The Indulgence Controversy
THE INDULGENCE CONTROVERSY
Popular religion in the late Middle Ages involved a fear of purgatory—a place of purification, through which the medieval Church taught that souls must pass before they could enter into heaven. The belief was sanctioned by the Church, and was widely endorsed by medieval theologians. While there was some disagreement on the fine detail, the basic idea was simple. Before dead souls could enter into the presence of God, their sins needed to be “purged.” This process of purification took some time. The argument over how long rivaled in detail and pointlessness the legendary scholastic debate over the number of angels that could dance on a pinhead. But the bottom line was clear: the more you sinned, the longer you spent in purgatory. And it was not a nice place to stay.
No wonder, then, that much theological effort went into finding ways of getting around purgatory altogether, or at least minimizing the amount of time to be spent there. An encrustation of popular beliefs had become attached to the idea of purgatory, throwing it wide open to abuse and exploitation. One such belief was that the living had the option of shortening the time their loved ones spent in purgatory—including the purchase of “indulgences.” An indulgence can be thought of as a piece of paper, issued with the authority of the Church, that promised reduction of the time spent in purgatory. The invention of printing revolutionized the trade in indulgences. They could be printed and sold in the thousands. It was no wonder that printers such as Johannes Gutenberg and William Caxton chose to cash in on these items. The Church, of course, took its cut of the proceeds, and used them for what it regarded as good causes—such as the building of new churches.
In April 1506, Pope Julius II laid the foundation stone of what would eventually become the greatest church building in Christendom—St. Peter's, Rome. The original church, built on the site of St. Peter's tomb in the fourth century, had fallen into disrepair. Julius dreamed of building a spectacular new building, which would be one of the architectural wonders of the age. A host of artists—including Raphael and Michaelangelo—were signed up to work on the building, which was not completed until 1614. It was clear from the outset that it would be formidably expensive to construct. Massive funding was needed. But how was this money to be raised?
One fund-raising strategy that was vigorously pursued was a new indulgence sale. The marketing of these indulgences was subcontracted to professional “pardoners,” who had no hesitation in talking up the benefits offered by their products. In 1517, perhaps the most famous indulgence peddler of all arrived in Wittenberg. The scene was set for a showdown. Johann Tetzel's message was fairly straightforward: sin—no problem. Just buy an indulgence, carefully tailored to your needs and your ability to pay, and forget all about it. In fact, why limit this to yourself? How about your dead relatives, now languishing in purgatory? Get them out! Was there ever a better investment? In an age when people knew how to enjoy sin, there was no shortage of clients. Tetzel even wrote a nice little jingle advertising his services:
As soon as the coin in the coffer rings,
The soul from purgatory springs!
Some Germans objected to this practice. They were irritated that German money was being used to build an Italian church. Luther's objections were much more fundamental. The sale of indulgences was offensive and unnecessary. Forgiveness did not need to be purchased, and in any case was not for sale. It was freely offered to all on account of Christ's death on the cross—and that was the end of the matter.
Furious with Tetzel and the Church, which sanctioned his high-pressure sales technique, Luther did what comes naturally to academics—he penned a series of scholarly objections to the practice. These Ninety-Five Theses against indulgences were then nailed to the door of the castle church at Wittenberg on the eve of October 31, 1517. It was a natural spot for Luther to place his objections. The castle door served as a general university noticeboard. As Luther's objections to indulgences were written in Latin, he may well have hoped to interest some passing academics in his concerns. If this was the case, we have no record whatsoever of any such interest.
But there was another reason for choosing to display his objections on this door on this date. The castle church at Wittenberg contained a vast collection of relics, which were due to be displayed the following day, on November 1—All Saints' Day. These were rumored to offer dispensation from purgatory of several million years for those fortunate enough to see them. They were thus viewed with considerable interest. Luther's hope was that the thoroughly venial motives of the visitors to the church might lead to them reading his theses, and revising their views. If Luther was right, who needed indulgences or relics? Yet these theses were written in Latin, and seem to have had limited impact. Few of those who passed by them would have understood them.
Luther also sent a copy of the theses to Archbishop Albert of Mainz, asking him to intervene to prevent the sale of indulgences. The archbishop regarded the theses as a direct challenge to his authority, and forwarded them with a letter of complaint to Rome. However, this had less impact than might have been expected. Luther's protest came at a time when the papacy needed the support of Frederick the Wise—Frederick was one of a small group of German princes who had the right to elect the next Holy Roman Emperor—to secure the election of its favored candidate to succeed Maximilian in this position. Summoning Luther to Rome might be taken as a provocative assertion of Roman authority in Germany, which would embarrass Frederick. To provoke Frederick in this way might be to lose his support for the candidate whom the papacy wanted to succeed Maximilian. As a result, Luther was not summoned to Rome to answer the charges laid against him, but was examined locally in 1518 by the papal legate Cajetan. Luther refused to withdraw his criticisms of the practice of selling indulgences.
Yet Luther was not prepared to let the matter drop. Reform was needed. Initially, his reform program was limited to introducing radical changes to the theological curriculum at the University of Wittenberg. There would be more lecture material on the Bible, and much less on Aristotle and the scholastic theologians. Yet even Luther's most ardent admirers would concede that these changes were not exactly going to set the Continent of Europe on fire. Hardly anyone had heard of the University of Wittenberg. What Luther was proposing amounted to little more than tinkering with theological textbooks at a university that attracted few enough students anyway. The impact of Luther's proposals on popular culture and the Church at large would be severely limited if he continued to campaign in this manner.
Realizing this, Luther made a momentous decision: he would raise his sights. No longer would he limit his campaign to the academic world; he would take it to the people, using a language the people could understand and addressing issues that concerned them.