Collected Works of Martin Luther
Page 703
On this subject we learn much hitherto unknown from the “Analecta,” published by G. Loesche in 1892. Melanchthon, for instance, relates that a doctor at Tübingen “kept the devil in a bottle, as magicians are wont to do.” Amsdorf had once heard the devil grunting. Melanchthon himself had heard a tremendous noise on the roof of the cathedral at Magdeburg, which was a presage of coming warlike disturbances; the same portent had been observed at Wittenberg previous to the besieging of the town. To what extent people might become tools of the devil was evident, so he told his students, from the example of two witches at Berlin, who had murdered a child in order to raise a snow-storm by means of impious rites, and who were now awaiting punishment at the hands of the authorities. It was not, however, so easy to deal with witches. At Wittenberg one, while undergoing torture on the rack, had changed herself into a cat and mewed. Twelve years previously a ghost had killed a fisherman on the Elster. Hence it was necessary to look out for good remedies and counter-spells against witchcraft. “Where tortoises were to be met with it was held that neither poison nor magic could work any harm.”
According to Melanchthon the signs in the heavens must never be disregarded when studying the times. Two fiery serpents, which had recently been seen at Eisenberg engaged in a struggle in the sky, were an infallible presage of “coming war in the Church,” especially as a fiery cross had shown itself above the serpents. By careful calculations he had ascertained that the end of the world, the approach of which was in any case foretold by the wickedness of men, would take place before the year 1582.
His friend Camerarius remarked with annoyance that “many persons had made notes of Melanchthon’s private conversations and thus affixed a stigma to his name.” This complaint reminds us of a drollery, none too delicate, contained in the “Analecta” among the “Dicta Melanchthonis” concerning the flatulence of a monk. Even the editor admits that one cannot think very highly of these sayings of Melanchthon, especially when we remember that the “Dicta” were uttered at lectures which the speaker seemed in the habit of enlivening with all kinds of examples and vulgarities. He adds, “Our discovery reveals the very low standard of the lectures then delivered at the University.”
Loesche also remarks that “these Dicta have contributed to destroy the legend of Melanchthon’s gentleness and kindliness.”
In connection with the legend of his kindliness, Loesche refers to a remark made by Melanchthon, according to the “Dicta,” about the year 1553: “Whoever murders a tyrant, as did those who murdered N. in Lithuania, offers a holocaust to God.” Such views regarding the lawfulness of murdering tyrants he seems to have derived from his study of the classics. He had, moreover, already given expression to them long before this, referring to Henry VIII. of England, who had ceased to favour the Reformation as conducted in Germany. In a letter to his friend Veit Dietrich he wishes, that God would send a brave assassin to rid the world of the tyrant.
Melanchthon was in reality far from tolerant, and in his demands for the punishment of heretics he went to great lengths. It is generally known how he gave it as his opinion, in 1557, that the execution of the Spanish doctor, Michael Servetus, which took place at Geneva in 1553 at the instance of Calvin, was a “pious and memorable example for posterity.” He wrote to Calvin, on October 14, 1554, concerning the proceedings against Servetus, who had denied the Trinity as well as the divinity of Christ, as follows: “I agree entirely with your sentence; I also declare that your authorities have acted wisely and justly in putting this blasphemous man to death.” When the severity of the step was blamed by some, he expressed his surprise at the objectors in a letter of August 20, 1555, to Bullinger at Zürich, and sent him a little treatise defending and recommending similar sentences. He there proves that false doctrines should be treated as notorious blasphemies, and that the secular authorities were accordingly bound by the Divine law to punish them with the utmost severity; Divine chastisements were to be apprehended should the authorities, out of a false sense of pity, show themselves remiss in extirpating erroneous doctrines. Such was indeed the teaching at Wittenberg, as evinced, for instance, by a disputation at the University, where Melanchthon’s friend and colleague, George Major, branded the contrary opinion as “impudent and abominable.”
Characteristic of Melanchthon, though hitherto little noticed, were the severity and obstinacy with which he sought to carry his intolerance into practice. He relentlessly called in the assistance of the secular authorities against the canons of Cologne who had remained faithful to the religion of their fathers. As to his opponents within his own fold he demanded that the rulers should punish them, particularly the Anabaptists, not merely as sedition-mongers and rebels, but on account of their doctrinal peculiarities. Their rejection of infant baptism he regarded as one of those blasphemies which ought to be punished by death; the denial of original sin and the theory that the Sacraments were merely signs he looked upon as similar blasphemies. At least those Anabaptists, “who are the heads and leaders,” and who refuse to abjure their errors, “should be put to death by the sword as seditious men and blasphemers.” “Others, who have been led astray, and who, though not so defiant, refuse to recant, should be treated as madmen and sent to jail.”
Of these principles concerning the coercion of both Catholics and sectarians we have an enduring memorial in Melanchthon’s work dated 1539, and entitled “On the office of Princes.” Nor did he fail to incite the Lutheran authorities to adopt, in the interests of public worship, coercive measures against negligent Protestants: “I should be pleased were the authorities to make a stringent rule of driving the people to church, particularly on holidays.”
His fondness for the use of coercion in furthering his own religious views is apparent throughout his career, and how congenial it was to him is clear from the fact that he manifested this leaning at the very outset of the reforms at Wittenberg, even before Luther had seen his way to do the same.
As early as October 20, 1521, subsequent to the changes in public worship which had been effected by the apostate Augustinians supported by some Wittenberg professors such as Carlstadt, Amsdorf, and Jonas, Melanchthon in a written admonition told the Elector, that, as a Christian Prince, he should “make haste to abrogate the abuse of the Mass” in his country and principality, unmindful of the calumnies to which this might give rise, “in order that your Electoral Highness may not, like Capharnaum, be reproached by Christ on the Last Day on account of the great grace and mercy which, without any work of ours, has been shown in your Electoral Highness’s lands, the Holy Evangel being revealed, manifested, and brought to light, and yet all to no purpose”; God would require at his hands an account for the great grace of Luther’s mission.
In this admonition, brimful of the most bitter prejudice, we find for the first time the principle laid down, that the “salvation of his soul required of a Christian Prince” the prohibition of the olden Catholic worship.
In point of fact Melanchthon was frequently ahead of Luther in carrying the latter’s theories to their logical conclusion, utterly regardless of rights infringed. Thus, for instance, he was before Luther in reaching the conclusion that religious vows were invalid.
The conviction and enthusiasm with which, from the very outset, he took Luther’s side was due, as he repeatedly avers, to motives of a moral and religious order; he backed up Luther, so he assures us, because he hoped thereby to promote a reform of morals. “I am conscious of having taken up the study of theology for no other reason than to amend our lives.” What he here states as a young man of twenty-eight, he made use of to console and encourage himself with later. What he had in mind was, of course, the ostensibly hopeless decline of morals under Popery. This he painted in vivid colours borrowed from Luther, for he himself had never come into any such close contact with the abuses as would have enabled him to reach a reliable and independent opinion of his own. Having thoroughly aroused his hatred of the Papacy and convinced himself of the urgent necessity of combating th
e vicious decadence and intellectual darkness brought into the world by Antichrist, he is wont to depict the ideal of his own thoughts and efforts; this was the “disciplina et obedientia populi Dei” to be achieved by means of an education at once religious and Humanistic.
3. Melanchthon at the Zenith of His Career. His Mental Sufferings
Various traits of Melanchthon already alluded to may serve favourably to impress the unbiassed reader, even though his views be different. We now proceed to sum these up, supplementing them by a few other details of a similar nature.
Favourable Traits.
The many touching and heartfelt complaints concerning the moral disorders prevalent in the Protestant Churches are peculiar to Melanchthon. Luther, it is true, also regretted them, but his regret is harshly expressed and he is disposed to lay the blame on the wrong shoulders. Melanchthon, with his praiseworthy concern for discipline and ordered doctrine, was naturally filled with deep misgivings when the preaching of the Evangel resulted in moral disorder and waywardness in views and doctrine. This explains why he was so ready to turn to the authorities to implore their assistance in establishing that stable, Christian government which was his ideal. (Below, f.)
Above all, he was desirous of seeing the foundations of the Empire and the rights of the Emperor safeguarded, so long as the new Evangel was not endangered. None of those who thought as he did at Wittenberg were more anxious lest the religious movement should jeopardise the peace; in none of them is the sense of responsibility so marked as in Melanchthon. Being by nature as well as by education less strong-hearted than Luther, he was not so successful as the latter in repressing his misery at the consequences of his position. To this his correspondence, which is full of interest and characteristic of his moods, is a striking witness.
Yet, amidst all the complaints we find in these letters, we hardly come across any statement concerning personal troubles of conscience. As a layman, he had not to reproach himself with any apostasy from the sacred office of the priesthood. Unlike Luther and his other friends, from his youth upward his studies and his profession had not been ecclesiastical. The others had once been religious or priests and had, by their marriage, violated a strict law of the Church, which was not the case with him.
His fine mental powers he devoted to the service of Humanism, seeking to promote the cause of education, particularly at the University of Wittenberg, but also elsewhere, by his many-sided writings in the domain of worldly learning and culture. We need only recall his works on rhetoric and grammar, on the ancient philosophy, more particularly the Aristotelian, on dialectics, ethics, and psychology. Such works from his ready but careful pen created for him a great and permanent field of activity, and at the same time helped to distract him amidst the sad realities of life and his own bitter experiences. He openly declared his preference for Humanistic studies, stating that he had been drawn into the theological controversies quite against his will.
It was to his philosophic mode of thought that he owed the self-control which he possessed in so remarkable a degree. Often we are put in mind of the stoic when we hear him, the scholar, giving the soft answer to the insults heaped on him in his own circle and then quietly proceeding on his own way. And yet his character was irritable and prone to passionate anger, as on one occasion some lazy students at the University learnt to their cost. Hence his moderation in his dealings with his Wittenberg colleagues is all the more remarkable.
In his family life Melanchthon has been described as a model of industry, love of order and domesticity. He rose before daybreak in order to deal with his large correspondence; his letters, full of sympathy for friends and those who stood in need of help, were carefully written, and usually couched in Latin. German he did not write so fluently as Luther. In his Latin letters to Humanist friends he often drops into Greek, particularly when anxious to conceal anything, for instance, when he has to complain of Luther. His intimate and friendly intercourse with kindred spirits, such as Camerarius, is a pleasing trait in his character; not less so is the benevolence and unselfishness his letters attest, which indeed he often carried so far as to deprive himself of the needful. His home life was a happy one and his children were well brought up, though his son-in-law, Sabinus, a man of great talent, caused him much grief by his want of conjugal fidelity, which was a source of scandal to the family and also damaged the reputation of Wittenberg.
Melanchthon’s Relations with Luther.
In Melanchthon’s mental history, no less than in the external circumstances of his life, stands out prominently, his connection with Luther, of which we have already recounted the beginnings.
The remarkable relations existing between Melanchthon and Luther abound in psychological traits characteristic of both. So intimate were they that others of the party were disposed to see in their friendship the excellent working of the evangelical spirit, the harmony and union of mind of the two most eminent leaders of the new movement.
To Melanchthon Luther’s higher mission was as good as proved (above p, 355). To Capito he declared: “I am convinced that he carries out his work not merely with prudence but with the best of consciences, since he appears to have been destined by God for this purpose; for never could one man carry so many along with him unless he were animated by the Spirit of God. He has not acted harshly towards any, save some of the sophists, and even had he done so, we must remember that in our times a sharp tongue is needed, since he is the first who has preached the Gospel for a long while. Leave him to the working of his own spirit and resist not the will of God! This matter must not be judged by human standards. The Gospel is proclaimed that it may be an offence to the godless and that the sheep of Israel may return to their God.”
Thus Melanchthon in 1521. We may compare the promises Luther held out to those who were filled with faith to his own happy expectations of the outcome of his relations with Melanchthon: “There, faith sets to work with joy and charity,” “to serve others and to be helpful to them”; the consoling words of St. Paul (Phil. ii. 1 ff.) were being fulfilled in brotherly unity, “consolation in Christ, comfort of charity, society of the spirit, bowels of commiseration,” and the result would be a “free, willing, happy life”; “when the heart thus hears the voice of Christ, it must be joyful and receive entire consolation.”
In Melanchthon’s case, however, these promises were not realised in the event; on the contrary, inward disappointment and mental suffering were increasingly to become his portion.
Between 1528 and 1530 he openly admitted that he was burdened with cares and troubles beyond measure, and only consoled himself with the thought that the Day of Judgment must be at the door. He was suffering all the pangs of hell on account of the sights he was forced to witness, and would much rather die than continue to suffer; the state of ecclesiastical affairs caused him unspeakable pain, and not a day passed that he did not long for death. Complaints such as these are to be found in his correspondence till the very end of his life, so that his most recent Protestant biographer speaks of his letters, more particularly those to Camerarius, as witnessing to the “anxiety, misery and profound mental suffering” which “consumed him”; he also alludes to the “wine trodden out with such bitter pain” which posterity enjoys, thanks to his labours. “Most of these productions [the letters to Camerarius] it is impossible to read without feeling the deepest sympathy.” “Even his severest accuser will assuredly be disarmed when he sees what Melanchthon suffered.”
At the commencement of the ‘thirties he bewails his “unhappy fate” which had entangled him in religious disputes, and, seven years later, we have this startling confession: “The cruel dolours of soul which I have endured for three years on end, and the other cares which each day brings, have wasted me to such an extent that I fear I cannot live much longer.” In the next decade we have another confession to the same effect: “I shall not be sorry to leave this prison (‘ergastulum’) when he [Luther, whom Melanchthon here calls ‘infestus’] throws me over.”
As early as 1523 and 1524 Melanchthon began to free himself to some extent from the spell cast over him by his domineering friend. He was in the first instance repelled by the coarseness of Luther’s literary style, and also by much which seemed to him exaggerated in his ways, more particularly by his denial of free-will. (Above, f.) The sensitive nature of Melanchthon also took offence at certain things in Luther’s private life, and his own observations were confirmed by the sharp eyes of his bosom friend Camerarius (Joachim Kammermeister), who had migrated to Wittenberg in 1522. Their exchange of secret confidences concerning Wittenberg affairs is unmistakable. Melanchthon felt very lonely after the departure of Camerarius and missed the stimulating intellectual intercourse at Wittenberg, which had become a necessity to him. Frequently he complains, even as early as 1524, that he met with no sympathy, and sometimes he does not exclude even Luther. At Wittenberg he felt like a lame cobbler. “There is no one amongst my comrades and friends whose conversation appeals to me. All the others [Luther is here excepted] have no time for me, or else they belong to the common herd (‘vulgus sunt’).” Any real friendship was out of the question at the University, since there were no kindred spirits; his intimacies were mere “wolves’ friendships,” to use an expression of Plato’s. He envies, so he says, those who were surrounded by studious pupils and could devote all their energies to study, far from the turmoil of religious controversy.