In the early 1520s, as Martin Luther was wreaking theological and social upheaval in Reformation-era Germany, a fiery controversy arose. While Luther was absent from his native Wittenberg, his colleague Andreas von Karlstadt - a contemporary reformer in Saxony - enacted changes in the ritual worship of the Wittenberg churches, not the least of which was abolishing religious images from the local worship spaces. The images - mostly Marian icons - were part of ritual Catholic worship, and Karlstadt and other reformers viewed them as a hindrance to the Protestant believers with their newfound direct access to Christ. Their abolition in Wittenberg should perhaps have been uncontroversial, as Karlstadt and Luther were of a similar mind on the issue.
But while both men wanted to reform the church spaces, how to do so was another matter altogether. Karlstadt, in Luther’s absence, wasted no time in persuading the city council to outlaw the images altogether, and they were hastily (sometimes violently) removed and destroyed. Luther however, still held influence in Wittenberg, and his vision for removing the images was a very different one. His conceived reform was a measured, pastoral approach for the sake of the “weak”, catered towards those in the congregation who might still feel a fondness for the images that had surrounded them in worship for all of their lives. For Luther, it was better to take matters slowly and to give time for the dissenters to be persuaded, rather than forcing the necessary changes upon them. So upon his return, he preached a series of sermons aimed against Karlstadt’s radicalism, urging a more tempered reform of the worship spaces in Wittenberg. Karlstadt was none too pleased, but as Luther was the unquestioned leader of the reform movement in Saxony, there was little he could do. Little, that is, except to express his grievances in writing. And so in 1524, he did exactly that, penning his arguments in a long letter addressed to Luther himself. His complaints are scathing. In his treatise Whether One Should Proceed Slowly, he details his arguments for a speedy reform, and his impatience with the moderate reforms of Luther.
In Whether One Should Proceed Slowly, Karlstadt makes his position clear. “We should obey all of God’s commands”, he rails, “according to our capacity and not wait until those without understanding, or the weak, follow (52)”. For Karlstadt, the matter is simple: when one has figured out what the word of God says, it is incumbent upon him to act upon this word immediately, no matter how the rest of the congregation may feel on the matter. “Each one should do what God commands”, he writes, “even if the whole world hesitates and does not want to follow” (52). In the case of the church images, since Luther and Karlstadt have the political sway to remove the icons, they must do so without delay, regardless of their fellow churchgoers’ sentiments.
Not only are Karlstadt’s methods of reform noteworthy, but so are his motivations for the instantaneous nature of the reforms. For indeed, even as Luther cites his pastoral concern for the weak in the churches as his incentive for careful reform, Karlstadt uses the very same incentive to contend for the opposite approach. To truly love the weak, he argues, is to remove from them the hindrances they are not yet ready to relinquish. On images, he insists, “We should take such harmful things from the weak, tear them out of their hands, and not pay attention if they cry, scream or curse about it (64)”. Although parishioners will be unhappy in the moment, he reasons, they would thank the radical reformers later. “He who would break the wills of fools with violence” he continues, “would demonstrate toward them the true and best brotherly love (64)”. Karlstadt even compares the unready parishioners to the proverbial infant playing with a knife, implying that they are clinging to something they don’t know the danger of, and are in need of a responsible adult (Karlstadt) to take it away from them. About Luther’s form of pastoral care he says “What they call brotherly love is actually brotherly harm and offense (65)”. For Karlstadt, to truly love one’s brother or sister is to forcibly remove their sinful hindrances from them, especially those sins they most cherish.
For the modern reader, this story invokes a dual reflection:
1. What reform would you enact in the church today? What might the contemporary equivalent of Karlstadt’s images be? What do you say?
2. How would you enact the reforms you envision? Is immediate obedience paramount (a la Karlstadt), or is slow, steady reform for the sake of the “weak” the loving way? Should the church be compelled into reform, or be led there?
Without question, to be a part of Christ’s body is to desire her to be healthy, and to flourish. “Ecclesia semper reformanda est” goes the common refrain, “the church is always being reformed”. To love the church sometimes means to insist upon her repentance and to be an agent of change, just as Karlstadt and Luther sought to be nearly 500 years ago. But how we reform matters. History is still judging them for their efforts, as it will judge us for ours too.
References:
Andreas Karlstadt, "Whether One Should Proceed Slowly,” in The Radical Reformation (Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought), ed. Michael G. Baylor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 49-73.