Martin Luther on Trial

Martin Luther braves persecution by the Church to come to the city of Worms to have his case heard by Emperor Charles V. In this contest between a reviled monk who is the son of a mine owner and a monarch whose empire spans an ocean, the victor is perhaps not the person one would normally expect…

Sources

Gregory, Brad S. The Unintended Reformation: How a Religious Revolution Secularized Society (Harvard University Press, 2012).

Luther, Martin. Works: Letters I, vol. 48, ed. and trans. Gottfried G. Krodel (Fortress Press, 1963).

Parker, Geoffrey. Emperor: A New Life of Charles V (Yale University Press, 2019).

Roper, Lyndal. Martin Luther: Renegade and Prophet (Penguin Random House, 2016).

Transcript

On a spring day in 1521, a crowd of over 2,000 clogged the streets of the German city of Worms. Many of them were locals, but some had travelled from other towns and regions, just to catch a glimpse of the man who would be arriving.

A wagon slowly weaved around the hordes of people. Suddenly, it stopped. The man who stepped out of it before the curious and admiring gazes of dozens of people was no king or general or bishop, but a monk and professor of theology whose father owned some copper mines. Even so, people across Europe from peasants to nobles now knew his name: Martin Luther. Once Luther had left the carriage, another monk emerged from the mob and embraced him like an old friend. He also touched his robes three times, like a petitioner hoping for a blessing from a saint.

Someone who may have glimpsed Martin Luther’s arrival without knowing who he was or why he was there might have guessed that it was a joyous occasion. Instead, Luther was there to be judged before the most powerful man in Europe, Emperor Charles V. If Luther felt any genuine terror in that moment, no one knew but him. As far as his confidents knew, Luther would dive into the lion’s den without hesitation. In fact, he was even prepared to become a martyr.

This is Turning Modern.

According to Martin Luther himself, it was a thunderstorm that put him on the path to becoming one of the chief architects of the modern world. When he was a law student and traveling home to visit his family, he was caught in a severe summer thunderstorm near the village of Stotternheim. Likely because his father Hans owned several copper mines, Luther cried out to Saint Anna, the patron saint of miners, and swore that he would become a monk if he survived the storm. And that is exactly what Martin Luther did. In a sign of the defiance he would show throughout his life, he became a monk against the wishes of his stern father, who wanted him to become a lawyer who could represent their family’s interests. It should be said, though, that Martin did everything he could to avoid seeing his father for months after he went to a monastery. As Martin Luther’s modern biographer Lyndal Roper remarks, Luther’s “first step was the rebellion against his father.”

While his decision to become a monk was likely also motivated by Luther’s lifelong struggles with depression and the recent death of a close friend, there really isn’t much of a reason to doubt Luther’s sincerity here, especially because that part of Germany was known for its violent thunderstorms in the summer. As he settled into the monastic life and rose through the ranks to become a professor of theology, Luther continued to be haunted by depression and the sense that he was awash with sin, much to the chagrin of his confessor, who had to endure Martin Luther’s hours-long, guilt-soaked confessions.

Eventually Luther’s critical eye turned away from himself and toward the church, especially because of the practice of selling documents promising the remission of sins, called indulgences. Historians now tend to agree that Luther didn’t actually nail his famous Ninety-Five Theses criticizing the Church to the door of the cathedral in Wittenberg. Still, the Ninety-Five Theses were written with the purpose to start scholarly debates, and when they were disseminated through the newfangled technology of the printing press, they immediately provoked the ire of the Church. Luther himself seems to have genuinely had no idea how much controversy he was stirring up.

Further writings published by Luther added fuel to the fire, both by giving his enemies in the Church ammunition and by making him famous across Germany. As we saw in the previous episode about Hans Behem and the peasant revolt that almost was, Germany had long been simmering with widespread resentment against the Church. For centuries the Church had clashed with Germany’s rulers, the Holy Roman Emperors. Also Germans were well aware that the tithes they paid to the Church more often than not went to funding the papacy’s construction projects in Rome or wars between the Papal States and their Italian rivals. The fact members of the upper ranks of the clergy and independent monasteries were also secular princes, more so in Germany than anywhere else in Europe, made the clergy a particularly unwelcome and burdensome presence in many Germans’ lives, from the members of city councils to the peasantry. One might say that it wasn’t so shocking that Martin Luther became such an overnight sensation, but that a Martin Luther didn’t come along sooner even without help from the printing press.

In any case, Luther’s story might have turned out very differently if he didn’t have a powerful protector, one of the leading princes of Germany, Elector Frederick III of Saxony. When Pope Leo X excommunicated Luther and Luther kept publishing works critical of the Church, it was Frederick III who kept Luther from being packed off to Rome. Frederick arranged to have Luther’s case put before not the Pope, but the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V. Charles V was the most powerful monarch the world had ever seen, at least on paper. Through lucky accidents of marriage and birth and political maneuvering, his family had gone from being upstarts on the brink of political extinction to one of the great powerplayers in Europe, claiming not just the office of Holy Roman Emperor but Austria, Naples, Sicily, the modern-day Netherlands and Belgium, Spain, and Spain’s colonies in South and Central America. Unfortunately, this meant Charles was stuck with the unenviable task of running a flimsy patchwork empire, comprised of peoples who all had their own languages, laws, and political institutions and traditions. Making it worse for him was the fact that Charles V was, in the words of Dirk Hoffman-Becking, host of the excellent History of the Germans podcast, “just an average man.”

Even when the exact magnitude of what Luther would create was far from clear, the disgraced monk already posed a challenge to Charles V’s already overtaxed mind. The papal representative was already calling on Charles V to condemn Luther was a heretic, and alienating the papacy was dangerous since the Pope could side with Charles V’s most powerful rival, King Francois I of France. But on the other hand, the office of Holy Roman Emperor was an elective one, and to help ensure his own recent election Charles V had made a number of concessions to the German princes. One of these was promising that no subject of theirs would be put on trial before a foreign court, and that included the papal court in Rome. Besides that, Charles V was well-aware that Luther was already a celebrity in Germany. Having him killed risked a massive revolt, and since Charles V was already dealing with violent resistance in his dominions in Spain, he could ill-afford to fight rebellions on two separate fronts. Charles V’s advisors also saw in Luther a potential weapon that could be used to bring the Pope to heel, if need be.

So, when Frederick III asked Charles V to allow Luther to be heard at a planned meeting of the German princes at Worms and to give him a safe conduct, Charles V agreed. It was a decision supported by most of his advisors, but the papal ambassador Girolamo Aleandro was, of course, outraged. During an argument with one of Charles V’s advisors, he prophetically warned, “You will soon see such a fire that all the water in your North Sea will not extinguish it.”

When Luther heard that the emperor had granted him an opportunity to plead his case at Worms, he told his correspondents that he would not go if the emperor was just going to browbeat him into repenting. If ,on the other hand, he was going to be condemned and executed, he was willing to become a martyr. This was not a remote possibility. Everyone knew very well the case of Jan Hus, a Czech priest also accused of heresy by the Church and who was also promised a safe conduct so he could appear before the Holy Roman Emperor, only to be arrested and burned at the stake.

Once Luther arrived for his hearing, he was brusquely told by the imperial marshal to answer as briefly as possible, an order that Luther would characteristically ignore. Then he was brought into a large, packed meeting hall. There were up to a thousand people present, not just foreign ambassadors, members of the clergy, German princes or their representatives, and members of the imperial family and court, but also locals from the city and average people who could afford to make the trip. Charles V himself sat on a raised dais, directly facing where Luther spoke. The theologian Johann Eck, who had been a friend of Martin Luther but in recent years had turned into one of his harshest critics, was there, representing the emperor. He pointed toward a pile of books on a bench, all written by Luther since the Church condemned the Ninety-Five Theses, and asked in Latin and then German if Luther had written these books. A theology professor who was acting as a defense attorney of sorts for Luther shouted that the titles of the books should be read for everyone assembled. With that, Eck read out the titles and a brief summary of each one. When he was done Luther cracked a joke: “You haven’t mentioned all my books!”

Ignoring the jibe, Eck asked again in both Latin and German if he would admit to writing these books, and if he did write them, if he would recant of what they said. Observers remarked that Luther appeared anxious. He responded at first by swearing loyalty to the emperor. Then he admitted that he wrote the books, but as for the second question, he asked the emperor to grant him another day so he could consider his answer because “this is a question of faith and the salvation of souls, and because it concerns the divine Word, which we are all bound to reverence, for there is nothing greater in heaven or on earth.”  Charles withdrew from the court to consult with Eck and his advisors. Returning after some time, he granted Luther’s request.

It was a delaying tactic. Luther had actually been informed beforehand what he would be asked. In fact, he was annoyed at the lack of a real debate. In one letter, Luther complained that he expected that an army of theologians would face him in a rhetorical battle. Instead, he was, in his own words, just asked, “Are these your books? Yes. Do you want to renounce them or not? No. Then go away!” Anxious and disgruntled as he was, at least Luther enjoyed accommodations near where the Diet was held that were worthy of a nobleman. In fact, it was the same building several distinguished knights were also staying in. Meanwhile the papal delegate Aleandro was stuck in a shabby, poorly heated room. It was a subtle but clear sign of where many people’s sympathies really laid.

The next day, Luther was not called into the Diet until the late afternoon. When he arrived, he was brought to an even larger hall lit only by several torches and that was so crowded with spectators that even some of the German princes had to stand. Even then, he had to wait for two hours while delegates debated on the topic of administrative reforms. Finally, though, the audience got to see the main event. Luther was again asked if he wrote these books and if he recanted what he wrote. Speaking in Latin and then repeating himself in German, Luther began by apologizing to the emperor for being a man not used to the imperial court, but only life in a monastery. Then he moved on to his actual answer. He admitted he wrote the books, but he quickly added that the books were all written with different purposes in mind. Some he wrote just to explain God’s word in plain language, some to criticize what he saw as abuses in the Church and the papacy, and some he had written to argue against defenders of the papacy. He could not recant what he wrote in the first category of books since they were just reflecting biblical teachings, remarking “even my enemies themselves are compelled to admit that these are useful, harmless, and clearly worthy to be read by Christians.” As for his writings about papal tyranny, well, if he was compelled to recant of those writings, it would only vindicate his own criticisms of said papal tyranny. With his usual acidic wit, Luther added that he just did not want to “add strength” to allegations of papal tyranny, “especially if it should be reported that this evil deed had been done by me by virtue of the authority of your most serene majesty and of the whole Roman Empire”. When Luther declared that the “whole German Nation was vexed and oppressed in Rome”, Charles V, who had been silent up until now, became irritated and ordered Luther to move on.

This time, Luther complied. As for the third kind of book, Luther could not repent of those either, because he hadn’t written anything in those that went against Scripture. Sure, he admitted that he might have been more vicious in his writing than was appropriate for a Christian, but, Luther added, “I do not set myself up as a saint.” If anyone there could prove that he had erred against the Word of God, Luther would be the first to throw his books into the flames. Otherwise, “he would not retract a single word he had written.” Then Luther addressed the emperor directly, pleading with him to allow his works to continue to be published.  

It was now Eck’s turn to speak. He countered by saying “that everything that [Luther] admitted writing in his books. …was heresy that had long since been condemned by [church] councils” and ‘for that reason there was no point in discussing something that had already been discussed, declared to be evil, reproved and condemned by the Church, which had issued holy decrees and very good decisions on the matter:. Rather than just being defensible interpretations of Scripture, Luther’s writings instead claimed, according to Eck, that “we must believe that our predecessors for the past thousand years were heretics and were not saved; and it would be reckless and a great error to think that one man, with little authority, wanted to condemn so many good Christians.”  At this, Luther fired back with one of the most famous speeches in history: “Unless I am convinced by the testimony of the Scriptures or by clear reason (for I do not trust either in the Pope or in councils alone, since it is well known that they have often erred and contradicted themselves), I am bound by the Scriptures I have quoted and my conscience is captive to the Word of God. I cannot and will not retract anything, since it is neither safe nor right to go against conscience.” An account published by his supporters added these famous words that were not included in the original transcripts of the Diet of Worms: “I cannot do otherwise, here I stand, may God help me. Amen.’ Whatever Luther actually said in that moment, it caused the emperor to interrupt the proceedings again. Charles V had been raised in Burgundy with French as his main language and his German and Latin were both not up to par. Nonetheless, Charles V understood all he needed to. He stood up and declared, “That is enough: I do not wish to hear any more from someone who denied the authority of the councils!”

Luther’s appeal to his conscience has often been seen as a pivotal moment in history, and rightfully so. Still, Lyndel Roper warns us that we shouldn’t interpret what Luther was talking about in a modern sense. Luther was not talking about a moral and strongly felt but still technically subjective stance, like what we might mean by “conscience.” He saw himself not as presenting a new interpretation of Christianity, but as fighting for the true understanding of the Christian Gospels.  This is what Roper means when she writes, “When Luther said his conscience was ‘captive to the Word of God’ he meant that it could not be moved or altered; he ‘knew’ with his whole being — mind and emotion — what God’s Word was, and could not deny it.” In his writings, Luther explicitly condemned the notion of an individual interpretation of Scripture. For him, there was only the truth of God’s Word and corruptions of it. I don’t doubt Luther would be horrified to learn about the present-day situation in my country of the United States, where even in a small-ish city you might find all within walking distance churches belonging to four or five different denominations, at least. Even so, in Luther’s own lifetime other would-be reformers were publishing their own challenges to his doctrine. If enough people claim that they know the truth but their truths all look different from one another, then the distinction between what’s truth and what’s individual opinion really just doesn’t matter anymore. Further, it’s a thin line between the kind of conscientious stand Luther made and one made for a secular cause, like democratic freedom or a particular understanding of human rights. Regardless of what Luther meant, it’s really not unreasonable to draw a straight line between Luther’s defiant declaration of conscience and modern ideas of the individual and subjectivity.

The significance of what happened in that moment does not seem to have been lost on Luther and his supporters and enemies. The Elector Frederick later said that Luther “spoke well”, but added that “he is too bold for me.” After Charles V stormed out of the hall and the German princes began leaving the chamber themselves, the imperial court’s Spanish attendants tried blocking the doors, shouting, “Burn him! Burn him!” However, Luther’s German supporters swarmed around him and carried him out of the hall on their shoulders. As he was carried out of the building, Luther made to the crowds the same gesture German knights typically made when they won a joust. His allies also remarked that Luther’s anxieties and fears seem to have dissipated and he was unusually cheerful after the day’s events. Still, Luther didn’t press his luck. He quickly left Worms before there was any chance his safe conduct might expire or be revoked. In the middle of Luther’s travels, Frederick III had his agents kidnap Luther after a faked highway robbery. Luther was secretly set up in Wartburg Castle, isolated in the mountains of Thuringia. There Luther would remain for almost a year. Before then, Luther did write a letter addressed to Charles V, assuring him that he would have recanted if someone had just convinced him that his interpretation of Scripture was wrong. He concluded with a plea: “I beg Your Sacred Majesty once more for Christ’s sake not to allow me to be crushed by my enemies, to suffer violence and be condemned since I have so often made myself available, as is becoming to a Christian and obedient man.” Charles V never saw the letter because no one dared give it to him.

Charles V himself was so disturbed by Luther’s defiance that he spent that night writing a response. In it, he argued that he had a sacred obligation to defend the Church because he was descended from several royal houses that were all famous for defending the true faith. He then wrote, “I am entirely determined to dedicate my kingdoms and lordships, my friends, my body, my blood, my life and my soul” to battling heresy. He continued that to permit “heresy or a diminution of the Christian religion to rest in the hearts of men through our own negligence would bring permanent dishonour on us and our successors. Having heard the perverse reply that Luther gave yesterday in the presence of all of us, I tell you now that I regret having delayed so long before proceeding against him and his false doctrine, and I have decided to hear no more from him.” After that, Charles V signed the Edict of Worms, which made Luther an outlaw, forbade anyone to give him a place to stay or to eat with him, and outlawed publications of his writings. By the time copies of the Edict were distributed, though, Luther was already safe in Wartburg Castle.  

Both the Church and the emperor had now declared war on Luther, so his supporters were surprised that he remained cheerful in the following weeks. Perhaps Luther knew that he had already won, despite all the forces arrayed against him. If so, Luther wouldn’t have been the only one who glimpsed this. One of Charles’ Spanish secretaries, Ifonso de Valdes, said as much when he wrote after the issuing of the Edict of Worms, “Some imagine that this marks the end of the tragedy, but I believe it is not the end but the beginning. I see that the minds of the Germans are very agitated against the pope; and I also see that they do not attach much weight to the emperor’s edicts, because as soon as Luther’s books see the light of day, they are sold constantly and with impunity in every street and square. You can easily conjecture what will happen as soon as the emperor departs.”

Thank you for listening.