The Pioneer: William Tyndale

The Pioneer: William Tyndale

THE PIONEER: WILLIAM TYNDALE

William Tyndale was born in Gloucestershire, and studied at Magdalen College School in Oxford, from which he went on to attend Magdalen Hall (now Hertford College, Oxford). That Tyndale studied at Oxford, at least, is reasonably clear; what happened next is a little obscure. Traditional accounts represent Tyndale as migrating to Oxford's foremost intellectual rival in England, the University of Cambridge, at which he became a member of the “White Horse” group. Some of the more romantic accounts of this period invite us to imagine Tyndale gathered together with many of the great Cambridge reformers of this era, swapping jokes and biblical texts while quaffing their pewter mugs of ale and plotting the Lutheranization of England.

As is the way with most matters, the real is rather less pleasing than the imagined. We have no documentary evidence to suggest that Tyndale ever attended Cambridge, other than a slightly garbled recollection in John Foxe's Book of Martyrs, dating from thirty years later. Far less is known about the “White Horse” group than is generally realized; we are again largely dependent upon some rather nostalgic recollections of John Foxe for our accounts of this group.

Still, let us assume that Tyndale did indeed leave Oxford for Cambridge. What reasons might be offered for this move? The first, and most obvious, is that by the early 1520s, Cambridge was known to be far more sympathetic to the ideas of the Reformation than Oxford. Luther's books, which had to be imported from continental Europe through the Flemish port of Antwerp, were much more accessible in Cambridge than Oxford. Many of the leading lights of the English Reformation had links with Cambridge around this time—most notably, Thomas Cranmer. It is entirely possible that the reform-minded Tyndale sensed that he might benefit from this more sympathetic atmosphere.

Yet Tyndale's primary concern was with the translation of Scripture—and such translation required knowledge of the three great languages of antiquity—Greek, Hebrew, and Latin. As we have seen, writers such as Erasmus were actively campaigning for the direct engagement with the text of the Bible in its original languages as the foundation of Christian theology. Erasmus's opponents had little time for such matters; theology they held, rested on philosophical analysis. While there is no historical evidence to suggest that they debated over the number of angels that could dance on a pinhead, other important and sophisticated theological questions are known to have engaged their attention. Could God reverse time, and make a prostitute into a virgin? Or could Christ have become incarnate as a donkey or perhaps a cucumber, rather than a man? While others saw such heady discussions as an intellectual feast, Tyndale regarded them as utterly pointless.

Tyndale himself was more than a little irritated by his experience of theology at Oxford, not least because it seemed to give the study of Aristotle priority over mastering the Bible. In an autobiographical fragment, Tyndale recalled how the Oxford authorities “ordained that no man shall look in the Scripture until he be nooselled [“spoon-fed” or perhaps “nourished”] in heathen learning eight or nine years and armed with false principles with which he is clean shut out of the understanding of Scripture.” For him, theology was worthy of its name only when it took its lead directly from the Bible.

Both Oxford and Cambridge were well placed to encourage and sustain the study of Hebrew and Greek. Richard Croke, who served as professor of Greek at Leipzig, had settled in Cambridge in 1518. Cardinal Wolsey established a chair of Greek at Oxford a year later. The tradition of the classical languages continued into the following century. As we shall see presently, both Oxford and Cambridge were able to supply King James I with an ample supply of Greek and Hebrew scholars at the beginning of the next century. Luther taught himself Hebrew using Johannes Reuchlin's 1506 primer De rudimen-tis hebraicis (“On the Basics of Hebrew”); might not Tyndale have done the same? Yet acquiring a knowledge of the biblical languages was perhaps Tyndale's least pressing difficulty at Oxford; the purpose for which he acquired it appears to have been widely ridiculed.

Oxford was not interested in translating the Bible—nor, indeed, any other work—into English. It was the accepted wisdom of the age that Latin—the language of the culture of academia—was the only language worth knowing. Oxford dons might use English in speaking to college servants; otherwise, Latin was the language of choice. This academic commitment to the Latin language proved to be a mixed blessing for the progress of the Reformation in England. It meant that Luther's Latin works could be read at Oxford or Cambridge without difficulty thus allowing his ideas to be discussed at both universities (though they were received more readily at Cambridge).

Yet part of Luther's agenda was relentlessly populist. Luther wrote works of theology and translated the Bible into his native German, so that Herr Omnes—Luther's term equivalent to the English “every-man”—might be empowered and illuminated. Most academics tended to despise this kind of populism, seeing it as academically demeaning. The sophistication of a book was, after all, inversely proportional to the ease with which it could be read. Tyndale's heart lay with Luther's agenda, rather than with the rather stuffy scholarly attitudes he encountered in English academia. So why not go to Germany, and learn the art of biblical translation from Luther himself?

The suggestion that Tyndale went to Wittenberg certainly makes sense. Tyndale would have had access to good libraries, and to scholars of repute, especially in the area of Hebrew. In addition, he would have had the opportunity to learn German, and hence mimic the popular style that Luther used in his vernacular writings. By 1523, Luther had translated both the New Testament and the Pentateuch into German. It is important to note that Tyndale managed to translate exactly the same works into English shortly afterward. More than one scholar has hinted that Tyndale's English style and vocabulary may have been influenced by Luther's German.

So did Tyndale visit Wittenberg? Did he sit at Luther's feet? We shall never know for certain. There is no mention of William Tyndale in the registers of the University of Wittenberg, although these are as comprehensive as one might wish. For example, we find mention in the 1525 registers of “Guillelmus Roy ex Londino,” a clear reference to “William Roye of London”—Roye being a noted advocate of reform in England at this time. The 1524 registers make reference to one “Guillelmus Daltici.” “Guillelmus” is the Latin form of “William;” “Daltici” might conceivably be a pseudonym of Tyndale, achieved by playing around with the order of letters in his name, and replacing “n” with “c.” But it is not exactly a neat explanation.

Yet Tyndale did not need to meet Luther, converse with him, or even study under him to benefit from his German translation of the New Testament. The still-new technology of printing made Luther's translation available throughout Europe, and Tyndale would have been free to benefit from Luther's translation skills wherever he chose.

Tyndale's initial intention had been to translate the New Testament into English while staying in London. He, therefore, sought a patron who might offer him some kind of employment or financial support while he undertook the work. But who could be his patron? He found an answer in one of Erasmus's books, which warmly praised Cuthbert Tunstall, bishop of London. Tyndale therefore approached Tunstall with a view to obtaining employment in his household.

Sadly, Erasmus seems to have got into the habit of lavishing praise on anyone who might help him in any way, and Tyndale appears to have fallen victim to one of the rhetorical conventions of the age. Tunstall was certainly a religious moderate, by the standards of the age, in that he just burned books, rather than people. He was also sympathetic to the humanist agenda, as can be seen from the generous comments of Thomas More in the opening pages of his Utopia.

But Tunstall was a pragmatist, alert to the hidden agendas of mon-archs and the subtleties of the winds of change. Tyndale's proposal to translate the New Testament into English was too radical for his liking. He had enough political minefields to negotiate without this complication. Tyndale was disappointed with his rejection, yet realistic enough to realize that he could have no real hopes for such a translation in the England of the 1520s. The translation would have to be undertaken and published outside England.

The evidence available suggests that Tyndale undertook his translation from about May 1524-July 1525. In August of that year, Tyndale settled in the German city of Cologne, with his new assistant William Roye. The translation of the New Testament into English was complete; the task was now to ensure its printing and distribution. They chose to produce the work in the printing house of Peter Quentell. However, Quentell's presses were also producing the works of Johannes Cochlaeus, a noted opponent of Luther, who happened to learn of Tyndale's project. It seems that some of Quentell's printers became drunk in a public tavern one evening, and let slip that three thousand Lutheran New Testaments were being produced in English, right under the noses of the Catholic authorities. Word of this soon reached Cochlaeus, who was no fool, and could see his star rising in the German Catholic firmament if he were to expose and block this project. He arranged for a raid on Quentell's presses.

Tyndale and Roye, however, managed to escape and salvage at least some of their printing, along with the text of the translation. As far as can be ascertained, they had managed to print only ten sheets of paper—making up eighty quarto pages—which took them roughly three quarters of the way through Matthew's gospel, the first book of the New Testament. Undeterred, they moved their printing operation farther up the Rhine to the city of Worms, and began the tedious process all over again using the presses of Peter Schoeffer. This time, they avoided detection. The work was completed by the end of February 1526.

It had long been assumed that the Cologne quarto sheets of 1525 had been lost. However in 1834, eight of these original sheets were discovered; they had been bound into another work, having been unrecognized for what they really were. These sheets are fascinating, as they help us gauge the influence of Luther upon Tyndale's work. Three factors are of special interest:

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