The English Reformation and Wolsey’s Fall

This series has seven easy 5-minute installments. This first installment: Tyndall Works on the Bible.

Introduction
The “New Learning” which had been slowly spreading from Italy over all Europe, did not markedly affect England until the sixteenth century. There the long Wars of the Roses had not only gone nigh to exterminating the old nobility, but had so distracted men’s minds from more peaceful pursuits that little note was taken of the intellectual movement abroad. Under Henry VII and Henry VIII all this changed. These Tudor monarchs were indeed tyrants over England, but they brought her peace–and time for thought. Under the leadership of the celebrated Dutch scholar Erasmus, and the almost equally renowned Englishmen, Sir Thomas More and Dean Colet, the land awakened about 1500 to a new life of study and of culture, whose principles spread rapidly among the upper classes.

When news of Luther’s religious revolt reached England, the leaders of the New Learning were at first inclined to favor his ideas. But the two movements, one scholarly and calm, the other impassioned and intense, soon parted company, as Green shows in his justly famous account.

The true ruler of England at the time was the “great cardinal,” Wolsey, whose brain long enabled him to play upon King Henry as a toreador does upon a bull, guiding at will the frenzied rushes of the mighty brute. In 1521, the period when the following account begins, Wolsey was fifty years old. He had risen from being the studious son of a grazier and wool merchant to be a dean of the Church under Henry VII, and a bishop, cardinal and lord chancellor, of England under Henry VIII. His ambition to be pope was thwarted by the emperor Charles V, but he was “cardinal legate,” having control of the Catholic Church throughout England; and it was said of him that in all European affairs he was “seven times more powerful than the Pope.”

This selection is from A Short History of the English People by John Richard Green published in 1874. For works benefiting from the latest research see the “More information” section at the bottom of these pages.

John Richard Green (1837-1883) was a cleric who also wrote on English history.

Time: 1529

In England Luther’s protest seemed at first to find no echo. King Henry VIII was, both on political and on religious grounds, firm on the papal side. England and Rome were drawn to a close alliance by the identity of their political position. Each was hard pressed between the same great powers; Rome had to hold its own between the masters of Southern and the masters of Northern Italy, as England had to hold her own between the rulers of France and of the Netherlands. From the outset of his reign to the actual break with Clement VII the policy of Henry is always at one with that of the papacy. Nor were the King’s religious tendencies hostile to it. He was a trained theologian and proud of his theological knowledge, but to the end his convictions remained firmly on the side of the doctrines which Luther denied. In 1521, therefore, he entered the lists against Luther with an “Assertion of the Seven Sacraments,” for which he was rewarded by Leo with the title of “Defender of the Faith.” The insolent abuse of the reformer’s answer called More and Fisher into the field.

The influence of the “New Learning” was now strong at the English court. Colet and Grocyn were among its foremost preachers; Linacre was Henry’s physician; More was a privy councilor; Pace was one of the secretaries of state; Tunstall was master of the rolls. And as yet the New Learning, though scared by Luther’s intemperate language, had steadily backed him in his struggle. Erasmus pleaded for him with the Emperor. Ulrich von Hutten attacked the friars in satires and invectives as violent as his own. But the temper of the Renaissance was even more antagonistic to the temper of Luther than that of Rome itself.

From the golden dream of a new age wrought peaceably and purely by the slow progress of intelligence, the growth of letters, the development of human virtue, the reformer of Wittenberg turned away with horror. He had little or no sympathy with the new cult. He despised reason as heartily as any papal dogmatist could despise it. He hated the very thought of toleration or comprehension. He had been driven by a moral and intellectual compulsion to declare the Roman system a false one, but it was only to replace it by another system of doctrine just as elaborate and claiming precisely the same infallibility. To degrade human nature was to attack the very base of the New Learning; and his attack on it called the foremost of its teachers to the field. But Erasmus no sooner advanced to its defense than Luther declared man to be utterly enslaved by original sin and incapable, through any efforts of his own, of discovering truth or of arriving at goodness.

Such a doctrine not only annihilated the piety and wisdom of the classic past, from which the New Learning had drawn its larger views of life and of the world; it trampled in the dust reason itself, the very instrument by which More and Erasmus hoped to regenerate both knowledge and religion. To More especially, with his keener perception of its future effect, this sudden revival of a purely theological and dogmatic spirit, severing Christendom into warring camps and ruining all hopes of union and tolerance, was especially hateful. The temper which hitherto had seemed so “endearing, gentle, and happy,” suddenly gave way. His reply to Luther’s attack upon the King sank to the level of the work it answered and though that of Bishop Fisher was calmer and more argumentative, the divorce of the New Learning from the Reformation seemed complete.

But if the world of scholars and thinkers stood aloof from the new movement it found a warmer welcome in the larger world where men are stirred rather by emotion than by thought. There was an England of which even More and Colet knew little, in which Luther’s words kindled a fire that was never to die. As a great social and political movement Lollardry had ceased to exist, and little remained of the directly religious impulse given by Wycliffe beyond a vague restlessness and discontent with the system of the Church. But weak and fitful as was the life of Lollardry the prosecutions whose records lie scattered over the bishops’ registers failed wholly to kill it. We see groups meeting here and there to read “in a great book of heresy all one night certain chapters of the Evangelists in English,” while transcripts of Wycliffe’s tracts passed from hand to hand.

The smoldering embers needed but a breath to fan them into flame, and the breath came from William Tyndale. Born among the Cotswolds when Bosworth Field gave England to the Tudors, Tyndale passed from Oxford to Cambridge to feel the full impulse given by the appearance there of the New Testament of Erasmus. From that moment one thought was at his heart. He “perceived by experience how that it was impossible to establish the lay people in any truth except the Scripture were plainly laid before their eyes in their mother tongue.”

“If God spare my life,” he said to a learned controversialist, “ere many years I will cause a boy that driveth the plough shall know more of the Scripture than thou dost.” But he was a man of forty before his dream became fact. Drawn from his retirement in Gloucestershire by the news of Luther’s protest at Wittenberg, he found shelter for a year with a London alderman, Humfrey Monmouth. “He studied most part of the day at his book,” said his host afterward, “and would eat but sodden meat by his good-will and drink but small single beer.” The book at which he studied was the Bible. But it was soon needful to quit England if his purpose was to hold. “I understood at the last not only that there was no room in my lord of London’s palace to translate the New Testament, but also that there was no place to do it in all England.”

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