female companions of the clergy seem to have been regarded as wives
in all but the blessing of the church. Benedict, Bishop of Camin,
in 1492, held a synod in which he quaintly but vehemently objurgates
his ecclesiastics for this wickedness; declares that no man can part
such couples joined by the devil; alludes to their offspring as beasts
creeping over the earth, and has his spleen peculiarly stirred by the
cloths of Leyden and costly ornaments with which the fair sinners were
bedecked, to the scandal of honest women.[1009] His indignation was
wasted on a hardened generation, for his successor, Bishop Martin, on
his accession to the see in 1499, found the custom still unchecked.
The new bishop promptly summoned a synod at Sitten in 1500, where he
reiterated the complaints of Benedict, adding that the priests convert
the patrimony of Christ into marriage portions for their children,
and procure the transmission of benefices from father to son, as
though glorying in the perpetuation of their shame. What peculiarly
exasperated the good prelate was that the place of honor was accorded
as a matter of course to the priests and their consorts at all the
merry-makings and festivities of their parishioners, which shows how
fully these unions were recognized as legitimate, and, apparently, for
prudential reasons, encouraged by the people.[1010]
Similar customs, or worse, doubtless prevailed in Sleswick, for when
Eggard was consecrated bishop in 1494, he signalized the commencement
of his episcopate by forbidding his clergy to keep such female
companions. The result was that before the year expired he was forced
to abandon his see, and five years later he died, a miserable exile in
Rome.[1011]
The monastic orders were no better than the secular clergy. When
Ximenes was made Provincial of the Franciscan order in Spain, he set
himself earnestly at work to force the brethren to live according to
the Rule. A large portion of them, known as Claustrals, led disorderly
lives, almost purely secular, and refused absolutely to submit to the
observance of their vows. King Ferdinand being appealed to pronounced
sentence of banishment upon them, and they absolutely preferred
existence in exile to the insupportable yoke of their Order. Yet they
considered themselves so aggrieved that when they left Toledo they
marched in procession through the Puerta Visagra with a crucifix at
their head, singing the 113th Psalm “In exitu Israel de Egypto.” When
Ximenes was promoted to the primatial see of Toledo, the malcontents
appealed to the Vicar General of the Order in Rome, who came to Spain
and warmly espoused their cause, being only forced to desist by the
decided stand taken by Queen Isabella in favor of Ximenes.[1012] It
was the same with the other monastic orders. A bull of Alexander VI.,
issued in 1496 for the purpose of reforming the Benedictines, describes
the inhabitants of many establishments of both sexes in that ancient
and honored institution as indulging in the most shameless profligacy;
and marriage itself was apparently not infrequently practised.[1013]
Savonarola did not hesitate to declare that nuns in their convents
became worse than harlots.[1014] Even the strictest of all the
orders—the Cistercian—yielded to the prevailing laxity. A general
chapter, held in 1516, denounces the intolerable abuse indulged in
by some abbots who threw off all obedience to the rule, and dared to
keep women under pretence of requiring their domestic services.[1015]
To fully appreciate the force of this indication, it is requisite
to bear in mind the stringency of the regulations which forbade the
foot of woman to pollute the sacred retirement of the Cistercian
monasteries.[1016]
The efforts constantly made to check these abuses produced little
result. A Carthusian monk, writing in 1489, deplores the fact that
while monasteries were everywhere being reformed, few if any of
them maintained their morals, but returned to their old condition
immediately on the death of the zealous fathers who had sought to
improve them.[1017] That condition is described by a Benedictine Abbot,
the celebrated Trithemius, in general terms, as that of dens in which
it was a crime to be without sin, their inhabitants for the most part
being addicted to all manner of vices, and being monks only in name and
vestment.[1018]
That the clergy, as a body, had become a stench in the nostrils of
the people is evident from the immense applause which greeted all
attacks upon them. In 1476 a rustic prophet arose in the hamlet of
Niklaushausen, in the diocese of Wurzburg, who was a fit precursor of
Muncer and John of Leyden. John of Niklaushausen was a swineherd, who
professed himself inspired by the Virgin Mary. From the Rhine-lands
to Misnia, and from Saxony to Bavaria, immense multitudes flocked to
hear him, so that at times he preached to crowds of twenty and thirty
thousand men. His doctrines were revolutionary, for he denounced
oppression both secular and clerical; but he was particularly severe
upon the vices of the ecclesiastical body. A special revelation of the
Virgin had informed him that God could no longer endure them, and that
the world could not, without a speedy reformation, be saved from the
divine wrath consequent upon them.[1019] The unfortunate man was seized
by the Bishop of Wurzburg; the fanatical zeal of his unarmed followers
was easily subdued, and he expiated at the stake his revolt against the
powers that were.
Such being the state of ecclesiastical morality throughout Europe,
there can be little wonder if reflecting men sought occasionally to
reform it in the only rational manner—not by an endless iteration
of canons, obsolete as soon as published, or by ingeniously varied
penalties, easily evaded or compounded—but by restoring to the minister
of Christ the right to indulge legitimately the affections which
bigotry might pervert, but could never eradicate. Even as early as
the close of the thirteenth century, the high authority of Bishop
William Durand had acknowledged the inefficacy of penal legislation,
and had suggested the discipline of the Greek church as affording a
remedy worthy of consideration.[1020] As the depravity of the church
increased, and as the minds of men gradually awoke from the slumber
of the dark ages, and shook off the blind reverence for tradition,
the suggestion presented itself with renewed force. At the council
of Constance Cardinal Zabarella did not hesitate to suggest that if
the concubinary practices of the clergy could not be suppressed it
would be better to concede to them the privilege of marriage,[1021]
and shortly after the failure of the council to effect a reform had
became apparent, Guillaume Saignet wrote a tract entitled “Lamentatio
ob Cælibatum Sacerdotum” in which he attacked the existing system, and
called forth a rejoinder from Gerson. When the council of Bâle was
earnestly engaged in the endeavor to restore forgotten discipline,
the Emperor Sigismund laid before it a formula of reformation which
embraced the restoration of marriage to the clergy. His orator drew
a fearful picture of the evils caused by the rule of celibacy—evils
acknowledged by every one in the assembly—and urged that as it had
produced more injury than benefit, the wiser course would be to follow
the example of the Greek church.[1022] A majority of the council
assented to the principle, but shrank from the bold step of adopting
it. Eugenius IV. had just been forced to acknowledge the legitimacy
of the body as an œcumenic council; the strife with the papacy might
again break forth at any moment, and it was not politic to venture on
innovations too audacious. The conservatives, therefore, skilfully
eluded the question by postponing it to a more favorable time, and the
postponement was fatal.
One of the most celebrated members of the council, Cardinal Nicholas
Tudeschi, surnamed Panormitanus, whose preëminence as an expounder
of the canon law won for him the titles of “Canonistarum Princeps”
and “Lucerna Juris,” declared that the celibacy of the clergy was not
essential to ordination or enjoined by divine law; and he records his
unhesitating opinion that the question should be left to the option of
the individual—those who had resolution to preserve their purity being
the most worthy, while those who had not would be spared the guilt
which disgraced them.[1023] So Æneas Sylvius, who as Pius II. filled
the pontifical throne from 1458 to 1464, and who knew by experience
how easy it was to yield to the temptations of the flesh, is reported
to have said that marriage had been denied to priests for good and
sufficient reasons, but that still stronger ones now required its
restoration.[1024] Indeed, when arguing before the Council of Bâle in
favor of the election of Amedeus of Savoy to the papacy, he had not
scrupled to declare that a married priesthood would be the salvation of
many who were damned in celibacy.[1025] And we have already seen that
Eugenius IV., in 1441, and Alexander VI., in 1496, granted permission
of marriage to several military orders, as the only mode of removing
the scandalous license prevailing among them.
This question of the power of the pope to dispense with the necessity
of celibacy seems to have attracted some attention about this period.
In 1505, Geoffroy Boussard, afterwards Chancellor of the University of
Paris, published a tract wherein he argued that priestly continence
was simply a human and not a divine ordinance, and that the pope was
fully empowered to relax the rule in special cases, though he could
not abolish wholly an institution of such long continuance which had
received the assent of so many holy fathers and general councils. At
the same time, one of his arguments in favor of its enforcement shows
how little respect was left in the minds of all thinking men for the
claims of the church to veneration. He quotes Bonaventura to the effect
that if bishops and archbishops had license to marry they would rob
the church of all its property, and none would be left for the poor,
for, he adds, “since already they seize the goods of the church for
the benefit of distant relatives, what would they not do if they had
legitimate children of their own?”[1026]
* * * * *
When the advantages and the necessity of celibacy thus were doubted
by the highest authorities in the church, it is no wonder if those
who were disposed to question the traditions of the past were led to
reject it altogether. In 1479 John Burckhardt, of Oberwesel, graduate
of Tubingen, and Doctor of Theology, in his capacity of preacher at
Worms, openly disseminated doctrines which differed in the main but
little from those of Wickliffe and Huss. He denied the authority of
popes, councils, and the fathers of the church to regulate matters
either of faith or discipline. The Scripture was the only standard,
and no one had a right to interpret it for his brethren. The received
observances of religion, prayers, fasts, indulgences, were all swept
away, and universal liberty of conscience proclaimed to all. Of
course, sacerdotal celibacy shared the same fate, as a superstitious
observance, contrived by papal ingenuity in opposition to evangelical
simplicity.[1027] Thus his intrepid logic far outstripped the views of
his predecessors, and Luther afterwards acknowledged the similarity
between his teachings and those of John of Oberwesel. Yet he had not
the spirit of martyrdom, and the Inquisition speedily forced him to
a recantation, which was of little avail, for he soon after perished
miserably in the dungeon in which he had been thrust.[1028]
Still more remarkable as an indication of the growing spirit of
independence was an event which in July, 1485, disturbed the stagnation
of the centre of theological orthodoxy—the Sorbonne. A certain Jean
Laillier, priest and licentiate in theology, aspiring to the doctorate,
prepared his thesis or “Sorbonique,” in which he broached various
propositions savoring strongly of extreme Lollardry. He denied the
supremacy of the pope, and indeed reduced the hierarchy to the level of
simple priesthood; he rejected confession, absolution, and indulgences;
he refused to acknowledge the authority of tradition and legends,
and insisted that the fasts enjoined by the church had no claim to
observance. Celibacy was not likely to escape so audacious an inquirer,
and accordingly, among his postulates were three, declaring that a
priest clandestinely married required no penitence; that the Eastern
clergy committed no sin in marrying, nor would the priests of the
Western church, if they were to follow the example; and that celibacy
originated in 1073, in the decretals of Gregory VII., whose power to
introduce the rule he more than questioned. The Sorbonne, as might be
anticipated, refused the doctorate to so rank a heretic, and Laillier
had the boldness not only to preach his doctrines publicly, but even
to appeal to the Parlement for the purpose of forcing his admission to
the Sorbonne. The Parlement referred the matter to the Bishop of Paris
and to the Inquisitor; Laillier’s audacity failed him, and he agreed
to recant.[1029] In Poland, too, there were symptoms of similar revolt
against the established ordinances of the church, as shown in a book
published at Cracow in 1504, “De Matrimonia Sacerdotum.”[1030]
* * * * *
The corruption of the church establishment, in fact, had reached a
point which the dawning enlightenment of the age could not much longer
endure. The power which had been intrusted to it, when it was the only
representative of culture and progress, had been devoted to selfish
purposes, and had become the instrument of unmitigated oppression in
all the details of daily life. The immunity which had been necessary
to its existence through centuries of anarchy had become the shield
of unimaginable vices. The wealth, so freely lavished upon it by
the veneration of Christendom, was wasted in the vilest excesses.
All efforts at reformation from within had failed; all attempts at
reformation from without had been successfully crushed and sternly
punished. Intoxicated with centuries of domination, the muttered
thunders of growing popular discontent were unheeded, and its claims
to spiritual and temporal authority were asserted with increasing
vehemence, while its corruptions were daily displayed before the people
with more careless cynicism. There appeared to be no desire on the part
of the great body of the clergy to make even a pretence of the virtue
and piety on which were based their claims for reverence, while the
laity were daily growing less reverent, were rising in intelligence,
and were becoming more inclined to question where their fathers had
been content to believe. Such a complication could have but one result.
XXV.
THE REFORMATION IN GERMANY.
The opening of the sixteenth century witnessed an ominous breaking
down of the landmarks of thought. The revival of letters, which was
fast rendering learning the privilege of all men in place of the
special province of the legal and clerical professions; the discovery
of America, which destroyed reverence for primæval tradition, and
accustomed men’s minds to the idea that startling novelties might
yet be truths; the invention of printing, which placed within the
reach of all inquirers who had a tincture of education the sacred
writings for investigation and interpretation and enabled the thinker
and the innovator at once to command an audience and disseminate
his views in remote regions; the European wars, commencing with the
Neapolitan conquest of Charles VIII., which brought the nations into
closer contact with each other, and carried the seeds of culture,
civilization, and unbelief from Italy to the farthest Thule; all these
causes, with others less notable, had been silently but effectually
wearing out the remnants of that pious and unquestioning veneration
which for ages had lain like a spell on the human mind.
In this bustling movement of politics and commerce, arts and arms,
science and letters, religion could not expect to escape the spirit
of universal inquiry. Even before opinion had advanced far enough
to justify examination into doctrinal points and dogmas, there was
a general readiness to regard the shortcomings of sacerdotalism, in
the administration of its sacred trust, with a freedom of criticism
which could not long fail to destroy the respect for claims of
irrefragable authority. John of England and the Emperor Otho might
gratify individual spite, in the intoxication of anticipated triumph,
by insultingly defying the sacerdotal power. Philippe-le-Bel, a man
far in advance of his age, might reduce the papacy to temporary
subjection by means of rare instruments such as Guillaume de Nogaret.
Philippe de Valois, with the aid of his civil lawyers, might essay
to limit the extent of ecclesiastical jurisdiction. Wickliffe, and
Huss, and Savonarola might raise the standard of opposition to papal
usurpation—but these were sporadic instances of rebellion, resulting
either from the selfish ambition of rulers or the fanatical enthusiasm
of individuals, unsupported by the concurrent opinion of the masses of
the people, and their permanent results were rather remote than direct.
At the period to which we have arrived, however, the disposition
to criticise the abuses of the ecclesiastical system, to note its
shortcomings, and to apply remedial measures was general, and savored
little of the respect which an infallible church had for so many
centuries inculcated as one of the first of Christian duties. Its past
services were forgotten in present wrongs. Its pretensions had, at
one time, enabled it to be the protector of the feeble, and the sole
defence of the helpless; but that time had passed. Settled institutions
were fast replacing anarchy throughout Europe, and its all-pervading
authority would no longer have been in place, even if exercised for
the common benefit. When it was notorious, however, that the powers
and immunities claimed by the church were everywhere employed for
the vilest ends, their anachronism became too palpable, and their
destruction was only a question of time.
Signs of the coming storm were not wanting. In 1510 a series of
complaints against the tyranny and extortion of Rome was solemnly
presented to the emperor. The German churches, it was asserted, were
confided by the successors of St. Peter to the care of those who were
better fitted to be keepers of mules than pastors of men, and the pope
was significantly told that he should act more tenderly and kindly to
his children of Teutonic race, lest there might arise a persecution
against the priesthood, or a general defection from the Holy See,
after the manner of the Hussites.[1031] The emperor was warned, in his
efforts to obtain the desired reform, not to incur the censures and
enmity of the pope, in terms which show that only the political effects
of excommunication were dreaded, and that its spiritual thunders had
lost their terrors. He was further cautioned against the prelates in
general, and the mendicant friars in particular, in a manner denoting
how little reverence was left for them in the popular mind, and how
thoroughly the whole ecclesiastical system had become a burden and
reproach, a thing of the past, an excrescence on society, and no longer
an integral part of every man’s life, and the great motive power of
Christendom.[1032]
* * * * *
It was evident that the age was rapidly outstripping the church,
and that the latter, to maintain its influence and position, must
conform to the necessities of progress and enlightenment. On previous
occasions it had done so, and had, with marvellous tact and readiness,
adapted itself to the exigencies of the situation in the long series
of vicissitudes which had ended by placing it supreme over Europe.
But centuries of almost uninterrupted prosperity had hardened it. The
corruption which attends upon wealth had rendered wealth a necessity,
and that wealth could only be had by perpetuating and increasing the
abuses which caused ominous murmurs of discontent in those nations not
fortunate enough to be defended by Concordats or Pragmatic Sanctions.
The church had lost its suppleness, and was immovable. A reform such
as was demanded, while increasing its influence over the souls of men,
would have deprived it of control over their purses; reform meant
poverty. The sumpter-mule loaded with gold, wrung from the humble
pittance of the Westphalian peasant, under pretext of prosecuting the
war against the infidel, would no longer cross the Alps to stimulate
with its treasure the mighty genius of Michael Angelo, or the
fascinating tenderness of Raphael; to provide princely revenues for the
bastards of a pope, or to pay mercenaries who were to win them cities
and lordships; to fill the antechamber of a cardinal with parasites,
and to deck his mistresses with the silks and jewels of Ind; to feed
needy men of letters and scurrilous poets; to soothe the itching
palms of the Rota, and to enable all Rome to live on the tribute so
cunningly exacted of the barbarian.[1033] The wretched ending of the
council of Bâle rendered any internal reformation impossible which
did not derive its initiative and inspiration from Rome, as was shown
by the failure of the council of Pisa. In Rome, it would have required
the energy of Hildebrand, the stern self-reliance of Innocent, the
unworldly asceticism of Celestin combined, to even essay a reform which
threatened destruction so complete to all the interests accumulated by
sacerdotalism around the Eternal City. Leo X. was neither Hildebrand,
nor Innocent, nor Celestin. With his voluptuous nature, elegant
culture, and easy temper, it is no wonder that he failed to read
aright the signs of the times, and that he did not even recognize the
necessity which should impose upon him a task so utterly beyond his
powers. The fifth council of Lateran had no practical result. Blindly
he plunged on; money must be had at any cost, until the salvation
mongering of Tetzel, little if any worse than that of his predecessors,
could no longer bear the critical spirit of the age, and Teutonic
insubordination at length found a mouth-piece in the Monk of Wittenberg.