Original subtitles

[bell ringing]

[cart rumbling]

Ah, Brother Martin.

There's the man who did in four of the seven sacraments,

denied the miracle of the Mass,

crippled the Pope, raised the Holy Scriptures

over the authority of Rome

and the individual conscience over Mother Church herself.

I plead guilty to those charges.

And who tried to make the Church conform to him,

because he could not conform to the Church.

And that.

It doesn't matter why I did it, only what came out of it.

Doesn't it now?

And do you also plead guilty

to abandoning we who got your reformation for you?

I abandon those who would reform by force

in the very name of the Prince of Peace.

Only after that force had got you what you wanted.

I am bleeding,

he has bled,

and you're alive and well

and cuddling in the arms of your nun.

[no audio]

Now you even look like a butcher.

[distant singing]

[singing in Latin]

[singing continues]

Amen

[no audio]

[soft clumping]

[footfalls]

[no audio]

Now you must choose one of two ways:

Either to leave us now

or give up this world

and devote yourself entirely to God

and our Order.

But I must add this:

Once you have committed yourself,

you are not free, for whatever reason,

to throw off the yoke of obedience,

for you will have accepted it freely,

while you were able to discard it.

[singing in Latin]

[singing continues]

[singing continues]

[singing continues]

He whom it was Your will to dress

in the garb of the Order, O Lord,

invest him also with eternal life.

The Lord divest you of the former man

and of all his works.

The Lord invest you with the new man.

[singing in Latin]

[singing continues]

[in unison]Amen

I, Brother Martin, do make profession

and promise obedience to Almighty God,

to Mary the Sacred Virgin,

and to you, my Brother Prior of this cloister,

in the name of the Order of Eremites

of St. Augustine and his successors,

to live without property and in chastity

according to the Rule of our Venerable Father Augustine

until death.

Lord Jesus Christ,

our leader and our strength,

by the fire of humility

You have set aside this servant, Martin,

from the rest of Mankind.

We humbly pray that this fire

will also cut him off from carnal intercourse

and from the community of those things

done on Earth by men,

through the sanctity shed from Heaven upon him.

[speaking in Latin]

Amen.

[fanfare music]

In the year of our Lord 1506,

Martin Luther, like many another medieval monk,

sought, by the adoption of the cowl,

to protect his immortal soul against the attacks of demons,

fiends, and devils,

so terrifyingly real to the men of his time.

At this time, of course,

we'd never even heard of Martin Luther.

He was just another monk.

Germany was carpeted with them.

But this one sought to outdo his brothers

in practicing the counsels of perfection,

hoping by mortification of the flesh

and the performance of good works

to subdue the first agonized murmurings of doubt.

What are the tools of good works?

First, to love Lord God with all one's soul.

Then, one's neighbor as oneself.

Then, not to kill, not to commit adultery,

not to steal, not to covet,

not to bear false witness.

To honor all men.

To deny yourself in order to follow Christ.

Not to yield to anger, not to nurse a grudge.

To keep death daily before your eyes,

to know for certain that God sees you everywhere.

When evil thoughts come into your heart,

to dash them at once on the love of Christ.

To desire eternal life with all your spiritual longing.

To keep constant vigilance over the actions of your life.

To keep your mouth from evil and depraved talk.

To fear the Day of Judgment,

to dread hell.

To confess your past sins to God that you may be steadfast

against the desires of the flesh.

To chastise the body.

To love fasting, to clothe the naked,

to visit the sick, to bury the dead.

To prefer nothing to the love of Christ.

Behold, these are the tools of the spiritual craft.

If we employ these unceasingly,

and render account of them on the Day of Judgment,

then we shall receive from the Lord in return

that reward that He Himself has promised:

Eye hath not seen nor ear heard

what God hath prepared for those that love Him.

[soft music]

[muttering indistinct prayer]

I lost the body of a child,

a child's body, eyes of a child,

and at the first sound of my own childish voice.

I lost the body of a child.

And I was afraid, and I went back to find it.

And I'm still afraid.

I'm afraid, and there's an end of it.

But I mean...

...continually.

For instance, of the noise the Prior's dog makes

on a still evening when he rolls over on his side

and licks his teeth.

I'm afraid of the darkness, and the hole in it.

And I see it sometime of every day,

and some days more than once even.

And there's no bottom to it, there's no bottom to my breath,

and I can't reach it.

Why?

Why, do you think?

The lost body of a child,

hanging on a mother's breast

and close to the big, warm body of a man.

And I can't find it.

I confess to God, to Blessed Mary,

our holy Father Augustine,

to all the saints, and all present

that I have sinned exceedingly in thought, word,

and deed by my own fault.

I confess I did leave my cell for the night office

without the scapular and had to return for it.

For this failure to Christ I abjectly seek forgiveness

and whatever punishment the Prior and community

is pleased to impose on me.

I confess I did omit

to have a candle ready at the Mass.

Twice in my sloth, I have omitted to shave,

and even excused myself, pretending to believe my skin

to be fairer than that of my Brothers.

I confess I did ask for a bath,

pretending to myself that it was necessary for my health,

but as I lowered my body into the tub,

it came to me that it was inordinate desire

and that it was my soul that was soiled.

I am alone.

I am alone and against myself.

I am a worm and no man.

Crush out the worminess in me.

Stamp on me.

If my flesh would leak and dissolve

and I could live as bone...

If I were all bone,

plucked bone and brain, warm hair and a bony heart.

If I were all bone,

I could brandish myself without terror,

without any terror at all.

I could be indestructible!

Let Brother Paulinus remember

our visit to our near sister house,

and lifting his eyes repeatedly at a woman in the town

who dropped alms into his bag.

I remember and I beg forgiveness.

Then let him remember also

that though our dear Father Augustine

does not forbid us to see women,

he blames us if we should desire them.

I confess that while I was bottling wine, I sipped--

I confess that I have offended grievously

against humility,

sometimes failing to be content

with the meanest and worst of everything.

I have declared myself to myself lower and lower

and of less account than all other men,

but I have failed in my most inmost heart

to believe it.

For many weeks, many weeks it seems to me,

I was put to cleaning the latrines.

I did it, and I did it vigorously,

not tepidly, with all my poor strength,

without whispering or objections to anyone.

But although I fulfilled my task,

and I did it well,

sometimes there were murmurings in my heart.

I prayed that they would cease,

knowing that God, seeing my murmuring heart,

must reject my work, and it was as good as not done.

I sought out my master and he punished me,

telling me to fast for two days.

I've fasted for three, but even so,

I can't tell if the murmurings are really gone,

and I ask for your prayers!

And I ask for your prayers

that I may be able to go on fulfilling the same task.

Let Brother Martin remember all the degrees of humility,

and let him go on cleaning the latrines.

[speaking in Latin]

[singing in Latin]

[coughing]

[singing continues]

[gasping]

[singing continues]

[choking]

[singing continues]

[gasping]

[yelling]

[singing continues]

[crying]

[slapping]

[singing continues]

[gasping]

[singing continues]

Not me!

I am not!

[monks continue singing]

He suffered that way for months,

his mind desperately trying to avoid

the nameless horror that constantly assailed it.

Any other man would have been done for,

but not Martin.

He learned to protect his mind

by dropping his fearful murmurings out of his head

and into his bowels.

Meanwhile, he buried himself in an orgy of ritual and study,

preparing himself for his first Mass.

Brother Martin!

Brother Martin?

Brother Martin, your father's here.

My father?

Mm, yes, he asked to see you,

but I told him it would be better

to wait until afterwards.

What did he have to come for?

I should have told him not to come.

It'd be a strange father who didn't want to be present

when his son celebrated his first Mass.

You're running all over with sweat again.

-Are you sick? -No.

-Are you? -No.

Let me wipe your face, you haven't much time.

You're sure you're not sick?

My bowels won't move, that's all.

That's nothing out of the way.

Have you shaved?

Yes, before I went to confession.

Why, do you think I should shave again?

A few overlooked little bristles

won't make much difference,

any more than a few imaginary sins.

There, that's better.

What do you mean, "imaginary sins"?

I mean there are plenty of priests with dirty ears

administering the sacraments,

but this isn't the time to talk about that.

Come on, Martin,

you've got nothing to be afraid of.

How do you know?

You always talk as though lightning

were just about to strike behind you.

Tell me what you meant.

I only meant the whole convent knows

you're always making up sins you've never committed.

What's the use of all this talk of penitence

-if I can't feel it? -The moment you've confessed,

turned to the altar,

you're beckoning for a priest again.

Why, every time you break wind

they say you rush to a confessor.

They say that?

It's their favorite joke.

They say that, do they?

Martin, you're protected

from many of the world's evils in here.

You're expected to master them,

not be obsessed by them.

God bids us hope in His everlasting mercy.

Try to remember that.

What have I gained from coming into this sacred Order?

Am I not still the same?

I'm still envious, I'm still impatient,

-I'm still passionate? -How can you ask a question

-like that? -I do ask and I'm asking you,

what have I gained?

In any of this, all we can ever learn

is how to die.

That's no answer.

It's the only one I can think of at the moment.

All you can teach me in this sacred place

is how to doubt.

That's all you've taught me.

That's really all you've taught me.

And all the while I'm living in the Devil's worm bag.

It hurts me to see you like this,

sucking up cares like a leech.

You will be there beside me, won't you?

Yes, of course.

And if anything goes wrong

or you forget anything, we'll see to it.

But you won't, you'll be all right.

You won't make any mistakes.

What if I do?

Just one mistake, one word, one sin...

Martin, kneel down.

Forgive me, Brother Weinand, but the truth is this...

-Kneel. -...it's just this.

All I can feel is God's hatred.

-Repeat the Apostles' Creed. -He's like a glutton,

the way He gorges me, He's a glutton.

He gorges me and spits me out in lumps.

After me: "I believe in God the Father Almighty,

maker of Heaven and Earth..."

I'm a trough, I tell you.

He's swilling about in me all the time.

"And in Jesus Christ, His only Son Our Lord..."

In Jesus Christ, His only Son Our Lord.

"Who was conceived by the Holy Ghost,

born of the Virgin Mary,

suffered under Pontius Pilate..."

Was crucified, dead and buried.

He descended into Hell.

The third day He rose again from the dead,

He ascended into Heaven, and sitteth on the right hand

of God the Father Almighty.

From thence He shall come to judge the quick and the dead.

And every sunrise sings a song of death.

"I believe..."

I believe...

Go on.

I believe in the Holy Ghost, the holy Catholic Church,

the Communion of Saints, the forgiveness of sins.

Again.

-Forgiveness of sins. -What was that again?

I believe in the forgiveness of sins.

Do you? Do you?

Then remember this:

When we say in the Apostles' Creed,

"I believe in the forgiveness of sins,"

each one of us must believe that his sins are forgiven.

Well?

I wish my bowels would open.

I'm blocked up like an old crypt.

[calm music]

Try to remember that, Martin.

Yes, I'll try.

Better get ready now.

I'll help you.

[calm music]

Is my father alone?

No, he's brought at least a dozen friends, I should say.

My mother with him?

No.

[calm music]

[sighing]

[organ music]

I never thought he'd come.

Why didn't he tell me?

Well, he's-- here now anyway.

He's also given 20 guilden to the chapel as a present,

so he can't be too displeased with you.

-Twenty guilden? -Mm!

[organ music]

That's a lot of money to my father.

That's three times what it cost him

to send me to the university for a year.

[organ music]

Twenty guilden.

[calm music]

He works in the mines, you know.

Yes, he told me.

As tough as you can think of.

Thank you, Brother Weinand.

For what?

Today would be an ordeal for any kind of man.

In a short while, you'll be handling,

for the first time, the body and blood of Christ.

God bless you.

Somewhere, in the body of a child,

Satan foresaw in me what I'm suffering now.

That's why he prepares open pits for me,

and all kinds of tricks to bring me down,

so that I keep wondering if I'm the only man living

who's baited and surrounded by dreams

-and afraid to move. -You're a fool.

You're really a fool.

God isn't angry with you,

it's you who are angry with Him.

[somber music]

[music continues]

Oh, Mary.

Dear Mary.

All I see of Christ is aflame and raging on a rainbow.

Pray to your Son, ask Him to still His anger,

for I cannot look upon Him.

[serene pipe music]

[music continues]

[music continues]

[indistinct remarks]

[music continues]

[music continues]

Let not the partaking of Thy body, Lord Jesus Christ,

which I, unworthy as I am, make bold to receive,

turn against me into judgment and damnation,

but through Thy loving kindness,

let it safeguard me body and soul

and bring me healing.

Thou, who art God,

living and reigning with God the Father

in the name and the unity of the Holy Spirit,

world without end.

Amen.

[music continues]

I will take the bread of Heaven

and will call upon the name of the Lord.

[serene music]

[music continues]

Lord, I am not worthy

that Thou shouldst enter beneath my roof,

but say only the word and my soul shall be healed.

Lord, I am not worthy

that Thou shouldst enter beneath my roof,

but say only the word and my soul shall be healed.

[bell ringing]

Lord, I am not worthy

that Thou shouldst enter beneath my roof...

"Say only..."

"Say only the word..."

Say only the word and my soul shall be healed.

The body of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Preserve my soul

into everlasting life.

Amen.

What return shall I make to the Lord

for all that He has given me?

I will take the Chalice of Salvation

and will invoke the name of the Lord.

[sighing]

"Praised be the Lord."

Praised be the Lord.

When I invoke His name,

I shall be secure from all my enemies.

Body of our Lord, Jesus Christ.

Preserve my soul into everlasting life.

Amen.

[laughing]

What about some more of this, eh?

Don't think you can get away with it.

I'm getting my 20 guildens' worth

before the day is out.

After all, it's a proud day for all of us.

It certainly is.

Forgive me, I wasn't looking.

Don't give me that, you monks don't miss much.

Eyes like gimlets, ears like open drains.

Tell me, what's your opinion of Brother Martin?

He's a good, devout monk.

Yes.

Yes, well, I suppose you can't say much about each other.

Tell me, would you say that in this monastery

or any monastery alike,

you're as strong as the weakest member of the team?

No, I don't think that's so.

Well, wouldn't you say--

I don't mean this as any criticism, mind,

but if one bad monk,

one really monster-sized, roaring great bitch of a monk,

if he got going, really going,

he could give the Order such a reputation

it might even have to go into liquidation.

Liquidation.

You're a learned man, you know Latin

and Greek and Hebrew.

Only Latin, I'm afraid, and very little Greek.

-Really? -Mm.

Martin knows Latin and Greek.

Halfway through Hebrew, too.

Yes, Martin is a brilliant man.

We're not all as gifted as he is.

No.

Well, what would be your opinion about this?

I think my opinion would be that the Church is bigger

than those who are in her.

Don't let him get you into an argument.

He'll argue about anything,

especially if he doesn't know what he's talking about.

I do know something about it!

I was merely asking a question.

You shouldn't be asking such questions

on a day like today.

It's a really once-only occasion,

like a wedding.

Or a funeral.

By the way, what's happened to the corpse?

Where's Brother Martin?

I expect he's still in his cell.

Should have thought he'd had enough

of being on his own by now.

The boy's probably a bit, well, you know,

anxious about seeing you again, too.

What's he got to be anxious about?

Well, apart from everything else,

it's nearly three years since he last saw you.

There you are, my boy!

We were wondering what had happened to you!

Come and sit down, there's a good lad.

Your father and I have been punishing

the convent wine cellar, I'm afraid.

Bit early in the day for me, too.

Speak for yourself.

I haven't even started.

My dear boy, are you all right?

You look so pale!

Brother Martin.

Brother Lazarus, they should call you.

I'm much better, thank you.

Been sick, have you?

Much better, thank you, Father.

Stomach upset, that what it was?

You look like death warmed up, all right.

Have a little wine, it'll make you feel better!

I know that milky look.

Seen it too many times.

Drop of wine will put the color back in there.

You're all right, aren't you, lad?

Vomit all over your cell, I expect.

He'll have to clean it up himself, won't he?

Can't have your mother running in,

getting down on her knees to mop it all up.

I managed to clean it up all right.

How are you, Father?

Me?

I'm all right.

I'm all right, aren't I, Lucas?

Never anything wrong with me.

Your old man's strong enough.

We--we have to be strong.

If we're not strong, it won't take any time at all

before we're knocked flat on our backs,

flat on our backs and finished.

And we can't afford to be finished,

because if we're finished, that's it,

that's the end.

Your father's doing very well indeed, Martin.

He's got his own investment in the mine now.

He's beginning to work for himself.

That's the way things are going everywhere now.

You must be pleased.

Well, I'm pleased to make money.

Not pleased to break my back doing it.

How's Mother?

Um, I'm sorry she couldn't come,

but it's a bad journey, as you know,

so she sends her love.

Well, there's nothing wrong!

There's too much work, too many kids, too long.

Still, there's only one way of going "up you"

to Old Nick when he comes for you,

and that's to show him your kids.

One thing, if you've been lucky

and the plague's kept away from you,

you can pop it out from under the counter at him.

That to you.

Then you've done something for yourself forever.

Forever and ever.

Amen.

Father...

why do you hate me being here?

What do you mean?

I don't hate you being here.

Try to give me a straight answer, if you can.

I'd like to know.

What are you talking about?

I don't know what you're talking about.

I should like you to tell me.

And don't say I could have been a lawyer.

So you could've been.

You could've been better than that.

You could've been a burgomaster,

you could have been a magistrate, chancellor.

You could have been anything!

So what?

I don't want to talk about it,

certainly not in front of complete strangers.

You're drinking too much wine.

I could drink this convent piss

from now till Gabriel's horn.

And from all accounts, that'll blow next Thursday,

so what's the difference?

This the wine you use in the Mass?

I'm asking a straight question now.

Is this the wine you use?

Here, have some.

You know what they say?

No, what do they say?

I'll tell you.

Bread thou art and wine thou art

and always shall remain so.

[scuffling and banging]

My father didn't mean that.

He's a very devout man, I know.

[bell ringing]

Brother Weinand will show you over the convent.

-Yes, yes, I'd like that. -If you're finished, that is?

Oh, yes, I've had more than enough, thank you.

Right, well, shall we go then, Brother Weinand?

I'll come back for you, shall I?

Hans, you'll stay here?

-Just as you like. -Goodbye, my boy,

but I'll see you before I go, won't I?

Yes, of course.

[bell ringing continues]

Martin.

I didn't mean to embarrass you.

No, it was my fault.

Not in front of everyone.

I shouldn't have asked you a question like that.

It's just that it was a shock to see you suddenly.

I had almost forgotten what your voice sounded like.

Why did you get all snarled up like that during the Mass?

You're disappointed, aren't you?

No, I just want to know.

Young men like you just don't forget the words.

I don't understand what happened.

I lifted up my head at the host,

and, as I was speaking the words,

I heard them as if it were the first time,

and suddenly they struck at my life.

I don't know.

I really don't.

Maybe your father and mother are wrong after all

and God's right.

Whatever it is you had to find,

you could only find it by becoming a monk.

You don't believe that, do you?

No, no, I don't.

Then say what you mean.

Very well.

If that's what you want,

I'll say exactly what I mean.

I think a man murders himself in these places.

I kill no one but myself.

I don't care.

It gives me the shivers.

That's why I couldn't bring your mother,

if you want to know.

The Gospels are the only mother I've ever had.

Haven't you ever read in the Gospels?

Haven't you read what's written in there?

"Thou shalt honor thy father and thy mother."

You're not understanding me, because you don't want to.

Oh, that's fine talk, Martin.

Fine, holy talk.

But it won't wash, it won't wash, Martin,

because you can't ever, however you try,

you can't ever get away from your body.

It's what you live in,

it's all you have to die in,

the body of your father and your mother!

We're bodies, Martin, we're bound together for always.

You're like any man who was ever born into this world,

but you'd like to pretend that it was you made you.

Not the body of a woman and another man.

Churches, kings, and fathers.

Why do they ask so much

and why do they get so much more than they deserve?

I think I deserve more than you've given me.

I've given you?

I don't have to give you, I am.

That's all I need to give you, that's all you're going to get.

You wanted me to be a lawyer, learn Latin,

be a master of arts.

All you want is me to justify you.

Well, I can't, and what's more, I won't.

I can't even justify myself.

So just stop asking me what have I accomplished,

what have I done for you?

I've done for you all I'll ever do

and that's live and wait to die.

Why do you blame me for everything?

I don't blame you!

I'm just not grateful, that's all.

[no audio]

[no audio]

I'm not a specially good man, I know,

but I believe in God and in Jesus Christ, His Son,

that the Church will take care of me,

and that I can make some sort of life for myself

with a little joy in it somewhere.

Where's your joy?

You wrote to me once when you were at the university

that only Christ would light up the place you live in.

What's the point?

What's the point if the place you live in

turns out to be a hovel?

Don't you think it mightn't be better

not to be able to see at all?

I'd rather be able to see.

I see a young man, learned and full of life,

abusing his youth with fear and humiliation.

You think you're facing up to it in here,

but you're not.

You're running away.

You're running away and you can't help it.

If it's so easy in here,

why do you think the rest of the world

isn't knocking the gates down to get in?

Because they haven't given up, that's why.

Well, there it is:

you think I've given up.

Yes, there it is.

[no audio]

This damned monk's wine has given me a headache.

I'm sorry.

Oh, yes, you're all sorry.

A lot of good it does any of us.

I suppose fathers and sons always disappoint each other.

I worked for you, I went without for you.

Well?

Well!

And if I beat you fairly often and pretty hard sometimes,

it was no more than any other boy, was it?

No.

What do you think it is makes you different?

Other men are all right.

Stubborn, you were always stubborn,

you've always had to resist, haven't you?

You disappointed me too,

and not just a few times, but at some time of every day

I ever remember hearing or seeing you,

but, as you say, maybe that was no more

than any other boy.

But I loved you, I loved you the best.

I remember Mother beating me once

for stealing a nut.

On that day, it seemed to me that the pain belonged to me

and to no one else.

It went no further than my body,

between my knees and my chin.

But always before, when you beat me for something,

it seemed we shared the pain, you and I,

and the rest of the world.

Anyway...

I wanted your love more than anyone's.

You never said so.

You never even gave me that feeling.

You were afraid, weren't you?

You know, Martin, I think you were always scared

ever since you could get off your knees and walk.

You were scared for the good reason

that that's what you most wanted to be.

I'll tell you.

I'll tell you what, like that day,

that day coming home from Erfurt,

and the thunderstorm broke, you were so scared,

you lay on the ground and cried out to St. Anne

because you'd seen a bit of lightning

and thought you'd seen a vision.

I saw it all right.

You went and asked her to save you

on condition you became a monk.

I saw it.

Did you?

So it's still St. Anne, is it?

Sometime you should have another little think

about that heavenly vision that wangled you away

into the cloister.

I hope it was a vision,

not some delusion or trick of the devil.

I really hope so,

because I couldn't bear to think of it otherwise.

Sorry we had to quarrel.

It shouldn't have turned out like this at all today.

[somber music]

Goodbye, Martin.

Here.

Have a drink of holy wine.

[somber music]

[somber music]

So the praising ended and the blasphemy began.

Though it was ten years before we began to realize it.

During those years, our troubled young priest

became a brilliant theologian.

He left the cloister to teach at the University of Wittenberg

and his doubts became academic controversy.

Brilliant stuff of that.

Then something happened.

The consequences of which none of us could've imagined,

least of all, Martin.

[spirited music]

[indistinct lyrics]

[spirited music]

[goose honking]

[indistinct lyrics]

[clucking]

[spirited music]

[indistinct chatter]

[spirited music]

[indistinct shouting]

[spirited music]

[spirited music]

[shouting]

Are you wondering who I am, or what I am?

Is there anyone here who hasn't heard of me,

and doesn't know why I am here?

No?

Good.

[drumming]

But just in case, just in case, mind,

there happens to be among you one blind, maimed midget

who hasn't heard of me, I'll open his ears for him

and wash them out with sacred soap

so that he and all of you may hear the good news

I bring you on this bright and sunny day.

I am John Tetzel,

Dominican, inquisitor,

sub-commissioner to the Archbishop of Mainz,

and what I bring you is indulgences.

Indulgences made possible by the red blood

of Jesus Christ, and this red cross

you see standing here behind me

is the standard of those who carry them.

What else do you see up here?

Why, the arms of his holiness.

His holiness, Pope Leo X.

Friends of the Medici, an old and noble

and charitable Italian family.

It's him who sent me with indulgences for you.

Look at them.

All properly sealed.

An indulgence in every envelope,

and one of these can be yours today,

now, before it's too late!

Look at them.

Take a good look.

There isn't a sin so big

that one of these letters can't remit it.

I don't care what it is.

I can settle it for you here and now.

Why, if anyone ever offered violence

to the blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God herself,

if he'd only pay up,

as long as he paid up all he could,

he'd find himself forgiven.

Now then,

how many mortal sins are committed by you,

by you in a single day?

Just think for a moment.

In one single day of your life.

Can you find the answer?

"Oh," you say, "not so many as one a day.

Oh, no."

Very well then.

How many in a month?

How many in six months?

How many in a year?

How many in a whole lifetime?

Yes, you needn't fidget and shuffle your feet.

It doesn't bear thinking about it.

Try to count up

all the years of torment hiding out.

So why won't you,

for as little as a quarter of a florin,

buy yourself one of these letters

so that in the hour of death,

the gates of paradise be flung open to you?

And furthermore, my friends,

these letters are not only for the living,

but for the dead, too!

So don't hold back!

Think of your dear ones!

Think of yourselves!

For 12 groats,

you can rescue your father from agony

and yourself from certain disaster!

So if you only have a coat on your back,

then strip it off.

For, remember, as soon as your money

rattles in this box and the cash bell rings,

the soul flies out of purgatory and sings!

So come on then.

Get your money out!

[clinking]

[dark music]

Well, all this was accepted practice.

We'd seen it all our lives.

Been going on since the Crusades,

not perhaps in quite such a mercenary fashion.

But Martin, outraged at the mockery,

felt obliged to warn us all of its spiritual dangers,

and many began to listen and to murmur.

And so he posed a problem

for his friend and mentor Johann von Staupitz,

Vicar General of the Augustinian order,

of whom he was to say,

"Without him, I would've sunk into hell."

[birds chirping]

[birds chirping]

[no audio]

[soft music]

[soft music]

The birds always seem to fly away

the moment I come out here.

Birds, unfortunately, have no faith.

Perhaps it's simply they don't like me.

They haven't learned yet that you mean them no harm,

that's all.

Are you treating me to one of your allegories?

-You've recognized it anyway. -I ought to.

Ever since I came to the cloister,

I became a craftsman allegory maker myself.

Only last week, I was lecturing

on Galatians Three, verse three,

and I allegorized going to the lavatory.

"Are ye so foolish, that what ye have begun

in the spirit, you would now end in the flesh."

That's right.

But allegories aren't much help in theology

except to decorate a house

that's already been built by argument.

Well, it's a house you've been able to unlock

for a great many of us.

I never dreamed when I first came here to Wittenberg

that the University's reputation

would ever become what it has, and in such a short time,

-and it's mostly due to you. -Mm.

If ever a man could get to heaven through monkery,

that man would be me.

You know quite well what I mean.

I'm talking about your scholarship,

and what you manage to do with it,

not your monkery, as you call it.

The only wonder is you haven't killed yourself

with your prayers and watchings.

All these trials and tribulations you go through,

they're meat and drink to you.

Will you ever stop lecturing me about this?

Of course not.

Why do you think you come here to see me in the garden

when you could be inside working?

Well, if it'll please you, I've so little time,

what with my lectures and study,

I'm scarcely able to carry out

even the basic requirements of the Rule.

I'm delighted to hear it.

You've always been obsessed with the Rule

because it serves very nicely as a protection for you.

-What protection? -Oh, Brother Martin,

don't pretend to look innocent.

Protection against the demands of your own instincts,

that's what.

You see, you think you admire authority,

and you do, but unfortunately, you can't submit to it.

So, what you do, by your exaggerated attention

to the Rule is to make that authority ridiculous.

And the reason you do that is because you're determined

to substitute for that authority

something else yourself.

-Myself? -Oh, come along, Martin,

I've been Vicar General too long

not to have made that little discovery.

Did you know the Duke had been complaining about you?

Why? What have I done?

Preaching against indulgences again.

Oh, that.

Well, I was very mild.

Yes, well, I've heard your mildness in the pulpit.

Remember, the Duke paid all the expenses

of your promotion for you.

He was very cross when he spoke to me.

He said you even made some reference

to the collection of holy relics

in the Castle Church.

Most of those were paid for by the sale of indulgences,

as you know.

Did you say anything about them?

Well...

Yes, but not about those in his Castle Church.

I did make some point in passing about someone

who claimed to have a feather

from the wing of the angel Gabriel.

Oh, yes, I heard about him.

I just finished off by saying how it is

that Christ had 12 apostles

and 18 of them are buried in Germany?

Anyway, the Duke is coming to hear your next sermon

for himself, so try and keep off the subject.

It's All Saints' Day soon, remember,

and all those relics will be out on show

for everyone to gawk at.

The Duke's a good fellow.

He's very proud of his collection.

It doesn't help to be rude about it.

What are you making faces for?

Oh, it's nothing, just a slight discomfort, Father.

You can't strike bargains with God, am I right?

-Yes. -Well, that's all I've said.

The Lord our God reigns here no longer.

He has resigned all power to the Pope.

I actually heard John Tetzel say that.

Well, hear him, write about him, attack him

theologically, intellectually, scholastically,

but to the select few of your peers in Latin,

not from the pulpit to shape the face of the peasant,

the shopkeepers, and the young knights.

If you give the common man an idea

that will excuse his greed

and his natural resistance to authority,

he'll take it and run with it.

I don't look to whom I speak.

I'll leave you to deal with it.

You will anyway.

Try and be careful.

Remember, I agree with what you say,

but the moment someone disagrees

or objects to what you're saying,

that will be the moment when you'll have to measure

the strengths of your belief.

Father...

I'm never sure of the words till I hear them out loud.

Perhaps that's the meaning of the Word.

The Word is me, and I am the Word.

Anyway, try and be a little prudent.

Look at Erasmus.

He never really gets into any serious trouble,

but he still manages to make his point.

People like Erasmus get upset because I talk of pigs

and Christ in the same breath.

Ah, you may be right.

Erasmus is a fine scholar,

but there are too many scholars who think they're better

because they insinuate in Latin

what you'll say in plain German.

Don't forget, you began this affair

in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

You must do as God commands you, of course,

but remember, St. Jerome once wrote

about a philosopher who destroyed his own eyes

so that it would give him more freedom to study.

Take care of your eyes, my son.

And do something about those damned bowels.

I will.

Who knows? If I break wind in Wittenberg,

they might smell it in Rome.

[no audio]

[no audio]

[monks singing]

[melancholy music]

[melancholy music]

[melancholy music]

[melancholy music]

[melancholy music]

[melancholy music]

My text is from the Epistle of Paul the Apostle

to the Romans...

chapter one, verse 17:

"For therein is the righteousness

of God revealed from faith to faith."

[no audio]

We are living in a dangerous time.

You may not think so,

but it could be that this is the most dangerous time

since the light first broke upon the earth.

We Christians seem to be wise outwardly

and mad inwardly,

and in this Jerusalem we have built,

there are blasphemies flourishing

that make the pagan Egyptians and Romans no worse

than giggling children.

A man is not a good Christian

because he understands Greek and Hebrew.

Jerome knew five languages,

but he's inferior to Augustine,

who knew only one.

Of course, Erasmus wouldn't agree with me,

but then perhaps one day the Lord

will open his eyes for him.

But listen.

A man without Christ becomes his own shell.

Shall we be content to be shells?

Shells filled with small trinkets.

And what are the trinkets?

Today is the eve of All Saints,

and the holy relics will be on show to you all;

to the hungry ones whose lives

are made satisfied by trinkets,

by an imposing procession and the dressings up

of all kinds of dismal things.

You'll mumble for magic with lighted candles

to St. Anthony for your erysipelas;

to St. Valentine for your epilepsy;

to St. Apollonia if you've got the toothache,

and to St. Louis to stop your beer from going sour.

And tomorrow you'll wait outside the Castle Church

so that you can get a cheap-rate glimpse

of St. Jerome's tooth,

or four pieces each of St. Chrysostom

and St. Augustine, and six of St. Bernard.

The deacons will have to link hands

to hold you back while you struggle to gawk

at four hairs from Our Lady's head

and at her veil stained with her Son's blood.

You'll sleep outside in the street

with the garbage all night

so that you can stuff your eyes like roasting birds

on a scrap of swaddling clothes,

at eleven pieces of wood from the original crib,

one wisp of straw from the manger,

and a gold coin specially minted

by the three wise men for the occasion.

Your emptiness will be frothing over

at the sight of a strand of Jesus' beard,

at one of the nails driven into His hands,

and at the remains of the loaf from the Last Supper.

Shells for shells...

empty things for empty men.

Now there are some who complain of these things,

but they write in Latin for scholars.

But, now, who'll speak out

so that everyone can understand?

Here it is.

Someone's got to bell the cat!

For you must be made to know that there's no security,

there's no security at all, either in indulgences,

holy busywork, or anywhere in this world.

It came to me while I was in my tower,

what they call the monk's sweathouse,

the jakes, the John,

whatever you're pleased to call it.

I was struggling with the text I've given you:

"For therein is the righteousness

of God revealed, from faith to faith."

I say "struggling" because it is as hard

for me to do what I must do

as it is for a man to truthfully call

his own mother a whore.

And I was sitting there,

I seemed to sense beneath me a large rat...

...a heavy, wet, plague rat,

ready to slash at my privates with its death's teeth.

And I sat in my pain fumbling with the Scripture

until like light itself

the words emerged:

"The just shall live by faith."

And at that moment, my pain vanished.

The rat was gone.

And I could see the waste of my life till now.

No man is just because he does just works.

The works are just if the man is just.

If a man doesn't believe in Christ,

not only are his sins mortal, but his good works.

This I know; reason is the devil's whore,

born of one stinking goat called Aristotle,

which holds that good works make a good man,

but the truth is

the just shall live by faith alone.

By faith alone!

[echoing]

I need no more than my sweet redeemer, Jesus Christ,

and I shall go on praising Him

as long as I have voice to sing;

and if anyone doesn't care to sing with me,

then he can howl on his own.

If we're going to be deserted,

let's follow the deserted Christ.

[speaking Latin]

Amen.

[dramatic music]

We'd all been waiting there, wondering and guessing

if he really meant what we hoped he meant,

that somehow, his fancy new theology

would help us to stop Rome from bleeding taxes out of us

for the use of our German land.

We were just hoping,

but then, to the joy of the common people

and to young fellows like myself

seeking a cause as young men do,

he nailed his heresy to the door.

That single act started a conflagration

which could not be extinguished.

Whether he meant to or not,

he had given us a weapon against the Pope

and we began to use it.

Of course, they didn't waste any time.

The Pope ordered Martin to appear in Augsburg

before his ambassador to Germany,

Cardinal de Vio.

He's here.

So I see.

What do you mean?

Well, you look so cross.

What's he got to say for himself?

Too much.

I said to him, "If our Lord the Pope would offer you

a good bishopric and a plenary indulgence

for repairing your church,

you'll soon start singing a different song."

What did he say to that?

-He asked me... -Well...

He asked me how my mother's syphilis was.

It's a fair question in the circumstances.

You Germans, you're a crude lot.

That's what I said to him.

"The Italians," I said, "they're different.

They're not just learned.

They're subtle, experienced antagonists.

You'll be flung into the fire after five minutes."

-And... -He said,

"I've only been to Italy once

and they didn't look very subtle to me.

They were lifting their legs on street corners like dogs."

Well, I hope he didn't see any cardinals at it.

Knowing some of them, it's not impossible.

Let's have a look at him.

[somber music]

[somber music]

[somber music]

Please stand up, Dr. Luther.

So you're the one they call the excessive doctor.

You don't look excessive to me.

Do you feel very excessive?

It's one of those words which can be used

-like a harness on a man. -How do you mean?

I mean it has very little meaning

beyond traducing him.

Quite.

There's never been any doubt in my mind

that you've been misrepresented all round,

and, as you say, traduced.

Well, well, well, what a surprise you are!

Here I was expecting to find

some doddering old theologian with dust in his ears

who could be bullied into a heart attack

by Tetzel here in 30 minutes.

And there you are, gay and sprightly as a young bull.

How old are you, my son?

Thirty-four, most worthy father.

Tetzel, he's a boy.

And you never told me.

And how long have you been wearing

-your doctor's ring? -Five years.

So you were only 29.

Well, obviously, everything I've heard about you is true.

You really must be a very remarkable young man.

I wouldn't have believed there was one doctor

in the whole of Germany under 50.

Would you, Brother John?

I hadn't thought of it, Your Eminence.

Well, to business.

Now I don't think this matter

need take up very much of our time.

But before we do start,

there is just one thing I would like to say

and that is that I was sorry you decided to ask the Duke

for safe conduct.

Now that was hardly necessary, my son.

And it was a little, well, distressing

to feel that you have such an opinion of us,

such a lack of trust in your Mother Church

and in those who, I can assure you,

have your dearest interests at heart.

I simply thought that considering

-the present situation... -Oh, my dear, dear son,

this is such a ridiculous, unnecessary business

for us all to be mixed up in.

But it's such a tedious and upsetting affair,

and what purpose is there in it?

Your entire order in Germany has been brought into disgrace.

I have my job to do.

And, believe me, it isn't all honey

being an Italian legate in your country.

Well, you know how it is,

people are inclined to resent you.

Nationalist feelings and all that,

which I respect, but it does complicate

one's task to the point when an issue such as this

thrown in for good measure

makes the whole operation absolutely impossible.

You see what I mean?

So you see, my dear son, what a mess we're in.

Now, what are we going to do?

I am unhappy.

His holiness is unhappy, the Duke is unhappy,

and, you, my dear son, you are very unhappy.

Most worthy father,

in obedience to the summons of his papal holiness,

and in obedience to the orders of my gracious lord,

Duke Frederick, Elector of Saxony,

I come before you as a submissive and dutiful son

of the holy Catholic church, and if I have been wrong,

to submit to your instruction in the truth.

My dear son, you've upset the whole of Germany

with your dispute about indulgences.

I know you're a very learned doctor

of the Holy Scriptures,

and that you've already aroused considerable support

among the peasants.

But if you wish to remain a member of the Church,

and to find a gracious father in the Pope,

you had better listen.

I have here in front of me three propositions

which, by the command of our holy father, Pope Leo X,

I will put to you now.

First, you must admit your faults,

and retract all your errors and sermons.

Secondly, you must promise to abstain

from propagating your opinions at all times in the future.

And, thirdly, you must behave generally

with greater moderation,

and avoid anything which might cause offense

and grieve and disturb the Church.

May I see the Pope's instruction?

No, my dear son, you may not.

All you have to do is to confess your errors

and keep a strict watch on your words in the future.

And once you have done that, I've been authorized

by our most holy father

to put everything to rights again.

I understand all that.

But I'm asking you to tell me where I have erred.

If you insist.

Just to begin with,

here are two propositions which you advanced,

which you will have to retract before anything else.

First, you say that the treasure of indulgences

does not consist of the sufferings and torments

of our Lord Jesus Christ,

which is only a temporal item for sale.

Second, you claim that those who receive

the holy sacrament must have faith in the grace

that is presented to them, otherwise it is ineffective.

Enough?

I rest my case entirely on Holy Scripture.

The Pope alone has power and authority

-over all those things. -Except Scripture.

Including Scripture.

What do you mean?

-I mean that... -Only the Pope has the right

to interpret the meaning of Scripture.

The Pope's judgment cannot err,

whether it concerns the Christian faith

or anything that has to do with the salvation

of the human race.

There's nothing in the Scripture that says that.

The time will come

when you'll have to defend yourself against the world.

Even though you always go too far,

thank heavens.

I give you a month, Brother Martin,

to roast yourself.

You've had your 30 pieces of silver.

For the sake of Christ,

why don't you go and betray someone?

-How dare you. -Tetzel,

perhaps in the interest of peace and harmony,

you had better go for a walk.

Very well, Your Eminence.

In point of fact, he gets 80 guilder a month,

plus expenses.

What about his vow of poverty?

Like most brilliant men, my son,

you have an innocent spirit.

I've also learned that he's managed

to father two children.

So there goes another vow. Bang!

Most holy father,

I honor the Holy Roman Church and shall go on doing so.

I have sought the truth,

and everything I have said

I still believe to be right and true

and Christian.

But I am a man, and I may be deceived,

so I am willing to receive instruction

where I have been mistaken.

Save your arrogance, my son.

There'll be a better place to use it.

I can have you sent to Rome

and let any of your German princes try to stop me.

He'll find himself standing outside

the gates of heaven like a leper.

I repeat, I am here to reply to all the charges

you may bring against me.

I'm afraid you have misunderstood the position.

I'm not here to enter into a disputation with you.

The Roman Church is the apex of the world,

spiritual and temporal,

and it may constrain with its secular arm

any of those who once received the faith and gone astray.

Surely I don't have to remind you

that it is not bound to use reason

to fight and destroy rebels.

My son, it's late.

You must retract.

Believe me, I simply want to see this matter ended

as quickly as possible.

Some interests are furthered by finding truth,

others by destroying it.

I don't care what pleases or displeases the Pope.

He is a man.

Ah! Is that all?

He seems a good man, as Popes go.

But that's not much for a world that cries out for reformation.

All right, Martin, I will argue with you.

Or, rather, I will put something to you,

because there is something more

than your safety and you life involved.

Something more important than you and me

just talking together here in this room.

It's fine for someone like you to criticize

and start tearing down Christendom,

but tell me this:

What will you build in its place?

An infected place is best scoured out,

and so you pray for healthy tissue

and something sturdy and clean

for what was crumbling and full of filth.

But my dear son, don't you see?

You'll destroy the perfect unity of the world.

Suppose you did get rid of the Pope.

What do you suppose would become of you?

-I don't know. -Exactly!

You wouldn't know what to do because you need him, Martin.

There have always been Popes, and there always will be,

even though they're called something else.

They'll have them for people like you,

because you need him to fight.

Oh, not because he's too big,

but for your needs, he's not big enough.

Why, some poor, deluded creature might even come to you

as a leader of their revolution,

but you don't want to break rules.

You want to make them.

I've read some of your sermons on faith.

Do you know all they say to me?

No.

They say, "I am a man struggling for certainty,

struggling insanely like a man in a fit,

an animal trapped to the bone with doubt."

[tense music]

Forgive me, Your Eminence.

I'm tired after my journey, I feel faint.

But don't you see what could happen

out of all this?

Men could be cast out forever and left to themselves,

helpless and frightened.

That's what would become of them

without their mother Church with all its imperfections.

Peter's rock.

Without it, they'd be helpless and unprotected.

Allow them their sins, my son,

their petty indulgences.

They're unimportant,

compared to the comfort we receive.

Comfort?

It doesn't concern me.

We live in thick darkness and it grows thicker.

How are men to find God if they're left to themselves,

each man abandoned and only known to himself?

They'll have to try.

I beg of you, my son, I beg of you.

Retract.

Most worthy father, I cannot.

You do look ill.

You'd better go and rest.

Naturally, you will be released from your order.

I, uh...

Yes?

As you say, Your Eminence.

Will you refer this matter to the Pope for his decision?

Assuredly.

[solemn music]

You know, Martin, a time will come

when a man will no longer be able to say,

"I speak Latin and am a Christian"

and go his way in peace

in a Catholic world without frontiers.

But because of men like you, frontiers will come.

Barriers of all kinds between men,

and there'll be no end of them.

[sighs deeply]

Did he retract?

No, of course he didn't.

That man hates himself.

And if he goes to the stake, Tetzel,

you shall have the pleasure of inscribing it:

"He could only love others."

[flames roaring]

[bell tolling]

I have been served with a piece of paper!

Let me tell you about it.

It has come from a latrine called Rome,

and it claims to excommunicate me, Dr. Martin Luther.

These lies rise up like fumes from the bog of Europe,

because papal decretals are the devil's excretals.

I'll hold it up for you to see properly.

You see the signature?

Signed beneath the seal of the Fisherman's Ring

by one certain midden cock called Leo,

Prince of the Medici,

an overindulged jakes attendant to Satan himself,

a glittering worm in excrement,

known to you as His Holiness the Pope.

You may know him as the head of the Church,

which he may still be,

like a fish is the head of a cat's dinner,

eyes without sight clutched to a stick of sucked bones.

God has told me:

There can be no dealings between this cat's dinner and me.

And, as for this bull, it's going to roast,

it's going to roast,

and so are the balls of the Medici!

[flames roaring]

[dramatic music]

[heavy thud]

Oh, God!

Oh, thou my God!

Breathe into me.

Help me against the reason and wisdom of the world

You must, there's only You to do it.

[labored breathing]

This cause is not mine but Yours.

For myself, I've no reason to be dealing

with the great lords of this world.

I want to be still in peace and alone.

God!

God, do you hear me?

Are You dead?

Are You dead?

No, You can't die;

You can only hide Yourself, can't You?

Lord, I'm afraid.

I'm a child, the lost body of a child.

Breathe into me,

in the name of Thy Son, Jesus Christ,

Give me life, oh Lord.

Give me life.

[murmuring]

[three sharp raps]

Johan von Eck,

interrogator to the Archbishop of Trier.

[fanfare-like music]

His Grace, Lord Frederick, Duke of Saxony.

[fanfare-like music continues]

His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor Charles V.

[fanfare-like music continues]

[no audio]

[murmuring]

[sharp rap]

By command of His Imperial Majesty,

this plenary session

of the Diet held in the city of Worms

in the year of our Lord 1521

may now proceed.

Martin Luther, you were been brought here

by His Imperial Majesty

so that you may answer two questions.

When I asked you yesterday

if you would publicly acknowledge

being the author of the books,

you agreed immediately

that the books were indeed your own.

Is that right?

When I asked you the second question,

you asked if you might be allowed

time in which to consider it.

Although such time should have been quite unnecessary

for an experienced debater

and distinguished doctor of theology

like yourself,

His Imperial Majesty was graciously pleased

to grant your request.

Well, you have had your time now,

a whole day and a night,

and so I will repeat the question to you.

Do you mean to defend all these books,

or will you retract any of them?

Your Serene Majesty,

most illustrious princes and gracious lords,

I appear before you by the mercy of God,

and I beg that you will listen patiently.

If, through my ignorance,

I have not given anyone his proper title

or have offended in any way against the etiquette

of such a place as this,

I ask your pardon in advance

for a man who finds it hard to know his way

outside the few steps from wall to wall

of a monk's cell.

[murmuring]

I ask Your Serene Majesty and Your Gracious Lordships

to take note

that not all of my books are of the same kind.

For instance, in the first group,

I have dealt quite simply

with the values of faith and morality,

and even my enemies have agreed

that all this is quite harmless

and can be read without damaging the most fragile Christian.

If I'm to begin by withdrawing these books,

what should I be doing?

I should be condemning those very things

my friends and enemies are agreed on.

I have also written a second group of books,

and these all attack the power of the papacy,

which has ravaged Christendom.

No one can deny this,

the evidence is everywhere and everyone complains of it.

And no one has suffered more from this tyranny

than the German people.

They have been plundered without mercy.

If I were to retract those books now,

I should be issuing a license for more tyranny,

and it is too much to ask of me.

I have also written a third kind of book

against certain private, distinguished, and, apparently

highly established individuals.

They are all defenders of Rome and enemies to my religion.

In these books, it's possible that

I have been more violent than may seem necessary,

or, shall I say, tasteful in one who is, after all,

a monk.

But then, I have never set out to be a saint

and I've not been defending my own life,

but the teaching of Christ.

So, again, I am not free to retract.

What I ask,

by the mercy of God,

is let someone expose my errors in the light of the Gospels.

The moment this has been done,

I shall ask you to let me be the first

to pick up my books and hurl them in the fire.

That is all.

Martin, you have not answered the question put to you.

Even if it were true that some of your books are innocuous--

a point which, incidentally, we do not concede--

we still ask that you cut out those passages

that are blasphemous;

that you cut out the heresies,

or whatever could be construed as heresy,

and, in fact, that you delete any passage

which might be considered hurtful to the Catholic faith.

His Sacred and Imperial Majesty

is more than prepared to be lenient.

If, however, you persist in your attitude,

there can be no question that all memory of you

will be blotted out,

and everything you have written, right or wrong,

will be forgotten.

You see, Martin, like all heretics,

you demand to be contradicted from the Scripture.

The simple fact is that if anyone who questioned

the common understanding of the Church

on any matter he liked to raise

had to be answered irrefutably from the Scripture,

there would be nothing certain or decided in Christendom.

What would the Jews and Turks and Saracens say

if they heard us debating

whether what we have always believed is true or not?

I beg you, Martin, not to believe

that you, and you alone,

understand the meaning of the Gospels.

Don't throw doubt on the most holy, orthodox faith,

the faith founded by the most perfect legislator known to us.

It is our heritage, and we are forbidden to dispute it

by the laws of the emperor and the pontiff.

I must, therefore, ask you again.

I demand that you answer sincerely, frankly,

and unambiguously, yes or no:

Will you or will you not retract your books

and the errors contained in them?

[chair squeaks]

Since Your Serene Majesty and Your Lordships demand

a simple answer,

you shall have it without horns and without teeth.

I must warn you before you reply

that this is no longer a matter between yourself

and your conscience.

I will put it to you as bluntly as I can.

You refuse to understand

that common men want common things.

It's not your theology they want,

it's the earthly property of Mother Church.

Not the sacraments, dear Martin, the silverware.

That they mean to take by force of arms,

leaving in your startled hands

like so many empty sacks for spiritual virtues

with which you so foolishly endow them.

I am appalled by this evil and cynical view.

The simple need of people is to find God

without paying Rome for the privilege.

I beg of you.

If you cannot see reality,

let the accumulated wisdom of the Church

see it for you.

We are at the brink of violence and pillage and anarchy.

You can stop that by retracting your heresies

and depriving this mob of its leader.

I believe in the goodness of ordinary men

and I do not fear them.

And unless I am shown by the testimony of the Scriptures,

for I don't believe in popes or councils,

unless I am refuted by Scriptures

and my conscience is captured by God's own word,

I cannot and will not recant,

since to act against one's conscience

is neither safe nor honest.

Here I stand, God help me;

I can do no more.

Amen.

[no audio]

[faint marching hymn]

[drumbeats]

[men shouting "Luther! Luther!"]

There was excitement that day.

I tell you, you can't have ever known

the kind of thrill that monk set off

amongst that collection of all kinds of men

gathered together there.

He fizzed like a hot spark in a trail of gunpowder

going off in us, that dowdy monk,

he went off in us and nothing could stop it,

and it blew up and there was nothing we could do, any of us,

that was it.

Neither the emperor nor the Pope

dared to lay a hand on him.

[glass shattering]

[explosions, shouting]

[glass shattering]

[glass shards rattling

Something had taken place.

An event had occurred in the flesh,

in the flesh and the breath like...

even like when the weight of our Lord's body slumped

on its wooden crotch piece and the earth grew dark.

That's the kind of thing I mean by "happen."

I don't think...

no, I don't think even if I could speak and write like him,

I could begin to give you an idea of what we thought

of what we might come to.

I wanted to burst my ears with shouting

and draw my sword...

no, not draw it, I wanted to pluck it

as if it were a flower in my blood

and plunge it into whatever he would have told me to.

He encouraged us until we took up arms,

and then he wrote an appeal for our extermination.

[martial drumming]

A great fire is spreading which will attack

and lay waste the whole land,

bringing murder and bloodshed like a great disaster.

The peasants are in open rebellion

and therefore outside the law of God.

But you are ordained by God to keep the peace,

and you must not sleep.

[swoosh of swords drawn]

[martial drumming]

[footsteps]

[trumpet blows fanfare]

[shouting]

[screaming]

[drumming, clamor]

[screaming, cannonfire]

[screaming and clamor fade]

[faint marching music]

[soft thud]

[faint marching music]

There, that's better.

Now you even look like a butcher.

God is the butcher.

Why don't you address your abuse to Him?

Well, no, mind, you're wearing His apron.

All you've ever managed to do is convert everything

into stench and dying and peril.

But you could have done it, Martin.

You could have brought freedom and order in

at one and the same time.

There's no such thing as an orderly revolution.

Anyway, Christians are called upon to suffer, not fight.

Weren't we all of us,

all of us redeemed by Christ's blood?

Wasn't he included when the Scriptures were being dictated?

Or was it just you who was made free,

you and the princes you've taken up with?

Free?

The princes blame me,

you blame me,

and the peasants blame me.

You put the water in the wine, didn't you?

When I see chaos, I see the devil's organ

and then I'm afraid.

Now, that's enough.

-You're breaking out again. -Go away.

-Aren't you? -Leave me!

Aren't you, you're breaking out again,

you canting pig, I can smell you from here!

Do you remember what Christ said?

"I come not to bring peace but a sword.

I come to set a man against his father."

Up to the ears in revelation, aren't you?

And God, didn't God hear the Children of Israel?

And didn't He deliver them out of the Land of Pharaoh?

His time will come too.

You're a canting pig, aren't you?

Well, didn't He?

Don't hold your Bible to my head, pig!

There's enough revelation of my own in there

in what I see for myself from here!

Weigh your gospel against that!

The world was conquered by the Word.

Man is maintained by the Word

Word? What Word?

Martin.

Do you know what most men believe in, in their hearts?

They believe that Christ was a man,

as we are,

but He was a prophet and a teacher

and his supper was a plain meal like their own,

if they're lucky enough to get it.

A plain meal of bread and wine,

with no garnish and no Word.

And you helped them to begin to believe it.

Leave me now.

What's there to stay for?

I've been close enough to you for too long,

I even smell like you.

I smell because of my own argument,

I smell because I never stop disputing with Him,

and I expect Him to keep His Word.

Christ, hear me!

They deserved their death, these swarming peasants!

They kicked against authority,

they bargained and plundered, and all in Your name, Your name.

Christ! Believe me!

They were a mob.

A mob.

And if they had not been held down and slaughtered,

there would have been a thousand more tyrants

instead of half a dozen.

I prayed for it, I demanded it!

And I got it.

Uh...I expect you must remember...

I'm sure you must remember Abraham.

Abraham was an old man, a very old man.

Indeed, in fact, he was 100 years old

when what surely must have been a miracle happened

to a man of his years.

A son was born to him.

A son.

Isaac, he called him,

and he loved Isaac.

Well, he loved him with such intensity,

one can only diminish it by description.

But to Abraham,

his little son was a miraculous thing.

A small, incessant animal of astonishment.

And in the child, he sought the father.

But then...

one day, God said to Abraham,

"Take your little son whom you love so much.

Kill him.

Make a sacrifice of him."

And in that moment,

everything inside Abraham seemed to shrivel

once and for all,

because it had seemed to him that God had promised him life

through his son.

But he took the boy,

prepared to kill him,

strapping him down to the wood of the burnt offering,

just as he'd been told to do.

And he spoke softly to the boy,

raised the knife over his little naked body,

the boy struggling not to flinch or blink his eyes.

Never, save in Christ,

was there such obedience as in that moment,

and if God had blinked, the boy would have died then,

but the Angel intervened and the boy was released,

and Abraham took him up in his arms again.

See, in the teeth of life, we seem to die,

but God says no, in the teeth of death we live.

If He butchers us,

He makes us live.

So take that thing away now,

drag it away with you.

All right, Martin.

Stay with your nun, then.

Stay and stew with your nun.

Most of the others have.

Stew with her like a shuddering infant

in her bed.

Think you'll manage?

At least my father'll praise me for that.

[pensive music]

I've brought you some more wine.

It'll help you to sleep.

How is Staupitz?

He's all right.

He's just coming.

Wouldn't let me help him.

I think he's been sick.

Oh, poor old fellow.

Well, after living all your life in a monastery,

one's stomach doesn't take too easily

to your kind of cooking.

You like your food.

Now, don't make out you don't.

I prefer it to fasting.

[she exclaims]

Oh, there you are!

I thought you'd fallen down the jakes right into

the devil's loving arms.

Come and sit down.

I must go to bed.

Good night, Dr. Staupitz.

Good night, my dear.

Thank you for the dinner.

I'm sorry I wasn't able to do justice to it.

That's all right.

-Good night, Martin. -Good night, Katie.

Well, you've never been so well looked after.

Yes, it's a shame everyone can't marry a nun.

They're fine cooks, thrifty housekeepers,

and splendid mothers.

It seems to me there are three ways out of despair.

One is faith in Christ,

the second is to become enraged by the world

and make its nose bleed for it,

and the third is the love of a woman.

Mind you, they don't all necessarily work,

at least only part of the time.

Wine?

Not much.

I must go to bed myself.

It will help you sleep.

You're looking tired.

Old.

Martin, I can't get over being here again.

This place was full of men,

and now there's only you, you and Katie.

So still.

I don't think I'd ever realized

how eloquent a monk's silence really was.

There's a voice.

It's gone.

My old friend, you're unhappy.

I'm sorry.

We monks were never much good to anyone,

least of all ourselves.

Every one of us rolled up like a louse

in the Almighty's overcoat.

You always had a way of putting it.

Father, are you pleased with me?

I, pleased with you?

My dear son, I am not anyone or anything

to be pleased with you anymore.

Every time you belch now,

the world stops what it's doing

and listens.

I'm sorry, Martin,

I didn't mean to come and see you

after all this time and start criticizing.

You're talking about those damned peasants, aren't you?

You think I should have encouraged them.

-I don't say that. -What do you say?

You needn't have encouraged the princes.

They slaughtered those peasants

and you got them to do it.

And the peasants had just cause, Martin.

They had, hadn't they?

I didn't say they hadn't.

Well, then?

Do you remember saying to me,

"Remember, you started all this

in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ"?

Well?

Father, the world can't be ruled by a rosary.

It was a mob, a mob,

and because it was a mob, it was against Christ.

You're leaving me.

No, I'm not leaving you, Martin.

I have too much love for you.

But we're not two protected monks

chattering under a pear tree in a garden any longer.

The world's changed.

To begin with, you've made a thing called Germany,

unlaced a language and taught it to the Germans,

and the rest of the world will just have to get used

to the sound of it.

Taken Christ away from the low mumblings

and soft voices and jeweled gowns and the tiaras

and put Him back where He belongs,

in each man's soul.

We owe so much to you.

All I beg of you is not to be too violent.

In spite of everything,

of everything you've said and shown us,

there were men, some men,

who did live holy lives here once.

Don't...

Don't believe that you, only you, are right.

What else could I do, John?

What else could I do?

When you were before the Diet at Worms,

and they put that question to you,

why did you ask for that extra day

to think over your reply?

I wasn't certain.

Were you afterwards?

I listened for God's voice,

but all I could hear was my own.

Were you sure?

No.

Thank you, my son.

May God bless you.

I hope you sleep better.

Good night.

Good night, Father.

[soft, tense music]

Oh, Lord, I believe.

I do believe.

Only help my unbelief.

[baby softly fussing]

He was crying out in his sleep.

He must have been dreaming again.

Aren't you coming to bed?

I shan't be long, Katie, shan't be long.

All right, but try not to be too long.

You look well,

you don't look as well as you should.

Give him to me.

All right.

But only for five minutes.

Don't keep him down here all night.

Thank you, Katie.

Good night.

[baby softly fusses]

Keep him warm, now.

He's your son.

Don't worry, I will.

What's the matter, huh?

Was the devil bothering you?

Huh? Was he?

Old Nick, huh?

Well, up you, old Nick.

Oh, don't worry.

One day, you might even be glad of him.

So long as you show him your little backside.

Hm? That's right.

Show him your little backside and let him have it.

Try not to be afraid.

The dark isn't quite as thick as all that.

A little while and you'll not see me.

And then again a little and you shall see me.

Christ said that, my son.

I hope that'll be the way of it again.

I hope so.

Let's just hope so, shall we?

Huh?

Let's just hope so.

[choral music sung in Latin]