Martin Luther E-Book

John Schofield

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2011

Beschreibung

Martin Luther was so angered by the sale of indulgences (pardons for sins granted by the Pope) that, in 1517, he nailed ninety-five arguments for reform of the Roman Catholic Church to the doors of the church and the castle at Wittenberg. This act began one of the most momentous periods of change in history: the Reformation. So much has been written on Luther that anyone with no prior knowledge wishing to find out about him is bound to be confronted with the question 'where do I start?'. This book is an introduction, succinct and readable, but historially sound. It covers or summarises Luther's major works and the main events of his life. It invites the reader to meet him at his study desk, in the lecture hall, in the pulpit and at the dinner table. Because it is based on Luther's own writings, the reader can be sure that this is the real Luther, the genuine article, not an account influenced by the author's own views or bias.

Leseprobe

For Charles and Jean

Acknowledgements

I thank firstly Reverend Ronald Englund, a former pastor of the Lutheran Church of St Anne and St Agnes in London, who, some years ago now, kindly replied to an enquiry of mine concerning Martin Luther, and helped stimulate my interest in him and the Reformation. Secondly, like everyone who has studied Luther, I owe a debt to Jaroslav Pelikan and his colleagues for their labours in producing Luther’s Works in English. Thanks also to Newcastle University, and particularly Professor Tim Kirk of the School of Historical Studies, for accepting me as a guest member and visiting scholar, thereby allowing me to do the research for this book; and to the staff of Newcastle and Durham University libraries; and to John Cannon, Emeritus Prof. at Newcastle, for kindly reading through the manuscript and for his many helpful ideas; and to Ashgate Publishing for permission to include two short extracts from my earlier monograph Philip Melanchthon and the English Reformation; and to Simon Hamlet, Abigail Wood and Christine McMorris and their colleagues at The History Press for bringing this work to completion.

Contents

Title

Dedication

Acknowledgements

List of Illustrations

Preface

1.The Late Medieval World

2.Brother Martin

3.The Reformation Discovery: Here I Stand

4.The Handmaiden of Theology

5.Church and State, Princes and Peasants

6.Controversies: Anabaptists, Erasmus, Zwingli and the Anfechtung

7.The Bible, Catechisms and the Augsburg Confession

8.The Bible Teacher: The New Testament

9.The Bible Teacher: The Patriarchs

10.The Bible Teacher: Psalms and the Prophets

11.Dinner with the Luthers

12.Progress and Setbacks of the Reformation

13.Controversial Last Years

14.Gone is the Charioteer of Israel

Bibliography

Copyright

List of Illustrations

Martin Luther. (Author’s Collection)

Luther’s house at Wittenberg, the Black Cloister. (Author’s Collection)

Frederick the Wise, Elector of Saxony, 1524, after an etching by Albrecht Dürer. (Author’s Collection)

Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, after the painting by Titian, engraved by Rubens. (Author’s Collection)

Cardinal Wolsey, who ordered the burning of Luther’s books. (THP Archive)

Erasmus, by Hans Holbein. (Author’s Collection)

The Wartburg. Luther called it ‘My Patmos’. (Author’s Collection)

Luther as Knight George, from the painting by Cranach. (Author’s Collection)

Philip Melanchthon, after an etching by Albrecht Dürer. (Author’s Collection)

Henry VIII, by Hans Holbein. (THP Archive)

Huldrych Zwingli, after a painting by Hans Asper. (Author’s Collection)

Facsimile signatures of the Marburg Articles. (Author’s Collection)

Katy – Catherine Luther – in 1526, from the painting by Cranach. (Author’s Collection)

Castle church at Wittenberg. (Author’s Collection)

Landgrave Philip of Hesse, after the portrait by Müller. (Author’s Collection)

Thomas More, by Hans Holbein. (THP Archive)

Thomas Cranmer, by Gerlach Flicke. (THP Archive)

Preface

Of making many books about Luther there seems little end, if I may plagiarise the preacher of old, and until recently it never occurred to me to add to the pile. He has a definitive modern biographer in Martin Brecht, essential reading for serious students of Luther and the Reformation. Shorter books exist as well, the best of which tend to focus on single, specific subjects, like C. Lowell Green’s How Melanchthon Helped Luther Discover the Gospel, or David Bagchi’s Luther’s Earliest Opponents. There is much, much more on Luther in library stacks, some good but unfortunately not all, because, more than most reformers, Luther has attracted the unwelcome attentions of the over-opinionated, the moralisers and the amateur psycho-analysts.

The problem was summed up when I was asked a simple question – where do I start? The result, because I had copious notes on Luther going back to my student days, is this book. Originally sketched as a simple ‘no frills’ introduction for students beginning a course on the Reformation at college or university, it later developed into a short biography for a wider readership, but particularly those coming to Luther for the first time. This includes general and lay readers as well as students; indeed anyone who would like a concise but not skimpy history of the principal figure of the Reformation. The material is drawn chiefly from Luther’s own writings, and it invites the reader to meet him at his study desk, in the lecture hall, in the pulpit and even at the dinner table.

Regarding terminology, the word ‘evangelical’ is used in its sixteenth-century sense, meaning Gospel. Terms like ‘Gospel’ and ‘new learning’ are used synonymously with the Reformation. Spellings are anglicised and modernised unless stated, and unless there is a pressing reason not to do so.

1

The Late Medieval World

It may be useful to begin with an overview of the Western medieval Church in which Martin Luther was born and raised, because before he became its most famous reformer, he had been one of its most loyal and obedient sons.

The Church was the body of Christ on earth, the custodian of divine truth and the means of salvation, commissioned to guide the faithful on the way to heaven. The Church existed to teach the flock of Christ to foster devotion to the saints, the Sacraments, fasting, good works and all pious activities. The faith of the Church was drawn from Scripture, the early Christian Creeds, church councils and traditions, though from place to place variations existed in practice, devoutness and even, though on a limited scale, in doctrine.

Salvation was ministered through the Seven Sacraments: Baptism, the Mass, Penance, Marriage, Confirmation, Ordination and Extreme Unction. Through Baptism the newborn child was spiritually reborn to enter the kingdom of heaven, the family of God. When the child became a young adult and reached the age of understanding, he would be ‘confirmed’ in full membership of the Church. Marriage needs little explanation. By Ordination men were admitted to the sacred priesthood. Such men had to forego marriage and be celibate; or rather, they had to take a vow of celibacy, but how many actually kept that vow remains an unanswerable question. Penance and the Mass will get a more detailed description below. Extreme Unction, the anointing with oil taken from James 5:14, was applied to those about to depart this life and enter eternity.1

The medieval Mass was the Church’s re-enactment of the Last Supper and Calvary. The priest recited the Words of Institution used by Jesus at the Last Supper: ‘This is my Body … This is my Blood.’ After this, the consecration of the bread and wine, these elements were transformed into the Body and Blood of Christ through the miracle known as transubstantiation. The priest then lifted the sacred Host – the Body of Christ – above his head for the adoration of the faithful. He then ‘offered’ the sacrifice of the Mass for the salvation of souls, the living and also the departed. The priest spoke the sacred words of the service in Latin; and only he could speak them, because those who offered this holy sacrifice had to be specially consecrated, through the Sacrament of Ordination.

Communion was required annually, usually at Easter, though many, particularly the better off, communed more frequently. Normally the laity received the bread only – this was called communion in ‘one kind’ as distinct from communion in ‘both kinds’, where communicants received the wine as well. The reasons why ‘one kind’ had become normal in late medieval times were more practical than theological, motivated mainly by fears of the consequences of spilling the wine, the blood of the Lord. As well as imagery and artwork on the church walls and the ceilings, Mass services were accompanied by candles, ceremony and sacred music. At Corpus Christi Day the consecrated bread was carried through the streets among adoring crowds.

Forgiveness of sins was ministered by the Church through the Sacrament of Penance. The one who sinned had to confess, receive absolution from the priest and usually perform a ‘satisfaction’ – this would be a good work, like giving alms or fasting. Confession was a compulsory annual requirement. Sometimes a satisfaction involved making a pilgrimage to a holy site, perhaps a site with a sacred relic, offering the penitent a sort of encounter with the sacred, enabling them to share in the spiritual and contemplative life of monks and nuns in the monasteries. The penitential system consisted of confession, priestly absolution, works of satisfaction, then restoration to a state of grace. Invariably, some penalties remained outstanding at the moment of death, and these had to be atoned for in the fires of Purgatory before the soul could enter heaven.2

Purgatory was the unseen place to which most of those who died in the faith of the Church went. Only special saints could avoid it by going straight to heaven. It was a place of temporary but quite severe suffering, of painful purification, necessary to fully cleanse the soul before it could be admitted to enjoy heavenly bliss and rest. Belief in Purgatory was widespread, even though proving its existence from Scripture had long since been a thorny problem for the Church. The New Testament appears to offer a stark option between heaven and hell for those who depart this earthly life; but this was too stark for many churchmen, and consequently the belief in a third place – a sort of waiting chamber – had gradually developed. Masses and prayers for the dead, as well as good works in this life, could shorten the time that had to be spent in Purgatory, so wills of the dying requested Masses and prayers aplenty.3

The medieval child growing up would be taught the faith of the Church through family prayers, chants, the Lord’s Prayer, the Hail Mary, the Creeds and the Ten Commandments. Children also learned about the many saints whose good works were told and retold to inspire the faithful to greater godliness and piety. Thanks to the growth in literacy and the printing press, in the late fifteenth century much of this could be read in catechisms, handbooks and primers. But medieval religion was also a distinctively visual religion, of altars, images, paintings, candles and pilgrimages, as well as the Sacraments and good works. Paintings and images of Christ, Mary and the saints adorned parish churches up and down the lands. Religious plays designed to teach and arouse devotion, mocking vice and praising virtue, and giving instruction in the Creeds were staged frequently, usually with the active support and involvement of the laity. Lay believers participated willingly in the rich liturgical cycle of the Church, with its processions, services and ritual, from Advent, Christmas, Lent, Easter and all the year round, with numerous saints' days and festival days in between.4

Mementos of the saints existed everywhere. The Cult of the Saints was not something imposed by dictatorial authorities; it inspired a free and genuine popular devotion among medieval people who loved images and engravings of saints, making pilgrimages to shrines in honour of them, and mentioning them in wills and donations. In parish churches saints stood under the Cross, meditating on Christ’s Passion, willing to intercede for the faithful now and until the end of time. Saints were friends and helpers, benefactors and protectors, and manual labour ceased on feast days held to commemorate them. They were also appealed to for help and cure in sickness. Relics – bones and parts of the body that would be raised on the Last Day – were believed to possess healing power. Like the hem of Christ’s garment, even the clothes of a saint could benefit. The main functions of the saints, however, were spiritual: to honour God; to help the children of God in their weakness in this life and at the onset of death; and to serve as an example for pious living and salvation. Mary, the Mother of Jesus, was the most adored of all the saints, and she possessed exceptional intercessory powers. The doctrine of the ‘Immaculate Conception’ – the belief that Mary was born untainted by original sin – was growing in late medieval times (though not formally defined until the nineteenth century).5

What was known as the ‘treasury of merits’ comprised the merits of Christ and the saints in heaven. The effect of this was that a penitent wanting to do good works to prove his contrition could ‘draw’ on this treasury, and maybe shorten his spell in Purgatory as well. This subject is closely linked to that of indulgences, which, because of its significance on Luther and the birth of the Reformation, will be discussed in more detail in the next chapter.

Overseeing the Western Church was the pope in Rome, the Holy Father and Vicar of Christ on earth. The pope was the successor of the apostle St Peter, and he claimed his spiritual authority from Christ’s words to Peter in Matthew 16:18–19: ‘And I say unto you, that you are Peter, and upon this Rock I will build my church.’ The church liturgy included prayers for the pope, who in theory had no superior, though in practice his power was constrained by the need to win and retain the consent of bishops, church councils and also princes. Rome was a sacred city and a centre for pilgrimages; it was universally believed that St Peter and St Paul were martyred there around the mid AD 60s.

The papacy also had judicial power, though this was less clearly defined, and relations between the pope and Europe’s kings were not always predictable. The papacy had largely recovered from the damaging schism of nearly 100 years before (1378–1417), when Western Christendom watched askance as rival popes jostled for power, threatening each other with anathemas and excommunication. During the fifteenth century, however, Europe’s kings slowly began asserting themselves, particularly over matters such as papal taxes and ecclesiastical appointments. Meanwhile, Italy was being organised into five main states – Venice, Milan, Florence, Naples and the Papal States of central Italy – with the result that the papacy became one state among the others, and like them it had to protect its independence, compete and advance its influence. More and more St Peter’s successors were acting like other intriguing and often warring princes.6

Another check on papal power was conciliarism – the idea that the authority of the whole Church, represented by a General Council comprising representatives of the whole of Christendom, was superior to that of the papacy. Naturally the popes did not approve, and ever since the Council of Constance in 1417, Rome had been seeking to reassert her authority. Pius II tried to establish papal primacy in 1460 with the bull Execrabilis, forbidding appeals from the pope to a council, but this produced no final papal victory, and discussions and disagreements persisted. French kings could be particularly troublesome for the papacy, habitually threatening to convene an independent council in their tussles with Rome. Conciliarism was strong in France, where some linked it directly with French liberties. Yet even in France the papacy had its supporters. In Europe as a whole in the fifteenth and early sixteenth century, despite all the popes’ efforts, neither conciliarists nor papalists gained unchallenged dominion over the other. In practice, however, the papalists had the edge, and for reasons as much practical as moral: France’s conciliarism, for example, meant that her enemies were likely to support the pope against her. Morally unsavoury it may have been, but the popes had little alternative to making deals with the princes, whose powers continued to grow, notably over church appointments. Though all English bishops were appointed by the papacy, they were often nominated first by the king in return for a favour from Rome. Consequently, the national church was a recognisable entity by the end of the fifteenth century, though all such churches were part of the common Western Christian communion, and none entertained serious intentions of breaking away from Rome.7

How much the laity knew of the Renaissance papacy is not clear. Maybe it was not very much, and in the case of some of the popes this is probably just as well. By general consent they were notoriously corrupt. Innocent VIII (1484–92) and Alexander VI (1492–1503) shamelessly used bribery and extortion to advance their personal careers before and during their papal reigns. Alexander was also an infamous womaniser, fathering at least nine illegitimate children despite insisting on vows of celibacy from his priests.8

The German emperor was probably the only ruler who could have rivalled the pope in power and prestige. Charlemagne, King of the Franks from 768–814, had been crowned Roman Emperor by Pope Leo III in Rome itself. From the twelfth century his successors were known as the Holy Roman Emperors. Initially seeing themselves as the Christian heirs of the Caesars, the emperors had gradually lost interest in Italian affairs, especially when their involvement proved costly and negative. They concentrated instead on establishing their control in Central and Eastern Europe. During the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, however, the power of the German princes, subjects of the emperor, was growing as well. As early as the diet of Rense in 1338 it was claimed that the emperor owed his authority more to the princes who elected him (the German Electors) than to the pope.9 The significance of this development in the Reformation will be seen clearly at the end of Chapter 3.

The Western Church did not exist without dangers. From the east the Turkish Islamic power threatened Christendom, especially Hungary and the eastern Mediterranean. More immediate and internal threats were posed by heresy and heretics. A heresy was a belief contrary to an established doctrine of the Church. A heretic was someone who not only believed a false doctrine, but who persisted in it even after being apprehended and offered mercy. Implicitly, therefore, he was once orthodox and had been received into the Church through the Sacrament of Baptism. Heretics who refused to repent were handed over to the secular power, often to suffer death by fire; most medieval believers, at some time in their lives, would have seen an obstinate heretic burned at the stake.

One of the most famous heretics in late medieval Europe was the Bohemian John Huss (c. 1372–1415). Huss believed in the supremacy of the Bible, and he called on the clergy to show more Christ-like simplicity in their manner of life; he approved of communion in both kinds, but did not deny transubstantiation. Huss was excommunicated after opposing indulgence sales in his native Bohemia. He was summoned to the Council of Constance in 1414 with a promise of safe conduct, but this promise was not kept, and he was condemned and burned. His execution provoked rebellion and civil war in his native land. The Waldenses were another group that displeased the Church authorities, but more for disobedience than fundamental doctrinal heresies.10

The beginnings of the acceptable faith of the Church were the Scriptures and the ancient Creeds, but theology had not stood still since those times. During the fifteenth century there were three main ‘schools’ or ‘ways’ of theology: that of Thomas Aquinas (d.1274), Duns Scotus (d.1308) and William of Occam (d.1349). Some rivalry existed between disciples of the different schools, but at many universities adherents of all three coexisted peaceably enough. There was some overlap as well, and it was not always obvious which theologian belonged to which school. The areas of agreement easily eclipsed the differences: all agreed, for example, on the Seven Sacraments, and that salvation was impossible without divine grace. The consensus was that some human involvement and co-operation was required as well, though room was available for discussion about how much. Most theologians rejected the teaching of the fifth-century British monk Pelagius, that natural virtues alone might merit salvation. More typical was the saying of the Occamists that ‘God does not deny grace to those who do what is in them’; in other words, we should do the best we can, aided by the grace of God, to love and please Him. Best efforts alone were not enough to obtain salvation, but they were an important step towards it, and received a sort of qualified value known as ‘congruent merit’. Full salvation was not to be looked for outside the sacramental ministry of the Church; hence the need for the Sacraments to ensure forgiveness in this world and the next.11

Two huge, ancient and somewhat conflicting shadows hung over medieval churchmen and thinkers. The first was the Greek philosopher Aristotle (384–322 BC), a pupil of Plato. In the twelfth century Aristotle’s works had been discovered by Western scholars, though in a somewhat elongated manner – they made Latin translations of Arabic translations of the original Greek. Aristotle was a prolific writer, whose works encompassed the sciences, medicine, philosophy, ethics and more. Being a pre-Christian pagan he had written from a rationalist perspective, and his beliefs included the eternity of the world, the mortality of the soul and that man becomes righteous by doing righteous things. Ideas such as these sat uneasily with Christian doctrines of the Creation, eternal life and salvation, and in some places his works were banned. But theologians are inventive beings, and before long some of them were using Aristotle selectively, skilfully adapting him for their own ends. Thomas Aquinas employed Aristotelian theories to prove the existence of God through reasoned arguments, not just as an act of faith. Aquinas also excused, though he did not accept, Aristotle’s idea of the eternity of the world, on the grounds that neither reason nor philosophy could prove it true or false, and that the Creation was an article of faith. The dogma of transubstantiation was also based, to a considerable degree, on Aristotelian theories of substance and accidents.12

The second large shadow was the great church father, St Augustine (354–430), champion of Christian orthodoxy. His works enjoyed an upsurge of interest in late medieval times, even though his thinking could hardly have been more different from Aristotle’s. Augustine’s sermons breathe warmth, fervour and tenderness, but on paper his theology could appear chillingly bleak. He took a severe view of the Fall of mankind as told in Genesis 3, when Adam and Eve yielded to the temptation to ‘be as gods’ and disobeyed the true God by eating the forbidden fruit. The result was original sin, which all of mankind subsequently inherited from their first disobedient parents. According to Augustine, the effect of this was spiritually catastrophic, for it left the human mind incapable of a true knowledge of God and it seriously retarded, though did not destroy completely, man’s ability to conduct himself worthily in civil and material things.

Original sin was not something invented by Augustine, of course; the whole Christian Church believed in it, and it seemed self evident that even the best men and women were full of faults as well as virtues. Augustine, however, drew conclusions which not all the Church followed. He taught that because of man’s inherent sinfulness, salvation had to depend on divine grace alone. Human efforts were wholly unavailing, and this thinking left little room for grades of merit, free will or ‘best efforts’. Gradually, Augustine developed his doctrine of the predestination of the elect – a divine decree to select certain ones for salvation before they were even born, perhaps before the foundation of the world, while leaving the rest of humanity to its deserved perdition. One leading critic of the Occamists was Gregory of Rimini (d.1358), an Augustinian scholar. He was not the only one, and a certain tension existed between those who followed Augustine and others influenced by Aristotle and the medieval ‘scholastic’ theologians. Yet the medieval world was diverse enough to accommodate a variety of Christian thought.13

Another late medieval development was the growth of humanism, though in the fifteenth century the word had none of the irreligious connotations it has today. Virtually all Renaissance humanists were Christian; and if there was a tendency in humanism to put man at the centre of the universe, no serious attempt was made to remove God or deny the dogmas of the Church.

Humanism probably began in Italy before spreading to most of Western Europe by 1500. Essentially, it was a love of things old, especially the classical Latin and Greek languages, civilisation, culture and literature. Many classical works had been preserved by medieval monks, but others, particularly Greek manuscripts, were brought into the west by eastern Christians escaping from the Turks. By this route some of the greatest works of ancient Greece came into the hands of admiring westerners; Homer and Plato, for instance, were barely known until the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. It was believed that humanist studies would cultivate the mind and produce men of learning, virtue and eloquence. The art of rhetoric was an obvious aid to preaching, and Cicero was generally regarded as the greatest of orators. Naturally, humanism impacted on theology as well, because a study of the past entailed a renewed interest in the Church fathers and even the Bible itself in the original Hebrew and Greek languages. Humanists were neither heretics nor proto-Protestants, but many of them doubted and even scoffed at some of the more exaggerated stories of saints, relics and pilgrimages. They could also be critical of the scholastic theologians, who they felt were too speculative, irrelevant and stodgy, prone to wrangling endlessly over trifles. The feeling grew that the glory of the classical past was lost and had to be retrieved.14

In theory at least, humanists were closer to the scholastics than they were to Augustine, whose stern, Pauline view of man’s intrinsic moral worth (or lack of it) ran somewhat counter to the humanist belief in harnessing man’s potential. Humanists could amuse themselves by criticising and even mocking scholastic theology, though they did not fundamentally challenge it; nevertheless, a longing for the past often implies some degree of dissatisfaction with the present, and humanists generally disliked dogma – or at least an obsession with it – preferring instead a more simple, unpretentious Christianity to the convoluted scholastical kind. But humanism had no unique theology of its own.15

The papacy had not always approved of the humanist movement. Pope Martin V (1417–31) despised ancient pagan literature. Then came one of the scoops of the century, if not of the entire medieval age, when the ‘Donation of Constantine’ – a document in which the Emperor Constantine had allegedly committed the government of his western empire to Pope Sylvester I – was exposed as a forgery in 1440 by Lorenzo Valla, a leading humanist. Two other humanist scholars working independently agreed with Valla: Nicholas of Cusa, who later became a German cardinal, and an Englishman, Bishop Pecock. This discovery, however, did little real damage to the medieval faith. The Church did what the Church then and since has been very adept at doing – it took this potentially harmful intellectual trend on board and made good use of it. Pope Nicholas V (1447–55) was a lover of antiquity, arts and books. He decided to create a great library of classical books in Latin and Greek, and he sent envoys all over Europe to search for and bring back ancient manuscripts. This collection eventually grew into the renowned Vatican library. Nicholas also sought to restore Roman buildings in need of repair and renewal, including St Peter’s. His humanist ideas were not shared by his successor, Calixtus III (1455–58), who was more concerned with recovering Constantinople from the Turks, but the remaining Renaissance popes were all patrons of art and learning.16

Here, then, is the late medieval world in a very brief sketch. It was an age of piety and devotion, trial and tribulation; but it was characterised also by a fascination for the past and a love of learning, at least among the privileged, educated few. The Church was united, but diverse and varied. There were outbreaks of anti-clerical feeling from time to time, and demands for reform here and there. Occasionally kings would flex their muscles and resist the will of the occupant of St Peter’s see. Tensions existed between disciples of Aristotle and Augustine, between Augustinians and scholastics, and between scholastics and humanists. Nevertheless, all these diverse elements managed to coexist in this intriguing world, not always with unfeigned brotherly charity perhaps, but all seemingly safely contained under the wings of Mother Church. The Creeds, the Ten Commandments and the Seven Sacraments remained sacrosanct. As the fifteenth century drew to its close, there was no obvious warning sign of an approaching spiritual storm that would batter the Church’s foundations.

But, as the Gospel says, the day of the Lord comes ‘in such an hour as ye think not …’

Notes

Abbreviations used in the Notes

AC

Augsburg Confession*

Apology

Philip Melanchthon’s Apology of the Augsburg Confession

Brecht

Martin Brecht’s biography of Luther

CR

Corpus Reformatorum

LCC

Library of Christian Classics

LW

Luther’s Works: American edn

KJV

King James Version

NIV

New International Version

Pelikan, Creeds

Pelikan and Hotchkiss, Creeds and Confessions … vol. 2: Part 4: Creeds and Confessions of the Reformation Era

UP

University Press

WA

DrMartin Luthers Werke (Weimar edn, 61 vols)

WA, TR

DrMartin Luthers Werke: Tischreden (6 vols)

* The Augsburg Confession and other Lutheran Confessional Documents are printed in Pelikan, Creeds (see above). Students may also wish to use the Internet to search for ‘Book of Concord’.

1. Cameron, European Reformation, p. 16; Duffy, Stripping of the Altars, pp. 91–130; MacCulloch, Reformation, pp. 10–16.

2. Cameron, European Reformation, pp. 79–83; Duffy, Stripping of the Altars, pp. 60–2, 191.

3. Cameron, European Reformation, pp. 79–80; Duffy, Stripping of the Altars, pp. 341–48; MacCulloch, Reformation, pp. 11–12.

4. The above is a very general picture taken from Duffy’s Stripping of the Altars; see especially pp. 11–77, 234–8.

5. Cameron, European Reformation, pp. 10–11, 16–17; Duffy, Stripping of the Altars, pp. 155–205; MacCulloch, Reformation, pp. 19–22.

6. Walker, History of the Christian Church, pp. 376, 388, 390–1, 395–6; Cameron, European Reformation, p. 23; Duffy, Saints and Sinners, p. 146; Swanson, ‘The Pre–Reformation Church’ in Reformation World, ed. Pettegree, pp. 10–13.

7. Cameron, European Reformation, pp. 49–51; Thomson, Popes and Princes,passim, especially pp. 14–19, 24, 28–37, 53; Gordon, ‘Conciliarism in Late Medieval Europe’ in Reformation World, ed. Pettegree, p. 31; Swanson, ‘The Pre–Reformation Church’ in Reformation World, p. 13; MacCulloch, Reformation, pp. 39, 43–52.

8. Swanson, ‘The Pre–Reformation Church’ in Reformation World, ed. Pettegree, p. 15; Cameron, European Reformation, pp. 56–61; Duffy, Saints and Sinners, pp. 146–69.

9. Schwiebert, Reformation, p. 278; Thomson, Popes and Princes, 1417–1517, pp. 37–8.

10. Schwiebert, Reformation, p. 160; Cameron, Reformation of the Heretics, pp. 85, 93; Cameron, Waldenses, pp. 2, 298–303.

11. Cameron, European Reformation, pp. 83–7; Walker, History of the Christian Church, pp. 322–59. For more detailed study of scholastic theology, a good start is Oberman, Harvest of Medieval Theology.

12. Pelikan, Growth of Medieval Theology, pp. 289–91; Walker, History of the Christian Church, pp. 332–4.

13. Pelikan, Growth of Medieval Theology, index refs on p. 327; MacCulloch, Reformation, pp. 106–15.

14. Rex, ‘Humanism’ in Reformation World, ed. Pettegree, pp. 51–70; MacCulloch, Reformation, pp. 76–87.

15. See further discussions on these and related themes in Spitz, Religious Reformation of the German Humanists, especially pp. 3–5, 269–74, 279, 290–1.

16. Duffy, Saints and Sinners, pp. 137–42; MacCulloch, Reformation, p. 81.

2

Brother Martin

During his Renaissance pontificate, Pope Sixtus IV (1471–84) greatly expanded the architectural and artistic works of his predecessor Nicholas, the most famous of all being the Sistine Chapel. The great paintings inside, however, were not just art for art’s sake. Botticelli’s Punishment of Korah, a vivid illustration of divine anger against the rebel who defied Moses the man of God, and Perugino’s depiction of Christ giving the keys to St Peter, seemed commandingly designed to reinforce papal authority. Rather ironic, therefore, that it was during the reign of Sixtus, in November 1483 at Eisleben, that the greatest challenge the papacy had ever faced was born.1

From the circumstances of the birth, no one would have guessed that anything remarkable had happened. There were no accompanying signs or wonders. Neither Luther himself nor his father and mother, Hans and Margarete, were even sure of the exact date, though it is generally believed to be the 10th. The child was baptised on 11 November and given the name of the saint of that day – Martin.2

Luther later described how his father in his youth had been a ‘poor miner’. Elsewhere he called himself the ‘son of a peasant’. Obviously Hans Luther had been involved in mining and farming at different stages in his life.3 Few details of Luther’s childhood are known, though that has not prevented the psycho-analysts devising intricate theories to explain the often troubled and perplexing mind of the adult Luther. It is claimed that a brutally strict upbringing left him emotionally damaged. Others talk of an Oedipus complex with his mother. Occasionally Freud is wheeled out to help penetrate Luther’s psyche. None of this is of much use in understanding Luther or the Reformation. Even if this sort of psychology has any value at all (which is debateable), far more facts than are available would be needed to make a sensible judgement. The little that is known points to a strict, somewhat Spartan, but also close and loving home; in other words, it was fairly normal for the times.

Martin Luther. (Author’s Collection)

Luther always spoke of his parents generously, kindly and even reverentially. When he told guests at the dinner table one day that his mother once whipped him soundly ‘for the sake of a mere nut’ (no more details are given) he was not whinging or feeling sorry for himself. Most of his friends could relate similar stories. Philip Melanchthon, Luther’s chief ally and co-worker, once recalled that his Latin tutor ‘applied the rod’ every time he made a mistake. Philip was not complaining either: ‘this way he made me a linguist … he was a good man.’ Such was life in those days.4

Luther paid grateful tribute to the memory of his father by recalling the sacrifices he had had to make to finance his son’s education. At school in Magdeburg and Eisenach young Martin learned grammar, Latin, rhetoric and logic, as well as the Creed and the Lord’s Prayer. He started his university career at Erfurt in 1501, the principal city of the Thuringian basin, where he read, among other things, philosophy, logic and law, and obtained his Master’s degree four years later. But the young Luther’s soul was troubled by spiritual trials, and soon he began to study the Bible with ever increasing earnestness. Then, one day in June 1505, he visited his parents in Mansfeld. On his way back to Erfurt on Wednesday 2 July – the day of Mary’s visitation – Luther was caught in a violent thunderstorm and nearly killed by a bolt of lightning. With a heart full of fear he appealed for help to St Anne, mother of Mary, and vowed to become a monk. Luther likened this experience to St Paul’s on the Damascus road. Entreaties from parents and friends failed to dissuade him, for he was convinced that this was his divine calling, necessary for the very salvation of his soul.5

Hans Luther was a disappointed man, for he had been desirous of an honourable marriage for his son. Luther would later tell his students how his father ‘despised the monks and the sacerdotal and papal masks’ and when fellow monks chided him for this irreverence and praised the monastic order, Hans replied that they should have respect for the commandment to honour thy father and mother.6

The order of Augustinian Hermits had been established by a papal decree issued by Pope Alexander IV in the thirteenth century. Luther never explained why he chose this order above the others in Erfurt, though he did later liken himself to quicksilver that God had cast among the monks. There is no evidence at this stage that Luther was especially attracted to the theology of St Augustine.7

At Erfurt, Luther was introduced to humanism, though this did not significantly affect his future as a reformer of the Church. Luther made use of humanism without ever being devoted to it; but he appreciated learning and the arts, and he was appalled to hear, in 1513, that John Reuchlin, the renowned humanist and Hebrew scholar, might be put on trial by the Inquisition for his love of Jewish literature. Luther welcomed the publication of the Greek New Testament of Desiderius Erasmus, the great Dutch scholar, though the term Erasmian hardly fits Luther even at this stage in his life.8