S H A R E W A R E
This is a modern revision of that classic work
Merle D'Aubigne's HISTORY OF THE REFORMATION published in
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Angela Pitts
P.O. Box 459
Experiment, Georgia 30212
HISTORY
of
THE REFORMATION
of
THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY
BY J. H. MERLE D'AUBIGNE, D.D.,
President of the Theological School of Geneva, and
Vice President of the Societe Evangelique.
FROM THE AUGUST 1835 EDITION
VOL. I.
REVISED JUNE 1989.
REVISION COPYRIGHT JUNE 1989 BY ANGELA C. PITTS.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
CONTENTS
----
BOOK 1
STATE OF EUROPE BEFORE THE REFORMATION.
CHAPTER 1
Christianity--Two distinctive Principles--Rise of the Papacy--
Early Encroachments--Influence of Rome--Co-operation of the
Bishops and of the Sects--Visible Unity of the Church--Invisible
Unity of the Church--Primacy of St. Peter--Patriarchates--Co-
operation of Princes--Influence of the Barbarians--Rome invokes
the aid of the Franks--Secular Power--Pepin and Charlemagne--The
Decretals--Disorders of Rome--The Emperor, the Pope's Suzerain--
Hildebrand--His Character--Celibacy--Struggle with the Empire--
Emancipation of the Pope--Hildebrand's Successors--The Crusades--
The Empire--The Church.
CHAPTER 2
Grace--Dead Faith--Works--Unity and Duality--Pelagianism--
Salvation at the Hands of the Priests--Penance--Flagellations--
Indulgences--Works of Supererogation--Purgatory--The Tariff--
Jubilee--The Papacy and Christianity--State of Christendom.
CHAPTER 3
Religion--Relics--Easter Revels--Morals--Corruption--Disorders of
the Priests, Bishops, and Popes--A Papal Family--Alexander VI--
Caesar Borgia--Education--Ignorance--Ciceronians.
CHAPTER 4
Imperishable Nature of Christianity--Two Laws of God--Apparent
Strength of Rome--Secret Opposition--Decline--Threefold
Opposition--Kings and People--Transformation of the Church--The
Pope judged in Italy--Discoveries of Kings and their Subjects--
Frederick the Wise--Moderation and Expectation.
CHAPTER 5
Popular Feeling--The Empire--Providential Preparations--Impulse
of the Reformation--Peace--The Commonalty--National Character--
Papal Yoke--State of the Empire--Opposition at Rome--Middle
Classes--Switzerland--Courage--Liberty--Smaller Cantons--Italy--
Obstacles to the Reform--Spain--Obstacles--Portugal--France--
Preparations--Disappointment--The Low Countries--England--
Scotland--The North--Russia--Poland--Bohemia--Hungary.
CHAPTER 6
Roman Theology--Remains of Life--Justification by Faith--
Witnesses to the Truth--Claudius--The Mystics--The Waldenses--
Valdo--Wickliffe--Huss--Prediction--Protestantism before the
Reformation--Anselm--Arnoldi--Utenheim--Martin--New Witnesses in
the Church--Thomas Conecte--The Cardinal of Crayn--Institoris--
Savonarola--Justification by Faith--John Vitrarius--John Lallier-
-John of Wesalia--John of Goch--John Wessel--Protestantism before
the Reformation--The Bohemian Brethren--Prophecy of Proles--
Prophecy of the Eisenach Franciscan.
CHAPTER 7
Third Preparation--Letters--Revival--Recollections of Antiquity
in Italy--Influence of the Humanists--Christianity of Dante--
Valla--Infidelity in Italy--Platonic Philosophy--Commencement of
Learning in Germany--Young Students--Printing--Characteristics of
German Literature--The Learned and the Schoolmen--A New World--
Reuchlin--Reuchlin in Italy--His Labors--His Influence in
Germany--Mysticism--Contest with the Dominicans.
CHAPTER 8
Erasmus--Erasmus a Canon--At Paris--His Genius--His Reputation--
His Influence--Popular Attack--Praise of Folly--Gibes--Churchmen-
-Saints--Folly and the Popes--Attack on Science--Principles--
Greek New Testament--His Profession of Faith--His Labors and
Influence--His Failings--Two Parties--Reform without Violence--
Was such Possible?--Unreformed Church--His Timidity--His
Indecision--Erasmus loses his Influence with all Parties.
CHAPTER 9
The Nobility--Different Motives--Hutten--Literary League--Literae
Obscurorum Virorum--Their Effect--Luther's Opinion--Hutten at
Brussels--His Letters--Sickengen--War--His Death--Cronberg--Hans
Sachs--General Ferment.
PREFACE
-----
The history of one of the greatest revolutions that has ever
been accomplished in human affairs--of a mighty impulse
communicated to the world three centuries ago, and whose
influence is still visible on every side--and not the history of
a mere party, is the object of my present undertaking. The
history of the Reformation is distinct from that of
Protestantism. In the former every thing bears the mark of a
regeneration of the human race--of a religious and social change
emanating from God himself. In the latter we too often witness a
glaring degeneracy from first principles, the struggles of
parties, a sectarian spirit, and the traces of petty
individualities. The history of Protestantism may have an
interest for Protestants only; the history of the Reformation
addresses itself to all Christians, or rather to all mankind.
An historian may choose his subject in the wide field
presented to his labors: he may describe the great events which
have changed the aspect of a people or of the world; or on the
other hand he may record that tranquil onward course of a nation,
of the Church, or of mankind, which usually succeeds every great
social change. Both these departments of history are of vast
importance; yet public interest has ever been more strongly
attracted to those epochs which under the name of revolutions,
have given fresh life to a nation, or created a new era for
society in general.
It is a transformation of the latter kind that, with very
humble powers, I have undertaken to describe, not without a hope
that the beauty of the subject may compensate for my own
deficiencies. The term "revolution," which I here apply to it,
has of late fallen into discredit with many individuals, who
almost confound it with revolt. But they are wrong: for a
revolution is merely a change in the affairs of men,--something
new unfolded (revolutus) from the bosom of humanity; and this
very word, previous to the end of the last century, was more
frequently used in a good than in a bad sense: a happy, a
wonderful revolution, were the terms employed. The Reformation
was quite the opposite of a revolt: it was the re-establishment
of the principles of primitive Christianity. It was a
regenerative movement with respect to all that was destined to
revive; a conservative movement as regards all that will exist
for ever. While Christianity and the Reformation established the
great principle of the equality of souls in the eyes of God, and
overthrew the usurpations of a haughty priesthood that assumed to
place itself between the Creator and his creature, they both laid
down this fundamental rule of social order, that all power is
derived from God, and called upon all men to "love the
brotherhood, fear God, and honor the king."
The Reformation is eminently distinguished from all the
revolutions of antiquity, and from most of those of modern times.
Political changes--the consolidation or the overthrow of the
power of the one or of the many--were the object of the latter.
The love of truth, of holiness, of immortality, was the simple
yet mighty spring which set in motion that which I have to
describe. It indicates a forward movement in human nature. In
truth, man advances--he improves, whenever he aims at higher
objects, and seeks for immaterial and imperishable blessings,
instead of pursuing material, temporal, and earthly advantages.
The Reformation is one of the brightest days of this glorious
progress. It is a guarantee that the new struggle, which is
receiving its accomplishment under our own eyes, will terminate
on the side of truth, in a purer, more spiritual, and still
nobler triumph.
Primitive Christianity and the Reformation are the two
greatest revolutions in history. They were not limited to one
nation only, as were the various political movements that history
records; but their influence extended over many, and their
effects are destined to be felt to the utmost limits of the
world.
Primitive Christianity and the Reformation are one and the
same revolution, brought about at different epochs and under
different circumstances. Although not alike in their secondary
features, they are identical in their primary and chief
characteristics. One is a repetition of the other. The former
put an end to the old world; the latter began the new: between
them lie the Middle Ages. One is the parent of the other; and
although the daughter may in some instances bear marks of
inferiority, she had characters that are peculiarly her own.
One of them is the rapidity of its action. The great
revolutions that have led to the fall of a monarchy, or wrought
an entire change in a political system, or which have launched
the human mind on a new career of development, have been slowly
and gradually prepared. The old-established power has long been
undermined: one by one its chief supports have given way. This
was the case at the introduction of Christianity. But the
Reformation, at the first glance, seems to present a different
aspect. The church of Rome under Leo X appears in the height of
its power and glory. A monk speaks--and in one half of Europe
this mighty glory and power crumble into dust. In this
revolution we are reminded of the words by which the Son of God
foretells his second advent: "As the lightning cometh out of the
east, and shineth even to the west, so shall the coming of the
Son of Man be."
Such rapidity of action is inexplicable to those who see in
this event nothing more than a reform; who look upon it simply as
an act of critical sagacity, which consisted in making a choice
among various doctrines--rejecting some, preserving others, and
arranging those which were retained so as to combine them into a
new system.
But how could a whole people, how could many nations have so
promptly executed this laborious task? How could this critical
examination have kindled the fire and enthusiasm so necessary for
great and above all for sudden revolutions? The Reformation, as
its history will show, was altogether different. It was a new
outpouring of that life which Christianity brought into the
world. It was the triumph of the greatest of its doctrines,--of
that which animates all who embrace it with the purest and most
intense enthusiasm,--the doctrine of Faith, the doctrine of
Grace. Had the Reformation been what many Romanists and
Protestants of our days imagine it,--had it been that negative
system of negative reason which, like a fretful child, rejects
whatever is displeasing to it, and disowns the grand truths and
leading ideas of universal Christianity, it would never have
crossed the threshold of the schools, or been known beyond the
narrow limits of the cloister or perhaps of the friar's cell.
But with Protestantism, as many understand the word, it had no
connection. Far from being an emaciated, an enervated body, it
rose up like a man full of strength and energy.
Two considerations will account for the suddenness and
extent of this revolution. One must be sought in God; the other
among men. The impulse was given by an invisible and mighty
hand: the change accomplished was the work of Omnipotence. An
impartial and attentive observer, who looks beyond the surface,
must necessarily be led to this conclusion. But as God works by
second causes, another task remains for the historian. Many
circumstances which have often passed unnoticed, gradually
prepared the world for the great transformation of the sixteenth
century, so that the human mind was ripe when the hour of its
emancipation arrived.
It is the historian's duty to combine these two great
elements in the picture he presents to his readers. This has
been my endeavour in the following pages. I shall be easily
understood so long as I am occupied in investigating the
secondary causes that concurred in producing the revolution I
have undertaken to describe. Many perhaps will understand me
less clearly, and will even be tempted to charge me with
superstition, when I ascribe the completion of the work to God.
It is a conviction, however, that I fondly cherish. These
volumes, as well as the motto I have prefixed to them, lay down
in the chief and foremost place this simple and pregnant
principle: God in History. But as it is a principle that has
been generally neglected and sometimes disputed, it may be right
for me to explain my views on this subject, and by this means
justify the method I have adopted.
History can no longer remain in our days that dead letter of
events, to the detail of which the majority of earlier writers
restricted themselves. It is now understood that in history, as
in man, there are two elements--matter and spirit. Unwilling to
resign themselves to the task of producing a simple recital of
facts, which would have been but a barren chronicle, our great
modern historians have sought for a vital principle to animate
the materials of past ages.
Some have borrowed this principle from the rules of art:
they have aimed at being ingenuous, exact, and picturesque in
description, and have endeavoured to give life to their narrative
by the characteristic details of the events themselves.
Others have sought in philosophy the principle that should
fertilize their labors. With the relation of events they have
interwoven extended views, instructive lessons, political and
philosophical truths; and have given animation to their narrative
by the idea they have drawn from it, and by the theory they have
been able to associate with it.
Both these methods, undoubtedly, are good, and should be
employed within certain limits. But there is another source to
which, above all, we must look for the intelligence, spirit, and
life of past ages; and this source is Religion. History should
live by that life which belongs to it, and that life is God. In
history, God should be acknowledged and proclaimed. The history
of the world should be set forth as the annals of the government
of the Sovereign King.
I have gone down into the lists whither the recitals of our
historians have invited me. There I have witnessed the actions
of men and of nations, developing themselves with energy, and
contending in violent collision. I have heard a strange din of
arms, but I have been nowhere shown the majestic countenance of
the presiding Judge.
And yet there is a living principle, emanating from God, in
every national movement. God is ever present on that vast
theater where successive generations of men meet and struggle.
It is true he is unseen; but if the heedless multitude pass by
without caring for him because he is "a God that dwelleth in the
thick darkness," thoughtful men, who yearn for the very principle
of their existence, seek for him the more ardently, and are not
satisfied until they lie prostrate at his feet. And their
inquiries meet with a rich reward. For from the height to which
they have been compelled to soar to meet their God, the history
of the world, instead of presenting to their eyes a confused
chaos, as it does to the ignorant crowd, appears as a majestic
temple, on which the invisible hand of God himself is at work,
and which rises to his glory above the rock of humanity.
Shall we not recognize the hand of God in those grand
manifestations, those great men, those mighty nations, which
arise, and start as it were from the dust of the earth, and
communicate a fresh impulse, a new form and destiny to the human
race? Shall we not acknowledge him in those heroes who spring
from society at appointed epochs--who display a strength and
activity beyond the ordinary limits of humanity--and around whom,
as around a superior and mysterious power, nations and
individuals unhesitatingly gather? Who has launched into the
expanse of time, those huge comets with their fiery trains, which
appear but at distant intervals, scattering among the
superstitious crowd abundance and joy, calamity and terror? Who,
if not God? Alexander sought his origin in the abodes of the
Divinity. And in the most irreligious age there has been no
eminent glory that has not endeavoured in some way or other to
connect itself with heaven.
And do not those revolutions which hurl kings from their
thrones, and precipitate whole nations to the dust,--do not those
wide-spread ruins which the traveller meets with among the sands
of the desert,--do not those majestic relics which the field of
humanity presents to our view; do they not all declare aloud--a
God in history? Gibbon, seated among the ruins of the Capitol,
and contemplating its august remains, owned the intervention of a
superior destiny. He saw it--he felt it: in vain would he avert
his eyes. That shadow of a mysterious power started from behind
every broken pillar; and he conceived the design of describing
its influence in the history of the disorganization, decline, and
corruption of that Roman dominion which had enslaved the world.
Shall not we discern amidst the great ruins of humanity that
almighty hand which a man of noble genius--one who had never bent
the knee to Christ--perceived amid the scattered fragments of the
monuments of Romulus, the sculptured marbles of Aurelius, the
busts of Cicero and Virgil, the statues of Caesar and Augustus,
Pompey's horses, and the trophies of Trajan,--and shall we not
confess it to be the hand of God?
What a startling fact, that men brought up amid the elevated
ideas of Christianity, regard as mere superstition that Divine
intervention in human affairs which the very heathens had
admitted!
The name given by ancient Greece to the Sovereign Ruler
shows it to have received primeval revelations of the great truth
of a God, who is the principle of history and the life of
nations. He was styled Zeus, or the life-giver to all that
lives,--to nations as well as to individuals. On his altars
kings and people swore their solemn oaths; and from his
mysterious inspirations Minos and other legislators pretended to
have received their laws. This is not all: this great truth is
figured forth by one of the most beautiful fables of heathen
antiquity. Even mythology might teach a lesson to the
philosophers of our days; and I may be allowed to establish the
fact, as perhaps there are readers who will feel less prejudice
against he instructions of paganism than of Christianity itself.
This Zeus, this supreme Ruler, this Eternal Spirit, this life-
giving Principle, is the father of Clio, the muse of history,
whose mother is Mnemosyne or Memory. Thus, according to the
notions of antiquity, history combines a heavenly with an earthly
nature. She is the daughter of God and man; but, alas! the
purblind philosophy of our proud age is far from having attained
the lofty views of that heathen wisdom. Her divine paternity has
been denied; and the illegitimate child now wanders up and down
the world, like a shameless adventurer, hardly knowing whence she
comes or whither she is going.
But this God of pagan antiquity is only a faint reflection,
a dim shadow of Jehovah--of the Eternal One. The true God whom
the Hebrews worship, willing to impress on the minds of all
nations that he reigns continually upon earth, gave with this
intent, if I may venture the expression, a bodily form to this
sovereignty in the midst of Israel. A visible theocracy was
appointed to exist once upon the earth, that it might unceasingly
remind us of that invisible theocracy which shall for ever govern
the world.
And see what luster this great truth (God in history)
receives under the Christian dispensation. What is Jesus Christ,
if he be not God in history? It was this discovery of Jesus
Christ which enable John Muller, the greatest of modern
historians, fully to comprehend his subject. "The Gospel," said
he, "is the fulfillment of every hope, the perfection of all
philosophy, the interpreter of every revolution, the key to all
the seeming contradictions in the physical and moral world: it
is life and immortality. Since I have known the Saviour, every
thing is clear to my eyes: with him, there is no difficulty I
cannot solve."
Thus wrote this eminent historian; and is not this great
truth, that God has appeared in human nature, in reality the
keystone of the arch,--the mysterious link which binds all
earthly things together, and connects them with heaven? History
records a birth of God, and yet God has no part in history!
Jesus Christ is the true God of man's history: it is shown by
the very meanness of his advent. When man would raise a shelter
against the weather--a shade from the heat of the sun--what
preparation of materials, what scaffolding and crowds of workmen,
what trenches and heaps of rubbish!--but when God would do the
same, he takes the smallest seed that a new-born child might
clasp in its feeble hand, deposits it in the bosom of the earth,
and from that grain, scarcely distinguishable in its
commencement, he produces the stately tree, under whose spreading
branches the families of men may find a refuge. To effect great
results by imperceptible means--such is the law of God.
In Jesus Christ is found the most glorious fulfillment of
this law. Christianity has now taken possession of the gates of
every people. It reigns or hovers over all the tribes of the
earth, from the rising to the setting sun; and even a skeptical
philosophy is compelled to acknowledge it as the social and
spiritual law of the world. And yet what was the commencement of
this religion, the noblest of all things under the vault of
heaven--nay, in the "infinite immense" of creation? A child born
in the smallest town of the most despised nation in the world--a
child whose mother had not what even the most indigent and
wretched woman of our towns possesses, a room to shelter her in
the hour of travail--a child born in a stable and cradled in a
manger! In this, O God, I acknowledge and adore thee!
The Reformation recognized this divine law, and was
conscious of fulfilling it. The idea that "God is in history"
was often put forth by the reformers. We find it particularly
expressed by Luther in one of those homely and quaint, yet not
undignified similitudes, which he was fond of using that he might
be understood by the people. "The world," said he one day at
table with his friends, "is a vast and magnificent game of cards,
made up of emperors, kings, princes, etc. The pope for many
centuries beat the emperors, kings and princes. They yielded and
fell before him. Then came our Lord God. He dealt the cards:
he took the lowest (Luther) for himself, and with it he beat the
pope, that vanquisher of the kings of the earth......This is the
ace of God. As Mary said: `He hath put down the mighty from
their seats, and exalted them of low degree.'"
The epoch whose history I am desirous of retracing is
important for the present generation. When a man becomes
sensible of his own weakness, he is generally inclined to look
for support in the institutions he sees flourishing around him,
or else in the bold devices of his imagination. The history of
the Reformation shows that nothing new can be made out of things
old; and that if, according to our Saviour's expression, we
require new bottles for new wine, we must also have new wine for
new bottles. It directs man to God as the universal agent in
history,--to that Divine word, ever old by the eternal nature of
the truths it contains, ever new by the regenerative influence
that it exerts; which purified society three centuries ago, which
restored faith in God to souls enfeebled by superstition, and
which, at every epoch in the history of man, is the fountain
whence floweth salvation.
It is singular to witness a great number of men, agitated by
a vague desire of believing in something fixed, addressing
themselves in our days to the erroneous Catholicism of Rome. In
one sense this movement is natural: religion is so little known
among them, that they think it can only be found where they see
it inscribed in large letters on a banner that time has rendered
venerable. I do not say that all Catholicism is incapable of
bestowing on man what he stands in need of. I think we should
carefully distinguish between Catholicism and Popery. The
latter, in my opinion, is an erroneous and destructive system;
but I am far from confounding it with Catholicism. How many
worthy men, how many true Christians, has not the catholic church
contained within its bosom! What important services were
rendered by Catholicism to the existing states of Europe, at the
moment of their formation--at a period when it was still deeply
impregnated with the Gospel, and when Popery was as yet only
hovering over it like a faint shadow! But we live no longer in
those days. Strenuous endeavors are now making to reunite
Catholicism with Popery; and if catholic and christian truths are
put forward, they are merely to serve as baits to draw us into
the nets of the hierarchy. We have nothing, then, to hope for on
that side. Has Popery renounced one of its observances, of its
doctrines, or of its assumptions? Will that religion which was
insupportable in former times be less so in ours? What
regeneration has ever been known to emanate from Rome? Is it
from a pontifical hierarchy, overflowing with earthly passions,
that can proceed the spirit of faith, hope, and charity, which
alone can save us? Is it an exhausted system, that has no
vitality for itself, which is everywhere in the struggles of
death, and which exists only by external aid, that can impart
life to others, or animate Christian society with the heavenly
inspiration that it requires?
Will this yearning of the heart and mind that begins to be
felt by many of our contemporaries, lead others to apply to the
new Protestantism which in many places has succeeded the powerful
teaching of the apostles and reformers? A great vagueness in
doctrine prevails in many of those reformed churches whose first
members sealed with their blood the clear and living faith that
inspired them. Men distinguished for their information, and
sensible to all the beauties which this world presents, are
carried away into strange aberrations. A general faith in the
divinity of the Gospel is the only standard they are willing to
uphold. But what is this Gospel? that is the vital question; and
yet on this, either they are silent, or else every one answers it
according to his own opinions. What avails it to know that God
has placed in the midst of all nations a vessel containing a
remedy for our souls, if we care not to know its contents, or if
we do not strive to appropriate them to ourselves? This system
cannot fill up the void of the present times. Whilst the faith
of the apostles and reformers appears everywhere active and
effectual for the conversion of the world, this vague system does
nothing--enlightens nothing--vivifies nothing.
But let us not be without hope. Does not Roman-catholicism
confess the great doctrines of Christianity,--God the Father,
Son, and Holy Ghost--Creator, Saviour, and Sanctifier, who is the
Truth? And does not this vague Protestantism hold in its hand
the Book of Life, which is sufficient for doctrine, correction,
and instruction in righteousness? And how many upright souls,
honored in the eyes of men, lovely in the sight of God, are there
not to be found among those subjected to these two systems? How
can we forbear loving them? How not ardently desire their
complete emancipation from human elements? Charity is infinite:
it embraces the most distant opinions, to draw them to the feet
of Christ.
Already there are indications that these two extreme
opinions are moving nearer to Christ, who is the center of truth.
Are there not some Roman-catholic churches in which the reading
of the Bible is recommended and practiced? And what steps has
not Protestant rationalism already made! It did not spring from
the Reformation: for the history of that great revolution will
prove it to have been an epoch of faith. But may we not hope it
is drawing nearer to it? Will not the might of truth go forth to
it from the Word of God, and will not this rationalism be
transformed by it? Already we often witness in it a religious
feeling, inadequate doubtless, but still it is a movement towards
sound doctrine, and which may lead us to hope for some definite
progress.
But the new Protestantism and the old Catholicism are of
themselves irrelevant and ineffectual. We require something else
to restore the saving power to the men of our days. We need
something which is not of man--something that comes from God.
"Give me," said Archimedes, "a point without the world, and I
will lift it from its poles." True Christianity is this point,
which raises the heart of man from its double pivot of
selfishness and sensuality, and which will one day turn the whole
world from its evil ways, and make it revolve on a new axis of
righteousness and peace.
Whenever religion has been under discussion, there have been
three points to which our attention has been directed. God, Man,
and the Priest. There can only be three kinds of religion upon
earth, according as God, Man, or the Priest, is its author and
its head. I denominate that the religion of the priest, which is
invented by the priest, for the glory of the priest, and in which
a sacerdotal caste is dominant. By the religion of man, I mean
those various systems and opinions which human reason has framed,
and which, being the offspring of human infirmity, are
consequently devoid of all healing power. The term divine
religion I apply to the truth such as God gave it,--the end and
aim of which are the glory of God and the salvation of man.
Hierarchism, or the religion of the priest--Christianity, or
the religion of God--Rationalism, or the religion of man, are the
three doctrines that divide Christendom in our days. There is no
salvation, either for man or for society, in the first or in the
last. Christianity alone can give life to the world; and,
unhappily, of the three prevailing systems, it is not that which
has the greatest number of followers.
Some, however, it has. Christianity is operating its work
of regeneration among many Catholics in Germany, and no doubt in
other countries also. It is accomplishing its task with greater
purity and vigor, in my opinion, among the evangelical Christians
of Switzerland, France, Great Britain, and the United States.
God be praised that these individual or social regenerations,
produced by the Gospel, are no longer such rarities as must be
sought in ancient annals.
It is the history of the Reformation in general that I
desire to write. I purpose tracing it among different nations,
to show that the same truths have everywhere produced the same
results, and also to point out the diversities arising from the
dissimilar characters of the people. It is especially in Germany
that we find the primitive type of this reform: there it
presents the most organic developments,--there chiefly it bears
the character of a revolution not limited to a particular nation,
but which concerns the whole world. The Reformation in Germany
is the fundamental history of the reform--it is the primary
planet; the other reformations are secondary planets, revolving
with it, deriving light from the same source, forming part of the
same system, but each having a separate existence, shedding each
a different radiance, and always possessing a peculiar beauty.
We may apply the language of St. Paul to these reforms of the
sixteenth century: "There is one glory of the sun, and another
glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars; for one star
differeth from another star in glory." 1 Cor. xv. 41. The Swiss
Reformation occurred at the same time as the German, but was
independent of it. It presented, at a later period especially,
some of the great features observable in that of Germany. The
Reformation in Great Britain recommends itself in a very especial
manner to our attention, from the powerful influence which the
churches of that country are exerting at the present day over all
the world. But recollections of ancestry and of refuge--the
remembrance of struggles, suffering, and exile endured in the
cause of the Reformation in France, lend a particular attraction,
in my eyes, to the French reform. Considered by itself, and with
respect to the date of its origin, it presents beauties that are
peculiarly its own.
I believe the Reformation to be the work of God: his hand
is everywhere visible in it. Still I hope to be impartial in
retracing its history. I think I have spoken of the principal
Roman-catholic actors in this great drama--of Leo X, Albert of
Magdeburg, Charles V, and Doctor Eck, for instance, more
favorably than the majority of historians have done. On the
other hand, I have had no desire to conceal the faults and errors
of the reformers.
As early as the winter of 1831-32, I delivered a course of
public lectures on the epoch of the Reformation. I then
published my opening discourse. These lectures were a
preparatory labor for the history I now lay before the public.
This history is compiled from the original sources with
which a long residence in Germany, the Netherlands, and
Switzerland, has rendered me familiar; as well as from the study,
in their original languages, of the documents relating to the
religious history of Great Britain and other countries. As these
sources will be pointed out in the course of the work, it will be
unnecessary to enumerate them here.
I should have wished to authenticate the various portions of
my work by many original notes; but I feared that if they were
long and frequent, they would prove a disagreeable interruption
to my readers. I have therefore confined myself to such passages
as seemed calculated to give them a clearer view of the history I
have undertaken to write.
I address this history to those who love to see past events
exactly as they occurred, and not by the aid of that magic glass
of genius which colors and magnifies, but which sometimes also
diminishes and changes them. Neither the philosophy of the
eighteenth nor the romanticism of the nineteenth century will
guide my judgments or supply my colors. The history of the
Reformation is written in the spirit of the work itself.
Principles, it is said, have no modesty. It is their nature to
rule, and they steadily assert their privilege. Do they
encounter other principles in their paths that would dispute
their empire, they give battle immediately. A principle never
rests until it has gained the victory; and it cannot be
otherwise--with it to reign is to live. If it does not reign
supreme, it dies. Thus, at the same time that I declare my
inability and unwillingness to enter into rivalry with other
historians of the Reformation, I make an exception in favor of
the principles on which this history is founded, and I firmly
maintain their superiority.
Up to this hour we do not possess, as far as I am aware, any
complete history of the memorable epoch that is about to employ
my pen. Nothing indicated that this deficiency would be supplied
when I began this work. This is the only circumstance that could
have induced me to undertake it, and I here put it forward as my
justification. This deficiency still exists; and I pray to Him
from whom cometh every good and perfect gift, to grant that this
humble work may not be profitless to my readers.
BOOK 1 CHAPTER 1
STATE OF EUROPE BEFORE THE REFORMATION.
Christianity--Two distinctive Principles--Rise of the Papacy--
Early Encroachments--Influence of Rome--Co-operation of the
Bishops and of the Sects--Visible Unity of the Church--Invisible
Unity of the Church--Primacy of St. Peter--Patriarchates--Co-
operation of Princes--Influence of the Barbarians--Rome invokes
the aid of the Franks--Secular Power--Pepin and Charlemagne--The
Decretals--Disorders of Rome--The Emperor, the Pope's Suzerain--
Hildebrand--His Character--Celibacy--Struggle with the Empire--
Emancipation of the Pope--Hildebrand's Successors--The Crusades--
The Empire--The Church.
The enfeebled world was tottering on its foundations when
Christianity appeared. The national religions which had
satisfied the parents, no longer proved sufficient for their
children. The new generations could not repose contented within
the ancient forms. The gods of every nation, when transported to
Rome, there lost their oracles, as the nations themselves had
there lost their liberty. Brought face to face in the Capitol,
they had destroyed each other, and their divinity had vanished.
A great void was occasioned in the religion of the world.
A kind of deism, destitute alike of spirit and of life,
floated for a time above the abyss in which the vigorous
superstitions of antiquity had been engulfed. But like all
negative creeds, it had no power to reconstruct. National
prepossessions disappeared with the fall of the national gods.
The various kingdoms melted one into the other. In Europe, Asia,
and Africa, there was but one vast empire, and the human race
began to feel its universality and unity.
Then the WORD was made flesh.
God appeared among men, and as man, to save that which was
lost. In Jesus of Nazareth dwelt all the fullness of the Godhead
bodily.
This is the greatest event in the annals of the world.
Former ages had prepared the way for it: The latter ages flow
from it. It is the center of their bond of unity.
Henceforward the popular superstitions had no meaning, and
the slight fragments preserved from the general wreck of
incredulity vanished before the majestic orb of eternal truth.
The son of man lived thirty-three years on earth, healing
the sick, converting sinners, not having where to lay his head,
and displaying in the midst of this humiliation such greatness
and holiness, such power and divinity, as the world had never
witnessed before. He suffered and died-- he rose again and
ascended into heaven. His disciples, beginning at Jerusalem,
traveled over the Roman empire and the world, everywhere
proclaiming their Master as the author of everlasting life. From
the midst of a people who despised all nations, came forth a
mercy that invited and embraced all men. A great number of
Asiatics, of Greeks, and of Romans, hitherto dragged by their
priests to the feet of dumb idols, believed the Word. It
suddenly enlightened the whole earth, like a beam of the sun. A
breath of life began to move over this wide field of death. A
new people, a holy nation, was formed upon the earth; and the
astonished world beheld in the disciples of the Galilean a purity
and self-denial, a charity and heroism, of which it had retained
no idea.
Two principles especially distinguished the new religion
from all the human systems that fled before it. One had
reference to the ministers of its worship, the other to its
doctrines.
The ministers of paganism were almost the gods of these
human religions. The priests of Egypt, Gaul, Dacia, Germany,
Britain, and India, led the people, so long at least as their
eyes were not opened. Jesus Christ, indeed, established a
ministry, but he did not found a separate priesthood: he
dethroned these living idols of the world, destroyed an
overbearing hierarchy, took away from man what he had taken from
God, and re-established the soul in immediate connection with the
divine fountain of truth, by proclaiming himself sole Master and
sole Mediator. "One is your master, even Christ; and all ye are
brethren."
As regards doctrine, human systems had taught that salvation
is of man: the religions of the earth had devised an earthly
salvation. They had told men that heaven would be given to them
as a reward: they had fixed its price; and what a price! The
religion of God taught that salvation comes from him alone; that
it is a gift from heaven; that it emanates from an amnesty--from
the grace of the Sovereign Ruler: "God hath given to us eternal
life."
Undoubtedly Christianity cannot be summed up in these two
points; but they seem to govern the subject, as far as history is
concerned. And as it is impossible for me to trace the
opposition between truth and error in all its features, I have
been compelled to select the most prominent.
Such were the two constituent principles of the religion
that then took possession of the Roman empire and of the world.
With these we are within the true limits of Christianity, and
beyond them Christianity disappears. On their preservation or
their loss depended its greatness or its fall. They are closely
connected: for we cannot exalt the priests of the Church or the
works of the faithful without lowering Christ in his twofold
quality of Mediator and Redeemer. One of these principles was to
predominate in the history of the religion; the other in its
doctrine. They both reigned at the beginning. Let us inquire
how they were lost; and let us commence by tracing the destiny of
the former.
The Church was in the beginning a community of brethren,
guided by a few of the brethren. All were taught of God, and
each had the privilege of drawing for himself from the divine
fountain of light. The Epistles which then settled the great
questions of doctrine did not bear the pompous title of a single
man--of a ruler. We learn from the Holy Scriptures, that they
began simply with these words: "The apostles and elders and
brethren send greetings unto the brethren."
But these very writings of the apostles already foretell
that from the midst of this brotherhood there shall arise a power
that will destroy this simple and primitive order.
Let us contemplate the formation and trace the development
of this power so alien to the Church.
Paul of Tarsus, one of the greatest apostles of the new
religion, had arrived at Rome, the capital of the empire and of
the world, preaching in bondage the salvation which cometh from
God. A Church was formed beside the throne of the Caesars.
Composed at first of a few converted Jews, Greeks, and Roman
citizens, it was rendered famous by the teaching and the death of
the Apostle of the Gentiles. For a time it shone out brightly,
as a beacon upon a hill. Its faith was everywhere celebrated;
but erelong it declined from its primitive condition. It was by
small beginnings that both imperial and Christian Rome advanced
to the usurped dominion of the world.
The first pastors or bishops of Rome early employed them-
selves in converting the neighboring cities and towns. The
necessity which the bishops and pastors of the Campagna felt of
applying in cases of difficulty to an enlightened guide, and the
gratitude they owed to the church of the metropolis, led them to
maintain a close union with it. As it has always happened in
analogous circumstances, this reasonable union soon degenerated
into dependence. The bishops of Rome considered as a right that
superiority which the surrounding Churches had freely yielded.
The encroachments of power form a great part of history; as the
resistance of those whose liberties are invaded forms the other
portion. The ecclesiastical power could not escape the
intoxication which impels all who are lifted up to seek to mount
still higher. It obeyed this general law of human nature.
Nevertheless the supremacy of the Roman bishops was at that
period limited to the superintendence of the Churches within the
civil jurisdiction of the prefect of Rome. But the rank which
this imperial city held in the world offered a prospect of still
greater destinies to the ambition of its first pastor. The
respect enjoyed by the various Christian bishops in the second
century was proportionate to the rank of the city in which they
resided. Now Rome was the largest, richest, and most powerful
city in the world. It was the seat of empire, the mother of
nations. "All the inhabitants of the earth belong to her," said
Julian; and Claudian declared her to be "the fountain of laws."
If Rome is the queen of cities, why should not her pastor be
the king of bishops? Why should not the Roman church be the
mother of Christendom? Why should not all nations be her
children, and her authority their sovereign law? It was easy for
the ambitious heart of man to reason thus. Ambitious Rome did
so.
Thus, when pagan Rome fell, she bequeathed to the humble
minister of the God of peace, sitting in the midst of her ruins,
the proud titles which her invincible sword had won from the
nations of the earth.
The bishops of the different parts of the empire, fascinated
by that charm which Rome had exercised for ages over all nations,
followed the example of the Campagne, and aided this work of
usurpation. They felt a pleasure in yielding to the bishop of
Rome some portion of that honor which was due to the queen of the
world. There was originally no dependence implied in the honor
thus paid. They treated the Roman pastor as if they were on a
level with him. But usurped power increased like an avalanche.
Admonitions, at first simply fraternal, soon became absolute
commands in the mouth of the pontiff. A foremost place among
equals appeared to him a throne.
The Western bishops favored this encroachment of the Roman
pastors, either from jealousy of the Eastern bishops, or because
they preferred submitting to the supremacy of a pope, rather than
to the dominion of a temporal power.
On the other hand, the theological sects that distracted the
East, strove, each for itself, to interest Rome in its favor they
looked for victory in the support of the principal church of the
West.
Rome carefully enregistered these applications and
intercessions, and smiled to see all nations voluntarily throwing
themselves into her arms. She neglected no opportunity of
increasing and extending her power. The praises and flattery,
the exaggerated compliments and consultations of other Churches,
became in her eyes and in her hands the titles and documents of
her authority. Such is man exalted to a throne: the incense of
courts intoxicates him, his brain grows dizzy. What he possesses
becomes a motive for attaining still more.
The doctrine of the Church and the necessity of its visible
unity, which had begun to gain ground in the third century,
favored the pretensions of Rome. The Church is, above all
things, the assembly of "them that are sanctified in Christ
Jesus" (1 Cor. i. 2)--"the assembly of the first-born which are
written in heaven"(Heb. xii. 23). Yet the Church of our Lord is
not simply inward and invisible; it is necessary that it should
be manifested, and it is with a view to this manifestation that
the sacraments of Baptism and the Lord's Supper were instituted.
The visible Church has features different from those which
distinguish it as an invisible Church. The invisible Church,
which is the body of Christ, is necessarily and eternally one.
The visible Church no doubt partakes of the unity of the former;
but, considered by itself, plurality is a characteristic already
ascribed to it in the New Testament. While speaking of one
Church of God, it no sooner refers to its manifestation to the
world, than it enumerates "the Churches of Galatia, of Macedonia,
of Judea, all Churches of the saints." These Churches may
undoubtedly, to a certain extent, look for visible unity; but if
this union be wanting, they lose none of the essential qualities
of the Church of Christ. The strong bond which originally united
the members of the Church, was that living faith of the heart
which connected them all with Christ as their common head.
Different causes soon concurred to originate and develop the idea
of a necessity for external union. Men accustomed to the
political forms and associations of an earthly country, carried
their views and habits into the spiritual and eternal kingdom of
Christ. Persecution, powerless to destroy or even to shake this
new community, made it only the more sensible of its own
strength, and pressed it into a more compact body. To the errors
that sprung up in the theosophic schools and in the various
sects, was opposed the one and universal truth received from the
apostles, and preserved in the Church. This was well, so long as
the invisible and spiritual Church was identical with the visible
and external Church. But a great separation took place erelong:
the form and the life became disunited. The semblance of an
identical and exterior organization was gradually substituted for
that interior and spiritual communion, which is the essence of
the religion of God. Men forsook the precious perfume of faith,
and bowed down before the empty vessel that had contained it.
They sought other bonds of union, for faith in the heart no
longer connected the members of the Church; and they were united
by means of bishops, archbishops, popes, mitres, canons, and
ceremonies. The living Church retiring gradually within the
lonely sanctuary of a few solitary hearts, an external Church was
substituted in its place, and all its forms were declared to be
of divine appointment. Salvation no longer flowing from the
Word, which was henceforward put out of sight, the priests
affirmed that it was conveyed by means of the forms they had
themselves invented, and that no one could attain it except by
these channels. No one, said they, can by his own faith attain
to everlasting life. Christ communicated to the apostles, and
these to the bishops, the unction of the Holy Spirit; and this
Spirit is to be procured only in that order of succession!
Originally, whoever possessed the spirit of Jesus Christ was a
member of the Church; now the terms were inverted, and it was
maintained that he only who was a member of the Church could
receive the Spirit.
As these ideas became established, the distinction between
the people and the clergy was more strongly marked. The
salvation of souls no longer depended entirely on faith in
Christ, but also, and in a more especial manner, on union with
the Church. The representatives and heads of the Church were
made partakers of the trust that should be placed in Christ
alone, and became the real mediators of their flocks. The idea
of a universal Christian priesthood was gradually lost sight of;
the servants of the Church of Christ were compared to the priests
of the old covenant; and those who separated from the bishop were
placed in the same rank with Korah, Dathan, and Abiram! From a
peculiar priesthood, such as was then formed in the Church, to a
sovereign priesthood, such as Rome claims, the transition was
easy.
In fact, no sooner was the erroneous notion of the necessity
for a visible unity of the Church established, than another
appeared--the necessity for an outward representation of that
union. Although we find no traces in the Gospel of Peter's
superiority over the other apostles; although the very idea of a
primacy is opposed to the fraternal relations which united the
brethren, and even to the spirit of the Gospel dispensation,
which on the contrary requires all the children of the Father to
"minister one to another," acknowledging only one teacher and one
master; although Christ had strongly rebuked his disciples,
whenever ambitious desires of pre-eminence were conceived in
their carnal hearts the primacy of St. Peter was invented and
supported by texts wrongly interpreted, and men next acknowledged
in this apostle and in his self-styled successors at Rome, the
visible representatives of visible unity--the heads of the
universal Church.
The constitution of the Patriarchate contributed in like
manner to the exaltation of the Papacy. As early as the three
first centuries the metropolitan Churches had enjoyed peculiar
honor. The council of Nice, in its sixth canon, mentions three
cities, whose Churches, according to it, exercised a long-
established authority over those of the surrounding provinces:
these were Alexandria, Rome, and Antioch. The political origin
of this distinction is indicated by the name which was at first
given to the bishops of these cities: they were called Exarchs,
from the title of the civil governors. Somewhat later they
received the more ecclesiastical appellation of Patriarchs. We
find this title first employed at the council of Constantinople,
but in a different sense from that which it afterwards received.
It was not until shortly before the council of Chalcedon that it
was given exclusively to the great metropolitans. The second
general council created a new patriarchate, that of
Constantinople itself, the new Rome, the second capital of the
empire. The church of Byzantium, so long obscure, enjoyed the
same privileges, and was placed by the council of Chalcedon in
the same rank as the Church of Rome. Rome at that time shared
the patriarchal supremacy with these three churches. But when
the Mahometan invasion had destroyed the sees of Alexandria and
of Antioch,--when the see of Constantinople fell away, and in
later times even separated from the West, Rome remained alone,
and the circumstances of the times gathered all the Western
Churches around her see, which from that time has been without a
rival.
New and more powerful friends than all the rest soon came to
her assistance. Ignorance and superstition took possession of
the Church, and delivered it, fettered and blindfold, into the
hands of Rome.
Yet this bondage was not effected without a struggle.
Frequently did the Churches proclaim their independence; and
their courageous voices were especially heard from Proconsular
Africa and from the East.
But Rome found new allies to stifle the cries of the
churches. Princes, whom those stormy times often shook upon
their thrones, offered their protection if Rome would in its turn
support them. They conceded to her the spiritual authority,
provided she would make a return in secular power. They were
lavish of the souls of men, in the hope that she would aid them
against their enemies. The power of the hierarchy which was
ascending, and the imperial power which was declining, leant thus
one upon the other, and by this alliance accelerated their
twofold destiny.
Rome could not lose by it. An edict of Theodosius II and of
Valentinian III proclaimed the Roman bishop "rector of the whole
Church." Justinian published a similar decree. These edicts did
not contain all that the popes pretended to see in them; but in
those times of ignorance it was easy for them to secure that
interpretation which was most favorable to themselves. The
dominion of the emperors in Italy becoming daily more precarious,
the bishops of Rome took advantage of this circumstance to free
themselves from their dependence.
But already had issued from the forests of the North the
most effectual promoters of the papal power. The barbarians who
had invaded and settled in the West, after being satiated with
blood and plunder, lowered their reeking swords before the
intellectual power that met them face to face. Recently
converted to Christianity, ignorant of the spiritual character of
the Church, and feeling the want of a certain external pomp in
religion, they prostrated themselves, half savage and half
heathen as they were, at the feet of the high-priest of Rome.
With their aid the West was in his power. At first the Vandals,
then the Ostrogoths, somewhat later the Burgundians and Alans,
next the Visigoths, and lastly the Lombards and Anglo-Saxons,
came and bent the knee to the Roman pontiff. It was the sturdy
shoulders of those children of the idolatrous north that
succeeded in placing on the supreme throne of Christendom a
pastor of the banks of the Tiber.
At the beginning of the seventh century these events were
accomplishing in the West, precisely at the period when the power
of Mahomet arose in the East, prepared to invade another quarter
of the world.
From this time the evil continued to increase. In the
eighth century we see the Roman bishops resisting on the one hand
the Greek emperors, their lawful sovereigns, and endeavouring to
expel them from Italy, while with the other they court the mayors
of the palace in France, begging from this new power, just
beginning to rise in the West, a share in the wreck of the
empire. Rome founded her usurped authority between the East,
which she repelled, and the West, which she summoned to her aid.
She raised her throne between two revolts. Startled by the
shouts of the Arabs, now become masters of Spain, and who boasted
that they would speedily arrive in Italy by the gates of the
Pyrenees and Alps, and proclaim the name of Mahomet on the Seven
Hills; alarmed at the insolence of Astolphus, who at the head of
his Lombards, roaring like a lion, and brandishing his sword
before the gates of the eternal city, threatened to put every
Roman to death: Rome, in the prospect of ruin, turned her
frightened eyes around her, and threw herself into the arms of
the Franks. The usurper Pepin demanded her pretended sanction of
his new authority; it was granted, and the Papacy obtained in
return his promise to be the defender of the "Republic of God."
Pepin wrested from the Lombards the cities they had taken from
the Greek emperor; yet, instead of restoring them to that prince,
he laid they keys on St. Peter's altar, and swore with uplifted
hands that he had not taken up arms for man, but to obtain from
God the remission of his sins, and to do homage for his conquests
to St. Peter. Thus did France establish the temporal power of
the popes.
Charlemagne appeared; the first time he ascends the stairs
to the basilic of St. Peter, devoutly kissing each step. A
second time he presents himself, lord of all the nations that
formed the empire of the West, and of Rome itself. Leo III
thought fit to bestow the imperial title on him who already
possessed the power; and on Christmas day, in the year 800, he
placed the diadem of the Roman emperors on the brow of the son of
Pepin. From this time the pope belongs to the empire of the
Franks: his connection with the East is ended. He broke off
from a decayed and falling tree to graft himself upon a wild and
vigorous sapling. A future elevation, to which he would have
never dared aspire, awaits him among these German tribes with
whom he now unites himself.
Charlemagne bequeathed to his feeble successors only the
wrecks of his power. In the ninth century disunion everywhere
weakened the civil authority. Rome saw that this was the moment
to exalt herself. When could the Church hope for a more
favorable opportunity of becoming independent of the state, than
when the crown which Charles had worn was broken, and its
fragments lay scattered over his former empire?
Then appeared the False Decretals of Isidore. In this
collection of the pretended decrees of the popes, the most
ancient bishops, who were contemporary with Tacitus and
Quintilian, were made to speak the barbarous Latin of the ninth
century. The customs and constitutions of the Franks were
seriously attributed to the Romans in the time of the emperors.
Popes quoted the Bible in the Latin translation of Jerome, who
had lived one, two or three centuries after them; and Victor,
bishop of Rome, in the year 192, wrote to Theophilus, who was
archbishop of Alexandria in 385. The impostor who had fabricated
this collection endeavored to prove that all bishops derived
their authority from the bishop of Rome, who held his own
immediately from Christ. He not only recorded all the successive
conquests of the pontiffs, but even carried them back to the
earliest times. The popes were not ashamed to avail themselves
of this contemptible imposture. As early as 865, Nicholas I drew
from its stores of weapons by which to combat princes and
bishops. This impudent invention was for ages the arsenal of
Rome.
Nevertheless, the vices and crimes of the pontiffs suspended
for a time the effect of the decretals. The Papacy celebrated
its admission to the table of kings by shameful orgies. She
became intoxicated: her senses were lost in the midst of drunken
revellings. It is about this period that tradition places upon
the papal throne a woman named Joan, who had taken refuge in Rome
with her lover, and whose sex was betrayed by the pangs of
childbirth during a solemn procession. But let us not needlessly
augment the shame of the pontifical court. Abandoned women at
this time governed Rome; and that throne which pretended to rise
above the majesty of kings was sunk deep in the dregs of vice.
Theodora and Marozia installed and deposed at their pleasure the
self-styled masters of the Church of Christ, and placed their
lovers, sons, and grandsons in St. Peter's chair. These
scandals, which are but too well authenticated, may perhaps have
given rise to the tradition of Pope Joan.
Rome became one wild theater of disorders, the possession of
which was disputed by the most powerful families of Italy. The
counts of Tuscany were generally victorious. In 1033, this house
dared to place on the pontifical throne, under the name of
Benedict IX, a youth brought up in debauchery. This boy of
twelve years old continued, when pope, the same horrible and
degrading vices. Another party chose Sylvester III in his stead;
and Benedict, whose conscience was loaded with adulteries, and
whose hands were stained with murder, at last sold the Papacy to
a Roman ecclesiastic.
The emperors of Germany, filled with indignation at such
enormities, purged Rome with the sword. The empire, asserting
its paramount rights, drew the triple crown from the mire into
which it had fallen, and saved the degraded papacy by giving it
respectable men as its chiefs. Henry III deposed three popes in
1046, and his finger, decorated with the ring of the Roman
patricians, pointed out the bishop to whom the keys of St. Peter
should be confided. Four popes, all Germans, and nominated by
the emperor, succeeded. When the Roman pontiff died, the
deputies of that church repaired to the imperial court, like the
envoys of other dioceses, to solicit a new bishop. With joy the
emperor beheld the popes reforming abuses, strengthening the
Church, holding councils, installing and deposing prelates, in
defiance of foreign monarchs: The Papacy by these pretensions
did but exalt the power of the emperor, its lord paramount. But
to allow of such practices was to expose his own authority to
great danger. The power which the popes thus gradually recovered
might be turned suddenly against the emperor himself. When the
reptile had gained strength, it might wound the bosom that had
cherished it: and this result followed.
And now begins a new era for the papacy. It rises from its
humiliation, and soon tramples the princes of the earth under
foot. To exalt the Papacy is to exalt the Church, to advance
religion, to ensure to the spirit the victory over the flesh, and
to God the conquest of the world. Such are its maxims: in these
ambition finds its advantage, and fanaticism its excuse.
The whole of this new policy is personified in one man:
Hildebrand.
This pope, who has been by turns indiscreetly exalted or
unjustly traduced, is the personification of the Roman
pontificate in all its strength and glory. He is one of those
normal characters in history, which include within themselves a
new order of things, similar to those presented in other spheres
by Charlemagne, Luther, and Napoleon.
This monk, the son of a carpenter of Savoy, was brought up
in a Roman convent, and had quitted Rome at the period when Henry
III had there deposed three popes, and taken refuge in France in
the austere convent of Cluny. In 1048, Bruno, bishop of Toul,
having been nominated pope by the emperor at Worms, who was
holding the German Diet in that city, assumed the pontifical
habits, and took the name of Leo IX; but Hildebrand, who had
hastened thither, refused to recognize him, since it was (said
he) from the secular power that he held the tiara. Leo, yielding
to the irresistible power of a strong mind and of a deep
conviction, immediately humbled himself, laid aside his
sacerdotal ornaments, and clad in the garb of a pilgrim, set out
barefoot for Rome along with Hildebrand (says an historian), in
order to be there legitimately elected by the clergy and the
Roman people. From this time Hildebrand was the soul of the
Papacy, until he became pope himself. He had governed the Church
under the name of several pontiffs, before he reigned in person
as Gregory VII. One grand idea had taken possession of this
great genius. He desired to establish a visible theocracy, of
which the pope, as vicar of Jesus Christ, should be the head.
The recollection of the universal dominion of heathen Rome
haunted his imagination and animated his zeal. He wished to
restore to papal Rome all that imperial Rome had lost. "What
Marius and Caesar," said his flatterers, "could not effect by
torrents of blood, thou hast accomplished by a word."
Gregory VII was not directed by the spirit of the Lord.
That spirit of truth, humility, and long-suffering was unknown to
him. He sacrificed the truth whenever he judged it necessary to
his policy. This he did particularly in the case of Berenger,
archdeacon of Angers. But a spirit far superior to that of the
generality of pontiffs--a deep conviction of the justice of his
cause--undoubtedly animated him. He was bold, ambitious,
persevering in his designs, and at the same time skillful and
politic in the use of the means that would ensure success.
His first task was to organize the militia of the church.
It was necessary to gain strength before attacking the empire. A
council held at Rome removed the pastors from their families, and
compelled them to become the devoted adherents of the hierarchy.
The law of celibacy, planned and carried out by popes, who were
themselves monks, changed the clergy into a sort of monastic
order. Gregory VII claimed the same power over all the bishops
and priests of Christendom, that an abbot of Cluny exercises in
the order over which he presides. The legates of Hildebrand, who
compared themselves to the proconsuls of ancient Rome, travelled
through the provinces, depriving the pastors of their legitimate
wives; and, if necessary, the pope himself raised the populace
against the married clergy.
But chief of all, Gregory designed emancipating Rome from
its subjection to the empire. Never would he have dared conceive
so bold a scheme, if the troubles that afflicted the minority of
Henry IV, and the revolt of the German princes against that young
emperor, had not favored its execution. The pope was at this
time one of the magnates of the empire. Making common cause with
the other great vassals, he strengthened himself by the
aristocratic interest, and then forbade all ecclesiastics, under
pain of excommunication, to receive investiture from the emperor.
He broke the ancient ties that connected the Churches and their
pastors with the royal authority, but it was to bind them all to
the pontifical throne. To this throne he undertook to chain
priests, kings, and people, and to make the pope a universal
monarch. It was Rome alone that every priest should fear: it
was in Rome alone that he should hope. The kingdoms and
principalities of the earth are her domain. All kings were to
tremble at the thunderbolts hurled by the Jupiter of modern Rome.
Woe to him who resists! Subjects are released from their oaths
of allegiance; the whole country is placed under an interdict;
public worship ceases; the churches are closed; the bells are
mute; the sacraments are no longer administered; and the
malediction extends even to the dead, to whom the earth, at the
command of a haughty pontiff, denies the repose of the tomb.
The pope, subordinate from the very beginning of his
existence successively to the Roman, Frank, and German emperors,
was now free, and he trod for the first time as their equal, if
not their master. Yet Gregory VII was humbled in his turn: Rome
was taken, and Hildebrand compelled to flee. He died at Salerno,
exclaiming, "I have loved righteousness and hated iniquity,
therefore do I die in exile." Who shall dare charge with
hypocrisy these words uttered on the very brink of the grave?
The successors of Gregory, like soldiers arriving after a
victory, threw themselves as conquerors on the enslaved Churches.
Spain rescued from Islamism, Prussia reclaimed from idolatry,
fell into the arms of the crowned priest. The Crusades, which
were undertaken at his instigation, extended and confirmed his
authority. The pious pilgrims, who in imagination had seen
saints and angels leading their armed bands,--who, entering
humble and barefoot within the walls of Jerusalem, burnt the Jews
in their synagogue, and watered with the blood of thousands of
Saracens the places where they came to trace the sacred footsteps
of the Prince of Peace,--carried into the East the name of the
pope, who had been forgotten there since he had exchanged the
supremacy of the Greeks for that of the Franks.
In another quarter the power of the Church effected what the
arms of the republic and of the empire had been unable to
accomplish. The Germans laid at the feet of a bishop those
tributes which their ancestors had refused to the most powerful
generals. Their princes, on succeeding to the imperial dignity,
imagined they received a crown from the popes, but it was a yoke
that was placed upon their necks. The kingdoms of Christendom,
already subject to the spiritual authority of Rome, now became
her serfs and tributaries.
Thus everything was changed in the Church.
It was at first a community of brethren, and now an absolute
monarchy was established in its bosom. All Christians were
priests of the living God, with humble pastors as their guides.
But a haughty head is upraised in the midst of these pastors; a
mysterious voice utters words full of pride; an iron hand compels
all men, great and small, rich and poor, bond and free, to wear
the badge of its power. The holy and primitive equality of souls
before God is lost sight of. At the voice of one man Christendom
is divided into two unequal parties: on the one side is a
separate caste of priests, daring to usurp the name of the
Church, and claiming to be invested with peculiar privileges in
the eyes of the Lord; and, on the other, servile flocks reduced
to a blind and passive submission--a people gagged and fettered,
and given over to a haughty caste. Every tribe, language, and
nation of Christendom, submits to the dominion of this spiritual
king, who has received power to conquer.
BOOK 1 CHAPTER 2
Grace--Dead Faith--Works--Unity and Duality--Pelagianism--
Salvation at the Hands of the Priests--Penance--Flagellations--
Indulgences--Works of Supererogation--Purgatory--The Tariff--
Jubilee--The Papacy and Christianity--State of Christendom.
But side by side with the principle that should pervade the
history of Christianity, was found another that should preside
over its doctrine. This was the great idea of Christianity-- the
idea of grace, of pardon, of amnesty, of the gift of eternal
life. This idea supposed in man an alienation from God, and an
inability of returning by any power of his own communion with
that infinitely holy being. The opposition between the true and
the false doctrine undoubtedly cannot be entirely summed up in
the question of salvation by faith or works. Nevertheless it is
its most striking characteristic. But further, salvation
considered as coming from man, is the creative principle of every
error and abuse. The excesses produced by this fundamental error
led to the Reformation, and by the profession of the contrary
principle it was carried out. This feature should therefore be
very prominent in an introduction to the history of that reform.
Salvation by grace was the second characteristic which
essentially distinguished the religion of God from all human
systems. What had now become of it? Had the Church preserved,
as a precious deposit, this great and primordial thought? Let us
trace its history.
The inhabitants of Jerusalem, of Asia, of Greece, and of
Rome, in the time of the first emperors, heard these glad
tidings: "By grace are ye saved through faith: and that not of
yourselves; it is the gift of God." At this proclamation of
peace, at this joyful news, at this word of power, many guilty
souls believed, and were drawn to Him who is the source of peace;
and numerous Christian Churches were formed in the midst of the
degenerate nations of that age.
But a great mistake was soon made as to the nature of this
saving faith. Faith, according to St. Paul, is the means by
which the whole being of the believer--his understanding, heart,
and will--enter into possession of the salvation purchased for
him by the incarnation and death of the Son of God. Jesus Christ
is apprehended by faith and from that hour becomes all things to
man and in man. He communicates a divine life to our human
nature; and man thus renewed, and freed from the chains of sin
and self, feels new affections and performs new works. Faith,
says the theologian in order to express his ideas, is the
subjective appropriation of the objective work of Christ. If
faith be not an appropriation of salvation, it is nothing; all
the Christian economy is thrown into confusion, the fountains of
the new life are sealed, and Christianity is overturned from its
foundations.
And this is what did happen. This practical view of faith
was gradually forgotten. Soon it became, what it still is to
many persons, a simple act of the understanding, a mere
submission to a superior authority.
From this first error there necessarily proceeded a second.
Faith being thus stripped of its practical character, it was
impossible to say that it alone had power to save: as works no
longer were its fruits, they were of necessity placed side by
side with it, and the doctrine that man is justified by faith and
by works prevailed in the Church. In place of that Christian
unity which comprises in a single principle justification and
works, grace and the law, doctrine and duty, succeeded that
melancholy duality which regards religion and morality as two
entirely distinct things--that fatal error, which, by separating
things that cannot live unless united, and by putting the soul on
one side and the body on the other, is the cause of spiritual
death. The words of the apostle, re-echoing across the interval
of ages, are--"Having begun in the spirit, are ye now made
perfect by the flesh?"
Another great error contributed still further to unsettle
the doctrine of grace: this was Pelagianism. Pelagius asserted
that human nature is not fallen--that there is no hereditary
corruption, and that man, having received the power to do good,
has only to will in order to perform. If good works consist only
in external acts, Pelagius is right. But if we look to the
motives whence these outward acts proceed, we find everywhere in
man's nature selfishness, forgetfulness of God, pollution, and
impotency. The Pelagian doctrine, expelled by Augustine from the
Church when it had presented itself boldly, insinuated itself as
demi-Pelagianism, and under the mask of the Augustine forms of
expression. This error spread with astonishing rapidity
throughout Christendom. The danger of the doctrine was
particularly manifested in this,--that by placing goodness
without, and not within, the heart, it set a great value on
external actions, legal observances, and penitential words. The
more these practices were observed, the more righteous man
became: by them heaven was gained; and soon the extravagant idea
prevailed that there are men who have advanced in holiness beyond
what was required of them.
Whilst Pelagianism corrupted the Christian doctrine, it
strengthened the hierarchy. The hand that lowered grace, exalted
the Church: for grace is God, the Church is man.
The more we feel the truth that all men are guilty before
God, the more also shall we cling to Christ as the only source of
Grace. How could we then place the Church in the same rank with
Christ, since it is but an assembly of all those who are found in
the same wretched state by nature? But so soon as we attribute
to man a peculiar holiness, a personal merit, everything is
changed. The clergy and the monks are looked upon as the most
natural channels through which to receive the grace of God. This
was what happened often after the times of Pelagius. Salvation,
taken from the hands of God, fell into those of the priests, who
set themselves in the place of our Lord. Souls thirsting for
pardon were no more to look to heaven, but to the Church, and
above all to its pretended head. To those blinded souls the
Roman pontiff was God. Hence the greatness of the popes--hence
unutterable abuses. The evil spread still further. When
Pelagianism laid down the doctrine that man could attain a state
of perfect sanctification, it affirmed also that the merits of
saints and martyrs might be applied to the Church. A peculiar
power was attributed to their intercession. Prayers were made to
them; their aid was invoked in all the sorrows of life; and a
read idolatry thus supplanted the adoration of the living and
true God.
At the same time, Pelagianism multiplied rites and
ceremonies. Man, imagining that he could and that he ought by
good works to render himself deserving of grace, saw no fitter
means of meriting it than acts of external worship. The
ceremonial law became infinitely complicated, and was soon put on
a level, to say the least, with the moral law. Thus were the
consciences of Christians burdened anew with a yoke that had been
declared insupportable in the times of the apostles.
But it was especially by the system of penance, which flowed
immediately from Pelagianism, that Christianity was perverted.
At first, penance had consisted in certain public expressions of
repentance, required by the Church from those who had been
excluded on account of scandals, and who desired to be received
again into its bosom.
By degrees penance was extended to every sin, even to the
most secret, and was considered as a sort of punishment to which
it was necessary to submit, in order to obtain the forgiveness of
God through the priest's absolution.
Ecclesiastical penance was thus confounded with Christian
repentance, without which there can be neither justification nor
sanctification.
Instead of looking to Christ for pardon through faith alone,
it was sought for principally in the Church through penitential
works.
Great importance was soon attached to external marks of
repentance--to tears, fasting, and mortification of the flesh;
and the inward regeneration of the heart, which alone constitutes
a real conversion, was forgotten.
As confession and penance are easier than the extirpation of
sin and the abandonment of vice, many ceased contending against
the lusts of the flesh, and preferred gratifying them at the
expense of a few mortifications.
The penitential works, thus substituted for the salvation of
God, were multiplied in the Church from Tertullian down to the
thirteenth century. Men were required to fast, to go barefoot,
to wear no linen, &c.; to quit their homes and their native land
for distant countries; or to renounce the world and embrace a
monastic life.
In the eleventh century voluntary flagellations were
superadded to these practices: somewhat later they became quite
a mania in Italy, which was then in a very disturbed state.
Nobles and peasants, old and young, even children of five years
of age, whose only covering was a cloth tied round the middle,
went in pairs, by hundreds, thousands, and tens of thousands,
through the towns and villages, visiting the churches in the
depth of winter. Armed with scourges, they flogged each other
without pity, and the streets resounded with cries and groans
that drew tears from all who heard them.
Still, long before the disease had reached such a height,
the priest-ridden world had sighed for deliverance. The priests
themselves had found out, that if they did not apply a remedy
their usurped power would slip from their hands. They
accordingly invented that system of barter celebrated under the
title of Indulgences. They said to their penitents: "You cannot
accomplish the tasks imposed on you. Well! we, the priests of
God and your pastors, will take this heavy burden upon ourselves.
For a seven weeks' fast," said Regino, abbot of Prum, "you shall
pay twenty pence, if you are rich; ten, if less wealthy; and
three pence if you are poor; and so on for other matters."
Courageous men raised their voices against this traffic, but in
vain!
The pope soon discovered what advantages could be derived
from those indulgences. Alexander Hales, the irrefragable
doctor, invented in the thirteenth century a doctrine well
calculated to secure these vast revenues to the Papacy. A bull
of Clement VII declared it an article of faith. Jesus Christ, it
was said, had done much more than was necessary to reconcile God
to man. One single drop of his blood would have been sufficient.
But he shed it copiously, in order to form a treasure for his
Church that eternity can never exhaust. The supererogatory
merits of the saints, the reward of the good works they had done
beyond their obligation, have still further augmented this
treasure. Its keeping and management were confided to Christ's
vicar upon earth. He applies to each sinner, for the sins
committed after baptism, these merits of Jesus Christ and of the
saints, according to the measure and the quantity his sins
require. Who would venture to attack a custom of such holy
origin!
This inconceivable traffic was soon extended and
complicated. The philosophers of Alexandria had spoken of a fire
in which men were to be purified. Many ancient doctors had
adopted this notion; and Rome declared this philosophical opinion
a tenet of the Church. The pope by a bull annexed Purgatory to
his domain. In that place, he declared, men would have to
expiate the sins that could not be expiated here on earth; but
that indulgences would liberate their souls from that
intermediate state in which their sins would detain them. Thomas
Aquinas set forth this doctrine in his famous Summa Theologiae.
No means were spared to fill the mind with terror. The priests
depicted in horrible colors the torments inflicted by this
purifying fire on all who became its prey. In many Roman-
catholic countries we may still see paintings exhibited in the
churches and public places, wherein poor souls, from the midst of
glowing flames, invoke with anguish some alleviation of their
pain. Who could refuse the ransom which, falling into the
treasury of Rome, would redeem the soul from such torments?
Somewhat later, in order to reduce this traffic to a system,
they invented (probably under John XXII) the celebrated and
scandalous Tariff of Indulgences, which has gone through more
than forty editions. The least delicate ears would be offended
by an enumeration of all the horrors it contains. Incest, if not
detected, was to cost five groats; and six, if it was known.
There was a stated price for murder, infanticide, adultery,
perjury, burglary, &c. "O disgrace of Rome!" exclaims Claude
d'Espence, a Roman divine: and we may add, O disgrace of human
nature! for we can utter no reproach against Rome that does not
recoil on man himself. Rome is human nature exalted in some of
its worst propensities. We say this that we may speak the truth;
we say it also, that we may be just.
Boniface VIII, the most daring and ambitious pontiff after
Gregory VII, was enabled to effect still more than his
predecessors.
In the year 1300, he published a bull, in which he declared
to the Church that every hundred years all who made a pilgrimage
to Rome should receive a plenary indulgence. From all parts,
from Italy, Sicily, Sardinia, Corsica, France, Spain, Germany,
and Hungary, people flocked in crowds. Old men of sixty and
seventy undertook the journey, and in one month two hundred
thousand pilgrims visited Rome. All these strangers brought rich
offerings; and the pope and the Romans saw their coffers
replenished.
Roman avaries soon fixed each Jubilee at fifty, then at
thirty-three, and lastly at twenty-five years' interval. Then,
for the greater convenience of purchasers, and the greater profit
of the sellers, both the jubilee and its indulgences were
transported from Rome to every market-place in Christendom. It
was no longer necessary to leave one's home. What others had
gone in search of beyond the Alps, each man could now buy at his
own door.
The evil could not become greater.
Then the Reformer appeared.
We have seen what had become of the principle that was
destined to govern the history of Christianity; we have seen also
what became of that which should have pervaded its doctrines:
both were lost.
To set up a mediatorial caste between God and man--to obtain
by works, by penance, and by money the salvation which is the
free gift of God--such is Popery.
To open to all, through Jesus Christ, without any human
mediator, without that power which calls itself the Church, free
access to the great boon of eternal life which God offers to man
--such is Christianity and the Reformation.
Popery is a lofty barrier erected by the labor of ages
between God and man. If any one desires to scale it, he must pay
or he must suffer; and even then he will not surmount it.
The Reformation is the power that has overthrown this
barrier, that has restored Christ to man, and has thus opened a
level path by which he may reach his Creator.
Popery interposes the Church between God and man.
Primitive Christianity and the Reformation bring God and man
face to face.
Popery separates them--the Gospel unites them.
After having thus traced the history of the decline and fall
of the two great principles that were to distinguish the religion
of "God from all human systems, let us see what were some of the
consequences of this immense transformation.
But first let us pay due honor to the Church of the Middle
Ages, which succeeded that of the apostles and of the fathers,
and which preceded that of the reformers. The Church was still
the Church, although fallen, and daily more and more enslaved:
that is to say, she was always the greatest friend of man. Her
hands, though bound, could still be raised to bless. Eminent
servants of Jesus Christ, who were true Protestants as regards
the essential doctrines of Christianity, diffused a cheering
light during the dark ages; and in the humblest convent, in the
remotest parish, might be found poor monks and poor priests to
alleviate great sufferings. The Catholic church was not the
Papacy. The latter was the oppressor, the former the oppressed.
The Reformation, which declared war against the one, came to
deliver the other. And it must be confessed that the Papacy
itself became at times in the hands of God, who brings good out
of evil, a necessary counterpoise to the power and ambition of
princes.
BOOK 1 CHAPTER 3
Religion--Relics--Easter Revels--Morals--Corruption--Disorders of
the Priests, Bishops, and Popes--A Papal Family--Alexander VI--
Caesar Borgia--Education--Ignorance--Ciceronians.
Let us now see what was the state of the Church previous to
the Reformation.
The nations of Christendom no longer looked to a holy and
living God for the free gift of eternal life. To obtain it, they
were obliged to have recourse to all the means that a
superstitious, fearful, and alarmed imagination could devise.
Heaven was filled with saints and mediators, whose duty it was to
solicit this mercy. Earth was filled with pious works,
sacrifices, observances, and ceremonies, by which it was to be
obtained. Here is a picture of the religion of this period
transmitted to us by one who was long a monk, and afterwards a
fellow-laborer of Luther's--by Myconius:--
"The sufferings and merits of Christ were looked upon as an
idle tale, or as the fictions of Homer. There was no thought of
faith by which we become partakers of the Saviour's righteousness
and of the heritage of eternal life. Christ was looked upon as a
severe judge, prepared to condemn all who should not have
recourse to the intercession of the saints, or to the papal
indulgences. Other intercessors appeared in his place:--first the
Virgin Mary, like the Diana of paganism, and then the saints,
whose numbers were continually augmented by the popes. These
mediators granted their intercession only to such applicants as
had deserved well of the orders founded by them. For this it was
necessary to do, not what God had commanded in his Word, but to
perform a number of works invented by monks and priests, and
which brought money to the treasury. These works were Ave-
Marias, the prayers of Saint Ursula and of Saint Bridget: they
must chant and cry night and day. There were as many resorts for
pilgrims as there were mountains, forests, and valleys. But
these penances might be compounded for with money. The people,
therefore, brought to the convents and to the priests money and
every thing that had any value--fowls, ducks, geese, eggs, wax,
straw, butter, and cheese. Then the hymns resounded, the bells
rang, incense filled the sanctuary, sacrifices were offered up,
the larders overflowed, the glasses went round, and masses
terminated and concealed these pious orgies. The bishops no
longer preached, but they consecrated priests, bells, monks,
churches, chapels, images, books, and cemeteries; and all this
brought in a large revenue. Bones, arms, and feet were preserved
in gold and silver boxes; they were given out during mass for the
faithful to kiss, and this too was a source of great profit.
"All these people maintained that the pope, 'sitting as God
in the temple of God,' could not err, and they would not suffer
any contradiction."
In the church of All Saints at Wittemberg was shown a
fragment of Noah's ark, some soot from the furnace of the Three
Children, a Piece of wood from the cradle of Jesus Christ, some
hair from the beard of St. Christopher, and nineteen thousand
other relics of greater or less value. At Schaffhausen was
exhibited the breath of St. Joseph that Nicodemus had received in
his glove. In Wurtemberg you might meet a seller of indulgences,
vending his merchandise, his head adorned with a large feather
plucked from the wing of St. Michael. But it was not necessary
to travel far in search of these precious treasures. Men who
farmed the relics traversed the whole country, hawking them about
the rural districts (as has since been the case with the Holy
Scriptures), and carrying them to the houses of the faithful, to
spare them the trouble and expense of a pilgrimage. They were
exhibited with pomp in the churches. These wandering hawkers
paid a stipulated sum to the owners of the relics,--a percentage
on their profits. The kingdom of heaven had disappeared, and in
its place a market of abominations had been opened upon earth.
Thus a spirit of profanity had invaded religion; and the
holiest recollections of the Church, the seasons which more
particularly summoned the faithful to holy meditation and love,
were disgraced by buffoonery and heathenish profanation. The
"Revels of Easter" held a distinguished place in the records of
the Church. As the festival of the resurrection of Christ ought
to be celebrated with joy, the preachers studied in their sermons
everything that might raise a laugh among their hearers. One
imitated the note of the cuckoo; another hissed like a goose.
One dragged to the altar a layman robed in a monk's frock; a
second related the most indecent stories; and a third recounted
the tricks of St. Peter, and among others, how in a tavern he had
cheated his host by not paying his reckoning. The lower clergy
took advantage of this opportunity to ridicule their superiors.
The churches were converted into a mere stage for mountebanks,
and the priests into buffoons.
If such was the state of religion, what must have been the
state of morals?
Undoubtedly the corruption was not at that time universal.
Justice requires that this should not be forgotten. The
Reformation elicited numerous examples of piety, righteousness,
and strength of mind. The spontaneous action of God's power was
the cause; but how can we deny that he had beforehand deposited
the seeds of this new life in the bosom of the Church? If in our
days we should bring together all the immoralities, all the
turpitudes committed in a single country, the mass of corruption
would doubtless shock us still. Nevertheless, the evil at this
period wore a character and universality that it has not borne
subsequently. And, above all, the mystery of iniquity desolated
the holy places, as it has not been permitted to do since the
days of the Reformation.
Morality had declined with the decline of faith. The
tidings of the gift of eternal life is the power of God to
regenerate man. Take away the salvation which God has given, and
you take away sanctification and good works. And this result
followed.
The doctrine and the sale of indulgences were powerful
incentives to evil among an ignorant people. True, according to
the Church, indulgences could benefit those only who promised to
amend their lives, and who kept their word. But what could be
expected from a tenet invented solely with a view to the profit
that might be derived from it? The venders of indulgences were
naturally tempted, for the better sale of their merchandise, to
present their wares to the people in the most attractive and
seducing aspect. The learned themselves did not fully understand
the doctrine. All that the multitude saw in them was, that they
permitted men to sin; and the merchants were not over eager to
disipate an error so favorable to their sale.
What disorders and crimes were committed in these dark ages,
when impunity was to be purchased by money! What had man to
fear, when a small contribution towards building a church secured
him from the fear of punishment in the world to come? What hope
could there be of revival when all communication between God and
man was cut off, and man, an alien from God, who is the spirit
and the life, moved only in a round of paltry ceremonies and
sensual observances, in an atmosphere of death!
The priests were the first who yielded to this corrupting
influence. By desiring to exalt themselves they became abased.
They had aimed at robbing God of a ray of his glory, and placing
it in their own bosoms; but their attempt had proved vain, and
they had only hidden there a leaven of corruption stolen from the
power of evil. The history of the age swarms with scandals. In
many places, the people were delighted at seeing a priest keep a
mistress, that the married women might be safe from his
seductions. What humiliating scenes did the house of a pastor in
those days present! The wretched man supported the woman and the
children she had borne him with the tithes and offerings. His
conscience was troubled: he blushed in the presence of the
people, before his domestics, and before God. The mother,
fearing to come to want if the priest should die, made provision
against it beforehand, and robbed her own house. Her honor was
lost. Her children were ever a living accusation against her.
Despised by all, they plunged into quarrels and debauchery. Such
was the family of the priest!......These were frightful scenes,
by which the people knew how to profit.
The rural districts were the scene of numerous disorders.
The abodes of the clergy were often dens of corruption.
Corneille Adrian at Bruges, the abbot Trinkler at Cappel,
imitated the manners of the East, and had their harems. Priests,
consorting with dissolute characters, frequented the taverns,
played at dice, and crowned their orgies with quarrels and
blasphemy.
The council of Schaffhausen forbade the priests to dance in
public, except at marriages, and to carry more than one kind of
arms: they decreed also that all who were found in houses of ill
fame should be unfrocked. In the archbishopric of Mentz, they
scaled the walls by night, and created all kinds of disorder and
confusion in the inns and taverns, and broke the doors and locks.
In many places the priest paid the bishop a regular tax for the
woman with whom he lived, and for each child he had by her. A
German bishop said publicly one day, at a great entertainment,
that in one year eleven thousand priests had presented themselves
before him for that purpose. It is Erasmus who relates this.
If we go higher in the hierarchial order, we find the
corruption not less great. The dignitaries of the Church
preferred the tumult of camps to the hymns of the altar. To be
able, lance in hand, to reduce his neighbors to obedience was one
of the chief qualifications of a bishop. Baldwin, archbishop of
Treves, was continually at war with his neighbors and his
vassals: he demolished their castles, built strongholds, and
thought of nothing but the extension of his territory. A certain
bishop of Eichstadt, when administering justice, wore a coat of
mail under his robes, and held a large sword in his hand. He
used to say he was not afraid of five Bavarians, provided they
did but attack him in fair fight. Everywhere the bishops were
continually at war with their towns. The citizens demanded
liberty, the bishops required implicit obedience. If the latter
gained the victory, they punished the revolters by sacrificing
numerous victims to their vengeance; but the flame of
insurrection burst out again, at the very moment when it was
thought to be extinguished.
And what a spectacle was presented by the pontifical throne
in the times immediately preceding the Reformation! Rome, it
must be acknowledged, had seldom witnessed so much infamy.
Rodrigo Borgia, after having lived with a Roman lady, had
continued the same illicit connection with one of her daughters,
named Rosa Vanozza, by whom he had five children. He was a
cardinal and archbishop, living at Rome with Vanozza and other
women, visiting the churches and the hospitals, when the death of
Innocent VIII created a vacancy in the pontifical chair. He
succeeded in obtaining it by bribing each cardinal at a
stipulated price. Four mules laden with silver publicly entered
the palace of Sforza, one of the most influential of the
cardinals. Borgia became pope under the name of Alexander VI,
and rejoiced in thus attaining the summit of earthly felicity.
On the day of his coronation, his son Caesar, a youth of
Ferocious and dissolute manners, was created archbishop of
Valencia and bishop of Pampeluna. He next celebrated in the
Vatican the marriage of his daughter Lucretia, by festivities at
which his mistress, Julia Bella, was present, and which were
enlivened by licentious plays and songs. "All the clergy," says
an historian, "kept mistresses, and all the convents of the
capital were houses of ill fame." Caesar Borgia espoused the
cause of the Guelfs; and when by their assistance he had
destroyed the Ghibellines, he turned upon the Guelfs and crushed
them in their turn. But he desired to share alone in all these
spoils. In 1497, Alexander gave the duchy of Benevento to his
eldest son. The duke suddenly disappeared. A faggot-dealer, on
the banks of the Tiber, one George Schiavoni, had seen a dead
body thrown into the stream during the night; but he said nothing
of it, as being a common occurrence. The body of the duke was
found. His brother Caesar had been the instigator of his death.
this was not enough. His brother-in-law stood in his way: one
day Caesar caused him to be stabbed on the very stairs of the
pontifical palace. He was carried bleeding to his own
apartments. His wife and sister did not leave him; and fearful
that Caesar would employ poison, they prepared his meals with
their own hands. Alexander set a guard on the doors; but Caesar
ridiculed these precautions, and remarked, as the pope was about
to pay a visit to his son-in-law, "What is not done at dinner
will be done at supper." Accordingly, one day he gained
admittance to the chamber of the convalescent, turned out the
wife and sister, and calling in his executioner Michilotto, the
only man in whom he placed any confidence, ordered his brother-
in-law to be strangled before his eyes. Alexander had a
favorite, Perotto, whose influence also offended the young duke.
He rushed upon him: Perotto took refuge under the pontifical
mantle, and clasped the pope in his arms. Caesar stabbed him,
and the blood of his victim spirted in the face of the pontiff.
"The pope," adds a contemporary and eye-witness of these scenes,
"loves the duke his son, and lives in great fear of him."
Caesar was the handsomest and strongest man of his age. Six
wild bulls fell easily beneath his blows in single combat. Every
morning some new victim was found, who had been assassinated
during the night in the Roman streets. Poison carried off those
whom the dagger could not reach. No one dared move or breathe in
Rome, for fear that his turn should come next. Caesar Borgia was
the hero of crime. That spot of earth in which iniquity had
attained such a height was the throne of the pontiffs. When man
gives himself up to the powers of evil, the higher he claims to
be exalted before God, the lower he sinks into the abyss of hell.
The dissolute entertainments given by the pope, his son Caesar,
and his daughter Lucretia, in the pontifical palace, cannot be
described or even thought of without shuddering. The impure
groves of antiquity saw nothing like them. Historians have
accused Alexander and Luctretia of incest; but this charge does
not appear sufficiently established. The pope had prepared
poison in a box of sweetmeats that was to be served up after a
sumptuous repast: the cardinal for whom it was intended being
forewarned, gained over the attendant, and the poisoned box was
set before Alexander. He ate of it and died. "The whole city
ran together, and could not satiate their eyes with gazing on
this dead viper."
Such was the man who filled the papal chair at the beginning
of the century in which the Reformation burst forth.
Thus had the clergy brought not only themselves but religion
into disrepute. Well might a powerful voice exclaim: "The
ecclesiastical order is opposed to God and to his glory. The
people know it well; and this is but too plainly shown by the
many songs, proverbs, and jokes against the priests, that are
current among the commonalty, and all those caricatures of monks
and priests on every wall, and even on the playing-cards. Every
one feels a loathing on seeing or hearing a priest in the
distance." It is Luther who speaks thus.
The evil had spread through all ranks: "a strong delusion"
had been sent among men; the corruption of manners corresponded
with the corruption of faith. A mystery of iniquity oppressed
the enslaved Church of Christ.
Another consequence necessarily flowed from the neglect into
which the fundamental doctrine of the gospel had fallen.
Ignorance of the understanding accompanied the corruption of the
heart. The priests having taken into their hands the
distribution of the salvation that belongs only to God, had
secured a sufficient title to the respect of the people. What
need had they to study sacred learning? It was no longer a
question of explaining the Scriptures, but of granting letters of
indulgence; and for this ministry it was not necessary to have
acquired much learning.
In country places, they chose for preachers, says
Wimpheling, "miserable wretches whom they had previously raised
from beggary, and who had been cooks, musicians, huntsmen,
stable-boys, and even worse."
The superior clergy themselves were often sunk in great
ignorance. A bishop of Dunfeld congratulated himself on having
never learnt either Greek or Hebrew. The monks asserted that all
heresies arose from those two languages, and particularly from
the Greek. "The New Testament," said one of them, "is a book
full of serpents and thorns. Greek," continued he, "is a new and
recently invented language, and we must be upon our guard against
it. As for Hebrew, my dear brethren, it is certain that all who
learn it, immediately become Jews." Heresbach, a friend of
Erasmus, and a respectable author, reports these expressions.
Thomas Linacer, a learned and celebrated ecclesiastic, had never
read the New Testament. In his latter days (in 1524), he called
for a copy, but quickly threw it away from him with an oath,
because on opening it his eyes had glanced upon these words:
"But I say unto you, Swear not at all." Now he was a great
swearer. "Either this is not the Gospel," said he, "or else we
are not Christians." Even the faculty of theology at Paris
scrupled not to declare to the parliament: "Religion is ruined,
if you permit the study of Greek and Hebrew."
If any learning was found here and there among the clergy,
it was not in sacred literature. The Ciceronians of Italy
affected a great contempt for the Bible on account of its style.
Pretended priests of the Church of Christ translated the writings
of holy men, inspired by the Spirit of God, in the style of
Virgil and of Horace, to accommodate their language to the ears
of good society. Cardinal Bembo, instead of the Holy Ghost, used
to write the breath of the heavenly zephyr; for the expression to
forgive sins--to bend the mancs and the sovereign gods; and for
Christ, the Son of God--Minerva sprung from the head of Jupiter.
Finding one day the worthy Sadolet engaged in translating the
Epistle to the Romans, he said to him: "Leave these childish
matters: such fooleries do not become a sensible man."
These were some of the consequences of the system that then
oppressed Christendom. This picture undoubtedly demonstrates the
corruption of the Church, and the necessity for a reformation.
Such was our design in writing this sketch. The vital doctrines
of Christianity had almost entirely disappeared, and with them
the life and light that constitute the essence of the religion of
God. The material strength of the Church was gone. It lay an
exhausted, enfeebled, and almost lifeless body, extended over
that part of the world which the Roman empire had occupied.
BOOK 1 CHAPTER 4
Imperishable Nature of Christianity--Two Laws of God--Apparent
Strength of Rome--Secret Opposition--Decline--Threefold
Opposition--Kings and People-- Transformation of the Church--
The Pope judged in Italy--Discoveries of Kings and their
Subjects--Frederick the Wise--Moderation and Expectation.
The evils which thus afflicted Christendom; superstition,
unbelief, ignorance, vain speculation, and corruption of morals--
the natural fruits of the hearts of man--were not new upon the
earth. Often they had appeared in the history of nations. They
had invaded, especially in the East, the different religious
systems that had seen their day of glory. Those enervated
systems had sunk under these evils, had fallen under their
attack, and not one of them had ever risen again.
Was Christianity now to undergo the same fate? Would it be
lost like these old national religions? Would the blow that had
caused their death be sufficient to deprive it of life? Could
nothing save it? Will these hostile powers that overwhelm it,
and which have already overthrown so many various systems of
worship, be able to seat themselves with out resistance on the
ruins of the Church of Jesus Christ?
No! There is in Christianity what none of these national
systems possessed. It does not, like them, present certain
general ideas mingled with tradition and fable, destined to fall
sooner or later under the assault of reason: it contains a pure
and undefiled truth, founded on facts capable of bearing the
examination of every upright and enlightened mind. Christianity
does not propose merely to excite in man certain vague religious
feelings, whose charm once lost can never be recovered: its
object is to satisfy, and it does really satisfy, all the
religious wants of human nature, whatever may be the degree of
development which it has attained. It is not the work of man,
whose labors pass away and are forgotten; it is the work of God,
who upholds what he has created; and it has the promise of its
Divine Head as the pledge of its duration.
It is impossible for human nature ever to rise superior to
Christianity. And if for a time man thought he could do without
it, it soon appeared to him with fresh youth and a new life, as
the only remedy for souls. The degenerate nations then returned
with new ardour toward those ancient, simple, and powerful
truths, which in the hour of their infatuation they had despised.
In fact, Christianity manifested in the sixteenth century
the same regenerative power that it had exercised at first.
After fifteen centuries the same truths produced the same
effects. In the day of the Reformation, as in the time of Peter
and Paul, the Gospel overthrew mighty obstacles with irresistible
force. Its sovereign power displayed its efficacy from north to
south among nations the most dissimilar in manners, character,
and intellectual development. Then as in the times of Stephen
and James, it kindled the fire of enthusiasm and devotedness in
the lifeless nations, and elevated them to the height of
martyrdom.
How was this revival of the church accomplished? We observe
here two laws by which God governs the Church in all times.
First he prepares slowly and from afar that which he designs
to accomplish. He has ages in which to work.
Then, when the time is come, he effects the greatest
results by the smallest means. It is thus he acts in nature and
in history. When he wishes to produce a majestic tree, he
deposits a small seed in the bosom of the earth; when he wishes
to renovate his Church, he employs the lowliest instruments to
accomplish what emperors and learned and distinguished men in the
Church could not effect. We shall soon go in search of, and we
shall discover, that small seed which a Divine hand placed in the
earth in the days of the Reformation. But we must here
distinguish and recognize the different means by which God
prepared the way for this great revolution.
At the period when the reformation was about to burst forth,
Rome appeared in peace and security. One might have said that
nothing could ever disturb her in her triumph: great victories
had been achieved by her. The general councils--those upper and
lower chambers of Catholicism--had been subdued. The Waldenses
and the Hussites had been crushed. No university, except perhaps
that of Paris, which sometimes raised its voice at the signal of
its kings, doubted the infallibility of the oracles of Rome.
Every one seemed to have taken his own share of its power. The
higher orders of the clergy preferred giving to a distant chief
the tithe of their revenues, and tranquilly to consume the
remainder, to risking all for an independence that would cost
them dear and would bring them little profit. The inferior
clergy, attracted by the prospect of brilliant stations, which
their ambition painted and discovered in the distance, willingly
purchased by a little slavery the faltering hopes they cherished.
Besides, they were everywhere so oppressed by the chiefs of the
hierarchy, that they could scarcely stir under their powerful
hands, and much less raise themselves and make head against them.
The people bent the knee before the Roman altar; and even kings
themselves, who began in secret to despise the bishop of Rome,
would not have dared lay hands upon his power for fear of the
imputation of sacrilege.
But if external position appeared to have subsided, or even
to have entirely ceased, when the Reformation broke out, its
internal strength had increased. If we take a nearer view of the
edifice, we discover more than one symptom that foreboded its
destruction. The cessation of the general councils had scattered
their principles throughout the Church, and carried disunion into
the camp of their opponents. The defenders of the hierarchy were
divided into two parties: those who maintained the system of
absolute papal dominion, according to the maxims of Hildebrand;
and those who desired a constitutional papal government, offering
securities and liberty to the several Churches.
And more than this, in both parties faith in the
infallibility of the Roman bishop had been rudely shaken. If no
voice was raised to attack it, it was because every one felt
anxious rather to preserve the little faith he still possessed.
They dreaded the slightest shock, lest it should overthrow the
whole edifice. Christendom held its breath; but it was to
prevent a calamity in which it feared to perish. From the moment
that man trembles to abandon a long-worshipped persuasion, he
possesses it no more. And he will not much longer keep up the
appearance that he wishes to maintain.
The Reformation had been gradually prepared by God's
providence in three different spheres--the political, the
ecclesiastical, and the literary. Princes and their subjects,
Christians and divines, the learned and the wise, contributed to
bring about this revolution of the sixteenth century. Let us
pass in review this triple classification, finishing with that of
literature, which was perhaps the most powerful in the times
immediately preceding the reform.
And, firstly, Rome had lost much of her ancient credit in
the eyes of nations and of kings. Of this the Church itself was
the primary cause. The errors and superstitions which she had
introduced into Christianity were not, properly speaking, what
had inflicted the mortal wound. The Christian world must have
been raised above the clergy in intellectual and religious
development, to have been able to judge of it in this point of
view. But there was an order of things within the comprehension
of the laity, and by this the Church was judged. It had become
altogether earthly. That sacerdotal dominion which lorded over
the nations, and which could not exist except by the delusion of
its subjects, and by the halo that encircled it, had forgotten
its nature, left heaven and its spheres of light and glory to
mingle in the vulgar interests of citizens and princes. The
priests, born to be the representatives of the Spirit, had
bartered it away for the flesh. They had abandoned the treasures
of science and the spiritual power of the Word, for the brute
force and false glory of the age.
This happened naturally enough. It was in truth the
spiritual order which the Church had at first undertaken to
defend. But to protect it against the resistance and attacks of
the people, she had recourse to earthly means, to vulgar arms,
which a false policy had induced her to take up. When once the
Church had begun to handle such weapons, her spirituality was at
an end. Her arm could not become temporal and her heart not
become temporal also. Erelong was seen apparently the reverse of
what had been at first. After resolving to employ earth to
defend heaven, she made use of heaven to defend the earth.
Theocratic forms became in her hands the means of accomplishing
worldly enterprises. The offerings which the people laid at the
feet of the sovereign pontiff of Christendom were employed in
maintaining the splendor of his court and in paying his armies.
His spiritual power served as steps by which to place the kings
and nations of the earth under his feet. The charm ceased, and
the power of the Church was lost, so soon as the men of those
days could say, She is become as one of us.
The great were the first to scrutinize the titles of this
imaginary power. This very examination might perhaps have been
sufficient for the overthrow of Rome. But fortunately for her
the education of the princes was everywhere in the hands of her
adepts, who inspired their august pupils with sentiments of
veneration towards the Roman pontiff. The rulers of the people
grew up in the sanctuary of the Church. Princes of ordinary
capacity never entirely got beyond it: many longed only to
return to it at the hour of death. They preferred dying in a
friar's cowl to dying beneath a crown.
Italy--that European apple of discord--contributed perhaps
more than anything else to open the eyes of kings. They had to
contract alliances with the pope, which had reference to the
temporal prince of the States of the Church, and not to the
bishop of bishops. Kings were astonished at seeing the popes
ready to sacrifice the rights belonging to the pontiff, in order
that they might preserve some advantage to the prince. They
perceived that these pretended organs of the truth had recourse
to all the paltry wiles of policy,--to deceit, dissimulation, and
perjury. Then fell off the bandage which education had bound
over the eyes of princes. Then the artful Ferdinand of Aragon
played stratagem against stratagem. Then the impetuous Louis XII
had a medal struck, with the inscription, Perdam Babylonis Nomen.
And the good Maximilian of Austria, grieved at hearing of the
treachery of Leo X, said openly: "This pope also, in my opinion,
is a scoundrel. Now may I say, that never in my life has any
pope kept his faith or his word with me......I hope, God willing,
this will be the last of them."
Kings and people then began to feel impatient under the
heavy burden the popes had laid upon them. They demanded that
Rome should relieve them from tithes, tributes, and annates,
which exhausted their resources. Already had France opposed Rome
with the Pragmatic Sanction, and the chiefs of the empire claimed
the like immunity. the emperor was present in person at the
council of Pisa in 1411, and even for a time entertained the idea
of securing the Papacy to himself. But of all these leaders,
none was so useful to the Reformation as he in whose states it
was destined to commence.
Frederick of Saxony, surnamed the Wise, was at that time the
most powerful of all the Electors. Coming to the government of
the hereditary states of his family in 1487, he had received the
electoral dignity from the emperor; and in 1493, having gone on a
pilgrimage to Jerusalem, he was there made a knight of the Holy
Sepulchre. the influence he exercised, his wealth and
liberality, raised him above his equals. God chose him to serve
as a tree under whose shelter the seeds of truth might put forth
their first shoots, without being uprooted by the tempests around
them.
No one was better adapted for this noble ministry.
Frederick possessed the esteem of all, and enjoyed the full
confidence of the emperor. He even supplied his place when
Maximilian was absent from Germany. His wisdom did not consist
in the skillful exercise of a crafty policy, but in an
enlightened, far-seeing prudence; the first principle of which
was never from interested motives to infringe the laws of honor
and of religion.
At the same time, he felt the power of God's word in his
heart. One day, when the vicar-general Staupitz was with him,
the conversation turned on those who were in the habit of
delivering empty declamations from the pulpit. "All discourses,"
said the elector, "that are filled only with subleties and human
traditions, are wonderfully cold and unimpressive; since no
sublety can be advanced, that another sublety cannot overthrow.
The Holy Scriptures alone are clothed with such power and
majesty, that, destroying all our learned reasoning-machines,
they press us close, and compel us to say, Never man spake like
this man." Staupitz having expressed himself entirely of that
opinion, the elector shook him cordially by the hand and said:
"Promise me that you will always think the same."
Frederick was precisely the prince required at the beginning
of the Reformation. Too much weakness on the part of the friends
of this work would have allowed of its being crushed. Too much
precipitation would have made the storm burst forth sooner, which
from its very commencement began to gather in secret against it.
Frederick was moderate but firm. He possessed that virtue which
God requires at all times in those who love his ways: he waited
for God. He put in practice the wise counsel of Gamaliel: "If
this work be of men, it will come to nought; but if it be of God,
ye cannot overthrow it." "Things are come to such a pass," said
this prince to Spengler of Nuremberg, one of the most enlightened
men of his day, "that man can do no more; God alone must act.
For this reason we place in his powerful hands these mighty works
that are too difficult for us." Providence claims our admiration
in the choice it made of such a ruler to protect its rising work.
BOOK 1 CHAPTER 5
Popular Feeling--The Empire--Providential Preparations--Impulse
of the Reformation--Peace--The Commonalty--National Character--
Papal Yoke--State of the Empire--Opposition at Rome--Middle
Classes--Switzerland--Courage--Liberty--Smaller Cantons--Italy--
Obstacles to the Reform--Spain--Obstacles--Portugal--France--
Preparations--Disappointment--The Low Countries--England--
Scotland--The North--Russia--Poland--Bohemia--Hungary.
We have seen God's preparations among the princes for the
work he was about to accomplish: let us now consider what they
were among their subject. It would have been of less importance
for the chiefs to have been ready, if the nations themselves had
not been so. The discoveries made by the kings had acted
gradually upon the people. The wisest of them began to grow
accustomed to the idea that the bishop of Rome was a mere man,
and sometimes even a very bad man. The people in general began
to suspect that he was not much holier than their own bishops,
whose reputation was very equivocal. The licentiousness of the
popes excited the indignation of Christendom, and a hatred of the
Roman name was deeply seated in the hearts of nations.
Numerous causes at the same time facilitated the
emancipation of the various countries of the West. Let us cast a
glance over their condition at this period.
The Empire was a confederation of different states, having
an emperor at their head, and each possessing sovereignty within
its own territories. The Imperial Diet, composed of all the
princes or sovereign states, exercised the legislative power for
all the Germanic body. It was the emperor's duty to ratify the
laws, decrees, and recesses of this assembly, and he had the
charge of applying them and putting them into execution. The
seven most powerful princes, under the title of Electors, had the
privilege of conferring the imperial crown.
The north of Germany, inhabited principally by the ancient
Saxon race, had acquired the greatest portion of liberty. The
emperor, whose hereditary possessions were continually harassed
by the Turks, was compelled to keep on good terms with these
princes and their courageous subjects, who were at that time
necessary to him. Several free cities in the north, west, and
south of the empire, had by their commerce, manufactures, and
industry, attained a high degree of prosperity, and consequently
of independence. The powerful house of Austria, which wore the
imperial crown, held most of the states of southern Germany in
its power, and narrowly watched every movement. It was preparing
to extend its dominion over the whole of the empire, and even
beyond it, when the Reformation raised a powerful barrier against
its encroachments, and saved the independence of Europe.
As Judea, when Christianity first appeared, was in the
center of the old world, so Germany was the center of
Christendom. It touched, at the same time, in the Low Countries,
England, France, Switzerland, Italy, Hungary, Bohemia, Poland,
Denmark, and all the North. It was in the very heart of Europe
that this principle of life was destined to be developed, and its
pulsations were to circulate through the arteries of this great
body the generous blood that was appointed to vivify all its
members.
The particular form of constitution which the empire had
received, conformable with the dispensations of Providence,
favored the propagation of new ideas. If Germany had been a
monarchy strictly so called, like France or England, the
arbitrary will of the sovereign might have sufficed to check for
a while the progress of the Gospel. But it was a confederation.
The truth, opposed in one state, might be received with favor in
another.
The internal peace that Maximilian had secured to the empire
was no less favorable to the Reformation. For a long time the
numerous members of the Germanic body seemed to have taken a
pleasure in tearing each other to pieces. Nothing had been seen
but confusion, discord, and wars incessantly renewed. Neighbors
were against neighbors, town against town, nobles against nobles.
Maximilian had laid a firm foundation of public order in the
Imperial Chamber, an institution appointed to decide all
differences between the various states. The German nations,
after so many disorders and anxieties, saw the beginning of a new
era of security and repose. Nevertheless Germany, when Luther
appeared, still presented to the eye of the observer that motion
which agitates the sea after a storm of long continuance. The
calm was yet uncertain. The first breeze might make the tempest
burst forth anew. Of this we shall see more than one example.
The Reformation, by communicating a new impulse to the German
race, for ever destroyed the old causes of agitation. It put an
end to the barbarous system that had hitherto prevailed, and gave
a new one to Europe.
Meanwhile the religion of Jesus Christ had exerted on
Germany its peculiar influence. The third estate (the
commonalty) had rapidly advanced. In the different parts of the
empire, particularly in the free cities, numerous institutions
arose, calculated to develop this imposing mass of the people.
There the arts flourished: the burghers devoted themselves in
security to the tranquil labors and sweet relations of social
life. They became more and more accessible to information. Thus
they daily acquired greater respect and influence. It was not
magistrates, who are often compelled to adapt their conduct to
the political exigencies of the times; or nobles passionately
fond of military glory above all things; or an ambitious and
greedy priesthood, trading with religion as its peculiar
property, that were to found the Reformation in Germany. It was
to be the work of the middle classes--of the people--of the whole
nation.
The peculiar character of the Germans seemed especially
favorable to a religious reformation. They had not been
enervated by a false civilization. The precious seeds that the
fear of God deposits among a people had not been scattered to the
winds. Ancient manners still survived. In Germany was found
that uprightness, fidelity, and industry--that perseverance and
religious disposition, which still flourishes there, and which
promises greater success to the Gospel than the fickle, scornful,
and sensual character of other European nations.
The Germans had received from Rome that great element of
modern civilization--the faith. Instruction, knowledge,
legislation--all except their courage and their arms--had come to
them from the sacerdotal city. Strong ties had from that time
connected Germany with the Papacy. The former was a spiritual
conquest of the latter, and we know to what use Rome has always
applied her conquests. Other nations, who had possessed the
faith and civilization before the Roman pontiff existed, had
maintained a greater independence with respect to it. But this
subjection of the Germans was destined only to make the reaction
more powerful at the moment of awakening. When the eyes of
Germany should be opened, she would tear away the trammels in
which she had so long been held captive. The slavery she had
endured would give her a greater longing for deliverance and
liberty, and the hardy champions of truth would go forth from
that prison of restraint and discipline in which for ages her
people had been confined.
There was at that time in Germany something very nearly
resembling what in the political language of our days is termed
"a see-saw system." When the head of the empire was of an
energetic character, his power increased; when on the contrary he
possessed little ability, the influence and authority of the
princes and electors were augmented. Never had the latter felt
more independent of their chief than under Maximilian at the
period of the Reformation. And their leader having taken part
against it, it is easy to understand how that very circumstance
was favorable to the propagation of the Gospel.
In addition to this, Germany was weary of what Rome
contemptuously denominated "the patience of the Germans." The
latter had in truth shown much patience since the time of Louis
of Bavaria. From that period the emperors had laid down their
arms, and the tiara had been placed without resistance above the
crown of the Caesars. But the strife had only changed its scene
of action. It had descended to lower ground. These same
struggles, of which popes and emperors had set the world an
example, were soon renewed on a smaller scale in every city of
Germany, between the bishops and the magistrates. The burghers
had taken up the sword which the chiefs of the empire had let
fall. As early as 1329, the citizens of Frankfort-on-the-Oder
had resisted with intrepidity all their ecclesiastical superiors.
Having been excommunicated for their fidelity to the Margrave
Louis, they had remained for twenty-eight years without masses,
baptism, marriage ceremonies, or funeral rites. The return of
the priests and monks was greeted with laughter, like a comedy or
farce. A deplorable error, no doubt, but the priests themselves
were the cause of it. At the period of the Reformation these
oppositions between the magistrates and the ecclesiastics had
increased. Every hour the privileges and temporal assumptions of
the clergy brought these two bodies into collision.
But it was not only among the burgomasters, councillors, and
secretaries of the cities that Rome and her clergy found
opponents. About the same time the indignation was at work among
the populace. It broke out in 1493, and later in 1502, in the
Rhenish provinces: the peasants, exasperated at the heavy yoke
imposed upon them by their ecclesiastical sovereigns, formed
among themselves what has been called the "League of the Shoes."
They began to assemble by night in Alsacc, repairing by
unfrequented paths to isolated hills, where they swore to pay in
future no taxes but such as they had freely consented to, to
abolish all tolls and jalage, to limit the power of the priests,
and to plunder the Jews. Then placing a peasant's shoe on the
end of a pole by way of standard, they marched against the town
of Schlettstadt, proposing to call to their assistance the free
confederation of the Swiss: but they were soon dispersed. This
was only one of the symptoms of the general fermentation that
agitated the castles, towns, and rural districts of the empire.
Thus everywhere, from high to low, was heard a hollow
murmur, forerunner of the thunderbolt that was soon to fall.
Germany appeared ripe for the appointed task of the sixteenth
century. Providence in its slow progress had prepared
everything; and even the passions which God condemns, were
directed by his almighty hand to the accomplishment of his
designs.
Let us take a glance at the other nations of Europe.
Thirteen small republics, placed with their allies in the
center of Europe, among mountains which seemed to form its
citadel, composed a simple and brave nation. Who would have
looked in those sequestered valleys for the men whom God would
choose to be the liberators of the Church conjointly with the
children of the Germans? Who would have thought that small
unknown cities--scarcely raised above barbarism, hidden behind
inaccessible mountains, on the shores of lakes that had found no
name in history--would surpass, as regards Christianity, even
Jerusalem, Antioch, Ephesus, Corinth, and Rome? Nevertheless
such was the will of Him who "causeth it to rain upon one piece
of land, and the piece of land whereupon it raineth not
withereth."
Other circumstances besides seemed destined to oppose
numerous obstacles to the progress of the Reformation in the
bosom of the Helvetic population. If the obstructions of power
were to be dreaded in a monarchy, the precipitancy of the people
was to be feared in a democracy.
But in Switzerland, also, the way had been prepared for the
truth. It was a wild but generous stock, that had been sheltered
in her deep valleys, to be grafted one day with a fruit of great
value. Providence had scattered among these new people
principles of courage, independence, and liberty, that were to be
developed in all their majesty, so soon as the day of battle
against Rome should arrive. The pope had conferred upon the
Swiss the title of Protectors of the Liberty of the Church. But
they seem to have understood this honorable appellation in a
sense somewhat different from the pontiff. If their soldiers
guarded the pope beneath the shadow of the ancient Capitol, their
citizens carefully protected in the bosom of the Alps their own
religious liberties against the assaults of the pope and of the
clergy. The ecclesiastics were forbidden to have recourse to any
foreign jurisdiction. The "Letter of the Priests" (pfaffenbrief,
1370) was a strong protest of Swiss independence against the
abuses and power of the clergy. Zurich was distinguished among
all the states by its courageous resistance to the claims of
Rome. Geneva, at the other extremity of Switzerland, was
contending with its bishop. These two cities distinguished
themselves above all the others in the great struggle that we
have undertaken to describe.
But if the Helvetian towns, accessible to every
amelioration, were to be drawn into the reform movement, it was
not to be the case with the inhabitants of the mountains.
Knowledge had not yet reached them. These cantons, the founders
of Swiss liberty, proud of the part they had taken in the
struggle for independence, were not easily disposed to imitate
their younger brothers of the plain. Why should they change that
faith under which they had expelled the Austrian, and which had
consecrated by altars all the scenes of their triumphs? Their
priests were the only enlightened guides to whom they could have
recourse: their worship and their festivals relieved the
monotony of their tranquil hours, and agreeably disturbed the
silence of their peaceful homes. They remained steadfast against
all religious innovations.
Passing the Alps, we find ourselves in that Italy which was
in the eyes of the majority the holy land of Christendom. Whence
could Europe have looked for the good of the Church if not from
Italy--if not from Rome? Might not that power which raised
successively so many different characters to the pontifical
chair, some day place in it a pontiff who would become an
instrument of blessing to the heritage of the Lord? If even
there was no hope in the pontiffs, were there not bishops and
councils that might reform the Church? Nothing good can come out
of Nazareth: but from Jerusalem,--from Rome! ... Such might have
been the ideas of men; but "God's thoughts are not as their
thoughts." He said, "He that is filthy let him be filthy still;"
and abandoned Italy to her unrighteousness. That land of ancient
renown was by turns the victim of intestine war and of foreign
invasion. The stratagems of policy, the violence of factions,
the strife of arms, seemed alone destined to prevail there, and
to banish for a long season the peace of the Gospel.
Italy, broken to pieces, dismembered, and without unity,
appeared but little suited to receive one general impulse. Each
frontier was a new barrier where the truth would be stopped.
And if the truth was destined to come from the North, how
could the Italians, with so refined a taste, and with social
habits so delicate in their own eyes, condescend to receive any
thing from the barbarous Germans? Were the men who bestowed more
admiration on the regular cadence of a sonnet than on the majesty
and simplicity of the Scriptures, a proper soil for the seed of
the word of God? A false civilization is, of all the various
conditions of a nation, that which is most repugnant to the
Gospel.
Finally, whatever might be the state of affairs, Rome was
always Rome to Italy. The temporal power of the popes not only
led the different Italian states to court their alliance and
their favor at any cost, but the universal dominion of Rome
offered more than one inducement to the avarice and vanity of the
ultra-montane states. As soon as it became a question of
emancipating the rest of the world from Rome, Italy would become
Italy again; domestic quarrels would not prevail to the advantage
of a foreign system; and attacks aimed against the chief of the
peninsular family would be sufficient to awaken common interests
and affections from their long slumber.
The Reformation had thus little prospect of success on that
side of the Alps. Nevertheless, there were found beyond these
mountains souls prepared to receive the light of the Gospel, and
Italy was not at that hour entirely disinherited.
Spain possessed what Italy did not--a serious, noble-minded,
and religiously disposed population. In every age this people
has reckoned pious and learned men among the members of its
clergy, and it was sufficiently remote from Rome to be able to
throw off its yoke without difficulty. There are few nations in
which we might have more reasonably hoped for a revival of that
primitive Christianity which Spain had received perhaps from the
hands of St. Paul himself. And yet Spain did not rise up among
the nations. She was to fulfil this prophecy of Divine wisdom:
The first shall be last. Various circumstances led to this
mournful result.
Spain, considering its isolated position and distance from
Germany, would be affected only in a slight degree by the shocks
of that great earthquake which so violently agitated the empire.
It was occupied, besides, with very different treasures from
those which the word of God was then offering to the nations.
The new world eclipsed the eternal world. A virgin soil, which
seemed to consist of gold and silver, inflamed the imagination of
all. An eager thirst for wealth left no room in the Spanish
heart for nobler thoughts. A powerful clergy, having scaffolds
and treasures at its disposal, ruled in the peninsula. Spain
willingly rendered a servile obedience to her priests, which by
releasing her from every spiritual anxiety, left her free to give
way to her passions,--to go in pursuit of riches, discoveries,
and new continents. Victorious over the Moors, she had, at the
cost of her noblest blood, torn the crescent from the walls of
Granada and many other cities, and planted the cross of Christ in
its place. This great zeal for Christianity, which appeared
destined to afford the liveliest expectations, turned against the
truth. How could Catholic Spain, which had crushed infidelity,
fail to oppose heresy? How could those who had driven Mahomet
from their beautiful country allow Luther to penetrate into it?
Their kings did even more: they equipped fleets against the
Reformation, and went to Holland and to England in search of it,
that they might subdue it. But these attacks elevated the
nations assailed; and erelong Spain was crushed by their united
power. Thus, in consequence of the Reformation, did this
Catholic country lose that temporal prosperity which had made it
at first reject the spiritual liberty of the Gospel.
Nevertheless, the dwellers beyond the Pyrenees were a brave and
generous race. Many of its noble children, with the same ardour,
but with more knowledge than those whose blood had stained the
Moorish swords, came and laid down their lives as a sacrifice on
the burning piles of the Inquisition.
The case was nearly the same in Portugal as in Spain.
Emanuel the Fortunate gave it a "golden age," which unfitted it
for the self-denial required by the Gospel. The Portuguese
thronged the newly discovered roads to the East Indies and
Brazil, and turned their backs on Europe and the Reformation.
Few countries seemed better disposed for the reception of
the evangelical doctrines than France. In that country almost
all the intellectual and spiritual life of the Middle Ages had
been concentrated. One might have been led to say, that paths
had been opened in every direction for a great manifestation of
the truth. Men of the most opposite characters, and whose
influence had been most extensive over the French nation, were
found to have some affinity with the Reformation. St. Bernard
had given an example of that faith of the heart, of that inward
piety, which is the noblest feature of the Reformation. Abelard
had carried into the study of theology that rational principle,
which, incapable of building up what is true, is powerful to
destroy what is false. Numerous pretended heretics had rekindled
the flames of the word of God in the provinces. The university
of Paris had stood up against the Church, and had not feared to
oppose it. At the commencement of the fifteenth century of
Clemangis and the Gersons had spoken out with boldness. The
Pragmatic Sanction had been a great act of independence, and
seemed destined to be the palladium of the Gallican liberties.
The French nobles, so numerous and so jealous of their pre-
eminence, and who at this period had seen their privileges
gradually taken away to augment the kingly power, must have been
favorably disposed to a religious revolution that might have
restored some portion of the independence they had lost. The
people, quick, intelligent, and susceptible of generous emotions,
were as accessible to the truth as any other, if not more so.
The Reformation in this country seemed likely to crown the long
travail of many centuries. But the chariot of France, which
appeared for so many generations to be hastening onwards in the
same direction, suddenly turned aside at the epoch of the
Reformation, and took quite a contrary course. Such is the will
of Him who is the guide of nations and of their rulers. The
prince who was then seated in the chariot and held the reins, and
who, as a patron of literature, seemed of all the chiefs of
Roman-catholicism likely to be the foremost in promoting the
Reformation, threw his subjects into another path. The symptoms
of many centuries proved fallacious, and the impulse given to
France was unavailing against the ambition and fanaticism of her
kings. The house of Valois deprived her of that which should
have belonged to her. Perhaps had she received the Gospel, she
would have become too powerful. It was God's will to select
weaker nations--nations just rising into existence, to be the
depositories of his truth. France, after having been almost
entirely reformed, found herself Roman-catholic in the end. The
sword of her princes thrown into the balance made it incline
towards Rome. Alas! another sword--that of the Reformers
themselves--completed the destruction of the Reformation. Hands
that had been used to wield the sword, ceased to be raised to
heaven in prayer. It is by the blood of its confessors, and not
of its adversaries, that the Gospel triumphs.
At the era of the Reformation the Netherlands was one of the
most flourishing countries of Europe. Its people were
industrious, enlightened in consequence of the numerous relations
they maintained with the different parts of the world, full of
courage, and enthusiastic in the cause of their independence,
privileges, and liberties. Situated at the very gates of
Germany, it would be one of the first to hear the report of the
Reformation. Two very distinct parties composed its population.
The more southern portion, that overflowed with wealth, gave way.
How could all these manufactures carried to the highest degree of
perfection--this immense commerce by land and sea--Bruges, that
great mart of the northern trade--Antwerp, the queen of merchant
cities--how could all these resign themselves to a long and
bloody struggle about questions of faith? On the contrary, the
northern provinces, defended by their sand-hills, the sea, and
their canals, and still more by the simplicity of their manners,
and their determination to lose everything rather than the
Gospel, not only preserved their freedom, their privileges, and
their faith, but even achieved their independence and a glorious
nationality.
England gave but little promise of what she afterwards
became. Driven out of the continent, where she had long and
obstinately attempted the conquest of France, she began to turn
her eyes towards the sea, as to a kingdom destined to be the real
object of her conquests, and whose inheritance was reserved for
her. Twice converted to Christianity--once under the ancient
Britons, and again under the Anglo-Saxons--she paid with great
devotion the annual tribute of St. Peter's pence. Yet high
destinies were in reserve for her. Mistress of the ocean, and
touching at once upon all quarters of the globe, she was to
become one day, with the nation to which she should give birth,
the hand of God to scatter the seeds of life in the most distant
islands and over the widest continents. Already there were a few
circumstances foreboding her mighty destiny: great learning had
shone in the British islands, and some glimmerings of it still
remained. A crown of foreigners--artists, merchants, and
artisans--coming from the Low Countries, Germany, and other
places, filled their cities and their havens. The new religious
ideas would thus easily be carried thither. Finally, England had
then for king an eccentric prince, who, endowed with some
information and great courage, changed his projects and his ideas
every hour, and turned from one side to the other according to
the direction in which his violent passions drove him. It was
possible that one of the Eighth Henry's caprices might some day
be favorable to the Reformation.
Scotland was at this time distracted by factions. A king of
five years old, a queen-regent, ambitious nobles, and an
influential clergy, harassed this courageous people in every
direction. They were destined, however, erelong to shine in the
first rank among those who should receive the Reformation.
The three kingdoms of the North--Denmark, Sweden, and
Norway--were united under a common sceptre. These rude and
warlike people seemed to have little connection with the doctrine
of love and peace. Yet by their very energy they were perhaps
better disposed than the nations of the South to receive the
power of the Gospel. But these sons of warriors and of pirates
brought, methinks, too warlike a character into that protestant
cause, which their swords in later times so heroically defended.
Russia, driven into the extremity of Europe, had but few
relations with the other states. Besides, she belonged to the
Greek communion; and the Reformation effected in the Western
exerted little or no influence on the Eastern church.
Poland seemed well prepared for a reform. The neighborhood
of the Bohemian and Moravian Christians had disposed it to
receive the evangelical impulse, which by its vicinity to Germany
was likely to be promptly communicated. As early as 1500 the
nobility of Great Poland had demanded that the cup should be
given to the laity, by appealing to the customs of the primitive
Church. The liberty enjoyed in its cities, the independence of
its nobles, made it a secure asylum for all Christians who had
been persecuted in their own country. The truth they carried
with them was joyfully received by a great number of the
inhabitants. Yet it is one of the countries which, in our days,
possesses the fewest confessors.
The flame of the Reformation, which had long burnt brightly
in Bohemia, had been nearly extinguished in blood. Nevertheless,
some precious remnants, escaped from the slaughter, were still
alive to see the day which Huss had foretold.
Hungary had been torn in pieces by intestine wars under the
government of princes without ability or experience, and who had
eventually bound the fate of their subjects to Austria, by
enrolling this powerful family among the heirs to their crown.
Such was the state of Europe at the beginning of the
sixteenth century, which was destined to produce so great a
transformation in christian society.
BOOK 1 CHAPTER 6
Roman Theology--Remains of Life--Justification by Faith--
Witnesses to the Truth--Claudius--The Mystics--The Waldenses--
Valdo--Wickliffe--Huss--Prediction--Protestantism before the
Reformation--Anselm--Arnoldi--Utenheim--Martin--New Witnesses in
the Church--Thomas Conecte--The Cardinal of Crayn--Institoris--
Savonarola--Justification by Faith--John Vitrarius--John Lallier-
-John of Wesalia--John of Goch--John Wessel--Protestantism before
the Reformation--The Bohemian Brethren--Prophecy of Proles--
Prophecy of the Eisenach Franciscan.
Having described the condition of the nations and princes of
Europe, we now proceed to the preparations for the great Reform
which existed in theology and in the Church.
The singular system of theology that was established in the
Church, was destined to contribute powerfully to open the eyes of
the new generation. Formed for an age of darkness, as if that
age would last for ever, that system was to be left behind, and
to be rent in every direction, so soon as the age grew in
understanding. This was the result. The popes had added now
this and now that to the Christian doctrines. They had neither
changed nor removed anything except it would not square with
their hierarchical system; what was not contrary to their plans
might remain until further orders. It contained certain true
doctrines, such as Redemption, and the power of the Holy Ghost,
of which a skillful divine, if there was one to be found at that
time, might have availed himself to combat and overthrow all the
others. The pure gold mingled with the base alloy in the
treasures of the Vatican, might have easily led to the discovery
of the fraud. It is true, that if any courageous adversary
turned his attention towards it, the winnowing-fan of Rome
immediately swept away this pure grain. But these very
condemnations only served to augment the confusion.
This confusion was immense, and the pretended unity was but
one wide disorder. At Rome there were the doctrines of the court
and the doctrines of the church. The faith of the metropolis
differed from that of the provinces. In the latter, too, this
diversity was infinite. There was the faith of the princes, of
the people, and of the religious orders. There was a distinction
between the opinions of this convent and of that district, of
this doctor and of that monk.
In order that the truth might exist peaceably in the ages
when Rome would have crushed her with its iron scepter, she had
followed the example of the insect that weaves a chrysalis of its
threads in which to shelter itself during the inclement season.
And, strange to say, the instruments employed by divine truth to
this end were the so-much decried schoolmen. These industrious
artisans of thought had unravelled every theological idea, and of
all their threads had woven a web, under which it would have been
difficult for more skillful persons than their contemporaries to
recognize the truth in its pristine purity. We may regret that
the insect, so full of life, and glowing with the brightest
colors, should enclose itself, to all appearance dead, in its
dark cell; but in this covering is its safety. The case was the
same with truth. If the interested and suspicious policy of
Rome, in the day of its power, had seen her unveiled, it would
have crushed her, or at least endeavoured so to do. Disguised as
she was by the theologians of the time, under endless subtleties
and distinctions, the popes did not recognize her, or saw that in
this condition she could not injure them. They took the work and
the workmen under their protection. But the season might come in
which this hidden truth would raise her head, and throw off the
toils that had covered her. Having gained new strength in her
apparent tomb, she would be seen in the day of her resurrection
gaining the victory over Rome and its errors. This spring-time
arrived. At the very period when these absurd coverings of the
schoolmen were falling one after another under the skillful
attacks and the sneers of the new generation, the truth issued
from them, blooming in youth and beauty.
It was not alone from the writings of the schoolmen that
powerful testimony was given to the truth. Christianity had
everywhere mingled something of its own life with the life of the
people. The Church of Christ was a dilapidated building; but in
digging around it, a portion of the living rock on which it had
been originally built was discovered among its foundations.
Numerous institutions dating from the pure ages of the Church
still existed, and could not fail to awaken in many souls
evangelical sentiments opposed to the prevailing superstition.
Inspired men, the old doctors of the Church, whose writings were
deposited in various libraries, raised here and there a solitary
voice. We may hope that it was listened to in silence by many an
attentive ear. Let us not doubt that the Christians--and how
pleasing is the thought!--had many brethren and sisters in those
monasteries, where we too easily discover little else than
hypocrisy and licentiousness.
The Church had fallen, because the great doctrine of
justification by faith in the Saviour had been taken away from
her. It was necessary, therefore, before she could rise again,
that this doctrine should be restored to her. As soon as the
fundamental truth should be re-established in Christendom, all
the errors and observances that had taken its place--all that
multitude of saints, of works, penances, masses, indulgences, &c,
would disappear. As soon as the one only Mediator and his only
sacrifice were acknowledged, all other mediators and sacrifices
would vanish. "This article of justification," says a man whom
we may consider enlightened on the matter, "is what creates the
Church, nourishes it, edifies it, preserves and defends it: no
one can teach worthily in the Church, or oppose an adversary with
success, if he does not adhere to this truth. This," adds the
writer whom we quote, in allusion to the earliest prophecy, "is
the heel that shall bruise the head of the serpent."
God, who was preparing his work, raised up during the course
of ages a long line of witnesses to the truth. But of this truth
to which these generous men bore witness, they had not a
sufficiently clear knowledge, or at least were not able to set it
forth with adequate distinctness. Unable to accomplish this
task, they were all that they should have been to prepare the way
for it. Let us add, however, that if they were not ready for the
work, the work was not ready for them. The measure was not yet
full: the ages had not yet accomplished their prescribed course;
the need of the true remedy was not as yet generally felt.
Scarcely had Rome usurped her power, before a strong
opposition was formed against her, which was continued during the
Middle Ages.
Archbishop Claudius of Turin, in the ninth century; Pierre
de Bruys, his disciple Henry, and Arnold of Brescia, in the
twelfth century, in France and in Italy, labored to re-establish
the worship of God in spirit and in truth; but for the most part
they looked for this worship too much in the absence of images
and of outward observances.
The Mystics, who have existed in almost every age, seeking
in silence for holiness of heart, righteousness of life, and
tranquil communion with God, beheld with sorrow and affright the
abominations of the Church. They carefully abstained from the
quarrels of the schools and from the useless discussions under
which real piety had been buried. They endeavoured to withdraw
men from the vain formality of external worship, from the noise
and pomp of ceremonies, to lead them to that inward repose of a
soul which looks to God for all its happiness. They could not do
this without coming into collision on every side with the
received opinions, and without laying bare the wounds of the
Church. But at the same time they had not a clear notion of the
doctrine of justification by faith.
The Waldenses, far superior to the Mystics in purity of
doctrine, compose a long line of witnesses to the truth. Men
more unfettered than the rest of the Church seem from the most
distant times to have inhabited the summits of the Piedmontese
Alps; their number was augmented and their doctrine purified by
the disciples of Valdo. From their mountain-heights the
Waldenses protested during a long series of ages against the
superstitions of Rome. "They contend for the lively hope which
they have in God through Christ--for the regeneration and
interior revival by faith, hope, and charity--for the merits of
Jesus Christ, and the all-sufficiency of his grace and
righteousness."
Yet this primal truth of the justification of sinners,--this
main doctrine, that should have risen from the midst of all the
rest like Mont Blane from the bosom of the Alps, was not
sufficiently prominent in their system. Its summit was not yet
raised high enough.
Pierre Vaud or Valdo, a rich merchant of Lyons (1170), sold
all his goods and gave them to the poor. He and his friends
appear to have aimed at re-establishing the perfection of
primitive Christianity in the common affairs of life. He
therefore began also with the branches and not with the roots.
Nevertheless his preaching was powerful because he appealed to
Scripture, and it shook the Roman hierarchy to its very
foundations.
Wickliffe arose in England in 1360, and appealed from the
pope to the word of God: but the real internal wound in the body
of the Church was in his eyes only one of the numerous symptoms
of the disease.
John Huss preached in Bohemia a century before Luther
preached in Saxony. He seems to have penetrated deeper than his
predecessors into the essence of christian truth. He prayed to
Christ for grace to glory only in his cross and in the
inestimable humiliation of his sufferings. But his attacks were
directed less against the errors of the Romish church than the
scandalous lives of the clergy. Yet he was, if we may be allowed
the expression, the John-Baptist of the Reformation. The flames
of his pile kindled a fire in the Church that cast a brilliant
light into the surrounding darkness, and whose glimmerings were
not to be so readily extinguished.
John Huss did more: prophetic words issued from the depths
of his dungeon. He foresaw that a real reformation of the Church
was at hand. When driven out of Prague and compelled to wander
through the fields of Bohemia, where an immense crowd followed
his steps and hung upon his words, he had cried out: "The wicked
have begun by preparing a treacherous snare for the goose. But
if even the goose, which is only a domestic bird, a peaceful
animal, and whose flight is not very high in the air, has
nevertheless broken through their toils, other birds, soaring
more boldly towards the sky, will break through them with still
greater force. Instead of a feeble goose, the truth will send
forth eagles and keen-eyed vultures." This prediction was
fulfilled by the reformers.
When the venerable priest had been summoned by Sigismund's
order before the council of Constance, and had been thrown into
prison, the chapel of Bethlehem, in which he had proclaimed the
Gospel and the future triumphs of Christ, occupied his mind, much
more than his own defence. One night the holy martyr saw in
imagination, from the depths of his dungeon, the pictures of
Christ that he had painted on the walls of his oratory, effaced
by the pope and his bishops. This vision distressed him: but on
the next day he saw many painters occupied in restoring these
figures in greater number and in brighter colors. As soon as
their task was ended, the painters, who were surrounded by an
immense crowd, exclaimed: "Now let the popes and bishops come!
they shall never efface them more!" And many people rejoiced in
Bethlehem, and I with them, adds John Huss.--"Busy yourself with
your defence rather than with your dreams," said his faithful
friend, the knight of Chlum, to whom he had communicated this
vision. "I am no dreamer," replied Huss, "but I maintain this
for certain, that the image of Christ will never be effaced.
They have wished to destroy it, but it shall be painted afresh in
all hearts by much better preachers than myself. The nation that
loves Christ will rejoice at this. And I, awaking from among the
dead, and rising, so to speak, from my grave, shall leap with
great joy."
A century passed away; and the torch of the Gospel, lighted
up anew by the reformers, illuminated indeed many nations, that
rejoiced in its brightness.
But it was not only among those whom the church of Rome
looks upon as her adversaries that the word of life was heard
during these ages. Catholicism itself--let us say it for our
consolation--courts numerous witnesses to the truth within its
pale. The primitive building had been consumed; but a generous
fire smoldered beneath its ashes, and from time to time sent
forth many brilliant sparks.
It is an error to believe that Christianity did not exist
before the Reformation, save under the Roman-catholic form, and
that it was not till then that a section of the Church assumed
the form of Protestantism.
Among the doctors who flourish prior to the sixteenth
century, a great number no doubt had a leaning towards the system
which the Council of Trent put forth in 1562; but many also
inclined towards the doctrines professed at Augsburg by the
Protestants in 1530; and the majority perhaps oscillated between
these two poles.
Anselm of Canterbury laid down as the very essence of
Christianity the doctrines of the incarnation and atonement; and
in a work in which he teaches us how to die, he says to the
departing soul: "Look only to the merits of Jesus Christ." St.
Bernard proclaimed with a powerful voice the mysteries of
Redemption. "If my sin cometh from another," says he, "why
should not my righteousness be granted me in the same manner?
Assuredly it is better for me that it should be given me, than
that it should be innate." Many schoolmen, and in later times
the Chancellor Gerson, vigorously attacked the errors and abuses
of the Church.
But let us reflect above all on the thousands of souls,
obscure and unknown to the world, who have nevertheless been
partakers of the real life of Christ.
A monk named Arnoldi everyday offered up this fervent prayer
in his quiet cell: "O Lord Jesus Christ! I believe that thou
alone art my redemption and my righteousness."
Christopher of Utenheim, a pious bishop of Basle, had his
name inscribed on a picture painted on glass, which is still in
that city, and surrounded it with this motto, which he desired to
have continually before his eyes: "My hope is in the cross of
Christ; I seek grace and not works."
A poor Carthusian friar, named Martin, wrote a touching
confession, in which he says: "O most merciful God! I know that
I cannot be saved and satisfy thy righteousness otherwise than by
the merits, by the most innocent passion, and by the death of thy
dearly beloved Son......Holy Jesus! all my salvation is in thy
hands. Thou canst not turn away from me the hands of thy love,
for they have created me, formed me, and redeemed me. Thou hast
written my name with an iron pen, in great mercy and in an
indelible manner, on thy side, on thy hands, and on thy feet,"
&c.&c. Then the good Carthusian placed his confession in a
wooden box, and enclosed it in a hole he made in the wall of his
cell.
The piety of brother Martin would never have been known, if
the box had not been discovered on the 21st December 1776, as
some workmen were pulling down an old building that had formed
part of the Carthusian convent at Basle. How many convents may
not have concealed such treasures!
But these holy men possessed this touching faith for
themselves alone, and knew not how to communicate it to others.
Living in retirement, they could say more or less what brother
Martin confided to his box: "And if I cannot confess these
things with my mouth, I confess them at least with my pen and
with my heart." The word of truth was in the sanctuary of a few
pious souls; but, to use the language of the Gospel, it had not
"free course" in the world.
However, if they did not always confess aloud the doctrine
of salvation, they were not afraid at least to protest openly
even in the bosom of the Church of Rome, against the abuses that
disgraced it.
Scarcely had the Councils of Constance and Basle, in which
Huss and his disciples had been condemned, terminated their
sittings, when this noble line of witnesses against Rome, which
we have pointed out, recommenced with greater brilliancy. Men of
generous dispositions, shocked at the abominations of the papacy,
arose like the Old-Testament prophets, whose fate they also
shared, and uttered like them their denunciations in a voice of
thunder. Their blood stained the scaffolds, and their ashes were
scattered to the winds.
Thomas Conecte, a Carmelite friar, appeared in Flanders. He
declared that "the grossest abominations were practiced at Rome,
that the Church required a reform, and that so long as we served
God, we should not fear the pope's excommunications." All the
country listened with enthusiasm; Rome condemned him to the stake
in 1432, and his contemporaries declared that he had been
translated to heaven.
Cardinal Andrew, archbishop of Crayn, being sent to Rome as
the emperor's ambassador, was struck with dismay at discovering
that the papal sanctity, in which he had devoutly believed, was a
mere fiction; and in his simplicity he addressed Sixtus IV in the
language of evangelical remonstrance. Mockery and persecution
were his only answer. Upon this he endeavoured in 1482 to
assemble a new council at Basle. "The whole Church," said he,
"is shaken by divisions, heresies, sins, vices, unrighteousness,
errors, and countless evils, so as to be nigh swallowed up by the
devouring abyss of damnation. For this reason we proclaim a
general council for the reformation of the Catholic faith and the
purification of morals." The archbishop was thrown into prison
at Basle, where he died. The inquisitor, Henry Institoris, who
was the first to oppose him, uttered these remarkable words:
"All the world cries out and demands a council; but there is no
human power that can reform the Church by a council. The Most
High will find other means, which are at present unknown to us,
although they may be at our very doors, to bring back the Church
to its pristine condition." This remarkable prophecy, delivered
by an inquisitor, at the very period of Luther's birth, is the
best apology for the Reformation.
Jerome Savonarola shortly after entering the Dominican order
at Bologna in 1475, devoted himself to continual prayers,
fasting, and mortification, and cried, "Thou, O God, art good,
and in thy goodness teach me thy righteousness." He preached
with energy in Florence, to which city he had removed in 1489.
His voice carried conviction; his countenance was lit up with
enthusiasm; and his action possessed enchanting grace. "We must
regenerate the Church," said he; and he professed the great
principle that alone could effect this regeneration. "God," he
exclaimed, "remits the sins of men, and justifies them by his
mercy. There are as many compassions in heaven as there are
justified men upon earth; for none are saved by their own works.
No man can boast of himself; and if, in the presence of God, we
could ask all these justified sinners--Have you been saved by
your own strength?--all would reply as with one voice, Not unto
us, O Lord! not unto us; but to thy name be the glory!--
Therefore, O God, do I seek thy mercy, and I bring not unto thee
my own righteousness; but when by thy grace thou justifiest me,
then thy righteousness belongs unto me; for grace is the
righteousness of God.--So long, O man, so long as thou believest
not, thou art, because of thy sin, destitute of grace.--O God,
save me by thy righteousness, that is to say, in thy Son, who
alone among men was found without sin!" Thus did the grand and
holy doctrine of justification by faith gladden Savonarola's
heart. In vain did the presidents of the Churches oppose him; he
knew that the oracles of God were far above the visible Church,
and that he must proclaim these oracles with the aid of the
Church, without it, or even in spite of it. "Fly," cried he,
"fly far from Babylon!" and it was Rome that he thus designated,
and Rome erelong replied in her usual manner. In 1497, the
infamous Alexander VI issued a brief against him; and in 1498,
torture and the stake terminated this reformer's life.
John Vitrarius, a Franciscan monk of Tournay, whose monastic
spirit does not appear to have been of a very lofty range,
vigorously attacked the corruptions of the Church. "It is better
to cut a child's throat (he said) than to place him in a
religious order that is not reformed.--If thy curate, or any
other priest, detains a woman in his house, you should go and
drag the woman by force, or otherwise, out of the house.--There
are some who repeat certain prayers to the Virgin Mary, that they
may see her at the hour of death. But thou shalt see the devil,
and not the virgin." A recantation was required, and the monk
gave way in 1498.
John Lallier, doctor of the Sorbonne, stood forth in 1484
against the tyrannical dominion of the hierarchy. "All the
clergy," said he, "have received equal power from Christ.--The
Roman Church is not the head of other Churches.--You should keep
the commandments of God and of the apostles: and as for the
commandments of bishops and all the other lords of the
Church......they are but straw! They have ruined the Church by
their crafty devices.--The priests of the Eastern Church sin not
by marrying, and I believe that in the Western Church we should
not sin were we also to marry.--Since the time of Sylvester, the
Romish Church is no longer the Church of Christ, but a state-
church--a money-getting church.--We are not bound to believe in
the legends of the saints, any more than in the Chronicles of
France."
John of Wesalia, doctor of divinity at Erfurth, a man
distinguished for this energy and talents, attacked the errors on
which the hierarchy was founded, and proclaimed the Holy
Scriptures as the only source of faith. "It is not religion (by
which he meant a monastic life) that saves us," said he to the
monks; "it is the grace of God.--God from all eternity has
established a book in which he has written the names of all his
elect. Whoever is not inscribed therein, will never be so; and
whoever is therein inscribed, will never see his name blotted
out.--It is by the grace of God alone that the elect are saved.
He whom God is willing to save by the gift of his grace, will be
saved, though all the priests in the world should wish to condemn
and excommunicate him. And he whom God will condemn, though all
should wish to save him, will nevertheless be condemned.--By what
audacity do the successors of the apostles enjoin, not what
Christ has prescribed in his holy books, but what they themselves
have devised, carried away, as they are, by thirst for gold and
by the desire of ruling?--I despise the Pope, the Church and, the
Councils, and I give Christ the glory." Wesalia, having arrived
gradually at these convictions, professed them boldly from the
pulpit, and entered into communication with the delegates from
the Hussites. Feeble, and bending under the weight of years, a
prey to sickness and leaning upon his staff, this courageous old
man appeared with tottering steps before the Inquisition, and
perished in its dungeons in 1482.
John of Goch, prior of Malines, about the same period,
extolled christian liberty as the essence of every virtue. He
charged the prevailing doctrines with Pelagianism, and
denominated Thomas Aquinas "the prince of error." "The canonical
scriptures alone," said he, "are entitled to a sure confidence,
and have an undeniable authority. The writings of the ancient
Fathers have no authority, but so far as they are conformable
with canonical truth. The common proverb says truly: Satan
would be ashamed to think of what a monk dares undertake."
But the most remarkable of these forerunners of the
Reformation was undoubtedly John Wessel, surnamed "the Light of
the World," a man full of courage and of love for the truth, who
was doctor in divinity successively at Cologne, Louvain, Paris,
Heidelberg, and Groningen, and of whom Luther says: "Had I read
his works sooner, my enemies might have thought I had derived
everything from Wessel, so much are we of one mind."--"St. Paul
and St. James," says Wessel, "preach different but not contrary
doctrines. Both maintain that 'the just shall live by faith;'
but by a faith working by charity. He who, at the sound of the
Gospel, believes, desires, hopes, trusts in the glad tidings, and
loves Him who justifies and blesses him, forthwith yields himself
up entirely to Him whom he loves, and attributes no merit to
himself, since he knows that of himself he has nothing.--The
sheep must discern the things on which he feeds, and avoid a
corrupted nutriment, even when presented by the shepherd himself.
The people should follow the shepherd into the pastures; but when
he ceases to lead them into the pastures, he is no longer a
shepherd, and then, since he does not fulfil his duty, the flock
is not bound to follow him. Nothing is more effectual to the
destruction of the Church than a corrupted clergy. All
Christians, even the humblest and most simple, are bound to
resist those who are destroying the Church. We must obey the
precepts of doctors and of prelates only according to the measure
laid down by St. Paul (1 Thess. v. 21); that is to say, so far
as, 'sitting in Moses' seat,' they teach according to Moses. We
are God's servants, and not the pope's, as it is said: Thou
shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve.
The Holy Spirit has reserved to himself the work of renewing,
vivifying, preserving, and increasing the unity of the Church,
and has not abandoned it to the Roman pontiff, who frequently
cares nothing about it.--Even her sex does not prevent a woman,
if she is faithful and prudent, and if she has charity shed
abroad in her heart, from being able to feel, judge, approve, and
decide by a judgment that God will ratify."
Thus, in proportion as the Reformation drew nigh, were the
voices multiplied that proclaimed the truth. We might be led to
say that the Church intended showing by these means that the
Reformation existed before Luther. Protestantism arose in the
Church on the very day in which the germs of Popery showed
themselves; as in the political world conservative principles
have existed from the very moment when the despotism of nobles or
the disorders of factions have raised their heads. Protestantism
was sometimes even stronger than the Papacy in the centuries
immediately preceding the Reformation. What could Rome oppose to
all the witnesses we have just heard, at the time when their
voices re-echoed through the earth?--A few monks without either
learning or piety.
To this we may add, that the Reformation had taken root, not
only among the doctors of the Church, but also among the people.
The opinions of Wickliffe, issuing from Oxford, had spread over
all Christendom, and had found adherents in Bavaria, Swabia,
Franconia, and Prussia. In Bohemia, from the very bosom of
discord and of war, had come forth at last a peaceful and
christian community, reminding the world of the primitive Church,
and giving powerful testimony to the grand principle of Gospel
opposition, that "Christ, and not Peter and his successors, is
the rock on which the Church is founded." Belonging equally to
the German and Sclavonic races, these simple Christians had sent
forth missionaries into the midst of the various nations who
spoke their language, noiselessly to gain over followers to their
opinions. Nicholas Kuss, who was twice visited by them at
Rostock, began in 1511 to preach openly against the pope.
It is important to notice this state of affairs. When the
Wisdom from on high shall utter his lessons in a still louder
voice, there will be minds and hearts everywhere to listen to
them. When the Husbandman, who has been continually traversing
his Church, shall go forth to a new and to a greater sowing, the
soil will be prepared to receive the grain. When the trumpet of
the Angel of the covenant, that has never ceased to be heard in
the world, shall send forth a louder peal, numbers will gird
themselves to the battle.
The Church already had a presentiment that the hour of
combat was approaching. If more than one philosopher announced
in some measure, during the last century, the revolution in which
it closed, shall we be astonished that many doctors at the end of
the fifteenth century had foreseen the approaching change that
would regenerate the Church?
Andrew Proles, provincial of the Augustines, who for nearly
half a century presided over that congregation, and who, with
unshaken firmness, maintained in his order the doctrines of St.
Augustine, being assembled with his brethren in the convent of
Himmelspforte, near Wernigerode, used often to stop them while
reading the word of God, and say: "My brethren! ye hear the
testimony of the Holy Scriptures! They declare that by grace we
are what we are, and that by it alone we hold all that we
possess. Whence then proceed so much darkness and such horrible
superstitions?......Oh, my brethren! Christianity needs a bold
and a great reform, and methinks I see it already approaching."
Then would the monks cry out, "Why do you not begin this reform
yourself, and oppose such a cloud of errors?"--"You see, my
brethren," replied the aged provincial, "that I am bent with the
weight of years, and weak in body, and that I have not the
learning, ability, and eloquence, that so great an undertaking
requires. But God will raise up a hero, who by his age,
strength, talents, learning, genius, and eloquence, shall hold
the foremost place. He will begin the Reformation; he will
oppose error, and God will give him boldness to resist the mighty
ones of the earth." An old monk of Himmelspforte, who had often
heard these words, communicated them to Flacius. It was in the
very order of which Proles was provincial that the Christian hero
he foretold was to appear.
A monk named John Hilten was an inmate of the Franciscan
convent at Eisenach in Thuringia. The prophecies of Daniel and
the Revelation of St. John were his especial study. He even
wrote a commentary on these works, and censured the most flagrant
abuses of the monastic life. The exasperated monks threw him
into prison. His advanced age and the filthiness of his dungeon
brought on a dangerous illness: he asked for the superior, and
the latter had scarcely arrived before he burst into a violent
passion, and without listening to the prisoner's complaints,
bitterly abused his doctrine, that was opposed, adds the
chronicle, to the monks' kitchen. The Franciscan, forgetting his
malady and groaning heavily, replied: "I bear your insults
calmly for the love of Christ; for I have said nothing that can
endanger the monastic state: I have only censured its most
crying abuses. But," continued he (according to what Melancthon
records in his Apology for the Augsburg Confession of Faith),
"another man will arise in the year of our Lord 1516: he will
destroy you, and you shall not be able to resist him." John
Hilten, who had prophesied that the end of the world would come
in 1651, was less mistaken in pointing out the year when the
future Reformer would appear. Not long after, he was born in a
small village at a little distance from the monk's dungeon: in
this very town of Eisenach he commenced his studies, and only one
year later than the imprisoned friar had stated, he publicly
entered upon the Reformation.
BOOK 1 CHAPTER 7
Third Preparation--Letters--Revival--Recollections of Antiquity
in Italy--Influence of the Humanists--Christianity of Dante
Valla--Infidelity in Italy--Platonic Philosophy--Commencement of
learning in Germany--Young Students--Printing--Characteristics of
German Literature--The Learned and the Schoolmen--A New World
Reuchlin--Reuchlin in Italy--His Labors--His Influence in
Germany--Mysticism--Contest with the Dominicans.
Thus princes and people, living members of the Church and
theologians, were laboring each in their sphere to prepare the
work which the sixteenth century was to accomplish. But the
Reformation was destined to find another auxiliary in learning.
The human mind was gaining strength. This circumstance alone
would have wrought its emancipation. Let but a small seed fall
near a time-eaten wall, and as the tree grows up, the wall will
be overthrown.
The Roman pontiff had constituted himself the guardian of
the people, and his superior intelligence rendered this an easy
task. For a long time he had kept them in a state of pupilage,
but now they were breaking bounds on every side. This venerable
guardianship, which derived its origin from the principles of
eternal life and civilization that Rome had communicated to the
barbarous nations, could no longer be exercised without
opposition. A formidable antagonist had taken up his position
against it in order to control it. The natural tendency of the
human mind to expand, to examine, to learn, had given birth to
this new power. Men's eyes were opened: they demanded a reason
for each step taken by this long-venerated guide, under whose
direction they had walked in silence, so long as their eyes were
closed. The nations of modern Europe had passed the age of
infancy; their manhood was beginning. Their artless and
credulous simplicity had given way to an inquiring spirit--to a
reason impatient to fathom things to the very bottom. They asked
what had been God's object in making a revelation to the world,
and whether men had a right to set themselves up as mediators
between God and their brethren.
One thing only could have saved the church: this was to
elevate itself still higher than the people. To be on a level
with them was not sufficient. But men soon found, on the
contrary, that she was much below them. She began to take a
downward course, at the very time that they were ascending. When
men began to soar towards the regions of intelligence, the
priesthood was found engrossed in earthly pursuits and human
interests. It is a phenomenon that has often been renewed in
history. The eaglet's wings had grown; and there was no man
whose hand could reach it and stay its flight.
It was in Italy that the human mind first began to soar
above the earth.
The doctrines of the schoolmen and romantic poetry had never
reigned undisturbed in that peninsula. Some faint recollections
of antiquity had always remained in Italy,--recollections that
were revived in great strength towards the end of the Middle
Ages, and which erelong communicated a fresh impulse to the human
mind.
Already in the fourteenth century had Dante and Petrarch
revived the credit of the ancient Roman poets; at the same time
the former placed the mightiest popes in his "Inferno," and the
second called with boldness for the primitive constitution of the
Church. At the beginning of the fifteenth century John of
Ravenna taught the Latin literature with great renown at Padua
and Florence; and Chrysoloras interpreted the masterpieces of
Greece at Florence and at Pavia.
While learning was thus issuing from the prisons in which it
had been held captive in Europe , the East imparted fresh light
to the West. The standard of Mahomet, planted on the walls of
Constantinople in 1453, had driven its learned men into exile.
They had carried the learning of Greece with them into Italy.
The torch of the ancients rekindled the minds that had been for
ages quenched in darkness. George of Trebizond, Argyropolos,
Bessarion, Lascaris, Chalcondylas, and many others, inspired the
West with their own love for Greece and its noble works of
genius. The patriotism of the Italians was awakened; and there
arose in Italy a great number of learned men, among whom shone
Gasparino, Aurispa, Aretino, Poggio, and Valla, who endeavoured
in like manner to restore the writers of ancient Rome to the
honor they merited. There was at that period a great burst of
light, and Rome was doomed to suffer by it.
This passion for antiquity which took possession of the
humanists, shook in the most elevated minds their attachment to
the Church, for "no man can serve two masters." At the same time
the studies to which they devoted themselves, placed at the
disposition of these learned men a method entirely new and
unknown to the schoolmen, of examining and judging the teaching
of the Church. Finding in the Bible, much more than in the works
of theologians, the beauties that charmed them in the classic
authors, the humanists were fully inclined to place the Bible
above the doctors. They reformed the taste, and thus prepared
the way for the Reformation of the faith.
These scholars, it is true, loudly protested that their
studies did not strike at the faith of the Church; yet they
attacked the schoolmen long before the Reformers did and turned
into ridicule those barbarians, those "Teutons," who had existed
but not lived. Some even proclaimed the doctrines of the Gospel,
and laid hands on what Rome held most dear. Dante, although
adhering to many Romish doctrines, had already proclaimed the
power of faith, as did the reformers. "It is true faith that
renders us citizens of heaven," said he. "Faith according to the
Gospel is the principle of life; it is the spark that, spreading
daily more and more, becomes a living flame, and shines on us,
like a star in heaven. Without faith there is no good work, nor
upright life, that can avail us. However great be the sin, the
arms of Divine grace are wider still, and embrace all who turn to
God. The soul is not lost through the anathemas of the pontiff;
and eternal love can still reach it, so long as hope retains her
verdant blossom. From God, from God alone, cometh our
righteousness by faith." And speaking of the Church, Dante
exclaims: "O my bark, how deeply art thou laden! O Constantine,
what mischief has been engendered, I will not say by thy
conversion, but by that offering which the wealthy father then
received from thee!"
Somewhat later, Laurentius Valla applied the study of
antiquity to the opinions of the Church: he denied the
authenticity of the correspondence between Christ and King Abgar;
he rejected the tradition of the drawing up of the Apostles'
Creed; and sapped the foundation on which reposed the pretended
donation of Constantine.
Still this great light which the study of antiquity threw
out in the fifteenth century was calculated only to destroy: it
could not build up. Neither Homer nor Virgil could save the
Church. The revival of learning, sciences, and arts, was not the
principle of the Reformation. The paganism of the poets, as it
reappeared in Italy, rather confirmed the paganism of the heart.
The skepticism of the followers of Aristotle, and the contempt
for everything that did not appertain to philology, took
possession of many literary men, and engendered an incredulity
which, even while affecting submission to the Church, attacked
the most important truths of religion. Peter Pomponatius, the
most distinguished representative of this impious tendency,
publicly taught at Bologna and Padua that the immortality of the
soul and the doctrine of providence were mere philosophical
problems. John Francis Pico, nephew of Pico of Mirandola, speaks
of one pope who did not believe in God; and of another who,
having acknowledged to a friend his disbelief in the immortality
of the soul, appeared to him one night after death, and said:
"Alas! the eternal fire that is now consuming me makes me feel
but too sensibly the immortality of soul which I had thought
would die with the body!" This may remind us of those remarkable
words spoken, it is asserted, by Leo X to his secretary Bembo:
"Every age knows how useful this fable of Christ has been to us
and ours"......Contemptible superstitions were attacked, but
incredulity with its disdainful and mocking sneer was set up in
their place. To laugh at everything, even at what was most holy,
was the fashion and the badge of a freethinker. Religion was
considered only as a means of governing the world. "I fear,"
said Erasmus in 1516, "that with the study of ancient literature,
the olden paganism will reappear."
It is true that then, as after the ridicule of the Augustan
age, and as even in our days after the sneers of the last
century, a new Platonism arose and attacked this rash skepticism,
and sought, like the philosophy of the present times, to inspire
a certain degree of respect for Christianity, and to rekindle a
religious feeling in the heart. The Medici at Florence
encouraged these efforts of the Platonists. But no merely
philosophical religion can ever regenerate the Church or the
world. It may lose its strength in a kind of mystical
enthusiasm; but as it is supercilious, and despises the preaching
of the cross of Christ, pretending to see in the Gospel doctrines
little else but figures and symbols, incomprehensible to the
majority of mankind, it will ever be powerless to reform and
save.
What then would have been the result, had real Christianity
not reappeared in the world, and if faith had not once more
filled all hearts with its own strength and holiness? The
Reformation preserved both religion and society. If the Church
of Rome had had God's glory and the welfare of the people at
heart, she would have welcomed the Reformation with joy. But
what was this to a Leo the Tenth?
And yet a torch could not be lighted in Italy without its
rays shining beyond the Alps. The affairs of the Church kept up
a continual intercourse between this peninsula and the other
parts of Christendom. The barbarians felt erelong the
superiority and superciliousness of the Italians, and began to be
ashamed of their defects of language and of style. A few young
noblemen, such as Dalberg, Langen, and Spiegelberg, burning with
the desire of knowledge, visited Italy, and brought back to
Germany and imparted to their friends the learning, the grammar,
and the classic authors they so much desired. Soon there
appeared a man of distinguished talents, Rodolph Agricola, whose
learning and genius won for him as great veneration as if he had
lived in the age of Augustus or of Pericles. The ardor of his
mind and the fatigues of the school wore him out in a few years;
but in the intercourse of private life he had trained up noble
disciples, who carried their master's zeal over all Germany.
Often when assembled around him had they deplored the darkness of
the Church, and asked why St. Paul so frequently repeats that men
are justified by faith and not by works......At the feet of these
new teachers was soon gathered a youthful but rude band of
scholars, living upon alms, studying without books; and who,
divided into societies of priests of Bacchus, arque-busiers, and
others, passed in disorderly troops from town to town, and from
school to school. No matter; these strange companies were the
beginning of a literary public. Gradually the masterpieces of
antiquity issued from the German presses and supplanted the
schoolmen; and the art of printing, discovered at Mentz in 1440,
multiplied the voices that boldly remonstrated against the
corruptions of the Church, and those not less powerful, which
invited the human mind into new paths of inquiry.
The study of ancient literature produced very different
effects in Germany from those which followed it in Italy and in
France: it was there combined with faith. The Germans
immediately looked for the advantage that might accrue to
religion from these new literary pursuits. What had produced in
Italian minds little more than a minute and barren refinement of
the understanding, pervaded the whole being of the Germans,
warmed their hearts, and prepared them for a brighter light. The
first restorers of learning in Italy and in France were
remarkable for their levity, and frequently also for their
immorality. Their successors in Germany, animated by a serious
feeling, zealously went in search of truth. Italy, offering up
her incense to literature and profane learning, beheld the rise
of a skeptical opposition. Germany, occupied with deep
theological questions, and thrown back upon herself, saw the rise
of an opposition based on faith. In the one country the
foundations of the Church were undermined; in the other they were
re-established on their true basis. A remarkable society was
formed in the empire, composed of liberal, generous-minded, and
learned men, who counted princes among their number, and who
endeavoured to make learning profitable to religion. Some
brought to their studies the humble faith of children; others, an
enlightened and penetrating intellect, inclined perhaps to
overstep the bounds of legitimate freedom and criticism: yet
both contributed to clear the entrance of the temple from the
superstitions that had encumbered it.
The monkish theologians perceived their danger, and began to
clamor against these very studies which they had tolerated in
Italy and France, because they had there gone hand in hand with
frivolity and profligacy. A conspiracy was formed amongst them
against literature and science, for behind them faith was seen
advancing. A monk, cautioning a person against the heresies of
Erasmus, was asked in what they consisted. He acknowledged that
he had not read the work of which he was speaking, and could only
say that "it was written in too pure Latinity."
The disciples of learning and the scholastic divines soon
came to open war. The latter beheld with alarm the movement that
was taking place in the realms of intellect, and thought that
immobility and darkness would be the surest guardians of the
Church. It was to save Rome that they opposed the revival of
letters; but in this they contributed to its fall. Rome herself
had a great share in producing this result. Momentarily led
astray under the pontificate of Leo X, she deserted her old
friends, and clasped her young adversaries in her arms. Popery
and learning formed an alliance that seemed likely to dissolve
the union between the monastic orders and the hierarchy. The
popes did not at the first glance perceive that what they had
taken for a plaything was in reality a sword that might cause
their death. In like manner, during the last century, princes
were seen welcoming to their courts political and philosophical
principles which, had they yielded to all their influences, would
have overturned their thrones. Such an alliance was not of long
duration. Learning went forward, without a care as to what might
endanger the power of its patron. The monks and schoolmen were
well aware that to desert the pope would be to abandon
themselves: and the pope, notwithstanding the brief patronage he
accorded to the fine arts, was not less active, when he saw the
danger, in taking measures the most contrary to the spirit of the
times.
The universities defended themselves, as best they could,
against the intrusion of this new light. Rhagius was expelled
from Cologne, Celtes from Leipsic, and Hermann von dem Busch from
Rostock. Still the new doctors, and the ancient classics with
them, gradually established themselves, and frequently with the
aid of the ruling princes, in these superior academies. In
despite of the schoolmen, societies of grammarians and of poets
were soon formed in them. Everything was to be converted into
Greek and Latin, even to their very names. How could the
admirers of Sophocles and of Virgil be known by such barbarous
appellations as Krachenberger of Schwarzerd? At the same time a
spirit of independence spread through the universities. The
students were no longer seen in seminarist fashion, with their
books under their arms, walking demurely, respectfully, and with
downcast eyes, behind their masters. The petulance of Martial
and of Ovid had passed into these new disciples of the Muses.
They hailed with transport the ridicule heaped on the dialectic
theologians; and the heads of the literary movement were
sometimes accused of favoring, and even of exciting, the
disorderly proceedings of the scholars.
Thus a new world, sprung out of antiquity, had arisen in the
midst of the world of the Middle Ages. The two parties could not
avoid coming to blows: struggle was at hand. It was the mildest
champion of literature, an old man drawing near the close of his
peaceful career, who was to begin the conflict.
In order that the truth might prove triumphant, it was
necessary first that the weapons by which she was to conquer
should be brought forth from the arsenals where they had lain
buried for ages. These weapons were the Holy Scriptures of the
Old and New Testament. It was necessary to revive in Christendom
the love and the study of sacred Greek and Hebrew learning. The
man whom the providence of God selected for this task was named
John Reuchlin.
The sweet voice of a child had been remarked in the choir of
the church at Pforzheim, and had attracted the notice of the
Margrave of Baden. It was that of John Reuchlin, a boy of
agreeable manners and lively disposition, the son of a worthy
burgess of that town. The margrave soon showed him especial
favor, and made choice of him in 1473 to accompany his son
Frederick to the university of Paris.
The son of the usher of Pforzheim, in transports of joy,
arrived with the prince at this school, then the most celebrated
of the West. Here he found the Spartan Hermonymos and John
Wessel, the light of the world; and had now an opportunity of
studying Greek and Hebrew under able masters of which languages
there was at that time no professor in Germany, and of which he
was one day to be the restorer in the home of the Reformation.
The young and indigent German transcribed for richer students the
rhapsodies of Homer and the orations of Isocrates, gaining thus
the means of prosecuting his own studies and of purchasing books.
But he heard other things from the mouth of Wessel, that
made a deep impression on his mind. "The popes may err. All
human satisfactions are blasphemy against Christ, who has
reconciled and completely justified the human race. To God alone
belongs the power of giving plenary absolution. It is not
necessary to confess our sins to the priest. There is no
purgatory unless it be God himself, who is a devouring fire, and
who cleanseth from all impurity."
Reuchlin had barely attained the age of twenty years, when
he taught philosophy and Greek and Latin at Basle; and--what then
passed for a miracle--a German was heard speaking Greek.
The partisans of Rome began to feel uneasy, when they saw
these generous spirits searching into the ancient treasures.
"The Romans make wry faces," said Reuchlin, "and cry out,
pretending that all these literary pursuits are contrary to the
Romish piety, because the Greeks are schismatics. Oh! what toil
and suffering must be undergone to restore wisdom and learning to
Germany!"
Not long after, Eberhard of Wurtemberg invited Reuchlin to
Tubingen to adorn that rising university. In 1483, he took him
with him into Italy. Chalcondylas, Aurispa, and John Pico of
Mirandola, were his friends and companions at Florence. At Rome,
when Eberhard had a solemn audience of the pope, surrounded by
his cardinals, Reuchlin delivered an address in such pure and
elegant Latinity, that the assembly, who expected nothing of the
kind from a barbarous German, was filled with astonishment, and
the pontiff exclaimed: "This man certainly deserves to rank with
the best orators of France and Italy."
Ten years later Reuchlin was compelled to take refuge at
Heidelberg, at the court of the Elector Philip, to escape the
vengeance of Eberhard's successor. Philip, in conjuction with
John of Dalberg, bishop of Worms, his friend and chancellor,
endeavoured to diffuse the light that was beginning to dawn in
every part of Germany. Dalberg had founded a library, which was
open to all the learned. On this new stage Reuchlin made great
efforts to destroy the barbarism of his countrymen.
Having been sent by the elector in 1498 on an important
mission to Rome, he employed all the time and money he could
spare, either in improving himself in the Hebrew language under
the learned Israelite, Abdias Sphorna, or in purchasing all the
Greek and Hebrew manuscripts he could find, with a view of
employing them as so many torches to increase in his own country
the light which was already beginning to appear.
Argyropolos, an illustrious Greek, was then at Rome
explaining to a numerous auditory the ancient marvels of his
national literature. The learned ambassador proceeded with his
attendants to the hall where this doctor was lecturing, and on
his entrance saluted the master, and deplored the misfortunes of
Greece, then expiring under the blows of the Ottomans. The
astonished scholar asked his visiter, "Where do you come from,
and do you understand Greek?" Reuchlin answered, "I am a German,
and I am not entirely ignorant of your language." At the request
of Argyropolos, he read and explained a passage from Thucydides,
which the professor happened to have before him. Upon this
Argyropolos, struck with astonishment and grief, exclaimed,
"Alas! alas! the fugitive and exiled Greece has gone to hide
herself beyond the Alps!"
It was thus that the sons of barbarous Germany and of
ancient and learned Greece met in the palaces of Rome; thus the
East and the West embraced in this resort of the world, and the
one poured into the lap of the other those intellectual treasures
which it had snatched from the barbarism of the Ottomans. God,
whenever his plans require it, brings together in an instant, by
some great catastrophe, the things which seemed destined to
remain for ever separated.
Reuchlin, on his return to Germany, was able to take up his
residence again at Wurtemberg. It was at this time he
accomplished those labors that were so useful to Luther and to
the Reformation. This man, who, as Count Palatine, occupied a
distinguished place in the empire, and who, as philosopher,
contributed to lower Aristotle and exalt Plato, drew up a Latin
dictionary which superseded those of the Schoolmen; wrote a Greek
grammar which greatly facilitated the study of that language;
translated and explained the Penitential Psalms; corrected the
Vulgate; and--which is his chief merit and glory--was the first
to publish in Germany a Hebrew grammar and dictionary. Reuchlin
by this labor reopened the long-sealed books of the old covenant,
and thus raised, as he says himself, "a monument more durable
than brass."
But Reuchlin endeavoured to promote the cause to truth as
much by his life as by his writings. By his lofty stature, his
commanding person, and his engaging address, he immediately
gained the confidence of all with whom he had to deal. His
thirst for knowledge was only equalled by his zeal in
communicating what he had learnt. He spared neither money nor
labor to introduce into Germany the editions of the classic
writers as they issued from the Italian presses; and thus the
usher's son did more to enlighten his fellow-countrymen than rich
corporations or mighty princes. His influence over youth was
very extensive; and who can estimate all that the Reformation
owes to him in that respect? We will mention only one instance.
His cousin, a young man, the son of a skilful and celebrated
armorer named Schwarzerd, came to reside with his sister
Elisabeth, in order to study under his direction. Reuchlin,
delighted at beholding the genius and industry of his youthful
scholar, adopted him as his son. Good advice, presents of books,
example,--nothing was spared to make his relative useful to the
Church and to his country. He was charmed at seeing the work
prosper under his eyes; and finding the German name of Schwarzerd
too harsh, he translated it into Greek, according to the fashion
of the times, and named the young student Melancthon. This was
the illustrious friend of Luther.
But grammatical studies could not satisfy Reuchlin.
Imitating his Jewish teachers, he began to study the mystic
meaning of the Word. "God is a spirit," said he, "the Word is a
breath, man breathes, God is the Word. The names which He has
given to himself are an echo of eternity." He thought with the
Cabalists that man can ascend from symbol to symbol, and from
form to form to the last and purest of all forms,--to that which
regulates the kingdom of the spirit.
While Reuchlin was bewildering himself in these peaceful and
abstract researches, the hostility of the schoolmen, suddenly and
very much against his will, forced him into a violent contest
that was one of the preludes to the Reformation.
There dwelt at Cologne one Pfefferkorn, a baptized rabbi,
and intimately connected with the inquisitor Hochstraten. This
man and the Dominicans solicited and obtained from the Emperor
Maximilian--perhaps with very good intentions--an order by virtue
of which the Jews were to bring all their Hebrew books (the Bible
only excepted) to the town-hall of the place in which they
resided. Here these writings were to be burnt. The motive put
forward was, that they were full of blasphemies against Jesus
Christ. It must be acknowledged they were at least full of
absurdities, and that the Jews themselves would have been no
great losers by the proposed measure.
The emperor invited Reuchlin to give his opinion upon these
works. The learned doctor particularly singled out the books
written against Christianity, leaving them to their destined
fate; but he endeavoured to save the rest. "The best way to
convert the Israelites," added he, "would be to establish two
professors of the Hebrew language in each university, who should
teach the theologians to read the Bible in Hebrew, and thus to
refute the Jewish doctors." In consequence of this advice the
Jews had their books restored to them.
The proselyte and the inquisitor, like hungry ravens who see
their prey escaping them, raised a furious clamor. They picked
out different passages from Reuchlin's work, perverted their
meaning, declared the author a heretic, accused him of a secret
inclination to Judaism, and threatened him with the dungeons of
the Inquisition. Reuchlin at first gave way to alarm; but as
these men became daily more insolent, and prescribed disgraceful
conditions, he published in 1513 a "Defence against his Cologne
Slanderers," in which he described the whole party in the
liveliest colors.
The Dominicans swore to be avenged, and hoped by a stroke of
authority, to uphold their tottering power. Hochstraten had a
tribunal formed at Mentz against Reuchlin, and the writings of
this learned man were committed to the flames. Then the
innovators, the masters and disciples of the new school, feeling
themselves all attacked in the person of Reuchlin, rose up like
one man. The times were changed: Germany and literature were
not Spain and the Inquisition. This great literary movement had
called a public opinion into existence. Even the superior clergy
were almost entirely gained over to it. Reuchlin appealed to Leo
X. This pope, who was no friend to the ignorant and fanatical
monks, referred the whole matter to the Bishop of Spires, who
declared Reuchlin innocent, and condemned the monks to pay the
expenses of the investigation. The Dominicans, those stanch
supporters of the Papacy, had recourse in their exasperation to
the infallible decrees of Rome; and Leo X, not knowing how to act
between these two hostile powers, issued a mandate de
supersedendo.
This union of learning with faith is one of the features of
the Reformation, and distinguished it both from the establishment
of Christianity and from the religious revivals of the present
day. The Christians contemporary with the Apostles had against
them all the refinement of their age; and, with very few
exceptions, it is the same with those of our times. The majority
of learned men were with the reformers. Even public opinion was
favorable to them. The work thus gained in extent; but perhaps
it lost in depth.
Luther, acknowledging all that Reuchlin had done, wrote to
him shortly after his victory over the Dominicans: "The Lord has
been at work in you, that the light of Holy Scripture might begin
to shine in that Germany where for so many ages, alas! it was
not only stifled but entirely extinct."
BOOK 1 CHAPTER 8
Erasmus--Erasmus a Canon--At Paris--His Genius--His Reputation--
His Influence--Popular Attack--Praise of Folly--Gibes--Churchmen-
-Saints--Folly and the Popes--Attack on Science--Principles--
Greek New Testament--His Profession of Faith--His Labors and
Influence--His Failings--Two Parties--Reform without Violence--
Was such possible?--Unreformed Church--His Timidity--His
Indecision--Erasmus loses his Influence with all Parties.
One man--the great writer of the opposition at the beginning
of the sixteenth century--had already appeared, who considered it
as the grand affair of his life to attack the doctrines of the
schools and of the convents.
Reuchlin was not twelve years old when this great genius of
the age was born. A man of no small vivacity and wit, named
Gerard, a native of Gouda in the Low Countries, loved a
physician's daughter. The principles of Christianity did not
govern his life, or at least his passions silenced them. His
parents and his nine brothers urged him to embrace a monastic
life. He fled from his home, leaving the object of his
affections on the point of becoming a mother, and repaired to
Rome. The frail Margaret gave birth to a son. Gerard was not
informed of it; and some time after he received from his parents
the intelligence that she whom he had loved was no more.
Overwhelmed with grief, he entered the priesthood, and devoted
himself entirely to the service of God. He returned to Holland:
Margaret was still living! She would not marry another, and
Gerard remained faithful to his sacerdotal vows. Their affection
was concentred on their son. His mother had taken the tenderest
care of him: the father, after his return, sent him to school,
although he was only four years old. He was not yet thirteen,
when his teacher, Sinthemius of Deventer, one day embraced him
with rapture, exclaiming, "This child will attain the highest
pinnacle of learning! It was Erasmus of Rotterdam.
About this time his mother died, and not long after his
broken-hearted father followed her to the grave.
The youthful Erasmus was now alone. He entertained the
greatest dislike for a monastic life, which his guardians urged
him to embrace, but to which, from his very birth, we might say,
he had been opposed. At last, he was persuaded to enter a
convent of canons regular, and scarcely had he done so when he
felt himself oppressed by the weight of his vows. He recovered a
little liberty, and we soon find him at the court of the
Archbishop of Cambray, and somewhat later at the university of
Paris. He there pursued his studies in extreme poverty, but with
the most indefatigable industry. As soon as he could procure any
money, he employed it in purchasing--first, Greek works, and then
clothes. Frequently did the indigent Hollander solicit in vain
the generosity of his protectors; and hence, in afterlife, it was
his greatest delight to furnish the means of support to youthful
but poor students. Engaged without intermission in the pursuit
of truth and of knowledge, he reluctantly assisted in the
scholastic disputes, and shrank from the study of theology, lest
he should discover any errors in it, and be in consequence
denounced as a heretic.
It was at this period that Erasmus became conscious of his
powers. In the study of the ancients he acquired a correctness
and elegance of style, that placed him far above the most eminent
scholars of Paris. He began to teach; and thus gained powerful
friends. He published some writings, and was rewarded by
admiration and applause. He knew the public taste, and shaking
off the last ties of the schools and of the cloister, he devoted
himself entirely to literature, displaying in all his writings
those shrewd observations, that clear, lively, and enlightened
wit which at once amuse and instruct.
The habit of application, which he contracted at this
period, clung to him all his life: even in his journeys, which
were usually on horseback, he was not idle. He used to compose
on the road, while riding across the country, and as soon as he
reached the inn, committed his thoughts to writing. It was thus
he composed his celebrated Praise of Folly, in a journey from
Italy to England.
Erasmus early acquired a great reputation among the learned:
but the exasperated monks vowed deadly vengeance against him.
Courted by princes, he was inexhaustible in finding excuses to
escape from their invitations. He preferred gaining his living
with the printer Frobenius by correcting books, to living
surrounded with luxury and favors in the splendid courts of
Charles V, Henry VIII, or Francis I, or to encircling his head
with the cardinal's hat that was offered him.
Henry the Eighth having ascended the throne in 1509, Lord
Mountjoy invited Erasmus, who had already been in England, to
come and cultivate literature under the scepter of their
Octavius. In 1510 he lectured at Cambridge, maintaining with
Archbishop Warham, John Colet, and Sir Thomas More, those
friendly relations which continued until their death. In 1516 he
visited Basle, where he took up his abode in 1521.
What was his influence on the Reformation?
It has been overrated by one party, and depreciated by
another. Erasmus never was, and never could have been a
reformer; but he prepared the way for others. Not only did he
diffuse over his age a love of learning, and a spirit of inquiry
and examination that led others much farther than he went
himself;--but still more under the protection of great prelates
and powerful princes, he was able to unveil and combat the vices
of the Church by the most cutting satires.
Erasmus, in fact, attacked the monks and the prevailing
abuses in two ways. He first adopted a popular method. This
fair little man, whose half-closed blue eyes keenly observed all
that was passing,--on whose lips was ever a slight sarcastic
smile,--whose manner was timid and embarrassed,--and whom, it
seemed, that a puff of wind would blow down,--scattered in every
direction his elegant and biting sarcasms against the theology
and devotion of his age. His natural character and the events of
his life had rendered this disposition habitual. Even in those
writings where we should have least expected it, his sarcastic
humor suddenly breaks out, and he immolated, as with needle-
points, those schoolmen and those ignorant monks against whom he
had declared war. There are many points of resemblance between
Voltaire and Erasmus. Preceding authors had already popularized
the idea of that element of folly which has crept into all the
opinions and actions of human life. Erasmus seized upon it, and
introduced Folly in her own person, Moria, daughter of Plutus,
born in the Fortunate Isles, fed on drunkenness and impertinence,
and queen of a powerful empire. She gives a description of it.
She depicts successively all the states in the world that belong
to her, but she dwells particularly on the churchmen, who will
not acknowledge her benefits, though she loads them with her
favors. She overwhelms with her gibes and sarcasms that
labyrinth of dialectics in which the theologians had bewildered
themselves, and those extravagant syllogisms, by which they
pretended to support the Church. She unveils the disorders,
ignorance, filthy habits, and absurdities of the monks.
"They all belong to me," says she, "those folks whose
greatest pleasure is in relating miracles, or listening to
marvelous lies, and who makes use of them in an especial manner
to beguile the dulness of others, and to fill their own purses (I
speak particularly of priests and preachers)! In the same
category are those who enjoy the foolish but sweet persuasion
that if they chance to see a piece of wood or a picture
representing Polyphemus or Christopher, they will not die that
day......"
"Alas! what follies," continues Moria; "I am almost ashamed
of them myself! Do we not see every country claiming its
peculiar saint? Each trouble has its saint, and every saint his
candle. This cures the toothache; that assists women in
childbed; a third restores what a thief has stolen; a fourth
preserves you in shipwreck; and a fifth protects your flocks.
There are some who have many virtues at once, and especially the
Virgin-mother of God, in whom the people place more confidence
than in her Son......If in the midst of all these mummeries some
wise man should rise and give utterance to these harsh truths:
'You shall not perish miserably if you live like Christians;--you
shall redeem your sins, if to your alms you add repentance,
tears, watchings, prayer, fasting, and a complete change in your
way of life;--this saint will protect you, if you imitate his
conduct;'--If, I say, some wise man should charitably utter these
things in their ears, oh! of what happiness would he not rob
their souls, and into what trouble, what distress would he not
plunge them!......The mind of man is so constituted that
imposture has more hold upon it than truth. If there is one
saint more apocryphal than another--a St. George, St.
Christopher, or St. Barbara--you will see him worshipped with
greater fervency that St. Peter, St. Paul, or even than Christ
himself."
But Moria does not stop here: she attacks the bishops "who
run more after gold than after souls, and who think they have
done enough for Jesus Christ, when they take their seats
complacently and with theatrical pomp, like Holy Fathers to whom
adoration belongs, and utter blessings or anathemas." The
daughter of the Fortunate Isles even ventures to attack the Court
of Rome and the pope himself, who, passing his time in
amusements, leaves the duties of his ministry to St. Peter and
St. Paul. "Can there be any greater enemies to the Church than
these unholy pontiffs, who by their silence allow Jesus Christ to
be forgotten; who bind him by their mercenary regulations; who
falsify his doctrine by forced interpretations; and crucify him a
second time by their scandalous lives?"
Holbein added the most grotesque illustrations to the Praise
of Folly, in which the pope figured with his triple crown.
Perhaps no work has ever been so thoroughly adapted to the wants
of the age. It is impossible to describe the impression this
little book produced throughout Christendom. Twenty-seven
editions appeared in the lifetime of Erasmus: it was translated
into every European language, and contributed more than any other
to confirm the anti-sacerdotal tendency of the age.
But to the popular attack of sarcasm Erasmus united science
and learning. The study of Greek and Latin literature had opened
a new prospect to the modern genius that was beginning to awaken
from its slumber in Europe. Erasmus eagerly embraced the idea of
the Italians that the sciences ought to be studied in the schools
of the ancients, and that, laying aside the inadequate and absurd
works that had hitherto been in use, men should study geography
in Strabo, medicine in Hippocrates, philosophy in Plato,
mythology in Ovid, and natural history in Pliny. But he went a
step further, and it was the step of a giant, and must
necessarily have led to the discovery of a new world of greater
importance to the interests of humanity than that which Columbus
had recently added to the old. Erasmus, following out his
principle, required that men should no longer study theology in
Scotus and Aquinas, but go and learn it in the writings of the
Fathers of the Church, and above all in the New Testament. He
showed that they must not even rest contented with the Vulgate,
which swarmed with errors; and he rendered an incalculable
service to truth by publishing his critical edition of the Greek
text of the New Testament--a text as little known in the West as
if it had never existed. This work appeared at Basle in 1516,
one year before the Reformation. Erasmus thus did for the New
Testament what Reuchlin had done for the Old. Henceforward
divines were able to read the Word of God in the original
languages, and at a later period to recognize the purity of the
Reformed doctrines.
"It is my desire," said Erasmus, on publishing his New
Testament, "to lead back that cold disputer of words, styled
theology, to its real fountain. Would to God that this work may
bear as much fruit to Christianity as it has cost me toil and
application!" This wish was realized. In vain did the monks cry
out, "He presumes to correct the Holy Ghost!" The New Testament
of Erasmus gave out a bright flash of light. His paraphrases on
the Epistles, and on the Gospels of St. Matthew and St. John; his
editions of Cyprian and Jerome; his translations of Origen,
Athanasius, and Chrysostom; his Principles of True Theology, his
Preacher, and his Commentaries on various Psalms, contributed
powerfully to diffuse a taste for the Word of God and for pure
theology. The result of his labors even went beyond his
intentions. Reuchlin and Erasmus gave the Bible to the learned;
Luther, to the people.
Erasmus did still more: by his restoration of the New
Testament, he restored what that revelation taught. "The most
exalted aim in the revival of philosophical studies," said he,
"will be to obtain a knowledge of the pure and simple
Christianity of the Bible." A noble sentiment! and would to God
that the organs of our modern philosophy understood their mission
as well as he did! "I am firmly resolved," said he again, "to
die in the study of the Scriptures; in them are all my joy and
all my peace." "The sum of all christian philosophy," said he on
another occasion, "amounts to this:--to place all our hopes in
God alone, who by his free grace, without any merit of our own,
gives us everything through Christ Jesus; to know that we are
redeemed by the death of his Son; to be dead to worldly lusts;
and to walk in conformity with his doctrine and example, not only
injuring no man, but doing good to all; to support our trials
patiently in the hope of a future reward; and finally, to claim
no merit to ourselves on account of our virtues, but to give
thanks to God for all our strength and for all our works. This
is what should be instilled into man, until it becomes a second
nature."
Then raising his voice against that mass of church-
regulations about dress, fasting, feast-days, vows, marriage, and
confession, which oppressed the people and enriched the priests,
Erasmus exclaims: "In the churches they scarcely ever think of
explaining the Gospel. The greater part of their sermons must be
drawn up to please the commissaries of indulgences. The most
holy doctrine of Christ must be suppressed or perverted to their
profit. There is no longer any hope of cure, unless Christ
himself should turn the hearts of rulers and of pontiffs, and
excite them to seek for real piety."
The writings of Erasmus followed one another in rapid
succession. He labored unceasingly, and his works were read just
as they came from his pen. This animation, this native energy,
this intellect so rich and so delicate, so witty and so bold,
that was poured without any reserve in such copious streams upon
his contemporaries, led away and enchanted the immense public who
devoured the works of the philosopher of Rotterdam. He soon
became the most influential man in Christendom, and crowns and
pensions were showered upon him from every side.
If we cast our eyes on the great revolution that somewhat
later renewed the Church, we cannot help acknowledging that
Erasmus served as a bridge to many minds. Numbers who would have
been alarmed by the evangelical truths presented in all their
strength and purity, allowed themselves to be drawn along by him,
and ultimately became the most zealous partisans of the
Reformation.
But the very circumstances that fitted him for the work of
preparation, disqualified him for its accomplishment.
"Erasmus is very capable of exposing error," said Luther,
"but he knows not how to teach the truth." The Gospel of Christ
was not the fire at which he kindled and sustained his energy,--
the center whence his activity radiated. He was in an eminent
degree a man of learning, and only in consequence of that was he
a Christian. He was too much the slave of vanity to acquire a
decided influence over his age. He anxiously calculated the
result that each step he took might have upon his reputation.
There was nothing he liked better than to talk about himself and
his fame. "The pope," wrote he with a childish vanity to an
intimate friend, at the period when he declared himself the
opponent of Luther, "the pope has sent me a diploma full of
kindness and honorable testimonials. His secretary declares that
this in an unprecedented honor, and that the pope dictated every
word himself."
Erasmus and Luther, viewed in connection with the
"Reformation, are the representatives of two great ideas,--of two
great parties in their age, and indeed in every age. The one
composed of men of timid prudence; the other, of men of
resolution and courage. These two parties were in existence at
that epoch, and they are personified in their illustrious chiefs.
The men of prudence thought that the study of theological science
would gradually bring about a reformation of the Church, and
that, too, without violence. The men of action thought that the
diffusion of more correct ideas among the learned would not put
an end to the superstitions of the people, and that the
correction of this or of that abuse, so long as the whole life of
the Church was not renewed, would be of little effect.
"A disadvantageous peace," Erasmus used to say, "is better
than the most righteous war." He thought--and how many Erasmuses
have lived since, and are living even in our own days! he
thought that a reformation which might shake the Church would
endanger its overthrow; he witnessed with alarm men's passions
aroused into activity; evil everywhere mixed up with the little
good that might be effected; existing institutions destroyed
without the possibility of others being set up in their place;
and the vessel of the Church, leaking on every side, at last
swallowed up by the tempest. "Those who bring the sea into new
beds," said he, "often attempt a work that deceives their
expectations; for the terrible element, once let in, does not go
where they would with it, but rushes whithersoever it pleases,
and causes great devastation." "Be that as it may," added he,
"let troubles be everywhere avoided! It is better to put up with
ungodly princes than to increase the evil by any change."
But the courageous portion of his contemporaries were
prepared with an answer. History had sufficiently proved that a
free exposition of the truth and a decided struggle against
falsehood could alone ensure the victory. If they had
temporized, the artifices of policy and the wiles of the papal
court would have extinguished the truth in its first glimmerings.
Had not conciliatory measures been employed for ages? Had not
council after council been convoked to reform the Church? All
had been unavailing. Why now pretend to repeat an experiment
that had so often failed?
Undoubtedly a thorough reform could not be accomplished
without violence. But when has anything good or great ever
appeared among men without causing some agitation? Would not
this fear of seeing evil mingled with good, even had it been
reasonable, have checked the noblest and the holiest
undertakings? We must not fear the evil that may arise out of a
great agitation, but we must take courage to resist and to
overcome it.
Is there not besides an essential difference between the
commotion originating in human passions, and that which emanates
from the Spirit of God? One shakes society, the other
strengthens it. What an error to imagine with Erasmus that in
the then existing state of Christendom,--with that mixture of
contrary elements, of truth and falsehood, life and death--a
violent collision could be prevented! As well strive to close
the crater of Vesuvius when the angry elements are already
warring in its bosom! The Middle Ages had seen more than one
violent commotion, when the sky was less threatening with storms
than at the time of the Reformation. Men had not then to think
of checking and of repressing, but of directing and guiding.
Who can tell what frightful ruin might not have occurred if
the Reformation had not burst forth? Society, the prey of a
thousand elements of destruction, destitute of any regenerating
or conservative qualities, would have been terribly convulsed.
Certainly this would have really been a reform in Erasmus's
fashion, and such as many moderate but timid men of our days
still dream of, which would have overturned christian society.
The people, wanting that knowledge and that piety which the
Reformation brought down even to the lowest ranks, abandoned to
their violent passions, and to a restless spirit of revolt, would
have been let loose, like a furious and exasperated wild beast,
whose rage no chains can any longer control.
The Reformation was no other than an interposition of the
Spirit of God among men,--a regulating principle that God sent
upon earth. It is true that it might stir up the fermenting
elements hidden in the heart of man; but God overruled them. The
evangelical doctrines, the truth of God, penetrating the masses
of the people, destroyed what was destined to perish, but
everywhere strengthened what ought to be maintained. The effect
of the Reformation on society was to reconstruct; prejudice alone
could say that it was an instrument of destruction. It has been
said with reason, with reference to the work of reform, that "the
ploughshare might as well think that it injures the earth it
breaks up, while it is only fertilizing it."
The leading principle of Erasmus was: "Give light, and the
darkness will disappear of itself." This principle is good, and
Luther acted upon it. But when the enemies of the light
endeavour to extinguish it, or to wrest the torch from the hand
of him who bears it, must we (for the sake of peace) allow him to
do so? must we not resist the wicked?
Erasmus was deficient in courage. Now, that quality is as
indispensable to effect a reformation as to take a town. There
was much timidity in his character. From his early youth he
trembled at the name of death. He took the most extraordinary
care of his health. He spared no sacrifice to remove from a
place in which a contagious malady was reigning. The desire of
enjoying the comforts of life exceeded even his vanity, and this
was his motive for rejecting more than one brilliant offer.
He had, therefore, no claims to the character of a reformer.
"If the corrupted morals of the court of Rome call for a prompt
and vigorous remedy, that is no business of mine," said he, "nor
of those who are like me." He had not that strength of faith
which animated Luther. While the latter was ever prepared to lay
down his life for the truth, Erasmus candidly observed, "Let
others aspire the martyrdom: as for me, I do not think myself
worthy of such an honor. I fear that if any disturbance were to
arise, I should imitate Peter in his fall."
By his conversation and by his writings Erasmus had prepared
the way for the Reformation more than any other man; and yet he
trembled when he saw the approach of that very tempest which he
himself had raised. He would have given anything to restore the
calm of former times, even with all its dense vapors. But it was
too late: the dike was broken. It was no longer in man's power
to arrest the flood that was at once to cleanse and fertilize the
world. Erasmus was powerful as God's instrument; when he ceased
to be that, he was nothing.
Ultimately Erasmus knew not what party to adopt. None
pleased him, and he feared all. "It is dangerous to speak," said
he, "and it is dangerous to be silent." In every great religious
movement there will be found these wavering characters,--
respectable on many accounts, but injurious to the truth, and
who, from their unwillingness to displease any, offend all.
What would have become of the Truth, had not God raised up
more courageous champions than Erasmus? Listen to the advice he
gives Viglius Zuichem, who was afterwards president of the
supreme court at Brussels, as to the manner in which he should
behave towards the sectarians--for thus he had already begun to
denominate the Reformers: "My friendship for you leads me to
desire that you will keep aloof from the contagion of the sects,
and that you will give them no opportunity of saying, Zuichem is
become one of us. If you approve of their teaching, you should
at least dissemble, and, above all, avoid discussions with them.
A lawyer should finesse with these people, as the dying man did
with the devil, who asked him, What do you believe? The poor
man, fearful of being caught in some heresy, if he should make a
confession of his faith, replied, What the Church believes. The
devil demanded, And what does the Church believe?--What I
believe.--Once more he was questioned, What do you believe?--and
the expiring man answered once more, What the Church believes!"
Thus Duke George of Saxony, Luther's mortal enemy, having
received an equivocal answer to a question he had put to Erasmus,
said to him: "My dear Erasmus, wash me the fur without wetting
it!" Secundus Curio, in one of his works, describes two heavens-
-the papal and the christian. He found Erasmus in neither, but
discovered him revolving between both in never-ending orbits.
Such was Erasmus. He needed that inward emancipation which
alone gives perfect liberty. How different would he have been
had he abandoned self, and sacrificed all for truth! But after
having endeavoured to effect certain reforms with the approbation
of the heads of the Church; after having deserted the Reformation
for Rome, when he saw that these two things could not go hand in
hand;--he lost ground with all parties. On the one side, his
recantations could not repress the anger of the fanatical
partisans of the papacy: they felt all the evil he had done
them, and would not pardon him. Furious monks loaded him with
abuse from the pulpits: they called him a second Lucian--a fox
that had laid waste the Lord's vineyard. A doctor of Constance
had hung the portrait of Erasmus in his study, that he might be
able at any moment to spit in his face.--But, on the other hand,
Erasmus, deserting the standard of the Gospel, lost the affection
and esteem of the noblest men of the age in which he lived, and
was forced to renounce, there can be little doubt, those heavenly
consolations which God sheds in the heart of those who act as
good soldiers of Christ. This at least seems to be indicated by
those bitter tears, those painful vigils, that broken sleep, that
tasteless food, that loathing of the study of the Muses (formerly
his only consolation), those saddened features, that pale face,
those sorrowful and downcast eyes, that hatred of existence which
he calls "a cruel life," and those longings after death, which he
describes to his friends. Unhappy Erasmus!
The enemies of Erasmus went, in my opinion, a little beyond
the truth, when they exclaimed on Luther's appearance: "Erasmus
laid the egg, and Luther hatched it."
BOOK 1 CHAPTER 9
The Nobility--Different Motives--Hutten--Literary League--Literae
Obscurorum Virorum--Their Effect--Luther's Opinion--Hutten at
Brussels--His Letters--Sickingen--War--His Death--Cronberg--Hans
Sachs--General Ferment.
The same symptoms of regeneration that we have seen among
princes, bishops, and learned men, were also found among men of
the world,--among nobles, knights, and warriors. The German
nobility played an important part in the Reformation. Several of
the most illustrious sons of Germany formed a close alliance with
the men of letters, and inflamed by an ardent, frequently by an
excessive zeal, they strove to deliver their country from the
Roman yoke.
Various causes contributed to raise up friends to the
Reformation among the ranks of the nobles. Some having
frequented the universities, had there received into their bosoms
the fire with which the learned were animated. Others, brought
up in generous sentiments, had hearts predisposed to receive the
glorious lessons of the Gospel. Many discovered in the
Reformation a certain chivalrous character that fascinated them
and carried them along with it. And others, we must freely
acknowledge, were offended with the clergy, who, in the reign of
Maximilian, had powerfully contributed to deprive them of their
ancient independence, and bring them under subjection to their
princes. They were full of enthusiasm, and looked upon the
Reformation as the prelude to a great political renovation; they
saw in imagination the empire emerging with new splendor from
this crisis, and hailed a better state, brilliant with the purest
glory, that was on the eve of being established in the world, not
less by the swords of the knights than by the Word of God.
Ulrich of Hutten, who has been called the German
Demosthenes, on account of his philippics against the Papacy,
forms, as it were, the link that unites the knights with the men
of letters. He distinguished himself by his writings not less
than by his sword. Descended from an ancient Franconian family,
he was sent at the age of eleven years to the convent of Foulda,
in which he was to become a monk. But Ulrich, who felt no
inclination for this profession, ran away from the convent at
sixteen, and repaired to the university of Cologne, where he
devoted himself to the study of languages and poetry. Somewhat
later he led a wandering life, and was present, as a common
soldier at the siege of Padua in 1513, beheld Rome and all her
scandalous abuses, and there sharpened those arrows which he
afterwards discharged against her.
On his return to Germany, Hutten composed a treatise against
Rome, entitled "The Roman Trinity." In this work he unveils the
disorders of the papal court, and points out the necessity of
putting an end to her tyranny by force. "There are three
things," says a traveller named Vadiscus, who figures in the
treatise,--"there are three things that are usually brought away
from Rome: a bad conscience, a disordered stomach, and an empty
purse. There are three things in which Rome does not believe:
the immortality of the soul, the resurrection of the dead, and
hell. There are three things in which Rome traffics: the grace
of Christ, ecclesiastical dignities, and women." The publication
of this work compelled Hutten to leave the court of the
Archbishop of Mentz, where he had composed it.
Reuchlin's affair with the Dominicans was the signal that
brought together all the men of letters, magistrates, and nobles,
who were opposed to the monks. The defeat of the inquisitors,
who, it was said, had escaped a definite and absolute
condemnation only by means of bribery and intrigue, had
emboldened their adversaries. Councillors of the empire;
patricians of the most considerable cities,--Pickheimer of
Nuremberg, Peutinger of Augsburg, and Stuss of Cologne;
distinguished preachers, such as Capito and Oecolampadius;
doctors of medicine and historians; all the literary men,
orators, and poets, at whose head shone Ulrich of Hutten,
composed that army of Reuchlinists, of which a list was even
published. The most remarkable production of this learned league
was the famous popular satire entitled--The Letters of Obscure
Men. The principal authors of this work were Hutten, and Crotus
Robianus, one of his college friends; but it is hard to say which
of them first conceived the idea, even if it did not originate
with the learned printer Angst, and if Hutten took any share in
the first part of the work. Several humanists, assembled in the
fortress of Ebernburg, appear to have contributed to the second.
It is a bold sketch, a caricature often too rudely colored, but
full of truth and strength, of striking resemblance, and in
characters of fire. Its effect was prodigious. The monks, the
adversaries of Reuchlin, the supposed writers of these letters,
discuss the affairs of the day and theological matters after
their own fashion and in barbarous latinity. They address the
silliest and most useless questions to their correspondent Ortuin
Gratius, professor at Cologne, and a friend of Pfefferkorn. With
the most artless simplicity they betray their gross ignorance,
incredulity, and superstition; their low and vulgar spirit; the
coarse gluttony by which they make a god of their bellies; and at
the same time their pride, and fanatical, persecuting zeal. They
relate many of their droll adventures, of their excesses and
profligacy, with various scandalous incidents in the lives of
Hochstraten, Pfefferkorn, and other chiefs of their party. The
tone of these letters--at one time hypocritical, at another quite
childish--gives them a very comic effect: and yet the whole is
so natural, that the English Dominicans and Franciscans received
the work with the greatest approbation, and thought it really
composed on the principles and in the defence of their orders.
A certain prior of Brabant, in his credulous simplicity, even
purchased a great number of copies, and sent them as presents to
the most distinguished of the Dominicans. The monks, more and
more exasperated, applied to the pope for a severe bull against
all who should dare to read these letters; but Leo X would not
grant their request. They were forced to bear with the general
ridicule, and to smother their anger. No work ever inflicted a
more terrible blow on these supporters of the Papacy. But it was
not by satire and by jests that the Gospel was to triumph. Had
men continued walking in this path; had the Reformation had
recourse to the jeering spirit of the world, instead of attacking
error with the arms of God, its cause would have been lost.
Luther boldly condemned these satires. One of his friends having
sent him The Tenour of Pasquin's Supplication, he replied, "The
nonsense you have forwarded me seems to have been composed by an
ill-regulated mind. I have communicated it to a circle of
friends, and all have come to the same conclusion." And speaking
of the same work, he writes to another correspondent: "This
Supplication appears to me to have been written by the author of
the Letters of Obscure Men. I approve of his design, but not of
his work, since he cannot refrain from insults and abuse." This
judgment is severe, but it shows Luther's disposition, and how
superior he was to his contemporaries. We must add, however,
that he did not always follow such wise maxims.
Ulrich having been compelled to resign the protection of the
Archbishop of Mentz, sought that of Charles V, who was then at
variance with the pope. He accordingly repaired to Brussels,
where the emperor was holding his court. But far from obtaining
anything, he learnt that the pope had called upon Charles to send
him bound hand and foot to Rome. The inquisitor Hochstraten,
Reuchlin's persecutor was one of those whom Leo X had charged to
bring him to trial. Ulrich quitted Brabant in indignation at
such a request having been made to the emperor. He had scarcely
left Brussels, when he met Hochstraten on the highroad. The
terrified inquisitor fell on his knees,a nd commended his soul to
God and the saints. "No!" said the knight, "I will not soil my
weapon with thy blood!" He gave him a few strokes with the flat
of his sword, and allowed him to proceed in peace.
Hutten took refuge in the castle of Ebernburg, where
Francis of Sickingen offered an asylum to all who were persecuted
by the ultra-montanists. It was here that his burning zeal for
the emancipation of his country dictated those remarkable letters
which he addressed to Charles V, to the Elector Frederick, of
Saxony, to Albert, archbishop of Mentz, and to the princes and
nobles,--letters that place him in the foremost ranks of
authorship. Here, too, he composed all those works intended to
be read and understood by the people, and which inspired all the
German states with horror of Rome, and with the love of liberty
Ardently devoted to the cause of the Reformation, his design was
to lead the nobles to take up arms in favor of the Gospel, and to
fall with the sword upon that Rome which Luther aimed at
destroying solely by the Word of God and by the invincible power
of the truth.
Yet amidst all this warlike enthusiasm, we are charmed at
finding in Hutten mild and delicate sentiments. On the death of
his parents, he made over to his brothers all the family
property, although he was the eldest son, and even begged them
not to write to him or send him any money, lest, notwithstanding
their innocence, they should be exposed to suffer by the malice
of his enemies, and fall with him into the pit.
If Truth cannot acknowledge Hutten as one of her children,
for her walk is ever with holiness of life and charity of heart,
she will at least accord him honorable mention as one of the most
formidable antagonists of error.
The same may be said of Francis of Sickingen, his
illustrious friend and protector. This noble knight, whom many
of his contemporaries judged worthy of the imperial crown, shines
in the first rank among those warriors who were the adversaries
of Rome. Although delighting in the uproar of battle, he was
filled with an ardent love of learning and with veneration for
its professors. When at the head of an army that menaced
Wurtemberg, he gave orders that, in case Stuttgard should be
taken by assault, the house and property of that great scholar,
John Reuchlin, should be spared. Sickingen afterwards invited
him to his camp, and embracing him, offered to support him in his
quarrel with the monks of Cologne. For a long time chivalry had
prided itself on despising literature. The epoch whose history
we are retracing presents to us a new spectacle. Under the
weighty cuirasses of the Huttens and Sickingens we perceive that
intellectual movement which was beginning to make itself felt in
every quarter. The first fruits that the Reformation gave to the
world were warriors that were the friends of the peaceful arts.
Hutten, who on his return from Brussels had taken refuge in
the castle of Sickingen, invited the worthy knight to study the
evangelical doctrines, and explained to him the foundations on
which they rest. "And is there any man," asked he in
astonishment, "who dares attempt to overthrow such an
edifice?...Who could do it?..."
Many individuals, who were afterwards celebrated as
reformers, found an asylum in his castle; among others, Martin
Bucer, Aquila, Schwebel, and Oecolampadius, so that Hutten with
justice used to call Ebernburg "the resting-place of the
righteous." It was the duty of Oecolampadius to preach daily in
the castle. The warriors who were there assembled, at last grew
weary of hearing so much said about the meek virtues of
Christianity: the sermons appeared to them too long, however
brief Oecolampadius endeavoured to be. They repaired, it is
true, almost every day to the church, but it was for little else
than to hear the benediction and to repeat a short prayer, so
that Oecolampadius used to exclaim: "Alas! the Word of God is
sown here upon stony ground!"
Erelong Sickingen, wishing to serve the cause of truth after
his own fashion, declared war against the Archbishop of Treves,
"in order," as he said, "to open a door for the Gospel." In vain
did Luther, who had already appeared, strive to dissuade him from
it: he attacked Treves with 5000 horse and 1000 foot. The
courageous archbishop, with the aid of the Elector Palatine and
the Landgrave of Hesse, compelled him to retire. In the
following spring the allied princes attacked him in his castle of
Landstein. After a bloody assault, Sickingen was obliged to
surrender: he had been mortally wounded. The three princes
entered the fortress, and after searching through it, discovered
the stout-hearted knight in a vault, lying on his bed of death.
He stretched out his hand to the Elector Palatine, without
seeming to notice the princes who accompanied him; but these
overwhelmed him with questions and reproaches: "Leave me in
repose," said he, "for I must now prepare to answer a more
powerful lord than you!......"When Luther heard of his death, he
exclaimed: "The Lord is righteous and greatly to be praised! It
is not by the sword that he will have his Gospel propagated."
Such was the melancholy end of a warrior, who, as elector or
emperor, might perhaps have raised Germany to a high degree of
glory; but who, confined within a narrow circle, wasted the great
powers with which he had been endowed. But it was not in the
tumultuous bosoms of these warriors that the divine truth, coming
down from heaven, was to take up her abode. It was not by their
arms that she was to prevail; and God, by bringing to nought
Sickingen's mad projects, confirmed anew the testimony of St.
Paul: The weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty
through God.
Another knight, Harmut of Cronberg, a friend of Hutten and
Sickingen, appears to have had more wisdom and a deeper knowledge
of the truth. He wrote with great modesty to Leo X, exhorting
him to restore his temporal power to its rightful owner, namely,
the emperor. Addressing his subjects as a father, he endeavoured
to explain to them the doctrines of the Gospel, and exhorted them
to faith, obedience, and trust in Jesus Christ, "who is the Lord
of all," added he. He resigned into the Emperor's hand a pension
of 200 ducats, "because he would no longer serve one who lent his
ear to the enemies of the truth." We find an expression of his
recorded that seems to place him far above Hutten and Sickingen:
"Our heavenly teacher, the Holy Ghost, can, whenever he pleases,
teach in one hour more of the faith that is in Christ Jesus, than
could be learnt at the university of Paris in ten years."
Those who look for the friends of the Reformation only on
the steps of thrones, or in cathedrals and in colleges, and who
maintain that it had no friends among the people, are greatly
mistaken. God, who was preparing the hearts of the wise and the
powerful, was also preparing in the homes of the people many
simple and humble-minded men, who were one day to become the
ministers of his Word. The history of the period shows the
ferment then agitating the lower orders. The tendency of popular
literature before the Reformation was in direct opposition to the
prevailing spirit of the Church. In the Eulenspiegel, a
celebrated popular poem of the times, there is a perpetual
current of ridicule against brutal and gluttonous priests, who
were fond of pretty housekeepers, fine horses, and a well-filled
larder. In the Reynard Reineke, the priests' houses with their
families of little children are a prominent feature; another
popular writer thunders with all his might against those
ministers of Christ who ride spirited horses, but who will not
fight against the infidels; and John Rosenblut, in one of his
carnival plays, introduces the Grand Turk in person to deliver a
seasonable address to the states of Christendom.
It was in reality in the bosoms of the people that the
revolution so soon to break forth was violently fermenting. Not
only do we see youths issuing from their ranks and seizing upon
the highest stations in the Church; but there are those who
remained all their lives engaged in the humblest occupations, and
yet powerfully contributing to the great revival of Christendom.
We proceed to recall a few features in the life of one of these
individuals.
Hans Sachs, son of a tailor of Nuremberg, was born on the
5th November 1494. He was named Hans (John) after his father,
and had made some little progress in learning, when a severe
malady compelled him to renounce his studies and take up the
business of a shoemaker. Young Hans profited by the liberty
which this humble trade allowed to his mind, to penetrate into
that higher world in which his soul delighted. The songs that
had ceased to be heard in the castles of the nobles, sought and
found an asylum among the inhabitants of the merry towns of
Germany. A singing school was held in the church of Nuremberg.
These exercises, in which Hans used to join, opened his heart to
religious impressions, and helped to awaken in him a taste for
poetry and music. But the young man's genius could not long
remain confined within the walls of his workshop. He wished to
see with his own eyes that world of which he had read so much in
books,--of which his comrades related so many stories,--and which
his imagination peopled with wonders. In 1511, with a small
bundle of necessaries, he sets out and directs his steps towards
the south. Erelong the youthful traveller, who had met with
jovial companions, students roaming from town to town, and with
many dangerous temptations, feels a terrible struggle beginning
with him. The lusts of life and his holy resolutions are
contending for the mastery. Trembling for the result, he takes
flight and hides himself in the small town of Wels in Austria
(1513), where he lived in retirement, devoting himself to the
cultivation of the fine arts. The Emperor Maximilian chanced to
pass through this town with a brilliant retinue, and the young
poet allowed himself to be carried away by the splendor of the
court. The prince placed him in his hunting-train, and in the
noisy halls of the palace of Inspruck, Hans again forgot all his
resolutions. But his conscience once more cried aloud.
Immediately the young huntsman lays aside his brilliant livery,
quits the court, and repairs to Schwatz, and afterwards to
Munich. It was in the latter town that, at the age of twenty
years (1514), he composed his first hymn "in honor of God" to a
remarkable air. He was covered with applause. During his
travels he had had many opportunities of observing the numerous
and melancholy proofs of the abuses under which religion was
buried.
On his return to Nuremberg, Hans settled, married, and
became a father. When the Reformation broke out, he lent an
attentive ear. He clung to the Holy Scriptures, which were
already dear to him as a poet, but in which he no longer sought
merely for images and songs, but for the light of truth. To this
truth erelong he consecrated his lyre, and from an humble
workshop, near the gates of the imperial city of Nuremberg,
issued tones that re-echoed throughout Germany, preparing men's
minds for a new era, and everywhere endearing to the people the
mighty revolution that was going forward. The spiritual songs of
Hans Sachs and his Bible in verse were a powerful help to this
great work. It would, perhaps, be hard to decide who did the
most for it--the Prince-elector of Saxony, administrator of the
empire, or the Nuremberg shoemaker!
Thus, then, was there in every class something that
announced the Reformation. Warnings appeared on every side, and
events were hastening on which threatened to destroy the work of
ages of darkness, and to "make all things new." The hierarchical
form, which the efforts of many centuries had stamped upon the
world, was shaken, and its fall was nigh. The light that had
been just discovered spread a multitude of new ideas through
every country with inconceivable rapidity. In every grade of
society a new life was in motion. "What an age!" Exclaimed
Hutten; "studies flourish--minds are awakening it is a joy merely
to be alive!" Minds that had lain dormant for so many
generations, seemed desirous of redeeming by their activity the
time they had lost. To leave them unemployed, and without food,
or to present them only with such as had long supported their
languishing existence, would have betrayed ignorance of man's
nature. Already did the human mind clearly perceive what was and
what should be, and surveyed with a daring glance the immense
gulf which separated these two worlds. Great princes filled the
thrones; the time-worn colossus of Rome was tottering under its
own weight; the ancient spirit of chivalry was dead, and its
place supplied by a new spirit which breathed at once from the
sanctuaries of learning and from the homes of the lowly. The
printed Word had taken wings that carried it, as the wind wafts
the light seed, even to the most distant places. The discovery
of the two Indies extended the boundaries of the world.
Everything announced a great revolution.
But whence is to proceed the blow that shall throw down the
ancient building, and raise a new one from its ruins? No one
knew. Who possessed greater wisdom than Frederick, greater
learning than Reuchlin, greater talents than Erasmus, more wit
and energy than Hutten, more valor than Sickingen, or was more
virtuous than Cronberg? And yet it was not from Frederick, or
Reuchlin, or Erasmus, or Hutten, or Sickingen, or Cronberg!
.....Learned men, princes, warriors, nay the Church itself--all
had undermined some of the foundations; but there they had
stopped. In no direction could be seen the powerful hand that
was to be the instrument of God.
And yet all men had a presentiment that it would soon
appear. Some pretended to have discovered in the stars unerring
indications of its approach. Some, as they looked upon the
miserable state of religion, foretold the near coming of
Antichrist. Others, on the contrary, predicted a reformation to
be close at hand. The world waited in expectation. Luther
appeared.
Index of Preacher's Help and Notes
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