Fatal Discord is not only a dual biography of the two most prominent intellectuals of the Reformation period; it is an entire theological and political history of the Reformation—as well as its Biblical and medieval antecedents—recapitulated in the comparative lives of Luther and Erasmus, and in their fateful literary confrontation.
In one corner stood Erasmus: Christian humanist, heir of Jerome, James, and Cicero; the illegitimate son of a priest who revolutionized Biblical exegesis and midwifed modern textual criticism with his groundbreaking (though flawed) translation of the New Testament, which drew from older Greek manuscripts and thus subverted the Latin Vulgate and its centuries of editorial accretions; a near-total pacifist—he transmitted to modern readers Pindar’s observation that “war is sweet to those who have no experience of it”—and an internationalist, who was the first to describe himself, in a letter to Huldrych Zwingli, as a “citizen of the world”; satirizer of Papal pomposity and champion of the simple, humane teachings of Jesus.
In the other stood Luther: the crude, abrasive, and astonishingly prolific miner’s son and Augustinian friar who spawned one of the great cultural revolutions of Western history; devotee of Augustine and Paul; proclaimer of sola scriptura (under a distinct Erasmian influence) and justification through faith alone (though Luther and Augustine misread Paul by conflating justification and salvation); translator of the New Testament into an earthy German (which arguably took more liberties with the scriptures than did the Vulgate, which both Luther and Erasmus came to reject); forefather of German nationalism; evangelist for the liberating power of Christ crucified.
Both men were fierce critics of the opulence and corruption of the Church. Both sought a return to first principles and advocated a model of Christian life that was simple, modest, and true to the example of Christ and the Apostles; a life motivated by true inner devotion rather than the mere outward performance of ritual. One illustration of this is the inspiration that Erasmus and Luther both drew from the Dutch scholar’s rediscovery of the Greek word for “repentance”: metanoia. The word refers to a “turning around”, a redirection of one’s attention, a total inner and outer conversion of the one who repents; quite a different connotation from the poenitentia of the Vulgate, which was traditionally interpreted to refer to the sacrament of penance—i.e., going to confession.
Luther was a great admirer of Erasmus, who was about seventeen years his senior, and relied heavily upon his New Testament as he formulated his own criticisms of Church practices. Indeed, the very first two of Luther’s Ninety-Five Theses, his famous attack on the sale of indulgences, refer to Erasmus’s aforementioned “Greek” understanding of repentance:
"1. When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said, ‘Repent’ (Mt 4:17), he willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.
2. This word cannot be understood as referring to the sacrament of penance, that is, confession and satisfaction, as administered by the clergy.”
In the early days of the Lutheran controversy, Luther and Erasmus were widely understood, by their admirers and critics alike, to be closely aligned. A common expression of the time held that “Erasmus laid the egg that Luther hatched,” suggesting that Luther’s Reformation was merely the natural outgrowth of the Erasmian project of applying humanist textual criticism to Scripture with the aim of resurrecting primitive Christianity. Erasmus, for his part, initially returned Luther’s admiration, but became increasingly alarmed at his radicalism and the militancy of his followers. Erasmus wanted to reform the Church from within in a kind of elite-driven, international, cosmopolitan project; but Luther and his detractors were constantly pushing one another into taking ever more extreme positions in a process that brings to mind the radicalizing tendencies of social media today.
Reading this book has convinced me that the internet is, in some sense, much older than we typically think. Many of the disturbing features of today’s online world—the vitriol, the cliquishness, the jockeying for attention, the “outrage mobs”, the demand that everyone have an opinion about everything, and the interpretation of silence as a sign that one is on “the other team”—were fully present in the discourse of the Reformation, in which the European intelligentsia engaged in ever more acrimonious and polarizing debate through the medium of the printing press. There’s something almost uncanny about imagining Luther alone in the Wartburg dashing off sixteenth-century hot takes. We’re all in the Wartburg now. There’s also something uncanny about the monumental efforts undertaken by the baroque Church to suppress Luther’s movement and gain control over the burgeoning communications revolution. It was perhaps the first time in history when a single institution sought to completely seal off the flow of information—but as we’re seeing today, it would not be the last. “The Cathedral” is alive and well.
In this age of extremes, poor Erasmus stood in the middle of the road and got run over. The last great humanist, Erasmus opposed both the pre-humanism of the medievals, who sought to subject human freedom to the power of the institutional Church, and the post-humanism of the evangelicals, who sought to subject it to their understanding of the sovereignty of God. As such, he resisted enormous pressure to declare himself for or against Luther until he was left with no other choice. Their great debate on the subject of free will reflected a theological tension that stretches back into the New Testament itself: that between faith and works; between Jesus as the teacher of the Sermon on the Mount and Jesus as the scapegoat of Calvary. The modern world erupted through the chasm between Jesus the teacher and Christ the savior.
It would be difficult to read this book without coming away with a profound, if sometimes begrudging, respect for both of these men and the legacies they created. Though I suppose in both intellectual and temperamental terms I’m more of an Erasmian than a Lutheran, it’s hard to be unmoved by Luther’s courage and bravado, or to avoid cringing at Erasmus’s vacillations during one of the West’s most critical intellectual crises. On the other hand, Erasmus perhaps displayed a quieter courage of his own when he sought to maintain his independence and integrity in an environment that allowed little room for either.
In the short term, Luther won the day. His Reformation swept through Northern Europe while Erasmus faded into obscurity, denounced as a lackey of the Catholic Church by Protestants and as a proto-Protestant by the Catholic Church (his debate with Luther did not stop his entire corpus from being placed on the Vatican’s Index of Prohibited Books). Nonetheless, Erasmus has made a comeback in Europe since the Second World War, admired for his pacifism, his cosmopolitanism, and his belief in human freedom and reasoned dialogue. Luther’s star has faded in Europe, but Massing believes that his legacy has thrived in America after being brought to her shores by the likes of John Wesley.
Though there are relatively few Lutherans in the United States, the Pope of Wittenberg has made his presence felt in the American evangelical community, and especially among the Southern Baptists, who carry on Luther’s emphasis on the saving power of the individual’s faith and the sacrality of his own personal encounter with Scripture. Though much has been made of the Calvinist legacy in America, Massing holds that Luther is the true theological forebear of the most politically-potent forces in American Christianity due to his emphasis on individual conscience over the communal piety exemplified by the Calvinists of colonial New England.
So Luther and Erasmus live on—now with an ocean between them.