CHAPTER IX

Prierio—System of Rome—The Dialogue—System of Reform—Reply to Prierio—The Word—The Pope and the Church—Hochstraten—The Monks—Luther replies—Eck—The School—The Obelisks—Luther’s Sentiments—The Asterisks—Rupture. A more serious resistance than that of Tezel was already opposed to Luther. Rome had answered. A reply had issued from the walls of the sacred palace. It was not Leo X who had taken it into his head to speak theology. “A quarrel of monks,” he had one day said. “The best thing is not to meddle with it.” And on another occasion, “It is a drunken German who has written these theses; when he recovers from his wine he will speak differently.” A Dominican of Rome, Sylvester Mazolini de Prierio or Prierias, master of the sacred palace, exercised the functions of censor, and in this character was the first man in Italy who knew of the Saxon monk’s theses. A Roman censor and the theses of Luther! What a rencounter! Liberty of speech, liberty of investigation, liberty of faith, come into collision in Rome, with that power which pretends to have in its hands a monopoly of intelligence, and to open and shut the mouth of Christendom at its pleasure. The struggle between Christian liberty, which begets children of God, and pontifical despotism, which begets slaves of Rome, is, as it were, personified during the first days of the Reformation, in the encounter between Luther and Prierio. The Roman censor, prior-general of the Dominicans, employed to determine what Christendom must say, or not say, and know or not know, hastened to reply, and published a tract, which he dedicated to Leo X. He spoke contemptuously of the German monk, and declared, with a self-sufficiency altogether Roman, “that he was anxious to know whether this Martin had a nose of iron, or a head of brass, which could not be broken.” Then, in the form of a dialogue, he attacked the theses of Luther, employing alternately, ridicule, insult, and threatening. The combat between the Augustin of Wittemberg and the Dominican of Rome took place on the very question which lies at the foundation of the Reformation; viz., “What is the sole infallible authority to Christians?” The following is the system of the Church, as expounded by its most independent organs. The letter of the written Word is dead without the spirit of interpretation, which alone unfolds its hidden meaning. Now this spirit is not granted to every Christian, but to the Church; in other words, to the priests. It is great presumption to maintain, that he who promised to be with his Church always to the end of the world, could abandon it to the power of error. It will be said, perhaps, that the doctrine and constitution of the Church are not the same as we find them in the sacred oracles. This is true; but the change is only apparent, relating to the form, and not to the substance. Moreover, the change is an advance. The living power of the Spirit has given reality to what exists in Scripture only in idea; it has embodied the sketches of the Word, put a finishing hand to these sketches, and completed the work of which the Bible had furnished only the first outlines. Scripture ought, therefore, to be understood in the sense determined by the Church, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit. Here the Catholic doctors are divided. General councils, say some, and Gerson among the number, are the representatives of the Church. The pope, says others, is the depositary of the Spirit of interpretation; and no man is entitled to understand Scripture in a sense differing from that of the Roman pontiff. This was the opinion of Prierio.

Such was the doctrine which the master of the sacred palace opposed to the rising Reformation. On the power of the pope and the Church he advanced propositions at which the most shameless flatterers of the court of Rome would have blushed. The following is one of the points which he maintains at the commencement of his tract:—“Whoever rests not in the doctrine of the Roman Church, and the Roman pontiff, as the infallible rule of faith, from which the Holy Scripture itself derives its force and authority, is a heretic.”

Then in a dialogue, in which Luther and Sylvester are the speakers, the latter tries to refute the doctor’s propositions. The sentiments of the Saxon monk were quite new to a Roman censor. Accordingly, Prierio shows that he understood neither the emotions of his heart, nor the motives of his conduct. To the teacher of truth he applied the little standards of the valets of Rome. “Dear Luther!” says he, “were you to receive a bishopric and a plenary indulgence for the repair of your Church from our lord the pope, you would proceed more gently, and would even prose in favour of the indulgence which you are now pleased to blacken!” The Italian, so proud of the elegance of his manners, sometimes assumes the most scurrilous tone. “If the property of dogs is to bite,” says he to Luther, “I fear your father must have been a dog.” The Dominican begins at last to be almost astonished at his own condescension in speaking to a rebellious monk; and concludes with showing his opponent the cruel teeth of an inquisitor. “The Roman Church,” says he, “having in the pope the summit of spiritual and temporal power, may, by the secular arm, constrain those who after receiving the faith, stray from it. She is not bound to employ arguments for the purpose of combating and subduing the rebellious.”²

These words traced by the pen of one of the dignitaries of the Roman court had a very significant meaning. They failed, however, to terrify Luther. He believed, or feigned to believe, that this dialogue was not by Prierio, but by Ulrich von Hütten, or by some other of the authors of “The Letters of some Obscure Men,” who (said he in his sarcastic strain) had, in order to stir up Luther against Prierio, compiled this mass of absurdity. He had no desire to see the court of Rome in arms against him. However, after remaining for some time silent, his doubts, if he had any, having been dispelled, he set to work, and in two days after was prepared with his reply.⁴ The Bible had produced the Reformer and begun the Reformation. Luther, in believing, had no need of the testimony of the Church. His faith was derived from the Bible itself; from within, and not from without. His thorough conviction that the evangelical doctrine was immovably founded on the word of God made him regard all external authority as useless. Luther’s experience, in this respect, opened a new prospect to the Church. The living spring which had burst forth before the monk of Wittemberg, was destined to become a stream at which nations would quench their thirst. The Church had said that, in order to understand the Word, the Spirit of God must interpret it, and so far the Church was right. But her error consisted in regarding the Holy Spirit as a monopoly conferred on a certain caste, and in thinking that it could be appropriated exclusively to certain assemblies and colleges, to a city or a conclave. “The wind bloweth where it listeth,” were the words of the Son of God, when speaking of the Spirit of God; and, on another occasion, “They will all be taught of God.” The corruption of the Church, the ambition of pontiffs, the animosities of councils, the squabbles of the clergy, and the pomp of prelates, had made this Holy Spirit, this breath of humility and peace, eschew the dwelling of the priesthood. He had deserted the assemblies of the proud, and the palaces of the princes of the Church, and gone to live in retirement among simple Christians and modest priests. He had shunned a domineering hierarchy, which often forced blood from the poor, whom it trampled under foot; he had shunned a proud and ignorant clergy, whose chiefs were skilled, not in the Bible, but in the sword; and he was found sometimes among despised sects, and sometimes among men of talents and learning. The holy cloud, withdrawing from proud basilisks and gorgeous cathedrals, had descended on the obscure dwellings of the humble, or on chambers where studious men calmly pursued their conscientious labours. The Church, degraded by her love of power and riches, dishonoured in the eyes of the people by the venal use which she made of the doctrine of life; the Church which sold salvation in order to fill a treasury, for luxury and debauchery to empty, had lost all respect. Men of sense no longer set any value on her testimony, but, despising an authority so degraded, turned with joy, towards the Divine word, and its infallible authority, as toward the only refuge which remained to them in the general confusion. The age, therefore, was prepared. The bold movement by which Luther changed the point on which the human heart rested its highest hopes, and with a mighty hand transferred those hopes from the walls of the Vatican to the rock of the word of God, was hailed with enthusiasm. This was the work which the Reformer had in view in his reply to Prierio.

Putting aside the axioms which the Dominican had placed at the head of his work, he says, “After your example, I, too, am going to lay down some axioms.”

“The first is the saying of St. Paul, ‘Should we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel unto you than that which we have preached unto you, let him be accursed.’ ” The second is the following passage of St. Augustine, addressed to St. Jerome:—“I have learned to pay to the canonical books alone the honour of believing very firmly that none of them has erred; as to others, I believe not what they say, for the simple reason, that it is they who say it.”

Luther then vigorously proceeds to lay down the fundamental principles of the Reformation,—the word of God, the whole word of God, and nothing but the word of God. “If you understand these principles,” continues he, “you will also understand that your whole dialogue is completely overturned; for you have done nothing else than adduce the words and opinions of St. Thomas.” Next, attacking the axioms of his opponent, he frankly declares his opinion that popes and councils may err. He complains of the flattery of the Roman courtiers in attributing to the pope the alleged infallibility of both popes and councils, and declares that the Church exists virtually only in Christ, and representatively only in Councils. Coming afterwards to the supposition which Prierio had made, he says, “No doubt you judge me by yourself, but if I aspired to a bishopric, assuredly I would not use language which sounds so hateful in your ears. Do you imagine I am ignorant how bishoprics and the popedom are procured at Rome? Do not the very children in the streets sing the well known words— ‘Rome now-a-days is more unclean, Than ought that in the world is seen?’ ” This was among the stanzas current in Rome before the election of one of the last popes. Nevertheless, Luther speaks of Leo with respect. “I know,” says he, “that in him we have, as it were, a Daniel in Babylon; his integrity has repeatedly endangered his life.” He concludes with a few words in reply to the menaces of Prierio: “In fine, you say that the pope is at once pontiff and emperor, and that he has power to constrain by the secular arm. Are you thirsting for murder? Take my word for it, your rhodomontades and your loud-sounding threats cannot terrify me. Though I be killed, Christ lives, Christ my Lord, and the Lord of all, blessed for ever and ever. Amen.”

Thus Luther with a strong arm assails the infidel altar of the papacy, opposing to it the altar of the word of God, alone holy, alone infallible, before which he would have every knee to bow, and on which he declares himself ready to sacrifice his life.

Prierio published a reply, and after it a third treatise on “the Irrefragable Truth of the Church and of the Roman Pontiff,” in which, founding on ecclesiastical law, he says, that though the pope were to send the people and himself to the devil en masse, he could not for so doing be either judged or deposed. The pope was at length obliged to impose silence on Prierio. A new opponent soon entered the list. He too was a Dominican. James Hochstraten, inquisitor at Cologne, whom we have already seen assailing Reuchlin and the friends of letters, was furious when he saw Luther’s boldness. It was indeed necessary that darkness and monkish fanaticism should engage in close fight with him who was to give them their death-blow. Monkism was formed after primitive truth had begun to decay, and from that period downward, errors and monks had gone hand in hand. The man who was to hasten their ruin had appeared; but these sturdy champions would not quit the field without a fierce combat. This combat they continued to wage with him throughout his whole life, though the proper personification of it is in Hochstraten; Hochstraten and Luther—the one, the free and intrepid Christian, and the other, the blustering slave of monkish superstition. Hochstraten unchains his rage, and, with loud cries, demands the death of the heretic.… His wish is to secure the triumph of Rome by means of the flames. “It is high treason against the Church,” exclaims he, “to let so execrable a heretic live another single hour. Let a scaffold be instantly erected for him!” This sanguinary counsel was, alas! but too well followed in many countries; the voice of numerous martyrs, as in the first days of the Church, bore testimony to the truth in the midst of the flames. But in vain were fire and sword invoked against Luther. The angel of Jehovah constantly encamped around him and shielded him.

Luther replied to Hochstraten briefly, but very energetically. “Go,” says he to him, when concluding; “go, delirious murderer, whose thirst can only be quenched by the blood of the brethren. My sincere desire is, that you guard against calling me a Christian and a believer, and that, on the contrary, you never cease to denounce me as a heretic. Understand these things well, you bloody man, you enemy of the truth; and if your furious rage impel you to devise mischief against me, do it with circumspection, and time your measures well. God knows what I purpose if he grants me life. My hope and expectation (God willing) will not deceive me.” Hochstraten was silent. A more painful attack awaited the Reformer. Dr. Eck, the celebrated professor of Ingolstadt, who procured the liberty of Urban Regius, Luther’s friend, had received the famous theses. Eck was not the man to defend the abuses of indulgences, but he was a doctor of the school, and not of the Bible, being well versant in scholastics, but not in the word of God. If Prierio had represented Rome, and Hochstraten had represented the monks, Eck represented the School. The School which, for about five centuries, had ruled Christendom, far from yielding to the first blows of the Reformer, proudly rose up to crush the man who dared to assail it with floods of contempt. Eck and Luther, the School and the Word, came to blows on more than one occasion; but the present was the occasion on which the combat commenced.

Eck must have regarded several of Luther’s assertions as erroneous; for nothing obliges us to question the sincerity of his convictions. He defended the scholastic opinions with enthusiasm, just as Luther defended the declarations of the word of God. We may even suppose that he was somewhat pained at seeing himself obliged to oppose his old friend, and yet it would seem, from the mode of attack, that passion and jealousy had some share in his determination.

He gave the name of Obelisks to his remarks on the theses of Luther. Wishing at first to save appearances, he did not publish his work, but contented himself with communicating it confidentially to his ordinary, the Bishop of Eichstädt. Soon, however, whether through the indiscretion of the bishop, or of Eck himself, the Obelisks were circulated in all quarters. A copy having fallen into the hands of a friend of Luther, Link, preacher at Nuremberg, he lost no time in sending it to the Reformer. Eck was a much more formidable opponent than Tezel, Prierio, and Hochstraten; his work was the more dangerous the more it surpassed theirs in knowledge and subtlety. He affected pity for his “feeble opponent,” (knowing well that pity injures more effectually than anger,) and insinuated that the propositions of Luther contained Bohemian poison, and savoured of Bohemia. By these malicious insinuations he threw upon Luther the obloquy and hatred which in Germany attached to the name of Huss and the schismatics of his country. The malice which shone through this treatise roused Luther’s indignation, while the thought that the blow was given by an old friend, was still more distressing. However, he must sacrifice his affections in defending the truth. Luther unbosomed his heart and its sadness, in a letter to Egranus, pastor at Zwickau—“I am called in the Obelisks a venomous man, a Bohemian, a heretic, seditious, insolent, and presumptuous.… I say nothing of milder epithets, such as sleepy, imbecile, ignorant, contemner of the sovereign pontiff, etc. This book is full of the grossest insults, and yet the author is a distinguished man, alike remarkable for learning and talent; and (it is this that grieves me most) a man with whom I had recently contracted a close friendship, viz., John Eck, doctor in theology, and chancellor of Ingolstadt, a celebrated and illustrious author. Did I not know the thoughts of Satan, I would be astonished at the furious manner in which this man has broken off a friendship at once so pleasant and so recent;² and this without giving me any warning—without writing or saying a single word.” But if Luther’s heart be wounded, his courage is not destroyed. On the contrary, he girds himself for the combat. “Rejoice, my brother,” says he to Egranus, whom a violent enemy had also attacked; “rejoice, and be not alarmed at all these flying leaves. The more furious my adversaries become, the more I advance. I leave the things which are behind, that they may bark after them, and follow those which are before, that they may in like manner bark after them in their turn.”

Eck felt how shameful his conduct had been, and endeavoured to justify it in a letter to Carlstadt, in which he calls Luther “their common friend;” and throws all the blame on the Bishop of Eichstädt, at whose instigation he pretended that he had written the work. His intention, he said, was not to publish the Obelisks; but for this he would have had more regard for the friendship subsisting between him and Luther; and he requested that Luther, instead of coming to open rupture with him, would turn his arms against the theologians of Frankfort. The professor of Ingolstadt, who had not feared to strike the first blow, began to be alarmed at the power of the opponent whom he had imprudently attacked, and would willingly have evaded the contest. It was too late.

All these fine words did not persuade Luther, who was, however, disposed to be silent, and said, “I will patiently swallow this morsel, though fit for Cerberus.” But his friends were of a different opinion, and urged, or rather constrained him to answer. He, accordingly, replied to the Obelisks by his Asterisks, opposing (as he says, playing upon the word) to the rust and lividity of Obelisks the light and dazzling brightness of the stars of heaven. In this work he treats his new opponent less harshly than those whom he had previously combated; but his indignation is seen peeping through his words.

He showed that in the chaos of the Obelisks there was nothing from the holy Scriptures, nothing from the Fathers of the Church, and nothing from the ecclesiastical canons; that they contained only scholastic glosses, and opinion after opinion, many of them mere dreams; in a word, contained the very things which Luther had attacked. The Asterisks are full of spirit and life. The author’s indignation rises at the errors of his friend’s book, but he shows pity to the man.² He reiterates the fundamental principle which he had laid down in his reply to Prierio:—“The sovereign pontiff is a man, and may be led into error; but God is truth, and cannot be deceived.” Then employing the argumentum ad hominem against the scholastic doctor, he says to him, “It is certainly impudent in any one to teach, as the philosophy of Aristotle, any dogma which cannot be proved by his authority. You grant this. Well, then, it is a fortiori, the most impudent of all things to affirm in the Church and among Christians anything that Jesus Christ himself has not taught. Now in what part of the Bible is it said that the treasure of Christ’s merits is in the hands of the pope?”

He adds, “As to the malicious charge of Bohemian heresy, I patiently bear the reproach for the love of Jesus Christ. I live in a celebrated university, a distinguished town, an important bishopric, and a powerful duchy, where all are orthodox, and where, doubtless, no toleration would be given to so wicked a heretic.”

Luther did not publish The Asterisks; he only communicated them to his friends. It was not till a later period that they were given to the public. This rupture between the doctor of Ingolstadt and the doctor of Wittemberg made a sensation in Germany. They had common friends. Scheurl, in particular, by whose instrumentality their friendship appears to have been originally formed, was exceedingly annoyed. He was one of those who longed to see a reform throughout the whole Germanic church, produced through the medium of its most distinguished organs. But If in matters of principle the most eminent theologians of the period came to open rupture, and while Luther advanced in a new path, Eck put himself at the head of those who kept to the old path, what disruption must inevitably ensue? Would not numerous adherents gather around each of the two chiefs, and form two hostile camps in the heart of the empire?

Scheurl exerted himself to reconcile Eck and Luther. The latter declared that he was willing to forget every thing; that he loved the genius, and admired the erudition of Dr. Eck, and that the proceedings of his old friend had caused him more grief than anger. “I am ready,” says he, “either for peace or war; but I prefer peace. Do you then set about it. Grieve with us, that the devil has thrown among us this beginning of strife, and then rejoice that Christ in his mercy hath removed it.”² About the same time, he addressed a most friendly letter to Eck, who, however, not only did not answer it, but did not even send him a verbal message.” It was too late for reconciliation; and the breach became wider and wider. The pride of Eck, and his unforgiving temper, soon completely broke any remaining ties of friendship.