"They call upon me for moderation," replied Luther, "and they themselves, in the judgment which they pass upon me, trample it under foot!... We see the mote in our brother's eye, and observe not the beam in our own.... Truth will no more gain by my moderation than it will lose by my presumption. I desire to know," continued he, addressing Lange, "what errors you and your theologians have found in my theses? Who knows not that a new idea is seldom advanced without an appearance of arrogance, and an accusation of disputatiousness? Were humility herself to undertake something new, those of an opposite opinion would charge her with pride.[388] Why were Christ and all the martyrs put to death? Because they were deemed proud despisers of the wisdom of the time, and advanced new truths without previously taking counsel of the organs of ancient opinion." [388] "Finge enim ipsam humilitatem nova conari, statim superbiæ subjicietur ab iis qui aliter sapiunt." (Luth. Ep. i, p. 73.) "Let not the wise of the present day, then, expect of me humility, or rather hypocrisy enough, to ask their opinion before publishing what duty calls me to say. What I do will be done, not by the prudence of men, but by the counsel of God. If the work is of God, who can arrest it? If it is not of God, who can advance it?... Not my will, nor theirs, nor ours, but Thy will be done, O Holy Father who art in heaven!" In these words what courage, what noble enthusiasm, what confidence in God, and, above all, what truth, truth fitted to all times! Still the reproaches and accusations which assailed Luther from all quarters, failed not to make some impression on his mind. His hopes were disappointed. He had expected to see the heads of the church, and the most distinguished scholars of the nation, publicly uniting with him; but it was otherwise. A word of approbation, allowed to escape at the first moment of enthusiasm, was all that the best disposed gave him, while several of those whom he had till then most highly venerated were loud in censuring him. He felt himself alone in the whole Church,[389] alone against Rome, alone at the foot of that ancient and formidable edifice, whose foundations lay deep in the bowels of the earth, whose battlements reached the clouds, and at which he had just struck a daring blow. He was troubled and depressed. Doubts which he thought he had surmounted returned with new force. He trembled at the thought of having the authority of the whole Church against him, of withdrawing from that authority and resisting that voice which nations and ages had humbly obeyed, of setting himself in opposition to that church which he had from infancy been accustomed to venerate as the mother of the faithful.... He a paltry monk ... the effort was too great for man.[390] No step cost him more than this, and, accordingly, it was the step which decided the Reformation. [389] "Solus primo eram." (Luth. Op. Lat. in Præf.) At first I was alone.