When Luther sort of approved of bigamy – of Philip of Hesse and his wives

The 16th century was a century of huge upheaval in Europe. Where before there had been ONE church, suddenly there were many variants of the Christian faith. Some of the consequences of the Reformation were good – literacy increased as a consequence of Protestants advocating a personal relation to God which assumed reading God’s word. National languages came into their own as the bible was translated into German, into English, into French, into Swedish, Danish, Czech, etc etc.

Some of the consequences were not so good: the repeated religious wars that were to plague not only the 16th century but also the 17th century; the persecution of Christians by Christians. The Reformation and Counter-Reformation were explosive movements that permanently redrew the lines of allegiances within Europe, and at the end of all that some nations emerged as proudly Protestant and virulently anti-papist, others as defenders of the True Faith (Catholicism) with no tolerance for heretics. Fun times…

Today’s protagonist was as affected as all of his contemporaries by the events that kicked off with Luther’s proclamation of his theses. But our Philip was to find himself handling another conundrum as well: that of a surfeit of wives. Okay, okay – that is an exaggeration. But let us take a leaf (or song) out of Sound of Music and start at the very beginning – like in late 1504 when Philip of Hesse first saw the light of day.

Philip of Hesse was born the heir to the principality of Hesse. His father, William, reunited the lands of Lower Hesse and Upper Hesse (this due to the fortuitous death of a cousin) and seems to have been a capable and respected man. Unfortunately, he died when Philip was around five or so, and despite William having designated his wife, Anna of Mecklenburg-Schwerin as principal regent to his two children, the Hesse Estates weren’t having it, leading to several years in which Philip was separated from his mother and sister.

Ultimately, Anna’s rights were recognised, but the tensions remained. To avoid further conflict, it was decided to proclaim Philip as of age already in 1518—he was fourteen—but he did not actually take over until 1519. All this upheaval during his childhood had left Philip with a somewhat patchy education, but he was intellectually gifted and showed promising signs of developing into quite the statesman.

In 1517, Luther posted his famous theses. Suddenly, all truths regarding faith were put on their head. Well, maybe not that dramatically, because criticism of the Holy Church and its doctrine had been brewing for quite some time. Men like Wycliffe, like Hus, had advocated reform since centuries back, but what truly increased the demands for reform was Gutenberg’s printing press. Suddenly, the written word became more easily available to all. People could afford to buy and read pamphlets and religious tracts—even the bible itself. With the printing press, the Holy Church lost its monopoly on interpreting the holy writ, and all those who had been advocating for reform could suddenly make their voices heard. Like Luther.

As an aside, Luther excelled at using this new invention to his benefit. His beliefs spread like wildfire due to all his pamphlets—plus, the man had the gift of the word, which is why to this day, some of his psalms remain some of the most beautiful ever written.

So, there was Philip. Young, impressionable, likely eager to distinguish himself as different than his parents—teenagers always want that. And there was this new religious movement, spearheaded by Martin Luther. Now, I am thinking Philip preferred to constrain his teenage rebellions to other things like carousing, but in 1521, at the Diet of Worms, Philip met Martin Luther. This is the meeting at which Luther was asked to recant, refused to do so, and was therefore labelled a heretic by Charles V. As the Emperor had given Luther a safe conduct, he couldn’t arrest him on the spot, and on his journey back home to Wittenberg, Luther was mystically abducted and carried off to God knew where. (Well, He did know. Luther was safely ensconced in Wartburg Castle, protected by Frederick III, a.k.a. Frederick the Wise, Prince-elector of Saxony)

All of this was very exciting to a seventeen-year-old boy. But more importantly, Philip was very impressed by Martin Luther himself. Now Philip had grown up in a Catholic household—his mother was very much of the old faith—so while he may have been interested in all these new thoughts, it wasn’t until 1524, after a meeting with Philip Melanchthon, that he formally decided to embrace this new faith.

Not an entirely popular decision: not with his mother, and deffo not with his father-in-law, George the Bearded, Duke of Saxony and a determined opponent to Luther and any of his ilk. What Christine, Philip’s wife, may have thought is unknown, but the Philip-Christina union was anything but happy, a dynastic allegiance with no true affection. According to Philip, he only bedded Christine to sire an heir, but seeing as his wife was to be delivered of ten children, born over twenty years, he may not have liked her, but he apparently did feel some lust for her.  How else to explain that he continued to visit her out of duty when they already had two healthy sons?

Anyway: Philip complained and complained—this in between helping to suppress the German Peasant’s Revolt ( a most bloody affair, resulting in a hundred thousand dead peasants or so, men who followed the radical reformer Thomas Müntzer) and implementing Lutheranism as the state religion in Hesse.

He also fornicated with others and drank too much, and he was worried he was drowning in sin, which is why he reached out to Luther for advice and help.
“Oh, woe, me,” he may have said. “I am afflicted with strong carnal desires, but my wife sickens me, and so I look elsewhere, despite it being a sin. My soul shrivels daily, what to do, what to do?” I imagine Luther would have raised his brows and told him to stick to his wife—or divorce her.
“No, no, no! Not only do I dislike her, she also is constantly drunk. Drunk, I tell you, a woman!” Our Philip settled himself in his chair. “I am thinking that the patriarchs of old solved this by taking more than one wife, so perhaps…”
“No!” Luther replied. “What was right for the patriarchs is not necessarily right for us.”
“No?” Then Philip went on to relate Melanchthon’s notions that Henry VIII could have saved himself endless pain and turmoil by simply taking a second wife rather than attempt to divorce his first wife.
“Hmm,” said Luther, likely thinking he needed to have a long chat with Melanchthon. “A second wife may be an option if the first wife is leprous or otherwise abnormal, otherwise no.”

Philip did not really listen to Luther. He returned to his life of sin while still considering just how to arrange a second marriage—and with who. His wife, apparently, was not adverse, as long as any second union clearly barred any children from inheritance rights in Hesse. Or maybe she was brow-beaten into agreeing. . . So Philip continued to think and plan, with repeated discussions with both Luther and Melanchthon.

Now, despite his personal concerns, Philip continued to support the Reformation. At the Diet of Speyer in 1529, he was one among the Lutheran princes who tried to get the ban against Luther’s teachings lifted, and in 1531  he was one of the founding members of the Schmalkaldic League. This league had as its purpose to create a united Lutheran front protecting the interests and the lands of the various German princes who had embraced the new faith. Philip also managed to annoy both Luther and Melanchthon by keeping an open mind towards Zwingli’s interpretation of the Eucharist. Do we need to sidetrack regarding the Eucharist thing? Best not, but I will add a paragraph at the bottom for those interested.

Philip didn’t want to annoy anyone—but he firmly believed that it was important for the Protestants to present a unified front, as did yet another Reformation theologist, Martin Bucer. Why argue about the Eucharist when the important thing was to twist the Emperor’s arm until he agreed to recognise the rights of the Protestants?  Wasn’t this why they’d formed the Schmalkaldic League—to protect the new faith from the deeply unsympathetic Holy Roman Emperor?

There were outbursts of violence between the Emperor and the Schmalkaldic League throughout the 1530s, and there were situations where the Protestants could have acquired the upper hand, but Philip preferred to maintain some sort of civility with the Emperor. Stupid move, as Charles V was slowly moving himself into a position of strength.

Besides, Philip had other things on his mind, principally Margarethe, a daughter to one of his sister’s ladies-in-waiting. Here was a female paragon, a lady at whose feet Philip would happily worship. But Margarethe von der Saale was having no worshiping without some sort of formalisation between them, and so Philip went back to trying to convince his various religious advisors that a second union would be best for all—for him, for his wife, for his soul and, of course, for Margarethe and any future babies they might have.

Philip didn’t like it when Luther, Melanchthon and Bucer hemmed and hawed. His request—that they bless his second union—was perfectly reasonable, given those Old Testament dudes. He resorted to threats: unless he had their support, he’d defect to the Emperor, and then where would they all be, hey? Bucer swallowed heavily: that would not be good, no, not at all. Luther reluctantly agreed that divorce was worse than bigamy. Which is how, Luther and Melanchthon sort of approved of Philip’s morganatic marriage with Margarethe.

In 1540, Philip and Margarethe wed, and he installed her in a house in Spangenberg, at an adequate distance from his first wife—and court—in Kassel.

The news that Philip of Hesse had taken a second wife exploded across Europe.
“See?” said Charles V, “That’s what you get with Protestants—total immorality, including bigamy.”
Philip’s co-religionists were just as upset. This was not the done thing, nope, not at all. Previous allies distanced themselves from him, potential allies, such as his son-in-law Moritz of Saxony, kept their distance. (You can read more about Moritz HERE) Even Luther himself was criticised for not having put a stop to Philip’s plans.

So pressured was Philip that he made overtures to the Emperor—if Charles V would consider accepting Protestantism, then he, Philip, would stand by his side against all enemies bar the Schmalkaldic League and Protestant principalities.

Charles V had plenty going on: conflict with France, conflict with England, conflict with the Ottomans… He therefore welcomed Philip’s overtures and promised to never make war on him—unless the Empire moved against the entire Protestant movement.
“Phew!” thought Philip.
“Bloody traitor,” though his former Protestant allies. “Not only is he an immoral bigamist, he’s cosying up to the Emperor!”
In effect, the Protestant princes decided to look elsewhere for leadership.

In 1544, Charles signed a treaty with Francis of France, whereby these two powers would, together, embark on a mission to stamp out Protestantism. Charles could now turn his attention to the heretics in Germany. Philip belatedly realised Charles was determined to reinstate the Holy Church throughout his dominions, and in 1546, war broke out. A splintered Protestant movement was defeated at the Battle of Mühlberg in 1547, and Philip was carried off into captivity, leaving the ruling of his lands in the hands of his eldest son, William and his first wife, Christine of Saxony. I must say, I wonder just what sort of relationship these two had: she the daughter of a rabid Catholic, he an enthused follower of Luther; he accused her of being a drunk, she him of being a womaniser; plus, that whole second marriage thing. And still, he ends up a prisoner, and she is entrusted with his lands. Plus, at the time she was pregnant with their last child, a son born in September of 1547, so clearly, Philip enjoyed intercourse with BOTH his wives. His sixth child by Margarethe was also born in September of 1547. . .

With Philip and the Duke of Saxony his captives, Charles seems to have thought he could go ahead and forcibly implement religious unity (i.e. Catholicism) in all his German lands. Not so. Led by Moritz of Saxony, the Protestant forces succeeded in chasing Charles out of Germany, and tired after decades of civil war, Charles finally agreed to recognise the rights of his Protestant subjects in the Peace of Passau. One condition was that he had to release his prisoners, and so, in 1552, Philip returned home—to one wife, as Christine had passed away some years earlier.

Philip would spend his last years organising the Lutheran church in Hesse while still enjoying regular congress with Margarethe. He died in 1567 and his holdings were divided by his four sons in his first marriage. His great-grandson by Christine was to marry Elizabeth of England and, for a very short while, be the king of Bohemia, where Philip’s great-great-grandson, Prince Rupert of Civil War fame was to see the light of the day.

***

Right: the Eucharist discussion. . .
As I understand it, Catholics believe the bread and wine during communion actually convert into Jesus’ body and blood (the so called transubstantiation) through eucharistic prayer.
Lutherans believe that Jesus is present in both bread and wine, but neither substance converts fully to flesh and blood.
Many of the reformed religions (Calvinism, Presbyterians) believe that Jesus is spiritually present.
Zwingli was of the opinion that bread was bread, wine was wine, and that celebrating communion was a way to remember Jesus’ sacrifice. No spiritual presence, no converting to other matter.