Tarsus.  In some respects this monastic pietism resembled the pharisaism of Saul, in the schools of Tarsus,—­a technical, rigid, and painful adherence to rules, fastings, obtrusive prayers, and petty ritualisms, which form the essence and substance of all pharisaism and all monastic life; based on the enormous error that man deserves heaven by external practices, in which, however, he can never perfect himself, though he were to live, like Simeon Stylites, on the top of a pillar for twenty years without once descending; an eternal unrest, because perfection cannot be attained; the most terrible slavery to which a man can be conscientiously doomed, verging into hypocrisy and fanaticism.

It was then that a kind and enlightened friend visited him, and recommended him to read the Bible.  The Bible never has been a sealed book to monks; it was ever highly prized; no convent was without it:  but it was read with the spectacles of the Middle Ages.  Repentance meant penance.  In Saint Paul’s Epistles Luther discovers the true ground of justification,—­not works, but faith; for Paul had passed through similar experiences.  Works are good, but faith is the gift of God.  Works are imperfect with the best of men, even the highest form of works, to a Mediaeval eye,—­self-expiation and penance; but faith is infinite, radiating from divine love; faith is a boundless joy,—­salvation by the grace of God, his everlasting and precious boon to people who cannot climb to heaven on their hands and knees, the highest gift which God ever bestowed on men,—­eternal life.

Luther is thus emancipated from the ideas of the Middle Ages and of the old Syriac monks and of the Jewish Pharisees.  In his deliverance he has new hopes and aspirations; he becomes cheerful, and devotes himself to his studies.  Nothing can make a man more cheerful and joyful than the cordial reception of a gift which is infinite, a blessing which is too priceless to be bought.  The pharisee, the monk, the ritualist, is gloomy, ascetic, severe, intolerant; for he is not quite sure of his salvation.  A man who accepts heaven as a gift is full of divine enthusiasm, like Saint Augustine.  Luther now comprehends Augustine, the great doctor of the Church, embraces his philosophy and sees how much it has been misunderstood.  The rare attainments and interesting character of Luther are at last recognized; he is made a professor of divinity in the new university, which the Elector of Saxony has endowed, at Wittenberg.  He becomes a favorite with the students; he enters into the life of the people.  He preaches with wonderful power, for he is popular, earnest, original, fresh, electrical.  He is a monk still, but the monk is merged in the learned doctor and eloquent preacher.  He does not yet even dream of attacking monastic institutions, or the Pope; he is a good Catholic in his obedience to authorities; but he hates the Middle Ages, and all their ghostly, funereal, burdensome, and technical religious customs.  He is human, almost convivial,—­fond of music, of poetry, of society, of friends, and of the good cheer of the social circle.  The people love Luther, for he has a broad humanity.  They never did love monks, only feared their maledictions.