Letter to Pope Leo X
Among the monstrous evils of this age, against which I have now been waging war for three years, I am sometimes compelled to look toward you and call you to mind, most blessed Father Leo. Since you alone are everywhere considered the cause of my entering this war, I can never forget you. The groundless fury of your ungodly flatterers has compelled me to appeal from your seat to a future council. I have done so without fear of the futile decrees of your predecessors Pius and Julius, who in their foolish tyranny forbade such an appeal. Yet my feelings toward your Blessedness have never been so estranged that I have failed to seek every good gift for you and your See, with all my strength, in earnest prayer and cries to God.
I have begun to despise and overcome those who have tried to terrify me with the majesty of your name and authority. But one thing remains that I cannot dismiss, and it has led me to write again to your Blessedness. I find myself blamed for recklessness, judged to have spared not even your person, and charged with this as a great offense.
To speak the truth openly, I know that whenever I have had occasion to mention you personally, I have said only what was honorable and good. Had I done otherwise, I could never have approved my own conduct. I would have supported with all my strength those men’s judgment against me, and nothing would have pleased me more than to retract such recklessness and impiety. I have called you Daniel in Babylon. Every reader knows how zealously I defended your evident innocence against Silvester, who tried to stain it. Indeed, the published opinions of so many great men and the reputation of your blameless life are too widely known and respected throughout the world for anyone, however distinguished, to attack them by any means.
I am not foolish enough to attack someone everyone praises. Indeed, I have always wished, and always will wish, to refrain from attacking even those whose public reputation is disgraceful. I take no delight in anyone’s faults, since I am deeply conscious of the great beam in my own eye. Nor can I be the first to cast a stone at the adulteress.
I have certainly spoken sharply against ungodly doctrines, and I have not hesitated to condemn my opponents for their impiety, rather than their bad morals. Far from regretting this, I have resolved to disregard human judgments and persevere in this fierce zeal. I follow the example of Christ, who in his zeal calls his opponents a generation of vipers, blind, hypocrites, and children of the devil. Paul, too, charges the sorcerer with being a child of the devil, full of all deceit and malice. He denounces certain people as evil workers, dogs, and deceivers. To those with such delicate ears, nothing could be more bitter or intemperate than Paul’s language. What could be more bitter than the words of the prophets?
The senseless multitude of flatterers has made our generation’s ears so delicate that as soon as we discover anything of ours meets with disapproval, we cry out that we are being bitterly attacked. When we have no other pretext for rejecting the truth, we escape by accusing our opponents of bitterness, impatience, and intemperance. What use would salt be if it had no bite? Or a sword’s edge if it did not kill? Accursed is the man who does the work of the Lord deceitfully.
Therefore, most excellent Leo, I beg you to accept the defense I offer in this letter. Be assured that I have never thought any evil of you personally. I desire eternal blessing for you, and I dispute with no one about morals, but only about the word of truth. In everything else I will yield to anyone, but I neither can nor will abandon and deny the Word. Anyone who thinks otherwise of me, or understands my words in another sense, judges incorrectly and has not understood the truth.
Your See, however, which is called the Court of Rome, is more corrupt than any Babylon or Sodom. Neither you nor anyone else can deny it. I believe its impiety is utterly lost, desperate, and hopeless. This I have truly abhorred. I have been indignant that Christ’s people should be cheated under your name and the pretext of the Church of Rome. So I have resisted, and will resist, as long as the spirit of faith lives in me.
I am not pursuing the impossible or hoping that my efforts alone can accomplish any good in that utterly disordered Babylon, against the furious opposition of so many flatterers. Rather, I feel indebted to my brothers and sisters and bound to care for them, so that fewer may be ruined by Rome’s plagues, or their ruin may be less complete. For many years now, as you know, nothing has poured out of Rome into the world but the destruction of possessions, bodies, and souls, and the worst examples of all the worst things. These things are clearer than daylight to everyone. The Church of Rome, once the holiest of all churches, has become the most lawless den of thieves, the most shameless of all brothels, the very kingdom of sin, death, and hell. Even Antichrist, if he were to come, could devise nothing to add to its wickedness.
Meanwhile, Leo, you sit like a lamb among wolves, like Daniel among lions, and, with Ezekiel, you live among scorpions. How can you alone oppose these monstrous evils? Gather three or four of the best and most learned cardinals around you. What are they among so many? You would all die by poison before you could begin to decide on a remedy. It is all over with the Court of Rome. God’s wrath has come upon her to the utmost. She hates councils, dreads reform, and cannot restrain the madness of her impiety. She fulfills the sentence pronounced on her mother, of whom it is said, “We would have healed Babylon, but she is not healed; let us forsake her” (Jer 51:9).
It was your duty and that of your cardinals to remedy these evils. But this gout laughs at the physician’s hand, and the chariot does not obey the reins. With these feelings, I have always grieved that you, most excellent Leo, who deserved a better age, have been made pope in this one. The Roman Court is not worthy of you and those like you, but of Satan himself, who truly rules that Babylon more than you do.
Oh, that you could lay aside the glory your most depraved enemies declare to be yours and live instead as an ordinary priest, or on your paternal inheritance! No one deserves to glory in that glory except the race of Iscariot, the children of perdition. For what happens in your court, Leo? The more wicked and detestable a man is, the more successfully he can use your name and authority to ruin people’s possessions and souls, multiply crimes, and oppress faith, truth, and the whole Church of God.
O Leo, how unfortunate you really are, and how perilous the throne on which you sit! I tell you the truth because I wish you well. Bernard felt compassion for his Anastasius at a time when the Roman See, though already deeply corrupt, still ruled with greater hope than it does now. Why should we not lament, when so much more corruption and ruin has come upon us in three hundred years?
Is it not true that nothing under the vast heavens is more corrupt, more pestilential, or more hateful than the Court of Rome? She surpasses the impiety of the Turks beyond comparison. She who was once the gate of heaven is now truly a kind of open mouth of hell, a mouth that, under God’s pressing wrath, cannot be stopped up. Only one course remains for us wretched people: to call back and save a few, if we can, from that Roman abyss.
See, Leo my father, the purpose and principle with which I have stormed against that seat of pestilence. Far from feeling any rage against you personally, I even hoped to gain your favor and help your welfare by striking actively and vigorously at your prison, indeed, your hell. Whatever all human intellects can devise against the confusion of that ungodly Court will benefit you, your welfare, and many others with you. Those who harm her are doing your work. Those who utterly abhor her are glorifying Christ. In short, those who are not Romans are Christians.
But to say more, it had never even entered my heart to attack the Court of Rome or dispute about her at all. Seeing that every remedy for her recovery was hopeless, I regarded her with contempt, gave her a bill of divorce, and said to her, “He that is unjust, let him be unjust still; and he that is filthy, let him be filthy still” (Rev 22:11). I devoted myself to the peaceful, quiet study of sacred literature so that through it I might help the brothers and sisters living around me.
While I was making some progress in these studies, Satan opened his eyes and goaded his servant Johann Eck, that notorious enemy of Christ, with an unchecked lust for fame. Eck unexpectedly dragged me into the arena, trying to catch me in one small remark about the primacy of the Church of Rome that I had made in passing. That boastful Thraso, foaming and gnashing his teeth, proclaimed that he would dare anything for God’s glory and the honor of the holy apostolic seat. Inflated with pride in your power, which he was about to misuse, he looked forward to certain victory. He sought less to advance Peter’s primacy than his own preeminence among the theologians of this age. He thought leading Luther in triumph would contribute greatly to that end.
The outcome proved unfortunate for this sophist, and an incredible rage torments him. He feels that whatever discredit Rome has suffered through me has been caused entirely by his own fault.
Allow me, I beg you, most excellent Leo, both to plead my own cause and to accuse your true enemies. I believe you know how Cardinal Cajetan, your imprudent and unfortunate, indeed, unfaithful legate, treated me. Out of reverence for your name, I had placed myself and everything I possessed in his hands. Yet he failed to establish peace, though he could easily have done so with one little word. At that time, I promised to keep silent and bring my case to an end if he would command my opponents to do the same.
But that proud man was not content with this agreement. He began to justify my opponents, give them free license, and order me to recant, something certainly outside his commission. Thus, just when the case stood in the best possible position, his oppressive tyranny made it much worse. Whatever has followed is therefore entirely Cajetan’s fault, not Luther’s. He would not let me remain silent and quiet, though at that time I was pleading for this with all my strength. What more was it my duty to do?
Next came Charles Miltitz, also a nuncio from your Blessedness. He traveled widely, exerted himself in many ways, and left nothing undone that might restore the case, which Cajetan’s recklessness and pride had thrown into confusion. Even with the help of that most illustrious prince, Elector Frederick, he had difficulty at last arranging more than one informal meeting with me. In these I again yielded to your great name. I was prepared to keep silent and accept either the Archbishop of Trier or the Bishop of Naumburg as my judge. This was agreed and settled.
While this was proceeding with good hope of success, behold, that other and greater enemy of yours, Eck, rushed in with his Leipzig disputation, which he had undertaken against Karlstadt. Raising a new question about the pope’s primacy, he unexpectedly turned his weapons against me and completely overturned the plan for peace. Meanwhile, Charles Miltitz waited, disputations were held, and judges were chosen, but no decision was reached. No wonder! Eck’s falsehoods, pretexts, and schemes brought the whole affair into such disorder, confusion, and festering bitterness that, whichever way the judgment went, a greater fire was certain to break out. He was seeking his own reputation, not truth. In this case too, I left nothing undone that it was right for me to do.
I admit that on this occasion a considerable part of Rome’s corruption came to light. But if there was any offense in this, it was Eck’s fault. He took on a burden beyond his strength and, in his furious pursuit of reputation, exposed Rome’s disgrace to the whole world.
Here is your enemy, Leo, or rather your Court’s enemy. His example alone teaches us that an enemy is no more harmful than a flatterer. What did his flattery produce except evils that no king could have brought about? Today the name of the Court of Rome stinks in the world’s nostrils, papal authority is weakening, and its notorious ignorance is spoken of with contempt. We would hear none of this if Eck had not disrupted the plans Miltitz and I had made for peace.
He feels this clearly enough himself in the indignation he shows, too late and in vain, at the publication of my books. He should have considered this when he was mad for fame and sought only his own ends in your cause, at the greatest peril to you. The foolish man hoped that fear of your name would make me yield and keep silent. I do not think he relied on his talents and learning. Now that he sees my great confidence and hears me speaking openly, he regrets his recklessness too late. He sees, if he sees it at all, that there is One in heaven who resists the proud and humbles the presumptuous.
Since this disputation was only increasing the confusion of Rome’s cause, Charles Miltitz approached the fathers of the order, assembled in chapter, for the third time. He sought their advice on settling the case, which was now deeply troubled and perilous. By God’s favor there was no hope of proceeding against me by force. So some of the more prominent among them were sent to me. They begged me at least to show respect for you personally and to defend both your innocence and my own in a humble letter. They said the affair was not yet utterly hopeless if Leo X, with his natural kindness, would lend his hand to it.
I have always offered and desired peace so that I might devote myself to calmer, more useful pursuits. For this very purpose I have acted with such spirit and vehemence, in order to put down, through the strength and force of my words and feelings, men I saw to be far from my equals. So I not only gladly yielded to their request, but even accepted it with joy and gratitude as the greatest kindness and benefit, if you should see fit to fulfill my hopes.
Thus I come, most blessed Father, and in all humility beg you to lend your hand, if possible, and curb those flatterers who pretend to seek peace while they are its enemies. But there is no reason, most blessed Father, for anyone to assume that I will recant, unless he prefers to throw the case into still greater confusion. Nor can I tolerate laws governing the interpretation of God’s Word. The Word of God, which teaches liberty in everything else, ought not itself to be bound.
Apart from these two things, there is nothing I am not able and most heartily willing to do or endure. I hate conflict. I will challenge no one, and in return I wish no one to challenge me. But if challenged, I will not be silent in the cause of Christ my Master. Your Blessedness can, with one short and simple word, bring these controversies before you and suppress them, imposing silence and peace on both sides. I have always longed to hear that word.
Therefore, Leo my father, beware of listening to those Sirens who make you out to be more than a man, partly a god, able to command and require whatever you wish. It will not be so, and you will not prevail. You are the servant of servants, and more than anyone else you stand in a pitiable and perilous position. Do not let those men deceive you who pretend you are lord of the world, who will allow no one to be a Christian without your authority, and who babble about your power over heaven, hell, and purgatory. These men are your enemies. They seek to destroy your soul, as Isaiah says: “My people, they that call thee blessed are themselves deceiving thee” (Isa 3:12).
Those who raise you above councils and the universal Church are wrong. Those who give you alone the right to interpret Scripture are wrong. All these men seek to establish their own impieties in the Church under your name. Alas, Satan gained much through them in the time of your predecessors.
In brief, trust those who humble you, rather than those who exalt you. For this is God’s judgment: “He hath cast down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble” (Luke 1:52). See how unlike his successors Christ was, though everyone insists that they are his vicars. I fear that very many of them have indeed been his vicars in far too serious a sense, for a vicar represents an absent prince. Now if a pope rules while Christ is absent and does not dwell in his heart, what else is he but a vicar of Christ? And what is that Church but a multitude without Christ? What indeed is such a vicar but Antichrist and an idol? How much more rightly the apostles spoke when they called themselves servants of a present Christ, rather than vicars of an absent one.
Perhaps I am shamelessly bold in seeming to teach so great a head, by whom everyone ought to be taught, and from whom, as those plagues of yours boast, the judges on their thrones receive their judgments. But I imitate Saint Bernard in his book concerning Considerations, addressed to Eugenius, a book every pope ought to know by heart. I do this from duty, not from any desire to teach. I act from that simple, faithful concern which teaches us to care for everything that keeps our neighbors safe. It does not let us consider their worthiness or unworthiness, but attends only to their dangers or benefit.
I know that your Blessedness is driven and tossed by the waves at Rome, while the depths of the sea press upon you with endless perils. You labor in such misery that you need even the smallest help from the least of your brothers. So I do not think I act improperly if I forget your majesty until I have fulfilled the duty of love. I will not flatter you in so serious and perilous a matter. If you do not see in this that I am your friend and most thoroughly your subject, there is One who sees and judges.
Finally, blessed Father, so that I may not approach you empty-handed, I bring this little treatise, published under your name, as a good omen of peace established and of good hope. Through it you may see the pursuits in which I would prefer, and would be able, to occupy myself more profitably, if your ungodly flatterers would allow me, or had allowed me until now. Judged by its outward appearance, it is a small thing. But unless I am mistaken, if you grasp its meaning, it is a summary of the Christian life gathered into a small compass.
In my poverty I have no other gift to offer you, nor do you need anything else than to be enriched by a spiritual gift. I commend myself to your Paternity and Blessedness. May the Lord Jesus preserve you forever. Amen.
Wittenberg, September 6, 1520.
