Brand Luther: How an Unheralded Monk Turned His Small Town Into a Center of Publishing, Made Himself the Most Famous Man in Europe--And Started the Protestant Reformation (30 page)

L
UTHER’S
N
EW
T
ESTAMENT

This elegant edition was a reprint by Adam Petri in Basel. It is an extraordinary testimony of the demand for Luther’s translation that it went through three large editions (probably 9,000 copies) in under four months.

Lotter’s September Testament was the first of more than 443 whole or partial editions of the Bible that would appear between 1522 and Luther’s death in 1546.
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It swiftly became a mainstay of the printing industry in Germany, a text so popular that it would justify repeated reprints in all of the major places publishing Luther’s works and others besides. This was, above all, a very versatile text. While Lotter concentrated initially on large-format folio editions, other printers experimented: with editions of the New Testament text in the smaller, portable octavo format, with small editions of individual books of the Bible often no longer than one of the pamphlet
Flugschriften
. The year 1523 witnessed the first edition in Low German, the language of Hamburg and the north. Naturally the larger print centers took the lion’s share, with major production in Basel, Nuremberg, and Strasbourg, as well as Wittenberg. Magdeburg swiftly established itself as the center of production for editions in Low
German. But there was still room for other, more ephemeral presses to enter this lucrative trade, such as the tiny shop established in 1522 by Nikolaus Widemar in Grimma. Grimma was a small habitation around twenty miles southeast of Leipzig, and there was more to the establishment of this printing press than meets the eye, as we will see in the next chapter. Widemar published only twelve books before moving on, but
these included a copy of the Luther New Testament and two pamphlet versions of individual books, the Epistles to the Romans and Galatians.
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Through all of this sound and fury Luther and his brain trust worked steadily on with the translation of the Old Testament. At first this progressed well enough. Luther and Melanchthon moved smoothly through the Pentateuch, which was ready for Lotter by the end of 1522, and could thus conveniently occupy the presses once the second edition of the New Testament was finished. Luther, ever mindful of the pockets of potential purchasers, had always intended that the Old Testament would be published in three parts. This was also helpful to publishers; it gave them three manageable projects with separate sales, and purchasers could then bind together the whole work when it was finished. In the event, this would take much longer than expected.
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Joshua to Esther was ready by the end of 1523, to be published in the following year. But then progress slowed dramatically. Because Job had occupied more time than Luther had expected, the poetic books (Job to the Song of Songs) were issued as a separate fascicule in the autumn of 1524.

Then other responsibilities intervened. In 1525 and 1526 Luther’s attention was entirely taken up by the fallout from the Peasants’ War and the dispute with Erasmus; then in 1527 the university moved to Jena because of an outbreak of plague. Although Luther and Bugenhagen both remained in Wittenberg, the work on the Prophets could not be continued in the absence of Melanchthon; this was doubly frustrating because Luther had, in fact, prepared a translation of the Prophets for his lectures in 1524. Because it was now obvious that this section of the Bible would not be finished imminently, Isaiah was released for separate publication in 1528.

The years 1529 and 1530 brought new difficulties, thanks to Melanchthon’s renewed absence at the Diet of Speyer and then at the Diet of Augsburg. Luther poured out his frustrations by translating the Book of Daniel: in apocalyptic mood after his work with Daniel’s prophecies, he now wondered if the end of the world would come before the Bible translation was finished. Only in 1532 had he and Melanchthon managed
to find time to sign off on the Prophets, now published once again as a separate volume. That left only the Apocrypha, never Luther’s favorite: this he was prepared to delegate largely to Melanchthon and Justus Jonas. Their task was completed finally in 1534, clearing the way for the much-delayed complete Wittenberg Bible.

Luther’s relief at the dispatch of the final stages of this mammoth project vied with his frustration after the endless delays. As usual he was of a mind to blame the printers, though they had faithfully executed any work that was put their way. In fact, the long period of gestation of the Luther Bible was something for which the industry could be grateful. The steady sequence of partial editions, though messy, made for very good business, keeping the presses rolling without exposing the printers to substantial risk. These successive partial editions also had the welcome by-product of directing attention to some of the usually less-studied parts of the biblical canon: when Jonah and Habakkuk were the only new books available in 1526, for instance, they went through multiple editions.
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Interestingly, the practice of publishing small, partial editions continued even after the whole Bible was finally available.

During the twelve years between the publication of the September Testament and the full Bible in 1534 the Wittenberg print industry had matured significantly. The complete Bible of 1534 and other subsequent editions were all published by men new on the scene since the time that printing in Wittenberg had relied on the old duopoly of Rhau-Grunenberg and Lotter: Hans Lufft, Georg Rhau, and Nickel Schirlentz. Hans Lufft’s Bible of 1534 was itself a monument to how far the industry had come, a magnificent folio of over eight hundred leaves, a very substantial publishing project on its own. Even here, old habits died hard. The Bible was not paginated continuously through, but in six sections. It would still have occupied four presses in Lufft’s shop for the best part of six months. This was a reminder that the capacity to publish such a project was not easily created—it had been a work of two decades to build such an industry in Wittenberg, fueled and underwritten by the enormous demand for Luther’s writings.

This was a project at the heart of the Wittenberg Reformation. From the first days that Luther’s name was known outside Saxony, those who joined their voices to the call for reform had a ready-made slogan: they demanded that their councils allow their priests to preach the pure Gospel, “
reines Evangelium
.” But for this to be possible, the Word of God had also to be accessible: this is why the production of a new vernacular translation to replace the Latin Vulgate was for Luther such an urgent priority. And it had been, at every stage of the creative process, a team effort, from those who assisted in the process of translation, to the men who toiled in Hans Lufft’s workshop and the carters who transported the copies to distant bookshops. These men, too, played their part in creating the Wittenberg Reformation.

BLACK SHEEP

In all movements propelled by charismatic personalities there will be bruising encounters along the way. A core of disciples will pledge total loyalty; others initially drawn to the movement will quietly go their separate ways. Most difficult of all are the cases of the early enthusiasts who burn brightly but are ultimately cast out. Such would be the case with one of Luther’s most passionate supporters, his Wittenberg colleague Andreas von Karlstadt.

Karlstadt had been an important early convert to Luther’s cause. In the years before the indulgence controversy he had been Luther’s senior colleague in the university (a fact that inevitably colored their relationship in subsequent years). A firm adherent of Scholasticism, his initial inclination to take umbrage at Luther’s criticisms was transformed by his own reading of Augustine. From that point on he was Luther’s most fervent supporter, always prepared to dive into print in defense of Wittenberg teachings. He was brave, passionate, and learned. Indeed, Karlstadt was possessed of every necessary talent except good judgment.

Here lay the root of the problem. When Karlstadt published his
excessive 380 theses in defense of Luther’s doctrines in 1518, it did not require an adversary as shrewd as Johann Eck to discern a possible weak link in Wittenberg’s armor. Eck’s challenge to Karlstadt posed Luther a considerable problem, and it was only with some difficulty that he managed to insinuate himself into the Leipzig Disputation and make himself the defender in his own cause. Then came the Wartburg, and a chance for Karlstadt to exercise the leadership he may well have felt was his due. The result was very nearly catastrophic. Karlstadt advocated a series of radical changes to the worship service in Wittenberg, including a German liturgy. He invited the laity to receive both the bread and wine; he abandoned the traditional priestly vestments. Eyebrows were raised when he took a wife; for the reformers this would ultimately become routine, but Karlstadt’s new bride was only fifteen.
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All of Karlstadt’s changes would later become part of the new Protestant order. But this was too much too fast. The elector, Frederick the Wise, was nervous, and in the Wartburg Luther was increasingly concerned.

Karlstadt’s energetic reconstruction of the Wittenberg church order put Luther in a bind. Earlier in the summer, Karlstadt had denounced the legitimacy of monastic vows. This, too, was embarrassing to Luther, but he was reluctant to intervene. Karlstadt could easily be refuted, he confided to Amsdorf, but were he to speak against him “an occasion would be given to our enemies to boast over our internal disagreement; this would be a great stumbling block for the weak.”
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In this Luther was absolutely correct, and in years to come Catholic critics would make hay with the emerging differences among the reformers. But as the situation in Wittenberg deteriorated further, Luther’s reticence risked allowing the Reformation to drift toward anarchy. First Karlstadt’s preaching induced a disorderly flight of monks from the Augustinian house in Wittenberg. Worse, news of the events in Wittenberg then attracted to the city others who shared Karlstadt’s vision of radical reform, including the so-called Zwickau prophets, laymen whose confident exposition of the Bible belied their lack of formal theological training. With Karlstadt also pursuing his plans for root-and-branch reform
the city was soon in uproar, and Luther’s trusted lieutenants were close to despair.

It required Luther’s unexpected return and stern sermons against fanaticism to restore control. The Zwickau prophets were sent packing. Karlstadt was crushed; humiliated and ostracized, he insisted on continuing to wear lay garb and renounced his responsibilities in the university. It was a relief to all when in 1523 he accepted an invitation to leave Wittenberg and take up a position as minister in Orlamünde, a small town some 125 miles distant. Karlstadt renounced none of his radical views and reformed worship in Orlamünde according to his lights; he also continued to write. He retained a following and an audience; his works were still widely published and purchased although Luther made sure that the Wittenberg presses were now closed to him. In 1524 his continued advocacy of iconoclasm called forth a furious rebuttal from Luther,
Against the Heavenly Prophets,
Luther’s most trenchant denunciation of radicalism. Karlstadt replied in kind, and the breach between the two old colleagues was complete.

The outbreak of the Peasants’ War, which we will discuss in chapter 9, brought new dangers. Karlstadt feared, with some justice, that his views would single him out for retribution when the revolt collapsed, and fled back to Wittenberg, where Luther offered him sanctuary. A condition was that Karlstadt should publicly disassociate himself from the revolt and his wilder teaching on the Lord’s Supper; these two writings were duly published in Wittenberg with a hostile introductory essay by Luther in each case.
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But the two men were never truly reconciled, as Luther’s excoriating introduction to the
Defense Against the False Charge of Rebellion
makes clear: “Now Dr. Karlstadt is my greatest enemy with respect to doctrine, and concerning it we have attacked each other so vehemently that there is no hope of any reconciliation or further fellowship.”
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Clearly a preface was not always used for team building and compliments. This amounted to a public shaming, through the instrument of print; a brutal humiliation for a man who had once been one of the major spokesmen of the Reformation, his works published in all the key
centers of evangelical publishing. Karlstadt had now hit rock bottom. For three years he supported his family as a peasant farmer, but a new confrontation with Luther in 1529 forced him to leave Saxony for good. He found his way to Switzerland, and a refuge with churches that had their own problems with Luther’s autocratic leadership. In 1541 he died of the plague in Basel.

A falling out among friends is never pretty, but for Luther a repudiation of this formerly valued colleague was the necessary price for the preservation of the integrity of the Wittenberg Reformation. The other notable casualty of these years was also an intimate colleague, this time in the printing industry. But whereas Karlstadt had given signs of his waywardness from the earliest years, the downfall of the dependable Melchior Lotter Junior was swift and precipitate.

Lotter had ended 1522 in triumph with the publication of the December Testament. Work began with the Old Testament, and with the prospect of an enhanced flow of work, Melchior Senior dispatched his third son, Michael, from Leipzig to join the Wittenberg firm. But 1523 brought a falling out with Cranach and Döring. The two entrepreneurs were eager to publish further parts of the Luther Bible under their own imprint, and so installed a new printer, Joseph Klug, in their capacious factory. A furious Lotter protested to the elector, but in vain; sympathy for his predicament vanished when he took out his frustration on a young print worker, beating him very severely. In normal circumstances the right of a master craftsman to impose physical discipline on a lazy or negligent youngster in his employment would not have been challenged, but this was something of a different order, and Lotter found himself up before the local magistrates and heavily fined. Worse, Cranach now took the opportunity to expel him from the Schloβstrasse premises. Melchior and Michael found a refuge on the Juristenstrasse and then in the Franciscan monastery. But without access to the resources of the Cranach workshop their firm was badly disadvantaged; Luther, too, distanced himself from his former protégé. By 1525 the firm was in financial difficulties, and Melchior retreated back to Leipzig; there is no evidence that
he ever ran his own independent enterprise again, though he lived for another twenty years. Michael continued to publish on his own account until 1528, when he transferred his business to Magdeburg, with great success.