On the death of Luther, two years before these conferences, the foremost place among the reformers had unquestionably devolved upon Melancthon. He had deserved that eminence by his various endowments, and his uninterrupted exertions: yet was he not the character most fitted to occupy it at that crisis. His incurable thirst for universal esteem and regard; his perpetual anxiety to soothe his enemies and soften the bigotry of the hierarchy, frequently seduced him into unworthy compromises, which lowered his own cause, without obtaining either advantage or respect from his adversaries. It is not thus that the ferocity of intolerance can be disarmed. The lust of religious domination cannot be satisfied by soothing words, or appeased by any exercise of religious charity. It is too blind to imagine any motive for the moderation of an enemy, except the consciousness of weakness. It is too greedy to accept any partial concession, except as a pledge of still farther humiliation, to end in absolute submission. It can be successfully opposed only by the same unbending resolution which itself displays, tempered by a calmer judgment and animated by a more righteous purpose.
The general principle by which the controversial writings of Melancthon at this time were guided was this—that there were certain essentials which admitted of no compromise; but that the Interim might be received as a rule, in respect to things which were indifferent. Hence arose the necessary inquiry, what could properly be termed indifferent. It was the object of Melancthon to extend their number, so as to include as many as possible of the points in dispute, and narrow the held of contention with the Roman Catholics. In the pursuance of this charitable design he did not foresee—first, that he would not advance thereby a single step towards the conciliation of their animosity—next, that he would sow amongst the Reformers themselves the seeds of intestine discord: but so, unhappily, it proved; and the feeble expedient which was intended to repel the danger from without, multiplied that danger by introducing schism and disorder within.
Indeed, we can scarcely wonder that it was so: for we find that among the matters to be accounted indifferent, and under that name conceded, Melancthon ventured to place the doctrine of justification by faith alone; the necessity of good works to eternal salvation; the number of the sacraments; the jurisdiction claimed by the pope and the bishops; extreme unction; and the observance of certain religious festivals, and several superstitious rites and ceremonies. It was not possible that the more intimate associates of Luther—the men who had struggled by his side, who were devoted to his person and his memory, who inherited his opinions and his principles, and who were animated by some portion of his zeal—should stand by in silence, and permit some of the dearest objects of their own struggles and the vigils of their master to be offered up to the foe by the irresolute hand of Melancthon. Accordingly, a numerous party rose, who disclaimed his principles and rejected his authority. At their head was Illyricus Flacius, a fierce polemic, who possessed the intemperance without the genius of Luther. The contest commonly known as the Adiaphoristic Controversy broke out with great fury; it presently extended its character so as to embrace various collateral points; and the Roman Catholics were once more edified by the welcome spectacle of Protestant dissension.
Melancthon held his last fruitless conference with the Roman Catholics at Worms in the year 1557; and he died three years afterwards, at the age of 63, the same age that had been attained by Luther. His ashes were deposited at Wittemberg, in the same church with those of his master; a circumstance which is thus simply commemorated in his epitaph:
Hic invicte tuus Collega, Luthere, Melancthon
Non procul a tumulo conditur ipse tuo.
Ut pin doctrinæ concordia junxerat ambos,
Sic sacer amborum jungit his ossa locus.
Some days before his death, while it was manifest that his end was fast approaching, Melancthon wrote on a scrap of paper some of the reasons which reconciled him to the prospect of his departure. Among them were these—that he should see God and the Son of God; that he should comprehend some mysteries which he was unable to penetrate on earth, such as these:—why it is that we are created such as we are? what was the union of the two natures in Jesus Christ? that he should sin no more; that he should no longer be exposed to vexations; and that he should escape from the rage of the theologians. We need no better proof than this how his peaceable spirit had been tortured during the decline of life by those interminable quarrels, which were entirely repugnant to his temper, and yet were perpetually forced upon him, and which even his own lenity had seemingly tended to augment. And it is even probable that the theologians from whose rage it was his especial hope to be delivered were those who had risen up last against him, and with whom his differences were as nothing compared to the points on which they were agreed, his brother reformers. For being in this respect unfortunate, that his endeavours to conciliate the affections of all parties had been requited by the contempt and insults of all, he was yet more peculiarly unhappy, that the blackest contumely and the bitterest insults proceeded from the dissentients of his own. Thus situated, after forty years of incessant exertions to reform, and at the same time to unite, the Christian world, when he beheld discord multiplied, and its fruits ripening in the very bosom of the Reformation; when he compared his own principles and his own conscience with the taunts which were cast against him; when he discovered how vain had been his mission of conciliation, and how ungrateful a task it was to throw oil upon the waters of theological controversy; when he reflected how much time and forbearance he had wasted in this hopeless attempt,—he could scarcely avoid the unwelcome suspicion that his life had been, in some degree, spent in vain, and that in one of the dearest objects of his continual endeavours he had altogether failed.
The reason was, that the extreme mildness of his own disposition blinded him to the very nature of religious contests, and inspired him with amiable hopes which could not possibly be realized. He may have been a better man than Luther; he may even have been a wiser; he had as great acuteness; he had more learning and a purer and more perspicuous style; he had a more charitable temper; he had a more candid mind; and his love for justice and truth forbade him to reject without due consideration even the argument of an adversary. He was qualified to preside as a judge in the forum of theological litigation; yet was he not well fitted for that which he was called upon to discharge, the office of an advocate. He saw too much, for he saw both sides of the question; his very knowledge, acting upon his natural modesty, made him diffident. He balanced, he reflected, he doubted; and he became, through that very virtue, a tame sectarian and a feeble partisan.