When Martin Luther emerged from relative obscurity to seemingly instant celebrity (or
infamy) in 1517, he did so in relation to an ancient institution deeply embedded within a society
undergoing major changes—hundreds of years in the making. The difficulty in describing
“Western Christianity in 1500” reflects the complex relationship between church and culture in
any era. Change is a fact of history, experienced differently between locales, social strata, and
even neighbors in the same town. Yet, in important ways, everyone—from Italian intellectuals to
German peasants to English nobility—was caught up in common cultural currents that made the
transition out of the 1400s a particularly tumultuous period in the West. The church in 1500 was
in a process of change and discovery, the magnitude of which few people appreciated at that
time. It was increasingly clear, however, that mounting frustration and a desire for renewal were
taking hold of individuals and communities across diverse societal groups. Taking stock of such
realities will help contextualize Luther’s emergence and contribution to Western Christianity
within the multifaceted social and intellectual developments of the early sixteenth century.
A Time of Change and Discovery
On an autumn day in 1303 supporters of France’s King Philip IV, “the Fair” (d.1314),
stormed the Italian town of Anagni, on the outskirts of Rome, shouting “Death to the Pope!”
Over the next two days, they held Pope Boniface VIII (d.1303) captive in his residence until an
ad hoc militia of townspeople rescued him, broken and humiliated. The scene could not be more
different than a Christmas memory from some five centuries earlier. In 800 Pope Leo III (d. 816)
set a crown upon Charlemagne (d. 814) in St. Peter’s Basilica, declaring the latter a new emperor
in the West. From kingmaker to king’s hostage, in the public’s eye Boniface VIII’s treatment
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signified a dramatic—even shocking—loss of prestige for Christ’s Vicar on Earth. This was
especially jarring given Boniface VII’s recent papal bull, Unam sanctam (1302), a strong
assertion of papal monarchy that insisted upon the supremacy of spiritual over secular authority.
Nearly two hundred years later, this same paradox of pretension and vulnerability was
epitomized in Pope Alexander VI (d. 1503), whose worldly ambition and indiscretions were well
known. Yet the Holy Father’s public foibles did not dissuade thousands of pilgrims from making
the trip to Rome, however distant or arduous. They came not for Alexander VI, but for what he
offered. The pope had proclaimed 1500 a Year of Jubilee, promising forgiveness of sin for all
pilgrims to Rome. The ostensible success of such a campaign belied the papacy’s fragile position
in 1500.
Several factors contributed to this state of affairs. On many levels, the two centuries
preceding the Reformation marked a period of major transformation for the culture within which
the church was embedded. Social and economic adversity combined with shifts in the political
landscape to challenge papal hegemony over a unified Christian Europe. At the same time,
Renaissance humanism, scientific discovery, and European sea exploration created ripples in the
intellectual currents of the West that would have a profound impact across all levels of society.
To begin with, adversity was a way of life in an era marked by the massive devastation of
disasters—both natural and human—including famine, plague, and war. It is estimated that
Europe’s population fell by nearly one third in the late 1300s. At a time when Christians believed
that the cosmos teemed with the unseen activity of spiritual agents working both good and evil,
people were anxious to control such forces for their benefit. Magical charms, incantations—even
church rituals—were methods of directing malevolent spirits away from oneself and one’s loved
ones, perhaps rerouting such mischief upon one’s enemies. The uncomfortable thought remained
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that God was behind such catastrophes. What if God brought such calamity upon individuals and
communities, or at least did not intervene to stop it? Could these physical perils and the resulting
spiritual anxieties be a form of divine judgment? Naturally, the church’s offer of forgiveness
gained urgency for those seeking respite from the hardships and turmoil of life before modern
medicine and technological advances. But what if the church itself was the problem?
Such questions took root as the papacy struggled through various humiliations and
divisions within the church. Despite the rise of the fifteenth-century “Renaissance Popes” who
sought to establish papal power and prestige through military campaigns, political maneuvering,
and heavy investment in Rome’s artistic and architectural splendor, the papacy in 1500 was an
institution in decline. Artists and architects such as Raphael, Michelangelo, and Bramante were
commissioned to contribute their talents to the work of beautifying Rome. Projects such as the
Sistine Chapel originated during this period. The papacy had survived scandals such as the
Avignon Papacy (1309-1377) during which seven popes ruled at this city, just outside of
France—a move widely viewed as a concession to the French monarchy. Then followed the
Great Schism (1378-1417), with competing papacies in Avignon and Rome giving the
impression of worldliness in an institution deeply enmeshed in the power dynamics of European
politics. Increasing loyalty to independent nation-states and city-states weakened commitment to
the centralized ideal of a unified Christian republic, or “Christendom.” Regional kings and
princes commanded greater allegiance than popes and emperors. The Conciliar Movement of the
fifteenth century, backed by powerful secular rulers, chastened the papacy by ending the Schism
at the Council of Constance (1414-1418). Such international embarrassment eroded the papacy’s
reputation beyond the indignities of individual popes. Still, the church over which the pontiff sat
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represented a vital connection to God and God’s blessings sought by European Christians across
social strata. So they kept coming to Rome in 1500, even if with an increasingly skeptical eye.
The impact of Renaissance humanism on the intellectual context of the period and on the
church cannot be understated. While “Renaissance” was not a term used by those associated with
this movement, the fourteenth-century recovery of ancient Greek and Latin sources by Italian
thinkers such as Petrarch (d. 1374) and Salutati (d. 1406) was heralded by admirers as a cultural
“rebirth” in the West. This gave rise to literary, artistic, and wider intellectual developments that
would have a far-reaching influence on Western Christianity. A movement initially centered on
celebrating humanity in the cultural achievements and literary eloquence of Greco-Roman
antiquity, “humanism” as an approach to learning emphasized returning “to the sources” (ad
fontes) for the study of ancient texts. New interest in philology, textual criticism, literary genre,
and rhetorical expression challenged the “scholasticism” that had dominated European
universities and schools for centuries. Scholasticism, as a method for studying theology “in the
schools” (schola), stressed mastering knowledge through logical argumentation and precise
definitions. Humanists on university faculties criticized the older approach to scholarship
(somewhat unfairly) as overly theoretical, detached from scripture, and unconcerned with
cultivating wisdom and virtue. By 1500, the humanist movement had spread from Italy to
northern Europe. Before long, German cities such as Marburg and Wittenberg would establish
universities oriented toward humanist approaches to learning with faculty committed to literary,
linguistic, and historical study of non-theological sources as essential for theological scholarship.
Renaissance humanism was a movement centered on the intellectual and cultural elite.
Yet its flourishing would influence the course of Western Christianity as a whole, through the
education of those who would lead the sixteenth-century Reformation. Initially slow to catch on,
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Johannes Gutenberg’s (d. 1468) printing press provided publishers across Europe with a new
vehicle for the wide and rapid distribution of ideas. New editions of classical works, patristic
writings, Latin and vernacular bibles, academic tomes, and, eventually, pamphlets directed at the
laity came forth from printing centers such as Basel, Venice, and Antwerp. In the 1520s Luther
helped turn Wittenberg into a significant city for Protestant printing. Despite being content to
remain within the old church, scholars such as Erasmus of Rotterdam (d. 1536) and Jacques
Lefèvre d'Étaples (d. 1536) contributed to bible translation and called for church reform.
Erasmus’s critical edition of the Greek New Testament reflected his linguistic skill and would be
an important basis for future translations. Lorenzo Valla (d. 1457), an Italian humanist scholar,
used textual studies to demonstrate in 1440 that the Donation of Constantine—a document long
used to justify papal claims over territory, and spiritual and temporal power—was a forgery.
Others trained in the humanist fashion would embrace reform movements and break from Rome,
in part as a result of studying scripture in its original languages. Huldrych Zwingli, Wolfgang
Capito, Philipp Melanchthon, and John Calvin—to name just four—were Protestant leaders who
received a humanist education that was steeped in classical literature, history, and philosophy as
well as the study of biblical languages, linguistics, and theology. Though not often associated
with humanism, increasing evidence suggests that Martin Luther’s education was influenced by
humanist approaches to learning.1 These scholars’ close handling of the sources raised questions
about spiritual authority, especially where the church’s teaching and practice seemed to be in
tension with scripture. Old answers no longer sufficed.
1 Scott H. Hendrix, Martin Luther: Visionary Reformer (New Haven: Yale University
Press, 2015), 29-32.
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Finally, knowledge poured in from across the oceans. European sea exploration launched
the so-called “Age of Discovery” in the fifteenth century. This was motivated in part by the need
for alternative trade routes with Asia, with many now controlled by the Turkish Ottoman Empire,
which had displaced the Byzantine Empire in 1453 and threatened to continue its westward
spread. The subsequent “discovery” of peoples in Africa and the Americas often had negative
results for such groups in the advent of colonialism. European nations relied upon sea
exploration and conquest to establish political power against the Ottomans, whose military
advances were a cause of grave concern. Control of sea routes and territorial gain were also ways
in which European states pressed their advantage against each other. In 1500 Spain and Portugal
were particularly aggressive in pursuing sea routes for trade in precious minerals and spices from
Asia. The rulers of these nations also wished to promote Christianity among peoples encountered
by explorers. Expeditions launched from the Iberian Peninsula during this time included
Christopher Columbus’s landing in the Americas in 1492 and Ferdinand Magellan’s
circumnavigating the globe in 1519. Along with the rapid growth of printing, technological
advances in ocean travel and navigation resulted in more detailed maps, expanded travel
literature, and a steady flow of reports from faraway places. European readers devoured such
works. Questions about the humanity of native peoples prompted new theological reflection,
which unfortunately would also have devastating effects on such populations through European
conquest, missionary activity, and the slave trade that accompanied both. Closer to home, the
Christian encounter with other faiths took on new, unfortunate, dimensions with the mass
expulsions of Jews from Spain and Portugal in the 1490s, and the forced conversions of Jewish
and Muslim communities. New questions about religious identity emerged with the possibility of
religious dissimulation and hiding one’s beliefs to evade persecution and exile. Claims about the
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church’s universality and authority came under fresh scrutiny as Europeans considered a wider
world previously unknown to them. Thus along with emerging trade lanes bringing consumer
goods across vast oceans, a current of new ideas flowed into the European imagination, though
the possibility of a church in the West apart from Rome remained unthinkable.
The story of Western Christianity in 1500 cannot be separated from the social and
intellectual changes within which it was embedded. Fresh knowledge and political allegiances
converged to make the church’s position and authority in the West open to question in new ways.
A Season of Frustration and Piety
For many Western Christians, the turn of the sixteenth century was a period of frustration
with both the church and the society that supported it. Yet it was also a season of piety, with a
committed laity and significant calls to revitalize Christian faith and practice. Such activity
would find fruition within the Roman church, as well as apart from it during the Reformation.
Popular discontent centered on economic and religious factors not easy to disentangle.
Taxation was crippling. Peasant farmers paid landowners monetary fees and percentages of their
yield for use of land and protection. Landed nobility, in turn, required military protection from
political rulers who expected their own compensation for such services. This social and political
system, known as feudalism, featured an economy built around the large estates (manors) of
wealthy lords. Onerous tax burdens, even in times of hardship brought on by societal or natural
disasters over which farmers had no control, left little for supporting those who actually worked
the land. Social mobility was nearly impossible within a deeply entrenched feudal class system
that had been in place for centuries. The lower ranks of society bristled at supporting the leisure
of others at great cost to one’s own families. Serfdom was the condition in which one was bound
to supply all of one’s labor to a lord. In some cases, the arrangement was voluntary. Even so,
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social mobility remained very limited in general. Even if they were not serfs, peasant farmers
had little choice but to bend to the whim of those whose land sustained their meager livelihood.
The same vexations attached to working conditions and the feudal system’s basic
economic structure was easily transferred to the church, which collected its own “tax” in the
required tithe. Based on the Old Testament practice of offering a tenth of one’s harvest to God as
an expression of gratitude, the tithe was used, in part, to support priests whose work facilitated
the worship of God’s people. Throughout the medieval period, similar justifications were given
for collecting resources from all levels of society—from kings to commoners—as an obligation
to support the church that facilitated access to God. By 1500, the tithe had come to include more
than ten percent of a farmer’s yield, with separate tithes for different varieties of agricultural
produce, from grain harvests to livestock. Such dues were collected on top of taxes to one’s
manor lord, creating an exceedingly heavy burden for the common farmer. Even worse, what
was once a sinking suspicion was becoming an open secret: the clergy charged with spiritual
leadership were in fact often corrupt, immoral, and concerned mainly with enriching themselves.
Anti-clerical attitudes were pervasive by 1500, with growing resentment toward religious leaders
who often lived no differently than the secular aristocracy. Throughout Europe clergy faced
growing resentment that often took on nationalistic dimensions. This was certainly the case in
Germany, where the Roman episcopate came to be viewed as the hostile intrusion of a greedy
foreign (Italian) power. Nevertheless, the church offered peace with God and access to God’s
power in a difficult world. People saw little choice but to embrace the system despite misgivings.
Still, not everyone went along quietly. Vigorous calls for renewal were already
challenging the ecclesiastical status quo in 1500. The “observant movement,” as it came to be
called, involved monastic and other religious orders, including the prominent Franciscans and
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Dominicans. Leaders sought to recover their respective groups’ founding rules and austerity,
fearing that increasing worldliness had resulted in deterioration within the church and society.
Preaching, teaching, and tending to the spirituality of the laity characterized the observant
movement, which included the Augustinian friary Luther would join in 1505. More broadly,
communities such as the Waldensians in the Alpine regions, Lollards in England, and Hussites in
Bohemia, all of which persisted throughout the fifteenth century, were forerunners of the
priorities championed by Luther and his followers. While diverse in their beliefs, such groups
shared a concern for moral reform and emphasis making scripture more accessible to the laity.
Despite the popularity of Pope Alexander’s Jubilee, the Roman Curia’s reputation for
corruption and the pope’s own profligate lifestyle did little to rehabilitate public perception that
the church’s problems extended to the top, and even possibly began there. The pope’s son,
Cesare (d. 1507), was Niccolò Machiavelli’s inspiration for the political cunning championed in
The Prince (1513). Alexander VI’s papal successor, Julius II, was a man of war whose military
and territorial ambition invited further scorn from Western Christians. Writers such as Erasmus
appealed directly to the need for moral reform in the church through works such as his
Enchiridion (1503), a call to renew lay piety through a faith rooted in scripture. A more openly
hostile critique of the papacy came from Girolamo Savonarola (d. 1498), a Dominican friar. The
Florentine preacher’s austere lifestyle and zeal for personal godliness led to clashes with Pope
Alexander. Refusing to back down, Savonarola was excommunicated and executed in 1498.
Other reform movements included the devotio moderna (“modern devotion”) emphasizing
internal spirituality and meditation. Examples of writings in the devotio moderna include
Thomas à Kempis’s (d.1471) The Imitation of Christ—a classic of devotional literature that
enjoys wide distribution and a dedicated readership in dozens of languages to the present day.
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While voices calling for change reflected widespread sentiment in 1500, it is important to
remember that such critiques and the anti-clerical attitudes they fostered did not equate to
rejecting the church or its teachings. Monastic reform signaled hope for broader renewal. In a
deeply patriarchal society, thriving female religious orders provided space for women to pursue
learning, spirituality, and leadership in a context wherein they generally had little access to the
opportunities in education, work, and leisure reserved for men. To be sure, many among the laity
believed that the church was an institution in need of reform. Suffering, immorality, and injustice
produced a longing for change, especially among the lower classes of society. However, virtually
no one envisioned the kind of root-and-branch reform later called for by Luther and others,
which would result in creating a church apart from Rome. Cynicism toward the clergy did not
deter laity from embracing the church’s teaching and practices with sincere piety. Sacraments
had both social and theological implications, ordering a community through traditional practices
that visually established boundaries between the sacred and profane. On an individual level,
rituals such as the Eucharist assuaged troubled consciences with the hope of pardon through the
sacrifice of Christ’s body and blood. The sacrament of penance opened the way to priestly
absolution. A growing devotion of Mary, as well as the veneration of relics and saints—
including pilgrimages to sacred places—similarly promised assistance from powers above to
address problems experienced below. Such reassurance was always in high demand. Indeed, the
complexities of rapid change, discovery, and disillusionment with one’s situation often meant
greater urgency—not less—in seeking God’s favor through the church’s ministry.
Western Christianity in 1500 was at a crossroads. Ostensibly stable, even thriving by
some measures, the church was embedded in a culture experiencing tremendous political and
intellectual changes amidst widespread personal adversity, economic calamity, and mounting
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popular frustration. Growing nationalism, advances in biblical studies, and the travels of
European sea explorers produced fresh questions about the church’s identity and authority. These
converged with centuries of ecclesiastical scandal, contemporary perceptions of moral laxity, and
blatant clerical abuse to punctuate calls for renewal in the church. While no single element in the
church’s context can fully explain events soon to unfold with Luther’s calls for reform, together
they unsettled the church’s position in the minds and affections of European Christians.