2. Disagreements and Accord between Luther and Melanchthon
Luther had good reason for valuing highly the theological services which Melanchthon rendered him by placing his ideas before the world in a form at once clearer and more dignified. Points of theology and practice which he supplied to his friend as raw material, Melanchthon returned duly worked-up and polished. Luther’s views assumed practical shape in passing through Melanchthon’s hands.[1137]
At the outset the latter readily accepted all the doctrines of his “præceptor observandissimus.” In the first edition of the “Loci” (December, 1521) he made his own even Luther’s harshest views, those, namely, concerning man’s unfreedom and God’s being the author of evil.[1138] The faithful picture of his doctrine which Luther there found so delighted him, that he ventured to put the “Loci” on a level with the canon of Holy Scripture (vol. ii., p. 239).
Disagreements.
As years passed by, Melanchthon allowed himself to deviate more and more from Luther’s teaching. The latter’s way of carrying every theological thesis to its furthest limit, affrighted him. He yearned for greater freedom of action, was desirous of granting a reasonable amount of room to doubt, and was not averse to learning a thing or two even from opponents. It was his Humanistic training which taught him to put on the brake and even to introduce several far-reaching amendments into Luther’s theories. It was his Humanism which made him value the human powers and the perfectibility of the soul, and thus to doubt whether Luther was really in the right in his denial of freedom. Such a doubt we find faintly expressed by him soon after he had perused the “Diatribe” published by Erasmus in 1524.[1139] Luther’s reply (“De servo arbitrio”), to which Melanchthon officially accorded his praise, failed to convince him of man’s lack of freedom in the natural order. In 1526, in his lectures on Colossians (printed in 1528), he openly rejected the view that God was the author of sin, stood up for freedom in all matters of civil justice, and declared that in such things it was quite possible to avoid gross sin.[1140] In his new edition of the “Loci” in 1527 he abandoned determinism and the denial of free-will, and likewise the severer form of the doctrine of predestination,[1141] such as he had still championed in the 1525 edition, but which, he had now come to see, was at variance with the proper estimate of man and human action.
Neither could Melanchthon ever bring himself to speak of human reason, as compared to faith, in quite the same language of disrespect as Luther.
That, on the occasion of the Visitation, he began to lay stress on works as well as faith, has already been pointed out.[1142] In this connection it is curious to note how, with his usual caution and prudence where Luther and his more ardent followers were concerned, he recommends that works should be represented as praiseworthy only when penance was being preached, but not, for instance, when Justification was the subject, as, here, Lutherans, being accustomed to hear so much of the “sola fides,” might well take offence.[1143]
In the matter of Justification, he, like Luther, made everything to rest on that entirely outward covering over of man by Christ’s merits received through faith, or rather through confidence of salvation.[1144] Indeed, Luther’s greatest service, according to him, lay in his having made this discovery. It was necessary, so he taught, that Christian perfection should be made to consist solely in one’s readiness, whenever oppressed by the sense of guilt, to find consolation by wrapping oneself up in the righteousness of Christ. Then the heart is “fearless, though our conscience and the law continue to cry within us that we are unworthy.” In other words, we must “take it as certain that we have a God Who is gracious to us for Christ’s sake, be our works what they may.”[1145]
It was his advocacy of this doctrine, as the very foundation of sanctification, which earned for him the striking commendation we find in a letter written by Luther to Jonas in 1529. Melanchthon had been of greater service to the Church and the cause of holiness than “a thousand fellows of the ilk of Jerome, Hilarion or Macarius, those Saints of ceremonies and celibacy who were not worthy to loose the laces of his boots nor—to boast a little—of yours [Jonas’s], of Pomeranus [Bugenhagen], or even of mine. For what have these self-constituted Saints and all the wifeless bishops done which can compare with one year’s work of Philip’s, or with his ‘Loci’?”[1146]
Yet this very work was to bear additional testimony to Melanchthon’s abandonment of several of Luther’s fundamental doctrines.[1147]
In 1530 and 1531 Melanchthon passed through a crisis, and from that time forward a greater divergency in matters of doctrine became apparent between the two friends. Even in his work for the Diet in 1530 Melanchthon had assumed a position of greater independence, and this grew more marked when he began to plan a revised edition of his “Loci.” He himself was later to acknowledge that his views had undergone a change, though, in order to avoid unpleasantness, he preferred to make out that the alteration was less far-reaching than it really was. “You know,” he wrote to an ardent admirer of Luther’s, “that I put certain things concerning predestination, determination of the will, necessity of obedience to the law, and grievous sin, less harshly than does Luther. In all these things, as I well know, Luther’s teaching is the same as mine, but there are some unlearned persons, who, without at all understanding them, pin their faith on certain rude expressions of his.”[1148] But was Luther’s teaching really “the same”? The truth is, that, on the points instanced, “Luther had not only in earlier days taught a doctrine different from that of Melanchthon, but continued to cherish the same to the very end of his life.”[1149] It fitted, however, the cowardly character of Melanchthon to conceal as much as possible these divergencies.
It is worth our while to examine a little more closely the nature of the doctrinal differences between Luther and Melanchthon, seeing that the latter—to quote the Protestant theologian Gustav Krüger—was the real “creator of evangelical theology” and the “founder of the evangelical Church system.”[1150]
As a matter of fact Melanchthon had already shaped out a course of his own by the modifications which he had seen fit to introduce in the original Confession of Augsburg.
Not only did he omit whatever displeased him in the new doctrine, but he also formulated it in a way which manifestly deviated from Luther’s own. Human co-operation, for instance, plays a part much greater than with Luther. Unlike Luther, he did not venture to assert plainly that the gift of faith was the work of God independent of all human co-operation. Concerning the “law,” too, he put forward a different opinion, which, however, was not much better than Luther’s.[1151] In 1530, so says Fr. Loofs, one of the most esteemed Protestant historians of dogma, “he was no longer merely an interpreter of Luther’s ideas.”[1152] “Yet he had not yet arrived at a finished theology of his own even in 1531, when he published the ‘editio princeps’ of the ‘Augustana’ and the ‘Apologia.’”[1153] One of the first important products of the change was the Commentary on Romans which he published in 1532. Then, in 1535, appeared the revised edition of the “Loci,” which, in its new shape, apart from mere modifications of detail, was to serve as his measure for the last twenty-five years of his life. “The ‘Loci’ of 1535 embody the distinctive Melanchthonian theology.”[1154]
“Thus, even before the death of Luther, and before altered circumstances had restricted Melanchthon’s influence, the stamp which the latter had impressed upon the principles of the Reformation had already become the heritage of a large circle of evangelical theologians.”[1155]
Leaving aside the idea of an unconditional Divine predestination, he spoke in both these works of the “promissio universalis” of salvation. The Holy Ghost—such is his view on the question of conversion—by means of the “Word” produces faith in those who do not resist. The human will, which does not reject, but accepts grace, forms, together with the “Word of God” and the “Holy Ghost,” one of the three causes (“tres causæ concurrentes”) of conversion. It is really to Luther’s deterministic doctrine that the author of the “Loci” alludes in the 1535 edition: “The Stoics’ ravings about fate must find no place in the Church.”[1156]
Human co-operation in the work of salvation came to be designated Synergism. The Protestant historian of dogma mentioned above points out “that, by his adoption of Synergism, Melanchthon forsook both the Lutheran tradition and his own earlier standpoint.” The assumption of an unconditional Divine predestination, such as we find it advocated by Luther, Zwingli, Bucer, Calvin and others, was here “for the first time thrown overboard by one of the Protestant leaders.”[1157] The same author, after commenting on Melanchthon’s new exposition of justification and the law in relation to the Gospel, declares that here, too, Melanchthon had exploited “only a part of Luther’s thought and had distorted some of the most precious truths we owe to the Reformation.”[1158]
This same charge we not seldom hear brought against Melanchthon by up-to-date Protestant theologians. In the school of Albert Ritschl it is, for instance, usual to say that he narrowed the ideas of Luther, particularly in his conception of faith and of the Church. The truth is that Melanchthon really did throw overboard certain radical views which had been cherished by Luther, particularly in his early days. The faith which is required for salvation he comes more and more to take as faith in all the articles of revelation, and not so much as a mere faith and confidence in the forgiveness of sins and personal salvation; “the first place is accorded no longer to trust but to doctrine,”[1159] though, as will appear immediately, he did not feel quite sure of his position. In his conception of the Church, too, he was more disposed to see “an empirical reality and to insist on its doctrinal side,”[1160] instead of looking on the Church, as Luther did, viz. as the “invisible band of all who confess the Gospel.”[1161] Johannes Haussleiter, the Protestant editor of the Disputations held under Melanchthon from 1546 onwards, thus feels justified in saying that, “it was in Melanchthon’s school that the transition was effected ... from a living confession born of faith and moulded with the assistance of theology, to a firm, hard and rigid law of doctrine.... This, from the point of view of history, spelt retrogression.... If it was possible for such a thing to occur at Wittenberg one generation after Luther’s ringing testimony in favour of the freedom of a Christian Man, what might not be feared for the future?”[1162]
Carl Müller is also at pains to show that it was Melanchthon who imbued the first generation of theologians—for whose formation he, rather than Luther, was responsible—with the idea of a Church which should be the guardian of that “pure doctrine” to be enshrined in formularies of faith. According to Müller it can never be sufficiently emphasised that the common idea is all wrong, and that “to Luther himself the Church never meant a congregation united by outward bonds or represented by a hierarchy or any other legal constitution, rule or elaborate creed, but nothing more than a union founded on the Gospel and its confession”; Luther, according to him, remained “on the whole” true to his ideal.[1163] How far the words “on the whole” are correct, will be seen when we come to discuss Luther’s changes of views.[1164]
Melanchthon betrays a certain indecision in his answer to the weighty question: Which faith is essential for salvation? At one time he takes this faith, according to the common Lutheran view, as trust in the mercy of God in Christ, at another, as assent to the whole revealed Word of God. Of his Disputations, which are the best witnesses we have to his attitude, the editor says aptly: “He alternates between two definitions of faith which he seems to consider of equal value, though to-day the difference between them cannot fail to strike one. He wavers, and yet he does so quite unconsciously.”[1165] The same editor also states that all attempts hitherto made to explain this phenomenon leave something to be desired. He himself makes no such attempt.
The true explanation, however, is not far to seek.
Melanchthon’s vacillation was the inevitable consequence of a false doctrinal standpoint. According to the principles of Luther and Melanchthon, faith, even as a mere assurance of salvation, should of itself avail to save a man and therefore to make him a member of the Church. Thus there is no longer any ground to require a preliminary belief or obedient acceptance of the whole substance of the Word of God; and yet some acceptance, at least implicit, of the whole substance of revelation, seems required of everyone who desires to be a Christian. This explains the efforts of both Luther and Melanchthon to discover ways and means for the reintroduction of this sort of faith. Their search was rendered the more difficult by the fact that here there was a “work” in the most real sense of the word, viz. willing, humble and cheerful acceptance of the law, and readiness to accord a firm assent to the truths revealed. The difficulty was even enhanced because in the last resort an authority is required, particularly by the unlearned, to formulate the doctrines and to point out what the true content of revelation is. In point of fact, however, every external guarantee of this sort had been discarded, at least theoretically, and no human authority could provide such an assurance. We seek in vain for a properly established authority capable of enacting with binding power what has to be believed, now that Luther and Melanchthon have rejected the idea of a visible Church and hierarchy, vicariously representing Christ. From this point of view it is easy to understand Melanchthon’s efforts—illogical though they were—to erect an edifice of “pure doctrine for all time” and his fondness for a “firm, hard and rigid law of doctrine.” His perplexity and wavering were only too natural. What reliable guarantee was Melanchthon in a position to offer—he who so frequently altered his teaching—that his own interpretation of Scripture exactly rendered the Divine Revelation, and thus constituted “pure doctrine” firm and unassailable? Modern theologians, when they find fault with Melanchthon for his assumption of authority and for his alteration of Luther’s teaching, have certainly some justification for their strictures.[1166]
As a matter of fact, however, Luther, as we shall see below, was every whit as undecided as Melanchthon as to what was to be understood by faith. Like his friend, Luther too alternates between faith as an assurance of salvation and faith as an assent to the whole Word of God. The only difference is, that, in his earlier years, his views concerning the freedom of each individual Christian to expound the Word of God and to determine what belonged to the body of faith, were much more radical than at a later period.[1167] Hence Melanchthon’s fondness for a “rigid law of doctrine” was more at variance with the earlier than with the later Luther. From the later Luther he differs favourably in this; not being under the necessity of having to explain away any earlier radical views, he was better able to sum up more clearly and systematically the essentials of belief, a task, moreover, which appealed to his natural disposition. Luther’s ideas on this subject are almost exclusively embodied in polemical writings written under the stress of great excitement; such statements only too frequently evince exaggerations of the worst sort, due to the passion and heat of the moment.
Of special importance was Melanchthon’s opposition to Luther on one of the most practical points of the Church’s life, viz. the doctrine of the Supper. At the Table which was intended to be the most sublime expression of the charity and union prevailing among the faithful, these two minds differed hopelessly.
It was useless for Luther to assure Melanchthon that the Real Presence of Christ in the Sacrament was so essential an article of faith that if a man did not believe in it he believed in no article whatever. From the commencement of the ‘thirties Melanchthon struck out his own course and became ever more convinced, that the doctrine of the Real Presence was not vouched for by the Bible. Once he had gone so far as to tell the Zwinglians that they had “to fear the punishment of Heaven” on account of their erroneous doctrine.[1168] After becoming acquainted with the “Dialogus” of [Œcolampadius, published in 1530, he, however, veered round to a denial of the Sacrament. Yet, with his superficial rationalism and his misinterpretation of certain patristic statements, [Œcolampadius had really adduced no peremptory objection against the general, traditional, literal interpretation of the words of consecration to which Melanchthon, as well as Luther, had till then adhered. In view of Melanchthon’s defective theological education little was needed to bring about an alteration in his views, particularly when the alteration was in the direction of a Humanistic softening of hard words, or seemed likely to provide a basis for conciliation. There was some foundation for his comparison of himself, in matters of theology, to the donkey in the Palm-Sunday mystery-play.[1169]
On the question of the Sacrament, the theory of the “Sacramentarians” came more and more to seem to him the true one.
Owing, however, to his timidity and the fear in which he stood of Luther, he did not dare to speak out. The “Loci” of 1535 is remarkably obscure in its teaching concerning the Sacrament, whilst, in a letter to Camerarius of the same year, he speaks of Luther’s view as “alien” to his own, which, however, he refuses to explain.[1170] Later the Cologne scheme of 1543 in which Bucer, to Luther’s great annoyance, evaded the question of the Real Presence, obtained Melanchthon’s approval. When, in 1540, Melanchthon made public a new edition of the Confession of Augsburg (“Confessio variata”), containing alterations of greater import than those of the previous editions, the new wording of the 10th Article was “Melanchthonian” in the sense that it failed to exclude “the doctrine either of Melanchthon, or of Bucer, or of Calvin on the Supper.”[1171] It was “Melanchthonian” also in that elasticity and ambiguity which has since become the model for so many Protestant formularies. In order to secure a certain outward unity it became usual to avoid any explicitness which might affright such as happened to have scruples. A Melanchthonian character was thus imparted to the theology which, with Melanchthon himself as leader, was to guard the heritage of Luther.
Points of Accord between Melanchthon and Luther.
Melanchthon’s religious character naturally exhibits many points of contact with that of Luther.
Only to a limited extent, however, does this hold good of the “inward terrors.” Attempts have been made to prove that, like Luther, his more youthful friend believed he had experienced within him the salutary working of the new doctrine of Justification.[1172] But, though, in his “Apologia” to the Augsburg Confession and in other writings, he extols, as we have seen, this doctrine as alone capable of imparting strength and consolation in times of severe anxiety of conscience and spiritual desolation, and though he speaks of the “certamina conscientiæ,” and of the assurance of salvation in exactly the same way that Luther does, still this is no proof of his having experienced anything of the sort himself. The statements, which might be adduced in plenty from his private letters, lag very far behind Luther’s characteristic assurances of his own experience.
Of the enlightenment from on high by which he believed Luther’s divine mission as well as his own work as a teacher to be the result, of prayer for their common cause and of the joy in heaven over the work, labours and persecution they had endured, he can speak in language as exalted as his master’s, though not with quite the same wealth of imagination and eloquence. That the Pope is Antichrist he proves from the Prophet Daniel and other biblical passages, with the same bitter prejudice and the same painstaking exegesis as Luther. On hearing of the misshapen monster, alleged to have been found dead in the Tiber near Rome in 1496, his superstition led him to write a work overflowing with hatred against the older Church in which in all seriousness he expounded the meaning of the “Pope-Ass,” and described every part of its body in detail. This work was published, together with Luther’s on the Freiberg “Monk-Calf.”[1173] Melanchthon there says: “The feminine belly and breasts of the monster denote the Pope’s body, viz. the Cardinals, Bishops, Priests, Monks, Students, and such-like lascivious folk and gluttonous swine, for their life is nothing but feeding and swilling, unchastity and luxury.... The fish scales on the arms, legs, and neck stand for the secular princes and lords” who “cling to the Pope and his rule,” etc.[1174] This curious pamphlet ran through a number of editions, nor did Melanchthon ever become aware of its absurdity. As for Luther, in 1535 he wrote an Appendix, entitled “Luther’s Amen to the Interpretation of the Pope-Ass,” confirming his friend’s reading of the portent. “Because the Divine Majesty,” so we there read, “has Himself created and manifested it [the monstrosity], the whole world ought rightly to tremble and be horror-struck.”[1175]
In his fondness for the superstitions of astrology Melanchthon went further than Luther, who refused to believe in the influence of the planets on man’s destiny, and in the horoscopes on which his companion set so much store. Both, however, were at one in their acceptance of other superstitions, notably of diabolical apparitions even of the strangest kinds.[1176]
On this subject we learn much hitherto unknown from the “Analecta,” published by G. Loesche in 1892.[1177] Melanchthon, for instance, relates that a doctor at Tübingen “kept the devil in a bottle, as magicians are wont to do.”[1178] Amsdorf had once heard the devil grunting. Melanchthon himself had heard a tremendous noise on the roof of the cathedral at Magdeburg, which was a presage of coming warlike disturbances; the same portent had been observed at Wittenberg previous to the besieging of the town.[1179] To what extent people might become tools of the devil was evident, so he told his students, from the example of two witches at Berlin, who had murdered a child in order to raise a snow-storm by means of impious rites, and who were now awaiting punishment at the hands of the authorities.[1180] It was not, however, so easy to deal with witches. At Wittenberg one, while undergoing torture on the rack, had changed herself into a cat and mewed.[1181] Twelve years previously a ghost had killed a fisherman on the Elster.[1182] Hence it was necessary to look out for good remedies and counter-spells against witchcraft. “Where tortoises were to be met with it was held that neither poison nor magic could work any harm.”[1183]
According to Melanchthon the signs in the heavens must never be disregarded when studying the times. Two fiery serpents, which had recently been seen at Eisenberg engaged in a struggle in the sky, were an infallible presage of “coming war in the Church,” especially as a fiery cross had shown itself above the serpents.[1184] By careful calculations he had ascertained that the end of the world, the approach of which was in any case foretold by the wickedness of men, would take place before the year 1582.[1185]
His friend Camerarius remarked with annoyance that “many persons had made notes of Melanchthon’s private conversations and thus affixed a stigma to his name.”[1186] This complaint reminds us of a drollery, none too delicate, contained in the “Analecta” among the “Dicta Melanchthonis” concerning the flatulence of a monk.[1187] Even the editor admits that one cannot think very highly of these sayings of Melanchthon, especially when we remember that the “Dicta” were uttered at lectures which the speaker seemed in the habit of enlivening with all kinds of examples and vulgarities. He adds, “Our discovery reveals the very low standard of the lectures then delivered at the University.”
Loesche also remarks that “these Dicta have contributed to destroy the legend of Melanchthon’s gentleness and kindliness.”[1188]
In connection with the legend of his kindliness, Loesche refers to a remark made by Melanchthon, according to the “Dicta,” about the year 1553: “Whoever murders a tyrant, as did those who murdered N. in Lithuania, offers a holocaust to God.”[1189] Such views regarding the lawfulness of murdering tyrants he seems to have derived from his study of the classics. He had, moreover, already given expression to them long before this, referring to Henry VIII. of England, who had ceased to favour the Reformation as conducted in Germany. In a letter to his friend Veit Dietrich he wishes, that God would send a brave assassin to rid the world of the tyrant.[1190]
Melanchthon was in reality far from tolerant, and in his demands for the punishment of heretics he went to great lengths. It is generally known how he gave it as his opinion, in 1557, that the execution of the Spanish doctor, Michael Servetus, which took place at Geneva in 1553 at the instance of Calvin, was a “pious and memorable example for posterity.”[1191] He wrote to Calvin, on October 14, 1554, concerning the proceedings against Servetus, who had denied the Trinity as well as the divinity of Christ, as follows: “I agree entirely with your sentence; I also declare that your authorities have acted wisely and justly in putting this blasphemous man to death.”[1192] When the severity of the step was blamed by some, he expressed his surprise at the objectors in a letter of August 20, 1555, to Bullinger at Zürich, and sent him a little treatise defending and recommending similar sentences.[1193] He there proves that false doctrines should be treated as notorious blasphemies, and that the secular authorities were accordingly bound by the Divine law to punish them with the utmost severity; Divine chastisements were to be apprehended should the authorities, out of a false sense of pity, show themselves remiss in extirpating erroneous doctrines. Such was indeed the teaching at Wittenberg, as evinced, for instance, by a disputation at the University, where Melanchthon’s friend and colleague, George Major, branded the contrary opinion as “impudent and abominable.”[1194]
Characteristic of Melanchthon, though hitherto little noticed, were the severity and obstinacy with which he sought to carry his intolerance into practice. He relentlessly called in the assistance of the secular authorities against the canons of Cologne who had remained faithful to the religion of their fathers.[1195] As to his opponents within his own fold he demanded that the rulers should punish them, particularly the Anabaptists, not merely as sedition-mongers and rebels, but on account of their doctrinal peculiarities. Their rejection of infant baptism he regarded as one of those blasphemies which ought to be punished by death; the denial of original sin and the theory that the Sacraments were merely signs he looked upon as similar blasphemies. At least those Anabaptists, “who are the heads and leaders,” and who refuse to abjure their errors, “should be put to death by the sword as seditious men and blasphemers.” “Others, who have been led astray, and who, though not so defiant, refuse to recant, should be treated as madmen and sent to jail.”[1196]
Of these principles concerning the coercion of both Catholics and sectarians we have an enduring memorial in Melanchthon’s work dated 1539, and entitled “On the office of Princes.”[1197] Nor did he fail to incite the Lutheran authorities to adopt, in the interests of public worship, coercive measures against negligent Protestants: “I should be pleased were the authorities to make a stringent rule of driving the people to church, particularly on holidays.”[1198]
His fondness for the use of coercion in furthering his own religious views is apparent throughout his career, and how congenial it was to him is clear from the fact that he manifested this leaning at the very outset of the reforms at Wittenberg, even before Luther had seen his way to do the same.
As early as October 20, 1521, subsequent to the changes in public worship which had been effected by the apostate Augustinians supported by some Wittenberg professors such as Carlstadt, Amsdorf, and Jonas, Melanchthon in a written admonition told the Elector, that, as a Christian Prince, he should “make haste to abrogate the abuse of the Mass” in his country and principality, unmindful of the calumnies to which this might give rise, “in order that your Electoral Highness may not, like Capharnaum, be reproached by Christ on the Last Day on account of the great grace and mercy which, without any work of ours, has been shown in your Electoral Highness’s lands, the Holy Evangel being revealed, manifested, and brought to light, and yet all to no purpose”; God would require at his hands an account for the great grace of Luther’s mission.[1199]
In this admonition, brimful of the most bitter prejudice, we find for the first time the principle laid down, that the “salvation of his soul required of a Christian Prince” the prohibition of the olden Catholic worship.
In point of fact Melanchthon was frequently ahead of Luther in carrying the latter’s theories to their logical conclusion, utterly regardless of rights infringed. Thus, for instance, he was before Luther in reaching the conclusion that religious vows were invalid.
The conviction and enthusiasm with which, from the very outset, he took Luther’s side was due, as he repeatedly avers, to motives of a moral and religious order; he backed up Luther, so he assures us, because he hoped thereby to promote a reform of morals. “I am conscious of having taken up the study of theology for no other reason than to amend our lives.”[1200] What he here states as a young man of twenty-eight, he made use of to console and encourage himself with later. What he had in mind was, of course, the ostensibly hopeless decline of morals under Popery. This he painted in vivid colours borrowed from Luther, for he himself had never come into any such close contact with the abuses as would have enabled him to reach a reliable and independent opinion of his own. Having thoroughly aroused his hatred of the Papacy and convinced himself of the urgent necessity of combating the vicious decadence and intellectual darkness brought into the world by Antichrist, he is wont to depict the ideal of his own thoughts and efforts; this was the “disciplina et obedientia populi Dei” to be achieved by means of an education at once religious and Humanistic.
3. Melanchthon at the Zenith of His Career.
His Mental Sufferings
Various traits of Melanchthon already alluded to may serve favourably to impress the unbiassed reader, even though his views be different. We now proceed to sum these up, supplementing them by a few other details of a similar nature.
Favourable Traits.
The many touching and heartfelt complaints concerning the moral disorders prevalent in the Protestant Churches are peculiar to Melanchthon. Luther, it is true, also regretted them, but his regret is harshly expressed and he is disposed to lay the blame on the wrong shoulders. Melanchthon, with his praiseworthy concern for discipline and ordered doctrine, was naturally filled with deep misgivings when the preaching of the Evangel resulted in moral disorder and waywardness in views and doctrine. This explains why he was so ready to turn to the authorities to implore their assistance in establishing that stable, Christian government which was his ideal. (Below, p. 372 f.)
Above all, he was desirous of seeing the foundations of the Empire and the rights of the Emperor safeguarded, so long as the new Evangel was not endangered. None of those who thought as he did at Wittenberg were more anxious lest the religious movement should jeopardise the peace; in none of them is the sense of responsibility so marked as in Melanchthon. Being by nature as well as by education less strong-hearted than Luther, he was not so successful as the latter in repressing his misery at the consequences of his position. To this his correspondence, which is full of interest and characteristic of his moods, is a striking witness.
Yet, amidst all the complaints we find in these letters, we hardly come across any statement concerning personal troubles of conscience. As a layman, he had not to reproach himself with any apostasy from the sacred office of the priesthood. Unlike Luther and his other friends, from his youth upward his studies and his profession had not been ecclesiastical. The others had once been religious or priests and had, by their marriage, violated a strict law of the Church, which was not the case with him.
His fine mental powers he devoted to the service of Humanism, seeking to promote the cause of education, particularly at the University of Wittenberg, but also elsewhere, by his many-sided writings in the domain of worldly learning and culture. We need only recall his works on rhetoric and grammar, on the ancient philosophy, more particularly the Aristotelian, on dialectics, ethics, and psychology. Such works from his ready but careful pen created for him a great and permanent field of activity, and at the same time helped to distract him amidst the sad realities of life and his own bitter experiences. He openly declared his preference for Humanistic studies, stating that he had been drawn into the theological controversies quite against his will.
It was to his philosophic mode of thought that he owed the self-control which he possessed in so remarkable a degree. Often we are put in mind of the stoic when we hear him, the scholar, giving the soft answer to the insults heaped on him in his own circle and then quietly proceeding on his own way. And yet his character was irritable and prone to passionate anger, as on one occasion some lazy students at the University learnt to their cost. Hence his moderation in his dealings with his Wittenberg colleagues is all the more remarkable.
In his family life Melanchthon has been described as a model of industry, love of order and domesticity. He rose before daybreak in order to deal with his large correspondence; his letters, full of sympathy for friends and those who stood in need of help, were carefully written, and usually couched in Latin. German he did not write so fluently as Luther. In his Latin letters to Humanist friends he often drops into Greek, particularly when anxious to conceal anything, for instance, when he has to complain of Luther. His intimate and friendly intercourse with kindred spirits, such as Camerarius, is a pleasing trait in his character; not less so is the benevolence and unselfishness his letters attest, which indeed he often carried so far as to deprive himself of the needful. His home life was a happy one and his children were well brought up, though his son-in-law, Sabinus, a man of great talent, caused him much grief by his want of conjugal fidelity, which was a source of scandal to the family and also damaged the reputation of Wittenberg.
Melanchthon’s Relations with Luther.
In Melanchthon’s mental history, no less than in the external circumstances of his life, stands out prominently, his connection with Luther, of which we have already recounted the beginnings.
The remarkable relations existing between Melanchthon and Luther abound in psychological traits characteristic of both. So intimate were they that others of the party were disposed to see in their friendship the excellent working of the evangelical spirit, the harmony and union of mind of the two most eminent leaders of the new movement.
To Melanchthon Luther’s higher mission was as good as proved (above pp. 322, 355). To Capito he declared: “I am convinced that he carries out his work not merely with prudence but with the best of consciences, since he appears to have been destined by God for this purpose; for never could one man carry so many along with him unless he were animated by the Spirit of God. He has not acted harshly towards any, save some of the sophists, and even had he done so, we must remember that in our times a sharp tongue is needed, since he is the first who has preached the Gospel for a long while. Leave him to the working of his own spirit and resist not the will of God! This matter must not be judged by human standards. The Gospel is proclaimed that it may be an offence to the godless and that the sheep of Israel may return to their God.”[1201]
Thus Melanchthon in 1521. We may compare the promises Luther held out to those who were filled with faith to his own happy expectations of the outcome of his relations with Melanchthon: “There, faith sets to work with joy and charity,” “to serve others and to be helpful to them”; the consoling words of St. Paul (Phil. ii. 1 ff.) were being fulfilled in brotherly unity, “consolation in Christ, comfort of charity, society of the spirit, bowels of commiseration,” and the result would be a “free, willing, happy life”; “when the heart thus hears the voice of Christ, it must be joyful and receive entire consolation.”[1202]
In Melanchthon’s case, however, these promises were not realised in the event; on the contrary, inward disappointment and mental suffering were increasingly to become his portion.
Between 1528 and 1530 he openly admitted that he was burdened with cares and troubles beyond measure, and only consoled himself with the thought that the Day of Judgment must be at the door. He was suffering all the pangs of hell on account of the sights he was forced to witness, and would much rather die than continue to suffer; the state of ecclesiastical affairs caused him unspeakable pain, and not a day passed that he did not long for death.[1203] Complaints such as these are to be found in his correspondence till the very end of his life, so that his most recent Protestant biographer speaks of his letters, more particularly those to Camerarius, as witnessing to the “anxiety, misery and profound mental suffering” which “consumed him”; he also alludes to the “wine trodden out with such bitter pain” which posterity enjoys, thanks to his labours. “Most of these productions [the letters to Camerarius] it is impossible to read without feeling the deepest sympathy.” “Even his severest accuser will assuredly be disarmed when he sees what Melanchthon suffered.”[1204]
At the commencement of the ‘thirties he bewails his “unhappy fate” which had entangled him in religious disputes,[1205] and, seven years later, we have this startling confession: “The cruel dolours of soul which I have endured for three years on end, and the other cares which each day brings, have wasted me to such an extent that I fear I cannot live much longer.”[1206] In the next decade we have another confession to the same effect: “I shall not be sorry to leave this prison (‘ergastulum’) when he [Luther, whom Melanchthon here calls ‘infestus’] throws me over.”[1207]
The various stages of his unhappy life, the outward influences under which he came and many other accompanying circumstances, are now known from various sources.
As early as 1523 and 1524 Melanchthon began to free himself to some extent from the spell cast over him by his domineering friend. He was in the first instance repelled by the coarseness of Luther’s literary style, and also by much which seemed to him exaggerated in his ways, more particularly by his denial of free-will. (Above, p. 346 f.) The sensitive nature of Melanchthon also took offence at certain things in Luther’s private life, and his own observations were confirmed by the sharp eyes of his bosom friend Camerarius (Joachim Kammermeister), who had migrated to Wittenberg in 1522. Their exchange of secret confidences concerning Wittenberg affairs is unmistakable. Melanchthon felt very lonely after the departure of Camerarius and missed the stimulating intellectual intercourse at Wittenberg, which had become a necessity to him. Frequently he complains, even as early as 1524, that he met with no sympathy, and sometimes he does not exclude even Luther. At Wittenberg he felt like a lame cobbler.[1208] “There is no one amongst my comrades and friends whose conversation appeals to me. All the others [Luther is here excepted] have no time for me, or else they belong to the common herd (‘vulgus sunt’).”[1209] Any real friendship was out of the question at the University, since there were no kindred spirits; his intimacies were mere “wolves’ friendships,”[1210] to use an expression of Plato’s. He envies, so he says, those who were surrounded by studious pupils and could devote all their energies to study, far from the turmoil of religious controversy.
The letter of censure which he wrote on Luther’s marriage is a strange mixture of annoyance that this step should be taken at so critical a juncture, of displeasure at Luther’s thoughtless buffoonery and frivolous behaviour, and, on the other hand, of forbearance, nay, admiration, for the man who, in other respects, still appeared to him so great. “That his friends [Melanchthon and Camerarius] had privately criticised Luther’s behaviour is proved beyond a doubt from a remark in the letter on Luther’s marriage.”[1211]
The contrast between their wives was also unfavourable to the amity existing between Luther and Melanchthon. The daughter of the Burgomaster of Wittenberg, Catherine Krapp, whom Melanchthon had married, seems to have been a rather haughty patrician, who was disposed to look down on Catherine von Bora, whose family, though aristocratic, had fallen on evil days. In a letter of a friend of Luther the “tyranny of women” is once referred to as a disturbing factor, and the context shows that the complaint was drawn forth by Melanchthon’s wife and not by Bora.[1212]
Melanchthon’s troubles were, however, mostly caused by the differences, literary and theological, which sprang up between Luther and himself, and by his experiences and disappointments in Church matters and questions of conscience.
Luther’s violent and incautious manner of proceeding led him to surmise, to his great regret, that many had attached themselves to the cause of the innovations merely from a desire for the freedom of the flesh, and that the rising against the older Church had let loose a whole current of base elements.[1213] The virulence with which Luther attacked everything could, in Melanchthon’s opinion, only tend to alienate the better sort, i.e. the very people whose help was essential to the carrying out of any real reform.
As early as 1525 he began to find fault with Luther’s too turbulent ways. In 1526, on the appearance of Erasmus’s “Hyperaspistes,” the scholar’s incisive and brilliant rejoinder to Luther’s “De servo Arbitrio,” Melanchthon feared some unhappy outbreak, and, accordingly, he urgently begged the latter to keep silence in the interests of truth and justice, which he thought to be more likely on the side of Erasmus. To Camerarius he wrote, on April 11, 1526: “Oh, that Luther would hold his tongue! I had hoped that advancing years and his experience of the prevailing evils would have quietened him, but now I see that he is growing even more violent (‘subinde vehementiorem fieri’) in every struggle into which he enters. This causes me great pain.”[1214] Erasmus himself he assured later by letter, that he had “never made any secret of this at Wittenberg,” i.e. of his displeasure at the tracts Luther had published against the great Humanist, for one reason “because they were not conducive to the public welfare.”[1215]
It was inevitable that a certain coolness should spring up between them, for though Melanchthon was supple enough to be cautious in his personal dealings with Luther, yet there can be no doubt that many of his strictures duly reached the ears of his friend. The more determined Lutherans, such as Aquila and Amsdorf, even formed a party to thwart his plans.[1216] Melanchthon also complains of opponents at the Court. Those who had been dissatisfied with his doings at the Visitation “fanned the flames at Court,” and so much did he suffer through these intrigues that, according to a later statement of his, his “life was actually in danger” (“ut vita mea in discrimen veniret”).[1217]
So greatly was he overwhelmed that, in 1527, he even declared he would rather his son should die than occupy a position of such sore anxiety as his own.[1218]
In spite of the growing independence displayed by Melanchthon, Luther continued to show him the greatest consideration and forbearance, and even to heap literary praise on him, as he did, for instance, in his Preface to Melanchthon’s very mediocre Exposition of the Epistle to the Colossians.[1219] He was all the more set on attaching Melanchthon to himself and his cause by such eulogies, because he dreaded lest his comrade’s preference for his Humanistic labours should one day deprive the new faith of his so powerful support.
The command of the Elector was afterwards to send the learned but timid man to the Diets, notwithstanding that he was quite unsuited for political labours on the great stage of the world. We know already what his feelings were at Spires and then again at Augsburg. His most recent biographer says of the earlier Diet: “The depression induced in him by the Protest of Spires and the growth of Zwinglianism, increased still more during his journey home and the first days after his return; he felt profoundly downcast and looked forward to the future with the utmost anxiety. From his standpoint he certainly had good reason for his fear.”[1220] At Augsburg he suffered so much that Luther wrote to him: “You torment yourself without respite.... It is not theology, however, which torments you but your philosophy, and therefore your fears are groundless.”[1221] And later: “I have been through greater inward torments than I trust you will ever experience, and such as I would not wish any man, not even our bitterest opponents there. And yet, amidst such troubles, I have often been cheered up by the words of a brother, for instance, Pomeranus, yourself, Jonas, or some other. Hence, why not listen to us, who speak to you, not according to the flesh or world, but undoubtedly according to God and the Holy Ghost?” But you prefer to lean on your philosophy; “Led away by your reason you act according to your own foolishness and are killing yourself ... whereas this matter is really beyond us and must be left to God.” Luther felt convinced that his “prayer for Melanchthon was most certainly being answered.”[1222]
The hope that Melanchthon would get the better of his depression after the momentous Diet was over was only partially realised.
The conviction that there was no chance of reunion with the existing Church, which he had reached at Augsburg, pierced him to the depths of his soul. “In his quality of theologian,” says Kawerau, “the thought of the Church’s oneness caused him to endure the bitterest agonies, particularly between 1530 and 1532”; if certain of the Catholic leaders sought to draw him over to their side, there was “some justification for their attempts,” to be accounted for by the impression he had given at Augsburg, viz. of not being quite at home among the Evangelicals.[1223] What seemed to confirm this impression, adds Kawerau, was “that Melanchthon in his printed, and still more in his epistolary communications, repeatedly gave occasion to people to think that it might be worth while approaching him with fresh proposals of conciliation.”[1224]
Of the psychological struggle hinted at by Kawerau, through which he, who, after Luther, was the chief promoter of the innovations, had to pass, it is possible to gain many a glimpse from contemporary documents.
The wrong idea which he came more and more to cherish amounted to this: The true doctrine of the Catholic Church of Christ, as against the Roman Catholic Church of the day, is that to be found “in the Epistles of the Apostles and in the recognised ecclesiastical writers.”[1225] Without succeeding in finding any position of real safety, he insists on the necessity of sharing the “consensus of the Catholic Church of Christ” and of belonging to the true, ancient and “sublime ‘cœtus ecclesiæ’ over which rules the Son of God.”[1226] Hence comes what we find in the Wittenberg certificates of Ordination which he drew up, in which the “doctrina catholicæ ecclesiæ,” taken, of course, in the above uncertain and wholly subjective sense, is declared to have been accepted by the “ordinandi” and to be the best testimony to their office. In this conception of the Church “we find the explanation of the great struggle which it cost him, when, after 1530, he had to face the fact that the schism was real and definitive.... In his conception, the true faith was thus no longer the new Lutheran understanding of the Gospel, but rather the ancient creeds.”[1227]
Cordatus was not so far wrong when he declared, referring to Melanchthon, that at Wittenberg there were men “learned in languages who would rather read and listen to a dead Erasmus than a living Luther.”[1228]
Erasmus himself saw in Melanchthon’s exposition of Romans and in the dedication of the same which the author privately sent him on October 25, 1532, a “clear corroboration of the suspicion that he had come to dislike his own party” (“se suorum pigere”).[1229] In the aforesaid dedication Melanchthon had complained, as he often did, of the religious “controversies and quarrels” which were quite repugnant to him: “As neither side cares for moderation, both have refused to listen to us.” These and such-like admissions “caused Erasmus to think that he was desirous of forsaking the evangelical camp.”[1230] In the very year of Erasmus’s death he wrote to him: “I cordially agree with you on most of the questions under discussion.”[1231] The fondness of the Wittenbergers for the crude and paradoxical, so he adds, discreetly veiling his meaning in Greek, failed entirely to appeal to him; he was anxious to find “better-sounding” formulæ in which to embody doctrine, but here he was faced by “danger.” He bad reached an age when lie had learnt to treat questions of faith more gingerly than of yore.[1232] “Thus, in the presence of Erasmus, he here repudiates the Melanchthon of the early years of the Reformation.”[1233]
At Wittenberg there was then a rumour that Melanchthon intended to migrate elsewhere, because he no longer agreed with Luther and his set.[1234] That such was actually his intention has since been confirmed.
Only in 1900 was a letter unearthed—written by Melanchthon in this critical period (1532), to Andreas Cricius, Catholic bishop of Plozk, and an ardent Humanist—in which he deplores in touching language the “unhappy fate” which had embroiled him in the religious “quarrels.”[1235] In the beginning he had taken part in the movement started by Luther under the impression that “certain points connected with piety would be emphasised, and this had, all along, been his object”; his efforts had ever been to “moderate” and to “put an end to controversy”; he also exerted himself “to vindicate the importance of the Church’s constitution.”[1236] He expresses his readiness to accept a post of professor which the Bishop might see fit to offer, in which he might find a refuge from the storms at Wittenberg: “If you will point out to me a haven of refuge where I can promote and advance the learning so dear to us both, and in which I have acquired some little proficiency, then I will submit to your authority.” In the same letter, however, he points out that he could never approve of the “cruelty of the opponents” of the Protestant cause, nor would the public decision to be expected fall out in accordance with their ideas; yet neither did he agree with those who wished to destroy the substance of the Church. Cricius appears to have pointed out to him, in a letter now no longer extant, that, before he, the Bishop, could do anything it would be necessary for Melanchthon to sever his connection with the Evangelicals. This he could not bring himself to do. “If you have a more feasible proposal to make, then I will accept it as a Divine call.”[1237]
Shortly before this, on January 31, 1532, Melanchthon had expressed the wish to Duke Magnus of Mecklenburg, on the occasion of the re-establishment of the University of Rostock, that a “quiet spot might be found for him,” lamenting that his time was taken up in matters “altogether repugnant to my character and the learned labours I have ever loved.”[1238]
Hence there is no doubt that, at that time, utterly sick of his work at Luther’s side, he was perfectly ready to change his lodgings. “It was a joyless life that Melanchthon led at Wittenberg. His admiration for Luther was indeed not dead, but mutual trust was wanting.”[1239]
In 1536 the repressed discontent of the ultra-Lutherans broke out into open persecution of Melanchthon. At the head of his assailants was Conrad Cordatus, who had sniffed heresy in the stress Melanchthon laid on the will and on man’s co-operation in the work of Justification; his first step was to begin a controversy with Cruciger, Melanchthon’s friend.[1240] At about that time, Luther, in his annoyance with Melanchthon, declared: “I am willing enough to admit Master Philip’s proficiency in the sciences and in philosophy, nothing more; but, with God’s help, I shall have to chop off the head of philosophy, for so it must be.”[1241] Nevertheless, to retain the indispensable support of so great a scholar and to preserve peace at the University, Luther preferred to seek a compromise, on the occasion of a solemn Disputation held on June 1, 1537. At the same time, it is true, he characterised the thesis on the “necessity of good works for salvation” as reprehensible and misleading.[1242]
Further difficulties were raised in 1537 by Pastor Jacob Schenk, who would have it that Melanchthon had made treasonable concessions in the interests of the Catholics in the matter of the giving of the chalice. This strained still further his relations with Luther, who had already long been dimly suspicious of Melanchthon’s Zwinglian leanings concerning the Supper. The Elector, who was also vexed, consulted Luther privately concerning Melanchthon; Luther, however, again expressed his regard for him, and deprecated his “being driven from the University,” adding, nevertheless, that, should he seek to assert his opinion on the Supper, then “God’s truth would have to be put first.”[1243]
The intervention of the Elector in this case, and, generally, the interference of the great Lords in ecclesiastical affairs—which frequently marred his plans for conciliation—embittered him more and more as years passed.
He was perfectly aware that the influential patrons of the innovations were animated by mere egoism, avarice and lust for power. “The rulers have martyred me so long,” he once declared, “that I have no wish to go on living amid such suffering.”[1244]
Yet Melanchthon’s own inclination was more and more in the direction of leaving ecclesiastical affairs to the secular authorities. In his practice he abandoned the idea of an invisible Church even more completely than did Luther. The rigid doctrinal system for which he came to stand in the interests of the pure preaching of the faith, the duty which he assigned to the State of seeing that the proclamation of the Gospel conformed to the standard of the Augsburg Confession, and finally the countenance he gave to the persecution of sectarians by the State, and to State regulation of the Church, all this showed that he was anxious to make of the Church a mere department of the State.[1245] The Princes, as principal members of the Church, must, according to him, see “that errors are removed and consciences comforted”; above all they were of course to assist in “checking the encroachments of the Popes.”[1246] “To us at the present day it appears strange—though at the time of the Reformation this was not felt at all—that Melanchthon, in the Article of the Augsburg Confession concerning priestly marriage, should have [in the ‘Variata’] made the appeal to the Emperor so comprehensive that the ecclesiastical privileges of the Princes practically became an article of faith.”[1247]
It also displeased him greatly that Luther in his writings should so frequently employ vile and abusive epithets when speaking of great persons. He was loath to see the Catholic Princes thus vilified, particularly when, as in the case of Albert, Elector of Mayence, he had hopes of their assistance. On June 16, 1538, Luther read aloud from the pulpit, and afterwards published in print, a statement of “frightful violence” against this Prince, moved thereto, as it would appear, by the respectful manner in which the Archbishop had been treated by Melanchthon.[1248] The latter made no secret of his entire disapproval, and it is to be hoped that others at Wittenberg shared his opinion of this document in which Luther speaks of the German Prince as a false and perjured man, town-clerk and merd-bishop of Halle.[1249]
The fact is, however, that it was in many instances Melanchthon’s own pusillanimity and too great deference to the Protestant Princes which caused him to sanction things which afterwards he regretted. For instance, we hear him complaining, when alluding to the cruelty of Henry VIII. of England, of the “terrible wounds” inflicted on him by a “tyrant.” The “tyrant” to whom he here refers was the bigamist, Philip of Hesse. Melanchthon had been too compliant in the case of both these sovereigns. When Henry VIII., who had fallen out with his spouse, made overtures to the Wittenbergers, it was Melanchthon, who, in view of the king’s desire to contract a fresh marriage, suggested he might take a second wife. Concerning Philip of Hesse’s bigamy he had at the outset had scruples, but he set them aside from the following motive which he himself alleged not long after: “For Philip threatened to apostatise unless we should assist him.”[1250] His conscience had reason enough to complain of the “terrible wounds” inflicted upon it by this tyrant, but for this Melanchthon himself was answerable. He even assisted personally at the marriage of the second wife, though, possibly, his presence was secured by means of a stratagem. When later, he, even more than his friends, was troubled with remorse concerning his part in the business—especially when the Landgrave, wilfully and “tyrannically,” threatened the theologians with the publication of their permission—he fell a prey to a deadly sickness, due primarily to the depth of his grief and shame. Luther hastened to Weimar where he lay and, in spite of his own depression, by the brave face he put on, and also by his loving care, was able to console the stricken man so that he ultimately recovered. “Martin,” so Melanchthon gratefully declared, “saved me from the jaws of death.”[1251]
By Philip of Hesse, Melanchthon had once before been taken to task over a falsehood of his. It had fallen to Melanchthon to draw up a memorandum, dispatched on September 1, 1538, by the Elector Johann Frederick and the Landgrave Philip, conjointly, to King Henry VIII. of England. In the draft, which was submitted to both Princes, he asserted, contrary to the real state of the case, that, in Germany, there were no Anabaptists “in those districts where the pure doctrine of the Gospel is preached,” though they were to be found “where this doctrine is not preached”; this he wrote though he himself had assisted Luther previously in drawing up memoranda for localities in the immediate vicinity of Wittenberg, directed against the Anabaptists established there in the very bosom of the new Church. The Landgrave refused to agree to such a misrepresentation, even for the sake of predisposing King Henry for Lutheranism. He candidly informed the Elector that he did not agree with this passage, “for there are Anabaptists in those parts of Germany where the pure Gospel is preached just as much as in those where it is not rightly preached.” In consequence the passage in question was left out, merely a general reference to the existence of Anabaptists in Germany being allowed to remain.[1252]
The following example likewise shows how Melanchthon’s want of uprightness and firmness contributed to raise difficulties and unpleasantness with those in power. Johann Frederick of Saxony seized upon the bishopric of Naumburg-Zeitz, and, in spite of the Emperor’s warning, caused Amsdorf to be “consecrated” its bishop. The Wittenbergers, including Melanchthon, had given their sanction to this step. Afterwards, however, the latter was overwhelmed with scruples. “Tyranny has increased more and more at the Courts,” exclaimed Melanchthon.—“There is no doubt that his sense of responsibility in a proceeding, which he had been driven to sanction against his better judgment, depressed him.” He trembled at the thought that “the matter might well lead to warlike entanglements, and that the Emperor would resent as an insult and never forget this violent seizure of the highest spiritual principalities.”[1253]
Here we shall only hint at Melanchthon’s attitude—again characterised by weakness and indecision—at the time of the Interim controversy. He himself, from motives of policy and out of consideration for the interests of the Court, had lent a hand in the bringing about of the Leipzig Interim. The “real” Lutherans (“Gnesio-Lutherans”) saw in this an alliance with the Popish abomination. The “temporising policy of the Interim” in which he “became entangled,” remarks Carl Sell, “called forth the righteous anger of all honest German Protestants.” “Melanchthon saved his life’s work only at the cost of the agony of the last thirteen years of his life ... a real martyr—albeit a tragically guilty one—to a cause.”[1254] “The whole struggle of ‘Gnesio-Lutheranism’ with ‘Philippism’ consisted in employing against Melanchthon the very weapon of which Melanchthon himself had made use,” viz. the “confusion of theological opinions with the Divine data which these opinions purported to represent.”[1255]
A redeeming feature in the life of this unhappy man, upon which one is glad to dwell after what has gone before, was his strong sense of right and wrong. In spite of all his weakness, his conscience was highly sensitive. Thus he himself supplies in many cases the moral appreciation of his actions in his outspoken statements and frank confessions to some trusted friend, for whom his words were also intended to serve as a guide.
To his friends he was in the habit of giving advice on their behaviour, couching such advice in the language of the scholar. Nor was he jesting when he declared that such good counsel was intended in the first instance for himself; in practice, however, the deed fell short of the will. So excellent was his theory that many of his aphorisms, in their short, classical form, became permanent principles of morality. Their influence was on a par with that of his pedagogical writings, which long held sway in the history of education.
His friends could count not only on the ethical guidance of the philosopher and Humanist, but even on his ready assistance in matters of all sorts. It was not in his nature to refuse his sympathy to anyone, and, to the students, who gladly sought his assistance, he was unable to say no.
Another valuable quality was that talent for making peace, of which he repeatedly made use in the interests of his co-religionists. His conversation and bearing were exceedingly courteous. Erasmus, for instance, speaks of his “irresistible charm” (“gratia quædam fatalis”). In a letter of 1531 Erasmus says: “In addition to his excellent education and rare eloquence, he possesses an irresistible charm, due more to ‘genius’ than to ‘ingenium.’ For this reason he stands in high esteem with noble minds, and, even amongst his enemies, there is not one who cordially hates him.”[1256] At the time of the Interim controversy the agents of the Duke of Saxony were desirous that the Catholic party should find men of real moderation and culture to negotiate with Melanchthon and the other leaders of the new faith. They were particularly anxious that Claudius Jaius, the Jesuit, should repair to Saxony for this purpose. Peter Canisius, apprised of this, wrote, on April 30, 1551, to Ignatius his superior, that these people were sure from experience that Jaius, with the modesty he owed to his culture, would do more good than the most violent controversies.[1257]
Before the world Melanchthon was careful to hide the growing dissension between himself and Luther.
Thus, writing on June 22, 1537, to Veit Dietrich, he says, alluding to the quarrel commenced by Cordatus, that he was working for peace at Wittenberg University. “Nor does Luther appear to be badly disposed towards us”; “no hatred exists, and should there be any it will presently break out”; for his own part he intends to be patient, “even should it come to blows [’plaga’].”[1258]
Even Luther’s outbursts of anger were explained away by his more supple comrade, who exhorts his friends to possess their souls in patience and to conceal such faults from the eyes of the world. The “dreadful man,” he writes to Bucer—applying to Luther the Homeric title [Greek: deinos]—“often gets these boisterous fits. More is gained by ignoring them than by open contradiction. Let us therefore make use of the philosophy in which we both have been initiated, cover our wounds, and exhort others too to do the same.” Luther, owing to his combativeness, was not to be depended on, and the sad part of it is that “our little Churches are tossed about with neither sail nor sober pilot”; for his part he feared victory as much as war; he was opposed to war in the cause of the Evangel because in the confusion the Court officials and the great ones of the Protestant party, the “Centaurs,” would assuredly stretch out greedy hands to grasp the rights and possessions of the Church.[1259]
Melanchthon was at that time in a certain sense the “one who, thanks to his moderation, kept everything together at Wittenberg. This is expressly stated by Cruciger.”[1260] For this his endless patience, what he himself terms his “servile spirit,”[1261] was to some extent accountable. Yet his Humanism, and the equanimity, calmness and moderation he owed to it, doubtless served the peacemaker in good stead. To all, whether of his own party or of the opposite, he was wont to declare his abhorrence of the “democratia aut tyrannis indoctorum.”[1262] Owing to such personal qualities of Melanchthon’s, Cochlæus himself, in a letter to his friend Dantiscus, in which he attacks Melanchthon, admits that he was “nevertheless at heart very fond of him.”[1263]