I thought our next chapter might take a bit longer, but honestly... this was not a fun chapter for me to write. I started it today and just wanted it to be over with. Theology and the minutae of it all does not interest me all that much, to be quite honst. I tried to cover this section in as much detail as I could, while ending in the way that I intended. I hope you all enjoy: watch the last feeble attempt at trying to hold the Latin Christendom together, and watch in horror as it falls apart.
Chapter 43. The Council of Lucerne
1551-1556; Switzerland.
“It has served us well, this myth of Christ.”
— Apocryphal Quote, attributed to Pope Leo X.
Musical Accompaniment: Missa Papae Marcelli
The troubles surrounding the opening of a General Council plagued the end of the papacy of Gelasius III alongside the early years of Pope Adrian VI. Though Bologna was initially chosen to host this monumental occasion, in 1550, the council was eventually transferred to Lucerne within the Swiss Confederacy—with its opening deferred until 1551. Pope Adrian VI, an advocate of the
Spirituali, saw this as his chance to make a difference in the church that he cherished and considered his home—he had chosen delegates to represent him who would espouse his own ideas and advocate for his own changes. Despite this, the Roman curia in the early years of Adrian’s reign remained heavily conservative: this did not even begin to account for the Roman episcopate and clergy across Europe, who, on the whole, expressed little interest in a reunion with the Protestants—by the 1550s, many bishops and priests looked upon the Protestants as heretics who had torn the Christendom asunder—not misguided sheep that needed to be brought back into the fold. This alone represented trouble for Adrian VI—not to mention issues that stemmed from the
Zelanti faction headed by Cardinal Carafa. Carafa was undoubtedly the most outspoken and firmly believed that Adrian VI was a crypto-Lutheran intent on the destruction of the church. While others among the Zelanti were more tepid in their beliefs, they certainly had concerns over the council and the Pope’s intentions.
Plans for the formal opening of the council were set for 1551, though plans dragged throughout the year. The papal legates, Niccolò Ardinghelli, Ercole Gonzaga, and Gasparo Contarini, did not formally arrive in Lucerne until November 1551—and even then, they were among the first to arrive.
“Pope Adrian’s legates have received a grand welcome,” one burgher of Lucerne wrote in a letter to a business associate.
“Their baggage train alone included grand chests holding their vestments, and two carts alone were dedicated to carrying theological tomes from Rome and Bologna…” Slowly, a trickle of prelates began to pour into Lucerne—primarily from Italy. Given the previous failures in opening such a council and the problems that had hounded it since 1549, it was little surprise that many Catholic sovereigns had adopted a wait-and-see attitude regarding the Council of Lucerne. When the council formally opened in January 1552, only around thirty bishops were in attendance. The imperial delegation did not arrive until the spring of 1552—this was shortly followed by the Spanish delegation, which included several members of the School of Salamanca as well as
Vasco de Quiroga—Bishop of Michoacán in New Spain, who brought with him a train of Indian servants who were exhibited to the court. This was shortly followed by other delegations from across Europe—England’s included men such as Richard Pate, the Bishop of Worcester, and George Dowdall, Archbishop of Armagh. Alexander IV of Scotland sent a delegation headed by Henry Gordon, the Bishop of Galloway—rumored to be a former lover of the king. Other delegations soon followed, from Portugal to Poland.
The arrival of prelates from across Europe caused the population of Lucerne to swell. This contributed not only to the issue of housing and living quarters but food costs as well—which soared as the city continued to swell with clerical visitors from abroad.
“My maid has spent the morning scouring the markets,” a Lucerne burgess wrote in a letter to a friend.
“A pound of sausage cannot be found for less than one pfennig, and the quality is often atrocious… the best beef now costs nearly three pfennige, while the whitest loaves of bread cost nearly two. Even wine has soared in price and costs nearly two groschen…” While stressors were placed upon segments of Lucerne’s population—primarily its poorest—others could profit, from bakers, butchers, and even farmers from the outlying regions to innkeepers and landlords, who could charge a premium to the foreign clergy. While those sent to Lucerne by the Pope received subsidies directly from the papal treasury, other delegations were subsidized by the sovereigns who had sent them. Queen Mary was believed to have provided an outlay of £6000 to care for the needs of her English prelates; João III of Portugal provided some 5000 cruzados, while Sigismund II of Poland interceded with the Polish Sejm to give a subsidy of 4000 zloty.
Martin Luther preaching at Wartburg.
While the Catholics had formal delegations sent by both the Pope and the various crowned heads of Europe, the same could not be said of the Protestants. Chares V arranged for a Protestant delegation to be formed in Germany, overseen by his son and the Elector of the Palatinate—Friedrich II. Friedrich II died in 1550—he was succeeded by his underage son, Friedrich III—which placed him under the regency of his mother, the Electress Anna of Cleves, sister of the Duke of Cleves.
“I ask that you consider heading the delegation to Lucerne,” a letter from the Electress to Philip Melancthon began.
“With Luther’s death, you are the head of your faith and party within the empire—and you are best fit to represent us.” Though Melanchthon and several other prominent Protestants made up the delegation, they were primarily Lutherans—pressed to attend because of the defeat of the Lutherans in the Bruderkrieg. A small delegation of Hussite clergy from Bohemia was organized to participate at the wishes of Maximilian—but with the agreement that the Consistory of Prague would retain the final say over any agreements reached at Lucerne. Even the idea of a Protestant delegation did cause a furor among the German Protestants;
Gnieso-Lutherans, who adhered more strictly to Luther’s teachings, attacked Melanchthon as a heretic and decried his attempts to reach a compromise with the imperial party and the Catholic Church.
“Gnieso-Lutherans saw no good in the interim that the emperor had imposed following his military victory,” one historian would write.
“While Melanchthon did not accept it either, many within the Gnieso camp believed that Melanchthon’s desire to compromise represented a darker undercurrent—and that he would drag all the good that Luther had done down into the dirt.”
Outside of the empire, Protestants viewed the Council of Lucerne dimly. Jean Calvin and his followers in Geneva expressed no interest in the proceedings at Lucerne. Calvin would publish a series of tracts attacking the council, which he called his
antidotes. In Hungary, Queen Dowager Anna, serving as regent for her young son Vladislaus II, barred Hungarian prelates from attending Lucerne under the penalty of death. In the portion of Hungary that had recognized Elisabeth as queen, the beginnings of the Protestant Church Order organized in the 1530s remained functioning, and Maximilian made no attempts to organize a Hungarian delegation. In Sweden, too, no attempt was made to organize a group to attend Lucerne—the Riksdag met at Norrköping in 1552, which once again reaffirmed Sweden’s independence from the See of Rome and made the act of
colluding with Rome as treason, punishable by death.
Though the Protestants had been promised the right to attend, one of the first major arguments was that they should receive the right to vote—on parity with the bishops in attendance. Other demands were that they should be included in all discussions, that decisions should be based solely upon scripture—and that neither the Pope nor his legates should head the council—and that the Pope himself should be subject to the council’s decrees.
“Almost immediately, Pope Adrian was confronted with a crisis in Lucerne,” one council historian wrote.
“They expected that the Protestants should attend as the cowed and defeated—not that they should have a right to debate and vote on proceedings.” Even more than that, there remained the thorny issue of justification—while some, such as Adrian VI and his legates, were sympathetic to the idea of
Sola Fide as interpreted by the Protestants and even some writers of the Early Church, such as Clement of Rome, it ran counter to the ideas of the Catholic Church for over a millennium—for many, justification by faith alone was impossible. The Protestant delegation led by Melanchthon continued to maintain that justification was their red line: they would accept no decrees by the Council of Lucerne without a ruling that justification by faith alone was possible. Rather than dig into the thorny issue, Adrian wrote urgently to his legates:
“The matter of justification must be delayed for as long as possible… let us not dig into the matters that divide us, but rather those that unite us.” It was agreed that Bishops would have the right to vote alongside the superior generals of mendicant orders. Envoys and theologians would receive no vote. Regarding the Protestant delegation, it was agreed that they should have the right to address the council in so-called Congregation sessions, but they would have no formal voting rights. Their right to attend Lucerne was affirmed, and they were granted protections to defend their right to do so—but the Catholic camps in attendance expressed little interest in granting the defeated Protestants their so-called demands.
Council of Lucerne, 16th Century Painting.
In 1553, cracks were exposed to the idea of a
general Christian council—nearly thirty-five years had expired since Martin Luther had posted his theses. The Protestants were no longer a mere schism or heretical sect. At this point, they had developed a worldview that was at complete odds with the Catholic worldview favored by the bishops and Catholic theologians. Adrian VI, while perhaps sympathetic to their plight, could not afford to offer them any further ground. He found himself forced to moderate and wrote to his legates:
“Continue to conduct yourself with the utmost decorum; we cannot in any way support the cause of Melanchthon’s delegation—they must listen to our appeals and alter their own views.” Just as Adrian VI could not afford to give ground to the Protestant delegation and sought allies from the more conservative prelates, it seemed increasingly hopeless that the Protestants would willingly subject themselves to the decrees of a council that had been formed in the way that Lucerne had.
“We are here under duress,” Melanchthon wrote in a letter to the Electress Palatine.
“We debate petty issues, and nothing is resolved. There is nothing here that I would willingly agree with—they expect us to bow our heads in shame and accept that the gruel they feed us is indeed roast venison. We shall be the laughingstock of Europe if we give any ground here—Luther would cry from beyond the grave if he could…”
The initial work of the council was totally milquetoast. Council members eventually agreed after Protestant remonstrations that reform and doctrinal issues should be considered together rather than as separate subjects. Adrian VI was not opposed to this issue—he knew that any talk of reform would likely touch upon the practices of the Roman Curia.
“Adrian VI still remained adamant to use the Council of Lucerne as a political coup for his position,” one historian wrote.
“He saw reform of the church’s practice to sideline his conservative enemies without confronting them directly. Degrees by a Catholic council would carry more weight than his edict alone.” Yet the matters considered were banal: they publicly subscribed to the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed and agreed on how discussions of doctrine should be handled. There would be no debate but rather give and take—with theologians given time to present their views on specific articles in
Congregations that would be held on certain days. One of the first matters considered before the council was that of the scripture: the Catholic camp was divided sharply over vernacular bibles; some saw them as founts of heresy, others as needed nourishment for a spiritual life. The Spanish delegation raised a heated issue against the idea of the Bible in the vernacular. Still, national issues remained: in England, France, and even Spain, bibles in the vernacular remained forbidden. If the council advocated for them, the episcopacy and the crowns would likely countermand the decree. If it forbade such writings, other areas—Germany, Italy, Poland—would have the opposite adverse reaction. Ultimately, the council met in the middle: they decreed that translations were not abusive but that the Vulgate remained accepted as the most
authentic version of the Bible. Other versions were not rejected, as other translations had existed in ancient times, but anonymous translations were prohibited—alongside anonymous theological tracts. The Bible in Vulgate was accepted as the most authentic and only version proper for preaching and teaching. In this area, Protestant Bibles in the vernacular were passed over in silence.
In other areas, Lucerne did move towards genuine reform within the Catholic Church. It was ordered that proper education be provided within dioceses to educate the clergy and to counter clerical ignorance. To do this, a humanist program was adopted, which called for establishing scripture lectureships in each diocese. The Bible was considered the touchstone of such a program, but to appease theologians, it was also decreed that more rigorous schools should be established, which would be based on a more scholastic program. To ensure that the gospel was adequately heard and preached, Lucerne also mandated for the first time that both bishops and pastors should preach to their flocks every Sunday and on Holy Days. Lucerne sought to codify the position of bishops within the dioceses, to bring bishops back to the position they had once held during the period of Augustine of Hippo. While some were undoubtedly skeptical of such an idea, others welcomed reforming clerical education to provide a higher standard—yet one major issue remained. If Bishops were to preach each Sunday, this directly countermanded the common practice of prelates holding multiple dioceses. This made the issue of residence a distinctly important issue—and a lightning rod among some Catholic prelates.
“Adrian VI sought to use the idea of clerical residence to win others to his cause,” one historian wrote.
“Many bishops held grievances in this area, as mendicant orders held a monopoly in some dioceses, and flaunted this privilege almost virulently… one bishop complained that the friars preached what they pleased, when they pleased, without oversight.” In this instance, Adrian urged his legates to work with the bishops—he desired to orient the bishops and the episcopate as the prime pastor within the diocese. For the first time, the practice of holding multiple dioceses was condemned.
Adoration of the Magi, El Grieco; 1568.
Matters crawled at a snail’s pace into 1554 and 1555—debates centered around original sin, and justification provoked nearly violent tumults. The Protestant delegations under Philipp Melanchthon remained adamant—unless there was acceptance of the doctrine of justification by faith alone. In this, Catholic theologians dug into ancient councils held previously. Several congregations were held during this period, where Catholic theologians offered their views; in others, Protestant theologians framed their world views and beliefs. In this situation, regarding Original Sin, the Catholic position held as it had previously: they sought to continue to condemn the views held by the Pelagians in the patristic era; other decrees attacked the Anabaptists and their views on infant baptism.
“Adam was not made worse by his sin,” one writer wrote.
“Adam’s sinning harmed but Adam alone; sin is an attack upon the soul, which removes our natural powers and faith.” Justification proved a pricklier issue. Adrian instructed his legates:
“Extort all present to increase their prayers to God through the Holy Spirit—that will show them the truth. Look into this matter; research and read widely into it… this includes such books published by our “enemies.” They must be studied and examined through the same unbiased lens we look at our ancient fathers’ work. We cannot conclude that simply because ‘Luther said it,’ that it is false… heresy always contains some element of truth.” Adrian VI advocated that the council hold a middle ground in such discussions—it should not give way in either direction.
Rather than a path of moderation, the debates over justification devolved into petty arguments. In one situation, two bishops with differing views became so heated that their discussion evolved into a physical brawl that required one of the legates to intervene to bring it to an end. The Protestant delegation arranged under Philipp Melanchthon remained profoundly sidelined—when Melanchthon spoke in one congregation regarding Lutheran views on justification, he was profoundly booed by the bishops present—Lutheran congregations were used by the Catholic prelates not as an excuse to learn, but rather as a reason to attack the Protestants for their views and heresies.
“Heretic! Schismatic!” Words and insults were hissed and hurled throughout Melanchthon’s congregation, and he ultimately retired out of frustration rather than continue.
“I have reached the conclusion that our participation in this farce is of no use to our cause,” Melanchthon wrote in a letter to the Electress of the Palatinate.
“They shall give us no ground—they expect us to make the sacrifice. I say—no more.” Issues were confounded by the declining health of Emperor Charles V—and rumors that François II of France had ordered a buildup of his own troops along the borders of France and the Holy Roman Empire to execute the perfect strike. These rumors were realized in the spring of 1555—when François II ordered that the French delegation quit Lucerne. Though the French delegation numbered no more than twenty men, it was a shock.
“I have done all that I can to maintain them here,” one of the legates wrote to Adrian VI.
“They are adamant that they have been recalled home and shall rejoin our deliberations as soon as possible…” Such promises smelt only of lies—many bishops noted that some of the French delegates seemed to be in intense discussion with Philipp Melanchthon’s Protestant delegation.
“They whisper, and they play,” one prelate wrote in a coded letter.
“They shall betray us—I know it.”
When Charles V died in the early summer of 1555, the council had yet to proceed regarding justification. Indeed, the Protestant delegation had begun to refuse to attend sessions starting in May—leading to further anguish. Even upon his deathbed, Charles awaited news that things were proceeding favorably. One rumor (later debunked) proclaimed that the emperor died shortly after receiving news that the Protestant delegation ultimately marched out of Lucerne. The Protestants announced their departure from Lucerne several weeks after Charles had passed—and sometime after the French delegation’s departure. While the council attempted to soldier onward, they were torn asunder when, in the fall of 1555, François II proclaimed his rights to Artois and Franche-Comté—alongside disputing his father’s renunciation of Flanders in the 1530s.
“François II announced boldly in the autumn of 1555 that the pretended King of the Romans, Maximilian II, had one choice—if he wished to retain Flanders, he should immediately give up control over Artois and Franche-Comté, as promised when François had taken Isabelle of Austria as his wife. Maximilian II, in the fit of his father’s death and the transition of power, immediately refused—hoping to buy time. He was soon met with rumblings among the Protestant princes… armed with French supplies and money, they demanded the recognition of their faith, and the emperor recalled his prelates from Lucerne to attend a national council in Germany. The new sovereign was attacked on all sides… when he refused to bow to French pressures, French troops wasted no time in surging beyond the border into Artois, Flanders, and Franche-Comté… their allies in Lorraine assisted in marauding the lands around Metz… the French king proclaimed himself the defender of German liberties, assembling a league centered around the person of Johann Friedrich, the former Elector of Saxony—who once more urged the Protestant Princes to fight back against imperial encroachments.”
