The Church has constantly changed as the intelligence of the people has changed. And this change is always easy and natural. Dogmas and creeds may remain the same, but progress consists in giving a spiritual or poetic interpretation to that which once was taken literally. The scheme of the Esoteric and the Exoteric is a sliding, self-lubricating, self-adjusting, non-copyrighted invention--perfect in its workings--that all wise theologians fall back upon in time of stress. Had Luther obeyed the mandate and gone to Rome, that would have been the last of Luther. Private interpretation is all right, of course: the Church has always taught it--the mistake is to teach it to everybody. Those who should know, do know. Spiritual adolescence comes in due time, and then all things are made plain--be wise! But Luther was not to be bought off. His followers were growing in numbers, the howls of his enemies increased. Strong men grow through opposition--the plummet of feeling goes deeper, thought soars higher--vivid and stern personalities make enemies because they need them, otherwise they drowse. Then they need friends, too, to encourage: opposition and encouragement--thus do we get the alternating current. That Luther had not been publicly answered, except by Tetzel's weak rejoinders, was a constant boast in the liberal camp; and that Tetzel was only fit to address an audience of ignorant peasantry was very sure: some one else must be put forward worthy of Martin Luther's steel. Then comes John Eck, a priest and lawyer, a man in intimate touch with Rome, and the foremost public disputant and orator of his time. He proposed to meet Luther in public debate. In social station Eck stood much higher than Luther. Luther was a poor college professor in a poor little University--a mere pedagog, a nobody. That Eck should meet him was a condescension on the part of Eck--as Eck explained. They met at the University of Leipzig, an aristocratic and orthodox institution, Eck having refused to meet Luther either at Erfurt or at Wittenberg--wherein Eck was wise. The Bishop at Leipzig posted notices forbidding the dispute--this, it is believed, on orders from Rome, as the Church did not want to be known as having mixed in the matter. The Bishop's notices were promptly torn down, and Duke George decided that, as the dispute was not under the auspices of the Church, the Bishop had no business to interfere. The audience came for many miles. A gallery was set apart for the nobility. Thousands who could not gain admittance remained outside and had to be content with a rehearsal of the proceedings from those who were fortunate enough to have seats. The debate began June Twenty-seventh, Fifteen Hundred Nineteen, and continued daily for thirteen days.