History of the Catholic Church, vol 1 | Page 4

reckoned amongst the most generous patrons of the
classical movement. Yet the violence of extreme partisans on both
sides rendered a conflict almost unavoidable.
On the one hand, many of the classical enthusiasts, not content with
winning for their favourite studies a most important place on the
programmes of the schools, were determined to force on the Christian
body the ideals, the culture, and the outlook on the world, which found
their best expression in the masterpieces of pagan literature; while, on
the other, not a few of the champions of Scholastic Philosophy seemed
to have convinced themselves that Scholasticism and Christianity were
identified so closely that rejection or criticism of the former must imply
disloyalty to the latter. The Humanists mocked at the Scholastics and
dubbed them obscurantists on account of their barbarous Latinity, their
uncritical methods, and their pointless wranglings; the Scholastics
retorted by denouncing their opponents as pagans, or, at least, heretics.
In this way the claims of religion were drawn into the arena, and, as

neither the extreme Scholastics nor the extreme Humanists had learned
to distinguish between dogmas and systems, between what was
essential and what was tentative, there was grave danger that religion
would suffer in the eyes of educated men on account of the crude
methods of those who claimed to be its authorised exponents.
Undoubtedly, at such a period of unrest, the Church could hardly
expect to escape attack. Never since the days when she was called upon
to defend her position against the combined forces of the Pagan world
had she been confronted with such a serious crisis, and seldom, if ever,
was she so badly prepared to withstand the onslaughts of her enemies.
The residence at Avignon, the Great Western Schism, and the conciliar
theories to which the Schism gave rise, had weakened the power of the
Papacy at the very time when the bonds of religious unity were being
strained almost to the snapping point by the growth of national jealousy.
Partly owing to the general downward tendency of the age, but mainly
on account of the interference of the secular authorities with
ecclesiastical appointments, the gravest abuses had manifested
themselves in nearly every department of clerical life, and the cry for
reform rose unbidden to the lips of thousands who entertained no
thought of revolution. But the distinction between the divine and the
human element in the Church was not appreciated by all, with the result
that a great body of Christians, disgusted with the unworthiness of
some of their pastors, were quite ready to rise in revolt whenever a
leader should appear to sound the trumpet-call of war.
Nor had they long to wait till a man arose, in Germany, to marshal the
forces of discontent and to lead them against the Church of Rome.
Though in his personal conduct Luther fell far short of what people
might reasonably look for in a self-constituted reformer, yet in many
respects he had exceptional qualifications for the part that he was called
upon to play. Endowed with great physical strength, gifted with a
marvellous memory and a complete mastery of the German language,
as inspiring in the pulpit or on the platform as he was with his pen,
regardless of nice limitations or even of truth when he wished to strike
down an opponent or to arouse the enthusiasm of a mob, equally at
home with princes in the drawing-room as with peasants in a tavern
--Luther was an ideal demagogue to head a semi-religious, semi-social
revolt. He had a keen appreciation of the tendencies of the age, and of

the thoughts that were coursing through men's minds, and he had
sufficient powers of organisation to know how to direct the different
forces at work into the same channel. Though fundamentally the issue
raised by him was a religious one, yet it is remarkable what a small part
religion played in deciding the result of the struggle. The world-wide
jealousy of the House of Habsburg, the danger of a Turkish invasion,
the long-drawn-out struggle between France and the Empire for
supremacy in Europe and for the provinces on the left bank of the
Rhine, and the selfish policy of the German princes, contributed much
more to his success than the question of justification or the principle of
private judgment. Without doubt, in Germany, in Switzerland, in
England, in the Netherlands, and in the Scandinavian countries, the
Reformation was much more a political than a religious movement.
The fundamental principle of the new religion was the principle of
private judgment, and yet such a principle found no place in the issues
raised by Luther in the beginning. It was only when he was confronted
with the decrees of previous councils, with the tradition of the Church
as contained in the writings of