26. Must Luther Leave Wittenburg?
J H Merle d’Aubigné
1This is, meantime, a final edited extract from d’Aubigné’s The History of the Reformation in the Sixteenth Century, vol 1, continued from December. In 1518, Luther had been in Augsburg to be examined by Cardinal Cajetan – a legate, or representative, of the Pope. In his appearances before Cajetan, Luther refused to retract his scriptural opinions. He then returned to Wittenberg. It should be noted that he had not yet broken with Rome; he still believed, for instance, that the Pope was God’s vicar upon earth.
Luther imagined he might soon be expelled from Germany. He was working on a report of the Augsburg conference. He wanted a testimony to remain of the struggle between him and Rome. He saw the storm ready to burst but did not fear it. He waited from day to day for the anathemas that were to be sent from Italy; he put everything in order, that he might be prepared when they arrived. “I am ready to depart,” he said, “like Abraham, without knowing whither I go; or rather well knowing, since God is everywhere.” He intended leaving a farewell letter behind him. “Be bold enough”, he wrote to Spalatin, “to read the letter of an accursed and excommunicated man.”
His friends felt great anxiety for him. They entreated him to deliver himself up to the Elector as a prisoner, in order that this prince might keep him somewhere. His enemies could not understand the source of his confidence. One day, at the court of the Bishop of Brandenburg, it was asked what support he could rely on. “On Erasmus”, said some; “On Capito and other learned men who are in his confidence.” “No, no,” replied the Bishop, “the Pope would care very little about those folks. It is in the University of Wittenberg and the Duke of Saxony that he trusts.” Thus both parties were ignorant of the stronghold in which the Reformer had taken refuge.
Thoughts of departure passed through Luther’s mind. They did not originate in a fear of danger, but he foresaw the continually increasing obstacles that a free confession of the truth would meet in Germany, “If I remain here,” he said, “the liberty of speaking and writing many things will be torn from me. If I depart, I shall freely pour forth the thoughts of my heart, and devote my life to Christ.”
France was the country where Luther hoped to be free to announce the truth without opposition. The liberty enjoyed by the University of Paris, appeared desirable. Besides, he agreed with them on many points. What would have happened had he removed from Wittenberg to France? Would the Reformation have been established there, as in Germany? Would the power of Rome have been dethroned there; and would France, which was destined to see the hierarchical principles of Rome and the destructive principles of an irreligious philosophy long contend within her borders, have become a great centre of evangelical light? It is useless to indulge in conjectures on this subject, but perhaps Luther at Paris might have changed in some degree the destinies of Europe and of France.
Luther’s soul was deeply moved. He used to preach frequently in the city church, in the room of Simon Heyens Pontanus, pastor of Wittenberg, who was almost always sick. He thought it his duty, at all events, to take leave of that congregation, to whom he had frequently announced salvation. He said in the pulpit one day: “I am a very unstable and uncertain preacher. How often already have I left you without bidding you farewell? . . . If this should happen again, and I cannot return, accept my farewell. Then, after adding a few words, he concluded by saying with moderation and gentleness: “Finally, I warn you not to be alarmed if the papal censures are discharged upon me. Do not bear any ill will, either to the Pope or to any other man; but trust all to God.”
The moment seemed to have come at last. The Elector informed Luther that he desired him to leave Wittenberg. Luther prepared for his departure, without well knowing where he should direct his steps. He desired, however, to see his friends once more around him and prepared a farewell meal. Seated at the same table with them, he enjoyed their pleasant conversation.
A letter was brought to him from the court. He opened it and read; his heart sank; it contained a fresh order for his departure. The prince enquired why he had delayed so long. His soul was overwhelmed with sadness. Yet he resumed his courage and, raising his head, said firmly and joyfully, as he turned his eyes on those about him: “Father and mother abandon me, but the Lord takes me up.” Leave he must. His friends were deeply moved. What would become of him? If Luther’s protector will reject him, who will receive him? And the gospel, the truth and this admirable work will all doubtless perish with its illustrious witness. The Reformation seemed to hang on a thread and, at the moment Luther would leave Wittenberg, would this thread not break? Luther and his friends said little; tears rolled down their cheeks.
But shortly afterwards, another messenger arrived. Luther opened the letter, assuming that it contained a fresh order. But, through the powerful hand of the Lord, he was delivered. Everything had changed. “Since the Pope’s new envoy hopes that all may be arranged by a conference,” the message read, “remain for the present.” How important this hour was! What would have happened if Luther, ever anxious to obey his sovereign’s will, had left Wittenberg immediately on receiving the first letter? Never were Luther and the cause of the Reformation lower than at this moment. It appeared that all was decided, but an instant sufficed to change it. From then on, Luther’s influence continued to increase. The Almighty commands (in the language of the Psalmist) and his servants go down to the depths and mount up again to heaven.
By Frederick’s order, Spalatin summoned Luther for an interview. They conversed a long time on the situation. “If the censures arrive from Rome,” said Luther, “I shall certainly not stay in Wittenberg.” “Beware, said Spalatin, “of being too precipitate in going to France!” “Only commend my soul to Christ,” said Luther to his friends. “I see that my adversaries are still more determined in their plans to ruin me, but meanwhile Christ strengthens me in my resolution to concede nothing.”
Luther now published his report of the Conference at Augsburg. Spalatin had written to him, on behalf of the Elector, not to do so; but the letter came too late. As soon as the report was published, the Elector gave his permission. Luther wrote in his preface, “What a new, what an amazing crime to seek for light and truth! And above all in the Church, that is to say, in the kingdom of truth.” He told a friend: “I send you my Report; it is keener, no doubt, than the legate expects. . . . I do not know myself whence these thoughts arise. In my opinion, the work is not yet begun – so far the great ones at Rome are mistaken in looking for the end. I will send you what I have written, in order that you may judge whether I have guessed rightly that the Antichrist of whom Paul speaks now reigns in the court of Rome. I think I shall be able to show that he is worse nowadays than the Turks themselves.”
Sinister reports reached Luther from every side. One of his friends wrote to him that the new envoy from Rome had received an order to lay hold of him and deliver him up to the Pope. Another related, that while travelling he had met with a courtier, and that the conversation turning on the matters that were now occupying all Germany, the latter declared that he had undertaken to deliver Luther into the hands of the sovereign pontiff. “But the more their fury and their violence increase,” wrote the reformer, “the less I tremble.”
At Rome they were much displeased with Cajetan. They thought they had reason to reproach him for being deficient in prudence and for not having relaxed, on so important an occasion, the strictness of his scholastic theology. Why did he exasperate Luther by insults and threats, instead of alluring him by the promise of a rich bishopric, or even of a cardinal’s hat? These mercenaries judged of the Reformer by themselves. Still the failure must be retrieved. On the one hand, Rome must declare herself; on the other, she must conciliate the Elector, who might be very serviceable to her in the choice they would soon have to make of an emperor. As it was impossible for Roman ecclesiastics to suspect where Luther derived his courage and strength, they imagined that the Elector was implicated more deeply in the affair than he really was.
The Pope therefore resolved to pursue another course. He had a bull published in Germany, in which he confirmed the doctrine of indulgences, precisely in the points attacked, but he made no mention either of Luther or the Elector. As the Reformer had always declared that he would submit to the decision of the Roman Church, the Pope imagined that he would now either keep his word, or show himself openly as a disturber of the peace of the Church. But no advantage is derived by obstinately opposing the truth. In vain had the Pope threatened with excommunication anyone who should teach otherwise than he ordained; the light is not stopped by such orders. It would have been wiser to moderate the pretensions of the sellers of indulgences by imposing some restrictions. This decree from Rome was therefore a new fault. By legalising crying abuses, it irritated all wise men and rendered reconciliation with Luther impossible. “It was thought,” says a Roman Catholic historian, a great enemy to the Reformation, “that this bull had been issued solely for the benefit of the Pope and the begging friars, who began to find that no one would purchase their indulgences”.
Cajetan published the decree at Lintz, in Austria, on 13 December 1518; but Luther had already placed himself beyond its reach. On November 28 he had appealed, in Wittenberg, from the Pope to a general council of the Church. He foresaw the storm that was about to burst upon him; he knew that God alone could disperse it; but he did what it was his duty to do. He must, no doubt, leave Wittenberg – if only for the sake of the Elector – as soon as the Roman anathemas would arrive; he would not, however, leave Saxony and Germany without a striking protest. He therefore drew one up, and that it might be ready for circulation as soon as the Roman thunders reached him, as he expressed it, he had it printed under the express condition that the bookseller should deposit all the copies with him. But this man, covetous of gain, sold almost every one while Luther was calmly waiting to receive them.
The Reformer was vexed, but the thing was done. This bold protest was soon circulated everywhere. In it Luther declared anew that he had no intention of saying anything against the Church or the authority of the apostolic see, and of the Pope when well advised. “But,” he continued, “seeing the Pope, who is God’s vicar upon earth, may, like any other man, err, sin and lie, and that an appeal to a general council is the only means of safety against that injustice which it is impossible to resist, I am obliged to have recourse to this step.”
Here we see the Reformation launched on a new career. It is no longer dependent on the Pope and on his resolutions, but on a general council. Luther addresses the whole Church, and the voice that proceeds from Wittenberg must be heard throughout the Church. The Reformer does not lack courage; he has just given new proof of this.