was born. A man of great vivacity and talent, by name Gerard, a native
of Gouda, in the Netherlands, loved a physician's daughter, named
Marguerite. The principles of Christianity did not regulate his life,
or at least passion silenced them. His parents, and nine brothers,
would have constrained him to embrace the monastic state. He fled,
leaving the object of his affection about to become a mother, and
repaired to Rome. Frail Marguerite gave birth to a son. Gerard heard
nothing of it, and some time after having received intimation from his
parents, that the object of his affection was no more, he, in a
paroxysm of grief, turned priest, and consecrated himself for ever to
the service of God. On his return to Holland, she was still alive!
Marguerite would not marry another, and Gerard, remaining faithful to
his sacerdotal vows, their affection became concentrated on their
little son. His mother had tended him with the greatest care, and his
father, after his return, sent him to school, though he was only four
years of age. He was not thirteen, when his teacher, Sinthemius, of
Deventer, clasping him rapturously in his arms, exclaimed, "This child
will reach the highest pinnacles of science." It was Erasmus of
Rotterdam.[94]
[94] His proper name was Gerard, the same as that of his father. This
Dutch name he translated into Latin, Desiderius (Desired,) and into
Greek, Ερασμος, (Erasmus.)
About this time his mother died, and his father, broken-hearted, was
not long in following her to the grave.
Young Erasmus, left alone in the world, showed the greatest aversion
to become a monk, a state of life which his guardians were for
compelling him to adopt, but to which, from the circumstances of his
birth, he may be said to have been always opposed. Ultimately he was
prevailed upon to enter a convent of canons regular, but he had no
sooner done it than he felt, as it were, borne down by the weight of
his vows. Recovering a little liberty, he is soon seen, first at the
Court of the Archbishop of Cambray, and afterwards at the University
of Paris, where he prosecuted his studies in extreme poverty, but with
the most indefatigable diligence. As soon as he could procure any
money, he employed the first part of it in the purchase of Greek
books, and the remainder in the purchase of clothes. Often did the
poor Dutchman make fruitless application to his guardians, and to this
probably it was owing, that, in after life, one of his greatest
pleasures was to give assistance to poor students. Engaged without
intermission in the pursuit of truth and knowledge, he gave a
reluctant attendance on scholastic disputes, and revolted from the
study of theology, afraid that he might discover some errors in it,
and be, in consequence, denounced as a heretic.
It was at this time Erasmus began to feel his strength. By the study
of the ancients, he acquired a perspicuity and an elegance of style,
which placed him far above the most distinguished Literati of Paris.
His employment as a teacher procured him powerful friends, while the
works which he published attracted general admiration and applause. He
well knew how to please the public, and shaking off the last remnants
of the school and the cloister, devoted himself entirely to
literature, displaying in all his writings those ingenious
observations, and that correct, lively, and enlightened spirit, which
at once amuse and instruct.
The laborious habits which he acquired at this period he retained
through life. Even in his journeys, which were usually made on
horseback, he was never idle. He composed while he was rambling across
the fields, and, on arriving at his inn, committed his thoughts to
writing. It was in this way, while travelling from Italy to England,
he composed his Praise of Folly.[95]
[95] Εγκωμιον μοσιας. Seven editions of this work were
disposed of in a few months.
Erasmus, early in life, acquired a high reputation among the learned,
but the enraged monks owed him a grudge, and vowed vengeance. He was
much courted by princes, and was inexhaustible in finding excuses to
evade their invitations, liking better to gain his livelihood in
correcting books with the printer Frobenius, than to live surrounded
by luxury and honour, at the magnificent courts of Charles V, Henry
VIII, and Francis I, or to encircle his head with the Cardinal's hat
which was offered him.[96]
[96] "A principibus facile mihi contingeret fortuna, nisi mihi nimium
dulcis esset libertas." (Ep. ad Prich.) I might easily make my fortune
by princes, were not liberty too dear to me.
He taught in Oxford from 1509 to 1516, and then left it for Bâsle,
where he fixed his residence in 1521.
What was his influence on the Reformation?
It has been overrated by some and underrated by others. Erasmus never
was, and never could have been, a Reformer, but he paved the way for
others. Not only did he diffuse among his contemporaries a love of
science, and a spirit of research and examination, which led others
much farther than he went himself, but he was also able, through the
protection of distinguished prelates and mighty princes, to expose the
vices of the Church, and lash them with the most cutting satire.
Erasmus, in fact, attacked monks and abuses in two ways. First, there
was his popular attack. That little fair-haired man, whose peering
blue eyes keenly observed whatever came before him, and on whose lips
a somewhat sarcastic smile was always playing, though timid and
embarrassed in his step, and apparently so feeble that a breath of air
might have thrown him down, was constantly pouring out elegant and
biting sarcasms against the theology and superstition of his age. His
natural character and the events of his life had made this habitual to
him. Even in writings where nothing of the kind was to have been
expected, his sarcastic humour is ever breaking out, and, as with
needle points, impaling those schoolmen and ignorant monks against
whom he had declared war. There are many features of resemblance
between Erasmus and Voltaire. Previous authors had given a popular
turn to that element of folly which mingles with all the thoughts and
all the actions of human life. Erasmus took up the idea, and
personifying Folly, introduces her under the name of Moria, daughter
of Plutus, born in the Fortunate Islands, nursed on intoxication and
impertinence, and swaying the sceptre of a mighty empire. Giving a
description of it, she paints, in succession, all the states of the
world which belong to her, dwelling, especially, on church folks, who
refuse to own her kindness, although she loads them with her favours.
She directs her jibes and jests against the labyrinth of dialectics,
in which the theologians wander bewildered, and the grotesque
syllogisms by which they pretend to support the Church. She also
unveils the disorders, the ignorance, the impurity, and absurd conduct
of the monks.
"They are all mine," says she, "those people who have no greater
delight than to relate miracles, or hear monstrous lies, and who
employ them to dissipate the ennui of others, and, at the same time,
to fill their own purses, (I allude, particularly, to priests and
preachers.) Near them are those who have adopted the foolish, yet
pleasing persuasion, that if they cast a look at a bit of wood or a
picture representing Polyphemus or Christopher, they will, at least,
outlive that day."--"Alas! what follies," continues Moria, "follies at
which even I myself can scarcely help blushing! Do we not see each
country laying claim to its particular _saint_? Each misery has its
saint and its candle. This one relieves you in toothache, that one
gives assistance at childbirth, a third restores your stolen goods, a
fourth saves you in shipwreck, and a fifth keeps watch over your
flocks. Some of these are all-powerful in many things at once. This is
particularly the case with the Virgin, the mother of God, to whom the
vulgar attribute almost more than to her Son.[97] In the midst of all
these follies, if some odious sage arise, and, giving a counternote,
exclaim, (as in truth he may,) 'You will not perish miserably if you
live as Christians.[98] You will redeem your sins, if to the money
which you give you add hatred of the sins themselves, tears, vigils,
prayers, fastings, and a thorough change in your mode of life. Yon
saint will befriend you if you imitate his life.'--If some sage, I
say, charitably duns such words into their ears, Oh! of what felicity
does he not deprive their souls, and into what trouble, what
despondency, does he not plunge them! The mind of man is so
constituted that imposture has a much stronger hold upon it than
truth.[99] If there is any saint more fabulous than another, for
instance, a St. George, a St. Christopher, or a St. Barbara, you will
see them adored with much greater devotion than St. Peter, St. Paul,
or Christ himself."[100]
[97] "Præcipue Deipara Virgo, cui vulgus hominum plus prope tribuit
quam Filio." (Encomium Moriæ, Op. iv, p. 444.)
[98] "Non mali peribis si bene vixeris." (Encomium Moriæ, Op. iv, p.
444.)
[99] "Sic sculptus est hominis animus ut longe magis fucis quam veris
capiatur." (Ibid., p. 450.)
[100] "Aut ipsum Christum." (Ibid.)
Folly, however, does not stop here; she applies her lash to the
bishops themselves, "who run more after gold than after souls, and
think they have done enough when they make a theatrical display of
themselves, as Holy Fathers, to whom adoration is due, and when they
bless or anathematise." The daughter of "the Fortunate Isles" has the
hardihood even to attack the Court of Rome, and the pope himself, who,
spending his time in diversion, leaves Peter and Paul to perform his
duty. "Are there," says she, "more formidable enemies of the Church
than those impious pontiffs, who, by their silence, allow Jesus Christ
to be destroyed, who bind him by their mercenary laws, falsify him by
their forced interpretations, and strangle him by their pestilential
life?"[101]
[101] "Quasi sint ulli hostes Ecclesiæ perniciosiores quam impii
pontifices, qui et silentio Christum sinunt abolescere et quæstuariis
legibus alligant et coactis interpretationibus adulterant et
pestilente vita jugulent." (Ibid.)
Holbein appended to the Praise of Folly, most grotesque engravings,
among which the pope figures with his triple crown. Never, perhaps,
was a work so well adapted to the wants of a particular period. It is
impossible to describe the impression which it produced throughout
Christendom. Twenty-seven editions were published in the lifetime of
Erasmus; it was translated into all languages, and served more than
any other to confirm the age in its antisacerdotal tendency.
But to this attack by popular sarcasm, Erasmus added the attack of
science and erudition. The study of Greek and Latin literature had
opened up a new prospect to the modern genius which began to be
awakened in Europe. Erasmus entered with all his heart into the idea
of the Italians, that the school of the ancients was that in which the
sciences ought to be studied, that, abandoning the inadequate and
absurd books which had hitherto been used, it was necessary to go to
Strabo for geography, to Hippocrates for medicine, to Plato for
philosophy, to Ovid for mythology, and to Pliny for natural history.
But he took a farther step, the step of a giant, destined to lead to
the discovery of a new world, of more importance to humanity than that
which Columbus had just added to the old world. Following out his
principle, Erasmus insisted that men should no longer study theology
in Scotus and Thomas Aquinas, but go and learn it from the Fathers of
the Church, and, above all, from the New Testament. He showed that it
was not even necessary to keep close to the Vulgate, which swarmed
with faults, and he rendered an immense service to truth, by
publishing his critical edition of the Greek text of the New
Testament, a text as little known in the West as if it never had
existed. This edition appeared at Bâsle in 1516, the year before the
Reformation. Erasmus thus did for the New Testament what Reuchlin had
done for the Old. Theologians were thenceforth able to read the word
of God in the original tongues, and at a later period to recognise the
purity of doctrine taught by the Reformers.
"I wish," said Erasmus on publishing his New Testament, "to bring to
its level that frigid, wordy, disputatious thing, termed Theology.
Would to God the Christian world may derive advantage from the work,
proportioned to the pain and toil which it has cost." The wish was
accomplished. It was in vain for the monks to exclaim, "He is trying
to correct the Holy Spirit." The new Testament of Erasmus sent forth a
living light. His paraphrases on the Epistles and Gospels of St.
Matthew and St. John; his editions of Cyprian and Jerome; his
translations of Origen, Athanasius, and Chrysostom; his "True
Theology;"[102] his "Preacher;"[103] his Commentaries on several of
the Psalms, contributed greatly to spread a taste for the word of God
and pure theology. The effect of his labours even went farther than
his intentions. Reuchlin and Erasmus restored the Bible to the
learned; Luther restored it to the people. We have not yet described
all that Erasmus did. When he restored the Bible, he called attention
to its contents. "The highest aim of the revival of philosophical
studies," said he, "should be to give a knowledge of the pure and
simple Christianity of the Bible." An admirable sentiment! Would to
God the organs of philosophy, in our day, were as well acquainted with
their calling! "I am firmly resolved," continued he, "to die studying
the Scriptures; it is my joy and my peace."[104] "The sum of all
Christian philosophy," he elsewhere says, "is reduced to this: To
place all our hope in God, who through grace without our merits, gives
us everything by Jesus Christ: To know that we are ransomed by the
death of his Son: To die to worldly lusts, and walk conformably to his
doctrine and his example, not only doing no injury to any, but, on the
contrary, doing good to all: To bear trials patiently, in the hope of
future recompence: in fine, to claim no credit to ourselves because of
our virtues, but give thanks to God for all our faculties, and all our
works. These are the feelings which ought to pervade the whole man,
until they have become a second nature."[105]
[102] Ratio Veræ Theologiæ.
[103] Seu de Ratione Concionandi.
[104] Ad Servatium.
[105] Ad Joh. Slechtam,1519. "Hæc sunt animis hominum inculcanda, sic,
ut velut in naturam transeant." (Er. Ep. i, p. 680.) These things are
to be impressed on the minds of men, so that they may become as it
were natural.
Then raising his voice against the great mass of ecclesiastical
injunctions, regarding dress, fasts, feast-days, vows, marriage, and
confessions, by which the people were oppressed, and the priest was
enriched, Erasmus exclaims, "In churches, the interpretation of the
gospel is scarcely thought of.[106] The better part of sermons must
meet the wishes of the commissaries of indulgences. The holy doctrine
of Christ must be suppressed, or interpreted contrary to its meaning,
and for their profit. Cure is now hopeless, unless Christ himself turn
the hearts of kings and pontiffs, and awaken them to enquire after
true piety."
[106] "In templis vix vacat Evangelium interpretari." (Annot. ad
Matth., xi, 30, "Jugum meum suave.") There is scarcely leisure in
churches to interpret the gospel.
The works of Erasmus rapidly succeeded each other. He laboured
incessantly, and his writings were read just as they came from his
pen. That spirit, that native life, that rich, refined, sparkling and
bold intellect, which, without restraint, poured out its treasures
before his contemporaries, carried away and entranced vast numbers of
readers, who eagerly devoured the works of the philosopher of
Rotterdam. In this way he soon became the most influential man in
Christendom, and saw pensions and crowns raining down upon him from
all quarters.
When we contemplate the great revolution, which, at a later period,
renewed the Church, it is impossible not to own that Erasmus was used
by many as a kind of bridge, over which they passed. Many who would
have taken alarm at evangelical truths, if presented in all their
force and purity, yielded to the charm of his writings, and
ultimately figured among the most zealous promoters of the
Reformation.
But the very circumstance of his being good in preparing, prevented
him from being good at performing. "Erasmus knows very well how to
expose error," says Luther, "but he knows not how to teach the truth."
The gospel was not the fire which warmed and sustained his life, the
centre around which his activity radiated. He was, first of all, a
learned, and, in the second place only, a Christian man. He was too
much under the influence of vanity to have a decided influence on his
age. He anxiously calculated the effect which every step he took might
have on his reputation, and there was nothing he liked so much to talk
of as himself and his fame. "The pope," wrote he to an intimate friend
with puerile vanity, at the period when he became the declared
opponent of Luther, "the pope has sent me a letter full of kindness
and expressions of respect. His secretary solemnly vows that the like
was never heard of, and that it was written word for word at the
pope's own dictation."
Erasmus and Luther are the representatives of two great ideas on the
subject of reform, and of two great parties of their own age, and of
all ages. The one is composed of men, whose leading characteristic is
a prudential timidity; the other of men of courage and resolution.
These two parties were, at this period, personified in these two
distinguished heads. The men of prudence thought that the cultivation
of theological science might lead gradually, and without disruption,
to the reformation of the Church. The men of action thought that the
diffusion of more correct ideas among the learned would not put a stop
to the superstitions of the people, and that the correction of
particular abuses was of little avail, unless the whole life of the
Church were renewed.
"A disadvantageous peace," said Erasmus, "is far better than the
justest war."[107] He thought (and how many Erasmuses have been and
still are in the world?) that a Reformation which shook the Church
might run a risk of overturning it; and he was therefore terrified
when, on looking forward, he saw the passions of men excited, saw evil
everywhere mingling itself with any little good that could be
accomplished, existing institutions destroyed in the absence of others
to supply their place, and the vessel of the Church leaking in every
part, and at length engulfed amid the storm. "Those who bring the sea
into new lagoons," said he, "are often deceived in the result; the
formidable element, once introduced, does not take the direction which
they wished to give it, but rushes where it pleases, and causes great
devastation.[108] "Be this as it may," continued he, "let disturbances
be by all means avoided. Better put up with wicked princes than by
innovations enthrone evil."[109]
[107] "Malo hunc qualisqualis est rerum humanarum statum quam novos
excitari tumultus," (Erasm. Ep. i, p. 953.) I had rather have the
world as it is than have new tumults excited.
[108] "Semel admissum, non ea fertur qua destinaret admissor." (Erasm.
Ep. i, p. 953.) Once admitted, it goes not where the admitter
intended.
[109] "Præstat ferre principes impios, quam novatis rebus gravius
malum accersere." (Ad Matth. xi, 30.) It is better to bear wicked
princes, than invite a worse calamity by innovation.
But the courageous among his contemporaries were prepared with their
answer. History had clearly enough demonstrated, that a frank
exposition of the truth, and a mortal struggle with falsehood, could
alone secure the victory. Had temporising and politic artifices been
resorted to, the wiles of the papal court would have extinguished the
light in its first glimmerings. Had not all sorts of mild methods been
tried for ages? Had not Council been held after Council, with the view
of reforming the Church? Yet all had been useless. Why pretend to
repeat an experiment that had so often failed?
No doubt a fundamental reform might be effected without disruption.
But when did anything great and good make its appearance among men
without causing agitation? This fear of seeing evil mingle with good,
if legitimate, would arrest the noblest and holiest enterprises. We
must not fear the evil which may be heaved up in the course of great
agitation, but be strong in combating and destroying it.
Besides, is there not an entire difference between the commotion which
human passions produces and that which emanates from the Spirit of
God? The one shakes society, the other consolidates it. How erroneous
to imagine, like Erasmus, that in the state in which Christianity then
was, with that mixture of opposite elements, truth and falsehood, life
and death, violent shocks might still be prevented! As well might you
try to shut the crater of Vesuvius, when the angry elements are
actually at war in its bosom! The middle ages had seen more than one
violent commotion in an atmosphere less loaded with storms than at the
period of the Reformation. The thing wanted at such a time is not to
arrest and suppress, but to direct and guide.
If the Reformation had not burst forth, who can tell the fearful ruin
by which its place might have been supplied? Society, a prey to a
thousand elements of destruction, and destitute of regenerating and
conservative elements, would have been dreadfully convulsed.
Assuredly it would not have been a reform to the taste of Erasmus, or
such an one as many moderate but timid men in our day dream of, that
would then have overtaken society. The people, devoid of that light
and piety which the Reformation carried down into the humblest ranks,
giving themselves up to the violence of their passions, and to a
restless spirit of revolt, would have burst forth like a wild beast
broken loose from its chain, after having been goaded to madness.
The Reformation was nothing but an interposition of the Spirit of God
among men, a setting of the world in order by the hand of God. No
doubt, it might stir up the fermenting elements which lie hidden in
the human heart; but God was there to overrule them. Evangelical
doctrine, heavenly truth, penetrating the masses of the population,
destroyed what deserved to perish, but, at the same time, gave new
strength to all that deserved to remain. The Reformation exerted
itself in building up, and it is mere prejudice to allege that it
destroyed. "The ploughshare, too," it has been truly said, in speaking
of the Reformation, "might think it hurts the earth, because it cuts
it asunder, whereas it only makes it productive."
The great principle of Erasmus was, "Give light, and the darkness will
disappear of itself." The principle is good, and Luther acted on it.
But when the enemies of the light strive to extinguish it, or to force
the flambeau out of the hand which carries it is it necessary, from a
love of peace, to let them do so? ought not the wicked to be resisted?
Erasmus was deficient in courage. Now, courage is indispensable,
whether it be to effect a Reformation, or to storm a town. There was
much timidity in his character. From a boy the very name of death made
him tremble. He was excessively anxious about his health, and would
grudge no sacrifice in order to escape from a place where some
contagious malady prevailed. His love of the comforts of life was
greater even than his vanity, and hence his rejection, on more than
one occasion, of the most brilliant offers.
Accordingly, he made no pretensions to the character of a Reformer.
"If the corruptions of the Court of Rome demand some great and prompt
remedy," said he, "it is no affair of mine, or of those like me."[110]
He had not the strong faith which animated Luther. While the latter
was always prepared to yield up his life for the truth, Erasmus
candidly declared, "Others may aspire to martyrdom; as for me, I deem
not myself worthy of the honour. Were some tumult to arise, I fear I
would play the part of Peter."[111]
[110] "Ingens aliquod et præsens remedium, certe meum non est." (Er.
Ep. i, 653.) Some vast and present remedy assuredly is not for me.
[111] "Ego me non arbitror hoc honore dignum." (Er. Ep. i, p. 653.)
Erasmus, by his writings and his sayings, had done more than any other
man to prepare the Reformation; but, when he saw the tempest, which he
himself had raised, actually come, he trembled. He would have given
anything to bring back the calm of other days, even though accompanied
with its dense fogs. It was no longer time. The embankment had burst,
and it was impossible to arrest the flood which was destined at once
to purify and fertilise the world. Erasmus was powerful as an
instrument of God, but when he ceased to be so, he was nothing.
Ultimately, Erasmus knew not for which party to declare. He was not
pleased with any, and he had his fears of all. "It is dangerous to
speak," said he, "and it is dangerous to be silent." In all great
religious movements we meet with those irresolute characters, which,
though respectable in some points of view, do injury to the truth,
and, in wishing not to displease any, displease all.
What would become of the truth did not God raise up bolder champions
to defend it? The following is the advice which Erasmus gave to
Viglius Zuichem, (afterwards President of the Supreme Court at
Brussels,) as to the manner in which he ought to conduct himself
towards the sectaries--(this was the name by which he had already
begun to designate the Reformers)--"My friendship for you makes me
desirous that you should keep far aloof from the contagion of the
sects, and not furnish them with any pretext for saying, 'Zuichem is
ours.' If you approve their doctrine, at least disguise it, and, above
all, do not enter into discussion with them. A lawyer should finesse
with these people as a dying man once did with the devil. The devil
asked him, 'What believest thou?' The dying man, afraid that if he
made a confession of his faith, he might be surprised into some
heresy, replied, 'What the Church believes.' The devil rejoined, 'What
does the Church believe?' The man again replied, 'What I believe.' The
devil, once more, 'And what dost thou believe?'--'What the Church
believes.'"[112] Duke George of Saxony, a mortal enemy of Luther,
receiving an equivocal answer from Erasmus to a question which he had
put to him, said, "My dear Erasmus, wash the fur for me, and do not
merely wet it." Secundus Curio, in one of his works, describes two
heavens--the Papistical and the Christian heaven. He does not find
Erasmus in either, but discovers him moving constantly between them in
endless circles.
[112] Erasm. Ep. 274.
Such was Erasmus. He wanted that internal liberty which makes a man
truly free. How different he would have been if he had abandoned
himself, and sacrificed all for truth! But after trying to effect some
reforms with the approbation of the Church, and for Rome deserting the
Reformation when he saw the two to be incompatible, he lost himself
with all parties. On the one hand, his palinodes could not suppress
the rage of the fanatical partisans of the Papacy. They felt the
mischief which he had done them, and they did not forgive it.
Impetuous monks poured out reproaches on him from the pulpit,--calling
him a second Lucian,--a fox, which had laid waste the vineyard of the
Lord. A doctor of Constance had the portrait of Erasmus hung up in his
study, that he might have it in his power at any moment to spit in his
face. On the other hand, Erasmus, by deserting the standard of the
gospel, deprived himself of the affection and esteem of the noblest
men of the period in which he lived, and must, doubtless, have
forfeited those heavenly consolations which God sheds in the hearts of
those who conduct themselves as good soldiers of Jesus Christ. At
least we have some indication of this in his bitter tears--his painful
vigils, and troubled sleep--his disrelish for his food--his disgust
with the study of the muses, once his only solace--his wrinkled
brow--his pallid cheek--his sad and sunken eye--his hatred of a life
to which he applies the epithet of cruel--and those longings for death
which he unbosoms to his friends.[113] Poor Erasmus!
[113] "... Vigiliæ molestæ, somnus, irrequietus, cibus insipidus
omnis, ipsum quoque musarum studium ... ipsa frontis me mœstitia,
vultus pallor, oculorum subtristis dejectio." (Erasm, Ep. i, p. 1380.)
The enemies of Erasmus went, we think, somewhat beyond the truth when
they exclaimed, on Luther's appearance, "Erasmus laid the egg, and
Luther has hatched it."[114]
[114] The works of Erasmus were published by John Le Clerc at Liege,
in 1703, in ten volumes folio. For his life, see Burigny, Vie
D'Erasme, Paris, 1757; A Müller Leben des Erasmus, Hamb., 1828; and
the Life inserted by Le Clerc in his Bibliothèque Choisie; see also
the fine and faithful work of M. Nisard, (Revue des deux Mondes.) who,
however, seems to me mistaken in his estimate of Erasmus and Luther.
CHAP. IX.
The nobles--Different Motives--Hütten--Literary
League--Letters of some Obscure Men--Their Effect--Luther's
Opinion--Hütten at Brussels--His
Letters--Seckingen--War--His Death--Cronberg--Hans
Sachs--General Fermentation.
The same symptoms of regeneration, which we have seen among princes,
bishops, and the learned, existed among the men of the world, among
nobles, knights, and warriors. The German nobility performed an
important part in the Reformation. Several of the most illustrious
sons of Germany entered into close alliance with the Literati, and
inflamed with an ardent, sometimes even an excessive zeal, laboured to
deliver their countrymen from the yoke of Rome.
Various causes must have contributed to procure friends for the
Reformation among the ranks of the nobility. Some, by their attendance
at the universities, had been warmed with the same flame that animated
the learned. Others, whose education had trained them to generous
feelings, had their minds predisposed in favour of the beautiful
doctrines of the gospel. To several, the Reformation seemed to present
something of a chivalrous character, which fascinated them, and bore
them along in its train. Lastly, it must be acknowledged, that not a
few had a grudge at the clergy, who had powerfully contributed in the
reign of Maximilian, to deprive the nobles of their ancient
independence, and bring them under subjection to their sovereigns.
They, in their enthusiasm, considered the Reformation as the prelude
of a great political renovation. They thought they saw the empire
emerging from this crisis with new splendour, and hailed the better
state, brilliant with the purest glory, which was on the eve of being
established in the world by chivalrous swords, not less than by the
word of God.
Ulrich de Hütten,[115] who, on account of his philippics against the
Papacy, has been surnamed the Demosthenes of Germany, forms, as it
were, the link which united the chevaliers and men of letters. He
distinguished himself by his writings, as much as by his sword.
Descended from an ancient family in Franconia, he was sent at eleven
years of age, to the Convent of Foulda, with the view of his becoming
a monk. But Ulrich, who had no inclination for this state, ran off
from the convent when he was sixteen, and repaired to the University
of Cologne, where he devoted himself to the study of languages.
Afterwards leading an unsettled life, he was in the ranks as a common
soldier at the siege of Padua, in 1513, saw Rome in all its disorder,
and there sharpened the arrows which he afterwards shot at her.
[115] "Animus ingens et ferox, viribus pollens.... Nam si consilia et
conatus Hütteni non defecissent quasi nervi copiarum, atque potentiæ,
jam mutatio omnium rerum extitisset, et quasi orbis status publici
fuisset conversus." (Camer. Vita Melancthonis.) Of a powerful, bold,
and vigorous intellect.... For had not Hütten's plans and efforts
(these being, as it were, the sinews of power) been defective, a
general alteration had taken place, and the condition of the world
been in a manner changed.
On his return to Germany, Hütten wrote a pamphlet against Rome,
entitled "The Roman Trinity," in which he unveils all the disorders of
that court, and shows the necessity of pulling down her tyranny by
main force. A traveller named Vadiscus, who figures prominently in the
piece, says, "There are three things which are usually brought back
from Rome,--a sore conscience, a disordered stomach, and an empty
purse. There are three things which Rome does not believe,--the
immortality of the soul, the resurrection of the dead, and hell. There
are three things in which Rome carries on a trade,--the grace of
Christ, ecclesiastical benefices, and women." The publication of this
work obliged Hütten to quit the court of the Archbishop of Mayence,
where he was residing when he composed it.
The affair of Reuchlin with the Dominicans was the signal which
brought forward all the literati, magistrates, and nobles, who were
opposed to the monks. The defeat of the inquisitors, who, it was said,
had only saved themselves from a regular and absolute sentence of
condemnation by money and intrigue, gave encouragement to all their
adversaries. Counsellors of the empire, and magistrates of the most
considerable towns--Pirckheimer of Nuremberg, Peutinger of Augsburg,
Stuss of Cologne, distinguished preachers, such as Capito and
Œcolampadius, doctors of medicine, historians, all the literati,
orators, and poets, at the head of whom, Ulrich de Hütten was
conspicuous, formed the _army of Reuchlinists_, of whom a list was
even published.[116] The most remarkable production of this league was
the famous popular satire, entitled, "Letters of some Obscure Men."
This production was principally written by Hütten, and one of his
university friends, Crotus Robianus, but it is difficult to say with
which of the two the idea originated, if, indeed, it was not with the
learned printer, Angst. It is even doubtful if Hütten had any hand in
the first part of the work. Several _Humanists_, who had met in the
fortress of Ebernbourg, appear to have contributed to the second
part. It is a picture in bold characters, a caricature sometimes
coarsely painted, but full of truth and vigour, a striking likeness in
colours of fire. The effect was immense. Monks, who are adversaries of
Reuchlin, and the supposed authors of the letters, discourse on the
affairs of the time, and on theological subjects after their own
manner, and in their barbarous Latin. They address to their
correspondent, Ortuin Gratius, professor at Cologne, and friend of
Pfefferkorn, the silliest and most useless questions. They give the
most amusing proof of the excessive ignorance and incredulity, their
superstition, their low and vulgar spirit, their coarse gluttony in
making a god of their belly, and, at the same time, their pride, their
fanatical and persecuting zeal. They inform him of several of their
droll adventures, their escapes, their dissoluteness, and a variety of
scandals in the lives of Hochstraten, Pfefferkorn, and other leaders
of their party. The tone of these letters, sometimes hypocritical and
sometimes childish, gives them a very comic effect, and yet the whole
is so natural, that the Dominicans and Franciscans of England received
the work with high approbation, believing that it really was composed
on the principles of their order, and in defence of it. A prior of
Brabant, in his credulous simplicity, purchased a great number of
copies, and presented them to the most distinguished among the
Dominicans. The monks, irritated more and more, applied to the pope
for a stringent bull against all who should dare to read these
epistles, but Leo X refused to grant it. They were accordingly obliged
to put up with the general laugh, and gulp down their rage. No work
gave a stronger blow to these pillars of Papism. But it was not by
jesting and satire that the gospel was to triumph. Had this course
been persisted in; had the Reformers, instead of attacking the
Reformation with the weapons of God, had recourse to the jeering
spirit of the world, the cause had been lost. Luther loudly condemned
these satires. A friend having sent him one of them, entitled, "_The
Tenor of the Supplication of Pasquin_," he wrote in answer, "The
foolish things you sent me appear to be written by a mind which is
under no control. I submitted them to a meeting of friends, and they
have all given the same opinion."[117] And speaking of the same work,
he writes to another of his correspondents, "This Supplication appears
to me to be by the same hand as the _Letters of some Obscure Men_. I
approve of his wishes, but I approve not of his work, for he does not
refrain from injury and insult."[118] This sentence is severe, but it
shows what kind of spirit was in Luther, and how superior he was to
his contemporaries. It must be added, however, that he was not at all
times observant of these wise maxims.
[116] "Exercitus Reuchlinistarum," at the head of a collection of
letters addressed to Reuchlin on the subject.
[117] L. Ep. i. p. 37.
[118] Luth. Ep. i, p. 38.
Ulrich having been obliged to renounce the protection of the
Archbishop of Mayence, applied for that of Charles V, who had at this
time quarrelled with the pope, and accordingly repaired to Brussels,
where Charles was holding his court. But so far from obtaining
anything, he learned that the pope had required the emperor to send
him to Rome bound hand and foot. The inquisitor, Hochstraten,
Reuchlin's persecutor, was one of those whom Rome had charged to
pursue him. Ulrich, indignant that such a demand should have been made
to the emperor, quitted Brabant. When a short way from Brussels, he
met Hochstraten on the highroad. The inquisitor, frightened out of his
wits, falls on his knees, and commends his soul to God and the saints.
"No," said the knight, "I will not soil my sword with such blood as
yours!" and giving him several strokes with the flat of his sword,
allowed him to depart.
Hütten took refuge in the castle of Ebernbourg, where Francis de
Seckingen offered an asylum to all who were persecuted by the
Ultramontanists. It was here that his ardent zeal for the emancipation
of his country dictated the remarkable letters which he addressed to
Charles V, Frederick Elector of Saxony, Albert Archbishop of Mayence,
and the princes and nobles, and which entitle him to a place among the
most distinguished authors. Here too, he composed all those works[119]
which, being read and comprehended by the people, inspired Germany
with a hatred of Rome and a love of freedom. Devoted to the cause of
the Reformers, his object was to induce the nobility to take up arms
in favour of the gospel, and fall with the sword on that Rome which
Luther only wished to destroy by the Word, and by the invincible force
of truth.
[119] The works of Hütten have been published at Berlin by Manchen,
1822-1825, in five vols. 8vo.
Still, amid all this fondness for war, we are pleased at finding
tenderness and delicacy of sentiment in Hütten. On the death of his
parents, though he was the eldest son, he gave up all the family
property to his brothers, and prayed them not to write him or send him
any money, lest, notwithstanding their innocence, they might be
brought into trouble by his enemies, and fall into the ditch along
with him.
If the truth cannot own Hütten for one of her children, (for her
companions are ever holiness of life and purity of heart,) she will,
at least, make honourable mention of him, as one of the most
readoubtable adversaries of error.
A similar testimony may be borne to François de Seckingen, his
illustrious friend and patron. This noble chevalier, whom several of
his contemporaries deemed worthy of the imperial crown, holds first
place among the warriors who were the antagonists of Rome. While
delighting in the noise of arms, he had an ardent love of science, and
a high veneration for its professors. When at the head of an army
which threatened Wurtemberg, he gave orders, in the event of Stuttgard
being taken by assault, to spare the property and house of the
celebrated scholar, John Reuchlin. He afterwards invited him to his
camp, and, embracing him, offered to assist him in his quarrel with
the monks of Cologne. For a long time chivalry had gloried in
despising literature, but this period presents us with a different
spectacle. Under the massy cuirass of the Seckingens and Hüttens, we
perceive the intellectual movement which is beginning to be everywhere
felt. The first fruits which the Reformation gives to the world are
warriors enamoured with the arts of peace.
Hütten, who, on his return from Brussels, had taken refuge in the
castle of Seckingen, invited the valorous knight to study the
evangelical doctrine, and made him acquainted with the foundations on
which it rests. "And is there any one," exclaimed Seckingen in
astonishment, "who dares to overturn such an edifice? Who could do
it?"
Several individuals, who afterwards became celebrated as Reformers,
found an asylum in this castle; among others, Martin Bucer, Aquila,
Schwebel, and Œcolampadius, so that Hütten justly styled Ebernbourg
"the hotel of the just." Œcolampadius had to preach daily in the
castle, but the warriors there assembled began to weary hearing so
much of the meek virtues of Christianity, and the sermons of
Œcolampadius, though he laboured to shorten them, seemed too long.
They, indeed, repaired to the church almost every day, but, for the
most part, only to hear the blessing and offer a short prayer. Hence
Œcolampadius exclaimed, "Alas! the Word is here sown on stony ground."
Seckingen, longing to serve the cause of truth in his own way,
declared war on the Archbishop of Treves, "in order," as he said, "to
open a door for the gospel." In vain did Luther, who had by this time
appeared, endeavour to dissuade him; he attacked Treves with five
thousand knights and a thousand common soldiers, but the bold
archbishop, aided by the Elector Palatine and the Landgrave of Hesse,
forced him to retreat. The following spring, the allied princes
attacked him in his castle of Landstein. After a bloody assault,
Seckingen, having been mortally wounded, was forced to surrender. The
three princes, accordingly, make their way into the fortress, and,
after searching through it, at last find the indomitable knight on his
death-bed, in a subterraneous vault.
He stretches out his hand to the Elector Palatine, without seeming to
pay any attention to the other princes, who overwhelm him with
questions and reproaches: "Leave me at rest," said he to them; "I am
now preparing to answer a mightier than you!..." When Luther heard of
his death he exclaimed, "The Lord is just, yet wonderful! It is not
with the sword that he means to propagate the gospel!"
Such was the sad end of a warrior, who, as emperor or elector, might,
perhaps, have raised Germany to high renown, but who, confined within
a limited circle, wasted the great powers with which he was endowed.
It was not in the tumultuous spirit of these warriors that Divine
truth, which had come down from heaven, was to take up her abode.
Theirs were not the weapons by which she was to conquer; God, in
annihilating the mad projects of Seckingen, gave a new illustration of
the saying of St. Paul, "The weapons of our warfare are not carnal,
but mighty through God."
Another chevalier, Harmut of Cronberg, a friend of Hütten and
Seckingen, appears to have had more wisdom and more knowledge of the
truth. He wrote with great moderation to Leo X, beseeching him to give
up his temporal power to its rightful possessor, viz., the emperor.
Addressing his dependants like a father, he endeavoured to make them
comprehend the doctrines of the gospel, and exhorted them to faith,
obedience, and confidence in Jesus Christ, "who," added he, "is the
sovereign Lord of all." He resigned a pension of two hundred ducats
into the hands of the emperor, "because he was unwilling," as he
expressed it, "to continue in the service of one who lent his ear to
the enemies of the truth." I have somewhere met with a beautiful
saying of his, which seems to place him far above Hütten and
Seckingen. "The Holy Spirit, our heavenly Teacher, is able, when he
pleases, to teach us more of the faith of Christ in one hour than we
could learn in ten years at the University of Paris."
Those who look for the friends of reformation only on the steps of
thrones,[120] or in cathedrals and academies, and maintain that no
such friends exist among the people, are under a serious mistake. God,
while preparing the heart of the wise and powerful, was also
preparing, in retirement, many simple and humble-minded men, who were
one day to become obedient to the Word. The history of the period
gives evidence of the fermentation which was then going on among the
humbler classes. The popular literature, previous to the Reformation,
had a tendency directly opposed to the spirit which was prevalent in
the Church. In the "Eulenspiegel," a celebrated popular poetical
collection of the period, the laugh is incessantly kept up at priests,
beasts, and gluttons, who keep full-stocked cellars, fine horses, and
well-lined pantries. In the "Renard Reinecke," the households of
priests, with their little children, play an important part. Another
popular writer thunders with all his might against those ministers of
Christ who ride splendid horses, but won't fight the infidels; and
John Rosenblut, in one of his carnival games, brings the Grand Turk
upon the stage, to preach a seasonable sermon to all the states of
Christendom.
[120] See Châteaubriand, Etudes Historiques.
It was unquestionably in the bowels of the people that the
Reformation, which was soon to break out, was fermenting. Not only
from this class were youths seen coming forth, who were afterwards to
occupy the first stations in the Church, but even individuals, who
continued all their lives to labour in the humblest professions,
contributed powerfully to the great awakening of Christendom. It may
be proper to give some traits in the life of one of them.
On the 5th November 1494, a tailor of Nuremberg, by name Hans Sachs,
had a son born to him. The son, named Hans (John) like his father,
after having received some schooling, was apprenticed to a shoemaker.
Young Hans availed himself of the liberty of thought, which this
humble profession afforded, to penetrate into the higher world, in
which his soul delighted. Songs, after they ceased in the castles of
chivalry, seem to have sought, and to have found, an asylum among the
burghers of the joyous cities of Germany. A singing-school was held in
the Church of Nuremberg. The performances which took place there, and
in which young Hans was accustomed to join, opened his heart to
religious impressions, and helped to awaken a taste for poetry and
music. The genius of the youth could not long brook confinement within
the walls of his workshop. He wished to see with his own eyes that
world of which he had read so much, and been told so many stories by
his comrades, and which his imagination peopled with wonders. In 1511
he bundles up his effects, and sets out in the direction of the South.
The young traveller, falling in with gay comrades, students roaming
the country, and many dangerous temptations soon feels a serious
struggle within. The lusts of the world and his pious resolutions war
with each other. Trembling for the result, he takes flight, and, in
1513, hides himself in the little town of Wels in Austria, where he
lives in retirement, devoting himself to the study of the fine arts.
The emperor, Maximilian, happens to pass through the town with a
brilliant suite, and the young poet is quite fascinated with the
splendour of the court. The prince receives him into his hunting
train, and Hans once more forgets himself, under the noisy vaults of
the palace of Insprüch. But his conscience again sounds the alarm, and
the young huntsman, immediately throwing aside his brilliant uniform,
takes his departure, and arrives at Schwatz near Munich. There, in
1514, at the age of twenty, he composed his first hymn, "In Honour of
God," setting it to a remarkable air. It was received with great
applause. In the course of his journeys, he was witness to many sad
proofs of the abuses under which religion groaned.
On his return to Nuremberg, Hans commences business, marries, and
becomes the father of a family. When the Reformation breaks out he
turns a listening ear. He cordially welcomes the Holy Scripture, which
had already endeared itself to him as a poet, and he no longer
searches it for images and hymns, but for the light of truth. To this
truth he consecrates his lyre. From a humble stall in front of one of
the gates of the imperial city of Nuremberg, come forth notes which
re-echo over Germany, and everywhere excite a deep interest in the
great revolution which is going forward. The spiritual songs of Hans
Sachs, and his Bible turned into verse, greatly aided the work.
Indeed, it would be difficult to say which of the two did most for
it--the elector of Saxony, vicegerent of the empire, or the shoemaker
of Nuremberg.
* * * * *
Thus, then, there was something in all classes which announced a
Reformation. On all sides signs appeared, and events pressed forward
threatening to overthrow the work of ages of darkness, and introduce
men to a period in which "all things were to become new." The
hierarchical form, which several ages had been employed in stamping
upon the world, was on the eve of being effaced. The light which had
just been discovered had, with inconceivable rapidity, introduced a
number of new ideas into all countries, and all classes of society
gave signs of new life. "O age!" exclaims Hütten, "studies flourish,
and minds awake: Mere life is joy!"... The human intellect, which had
been slumbering for so many generations, seemed desirous, by its
activity, to redeem the time which it had lost. To have left it in
idleness, without nourishment, or to have given it no better food than
that which had long maintained its languid existence, would have been
to mistake the nature of man. The human mind having at length
perceived what it was, and what it ought to be, looked boldly at these
two states, and scanned the immense abyss which lay between them.
Great princes were on the throne, the ancient colossus of Rome was
tottering under its own weight, and the old spirit of chivalry was
taking leave of the earth to make way for a new spirit, which breathed
at once on the sanctuaries of knowledge, and on the dwellings of the
poor. The printed Word had taken wing, and been carried, as the wind
does certain seeds, to the most distant regions. The discovery of the
two Indies had enlarged the world.... Every thing announced that a
great revolution was at hand.
But whence will the blow come which is to strike down the ancient
edifice, that a new edifice may arise out of its ruins? Nobody could
say. Who had more wisdom than Frederick? More science than Reuchlin?
More talent than Erasmus? More spirit and versatility than Hütten?
More valour than Seckingen? More virtue than Cronberg? And yet,
neither Frederick, nor Reuchlin, nor Erasmus, nor Seckingen, nor
Hütten, nor Cronberg.... Learned men, princes, warriors, the Church
herself, had sapped some of the foundations: but there they had
stopped. The powerful hand which God had designed to employ was
nowhere to be seen.
All, however, felt that it must soon make its appearance, while some
even pretended to have seen indications of it in the stars. One class,
seeing the miserable state of religion predicted the near approach of
Antichrist. Another class, on the contrary, predicted a speedy
Reformation. The world was waiting.... Luther appeared.
BOOK SECOND.
CHAP. I.
YOUTH, CONVERSION, AND FIRST LABOURS OF LUTHER.
1483-1517.
Luther's Descent--His Parents--His Birth--Poverty--The
Paternal Roof--Strict Discipline--First Lessons--The School
of Magdebourg--Wretchedness--Isenach--The Shunammite--The
House of Cotta--The Arts--Remembrance of those Times--His
Studies--Trebonius--The University.
All was ready. God takes ages to prepare his work, but when the hour
is come, accomplishes it by the feeblest instruments. To do great
things by small means, is the law of God. This law, which appears in
every department of nature, is found also in history. God took the
Reformers of the Church, where he had taken the Apostles. He selected
them from that humble class which, without containing the meanest of
the people, is scarcely the length of citizenship. Every thing must
manifest to the world that the work is not of man, but of God. The
Reformer Zuinglius comes forth from the hut of a shepherd of the Alps,
Melancthon, the Theologian of the Reformation, from the workshop of an
armourer, and Luther from the cottage of a poor miner.
The first stage in a man's life, that in which he is formed and
moulded under the hand of God, is always important, and was so
especially in the case of Luther. There, even at that period, the
whole Reformation existed. The different phases of that great work
succeeded each other in the soul of him who was the instrument of
accomplishing it, before it was actually accomplished. The knowledge
of the Reformation which took place in Luther's heart is the only key
to the Reformation of the Church. We must study the particular work,
if we would attain to a knowledge of the general work. Those who
neglect the one will never know more than the form and exterior of the
other. They may acquire a knowledge of certain events and certain
results, but the intrinsic nature of the revival they cannot know,
because the living principle which formed the soul of it, is hidden
from them. Let us then study the Reformation in Luther, before
studying it in events which changed the face of Christendom.
In the village of Mora, towards the forests of Thuringia, and not far
from the spot where Boniface, the Apostle of Germany, began to
proclaim the gospel, there existed, and, undoubtedly, had existed for
ages, an ancient and numerous family of the name of Luther.[121] The
eldest son, as usual with the peasantry of Thuringia, always succeeded
to the house and the paternal plot, while the younger members of the
family set out in quest of a livelihood. John Luther having married
Margaret Lindemann, daughter of an inhabitant of Neustadt, in the
bishopric of Warzburg, the married couple removed from the plains of
Isenach, and fixed their residence in the little town of Eisleben, in
Saxony, in order to gain their bread by the sweat of their brow.
[121] "Vetus familia est et late propagata mediocrium hominum."
(Melancth. Vita Luth.) It is an old and wide spread family, consisting
of individuals in humble circumstances.
Seckendorff relates, on the testimony of Robhan, superintendant of
Isenach in 1601, that Luther's mother, thinking she was still far from
her time, had gone to the fair of Eisleben, and there, unexpectedly,
gave birth to a son. Notwithstanding of the credit due to such a man
as Seckendorff, this account appears not to be correct. In fact, none
of the older biographers of Luther make any mention of it. Besides,
Mora is more than twenty-four leagues distant from Eisleben, and
persons in the circumstances in which Luther's mother then was seldom
are disposed to take such long journeys _to go to the fair_. In fine,
the account seems quite at variance with Luther's own statement.[122]
[122] "Ego natus sum in Eisleben, baptizatusque apud Sanctum Petrum
ibidem. Parentes mei de prope Isenaco illuc migrarunt." (Luth., Ep. i,
p. 390.) I was born at Eisleben, and baptized in St. Peter's there. My
parents came thither from near Isenach.
John Luther was an upright, straightforward, hard-working man, with a
firmness of character bordering on obstinacy. Of a more cultivated
mind than usual with persons of his class, he was a great reader.
Books were then rare. But he never let pass any opportunity of
procuring them. They were his relaxation in the intervals of repose
from hard and long-continued labour. Margaret possessed the virtues
which adorn honest and pious women. She was remarked, in particular,
for her modesty, her fear of God, and her spirit of prayer. The
mothers of the place regarded her as a model whom they ought to
imitate.[123]
[123] "Intuebantur in eam cæteræ honestæ mulieres ut in exemplar
virtutum." (Melancth. Vita Lutheri.) Other honest wives looked to her
as a model of virtue.
It is not exactly known how long this couple had been fixed at
Eisleben, when, on the 10th November, an hour before midnight,
Margaret gave birth to a son. Melancthon often questioned the mother
of his friend as to the period of his birth. "I remember the day and
the hour very well," would she reply; "but for the year, I am not
certain of it." Luther's brother, James, an honest and upright man,
has stated, that, in the opinion of all the family, Martin was born in
the year of Christ 1483, on the 10th November, being St. Martin's
eve.[124] The first thought of the pious parents was to take the
infant which God had given them, and dedicate it to God in holy
baptism. On the following day, which happened to be a Tuesday, the
father, with gratitude and joy, carried his son to St. Peter's church,
where he received the seal of his dedication to the Lord. He was named
Martin in honour of the day.
[124] Ibid.
Young Martin was not six months old when his parents quitted Eisleben
for Mansfeld, which is only five leagues distant. The mines of
Mansfeld were then much famed, and John Luther, a labouring man,
feeling that he might perhaps be called to rear a numerous family,
hoped he might there more easily gain a livelihood. It was in this
town that the intellect and powers of young Luther received their
first development; here his activity began to be displayed, and his
disposition to be manifested by what he said and did. The plains of
Mansfeld, the banks of the Wipper, were the scenes of his first sports
with his playmates.
The commencement of their residence at Mansfeld was attended with
painful privations to honest John and his wife; for they lived some
time in great poverty. "My parents," says the Reformer, "were very
poor. My father was a poor wood-cutter, and my mother often carried
his wood on her back to procure subsistence for us children. The toil
they endured for us was severe, even to blood." The example of parents
whom he respected, and the habits in which they trained him, early
accustomed Luther to exertion and frugality. Often, doubtless, he
accompanied his mother to the wood, and made up his little faggot
also.
Promises are given to the just man's labour, and John Luther
experienced the reality of them. Having become somewhat more easy in
his circumstances, he established two smelting furnaces at Mansfeld.
Around these furnaces young Martin grew up; and the return which they
yielded enabled his father, at a later period, to provide for his
studies. "The spiritual founder of Christendom," says worthy
Mathesius, "was to come forth from a family of miners, an image of
what God purposed, when he employed him to cleanse the sons of Levi,
and purify them in his furnaces like gold."[125] Universally respected
for his integrity, his blameless life, and good sense, John Luther was
made a counsellor of Mansfeld, the capital of the county of that name.
Too great wretchedness might have weighed down the spirit of the
child, but the easy circumstances of the paternal roof expanded his
heart, and elevated his character.
[125] "Drumb musste diese geistliche Schmelzer...." (Mathesius,
Historien, 1565, p. 3.)
John availed himself of his new situation to cultivate the society
which he preferred. He set great value on educated men, and often
invited the clergymen and teachers of the place to his table. His
house presented an example of one of those societies of simple
citizens which did honour to Germany at the commencement of the
sixteenth century, and, as a mirror, reflected the numerous images
which succeeded each other on the troubled stage of that time. It was
not lost on the child. The sight of men to whom so much respect was
shown in his father's house must, doubtless, on more than one
occasion, have awakened in young Martin's heart an ambitious desire
one day to become a school-master or a man of learning.
As soon as he was of an age to receive some instruction, his parents
sought to give him the knowledge and inspire him with the fear of God,
and train him in Christian virtues. Their utmost care was devoted to
his primary domestic education.[126] This, however, was not the sole
object of their tender solicitude.
[126] "Ad agnitionem et timorem Dei, ... domestica institutione
diligenter assuefecerunt." (Melancth. Vit. Luth.) By domestic
instruction, they carefully trained him into the knowledge and fear of
God.
His father, desirous of seeing him acquire the elements of knowledge
for which he himself had so much esteem, invoked the Divine blessing
on his head, and sent him to school. As Martin was still a very little
boy, his father or Nicolas Emler, a young man of Mansfeld, often
carried him in their arms to the house of George Emilius, and went
again to fetch him. Emler afterwards married one of Luther's sisters.
The piety of the parents, their activity and strict virtue, gave a
happy impulse to the boy, making him of a grave and attentive spirit.
The system of education which then prevailed employed fear and
punishment as its leading stimulants. Margaret, though sometimes
approving the too strict discipline of her husband, often opened her
maternal arms to Martin, to console him in his tears. She herself
occasionally carried to excess that precept of Divine wisdom, which
says, "He that spareth the rod hateth his son." The impetuous temper
of the child often led to frequent reproof and correction. "My
parents," says Luther, in after life, "treated me harshly, and made me
very timid. My mother one day chastised me about a filbert till the
blood came. They believed with all their heart they were doing right,
but they could not discriminate between dispositions, though this is
necessary in order to know when and how punishments should be
inflicted."[127]
[127] "Sed non poterant discernere ingenia secundum quæ essent
temperandæ correctiones." (Luth. Op. W. xxii, p. 1785.) But they could
not discriminate between minds, though these ought to regulate
chastisement.
The poor child's treatment at school was not less severe. His master
one morning beat him fifteen times in succession. "It is necessary,"
said Luther, when mentioning the fact, "it is necessary to chastise
children; but it is necessary, at the same time, to love them." With
such an education, Luther early learned to despise the allurements of
a sensual life. "He who is to become great must begin with
little,"[128] justly remarks one of his earliest biographers; "and if
children are brought up with too much delicacy and tenderness, it does
them harm all the rest of their life."
[128] "Was gross sol werden, muss klein angeben." (Mathesius, Hist. p.
3.)
Martin learned something at school. He was taught the heads of the
Catechism, the Ten Commandments, the Apostles' Creed, the Lord's
Prayer, hymns, forms of prayer, and the _Donat_. This last was a Latin
grammar, composed in the fourth century by Donatus, St. Jerome's
master; and having been improved in the eleventh century by a French
monk, named Remigius, was long in high repute as a school-book. He
moreover conned the Ciseo-Janus, a very singular almanac, composed in
the tenth or eleventh century. In short, he learned all that was
taught in the Latin school of Mansfeld.
But the child seems not to have been brought to God. The only
religious sentiment which could be discovered in him was that of fear.
Whenever he heard Jesus Christ mentioned he grew pale with terror; for
the Saviour had been represented to him as an angry Judge. This
servile fear, so foreign to genuine religion, perhaps predisposed him
for the glad tidings of the gospel, and for the joy which he
afterwards experienced when he became acquainted with him who is meek
and lowly in heart.
John Luther longed to make his son a learned man. The new light, which
began to radiate in all directions, penetrated even the cottage of the
miner of Mansfield, and there awakened ambitious thoughts. The
remarkable disposition, and persevering application of his son,
inspired John with the most brilliant hopes. Accordingly, in 1497,
when Martin had completed his fourteenth year, his father resolved to
part with him, and send him to a school of the Franciscans at
Magdebourg. Margaret behoved, of course, to consent, and Martin
prepared to quit the paternal roof.
Magdebourg was like a new world to Martin. Amid numerous privations,
(for he had scarcely the means of subsistence,) he read and attended
lectures; André Prolés, provincial of the Augustine Order, was then
preaching with great fervour on the necessity of reforming religion
and the Church. He, however, was not the person who deposited in the
young man's soul the first germ of those ideas which afterwards
expanded in it.
This period was a kind of severe apprenticeship to Luther. Launched
upon the world at fourteen, without friend or patron, he trembled in
presence of his masters, and, during the hours of recreation,
painfully begged his food with children as poor as himself. "I and my
comrades," says he, "begged a little food for our subsistence. One
day, at the season when the Church celebrates the birth of Jesus
Christ, we were in a body scouring the neighbouring villages, going
from house to house, and, in four parts, singing the ordinary hymns on
the Babe at Bethlehem. We stopped before a peasant's cottage, which
stood by itself at the extremity of a village. The peasant, hearing us
singing our Christmas carols, came out with some provisions which he
meant to give us, and asked, in a gruff voice, and a harsh tone,
'Where are you, boys?' His tones frightened us, and we took to our
heels. We had no cause for fear; for the peasant was sincere in his
offer of assistance: but our hearts were, no doubt, made timid by the
menaces and tyranny with which masters at this period oppressed their
scholars; hence the sudden fright which seized us. At last, however,
the peasant still continuing to call us, we stopped, laid aside our
fear, and, running up to him, received the food which he intended for
us." "In the same way," adds Luther, "are we wont to tremble and flee
when our conscience is guilty and alarmed. Then we are afraid even of
the assistance which is offered to us, and of those who are friendly
to us, and would do us all sorts of kindness."[129]
[129] Luth. Op. Walch. ii, 2347.
A year had scarcely passed, when John and Margaret, on being made
aware of the difficulties which their son had in living in Magdebourg,
sent him to Isenach, where there was a celebrated school, and they had
a number of relations.[130] They had other children; and though their
circumstances had improved, they were unable to maintain their son in
a strange town. The forges and late hours of John Luther did no more
than keep the family at Mansfield. It was hoped that Martin would find
a livelihood more easily at Isenach, but he was not more successful.
His relations in the town did not trouble themselves about him.
Perhaps their own poverty made them unable to give him any assistance.
[130] "Isenachum enim pene totam parentelam habet." (Luth. Ep. i, p.
390.) For almost all my relations live in Isenach.
When the scholar felt the gnawings of hunger he had no resource but to
do as at Magdebourg,--to join his fellow-students, and sing with them
before the houses for a morsel of bread. This custom of the time of
Luther has been preserved, even to our day, in several towns of
Germany, where the voices of the boys sometimes produce a most
harmonious chant. Instead of bread, poor modest Martin often received
only hard words. Then, overcome with sadness, he shed many tears in
secret, unable to think of the future without trembling.
One day, in particular, he had been repulsed from three houses, and
was preparing, without having broken his fast, to return to his
lodging, when, on arriving at St. George's Square, he halted, and,
absorbed in gloomy thoughts, stood motionless before the house of an
honest burgher.
Will it be necessary, from want of bread, to give up study, and go and
work with his father in the mines of Mansfeld? Suddenly a door opens,
and a female is seen on the threshold,--it was the wife of Conrad
Cotta, the daughter of the burgomaster of Ilefeld.[131] Her name was
Ursula. The Chronicles of Isenach call her "the pious Shunammite," in
allusion to her who so earnestly pressed the prophet Elisha to eat
bread with her. Previous to this the Christian Shunammite had more
than once observed young Martin in the assemblies of the faithful, and
been touched by the sweetness of his voice, and his devout
behaviour.[132] She had just heard the harsh language addressed to the
poor scholar, and seeing him in sadness before her door, she came to
his assistance, beckoned him to enter, and set food before him to
appease his hunger.
[131] Lingk's Reisegesch, Luth.
[132] "Dieweil sic umb seines singen und herzlichen Gebets willen."...
(Mathesius. p. 3.)
Conrad approved of the benevolence of his wife, and was even so much
pleased with the society of young Luther, that some days after he took
him home to his house. From this moment his studies were secure. He
will not be obliged to return to the mines of Mansfeld, and bury the
talent with which God has entrusted him. When he no longer knew what
was to become of him God opened to him the heart and the home of a
Christian family. This event helped to give him that confidence in God
which in after life the strongest tempests could not shake.
In the house of Cotta, Luther was introduced to a mode of life very
different from that which he had hitherto known. He there led an easy
existence, exempt from want and care. His mind became more serene, his
disposition more lively, and his heart more open. His whole being
expanded to the mild rays of charity, and began to beat with life,
joy, and happiness. His prayers were more ardent, and his thirst for
knowledge more intense. He made rapid progress.
To literature and science he added the charms of art. Those who are
designed by God to act upon their contemporaries are themselves, in
the first instance, seized and carried along by all the tendencies of
their age. Luther learned to play on the flute and the lute. The
latter instrument he often accompanied with his fine counter voice,
thus enlivening his heart in moments of sadness. He took pleasure also
in employing his notes to testify his gratitude to his adopted mother,
who was very fond of music. His own love of it continued to old age,
and both the words and the music of some of the finest anthems which
Germany possesses are his composition. Some have even been translated
into our language.
Happy time for the young man! Luther always remembered it with
emotion. Many years after, a son of Conrad having come to study at
Wittemberg, when the poor scholar of Isenach had become the doctor of
his age, he gladly received him at his table and under his roof. He
wished to pay back to the son part of what he had received from the
parents. It was while thinking of the Christian woman who gave him
food when all besides repulsed him, that he gave utterance to this
fine expression, "Earth has nothing gentler than the female heart in
which piety dwells."
Luther was never ashamed of the days when, pressed by hunger, he was
under the necessity of begging for his studies and his maintenance. So
far from this, he, on the contrary, reflected with gratitude on the
great poverty of his youth. He regarded it as one of the means which
God had employed to make him what he afterwards became, and he felt
thankful for it. The poor youths who were obliged to follow the same
course touched his heart. "Do not," said he, "despise the boys who
sing before your houses, and ask 'panem propter Deum,' bread for the
love of God; I have done it myself. It is true that at a later period,
my father, with great love and kindness, kept me at the University of
Erfurt, maintaining me by the sweat of his brow; still I once was a
poor beggar. And now by means of my pen, I am come thus far, that I
would not change situations with the Grand Turk himself. Nay, more,
were all the goods of the world piled up one above another, I would
not take them in exchange for what I have. And yet, I should not be
where I am, if I had not been at school and learned to write." Thus,
in these first humble beginnings this great man traced the origin of
his fame. He fears not to remind us that that voice whose accents made
the empire and the world to tremble, had once begged a morsel of bread
in the streets of a poor city. The Christian takes pleasure in such
recollections, as reminding him that it is in God he must glory.
The strength of his intellect, and the liveliness of his imagination,
soon enabled him to outstrip all his fellow-students.[133] His
progress was particularly rapid in ancient languages, eloquence, and
poetry. He wrote essays and made verses. Lively, complaisant, and what
is called good-hearted, he was a great favourite with his masters and
his comrades.
[133] "Cumque et vis ingenii acerrima esset, et imprimis ad
eloquentiam idonea, celeriter æqualibus suis præcurrit," (Melancth.
Vit. Luth.) As he was of a very powerful mind, and had a particular
turn for eloquence, he soon got before his companions.
Among the professors, he attached himself particularly to John
Trebonius, a learned man of pleasing manners, who showed youth those
attentions which are so well fitted to encourage them. Martin had
remarked, that when Trebonius entered the class, he took off his hat,
and bowed to the students;--great condescension in those pedantic
times! This had pleased the young man, and made him feel that he was
not a mere cipher. The respect of the master had made the pupil rise
in his own estimation. The colleagues of Trebonius, who had not the
same custom of taking off their hats, having one day expressed their
astonishment at his extreme condescension, he replied, (and the reply
made no less impression on young Luther,) "Among these youths are men
whom God will one day make burgomasters, chancellors, doctors, and
magistrates; and though you do not yet see them with their badges of
office, it is right, however, to show them respect." No doubt, the
young student listened with pleasure to these words, and even then,
perhaps, saw himself with a doctor's cap on his head.
CHAP. II.
Scholasticism and the Classics--Luther's
Piety--Discovery--The Bible--Sickness--Master of
Arts--Conscience--Death of
Alexis--Thunderstorm--Providence--Adieus--Entrance into a
Convent.
Luther had attained his eighteenth year. He had tasted the pleasures
of literature, and burning with eagerness to learn, he sighed after a
university, and longed to repair to one of those fountains of science,
at which he might quench his thirst for knowledge.[134] His father
wished him to study law, and already saw him filling an honourable
station among his fellow-citizens, gaining the favour of princes, and
making a figure on the theatre of the world. It was resolved that the
young student should repair to Erfurt.
[134] "Degustata igitur literarum dulcedine natura, flagrans
cupiditate discendi appetit academiam." (Mel. Vit. Luth). Having thus
tasted the sweets of literature, and having naturally an ardent desire
of knowledge, he longs for a university.
Luther arrived at this university in the year 1501. Jadocus, surnamed
the Doctor of the Isenach, was then teaching the scholastic philosophy
with much success. Melancthon regrets that the only thing then taught
at Erfurt should have been a dialectics bristling with difficulties.
He thinks that if Luther had found other professors there, if he had
been trained in the milder and calmer discipline of true philosophy,
it might have moderated and softened the vehemence of his nature.[135]
The new scholar began to study the philosophy of the middle ages in
the writings of Occam, Scotus, Bonaventura, and Thomas Aquinas. At a
later period he had a thorough disgust for all this scholasticism. The
very name of Aristotle, pronounced in his hearing, filled him with
indignation; and he even went the length of saying, that if Aristotle
was not a man, he would have no hesitation in taking him for the
devil. But his mind, in its eagerness for learning, stood in need of
better nourishment, and he began to study the splendid monuments of
antiquity, the writings of Cicero and Virgil, and the other classics.
He was not contented, like the common run of students, with committing
the productions of these writers to memory. He endeavoured, above all,
to enter into their thoughts; to imbue himself with the spirit which
animated them; to appropriate their wisdom; to comprehend the end of
their writings; and enrich his understanding with their weighty
sentiments and brilliant images. He often put questions to his
professors, and soon outstripped his fellow students.[136] Possessed
of a retentive memory and a fertile imagination, whatever he read or
heard remained ever after present to his mind, as if he had actually
seen it. "So shone Luther in his youth. The whole university," says
Melancthon, "admired his genius."[137]
[135] "Et fortassis ad leniendam vehementiam naturæ mitiora studia
veræ philosophiæ." (Ibid.) Perhaps the milder studies of true
philosophy might have served to soften the vehemence of his natural
temper.
[136] "Et quidem inter primos, ut ingenio studioque multos coæqualium
antecellebat." (Cochlœus, Acta Lutheri, p. 1.) And he was indeed among
the first, excelling many of his fellow-students, both in genius and
study.
[137] "Sic igitur in juventute eminebat, ut toti academiæ Lutheri
ingenium admirationi esset." (Vita Luth.) So brilliant was he in
youth, that the whole university were in admiration at his talents.
But even at that period this young man of eighteen did not confine his
labours to the cultivation of his intellect. He had that serious
thought, that uplifted heart, which God bestows on those whom he
destines to be his most faithful servants. Luther felt that he was
dependent on God--a simple, yet powerful, conviction--the source at
once of profound humility and great achievements. He fervently invoked
the Divine blessing on his labours. Each morning he began the day with
prayer, then he went to church, and on his return set to study, losing
not a moment during the course of the day. "To pray well," he was wont
to say, "is more than the half of my study."[138]
[138] "Fleissig gebet, ist uber die helft studirt." (Mathes. 3.)
Every moment which the young student could spare from his academical
labours was spent in the library of the university. Books were still
rare, and he felt it a great privilege to be able to avail himself of
the treasures amassed in this vast collection. One day (he had then
been two years at Erfurt, and was twenty years of age) he opens
several books of the library, one after the other, to see who their
authors were. One of the volumes which he opens in its turn attracts
his attention. He has never before seen one like it. He reads the
title, ... it is a Bible! a rare book, at that time unknown.[139] His
interest is strongly excited; he is perfectly astonished to find in
this volume any thing more than those fragments of gospels and
epistles which the Church has selected to be read publicly in the
churches every Sabbath day. Hitherto he had believed that these
formed the whole word of God. But here are so many pages, chapters,
and books, of which he had no idea! His heart beats as he holds in his
hand all this divinely-inspired Scripture, and he turns over all these
divine leaves with feelings which cannot be described. The first page
on which he fixes his attention tells him the history of Hannah and
young Samuel. He reads, and his soul is filled with joy to
overflowing. The child whom his parents lend to Jehovah for all the
days of his life; the song of Hannah, in which she declares that the
Lord lifts up the poor from the dust, and the needy from the dunghill,
that he may set him with princes; young Samuel growing up in the
presence of the Lord; the whole of this history, the whole of the
volume which he has discovered, make him feel in a way he has never
done before. He returns home, his heart full. "Oh!" thinks he, "would
it please God one day to give me such a book for my own!"[140] Luther
as yet did not know either Greek or Hebrew; for it is not probable
that he studied these languages during the first two or three years of
his residence at the university. The Bible which had so overjoyed him
was in Latin. Soon returning to his treasure in the library, he reads
and re-reads, and in his astonishment and joy returns to read again.
The first rays of a new truth were then dawning upon him.
[139] "Auff ein Zeit, wie er die Bücher fein nacheinander besieht....
kombt er uberdie lateinische Biblia."... (Mathes 3.)
[140] "Avide percurrit, cœpitque optare ut olim talem librum et ipse
nancisci posset." (M. Adami, Vita Luth. p. 103.) He eagerly runs it
over, and begins to wish that he himself might one day possess such a
book.
In this way God has put him in possession of His word. He has
discovered the book of which he is one day to give his countrymen that
admirable translation in which Germany has now for three centuries
perused the oracles of God. It was perhaps the first time that any
hand had taken down this precious volume from the place which it
occupied in the library of Erfurt. This book, lying on the unknown
shelves of an obscure chamber, is to become the book of life to a
whole people. The Reformation was hid in that Bible.
This happened the same year that Luther obtained his first academical
degree, viz., that of Bachelor. The excessive fatigue which he had
undergone in preparing for his trials brought on a dangerous illness.
Death seemed to be approaching, and solemn thoughts occupied his mind.
He believed that his earthly course was about to terminate. There was
a general lamentation for the young man. What a pity to see so many
hopes so soon extinguished! Several friends came to visit him in his
sickness; among others a priest, a venerable old man, who had with
interest followed the student of Mansfeld in his labours and academic
life. Luther was unable to conceal the thought which agitated him.
"Soon," said he, "I will be called away from this world." But the old
man kindly replied, "My dear bachelor, take courage; you will not die
of this illness. Our God will yet make you a man, who, in his turn,
will console many other men. For God lays his cross on him whom he
loves, and those who bear it patiently acquire much wisdom."[141]
These words made a deep impression on the sick youth. When so near
death he hears the lips of a priest reminding him that God, as
Samuel's mother had said, lifts up the miserable. The old man has
poured sweet consolation into his heart and revived his spirits; he
will never forget him. "This was the first prediction the Doctor
heard," says Mathesius, Luther's friend, who relates the fact; "and he
often mentioned it." It is easy to understand what Mathesius means by
calling it a prediction.
[141] "Deus te virum faciet qui alios multos iterum consolabitur."
When Luther recovered, something within him had undergone a change.
The Bible, his illness, and the words of the old priest, seemed to
have made a new appeal to him. As yet, however, there was nothing
decided in his mind. He continued his studies, and, in 1505, took his
degree of Master of Arts, or Doctor in Philosophy. The University of
Erfurt was then the most celebrated in Germany,--the others in
comparison with it being only inferior schools. The ceremony was, as
usual, performed with great pomp. A procession with torches came to do
homage to Luther.[142] The fête was superb, and all was joy. Luther,
encouraged, perhaps, by these honours, was disposed to devote himself
entirely to law, agreeably to his father's wish.
[142] Luth. Op. (W.) xxii, p. 2229.
But God willed otherwise. While Luther was occupied with other
studies, while he began to teach the physics and ethics of Aristotle,
and other branches of philosophy, his heart ceased not to cry to him
that piety was the one thing needful, and that he ought above all to
make sure of his salvation. He was aware of the displeasure which God
testifies against sin; he remembered the punishments which he
denounces against the sinner; and he asked himself in fear, whether he
was sure of possessing the Divine favour. His conscience answered, No!
His character was prompt and decided; he resolved to do all that might
be necessary to give him a sure hope of immortality. Two events, which
happened in succession, shook his soul, and precipitated his
determination.
Among his friends at the university was one named Alexis, with whom he
was very intimate. One morning it was rumoured in Erfurt that Alexis
had been assassinated. Deeply moved at the sudden loss of his friend,
he puts the question to himself--What would become of me were I called
thus suddenly? The question fills him with the greatest dismay.[143]
[143] "Interitu sodalis sui contristatus." (Cochlœus, p. 1.)
This was in the summer of 1505. Luther, left at liberty by the
ordinary recess of the university, resolved on a journey to Mansfeld,
to revisit the loved abodes of his infancy, and embrace his parents.
Perhaps he also wished to open his heart to his father, and sound him
as to the design which was beginning to form in his mind, and obtain a
consent to his embracing another calling. He foresaw all the
difficulties which awaited him. The indolent habits of the majority of
priests displeased the active miner of Mansfeld. Besides,
ecclesiastics were little esteemed in the world; most of them had but
scanty incomes, and the father, who had made many sacrifices to
maintain his son at the university, and who saw him at twenty a public
teacher in a celebrated school, was not disposed to renounce the hopes
which his pride was cherishing.
We know not what passed during Luther's visit at Mansfeld. Perhaps the
decided wish of his father made him afraid to open his heart to him.
He again quitted the paternal roof to go and take his seat on the
benches of the university, and had reached within a short distance of
Erfurt, when he was overtaken by one of those violent storms which are
not unfrequent among these mountains. The thunder bursts, and strikes
close by his side. Luther throws himself on his knees. It may be his
hour is come, Death, judgment, and eternity, surround him with all
their terrors, and speak to him with a voice which he can no longer
resist. "Wrapt in agony, and in the terror of death," as he himself
describes it,[144] he makes a vow, if he is delivered from this danger
to abandon the world, and give himself entirely to God. After he had
risen from the ground, still continuing to see that death which must
one day overtake him, he examines himself seriously, and asks what he
ought to do.[145] The thoughts which formerly agitated him return with
full force. He has endeavoured, it is true, to fulfil all his duties.
But in what state is his soul? Can he appear with a polluted heart
before the tribunal of a God so greatly to be feared? He must become
holy, and, accordingly, he now thirsts for holiness as he had thirsted
for science. But where is it to be found? How shall he acquire it? The
university has furnished him with the means of satisfying his desire
of knowledge. Who will extinguish the agony, the flame which is
consuming him? To what school of holiness must he bend his steps? He
will go into a cloister; the monastic life will save him. How often
has he heard tell of its power to transform a heart, to sanctify a
sinner, to make a man perfect! He will enter a monastic order. He will
then become holy, and in that way secure eternal life.[146]
[144] "Mit Erschrecken und Angst Ides Todes umgeben." (Luth., Ep. ii,
101.)
[145] "Cum esset in campo, fulminis ictu territus." (Cochlœ. i.) Being
terrified by a thunderbolt when he was in the field.
[146] "Occasio autem fuit ingrediendi illud vitæ genus, quod pietati
et studiis doctrinæ de Deo, existimavit esse convenientius." (Mel.
Vita Luth.) He adopted this mode of life, because he thought it better
adapted to piety and the study of divine truth.
Such was the event which changed the calling and all the destinies of
Luther. We here recognise the finger of God. It was his mighty hand
which threw down on the high road this young Master of Arts, this
candidate for the bar, this future lawyer, in order to give an
entirely new direction to his life. Rubianus, one of Luther's friends,
wrote to him at a later period:--"Divine Providence had a view to what
you were one day to become, when, as you were returning from your
parents, the fire of heaven made you fall to the ground like another
Paul, near the town of Erfurt, and carrying you off from our society,
threw you into the Order of Augustine." Analogous circumstances thus
signalised the conversion of Paul and Luther, the two greatest
instruments which Divine Providence has employed in the two greatest
revolutions which have taken place upon the earth.[147]
[147] Some biographers say that Alexis was killed by the thunder-clap
which terrified Luther; but two of his contemporaries, Mathesius, (p.
4,) and Selneccer, (in Orat. de Luth.) distinguish between the two
events, and we might even corroborate their testimony by that of
Melancthon, who says, "Sodalem nescio quo casu interfectum." (Vita
Luth.) His companion being killed by an accident, I know not what.
Luther again enters Erfurt. His resolution is immovable, and yet it is
not without a pang he is going to break ties which are dear to him. He
gives no hint to any one of his intentions. But one evening he invites
his friends in the university to a cheerful and frugal repast. Music
once more enlivens their social intercourse. It is Luther's adieu to
the world. Henceforth, instead of those loved companions of pleasure
and toil--monks; instead of those cheerful and intellectual
conversations--the silence of the cloister; instead of that enchanting
music--the grave notes of the tranquil chapel. God demands it; all
must be sacrificed. Yet, for this last time, once more the joys of
youth. His friends are full of glee. Luther even leads them on. But
at the moment when they are abandoning themselves to mirth and frolic,
the young man becomes unable any longer to restrain the serious
thoughts which occupy his heart. He speaks.... He makes known his
intention to his astonished friends, who endeavour, but in vain, to
combat it. That same night, Luther, afraid perhaps of importunate
solicitation, quits his lodgings, leaving behind him all his effects
and all his books, with the exception of Virgil and Plautus, (as yet
he had no Bible.) Virgil and Plautus! Epic and Comedy! singular
representation of Luther's mind. In fact, there was in him a whole
epic, a beautiful, splendid, and sublime poem; but being naturally
inclined to gayety, pleasantry, and broad humour, he mingled more than
one familiar trait with the solemn and magnificent groundwork of his
life.
Furnished with these two books he proceeds alone, in the dark, to the
convent of the Eremites of St. Augustine, and asks to be received. The
door opens and closes, and he is separated for ever from his parents,
his fellow-students, and the world. This took place on the 17th August
1505, when Luther's age was twenty-one years and nine months.
CHAP. III.
His Father's Anger--Pardon--Servile Employments--The Bag and
the Cell--Courage--St.
Augustine--D'Ailly--Occam--Gerson--The Bible--Hebrew and
Greek--The Hours--Asceticism--Agony--Luther during
Mass--Agony--Useless Observances--Luther in a Faint.
At length he was with God. His soul was in safety. This holiness, so
earnestly longed for, he was now to find. At the sight of this young
doctor, the monks were all admiration, and extolled him for his
courage and contempt of the world.[148] Luther, meanwhile, did not
forget his friends. He wrote to take leave of them and the world, and
the next day despatched these letters, with the clothes he had
hitherto worn, and his diploma of Master of Arts, which he returned to
the university, that nothing might in future remind him of the world
which he had abandoned.
[148] "Hujus mundi contemptu, ingressus est repente, multes
admirantibus, monasterium." (Cochlœus, i.) From contempt of this
world, he, to the wonder of many, suddenly entered a monastery.
His friends at Erfurt were thunderstruck. Must so distinguished a
genius go and hide himself in this monastic life--more properly, a
kind of death?[149] In deep sorrow they hastened to the convent, in
the hope of inducing Luther to retrace the distressing step which he
had taken; but all was useless. The gates were closed, and a month
passed before any one was permitted to see or speak to the new monk.
[149] "In vita semi-mortua." (Melch. Adami. V. L. p. 102.) A half-dead
life.
Luther had hastened to acquaint his parents with the great change
which had just occurred in his life. His father was thunderstruck. He
trembled for his son,--so Luther himself informs us in his book on
Monastic Vows, which he dedicated to his father. His weakness, his
youth, the ardour of his passions, everything, in short, made him fear
that after the first moment of enthusiasm, the indolence of the
cloister would make the youth fall either into despair, or into
grievous faults. He knew that this mode of life had proved fatal to
many. Besides, the counsellor-miner of Mansfield had other views for
his son. He was proposing a rich and honourable marriage for him--and,
lo! all his ambitious projects are in one night overthrown by this
imprudent action.
John wrote his son a very angry letter, in which, as Luther himself
tells us, he _thou'd_ him whereas he had _you'd_ him ever since he had
taken his degree of Master of Arts. He withdrew all his favour from
him, and declared him disinherited of a father's affection. In vain
did the friends of John Luther, and doubtless his wife also, endeavour
to mollify him; in vain did they say to him, "If you are willing to
make some sacrifice to God, let it be the best and dearest thing that
you have--your son--your Isaac." The inexorable counsellor of Mansfeld
would hear nothing.
Some time after, (the statement is given by Luther in a sermon which
he preached at Wittemberg, 20th January 1544,) the plague broke out,
and deprived John Luther of two of his sons. On the back of these
bereavements, while the father's heart was torn with grief, some one
came and told him, "The monk of Erfurt also is dead!" His friends took
advantage of the circumstance to bring back the father's heart to the
novice. "If it is a false alarm," said they, "at least sanctify your
affliction by consenting sincerely to your son's being a monk." "Well,
well!" replied John Luther, his heart broken, and still half
rebellions; "and God grant him all success." At a later period, when
Luther, who had been reconciled to his father, told him of the event
which had led him to rush into monastic orders,--"God grant," replied
the honest miner, "that what you took for a sign from heaven may not
have been only a phantom of the devil!"[150]
[150] "Gott geb das es nicht ein Betrug und teuflisch Gespenst sey."
(Luth. Ep. ii, p. 101.)
At this time Luther was not in possession of that which was afterwards
to make him the Reformer of the Church. His entrance into the convent
proves this. It was an action done in the spirit of an age out of
which he was soon to be instrumental in raising the Church. Though
destined to become the teacher of the world, he was still its servile
imitator. A new stone was placed on the edifice of superstition by the
very hand which was soon to overturn it. Luther was seeking salvation
in himself, in human practices and observances, not knowing that
salvation is wholly of God. He was seeking his own righteousness and
his own glory, and overlooking the righteousness and glory of the
Lord. But what he as yet knew not he soon afterwards learned. That
immense change which substituted God and His wisdom in his heart for
the world and its traditions, and which prepared the mighty revolution
of which he was the most illustrious instrument, took place in the
cloister of Erfurt.
Martin Luther, on entering the convent, changed his name to that of
Augustine.
The monks had received him with joy. It was no small satisfaction to
their self-love to see the university abandoned for a house of their
order, and that by one of the most distinguished teachers.
Nevertheless, they treated him harshly, and assigned him the meanest
tasks. They wished to humble the doctor of philosophy, and teach him
that his science did not raise him above his brethren. They thought,
moreover, they would thus prevent him from spending his time in
studies from which the convent could not reap any advantage. The
_ci-devant_ Master of Arts behoved to perform the functions of
watchman, to open and shut the gates, wind up the clocks, sweep the
church, and clean up the rooms.[151] Then when the poor monk, who was
at once porter, sacristan, and house-hold servant to the cloister, had
finished his task--_"Cum sacco per civitatem"_--"To the town with the
bag," exclaimed the friars; and then, with his bread-bag on his
shoulders, he walked up and down over all the streets of Erfurt,
begging from house to house, obliged, perhaps, to present himself at
the doors of those who had been his friends or inferiors. On his
return, he had either to shut himself up in a low narrow cell, looking
out on a plot only a few yards in extent, or to resume his menial
offices. But he submitted to all. Disposed by temperament to give
himself entirely to whatever he undertook, when he turned monk he did
it with his whole soul. How, moreover, could he think of sparing his
body, or of having regard to what might satisfy the flesh? That was
not the way to acquire the humility and holiness in quest of which he
had come within the walls of the cloister.
[151] "Loca immunda purgare coactus fuit." (M. Adami, Vita Luth. p.
103.) He was obliged to clear away filth.
The poor monk, worn out with fatigue, was eager to seize any moment
which he could steal from his servile occupations, and devote it to
the acquisition of knowledge. Gladly did he retire into a corner, and
give himself up to his beloved studies. But the friars soon found him
out, gathered around him, grumbled at him, and pushed him away to his
labours, saying, "Along! along! it is not by studying, but by begging
bread, corn, eggs, fish, flesh, and money, that a friar makes himself
useful to his convent."[152] Luther submitted, laid aside his books,
and again took up his bag. Far from repenting of having subjected
himself to such a yoke, his wish was to bring it to a successful
result. At this period, the inflexible perseverance with which he ever
after followed out the resolutions which he had once formed, began to
be developed. The resistance which he made to rude assaults gave
strong energy to his will. God exercised him in small things that he
might be able to stand firm in great things. Besides, in preparing to
deliver his age from the miserable superstitions under which it
groaned, it was necessary that he should feel the weight of them. In
order to empty the cup he behoved to drink it to the dregs.
[152] Selnecceri Orat. de Luth. Mathesius, p. 5.
This severe apprenticeship, however, did not last so long as Luther
might have feared. The prior of the convent, on the intercession of
the university of which Luther was a member, relieved him from the
mean functions which had been imposed on him, and the young monk
resumed his studies with new zeal. The writings of the Fathers,
particularly those of Augustine, engaged his attention; the Commentary
of this illustrious doctor on the Psalms, and his treatise "On the
Letter and the Spirit," being his special favourites. Nothing struck
him more than the sentiments of this Father on the corruption of the
human will, and on Divine grace. His own experience convincing him of
the reality of this corruption, and the necessity of this grace, the
words of Augustine found a ready response in his heart; and could he
have been of any other school than that of Jesus Christ, it had
doubtless been the school of the doctor of Hippo. The works of Peter
D'Ailly and Gabriel Biel he almost knew by heart. He was struck with a
remark of the former--that had not the Church decided otherwise, it
would have been much better to admit that in the Lord's Supper bread
and wine are truly received, and not mere accidents.
He likewise carefully studied the theologians, Occam and Gerson, who
both express themselves so freely on the authority of the popes. To
this reading he joined other exercises. In public discussions he was
heard unravelling the most complicated reasonings, and winding his way
through labyrinths where others could find no outlet. All who heard
him were filled with admiration.[153]
[153] "In disputationibus publicis, labyrinthos aliis inextricabiles,
diserte, multis admirantibus explicabat." (Melanc. Vit. Luth.) In
public disputations, he, to the admiration of many, clearly unravelled
labyrinths which others found inextricable.
But he had entered the cloister, not to acquire the reputation of a
great genius, but in quest of the food of piety.[154] These labours he
accordingly regarded as supernumerary.
[154] "In eo vitæ, genere non famam ingenii, sed alimenta pietatis
quærebat." In that course of life he sought not a reputation for
genius, but the food of piety.
But the thing in which he delighted above all others was to draw
wisdom at the pure fountain of the word of God. In the convent he
found a Bible fastened to a chain, and was ever returning to this
chained Bible. He had a very imperfect comprehension of the Word, but
still it was his most pleasant reading. Sometimes he spent a whole day
in meditating on a single passage; at other times he learned passages
of the Prophets by heart. His great desire was, that the writings of
the apostles and prophets might help to give him a knowledge of the
will of God, increase the fear which he had for his name, and nourish
his faith by the sure testimony of the Word.[155]
[155] "Et firmis testimoniis aleret timorem et fidem." (Melancth. Vit.
Luth.) And by its sure testimonies nourish his fear and his faith.
Apparently at this period he began to study the Scriptures in the
original tongues, and thereby lay the foundation of the most perfect
and the most useful of his labours, the translation of the Bible. He
used a Hebrew Lexicon which Reuchlin had just published. His first
guide was probably John Lange, a friar of the convent, versed in Greek
and Hebrew, and with whom he always maintained a close intimacy.[156]
He also made great use of the learned Commentaries of Nicolas Lyra,
who died in 1340, and hence the saying of Pflug, afterwards Bishop of
Naumbourg, "Had not Lyra played the lyre, Luther had never danced. _Si
Lyra non lyrasset, Lutherus non saltasset._"
[156] Gesch. d. deutsch, Bibelübersetzung.
The young monk studied so closely and ardently that he often omitted
to say his Hours during two or three weeks. Then becoming alarmed at
the thought of having transgressed the rules of his order, he shut
himself up to make amends for his negligence, and commenced
conscientiously repeating all the omitted Hours, without thinking of
meat or drink. On one occasion his sleep went from him for seven
weeks.
Earnestly intent on acquiring the holiness in quest of which he had
entered the cloister, Luther addicted himself to the ascetic life in
its fullest rigour, seeking to crucify the flesh by fastings,
macerations, and vigils.[157] Shut up in his cell as in a prison, he
struggled without intermission against the evil thoughts and evil
propensities of his heart. A little bread and a herring were often all
his food. Indeed, he was naturally very temperate. Often when he had
no thought of purchasing heaven by abstinence, have his friends seen
him content himself with the coarsest provisions, and even remain four
days in succession without eating or drinking.[158] We have this on
the testimony of a very credible witness, Melancthon, and we may judge
from it what opinion to form of the fables which ignorance and
prejudice have circulated concerning Luther's intemperance. At the
period of which we treat there is no sacrifice he would have declined
to make, in order to become holy and purchase heaven.[159] When
Luther, after he had become Reformer, says that heaven is not
purchased, he well knew what he meant. "Truly," wrote he to George,
Duke of Saxony, "truly I was a pious monk, and followed the rules of
my order more strictly than I can tell. If ever monk had got to heaven
by monkery, I had been that monk. In this all the monks of my
acquaintance will bear me witness. Had the thing continued much longer
I had become a martyr unto death, through vigils, prayer, reading, and
other labours."[160]
[157] "Summa disciplinæ severitate se ipse regit, et omnibus
exercitiis, lectionum, disputationum, jejuniorum, precum, omnes longe
superat." (Melancth. Vita Luth.) He observes the utmost rigour of
discipline, and in all the exercises of reading, discussion, fastings,
and prayers, far surpasses all.
[158] "Erat enim natura, valde modici cibi et potus; vidi continuis
quatuor diebus, cum quidem recte valeret, prorsus nihil edentem aut
bibentem." (Ibid.) For he was naturally moderate in the use of meat
and drink; I have seen him, no doubt, when in perfect health, neither
eating nor drinking for four successive days.
[159] "Strenue in studiis et exercitiis spiritualibus militavit ibi
Deo, annis quatuor." (Cochlœus, i.) There, in studies and spiritual
exercises, he was a strenuous servant of God for four years.
[160] Luth. Op. (W.) xix, 2299.
We are touching on the period which made Luther a new man, and which,
revealing to him the immensity of the Divine love, fitted him for
proclaiming it to the world.
The peace which Luther had come in search of he found neither in the
tranquillity of the cloister nor in monastic perfection. He wished to
be assured of his salvation; it was the great want of his soul, and
without it he could have no repose. But the fears which had agitated
him when in the world, followed him into his cell. Nay, they were even
increased; the least cry of his heart raising a loud echo under the
silent vaults of the cloister. God had brought him thither that he
might learn to know himself, and to despair of his own strength and
virtue. His conscience, enlightened by the Divine word, told him what
it was to be holy; but he was filled with alarm at not finding, either
in his heart or his life, that image of holiness which he had
contemplated with admiration in the word of God; a sad discovery made
by every man who is in earnest! No righteousness within, no
righteousness without, everywhere omission, sin, defilement.... The
more ardent Luther's natural disposition was the more strongly he felt
the secret and unceasing resistance which human nature opposes to
goodness. This threw him into despair.
The monks and theologians of the day invited him to do works in order
to satisfy the Divine justice. But what works, thought he, can proceed
from such a heart as mine! How should I be able with works polluted in
their very principle, to stand in presence of my holy Judge? "I felt
myself," says he, "to be a great sinner before God, and deemed it
impossible to appease him by my merits."
He was agitated, and, at the same time, gloomy, shunning the silly and
coarse conversation of the monks, who, unable to comprehend the
tempests of his soul, regarded him with astonishment,[161] and
reproached him for his gloom and taciturnity. It is told by Cochlœus,
that one day, when they were saying mass in the chapel, Luther had
come with his sighs, and stood amid the friars in sadness and anguish.
The priest had already prostrated himself, the incense had been placed
on the altar, the _Gloria_ had been chanted, and they were reading the
Gospel, when the poor monk, no longer able to contain his agony,
exclaimed, in a piercing tone, while throwing himself on his knees,
"Not I! not I!"[162] Every one was in amazement, and the service was
for a moment interrupted. Perhaps Luther thought he had heard himself
reproached with something of which he knew he was innocent; perhaps he
meant to express his unworthiness to be one of those to whom the death
of Christ brought eternal life. Cochlœus says that they were reading
the passage of Scripture which tells of the dumb man out of whom
Christ expelled a demon. If this account is correct, Luther's cry
might have a reference to this circumstance. He might mean to intimate
that though dumb like the man, it was owing to another cause than the
possession of a demon. In fact, Cochlœus informs us that the friars
sometimes attributed the agonies of their brother to occult commerce
with the devil,[163] and he himself is of the same opinion.
[161] "Visus est fratribus non nihil singularitatis habere."
(Cochlœus, i.) The friars thought him not a little eccentric.
[162] "Cum, ... repente ceciderit vociferans: 'Non sum! non sum!'"
(Ibid.) When he suddenly fell down, crying out, "Not I! not I."
[163] "Ex occulto aliquo cum dæmone commercio." (Cochlœus, i.) From
some hidden intercourse with a demon.
A tender conscience led Luther to regard the smallest fault as a great
sin. No sooner had he discovered it than he strove to expiate it by
the severest mortifications. This, however, had no other effect than
to convince him of the utter inefficacy of all human remedies. "I
tormented myself to death," says he, "in order to procure peace with
God to my troubled heart and agitated conscience; but, surrounded with
fearful darkness, I nowhere found it."
The acts of monastic holiness which lulled so many consciences, and to
which he himself had recourse in his agony, soon appeared to Luther
only the fallacious cures of an empirical and quack religion. "At the
time when I was a monk, if I felt some temptation assail me, I am
lost! said I to myself, and immediately resorted to a thousand
methods, in order to suppress the cries of my heart. I confessed every
day, but that did me no good. Thus oppressed with sadness, I was
tormented by a multiplicity of thoughts. 'Look!' exclaimed I, 'there
you are still envious, impatient, passionate! It is of no use then,
for you, O wretch, to have entered this sacred order.'"