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2017 is the 500th year anniversary of Martin Luther’s nailing his Ninety-five Theses to the door of Castle Church in Wittenberg, Germany, the event marking the beginning of the Reformation—and the end of unified Christianity. For Catholics, it was an unjustified rebellion by the heterodox. For Protestants, it was the release of true and purified Christianity from centuries-old enslavement to corruption, idolatry, and error. So what is the truth about the Reformation? To mark the 500th anniversary, historian Benjamin Wiker gives us 12 Things You Need to Know About the Reformation, a straight-forward account of the world-changing event that rejects the common distortions of Catholic, Protestant, Marxist, Freudian, or secularist retellings.
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Benjamin Wiker's book on the Reformation, The Reformation 500 Years Later: 12 Things You Need Ko know,” is informative, interesting and eclectic. Wiker's presentation is generally even-handed, but he is Catholic and does write from the Catholic perspective, which, in books like these, is usually a matter of selection of adjectives. More importantly, Wiker is a libertarian and his fascinating retrospective makes a strong argument that connects statism with the Reformation.
Wiker's initial point is that the history of Christianity/Catholicism has been a history of reformation. The Catholic Church has been undergoing a constant reformation since 1517. That the text of the Bible occupies a central position in Catholic thought and liturgy today might come as a surprise to Luther. Likewise, the recent Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification shows a willingness to reform and come together on both the part of Catholics and Lutherans.
Moreover, Luther's reformation was not the first reformation of the Catholic Church. The history of calling ecclesiastical conduct to Christian principles goes back to apostolic times. Wiker traces the history of reformation from the apostles through the first century and into the Middle Ages. Such reformations were often led by popes, although they were also led by other elements of the church, such as St. Francis and St. Dominic. Thus, the Catholic Church was not inexperienced with reformation, which may have informed its own efforts at reformation in the 16th century.
Wiker lays a lot of the explanation for the Reformation on the rise of nationalism, which was exacerbated by the existence of the Papal States. The Papal States was a competitor with other nations for political influence and finances. This irritant was coupled with the truly corrupt popes of the Renaissance and undoubtedly presented the “perfect storm” for a revolution. The loss of the Papal States was undoubtedly providential:
“We surmise, then, that Pope Gelasius would have smiled with relief when, in 1929, the Papal States were forcibly shrunk to about the size of the original, historical donation of the actual Constantine, and even more when Pope Paul VI, the last pope crowned with the papal tiara, a sign of his temporal power, laid that tiara down, once and for all, on the altar of St. Peter's Basilica, and donated the equivalent of its worth to the poor—an act that would surprise Luther, and another sign that the Reformation was ending.”
Wiker has an interesting insight about the role of Islam and paganism in the Reformation. Islam's influence was political and propagandistic. Politically, Islam, in the form of the Turks who were then crushing into Eastern Europe, distracted the Catholic Holy Roman Empire from turning his attention to suppressing Protestantism. In terms of propaganda, the Reformers were able to present the advances of the Turks as evidence of God's judgment against Catholicism.
Wiker equates atheism with secular philosophers, such as Machievelli, who held a position that the church should be subordinated to the state:
“Indeed, Wycliffe believed the king had a moral obligation to return the English Church to its primitive purity.20 But Wycliffe's theology could easily be used by a king seeking his own monetary benefit, and it was, almost two centuries later, by the cynical, Marsilian circle around Henry VIII for different, Machiavellian ends than Wycliffe had imagined.21 It is no coincidence that one of King Henry's chief henchmen, Thomas Cromwell, subsidized the English translation of Marsilius' Defensor Pacis.22 And Marsilius was not the only influence on the Henrician circle. We also know that not only had the English humanist Lord Morley (circa 1480–1556) directed Cromwell to take up the wisdom of Machiavelli,23 but that Cardinal Reginald Pole (1500–1558) believed Cromwell had sold his soul to Machiavelli (and that Machiavelli had sold his to the devil himself).24 So we should not be surprised by Henry VIII being one of history's most notorious tyrants, England's Nero, as some have put it, snatching up as much lucre as he could from the suppression and forced dissolution of English monasteries, savagely destroying his political and theological opponents (as evidenced in his brutality against the Pilgrimage of Grace, undertaken by those who questioned his break with Rome and his emptying of the monasteries into his pockets), and callously dispensing with his wives, all the while claiming to be the holy head of the English Church.25 Henry VIII's reformation of the English Church had little to do with the religious goals of the Reformers (Henry had actually been an early critic of Luther) and everything to do with Henry wanting to divorce one woman and marry another (and another, and another, and so on). But above all, his goal was absolute political power, and that entailed asserting royal supremacy over the Church, a Marsilian goal gotten by Machiavellian means. But Henry was not an exception. His ambition to subordinate Church to state was shared by rulers across Europe. Luther's revolt and its aftermath offered them an opportunity; and in no place were rulers' motives more mixed, because of power being so dispersed, than in Luther's Germany, the very cradle of the Reformation.
The theme of statism continues in Wiker's description of Luther:
Luther not only preached obedience in general, but he subordinated the Church to the state and handed over to the princes the power to enforce doctrine, citing the precedent of Emperor Constantine deciding between Arians and Catholics at the Council of Nicaea.31 Despite his own intentions and the reality of the precedent, Luther was creating the perfect situation for rulers who were disciples of Marsilius or Machiavelli, and who therefore saw his doctrines as politically convenient rather than true. Historian W. D. J. Cargill Thompson notes another connection to an essential theological aspect in Luther's political thinking: “An inevitable consequence of Luther's rejection of good works as a necessary factor to salvation was that he no longer saw this world as being preparatory to the next, in the sense that what one does in this world contributes directly to one's fate in the next.”32 Thus the kingdom of man was entirely secularized and disconnected from the kingdom of God, and that likewise made way for the new, entirely secular princes, schooled directly or indirectly by Marsilius and Machiavelli. Giving so much to the secular prince was a problem for Luther, even in his own day. A very great embarrassment in his life, in this regard, was the debacle with greatest prince-protector of the Protestant cause, Landgrave Philip of Hesse. Philip was one of the early princes to declare himself for the Protestant cause. Doing so meant that Luther counted on him for protection and support. That put Luther in a particularly sticky situation when Philip came to him, wanting him to support his desire to marry another wife without unmarrying his first; in other words, Philip wanted divine sanction for bigamy. Philip was a rather notorious philanderer, and suffered from syphilis, so his moral credentials were a bit rusty. Luther and fellow reformer Philip Melanchthon rooted through Scripture to provide the sanction Philip wanted, but begged Philip to keep his second wife and their divine permission slip both a secret, since if it got out, Luther's image would be severely tarnished. That is exactly what happened when the news spread all over Europe, giving Luther's enemies the satisfaction of saying “That's what happens with the doctrine of sola scriptura and justification by faith alone—you can get Scripture to let you do anything, especially if you're Luther's prince.”
Wiker's arguments are solid and are consistent with Rodney Stark's observations about the Protestantism and the rise of nationalism. Undoubtedly, national states were bound to rise, but Protestantism found itself in an opportune moment to connect with that potent social force.
This is a quick and interesting read.