CHAPTER VI

Reuchlin—Erasmus—Flek—Bibra—The Emperor—The Pope—Myconius—The Monks—Apprehensions—Adelman—An Old Priest—The Bishop—The Elector—The Inhabitants of Erfurt—Luther’s Reply—Trouble—Luther’s Moving Principle.

We must follow these propositions wherever they penetrated; to the studies of the learned, the cells of monks, and the palaces of princes, in order to form some idea of the various but wonderful effects which they produced in Germany.

Reuchlin received them. He was weary of the hard battle which he had been obliged to fight against the monks. The power which the new combatant displayed in his theses revived the spirit of the old champion of letters, and gave joy to his saddened heart. “Thanks be to God,” exclaimed he, after he had read them, “now they have found a man who will give them so much to do, that they will be obliged to let me end my old age in peace.” The prudent Erasmus was in the Netherlands when the theses reached him. He was inwardly delighted at seeing his secret wishes for the reformation of abuses expressed with so much boldness, and commended their author, only exhorting him to more moderation and prudence. Nevertheless, some persons in his presence blaming Luther’s violence, he said, “God has given men a cure which cuts thus deep into the flesh, because otherwise the disease would be incurable.” And at a later period when the Elector of Saxony asked his opinion as to Luther’s affair, he replied with a smile, “I am not at all astonished at his having made so much noise, for he has committed two unpardonable faults; he has attacked the tiara of the pope and the belly of the monks.”

Dr. Flek, prior of the cloister of Steinlausitz, had for some time given up reading mass, but had not told any one his reason. He one day found the theses of Luther posted up in the refectory of his convent. He went up and began to read them, but had only perused a few, when unable to contain his joy, he exclaimed, “Well, well, he whom we have been so long looking for is come at last; and this you monks will see.” Then reading in the future, says Mathesius, and playing upon the word Wittemberg, he said, “Everybody will come to seek wisdom at this mountain, and will find it.” He wrote to the doctor to persevere courageously in his glorious combat. Luther calls him a man full of joy and consolation. The ancient and celebrated episcopal see of Würzburg was then held by Lowrence de Bibra, a man, according to the testimony of his contemporaries, pious, honest, and wise. When a gentleman came to intimate to him that he intended his daughter for the cloister, “Give her rather a husband,” said he; and then added, “Are you in want of money for that purpose? I will lend you.” The emperor and all the princes held him in the highest esteem. He lamented the disorders of the Church, and especially those of convents. The theses having reached his palace also, he read them with great delight, and publicly declared his approbation of Luther. At a later period he wrote to the Elector Frederick, “Don’t part with pious Dr. Martin Luther; for he has been wronged.” The Elector delighted at this testimony, wrote the Reformer with his own hand to acquaint him with it. The Emperor Maximilian, predecessor of Charles V, also read and admired the theses of the monk of Wittemberg. He perceived his talents, and foresaw that this obscure Augustin might, indeed, become a powerful ally of Germany in her struggle with Rome. Accordingly, he instructed his envoy to say to the Elector of Saxony, “Take good care of the monk Luther, for the time may come when we shall have need of him;” and shortly after, being at a diet with Pfeffinger, the Elector’s confidential councillor, he said to him, “Well what is your Augustin doing? Assuredly his propositions are not to be despised; he will give the monks enough to do.”³ At Rome even, and in the Vatican, the theses were not so ill received as might have been supposed. Leo X judged of them as a friend of letters, rather than a pope. The amusement which they gave him made him overlook the severe truths which they contained; and when Sylvester Prierias, the master of the sacred palace, who had the office of examining new works, urged him to treat Luther as a heretic, he replied, “This Friar, Martin Luther, is a great genius; all that is said against him is mere monkish jealousy.”

There were few on whom the theses of Luther produced a deeper impression than on the scholar of Annaberg, whom Tezel had so pitilessly repulsed. Myconius had entered a convent, and the very first evening dreamed he saw an immense field quite covered with ripe corn. “Cut,” said the voice of his guide to him; and when he excused himself for want of skill, his guide showed him a reaper, who was working with inconceivable rapidity. “Follow, and do like him,” said the guide. Myconius, eager for holiness as Luther had been, devoted himself when in the convent to vigils, fasts, macerations, and all the works invented by men; but at length he despaired of ever attaining the objects of his efforts. He abandoned study, and spent his whole time in manual labour. Sometimes he bound books, sometimes used the turning-lathe, and sometimes did any other kind of work. Still, however, this external labour did not appease his troubled conscience. God had spoken to him, and he could not fall back into his former slumber. This state of agony lasted for several years. It is sometimes supposed that the paths of the Reformers were quite smooth, and that after they renounced the observances of the Church, their remaining course was easy and pleasant. It is not considered that they arrived at the truth by means of internal struggles, a thousand times more painful than the observances to which servile minds easily submitted. At length the year 1517 arrived. The theses of Luther were published, and, traversing Christendom, arrived also at the convent where the scholar of Annaberg was residing. He hid himself in a corner of the cloister, with John Voit, another monk, that they might be able to read them without interruption. They contained the very truth of which his father had told him. His eyes were opened, he felt a voice within him responding to that which was then sounding throughout Germany, and great consolation filled his heart. “I see plainly,” said he, “that Martin Luther is the reaper whom I saw in my dream, and who taught me to gather the ears of corn.” He immediately began to profess the doctrine which Luther had proclaimed. The monks, alarmed when they heard him, argued with him, and declaimed against Luther and against his convent. “That convent,” replied Myconius, “is like our Lord’s sepulchre; they wish to prevent Christ from rising again, but will not succeed.” At last his superiors, seeing they could not convince him, interdicted him for a year and a half from all intercourse with the world, not permitting him even to write or to receive letters, and threatening him with perpetual imprisonment. However, for him also the hour of deliverance arrived. Being afterwards appointed pastor at Zwickau, he was the first who declared against the papacy in the churches of Thuringia. “Then,” says he, “I could work with my venerable father Luther at the Gospel harvest.” Jonas describes him as a man as able as he was willing.

Doubtless, there were others also to whom Luther’s theses were the signal of life. They kindled a new light in many cells, cottages, and palaces. “While those who had entered convents in quest of good fare and indolence, or rank and honours,” says Mathesius, “began to load the name of Luther with reproaches, the monks who lived in prayer, fasting, and mortification, thanked God as soon as they heard the cry of the eagle, announced by John Huss, a century before.” Even the people who did not well understand the theology of the question, and who only knew that Luther was assailing the empire of mendicants and lazy monks, received it with bursts of joy. An immense sensation was produced in Germany by his bold propositions. However, some of the Reformer’s contemporaries, who foresaw the consequences to which they might lead, and the numerous obstacles which they were destined to encounter, loudly expressed their fears, or at most rejoiced with trembling.

“I am much afraid,” wrote the excellent canon of Augsburg, Bernard Adelman, to his friend Pirckeimer, “that the worthy man must yield at last to the avarice and power of the partizans of indulgences. His representations have had so little effect, that the Bishop of Augsburg, our primate and metropolitan, has just ordered new indulgences, in the name of the pope, for St. Peter’s at Rome. Let him hasten to seek the aid of princes. Let him beware of tempting God; for it were to show an absolute want of sense to overlook the imminent danger to which he is exposed.” Adelman was greatly delighted when it was rumoured that Henry VIII had invited Luther to England. “There,” thought he, “he will be able to teach the truth in peace.” Several thus imagined that the doctrine of the gospel was to be supported by the power of princes, not knowing that it advances without this power, and is often trammelled and weakened by the possession of it. The celebrated historian, Albert Kranz, was at Hamburg on his deathbed, when Luther’s theses were brought to him. “You are right, friar Martin,” he exclaimed, “but you will not succeed … Poor monk! Go into your cell and cry, ‘Lord, have mercy on me!’ ” An old priest of Hexter in Westphalia, having received and read the theses in his presbytery, said in Low German, shaking his head, “Dear friar Martin! if you succeed in overthrowing this purgatory and all these paper merchants, assuredly you are a mighty segnior!” Erbenius, a century later, wrote beneath these words the following stanza:— “Quid vero nunc si viveret, Bonus iste clericus diceret?”

What then would the good clerk say, Were he alive to see this day. Not only did many of Luther’s friends entertain fears as to the step which he had taken, but several even testified their disapprobation. The Bishop of Brandenburg, distressed at seeing his diocese the scene of so important a contest, was anxious to suppress it. He resolved to take the gentle method, and employed the Abbot of Lenin to say to Luther, in his name, “I don’t find any thing in the theses contradictory of Catholic truth. I myself condemn these indiscreet proclamations; but for the love of peace and deference to your bishop, cease writing on the subject.” Luther was confounded at being thus humbly addressed by so great an abbot and so great a bishop, and led away by the feelings of the moment, replied, “I consent. I would rather obey than work miracles, were it in my power.” The Elector was grieved at the commencement of a contest which was no doubt legitimate, but the end of which it was impossible to foresee. No prince was more desirous than Frederick for the maintenance of public peace. Now, what an immense fire might this small spark not kindle? What discord, what rending of nations, might this quarrel of monks not produce? The Elector repeatedly made Luther aware how much he was annoyed.

Even in his own order and his own convent of Wittemberg, Luther met with disapprobation. The prior and sub-prior, terrified at the clamour of Tezel and his companions, repaired in fear and trembling to the cell of friar Martin, and said, “Do not, we entreat you, bring shame on our order. The other orders, and especially the Dominicans, are overjoyed to think that they are not to be alone in disgrace.” Luther was moved by these words, but soon recovering himself, he replied, “Dear fathers, if the thing is not done in the name of God it will fail, but if it is, let it proceed.” The prior and sub-prior said no more. “The thing proceeds even now,” adds Luther, after relating this anecdote, “and please God, always will proceed better and better, even to the end. Amen.”

Luther had many other attacks to sustain. At Erfurt he was accused of violence and pride in his manner of condemning the opinions of others—the charge usually brought against those who act under the strong conviction which the word of God gives. He was also charged with precipitation and fickleness.

“They call upon me for moderation,” replied Luther, “and they themselves, in the judgment which they pass upon me, trample it under foot!… We see the mote in our brother’s eye, and observe not the beam in our own … Truth will no more gain by my moderation than it will lose by my presumption. I desire to know,” continued he, addressing Lange, “what errors you and your theologians have found in my theses? Who knows not that a new idea is seldom advanced without an appearance of arrogance, and an accusation of disputatiousness? Were humility herself to undertake something new, those of an opposite opinion would charge her with pride. Why were Christ and all the martyrs put to death? Because they were deemed proud despisers of the wisdom of the time, and advanced new truths without previously taking counsel of the organs of ancient opinion.”

“Let not the wise of the present day, then, expect of me humility, or rather hypocrisy enough, to ask their opinion before publishing what duty calls me to say. What I do will be done, not by the prudence of men, but by the counsel of God. If the work is of God, who can arrest it? If it is not of God, who can advance it?… Not my will, nor theirs, nor ours, but Thy will be done, O Holy Father who art in heaven!” In these words what courage, what noble enthusiasm, what confidence in God, and, above all what truth, truth fitted to all times!

Still the reproaches and accusations which assailed Luther from all quarters, failed not to make some impression on his mind. His hopes were disappointed. He had expected to see the heads of the church, and the most distinguished scholars of the nation, publicly uniting with him; but it was otherwise. A word of approbation, allowed to escape at the first moment of enthusiasm, was all that the best disposed gave him, while several of those whom he had till then most highly venerated were loud in censuring him. He felt himself alone in the whole Church, alone against Rome, alone at the foot of that ancient and formidable edifice, whose foundations lay deep in the bowels of the earth, whose battlements reached the clouds, and at which he had just struck a daring blow. He was troubled and depressed. Doubts which he thought he had surmounted returned with new force. He trembled at the thought of having the authority of the whole Church against him, of withdrawing from that authority and resisting that voice which nations and ages had humbly obeyed, of setting himself in opposition to that church which he had from infancy been accustomed to venerate as the mother of the faithful.… He a paltry monk … the effort was too great for man.² No step cost him more than this, and, accordingly, it was the step which decided the Reformation. The struggle which took place in his soul cannot be better described than in his own words. “I began this affair,” says he, “with great fear and trembling. Who was I, a poor, miserable, despicable friar, liker a corpse than a living man;—who was I, to oppose the majesty of the pope, before whom not only the Kings of the earth and the whole world, but also, if I may so speak, heaven and hell trembled, compelled to yield obedience to his nod? Nobody can imagine what my heart suffered during those two first years, and into what depression, I might say what despair, I was often plunged. No idea of it can be formed by those proud spirits who afterwards attacked the pope with great boldness, although with all their ability they could not have done him the least harm, had not Jesus Christ, by me his feeble and unworthy instrument, given him a wound which never will be cured. But while they were contented to look on, and leave me alone in danger, I was not so joyful, so tranquil, or so sure about the business; for at that time I did not know many things which, thank God, I know now. It is true, several pious Christians were much pleased with my Propositions, and set a great value upon them, but I could not own and regard them as the organs of the Holy Spirit. I looked only to the pope, the cardinals, bishops, theologians, jurisconsults, monks, and priests. That was the direction from which I expected the Spirit to come. Still having, by means of Scripture, come off victorious over all contrary arguments, I have at length, by the grace of Christ, though after much pain, travail, and anguish, surmounted the only argument which arrested me, viz., that it is necessary to listen to the Church; for from the bottom of my heart I honoured the church of the pope as the true church, and did so with much more sincerity and veneration, than those shameless and infamous corrupters who are now so very forward in opposing me. Had I despised the pope as much as he is despised in the hearts of those who praise him so loudly with their lips, I would have dreaded that the earth would instantly open and swallow me up as it did Corah and his company!”

How honourable these misgivings are to Luther! How well they display the sincerity and uprightness of his soul! And how much more worthy of respect do those painful assaults which he had to sustain, both within and without, prove him to be, than mere intrepidity without any such struggle, could have done! The travail of his soul clearly displays the truth and divinity of his work. We see that their origin and principle were in heaven. After all the facts which we have stated, who will presume to say that the Reformation was an affair of politics? No, assuredly; it was not the effect of human policy, but of the power of God. Had Luther been urged by human passions only, he would have yielded to his fears; his miscalculations and scruples would have smothered the fire which had been kindled in his soul, and he would only have thrown a transient gleam upon the Church, in the same way as the many zealous and pious men, whose names have come down to us. But now God’s time had arrived; the work was not to be arrested; the emancipation of the Church was to be accomplished. Luther was destined at least to prepare that complete emancipation and those extensive developments which are promised to the kingdom of Christ. Accordingly, he experienced the truth of the magnificent promise, “The strong men shall faint and be weary, and the young men utterly fail; but they who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles.” This Divine power which filled the heart of the doctor of Wittemberg, and which had engaged him in the combat, soon gave him back all his former resolution.