John Tulloch · 14 of 27

II. Calvin. · Part 2

In the midst of these negotiations, public and private, he was induced to think of marriage. “I am so much at my ease,” he says, in a spirit approaching to jocularity,” as to have the audacity to think of taking a wife.” He had, in fact, a year before, written to Farel on the subject, and various projects of union were in the meantime set on foot by his friends—which, however, came to nothing. The truth is, that he was himself but a reluctant suitor, and if it had not been for the urgency of Bucer particularly he would probably never have taken any step in the matter. “I am none of those insane lovers,” he says, “who embrace also the vices of those they are in love with, when they are smitten at first sight with a fine figure. The beauty that allures me in a wife is that she is chaste, not too nice or fastidious, economical, patient, and that there is hope she will be interested about my health.” There is a naïveté amusing, if it were not so cold, in the manner in which he narrates to Farel how one matrimonial project failed, and another was vigorously taken up by him. “A certain damsel of noble rank has been proposed to me, and with a fortune above my condition. Two considerations deterred me from that connection—because she did not understand our language, and because I feared she might be too mindful of her family and education. Her brother, a very devout person, urged the connection; his wife also, with a like partiality; so that I would have been prevailed to submit with a good grace, unless the Lord had otherwise appointed. When I replied that I could not engage myself unless the maiden would undertake to apply her mind to the learning of our language, she requested time for de, liberation. Thereupon, without further parley, I sent my brother to escort here another, who, if she answers her repute, will bring a dowry large enough without any money at all.”

The person here referred to—undowried, save in character and reputation—was Idelette de Bures, the widow of an Anabaptist whom he had converted; and to her he was married on the following August (1540). We learn but little of her. Calvin never unveils his domestic life as Luther does. We never catch the warm firelight of his family hearth kindling in any of his letters no touches of playful portraiture relieve their gravity; and Idelette de Bures remains, consequently, but a dim personality beside Catherine von Bora. All that we know of Calvin’s wife, however, points to a somewhat elevated, if not very interesting character. He himself speaks of her as “a woman of rare qualities”; and the account which he has given of her deathbed (their union only lasted nine years) is deeply touching in the picture of simple affection, and absorbed, if somewhat unmoved, piety, which it presents. No breath of unhappiness seems to have rested on a union which, if uninspired by passion, was at the same time free from all sordidness. She was mother of several children by her previous husband; to Calvin she had only one child, whose early loss was a profound grief to the reformer. “My wife,” he writes to Farel, “sends her best thanks for your friendly and holy consolations. The Lord has indeed inflicted a grievous and a bitter wound in the death of our little son.”

The most remarkable of his theological labours at this time was his elaboration of the Institutes into the extended edition which is familiar to us, and which appeared at Strasburg in 1539. There were improvements and further extensions in subsequent editions, even to the last, issued from the press of Robert Stephens at Geneva in 1559; but the work remained substantially the same after this. Among the most marked enlargements of the Strasburg edition was the detailed exhibition of his ecclesiastical system. His thoughts had been naturally turned to this subject by his experience in Geneva; and, consistently with the bent of his intellectual character, he was led not to modify his views, but to work them out into a more thorough and consistent shape. A scarcely less important contribution to theological literature was furnished by him, in the same year, in his Commentary on St Paul’s Epistle to the Romans—the first of that noble series of exegetical works which, apart from all other claims to distinction, have placed his name in the highest rank of Christian authors.

In the meantime, during these years the state of things at Geneva had greatly altered. After the first outburst of their triumph, and the most riotous manifestation of their hostility to the expelled reformers, the party of the Libertines soon began to feel the inherent weakness springing out of the want of any fixity or determination in their principles and aims. Some had sought political, some only personal liberty, and not a few had joined in the movement from mere negative motives—dislike of Calvin and of the French, and of all effective moral or civil restraints. In such a party there were no elements of a continued constructive opposition to the ecclesiastical rule and discipline which they had overthrown. The hand of authority was relaxed, and licence worse than that of the old Catholic times returned. Two of the syndics who had taken a lead in the expulsion of the ministers perished by a violent death, and two were exiled for the miscarriage of some embassy in which they engaged. The new reforming clergy were destitute of any ability or energy of character to meet the disorders that sprang up on all sides, and left the city a prey to the weakness at once of faction and of immorality. In these circumstances it is not to be wondered at that the friends of the reformers should have gradually gathered something of their former influence, and that in the course of two years’ experience of an unsettled and disorderly civic condition, a very different spirit should have begun to manifest itself towards the exiled clergy. The conduct of Calvin, moreover, helped greatly to quicken this returning feeling. Although the Genevese had driven him with ignominy from their city, he did not cease to cherish a warm interest in its welfare; and when Sadolet, bishop of Dauphiny—a man of acknowledked merits, who had recently received a cardinal’s hat from Rome—turned his attention to Geneva, and thought to improve the opportunity of its dissensions to the advantage of his Church by addressing a letter to the Council and burgesses inviting them to return within its bosom, Calvin took up the pen against him, and powerfully vindicated the religious interests of his former fellow-citizens. The result of all was, that before the end of 1540 the Council and new syndics sent a letter to the reformer imploring him to return, and reassume his old position of authority, The letter is very interesting, as showing the complete revulsion of feeling that had occurred in the city, and how naturally all eyes turned to Calvin in the circumstances. “On the part,” it bears, “of our lesser and greater councils (which hereupon have strongly admonished us), we pray you earnestly that you would transfer yourself hitherward to us, and return to your old place and former ministry; and we hope, with the help of God, that this shall be a great benefit, and fruitful for the increase of the holy evangel, seeing that our people greatly desire you among us, and will conduct themselves towards you in such sort that you shall have occasion to rest content.”

Calvin, however, did not return to Geneva till the 13th of September 1541. He was in no hurry to respond to the call made to him, not from any motives of pique or affectation, but from the double reason that he could not all at once quit his pastoral engagements at Strasburg, and that he needed some evidence of the sincere willingness of the Genevese to submit to the re-establishment of the reformed discipline. Convinced at length, he embraced their invitation, and re-entered upon his old duties. With a steadier comprehension and increased vigour he began again the great work of practical reformation which had been rudely interrupted three years before, and never henceforth swerved or yielded in it.

We shall afterwards consider at length the merits of Calvin’s ecclesiastical discipline; but we must here sketch the machinery by which he established and worked it, and, to some extent, the character of the results which followed it.

Calvin’s general views of Church government, as expounded in the fourth book of the Institutes, are sufficiently well known. In no respect, perhaps, are they more remarkable than in a certain comprehensiveness and catholicity of tone, which to many will appear strangely associated with his name. But Calvin was far too enlightened not to recognise the grandeur of the Catholic idea which had descended through so many ages: this idea had, in truth, for such a mind as his, special attractions, and his own system, we shall find, mainly sought to give to the same idea a new and higher form. The narrowness and intolerance of his ecclesiastical rule did not so much spring out of the general principles laid down in the Institutes, as from his special interpretation and application of these principles.

The Calvinistic plan of Church government is represented by doctors and pastors, and certain assessors, under the name of Elders. These are merely office-bearers for the general Christian community or church, which is composed alike of laity and clergy, with no radical or hereditary distinction of priesthood. The doctor is the learned interpreter of Scripture and teacher of theology. The function of the pastor is not merely to preach, but, by the practical administration of discipline in conjunction with the elders, to reprove, warn, and punish. The civil power is recognised as distinct from the ecclesiastical, but as bound to support the latter in carrying out its authority in the repression of vice and offences against religion, such as idolatry and blasphemy. There is some conception of the right general principle here as elsewhere, but in practice it was utterly confused and misapplied, and could not help being so in conjunction with the notions which then universally prevailed as to the moral jurisdiction of the magistrate.

This mode of Church government expressed itself in two main courts in Geneva, as follows:—

1. There was a college of pastors and doctors under the name of “The Venerable Company.” This college was composed of all the clergy of the State, both those of the city and of the rural parishes, with the teachers of theology, and to it belonged the general supervision of Church affairs, especially of all connected with the education, qualification, and appointment of persons to the ministry. It selected and determined, in the first place, as to all candidates, and the fitness of their ordination to special charges, and the people were finally invited to sanction the nomination, or “if there be any one who is aware of aught to object to in the life or doctrine of the person nominated, to come and declare it to one of the syndics before the next following Sunday, on which day also it may be presented, to the end that no one be inducted to the ministry except with the common consent of the whole church.” A sufficiently fair and seemly order!—the rights of authority on the one hand asserted, and the rights of the people on the other hand recognised: but there seems to have been no adequate provision for a conciliating adjustment of the conflicting rights so soon as actual collision should arise. The future difficulties of presbytery thus lay concealed in its very origin.

2. There was a consistorial court of discipline of far more practical and living authority than the general college of pastors and doctors. This court was constituted by the five pastors of the city parishes and twelve elders. These elders were selected from the two representative councils of the city—two from the Council of Sixty, and the remainder from the Council of Two Hundred. Their nomination lay with the ordinary council, in conjunction with the Company. The consistory was thus chiefly composed of lay members but the influence of the clergy, although, numerically reckoned, it appears small, was in reality strongly secured in the mode of appointment of the elders, which was annual, besides being so far under the direct control of the clergy. The clerical element was comparatively fixed, the lay element varied from year to year.

This consistorial court became the great engine of Calvin’s power. He is supposed to have by-and-by assumed the permanent presidency of it, although this constitutionally belonged to one of the syndics. It extended its jurisdiction over all social usages, as well as offences against morality and religion. It was a court of practical ethics, in the widest sense—the Church in that repressive disciplinary aspect which had such a charm for Calvin’s mind, and in which it alone seemed to him to rise to its right character and use. Its only direct weapon of authority was excommunication; but where this proved unavailing or inadequate, the culprit was transferred to the council, which inflicted on him any measure of civil punishment, even to death.

The great code of ecclesiastical and moral legislation, which guided both the consistory and council, was the production of Calvin: It was sworn to by the whole of the people in a great assembly in St Peter’s, on the 20th of November 1541. It not only laid down general rules, but entered with the most rigorous control into all the affairs of private life. “From his cradle to his grave,” “the Genevese citizen was pursued by its inquisitorial eye.” Ornaments for the person, the shape and length of the hair, the modes of dress, the very number of dishes for dinner, were subjected to special regulation. Wedding presents are only permitted within limits; and at betrothals, marriages, or baptisms, bouquets must not be encircled with gold or jewelled with pearls, or other precious stones. “Est défendu de donner aus dites fiancailles, nopces, ou baptisailles, des bouquets liés d’or ou canetilles, ou garnis de grénats, perles, et autres pierreries.”

The registers of Geneva remain to show with what abundant rigour these regulations were carried out. It is a strange and mournful record, with ludicrous lights crossing it here and there. A man hearing an ass bray, and saying jestingly, “Il chante un beau psaume,” is sentenced to temporary banishment from the city. A young girl in church singing the words of a song to a psalm-tune is ordered to be whipped by her parents. Three children are punished because, during the sermon, instead of going to church, they remained outside to eat cakes. A man, for swearing by the “body and blood of Christ,” is condemned to be fined, and to sit in the public square in the stocks. Light reading, in the shape of ‘Amadis de Gaul'—as dear to the lovers of romance then as the treasures of, the circulating library are to the modern reader—is peremptorily forbidden, and the book ordered to be destroyed. And there are darker colours far in the picture, at which we shrink as their shadow still falls across three centuries upon us. A child for having struck her parents was beheaded in 1568. Another lad of sixteen, for having only threatened to strike his mother, was condemned to death. If we think of what even mothers, alas! sometimes are, and how temporary and trivial are often the worst of such domestic collisions—momentary bursts of childish passion without moral instinct of any kind—it makes one’s blood run chill to think of an arbitrary death inflicted for such offences.

A system of such a character could only maintain itself on an absolute divine right—a right nowhere, indeed, formally set forth by Calvin, yet distinctly asserted in all the spirit and practice of his ecclesiastical legislation. The consistorial discipline, for example, when the Favres begin to rebel against it, is declared to be “the yoke of Christ.” The ordinances and laws of Geneva, and the whole system of polity of which Calvin himself remained the centre, is carried back to Scripture, and presumed to rest upon express divine command. This was the only valid plea and justification of a system which applied itself in such a direct and authoritative manner to the regulation of human life. It could only stand as a special embodiment of the divine will—as a declared Theocracy.

Henceforth Calvin’s life in Geneva does not present any very varied course of incident. It is mainly a succession of earnest labours in defence of the truth, and of earnest struggles against its enemies. His activity was indefatigable, and his keen spirit knew scarcely what it was to rest day by day. His ordinary duties are thus described by Beza:—“During the week, he preached every alternate and lectured every third day; on Thursday he met with the presbytery, and on Friday attended the ordinary Scripture meeting called ‘the congregation,’ where he had his full share of the duty.” His Commentaries, on which he now continued to work regularly, and his unceasing correspondence, filled up a measure of industry which we contemplate with astonishment. No man certainly was ever less self-indulgent; and if he was severe in his exactions from others, he was no less unsparing with himself. Viret continued temporarily associated with him at Geneva; but he was soon left to bear the main burden of ecclesiastical rule himself, as his permanent colleagues enjoyed comparatively little esteem.

More than anything else, the subsequent tenor of the reformer’s life is marked by the successive controversies in which he was engaged. Caroli again appears for a brief space upon the scene, but disappears finally in deserved obscurity and disgrace—closing a life of scandalous imposture by a death of infamy in a Roman hospital. Then in succession the names of Pighius, Castellio, Bolsec, and, farther on, Westphal and Heshusius, besides the well-known names of Servetus and Amy Perrin at the head of the Libertines, are among the most prominent that mark the controversial epochs into which his history now runs. We shall, as we advance, glance slightly at the successive points of interest and conflict which these names suggest, in one or two instances touching only in the most cursory way on what by itself might lead into wide discussion.

Pighius was a zealous Papist of the Cologne school, a pupil of Adrian, and tutor of Charles V. He published, about the time Calvin returned to Geneva, an elaborate treatise on the old subject of Free Will and Predestination, in opposition to the views of the reformers. Calvin, as soon as the pressure of his labours permitted, replied in a volume which he dedicated to Melanchthon. He discusses the arguments of Pighius in detail, and vindicates the reasoning of Luther, while he admits the hyperbolical character of his language in certain cases. What is particularly remarkable is his generous appreciation of Luther’s character and talents, as indeed this appears elsewhere in his Letters. So far as the merits of the controversy are concerned, it cannot be said that he is any more successful than the German reformer. He is here and everywhere more simple and cautious in his statements, but his cold reiterations and evasions really no more touch the obvious difficulties than Luther’s heated paradoxes. A point of interest connected with the dispute is the tradition that Calvin’s work was successful in converting Pighius to predestinarian views. This seems to rest on so slender a foundation, however, that it is contended, on the other hand, that Pighius was dead before Calvin’s work appeared. He is said to have died in December 1542, while the reply of the reformer was not published till the following year. Calvin himself says somewhat summarily that “Pighius died a little after my book was published, wherefore, not to insult a dead dog, I applied myself to other lucubrations.”

The dispute with Sebastian Castellio was of a more painful and prolonged character. Calvin had become acquainted with Castellio at Strasburg. They seem at first to have warmly attracted one another, and Calvin was beyond all doubt for some time very zealous in his friendliness to the poor scholar, whose ingenious spirit and classical acquirements had won his regard. On his return to Geneva he invited him thither, and procured for him the appointment of regent or tutor in the gymnasium of the city. In reality, however, there were but few points of sympathy between the two men. Castellio’s learning was intensely humanistic; his classical tastes and somewhat arbitrary criticism moulded all that he did; and, especially as he aspired to be a theologian, and to carry this spirit into his Scriptural studies, he soon came into conflict with Calvin. The first indications of disagreement between them are to be found in a letter of Calvin’s to Farel in September 1542, in which he speaks of the freaks of “our friend Sebastian, which may both raise your bile and your laughter at the same time.” These freaks relate to Castellio’s notions of Scriptural translation, and his refusal of Calvin’s offer to revise his version, while offering to come and read it to him. Then subsequently, in February 1544, there appears in a further letter to Farel, and in the Council Registers, evidence that Castellio had desired to enter into the ministry, but that Calvin had advised the Council that this was not expedient, on account of some peculiar opinions which he held. These were certain rationalistic views as to the authenticity and character of the Song of Solomon, the descent of Christ into hell, and also about election. Still at this date Calvin speaks kindly of him, and recommends him strongly to the patronage of Farel. He seems to have left Geneva at this time for Lausanne, but to have returned shortly; and, irritated probably by disappointment, he now vehemently attacked Calvin. After a violent scene in church, which is painted, perhaps, with some exaggeration by the reformer, he was forced to leave the city. The two old friends, now declared enemies, did not spare each other henceforth. Castellio retired to Basle, and among his other employments busied himself with the free criticism of the Calvinistic doctrines; and particularly, nearly ten years after this, a tract appeared on the death of Servetus and the subject of toleration, which was at once imputed to him by Calvin and Beza. Both replied in no measured terms. Later still, an anonymous publication, attacking with keen logic and covert and ingenious sarcasm the Genevan theology, was supposed to proceed from his pen; and the reformers, in their answer in the preface to their version of the New Testament, stigmatise him as a “deceiver and vessel of Satan.” It is but a melancholy spectacle of polemical hatred on both sides; but the truculence of the theologians, it must be confessed, bears off the palm. Castellio was no match for them in strength of argument or firm consistency of purpose. He lived on in great poverty at Basle, cultivating his garden with his own hands, and without the means of keeping himself warm, as he sat up at night to finish his translation of the Scriptures. He died in want, in 1563, the same year as Calvin; and Montaigne has given vent to his expressions of shame for his age, that one so distinguished should have been left to die so miserably. Regretful and touching memories linger around his blameless scholarly life, pinching poverty, and sad death, and especially the incident of his gathering from the banks of the Rhine pieces of drift-wood for fuel. The incident is painful in its associations as well as affecting in its simplicity. Calvin and Beza did not hesitate to circulate against him the calumnious charge that he had stolen the wood—a fact sufficient to prove the disgraceful spirit in which these controversies were conducted, and how deservedly they are consigned to oblivion.

The controversy with Bolsec carries us on to 1551, and, both in its special object and in the character of the man, presents a marked contrast to the preceding. Bolsec was originally a Carmelite monk, but he had thrown aside the habit and betaken himself to the practice of medicine. He came to Geneva in the above year, and settled as a physician. There is no reason to doubt the integrity of his character, although Beza has thrown out insinuations against it. What were his previous relations to Calvin we are not informed, but he began to question his great doctrine of predestination. He made it the subject of discussion and attack among his friends. This no sooner reached Calvin’s ears than he called him to account; summoned him first to a private interview, then before the consistory, and made him understand that he was not at liberty to question the Genevan doctrine. In a letter to Cristopher Libertet, Calvin has given a description of the manner in which Bolsec sought to vindicate himself, and how he was dealt with by him and the other clergy. The picture is not a very amiable one, and the poor heretic excites our sympathy even in the narrative of his great adversary. “He was called before our Assembly, when, in spite of his cavils, I dragged him from his hiding-place into the light. Besides the fifteen ministers, other competent witnesses were present; and all know that, if he had had a single drop of modesty, he would have been immediately convicted. At first he used trifling and puerile cavils; but being more closely pressed he threw aside all shame. Sometimes he denied what he had twice or thrice conceded, and then admitted what he had questioned; he not only vacillated, but entirely abandoned his principles, and kept working in the same circle without measure or aid.” No wonder! To be baited by fifteen ministers, with Calvin at their head, must have been more than enough to disturb the consistency and weaken the resolution even of the boldest heretic. The matter did not end here. On the occasion of a sermon in St Peter’s on the subject of predestination, Bolsec was so foolish as to step forth and take up the argument against the preacher, a certain John de St André. Calvin had entered the church unobserved during Bolsec’s address, and suddenly presenting himself before the heretic, overwhelmed him with quotations from Scripture, and Augustine Farel joined in the discussion, and the police terminated it by apprehending Bolsec for abuse of the clergy and disturbance of the public peace. It became a somewhat serious question how to deal with so daring an offender. Negotiations were entered into with the Bernese and French ministers on the subject, the moderation of whose counsels does not seem to have been particularly pleasing to the reformer. It has been insinuated, but on a very slender foundation, that he would not have been disinclined to proceed to the last extremity against one so hardened. There was no warrant, however, for any extreme procedure. The churches all advised moderation in the view of the abstruseness and darkness of the subject of controversy; and Bolsec was merely sentenced to banishment from the city whose doctrinal quietude he had disturbed. He afterwards revenged himself, in a somewhat dastardly way, by writing a life of Calvin in a spirit of slanderous detraction, which effectually destroys all sympathy with him, or interest in his sufferings.

The Sacramentarian controversies with Westphal and Heshusius extend to the very close of Calvin’s life. No feature in the internal history of the Reformation is at once more painful and perplexing than that which is unfolded in these controversies: the subtlety, and in truth unintelligibility, of the distinctions contended for, the sacredness of the topic, and the fierce violence of the contention, all make a picture which even the polemic theologian of modern times can scarcely delight to contemplate, and which is apt to inspire the historical student with mere weariness and disgust. We have already in our former sketch seen with what vehemence Luther maintained his ground on this subject against the Swiss divines at Marburg. He never got reconciled to them, and to the last his language was that of uncompromising and disrespectful opposition to their supposed doctrine. Melanchthon, on the other hand, so soon as he was brought into personal contact with Calvin, especially at the Diet of Ratisbon, began to incline to his opinion of the Eucharist, which, denying the reality of a local presence as asserted by the Lutherans, maintained the reality of a spiritual presence in the elements, and a true participation of the very body and blood of Christ by the faithful. Through the influence of Calvin mainly, an agreement or “consensus” of sacramental doctrine was established at Zurich in the close of 1549. It was fondly hoped that the result of this might be to promote a general harmony on the subject, not only in all the reformed Churches, but, moreover, between them and the Lutheran Church; or at least to open up the way for such a comprehensive union. Never was hope more utterly disappointed. The abated zeal of Luther, as the sadness of those last years was fast bearing him to the grave, had no beneficial effect upon some of his followers. They took up the controversy with increased bitterness and a yet more narrow intolerance. Without the excuse of those traditionary associations which clung to his great mind, and from which he could never set himself free, the men, such as Flacius and Osiander, and Westphal and Heshusius, who embraced what they supposed to be the strict type of Lutheran doctrine, showed a polemical spirit equally violent and mean, which at once hardened the excesses of the reformer’s dogmatism, and covered it with the contempt of their own weakness. There is not anywhere in theological history a set of men more factious in temper, less amiable in character, or even less respectable in strength, than the Lutheran divines who now occupy the field, and darken and confuse it with their controversial din. Well might Melanchthon say that “he lived as in a wasp’s nest,” and pray to be delivered from the “rabies theologorum.” They embittered his last moments by their furious and unmeaning contests, and made him sigh for a rest above, undisturbed by controversial clamour. Well might Calvin say, “Ah, would that Luther were still alive! These people have none of his virtues, but they think to prove themselves his disciples by their cries.”