CHAPTER II

Luther writes to the Emperor—Luther’s dangers—Instructions of Frederick to the court of Rome—Luther’s sentiments—Melancthon’s fears—The German nobles favourable to the Reformation—Schaumburg—Seckingen—Ulric de Hütten—Luther’s Confidence—Luther’s Greater Freedom—Faith the source of Works—What Faith gives—Luther judging his own writings.

Luther had foreseen that the cause of the Reformation would soon be brought before the new emperor; and, when Charles was still at Madrid, addressed a letter to him, in which he said, “If the cause which I defend is worthy of being presented before the heavenly Majesty, it cannot be unworthy of engaging the attention of a prince of this world. O, Charles! prince of the kings of the earth, I cast myself as a suppliant at the feet of your most serene majesty, and beseech you to deign to take under the shadow of your wings, not me, but the very cause of eternal truth, for the defence of which God has entrusted you with the sword.” The young king of Spain threw aside this odd letter from a German monk, and returned no answer.

While Luther was turning in vain toward Madrid, the storm seemed gathering around him. Fanaticism was rekindled in Germany. Hochstraten, indefatigable in his efforts at persecution, had extracted certain theses from Luther’s writings, and obtained their condemnation by the universities of Cologne and Louvain. That of Erfurt, which had always had a grudge at Luther, for having given Wittemberg the preference, was on the eve of following their example. But the doctor, having been informed of it, wrote Lange, in terms so energetic that the theologians of Erfurt took fright, and said nothing. Still, however, there was enough to inflame the minds of men in the condemnation pronounced by Cologne and Louvain. More than this; the priests of Misnia who had espoused Emser’s quarrel said openly (such is Melancthon’s statement) that there would be no sin in killing Luther. “The time is come,” said Luther, “when men think they will do Jesus Christ service by putting us to death.” The murderous language of the priests did not fail of its effect.

“One day,” says a biographer, “when Luther was in front of the Augustin convent, a stranger, with a pistol hid under his arm, accosted him, and said, Why do you walk about thus quite alone?” “I am in the hands of God,” replied Luther; “He is my strength and my shield.” “Thereupon,” adds the biographer, “the stranger grew pale, and fled trembling.” About the same time Serra Longa, the orator of the conference of Augsburg, wrote to the Elector, “Let not Luther find any asylum in the states of your highness, but, repulsed by all, let him be stoned to death in the face of heaven. This would please me more than a gift of ten thousand crowns.”² But the sound of the gathering storm was heard, especially in the direction of Rome. Valentine Teutleben, a noble of Thuringia, vicar of the Archbishop of Mentz, and a zealous partisan of the papacy, was the representative of the Elector of Saxony at Rome. Teutleben, ashamed of the protection which his master gave to the heretical monk, could not bear to see his mission paralysed by this imprudent conduct; and imagined that, by alarming the Elector, he would induce him to abandon the rebel theologian. Writing to his master, he said, “I am not listened to, because of the protection which you give to Luther.” But the Romans were mistaken if they thought they could frighten sage Frederick. He knew that the will of God and the movements of the people were more irresistible than the decrees of the papal chancery. He ordered his envoy to hint to the pope that, far from defending Luther, he had always left him to defend himself, that he had moreover told him to quit Saxony and the university, that the doctor had declared his readiness to obey, and would not now be in the electoral states had not the legate, Charles de Miltitz, begged the prince to keep him near himself, from a fear that in other countries he would act with still less restraint than in Saxony. Frederick did still more; he tried to enlighten Rome. “Germany,” continues he, in his letter, “now possesses a great number of learned men distinguished for scholarship and science; the laity themselves begin to cultivate their understanding, and to love the Holy Scriptures. Hence, there is great reason to fear that, if the equitable proposals of Doctor Luther are not accepted, peace will never be reestablished. The doctrine of Luther has struck its roots deep in many hearts. If, instead of refuting it by passages from the Bible, an attempt is made to crush him by the thunders of ecclesiastical power, great scandal will be given, and pernicious and dreadful outbreaks will ensue.”

⁴ The Elector, having full confidence in Luther, caused Teutleben’s letter to be communicated to him, and also another letter from cardinal St. George. The Reformer was moved on reading them. He at once saw all the dangers by which he was surrounded, and for an instant his heart sank. But it was in such moments as these that his faith displayed its full power. Often, when feeble and ready to fall into despondency, he rallied again, and seemed greater amid the raging of the storm. He would fain have been delivered from all these trials; but, aware of the price that must have been paid for repose, he spurned it with indignation. “Be silent!” said he, “I am disposed to be so, if I am allowed—that is to say, if others are silent. If any one envies my situation he is welcome to it. If any one is desirous to destroy my writings, let him burn them. I am ready to remain quiet, provided gospel truth is not compelled to be quiet also. I ask not a cardinal’s hat; I ask neither gold, nor aught that Rome esteems. There is nothing which I will not concede, provided Christians are not excluded from the way of salvation.² All their threatenings do not terrify—all their promises cannot seduce me.”

Animated by these sentiments, Luther soon resumed his warlike temperament, preferring the Christian combat to the calmness of solitude. One night was sufficient to revive his desire of over throwing Rome. “My part is taken,” wrote he next day. “I despise the fury of Rome, and I despise her favour. No more reconciliation, nor more communication with her for ever. Let her condemn and burn my writings! I, in my turn, will condemn and publicly burn the pontifical law, that nest of all heresies. The moderation which I have shown up to this hour has been useless, and I have done with it!” His friends were far from feeling equally tranquil. Great alarm prevailed at Wittemberg. “We are waiting in extreme anxiety,” said Melancthon. “I would sooner die than be separated from Luther. Unless God come to our assistance we perish.” Writing a month later, in his anxiety, he says, “Our Luther still lives, and God grant he long may; for the Roman sycophants are using every mean to destroy him. Pray for the life of him who is sole vindicator of sound theology.”⁵

These prayers were not in vain. The warnings which the Elector had given Rome, through his envoy, were not without foundation. The word of Luther had been every where heard, in cottages, and convents, at the firesides of the citizens, in the castles of nobles, in academies, and in the palaces of kings. He had said to Duke John of Saxony, “Let my life only have contributed to the salvation of a single individual, and I will willingly consent that all my books perish.” Not a single individual, but a great multitude, had found light in the writings of the humble doctor; and hence, in all quarters, there were men ready to protect him. The sword which was to attack him was on the anvil of the Vatican; but there were heroes in Germany who would interpose their bodies as his buckler. At the moment when the bishops were waxing wroth, when princes were silent, when the people were awaiting the result, and when the thunder was already grumbling on the seven hills, God raised up the German nobility, and placed them as a rampart around his servant. At this time Sylvester of Schaumburg, one of the most powerful nobles of Franconia, sent his son to Wittemberg with a letter for the Reformer, in which he said, “Your life is exposed to danger. If the support of electors, princes, or magistrates fails you, I beg you to beware of going into Bohemia, where, of old, very learned men had much to suffer; come rather to me; God willing, I shall soon have collected more than a hundred gentlemen, and with their help, will be able to keep you free from harm.”

Francis of Seckingen, the hero of his age, whose intrepid courage we have already seen, loved the Reformer, because he found that he was worthy of love, and also because he was hated by the monks.⁴ “My person, my property, and services, all that I possess,” wrote he to him, “is at your disposal. Your wish is to maintain Christian truth, and in that I am ready to assist you.” Harmuth of Cronberg, spoke in similar terms. Ulric von Hütten, the poet and valiant knight of the sixteenth century, ceased not to speak in commendation of Luther. But how great the contrast between these two men! Hütten wrote to the Reformer—“We must have swords, bows, javelins, and bullets, to destroy the fury of the devil.” Luther, on receiving these letters, exclaimed—“I have no wish that men should have recourse to arms and carnage In order to defend the gospel. It was by the Word the world was overcome, by the Word the Church has been saved, and by the Word will she be re-established.” “I despise not his offers,” said he on receiving the above letter from Schaumburg, “but still I wish to lean on none but Christ.” So spake not the pontiffs of Rome when they waded in the blood of the Vaudois and Albigenses. Hütten was sensible of the difference between his cause and Luther’s, and accordingly wrote with noble frankness: “I am occupied with the things of man, but you, rising to a far greater height, give yourself wholly to those of God.”² After thus writing, he set out to try, if possible, to gain over Ferdinand and Charles V to the truth.

Thus, on the one hand, Luther’s enemies assail him, and on the other, his friends rise up to defend him. “My bark,” says he, “floats here and there at the pleasure of the winds, … hope and fear reign by turns, but what matters it?” Still his mind was not uninfluenced by the marks of sympathy which he received. “The Lord reigns,” said he, “and so visibly as to be almost palpable.”⁵ Luther saw that he was no longer alone; his words had proved faithful, and the thought inspired him with new courage. Now that he has other defenders prepared to brave the fury of Rome, he will no longer be kept back by the fear of compromising the Elector. He becomes more free, and, if possible, more decided. This is an important period in the development of Luther’s mind. Writing at this time to the Elector’s chaplain, he says, “Rome must be made aware, that though she should succeed, by her menaces, in exiling me from Wittemberg, she will only damage her cause. Those who are ready to defend me against the thunders of the papacy are to be found not in Bohemia, but in the heart of Germany. If I have not yet done to my enemies all that I am preparing for them, they must ascribe it neither to my moderation nor to their tyranny, but to my fear of compromising the name of the Elector, and the prosperity of the university of Wittemberg. Now, that I have no longer any such fears, I will rush with new impetuosity on Rome and her courtiers.”

Still Luther’s hope was not placed on the great. He had often been urged to dedicate a book to Duke John, the Elector’s brother, but had never done it. “I fear,” he had said, “that the suggestion comes from himself. The Holy Scriptures must be subservient only to the glory of God’s name.” Luther afterwards laid aside his suspicions, and dedicated his discourse on good works to Duke John, a discourse in which he gives a forcible exposition of the doctrine of justification by faith, a mighty doctrine, whose power he rates far higher than the sword of Hütten, the army of Seckingen, or the protection of dukes and electors.

“The first, the noblest, the sublimest of all works,” says he, “is faith in Jesus Christ. From this work all other works should proceed; they are all the vassals of faith, and from it alone derive their efficacy.

“If a man’s own heart assures him, that what he is doing is agreeable to God, the work is good should it be merely the lifting up of a straw, but in the absence of this assurance the work is not good, though it should be the raising of the dead. A pagan, a Jew, a Turk, a sinner, can do all other works, but to trust firmly in the Lord, and feel assured of pleasing him, are works of which none are capable but the Christian strengthened by grace.

“A Christian, who has faith in God, acts, at all times, with freedom and gladness, whereas, the man who is not at one with God is full of cares, and is detained in thraldom; he anxiously asks how many works he ought to do, he runs up and down interrogating this man and that man, and, nowhere finding any peace, does everything with dissatisfaction and fear.

“Hence, I have always extolled faith. But it is otherwise in the world: there the essential point is to have many works, works great and high, and of all dimensions, while it is a matter of indifference whether or not faith animates them. Thus men build their peace, not on the good pleasure of God, but on their own merits, that is to say, on the sand.… (Matthew 7:27)

“To preach faith is, it is said, to prevent good works; but though a single man should have in himself the powers of all men, or even of all creatures, the mere obligation of living by faith would be a task too great for him ever to accomplish. If I say to a sick person, be in health and you will have the use of your members—will it be said that I forbid him to use his members? Must not health precede labour? The same holds true in the preaching of faith; it must be before works, in order that works themselves may exist.

“Where then, you will ask, is this faith found, and how is it received? This, indeed, is the most important of all questions. Faith comes solely from Jesus Christ, who is promised, and given gratuitously.

“O, man! represent Christ to thyself, and consider how in him God manifests his mercy to thee without being anticipated by any merit on thy part. In this image of his grace receive the faith and assurance that all thy sins are forgiven thee. Works cannot produce it. It flows from the blood, the wounds, and the death of Christ, whence it wells up in the heart. Christ is the rock out of which come milk and honey. (Deuteronomy 32:1-52) Not being able to give an account of all Luther’s works, we have quoted some short fragments of this discourse on good works, on account of the opinion which the Reformer himself had of it. “It is in my judgment,” said he, “the best work that I have published.” He immediately subjoins this profound observation. “But I know that when any thing I write pleases myself, the infection of this bad leaven prevents it from pleasing others.” Melancthon, in sending a copy of this discourse to a friend, thus expressed himself, “Of all Greek and Latin authors none has come nearer the spirit of St. Paul than Luther.”