This study of Protestant ideas in Shakespeare’s plays begins with two controversial premises about the sixteenth-century Protestant Reformation . The first is that, in relation to Europe, at least in terms of theology, the Reformation can be viewed as a single intellectual movement encompassing both German Lutheran thought and that of the Reformed Churches, particularly those in Switzerland , but also in France , Scotland , the Netherlands , and, for the purposes of this book, England .¹ All of these theologies, as I see them, defined themselves in opposition to the Roman Catholic Church to a much greater extent than they saw themselves in conflict with each other.² The second premise relates to the history of sixteenth-century England and offers a similar argument, that from an early stage of the Reformation , there were those who, like Martin Luther (1483–1546), strongly criticized the Roman Catholic Church not, as English Catholics did, on the basis of its domination by a foreign power or its unwillingness to promote the vernacular Bible or even because of the corruption of some of its clergy, but rather because the Church’s theology could not accommodate the new ideas that Luther had brought into Christian thinking. These ideas, largely inspired by Luther’s readings of the late, anti-Pelagian works of Augustine (354–430), affected the ways in which people viewed themselves (as utterly sinful), their relationship to God (as entirely helpless), and their purpose in life (fulfilling a calling in the world and rejecting the monastic life as an ideal). The concept of double predestination, which Luther introduced, at least to an extent, into Protestantism, could not be accommodated by previous Christian thinking and therefore could not be assimilated into the theology of sixteenth-century Roman Catholicism .

In addition to arguing for this agenda, this book aims to show the effects of these revolutionary Protestant ideas on William Shakespeare , a writer who read his Bible, was aware of Christian history, and who, I argue, was fascinated by the transformations in human psychology implied by the Reformation . Rather than asking themselves how they could be saved, Protestants tended to ask how they could know they were already saved. Rather than seeing the process of justification (God’s bestowal of grace upon the elect ) in the usual Christian way, derived from Augustine, as inseparable from the ensuing process of sanctification or regeneration, Protestants distinguished the two, creating a sense that justification was applied by God in a forensic manner, saving a person with no regard for his or her good ‘works.’ This meant, in effect, that elect humans were seen as bifurcated, to use Luther’s terms, simultaneously justified and sinful (simul juste et peccator); they led their lives attempting to be sanctified but, at every moment (or at least, as I will argue, during some rare privileged moments), they led a parallel life in the company of God. This life was referred to as the life of faith, and the connection between the two lives is such an abstract concept that it required creative artists, such as Shakespeare , to convey.³

Before exploring in more detail the nature of these Protestant innovations and their effects on literary history, it must be noted that neither of the positions stated in the first paragraph of this Introduction are mainstream views; indeed, much can be said against them. There can be no doubt, for instance, that relations between the Reformed and Lutheran Churches became increasingly tense as the sixteenth century continued; this was largely due to Luther’s intransigence as an individual, but there were many other factors. The most significant of these, historians concur, related to the Eucharist . Lutherans believed in the real presence of Christ in the mass, even utilizing, as Diarmaid MacCulloch notes, “the elevation of the host” as part of the ceremony, which would have been seen by Reformers as distressingly close to Catholic practice.⁴ In contrast, the Reformed position, often termed ‘sacramentarian,’ viewed the Eucharist as a symbolic or spiritual or memorial participation in Christ’s Last Supper. This issue, historians concur, was at the root of Lutheran and Reformed division, and I would suggest it was also the primary trait distinguishing the two groups. This huge fissure occurred, moreover, early in the Reformation ; at the Colloquy of Marburg in 1529, Luther and (Huldrych/Ulrich) Zwingli (1484–1531), the father of the Reformation in Zurich , agreed on 14 points of doctrine, but could not agree on this one, and supposedly Luther would not shake Zwingli’s hand.⁵

Over the centuries, numerous additional qualities beyond the issue of the mass have been proposed to further distinguish sixteenth-century Lutheran theology from Reformed. One of the most significant boundary markers is the use of images in the church, which Reformers aggressively opposed but Lutherans considered adiaphora, or an optional element of worship.⁶ This distaste of images, it is often argued, leads to a second distinction between the theology of the Reformers and the Lutherans , namely, the greater austerity often attributed to the former. This is seen in relation to the practices of worship, wherein the Reformed were more determined than Lutherans to rid their services of what were termed Catholic excesses and adhere more closely to what was considered Biblical guidance. Such austerity is also seen, for example, in relation to later Puritanism in England , to indicate an ‘austerity’ of lifestyle in contrast to a supposedly more sensuous Lutheranism. A third, often cited, distinction between Lutheran and Reformed theology is the greater emphasis placed by the latter upon the law. It is sometimes argued that Luther distinguished law from gospel more severely than did the Reformers , presenting obedience to the law as a crucial sign of a good person but nonetheless a form of works or civic righteousness only, and not relevant to the spiritual relationship between God and humans. In contrast, it is argued that the Reformed theologians worked harder to introduce law into the church—structuring the Church in line with Biblical directives, disciplining members of congregations, elucidating in more detail the proper relationships between Church and State, and generally feeling more comfortable in relation to the law than Luther did. For example, David C. Fink has suggested that, over the course of the sixteenth-century Reformation , the idea of the imputation of righteousness in the elect was gradually added to the initial Lutheran premise that election meant the non-imputation of sin.⁷ This later view (evident, as Fink points out, in “The Second Helvetic Confession” of 1566) would provide additional confidence to Protestants that, armed with Christ’s righteousness, they could more fully comply with the law.⁸

The belief that the Reformation and Lutheran components of sixteenth-century Protestantism are usefully separated is a frequently presented one. Philip Benedict’s extensive and careful survey of sixteenth-century European religion, Christ’s Churches Purely Reformed, assumes that the two Churches can be easily distinguished. The book opens with the assertion that “Although Martin Luther towered over the initial decades of the Reformation , Calvinism superseded Lutheranism within a generation as the most dynamic and widely established form of European Protestantism.”⁹ But I would argue that, with the exception of the mass, none of the points noted above mark a sufficiently strong theological dividing line between Lutheran and Reformed. Lutherans certainly did not think their tolerance of imagery turned them into Protestants. At the Colloquy of Montbéliard in 1586, when arguing about iconoclasm with Theodor Beza (1519–1605), the Lutheran theologian Jakob Andreae (1528–1590) said that, despite the presence of images in Lutheran Churches, Lutherans were not prone to the “horrors, superstitions and idolatry” of Catholicism .¹⁰ A commitment to austerity is even less useful as a dividing line between Lutheran and Reformed thinking. In the sixteenth century, many upstanding members of the Church of England considered themselves Protestant and yet felt comfortable with the liturgical practices of their Church in opposition to more severe Continental approaches. They did not consider themselves to be Lutherans , which shows that a reluctance to embrace austerity as a Church p...