Luther (1974) - full transcript

[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]