CHAPTER XII

Luther on Confession—True absolution—Antichrist—Rally around Luther—Satires—Ulrie von Hütten—Lucas Cranach—The Carnival at Wittemberg—Staupitz intimidated—Luther’s Labours—Luther’s Humility—Progress of the Reformation.

If the legates of Rome failed with the mighty of the world, the inferior agents of the papacy succeeded in producing disturbance among the weak. The militia of Rome had heard the command of their chief. Fanatical priests employed the bull in alarming consciences, and honest but ill informed ecclesiastics regarded it as a sacred duty to act conformably to the instructions of the pope. Luther had begun his struggle against Rome in the confessional, and in the confessional Rome gave battle to the adherents of the Reformer. The bull, though openly contemned by the nation, became powerful in these solitary tribunals. “Have you read the writings of Luther,” demanded the confessors, “do you possess them? do you regard them as sound or as heretical?” If the penitent hesitated to pronounce the anathema, the priest refused him absolution. Several consciences were troubled. The people were strongly agitated. This skilful manœuvre promised to restore to the papal yoke whole districts already gained to the gospel. Rome congratulated herself on having, in the thirteenth century, erected a tribunal destined to bring the free consciences of Christians under subjection to the priests. While it continues in force her reign is not ended.

Luther became aware of these circumstances. Single handed what will he do to defeat the manœuvre? The Word—the Word uttered loudly and boldly: such is his weapon. The Word will search out these alarmed consciences, these frightened souls, and strengthen them. A powerful impulse was required, and Luther’s voice was heard addressing penitents with heroic boldness, and a noble disregard of all secondary considerations. “When you are asked,” says he, “whether or not you approve my books, answer You are a confessor, and not an inquisitor or a gaoler. My duty is to confess what my conscience dictates; yours not to probe and discover the secrets of my heart. Give me absolution, and thereafter dispute with Luther, the pope, and whomsoever you please; but do not connect the sacrament of peace with strife and combat.’ If the confessor will not yield, then,” continues Luther, “I would rather dispense with his absolution. Give yourself no uneasiness; if man will not absolve you God will absolve you. Rejoice in that you are absolved by God himself, and present yourself without fear at the sacrament of the altar. The priest will have to account at the final judgment for the absolution which he shall have refused you. They may indeed refuse us the sacrament, but they cannot deprive us of the strength and grace which God has attached to it.—God has placed salvation neither in their will nor in their power but in our faith. Leave their sacrament, altar, priest, church: the Word of God condemned in the bull is more than all these things. The soul can dispense with the sacrament, but cannot live without the Word. Christ, the true Bishop, will himself undertake to nourish you spiritually.”

Thus, Luther’s voice found its way into families, and alarmed consciences, imparting to them courage and faith. But it was not enough for him merely to defend himself; he felt it his duty to attack and return blow for blow. Ambrose Catherin, a Roman theologian, had written against him. “I will stir up the bile of the Italian beast,” said Luther; and he kept his word. In his reply, he proved by the revelations of Daniel and St. John, by the epistles of St. Paul, St. Peter, and St. Jude, that the reign of Antichrist, predicted and described in the Bible, was the papacy. “I know for certain,” says he, in conclusion, “that our Lord Jesus Christ lives and reigns. Strong in this assurance, I would not fear several thousands of popes. May God at length visit you according to his infinite power, and cause the day of the glorious advent of his Son to shine, that day in which he will destroy the wicked. And let all the people say, Amen!” And all the people did say, Amen! A holy fear took possession of men’s souls. They saw Antichrist seated on the pontifical throne. This new idea, an idea which derived great force from the prophetical description, being thrown by Luther into the midst of his age, gave Rome a dreadful shock. Faith in the divine Word was substituted for that, which, till then the Church alone had obtained, and the power of the pope, which had long been adored by the people, became the object of their hatred and terror.

Germany replied to the papal bull by surrounding Luther with acclamation. The plague was in Wittemberg, and yet arrivals of new students daily took place, while from four to six hundred pupils regularly took their seats in the academic halls at the feet of Luther and Melancthon. The church of the convent and the town church were too small for the crowds eager to hear the words of the Reformer. The prior of the Augustins was in terror lest these churches should give way under the pressure of the audience. But the movement was not confined within the walls of Wittemberg: it extended over Germany. Letters full of consolation and faith, from princes, noble and learned men, reached Luther from all quarters. He showed the chaplain more than thirty of them.³

One day the Margrave of Brandenburg, with several other princes, arrived at Wittemberg to visit Luther. “They wished to see the man,” said the Margrave. In fact all wished to see the man, whose word alarmed the pope, and caused the pontiff of the West to totter on his throne. The enthusiasm of Luther’s friends increased from day to day. “Unparalleled folly of Emser!”—exclaimed Melancthon—“to presume to measure weapons with our Hercules, overlooking the finger of God in the actions of Luther, as the king of Egypt overlooked it in the hand of Moses.” The mild Melancthon found strong expressions to excite those who seemed to him to retrograde or remain stationary. “Luther has stood up for the truth,” wrote he to John Hess, “and yet you keep silence. He still breathes, he still prospers, though Leo is indignant and roars with rage. Remember, it is impossible for Roman impiety to approve of the gospel. How should this unhappy age be without its Judases, Caiaphases, Pilates, and Herods? Arm yourself then with the power of the Word of God against such adversaries.”

All the writings of Luther, his Lord’s Prayer, and especially a new edition of the German theology, were eagerly devoured. Reading societies were formed, for the purpose of procuring his works, for the use of the members. Friends made new impressions of them, and circulated them by means of hawkers. They were also recommended from pulpits. A German church was demanded, one in which no dignity should in future be conferred on anyone who was not able to preach to the people in German, and the German bishops of which should every where oppose the papal power.

Moreover, cutting satires directed against the leading Ultra-Montanists were circulated throughout the provinces of the empire. The opposition united all its forces around this new doctrine, which give it precisely what it wanted, by justifying it in regard to religion. The greater part of the lawyers, weary of the quirks of the Ecclesiastical tribunals, attached themselves to the Reformation, but its cause was keenly embraced above all by the Humanists. Ulric von Hütten was indefatigable. He wrote letters to Luther, to the legates, and the leading men of Germany. “I tell you, and tell you again, O Marinus!” said he to the legate, Carracioli, in one of his publications, “the mists with which you blinded us are cleared away—the gospel is preached—the truth proclaimed—the absurdities of Rome treated with contempt—your ordinances languish and die—liberty begins.” Not contenting himself with prose, Hütten had recourse to verse also. He published his Cry on the Burning by Luther. Appealing to Jesus Christ, he prayed him to consume, with the brightness of his countenance, those who dared to deny his power. He began, moreover, to write in German. “Hitherto,” said he, “I have written in Latin, a language which all could not comprehend, but now I address myself to my country.” His German ryhmes laid open and enabled the people to read the shameful and voluminous record of the sins of the Roman Court. But Hütten was unwilling to confine himself to mere words; he was impatient to bring his sword into the struggle, for he thought that by the swords and halberds of the many valiant warriors, of which Germany was proud, the vengeance of God was to be accomplished. Luther opposed his infatuated projects. “I would not,” said he, “that men should fight for the gospel by violence and carnage. I have written so to Hütten. The celebrated painter, Lucas Cranach, published, under the title of the Passions of Christ and Antichrist, engravings which represented, on the one hand, the splendour and magnificence of the pope, and on the other, the humility and sufferings of the Redeemer. Luther wrote the inscriptions. These engravings, executed with great spirit, produced an astonishing effect. The people withdrew from a church which appeared so opposed to the spirit of its Founder. “This work,” said Luther, “is excellent for the laity.”

Several, in opposing the Papacy, had recourse to arms which ill accorded with the holiness of the Christian life. Emser, in replying to Luther’s tract, entitled, ‘To the Goat Emser,’ had published one entitled, ‘To the Bull of Wittemberg.’ The name was not ill chosen. But at Magdeburg, Emser’s book was hung on the gallows, with this inscription, “The book is worthy of the place;” and a rod was placed beside it, to indicate the punishment which the author deserved. At Doeblin, there was written under the Papal bull, in derision of its impotent thunders, “The nest is here, but the birds are flown.” At Wittemberg, the students, taking advantage of the carnival, clothed one of their number in a dress resembling that of the pope, and paraded him through the streets “pompously, but rather too ludicrously,” says Luther. On arriving at the public square they went down to the banks of the river, and some of them, feigning a sudden attack, seemed to wish to throw the pope into the water; but the pope, having no liking for such a bath, took to his heels. His cardinals, bishops, and familiars, followed his example, dispersing over all the quarters of the town, while the students continued to pursue them. There was not a corner of Wittemberg where some Roman dignitary did not flee before the shouts and laughter of the inhabitants, who were all in motion. “The enemy of Christ,” says Luther, “who sports both with kings and with Christ himself, well deserves to be thus sported with.” In this we think him in error. Truth is too beautiful, and ought never to be made to walk through the mire. She ought to fight without such auxiliaries as songs, caricatures, and carnival frolics. It may be that without these popular demonstrations, her success would be less apparent, but it would be more pure, and consequently more durable. Be this as it may, the imprudent and passionate conduct of the Court of Rome had excited universal antipathy, and the bull by which the Papacy thought to stifle every thing was itself the cause of general revolt.

Still the Reformer’s whole course was not one of exultation and triumph. Behind the car in which he was drawn by his zealous countrymen, transported with admiration, there was not wanting the slave appointed to remind him of his frailty. Some of his friends seemed disposed to call a halt. Staupitz, whom he called his father, seemed shaken. The pope had accused him, and Staupitz had declared his readiness to submit to the judgment of his Holiness. “I fear,” said Luther to him, “that in accepting the pope for judge, you will seem to throw off me and the doctrines which I have maintained. If Christ loves you, he will constrain you to retract your letter. Christ is condemned, spoiled, blasphemed; it is time not to fear, but to cry aloud. Wherefore, while you exhort me to humility, I exhort you to pride; for you have too much humility, just as I have too much of its opposite. I shall be called proud and avaricious, an adulterer, a murderer, an antipope, a man guilty of all crimes. It matters not, so long as they cannot accuse me of having kept an impious silence at the moment when the Lord was grieved, and said ‘I looked on my right hand, and beheld but there was no man that would know me.’ (Psalms 142:4) The word of Jesus Christ is not a word of peace, but a sword. If you will not follow Jesus Christ, I will walk alone, advance alone, and gain the day.”

Thus Luther, like the commander of an army, kept an eye on the whole field of battle, and while he urged fresh troops forward into the thickest of the fight, marked those who appeared faint-hearted and recalled them to their post. His exhortations were everywhere heard. His letters rapidly succeeded each other. Three presses were constantly employed in multiplying his writings. His words had free course among the people, strengthened consciences which the confessionals had alarmed, raised up those ready to faint in convents, and maintained the rights of truth in the palaces of princes.

“Amid the tempests which assail me,” wrote he to the Elector, “I always hoped I would one day find peace. But I now see it was only a man’s thought. Day after day the wave is rising, and I already stand in the midst of the ocean. The tempest breaks loose with fearful roar. With one hand I grasp the sword, and with the other build up the walls of Sion.³ Her ancient links are snapt asunder, broken by the hand which darted the thunders of excommunication against her.” “Excommunicated by the bull,” says he, “I am loosed from the authority of the pope and monastic laws. With joy I embrace the deliverance. But I lay aside neither the habit of the order nor the convent.” And yet, amidst all this agitation, he never loses sight of the dangers by which his own soul is beset during the strife. He feels the necessity of keeping a watch upon himself. “You do well to pray for me,” wrote he to Pellican, who was living at Bâle. “I cannot devote enough of time to holy exercises. My life is a cross. You do well to exhort me to modesty. I feel the want of it; but I am not my own master: I know not what spirit rules me. I wish ill to nobody;⁵ but my enemies press me with such fury that I am not sufficiently on my guard against the seductions of Satan. Pray then for me.”

Thus both the Reformer and the Reformation hastened on in the direction in which God called them. The movement extended. Men who might have been expected to be most faithful to the hierarchy began to be shaken. “Even those,” says Eck, ingenuously enough, “who hold of the pope the best benefices and the richest canonries remain mute as fishes. Several among them even extol Luther as a man filled with the Spirit of God, and call the defenders of the pope sophists and flatterers.” The Church, apparently great in power, supported by the treasures, the powers and the armies of the world, but in reality emaciated and enfeebled, without love to God, without Christian life, without enthusiasm for the truth, found herself in presence of men, simple, but bold, men who, knowing that God is with those who combat for His Word, had no doubt of victory? Every age has experienced how powerful an idea is in penetrating the masses, in arousing nations, and, if need be, hurrying thousands to the field of battle and to death; but if such is the influence of a human idea, what must be the power of an idea sent down from heaven when God opens the door of the human heart. The world has not often seen such a power in operation. It did see it, however, in the first days of Christianity and in those of the Reformation; and it will see it in days yet to come. Men who disdained the world’s wealth, and grandeur, and were contented to lead a life of pain and poverty, began to move in behalf of the holiest thing upon the earth—the doctrine of faith and of grace. In this heaving of society, all the religious elements were brought into operation, and the fire of enthusiasm hurried men boldly for-forward into a new life an epoch of renovation which had just opened so majestically, and towards which Providence was hastening the nations.