The real foundations of theology were never quite clear to them because their education had been one-sidedly Humanistic, and they had never studied theology proper. They were fond of speaking and writing of the Church, of Grace and Faith, but their ideas thereon were strangely subjective, so much so that they did not even agree amongst themselves. Hence, in their dealings with Catholic theologians the latter often failed to understand them. The fruitlessness of the conferences was frequently due solely to this; though greatly prejudiced in Luther’s favour, they still considered it possible for the chasm between the old and the new to be bridged over, and longed earnestly for such a consummation to be secured by some yielding on the Catholic side; they were unwilling to break away from the Church Universal, and, besides, they looked askance at the moral consequences of the innovations and feared still greater confusion and civil war. That this was the spirit which animated Melanchthon is evident from some of the facts already recorded. He had nothing more at heart than to secure the atmosphere essential for his studies and for the furtherance of intellectual, particularly Humanistic, culture, and to smooth the way for its general introduction into Germany. His knowledge of theology had been acquired, as it were, incidentally through his intercourse with Luther and his study of Scripture; the latter, however, had been influenced by his Humanism and, speaking generally, he contented himself in selecting in the Bible certain general moral truths which might serve as a rule of life. He indeed studied the Fathers more diligently than Luther, the Greek Fathers proving particularly attractive to him; it was, however, chiefly a study of form, of culture, and of history, and as regards theology little more than mere dilettantism. His insight into the practical life of the Church left much to be desired, otherwise the Anabaptist movement at Zwickau would not have puzzled him as it did and left him in doubt as to whether it came from God or the devil. His ignorance of the gigantic intellectual labours of the Middle Ages in the domain of theology made itself felt sensibly. He knew even less of Scholasticism than did Luther, yet, after having acquired a nodding acquaintance with it in its most debased form, he, as a good pupil of Erasmus, proceeded to condemn it root and branch. Every page of his writings proves that his method of thought and expression, with its indecision, its groping, its dependence on echoes from the classics, was far removed from the masterpieces of learning and culture of the best days of the Middle Ages. Yet he fancies himself entitled to censure Scholasticism and to write in Luther’s style with a conceit only matched by his ignorance: “You see what thick darkness envelops the commentaries of the ancients and the whole doctrine of our opponents, how utterly ignorant they are of what sin really is, of