Q - Luther Blissett (interesting novels to read TXT) 📗

Wittenberg, Saxony, April 1519

A shithole, Wittenberg. Wretched, poor, muddy. An unhealthy, harsh climate, free of vines or fruit-trees, a cold, smoky pub. What have you got in Wittenberg, if you take away the castle, the church and the university? Filthy alleyways, muddy streets, a barbarian population of brewers and junk dealers.

I’m sitting in the university courtyard with these thoughts crowding into my head, eating a freshly baked pretzel. I turn it round in my hands to cool it down as I study the student throng that you usually see at this time of day. Equipped with hunks of bread and oil and soup, they take advantage of the mild sunlight to enjoy their lunch in the open as they wait for their next lecture. Different accents, many of us come from neighbouring principalities, but also from Holland, Denmark, Switzerland: the sons of half the world come here to listen to the lively voice of the Master. Martin Luther, his fame has travelled on the wind, helped along by the presses of the printers who have brought celebrity to this place forgotten by God and men until just a few years ago. Events… events are gathering speed. No one had ever heard of Wittenberg, and now more and more people are coming, younger and younger people, because anyone who wants to get involved in the enterprise has to be here, here in the most important bit of bogland in the whole of Christendom. And perhaps it’s true: this is the place where they’re baking the bread that will keep the Pope’s teeth busy for years to come. A new generation of teachers and theologians who will free the world from the corrupt claws of Rome.

And here he comes, a few years older than I am, pointed beard, thin and pinched as only prophets can be: Melanchthon, the pillar of classical wisdom that Frederick was determined to instal alongside Luther to give prestige to the university. His lectures are brilliant, alternating quotations from Aristotle with passages from the Scriptures that he can read in Hebrew, as though drawing on an inexhaustible well of knowledge. Beside him the rector, Karlstadt, the Incorruptible, soberly dressed, some years older than his colleague. Behind him, Amstorf and faithful Franz G�nther, like puppies on an invisible lead. They nod, nothing more.

Karlstadt and Melanchthon talk as they walk along. They’ve been doing that a lot lately. You catch a few phrases, scraps of Latin every now and again, but you never quite know what the subject is. Along the walls of the university curiosity grows like ivy: young minds crave new topics to test their milk teeth on.

They sit on a bench directly opposite me, on the other side of the courtyard. With feigned indifference, little groups of students form all around them. Melanchthon’s youthful voice reaches me. As captivating in the auditorium as it is strident out here.

‘…and you should be persuaded once and for all, my dear Karlstadt, that it has never been put more clearly than in the words of the apostle: “Let every soul be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained by God.” Saint Paul wrote that in his Letter to the Romans. Consequently, he who rebels against authority is rebelling against what God has instituted._’_

I decide to get up and join the other spectators, just as Karlstadt begins his reply.

‘It’s ludicrous to imagine that the Christian for whom, according to the very same Saint Paul, “the law is dead” —� meaning the moral law imposed by God upon men — must blindly obey the laws, so often unjust, that have been created by men! Christ says: “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and unto God the things that are God’s.” The Jews used Caesar’s money, acknowledging Roman authority. So it was also right for them to accept all those civil obligations that did not compromise the religious sphere. In that way Christ, in his words, distinguishes the political field from the religious and accepts the function of secular authority, but only on condition that it is not superimposed upon God, that it does not impinge upon him. Indeed, when it is substituted for God it ceases to promote the common good, and instead makes a slave of men. Remember the Gospel of Luke: “Thou

shalt adore the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve..”’

The air became thicker, ears tensed and eyes darting from side to side. An arena formed, a perfect semicircle of students, as though someone had sketched out a miniature battlefield. G�nther stands in silence, wondering which side he is going to have to join. Amsdorf has already chosen his place: bang in the middle.

Melanchthon shakes his head and narrows his eyes, nodding with a magnanimous smile. He always has the attitude of a father telling his son the facts of life. As though his mind understood yours, as though it somehow encompassed it, having already understood everything that you will understand henceforwarde and until the end of your days.

He looks complacently at his audience, he has the New Christianity before him. He weighs his words before replying.

‘You must dig deeper, Karlstadt, don’t stop at the surface. The notion of things being “given to Caesar” actually means something very different from what you say… Christ distinguishes between the fields of civil authority and the authority of God, that is true. But he does that precisely because each is given its dues, since the two forms of authority mirror one another. That is the Lord’s will. Saint Paul himself explained that concept to us. He says: “For the same reason you pay taxes, for the authorities are God’s servants, busy with this one thing. Give each his due: tributes to whom tributes are due; taxes to whom taxes; fear to whom fear; respect to whom respect.” Apart from that, my good friend, if the faithful behave honestly they have nothing to fear from the authorities, in fact they will be praised. On the other hand anyone who performs acts of wickedness must be afraid, because if the ruler bears a sword there is a reason: he is in the service of God for the just punishment of those who do evil.’

Karlstadt says slowly, anxiously. ‘But who will punish rulers who do not workhonestly?’

Melanchthon, confidently: ‘“Do not make your own justice, my dearest ones, leave it to the wrath of God.” The Lord says, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay.” Unjust authority is punished by God, Karlstadt. God put it on the earth, God can destroy it. It isn’t up to us to oppose it. And in any case, who could put it with greater clarity than the apostle: “Blessed be those who persecute you”?’

Karlstadt: ‘Of course, Melanchthon, of course. I’m not saying that we mustn’t love our enemies too, but you will agree with me that we must at least beware of those who,