Life of Luther

by Julius Köstlin

The Landgrave Philip, who had hitherto, on account of his second marriage, continued somewhat on strained terms with John Frederick, brought about at this critical moment a peaceful understanding between him and Maurice. The young duke, however, burned with an ambition which longed to satisfy itself, even at the expense of his cousin and other Protestant princes, and his power, moreover, was far superior to the Elector's. Luther augured evil for the future.

The Reformation was now accepted in the territory also of Duke Henry of Brunswick. The Landgrave Philip and John Frederick had taken the field together against him, on account of his having attacked the Evangelical town of Goslar and sought defiantly to execute against it a sentence, in connection with ecclesiastical matters, which had threatened it from the Imperial Chamber, but was suspended by the Emperor. This war against 'Henry the Incendiary' Luther considered just and necessary, the question being one of protecting the oppressed. Wolfenbüttel, whose fortress the Duke boasted to be impregnable, speedily succumbed on August 13, 1542, to the fate of war and the boldness of Philip. Luther saw with triumph how the fortress which, it was reputed, could stand a six years' siege, had fallen in three days by the help of God. He hoped only that the conquerors would be humble and give the glory of the exploit to God. They then occupied the land, the prince of which fled, and proceeded to establish the Evangelical Church, in accordance with the general wish of the population.

Maurice of Saxony, who still strenuously adhered to the Evangelical confession and to his rights as protector of the Church, not only continued the reformation commenced in the Duchy by his father, but succeeded in extending it peacefully to the bishopric of Merseburg. The chapter there decided, in 1544, on his nomination, to elect to the vacant see his young brother Augustus, who, not being himself an ecclesiastic, delegated at once his episcopal functions to George of Anhalt, Luther's pious-minded friend. Luther in the summer of the following year consecrated him, in the same manner as Amsdorf, together with several superintendents, and with Bugenhagen, Cruciger, and Jonas.

Events far greater and more important were occurring in the archbishopric of Cologne. Here an Archbishop at once and Elector, the aged, worthy Hermann of Wied, had resolved, from his own free conviction, to undertake a reformation on the basis of the Gospel. In 1543 he invited Melancthon for this purpose from Wittenberg. Melancthon's fellow-labourer was Butzer, who had the reputation of always allowing himself to be carried too far by his zeal for general unity in the Church, and at the same time, in regard to the doctrine of the Sacrament, even as accepted by the Wittenberg Concord, of preferring a more vague conception of his own. Luther, however, promoted the undertaking with thanks to God, himself furthered Melancthon's going, assured him of his entire confidence, and learned from him with joy of the Archbishop's uprightness, penetration, and constancy. In like manner, the Bishop of Münster also began to attempt a reformation, in conformity with the wishes of his Estates.

The Emperor at length, who since 1542 had been again at war with France, and who needed therefore all the assistance that his German Estates could give him, displayed at a new Diet at Spires, in 1544, more gracious consideration to the Protestants than he had ever done before. In the Imperial Recess he promised not only to endeavour to bring about a general Council, to be assembled in Germany, but undertook, since the meeting of such a Council was still uncertain, to convoke another Diet, which should itself deal with the religion in dispute. In the meantime, he and the various Estates of the Empire would consider and prepare a scheme for Christian unity and a general Christian reformation. The Archbishop Albert, now wholly embittered against the Reformation, had issued a warning, after the Diet of 1541, against any agreement to hold a Council on German soil, as the Protestant poison would here have too powerful an influence; in a national German Council he foresaw the threatening danger of a schism. The resolutions passed at Spires brought down severe reproaches from the Pope against the Emperor. What particularly scandalised his Christian Holiness was that laymen—aye, laymen, who supported the condemned heretics—were to sit as judges in matters concerning the Church and the priesthood.

Protestantism, both in its extent and power, had now reached a point of progress in the German Empire which seemed to offer a possibility of its becoming the religion of the great majority of the nation, and even of this majority being united. Charles V., nevertheless, kept his eyes steadily fixed on his original goal—nay, he probably felt himself nearer to it than ever. By his concessions he obtained an army, which enabled him in the September of that year to conclude a durable peace with King Francis, stipulating, as before, but secretly, for mutual co-operation for the restoration of Catholic unity in the Church. The next thing to be done was to persuade the Pope at length to convene a Council, which should serve this object in the sense intended by the Emperor, and then to enforce by its authority the final subjection of the Protestants.

This possibility of a final triumph of Protestantism might have been counted on with hope, if only that breath of the Spirit which had once been stirred by the Reformer and had already responded to his efforts had remained in full force and vigour in the hearts of the German people; and if the new Spirit, thus awakened, had really penetrated the masses, or, at least, the influential classes and high personages who espoused the new faith, and had purified and strengthened them to fight, to work, and to suffer. But Luther complained from the very first, and more and more as time went on, how sadly this Spirit was wanting to assist him in proclaiming the Gospel and combating the anti-Christian system of Rome. Thus he again complained, when hearing of what had happened at Cologne, at Münster, and at Brunswick, that 'much evil and little good happens to us;' he adapted to his own Church community the proverb, 'The nearer Rome, the worse, the Christian,' as well as the words of the prophets, lamenting the iniquity of Jerusalem, the holy city. In his zeal he reproached the Evangelical congregations even more severely than his Catholic and Popish opponents would ever have ventured to reproach them, inasmuch as their own moral position, to say the least, was not a whit better. But against the former, his own brethren, Luther had to complain of base ingratitude to God for the signal benefits He had vouchsafed them. Thus the peasantry, in particular, he taxed again and again with their old selfish and obstinate indifference and stupidity; the burghers with their luxury and service of Mammon; and his fellow-countrymen in general with their gluttony and their coarse and carnal appetites. It pained him most to see these sins prevail among his nearest fellow-townsmen and followers, his Wittenbergers; and he lashed out with all his force against the students whom, as a class, he saw addicted to unchastity and to 'swinish vices,' as he called them. The authorities, in his opinion, were far too unmindful of their high appointment by God, of which he had taken such pains to assure them. When Church discipline came to be really introduced and made more stringent, he foresaw quite well that it would only touch the peasants, and not reach the upper classes. Among the great nobles at Court, especially at Dresden, but also at that of the Elector, he found 'violent Centaurs and greedy Harpies,' who preyed upon the Reformation and disgraced it, and in whose midst it was difficult—nay, impossible—even for an honest, right-minded ruler to govern as a true Christian. He had already, and especially in these latter years, been in conflict with lawyers, including some of well-recognised conscientiousness, such as his colleague and friend Schurf, about many questions in which they declared themselves unable to deviate from theories of the canon or even the Roman law, which he considered unchristian and immoral. He declared it, for example, to be an insult to the law of God that they should insist so strongly on the obligation of vows of marriage, made by young people in secret and against their parents' will. So far from anticipating the triumph of the Evangelical religion, while such was the condition of Germans and German Protestants, he predicted with anxiety heavy punishment for his country, and declared that God would assuredly cause the confessors of the Gospel to be purged and sifted by calamity.

Just at that time, when a decisive moment was approaching for the great ecclesiastical contest in Germany, Luther felt himself constrained to rend asunder once more the bond of peace and mutual toleration which had been established with such trouble between himself and the Swiss Evangelicals. In doing so, he had seen no reason either to change or conceal his old opinion about Zwingli. The Swiss, on the other hand, offended by Luther's utterances, took, in a manner, their honoured teacher and reformer under their protection; from which Luther concluded that they still clung to all his errors. A lurking distrust of Luther had never been wholly dispelled among them. Luther heard, moreover, of corrupting influences still exercised by the Sacramentarians outside Switzerland. A letter reached him to that effect from some of his adherents at Venice, whose complaints of the mischievous results of the Sacramental controversy among their fellow-worshippers ascribed that controversy to the continued influence of Zwinglianism. In August 1543 he wrote to the Zurich printer Froschauer, who had presented him with a translation of the Bible made by the preacher of that town, saying briefly and frankly that he could have no fellowship with them, and that he had no desire to share the blame of their pernicious doctrine; he was sorry 'that they should have laboured in vain, and should after all be lost.' Even in a scheme of reformation which Butzer, with Melancthon, had prepared for Cologne, he now discovered some suspicious articles about the Sacrament, to which a criticism of Amsdorf had drawn his notice; they passed over, it appeared, Luther's declaration, already agreed on, about the substantial presence of Christ's Body in the Sacrament, or merely 'mumbled it,' as was Luther's expression. Nay, he heard it said that even Wittenberg and himself would not adhere to his doctrine on this point. Occasion, indeed, was given for this remark by the circumstance that the ancient usage of the Elevation of the Host, which, though connected with the Catholic idea of sacrifice, had nevertheless been hitherto retained, though interpreted in another sense, was now at length abolished at Wittenberg. After much anger and discontent, Luther broke out, in September 1544, with the tract, 'Short Confession of the Holy Sacrament.' He had nothing to do with any new refutation of false teachers—these, he said, had already been frequently convicted by him as open blasphemers—but simply to testify once more against the 'fanatics and enemies of the Sacrament, Carlstadt, Zwingli, Oecolampadius, Schwenkfeld, and their disciples,' and once and for all to renounce all fellowship with these lost souls.

Alarming reports were spread about attacks being also meditated by Luther against Butzer and Melancthon. Melancthon himself trembled; he seriously feared he should be compelled to retire into exile. But not a word did Luther say against Butzer, beyond calling him, as he did now, a chatterbox. Against Melancthon we find nowhere, not even in Luther's letters to his intimate friends, a single harsh or menacing expression from his lips. He maintained his confidence in him, even in respect to the later proceedings in the Church. When urged to publish a collection of his Latin writings, he long refused to do so, as he says in the preface to his edition of 1545, because there were already such excellent works on Christian doctrine, such as, in particular, the 'Loci Communes' of Melancthon, which its author had recently revised. It must be regretted that Melancthon, at moments like these, which must have caused him pain, did not open his heart with more freedom and courage to the friend whose heart still beat with such warm and unchanging affection for himself.

Luther never, till the day of his death, bestowed much care or calculation on the immediate consequences of his acts and of the work to which he felt himself called and urged by God, and which certainly brought out in strong relief the individuality of his nature. While committing, as he did, the cause to God alone, he kept steadily in view the ultimate goal to which God was surely guiding it—nay, that goal was immediately before his eyes. His confident belief in the near approach of the last day, when the Lord would solve all these earthly doubts and difficulties, and manifest Himself in the perfect glory and bliss of His kingdom, remained in him unaltered from the beginning of his struggle to the end of his labours. We recognise in this belief the intensity of his own longings, wrestlings, and strivings for this end, as also the sincerity of his own conviction, little as the days of which we are now speaking, so busy with events of every kind, corresponded with the time ordained by God. Luther stretched out his view and aspirations beyond this world, all the time that he was teaching Christians again how to honour the world in the moral duties assigned to them, and to enjoy its blessings and benefits with thankfulness to God. 'No man knoweth the day or the hour'—of this he constantly reminded them, and warned them against idle speculations. But his hopes, nevertheless, he still rested on the nearness of the end. These hopes he expressed with peculiar assurance in a small Latin tract, written during these later years of his life, in which he treats of Biblical chronology, and further of the epochal years in the history of the world. In referring, for example, to the wide-spread theory, originating with the Jews, of a great Week of six thousand years, to be followed by the final and everlasting Day of Rest, he sought with much ingenuity of reasoning to prove that of those six thousand years probably only half would be accomplished. Since now, according to his chronology, the year 1,540 was the 5,500th year of the world, the end was bound to be at hand—nay, was already overdue—when his little book appeared in 1541. Yet, whatever were his views on this point, he never, like so many others, allowed himself to be drawn by such hopes and desires into illusions dangerous in practice.