this letter to Carlstadt and his “familiar demon” (a fanatical monk who was given to prophesying) calls to mind the indecent language in which Luther assailed the Anabaptists and “fanatics” during those years. He makes great fun at the expense of the “nackte Braut von Orlamünde” and her amorous lovers, referring, in language which is the reverse of modest, to a ludicrous, mystical work produced by the “fanatics.”[366]

Melanchthon is very severe in censuring Luther’s free behaviour and coarse jests, especially when in the presence of ex-nuns. It has been pointed out by a Protestant that Luther’s tendency to impropriety of language, though it cannot be denied, is easily to be explained by the fact of his being a “monk and the son of a peasant.”[367] It is hard to see[145] what his being a monk has to do with it, and by what right the excesses which were perhaps noticeable in some few frivolous monks are to be regarded as characteristic of the religious state. Melanchthon’s reproaches lead the same writer to say, this time with at least some show of reason, that his friend surpassed Luther in “delicacy of feeling.”

Melanchthon, on June 16, 1525, in a confidential letter written in Greek to Camerarius about Luther’s recent marriage, complains of his behaviour towards the runaway nuns then at Wittenberg: “The man,” he says, “is light-hearted and frivolous (εὐχερής) to the last degree; the nuns pursued him with great cunning and drew him on. Perhaps all this intercourse with them has rendered him effeminate, or inflamed his passions, noble and high-minded though he is.” Melanchthon desiderates in him more “dignity,” and says that his friends (“we”), had frequently been obliged to reprove him for his buffoonery (βωμολοχία).[368]

In consequence of this unseemly behaviour with the nuns, blamed even by his intimate friends, we can understand that the professors of theology at Leipzig and Ingolstadt came to speak of Luther with great want of respect.

The Leipzig University professor, in his indignation, refers Luther to the warning he himself (in his sermons on the Ten Commandments) had given against manners of talking and acting which tempt to impurity; he continues: “And now you set aside every feeling of shame, you speak and write of questionable subjects in such a disgraceful fashion that decent men, whether married or unmarried, cover their faces and fling away your writings with execration. In order to cast dishonour upon the brides of Christ you [in your writings], so to speak, lead unchaste men to their couches, using words which for very shame I cannot repeat.”

He also answers his opponent’s constant objection that without marriage, on account of the impulse of nature, people must needs be ever falling into sin. “You forget two things, viz. that grace is stronger than nature and that, as Augustine rightly teaches, no one sins without free consent. You exaggerate that impulse and speak of ‘sin’ merely to exonerate your own behaviour and your doctrine. In other matters you declare that everything is possible to him who believes. You, like all other Catholics, were formerly convinced that involuntary movements of the flesh are not sinful unless a man consents to them; they are to the good a cross rather than a fault, and frequently only[147] come from the devil and are not imputed to them at all.”[370]

This protest from Leipzig was reinforced in 1523 from Ingolstadt by Dr. Johann Eck, who kept a keen eye on Luther and pursued him with a sharp pen. In the following description of Luther his bitter opponent complains not only of the frivolous behaviour of the apostate monk in his former monastery which the Elector had made over to him, but above all of the untruth and dishonesty displayed in his writings. “More than once have I proved,” he says, “that he is a liar and hence that he has for his father, him [the devil] of whom the Scripture says that he is a liar and a murderer.” “The fellow exudes lies from every pore and is inconstancy itself (homo totus mendaciis scatens nil constat). His teaching too is full of deception and calumny. What he has just advanced, he presently rejects without the least difficulty.” “The dregs of those vices of which he is always accusing the Christians, we rightly pour back upon his own head; let him drink himself of the cup he has mixed.” “He heaps up a mountain of evil on the Pope and the Church,” but with “his nun,”—this is what he adds in a later edition in his indignation with Luther’s marriage—“he is really worshipping Asmodeus”; and this he is not ashamed to do in the old monastery of the Augustinians, “where once pious monks served the Lord God, and pious foundations, now alienated from their original purpose, proclaimed the Christian virtues to the faithful.”[371]

It is no pleasant task to examine Luther’s sermons and writings of those years, and to represent to ourselves the turmoil of his mind at the time directly preceding his marriage.

In 1524 he repeatedly discourses to his Wittenberg hearers on his favourite theme, i.e. that man cannot control himself in sexual matters, save by a miracle and with the help of an “exceedingly rare grace.” Speaking of impotence, he says, that although he himself “by the grace of God does not desire a wife,” yet he would not like, as a married man, to go through the experience of those who are impotent. If nature was not to be satisfied, “then death were preferable.” “I have no need of a wife,” he says, “but must provide a relief for your need.”[372] This was perhaps his reply to those who said: “Oh, how the monk feels the weight of his frock, how glad he would be to have a wife!”[373][148] “Hitherto,” he says, “the married state has been condemned and styled a sensual state.... Alas, would that all men were therein ... in support of it we have the Word of God.... Those who have the grace to be chaste are few, and among a thousand there is scarcely one to be found.”[374]

“I have frequently tried to be good,” he says to his hearers in 1524, “but the more I try the less I succeed. See from this what free-will amounts to.” And then, in excuse, he unfolds his theology. “Sin urges so greatly that we long for death. If to-day I avoid one sin, to-morrow comes another. We are obliged to fight without ceasing: the Kingdom of Christ admits all, provided only they fight and hold fast to the Head of the Kingdom, namely, [believe] that Christ is the Redeemer. But if we exalt works, then all is lost!... If we desire to attain to purity, this must not be done by works, but Christ must be born in us anew [by faith].... Sin cannot harm (‘mordere’) us; the power of sin is at an end. We hold fast to Him who has conquered sin.” “‘Summa, summarum,’ works or no works, all is comprised under faith and true doctrine.... But do not let us sleep meanwhile and lull ourselves into security.”[375]

In 1523 Luther wrote on “the Devil’s chastity,” as he called it, an exposition of the 7th chapter of the first Epistle to the Corinthians, which the Papists used, so he says, as a “fig-leaf” for celibacy and the monastic state. In it he deals with the inspiring, spiritual teaching of the Apostle of the Gentiles in the chapter which commences with the words: “It is good for a man not to touch a woman.”[376]

This publication, which has been extolled as “the happy inauguration of a healthy love of the things of sense,”[377] was preceded in 1522 by his sermon “On conjugal life.” We must here call to mind a similar earlier publication of 1519. When, on the 2nd Sunday after Epiphany, he preached a “sermon on the conjugal state,” this was at once printed[149] by some stranger from notes made. Many who read it were filled with astonishment at the unheard-of freedom of speech displayed. Very soon Luther’s friend, Christoph Scheurl, expressed his disapproval of the tone: “I have read many of Martin’s writings which appeal to his best friends more than his sermon on Matrimony, because they are pure, humble, modest, measured and earnest, as beseems a theologian.”[378] After this letter Luther declared that the sermon had been printed without his knowledge, and with many stupid mistakes, so that he was “ashamed” of it,[379] and that same year (1519) he had it reprinted in an amended form.[380] It has been proved, however, that another sermon, which had been taken down and printed at the same time as the first sermon on Matrimony, was reported quite correctly;[381] hence the first printed edition of the sermon on Matrimony was probably not as inexact as Luther afterwards pretended.

Others, and Cochlæus himself in his previous indecent writings, bear witness to the excess of coarseness of this sort which, partly as a consequence of Italian Humanism, had found its way into German literature at that time. Few, however, went so far as Luther. Several of his contemporaries told him so openly, though they were themselves accustomed to strong expressions. It is notorious that the sixteenth century was accustomed to speak more bluntly[151] and openly than is at present usual. Yet in judging Luther’s case a circumstance which is often overlooked should also be borne in mind, namely, that the standard by which he is to be tried is not that of profane authors and literary men of Humanistic leanings, but that of professedly religious writers. Luther not only professed to be a religious writer, but also gave himself out as the introducer of a great reform in faith and morals. From this standpoint the impropriety of his speech must assuredly be more severely judged. He employs by preference such language in his bitter and violent polemics, seeking to make an impression upon the lower classes by a naturalism not far removed from filthy talking. The vulgar figures of speech of which he makes use are all saturated with hate and rendered still more distasteful by the unclean aspersions he is ever casting on his adversaries; from his manner of writing we can gather the satisfaction he derives from seeing the defenders of virginity, the religious and clergy, thus overwhelmed with filth.

Certain preachers of the late Middle Ages, religious and others, for instance, Geiler von Kaysersberg, when dealing with sexual matters sometimes went very far in their plain speaking on the subject, yet their words were, without exception, characterised by gravity and the desire of saving souls. Their tone excludes any levity; indeed, the honesty and simplicity of these productions of the Middle Ages impress the reader at every turn; he may perhaps be inclined to extol the greater delicacy of feeling which obtains at the present day, but he will refrain from blaming the less covert style of days gone by. Luther’s “cynical” language, however, impresses one as an attempt to pit nature, with all its brutality, with its rights and demands, against the more exalted moral aims of earlier ages; the trend of such language, as contemporary Catholics urged, was downwards rather than upwards.

One tract of Luther’s, which dates from about that time, that “Against the Clerical State falsely so called of Pope and Bishops,” contains a chapter “Concerning Vows,”[387] in which the descriptions are so coarse and the language so nasty that Staupitz might well have considered even his censure of certain earlier writings of Luther’s not sufficiently strong: “Your works are praised,” he had told him, “by[152] those who keep houses of ill-fame,”[388] etc. Several particularly violent polemical tracts of those years, meant by Luther for his theological adversaries generally, are so brimful of words descriptive of the vilest parts and functions of the human body, that it would be impossible to match them in the writings of previous ages. His manner of speech was considered by his foes to have reached the lowest depths of thought and feeling. The vulgarity of his language was held to display the utter depravity of his mind.

In polemics Luther was not merely the “greatest, but also the coarsest writer of his century”; such is the opinion recently expressed by a Protestant historian.[389]

In the work dating from 1522, “Bulla Coenæ Domini, i.e. the Bull concerning the Evening feed of our most holy Lord, the Pope,”[390] he replies, with startling fluency, to the menaces of this Papal Bull against all heretics, including himself. Therein he describes the life and manners of the Roman “prostitutes” with the express intention of degrading all that Catholics considered most worthy of respect and veneration. The Pope and his followers he represents as indulging in every kind of sensuality, “rape, seduction and fornication” to their heart’s content.

Still more degrading are the opprobrious and insulting figures of which he makes use in 1522 in his furious reply “Against King Henry of England,” who had attacked and pilloried his teaching.[391] In his tract it is his aim not only to “lay bare the shame of the Roman prostitute before the whole world, to her eternal disgrace,” but also, as he says further down, to reveal the “shameless audacity” of the King of England, who is a defender of “the scarlet woman of Rome, the tipsy mother of unchastity”; the King, “that fool,” “lies and gibbers like the filthiest of prostitutes,” and that, merely to defend the Pope and his Church, “who are after all nothing more than pimp and procuress,[153] and the devil’s own dwelling.” All this abuse is crammed into a few pages. To conclude, the King, according to Luther’s dictum and description, has been fitly consigned to “the dungheap with the Thomists, Papists and other such-like excrements.” Side by side with all this we find his grand assurances of his, Luther’s, position as the messenger of God. “Christ through me has begun His revelations of the abomination in the Holy Place”;[392] “I am convinced that my doctrines have come down to me from Heaven,”[393] etc. The King he politely describes as a crowned donkey, an infamous knave, an impudent royal windbag, the excrement of hogs and asses. The King, according to him, is more foolish than a fool; His Majesty ought to be pelted with mud; he deserves nothing better, this stupid donkey, this Thomistic hog, this lying rascal and carnival clown, who sports the title of king. He is a nit which has not yet turned into a louse, a brat whose father was a bug, a donkey who wants to read the Psalter but is only fit for carrying sacks, a sacrilegious murderer. He is a chosen tool of the devil, a papistical sea-serpent, a blockhead and as bad as the worst rogues whom indeed he outrivals; an abortion of a fool, a limb of Satan whose God is the devil—and so forth.

One of the unfortunate effects of his public struggle on Luther was, that he entangled himself more and more in a kind of polemics in which his invective was only rivalled by his misrepresentation of his opponents’ standpoint and arguments.

We may fairly ask whether on the whole the character of the man has been more correctly gauged by those who look upon his favourite kind of controversy as nothing more than the disfiguring dirt under his feet, or by those others who trace it back to the very nature of his titanic struggle with the Church. Bucer, as we just saw, traced Luther’s outbursts to the violence of his temper, and Luther himself frequently declares that he wrote “so severely, intentionally and with well-considered courage.”[406] This he looks upon as demanded by his position and, therefore, it[157] is, as he thinks, “well done.”[407] According to Wilhelm Walther, Luther had chosen the “heroic method of development,” i.e. “of isolating himself as it were from the whole world”; his standpoint was not “within the grasp” of the world of his opponents.[408] Thus, unless he wished to forsake his cause, he had to carry it through single-handed, straining every nerve and having recourse to vituperation the like of which had never hitherto been heard.

We shall examine elsewhere the psychological questions involved in this sort of polemics (vol. iv., xxvi. 3). The above will suffice concerning the influence exercised on his literary activity by the public position which Luther had assumed.

4. Further Traits towards a Picture of Luther. Outward Appearance. Sufferings, Bodily and Mental

A change had gradually taken place in Luther’s outward appearance even previous to his stay at the Wartburg. By the time he had returned to Wittenberg his former leanness had gone and he was inclined to be stout.

Johann Kessler, a Swiss pupil who saw him often in 1522 and who frequently played the lute to cheer him, writes in his “Sabbata”: “When I knew Martin at the age of forty-one in 1522 he was by nature somewhat portly, of an upright gait, inclined rather backward than forward, and always carried his face heavenward.”[409]

Albert Burer, who was also studying at Wittenberg after Luther’s return from the Wartburg, praises his amiability, his pleasant, melodious voice, and his winning manner of speech.[410] Thomas Blaurer, then his enthusiastic disciple, is also full of praise of his kindly, attractive and sympathetic[158] manner towards those who came under his influence and to whom he ever behaved in a simple and natural fashion.[411] Neither of them, however, describes his facial appearance.

From the likenesses of him to be referred to below it appears that his face usually wore an expression of energy and defiance. His chin and mouth protruded slightly and gave an impression of firmness; a slight frown denoted irritability; over his right eye there was a large wart; a lock of curly hair overhung his forehead. His “dark eyes blinked and twinkled like stars so that it was difficult to look at them fixedly.”[412] (J. Kessler.) As remarked above, his deportment was upright and almost defiant.

Of what Luther must have been, judging by his descriptions, not one of the portraits which have come down to us gives any good idea.[413] This sounds strange, as the art of portrait painting was already very highly developed in Luther’s day, whilst his likenesses were in great demand and were despatched from Wittenberg to every quarter in order to increase his popularity. Dürer and Holbein, who have left us characteristic and faithful likenesses of Melanchthon, never employed their brush or pencil in depicting Luther. The death-mask which we still have was not taken till four days after Luther’s death from a stroke, i.e. after decomposition had already made some progress, while the portrait of the dead man painted in haste by Lucas Fortenagel is almost terrifying and betrays a very unpractised hand.[414]

Lucas Cranach the elder, as is well known, sketched or painted several likenesses of Luther, and as the two were very intimate with each other we might have anticipated something reliable. He was, however, not sufficiently true to[159] life; he suppressed what he considered to be defects in his sitter, and, in spite of his artistic talent, he did not possess the special qualifications for faithfully reproducing in a portrait the expression of the soul. In his pictures of Luther we are at a loss to find certain traits mentioned in the accounts we possess; the artist introduces into the face an expression of mildness and tenderness which was foreign to Luther. Neither is it a fact that we have hundreds of pictures from his studio, as is so often stated, for of all the portraits and engravings ascribed to Cranach only five can be considered as absolutely genuine, the copper plates of 1520 and 1521,[415] then the “Squire George” of the Wartburg in the Leipzig Town Library, and two portraits in the Kaufmann Gallery in Berlin. “If we examine the absolutely genuine ‘Cranachs’ we at once notice that they have nothing in common with the typical Luther features [of a later day].” From these original likenesses down to the pictures of Luther which circulate to-day there are many steps. The transformation was carried further and further, though the “broad, peasant face” and the “powerful jaw” were destined to remain. Nearly all these pictures represent an elderly man, inclined to corpulence, with somewhat blurred features, with surprisingly abundant curly hair and small, kindly eyes.

This, the typical Luther of to-day, appears perhaps for the first time in the so-called “Epitaphium Lutheri,” a woodcut which was made after Luther’s death by the elder Cranach’s son, Lucas Cranach the younger. The type in question became very generally known owing to the picture of Luther painted nine years after his death by the younger Cranach for an altar-piece in the parish church at Weimar, although in this likeness, which has been so frequently copied, there may still be found some traces of the bold, warrior features of the real Luther. Böhmer, the Protestant historian, remarks: “In the most popular of these modern ‘ideal pictures,’ viz. the oleograph of Luther in the fur cappa which ‘adorns’ so many churches, even the Doctor’s own Catherine would be unable to recognise her Martin.”

The pictured Luther has become almost a fable among Protestants. This may well make us suspicious of the pen-picture[160] of him now spread abroad by so many of his followers and admirers. Is it in the least trustworthy? Here again it is the Protestant authority cited above who complains: “The literary Luther-portraits, though strikingly similar, are all more or less unlike the original. In the strict sense they are not portraits at all, but presentments of a type.”

The strain of such strenuous literary work, in the case of one whose public life was so full of commotion as Luther’s, could not fail to tax the most healthy nervous system. We can only wonder how he contrived to cope with the excitement and incessant labour of the years from 1520 to 1525 and to continue tirelessly at the task till his life’s end.

Amongst his works in those years were various controversial writings printed in 1523, for instance, that against Cochlæus; also tracts such as those “On the Secular Power” and “On the Adoration of the Sacrament”; also the Instructions on the Supper, on Baptism and on the Liturgy, etc., and, besides these, voluminous circular-letters, translations from, and extensive commentaries on, the Bible. There was also a vast multitude of sermons and private letters. Among the writings on widely differing subjects dealt with by Luther in 1524-25 the following may be specified: “On Christian Schools,” “Two Unequal Commands of the Emperor,” “On Trade and Usury,” “On the Abomination of silent Mass,” “Against the Heavenly Prophets,” “Against the Murderous Peasants,” “On the Unfreedom of the Will.” His publications in the three years 1523-25 number no less than seventy-nine. His attacks on the vow of chastity, and on celibacy, constitute a striking feature of many of his then writings. Obstinacy in the pursuit of one idea, which characterises the German, degenerates in Luther’s case into a sort of monomania, which would have made his writings unreadable, or at least tedious, had not the author’s literary gifts and unfortunately the prurient character of the subject-matter appealed to many. The haste in which all this was produced has left its mark everywhere.[416]

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In those years Luther’s nerves frequently avenged themselves by headaches and attacks of giddiness for the unlimited demands made upon them. Irregular meals and the want of proper attention to the body in the desolate “black monastery” of Wittenberg also contributed their quota. Among the bodily disorders which often troubled him we find him complaining of a disagreeable singing in the ears; then it was that he began to suffer from calculus, a malady which caused him great pains in later years and of which we first hear in 1526. We reserve, however, our treatment of Luther’s various ailments till we come to describe the close of his life. (See vol. v., xxxv. 1.)

We cannot, however, avoid dealing here with a matter connected with his pathology, which has frequently been discussed in recent times. The delicate question of his having suffered from syphilis was first broached by the Protestant physician, Friedrich Küchenmeister, in 1881, and another Protestant, the theologian and historian Theodore Kolde, has brought it into more prominent notice by the production of a new document, which in 1904 was unfortunately submitted to noisy discussion by polemical writers and apologists in the public press.

The new material furnished by Theodore Kolde in his “Analecta Lutherana” consists of a medical letter of Wolfgang Rychardus to Johann Magenbuch dated June 11, 1523, taken from the Hamburg Town Library, and is of a character to make one wonder whether Luther did not at one period suffer from syphilis, at any rate in a mild form.[421]

[165]

In addition to his bodily ailments, the result more particularly of extreme nervous agitation, the indefatigable worker was over and again tormented with severe attacks of depression and sadness.

They were in part due to the sad experiences with his followers and to the estrangement—now becoming more and more pronounced—of his party from the fanatical Anabaptists; in part also to the alarming reports of the seditious risings of the peasants; also to his deception concerning the Papacy, which, far from falling to pieces “at the breath of the true Gospel,” had asserted its authority and even strengthened it by reforms such as those commenced under Hadrian VI. It was, however, principally his “interior struggles,” and the pressing reproaches of his conscience concerning his work as a whole, which rendered him a prey to melancholy. This mental agony never ceased; the inward voice he had heard in the Wartburg, and which had pierced his very soul with the keenness of a sword, continued to oppress him: “Are you alone wise? Supposing that all those who follow you are merely dupes.”[429]

If he sought for distraction in cheerful conversation, this was merely to react against such gloomy thoughts. The more and more worldly life he began to lead may also be regarded as due in some measure to the effort on his part to escape these moods. We may also find in them the psychological explanation of the excesses he commits in his attacks upon the Church, his very violence serving to relieve his feelings and to reassure him. His customary defiance enables him to surmount all obstacles: the external anxieties caused by his adversaries and the interior temptations which he ascribes to the devil. “I have triumphed over him [the devil],” he exclaims confidently, “who has more power and cunning in his smallest claw than all the popes, kings and doctors.... My doctrine shall prevail and the Pope fall, in defiance of the gates of hell and all the powers of the air, the earth and the sea.”[430]

[166]

We feel it our duty to complete this remarkable picture of passion, defiance and struggle by some few additional traits taken from Luther’s writings at that time.

His scruples of conscience and the “inward struggles” referred to above Luther accustomed himself more and more to regard as the voices of the Evil One. He fancied it was the Good Spirit who taught him to despise them. It was only the Papists who were deluded and led astray by “Satan.” “There,” he writes in 1522, viz. among the Papists, “the true masterpiece of Satan is discernible, for he transforms himself into an angel of light. As in the beginning he wished to be equal to the Most High, so now he does not cease to pursue the same aim by deceiving the sons of unbelief with godly words and deeds. Thus does[169] he make the Pope his instrument.” “To what an abyss,” he exclaims, “is he not capable of dragging down the Church by means of his sophists seated in the professorial chairs.”[446] When the thought of the day of reckoning or remorse of conscience for their infidelity to the Church awoke either in himself or in his followers, this was to be silenced as the voice of the wicked angel. Uxorious renegades from the religious Orders and the priesthood, who were now assailed by doubts, he consoles by means of his own moral dialectics, telling them they should go “forward with a strong conscience in order to be able to withstand the devil at the hour of death.” They were to “arm themselves with the Word of God” against the devil; “you will stand in need of it, but rely upon this, that it is the Word of God, Who cannot lie; read this [my own] little book ‘On Vows’ carefully and strengthen yourself as best you can,” for the “devil will work against you with your vow for all it is worth and make out your marriage and freedom to be sinful.”[447] Here he is establishing a new school for the formation of consciences.

How greatly the “inward struggles” pressed upon him in those years, notwithstanding such teachings and his own practice, is plain from two incidents of which we hear by chance.

We have here a remarkable example of how his temptations affected Luther bodily and were in turn influenced by his bodily state, a subject which we shall reserve for future consideration (vol. vi., xxxvi. 1, 2). This mutual influence finds its expression in the relief afforded him by music.

Ratzeberger adds other interesting particulars, showing[171] the happy effect of music on Luther’s mind when confused by anxieties and inward torments.

It would doubtless have been of great advantage to Luther’s cause had his insistent praise of the person he is addressing, and of the Dukes of Bavaria for their love of music, succeeded in securing for him a footing in Munich. He does not in this letter conceal the fact that these Dukes were not favourably disposed towards him. Senfl, though holding constant intercourse with the followers of the new teaching, remained a member of the Catholic Church, nor were the Dukes of Bavaria, for all their enlightened ideas, to be tricked into a compromise with heresy by any attempt, however clever and pious in appearance. The warm expression of trust and confidence in God, such as we find here, was not unusual in the letters Luther addressed to princely Courts and high officers of state.

CHAPTER XIV

FROM THE PEASANT WAR TO THE DIET OF AUGSBURG (1525-1530)

1. Luther’s Marriage

When, in November, 1524, Spalatin, on the occasion of an enquiry made by a lady, ventured to broach the question when Luther proposed taking a wife, he received the following answer: He was to tell the enquirer (Argula), that Luther was “in the hands of God, as a creature whose heart He could fashion as He would; whom He was able to kill or to make alive at any hour and any moment.” His feelings were yet foreign to matrimony. “But I shall neither set bounds to God’s action in my regard, nor listen to my own heart.”[463] By these words, which were addressed to all observers and critics, he not only left himself an open door, but attempted to describe his state in the terms of that pseudo-mysticism of man’s bondage and lack of free will as regards God’s designs to which at times he was wont to abandon himself more or less completely, according to the varying circumstances of his life.

About March or April, 1525, a definite intention to marry begins to appear. The letter to Spalatin referred to above, on p. 140, was written on April 16, and, though in it he does not yet admit his determination to marry, he speaks of himself jestingly as a famous lover, who had had at one time three wives in his hands. His eye fell on Catherine von Bora, who after her flight from the convent at Nimbschen, had found a home in the house of the Town-clerk, Reichenbach (above, p. 138). He speaks of her in a letter of May 4 as “my Katey” and declares that he is about to marry[174] her.[464] Owing to his intimacy with her all sorts of stories went the rounds in the town during the following months, to which intercourse with the ex-nuns referred to above (p. 145) gave all the more colour.

Then, suddenly, without consulting any of his friends and with a haste which surprised even his own followers, on the evening of June 13, he celebrated his wedding with Bora in his own house, with all the formalities then usual. Besides Bugenhagen and Jonas, Luther’s friends, only the painter Lucas Cranach and his wife, and the Professor of Jurisprudence, Dr. Apel, were summoned as witnesses. The consummation of the marriage seems to have been duly witnessed by Bugenhagen as Pastor of Wittenberg. The public wedding did not take place until June 27, according to the custom common in that district of dividing the actual marriage from the public ceremony. During the interval Luther invited several guests to be present, as we see from his letters, which are still extant. From June 13 he speaks of himself already as “copulatus,”[465] and as a “husband.”[466]

On June 14 Jonas sent by special messenger to Spalatin a letter, evidently written under the stress of very mixed feelings: “Luther has taken Catherine von Bora to wife. Yesterday I was there and saw the betrothed on the bridal couch. I could not restrain my tears at the sight; I know not what strong emotion stirred my soul; now that it has taken place and is the Will of God, I wish the excellent, honest man and our beloved father in the Lord, every happiness. God is wonderful in His decrees!”[467]

Luther also was at pains to represent the incident as divinely ordained, a high and holy act.

At a later date he said: “God willed that I should take pity on her [Catherine].”[468] Even before taking the step, he had thought out the plan of impressing upon his union[175] with “Katey,” the ex-nun, the character of a “reforming work.” “Because our enemies do not cease to condemn matrimony,” he writes, and “our ‘little wiseacres’ daily scoff at it,” he feels himself for that very reason attracted to it; being determined to give celebrity to the true teaching of the Gospel concerning marriage.[469] He had informed Albert, the archiepiscopal Elector, that before quitting this life he would enter the married state, which he considered as enjoined by God,[470] and somewhat earlier he had confided to a friend that, if he could manage it before he died, he meant “to take his Katey to wife in order to spite the devil.”[471] This agrees in part with what he wrote shortly after his marriage: “The Lord plunged me suddenly, while I still clung to quite other views, into matrimony.”[472]

As a matter of fact it was the unpleasant rumours aroused when his intimacy with Bora became known, which hastened the step. This is what Bugenhagen, an authentic witness, says with evident displeasure: Evil tales were the cause of Dr. Martin’s becoming a married man so unexpectedly.[473] Luther himself admits this in a confidential letter to Spalatin three days after the step. He informs him of his marriage as follows: “I have shut the mouth of those who slandered me and Catherine von Bora.”[474]

In the same letter Luther also refers to the reproach he had at first dreaded, viz. of degrading himself by his marriage. He scoffs at this: “I have become so low and despicable by this marriage,” he says jokingly, “that I hope the angels will laugh and all the devils weep. The world and its ‘wise ones’ do not yet recognise the pious and holy work of God and in me they regard it as something impious and devilish. Hence it pleases me greatly that, by my marriage,[176] the opinion of those who continue to persevere in their ignorance of divine things is brought in question and condemned. Farewell, and pray for me.”[475] Such utterances were directed also against many of the friends of the Evangel. Hieronymus Schurf, the lawyer, and otherwise Luther’s confidant, had been one of those opposed to his marriage. He had said: “If this Monk takes a wife all the world and the devil himself will laugh, and Luther will undo the whole of his previous work.”[476]

Melanchthon, too, expressed his deep displeasure at the marriage in the remarkable Greek letter already once referred to (p. 145) addressed to his friend Joachim Camerarius, and dated June 16, 1525.

The true wording of this Greek letter, which Camerarius saw fit to modify, as is proved by the original in the Chigi Library in Rome, with his “corrections” in red pencil, only became known in 1876.[477] He revised it completely for his edition of Melanchthon’s letters because he feared to[177] make the severe censure it contained public; thus the letter was formerly only known in the altered shape in which it was also published in 1834 in the “Corpus Reformatorum,” which begins with Melanchthon’s letters. A similar fate has befallen several other letters of Melanchthon in the Camerarius editions, and consequently also in the “Corpus.”

According to what we have seen, the circumstance of Luther’s sudden marriage occurring just at the time of the panic of the Peasant War, made an especially deep impression on Melanchthon, who was ever inclined to circumspection and prudence.

In point of fact, a more unsuitable time, and one in more glaring contrast with nuptial festivities, it would have been impossible for Luther to select. The flames of the conflagration raging throughout Germany and even in the vicinity of Wittenberg, and the battlefields strewn with the dead, slain by the rebels or the supporters of the Knights and Princes, formed a terrible background to the Wittenberg wedding.

The precipitancy of his action was the more remarkable because at that time Luther himself was living in a state of keen anxiety concerning the outcome of the great social and religious upheaval.

Seeing that he was looked upon, by both lord and peasant, as the prime instigator of the trouble, he had grave cause to fear for his own safety. About five weeks later, writing from Seeburg, near Mansfeld, after a preaching tour through the rebels’ country, he says: “I, who am also affected by[181] it, for the devil is intent upon my death, know that he is angered because so far he has been unable either by cunning or by force to harm me and is determined to be rid of me even should he be forced to do his worst and set the whole world in an uproar; so that I really believe, and it appears to me, that it is on my account that he does such things in the world in order that God may plague the world. If I reach home safe and sound, I shall, with God’s help, prepare myself for death.”[482]

Whereas he had written not long before, that he was not thinking of marrying because he awaited death, i.e. the death-penalty for heresy,[483] according to his statements after his marriage it was the thought of death which had led him to contract the union; God’s work was unmistakable, God was shaming his adversaries. He repeatedly makes statements to this effect, which we shall gather together with some of his other assertions to form a picture of his mental state then.

If, to the motives for his marriage which he enumerates above, we add a further reason, also alleged by him, viz. that he wished to show himself obedient to his father, who desired the marriage, we arrive at the stately number of seven reasons. They may be arranged as follows: 1. Because it was necessary to shut the mouth of those who spoke evil of him on account of his relations with Bora. 2. Because he was obliged to take pity on the forsaken nun. 3. Because[183] his father wished it. 4. Because the Catholics represented matrimony as contrary to the Gospel. 5. Because even his friends laughed at his plan of marrying. 6. Because the peasants and the priests threatened him with death and he must therefore defy the terrors raised by the devil. 7. Because God’s will was plainly apparent in the circumstances. Melanchthon’s reason, viz. that man is impelled to marriage by nature, Luther does not himself bring forward.

We must not lose sight of the circumstance that the marriage took place barely five weeks after the death of the Saxon Elector Frederick the Wise. His successor was more openly favourable towards the ecclesiastical innovations. Frederick would have nothing to do with the marriage of the clergy, particularly with nuns, although he did not permit any steps to be taken against those who had married. He wrote to his Councillors at Torgau on October 4, 1523, that to undertake any alteration or innovation would be difficult, more particularly in these days when he had to anticipate trouble “for our country and people” from the opponents of Lutheranism; “he did not think that a clergyman ought to earn his stipend by idleness and the taking of wives, and by works which he himself condemned.”[496] In May, 1524, we see from one of Luther’s letters to Spalatin that difficulties had been raised at the Court concerning the remuneration of the married clergy by the Government. In this letter he recommends Johann Apel, formerly Canon of Würzburg, who had married a nun, for a post at the University of Wittenberg, and gives special advice in case his marriage should prove an obstacle (“quod si uxorcula obstet,” etc.). He here condemns the faint-hearted action of the Elector, and remarks, that he will not thereby escape the animosity of his foes, seeing that he notoriously “favours heretics and provides for them.”[497]

Luther did not lose his habit of jesting with his friends, though his witticisms are neither proper nor edifying: “I am bound in the meshes of my mistress’s tresses,” he writes to one,[498] and to another, that it all seemed “very strange” to him and he could hardly realise he had “become a[184] married man, but the evidence was so strong that he was in honour bound to believe it”; and to a third, since God had taken him captive unawares in the bonds of holy matrimony, he would be obliged to confirm this with a “collation” [dinner-party], therefore he and Mrs. Catherine begged him to send a cask of the best Torgau beer for a good drink; should “it turn out not to be good, the sender would have to drink it all himself as a penalty.”[499] He speaks later in the same jocose fashion of his “Katey” as the “Kette” [chain] to which he is tied, and rather indelicately plays on his wife’s maiden name: “I lie on the bier [’Bore’ = mod. Germ. ‘Bahre’], i.e. I am dead to the world. My Catena [Kette, or chain] rattles her greetings to you and your Catena.” This to Wenceslaus Link, the former Vicar of the Augustinians, who was already married.[500]

Such jokes were likely to be best appreciated in the circle of apostate priests and monks.

But many earnest men of Luther’s own party, who like Melanchthon and Schurf, feared evil consequences from the marriage, were little disposed for such trifling.

Luther jestingly complains of such critics: “The wise men who surrounded him” were greatly incensed at his marriage;[501] he says he knew beforehand that “evil tongues would wag” and, in order that the marriage might “not be hindered,” he had “made all haste to consummate it.”[502]

Friends and followers living at a distance expressed strong disapproval of his conduct when it was already too late. The Frankfurt Patrician, Hamman von Holzhausen, wrote on July 16, 1525, to his son Justinian, who was studying at Wittenberg: “I have read your letter telling me that Martinus Lutherus has entered the conjugal state; I fear he will be evil spoken of and that it may cost him a great falling off.”[503]

It was, however, useless for the new husband to attempt to[185] defend himself against the consequences by excuses such as the following: “I am neither in love nor consumed by passion, but I esteem my wife highly.”[504] According to his own assertion the step had not been taken under stress of sensual passion, seeing that it was closely bound up with his theology. “I had firmly determined, for the honour of matrimony,” he says in the Table-Talk, “before ever I took a wife, that had I had to die unexpectedly, or were lying on my death-bed, I would have wedded some pious maiden.”[505] He again assures us, that even when an old man and incapable of begetting children, he would still have taken a wife “merely in order to do honour to the married state and testify to his contempt for the shameful immorality and evil living of the Papacy.”[506]

We are here confronted with a strange psychological phenomenon, a candidate for death who is at the same time one for marriage.

Luther, however, speaks so frequently of this abnormal idea of marrying at the hour of death, that he may gradually have come to look upon it as something grand. In the case of most people death draws the thoughts to the severing of all earthly ties, but Luther, on the contrary, is desirous of forming new ones at the very moment of dissolution. He arrives at this paradox only by means of two highly questionable ideas, viz. that he must exhibit the utmost defiance and at the same time vindicate the sacred character of marriage. It would have been quite possible for him without a wife to show his defiant spirit, and he had already asserted his doctrine concerning marriage so loudly and bluntly, that this fresh corroboration by means of such a marriage was quite unnecessary. What was wanted was, that he should vindicate his own act, which appeared to many of his friends both troublesome and detrimental. Hence his endeavours to conceal its true character by ingenious excuses.

Luther’s Catholic opponents were loud in the expression of their lively indignation at the sacrilegious breaking of their vows by monk and nun; some embodied the same in satires designed to check the spread of the movement and[186] to open the eyes of Luther’s followers. One saying of Erasmus has frequently been quoted: A wedding was the usual end of a comedy, but here it was the termination of a tragedy. The actual wording of the somewhat lengthy passage runs thus: “In the comic opera the fuss usually ends in a wedding and then all is quiet; in the case of sovereigns their tragedies also frequently come to a similar conclusion, which is not particularly advantageous to the people, but is better than a war.... Luther’s tragedy seems likely to end in the same way. The Monk has taken a nun to wife.... Luther has now become calmer and his pen no longer makes the same noise. There is none so wild but that a wife can tame him.”[507] Erasmus, however, speedily withdrew his last words, writing that Luther has become more virulent than ever.[508]

More in place than such satires were the serious expressions of disapproval and regret on the part of Catholics concerning the terrible fall of the quondam monk and minister of the altar, by reason of his invalid marriage with the nun. Hieronymus Dungersheim of Leipzig was later to raise his voice in a protest of this sort, addressed to Luther, which may be considered as an echo of the feeling awakened in the minds of many by the news of Luther’s marriage and as such may serve as a striking historical testimony: “O unhappy, thrice unhappy man! Once you zealously taught, supported by Divine testimonies and agreeably with the Church of God, that the insolence of the flesh must be withstood by penance and prayer; now you have the fallen woman living with you and give yourself up to serve the flesh under the pretence of marriage, blinded as you are by self-indulgence, pride and passion; by your example you lead others to similar wickedness.... What a startling change, what inconstancy! Formerly a monk, now in the midst of a world you once forsook; formerly a priest, now, as you yourself believe, without any priestly character and altogether laicised; formerly in a monk’s habit, now dressed as a secular; formerly a Christian, now a Husite; formerly in the true faith, now a mere Picard; formerly exhorting the devout to chastity and perseverance, now enticing them to[187] tread their vow under foot and to deliver themselves without compunction into the hands of the Evil One!”[509]

In the above, light has been thrown upon the numerous legends attaching to Luther’s wedding at Wittenberg, and their true value may now be better appreciated.

It is clear, for instance, from the facts recorded, that it is incorrect to accuse Luther of not having complied with the then formalities, and of having consummated the marriage before even attempting to conclude these. The distinction mentioned above between the two acts of June 13 and 27, each of which had its special significance, was either unknown to or ignored by these objectors. Were we merely to consider the due observance of the formalities, then there is no doubt that these were complied with, save that objection might be raised as to the legal status of the pastor. But, on the other hand, Canon Law was plainly and distinctly opposed to the validity of a marriage contracted between parties bound by solemn monastic vows. Thus from the point of view of civil law the regularity of Luther’s new status was very doubtful, as both Canon Law and the Law of the Empire did not recognise the marriages of priests and monks, and lawyers were forced to base their decisions upon such laws. We shall have to speak later of Luther’s anger at the “quibbles” of the lawyers, and his anger had some reason, viz. his well-founded fear lest his marriage should not be recognised as valid by the lawyers, and hence that his children would be stamped as illegitimate and as incapable of inheriting.

2. The Peasant-War. Polemics

That the preaching of the new Evangel had a great part in the origin of the frightful peasant rising of 1525 is a fact, which has been admitted even by many non-Catholic historians in modern days.

Luther’s Catholic contemporaries condemned in the strongest manner his share in the unchaining of the revolt; they failed entirely to appreciate the “greatness” referred to above.

A strong wave of anticlerical and of politico-social commotion due to unjust oppression prevailed among the peasantry in many parts of Germany even before Luther came forward. But it was the gospel of freedom, the mistaken approbation found in biblical passages for the desire for equality among the classes and a juster distribution of property, as well as the example of the great spiritual upheaval[191] then going on, which rendered the crisis acute, and incited the peasants to make their extravagant and violent demands.

An attempt was made to conceal the revolutionary character of the movement by explaining it as mainly religious.

The “Twelve Articles of the Peasants of Swabia,” was headed, for instance, by a demand for liberty to preach the Gospel and for congregations to have the right of choosing their own pastors.[524] It was believed by those who drew up these Articles that all the claims, even those relating to the tithes, to hunting, fishing, forest rights, etc., could be proved from Holy Scripture; only then, they said, were they ready to abandon them when they were refuted by Holy Writ; at the same time, however, they reserved to themselves the right to make in the future such additional demands as they might come to recognise as being in accordance with Scripture. Luther’s ideas were also embodied in the thirty Articles of “Squire Helferich and the Knights Heinz und Karsthanns,” indeed, they were for the most part couched in the very words of Luther’s writings and the 28th Article swore deadly hostility to all his foes.[525]

[192]

The peasants in the Rhine province and about Mayence in their rising in May, 1525, demanded not merely the liberty to choose their own pastors and to preach the Gospel, but also that the preachers of the new faith imprisoned in Mayence should be set free. Their claim to choose their pastors, which was likewise made elsewhere, for instance, in the “Twelve Articles of the Peasants of Swabia,” signified nothing less than the intention to fill the posts with preachers of the new faith.[526]

“The rebels everywhere either supported or opposed the Evangelical demands, those of Evangelical views joining the rebels with the idea that they would be able to enforce their wishes by this means.” This explains why, after the rising had been put down, the Catholic lords were disposed “to look on Lutheranism as no better than rebellion.”[527] These words, written by a Protestant historian, refer to the Rhine Province, but they are equally applicable elsewhere. So, too, what he says of this district may also be said generally, viz. that the enthusiastic expectation, which was widespread in Lutheran circles, of a great change before the approaching end of the world, helped to make of the followers of the new faith supporters of the peasants. Luther encouraged such fanatical ideas among his readers till the very outbreak of the revolt. (See below, p. 200 f.)

“What wonder,” the same historian says, “that when the social revolution broke out in the spring, Luther’s persecuted followers thought they recognised the beginning of the change, and in many instances made common cause with the peasants and the lower classes of the towns. Luther himself had no wish to carry through his religious enterprise with the help either of the knights or of the peasants,[193] but his followers were not equal to making the necessary distinction between the spiritual and the temporal.”[528]

Luther and his preachers had so frequently brought forward such disparaging and degrading charges against the secular, and still more against the spiritual authorities,[529] that clear-sighted contemporaries, such as Bartholomew von Usingen, foretold a revolution[530] as the result of such discourses and writings. The destruction of the episcopal power, which, under the conditions then prevailing, was so closely bound up with the secular, meant a radical revolution in the law of property obtaining in the German Empire.

The “Christian freedom” of all, the equality of high and low in the common priesthood, was proclaimed in the most incautious and seductive terms. The peasants were taught by itinerant and often fanatical preachers, concerning their real or alleged rights as vouched for by Holy Scripture. Thus the esteemed Strasburg preacher, Caspar Hedio, of the Rhinegau, in a sermon which he delivered on the Wachholder Heide, near Erbach, explained to the people his views on the customary payment of tithes; his words acting like a charm: He thought the peasants should pay tithes only under protest, though they were nevertheless not to attempt to abrogate the payment by force. Once roused, however, who was to keep the crowd within these[194] limits? In 1524 Hedio had two sermons, preached on this subject in Strasburg, printed together with a circular letter addressed to the inhabitants of the Rhinegau, “which, there can be no doubt, exercised a certain influence upon the rising there.”[531] In the circular he proposed, that the people themselves should go in search of capable preachers if the ecclesiastical authorities did not send such.[532]

A far-reaching social movement had been at work among the peasants, more particularly in many districts of the south-west of Germany, even previous to the rise of Lutheranism. They raised protests, which in many instances were justifiable, against the oppression under which they laboured. A crisis seemed imminent there as early as 1513 and 1514, and the feeling was general that a settlement of the difficulties could only be brought about by violence. The ferment in many places assumed an anticlerical character, which was all the more natural seeing that the landowners and gentry who were the chief cause of the dissatisfaction were either clergymen, like the Prince-Bishops, or closely allied with the Church and her multifarious secular institutions. The ill-feeling against the clergy was even then being stirred up by exaggerated descriptions of their idle life, their luxury and their unworthy conduct.

To seek to represent the movement, as has been done, as an exclusively social one, is, even for the period before Luther, not quite correct, although it certainly was mainly social. Yet it was, as a matter of fact, the new ideas scattered among the people by Luther and Zwingli, and the preaching of the apostasy, which brought the unrest so quickly to a head. The anticlerical ideas of the religious innovators, combined with social class antagonism, lent an irresistible force to the rising. Hence the Peasant War has recently been described on the Protestant side as a “religious movement,” called forth by the discussion of first principles to which the Reformation gave rise, and which owed its violent character to the religious contrast which it brought out.[533] The expert on this period who[195] writes thus, proves and justifies his opinion, showing that Zwingli and Luther “were the primary cause” of the War, not indeed directly, but because once the peasants had become familiar with the new “biblical” ideas, which were so favourable to their cause, they refused to stand by and see such doctrines suppressed by violence, and preferred to take up arms against the Catholic rulers and their energetic anti-Reformation measures.[534] According to the same writer it is necessary to distinguish carefully between what the peasants themselves represented in the course of the revolt as the moving cause, i.e. the social disabilities of which they complained (for instance in the Twelve Articles), and that which actually produced the rising.

Nor must it be overlooked that, at the moment when passions were already stirred up to their highest pitch, many attempts were made on the Lutheran side to pacify the people. The catastrophe foreseen affrighted those who were on the spot, and who feared lest the responsibility might fall upon their shoulders. Quite recently a forgotten pamphlet, written by an anonymous Lutheran preacher and dating from the commencement of the movement, has been republished, in which, after some pious exhortations, the author expresses his firm hope that the fear of God would succeed in triumphing over the excited passions; even biblical quotations against misuse of the new evangelical freedom are to be found in this well-intentioned booklet.[535] Then as now attention was drawn to Luther’s doctrine concerning obedience to the powers that be, which required of “the true Christian” that he should even “allow himself to be flayed,” and out of love of the cross renounce all desire for revenge (xiv. 4).

Notwithstanding all this, the great responsibility which Lutheranism shares in the matter remains. “It is no purely historical and objective view,” says another Protestant[196] historian, “but rather an apologetic and false assumption, which attempts to deny the fact, that Luther’s evangelical preaching most strongly encouraged and brought to a crisis the social excitement which had been simmering among the lowest classes since the fifteenth century. The agitation stirred up by the preachers who followed in Luther’s footsteps contributed in a still greater degree towards this result.”[536]

Special research in the different parts of the wide area covered by the rising has to-day confirmed even more completely the opinion that the accusations urged against Lutheranism by the olden supporters of the Church were, after all, not so unjust in this particular. The much-abused Johann Cochlæus, who made such charges, is rightly spoken of by the last-mentioned historian as being “more suited” to depict that revolutionary period than the diplomatic and cautious Sleidanus, or the Protestant theological admirers and worshippers of Luther.[537] The learned Hieronymus Emser wrote, in the stormy year 1525, a work “Against[197] Luther’s abominations,” a large part of which is devoted to proving what is already explained in the sub-title of the book, “How, and why, and in what words, Luther, in his books, urges and exhorts to rebellion.” Emser also gave indignant expression to his conviction in some verses intended for general circulation.

Luther was directly implicated in the beginning of the rising when the “Twelve Articles of the Peasants of Swabia” was forwarded to him by the insurgents. The peasants invited him, with confidence, “to declare what was of Divine right.”[538] Luther’s honoured name came first in the list of learned men who were to be consulted. The Wittenberg professor grasped the full importance of the moment; he felt that the direction of German affairs had been placed in his hands. Naturally he did not wish to be the one to let loose the terrible storm, nor did he, as the representative and “deliverer” of the people, wish to repulse the movement which had been so long favourable to him, and the demands of which were, in part at least, perfectly justifiable. He found himself in a position exactly similar to that which he had occupied formerly in regard to the Knights, who were anxious to take up arms, and with whom he had, up to a certain point, made common cause, but whose project afterwards appeared to him too dangerous and compromising to the cause of the evangel. In the question of the Twelve Articles it was difficult, nay, impossible, for him not to give offence either to the gentry or to the populace, or to avoid barring the way for the new evangel in one direction or the other. He determined to seek a middle course. But the tragic consequences of the position he had always assumed, the circumstances of the day and his unrestrained temper, caused him to give mortal offence to both sides, to the lords as well as to the peasants.

First, he flung his “Exhortation to Peace” on the field of battle—no mere figure of speech, as, at the time of writing,[198] the tumult had already broken out and the horrors of Weinsberg been enacted (April 16, 1525), though of this Luther was ignorant when he composed the pamphlet. Formerly this writing was thought to have been written in May, but as a matter of fact it belongs to the period just after April 18.[539]

In this writing, as well as in the two following which treat of the rising, certain sides of Luther’s character are displayed which must be examined from the historical and psychological standpoint. The second, which was the outcome of the impressions made by the bloody contest, consists of only one sheet and is entitled “Against the murderous, thieving hordes of Peasants,” or more shortly, “Against the insurgent Peasants”; it, too, was written before the complete defeat of the rebels in the decisive days of May.[540] The third is the “Circular letter concerning the stern booklet against the Peasants,” of the same year, and belongs to the time when the conquerors, flushed with victory, were raging against the vanquished.[541]

The three writings must be considered in conjunction with the circumstances which called them forth. Written in the very thick of the seething ferment, they glow with all the fire of their author, whose personal concern in the matter was so great. Whoever weighs their contents at the present day will be carried back to the storm of that period, and will marvel at the strength of the spirit which inspires them, but at the same time be surprised at the picture the three together present. He will ask, and not without cause, which of the three is most to be regretted; surely the third, for the unmistakable blunders of the author, who gives the fullest play to feeling and fancy to the detriment of calm reason, go on increasing in each pamphlet.

In the first, the “Exhortation,” the author seeks to put the truth before, and to pacify the Princes and gentry, more particularly those Catholics who, subsequent to the Diet of Nuremberg, in 1524, had entered the lists against the innovations. He also would fain instruct and calm the peasants,[199] his “dear Masters and Brothers.” Had Luther been endowed with a clear perception of the position of affairs, and seen the utter uselessness of any attempt merely to stem the movement, he would not at this critical juncture have still further irritated the rebels by the attacks upon the gentry, into which he allowed himself to break out, and which were at once taken advantage of.

[200]

Such words as these were scarcely in place on the very eve of the terrible struggle. Luther, in his excitement and his anxiety concerning his teaching, was not a fit judge of the condition of things. It is true that he fully realised that many of the burdens on account of which the peasants had risen in revolt were far too oppressive,[545] and the thoughts which he expresses on this matter are such as might well be taken to heart for all time. But he places the interests of his interpretation of the Bible so much in the foreground that he declares, at the very outset, that what pleased him best in the Peasants’ “Articles,” was their “readiness to be guided by clear, plain, undeniable passages of Scripture; since it is right and fair that no man’s conscience should be instructed and guided otherwise than by Holy Writ.”[546]

Never has the liberty of Bible interpretation been proclaimed under circumstances more momentous. Luther could not have been ignorant of the fact, that the armed multitude and their preachers, particularly the fanatical Anabaptists, had also, like him, set up a new interpretation of their own of the Bible, one, however, which agreed so well with their leanings that they would never relinquish it for any other.

Owing to the divergence of their teaching, and to the fact that they were led by fanatics of Münzer’s persuasion, Luther came to see in the warlike disturbances a mere work of the devil; hence he himself, the chief foe of hell, feels it his duty to enter the lists against Satan; the latter is seeking “to destroy and devour” both him and his evangel, using the bloodthirsty spirit of revolt as his instrument, but let the devil devour him and the result will be a belly-cramp.[547] In his excitement he fancies he sees signs and wonders. “I and my friends will pray to God that He may either reconcile you or else graciously prevent events from taking the course you wish, though the terrible signs and wonders of this time make me sad of heart.”[548] Like the end of the world, which was supposed to be approaching, the[201] “signs in the heavens and the wonders on the earth” play their part in his mind. “They forebode no good to you,” he prophesies to the authorities, “and no good will come to you,” for “the many gruesome signs which have taken place till now in the heavens and on the earth point to some great misfortune and a striking change in the German land.”[549]

Shortly after the publication of the so-called “Exhortation to Peace,” the news reached Wittenberg of the sanguinary encounters which had already taken place. Everything was upside down. What dire confusion would ensue should the peasants prove victorious? Luther now asked himself what the new evangel could win supposing the populace gained the upper hand, and also how the rulers who had hitherto protected his cause would fare in the event of the rebels being successful in the Saxon Electorate and at Wittenberg. Says the most recent Protestant biographer of Luther: “Now that the rebellion was directed against the Princes whose kindness and pure intention were so well known to him, passionate rage with the rabble took the place of discriminating justice.”[550] The fanatical mob that accompanied Thomas Münzer whetted his tongue. We can understand how Luther, now thoroughly alarmed by what he saw on his journeys and preaching-tours throughout the insurgent districts, and by the daily accounts of unheard-of atrocities committed by the rebels, was anxious to take a vigorous part in the attempt to quench the flame. To his mind, with its constitutional disability to perceive more than one thing at a time, nothing is visible but the horrors of the armed rebellion. In “furious wrath” he now mercilessly assails the rebels, allying himself entirely with the Princes. The tract “Against the murderous Peasants,” comprising only four pages, was composed about May 4.[551]

The rebels, who had burnt the monasteries and demolished the strongholds and castles in Thuringia and in Luther’s own country, were soon to suffer a succession of great reverses. Münzer, the prophet, was defeated in the battle of Frankenhausen on May 15, 1525, and after being put to the torture, made his confession and was executed. Before his end he with great composure implored the Princes to have mercy on the poor, oppressed people. Luther said of his death, that his confession was “mere devilish stupidity” and that his torture should have been made much more severe; Melanchthon, in his history of Münzer, also regretted that he had not been forced to confess that he received his “Revelations” from the devil; he, too, did not think it enough that he should have been tortured only once. Luther, however, was not sorry to see the last of him. “Münzer, with some thousands of others, has unexpectedly been made to bite the dust.”[559]

The open supporters of the rising, on account of his second tract, called Luther a hypocrite and flatterer of the[204] Princes.[560] Even some of his best friends could not understand his ferocity in inciting the lords against the peasants, more especially as it seemed to encourage the victors in their savage treatment of the prisoners, which in some places resembled a massacre.

Luther’s friend, Johann Rühel, the Mansfeld councillor, wrote to him, at the time when the pamphlet against the peasants was making the greatest sensation, expressing his misgivings. He reminded him of the words he made use of in the passage last quoted concerning the “scene of desolation” into which the world seemed about to be transformed. This prophecy might prove only too true. “I am sore afraid,” he says, “and really it seems as though you were playing the prophet to the gentry, for, indeed, they will leave nothing but a desolate land to their heirs; the people are being chastised so severely that I fear the land of Thuringia and the County [of Mansfeld] will recover from it but slowly.... Here they [the victorious party] give themselves up to nothing but robbery and murder.”[561] Five days later Rühel again wrote to Luther in tones of warning, saying that he meant well by him, but must nevertheless point out the effect his pamphlet “Against the Peasants” had had on the minds of some: “Be it as it may, it still appears strange to many who are favourably disposed towards you that you should allow the tyrants to slaughter without mercy and tell them that they may thus become martyrs; it is openly said at Leipzig that because the Elector has just died [May 5, 1525] you fear for your own skin and flatter Duke George by approving his undertaking [i.e. his energetic steps against the rising] out of fear for your own skin. I will not presume to judge, but commit it to your own spirit, for I know the saying: ‘qui accipit gladium gladio peribit,’ and, again, that the secular power ‘beareth not the sword in vain ... an avenger to execute wrath’ [Rom. xiii. 4].... I mean well, and beg you to remember me in your prayers.”[562] The writer tells Luther that[205] “the result may well be that the victors in thus slaughtering without mercy will appeal to Luther, and that thus even the innocent will be condemned in Luther’s name.”[563] Rühel was a good Lutheran, and his words bear witness to a deep-seated devotion to Luther’s spirit and guidance. In his strange zeal for the evangel he urges Luther in this same letter to invite the Archbishop of Mayence and Magdeburg to secularise himself and take a wife.[564]

Luther’s intimate friend, Nicholas Hausmann, was also “rather horrified and amazed” at the writing.[565] Complaints came from Zwickau that not only the common people but also many of the learned were falling away from him; it was thought that his manner of writing was very unbecoming, and that he had been unmindful of the poor. The burgomaster of Zwickau maintained that the tract against the peasants was “not theological,” i.e. not worthy of a theologian.[566] “A storm of displeasure broke out against[206] Luther ... his ‘stab, slay, hew down’ sounded like mockery in the ears of the people when the aristocratic bands were bathing in the blood of the vanquished.... The fact is that Luther was not in his heart so indifferent as he made himself out to be in the circular-letter he wrote in defence of his ‘severe booklet.’”[567]

Before composing the circular-letter Luther sent a lively letter to Rühel protesting that he was ready to stand by all he had written, and that his conscience was “right in the sight of God.” “If there are some innocent people among them, God will surely take care to save and preserve them. But there is cockle among the peasantry. They do not listen to the Word [but to Münzer], and are mad, so that they must be made to listen to the virga and the muskets, and ... serve them right!” “Whoever has seen Münzer may well say that he has seen the devil incarnate, in his utmost fury. O Lord God, where such a spirit prevails among the peasants it is high time for them to be slaughtered like mad dogs. Perhaps the devil feels the approach of the Last Day, therefore he stirs up all this strife.... But God is mightier and wiser.”[568]

Elsewhere Luther declares that owing to this booklet everything God had wrought for the world by his means was now forgotten; all were against him and threatened him with death. He had even lived to see the phrase, that “the lords might merit heaven by shedding their blood,” regarded—though perhaps only ironically—as a denial of his doctrine that there was no possibility of deserving heaven by works. “God help us,” they cried, “how has Luther so far forgotten himself! He who formerly taught that a man could arrive at grace and be saved only by faith alone!”[569]

The effect of the reproaches of excessive severity showed itself, nevertheless, to a certain extent in the pamphlet which Luther composed between the 17th and 22nd May on the defeat of Thomas Münzer. The title runs: “A terrible[207] account of the judgment of God on Thomas Münzer, wherein God plainly gives the lie to his spirit and condemns it.”[570] This writing, it is true, does not deal so directly with the peasant rising as the two previous ones, and the “circular-letter” to be treated of below; its chief object is to cite the unfortunate termination of Münzer’s enterprise as a practical refutation of the prophetical office he had assumed. But, after the warning which the author addresses to “all dear Germans,” not excluding the rebellious peasants, against Münzer’s co-religionists, as the “noxious, false prophets,” he concludes with this timely exhortation: “Of the lords and authorities I would make two requests, first that if they prove victorious they be not over-elated, but fear God, in whose sight they are very culpable, and secondly, that they be merciful to the prisoners and to those who surrender, as God is merciful to everyone who resigns himself into His hands and humbles himself.”

The writing referred to on Münzer’s defeat gives examples of some of the fanatical letters written by the leader of the Anabaptists. It was an easy task for Luther to expose their fanaticism and danger. The fellow’s end “made it plain that God had condemned the spirit of revolt, and also the rebels themselves.” With bitter mockery he puts these words into Münzer’s mouth: “I, a befouled prophet, am borne along on a hurdle to the tower of Heldrungen.” (Luther knew nothing as yet of Münzer’s death, but only of his imprisonment in Heldrungen.) Therefore they ought to slay these “dangerous false prophets whom the judgment of God had unmasked, and return to peace and obedience.” The fanatics “who teach wrongly and falsely” are not to be regarded as leaders of the people; “in future the people must beware of them, and strive to preserve body and soul through the true Word of God.”

In order, however, to give an answer to all the “wiseacres, who wished to teach him how he should write,”[571] he at once composed the third work on the subject of the rising, which was now practically at an end. This is the[208] “Circular-letter on the severe booklet against the Peasants,” dedicated to the Mansfeld Chancellor, Caspar Müller, one of those who had informed him of the numerous complaints made against him.

“The Catholic bishops at once laid the blame of the peasant rising at the door of the ‘great murderer’ of Wittenberg,” so writes Luther’s most recent biographer,[211] “as having been his work.[584] The peasants themselves in many instances believed this, while Luther himself admitted a certain complicity. ‘They went out from us; but they are not of us,’ he says in the words of the First Epistle of St. John (ii. 19). The natural connection of ideas necessarily implied that the spirit of reform which had been let loose was not to work on the Church alone. If all that was rotten in the Church was to fall, why should so much that was rotten in the Empire remain? If all the demands of the Papacy were to be rejected, why should those of squiredom be held sacred? If Luther might treat Duke George of Saxony and King Henry VIII of England as fools and scoundrels, why should more regard be shown to the smaller fry, the petty counts and lords? If the peasant, by virtue of the common priesthood of all Christians, was capable of reforming the Church, why should he not have his say in the question of hunting-rights and the right of pasture? The kernel of the Wittenberg preaching was that all man-made ordinances were worthless, and that one thing only was to be considered, viz. the Word of God. The Pope was Antichrist, the Emperor a scarecrow, the Princes and Bishops simple dummies. How could such words of Luther fail to be seized on with avidity by the oppressed, down-trodden, and shamelessly victimised peasantry? The forces which, owing to the religious disturbances, now broke loose, would, however, have done their work even without Luther’s teaching.”

It was not only the “Catholic bishops,” however, who accused Luther of being the instigator of the rising, but also intelligent laymen who were observing the times with a watchful eye. The jurist Ulrich Zasius, who at one time had been inclined to favour Luther, wrote in the year of the revolt to his friend Amerbach: “Luther, the destroyer of peace, the most pernicious of men, has plunged the whole of Germany into such madness, that we now consider ourselves lucky if we are not slain on the spot.” He regrets the treaty made on May 24, 1525, at Freiburg im Breisgau, where he lived, on its capitulation to the rebels, in which provision was made for the “Disclosure of the Holy Evangel of godly truth and the defence of godly righteousness.[212]” That the “holy evangel” and “godly truth” should only now be disclosed at Freiburg, called forth his sarcasm. In the treaty, he says, “There is much that is in bad taste and ridiculous, as we might expect from peasants, for instance, their demand that the gospel be esteemed, or, as they say, ‘upheld’; as though this had not been done long before by every Christian.”[585]

In 1525 Cochlæus published a criticism on Luther’s work “Against the murderous Peasants,” where he says, “Now that the poor, unhappy peasants have lost the wager, you go over to the princes. But in the previous booklet, when there was still a good chance of their success, you wrote very differently.”[586]

Erasmus, who was closely observing Luther, says to him, in view of the fighting which still continued spasmodically: “We are now reaping the fruit of your spirit. You do not acknowledge the rebels, but they acknowledge you, and it is well known that many who boast of the name of the evangel have been instigators of the horrible revolt. It is true you have attempted in your grim booklet against the peasants to allay this suspicion, but nevertheless you cannot dispel the general conviction that this mischief was caused by the books you sent forth against the monks and bishops, in favour of evangelical freedom, and against the tyrants, more especially by those written in German.”[587]

It would appear that Luther himself had no difficulty whatever in forming his conscience and accepting the responsibility. On one occasion in later years, looking back upon the events of the unhappy rising, he declared, that he was completely at ease concerning the advice he had given to the authorities against the peasants, in spite of the sanguinary results. “Preachers,” he says, in his usual drastic mode of expression, “are the biggest murderers about, for they admonish the authorities to fulfil their duty and to punish the wicked. I, Martin Luther, slew all the peasants in the rebellion, for I said they should be slain; all their blood is upon my head. But I cast it on our Lord[213] God, Who commanded me to speak in this way.” His usual persuasion, viz. that he was God’s instrument, here again helps him. He gives us, however, a further reason: The devil and the ungodly also slew not a few, but it is a very different matter when the authorities punish the wicked, for they are fulfilling a duty.[588]

Luther, after the appearance of these pamphlets, in various other publications asked that leniency should be shown towards the peasants who had been handled all too severely. In a private letter on behalf of the son of a citizen of Eisleben, who had been taken prisoner, we also meet with some fine recommendations in this sense.[589]

He was not, however, successful in calming the general ill-feeling aroused by his violent invective against the “murderous peasants.” His former popularity and his power over the masses were gone. After 1525 he lost his close touch with the people, and was obliged more and more to seek the assistance necessary for his cause in the camp of the Princes. For this change of front he was branded as a “hypocrite,” and “slave of Princes,” by many of the discontented.[590] “The springtime of the reformation was over,” says Hausrath. “Luther no longer passed from one triumph to another as he had during the first seven years of his career. He himself says: ‘Had not the revolted peasants fouled the water for my fishing, things would look very different for the Papacy!’ The hope to overthrow completely the Roman rule in Germany by means of a united, overwhelmingly powerful, popular movement had become a mere dream.”[591]

The Catholic princes of North Germany chose that very time to bind themselves more closely together for self-defence against the social revolution, and to repel Lutheranism. By the league of Dessau on July 19, 1525, they followed the example set by the bishops and dukes of South Germany, who had likewise, at Ratisbon, taken common measures for self-protection. The soul of the[214] league was Duke George of Saxony; Joachim of Brandenburg, Albert of Mayence and Magdeburg, and Henry and Erich of Brunswick also joined him. An account given by Duke George, at the period when the league was established, throws a clearer light upon the motives which inspired it. Written under the influence of the horrors of the previous weeks, it breathes the indignation of its author at the part which Lutheranism had played in the misfortune, and looks around for some means by which the “root of the rebellion, the damned Lutheran sect, may be extirpated; the revolt inspired by the Lutheran evangel had led to the diminution of the honour and service of God, and had been undertaken with a view to damaging the clergy, prelates and the lower orders of the aristocracy, nor could it well be completely quelled except by the rooting out of these same Lutherans.”[592] Duke George at that time entertained hopes—not justified by events—of being able, by appealing to the experiences of the Peasant-War, to alienate from Luther, Philip, Landgrave of Hesse, and Johann, Elector of Saxony, who had just commenced his reign.

The above-mentioned Princes, who were Catholic in their views, met together in Leipzig at Christmas, 1525, in order—as representatives of the Catholic faith, the principles of which were being endangered in Germany—to induce the Emperor to provide some remedy in accordance with the provisions of the Diet of Worms.

The prolonged absence of the Emperor Charles from Germany, due to his concern in European politics, was one of the principal causes of the growing disturbances. To recall him to Germany and invite him to interfere was the object of a measure taken by certain ecclesiastics at a meeting held at Mayence on November 14, 1525. Delegates from the twelve provinces of Mayence assembled at the instance of the Chapter of Spires. It was a remarkable fact that the bishops themselves, who by the indifference they displayed had, as a body, roused the dissatisfaction of zealous Churchmen, did not attend, but only members of the Chapters. They determined to insist upon their bishops making a stand against the revolutionary Lutheran preaching,[215] to send a deputation to the Pope and the Emperor with an account of the general mischief which had befallen Germany by reason of the apostasy, and finally to urge the Emperor to return to Germany, and meanwhile to name executors for carrying out the orders he might give for the preservation of religion according to law. George of Saxony, Archduke Ferdinand of Austria and the Bavarian Dukes were to be proposed to the Emperor as such executors. The deputation from the Chapters was, however, never sent, owing apparently to the lack of interest displayed by those Chapters which assembled, and by those which were invited but did not send the necessary funds. The zealous Dean of Mayence Cathedral, Lorenz Truchsess von Pommersfelden, found himself practically left single-handed.[593]

Upon learning what resolutions had been passed, Luther wrote, in March, 1526, a tract of frightful violence against the “Mayence Proposal”; it was, however, suppressed by the Electoral Court of Saxony, owing to the intervention of Duke George.[594] The Emperor, notwithstanding his promise to arrive speedily, did not reach Germany until 1530, after having achieved great success abroad. He came with the firm intention to oppose the religious revolution with the utmost vigour, and to place the Imperial authority on a firmer footing.

Meanwhile, the Courts of Saxony and Hesse, whose sympathies were with the Lutheran party, had, however, at Gotha entered into a defensive alliance which was finally concluded at Torgau on May 2, 1526. The Emperor’s threats, which had become known, did their part in bringing this about; and a further result of the Emperor’s letters against the “wicked Lutheran cause and errors” was, that the Dukes of Brunswick-Lüneburg, Philip of Brunswick-Grubenhagen, Henry of Mecklenburg, Wolfgang of Anhalt and Albert of Mansfeld also joined the league.

Luther was greatly rejoiced at this proof of the favour of the Princes, but, as yet, he refused to commit himself on the question as to whether force might be used against the Emperor and the Empire. (See vol. iii., xv. 3.)

[216]

As a consequence of the Peasant-War the Princes grew in power, while the people lost many rights and liberties which they had previously enjoyed.

“The practical outcome of the great popular movement was deplorable,” writes F. G. Ward. “The condition of the common people became even worse than before, and the national feeling which had begun to arise again degenerated into particularism in the vast number of small, independent States.”[595] Just as the common people ascribed their misfortunes to Luther, who, at the critical moment, had deserted the cause of the peasants, so likewise many of the nobility were angry with him because of the discontent which his teaching fostered. The confiscation of Church property by the nobility roused the hatred of many of the powerful against Luther, whose aim it was to favour the rapacity only of such as were favourable to his cause.

When, in February, 1530, Luther’s father lay on his death-bed, the fear of his enemies prevented the son undertaking the journey through the flat country to see him. He accordingly wrote to him, explaining why he was unable to leave Wittenberg: “My good friends have dissuaded me from it, and I myself am forced to believe that I may not tempt God by venturing into this peril, for you know the kind of favour I may expect from lord or peasant.”[596]

This dislike on the part of both the peasants and the lords, which he frequently admits, has been taken as a proof that he did his duty towards both in an impartial manner. It would, however, be more correct to say, that he failed in his duty towards both parties, first to the lords and then to the peasants, and that on both occasions his mistake was closely bound up with his public position, i.e. with his preaching of the new faith. He advocated the cause of the peasants with the intention of thereby introducing the evangel amongst the people, while he supported the lords in order to counteract the pernicious results of the socio-religious movement which resulted, and to exonerate the evangel from the charge of preaching revolt. There is, as a matter of fact, no ground for the charge of “duplicity[217]” brought against him by his opponents; the changing circumstances determined his varying action, and so little did he disguise his thoughts, that on both occasions his strong language increased the evil.[597]

The unfavourable feeling which prevailed towards the peasants at once influenced his views concerning the duty of the authorities. That the authorities should meet every transgression of the law on the part of the people by severe measures, appears to him more and more as one of their principal obligations.

In 1526, at the instance of a stranger, he caused one of his sermons to be printed, in which he says to the people: “Because God has given a law and knows that no one keeps it, He has also appointed lictors, drivers and overseers, for Scripture speaks thus of the authorities in a parable; like the donkey-drivers who have to lie on the neck of their beasts and whip them to make them go. In the same way the authorities must drive, beat and slay the people, Messrs. Omnes, hang, burn, behead and break them on the wheel, that they may be kept in awe.” “As the swine and wild beasts have to be driven and restrained by force,” so the authorities must insist upon the keeping of the laws.[598] So far does he go as to declare that the best thing that could come about would be the revival of serfdom and slavery.[599]

At a later date he frequently depicted the peasants, quite generally, as rascals, and poured forth bitter words of anger against them. “A peasant is a hog,” he says in 1532, “for when a hog is slaughtered it is dead, and in the same way the peasant does not think about the next life, for otherwise he would behave very differently.”[600] The following date also from the same period: “The peasant remains a boor, do what you will”; they have, so he says, their mouth,[218] nose, eyes and everything else in the wrong place.[601] “I believe that the devil does not mind the peasants”; he “despises them as he does leaden pennies”; he thinks “he can easily manage to secure them for himself, as they will assuredly be claimed by no one.”[602] “A peasant who is a Christian is like a wooden poker.”[603] To a candidate for marriage he wrote: “My Katey sends you this friendly warning, to beware of marrying a country lass, for they are rude and proud, cannot get on well with their husbands and know neither how to cook nor to brew.”[604]

“The peasants as well as the nobles throughout the country,” he complains in 1533, in a letter to Spalatin, “have entered into a conspiracy against the evangel, though they make use of the liberty of the gospel in the most outrageous manner. It is not surprising that the Papists persecute us. God will be our Judge in this matter!” “Oh, the awful ingratitude of our age. We can only hope and pray for the speedy coming of our Lord and Saviour [the Last Day].”[605]

The psychological picture presented by Luther during the whole of the year 1525 reveals more plainly than at any other time his state of morbid excitement. The nervous tension which had been increasing in him ever since 1517, together with his mental anxiety and the spirit of defiance, reached their culminating point in the year of his marriage, a year filled with the most acute struggles.

“His enemies called the temper of the strong man demoniacal,” says a Protestant historian of the Peasant-War, “and, as a matter of fact,” he adds, “the Luther we meet with in the writings of the years 1517-1525 bears but little resemblance to the earnest, but cheerful and kindly husband and father whom Protestants are wont to picture as their reformer.”[606]

This remark applies with special force to the year 1525 when he actually became a husband, though more stress[219] should be laid upon the mental strain he was undergoing. Luther undoubtedly acted at that time, not only in the matter of the Peasant-War, but also in many other complex questions, under the influence of an overwrought temper. It was a period of combined internal and external conflict, which, so to speak, raised his troubled spirit above the normal conditions of existence. With the fanatics he had to struggle for the very existence of his evangel; the contradictions and dissensions within the new fold also caused him constant anxiety. His controversy with the learned Erasmus on the subject of Free-Will angered him beyond measure, for Erasmus, as Luther says, “held the knife to his throat”[607] by his book in defence of the freedom of the human will. Luther was also at war with the “wiseacres” who disapproved of his marriage, and had to vindicate his action also to himself. In feverish delirium he fancies he sees the jaws of death gaping for him, and feels that the devil in all his strength has been let loose to seize upon his person, as the one through whom alone, as he says, truth and salvation are to be proclaimed to the world. He marries, and then exclaims with fear: “Perhaps as soon as I am dead my teaching will be overthrown; then my example may be a source of encouragement to the weak.”[608] “I see the rabble as well as the nobles raging against me,” but this comfort remains to me, “however hostile they may be to me on account of my marriage or other matters, yet their hostility is only a sign that I am in the right”; “were the world not scandalised at me, then I should indeed fear that what we do was not from God.”[609]

The idea of his own divine mission, raising him far above the reach of his enemies, finds expression to quite a marked degree in the letters he wrote to his friends at that time. In these he is certainly not speaking of mere fancies, but of views which he was earnestly desirous of inculcating.

“God has so often trodden Satan under my feet, He has cast down the lion and the dragon beneath me, He will not allow the basilisk to harm me!” “Christ began without our counsel, and He will assuredly bring His work to its[220] completion even contrary to what we would advise.... God works above, and against, and under, and beyond all that we can conceive.” “It is, however, a grief to me now that these blasphemous enemies [certain of the preachers] should have been raised to the ministry and the knowledge of the [Divine] Word through us. May God convert them and instruct them, or else provide for their removal. Amen.” He writes thus to his friend Nicholas Amsdorf, the later “bishop,” who, perhaps of all his friends, was the one most likely to have a real comprehension for language of this stamp.[610]

In utter contrast to the opinion Luther here expressed of himself stands the description sketched by Hieronymus Emser of his person and his work.

One of Luther’s humanistic followers, Euricius Cordus, had published in 1525, in Latin verse, the so-called “Antilutheromastix” (scourge of the antilutherans), in which he heaped scorn upon those literary men who defended the Church against Luther. Emser himself was attacked in the work for his championship of the older Church. Emser, however, replied in a work, also couched in Latin hexameters and entitled “Justification of the Catholics in reply to the invective of the physician Euricius Cordus, and his Antilutheromastix.”[611] Under the influence of the strong impression made upon him by Luther’s marriage and the Peasant-War he has therein inserted some verses expressing his indignation against Luther; from these we quote here some extracts. The language reflects plainly Luther’s personality as it appeared in the eyes of Emser and many of the Catholic controversialists of that day, and thus serves to mirror the development and progress of the intellectual struggle.[612]

What is pleasing in the long poem, apart from the smooth Latin verse, is the generous recognition which Emser bestows on the numerous other defenders of the Church, who, like himself, as he says, have withstood Luther vigorously and successfully with their pen. Among these he singles out for special mention Eck, Faber, Cochlæus, Dietenberger and others. His frank admission that much in the Church stood in need of improvement and that a real Catholic reformer would be welcome to all, is also worthy of notice. He shares the desire, which at that time was making itself so strongly felt in Catholic circles, that the Emperor, as the highest temporal authority, should now lend his assistance to the Church and give the impetus necessary towards the accomplishment of the longed-for renewal. “ But though we do not defend the old abuses, yet we condemn Luther’s foolish new doctrines. The rule of the earlier ages of the Church ought to shine in front of us to guide our life as well as to determine dogma. We must cling to the narrow way of the gospel and to the apostolic precepts, the decrees of the Fathers and the written and unwritten tradition as taught by the Holy Ghost who guides the Church. For the success of the reform it is certainly not necessary to overthrow the existing human and divine order of things, or to fill the weary world with noisy strife. The Emperor has it in his hands, let him only follow the example of so many of his predecessors who helped the Church to renew her youth, particularly Charles the Great and his pious son Lewis.”

[223]

Luther, meanwhile, was straining every nerve in the cause of the intellectual revolution of which the plan floated in his mind. It seemed as though he were incapable of fatigue.

His numerous labours, his constant cares and the excessive mental strain are apparent from his letters. He writes of a supposed portent in the world of nature. “The omen fills me with fear, it can presage nothing but evil.” “I am altogether immersed in Erasmus,” he says, “I shall take care not to let anything slip, for not a single word of his is true:” he writes thus to Spalatin.[613] “Every day I am overwhelmed with complaints from our parishes,” he laments to the pastor of Zwickau: “Satan is busy in our midst. The people absolutely refuse to pay anything towards the support of the preachers.” He intends, he says, to persuade the Elector to organise a visitation of all the churches throughout the land, he is also anxious to introduce uniformity in matters of ritual; all this involves him in a hundred difficulties.[614] Disagreements with the Zwinglians of Strasburg cause some trouble. At the same time the negotiations with the Teutonic Order call for his whole care and attention, the apostasy and marriage of Albert, the Grand Master, greatly raising his hopes.

It was in this frame of mind, and in the midst of all this manifold business, that Luther threw himself into the controversy on man’s free-will. It was his object to establish a literary foundation for his new doctrines as a whole by vindicating a pet doctrine on account of which he had been so mercilessly attacked.[615]

3. The Religion of the Enslaved Will. The Controversy between Luther and Erasmus (1524-1525)

That the will is free is one of the most indisputable facts of our inner consciousness. Where there is reason there must needs be a corresponding freedom, i.e. freedom from interior necessity.

Freedom is the basis of all worship of God, and if external compulsion is rightly excluded from the idea of religion,[224] surely still more opposed to it is the assumption that the will lacks freedom when it seeks and serves God. The true dignity of the soul’s worship of God consists in the voluntary payment of homage to the highest of all beings in the natural as well as the supernatural order. “God has made you without your co-operation,” says Augustine, “but He will not save you without it.”[616] God’s greatness and omnipotence are enhanced by His creation of beings gifted with the power of self-determination, who can will or not, who are free to choose this or that and are in a position to embrace what is good instead of what is evil.

The position which Luther had assumed in the Commentary on Romans in 1515-1516 concerning the doctrine of human free-will has already been discussed in detail (vol. i., p. 202 ff.). It is of the utmost importance to follow up his other statements on free-will dating from that period, and the subsequent advance in his views during his public struggle till the publication of the decisive book “De servo arbitrio” in 1525. It not only affords a deep, psychological and theological insight into his train of thought, but also shows how his denial of free-will was the central point of his whole teaching. At the same time we shall notice certain emphatic statements which he makes, but which do not usually occupy a due place in descriptions of his theology[227] and which accordingly might easily be regarded by our readers as not his at all, were they not attested conscientiously and in detail by Luther’s own writings. We refer to such assertions as the following: “Everything happens of necessity”; “Man, when he does what is evil, is not master of himself”; “Man does evil because God ceases to work in him”; “By virtue of His nature God’s ineluctable concursus determines everything, even the most trivial,” hence “inevitable necessity” compels us in “all that we do and everything that happens,” “God alone moves and impels all that He has made” (“movet agit, rapit”), nay, “He decrees all things in advance by His infallible will,” including the inevitable damnation of those who are damned.—We shall hear these views expounded below by Luther himself as the core and kernel of his teaching (“summa causæ”); with spirit and energy he advocates them through some hundred pages in one of his principal works, against the greatest of the Humanists, who had dared to attack him; to question his fundamental dogma was, says Luther, to “place the knife at his throat.”

The Development of Luther’s Opposition to Free-Will from 1516 to 1524

What Luther advanced in his Commentary on Romans, against man’s power of choice for what is good, has been summed up as follows by Johann Ficker, the editor of the Commentary: Luther allowed nothing to deter him from following up his new theories, nor did he even shrink from setting up the proposition of “the absolute impossibility of any good in the natural sphere,” or from “stating in the strongest terms of determinism the exclusive power and action of the salutary and unconditional Divine Will.”[624]

In his sermon on the Feast of St. Stephen, in 1515, Luther had spoken of the inward voice in man (“synteresis”), which urges him towards what is good and to true happiness, thereby implying the admission of free-will in man. This, he says, is capable of accepting or refusing God’s grace, though he is careful to add that the remnant of vital force represented by the synteresis does not indicate a[228] condition of health nor afford any cause for boasting in God’s sight, the whole state of man being one of corruption; the synteresis, in fact, constitutes a danger to us because it leads us to trust in our own powers (“voluntas, sapientia”), so that we are readily induced to regard our restoration by grace as unnecessary. Such confidence in his own powers leads man to place himself on the side of those who crucified Christ, for such a one has a wrong opinion of righteousness and looks on Christ as superfluous, who is the source of righteousness. “Thus it comes about,” he cries, “that grace is most strongly opposed by those who boast most of it”; a paradoxical saying which often occurs in Luther’s early sermons and which plainly owes its origin to his quarrel with the “Little Saints.”[625]

Not here alone, but frequently in the sermons of those days, we hear Luther warning the people against misusing the synteresis. His opposition to man’s natural powers leads him at times so far that he represents the synteresis merely as a vague and practically worthless faculty. It is true he declares that he simply wishes to obviate an irreligious over-esteem of free-will, but he really goes further, now admitting, now rejecting it; his explanations let us see that “here there is an unsolved contradiction in his theology. He fails to explain how the remnant of vital force still in us is to be made use of by Divine grace so as to produce health,” and how “it can be of any importance or worth for the attainment of salvation in the domain of reason and will.” “Is there, then, no right use for the synteresis? Luther not only tells us nothing of this, but the natural consequence of much that he says is an answer to the question in the negative, although it should undoubtedly have been answered in the affirmative.”[626]

If we cast a glance at the other sermons which coincide in point of time with his Commentary on Romans, we shall find in certain remarks on the regeneration of man a foretaste of his later teaching regarding free-will. He says, for instance, of the attainment of the state of grace, that here regeneration takes place not only “without our seeking, praying, knocking, simply by the mercy of God,” but also[229] that it resembles natural generation, where the child does nothing (“ipso nihil agente”); no man can be born for heaven by his own operation and merits (“sua opera suoque merito”). He contrasts those who are generated of God “in the spirit” with those who live after the flesh, and who often “make a great show of spirituality”: they are, he says, “carnal-spiritual” and, “with their horrid, hypocritical spirituality, are doomed to destruction.”[627]

According to these sermons it is plain that God is the only worker in the man who is thus born of God. In him free-will for doing what is good does not come into account, for the good works of the righteous man are God’s works, and his virtues and excellence are really God’s. “He works all in all, all is His, He, the One Almighty Being, does all things,” so we read in Luther’s sermon on August 15, 1516, the Feast of the Assumption, i.e. at a time when by his study of the Epistle to the Romans he had been confirmed in his bias against man’s natural powers.[628]

In the Disputation with Eck at Leipzig in the following year, owing to his views on the subject not yet being generally known, they were not directly discussed.

When, however, after its termination, Luther, in August,[231] 1519, published the Latin “Resolutions” on the Leipzig Disputation, he proclaimed himself to the world as a most determined opponent of free-will, not even confining himself to attacking the power for doing what is good.

“Free-will,” he says here, “is purely passive in every one of its acts (‘in omni actu suo’) which can come under the term of will.... A good act comes wholly and entirely (‘totus et totaliter’) from God, because the whole activity of the will consists in the Divine action which extends to the members and powers of both body and soul, no other activity existing.”[637] In another passage of the “Resolutions” he says: “At whatever hour of our life we may find ourselves we are the slaves either of concupiscence or of charity, for both govern free-will (‘utraque enim dominabitur libero arbitrio’).”[638] Julius Köstlin is right when he sees in such words the complete renunciation of free-will. “Of man’s free-will in the ordinary sense of the term, or of any independent choice for good or for evil which should include the possibility of a different decision, there is, according to Luther, no question.” Köstlin points out that Luther does not here go into the question as to whether the sinfulness and corruption of the lost are to be attributed to God, Who did not cause His saving grace to be sufficiently efficacious in them.[639] Luther certainly contrived to avoid this dangerous objection, not only here, but also for long after when speaking on the subject of the will.

In the “Resolutions” Luther had merely represented his opposition to free-will as the consequence of his doctrine of the corruption of human nature due to original sin, but subsequent to the appearance of the Bull of Excommunication he goes further and declares the denial of the “liberum arbitrium” to be nothing less than the fundamental article of his teaching (“articulus omnium optimus et rerum nostrarum summa”).[640] Among the propositions condemned by the Papal Bull was Luther’s thesis directed against free-will at the Heidelberg Disputation. It was given in Luther’s own words, viz. that free-will is a mere empty name, etc.

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In defence of the condemned propositions Luther wrote, in 1520, the “Assertio omnium articulorum,” which was published in 1521. To prove his denial of free-will it is usual to quote his “De servo arbitrio,” but the “Assertio” already contains in substance all the strictures embodied in his later attacks.

Since Luther in the above “Assertio” against the Bull of condemnation sets up Scripture as the sole foundation of theology—he could not well do otherwise, seeing that he had rejected all external ecclesiastical authority—we might have anticipated that, in the application of his newly proclaimed principle of the Bible only, he would have taken pains to demonstrate its advantages in this work on free-will by the exercise of some caution in his exegesis. It is true that he declares, when defending the theory of the Bible only: “Whoever seeks primarily and solely the teaching of God’s Word, upon him the spirit of God will come down and expel our spirit so that we shall arrive at theological truth without fail.” “I will not expound the Scripture by my own spirit, or by the spirit of any man, but will interpret it merely by itself and according to its own spirit.”[654] And again: It often happens that circumstances and a mysterious, incomprehensible impulse will give to one man a right understanding such as is hidden from the industry of others.[655] Yet when, on the basis of the Bible only, he attempts to “overthrow his papistical opponents at the first onslaught,”[656] he brings forward texts which no one, not even Luther’s best friend, could regard as having any bearing on the subject.

He quotes, for instance, the passage where the believer is likened to the branch of the vine which must remain engrafted on Christ the true vine, in order to escape the fire of hell, and finds therein a proof of his own view, that grace completely evacuates the will, a proof so strong that he[236] exclaims: “You speak with the voice of a harlot, O most holy Vicar of Christ, in thus contradicting your Master who speaks of the vine.”[657] Another example. In Proverbs xvi. it is written: “It is the part of man to prepare the soul and of the Lord to govern the tongue,” hence man, reasons Luther, who cannot even control his tongue, has no free-will to do what is good.[658] There too we read: “The heart of man disposeth his way, but the Lord must direct his steps,” and further on: “As the divisions of water, the heart of the king is in the hand of the Lord, whithersoever He will He shall turn it.” After adducing these texts, which merely emphasise the general Providence of God, Luther thinks he is justified in demanding: “Where then is free-will? It is a pure creation of fancy.”[659]

The saying of the clay and the potter (Isa. lxiv. 8) which manifestly alludes to the Creation and expresses man’s consequent state of dependence, he refers without more ado, both here and also later, to a continuous, purely passive relationship to God which entirely excludes free-will.[660] When Christ says (Matt. xxiii. 37; Luke xiii. 34) that He wished to gather the children of Jerusalem like a hen under His wings, but that they would not (καὶ οὐκ ἠθελήσατε), Luther takes this as meaning: They could not; they did not wish to, simply because they did not possess that free-will which his foes believe in. It might however be said, he thinks, that Christ only “spoke there in human fashion” of the willingness of Jerusalem, i.e. “merely according to man’s mode of speech,” just as Scripture, for the sake of the simple, frequently speaks of God as though He were a man.[661] It is plain from his explanation that Luther, as an eminent Protestant and theologian says, “was seeking to escape from the testimony to the Divine Will that all men be saved.”[662]

The best text against the hated free-will appeared to him[237] to be Ephesians ii. 3, where St. Paul deals with original sin and its ethical consequences. “We were by nature children of wrath, even as the rest.” “There is not,” so he assures his readers, a “clearer, more concise and striking testimony in the Bible against free-will”; “for if all by reason of their nature are children of wrath, then free-will is also a child of wrath,”[663] etc.

He handled Scripture as an executioner would handle a criminal. All unconsciously he was ever doing violence to the words of the Bible. We naturally wonder whether in the whole history of exegesis such twisting of the sense of the Bible had ever before been perpetrated. Yet we find these interpretations in the very pages where Luther first exposed his programme of the Bible only, and declared that he at least would expound the Word of God according to its own sense, according to the “Spirit of God,” and setting aside all personal prejudice. The old interpretation, on the other hand, which was to be found in the book of Lyra, with which Luther was acquainted, gave the correct meaning retained among scholars to our own day, not merely of the texts already quoted, but of many other striking passages alleged by Luther then or afterwards against free-will.

Luther proceeds rather more cautiously in the German edition of the “Assertio,” which speedily followed the Latin.

It deals with the denial of free-will at considerably less length. Perhaps, as was often the case with him, after he had recovered from the first excitement caused by the condemnation of the articles, he may have been sobered, or perhaps he was reluctant to let loose all the glaring and disquieting theses of the “Assertio” in the wide circle of his German readers, whom they might have startled and whose fidelity to his cause was at that time, after the sentence of outlawry, such a vital matter to him. In later editions of the Latin text some of his sayings were softened even during his lifetime so as to avoid giving offence.

Luther had been careful in the “Assertio,” just as he had been in his previous treatment of the subject, not to take into consideration the consequences involved by his denial of free-will; that, for instance, it follows that it is not man[238] who actually does what is evil, but rather God who works in him, and that many were condemned merely on account of the necessity of sinning imposed upon them by God. Of this he has as yet nothing to say, though he was, shortly after, to make an attempt to obviate the difficulties.

For the time being he had but little to say of predestination, though he had by no means given up the idea of absolute predestination, even to hell, which he had advocated in the Commentary on Romans. (See vol. i., p. 187 ff., 237 ff.). He probably had reasons of his own for being more reticent in his public utterances on this subject. It is only later, when treating of the revealed and the hidden God, that he again lays stress on his doctrine of predestination.

When Melanchthon published his “Loci communes rerum theologicarum,” in December, 1521, in this work, which was the technical exposition of Lutheranism at that time, he gave clear expression to the denial of free-will. “All that happens,” he says there, “happens of necessity (‘necessario eveniunt’) in accordance with the Divine predestination; there is no such thing as freedom of the will.”[669] Luther praised this work as an “invictus libellus,” worthy, not only of immortality, but of taking its place in the canon of the Bible.[670] It was only later that Melanchthon came to a more correct view, making no secret of his rejection of Luther’s determinism.

It is of interest to note how Luther, in his practical writings and exhortations, passes over his denial of free-will[240] in utter silence. Such a denial would, needless to say, have been out of place in works intended for the furtherance of the Christian life. In admonishing people to keep the commandments of God, to cultivate virtue and practise charity, we must necessarily take free-will for granted. On such occasions, therefore, Luther’s language is the very reverse of that which we have just heard and furnishes a practical proof of the falseness of his theory.

In spite of all his attempts to make his view of the will acceptable and to accommodate it to the prevailing convictions of humanity, many, even amongst his own followers and admirers, were shocked at his attacks on free-will. People were scandalised, more particularly by the consequences involved.

At Erfurt his friends disputed as to how God could possibly work evil in man, and Luther was forced to request them to desist from enquiring into such matters, since it was clear that we did what was evil because God ceased to work in us: they ought to occupy themselves all the more diligently with the moral interests of the new churches.[678]

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Capito declared himself openly against Luther’s theories concerning the absolute enslavement of the will.[679] The Humanist Mosellanus (Peter Schade), a great admirer of the Wittenbergers, spoke so strongly at Leipzig against the propositions deduced from Luther’s teaching on predestination to hell, that the latter was warned of what had occurred.[680] Many who had previously been favourably disposed to Luther were repelled, by his teaching on the enslaved will, and fell away then or later, for instance, the learned naturalist George Agricola.[681]

Mosellanus, like many others, now went over to the side of Erasmus, who, it had now leaked out, was growing more and more to dislike Luther the more the latter showed himself in his true colours.

Erasmus—His Attitude in General and his Attack on Luther in 1524

Erasmus had frequently been invited by the highest authorities to take up his pen and enter the field against Luther. This, however, presented some difficulty to him owing to his timidity, his anxiety to play the part of mediator and his real sympathy for many of Luther’s demands. Even before Erasmus had reached any decision, Luther and his friends had already a premonition of the great Humanist’s coming attack.

On August 8, 1522, Erasmus, while still wavering, wrote to Mosellanus concerning the desire expressed by the Emperor, the King of England and certain Roman Cardinals. “All want me to attack Luther. I do not approve of Luther’s cause, but have many reasons for preferring any other task to this.”[682] In May, however, a work on the question of predestination and free-will was already looked for in Lutheran circles at Leipzig, and the opinion was freely[243] expressed that Luther “would probably get the worst in the encounter.” Luther, nevertheless, sought to inspire his friends with courage and confidence.

That Erasmus should have been solicited by so many parties to write against Luther was due to the quite extraordinary fame and influence of this scholar who, by common consent, was the first authority of the day on classical and critical studies.

It is not surprising, that when Luther came forward many elements of his new teaching were at once welcomed with sympathy by Erasmus and his school.

“It cannot be denied, that Luther commenced to play an excellent part and to vindicate the cause of Christ—which had been almost wiped off the face of the earth—amidst great and general applause.”[690] Thus wrote Erasmus to Duke George of Saxony as late as 1522. Many of Erasmus’s sayings in his books and confidential letters in favour of Luther’s reform were cherished as oracles. His testimonies in favour of Luther’s writings and his private life were spread far and wide, though he really knew little of Luther’s works (those written in German he could not even read), and owed all his information concerning his life to Humanist friends who were prejudiced in Luther’s favour.

After the breach between Luther and the ecclesiastical past had been consummated in 1520, Erasmus became more[249] and more guarded in his utterances, whether public or private. His blame of Luther becomes ever more severe, though he is still desirous of finding a via media, and is willing to approve of far too much in Luther’s action. The excommunication of the heretic by the ecclesiastical authorities he describes in one of his letters after the publication of the Bull as an unfortunate mistake, showing want of charity; a peaceful adjustment of the controversy might easily have been reached by means of a council of wise men; this course his biassed mind still regarded as feasible.[701]

Luther for his part was fond of saying, that he merely spoke out plainly what Erasmus in his timidity only ventured to hint at. He himself, he tells a correspondent, had led the believing Christians into the Promised Land, whereas Erasmus had conducted them only as far as the land of Moab.[711] He recognised, however, the great difference between himself and Erasmus in their fundamental theological views, for instance, as to the condition of man stained by original sin, as to his free-will for doing what is good, his justification and pardon, on all of which the Humanist scholar held fast to the traditional teaching of the Church because, so Luther says, he could not, or would not, understand the Bible. Luther was well aware that, as time went on, Erasmus frequently protested that he had[251] never had any intention of writing anything contrary to the revealed Word of God as taught by Holy Scripture and the common faith of Christendom; that he submitted himself to the decisions of the Popes, that he was ready to accept, as the Voice of God, what the authorities of the Church taught, even though he might not understand the reasons, and be personally inclined to embrace the opposite. His standpoint was accordingly miles removed from that of Luther with its unfettered freedom in religious matters.[712]

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A severe but not unfair criticism of Erasmus—which does not charge him with unbelief or apostasy though censuring him for other grave faults—is to be met with in two German writers, both of them well conversant with their age, viz. Kilian Leib, Prior of the monastery of Rebdorf, and Bl. Peter Canisius.

The former, in dealing in his “Annales” with the year 1528, complains of the effect on the religious world of the sceptical and critical manner of his contemporary. “Wherever Erasmus had expressed a wish, or even merely conveyed a hint, there Luther has broken in with all his might.”[719] He is here referring to the strictures contained in the Annotations of Erasmus on the New Testament, in particular on Math. xi., upon the fasts and feasts, marriage laws and practice of confession, on the heavy burden of prayers, the number of Decretals and the endless ceremonial rules.

The other, Peter Canisius, speaks of Erasmus in the Preface to his edition of the Letters of St. Jerome. He says that Erasmus is distinguished by the “fluency and richness of his literary style” and his “rare and admirable eloquence.” In polite literature he had undoubtedly done good service, but he should either have refrained from meddling with theology or have treated it with more reserve and fairness. No one before him had ventured to censure the Fathers, the Schoolmen and the theologians in so severe and overbearing a fashion, nor was one to be found more touchy when contradicted. “He has carried this so far that he is now made as little of in the Catholic as in the opposite camp. In his writings he paid more attention to the form than to the matter.” The following sentence is worthy of attention: “I know not by what spirit he was really led, for he dealt with the Church’s doctrine according to the theology of Pyrrhus [the sceptic].”[720]

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What, we may ask in this connection, was the origin of the saying which became later so widely current: “Erasmus laid the egg which Luther hatched”?

It is first alluded to by Erasmus himself in 1523, where he informs a friend that this had been said of him by certain Franciscans; he adds, that he had indeed laid a hen’s egg, but that Luther had hatched out quite a different nestling.[721] In 1534 he speaks more definitely of the German Franciscans as the purveyors of this saying, and in particular of the Cismontane commissioner of the Order, Nicholas Herborn, who with the assistance of other Friars had caused a volume of sermons to be printed at Antwerp in which appeared “the favourite asseveration of the brethren,” viz.: “Erasmus is Luther’s father; he laid the eggs and Luther hatched out the chicks; Luther, Zwingli, Œcolampadius and Erasmus are the soldiers of Pilate who crucified Jesus.”[722]

Similar utterances were indeed current in Catholic circles. Canisius mentions that he had frequently heard a saying which agrees with the words in Leib: “Ubi Erasmus innuit, illic Lutherus irruit,”[723] and might be rendered: Where Erasmus merely indicated, Luther violently eradicated. So general was the feeling that the head of the Humanists had really paved the way for Luther’s action.

As we have frequently pointed out, Luther’s speedy and unhoped-for success is altogether inexplicable, unless his way had been prepared beforehand by others, and that particular kind of Humanism which Erasmus had been largely instrumental in furthering cannot but be regarded[255] as one of the causes which contributed to the spread of Lutheranism.

It is true that Humanism in some regards presented an inspiring and attractive spectacle. The revival of classical learning, the union of which with Christian truth had been the original aim both of the Humanists and of the Church, who had encouraged them; the idea of liberty and of the rights of the individual; the criticism and revision of ecclesiastical studies; all this, within due limits, seemed to presage a spring-tide in the development of the Christian nations at the close of the Middle Ages. The sanguine dreamt of a happy amalgamation of the ancient faith with the new culture of an age which was striving mightily upwards in all that concerned citizenship. Yet even enthusiastic patrons of the Christian Humanism of the day could not praise all the ideas current among those of its representatives who looked up to Erasmus; in such quarters many were the grievances raised against the Church, it being urged that religion had been corrupted, and that a purer Christianity should be established on the model of the earlier ages, and minus the mediæval errors. Ideas such as these were distinctly revolutionary, especially when they had taken root in the heads of the masses in an even worse form. “It cannot as a matter of fact be denied,” says the French Academician P. Imbart de la Tour, “that the Humanists by their mode of criticising, accelerated the gathering of the revolutionary storm-clouds of the sixteenth century.”[724]

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It was in the nature of an expiation that, along with Erasmus, many like-minded Humanists, following the example of their leader, deserted Luther’s cause, as soon as the air had been cleared by the master’s work against Luther and the denial of free-will. At the head of the German Humanists, Mutian, now an old man, welcomed the defence of free-will embodied in the “Diatribe.”[725] Zasius and Crotus, like Pirkheimer, returned to the Church. Others, especially those of Erfurt, were not to be separated from Luther, such were Justus Jonas, Johann Lang, Adam Kraft, Euricius Cordus, Draconites, Camerarius, Menius and Eobanus Hessus, who, however, wavered long.[726]

Summing up all that has been said, we must discount both the exaggerated charges brought against Erasmus, and the one-sided eulogies lavished upon him. A type of the unfair critic was Hieronymus Aleander, who was chiefly responsible for the violent attack made on Erasmus by Prince Albert Pius of Carpi. In 1521 Aleander declared: “Erasmus has written worse things against the faith than Luther”; he is of opinion that Erasmus had preached a real “intellectual revolt in Flanders and the Rhine-Lands.”[727] Equally exaggerated in the opposite direction is the statement ascribed to the Emperor Charles V, which must have been due to the glowing accounts given by the admirers of Erasmus, viz. that Erasmus had greatly reduced the number of Lutherans and achieved what Emperors, Popes, Princes[257] and Universities had previously striven to do, but in vain. The allusion would seem to be to the great Humanist’s work against Luther’s denial of free-will.

What has been said tends to place in a true light a certain view which has been put forward in modern days. Thanks to a wrong interpretation of his antagonism to Luther’s principles and of his criticism of Catholic doctrine and practice, an attempt has been made to represent him as the “father of religious universalism” and of religion minus dogma. His bold schemes for renovation it is said paved the way for a great “renascence of Christianity” towards which we might well strive even to-day. As a matter of fact this “original creator in the domain of religion,” this “spokesman of modern religion,” never existed in Erasmus. It is a mere figment of the imagination of those who desire the complete reformation of religion and seek to shelter themselves behind the great Humanist. What is really strange is that such a deformation of the Erasmus of history has been attempted by certain Protestant theologians, whereas in Luther’s day Erasmus was denounced by Protestants as a free-thinker and unbeliever. There are other Protestant theologians, however, who candidly admit the futility of such efforts with regard to Erasmus.[728]

Catholics can see easily enough why the rise of Protestantism tended to bring back many Humanists, among them Erasmus himself, to a firmer and more clearly defined religious standpoint and to a more whole-hearted support of the Church. Erasmus, as stated above, frequently spoke of Luther’s work as a “remedy” (p. 249). It was a remedy above all for himself and for the more serious elements among his own party, whom the sight of the outward effects and internal consequences of the new teaching served to withdraw from the abyss towards which they were hurrying.

In his Annotations on the New Testament, Erasmus had clearly expressed both his fundamental antagonism to Luther’s denial of free-will and his own position. It so happens that the contrast between Luther and Erasmus[258] becomes apparent for the first time in Luther’s correspondence of the famous year 1517. Luther had at that time been devoting some attention to his future opponent’s interpretation of Romans ix., of which the words concerning Divine election had confirmed him in his false teaching, while supplying Erasmus with an opportunity to lay stress on the freedom of the will under the influence of grace. The Wittenberg professor, full of the spirit of his recently completed Commentary on Romans, had, during his reading of it, written to his friend Lang concerning Erasmus in words which seem to presage the coming encounter: “I am reading our Erasmus, but every day he pleases me less. That he should so boldly attack the religious and the clergy for their ignorance pleases me, but I fear he does not sufficiently vindicate the rights of Christ and the grace of God.... How different is the judgment of the man who concedes something to free-will from one who knows nothing besides grace!”[729]—In these words we hear, as it were, the distant muttering of the storm which broke out seven years later, when the two exchanged their thunderbolts, clearing the air and plainly disclosing the difference between the Catholic and the Lutheran standpoint.

When a report reached Luther in 1522 that Erasmus was about to oppose his teaching on free-will, he was carried away to say certain things in his letters which greatly provoked his opponent.

The work of Erasmus, “De libero arbitrio diatribe,” which appeared in that same year, 1524, at Basle, was a severe blow to Luther.[737]

The ground chosen by Erasmus in his long-expected reply to all the questions raised by the Reformers, viz. the matter of free-will, was singularly apt; he launched forth at once into one of the most important subjects, one, too, which was readily understood by the people. His task was the exposure of the religion of the enslaved will.

Though the author was not thoroughly conversant with the learning of the Schoolmen, which might perhaps have enabled him to place the relationship between grace and free-will in an even clearer light, and though in the work he is rather reserved, yet his refinement of judgment and his eloquence more than compensate for his defects; these at least insured him great applause in an age so favourable to Humanism. Even the theologians were, on the whole, satisfied with the scriptural proofs adduced by so learned a man, whose linguistic knowledge and exegetical skill gave all the more weight to his work. Many cultured laymen breathed more freely, as though relieved of a heavy burden, when the authoritative voice of the great scholar was at last raised against Luther and in defence of free-will, that basic truth of sane human reason and pillar of all religious belief.

The work of Erasmus reached Wittenberg in September, 1524. Luther treated it with contempt and ostentatiously repudiated it. He wrote to Spalatin, on November 1, that it disgusted him; he had been able to read only two pages of it; it was tedious to him to reply to so unlearned a book by so learned a man.[745] All the same, he did write a lengthy and detailed answer; that he delayed doing so until late in the following year is to be accounted for by the Peasant-War with its terrors, which entirely engrossed his attention; it was also the year of his marriage. In estimating the value of the reply, upon which he then set to work with great energy, we must bear in mind the state of the author and the inward and outward experiences through which he had just gone. The impression made on his mind by the events of those days has left its stamp in the even more than usually extreme utterances contained in his reply to Erasmus. When once he had begun the work he carried it to its end with a rush; he himself admits that it[264] was composed in excessive haste. We also know to whose influence his final decision to take the work in hand was due, viz. to Catherine Bora. “It was only at her request” that he undertook the work, when she pointed out to him, “that his foes might see in his obstinate silence an admission of defeat.”[746]

Luther’s Book “On the Enslaved Will” against Erasmus

The title “De servo arbitrio,” “On the enslaved will,” was borrowed by Luther from a misunderstood saying of St. Augustine’s.[747] While the book which bears it was still in the press his friend Jonas commenced a German version and entitled it: “Dass der freie Wille nichts sei.”[748]

However grotesque and exaggerated some of the principal theses of the famous work, Luther was at pains to declare therein that they were the result of most careful deliberation and were not written in the heat of controversy. Hence, as a Protestant historian says, “we must not seek to hide or explain them away, as was soon done by Luther’s followers and has been attempted even in our own day.”[749] Another Protestant scholar, in the preface to his study on the work “De servo arbitrio,” remarks that “quite rightly it caused great scandal and wonder,” and goes on to point out that “the hard, offensive theory” which it champions was “no mere result of haste or of annoyance with Erasmus, coupled with the desire clearly to define his own position with regard to the latter,” but really “expresses the matured conviction of the Reformer.”[750]

In this lengthy, badly arranged and rather confused work[265] we see, first, that Luther gives the widest limits to his denial of free-will and declares man to be absolutely devoid of freedom of choice, even in the performance of works not connected with salvation, and moral acts generally. He does, indeed, casually remark that man is free “in inferioribus,” and that the question is whether he also possesses free-will in respect of God (“an erga Deum habeat liberum arbitrium”).[751] “But it is doubtful whether we are to take Luther at his word.” For “as a matter of fact he shows clearly enough that he does not wish this limitation to be taken literally.”[752] “That his intentions are, on the contrary, of the most radical character, is plain from many other passages where he attacks free-will everywhere, and represents all that we do and everything that occurs (‘omnia quæ facimus et omnia quæ fiunt’), as taking place in accordance with inexorable necessity.”[753] He lays it down as a principle that God’s omnipotence excludes all choice on man’s part, and again supports this on an argument from the Divine omniscience; God from all eternity sees all things, even the most insignificant, by virtue of His prescience, hence they must happen. Even where God acts on man apart from the influence of grace (“citra gratiam spiritus”), according to Luther, it is He Who works all in all, as the Apostle says, “even in the impious.” “All that He has made, He moves, impels and urges forward (‘movet, agit, rapit’) with the force of His omnipotence which none can escape or alter;[266] all must yield compliance and obedience according to the nature of the power conferred on them by God.”[754]

In the same way as he here speaks of a certain “power” in the creature, so also, in the same connection, he refers to “our co-operation” in the universal action of God (“et nos ei cooperaremur”). By this, however, he does not mean any real free co-operation but, as he says darkly, only an activity of the will corresponding to its nature and governed by law, “whether in submission to the universal omnipotence of God in matters which do not refer to His Kingdom, or under the special impulse of His Spirit [grace] within His Kingdom.”

Luther’s main object in the book “De servo arbitrio” is undoubtedly the vindication of religious determinism.

His denial of free-will had its root in his mistaken conviction that man was entirely passive in the matter of his salvation and in his attempt to destroy all personal merit, even that won by the help of grace, as at variance with the merit of Jesus Christ. He is fond of dwelling with emphasis on the absence of any co-operation on man’s part in his justification, which is effected by faith alone, and on the so-called “righteousness” which had been effected in man by God alone even previous to man’s choice. Even that free-will for doing what is good, which is given back to the man who is justified, does not strictly co-operate—lest the merit of Christ should suffer.

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How the ideas of free-will and of God are treated in Luther’s “De servo arbitrio” is made still more plain from the conclusions which he draws in this work from the denial of free-will, and deals with without the slightest reserve.

The first consequence is the absolute predestination of the reprobate to hell.

A second consequence of his teaching may also be pointed out here. From his theory of the enslaved will Luther was forced to deduce that God is responsible for evil.

We may, in the third place, cast a glance at the ethical consequences of the theory.

Luther refuses to admit what all people naturally believe, viz. that if God gives commandments man must be able either to obey, or to disobey, and thus incur guilt. What he teaches is, that God has a right and reasons of His own to impose commandments even though there should be no free-will; since without Him we are unable to keep the commandments He gives them for the wise purpose of teaching us how little we are capable of. The law is intended to awaken in us a sense of indigence, a desire for redemption, and the consciousness of guilt. When once this is present, God’s power does the rest; but the groundwork[272] of all salvation is that we should become conscious of our nothingness, for which reason the belief in the enslaved will is to be proclaimed everywhere as the supreme virtue.

The greatest stress is laid by the champion of the “enslaved will” on the alleged importance of this doctrine for the personal assurance of salvation.

It is this doctrine alone, he says, which can impart to timorous man the pacifying certainty that he will find a happy eternity at the hands of the Almighty, Who guides him; on the other hand, the assumption of free-will shows man a dangerous abyss, ever yawning, into which the abuse of his freedom threatens to plunge him. Better to trust to God than to our own free-will.

“Since God,” he writes, “has taken my salvation upon Himself and wills to save me, not by my own works but by His grace and mercy, I am certain and secure (‘securus et certus’) that no devil and no misfortune can tear me out of His hands.... This is how all the pious glory in their God.”[781]

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With enthusiasm he describes this consciousness, carefully refraining, however, from looking at the other side, where perchance predestination to hell, even without free-will, may lie.[782] When it presses on him against his will he at once drowns the thought with the consoling words of St. Paul on the greatness of the inscrutable ways of God. His justice must indeed be unsearchable, otherwise there would be no faith, but in the light of eternal glory we shall realise what we cannot now understand.[783]

The not over-enthusiastic critic, whom we have frequently had occasion to quote, remarks: “Seeing that faith according to Luther is no act of our will, but a mere form given to it by God, ... Luther is right in saying, that the very slightest deviation from determinism is fatal to his whole position. His ‘fides’ is ‘fides specialissima.’” It is the assurance of personal salvation. But even though “combined with a courageous certainty of salvation, Luther’s views, taken as they stand, would still offer no consolation to the tempted, so that when Luther has to deal with such he is forced to put these views in the background.” The critic goes on to wonder: “How if the thought, which Luther himself is unable to overcome, should trouble a man and make him believe that he is of the number of those whom the ‘voluntas maiestatis’ wills to hand over to destruction?” His conclusion is: “The certainty of salvation, about which Luther is so anxious, cannot be reached by starting from his premises.”[784]

At the end of his “De servo arbitrio,” summing up all he had said, Luther appeals to God’s rule and to His unchangeable predestination of all things, even the most insignificant; likewise to the empire of the devil and his power over spirits. His words on this matter cannot be read without amazement.

“If we believe that Satan is the Prince of this world, who constantly attacks the Kingdom of Christ with all his might and never releases the human beings he has enslaved without being forced to do so by the power of the Spirit of God, then it is clear that there can be no free-will.”[785] Either God[274] or Satan rules over men; to this pet thought he adds: “The matter stands simply thus ... when God is in us, the devil is absent and then we can will only what is good; but when God is not there, the devil is, and then we can will only what is evil. Neither God nor Satan leaves us with an indifferent will.”[786] “When the stronger of the two comes upon us,”[787] he says, “and makes a prey of us, snatching us away from our former ruler, we become servants and prisoners to such an extent that we desire and do gladly what he wills (‘ut velimus et faciamus libenter quæ ipse velit’). Thus the human will stands,” Luther continues, using a simile which has become famous, “like a saddle-horse between the two. If God mounts into the saddle, man wills and goes forward as God wills ... but if the devil is the horseman, then man wills and acts as the devil wills. He has no power to run to one or the other of the two riders and offer himself to him, but the riders fight to obtain possession of the animal.”[788]

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With frightful boldness he declares this view to be the very core and basis of religion. Without this doctrine of the enslaved will, the supernatural character of Christianity cannot, so he says, be maintained; the work of redemption falls to the ground, because whoever sets up free-will cheats Christ of all His merit;[789] whoever advocates free-will brings death and Satan into the soul.[790]

In such passages we hear the real Luther, with all his presumptuous belief in himself: “To me the defence of this truth is a matter of supreme and eternal importance. I am convinced that life itself should be set at stake in order to preserve it. It must stand though the whole world be involved thereby in strife and tumult, nay, even fall into ruins and dissolve into nothing.”[791]

He ventures again to assert of Erasmus, that it had not been given him from above to feel, as he himself does, how in this great question “faith, conscience, salvation, the Word of God, the glory of Christ and even God Himself are involved.”[792] Concerning himself, on the other hand, he assures the reader that, with no earthly motives, he is waging a great war “with a God-given courage and steadfastness which his foes call obstinacy; that he holds fast to his cause in spite of so many dangers to his life, so much hatred, so many persecutions, in short, exposed as he is to the fury of man and of all the devils.”[793]

In various passages a lurid light is thrown on his inner[276] state. In language which recalls the pseudo-mysticism of his Commentary on Romans ten years earlier, he says, that the predestination to hell which he advocated was certainly terrifying, that he himself had frequently taken great offence at it and had been brought to the abyss of despair, so that he wished he had never been born; but then “he saw how wholesome was this despair and how near to grace.”[794] “For whoever is convinced that all things depend on God’s Will, in his despair of self avoids making any choice and simply waits for God to act; such a one is near to grace and to finding salvation.” He himself “attributes nothing to himself, hopes for nothing and desires nothing” for his salvation; in thus waiting on the action of God’s grace he is very nigh to salvation, though he is as it were dead, stifled by the consciousness of guilt, and spiritually buried in hell; “whoever has read our works will be familiar with all this.”[795]

The echo of the pseudo-mystical ideas in which he had formerly steeped himself is plainly discernible in these words which go to form one of the most remarkable of the pictures he has left us of his state.

Even the “self-righteous,” whom he had at one time so bitterly assailed, again rise from their graves. The admission of free-will, he tells them, destroys all inward peace. After every work performed, the question still rankles: “Is it pleasing to God, or does God require something more? This is attested by the experience of all self-righteous (iustitiarii), and I myself, to my cost, was familiar with it for many long years.”[796]

On the same page he gives us a glimpse of the psychological source whence his whole theory of the enslaved will springs. The doctrine was born of personal motives and fashioned to suit his own state of soul. None the less, he insists that it must also become the common property of all the faithful which none can do without, nay, the very basis of the new Christianity. “Without this doctrine I[277] should believe it necessary to plague myself with uncertainty and to beat the air with hopeless efforts, even were there no perils for the soul, no tribulations and no devils. Though I should live and work for all eternity, my conscience would never attain to a real peace and be able to say to itself, you have done enough for God.” He goes so far as to say: “For myself I admit, that, were free-will offered me, I should not care to have it; I should not wish to see anything placed within my power by means of which I might work for my salvation, because I should never be able to withstand and endure the trials and dangers of life and the assaults of so many devils.”[797]

The last words of the book even exceed the rest in confidence, and the audacity of his demand that his work should be accepted without question almost takes away one’s breath: “In this book I have not merely theorised; I have set up definite propositions, and these I shall defend; no one will I permit to pass judgment on them, and I advise all to submit to them. May the Lord Whose cause is here vindicated,” he says, addressing himself to Erasmus, “give you light to make of you a vessel to His honour and glory. Amen.”[798]

The great importance of the work “De servo arbitrio” for a knowledge of the religious psychology of its author may warrant a description of some of its other psychological aspects, and first of the connection discernible between the denial of free-will and Luther’s so-called inward experiences, which were supposed to be behind his whole enterprise.

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He always believed he was following the irresistible pull of grace, and that he was merely treading the path appointed to him from above. In this work he breaks out into a loud hymn in praise of the irresistibility of the Divine action. “All that I have done,” he exclaims, “was not the result of my own will; this God knows, and the world, too, should have known it long ago. Hence, what I am and by what spirit and council I was drawn into the controversy is God’s business.”[799] In this explanation, so typical of his character and way of thinking, is summed up his reply to that argument of Erasmus against his doctrine, particularly of free-will, where the latter had confronted him with the teaching of the whole of the Church’s past.

Contradictions formed an integral part of Luther’s psychology. Long pages of this work are full of them, though Luther seems quite unaware of his inconsistencies, obscurities and confusion. Conflicting lines of thought may be traced, similar to those which appeared in the Commentary on Romans (vol. i., p. 256), while the author was still a young man. They indicate a mentality singularly deficient in exactitude and clearness. The workshop where his ideas were fashioned was assuredly not an orderly one.

In the first place the main contention is very involved, while the statements that the will of the man who does what is evil is moved by God seem conflicting. The “movet, agit, rapit” in which the action of God on the will usually consists, does not here assert its sway; the Divine Omnipotence, which, as a rule, is the cause of all action, interferes[282] here, either not at all, or at least less strongly than usual—God must not be made the direct author of sin. This illogical twisting of his theory is particularly noticeable where great sins of mighty consequence are in question. Is God to be regarded as having caused the Fall of Adam and the treason of Judas? Luther certainly does not answer this question in the affirmative so categorically as Melanchthon in his “Loci theologici.”[820] Here he carefully avoids speaking of an irresistible impulse of the will given by God; for the time being we seem to lose sight altogether of God’s imperative and exclusive action.

Under another aspect the work exhibits, better than any other, the undeniable qualities of its writer, the elasticity[285] of his mind, his humour and imagination, and his startling readiness to turn every circumstance to advantage; at the same time, undoubtedly because it was a case of breaking a lance with Erasmus, the style is more polished than usual and the language less abusive. The editor of the Weimar edition speaks of the book as the “most brilliant of Luther’s Latin polemics, nay, perhaps the most brilliant of all his controversial works.”[835]

Luther would not have committed this great work to writing had not his mind been full of the subject. How far calm deliberation had any place in the matter it is as hard to determine here, as it is in so many of his other productions, where feeling seems to hold the reins. It is likewise difficult to understand how Luther, in practice, managed to compromise with the ideas he expounds, more especially as he was the leader of a movement on the banner of which was inscribed, not the gloomy domination of fatalism, but the amelioration of religious conditions by means of moral effort in all directions. The contradiction between lack of freedom on the one hand, and practice and the general belief in free-will on the other, was a rock which he circumnavigated daily, thanks to his self-persuasion that the strands drawn by the Divine Omnipotence around the will were of such a nature as not to be perceptible and could therefore be ignored. We believe ourselves to be free, and do not feel any constraint because we surrender ourselves willingly to be guided to the right or to the left; this, however, is merely due to the exceptional fineness of the threads which set the machine in motion.

For an ennobling of human nature and of the Christian state such a system was certainly not adapted. A tragic fate ordained that the apostasy, of which the cause was ostensibly the deepening of religious life and feeling, should bear this bitter fruit. Freedom had been proclaimed for the examination of religious truth, and now, the “submission of every man” is categorically demanded to doctrines opposed to free-will and to the dignity of the Christian. Nevertheless, both then and later, even to the present day, this curious, assertive book, like the somewhat diffident one of Erasmus, to which it was a reply—both of them so characteristic of the mind of their authors—have[286] drawn many to examine the spirit of that age and of its two spokesmen.[836]

In the work “De servo arbitrio,” Luther speaks of Laurentius Valla as one who had cherished similar views.[837] In his “Table-Talk” he praises his opinions on free-will and the simplicity which he cultivated both in piety and learning. “Laurentius Valla,” he says, “is the best ‘Wal’ [Italian] I have ever come across in my life.”[838] Opinions differ widely as to Valla’s views, which are expressed with enigmatical obscurity in his Dialogue “De libero arbitrio.” At a later date Erasmus took his part against Luther, rightly pointing out that Valla was seeking to explain popularly how it is that the Divine foreknowledge does not necessarily make all things happen without freedom and of necessity.[839] Valla was a Humanist and critic, but neither a theologian nor a philosopher. In the question at issue he left the decision to faith, but laid great stress on the objections raised by reason. According to a modern historian he did not deny free-will, but merely left the problem, “which he neither could nor would solve,” to the Omnipotence of God.[840]

Luther’s Later Dicta on the Enslaved Will and on Predestination

Luther always remained faithful to the position taken up in his great work “De servo arbitrio,” as to both the absence of freedom and predestination.

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In the Disputations of which we have records, he frequently reverts to his denial of free-will.

In his own mind Luther practically denied his doctrine as often as he struggled with remorse, or sought to overcome his terrors of conscience. Few men have had to exert their will with such energy (as we shall have occasion to point out later, vol. v., xxxii.) to hold their own against inward unrest. He, the advocate of the servitude of the will, in his struggles with himself and his better feelings, made his soul the battlefield of free-will, i.e. of a will vindicating its freedom.

From his artificial position of security he ventures to stand up vigorously against others, great men even, who “abused” his doctrine. Count Albert of Mansfeld was one of those who, according to Luther’s account, said of predestination and the helplessness of the will: “The Gospel? What is predestined must come to pass. Let us then do as we please. If we are to be saved, we shall be saved,” etc. Luther, therefore, takes him to account in a letter addressed to him on December 8, 1542. He tells him that he intends to speak freely, being himself “a native of the county of Mansfeld.” “He, too, had been tormented with such thoughts or temptations” and had thus been in danger of hell. “For in the case of silly souls such devilish thoughts breed despair and cause them to distrust God’s grace; in the case of brave people, they make them contemners and enemies of God, who say: let me alone, I shall do as I[290] please, for in any case all I do is to no purpose.” He does not forbear to scold the Count for his behaviour, for “withdrawing himself from the Word and the Sacrament,” for “growing cold and set upon Mammon.” In the end he is, however, only able to give him the following questionable consolation concerning his doctrine. “It is perfectly true that what God has determined must certainly take place,” but there is “a great distinction to be observed” between the revealed and the secret will of God. He should not “trouble himself much” about the latter; for those who do soon “come to care nothing for the Word of God or the Sacrament, give themselves up to a wild life, to Mammon, tyranny and everything evil; for, owing to such thoughts, they can have no faith, hope or charity for either God or man.” Instead of this he desires, as he had explained in his book against Erasmus, that we should simply cling to the God Who has revealed Himself; “what He has promised we must believe, and what He has commanded we must do.” A servant, for instance, does not presume to seek out “the secret thoughts” of his master before obeying him. “Has not God the same right to secret knowledge of His own beyond what He chooses to tell us?” Some say: If it is to be, then all will happen in any case according to God’s will; “of what use, then, is baptism, Holy Scripture and every other creature to us? If God wills it, He can surely do it without all that.”[852]

At that time the report of such frivolous talk among the great ones led him to broach the subject in the lectures on Genesis which he happened to be delivering.[853] Here, if we may trust the reporter, he reverts to the doctrine he had defended in his “De servo arbitrio,” viz. that all things happen of entire necessity (“esse omnia absoluta et necessaria”).[854] He retracts nothing, but merely says, that he had[291] emphasised the necessity of paying attention only to the revealed God; in this artifice he finds a means of preventing any frivolous abuse of the theory of predestination, any despair or recourse to the complaint “I cannot believe.”

In another letter he gives encouragement, no less doubtful in character, to an unknown person, who, in the anxiety caused by his apprehension of being predestined to hell, had applied to him. Luther boldly re-affirms the existence of such absolute predestination: “God rejected a number of men and elected and predestined others to everlasting life before the foundation of the world, such is the truth.” “He whom He has rejected cannot be saved, even though he should perform all the works of the Saints; such is the irrevocable nature of the Divine sentence. But do you gaze only upon the Majesty of the Lord Who elects, that you may attain to salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ.” In Christ, he proceeds, we have that revealed Majesty of God, Who wills to save all who believe in Christ; “whom He has predestined to salvation, He has also called by the gospel, that he may believe and be justified by faith.”[855]—Yet, strangely enough, this letter also contains a sentence which denies absolute predestination to hell, the only such denial known to have been made by Luther.[856] The text of the letter has, however, not yet been verified critically. The words in question appear to be a quotation from Augustine added by another hand in extenuation of Luther’s doctrine.

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Although Luther did not put forth his rigid doctrine of predestination to hell either in his popular or strictly theological writings, yet, to the end of his life, he never surrendered it; that he “never retracted it” is emphasised even in Köstlin and Kawerau’s Life of Luther.[857]

Of his book against Erasmus Luther spoke long after as the only one, save the Catechism, which he would be sorry to see perish.[858] In reply to the question put by Caspar Aquila, a preacher, why so many who heard the Word did not believe, he refused to ascribe this to free-will, and as regards the temptations to despair, which the same enquirer complained were the result of his thoughts on predestination, Luther insisted, that God had not chosen to reveal His secret will (“maiestas lucis illius occultata et non significata est”), hence the need to turn away resolutely from such thoughts and to defy this “greatest of all temptations, truly a devilish one.” He refuses to withdraw even the proposition, that all things happen of necessity.[859] In his later years he is fond of speaking of the power of sin over man’s interior, and though he does not allude so decidedly or so frequently to man’s “absolute and entire dependence upon God’s Omnipotence,” yet he has by no means relinquished the idea. Thus the “difference between his earlier and later years” is one only of degree, i.e. he merely succeeded in keeping his theory more in the background.[860]

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The controversy with Erasmus did not cease with the appearance of Luther’s book, on the contrary. Apart from the question itself, the injustice done to the eminent scholar, and still more to the Church, by the arrant perversion of his opponent’s words to which Luther descended[294] in order to stamp him and the Catholic doctrine of the past as altogether un-Christian, could not be allowed to pass unchallenged. It has been admitted, even by Protestants, as Luther’s constant policy in this work to make Erasmus say, that, in order to arrive at salvation it was sufficient to use free-will and that grace was unnecessary, and then to conclude that the Holy Ghost and Christ were shamefully set aside by Catholics. This Luther did (as Kattenbusch says) “by a certain, of course bona fide, perversion of his [Erasmus’s] words, or by a process of forced reasoning which can seldom, if indeed ever, be regarded as justified.”[861]

4. New Views on the Secular Authorities

“Since the time of the Apostles no doctor or scribe, no theologian or jurist has confirmed, instructed and comforted the consciences of the secular Estates so well and lucidly as I have done.”[862]

“Even had I, Dr. Martin, taught or done no other good, save to enlighten and instruct the secular government and authorities, yet for this cause alone they ought to be thankful to and well-disposed towards me, for they all of them, even my worst enemies, know that in Popery such understanding of the secular power was not merely discountenanced, but actually trampled under foot by the stinking, lousy priests, monks and mendicant friars.”[863]

“In Popery,” as hundreds of documents attest, the people were taught, as they always had been, that the secular government was divinely appointed and altogether independent in its own sphere;[864] that it was nevertheless to govern according to the dictates of law and justice; that, far from neglecting it, it was to promote the eternal welfare of the subject; finally, that it was bound to recognise the Catholic Church as the supreme guardian, of both the natural and religious law. Government and secular[295] Estate could work in all freedom and prosperity. All that Luther taught rightly concerning the secular power had been proclaimed long before by the voice of the Church and put into practice.[865] As to the new and peculiar doctrines he taught in the first period of his career, they must now be examined.

A curious changeableness and want of logic are apparent, not merely in his way of expressing himself, but also in his views. This was due in part to the fact that his mental abilities lent themselves less to the statement and defence of general theories than to controversy on individual points, but still more to the influence on his doctrine exercised by the changes proceeding in the outer world.

The main point with him in the matter of the secular authorities was, whether they might demand obedience from him and his followers in matters concerning the new doctrine, i.e. whether they might compel them to forsake the innovations, or whether the Lutheran party had the right to resist the authorities and the Emperor, even by the use of force. Another question was whether Catholics could be left free to practise their religion in localities where the authorities were on Luther’s side. Were the authorities bound to respect Catholic convictions, or had the Lutheran Prince or magistrate the right to force the refractory to accept the innovations? Finally, Luther’s relations with those parties within the new faith who differed from him raised fresh questions: Were the evangelical authorities to tolerate these sectarians, or were they to repress any deviation from the Wittenberg doctrine?

To formulate any definite answers to such questions was rendered still more difficult in Luther’s case by the fact that prudence compelled him to exercise great reticence and caution in his utterances on many such points.[866] On the one hand he might easily have spoilt his whole work in the[296] eyes of his cautious sovereign had he proclaimed openly the right of his friends among the nobles to resist the Emperor even by force. On the other, many would have been repelled had he laid down the principle of intolerance towards Zwinglians and Anabaptists as strongly at the commencement as he did later. In considering his doctrine concerning the secular authorities and the obedience due to them, we must simply take his utterances in their historical sequence, at the same time keeping a watchful eye on his actual behaviour in which we shall find at once their explanation and justification.[867] Only in this way shall we arrive at a clear estimation of his tangled ideas on secular authority and religious toleration.[868]

As to his varying theories,[869] at the outset and during the first stage of his revolt against the Church, Luther was fond of launching out into very questionable and far-reaching statements concerning the secular authority, as appears, for instance, in his tract addressed in 1520 to the German Nobility. Where the authorities are on the side of the Evangel, their power is so great that they may exercise their office “unhindered,” “even against Pope, bishop, parson, monk or nun or whatever else there be”; in that case, too, the secular authorities are perfectly justified in summoning clerics to answer before their tribunal.[870] “St. Paul says to all Christians,” Luther argues, “‘Let every soul’—hence, I suppose, even the Pope himself—‘be subject to higher powers, for they bear not the sword in vain.’ ... St. Peter, too, foretold that men would arise who would despise the temporal rulers, which has indeed come to pass through the rights of the clergy.”[871] In such wise does he charge the past.

But now, he continues (owing to his efforts), “the secular power has become a member of the ghostly body, and, though its office is temporal, yet it has been raised to a[297] spiritual dignity; its work may now be done freely and unhindered among all the members of the whole body, punishing and compelling, where guilt deserves it or necessity demands, regardless of Pope, bishop or priest, let them threaten and ban as they please.”[872] It is clear how the interests of the “reformation” he has planned impel him to extend the rights of the secular power, even in the spiritual domain, over all who resist.

In his work “On the secular power,” of March, 1523, we find an entirely different language.

Here he insists with great emphasis on the fact that the secular authorities have no right to interfere in the spiritual domain. The explanation of his change of attitude is that here he is thinking of the Catholic authorities who were placing obstacles in the way of the spread of the Lutheran apostasy. His teaching is: The secular power exists and is ordained by God, but it has no concern with spiritual matters, may not place difficulties in the way of the preaching of the “Word,” and has no right to curtail the interests of the Evangel, by prohibiting Luther’s books, by threatening excommunication, or by hindering the new worship. He thus sets up general principles which are quite at variance with the line of action he himself constantly pursued where the authorities were favourable to his cause.

His teaching he expounds in this way: Temporal rulers are, it is true, established in the world by the will of God and must be obeyed; but their sword must not invade a domain which does not belong to them; it is not their business to render men pious, and they have nothing whatever to do with the good, their only object being to prevent outward crimes and to maintain outward peace as “God’s task-masters and executioners.”[873] He speaks almost as though there were two kingdoms of men, one, of the wicked and those who are not “Christians,” coming under the rule of the authorities and belonging to the kingdom of the world; the other, the kingdom of God, whose members are not subject to earthly laws and authorities; such are “all true believers in and beneath Christ.”

Not only could this curious dualism be objected to on the[298] score of want of clearness, but the assertion that the secular power was merely an “executioner” for the punishment of outward crime actually tended to abase and degrade it. The olden Church had, on the contrary, exalted the secular power by permitting its representatives to share in many ways in the spiritual work of the Church, and by desiderating the harmonious co-operation of the two powers, spiritual and secular, in the interests of the ultimate end of mankind.

It is quite remarkable how Luther reduces the action of the secular power and the rights of the authorities to a judicial constraint to be exercised against evil-doers, or, as he says, to the task of a mere executioner.

For the explanation of these ideas on the secular power, two points are of especial importance: In the first place, Luther was at that time somewhat disappointed with the Princes and the nobles. In his work “To the Nobility” he had urged them to make an end of the Papal rule, and now he was vexed to see that, almost to a man, they had[304] declined to do anything, whilst he himself was under the ban of the Empire. Secondly, it was his idea of the inward action of the Evangel upon souls and his conception of a sort of invisible Church, which induced him to exclude altogether the secular power from the spiritual domain, and to speak in exaggerated and disparaging terms of the “outward actions” with which alone it was concerned. In those years, when he was still to some extent under the influence of his early pseudo-mysticism, he was fond of picturing to himself the community of believers as an assembly of all those who had been awakened by “the Word,” and who, in spirit, were far above the compulsion of any earthly regulations. Thus, with him, the Church, in comparison with the political community, tended to evaporate into a mere union of souls, scarcely perceptible to earthly eyes.[895]

To us now it is clear that, in spite of every effort to the contrary, the new Church was bound in process of time to become entirely dependent on the secular power, first and foremost in its outward administration. Luther’s spiritual Church could not endure but for the support of the authorities.

It is notorious that the tendency to make his Church depend upon the secular authorities, as soon as they had embraced his cause, was part of Luther’s plan from the very outset. A State Church corresponded with his requirements. However much at the commencement Luther might emphasise the congregational ideal, tracing the whole authority of the freshly formed communities back to it, viz. to the priestly powers inherent in all the faithful, yet, as occasion arises, he falls back on the one external authority left standing, now that he has definitely set aside one of the two powers recognised of old.

In the sixteenth century the Church was confronted not only by official Protestantism, but by various other opposing bodies, Anabaptists, fanatics and anti-Trinitarians. If among all these only the Wittenberg, Zürich and Geneva groups “were able to assert themselves, this,” says a recent Protestant theologian, Paul Wernle, “was not due, or at least not solely due, to the fact, that they were more true or more profound than the others, but that they accommodated[305] themselves better to existing conditions, and, above all, to the State.”[896] Karl Sell, a Protestant professor of theology, speaks in the same strain: “Where the Reformation gained the day it did so with the help of the secular power, of the Princes or republics and, in every instance, the Reformation itself strengthened the power of these authorities. Upon them devolved the new office of caring ... for religion.... Thus the duty of providing for wholesome doctrine and right faith, for the doctrine which alone could be pleasing to God, became one of the principal concerns of the rulers; hence arose the strict adherence to orthodoxy, the exclusion of erroneous teaching from the confines of the State, in short, the theological police system which prevailed in all Protestant countries till the middle of the seventeenth century.”[897]

The tendency to seek an alliance with the secular powers did not, however, hinder Luther from degrading the authorities and the Princes in the eyes of the people in the most relentless and public manner. In his mortification at the want of response to his call he allowed himself to be carried away to strictures and predictions which greatly excited the masses.

In the writing “On the secular power,” to which we must here revert, Luther says, that the Princes are, as a rule, “the biggest fools or the worst knaves on the surface of the earth”; a good Prince “had always been a rare bird from the beginning of the world.” Because the world is “of the devil,” therefore “its Princes too are of a like nature.” In spite of this Luther ends by saying, that as God’s “hangmen,” the Princes ought to be obeyed.[909] Later on he was to declare that the passages from the Bible, which he had here quoted in support of this obedience, were his best defence against the charge of diminishing the respect due to Princes, or of teaching rebellion. “The fact that, in that work, I based and confirmed the temporal supremacy and obedience on Scripture is of itself sufficient refutation of such slanders.”[910]

When he asserts in the above writing, that “Among[308] Christians no authority can or ought to exist, but that everyone should be subject to all,”[911] his intention was not, as has sometimes been erroneously supposed by his opponents, to incite the people against the secular power; the words, though badly chosen, must be understood in connection with his mystical theory of the true believers, i.e. of the invisible Church, being intended to convey, that no authority should rule by enforced commands, but that, on the contrary, all must ‘serve,’ and that even superiors should be mindful of their duty of ‘service.’ It is not, however, very surprising that such a statement, so unwisely expressed in general terms as that, “among Christians there neither can nor ought to be any authority,” when taken out of its context and published abroad among the people, was misapplied by the malcontents, more especially when taken in conjunction with other questionable utterances of Luther’s.

His experience with the fanatics, and, still more, the events of the Peasant-War, caused Luther to dwell more and more strongly on the duty and right of the authorities to exercise compulsion towards evil-doers.[912]

In the work “Against the Heavenly Prophets,” the first published in the stormy year 1525, he says: “The principal thing” required to protect the people against the devils who were teaching through the mouths of the Anabaptist prophets was, “in the case of the common people,” compulsion by the sword and by law. The authorities must force them to be at least “outwardly pious” (true Christians, of course, do all of themselves); the law with its penalties rules over them in the same way that “wild beasts are held in check by chains and bars, in order that outward peace may prevail among the people; for this purpose the temporal authorities are ordained, and it is God’s will that they be honoured and feared.”[913] The change in his views concerning the treatment of sectarians and heretics will, however, be considered elsewhere.[914]

On the other hand, it must be pointed out here that he at least allows the supreme secular power such authority as[309] to deprecate any armed resistance to it, even where the Evangel is oppressed. In his work “On the secular power” we find him stating: “I say briefly that no Prince may make war on his over-Lord, such as the King, or the Emperor, or any other feudal superior, but must allow him to seize what he pleases. For the higher authorities must not be resisted by force, but merely by bringing them to a knowledge of the truth. If they are converted, it is well; if not, you are free from blame, and suffer injustice for God’s sake.”[915]—As early as 1520 we find him saying: “Even though the authorities act unjustly God wills that they should be obeyed without deceit, unless, indeed, they insist publicly on the doing of what is wrong towards God or men; for to suffer unjustly harms no man’s soul, indeed is profitable to it.”[916] At the outset he persisted in dissuading Princes favourable to his cause from armed resistance to the Emperor.

His earlier unwillingness, however, only contrasts the more strangely with his later attitude, particularly after the Diet of Augsburg, when his position had become stronger and when danger appeared to threaten the new Evangel from the Imperial power, even though all the Emperor’s steps were merely in accordance with the ancient laws of the Empire. Addressing the protesting Princes, he tells them they must act as so many Constantines in defence of their cause, and not wince at bloodshed in order to protect the Evangel against the furious, soul-destroying attacks of the new Licinii. His change of front in thus inciting to rebellion he covered, by declaring he was most ready to render to Cæsar the things that were Cæsar’s, but that when the Emperor forbade “what God in His Word [according to Luther’s interpretation] had taught and commanded,” then he was going beyond his province; in such a case it was well to remember that “God still retained what was His,” “and that they, the tyrants, had lost everything and suffered shipwreck.”[917] In this case the action taken by the temporal power according to law must, he says, be forcibly frustrated by the subject. New theories as to the rights of the[310] Emperor and the Princes did their part in justifying these demands in his eyes. “Gradually,” says Fr. von Bezold, “his experience of the limitations of the Imperial power and the liberty of the Princes of the Empire brought about a change in him. Thus he became ... the father of the doctrine of the right of resistance.”[918]

In 1522 he had written in quite a different strain to his Elector. At that time the critical question of the latter’s attitude towards the Imperial authority and of the protection to be afforded Luther against the Emperor was under discussion. “In the sight of men it behoves Your Electoral Highness to act as follows: As Elector to render obedience to the power established and allow His Imperial Majesty to dispose of life and property in the towns and lands subject to Your Electoral Highness, as is right and in accordance with the laws of the Empire; nor to oppose or resist, or seek to place any obstacle or hindrance in the way of the aforesaid power should it wish to lay hands on me or kill me.... If Your Electoral Highness were a believer, you would see in this the glory of God, but since you are not yet a believer, you have seen nothing so far.”[919] This, compared to the summons to resistance, spoken of above, reads like an invitation to submit with entire patience to those who were persecuting the Evangel. It is true that the then position of affairs to some extent explains the case. The writer was well aware that the Elector might be relied upon to protect him, he also knew that a little temporary self-restraint in his demands would do his cause no harm, and that a profession of entire readiness to sacrifice himself would be most conducive to his interests.[920]

But from this time the opinion that, in the pressing interests of the gospel, it was permissible to make use of violence against the authorities and their worldly regulations, breaks out repeatedly, and, in spite of the reticence he frequently displays and of his warnings against rebellion and revolt, he is quite unable to conceal his inner feeling. Many passages of an inflammatory character have already been instanced above and might be cited here.[921]

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The opposition smouldering in his breast to the conduct of the authorities in the matter of religious practices differing from their own, comes out very strongly at an early period. Though he declared that he had no wish to interfere, yet, even in 1522, he requested Frederick the Elector of Saxony, through the intermediary of Spalatin,[922] to have Masses prohibited as idolatrous, “an interference in religious matters on the part of the authorities,” as Fr. Paulsen remarks, “which it is difficult to reconcile with the position which Luther assigns to them in 1523 in his work ‘On the secular power.’”[923] Paulsen also recalls the statement (above, p. 300) that a sovereign may not even order his subjects to surrender the book of the gospels, and that whoever obeyed such an order was handing over Christ to Herod. It is true, he concludes, that here the order would have emanated from “Popish authorities.”

When the Canons of Altenburg, in accordance with their chartered rights, wished, in 1522, to resist the appointment of a Lutheran preacher in that town, neither olden law nor the orders of the authorities availed anything with Luther, as we shall see below (p. 314 ff); “against this [the introduction of the Evangel] no seals, briefs, custom or right are valid,” he writes; it was the duty of the Elector “as a Christian ruler to encounter the wolves.” Finally, we have the outburst: “God Himself has abrogated all authority and power where it is opposed to the Evangel, ‘we must obey God rather than men’” (Acts v. 29).[924]

Here we have a practical commentary on what he says when speaking of the “Word” which must make its way alone: “The Word of God is a sword, is destruction, vexation, ruin, poison, and as Amos says, like a bear in the path and a lioness in the wood.”[925]

Even in his sermon on Good Works in 1520 he had made a remarkable application of the above principle of the abrogation of all authority in the case of those who ruled in defiance of God: People must not, he declares in accordance[312] with Acts v. 29, allow themselves to be forced to act contrary to God’s law; “If a Prince whose cause is obviously unjust wishes to make war, he must not be followed or assisted, because God has commanded us not to kill our neighbour or to do him an injury.”[926] A Protestant theologian and historian of Luther remarks on this: “Luther does not, however, explain how far the responsibility, right and duty of the subject extends, and clearly had not given this matter any careful consideration.”[927]

A want of “consideration” may be averred by the historian concerning all Luther’s theoretical statements on secular authority during the first period of his career. The historian will find it impossible to discover in Luther’s views on this subject the thread which, according to many modern Protestant theologians, runs through his new theories. Wilhelm Hans, a Protestant theologian, was right when he wrote in 1901: “Luther’s lack of system is nowhere more apparent than in his views concerning the authorities and their duty towards religion. The attempt to sum up in a logical system the ideas which he expressed on this subject under varying circumstances and at different times, and to bring these ideas into harmony with his practice, will ever prove a failure. It will never be possible to set aside the contradictions in his theory, and between his theory and his practice.”[928]

5. How the New Church System was Introduced

A complete account of the introduction of the new ecclesiastical system will become possible only when impartial research has made known to us more fully than hitherto the proceedings in the different localities according to the records still extant.

Some districts were thrown open to the new Evangel without any difficulty because the inhabitants, or people of influence, believed they would thus be bringing about a reformation in the true sense of the word, i.e. be contributing to the removal of ecclesiastical abuses deplored by themselves and by all men of discernment.

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Altenburg, Lichtenberg, Schwarzburg, Eilenburg

When the first preacher of the Lutheran faith at Altenburg in the Saxon Electorate, Gabriel Zwilling, a former comrade of Carlstadt’s, began to behave in too violent and arrogant a manner, Luther, out of consideration for his sovereign, admonished him to “lay aside all presumption” and to “leave God to do everything.” “You must not press for innovations, but, as I besought you once before, free consciences by means of the Word alone, and by exhorting to pure faith and charity.... I gave my word to the Prince that you would do this, so don’t act otherwise and bring shame on me, upon yourself and the Evangel. You see the people running after external things, sacraments and ceremonies; this you must oppose and make an end of; see that you lead them first to faith and charity in order that by their fruits they may show themselves to be a branch of our Vine.”[930]

As, however, the gentle methods which Luther had promised his Elector to employ did not appear to suffice, recourse was had to force. The town-council, with the support of the inhabitants of Wittenberg, boldly threw law and custom overboard.

Prejudiced in favour of Luther, they had invited him to visit Altenburg and to preach there, and he had agreed. On that occasion Luther had recommended Gabriel Zwilling to the magistracy as resident preacher, in spite of the Anabaptist tendencies he had already shown. The Canons, who were faithful to the Church and who for centuries had the gift of the livings, opposed the appointment of Zwilling to one of the parishes. Thereupon the town-council, in a complaint composed by Luther himself, declared that, as the natural and duly appointed senate of the congregation, it had the right to decide; that the councillors were, by virtue of their office, not merely responsible for the secular government, but also were bound by the duty of “fraternal Christian charity” to interfere on behalf of the Evangel.[315] The council, or rather Luther, also pointed out, that according to Matthew vii. every man has the right to drive away ravening wolves, that the Canons with the Provost at their head were indeed such, not having scrupled to appropriate the revenues, whilst all the while teaching false doctrine; “Scripture does not give power to a ‘Concilium,’ but to each individual Christian to judge of doctrine, to detect the wolves and to avoid them.... Each one must believe for himself and be able to distinguish between true and false doctrine.”[931] Luther here at one and the same time, because it happens to serve his purpose, advocates an extravagant religious freedom, manifestly inconsistent with any religious commonwealth, and yet denies the unfortunate Canons any liberty whatsoever: “They must either hold their tongues or teach the pure Evangel”—or else depart elsewhere.

Luther supported the manifesto in a letter addressed to the Elector in which he declares, that, “God Himself has abrogated all authority and power where it opposes the gospel,”[932] though he does not say who is to decide whether anyone may quote the gospel in his own favour, and what is to be done if the authorities themselves assume the right of “deciding in matters of doctrine.”

The Provost of the Canons, in the matter of the appointment, represented the lawful authority. To the demand of the councillors he replied by asking what they would say were he to appoint a new burgomaster at Altenburg; yet they had as little right to introduce a preacher as he would have to interfere in their affairs; further, it was not his duty to stand by and see his collegiate establishment deprived of any of its chartered rights.[933]

The decision came at last before the Elector. He refused to confirm the appointment of Zwilling in his office of preacher, as his turbulent Anabaptist views did not inspire confidence. In the summer of 1522, however, he bestowed the appointment on Wenceslaus Link, one of Luther’s friends, without paying any attention to the Canons and obviously acting on Luther’s advice. Link, in February, 1523, resigned the office of Vicar-General of the Augustinian Congregation, and soon after was married by Luther himself at Altenburg.[316] The Canons protested in vain against the compulsion exercised.

In the spring, 1524, Link succeeded in inducing the council of Altenburg to prohibit the Franciscans from celebrating Mass in public, preaching and hearing confessions. The council vindicated its action in a document—probably composed by Link—addressed to the Elector, in which from the Old and New Testament it is shown that rulers must not tolerate “idolatry.”[934] When Spalatin, after resigning his post as Court Chaplain, became parish priest of Altenburg, he at once set about suppressing the Catholic worship even in the Collegiate Church of the town. A demand for the suppression of the “idolatrous worship” at Altenburg, which Luther had addressed to the Elector on July 20, 1525,[935] was followed by another composed by Spalatin in October of the same year.[936] Both were full of attacks on the un-Christian, blasphemous mischief to which an end ought to be put. On January 10, 1526, a fresh document of a similar nature, written by Spalatin and two Altenburg preachers, was forwarded to the Elector. There we read that the sovereign, if he wishes to escape the severe chastisements of God, must follow the example of the pious Jewish kings, who rooted out the abomination of idolatry. Owing to the continuance of the service in the Collegiate Church at Altenburg, the weak were exposed to spiritual danger, and he must furthermore consider that “many a poor man would readily come over to the Evangel if this miserable business were made an end of.” The utmost that could be permitted was, that the Canons should perform “their ceremonies in the most private fashion, with locked doors, no one else being admitted.”[937]

This petition was at once based by Luther on the general theological principles referred to above, i.e. the statement he had addressed to the Elector, declaring that, owing to the value of the Evangel, no place must be allowed in the Electorate for the practice of any religion other than the “evangelical”: Let there be but one doctrine in every place![317] Luther adds, that the Canons of Altenburg had indeed alleged their conscience, but that this was not a true conscience but merely a fictitious one, otherwise they would have agreed “to allow their conscience to be formed and instructed from Scripture.” This they had refused to do, and had appealed instead to traditional usage “as vouched for by the Church,” “thereby giving ample proof that their plea concerning their conscience was an invention and only brought forward for the sake of preserving appearances; for a true conscience desires nothing so ardently as to be instructed from Scripture.” If they wished to continue publicly to blaspheme the true God by their worship, they must “prove from Scripture their right and authorisation to do so.”[938] The Canons were convinced that there was no need for them to prove to Luther their right from the Bible, and also that the best proof would be of no avail. The decision on the validity of any such proof lay in the last instance with the Electoral Court, and he would indeed have been blind who could have expected in that quarter any judgment differing from Luther’s.

Recourse was accordingly taken to force, and the Catholic religion was obliged to retire from its last foothold. Nevertheless, a large number of the burghers of Altenburg remained secretly faithful to the Church of their fathers. When, in 1528, the Lutheran visitors held an enquiry there, the town-councillors, who themselves were on the side of Luther, declared there were still “many Papists” in the town.[939]

Lichtenberg, in the Saxon Electorate, affords an example of how Catholic ecclesiastics themselves promoted the falling away of their flock by being the first to join the party of the innovators, sometimes merely in order to be able to marry. As soon as Luther had heard that Wolfgang Reissenbusch, the clerical preceptor and administrator of the property belonging to the Antonines, was showing signs of a desire for matrimony, by means of the seductive letter of March 27, 1525, already quoted above,[940] he invited him to carry out his project[318] boldly. After his marriage, and notwithstanding the fact of his broken vow, the monk not only retained his spiritual office, but even continued to administer the temporalities of his Order, in defiance of all justice. According to the custom now introduced, the property was placed at the disposal of the Elector. Reissenbusch enjoyed the favour of the Court, and in due course became one of the councillors of the Elector; his district was gradually won over to Lutheranism.

Count Johann Heinrich of Schwarzburg, son of Count Günther one of Luther’s enemies, wished to see the new church system introduced in his domains, but met with the resistance of the monks to whom his father, legally and in due form, had entrusted the livings. He accordingly approached Luther with the question whether he might deprive them of the livings, rights and property.

[319]

In Eilenburg Luther proceeded through the agency at once of his sovereign and the town-councillors, who were no less zealous than the Prince himself in their efforts to extend their sphere of influence. Luther himself had already worked there in person for his cause. On the occasion of his second stay at Eilenburg he found the councillors somewhat lacking in zeal. Those who favoured the innovations were, however, of opinion that if the Elector were to invite them to apply for a preacher, they would do so. There is no doubt that the Catholic consciences of the councillors were still troubled with scruples, and that the demand of a number of the new believers among the people had as yet failed to move them.

Luther accordingly wrote from Eilenburg to the Court Chaplain, Spalatin, asking him to employ his influence with the Elector in the usual way. He was to obtain from the latter a letter addressed to the town-councillors begging them to “yield to the poor people in this so essential and sacred a matter,” and to summon one of the two preachers whom he at once proposed. The reason he gives in these words: “It is the duty of the sovereign, as ruler and brother Christian, to drive away the wolves and to be solicitous for the welfare of his people.”[942] The change of religion was thereupon actually carried out, under the Elector’s pressure, in true bureaucratic fashion as a matter appertaining to the magistracy. One of the two preachers proposed, Andreas Kauxdorf of Torgau, arrived shortly after, having been dutifully accepted by the councillors. He was permitted to Lutheranise the people, however reluctant and faithful to the Church they might be. He remained there from 1522 to 1543, in which year he died.

General Phenomena accompanying the Religions Change

It not infrequently happened that the people were deceived by faithless and apostate clerics who became preachers of the new religion, and were drawn away from the olden faith without being clearly aware of the fact. After having become gradually and most insensibly accustomed to the new faith and worship, not even the bravest had, as a rule, the strength to draw back. The want of religious instruction[320] among the people was here greatly to blame, likewise the lack of organised ecclesiastical resistance to the error, and also, the indolence of the episcopate.

Mass still continued to be said in many places where Lutheranism had taken root, though in an altered form, a fact which contributed to the deception. One of the chief of Luther’s aims was to combat the Mass as a sacrifice.

He expressed this quite openly to Henry VIII in 1522: “If I succeed in doing away with the Mass, then I shall believe I have completely conquered the Pope. On the Mass, as on a rock, the whole of the Papacy is based, with its monasteries, bishoprics, colleges, altars, services and doctrines.... If the sacrilegious and cursed custom of Mass is overthrown, then the whole must fall. Through me Christ has begun to reveal the abomination standing in the Holy Place (Dan. ix. 27), and to destroy him [the Papal Antichrist] who has taken up his seat there with the devil’s help, with false miracles and deceiving signs.”[943] In respect of the deception of the Mass, “I oppose all the pronouncements of the Fathers, of men, of angels, of devils, not by an appeal to ‘ancient custom and tradition’ nor to any man, but to the Word of the Eternal Majesty and to the Gospel which even my adversaries are forced to acknowledge.” “This is God’s Word,” he vehemently exclaims of his denial of the sacrifice, “not ours. Here I stand, here I take my seat, here I stay, here I triumph and laugh to scorn all Papists, Thomists, Henryists, sophists, and all the gates of hell, not to speak of all the sayings of men, and the most sacred and deceitful of customs.”[944]

It was of the utmost importance to him that the Mass should no longer be regarded as a sacrifice and as the centre of worship. He wished to reduce it to a mere “sign and Divine Testament in which God promises us His Grace and assures us of it by a sign.”[945] Nor is the presence of Christ in the sacrament, according to him, to be assumed as the result of a change of substance; Christ is in, with, and beneath the bread. The churches were robbed of their Divine Guest, for only in the actual ceremony of reception[321] was the Supper a sacrament, at all other times it was nothing.[946]

Yet, in spite of all this, as already pointed out, Luther did not wish to abolish every form of liturgical celebration at once. In the reconstruction of public worship everything depended on not making the change felt by the people in a way that was displeasing to them. The very fact of the change was concealed from many by the form of liturgy Luther advocated,[947] and by the retaining of the ceremonies, vestments, lights, etc. Even the elevation was continued for a long while. But, though the celebration was clothed in a Catholic garb, yet of everything that expressed in words the sacrificial character Luther had already said that it “must and shall be done away with.”[948]

“The priest,” says Luther thoughtfully, when giving detailed instructions on the subject, “will easily be able to arrange that the common people learn nothing of it, and take no scandal.”[949] “How the priests are to behave with regard to the Canon,” he wrote in his Instruction for the Visitors in the Saxon Electorate, “they know well from other writings, and there is no need to preach much about this to the laity.” One would have thought, nevertheless, that the “common people,” no less than the learned, had a perfect right to the truth and to being instructed.

Luther was also anxious that the innovation at communion should be introduced in an unobtrusive manner. “Avoid anything unusual or any attempt to oppose the masses.”[950]

Although to receive under both kinds was regarded as the only “evangelical” way, agreeable “to Christ’s institution,” yet the weak were to be permitted to receive under the form of bread only and the reception of the chalice not to be[322] prescribed “until we make the Evangel better known throughout the world.”[951] “But if anyone is so weak in this matter as rather to omit receiving the Sacrament altogether than to receive under one kind only, he was also to be indulged and allowed to live according to his conscience.”[952] In justification of all this Luther declared that the practice of the new religion must be introduced gently and “without detriment to charity.” That it was really a question of preventing disturbances and preserving charity, Cochlæus and others could not be made to see; this writer, in his work on Lutheranism, goes so far as to speak of Luther’s “hypocritical deception” of the masses.

Later, the advocate of this sagacious method of procedure could declare: “Thank God, in indifferent matters our churches are so arranged that a layman, whether Italian or Spaniard, unable to understand our preaching, seeing our Mass, choir, organs, bells, chantries, etc., would surely say that it was a regular papist church, and that there was no difference, or very little, between it and his own.” He rejoiced that, in spite of the hot-heads, no more had been altered in the ritual than was absolutely necessary to conform it to his teaching.[953]

Such is the course to pursue, he says, “If our churches are not to be shattered and confused and nothing to be effected among the Papists.”[954] As a matter of fact, the system he recommended did in some districts “effect much” among Papists who would otherwise have refused to have anything to do with him, the poor people not dreaming of the wide gulf which separated the new worship from the old. The people would not voluntarily have given up their faith in the truly sacrificial character of the Eucharist, in transubstantiation and sacrifice generally; as Melanchthon himself admitted: “The world is so much attached to the Mass that it seems well-nigh impossible to wrest people from it.”[955]

We may here mention what occurred at a later date within[323] the Lutheran fold. At the instigation of Wittenberg the adaptation of the Catholic worship was carried out very thoroughly in some places, the principle proving highly conducive to the acceptance of the new church system. In few countries, however, was this the case to such an extent as in Denmark, where Luther’s friend Bugenhagen was responsible for the change of religion. Even to-day, in the Protestant worship established in Denmark, Norway and the duchies formerly united to the Danish crown, there is to be found a surprising number of Catholic reminiscences, from the solemn Eucharistic service down to the ringing of the bells thrice daily for prayer. In the celebration of the solemn Eucharist the preachers even vest in a white linen alb and chasuble of red velvet; the elevation, too, is still preserved, for, after the “consecration,” which is pronounced from the middle of the altar according to immemorial custom, the Bread and Wine are shown to the people.

Martin Weier, a young student of good family from Pomerania, took counsel of Luther as to how, on his return from Wittenberg, he was to behave with regard to his old father in the matter of Divine worship. Luther, according to his own account, told him “to conform to his father’s wishes in every way in order not to offend him; follow his example concerning fasting, prayer, hearing Mass and the veneration of the Saints, but at the same time instruct him in the Word of God and on the subject of justification, so as, if possible, to become his spiritual father without giving any offence.” Luther had declared concerning himself that he had offended God most horribly by his former celebration of Mass, more so than if he had been “a highwayman or kept a brothel”; yet he tells his aristocratic pupil that he will be committing no sin, if, “for the sake of his father, he is present at Mass and other acts by which God is dishonoured.”[956]

A contrast to this system of accommodation and the gentle introduction of innovations is presented by the acts of violence which too often occurred on German soil at the time of the religious revolution. The excesses perpetrated by the people were, as can be proved, encouraged by the inflammatory speeches of the preachers, Luther’s own words being frequently appealed to; their effect in such[324] times of popular commotion was like that of oil poured on the flames. In “the streets and at every corner,” on all the walls, on placards, in broadsides, and even on playing cards the clergy and the monks were abused, to quote Luther’s own testimony.[957] “Turks” and “worse than Turks,” such were the descriptions applied to them by the populace in imitation of Luther. “We shall never be successful against the Turks,” he says later, reverting to his earlier style of language, “unless we fall upon them and the priests at the right moment and smite them dead.”[958]

In the case of Luther himself such expressions were empty words, but the mob scrupled little about carrying them into effect. In many instances, however, lust for riches on the part of the great, who longed to possess themselves of Church property, and the long-standing antagonism of towns and Princes to the rights claimed by bishops and abbots, led to violence. The exaltation of their own power was for many of the authorities their principal reason for taking sides against the older Church. It must be borne in mind that, subsequent to 1525, Luther himself was no longer the sole head of the movement of apostasy. More and more he began to hand over the actual guidance of the movement to the secular power, a condition of things which had been preparing since the Diet of Worms. The direction of so far-reaching an undertaking was scarcely suited to his talents, which were not of the administrative order. To his followers, however, he remained the chief authority as pastor, preacher and writer; he continued to take an active part in all public affairs, and, on many occasions, exercised a direct and profound influence on the spread of the new Church.

Many well-meaning and highly respected men supported the new establishment from no selfish motives, and became open and genuine promoters of Luther’s cause, because they looked upon it as just and true. The ideal character, which Wittenberg was successful in stamping on Luther’s aims, proved very seductive, especially in the then prevailing[325] ignorance of the real state of things, and in many places won for the cause devoted and enthusiastic workers.

To take but one example: A knight, Hartmuth (Hartmann) von Cronberg, in the Taunus, glowing with zeal for the new Evangel, wrote a letter recommending the Lutheran congregational system to the inhabitants of Cronberg and Frankfurt.

The earnestness with which Cronberg espoused the Lutheran ideas is shown by the fact of his resigning, after the Diet of Worms, a yearly stipend of 200 gold gulden, promised him by the Emperor, when he entered his service with Sickingen in 1519.[961] The assistance he lent to Sickingen’s treacherous machinations against the Empire proved his undoing. His castle of Cronberg was seized on October 15, 1522. He sought to console himself for the loss of his property by a passionate devotion to his religious and political aims. After a life of “undismayed attachment to what he deemed his duty,” says H. Ulmann, this man, “whose fidelity to conviction verged on puritanism,” died at Cronberg on August 7, 1549.[962]

This Lutheran had demanded of the Emperor that he should convince the Pope by “irrefragable proofs” that he was the viceroy of the devil, nay, himself Antichrist. But should the Pope, owing to demoniacal possession, not admit this, then the Emperor had full right and authority and was bound before God to proceed against him by force, as against “an apostate, heretic and Antichrist.”[963] Some of his admirers, and likewise a eulogist of modern times, have extolled Hartmuth von Cronberg as a “Knight after God’s own heart.” His fanaticism, however, went so far that few dared to follow. The most unjust acts of violence, not merely against the Papal Antichrist, but also against church property which he declared everyone free to appropriate, were exalted by him to principles. In a circular-letter to Sickingen he wrote: “All ecclesiastical property[327] has been declared free [i.e. ownerless] by God Himself, so that whoever by the grace of God can get some of it may keep it with God’s help, and no creature whether Pope or devil can harm such property.” He warns the Frankfurt priest, Peter Meyer, in a printed letter, that unless he is converted to the “Evangel” any man may, with a good conscience, take action against him, “just as it is lawful to fall upon a ravening wolf, a sacrilegious thief and murderer, with word and deed.”[964]

Wittenberg. The Saxon Electorate

The abolition of the last remnants of Catholic worship in Wittenberg was characterised by violence and utter want of consideration.

Only in the Collegiate Church, which was ruled by Provost and Chapter, had it been possible to continue the celebration of Mass. On April 26, 1522, at the instance of Luther, the Elector Frederick determined that the solemn exposition of the rich treasury of relics belonging to the Church should be discontinued, in spite of the fact that the relics were in great part his own gift to a Church which had enjoyed his especial favour. Luther, however, was anxious completely to transform this “Bethaven,” this place of idolatry, as he called the Church,[965] and in this matter the Prior and some of the Canons were on his side.

After some unsuccessful negotiations, carried on with the Elector through Spalatin, Luther himself invited the Chapter, on March 1, 1523, to abolish all Catholic ceremonies, as abominations, which could only give scandal at Wittenberg. “The cause of the ‘Evangel,’ which Christ has committed to this city as a priceless gift,” forced him, so he declared, to speak. “My conscience can no longer keep silence owing to the office entrusted to me.” If they would not give way peaceably, then they must be prepared for “public insults” from him, seeing that they would have to be excluded from the congregation as non-Christians, and have their company shunned.[966]

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The Dean, who was faithful to the Church, and the Catholic members of the Chapter persisted in their resistance, urging that the Elector himself did not wish to see the Masses discontinued which his ancestors had founded for the repose of their souls.

Luther, not in the least disconcerted, on July 11, 1523, repeated his written declaration, this time in a peremptory tone. “If we endure this any longer,” he writes, “it will fall upon our own heads and we shall be burdened with the sins of others.” The Canons were not to tell him that “the Elector commanded or did not command to do this or to alter that. I am speaking now to your own consciences. What has the Elector to do with such matters?” he asks, strangely contradicting his own theory. “You know what St. Peter says, Acts v. 29, ‘We ought to obey God rather than men,’ and St. Paul (Gal. i. 8), ‘Though an angel from heaven preach a gospel to you besides that which we have preached to you, let him be anathema.’” He summons them to “obey,” otherwise he will pray against them as he has hitherto prayed for them, and as Christ was “jealous” it might be that his “prayer would be powerful and you may have to suffer for it.” “Christ soon punishes those who are His, when they wax disobedient (cp. 1 Peter iv. 17).”[967]

His violence in the pulpit gave reason for anticipating the worst when, on the very next day, he gave free rein to his eloquence against the Collegiate Church.

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The agitation intentionally fomented became, however, so great, that the Canons did not know what steps to take against the “rising excitement of the inhabitants” of Wittenberg,[976] for the saving of the Catholic services, and for the safety of their own persons. Even before this, students had perpetrated disorders at night in the Collegiate Church, and Luther had himself declared that he was obliged daily to restrain the people to prevent the committing of excesses. The Canons were now tormented by the singing of satires on the Mass outside their house, and had to listen to the curses which were showered on them. One night the Dean had his windows smashed. The Town Council, and also the University, now definitely took sides against the Chapter, and, after warning them in writing of God’s anger, sent representatives to advise the Canons of their excommunication. Although no actual tumult took place, yet the public declarations and the threatening attitude of the populace incited by Luther amounted to practical compulsion. The few Canons still remaining finally yielded to force, particularly when they saw that the Elector, Frederick “the Wise,” refused to give any but evasive replies to their appeals.

On Christmas Day, 1524, for the first time, there was no Mass.

Protestants themselves have recently admitted that, “contrary to the express wish of the sovereign and not without the employment of force against the Canons”[977] did “Luther succeed in carrying matters so far.”[978] “The Canons finally gave way before new outbursts of violence on the part of the students and the citizens,” when, according to Luther’s own account, there remained only “three hogs and paunches” of all the Canons formerly attached to this Church, not of “All Saints,” but rather of “All Devils.”[979]

An echo of his tempestuous sermon of November 27 is to be found in the pamphlet which Luther published at the commencement of 1525: “On the abomination of Silent Masses” (against the Canon of the Mass). In the Preface he refers directly to the inglorious proceedings against the unfortunate Chapter. He finds it necessary to declare that[331] he, for his part, had aroused no revolt, for what was done by the established authorities could not be termed revolt; the “secular gentlemen,” who, according to him, constituted the established authorities, had, however, felt it their duty to take steps against the Catholic worship in the Collegiate Church.

In that same year, 1525, under the auspices of the new Elector Johann, a great friend to Lutheranism, who succeeded the Elector Frederick upon his death on May 5, 1525, and whom Luther had long before won over to his cause, the order of Divine Service at Wittenberg was entirely altered. “The Pope” was at last, as Spalatin joyfully proclaimed throughout the city, “completely set aside.”[980]

Under the rule of the Elector Johann, Luther at once carried out the complete suppression of Catholic worship throughout the Electorate.

On October 1, 1525, Spalatin wrote to the Elector Johann: “Dr. Martin also says, that your Electoral Grace is on no account to permit anyone to continue the anti-Christian ceremonies any longer, or to start them again.”[981]

With the object of helping him in his work at Court and of removing any scruples he might have, Luther explained to Spalatin, in a letter of November 11 of the same year, that by stamping out the Catholic worship rulers would not be forcing the faith on anyone, but merely prohibiting such open abominations as the Mass; if anyone, in spite of all, desired to believe in it privately, or to blaspheme in secret, no coercion would be exercised.[982] No attention was paid to the rights of Catholics to a Divine Worship, attendance at which was to them a matter of conscience. They were simply to be permitted to emigrate; if they chose to remain they were not to “perform or take any part in any public worship.”[983] It was on such principles as these that the Memorandum which Spalatin presented to the Elector on January 10, 1526, was based.[984]

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Luther himself appealed to the Elector on February 9, 1526, seeking to “fortify his conscience” and to encourage him “to attack the idolaters with even greater readiness.” He points out to him, first, how damnable is the blasphemous, idolatrous worship; were he to afford it any protection, then “all the abominations against God would eventually weigh upon his, the Prince’s, conscience”; secondly, that differences in religious worship would inevitably give rise to “revolt and tumults”; hence the ruler must provide that “in each locality there be but one doctrine.”[985]

To the force of such arguments Johann could not but yield.

He answered in a friendly letter to Luther on February 13, 1526, that he had been pleased to take note of the difficulty, and would for the future know how to comport himself in these matters in a Christian and irreproachable manner.[986] Subsequent to this assurance he acted as an apt pupil of the Wittenberg Professor.

In accordance with the instructions given by the Elector in 1527 for the general Visitation of the Churches in the Saxon Electorate, an “inquisition” was to be held everywhere by the ecclesiastical Visitors as to whether any “sect or schism” existed in the country. Whoever was “suspected of error in respect of the sacraments or some doctrine of faith” was to be “summoned and interrogated, and, if the occasion required, hostile witnesses were to be heard”; if any refused to give up their “error,” they were commanded to sell their possessions within a given time and to quit the country.[987] One thing only was still wanting, viz. that the people should be compelled by the Ruler to attend the Lutheran sermons and services. Even this was, however, implied in the regulations, since those who did not attend were classed among the “suspects.” As time went on Luther demanded the exercise of such coercion, and it was[333] actually introduced in the Electorate and, later, in the Protestant Duchy of Saxony.[988]

The proceedings on the introduction of the innovations in other districts were similar to those in the Electorate of Saxony. Wherever a small group of persons were willing to throw in their lot with the first local representatives of the new faith—generally clerics—they were backed up by the State authorities, who reconstructed the religious system as they thought best. “Nowhere was the primitive Lutheran ideal realised of a congregation forming itself in entire independence.... Thus at an early date Lutheranism took its place among the political factors, and its development was to a certain extent dependent upon the tendencies and inclinations of the authorities and ruling sovereigns of that day.”[989]

The Electors Frederick and Johann of Saxony were gradually joined by a number of other Princes who introduced the innovations into their lands, and the magistrates of the larger, and even of some of the smaller, Imperial cities soon followed suit. Thus the whole movement, having owed its success so largely to the authorities, was governed and exploited by them and assumed a strongly political character, needless to say, much to the detriment of its religious aspect.

What part the “inclinations of the ruling sovereigns” played, even in opposition to Luther’s own wishes, is plain from the example of the Margrave Philip of Hesse, who, next to the Elector of Saxony, was the most powerful, and undoubtedly the most determined, promoter of the great apostasy. This Prince, whose leanings were towards Zürich, as early as 1529 was anxious to extend the alliance he had concluded in the interests of the innovations with the Saxon Electorate, so as to embrace also the Zwinglians. Attracted by Zwingli’s denial of the sacrament, he also sought, with the assistance of theologians of his own way of thinking, to amalgamate the Swiss doctrine with that of[334] Wittenberg; in this he was not, however, successful. The great religious alliance with Wittenberg aimed at by Zwingli himself as well as by Philip, and which it was hoped to settle at the Conference of Marburg (see vol. iii., xix. 1), was never realised, Luther refusing to give in on any point. In Hesse, however, the Zwinglian influence was maintained through the agency of theologians of Bucer’s school, which had the favour of the Court, while at Strasburg and other South German cities the authorities, leaning even more to the Swiss Confession, set up their “reformed” view as the actual rule of faith in their domains.

Nuremberg

The history of the apostasy of Nuremberg, which may be considered separately here, exhibits another type of the proceedings at the general religious revolution.

It would, of course, be unfair to ascribe to Luther all the deeds of violence or injustice which took place in great number on the spread of the new ecclesiastical system. It is notorious how much the unruly, turbulent spirit of that day contributed to the distressing phenomena of the struggle then being carried on. Such a far-reaching revolution naturally set free forces and passions in both the higher and lower spheres, which could only with difficulty be brought once more under control. Now and then, too, faithful Catholics, laymen, priests and religious, by a misuse of the power they happened to possess, gave occasion to renewed acts of oppression on the part of the Lutherans.

It is, nevertheless, right to point out the turbulent stamp which Luther impressed upon the movement. His own share in the work, some examples of which we have considered above, were utterly at variance with his advice to Gabriel Zwilling, viz. “to leave everything to God, to avoid introducing innovations and to guide the people solely by faith and charity” (above, p. 314).

Luther and the Introduction of the New Teaching at Erfurt

The most powerful impulse to the introduction of the new teaching in Erfurt proceeded from the Augustinian house in that town. Its former Prior, Johann Lang, became an apostle of Lutheranism after having prepared the way for the innovation as a Humanist of modern views closely allied with the Humanist group at Erfurt.

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We find Lang, in the summer of 1520, still Rural Vicar of his Order, and he may have retained the dignity for some time longer when Wenceslaus Link was elected as Staupitz’s successor at the Chapter held at Eisleben in that year. The fourteen monks of the Augustinian Congregation—at one time so faithful to the Church—who quitted the Order before Lang, remind us of the sad fact, that in his work Luther met with support in many places from those who were originally Catholics, and that the innovation was often heartily welcomed by members of the clergy, secular and regular.

The Saxon Augustinian Congregation, which was strongly represented at Erfurt, had been undermined by Luther’s spirit no less than by the struggle between the Conventuals and the Observantines. At the convention of the Order, held at Wittenberg on the Feast of the Three Kings in 1522, it was decided that begging would henceforth be no longer allowed,[992] “because we follow Holy Scripture.” At that time many had already apostatised. It was further ordained, that, by virtue of the evangelical freedom of the servants of God, everyone was free to leave his monastery. “Among those who are Christ’s there is neither monk nor layman. Whoever is not yet able to comprehend this freedom may act as he thinks fit, but must not give scandal to others by his conduct, in order that the Holy Evangel be not blasphemed.” On this the Protestant historian of the Augustinian Congregation remarks: “This [i.e. the giving of no scandal] was more easily commended than put into effect.” And, speaking of the time when the Erfurt Augustinian house was already almost empty (Usingen, Nathin and a few others alone remaining faithful), he writes: “Lang and his companions were in great danger of seeing the triumph of the Evangel rather in the rooting out of Popery than in the promoting of the new evangelical life.... Usingen, exposed to the mockery and insults of his own pupils, which he had certainly never deserved, at last quitted in anger the spot where he had worked for many years,” “an honest man.”[993] He withdrew in 1525 to the Augustinian monastery at Würzburg.

Factors favourable to the spread of Lutheranism in[338] Erfurt were: The Humanism, antagonistic to the Church, which was all-powerful at the University; the restlessness of the common people, who were dissatisfied with their condition; the jealousy existing between the secular and regular clergy, the struggle which the town was carrying on with its chief pastor, the Archbishop of Mayence, concerning rights and property; last, but not least, the hatred of the laity for the opulent and far too numerous clergy. Here, therefore, we find the selfsame elements present which elsewhere so ably seconded the preaching of the new evangelists.

Erfurt affords an example of how pious foundations of former ages had multiplied to an excessive and burdensome extent, a condition of things which was no longer any real advantage to the Church, and simply tended to arouse the jealousy of the laity and working man.

There were more than three hundred vicariates (livings, or benefices), twenty-one parish churches or churches of the same standing, thirty chapels and six hospitals; the number of secular clergy was in proportion to the work entailed in serving the above, and there was an even greater number of monks and nuns. In every corner there were monastic establishments. Benedictines, the Scottish Brotherhood, the Canons Regular, Carthusians, Dominicans and Franciscans, Servites and Augustinians, all were represented. In addition to this were four or five convents of women. Erfurt perhaps possessed more ecclesiastical foundations and institutions than any other town in Germany, with the possible exception of Cologne and Nuremberg.[994] The rich possessions of the convents and churches at Erfurt were made the pretext for the religious innovations. The immunity they enjoyed from the burdens borne by the citizens was to be made an end of, the ecclesiastical property was to be handed over to the town, and the town itself was to be withdrawn from the temporal sway of the Archbishop of Mayence.

When Luther, who was already under the ban, preached at Erfurt, on April 7, 1521, in the Church of the Augustinians (see above, p. 63), he represented the religious change, the way for which had already been paved,[339] in the light of that evangelical freedom which his view of faith and works was to bring to the inhabitants of Erfurt.[995]

The result was stupendous, especially in the case of the young men at the University whom the Humanists had disposed in Luther’s favour. On the day after Luther’s departure one of his sympathisers, a Canon of the Church of St. Severus, who had taken part in the solemn reception accorded Luther on his arrival in the town, was told by the Dean, Jakob Doliatoris, that he was under excommunication and might no longer attend the service in choir. On his complaining to the University, of which he was a[340] member, the students intervened with demonstrations in his favour.[997]

Luther heard of this only through certain unreliable reports and wrote to Spalatin: “They apprehend still worse things at Erfurt. The Senate pretends to see nothing of what is going on. The clergy are reviled. The young apprentices are said to be in league with the students. We are about to see the prophecy fulfilled: ‘Erfurt has become a new [Husite] Prague.’” Previous to this, in the same letter, he had said of his adversaries in the Empire: “Let them be, perhaps the day of their visitation is at hand.”[998]

Soon after, however, he became rather more concerned, perhaps owing to further reports of the unrest, and began to fear for the “good name and progress of the Evangel,” in consequence of the acts of brutality committed. “It is indeed quite right,” he wrote to Melanchthon, “that those who persist in their impiety should have their courage cooled,” but in this “Satan makes a mockery of us”; he sees in a mystical vision “The Judgment Day,” the approaching end of the world at Erfurt, and the fig tree, as had been foretold, growing up, covered with leaves, but bare of fruit because the cause of the Evangel could not make its way.[999]

In July, 1521, there broke out in the town the so-called “Pfaffensturm.”

In a few days more than sixty parsonages had been pulled down, libraries destroyed and the archives and tithe registers of the ecclesiastical authorities ransacked; little regard was shown for human life. A little later seven clergy-houses were again set on fire. Meanwhile the Lutheran preachers, with the fanatical Lang at their head, were at liberty to stir up the people.[1000] The ruin of the University was imminent; many parents withdrew their sons, fearing lest they should be infected with the “Husite heresy.” The customary Catholic services were, however,[341] performed as usual, but the end of Catholic worship could be foreseen owing to the ever-increasing growth of “evangelical freedom.” Renegade monks, especially Luther’s former Augustinian comrades, preached against “the old Church as the mother of faithlessness and hypocrisy”; Lang spoke of the monasteries as “dens of robbers.” Under the attacks of the preachers one human ordinance after another fell to the ground. Fasting, long prayers, founded Masses, confraternities, everything in fact, disappeared before the new liberty, value being allowed only to temporal works of mercy. The avarice of the “shorn, anointed priestlings” was no longer to be stimulated by the people’s money. “Ruffianly crowds showed their sympathy with the preachers by yelling and shouting in church. Theological questions were debated in market-places and taverns, men, women and boys expounded the Bible.”[1001]

Luther, through Lang, urged the Augustinians at Erfurt, who still remained true to their monastic Rule, to apostatise; he merely expressed the wish that there should be no “tumults” against the Order. Lang was to “defend the cause of the Evangel”[1002] at the next Convention of the Saxon Augustinians, a meeting which took place at Epiphany, 1522 (above, p. 337). Lang justified his apostasy in a work in which he expressly appeals to the new doctrines on faith and good works. The exodus of the monks from their convent was not, however, carried out as quietly as Luther would have wished; he dreaded the “slanders of the foes of the Evangel” and was depressed by the immorality of the inhabitants of Erfurt, and by his own experience with his followers. He spoke his mind to Lang: “The power of the Word is still concealed, or else you pay too little heed to it. This surprises me greatly. We are just the same as before, hard, unfeeling, impatient, sinful, intemperate, lascivious and combative, in short, the mark of the Christian, true charity, is nowhere to be found. Paul’s words are fulfilled in us: We have God’s Word on our lips, but not in power (cp. 1 Cor. iv. 20).”[1003] In 1524 Lang married the rich widow of an Erfurt fuller.

Those who had been unfaithful to their vows and priestly[342] obligations, and then acted as preachers of the new faith, gave the greatest scandal by their conduct.

Many letters dating from 1522, 1523 and 1524, written by Lutheran Humanists such as Eobanus Hessus, Euricius Cordus and Michael Nossenus, who, with disgust, were observing their behaviour, bore witness to the general deterioration of morals in the town, more particularly among the escaped monks and nuns.[1004] “I see,” Luther himself wrote to Erfurt, “that monks are leaving in great numbers for no other reason than for their belly’s sake and for the freedom of the flesh.”[1005]

Meanwhile, discussions were held in the Erfurt circle of the semi-theologian Lang, on the absence of free-will in man and on “the evil that God does.” Lang applied to Luther for help. “I see that you are idlers,” was his reply, “though the devil provides you with abundance of occupation in what he plots amongst you. You must not argue concerning the evil that God does. It is not, as you fancy, the work of God, but a ceasing to work on God’s part. We desire what is evil when He ceases to work in us and leaves our nature free to fulfil its own wickedness. Where He works the result is ever good. Scripture speaks of such ceasing to work on God’s part as a ‘hardening.’ Thus evil cannot be wrought [by God], since it is nothing (‘malum non potest fieri, cum sit nihil’), but it arises because what is good is neglected, or prevented.”

This was one of the ethical doctrines proclaimed by Luther and Melanchthon which lay at the back of the new theory of good works. Luther enlarged on it in startling fashion in his book “De servo arbitrio” (above, p. 223 ff.).

Bartholomew Usingen, the learned and pious Augustinian, who had once been Luther’s professor and had enjoyed his especial esteem, witnessed with pain and sadness the changes in the town and in his own priory. The former University professor, now an aged man, fearlessly took his place in the yet remaining Catholic pulpits, particularly[343] at St. Mary’s, assured of the support and respect of the staunch members of the fold who flocked in numbers to hear him. There he protested against the new doctrines and the growing licentiousness, though he too had to submit to unheard-of insults, abuse and even violent interruptions of his sermons when emissaries of the Lutherans succeeded in forcing their way in. He also laboured against religious innovations with his pen.

Usingen mentions the “report,” possibly exaggerated, that at one time some three hundred apostate monks were in residence at Erfurt; many ex-nuns were daily to be seen wandering about the streets.[1011] Most of these auxiliaries who had flocked to the town in search of bread, were uneducated clerics who drew upon themselves the scorn of the Humanists belonging to the new faith. Any of these clerics who were capable of speaking in public, by preference devoted themselves to invective. Usingen frequently reproached his foes with their scurrility in the pulpit, their constant attacks on the sins and crimes of the clergy, and their violent reprobation and abuse of institutions and customs held in universal veneration for ages, all of which could only exercise a pernicious influence on morality. “Holy Scripture,” he says in a work against the two preachers Culsamer and Mechler, “commands the preacher to point out their sins to the people and to exhort them to amendment. But the new preaching does not speak to the people of their faults but only of the sins of the clergy, and thus the listener forgets his own sins and leaves the church worse than he entered it.” And elsewhere: “Invective was formerly confined to the viragoes of the market-place, but now it flourishes in the churches.” “Even your own hearers are weary of your everlasting slanders. Formerly, they say, the gospel was preached to us, but such abuse and calumny was not then heard in the pulpit.”[1012]

It could not be but regarded as strange that Luther himself, forgetful of his former regard, went so far as to egg on his pupils and friends at Erfurt against his old professor. Usingen certainly had never anticipated such treatment at his hands. “He has, as you know,” Luther wrote to Lang, on June 26, “become hard-headed and full of ingrained obstinacy and conceit. Therefore, in your preaching, you must draw down upon his folly the contempt that such coarse and inflated blindness deserves.” As from his early years he had never been known to yield to anyone,[345] Luther gave up the hope of seeing the stubborn sophist “yield to Christ”; he sees here the confirmation of the proverb: “No fool like an old fool.”[1013]

Carried away by his success at Erfurt, Luther urged the preachers not to allow their energies to flag.

It is true that in an official Circular-Letter to the Erfurt Congregation, despatched on July 10, 1522, and intended for publication, his tone is comparatively calm; the superscription is: “Martin Luther, Ecclesiastes of Wittenberg, to all the Christians at Erfurt together with the preachers and ministers, Grace and Peace in Christ Jesus, Our Lord.”[1014] Therein, at Lang’s request, dealing with the controversy which had arisen at Erfurt regarding the veneration of the Saints, he declares that whilst there was certainly no warrant of Scripture for Saint-worship, it ought not to be assailed with violence (i.e. not after the fashion of the fanatics whose doings were a public danger). He trusts “we shall be the occasion of no rising” and points to his own example as showing with what moderation he had ever proceeded against the Papists: “As yet I have not moved a finger against them, and Christ has destroyed them with the sword of His mouth” (2 Thess. ii. 8).[1015] “Leave Christ to act” in true faith—such is the gist of his exhortation in this letter so admirably padded with Pauline phrases—but despise and avoid the “stiff-necked sophists”; “Whoever stinks, let him go on stinking.” He concludes, quite in the Pauline manner: “May Our Lord Jesus Christ strengthen you together with us in all the fulness of the knowledge of Himself to the honour of His Father, Who is also ours, to Whom be Glory for ever and ever, Amen. Greet Johann Lang [and the other preachers]: George Forchheim, Johann Culhamer, Antony Musam, Ægidius Mechler and Peter Bamberger. Philip, Jonas and all our people greet you. The Grace of God be with you all, Amen.”[1016]

But when Luther, at the instance of Duke Johann of Saxony and his son Johann Frederick, came to Erfurt, in October, 1522, accompanied by Melanchthon, Agricola and[346] Jacob Probst, and proceeded to address the multitude who flocked to hear him (October 21 and 22), he was unable to restrain his passion, and, by his words of fire, fanned the hatred and blind fanaticism of the mob to the highest pitch.

As far as the change at Erfurt went, the moral condition of the town was to serve more than ever as a refutation of Luther’s expectation that “the works will follow.”

On January 24, 1524, Eobanus Hessus wrote to Lang: “Immorality, corruption of youth, contempt of learning and dissensions, such are the fruits of your Evangel.”[1033] “I[350] dislike being here very much,” he says, in the same year, to his friend Sturz, “since all is lost, for there is now no hope of a revival of learning or of a recovery in public life. Everything is on the road to destruction, and we ourselves are rendered odious to all classes by reason of some unlearned deserters. “Oh, unhappy Erfurt,” he cries, in view of the “outrageous behaviour of these godless men of God”; one seeks to oppress the other; already the battlefield of passion is tinged with “blood.”[1034]

“You have by your preaching called forth a diabolical life in the town,” Usingen wrote in 1524 of the preachers at Erfurt, “although this is now displeasing to you, and you encourage it even up to the present day; you set the people free from the obedience which, according to the Divine command, they owe to the authorities of the Church, you deprive the people of the fear both of God and of man, hence the corruption of morals, which increases from day to day.”[1035]

Usingen, who continued courageously to vindicate the faith of his fathers, was depicted by the preachers as a “crazy old man,” just as they had been advised to do by Luther. “I am quite pleased to hear,” Luther wrote to Lang some considerable time after his return, “that this ‘Unsingen’ is still carrying on his fooleries; as the Apostle Paul says, their folly must be made manifest (2 Tim. iii. 9).”[1036]

The champion of the Church, the alleged fool, was sufficiently clear-sighted and frank to predict the Peasant-War as the end of all the godless commotion, and to prophesy that the result of the general religious subversion would be the ruin of his German Fatherland. A fanatical preacher in the town had appealed to the mattocks of the peasants. Him the Augustinian asks: “If the Word of God suffices in the Church, why have you in your sermons appealed for help to the pickaxes, mattocks and spades of the peasants?” “Why do you tell the people that the peasant must come from the field with these weapons to assist the Evangel, if your own and your comrades’ words prove of no avail? Do you not know with what audacity the peasants are already rising against their lords?” “The new preaching,[351]” he complains, even where it is not directly inflammatory, “renders the people, who are already desirous of innovations and dearly love the freedom of the flesh, only too much inclined for tumults, and this daily foments the spirit of unrest.”[1037] “Do you not know that the mob is a hydra-headed monster, a monster that thirsts for blood? Are you anxious to promote your cause with the help of cut-throats?”[1038] Owing to the iconoclasts, the ancient greatness of Constantinople fell, and the Roman Empire of the East faded away; in like manner, so gloomily he predicts, the religious struggle now being waged in Germany will bring about the ruin of the Western Empire and the loss of its ancient greatness.[1039]

The help which the innovators received from the Erfurt magistrates induced the leaders of the party to pin their trust on the support of the secular authorities. Even this was justified by appeals to Scripture.

Lang, on presenting to Hermann von Hoff, the president of the Erfurt town-council, a translation which he had made of the Gospel of St. Matthew, stated in the accompanying letter, that he had done so “in order that all may know and take heed to the fact, that whatever they undertake against the Gospel is also directed against you. It is necessary, unfortunately, to defend the Gospel by means of the sword.”[1040]

When, in 1525, on the news of the Peasant Rising in[353] Swabia and Franconia, meetings were held by the peasants in the Erfurt district, the adherents of the movement determined to enforce by violence their demands even at Erfurt. Those in the town who sympathised with Luther made common cause with the rebels.[1044] The magistrates were undecided. They were not as yet exclusively Lutheran, but were anxious to make the town independent of the Archbishop of Mayence, and to secure for themselves the property and rights of the clergy. For the most part the lower orders were unfavourable to the magistrates, and therefore sided with the peasantry.

The peasants from the numerous villages which were politically regarded as belonging to the Erfurt district demanded that they should be emancipated from the burdens which they had to bear, and placed on a footing of social equality with the lower class of Erfurt burghers. With this they joined, as had been done elsewhere, religious demands in the sense of Luther’s innovations. The movement was publicly inaugurated by fourteen villages at a meeting held in a beerhouse on April 25 or 26, 1525, at which the peasants bound themselves by an oath taken with “uplifted right hand,” at the risk of their lives “to support the Word of God and to combine to abolish the old obsolete imposts.” When warned not to go to Erfurt, one of the leaders replied: “God has enlightened us, we shall not remain, but go forward.” As soon as they had come to an agreement as to their demands concerning the taxes “and other heavy burdens which the Evangel was to assist them to get rid of,” they collected in arms around the walls of Erfurt.[1045] The magistrates then took counsel how to divert the threatening storm and direct it against the clergy and the hated authorities of Mayence. The remembrance of the “Pfaffensturm” which, in 1521, had served as a means to allay the social grievances, was an encouragement to adopt a similar course. As intermediary between council and peasants, Hermann von Hoff, who has been mentioned above as an opponent of the Catholic clergy and the rights[354] of Mayence, took a leading part; one of his principles was that “it is necessary to make use of every means, sweet as well as bitter, if we are to allay so great a commotion and to avert further mischief.”[1046]

In their perplexity the magistrates, through the agency of Hoff, admitted the horde of peasants, only stipulating that they should spare the property of the burghers, though they were to be free to plunder the Palace of the Archbishop of Mayence, the “hereditary lord” of the city, and also the toll-house. The peasants made their entry on April 28 with that captain of the town whom Lang had invited to draw the sword in the cause of the Evangel. Not only was the Palace despoiled and the toll-house utterly destroyed, but the salt warehouses and almost all the parsonages were attacked and looted. In the name of “evangelical freedom” the plunderers vented all their fury on the sacred vessels, pictures and relics they were still able to find.

“In the Archbishop’s Palace Lutheran preachers, for instance, Eberlin of Günzburg, Mechler and Lang, mixed with the rabble of the town and country and preached to them.” The preachers made no secret of being “in league with the peasantry and the proletariate of the town.” The clergy and religious were, however, to be made “to feel still more severely”[1047] the effects of the alliance between the three parties.

Yielding to the pressure of circumstances, the councillors gave their sanction on May 9, 1525, “under the new seal,” to the amended articles, twenty-eight in number, which had been drafted by the town and peasant committees during the days of storm and stress. The very first article made obligatory the preaching of “the pure Word of God,” and gave to each congregation the right to choose its own pastors. “The gist of the remaining articles was the appointment of a permanent administrative council to give a yearly account, and to impose no new taxes without the knowledge and sanction of both burghers and country subjects.”

In accepting the articles it was agreed that Luther’s opinion on them should be ascertained, a decision which seems to show that the peasants and burghers, though probably not the councillors themselves, reckoned upon the weighty sanction of Wittenberg. Yet about May 4 Luther had finished his booklet “Against the murderous Peasants” (above p. 201), which was far from favourable to seditious[357] movements such as that of Erfurt. The council invited him by letter, on May 10, to come to Erfurt with Melanchthon “and establish the government of the town,” as Melanchthon puts it (“ad constituendum urbis statum”).[1052] Luther, however, did not accept the invitation, and a month later the council sent him a copy of the articles, requesting a written opinion. It is difficult to believe that the Erfurt magistrates were not aware of Luther’s growing bitterness against the peasants, which is attested by the pamphlets he wrote at the time, or that they were incapable of drawing the obvious conclusion as to his reply.[1053] “If the council in taking this step,” says Eitner, “was relying on Luther’s known attitude towards all revolutionary movements, and hoped to make an end of the inconvenient demands of the people by means of the Reformer’s powerful words, then their expectation was fully realised. Both Luther’s letter (i.e. his answer to the council) and his written notes on the copy of the articles sent him, are full of irony expressing the displeasure of one whose advice was so much in request, but whose interference in the peasant movement, in spite of his good intentions, had thus far met with so little success.... The very articles which the authors had most at heart were submitted by Luther to a relentless and somewhat pointless criticism.... Thus we see in a comparatively trivial case what has long been acknowledged of his action generally, viz. that Luther’s interference in the Peasant-War cannot be altogether justified.... His conduct shattered his reputation, both in the empire and in his second native town [Erfurt], and paved the way for the inevitable reaction.”[1054]

Luther, in his reply to the “Honourable, prudent and beloved” members of the Erfurt council,[1055] declares[358] in the very first sentences that the Twenty-eight Articles were so “ill-advised” that “little good could come of them” even were he present himself at Erfurt; he is of opinion that certain people, who “are better off than they deserve,” are putting on airs at the expense of the council, constitute a danger to the common weal, and, with “unheard-of audacity and wickedness,” wish to “turn things upside down.” Things must never be permitted to come to such a pass that the councillors fear the common people and become their servants; the common people must be quiet and entrust all to the honourable magistrates to be set right, “lest the Princes have occasion to take up arms against Erfurt on account of such unwarrantable conduct.” Luther’s new sovereign, the Elector Johann, had just been assisting in the suppression of the peasant rising. He was in entire sympathy with the Wittenberg Professor, whom he so openly protected and favoured, and doubtless they had discussed together the state of affairs at Erfurt. In his written reply Luther asks whether it is not “seditious” to refuse to pay the Elector the sum due to him for acting as protector of the city. “Did they, then, esteem so lightly the Prince and the security of the town, which, as a matter of fact, was something not to be paid for in money?” Their demand really signified either that “no one was to protect the town of Erfurt, or that the Princes were to relinquish their claim to payment and yet continue to protect the town.”

The demand that the congregations of the parishes should appoint their own pastors Luther considered particularly inadmissible; it was “seditious that the parishes should wish to appoint and dismiss their own pastors without reference to the councillors, as though the councillors, in whom authority was vested, were not concerned in what the town might do.” He insists that “the councillors have the right to know what sort of persons are holding office in the town.”

Concerning some of the articles which dealt with taxes and imposts, he points out that the business is not his concern, since these are temporal matters. Of the proposal to re-establish the decayed University of Erfurt he says: “This article is the best of all.” Of two of the articles he notes: “Both these will do,” one being that, for the future,[359] openly immoral persons and prostitutes of all classes were not to be tolerated, nor the common houses of public women, and the other, that every debtor, whether to the council or the community, should be “faithfully admonished no matter who he might be.” Concerning the former of these two articles, however, we may remark, that a house of correction for the punishment of light women had existed at Erfurt under the Archbishop’s rule, but had been razed to the ground by the very framers of the articles as soon as the peasants entered the town.

The principal thing, in Luther’s opinion, was to place the reins in the hands of the magistrates, so that they may not sit there like an “idol,” “bound hand and foot,” “while the horses saddle and bridle their driver”; on the contrary, the aim of the articles seemed to him to be, to reduce the councillors to be mere figureheads, and to let “the rabble manage everything.”[1056] The “rabble” was just then Luther’s bugbear.

The clergy who had quitted the city addressed, on May 30, a written complaint to the Cardinal of Mayence, with an account of the proceedings. On June 8 they also appealed to Johann, the Saxon Elector, and to Duke George of Saxony, asking for their mediation, since they were the “protectors and liege lords” of their Church. They also did all they could with the council to recover their rights. The councillors were, however, merely rude, and replied that the proud priests might ask as much as they pleased but would get no redress. This was what caused them to complain to their secular protectors that they were being treated worse than the meanest peasant. Duke George advised them to await the result of the negotiations which, as he knew, were proceeding between the town of Erfurt and the Cardinal.

The Lutheran Elector, on the other hand, entered into closer relations with the town-council of Erfurt, accepting with good grace their appeal for help, their protestation of submission and obedience to his rule, and the explicit assurance of the councillors at the Weimar conference, on[360] June 22, “that they would stand by the true and unfeigned Word of God as pious and faithful Christians, and, in support of the same, stake life and limb, with the help of God’s grace.” Thereupon the Elector promised them, on June 23, that, “should they suffer any inconvenience or attack because of the Word of God,” he, as their “liege lord, ruler and protector,” would “stand by them and afford them protection to the best of his ability,” since “the Word of God and the Holy Evangel were likewise dear to him.” In point of fact he did espouse the cause of the inhabitants of Erfurt, though, like Duke George, it was his wish to see a peaceful settlement arrived at between the town and its rightful over-lord.[1057]

The crafty councillors were actually negotiating with the representatives of the Cardinal of Mayence at the very time when they were seeking the protection of Saxony. The over-lord whose rights they had outraged, through his vicar, had made known his peremptory demands to the council on May 26, viz. entire restitution, damages, expulsion of the Lutheran sect, re-establishment of the old worship and payment of an indemnity. In the event of refusal he threatened them with the armed interference of the Swabian League. The threat took effect, for the Swabian League at that time was feared, and disturbers of the peace had had occasion to feel its strength. The hint of armed interference proved all the more effective when Duke George advised the inhabitants of Erfurt to come to terms with the Mayence vicar and abolish Lutheranism, as otherwise they would have to expect “something further.”

The council therefore assumed a conciliatory attitude towards Mayence, and negotiations concerning the restitution to be made were commenced at a conference at Fulda on August 25, 1525. After protracted delays these terminated with the Treaty of Hammelburg on February 5, 1530. This was, “from the political point of view, an utter defeat for the inhabitants of Erfurt.”[1058] The council was not only obliged to recognise the supremacy of the Archbishop, but also to re-erect all buildings which had been destroyed, and to return everything that had been misapplied; in addition to this, for the loss of taxes and other revenues, the council was to pay the Archbishop 2500 gulden, and to[361] the two Collegiate churches, for losses sustained, 1200 marks of fine silver. Both these churches were to be handed over for Catholic worship. The reinstated over-lord, however, declared, for his part, that, “As regards the other churches and matters of faith and ritual, we hereby and on this occasion neither give nor take, sanction nor forbid, anything to any party.”[1059]

Thus the rescinding of the innovations was for the present deferred, and Luther had every reason to be satisfied with what had been effected in a town to which he was attached by many links. How little gratitude he showed to Archbishop Albert, and how fiercely his hatred and animus against the cautious Cardinal would occasionally flame up, will be seen from facts to be mentioned elsewhere.

Among the few Erfurt monks who, though expelled from their monastery, remained true to their profession and to the Church, there was one who attained to a great age and who is mentioned incidentally by Flacius Illyricus. He well remembered the first period of Luther’s life in Erfurt, his zeal for the Church and solicitude for the observance of the Rule.[1060]

When considering Luther’s intervention in Erfurt matters, and his personal action there, one thought obtrudes itself.

When Luther, now quite a different man and in vastly altered circumstances, returned to Erfurt on the occasion of the visit referred to above, is it not likely that he recalled his earlier life at Erfurt, where he had spent happy days of interior contentment, as is shown by the letters he wrote before his priestly ordination? In one of the sermons he delivered there, in October, 1522, he refers to his student days at Erfurt, but it does not appear that he ever seriously[362] reflected on the contrast presented by the convictions he held at that time on the Church and his new ideas on faith and works. His allusions to his Erfurt recollections are neither serious nor grateful towards his old school. He speaks scoffingly of his learned Erfurt opponents, some of whom he had been acquainted with previously, as “knights of straw.” “Yes, they prate, we are Doctors and Masters.... Well, if a title settles the matter, I also became a Bachelor here, and then a Master and then again a Bachelor. I also went to school with them, and I know and am convinced that they do not understand their own books.”[1061]

Another circumstance must be taken into account. Whereas in later life he can scarcely speak of his early years as a monk without telling his hearers how he had passed from an excessive though purely exterior holiness-by-works to his great discovery, viz. to the knowledge of a gracious God, in 1522 he is absolutely silent regarding these “inward experiences”; yet his very theme, viz. the contrast between the new Evangel and the “sophistical holiness-by-works” preferred by Catholics, and likewise the familiar Erfurt scene of his early life as a monk, should, one would think, have invited him to speak of the matter here.[1062]

While Luther was seeking to expel by force the popish “wolves,” more especially the monks and nuns, from the places within reach of the new Evangel, an enemy was growing up in his own camp in the shape of the so-called fanatics; their existence can be traced back as far as his Wartburg days, and his first misunderstanding with Carlstadt; these, by their alliance with Carlstadt, who had been won over to their ideas, and with the help of men like Thomas Münzer, had of late greatly increased their power, thanks to the social conditions which were so favourable to their cause.

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6. Sharp Encounters with the Fanatics

If, on the one hand, the antagonism which Luther was obliged to display towards the fanatical Anabaptists endangered his work, on the other the struggle was in many respects to his advantage.

His being obliged to withstand the claim constantly made by the fanatics to inspiration by the Holy Ghost served as a warning to him to exercise caution and moderation in appealing to a higher call in the case of his own enterprise; being compelled also to invoke the assistance of the authorities against the fanatics’ subversion of the existing order of things, he was naturally obliged to be more reticent himself and to refrain from preaching revolution in the interests of his own teaching. We even find him at times desisting from his claim to special inspiration and guidance by the “spirit” in the negotiations entered into on account of the Münzer business; this, however, he does with a purpose and in opposition with his well-known and usual view. In place of his real ideas, as expressed by him both before and after this period, he, for a while, prefers to deprecate any use of force or violence, and counsels his sovereign to introduce the innovations gradually, pointing out the most suitable methods with patience and prudence.

At first he was anxious that indulgence should be observed even in dealing with the Anabaptists, but later on he invoked vigorously the aid of the authorities.

In reality he himself was borne along by principles akin to those of the fanatics whose ideas were, as a matter of fact, an outcome of his own undertaking. His own writings exhibit many a trait akin to their pseudo-mysticism. In the end his practical common sense was more than a match for these pestering opponents, who for a time gave him so much trouble. His learning and education raised him far above them and made the religious notions of the Anabaptists abhorrent to him, while his public position at the University, as well as his official and personal relations with the sovereign, ill-disposed him to the demagogism of the fanatics and their efforts to win over the common people to their side.

The fanatical aim of Thomas Münzer, the quondam Catholic priest who had worked as a preacher of the new[364] faith at Allstedt, near Eisleben, since 1523, was the extermination by violence of all impious persons, and the setting up of a Kingdom of God formed of all the righteous here on earth, after the ideal of apostolic times. This tenet, rather than rebaptism, was the mark of his followers. The rebaptism of adults, which was practised by the sect, was merely due to their belief that an active faith was essential for the reception of the sacraments, whilst children of tender years were incapable of any faith at all.

As a beginning of the war against the “idolatry” of the old Church, Münzer caused the Pilgrimage Chapel at Malderbach, near Eisleben, where a miraculous picture of Our Lady was venerated, to be destroyed in April, 1524. He then published a fiery sermon he had recently preached, in which he exhorted the great ones and all friends of the Evangel among the people at once to abolish Divine Worship as it had hitherto been practised. The sermon was sent to the Electoral Court by persons who were troubled about the rising, and who begged that Münzer might be called to account. The sermon was also forwarded to Luther by Spalatin, the Court Chaplain, evidently in order that Luther might take some steps to obviate the danger. In point of fact, Luther’s eagle eye took in the situation at a glance, and he at once decided to intervene with the utmost vigour. With Münzer’s spirit he was already acquainted through personal observation, so he said, and now he realised yet more clearly that its effect would be to let the mob loose, with the consequence that “heavenly spirits” of every sort would soon be claiming to interfere in the direction of his own enterprise.

Luther at once composed a clever and powerful writing entitled “A Circular to the Princes of Saxony Concerning the Spirit of Revolt.” This appeared in the last days of July, 1524. To it we shall return later, for it is of great psychological interest.

Münzer was dismissed from his situation, and went to Mühlhausen, where the apostate monk, Heinrich Pfeifer, had already prepared the ground, and thence to Nuremberg. At Nuremberg he brought out, in September, 1524, his “Hochverursachte Schutzrede und Antwort wider das geistlose sanftlebende Fleisch zu Wittenberg” in reply to Luther’s Circular, above mentioned. He then recommenced[365] his restless wanderings through South Germany and Switzerland. He remained for some time with the ex-priest and professor of theology, Balthasar Hubmaier, then pastor of the new faith at Waldshut. On his return to Mühlhausen, in December, he put into execution his fantastic communistic scheme, which lasted until he and the seditious peasants were defeated in the encounter at Frankenhausen on May 15, 1525; his execution for a while put an end to the endeavours of the fanatics. Nevertheless, in other places, more particularly at Münster during the famous Reign of Terror from 1532-1535, the fanaticism of the Anabaptists again broke out under even worse forms.

The short circular, “On the Spirit of Revolt,”[1063] referred to above as a document curiously illustrative of Luther’s psychology, is not important in the sense of furnishing a true picture of his inner thoughts and feelings. Conveying as it does a petition and admonition to the Princes, it is naturally worded politically and with great caution, and was also manifestly intended for the general public. Nevertheless its author, even where he clothes his thoughts in the strange and carefully chosen dress best calculated to serve the purpose he had in view, affords us an interesting glimpse into his mode of action. He also shows throughout the whole circular in what light he wishes to see his own higher mission regarded.

Luther now comes to the proof that, unlike the fanatics, his cause was from God, that it was very different from Münzer’s enterprise, that he was being unfairly attacked by this rival, and that consequently his sovereign should support his undertaking as he had previously done. Here he undoubtedly meets with greater difficulties than when he made the off-hand statement that Münzer’s spirit was a “lying devil, and an evil devil,” and that “storming and fanaticism” and acts of violence by the rabble “Mr. Omnes” must not be permitted.

The one sentence in Luther’s writing which must have made the deepest impression on his princely readers, and on their courtiers, was that concerning the appropriation of the churches and convents, which had been surrendered in consequence of the innovations. “Let the Rulers of the land do what they please with them!” This invitation, in the mind of those in power, was quite sufficient to make up for the deficiencies of the other arguments and to be considered as an irrefragable proof of the justice of the cause.

Luther’s higher mission being in his own opinion so firmly established that he had no cause to fear any man, he goes so far in his Circular as to propose that his Anabaptist foes should not be hindered. “Do not scruple to let them preach freely!” He for his part will gird himself for the fight, and we know of how much the force and violence of his eloquence was capable. Confident that no one could stand against his written or spoken word, he cries: “Let the spirits fall upon one another and fight it out.... Where there is a struggle and a battle some must fall and be wounded, but whoever fights manfully receives the crown.” As a matter of fact, however, he was speedily to withdraw this too-confident challenge; indeed, as we shall see, he later went so far as to demand the infliction of the death-penalty upon those who dared to differ in doctrine from himself, viz. the Anabaptists and fanatics, establishing the necessity of this on passages from the Old Testament which speak of the execution of false prophets.[1067]

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Münzer’s party too had appealed in defence of their violent work of destruction to the precepts of the Old Testament (Gen. xi. 2; Deut. vii. 12; xii. 2, 3: “Destroy the altars and break down the images,” etc.). Hence Luther deemed it necessary to point out in his Circular against them, that “a certain Divine command then existed for such acts of destruction which is not given to us at the present day.”

It was no uncommon thing for the Bible to furnish such matters of dispute for the warring elements; in the question of the Divine commission it ever occupied the foreground.

Luther solemnly raised the Bible on high and, to the Anabaptists and other teachers of the new faith who differed from him, protested that he and he alone had discovered the Word of God and was the appointed teacher. Yet all those whom he addressed said the selfsame thing and even maintained that they could show better proofs of their mission than Luther. How, then, was the question to be decided?

The Catholic Church has never permitted individual doctors to set up their own as the authentic interpretation of the Bible; she declared herself to be the only divinely appointed supreme authority qualified to determine the true sense of the written Word of God, she herself having received the living Word of God, together with authorisation to guard the whole body of Divine teaching, the written inclusive, in its primitive purity, and to proclaim it with an infallible voice. She appeals to the words of Christ: “Teach all nations,” “He that hears you, hears me,” “You shall be witnesses for me to the ends of the earth,” “I am with you, even to the consummation of the world.”[1068]

Outside this safe rule there is nothing but arbitrary judgment and confusion. Luther and those he called “heretics” accused each other of the most flagrant arbitrariness, and not without cause. They applied to each other in derision the phrase: “Bible, Bubble, Babble,” for indeed it was a confusion of tongues. It was not merely Luther who applied the phrase to Münzer’s party, for, according to Agricola, Münzer mocked the Lutherans with the same words when they ventured to attack him with biblical texts. The Anabaptist Conrad Grebel, of Zürich, writing to Münzer on[371] September 5, 1524, says: “You have on your side the Bible, which Luther derides as ‘Bible, Bubble, Babble, etc.’”[1069]

No one could prevent the fanatics from availing themselves of the freedom of private interpretation which Luther had set up as a principle. Münzer, no less than Luther, respected the Bible as such, and knew how to make use of it skilfully. He also, declared, exactly as Luther had done, that he taught the people “only according to Holy Scripture,” and, “please God, never preached his own conceits.”[1070] According to Luther’s own principles, Münzer’s faction had also a perfect right to make the “outward Word” (the Bible) agree with the “inward Word,” which they believed they heard. When Luther, at a later date, insists so strongly on the need of accepting the outward Word as well as the inner worth, this was really a retreat on his part (see vol. iv., xxviii. 1); moreover, by the outward Word he here means the Bible as he explained it.

To force those who were unwilling to accept the new, purely personal and subjective interpretation, and to do so without the authority of the Church, whose claims had been definitively discarded, was to exercise an intolerable spiritual despotism. We can well understand how Münzer came to complain, in one of his letters, that Luther in his Circular-Letter “ramps in as ferociously and hideously as a mighty tyrant.”[1071] He could well complain in particular of Luther’s demand, that the spirit which spoke in Münzer should submit to an examination before the Lutheran tribunal at Wittenberg previous to being acknowledged as a spirit which had been duly called. This Luther required, assuring his followers that Münzer’s party was execrated even by the Papists, that it had no real commission and could show no miracles on its behalf. He was anxious to retain for himself the “first-fruits of the Spirit.” To this the retort of his foes was that the first-fruits of the Spirit were theirs, belonging to them by virtue of heavenly testimony. This fellow Luther wishes to ascribe the first-fruits of the Spirit to himself, wrote Grebel to Münzer, and yet he composes[372] such a “wicked booklet.” I know his intentions; they are thoroughly tyrannical. “I see he means to give you up to the headsman’s axe and hand you over to the Princes.”[1072]

And yet, in spite of other differences between himself and the Anabaptists, Luther found himself in agreement with them not merely on the principle of free interpretation of the Bible but also in the stress he lays on the inspiration from above supposed to be bestowed on all. Luther did not deny that individual inspiration, the “whisper” from on high, as he termed it, was one of the means by which faith might be arrived at; on the contrary, the only question for him was how far this might go.

Luther was fond of insisting that only a heart tried by temptation was able to arrive at the understanding of the words of Scripture and of religious truths in general. Münzer, too, demands this preliminary on the part of the would-be theologian, though he does so in rather more fantastic language. Study of Tauler’s mysticism had filled his mind, even more than Luther’s, with confused notions. On the appearance of Luther’s Circular-Letter, he offered to submit to an examination of his spirit before the whole of Christendom. Those were to be summoned from all nations who had “endured overwhelming temptations in matters of faith and had arrived at despair of heart.” These words we find in a letter addressed to the Elector of Saxony, August 3, 1524.[1073] Luther, however, considered himself far better acquainted with the abyss of interior sufferings than any other; Münzer must not be allowed to interfere with him here. “We must not be bold in the Word of God,” but “treat Holy Scripture with reverence and great fear; this the rabble and the impudent spirits do not do.” Such things (what Christ says concerning the new birth) “cannot be understood, unless a man has experienced it, and himself undergone a spiritual regeneration.”[1074]

Luther, in point of fact, met the Anabaptists half-way on that doctrine of baptism from which they took their name. Rebaptism he naturally rejected, but he nevertheless advocated the principle for which the Anabaptists stood,[373] namely, that, for the reception of baptism, faith is necessary on the part of the catechumen. To overcome the difficulties which presented themselves in the case of children who had not yet reached the use of reason, he had recourse to some curious explanations. There was no help for it; they also must believe. Probably they are enlightened at the moment of baptism, which, in accordance with the Church’s ancient usage, must be administered to them, and, by some Almighty action, are penetrated with that perception of faith which is essential for the reception of this absolutely necessary sacrament, After all, he argues, why should reason be essential for faith? Is not reason really hostile to faith? Strange indeed were the subterfuges in which he took refuge in order to evade the consequences which Münzer and his party rightly drew from his theses.[1075]

But in spite of all they might have in common, and notwithstanding his being the actual father of the detestable Anabaptist error, he felt himself removed far above the fanatics by a sense of superiority and Divine support which no words could adequately express.

His conviction regarding his own supreme mission and his great gifts and achievements, which increased in strength as he advanced in years, derived further encouragement from the utter madness of the fanatics and his success in overthrowing them.

No sooner had the unhappy Münzer been made prisoner and, after a contrite Catholic confession, been beheaded at Mühlhausen, together with Heinrich Pfeifer, a priest, and twenty-four rebels, than Luther proclaimed the event throughout Germany in a pamphlet as a plain judgment of God, which set a seal on his own Evangel and confirmed him as the teacher of the truth.

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His self-confidence makes it as clear as daylight to him that he is the true interpreter of the Word of God, whether against the survivors of Münzer’s party or against the fickle phantasies of Carlstadt; this we see particularly in the caustic, eloquent tracts he launched against the latter: “To the Christians of Strasburg against the fanatics” and “Against the heavenly Prophets.”

In the latter, a famous book which will be dealt with later when we have to speak of Carlstadt (vol. iii., xix. 2), Luther attacks the fanatics along the whole line and unconditionally lays claim to a higher authority for his own personal illumination and his Evangel. Yet he does not omit to point out, in view of the fact that so many repudiated this Evangel, that its power can only be felt by those whose consciences have been “humbled and perturbed.”

Never for a moment does he relinquish his claim, that his interpretation of the Bible is the only true one:—

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We must cut short this string of Luther’s utterances and quote some of the words of his opponents. What Thomas[377] Münzer said in reply is the reverse of feeble, but at least it gives us a good idea of the way in which controversies were conducted in those days. Thomas Münzer, in his printed reply to Luther referred to above,[1094] is manifestly angry that Luther should stamp all who contradict him as devils.

“That most ambitious, lying scribe Dr. Luther,” he says, becomes, “the longer he lives, more of an arrogant fool, shields himself behind Holy Scripture and utilises it to his advantage in the most deceitful manner.”[1095]

In spite of all remonstrances Luther continued, nevertheless, to compare his adversaries to mere devils. The devil beguiles them to employ their reason, to seek the reason (“Quare”) of the articles of faith. Such words are tantamount to an attack on theology in general. “The ‘Quare,’” he says, “leads us into all the unhappiness and heresy by which our first parents were deceived by the devil in Paradise.... Verily we deserve to be crowned with coltsfoot for being so foolish and falling so readily into the snare when the devil comes along with his old ‘Quare.’”[1098]

We will here conclude with a family scene. On one occasion, in 1544, Luther, in the presence of Catherine von Bora, poured out his ire against Schwenckfeld for his want of acquiescence in his doctrines: “He is ‘attonitus’ [moonstruck], like all the fanatics,” he says of him. “He spurts the grand name of Christ over the people and wants me to bow low before him. I thank God I am better off, however, for I know my Christ well, and have no need of this man’s filth.” Here Catherine interrupted him: “But, my dear Sir, that is really too rude.” Luther replied: “They are my masters in rudeness. It is necessary to speak so to the devil; he can make an end of this fanaticism,” etc.... “He leads the Churches astray, though from God he has received neither command nor mission! The mad, devil-possessed fool does not even know what he is talking about.... Of the muck the devil spews and excretes through his booklet I have had quite enough.”[1106]

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7. Progress of the Apostasy. Diets of Spires (1529) and Augsburg (1530)

The Imperial Edict, issued after the Diet of Nuremberg and dated February 8, 1523, had decreed, that the Gospel should be preached agreeably to the teaching of the Christian Church.

At the Diet of Nuremberg, in 1524, it had been enacted that the edict against Luther promulgated at Worms was to stand and to be enforced as far as was possible; the Pope was also to be requested to summon a General Council to meet in Germany, but, before this, it was to be decided at a religious convention, meeting at Spires in the same year, what attitude should be assumed towards the doctrines called into question. Against this decree Luther published an angry, turbulent pamphlet entitled, “Two unequal and contradictory commands.”[1107] He therein showed that the orders of the Diet were self-contradictory; for it was absurd to uphold the Edict of Worms in all its severity and yet at the same time to reserve the decision regarding Luther’s doctrine to the assembly at Spires.[1108]

He went, however, much further and attacked the authority of the Estates and of the Emperor. On the other hand, at the conclusion of the Diet, the Dukes William and Lewis of Bavaria, and twelve bishops of South Germany, at the instance of Lorenzo Campeggio, the Papal Legate, and Archduke Ferdinand, had met together and agreed to carry out the Edict of Worms as far as they were able, and at the same time to inaugurate a wholesome reform of morals amongst both clergy and people. “By means of this agreement the temporal and spiritual Princes hoped to maintain unimpaired the religious unity of the German Nation and to insure internal tranquillity in their dominions.”[1109] Dissension for a while prevented others from joining the league.

The indecision of the Diets was due not only to lack of unity among the Catholics, but to a variety of other causes: to political considerations, the state of general unrest, the need of adopting measures against the Turks, the apprehensions of the Estates, and, finally, to religious indifference.

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The Diet of Spires, in 1526, decreed in language no less ambiguous, that the Edict of Worms was to remain in force until a General Council could be summoned, and that the sovereigns and Estates of the Empire should “live, govern and conduct themselves as they hoped to answer for it to God and His Majesty [the Emperor].” This cannot be read “as implying that the evangelicals were given a formal right to separate themselves from the communion with the Church and to set about the work of reformation on their own account.”[1110]

The Diet held subsequently at Spires, in 1529, opposed the anti-Catholic interpretation placed on the resolutions of 1526 and the way in which they had been enforced. It pointed out the inconveniences which had been their result, and sought earnestly to improve the position of affairs.[1111] The article of 1526, it declared, had been interpreted, during the time that had since elapsed, in a most regrettable manner, “as an excuse for all sorts of shocking new doctrines and sects” and had served as a cloak for “apostasy, strife, dissension and wickedness”; wherefore it was to be rescinded and certain other enactments put into force.

Then follow the resolutions of the Diet of Spires, accepted by the Catholic majority and published with the Imperial sanction, against which the Lutheran Princes and Estates raised the “Protest” from which Protestantism took its name.

Against these resolutions as a whole the party in the Reichstag which sided with the promoters of the innovations raised, on April 19, 1529, the “Protest” which has since become famous; they declared at the same time that it was impossible for them to countenance any alteration in the favourable Edict of 1526. Previous to the departure of their rulers and representatives, the Saxon Electorate, and Hesse, and the cities of Strasburg, Ulm and Nuremberg entered, on April 22, into the “particular secret agreement” concerning mutual armed resistance to any attack which might be made upon them in the “cause of the Word of God” by the Swabian League, the Kammergericht or the Empire.

In a Memorandum of the same year, also signed by Melanchthon, Luther approved the action of his Elector and sought to justify it from the theological point of view; “first, and principally, on the ground, that His Princely Highness [by accepting the Edict of Spires of 1529] would have been acting contrary to His Highness’ conscience and condemning the doctrines which he acknowledged before God to be both Christian and wholesome.” He also seeks to pacify the Prince by instancing the terrible abuses of the Papal Church in Germany, which had been so happily removed by the new teaching and which he ought not to use his authority to “re-establish or maintain.”[1112]

In the Reichstagsabschied there was, however, no question of the maintenance of abuses, and, only to Luther, could the retention of the Mass appear as the maintenance of an[383] “abuse”; it was much more a question of checking, for a time, the advance of the innovations and the propaganda of the Lutherans and of securing the legal rights of Catholics, more particularly in those districts where the new religious system was already in being.

The protesters might have accepted such a settlement without in any way sacrificing their claims to equity, had they really been desirous of justice and of coming to an agreement. Melanchthon himself, in his own name and that of his friends, could well write: “The Articles in the Imperial resolution do not press hard upon us.”[1113] Luther’s opinion, on the other hand, was quite different; it was only his defiant attitude and their own obstinate determination to resist the terms offered them which prevented the protesters from accepting the resolution in question. Their action, however, tended to excite men’s minds still further. They appealed to their conscience: “What would our assent be,” they declared in the Protest, “but a public denial of our Lord and Saviour Christ and His sacred Word, which there is no doubt we now possess in all its purity, simplicity and justice?”

They then made the attitude they had thus assumed an excuse for refusing assistance against the Turks, notwithstanding the fact that news had already reached Spires that the Turkish fleet was cruising off the coasts of Sicily and threatening Western Christendom. “It is an undeniable fact, that they would not promise to render aid against the Turks unless the Catholic Estates of the Empire arrived at some other conclusion concerning the religious question than that under discussion, which they declared it was impossible for them to accept.”[1114]

Such was the position of affairs when, in the summer of 1530, the much-talked-of Reichstag at Augsburg was entrusted with the task of bringing about the practical[384] reconciliation of those who had separated from communion with the Church. In the event of failure the Emperor held out the prospect of the employment of sterner measures.

Luther and his followers agreed to the negotiations, but with the so-called “proviso of the Gospel,” i.e. stipulating that the plain Gospel, the Word of God, should not be tampered with.

What a grand temple of peace the old Augsburg Rathaus, with its assembly-room for the forty-two members of the Reichstag, might have become! In that case what significance the solemn procession of the Blessed Sacrament, which, accompanied by the Catholic Princes and Estates, passed through the streets of the city on the Feast of Corpus Christi, would have possessed. Intentionally the feast had been celebrated with a pomp and concourse of people such as had never before been witnessed in the city, for was it not to symbolise the establishment of religious unity? As it was, however, the work of pacification completely miscarried, owing to the stubbornness of Luther and his party.

Luther himself remained in the background during the proceedings. He stayed in a place of safety at the Castle of Coburg, situated on the Elector’s territory but sufficiently near to the city where the Reichstag was held. His principal representative at Augsburg was Melanchthon, who distinguished himself by his supple and politic behaviour. In the afternoon of June 25, he caused the famous “Augsburg Confession,” of which he was himself the author, to be read in the Rathaus in the presence of the Estates of the Empire.[1115] The names of the Elector and Prince Johann Frederick of Saxony, of Margrave George of Brandenburg, of Dukes Franz and Ernest of Lüneburg, of Landgrave Philip of Hesse, of Prince Wolfgang of Anhalt and of the representatives of the Imperial cities of Nuremberg and Reutlingen were appended to the document.

When, during the sessions, the new faith and the steps to be taken towards peace came to be discussed, Melanchthon, greatly to the surprise of the Catholics, spoke as though the spiritual jurisdiction of the bishops was to be recognised by the Protestant party. The Papal Legate wrote letters to Rome which aroused high hopes, at least in the minds of the[385] more sanguine. It was only gradually that the Catholic party at Augsburg became convinced of the fact that they must exercise the utmost caution. The ambiguity of the promises made by Melanchthon rested on the fact, that acknowledgment of jurisdiction was tacitly restricted to those bishops who should declare themselves in favour of the new faith.

Melanchthon also made use of equivocation in the official document just referred to, i.e. in the Augsburg Confession of Faith (cp. vol. iii., xviii. 1). In the further negotiations with his opponents he was “only too much inclined to agree to ambiguous formularies and to make concessions not honestly compatible with the constantly repeated ‘proviso,’ that nothing contrary to the Gospel was to be conceded.”[1116] When, however, he showed himself shaky even with regard to the sacrificial character of the Mass, the anxious Lutherans at Augsburg thought it time to draw Luther’s attention to the matter. It was pointed out to him by Lazarus Spengler that “our representatives at Augsburg are going rather too far” in their concessions to the demands of the Catholics.

Luther would not sanction any actual yielding, but was not averse to a little diplomacy. He replied to Spengler, on August 28: “I have written to him [Melanchthon] about this once before and am now writing to him again, but hope that there is no real need. For though Christ may appear to be somewhat weak, this does not mean that He is pushed out of His seat.... Though too much may have been conceded—as may be the case—still, the cause is not lost, on the contrary, a new struggle has been entered upon that our adversaries may be convinced how honestly they have acted. For nothing may be conceded above and beyond the Gospel, whichever party’s ‘insidiæ’ hold the field; for, in the proviso concerning the Gospel, ‘insidiæ’ are embodied other than those which our adversaries can employ against us. For what is the wisdom of man as compared with that of God? Therefore let your mind be at rest; we can have conceded nothing contrary to the Gospel. But if our supporters concede anything against the Gospel, then the devil himself will seize on that, as you will see.”[1117]

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This remarkable letter, with its allusions to the weakness of Christ, the proviso of the Gospel and the successful “insidiæ,” calls for some further consideration. Luther reckoned on two things, as we shall see from his instructions to be quoted immediately. First, that the best way to escape from the difficult situation created by the Reichstag was to make general statements, which, however, were not to surrender any part of the new teaching; he was anxious to pursue this course in order to secure freedom for the Evangel, or at least some delay in the condemnation of his cause. Secondly, that though at Augsburg the evangelical spokesmen might be forced to give up some part of the new teaching, yet this would be invalid, since against the Gospel nothing can stand.

One can scarcely fail to see that one and the other of these calculations militated against any serious, practical result of the negotiations. They could only succeed in retarding any settlement of the question, though any delay would of course tend to strengthen Luther’s cause.

We have also a Latin letter of Luther’s to Melanchthon, bearing the same date (August 28), which throws even more light on their treatment of the Diet of Augsburg.

The letter describes the painful embarrassment in which Melanchthon found himself placed as intermediary after the advances and concessions he had made at Augsburg. Luther encourages him with strange arguments: “I am reassured by the thought, that you cannot have committed anything worse than a sin against our own person, so that we may be accused of perfidy and fickleness. But what then? The constancy and truth of our cause will soon set that right. I trust this will not be the case, but I say, should it be, even then we should have no need to despair. For when once we have evaded the peril and are at peace, then we can easily atone for our tricks and failings (‘dolos ac lapsus nostros’), because His [God’s] mercy is over us. ‘Expect the Lord, do manfully and let thy heart take courage, and wait thou for the Lord’” (Psalm xxvi. 14).[1118]

This highly questionable counsel refers to the second of Luther’s calculations mentioned above. He was not, however,[387] forgetful of the first, and expressly tells Melanchthon that he will best elude difficulties by the general statement that “they were ready to give to God what was God’s, and to the Kaiser what was the Kaiser’s.... Let them [the opposition] prove what they assert, viz. that God and the Emperor were on their side.” “Let them show that what they demand is according to the Word of God”; should they succeed, then they will have a right to hold the field, because all they were anxious to do was to obey the Word of God. With Luther, however, the Word of God was not really the Word of God itself, but what he understood by the Word of God. We cannot wonder if Catholics stigmatised this form of speaking as mere “dissimulation.” Nor can it be matter of surprise that far-seeing Catholic representatives at Augsburg dreaded some snare on the part of the protesters. Luther’s conception of the “proviso of the Gospel” which, according to his letter to Spengler, was under any circumstances to lead to the success of his cause, certainly shows their suspicions to have been amply justified. Luther was, however, wrong in imputing to them any wish to make use of similar “insidiæ” against his cause.

In a Latin letter of the same date Luther pointed out to his friend Jonas, who was also one of the theologians then at Augsburg, the course he himself had pursued at the Diet of Worms as the best example and rule to be followed at Augsburg. At Worms Luther had appealed in the presence of the Empire to the Word of God as binding on his conscience. “Whatever you may concede [to the opposition],” he says to Jonas, “never forget to except the Gospel, as I did at Worms, for here the circumstances are quite similar.” Previous to this he had said: “Christ watches over His honour, though we may perhaps be asleep to our shame. Let them boast that you have yielded much, for they do not understand that they have not got the one and only thing for which we really care [the Gospel]. Let them have their way, those spectre-monks of Spires,” he adds in German.[1119]

The Emperor’s attempts to bring about peace at the Diet of Augsburg, under the circumstances described above, were doomed to failure. It was impossible for the Reichstag to bridge over the chasm which was intentionally and artfully kept open by Luther and his party. The final resolutions which were drawn up in due form and proclaimed by the Emperor on November 19, declared that in matters of faith no innovations might be introduced; worship, in particular the ritual of the sacraments, the Mass and Veneration of the Saints, was to remain as before until a decision by an Œcumenical Council; any interference with or injury to churches and convents was forbidden; married priests were to be removed from their posts and punished; preachers were only to be appointed by the bishop; books were not to be printed without being submitted to the censors, etc. The enactment, that Church property which had been seized by the innovators should be returned without delay, was a source of particular displeasure to Luther’s friends.

According to Luther the devil had triumphed at the Reichstag. “The spectre-monks of Spires,” to use his own expression, i.e. the spirits of hell, according to him, threatened his enterprise with destruction.

The apparition of the phantom monks of Spires was one of the manifestations of diabolical animosity towards his teaching which troubled Luther greatly at that time, in his lonely retreat of Coburg. We here see the curious spirit-world in which he lived. A whole troop of fiends disguised as monks, so he had been reliably informed, had come to the Rhine at Spires at the beginning of the Diet of Augsburg and had been ferried across the river on the pretext that “they were from Cologne and wished to attend the Diet at Augsburg. But,” so the story ran, “when they had crossed over, they all suddenly vanished, so that they are believed to have been nothing but a band of evil spirits.”[1124] Melanchthon[390] looked upon the apparition of the “monks of Spires” as the presage of a “terrible revolt.”[1125] His son-in-law, George Sabinus, wrote a description of the incident in verse. Luther himself was probably more inclined to look upon these spectres as devils, because he had personally seen an apparition of the devil at Coburg, where Satan had appeared in the garden below his window under the form of a serpentine streak of light (cp. vol. vi., xxxvi. 3).

He was at that time dominated by fear and dread, partly owing to the proceedings at the Reichstag, partly on account of the unfortunate termination of the religious conference with Zwingli at Marburg,[1126] where no understanding had been reached regarding the chief point under dispute, and partly also because in his solitude his old inward “temptations” and mental depression were again tormenting him. He was also suffering much from the result of overwork. A malady due to nervous exhaustion had, in 1527, so enfeebled him as to bring him to the verge of the grave. The malady now returned with similar, though less severe, symptoms. The spiritual desolation and fear, which were the consequence of his doubts, now again assailed him as they had done after his previous illness in 1527. Of this condition, Melanchthon, to whom it was familiar enough, wrote to Dietrich, that one could not hope to dispel it by human means, but only by recourse to prayer.[1127]

“Satan has sent me his emissaries,” Luther himself says of his sufferings; “I was alone, Veit and Cyriacus were absent, and Satan was so far successful as to drive me out of the room and force me to go amongst the people.” He compares his mental state to a land dried up by heat and wind and thirsting for water.[1128]

He observed to Melanchthon that as a rule he was weaker in such personal combats than when it was a question of the common weal, or of his public work.[1129] This may serve to correct those historians who have nothing but “praise for Luther’s assurance and cheerfulness” during the time when at Augsburg his cause stood in such imminent danger.

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Luther’s letters, previous to the breaking off of his followers’ pretended negotiations at Augsburg, certainly do not breathe a spirit of interior peace. He says, for instance, to Jonas: “I am actually bursting with anger and indignation (‘pæne rumpor ira et indignatione’). I beseech you to cut the matter short and come back home. They have our Confession and the Gospel. If they wish they can accept them, if not let them depart.” Then there follows in the Latin epistle a characteristic exclamation in German: “If war is to come, let it come, we have prayed and done enough. The Lord has given them over to us as a holocaust in order ‘to reward them according to their works’ [2 Tim. iv. 14]; us, His people,” Luther concludes, “He will save even from the fiery furnace of Babylon. Forgive me, I pray, my Jonas, for spewing out all this annoyance of mine into your lap; but what I have written for you is meant for all.”[1130]

That it was indeed meant for all he showed by publishing, in 1531, in anticipation of the “war” and in order that his party might not become a “holocaust,” the “Warnunge Doctoris Martini Luther an seine lieben Deudschen.”[1131] In this work, while indulging in the most virulent abuse of the Reichstag, he declares, that in the event of a war or tumult no assistance was to be rendered to the Papists; legitimate self-defence demanded that such attacks should be met by resistance. The determination shown by Luther after the Diet of Augsburg to withstand the whole authority of the Empire is plainly manifest even now in the vehemence of the tracts which he proceeded to throw broadcast among the people. His purpose was to foster among the masses a spirit of opposition which should be a constant menace to peace.

Losing no time, he at once attacked the Imperial Abschied in a special pamphlet, “Auff das vermeint keiserlich Edict,”[1132] which immediately followed the “Warnunge” and was soon being read throughout the German lands.

It is true that at the beginning he here affirms that it is not his wish to “write against his Imperial Majesty or any of the authorities, temporal or spiritual.” Yet the whole[392] work is nothing but a piece of frightful abuse against the decision arrived at by Charles V and against those Estates of the realm which had confirmed it. It is a mere artifice when he declares that he is merely inveighing against “traitors and other miscreants,” whether “Princes or Bishops, who work their deeds of wickedness in the name of the Emperor,” “particularly against that arch-knave, Pope Clement [VII] and his servant Campegius,” for all the while, now with satire, now in deadly earnest, he is really attacking the Reichstag and the authority of the Empire. Incidentally we may mention that, quite oblivious of the Imperial command, he had launched this pamphlet amongst the people without submitting it to the censorship, and that in the very title he speaks of the “supposed Edict,” though it was a question of an Edict issued in due form and signed and sealed by the Emperor. His distortions and misrepresentations, both of historical truth and of the Catholic doctrine as put forward at the Reichstag, are so gross that they deserve to be chronicled here.

Some of his misstatements were at once pointed out to him, in 1531, by Franz Arnoldi, parish-priest at Cöllen, near Meissen, in the “Antwort auf das Büchlein,” printed at Dresden, probably at the instance of Duke George of Saxony.[1133] “As many lies as words,” exclaims Arnoldi;[1134] “the devil, the father of lies and murderer of the human race,” was anxious to support Luther by means of the “dissensions, disagreements and revolts” which had already been stirred up, and, for this purpose, had sent this shocking booklet among the people through the agency of his “familiar and customary instrument and tool, Martin Luther, that barrel brimful of abuse and slander.” Over and over again Arnoldi expresses his conviction in the strongest and coarsest language, that “the apostate undoubtedly worked under the devil’s own direction.”[1135] Luther’s proceedings do not, however, stand out with sufficient clearness in Arnoldi’s tract; indeed, the author was not competent to grapple with the task he undertook. For instance, he fails to show by examples how Luther, all through his pamphlet, makes use of dishonest devices. Thus Luther represents the Imperial Recess as laying it down that everything[393] which the Lutherans opposed was certain on the strength of the Gospel, or of a special inspiration received by the Pope, and that this applied even to real ecclesiastical abuses, to say nothing of certain pious customs not affecting the faith. Hoping to mislead the people, Luther tells them that whoever refuses to take Holy Water has, according to the Reichstag, fallen under sentence of death; that, according to the same source, “befoulment with holy things, pilgrimages and such-like” is a true revelation; that festivals and fasts, cowls and tonsure, payments to Rome and pious brotherhoods, come, according to the Papists, from the Gospel, in fact, constitute their only Gospel. By his “inspirations” the Pope sets himself above Holy Scripture, just as he makes himself Emperor and sets himself above the Emperor, particularly in “secular government.” In support of this last statement he cites the Decretals, though his references prove nothing of the sort but rather the reverse.[1136]

It will be worth our while to examine rather more closely Luther’s system of polemics as it appears in his work “Auff das vermeint keiserlich Edict.” Its utter unfairness was, indeed, calculated to rouse the masses to a pitch in which deeds of violence were to be expected.

What has been quoted is sufficient to show the stratagems to which the author has recourse at the expense of truth, and the doubtful methods employed by him in his popular[395] controversial writings. Yet this work is by a long way not the most violent and malicious specimen of Luther’s literary output.

We may wonder whether Luther, in the stress of his controversial struggle, was fully aware of the glaring dishonesty of his utterances. Certain it is that he was frequently carried away by anger and excitement. Some daring misrepresentations and inventions he reiterated so often that he may at last have come to believe them. Without some inward obsession playing upon his imagination such a phenomenon is almost inexplicable.

The Catholic Duke George of Saxony, a clear-headed man and good politician, owing to the attack made upon him by[396] Luther, descended into the literary arena at the time when the struggle was at its height, after the Edict of Augsburg, writing an anonymous “Gegenwarnung” against Luther’s “Warnunge” and against his “Vermeint Edict.” This was published by Arnoldi, who added an epilogue of his own.[1141] The work is written in powerful language and abounds with good arguments. The Duke commences with the plain statement, that the innovator is after nothing else than making “us Germans disloyal to the Emperor and opposed to all authority.” He points out with how great cunning and malice Luther had gone to work, telling countless lies, making a loud clamour and using endless artifices; this should be taken to heart by those who called him a living Saint and vaunted the spirit of God which spoke through him.

Having learnt the name of the author, Luther replied immediately in a booklet steeped in hate, entitled, “Widder den Meuchler zu Dresen gedrückt.”[1142] He fell upon the Duke with such insults, misrepresentations and calumnies that many Catholics, to whom Luther’s conduct appeared ever stranger, shared the opinion expressed in George’s reply, viz. that “Luther is certainly possessed by the devil, with the whole legion which Christ drove out of the man who was possessed”; if Paul was right in saying that the spirit was known by its fruits (Gal. v. 22), then Luther’s spirit was “the spirit of lies, which spoke fond inventions and untruths through him.”[1143]

What he really should have done would have been to defend himself against the charge brought forward by George of stirring up revolt against the authority of the Empire. He not only failed to vindicate himself, but assumed a still more threatening and defiant attitude.

After contemplating these far from pleasing pictures we may be allowed to conclude by referring to one of Luther’s more favourable traits. While, on the one hand, his soul was filled with deep anger against the Papists, on the other he was also zealous in inveighing against those who were threatening the foundations of those articles of the Christian faith which he still held in common with Catholics, and which he was ever ready to defend with the fullest conviction.

He foresaw that the freethinking spirit, which was involved in his own religious movement, would not spare the dogma of the Trinity. He was painfully alive to the[398] fact that the arbitrariness of the Anabaptists presaged the ruin of the most fundamental of Christian tenets.

In a sermon preached in 1526, speaking of the doctrine of the Trinity, he had said: “The devil will not rest until he has managed to do the same with this dogma as with the Sacrament; because we have snatched it out of the jaws of the Pope and re-established its right use, turbulent spirits now want to tread it under foot. The same will happen in the matter of this article, so that we shall relapse into Judaism.”[1147]

A dangerous example of anti-Trinitarian tendencies had shown itself in Luther’s immediate circle in the person of Johann Campanus, a native of the diocese of Liege, who had been a student at Wittenberg since 1528. This man boasted that he was the first since the days of the Apostles to rediscover the Gospel concerning the true unity or dualism of God.[1148]

The doctrines of Campanus, which the latter submitted to the Elector of Saxony, made Luther very angry; he described them as “wretched doctrinal monstrosities” (“misera monstra dogmatum”).[1149] Their author he termed an enemy of the Son of God, a blasphemer, a child of Satan.[1150] Against Campanus Bugenhagen published certain writings of St. Athanasius, with Luther’s approval, and the latter also wrote a powerful preface to the edition. He wished, as he says, to strike a blow at those Italian or German-Italian Humanists, who denied the Trinity or were alienated from Christianity. In his exaggeration and bitterness he counted Erasmus, the author of “Hyperaspistes,” among the “Viperaspides” pointing him out as one of the anti-Trinitarians who must be fought against.[1151] In the preface he vents his indignation in his usual language: The[399] doctrine of the Trinity, like the other fundamental dogmas, was now being attacked by the “slaves of Satan”; the example of St. Athanasius, the champion of faith in the Trinity, demonstrated, how, in order to defend it, we must be ready to stand against “all the fury let loose in hell, on earth and in the whole realm”; in our “altogether distracted age” it is necessary to “set up against these devils, these Epicureans, sceptics, Italian and German monsters, Him [God the Father], Who had said to Jesus, our Servant, ‘Thou art My Son,’ and again, ‘Sit Thou on My right hand.’ Thus we will wait and see if these giants come off victorious in their titanic struggle against God.”

He recalls how, as a young monk, he had read these very writings of St. Athanasius “with great zeal in the faith,” and informs us that he had received a copy to read from his pedagogue or Novice-master, written out in his own writing. He trusts that Bugenhagen’s work will contribute to the glory of our Lord Jesus, Who, “through His boundless love for us has chosen to become the servant of us poor sinners,” and that “the Lord will soon destroy all those giants, which is what we await and pray for day by day.”

END OF VOL. II

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