The Wheat and the Tares: Doctrines of the Church in the Reformation, 1500–1590

By Andrew Allan Chibi

In 1500 Christians knew that God gave them the church to shepherd believers toward salvation and that it was centered at Rome and ruled by a pope. Today, that church is but one of forty thousand Christian denominations, each with distinctive structures and doctrines. How did this happen? Then, as now, all aspects of the church--from its divine mission to its offices and operations, hierarchy, and bureaucracy--were of interest to theologians, thinkers, and troublemakers alike, but for ages there had been satisfaction with the status quo.

In the late Renaissance this gave way to frustration and heated debate, as some people wanted fewer clerical controls over their lives, and others sought a church more representative of its purest, earliest form. Ecclesiology (the doctrine and theory of the church) became a major controversy separating not only Roman Catholics from emerging Protestants, but also Protestants from one another. In the writings of the various reformers, the same issues surfaced repeatedly. Jesus's parable of the Wheat and the Tares was discussed often as an image of the church, as reformers sought to rediscover the purity of the church as God's gift. This book uses the words of a range of reformers to explain how the one church began to divide into the many.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pickwick Publications
• Release date: Mar 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781498206105

Andrew Allan Chibi

Andrew Allan Chibi, whose work has appeared in many scholarly journals, is a freelance scholar and former Lecturer in Early Modern Europe at Leicester University. He is the author of The European Reformation (1999), Henry VIII's Bishops (2003), and The English Reformation (2004).

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The Wheat and the Tares

Doctrines of the Church in the Reformation, 1500–1590

Andrew Allan Chibi

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The Wheat and the Tares

Doctrines of the Church in the Reformation,

1500–1590

Copyright ©

2015

Andrew Allan Chibi. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers,

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Chibi, Andrew Allan

The wheat and the tares : doctrines of the church in the Reformation,

1500–1590 / Andrew Allan Chibi.

xvi +

486

p. ;

23

cm. Includes bibliographical references and indexes.

ISBN

13: 978-1-4982-0609-9

1. Reformation. 2. Church, history of doctrines—16th century. 3. Church.

I. Title.

BV598 C55 2015

Manufactured in the U.S.A. 04/06/2015

To Ellen with all my love

Another parable put he forth unto them, saying, The kingdom of heaven is likened unto a man which sowed good seed in his field: But while men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat, and went his way. But when the blade was sprung up, and brought forth fruit, then appeared the tares also. So the servants of the householder came and said unto him, Sir, didst not thou sow good seed in thy field? from whence then hath it tares? He said unto them, An enemy hath done this. The servants said unto him, Wilt thou then that we go and gather them up? But he said, Nay; lest while ye gather up the tares, ye root up also the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest: and in the time of harvest I will say to the reapers, Gather ye together first the tares, and bind them in bundles to burn them: but gather the wheat into my barn.

—Matt 13:24–30

Preface

The story behind the development of this book is a familiar one to scholars and academics. I’ve written previous books on the European and English Reformations, sometimes using them as recommended reading for religious history courses, but over the progression of my teaching career questions were raised which those books did not sufficiently answer or for which I did not immediately have a useful response. As any professional would, however, I searched for a means of pointing the questioner in the right direction, and together we found the answers they sought. This gave me good information should anyone ask a similar question in future of course and, eventually, the collection of books, articles, reports and websites began to add up and suggest useful revisions of my previous writings. This book is not merely an updating, however, of those previous books, but is rather an in-depth focus on a subject not covered before. This book is the result, therefore, of students asking the right questions at the right times, of my searches to give them useful answers quickly, and of the revelation of a topic that has been surprisingly rarely examined on its own terms. I hope that this volume adds something to our historical understanding of the reformers (great and small), to the work they tried to do, and to the faith they tried to spread. I also hope that it will raise further questions and inspire further research into issues of historical ecclesiology.

Ecclesiology is a catch-all term which brings together doctrines and theories, the subject of which is to define the church, define who belongs to it, and to discover what are its authorities, duties, and roles within the wider society. Many of the issues which defined the church, moot worthy nowadays were up to the late mediaeval period seemingly clear and generally agreed by most Christians. The church was a special hierarchy headed by a pope with both spiritual and secular authorities; it was institutionally identifiable; it was mandated by God to define scripture, doctrine and salvation to its members. Its mandate (based on Pauline scriptural writings and Augustinian theology) was to identify, gather and safeguard the faithful toward peace in this life and salvation in the next. What I sought to do here was to examine how this surety broke down so rapidly in the early sixteenth century despite a body of evidence, including both scripture and tradition, underpinning those mediaeval beliefs. In the late mediaeval and early modern periods the surety with which the Roman Catholic Church claimed to be the only genuine Christian church began to face serious doubts and hard questions resulting in new ideas and new interpretations of the body of evidence. This ushered into existence at first only rival sects within the church but later rival churches claiming the same mandates and identifying factors as Rome, but also claiming to be truer representatives of the basic Christian ideals. This encapsulated some of the major doctrinal controversies separating Catholics and Protestants in the Reformation era and, moreover, it also then separated Protestants, sometimes drawing out significant theoretical conflicts in almost as divisive a way as did rival theologies of salvation or interpretations of the sacraments. Yet, as myself and my students sometimes found, this very important aspect of Reformation history, theology and the study of religion is either inexplicably ignored or relegated to merely footnote status in many modern textbooks. As noted, I wished for a book which tackled this issue and, finally, wishing turned to action.

Finally, this book is for interested general readers too, because they will recognize (even without having done years of study) many of the questions faced by the reformers. There are over 40,000 separate Christian denominations today. The questions pastors and priests face now perhaps have more to do with issues of practical modernization then they did 400 years ago, but the intent is similar. Today we hear questions about the legitimacy of women priests and bishops particularly in the Anglican/Episcopalian church, or gay rights and marriage issues elsewhere. Today we also hear a lot about rendering useful information from statistics like changing church memberships, attendance figures or age distributions. All churches are subject to practical self-imaging. These questions are all really ways of asking, like the ancients did and like the late medievalists did, what is the church and what is it for? Who does it serve? In the early modern era, while not the exact same questions as we face nowadays, similar issues were being raised. What is the church for and is it fulfilling its role? This is ecclesiology in the broadest sense. The Wheat and the Tares was conceived as a means of working out how such questions were considered and answered at the most sensitive, divisive time in Christian history. It may be a cliché, but it is true nonetheless, that to understand what the Christian churches are and where they are going, we have to be clear where they’ve been and what it was.

Acknowledgments

This book has gone through several iterations over a number of years and several people (scholars and laymen alike) have had a hand in the production of it, through advice or consultation, if not the actual research and writing. It grew out of my curiosity over the fact that while trying to save and safeguard the dignity and reputation of the church the humanists and reformers of the late medieval and early modern period brought the church into a seemingly permanent schism between rival and mutually exclusive sects. It grew out of the fact that students (too numerous now to mention individually) asked specific, hard questions for which there were no immediate satisfactory answers. This book was partially written with them in mind. But it was also written for friends and relatives who also asked interesting questions which led me to wonder how the answers could be addressed to an audience who did not have the benefit of years of research and learning focussing their desires into specific channels. My scholarly debts can never be sufficiently acknowledged or repaid; I formulated this book after discussions over coffee, over the deconstruction of other texts or over the organization of courses with such luminaries as Mark Greengrass, Kevin Sharpe, Alistair Duke, George Bernard, Terry Hartley, Peter Musgrave, Norman Housley and Ian Campbell. A polyglot linguist friend of mine named James Burtoft helped me to understand certain German words and phrases much better, opening up previously unconsidered themes, while my friends Paul Shawley, Jennifer MacLennan and Ralph Lemmon pulled me up short when my discourse become over laden with jargon. I’d like to thank the editors and staff at Wipf and Stock Publishers (particularly K C Hanson) and at Pickwick Publications for their belief and support of the project. Obviously, my family gives me the support and strength I’ve often needed to carry on, particularly my wife Ellen, my parents Andy and Eleanor and my father-in-law George Turton. Friends, family and the staff of libraries too numerous to mention have partially supported me and partially distracted me with their shenanigans when I needed it, so all are equally appreciated. It perhaps should go without saying that while all of these people can take some small measure of satisfaction with the appearance of this book, all gaffs, mistakes, errors of judgement and unsatisfying conclusions (and any royalties garnered) are entirely my own.

Abbreviations

AE Luther’s Works: American Edition, 55 vols., edited by Jaroslav Pelikan and Helmut T Lehman (Philadelphia: Fortress and St. Louis: Concordia, 1955–86)

AfR Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte

Architect Architect of Reformation: An Introduction to Heinrich Bullinger, 1504–1575, edited by Bruce Gordon and Emidio Campi (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2004)

Borromeo San Carlo Borromeo: Catholic reform and ecclesiastical politics in the second half of the sixteenth century, ed. by John M Headley and John B Tomaro (Folger Shakespeare Library, London, 1988)

Bromiley Zwingli and Bullinger, edited by G. W. Bromiley (London: SCM, 1953)

Bucer Martin Bucer: Reforming Church and Community, ed. by D. F. Wright (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994)

Carlstadt Andreas Bodenstein von Karlstadt, Essential Carlstadt: Fifteen Tracts by Andreas Bodenstein von Karlstadt, edited by E. J. Furcha (Waterloo, ON: Herald, 1995)

Cochrane Reformed Confessions of the Sixteenth Century, edited by Arthur C. Cochrane (London: SCM, 1966)

Collection The Comprehensive John Calvin Collection (Rio, WI: Ages Digital Library, 2000–2004)

Companion A Companion to the Reformation World, edited by R. Po-chia Hsia (Oxford: Blackwell, 2004)

Confessions Confessions and Catechisms of the Reformation, ed. by Mark A Noll (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1991)

Correspondence The Correspondence of Matthew Parker, edited by John Bruce and Thomas Thomason Perowne (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1853)

EE The Essential Erasmus, trans. by John P. Dolan (New York: Mentor, 1964)

Elton Reformation Europe: 1517–1559, edited by G. R. Elton (Oxford: Blackwell, 1999)

Formularies Formularies of Faith put forth by authority during the reign of Henry VIII, edited by Charles Lloyd (Oxford: Clarendon, 1825)

Furcha The Essential Carlstadt, translated and edited by E. J. Furcha (Waterloo, ON: Herald, 1995)

GAMEO Global Anabaptist Mennonite Encyclopedia Online

Grebel The Sources of Swiss Anabaptism: The Grebel Letters and Related Documents, edited by Leland Harder (Kitchener, ON: Herald, 1985)

Hubmaier Balthasar Hubmaier, Theologian of Anabaptism, translated and edited by H. Wayne Pipkin and John H. Yoder (Waterloo, ON: Herald, 1989)

HJ The Historical Journal

Jewel The Works of John Jewel, D.D., Bishop of Salisbury, edited by Richard William Jelf, 8 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1848)

JRH Journal of Religious History

JTS Journal of Theological Studies

LP Letters and papers, foreign and domestic, of the reign of Henry VIII, 21 vols., edited by J. S. Brewer et al (London: Longman, Green, Longman, & Roberts, 1862–1908)

Lull Martin Luther’s Basic Theological Writings, edited by Timothy F. Lull and William R. Russell (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2005)

Manifestoes Puritan Manifestoes: A Study of the Origin of the Puritan Revolt, edited by W. H. Frere and C. E. Douglas (London: SPCK, 1907)

OL Original Letters Relative to the English Reformation, edited by Hastings Robinson, 2 vols. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1847)

Outline Anabaptism in Outline: Selected Primary Resources, edited by Walter Klaasen (Waterloo, ON: Herald, 1981)

Pocock Records of the Reformation, 2 vols., edited by Nicholas Pocock (Oxford: Clarendon, 1870)

SAW Spiritual and Anabaptist writers: Documents illustrative of the Radical Reformation, ed. by George Hunston Williams and Angel M Mergal (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1957)

Sider Karlstadt’s Battle with Luther: Documents in a Liberal-Radical Debate, edited by Ronald J. Sider (Eugene OR: Wipf & Stock, 2001)

SCJ Sixteenth Century Journal

TRHS Transactions of the Royal Historical Soceity

Treatises Calvin: Theological Treatises, edited by J. K. S. Reid (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1954)

Tyndale The Works of the English Reformers: William Tyndale and John Frith, 3 vols., edited by Thomas Russell (London: Palmer, 1831)

Waterworth The Council of Trent: The Canons and Decrees of the Sacred and Oecumenical Council of Trent, edited and translated by J. Waterworth (London: Burns, 1848)

Works Works of Martin Luther, 6 vols., edited by Henry E. Jacobs (Albany, NY: Books for the Ages, 1997)

Writings Ulrich Zwingli: Early Writings, edited by Samuel Macauley Jackson (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 1999)

YETM The Yale Edition of The Complete Works of St. Thomas More, 15 vols. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1976–90)

Zurich Letters (1842) The Zurich Letters: A.D. 1558–1579, 2 vols., edited by Hastings Robinson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1842)

Zurich Letters (1845) The Zurich Letters: A.D. 1558–1579, 2nd ser., 2 vols., edited by Hastings Robinson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1845)

Introduction

Pre-Reformation Ecclesiology (What Is the Church?)

Most reformers were certainly not trying to split the church into competing sectarian factions; they all identified themselves as members of the church, that singular institution gifted to man by God. They had, however, come to differing understandings about what the church is and what it was meant to be. This is an important point to remember, but one that students, readers and those interested in the Reformation often have the greatest difficulty understanding. Convenient labeling (e.g., Lutheran, Zwinglian or Anglican) has muddied the waters, as has comparisons between the reformers’ desired goals for the church and the results of attempted implementation. Luther, Zwingli, Calvin, and the scores of lesser well known reformers all naturally considered questions about the church following on from their considerations of such things as predestination, salvation and the sacraments, and their distinctive ecclesiology reflected these other doctrines (as will be touched upon later) and brought them into conflict with each other and with Rome. Yet, each and every one of them identified themselves, without qualification, as Christian, and they all absolutely refused to be labeled schismatic (as far worse than being called a heretic). They self-identified as members of the church and maintained that they were simply trying to reform it from within; to re-form it into its pure, early Christian form, but were obstructed by Rome and its human traditions. Partially this is where trouble began. What exactly was that pure form they wanted to instil? It became more than a matter of disagreement and debate after 1541, however, as the collapse of the colloquy of Regensberg (the final attempt to achieve compromise between Roman Catholics and Protestants in the sixteenth century) made it necessary for the Protestant leaders to follow through on their preliminary conclusions and local reform programs and actually build-up distinctive churches. These reflected all the questions that the reformers had been striving to answer. Who actually belongs to the church? How does the church function? What is the role of the clergy?

Which Church?

Looking back to the earliest records, historians of religion are confronted by at least four legitimate versions of the church to which the reformers could be referring. Initially, there was a small, radical sect of the Judaic religion (persecuted by the Jews but largely ignored by the Romans) which became a persecuted minority church within the Roman Empire divided from its Judaic origins. As we shall see, Anabaptists and more radical sectarians took from this the view that suffering persecution and isolation was part and parcel of the faith and a condition of the true church. Over time, Christians became an acknowledged, legitimate sect (still periodically abused) among others within the empire, but they were tolerated and even awarded legal standing from time to time. Again, during the reformation period some sectarians took this as indication that the church stood apart from the government. Finally, the Christian church became the state church of the Empire (even taking a hand in suppressing other religious groups) and later some Christians took this to mean that the church not only cooperated with the state but sometimes could take on a temporal leadership role itself. Each one of these stages in the church’s early history had attractive elements and each had clear scriptural connotations, so is it any wonder that controversy, arguments and not a little bloodshed arose between the reformers centuries later. Moreover, this explains why ecclesiology exercised the leading theologians of the sixteenth-century as much as it did.

The prevailing view from those within the church, in the early stages of its development, was that it was an assembly of saints joined together by correct faith and an excellent manner of living, and they took Jesus and the disciples as their inspiration. Out of such idealism and sacred history, Alistair McGrath extracted a simple, four-fold ecclesiology to help modern readers understand what it all meant. The church was viewed as (1) a spiritual society (the people of God) because the spiritual kingdom was not of the earth. Members of the church were (2) made one in Christ (those saved by Christ’s redemptive work on the cross gathered together in communion). For their benefit (3) the church was a repository of true Christian teaching. To help them live correctly (4) the church projected outward to provide a known gathering point for, and teacher of, the faithful. The church identified, gathered and sponsored the growth in faith and holiness of its members.¹ This was a simple and obvious mandate molded in the crucible of controversies long before the Reformation. One of the most thought-provoking of these formulating controversies was Donatism.

Donatism

Without going into excessive detail, the early understanding of the church and its role in society was seriously challenged almost before it became firmly established in the early fourth century. Indeed, many of the elements of the challenge—localism v. universalism, obedience, resistance, relations with the magistrate—would replay again and again over the centuries. As the Roman Empire expanded out from its mid-Mediterranean position so too did Christianity and, like the Romans, the church sometimes found within the new regions useful local customs, incorporating these to strengthen ties with the local populace (provided they did not detract from its universal beliefs). As, yet, a persecuted minority church, Christians were often subjected to great violence. Patiently suffering persecution for the faith became itself a mark of membership and, just as Jesus acknowledged the power of the state and submitted to punishment rather than challenge its authority so too did Christians at large try to live peacefully within the temporal sphere. And this was the case even at the height of the last great period of general persecution of the Christians under Emperor Diocletian. The governor of the North African region, however, remained tolerant of the large Christian minority under his authority and he decided that it would be good enough if Christians simply handed in their holy books; they need not actively sacrifice to the ancient Roman gods as the emperor wanted, and in so doing their churches would be spared destruction. While much of the rank-and-file stood firm and accepted persecution rather than actively resist the imperial authorities, some of the wealthy and powerful among the Christian minority, including some clergy, agreed to the governor’s request. Their action raised questions, however, which had not been considered before. Could those who had abandoned their principles, holy books, fellowship and faith be readmitted and forgiven afterwards? What of the lapse clergy? Could their posts and authorities be restored after the persecution passed simply on the strength of repentance? Another question arose over whether the sacraments were themselves tainted by those clergymen’s ill-faith and weakness? These questions made it imperative that a doctrine determining specifying what the church actually was beyond a theoretical mandate be settled. As one might expect, there were no entirely satisfactory answers.

Hans J Hillerbrand pointed out that, with regard to the laity it was decided that if a genuine sorrow was in evidence, after a proper penance, weak Christians could of course be forgiven their weaknesses and brought back into the fellowship. But more had been expected of the clergy, so this forgiveness and re-admittance did not apply to them, at least in the eyes of hard-line rigorists. These were the Donatists, named after the bishop of Carthage, generally members drawn from the local North African populations. Colonist Romans took a more positive, lenient line and welcomed the "traditores" (traitors) back into the fold with full membership and authorities restored. This secondary dispute between particular (local) and universal interests would also play out over the centuries to come. The Donatists thereafter formed a break away and persecuted minority faction (reminiscent of the earlier church, a condition which did not escape their notice). In this way other theologic points became exposed: each side claimed the others were schismatics (they had broken the unity of the church, completely unjustifiably and, therefore, they forfeited any possibility of salvation which could only be gained within the church); the Donatists claimed that lapsed (i.e., apostate) clergy cannot administer the sacraments nor minister to believers; only those clergy who had held firm under persecution could do so legitimately. The Donatists saw themselves as a true church because they had stood firm in their faith and endured persecution (as had the earliest Christians), but they were charged as schismatics because they denied the universal church’s interpretive authority over the sacraments. Their opponents in this controversy, now called Catholic (meaning universal), took the position that lapsed clergy who repented could be restored to full authority.² One of the greatest of the church fathers, Augustine, bishop of Hippo, was subsequently drawn into the controversy at the urging of Emperor Constantine. His conclusion was that the church was, by necessity, a mixture of saints and sinners (after Matt 13:24–31) and he noted how utterly dangerous, counter-productive and potentially devastating it would be to try to separate the sinners from the saints in this life. Man could not recognize his own righteousness and, the bishop’s advice (to use a modern expression) was to let God sort it out because no mere mortal could. In his view the church’s ministry, preaching and sanctity did not rely on the holiness of its ministers but only on the person of Christ (in whose name ministerial work was done). Indeed, schism was viewed by far a worse sin than handing over some books, or lapsing from the church under persecution. Looking at the Donatist controversy and its aftermath, McGrath wrote that four marks of the true church had as a result been determined by the end of the fourth century. The marks, as found in the ecumenical creeds, are best summed up by the phrase one holy catholic and apostolic. He went on to develop these themes into a useful discussion.³

The term or mark one refers to the unbroken unity of the church which denied the validity of schismatics and outside of which salvation was impossible. We might now think it rather self-serving, but both interpretation of theology and the customs of pastoral care taught that Christ was to be found only in the Catholic institution which was the only true mediator and guarantor of God’s will and promise to redeem sinners. Redemption was partially achieved through the sacrament of penance augmented by as many Masses, good works and bought indulgences as could be had. Spiritualism aside, the institutional church and its sacramental system was considered the only route to heaven.⁴ The term or mark holy means that the true church depends on the righteousness of its members, the clear yardstick of the Donatists, although the word itself had different definitions attached to it and became of supreme importance during the Reformation. The Old Testament, for example, defines holy as someone or something which God has set apart whereas the New Testament restricted the meaning to people dedicated to God (or called out by God) and who set themselves apart. The term or mark catholic means universal or general. For example, the English Bible translators often made a distinction between the epistles of James and John (addressed to all Christians and therefore called the catholic epistles) and those of Paul (which addressed the situation and needs of local bodies, what we might label particular epistles). The early church thus recognized the existence of distinctive local chapters which, yet, shared in the catholic totality. It was under Constantine that the term catholic took on imperial and legislative meanings, and congregations outside of the established church were declared illegal. By the time of the Reformation, Protestants argued that doctrinal fidelity (a close dependence on Scripture) was more important than institutional continuity (a Roman Catholic staple) and many did argue that they were the ones clearly consistent with the early, dynamic-but-persecuted Christian church. The term or mark apostolic indicated the direct link to the apostles. The nature and identity of the Christian church would exercise many of the major reformers of the sixteenth century due to these questions and controversies.

The late medieval view

Considering all these early issues—the church as guarantor of institutional, historical and theologic continuity for the people of God—it becomes clear enough why church leaders took on responsibilities far beyond the original mandate of finding and binding the faithful. Education, culture, society, charity, economics, administration, legalities, bureaucracy, diplomacy, political rule, etc. all became church concerns for legitimate reasons. From safeguarding the souls of its members the church seems to have also taken on control of their minds and bodies as well. To paraphrase a current critic of religion, the church and its officers really were doing the best they could but they had to contend with limited information, ever-present fears of death and divine judgment, low life expectancy, brutal living conditions, and the widespread illiteracy of their followers. All this and with no sure resources either.⁵ If it was genuinely a choice between a temporary, local and self-regarding human institution (i.e., a lay authority subject to all the foibles of man) and the eternal, outward looking, universal, spiritual institution (i.e., the body of Christ founded by God), which was the better institution to look after all these temporal matters and safeguard, nurture and protect the people of God even, if necessary, from themselves?

On account of these additional duties, however, the church and its clergy developed beyond its spiritual mandate. It had a necessary stake in the political realm, and over the centuries it came more clearly to reflect the society it protected and out of which it had grown. By the late medieval period the church regulated Christian society much as royal governments regulated kingdoms. The church’s king (or pope) ruled over an aristocracy (princes of the church) who had local rule over a vast proletariat (the rank and file clergy and the laity). Clerical educators taught replacement clerics in universities; clerical diplomats discussed peace between the states among themselves on behalf of lay political authorities; clerical lawyers regulated society (in theory dealing with only spiritual issues but often they were learned in civil law too); clerical administrators and bureaucrats kept royal governments ticking over. Eventually, in some places, clerics simply took over temporal rule outright, making war and negotiating peace between themselves without secular interference. Indeed, three of the seven electors of the Holy Roman Empire were prince-archbishops! Of course people wondered how this had become the case. Erasmus harshly criticized Julius II (the so-called warrior pope) in Julius Excluded from Heaven because of his military adventurism. At one point the situation was so bad that, in an attempt to resolve a schism at the highest levels the church actually ended up torn apart by three rival popes! By the time that issue was resolved too much had been written critical of papal supremacy, conciliar power, the extent of the church’s authority and the role of lay rulers to simply go back to a simpler time, and universities were emerging as alternative theologic authorities (giving kingdoms an alternative opinion to Rome if one was required). The religious, social, political and economic ideas of the church, however, were still by and large the ideas practised by and/or enforced upon the masses, and they were satisfied with the structures and practises, rituals and ceremonies of the church. Higher up the social scale one goes, however, the less contentment one seems to find. The clergy were often in contest with lay political powers, but they faced none of the barriers (like taxation, civil regulations or military or familial expectations). It was an impotent discontent on the part of the lay authorities, however; as yet, there were no widely known legitimate alternatives. Yes, some turned to so-called heresy movements (which seemed only to satisfy practical short-term needs) or to more individually satisfying practises like mysticism, but none of this detracted from the power of the church as an institution.

By the late medieval period it was next to impossible, therefore, for the church any longer to live up to its simple, preliminary, spiritual mandate, because less than a fifth of the clergy were exclusively devoted to it (and most of these few were at the lowest pay grade, the so-called work for hirelings generally drawn out of the least educated). The original mission of the church, pastoral care (the ministering to, preaching to and teaching of the laity in the ways of Christianity) sometimes known as cure of souls, was by the late medieval period in the hands of vicars and chaplains who had no real incentive to strive for self-improvement. It was futile; the real work of the high fliers in the church, those who made their way to the senior positions (bishops, archbishops and cardinals), and who made the real decisions about everything were largely dedicated to finding the necessary resources to maintain control over all the church’s responsibilities, whether by shifting around existing incomes to temporarily more important pet projects (like building new cathedrals) or by finding new sources of income (e.g., new license fees). Money was the common denominator and sometimes economics held sway even over theologic developments. At a time when, on account of humanism, lay piety was searching for greater spiritual succor the church seemed to be entirely material orientated (worldly rather than spiritual), and forever shifting resources away from the servicing of that lay spiritual need and its original simple mandate. In this light, Luther’s anti-indulgence rants of the late 1510s may be seen as the famous final straw. He certainly was not the first person to make the connection, however.

It has been noted that the clergy with responsibilities closest to the illiterate masses, those priests, chaplains, vicars, and rectors, had no real incentive to strive for improvement or to offer more than a minimal shepherding of the flock. This is not to say they did not do their jobs efficiently, just that they often did so mechanically. The dynamic, gifted and enthusiastic few were rapidly moved on to the more necessary work of keeping the entire enterprise financially afloat. Those on the scene were the unspectacular, and they probably knew it. If some short term injection of spiritual excitement was needed (and this generally to raise money) there was always a pool of guest preachers available in the form of itinerate friars. These were men who belonged to no particular endowed order, who studiously avoided wealth (seeing it as a distraction from the teaching mission), and who relied instead on gifts from the laity and on charity. They were more often renowned for their missionary zeal as much as for their austere spirituality, but they could offer a real alternative to the local priest in other ways besides exciting preaching and fund-raising. They could, for instance, hear confessions (allowing parishioners an alternative to the man they must be in contact with day after day) and they offered educational opportunities to those who might not otherwise have been noticed. Indeed, over time the friars became real competition for those priests who did not seek out self-improvement. By the late medieval period, however, friars were beginning to accuse and ridicule priests for the apparent idleness in their preaching and teaching work, and for their ignorance of the Scriptures while priests were counter-charging friars as mere entertainers, good for a brief engagement, a bit of short-term excitement, but not sturdy enough for the long term nor conscientious enough to have a care for the local situation in their preaching. Both priests and friars rounded on monks (and nuns) as mere consumers of landed wealth—spiritual parasites—only mechanically performing what limited duties they seemed to have (e.g., praying for the souls of benefactors in purgatory). All three groups simply forgot, over time, where their focus was supposed to have been; that is, they forgot the poor parishioners, the true believers, and the message.

Such internecine criticism was often taken to heart, however, and provoked reactions throughout the medieval period. Monks, so much the focus of humanist banter, started breaking ranks within their own orders to separate themselves from the focus of the criticisms. The Benedictine, Franciscan, Dominican and Augustinian houses each saw breakaway observant factions established in the late fourteenth century. These observant orders claimed to forego the collective worldliness of the parent houses (which sometimes controlled landed estates rivaling the holdings of bishops and aristocratic magnates) and membership in order the better to observe the regulations (the rules of their orders). These factions in turn fed the fires of priestly and humanist criticism. Hillerbrand found that among the more pious laity, criticism produced a kind of spiritual alienation from the church altogether. The pious laity increasingly turned their attention to the cult of saints (superior, but still human, intermediaries with God) or to veneration of the Virgin Mary or into activities with spiritual overtones (e.g., the adoration of relics or the performance of pilgrimages to sacred sites).⁶ The most striking example of this criticism, however, more so even than Erasmus’ Praise of Folly and the cult of Mary is that we begin to see by the late medieval period ordinary laymen and rich noblemen putting aside their social differences and forming their own religious groups, known as confraternities, lay-fraternities, lay-sororities and oratorios (like the Brethren of the Common Life). In such societies they could perform acts of charity, or live spiritual lives through servicing the needs of the true believers in the wider community (in historically agreed ways), without having to take apparently nonsensical religious vows or any notice whatsoever of politics, economics, culture, etc. Nobles concerned for the state of their souls could avoid association altogether with the wider, materialistic church by establishing personal chapels with priests dedicated solely to them and their households. Another problem within the church was the question of control. All levels, from pope to humblest curate, knew the extent of their power, were jealous of their own authorities and jurisdictions and knew just how to by-pass higher authorities without too much trouble, which made a mockery of both ecclesiastical discipline and local Episcopal controls, exacerbating many of the other problems faced by the church.

Whether Lutheran, Zwinglian, Anglican or some ever more esoteric grouping, they were all sure that the Roman model of their daily experience (and the models of some of their evangelical rivals) did not live up to the distinctive ideal before their own eyes while looking back to the church’s earliest days. Part of the problem for modern readers has been in identifying exactly what was the basis for these ideals? Which early Christian church did the reformers, of whatever particular grouping, identify as the true, pure one? Another part of the problem is that society as a whole and the many previous generations of Christians were largely unconcerned with the issue. For all intents and purposes, in the popular mind the church had always been the way it was, that is, a constant fact of life along with death, pain and taxation. It had a function, of course, and it seemed to be fulfilling it so was change necessary.

For those who considered such matters, the church was a gathering of true believers united by common beliefs and differentiated from falsehoods by such hallmarks as institutional, theologic or historic continuity (as discussed). So, despite the obvious discrepancies (the insight of hindsight could only make plain that the Christian church of 1500 was not the same as that of 400), this was still a useful observation as was some fairly common familial imagery. God the Father, creator of man in His own image, was sometimes set alongside the church as a mother figure, raising and nurturing man so that he would be worthy to be considered one body with Christ, the Son. To McGrath’s observations we may add another, that the church was a dynamic, rather than a static, institution. Yes, it was not the same as it had been in the fourth century but the changes had not been haphazard or ill-considered (they evolved naturally). The church had in-built mechanisms for development (e.g., councils, synods, universities, conclaves) which strengthened the claims of institutional, historic and theologic continuities. And yet, as all reformation scholars know, by the late medieval period it was generally recognized (for those who had time to think about it) that there was something wrong with the church. Euan Cameron summed this up in this way: over the centuries the church as an institution had spread itself too thin and had taken on far too many responsibilities not in its original mandate of gathering true believers together, united in common beliefs, differentiated from falsehoods through established continuities.⁷ We noted where all these other responsibilities had come from so we need not read anything sinister into it (as the reformers often did); the simple truth is that the early church just took its responsibilities far too seriously and was far too successful. We will consider these issues in due course. In many ways, it must be said, that the medieval church worked as efficiently as it did for as long as it had and that it still inspired so much unity in the sixteenth century defies logic.

Ecclesiology as a doctrinal focus drew out significant theoretical conflicts in the Reformation period and these are mapped out and examined in the following five chapters of this book. Many historians follow A G Dickens and look to abuses in the institutional church and related anti-clericalism and anti-papalism as the basic cause behind the Reformation. No one doubted that the church needed reform from top to bottom; the practical implementation of this realization by reformers and traditionalists alike, however, is my key theme. I choose, therefore, to dedicate chapter one to a discussion of the problems in the church (its obsession with finances, its material orientation, and its questionable ceremonial minutiae) as a reflection of problems within Christendom itself, using the lens of the influential writings of Erasmus (e.g., Handbook of the Christian Soldier and Praise of Folly). Erasmus (and the ad fontes rule of the humanists in general) inspired the reformers in their own quests to replace the centuries’ worth of appended human tradition with a more spiritually and ceremonially pure church, one more particularly suited (in time and place) rather than (like Erasmus) continue to support a church falsely centered at Rome and under the power of one human being. I will draw out and examine similarities in their various approaches to the Augustinian or Pauline mandates and what the ad fontes rule revealed to them. Humanism, philosophy, the rejections of scholasticism and their own experiences and doctrines of predestination and salvation suggested to the reformers a variety of elements that a genuine church must embody and, once I have established what these fundamentals are (e.g., pure gospel, genuine sacramental theology, appropriate administration, clear leadership of professed believers), I will go on to examine how each reformer accommodation their ecclesiology to the vision of a pure church. Without putting too fine a point on it, I found many similarities and many differing interpretations of ceremony, doctrine and office, and I will present those findings in the following chapters.

I will start with Luther as the subject of chapter two (as he was chronologicly just ahead of Zwingli). At least from the Ninety-five theses onward (and largely in conflict with Roman authorities and radicals like Karlstadt) Luther developed an ecclesiologic position highlighting an external and visible church of all professed believers containing within itself, and protecting, an internally understood invisible gathering of genuine believers. That is, the church visible and the church invisible. Luther placed greater emphasis on the latter, however, leaving the former very much to the desires of the locality, and he placed limitations on his own priesthood of all believers doctrine, restrictions which some of his colleagues and disciples subsequently rejected. Karlstadt, for instance, found Luther’s definitions ultimately unsatisfying, theorizing that the church must also direct pure Christian living through scriptural purity and the immediate removal of non-scriptural materials. I will show Karlstadt taking Luther’s priesthood doctrine to its radical, democratic limit, thus setting himself at odds with the master. In chapter three, I will do something similar with Zwingli’s reform of the Zürich church and the subsequent distancing of his doctrine from a radical version based on perceived scriptural purity.

Here I will examine Zwingli’s Abrahamic-covenantal understanding of the church. At the heart of Zwinglian ecclesiology was a Holy Spirit inspired moral, Christ-centric, code of behavior. As did Luther (at about the same time) Zwingli too faced a radicalized version of his doctrine which threated the church settlement in Zürich (as Wittenberg’s settlement had been threatened by Karlstadt’s own more militant scriptural interpretation). Building up to that I will examine many of Zwingli’s dedicated treatises, focusing on the disciplinary, office-holding and ceremonial aspects of his ecclesiology, some of which developed in opposition to traditional Catholic interpretation and some of which developed, subsequently, in opposition to the radicalism of such men as Conrad Grebel, Balthazar Hubmaier and Thomas Sattler. I will focus some attention as well on their developments of isolated, disciplined, true believers-only sects and what this meant in terms of ecclesiology and the prime mandates of Augustine and Paul.

Erasmus, Luther, Zwingli (with Karlstadt and Hubmaier et al) give us the basis of three rival evangelical traditions by the mid-1530s, the height of what J V Fesko called the dynamic period of the Reformation⁸: a Lutheran view of a divided membership and irrelevant externals, a Zwinglian view of covenantal importance, and radical isolationist doctrines based on extreme interpretations of the masters’ doctrines, Scripture, and the influence of mysticism. These three options were subsequently, I will show in chapter four, taken up and modified (or opposed) by a second generation of Reformation thinkers including Oecolampadius, Bucer, Bullinger, Calvin and Beza. I have not taken second generation to mean second best, nor do I think these men any less significant than Luther or Zwingli. They were often contemporaries, or nearly so, and often close friends with the chief reformers of Wittenberg and Zürich. I use the term merely because of the fact that they took on and adapted the doctrine of the two masters, or of the original dissidents, and emphasized particular aspects much more than did the first generation (and much more suited to their own locations). Indeed, more so than Luther or Zwingli, such men as Bucer and Calvin almost normalized the doctrine of the dynamic period of the Reformation, leading Europe into the confessional period. In this chapter, as well as considering the true marks of the fundamental mandates I will present Oecolampadius’ concentration on organization and opposition to radical Anabaptism, presenting him largely as a disciple of Zwingli’s covenantal-communal view which he thought the sectarians disrupted. Bucer took up the fellowship view as well, but as Strasbourg was a center of toleration which neither Zürich nor Basle was, he found it advantageous (in the short to mid-term) to emphasize a moral and social imperative to see to the welfare of others. Melanchthon, still in Wittenberg, moved away from the fundamental Lutheran position of two orders within the church toward Bucer’s position, hoping to find common cause between all evangelical groups. This placed him in conflict with a radical Lutheran named Philip Rothmann, who formulated a doctrine seeking to recapture the purity of the primitive church. Rothmann went so far as to argue that the changes made by the reformers were, not to put too fine a point on it, less than half-baked. Bullinger (Zwingli’s successor at Zürich) redeveloped Zwinglian covenant theology to meet a raising demand from outside the city-state, becoming a leading diplomat (via correspondence) as well as a leading reformer in his own right. I shall show how he laid emphasis on the work of the preaching office (taking up Bucer’s theory of preachers as cooperarii or God’s agents), incorporating this into Zwinglian covenant theology as a means of spreading Swiss doctrine to other important centers of reform, like Heidelberg, Hess and England. Finally, in this chapter I will present an examination of Calvin’s attempted reformulation of the Geneva church as a guardian and enforcer of public morality (which he may have adopted from Bucer) with Beza subsequently taking up the theme for export (mainly into France).

Chapter five is dedicated to the unique ecclesiology developed in England, a doctrine which incorporated some continental influences while giving them a distinctive Englishness (based on constituted religious positions imposed from above or taken from John Wycliffe and Lollard sources). I have selected instances and theorists which I think best highlight that singular English situation. It is a dense chapter certainly, featuring the influence on royal policy of the Tyndale/More dispute over basic ecclesiologic issues, the thinking of John Hooper and Nicholas Ridley on externals, and Robert Barnes’ introduction into England of the basic Lutheran doctrine. Subsequently I will examine how that gave way to a more spiritual, Swiss covenantal view, as sponsored by Bucer, Peter Martyr Vermigli and John à Lasco under Edward VI. I will then present an examination of the evangelical position in exile under Mary, and the subsequent schisms which built up as a result between competing doctrinal positions in the Elizabeth era, namely conformity, non-conformity and separatist Puritanism. The conclusion I have dedicated to a review of Catholic ecclesiology of the so-called Catholic and Counter-Reformation, starting with the Lateran V council, moving through the doctrine of Gasparo Contarini on episcopal office, the reforms recommended by the Consilium de emendanda ecclesia (1537), ending with the impact of Trent on the office and work of bishops and priests. Here, I will use the work of Archbishop Borromeo of Milan as a case study.

Like any intellectual commodity (e.g., a song, a poem, a philosophy) reformation ecclesiology grew out of certain common ideas, was modified and was expressed in ways better suited to the particular locations, and what I want to show here is that despite the disputes and debates (and even the bloodshed), reformation theologians were in fact all trying to do the same thing, that is, rediscover and reformulate a pure, Christian, church.

1. McGrath, Christian Theology, 405

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2. Hillerbrand, A New History of Christianity,

76

–

78

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3. McGrath, Christian Theology,

419

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24

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4. Wriedt, Founding a New Church,

51

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52

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5. Hitchens, God Is not Great,

68

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6. Hillerbrand, The Division of Christendom,

15

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20

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7. Cameron, The European Reformation,

20

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8. Fesko, Beyond Calvin.

1

Erasmus, Abuses in the Church, and the Needs of Christendom

Neither humanism nor Erasmus needs a detailed introduction; their aims and interests are well documented. It was noted earlier, however, that humanism gave rise to a lay piety movement searching for greater spiritual succor. One aspect of this challenge was an increased criticism of the church’s perceived material orientation. The necessity of forever shifting resources away from the servicing of lay spiritual needs had left the church open to a charge of excessive worldliness (even if the original intentions had always been good). It was something of a vicious circle; the increased personal involvement in pursuit of spiritual meaning (i.e., personal piety) among the laity increased disappointment with the church as an institution and with its theology. This in turn left the pious searching more and more outside the church’s walls for enlightenment or satisfaction. Humanism also inspired a different kind of intellectual approach to the perceived problems of late medieval Christendom. Humanists looked out on the continuous internecine warfare between Christian leaders, including clergymen, and wondered where the church and society had gone so badly wrong. They considered the pax Europa and searched for Christian renewal.⁹ They were not calling for widespread changes in the church per se, but rather for a means to broad-based moral improvement. With Humanism’s ad fontes approach in mind, scriptural correctness became important.

It is well known that humanist scholars were also interested in language, particularly the biblical languages of Latin, Greek and Hebrew, and particularly Latin as a lingua franca of pan-European communication. In order to perfect their own understanding of Latin, critical, literary and historical textual analysis was applied to ancient sources with a rapidly increasing expertise. Bible stories were recognized as being of particular times and places, the records of human activity and development, placed in the context of literary and linguistic developments. Given these aims of contextual, historical and literary analysis that the humanists would turn also to the Bible and its own context is unsurprising. It was obviously a key resource in the study of Christendom’s historical development (both secular and sacred). Erasmus, as in so much else a bridge between the medieval and reformation periods, was well aware of the weaknesses of the institutionalized church and of the obstacles that lay in the path of Christian renewal and general peace. Like his fellow humanists he was not interested in challenging the church’s power or its theology, but he was interested in extracting from its most important historical documents moral and doctrinal insights which could then be applied to his own time and circumstances. What this means is that Erasmus and some of the other humanists (they had widespread interests after all) were less interested in the usual selection of Sentences, glosses and commentaries and much more interested in the actual source material. They were searching for a living, breathing Christ and a vital church. The lessons and wisdom gleaned from His words and works they could then apply to a recapture of the vitality and energy of the early, primitive church. Humanists, particularly northern European or Christian humanists, looked increasingly at the New Testament and the writings of the ancient church fathers (Christianity in its purest forms) in the attempt to exact practical solutions.

As McGrath pointed out, the humanist program was not sola scriptura as the Bible was but one source of doctrine and morality among many.¹⁰ It should be clear that the reformers also became interested in the same sources (e.g., the Bible and the writings of the church fathers) but more strictly as sources of correct doctrine. The church fathers were, for them, early theologians and commentators on Scripture for a church unsullied by the plethora of subsequently assumed duties and responsibilities. The fathers were less worldly and more spiritual. Erasmus, and some other humanists, pursued their ideals by exposing and condemning the abuses and weaknesses in the church (as an institution and among its custodians), comparing the contemporary model with the ancient ideal. In doing so they thought to encourage a more practical, spiritual Christianity, one suitable for both clergy and laity as equally members of the Christian community and one which would inspire renewal and peace. One of the first products of this new search was Erasmus’ Handbook of the Christian Soldier (or Enchiridion militis christiani) of 1503.¹¹

Handbook was written as an improving text for an anonymous friend and is the type of manual with which we are all now quite familiar. Were Erasmus to have written it in the twenty-first century it would have been called something self-deprecating and amusing like Christianity for Dummies. He was writing for an interested audience rather than for professional theologians so there was an emphasis on the individual and on the development of a personal, inward spirituality dependent on nothing but a genuine pursuit of faith. The anonymous friend he was addressing was a soldier, however, so he couched the argument in military terms making it personal. He considered such questions as how good could finally triumph over evil, or what does it mean to be a Christian or can one live a Christian life without having to become isolated from the world?¹² Those seeking increased personal piety in the church were faced by ceremonies with a heavy material emphasis like the Mass, pilgrimages, veneration of saints, images and indulgences finding that these had replaced and overwhelmed the actual central message of Christianity, just as rigid dogma and doctrine had replaced the ideas they were originally meant to explain. To address this disorder Erasmus switched the emphasis for Christians back to the words, teachings, actions and example of the Christ. Reardon expressed this best when he said that the heart of Erasmus’ message was charity. Not the mere mechanical donation of money but actual involvement: the edification of one’s neighbor, counting all as equal under Christ, rejoicing in a friend’s triumphs and commiserating in his failures (as if these were personal), in other words, taking part in genuinely altruistic, charitable activities.¹³ Erasmus wrote that a tally of church attendances, or prostrations before statues, or mere repetition of certain prayers, was of little real value:

Of all these things God has no need. Paul declares charity to be the edification of one’s neighbour, the attempt to integrate all men into one body so that all men may become one in Christ, the loving of one’s neighbour as oneself . . . just as Christ gave Himself completely for us, so also should we give ourselves for our neighbour.¹⁴

One can appreciate how attractive such a message would be to seekers of personal piety. If everyone took Erasmus’ advice, there would be peace. The Handbook was, therefore, a step-by-step plan for self-improvement (divided into two parts) as a microcosm of Christendom’s improvement.

The first part is a series of essays on the nature of man and on the importance of reading Scripture, thematically connected through the imagery of a warrior arming himself with all the spiritual, non-material weapons and shields he will ever need for the constant spiritual battles ahead. This is an important point—the battles never end—being a Christian soldier is not easy; diligence and vigilance are the constant watchwords. This is followed up by twenty-two life guidelines. In the first part we discover that all the weapons necessary for Christian warfare against evil are to be found in Scripture, so attentive study and some sensible reading of pagan poets and philosophers go a long way.¹⁵ Christianity is in the mind, heart and soul. Here was a basic sola scriptura message of fulfilling spiritual needs supplemented by a pursuit of edifying moral literature. How well does this fit into Erasmus’ wider program of Christian renewal?

Well, almost at a stroke he repudiates much of the external structures of organized religion. There was no real place for ceremonials, rules, regulations, usages, church buildings and even the special place usually accorded clerics and monks in society was played down in favor of an internal mystical dialog and personal relationship to Christ (through imitation). Erasmus’ fifth guideline made an important distinction between visible things as imperfect or indifferent, mere shadows of reality, and the invisible and spiritual as sweet and bright (echoing Plato). This became a familiar mantra as every reformer echoed this anti-materialist message. Some would go a little too far, however. The distinction can also be applied to Scripture, as words have both external, corporeal meanings as well as mysterious or spiritual significance. Erasmus recommended reading the church fathers in conjunction with the Bible for guidance and better understandings, dismissing ceremonies, verbose doctrine and other materialistic externals as the worst plague of Christianity: This false set of values brings more ruin than any other because in appearance it is very close to godliness. There are no vices that are more dangerous than those that have the veneer of virtue . . . to place the whole of religion in external ceremonies is sublime stupidity. He was not attacking the ceremonies or externals as such but warning they are indifferent to salvation. Lighting a candle, wearing a vestment, looking at a statue does not grant grace, indeed there is a risk of abuse. In short, you must avoid the horns of the dilemma. To observe these unimportant things is, of course, wholesome, but to make them the whole object of your devotions is extremely dangerous.¹⁶

He was also trying to move society beyond golden age mythology. It was not enough that Christians try and recapture an ideal asceticism (by founding more monasteries, for example) or revive Aquinas (as scholasticism had had its day). Nor are there degrees within Christendom (as all souls are of equal value), thus there is in reality no difference between clergymen and laity. The baptized are all equal. Erasmus was in the vanguard of a new approach, a spiritual, non-materialistic approach to God which recognized that the church, as an institution, and for a number of reasons, had failed to meet Christendom’s increasing spiritual needs through its reliance on old methods, more Masses, more indulgences, more relics purchased or viewed, deeper devotions to saints attempted and the seeking out of more edifying sermons or works of theology. By de-emphasizing the externals, the material aspects of religious faith, the visible, the buildings, the rites and ceremonies, the mechanical aspects of the sacraments, and concentrating on internals, the invisible, genuine faith, genuine charity, the humanists offered something which all the schoolmen and clergymen of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries had not, a genuinely new approach to familiar problems. Standing in the way of this new approach, renewed Christianity and pax Europa, was an old style clerical establishment dedicated to the pursuit of money. This became the special target of Erasmus’ Praise of Folly (or Encomium Moriae) of 1509.

Erasmus often tried to ease the intellectual tensions of his day by admitting the funny side of life and he tried to show scholars the inescapable knots they tied themselves up in via egocentric human reasoning and their own fears of being thought foolish. He knew that the man who genuinely lived after the example of Christ was thought unworldly, naïve and out of touch with reality, but this really was no bad thing. The Christian thought a fool in the eyes of everyone is actually wise in the eyes of God.¹⁷ The reason, logic and wisdom of the world produced a false, egocentric kind of piety in Christians (particularly in the clergy) and Erasmus set out to expose it, lampoon it and, hopefully, remove it.

Folly was structured in three parts, in the first of which the reader learned, through the sermon of the goddess Folly that folly rules men and gods alike but also that this is not as tragic at it seems. For what is war, government, love and the many