02.21 Thomas Anshelm's Moses with the Tablets of the Law
Martin Luther referred to the printing press as 'God's highest and most extreme act of grace, whereby the business of the Gospel is driven forward'. In making this claim, Luther presumed that divine providence had played a role in the early evangelical movement, for the printed book, he reasoned, was surely heaven sent. In actual fact the art of printing emerged closer to home. The invention is usually attributed to Johann Gutenberg, a goldsmith active in Mainz in the 1450s, who devised the art of assembling moveable type (cast in metal alloys) for the reproduction of text by mechanical means. Previous to Gutenberg's innovation, texts were either copied out by scribes or limited in design to crude woodblock reproduction. Books were few in number, expensive, and conceived for a limited readership. With the advent of the printing press, however, the mass publication of uniform texts became possible. Script, type fonts, and graphic images grew more complex and true to life as the art of printing developed in sophistication. Little wonder scholars like Luther praised the press; in evangelical eyes, it seemed as if God had granted the German Nation a boundless medium for his Word. The historian Johann Sleidan observed in 1542: 'As if to offer proof that God has chosen us to accomplish a special mission, there was invented in our land a marvellous new and subtle art, the art of printing'.
This 'subtle art' soon spread throughout the Empire. At the outset of the Reformation, over sixty-two cities and towns in the German lands had a printing press. Books poured from the printing houses; no less than six-million texts had been printed prior to the Reformation, more than all of the medieval manuscripts combined. Print shops and book stalls sprang up all over Europe. Wittenberg, for example, a town of no more than 2,500 inhabitants, had seven print shops at one time - though in a sense, Wittenberg's position was unique, as the town housed Germany's most popular author within its walls. More than any other writer, secular or spiritual, Martin Luther dominated the early printing trade. It has been estimated that thirty tracts emerged from beneath his quill between 1517 and 1520 alone, meaning that at least 300,000 copies of his work were in circulation in the early 1520s (a sum just below the total number of literate people in the realm). From 1517 to 1525, the volume of Luther's work that streamed out of the German printing houses surpassed the combined output of seventeen of his closest evangelical competitors, a massive accomplishment when one considers the sevenfold increase in overall production during the same period. If by the grace of God the printing press had emerged in Germany, as Sleidan and others opined, it was nevertheless by virtue of effort and calculation that it was called on to preside over the Reformation movement.
The written text, swiftly produced and standardised, offered the evangelical authors obvious benefits, but there was one problem no amount of technical innovation could resolve. Very few people in sixteenth-century Europe could read. Historians have posited a literacy rate of roughly five per-cent; the number was higher in cities and towns (up to thirty per-cent), but just five per-cent of the population overall was literate. This presented the evangelical publicists with a dilemma. Lutheranism was a religion of the Word, but it would profit the faithful little if literacy were a precondition. Of course, most people learned of the faith by word of mouth - in churches, open-air sermons, private readings, alehouse disputations. But the evangelical authors wanted to convert as many souls as possible and the only way to do this was to engage in a massive campaign of propaganda.
Luther and his fellow Reformers made use of leaflet and pamphlet literature (Flugbl�tter and Flugschriften), lightweight, disposable booklets purchased for minimal expense and stored with minimal fuss. The language was simple, often in rhyme, and the content was brief and direct. More importantly, many of these pamphlets came with woodcuts and images intended to solve the dilemma posed by low literacy rates: if the faithful could not read, they could at least view an image. Thus at the very outset, the evangelical publicists placed great trust in the pictorial aspect of print. The visual content of pamphlet literature, the woodcuts and pictures, was often as important as the text. On occasion the text was nothing more than a commentary on an image. There was nothing new in this reliance on the visual for religious instruction; it was, after all, the medieval pope Gregory the Great (d. 604) who had said that 'images are the books of the laity'. But the Protestant use of the ocular dimension of print went beyond anything previously ventured by the Catholic church. The visual had become an advanced form of religious propaganda.
Block prints were in circulation throughout Europe in the fourteenth century. Rudimentary images could be cut into blocks of wood, pressed onto leaves of paper (also in use in the fourteenth century), and sold in single-sheet format. The vast majority of these woodcuts addressed religious themes. Whether biblical imagery or popular legend, pilgrimage tokens or religious memento's, the early woodcut was almost exclusively devotional in nature. In fact, as the trade developed, most workshops were in or near monasteries. The devotional woodcut was intended to educate, to remind the viewer (at a very basic level) of some of the central tenets of the Christian faith. Examine the woodcut below:
02.21 Thomas Anshelm's Moses with the Tablets of the Law
Anshelm's 1505 woodcut spells out clearly the meaning of the image. The Lord God has provided Fallen Man with two tablets of law, now set before Moses in the centre of the picture. The viewer should not only honour the Decalogue, but learn the laws by heart (and the laws, in the original print, were highlighted in red ink). 'Will you have eternal life,' reads the text around Moses, 'then hold true to the commandments.' At the base of the picture the small print assures the viewer that the truly obeisant want for nothing in this world. Moses with the Tablets of the Law is fairly typical of this early woodcut genre: the religious message is clear, unambiguous; the viewer is told how to interpret the image, thus leaving little room for misunderstanding; and the iconography is strictly religious in character, in this instance the iconography of the Old Testament, the language of covenant ('Do this or else').
Of course, not all devotional woodcuts were this direct or this easy to interpret, but many shared similar characteristics. For instance, Hans Baldung Grien's Descent from the Cross is not quite as clear as Moses with the Tablets of the Law, for it does demand a greater degree of interpretation or awareness on the part of the viewer. In this image, where a more sophisticated iconography is in evidence, the portrait is not only meant to relate a central and unmistakeable article of the Christian faith (for even in the absence of surrounding text the viewer would have soon realised it was an image of Christ descending from the cross). Grien was also using arrangement and imagery to project meaning - there is the sense of mortality in the skull, Christ's passion in his wounds, his ruined body. With Grien's 1505 Descent from the Cross, the viewer is expected to interact with the image, to interpret meaning behind icons and figural aspects.
02.22 Hans Baldung Grien, Descent from the Cross (1505)
Even greater is the effort expected of the viewer of Lucas Cranach the Elder's 1502 Calvary, a woodcut of considerable sophistication. Cranach, one of the instrumental figures behind the alliance of The Reformation and The Image (2.06), crowded the picture with icons, gestures, and the considered placement of his characters. Many of the objects in Cranach's work were familiar symbols or signifiers in the church art of the age: the skulls, the hand gestures (the open palm implying discussion or persuasion, the finger-pointing accusal), the lamenting figures. As you view the image, take note of how Cranach arranged his composition. As with all art, the meaning of the work is more than the sum of its parts.
02.23 Lucas Cranach the Elder, Calvary (1502)
In addition to the life of Christ, devotional literature addressed other themes which were fundamental to Christian belief. By way of example we may mention Hans Baldung Grien, who in 1514 produced a woodcut of Adam and Eve, fairly simple in its conception but effective nonetheless, and an image of the Conversion of St. Paul (which goes some way in relating the gravity of the moment, as Christ looks down from the clouds and the saint struggles to rein in his horse). In general, saints were very popular images in the devotional genre. Artists like Grien continued the medieval fascination with the Life of the Saints by preparing illustrations of their martyrdoms. Witness Grien's Martyrdom of St. Lawrence, a record of the saint's final moments on the grill. Woodcut illustrations of the saints also remind us of the popular use made of these devotional images: not only did they instruct, they were thought to work powers of protection, if not of themselves as talismans, then in the German prayer supplied at the bottom of the illustration. Grien's Martrydom of St. Sebastian provides the viewer with just such a quick verse in times of need. For it was in answer to this need for protection, and this fear of God, that the devotional literature found a following on the eve of the Reformation.
02.25 Hans Baldung Grien, Adam and Eve (1514)
02.26 Hans Baldung Grien, Conversion of Saint Paul (1508)
02.27 Hans Baldung Grien, Martrydom of Saint Lawrence (1505)
02.28 Hans Baldung Grien, Martrydom of Saint Sebastian (1508)
02.29 Hans Baldung Grien, The Last Judgement (1505)
When we examine the themes related in works like Grien's depiction of The Last Judgement (above) this need for security seems less of a surprise. Christ, as judge, sits on the throne of judgement. The lily, representing resurrection to heaven, and the sword, representing the sword of judgement, are on opposite sides of his mouth. (Christ was often seen with a sword near his mouth, in reference to Revelation 1:16: 'from his mouth issued a sharp two-edged sword'.) Angels above him prepare to weigh up souls. Beneath his feet, at the centre of the supplicants, a clergyman and a devil contend for the emerging souls. Although some degree of interpretation was required, Grien would have expected his viewer to be familiar with the central message of The Last Judgement. All of man's days are but a prelude to the Day of Reckoning; no matter how great the effort, the ultimate destiny of the soul was in the hands of God.
It is interesting to note in Heinrich Steiner's Last Judgement of 1510 that even one's earthly standing was not enough to guarantee salvation. In Steiner's woodcut, which shares much of the same imagery as Grien's, clergy and kings are led to perdition while Saint Peter guides a woman into the Church of Christ.
02.30 Heinrich Steiner, The Last Judgement (1510)
The early devotional woodcut thus worked at a fairly elemental level. Despite the increasing degree of iconographical sophistication in woodcuts such as those from the workshop of Lucas Cranach the Elder, these pictures were designed to relate very basic themes or articles of the Christian faith, and they were meant to convey (often in very macabre terms) the pitiable lot of Fallen Man. There was little room for misunderstanding. Viewers would have been familiar with The Last Judgement or The Descent from the Cross from their encounters with church art. These devotional woodcuts were simply portable analogues. Equally, the underlying theme of man's helplessness before God and the world was a poignant message in this anxious age. In Hans Burgkmair the Elder's Lovers Surprised by Death, death descends without warning, prying the soul from the mouth of the young soldier while the girl struggles to escape its hold. Life could end at any time; the faithful must prepare for it. Relating this message was the main function of the early devotional woodcut.
02.31 Hans Burgkmair the Elder, Lovers Surprised by Death (1510)
The medieval period was not an age of mass communication. Princes and kings had their ambassadors, popes their bishops and nuncios, cities their merchants, but the average subject, especially the average rural subject, had no regular tie with the outside world. News, or indeed information of any kind, was usually transmitted by word of mouth. It was irregular, more rumour than fact, and limited to certain popular themes. At the dawn of the evangelical movement, however, with the printing press in full flight, people were able to keep in touch with events by way of pamphlet and broadsheet literature. As the Reformation unfolded in the German lands news sheets (Neue Zeitungen) were published relating the more noteworthy events of the day. At the same time woodcuts were distributed with portraits of the leading figures in profile, thereby allowing the viewing public to identify the main protagonists. The face of Emperor Charles V would have been a fairly familiar sight to many, appearing as it did on inumerable coins and medals. But other figures would have been unknown outside of their own cities had it not been for the publicity of the illustrated woodcut.
02.32 Christoph Amberger, Emperor Charles V (1532)
Few men gathered fame so fast as Luther himself, and by mid-century there was a flood of Luther images circulating in the Empire. Lucas Cranach the Younger's Martin Luther of 1546 is typical of the images of the Reformer: Luther stands in his scholar's mantle clutching a book, his coat of arms to the left. Luther's image changed, as will be discussed below, but the general characteristics of his face remained fairly constant. (Any one of these later images would have served to pick him out in a crowd.) Other reformers were also immortalised in woodcut illustrations. Fellow Wittenbergers Philip Melanchthon and Johann Bugenhagen were captured by the younger Lucas Cranach, and the radical reformer Thomas M�ntzer was given treatment by Christoffel von Sichem the Elder (though his likeness never appeared during his life).
02.33 Lucas Cranach the Elder, Martin Luther (1546)
02.34 Lucas Cranach the Elder, Philip Melanchthon (1550)
02.35 Lucas Cranach the Younger, Johann Bugenhagen (1546)
02.36 Christoph von Sichem, Thomas M�ntzer
In addition to many ecclesiastical figures, a number of significant Protestant rulers also appeared in woodcuts. Lucas Cranach the Elder rendered an image of Luther's patron Elector Frederick the Wise and Erhard Schoen finished a sketch of Landgrave Philip of Hesse, thus enabling the viewing public to match a name to a face.
02.37 Lucas Cranach the Elder, Elector Frederick the Wise (1509)
02.38 Erhard Schoen, Landgrave Philip of Hesse
As the Reformation made ground in the Empire, and as Protestant tracts and illustrations poured from the printing presses, the ability to identify certain leading figures became important. Lutheran rulers used the woodcut illustrations as a form of propaganda, visual reminders of the quality and truth of their faith. In Lucas Cranach the Younger's Baptism of Christ in the Presence of Frederick the Wise and Martin Luther both Frederick and Luther are witness to John baptising Christ, with the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit (the dove) looking on. This theme was later repeated mid-century, when Jacob Lucius portrayed the Baptism of Christ Witnessed by Luther and Duke John Frederick of Saxony. In both of these illustrations, proximity testifies to truth: Luther's proximity to Christ is testimony to the truth of his faith; the prince's proximity to Luther and Christ is testimony to the sincerity of his personal faith and the truth of the religion he represents. Unless the viewer can match a name to a face, the power of this image is lost.
02.40 Jacob Lucius, Baptism of Christ Witnessed by Luther and Duke John Frederick of Saxony (1550)
The most popular Protestant image was that of Martin Luther, though there was no single or definitive image of the Reformer in circulation. Luther's image carried such weight it soon became a reference point for the early Reformation movement. Publicists modified the image at various points to enlist it as visual propaganda for the evangelical cause. The First Published Woodcut of Luther, printed in 1519, has him dressed as a doctor gesturing with his hands in the manner of a scholar in debate.
02.41 First Published Woodcut of Luther (1519)
In this simple image Luther is portrayed as one of the disputants at Leipzig. There is no attempt to capture his likeness; he is simply cast as any medieval theologian might appear. (Indeed, the Leipzig printer Wolfgang St�ckel probably took him for the latest in a line of doomed medieval heretics and portrayed him as such.) When Luther's image appeared the following year, however, he was given exact features. The Saxon artist Lucas Cranach the Elder finished a woodcut of Luther as a Monk which placed him in his Augustinian habit. In this image, Luther's status as a religious man, a pious monk, is stressed: the portrait is intended to convey the strength of his faith, but in a conservative manner. In Hans Baldung Grien's Luther as Monk with Dove and Nimbus the imagery takes on a more expressive and suggestive iconography. The Reformer is portrayed as the vessel of divine inspiration, as signified by the dove, and he is accorded the status of a saint, for a bright nimbus hovers above his head. The artists were now borrowing images and symbols from a long tradition of Catholic art. As the publicists understood, it was more effective to place Luther within an established context of religious iconography than to create it anew. This was thus a very conservative use of symbols, though the central idea (that Luther was a divine agent) was extremely radical.
02.42 Lucas Cranach the Elder, Luther as a Monk (1520)
02.43 Hans Baldung Grien, Luther as Monk with Dove and Nimbus (1521)
Artists generally cast Luther's image in a manner that tended to manipulate the viewer's understanding of the Reformer and the movement associated with him. Even something so straightforward an image as Cranach's Luther in Doctor's Cap served an agenda, in this instance Luther's worth as a scholar and a man of the Bible. When Luther appeared in secular garb as Junker J�rg in 1522, it was more than just a depiction of the man as he appeared after the Diet of Worms, hidden away in the Wartburg disguised as a nobleman. Cranach wanted to afford the image an aspect of authority that would speak to the secular community in Wittenberg. Such was the fate of the Luther image in the sixteenth century. Luther was placed in all sorts of situations, encountering all sorts of antagonists - be they monk, Devil, or Pope - in his role as the main evangelical icon. In Hans Holbein's Luther as German Hercules he is not just a champion of the True Church, but the entire German nation in its struggle against Rome. Little wonder his images were thought to have praeternatural qualities. Later in the century, the very woodcuts themselves, graced as they were by a picture of the Reformer, were considered talismans of unusual power.
02.44 Lucas Cranach the Elder, Luther in Doctor's Cap (1521)
02.45 Lucas Cranach the Elder, Junker J�rg (1522)
02.46 Hans Holbein, Luther as German Hercules (1523)
In his work For the Sake of Simple Folk (Oxford, 1994), Robert Scribner has drawn attention to the sixteenth-century Lutheran woodcut as a form of propaganda. As Scribner's analysis makes clear, images not only made it easier for the viewer to visualise central figures or themes of the evangelical movement, but they might instruct or persuade as well. Some woodcut illustrations went beyond the level of passive representation and drew upon metaphors, allegories, biblical themes, and evangelical teaching to engage the viewer in an act of religious education. Of course, it was difficult to effect the proper balance; most theological themes were simply too complex for easy depiction, forcing the artists to rely on a neighbouring text for clarification. But as the evangelical publicists soon discovered, a considerable amount of religious meaning could be conveyed by way of imagery with or without extensive textual support. The evangelical message could be encapsulated in a visual format: this insight was widely appreciated, giving rise to a flood of illustrated woodcuts
The most simple method was to present characters as if in dialogue, like a modern cartoon, with the text providing the spoken words. In Barthel Beham's Three Peasants Intent upon Becoming Monks three peasants discuss the pros and cons of the cloistered life, with the final word coming from the peasant who advises against it. In this woodcut, which you can navigate on the screen, the illustration was simply a vehicle for the text. With Erhard Schoen's Allegory of the Sower, however, the image had to be placed in a broader biblical context in order to be effective. The picture is a reference to Matthew 13: 1-58, the parable of the sower and the seed. As there is no parallel text, the viewer must be familiar with the bible passages in order to make sense of the image. If the passages are known - in which the Kingdom of Heaven is likened onto a man who sows good seed in his field - meaning may be inferred.
02.47 Barthel Beham, Three Peasants Intent upon Becoming Monks (c1532)
02.48 Erhard Schoen, Allegory of the Sower (c. 1525)
Another Biblical allegory which proved to be popular was Christ the Good Shepherd.
02.49 Barthel Beham, Christ In the Sheep Shed
If you examine the image above, you will find that it demands a knowledge of passages from John 10:1-42:. ('Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that entereth not by the door into the sheepfold, but climbeth up some other way, the same is a thief and a robber. But he that entereth in by the door is the shepherd of the sheep...') The sheepfold, or sheepshed, is an allusion to the church, and to make it that much easier this image has combined a shed with a church to avoid any confusion of meaning. Christ stands in the doorway (John 10:9 'I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go out, and find pasture.') and he is also seen as the saving shepherd surrounded by his flock in the background. As Christ stands in the doorway a host of Catholic clergy scale the building and attempt to break in. The pope sits atop the sheepshed, blessing two cardinals who push through a window, while the higher clergy on the ground try to divert the attention of the crowd seeking salvation. Lost in the confusion is the pilgrim knocking on a sidedoor of the shed, while to the right of Christ a prince distributes alms to the poor (thus playing upon the issue of good works and salvation). In front of the doorway the faithful kneel before Christ.
In this illustration, the Catholic hierarchy is clearly associated with the 'thief and robber' of the biblical passage. As they are agents of false belief, they must seek illicit entry into Christ's fold. Yet only Christ can grant entry, something understood by the faithful, the followers of the evangelical religion. The contrast is thus explicit: the Catholic faith leads away from salvation, while the evangelical faith, the Word of Christ, is the doorway (further emphasised by the lay figure in the doorframe, key in hand, who acts as a symbol of the Priesthood of All Believers). Christ the Good Shepherd was an effective educational image, and it proved a popular theme. Hans Sebald Beham finished a similar sort of illustration also entitled Christ in the Sheep Shed. Different figures crowd this woodcut, and different characters have taken on different roles, but the message remains the same: the only saving faith is in Christ. (Examine this image and the text that accompanies it.)
02.50 Hans Sebald Beham, Christ in the Sheep Shed (1524)
Another favoured biblical allegory was that of the vineyard. Erhard Schoen used this theme to good effect in his work God's Lament for the Fate of His Vineyard. Although the woodcut appears dense with imagery, the scheme is fairly simple: the picture is divided in two, with the True Faith (the evangelical faith) on the left and the Catholic faith on the right. The sense of antithesis thereby created helps to invest the figures and icons with meaning. To the left is God's saving Word, read from the pulpit by the evangelical preacher. Nearby God and his angels set to work clearing the vineyard while a stream flows at the foot of the crucified Christ. To the right the pope and his clergy harvest the fruits of their belief. The trees are barren, save the objects of Catholic devotion which spring from the branches in place of leaves. Again, the contrast is explicit: the evangelical faith and the Catholic religion are separate modes of devotion, and only the religion of the Word can secure salvation. With this in mind, examine God's Lament for the Fate of His Vineyard and determine how the various objects and icons bear out the biblical allusions.
02.51 Erhard Schoen, God's Lament for the Fate of His Vineyard (1532)
As complicated as Lutheran iconography could become, it rarely abandoned its recipe of root antithesis. On one side of the picture was truth, and this was meant to represent the essence of the Lutheran religion, on the other side falsehood, the church of the Catholics.
02.52 Erhard Schoen, The Houses of the Wise and the Ignorant
For example, in Erhard Schoen's The Houses of the Wise and the Ignorant, above, there is a clear division to the work. On the left is the True Church, the church of the evangelicals, supported by the Old and New Testaments. The stress is placed upon the Word, and Christ confers his blessing from the clouds. To the right is the 'House of the Godless,' the Catholic church of the scholastics. An angel hovers above and announces the fall of Babylon. In fact the very church itself splits asunder, its foundation rent by the seven-headed beast of the apocalypse and its supports washed away by the Word of God. Hans Sachs has provided biblical references, but the simple antithesis between the wise and ignorant, the just and the unjust, a faith reliant upon the Word of God and a faith built upon the supports of scholasticism, is clear to see. All of the imagery (which you can navigate in the large illustration) communicates this division.
Georg Pencz's Two Kinds of Sermons is yet another example of how a simple antithesis could structure a fairly complex illustration. Above the congregation to the left is an evangelical preacher, Bible open on the pulpit, at his feet the congregation intent on hearing the Word (some even read along with him). To the right, a heavy monk gestures in disputation, while his audience fiddles with rosary beads. No one seems to be listening. With the text written by Hans Sachs this image is quite an effective educational tool. The viewer is explicity asked to judge which faith is the True Faith (though the text and the imagery leave the viewer in little doubt).
02.53 Georg Pencz, Two Kinds of Sermons (1529)
A final example of this approach to educational iconography is Lucas Cranach the Elder's The Old and the New Testament. Luther stated that 'nearly the entire Scripture and the knowledge of all theology depends upon the correct understanding of Law and Gospel,' but it was a difficult theological theme to relate. Cranach has done an effective job in The Old and the New Testament. The picture is divided in the centre by a tree. Fallen Man, preyed upon by Death and the Devil, is to the left. Christ as Judge hovers above, while Moses and other Old Testament figures brandish the Law. Man cannot meet the requirements of the Law and is thus ushered into the flames of damnation. To the right, in contrast, is the New Testament, the Gospel. Just as the tree buds anew, so too does the blood of the crucified Christ redeem Fallen Man. At the same time John the Baptist gestures toward the Risen Christ, He who overcomes Death and the Devil. The imagery is more complex than this, and you can explore the full range of iconographical meaning in the woodcut itself. But once again the model of antithesis proves effective in relating a complex theological issue. You may test the effectiveness of the Lutheran woodcut as an educational tool by examining The Old and the New Church, a woodcut which appeared in Nuremberg in 1524.
02.54 Lucas Cranach the Elder, The Old and the New Testament (c. 1529)
02.55 The Old and the New Church
Evangelical publicists had to rely upon more than just the appeal of their theological message in their efforts to win hearts and minds to the new faith. Lutheran propaganda had to offer an alternative religion to that practised and preached by the Catholic church. It was able to relate many of its essential theological themes, as we have seen, in a visual format. But in addition to this genre of woodcut illustrations designed to educate and instruct the viewer in the tenets of the evangelical faith was a body of work that aimed to defame and discredit the Catholic church. This was not a constructive form of propaganda; it did not seek to create religious understanding anew. Rather, the publicists' campaign against Catholicism drew on long-standing currents of discontent and anticlericalism to convince the public that the Catholic church was corrupt. Once again, the woodcut illustration proved a useful tool. Images could relate a message of this sort in a much more direct or explicit manner than text. Critical or scatological woodcuts expected the same effort from the viewer as those used to educate: the message was conveyed by way of allegory, allusion, or metaphor, and there was often a deep layer of meaning behind the most basic illustration. But unlike the educational woodcut, the critical image relied less on specialist knowledge (such as religious imagery may have required) to get its point across.
02.56 Hans Sebald Beham, Allegory of the Monastic Orders (1521)
In Hans Sebald Beham's Allegory of the Monastic Orders, above, we see a fairly basic example of this type of critical imagery. The three allegorical figures of Pride, Lust, and Avarice (Superbia, Luxuria, Avaricia) hold a monk in their clutches while a peasant, shadowed and encouraged by Poverty (Paupertas), tries to force-feed him a book, probably the Bible. This illustration lends itself to different interpretations, but the most likely reading places it in the late-medieval tradition of anticlericalism. A monk, long the object of popular discontent due to the wealth and exploitation associated with the monastic orders, is kept away from the book, from the Word of God, by the Three Vices. The peasant holds the monk by a tuft of hair and forces the book 'down his throat' while receiving the encouragement of Poverty. Here the peasant is the champion of God's Word; the monk, in contrast, refuses to acknowledge the Word (symbolised, perhaps, by the discarded book at his feet) and must be forced to face the truth by the peasant. Beneath it all is an underlay of social commentary. Poverty and the peasant are on the side of God, while the monk is caught up in vice and sin.
Leonhard Beck extended the range of social grievance in his anticlerical print Monk and Maiden. Once again this is an attack against the monastic orders, similar to Beham's Allegory of the Monastic Orders, but in this illustration the characters in dialogue express different levels of discontent. The central issue is that of clerical womanizing, yet another way in which the Catholic clergy were seen to exploit the laity. As you can see by following the text in the image, the farmer has been duped by the monk; his daughter has given herself to the clergyman. There is nothing the peasant can do but threaten with his sword. This scene, tragic in itself, draws upon a broader sense of unease and dissatisfaction. In the monk's seduction of the woman we sense the disgust with clerical exploitation; the table in the middle, separating the scene, relates the relative impotency of the peasantry vis-�-vis the church; the stage, the inn, sends out a moral message about the state of the clergy; while the actions and words of the older monk in the back (who cannot bear to watch) were probably taken to represent the Church's apathetic attitude to the need for reform.
02.57 Leonhard Beck, Monk and Maiden (1523)
Indeed, criticism against the Catholic clerical estate did not focus solely on the monastic orders. In a print entitled The Pope and his Cohorts the entire church hierarchy is called into question. The picture draws upon the allegory of the good shepherd (a theme we have already met in works such as Barthel Beham's Christ in the Sheep Shed). In this instance the Pope is the shepherd who instructs his clergy to fleece his sheep. As the pope sits by while his 'cohorts' shear, slay, and flay his defenceless flock, Germany's secular rulers march by with their hands covering their eyes (a parody of the German expression 'to peek through one's fingers,' which means much the same as the English expression 'to turn a blind eye'). Reading through Hans Sach's accompanying text will help you make sense of the image.
02.58 The Pope and His Cohorts (c. 1530)
Not all of the anti-Catholic propaganda featured this ad hominem approach to criticism. As we have seen in the section on The Lutheran Woodcut as Religious Education (02.04), publicists could use the illustrated woodcut to instruct the viewer in some of the basic theological aspects of the evangelical faith, just as they could use it to discredit the teaching of the Catholic church. Although more pointed and direct, many of the critical woodcuts levelled at the Catholic church focused on the theological issues at stake. Indulgences, for example, proved a popular target for the evangelical publicists. In Breu the Elder's Proclamation of an Indulgence the text and the image ridicule this aspect of Catholic devotion. A cardinal (possibly Albrecht of Mainz or the papal legate Campeggio) along with a man in a cowl (possibly a likeness of Johann Tetzel, the indulgence peddler made famous by Luther) approach the Master of a Mint. Behind them stands a cross with an indulgence in the place of Christ. At the base of the image the text brings meaning to the print.
02.59 J�rg Breu the Elder, Proclamation of an Indulgence (c.1530)
In contrast, the woodcut entitled The Seven-headed Papal Animal condemns indulgences on strictly theological grounds. The Instruments of Passion, so common in late-medieval images of devotion, are fixed to a cross, but in place of Christ (as in the Proclamation of an Indulgence) there is a letter of indulgence with the words 'for cash a sack of indulgences' written in bold print. The Papal arms frame the picture, while the Seven-headed Papal Animal sits atop a money chest. Clearly, as you can see by viewing the illustration, the Papacy is likened to the Beast of the Apocalypse. Supported by the gains of the indulgence trade and grounded in the Kingdom of the Devil (Regnum Diaboli), the Catholic church becomes the Antichrist forecast in 2 Thessalonians 2.4 - 'Who opposeth and exalteth himself above all that is called God, or that is worshipped...'
02.60 The Seven-headed Papal Animal (c.1530)
By the mid-1520s and beyond, the Evangelical publicists were depicting the Catholic church as the Antichrist, as the enemy of Christ and the Gospel.
In prints like the Younger Cranach's Last Supper of the Protestants and the Pope's Descent into Hell, above, the message is clear. With this type of image we return to the format of antithesis so common to the educational print. The figure of Luther divides the picture with a gesture, thus acting much in the same manner as the crier in Georg Pencz's Two Kinds of Sermons. On the left is the evangelical communion. Here is the True Faith, as evidenced by the crucified Christ and the paschal lamb. On the right is the Pope and the Catholic hierarchy trapped in the Jaws of Hell. You may tease more detail out of the woodcut by viewing the larger image, but the message itself is straightforward.
More difficult to interpret, but no less damning, is Hans Sebald Beham's The Descent of the Pope into Hell. Drawing on the imagery of the Nuremberg carnival processions, Beham pictures the Catholic church and its clergy on the way to Hell. Crowded together in a carriage pulled by the Pope, their fate seems certain: Hell is already overflowing with clerics, while devils stoke the Flames of Perdition beneath them. The woodcut is effective in that it combines meaning from two cultural traditions. The moral of the print is clearly religious in inspiration; and for those who miss the point, the text of Isaiah 14:1-27 at the bottom of the picture spells out the implications for the reader. But the dynamic of the image - this forced march to Hell - cannot be fully appreciated without knowledge of the carnival processions so common to cities like Beham's Nuremberg. You can judge how well this blend works by negotiating the image and abstracting the complete message from the biblical text.
02.62 Hans Sebald Beham, The Descent of the Pope into Hell (1524)
Beham's The Descent of the Pope into Hell is a striking example of how the evangelical publicists might draw upon shared traditions of popular culture and belief in order to relate meaning. For example, most people would have been familiar with the scene related in Michael Ostendorfer's Pilgrimage to the Beautiful Virgin of Regensburg. In this image, Ostendorfer was able to depict the excessive behaviour associated with the popular Catholic practice of pilgrimage. Believers collapse in ecstasy before a statue of the 'Beautiful Madonna' while others stream into the chapel to pay witness to her miracles. Ostendorfer lets the picture speak for itself; it does not depend on metaphor, correspondence, or allegory.
02.63 Michael Ostendorfer, Pilgrimage to the Beautiful Virgin of Regensburg (1520)
It was more common, however, for publicists to borrow icons and themes from the realm of popular culture and use the meaning bound up with them to communicate their message. Take a look at Leonhard Beck's Monk and Donkey, yet another example of the critical propaganda directed at the Catholic church. On the left is a mendicant monk, walking stick and wine sack in hand, with a nun in a basket fixed to his back. Having dropped her yarn, the nun says: 'As one would spin in a basket - much is lost and little is won.' In contrast, to the right, a donkey in a fool's costume spins successfully while declaring: 'If I did not spin yarn in this fashion, people would think me an ass'. Beck thus made use of proverbial expressions and popular imagery (such as the fool's costume) to complete the woodcut's meaning.
02.64 Leonhard Beck, Monk and Donkey (1523)
A similar approach to criticism was taken by Peter Fl�tner in his Procession of the Clergy. Fl�tner frames his meaning in the iconography of the popular religious procession, an event which most parishioners would have witnessed first hand. Catholic figures, the objects of barbs and insults, move from one church to the next while the text relates their folly. You can piece together the general message of the woodcut by examining its iconographic parts.
02.65 Peter Fl�tner, Procession of the Clergy (1535)
Other artists, like Erhard Schoen, drew on the grotesque images familiar to the popular imagination. There had long been an association of monks with evil spirits and devils.
02.66 Erhard Schoen, The Devil with a Bagpipe (c. 1535)
In The Devil with a Bagpipe, above, Schoen not only refers to this late-medieval belief, he implies that the devil pipes the monk's tune. The association made between the Catholic monk and the devil is direct and explicit (and it was used on occasion to discredit Luther, who became the monk in the devil's hold).
Less accessible is the woodcut entitled Satirical Coat of Arms of the Pope, though it too is a fierce attack on the Catholic church. Unlike the works by Schoen and Beck, however, works which borrowed from a fairly broad base of common culture, the Satirical Coat of Arms of the Pope draws from a particular subgenre. The woodcut can only be understood when viewed in relation to the 'letters of insult' (Scheltbrief) and 'images of insult' (Schandbild) exchanged by the feuding nobility. If a nobleman had a grievance against another he could make a public accusation through such means. Frequently posted in a public area, the letter and image of insult brought the charges out in the open. To portray a nobleman as a hanged criminal (a form of execution reserved for the common man) was extremely offensive, and this is what the artist has tried to effect in the Satirical Coat of Arms of the Pope. The full range of meaning in this Lutheran 'image of insult' is conveyed in the marginal text.
02.67 Satirical Coat of Arms of the Pope (c. 1545)
Finally, before we abandon the theme of critical propaganda, it should be noted that the Catholic publicists did on occasion counter with anti-Lutheran prints of their own. Lutheran propaganda was far more common, and far more sophisticated, but the Catholic church did not suffer the onslaught of Lutheran propaganda in total silence. Indicative of the Catholic counter-reaction is the anonymous print entitled Luther's Game of Heresy. Luther stands before a large pot giving off noxious vapours. A raven, symbol of greed and falsehood, often the messenger of bad news, sits on his shoulder. While Luther brews in his pact with Satan, minor devils pipe and sing and feed the fire, their evil designs revealed in the accompanying textual fragments. You can read through the various passages attributed to the devils to complete the sense of the illustration.
02.68 Luther's game of Heresy (1520)
Given later developments in the Protestant world, this Lutheran emphasis on the visual seems an odd development. For one of the main targets of the evangelical movement was the Catholic reliance on the visual, on the externals and aids to worship, on objects of devotion and reflection such as statues, paintings, images, and depictions of the saints. The Reformers believed that these devotional aids led the faithful away from the true object of devotion (which was Christ) and seduced them into idolatry. These men believed that the True Church would not trust its faith to the visual (the flesh) but rather would rely upon the power of the Word (the spirit). Thus at the outset of the movement a number of reformers called for the removal of images from the church. One of the most outspoken of these iconophobes was Andreas Karlstadt, Luther's colleague in Wittenberg. In January 1522, while Luther was at the Wartburg, Karlstadt introduced a number of reforms to the Castle Church in Wittenberg, one of which was the removal of all images. Karlstadt then published a defence of his actions in a tract entitled On the Removal of Images. (1522).
In this pamphlet, Karlstadt argued against the cult of images. God had issued a command against idols which had continued through Christ (like the commands against murder, adultery, robbery, etc). Central to his defence was his belief that imagery led the faithful away from true worship. This reliance on images, Karlstadt claimed, not only kept the laity in the dark and ignorant of the God's Word, it also sustained the false division between the clergy and the laity, for these aids to devotion were the props and pillars of the Catholic church. But even beyond this, it was false worship; it was idolatry. Images could teach the faithful 'the life and suffering of the flesh,' but it could not teach the spirit.
02.69 Andreas Karlstadt, On the Removal of Images (1522)
Karlstadt's notions raised considerable alarm, and not only among the Catholics. Luther himself returned to Wittenberg in March, 1522 and annulled the ordinances and innovations introduced by Karlstadt. Luther believed that images were indifferent; where they could bring the believer to greater piety, that could only help. Catholic scholars, on the other hand, published learned tracts in support of the need for visual aids in worship and offered point-by-point refutations of the arguments presented in On the Removal of Images. One of the most elequent and competent champions of the Catholic church was the Ingolstadt professor Johannes Eck. Eck wrote a tract entitled On Not Removing Images (1522) and offered a general defence of the Catholic position on images. Christ made the Word flesh, Eck argued. He was made in the image of man and was thus capable of representation. In addition to this, Eck pointed to the role played by images in worship: they are the books of the laity, a means of instruction and a spur to worship.
02.70 Johannes Eck, On Not Removing Images (1522)
Despite this campaign against the visual component of the Christian faith, the Reformation did not do away with art in the German lands, nor did it displace the role of the image in local worship. Of course, Protestant artists could no longer work in such a wide range of genres, for the saints were not depicted as before, relics were not housed, monstrances were not paraded, but there was still a need for visual proofs of devotion. Protestant artists tended to work in certain areas, on panel paintings, altar pieces, book illustrations, or epitaph memorials. And there was still a strong tradition of painting in the north which was not extinguished by the reform movement. No better witness to the cooperation between the Reformation and art can be offered than the partnership between the Cranach workshop in Wittenberg and Martin Luther. As we have seen above, both Cranachs, father and son, were instrumental in the war of pamphlet propaganda. They also produced Lutheran art of high quality.
In Lucas Cranach the Elder's The Law and Gospel, a series of compositions done in 1529 (which we have encountered above in woodcut form), Cranach was able to relate the essence of the Lutheran faith in a panel painting. In the Wittenberg Altar of 1547, also completed by the Cranach workshop, we see a treatment of the Last Supper with a Protestant turn. Not only are the major Protestant Reformers in the painting (Luther, as a disciple, accepts the cup from the servant, Melanchthon appears in a wing panel) but central beliefs of the faith dictate the painting's themes. This emphasis on the Lord's Supper, for example, shows the church of True Believers. There are no priests, no tools to worship, just Christ and his disciples in a gathering of the faithful. The Lutheran artist viewed his own faith as a continuation of this original circle of disciples. But perhaps the most striking monument to Lutheran art is Albrecht D�rer's Four Apostles. Although the painting's ultimate meaning is a matter of some contention among scholars, there is no doubt that it relates the concern at the heart of the Protestant Reformation: the primacy of the Word. From the dawn of the Reformation movement to its later rise to a major confession, the visual served as a medium for the spread of the Protestant faith.
02.71 Lucas Cranach the Elder, The Law and the Gospel (1529)
02.72 The Cranach Workshop, The Wittenberg Altar (1547)
02.73 Albrecht D�rer, Four Apostles (1526)
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Bibliography: Engraven Reformation case-study
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