At first, a warning: if you have a firm opinion about the events of the Reformation, and if you do not wish to question this image, please refrain from reading this article. It deviates from the myth we internalized when we were in school. This article presents an alternative interpretation of the person of Frederick the Wise – that of a rather hapless politician who was turned into the figurehead of Reformation by means of excellent propaganda.

A Difficult Starting Position

On 17 January 1463, Frederick III, who became known as “the Wise” after his death, was born as the eldest son of Elector Ernest of Saxony. After Ernest’s death on 26 August 1486, Frederick took over the rule – not alone. He shared it with his youngest brother John, who resided in Weimar. Another player in this game was his uncle, Albert the Bold. Even though the latter had agreed to the Partition of Leipzig one year earlier – a treaty that determined the division of the Ernestine and Albertine branches – nobody could say at that point whether Albert would honor this arrangement or not. Thus, Frederick III had to be careful. But this came naturally to him as he was a careful person anyway. His hesitation caused numerous political defeats. First, he failed to incorporate Erfurt into his territory. Then he failed to retain the guardianship of the minor Hessian landgrave. Not to mention the fact that, after the death of his two brothers, his family was unable to maintain control of the bishoprics of Magdeburg, Halberstadt and Mainz. And then there was his greatest defeat, which came about because he did not even dare to take up the fight for the imperial crown because of a rebellious Augustinian monk, even though Frederick would have stood a good chance against the other candidates – Francis I of France, Henry VIII of England and the Habsburg Charles I of Spain. He was a German prince, had a voice in the Electoral College and was by far the least powerful of the four candidates, a quality that electors greatly appreciated in emperors. In addition, Frederick owned part of the silver mines of the Ore Mountains and had thus enough resources to come up with the necessary bribes. But history would have taken a different path if Frederick had ventured to take this step. That is why posterity calls him “wise”; his contemporaries probably used other adjectives.

Frederick and Luther

But let us go back in time to understand why Frederick did not throw his hat in the ring. On 18 October 1502, he founded a university in his residential city of Wittenberg. One of those who taught at the university of Wittenberg was the Augustinian monk Martin Luther. Things were getting rather hot for him in 1518. The Pope initiated legal action against him, which jeopardized the reputation of Frederick III and his university. First, Frederick III made an effort to crush the legal proceedings, even though he did not share Luther’s views. We know that Frederick was pious, made pilgrimages to Jerusalem and had assembled a gigantic collection of relics. But it did not work out. His next idea was to ask Cardinal Cajetan in December 1518 to let Luther publicly discuss his theses. Emperor Maximilian I died as early as one month later. A new emperor had to be elected. The issue of Luther had destroyed Frederick’s chances as a candidate. He had proven to all of Germany that he could not even keep his university in order. The result: Charles I of Spain was elected emperor Charles V on 28 June 1519 and Luther was given the chance to defend his theses in Worms. We know how the story ended. Luther was placed under the imperial ban. Frederick tried to limit the damage by negotiating a deal that established that the imperial ban would not be enforced in Saxon territory. Luther’s Saxon followers thus thought they were given carte blanche. As early as in May 1521, the first priests married. In January 1522, the Wittenberg Council – not the Saxon Duke! – adopted a new (Protestant) church order. Frederick outlawed it within the same month. But events had taken on a life of their own: In March, Luther returned to Wittenberg. Thus, Frederick lost what influence he had on what was happening. At some point, he probably had no choice but to put a brave face on it and to accept the Reformation. Frederick died on 5 May 1525. Protestant sources claim that he converted to Luther’s Protestantism on his deathbed.

Marketing the Reformation

His death thus paved the way for turning Frederick the Wise into an icon of Protestantism. One of the best-known artists of the time helped in this endeavor: Lucas Cranach. He had set up a workshop and established a way of producing his works quickly and cheaply by distributing different tasks between him and his assistants. The portrait of the elderly duke became an iconic image. He is depicted with white sideburns and a black, velvet beret. Numerous pictures of him are on display in art collections today because Frederick’s successors systematically distributed his portrait to all important princes, mostly together with their own portrait. Thus, once the Reformation had become acceptable, the princes made sure to benefit from the glory of being the successor of Luther’s (involuntary?) patron. A contemporary source tells us about the incredible volume in which these portraits were produced: On 10 May 1533, Duke John paid the painter Lucas Cranach 109 guldens and 14 kreuzers for creating 60 small pictures of Frederick and 60 small pictures of him. Most of them came with a legend that explains how John wanted his brother’s fate to be interpreted. The poem, written by Luther himself, states that Frederick had kept the peace in the empire by means of reason, patience and good fortune as he faithfully elected the emperor without putting himself first. He – Frederick – founded the university in Wittenberg, where God’s word emerged (this is how Luther liked to speak about himself; author’s note), with the help of which the papal power was overthrown and the right faith restored.

The Myth of Frederick in the 19th Century

Luther’s followers continued to act as skillful propagandists until well into the 20th century. So let us take a large step forward in time, right to the First World War when 31 October 1917 marked the 400-year anniversary of the day when Luther nailed his theses to the door of the Wittenberg Castle Church. It had become customary to celebrate large feasts on the occasion of such centenaries, and to issue commemorative coins in the context. In fact, the most important representatives of Protestant churches in Germany and abroad had been planning in early spring 1914 to hold international celebrations of Lutheranism in Wittenberg. Representatives of numerous European countries, the U.S., Canada and Austria had agreed to come.

But then the First World War broke out. In Germany, Lutheranism lost its international element and people once again turned to Luther as a national phenomenon. They resorted to the image of Luther portrayed by the Saxon-Prussian historian Heinrich von Treitschke. The latter had claimed that Luther had merely anticipated German unification. And von Treitschke considered Bismarck to be Luther’s congenial successor. Therefore, only Germans could truly understand Luther as Luther was the personification of the soul of the German people. But was he really? And did he also embody the soul of southern Germany, a mostly catholic area that had suffered under Bismarck’s policies of the Cultural Struggle? 1,800 Catholic priests were arrested, and church property worth 16 million gold marks was confiscated under Bismarck. At that time, in the spirit of the Enlightenment, the Protestant majority declared the Catholic minority Reichsfeinde, enemies of the Reich. Bismarck was fond of using this term, which he later applied to socialists and the Polish. The Nazis would pick up on this politically charged insult in their anti-Jewish propaganda.

In other words: in the early 20th century, the figure of Luther served more to divide Germany than to unite it. And no one could afford to divide the country in the middle of the First World War. The Saxon Wettins, who had long returned to Catholicism (after all, it had secured them Poland for two generations), were not exactly pleased about the idea to put a portrait of Luther on Saxon coins. They therefore supported the decision of the Reich Treasury (Reichsschatzamt) and the Federal Council to reject the motif. Their reasoning was officially based on an objective argument: only members of the ruling princely houses could be depicted on the obverse of coins of the German Empire. Therefore, a new motif was needed. And Frederick the Wise was a perfect choice as he had been stylized as Luther’s protector by the Reformation. In this way, Luther was implicitly included in the image without being depicted himself and, above all, without causing controversy in Catholic circles. The chief engraver of the mint in Muldenhütten, Friedrich Wilhelm Hörnlein, was commissioned to design the coin. He was inspired by the iconic portrait of Frederick the Wise from the workshop of Lucas Cranach and created one of the most beautiful portraits in the coinage of the German Empire.

By the way, the circumscription “Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott” (A Mighty Fortress Is Our God) reminded contemporaries not only of the hymn composed by Luther. While this song was still kind of an unofficial Protestant anthem in the 18th century, it had firmly established itself as a national battle song during the German campaigns of the early 19th century. The students of the Wartburg Festival of 1817 had sung it, and many others who advocated national ideas had followed their example. During the First World War, the national interpretation of the song reached a climax when countless military and civil postcards with motifs of war featured this verse as a motto.

Originally, the coins featuring “Frederick the Wise” were supposed to have a mintage figure of 350,000 specimens. But in the middle of the First World War, silver was needed for other purposes. Only a symbolic number of 100 pieces were produced. 30 specimens were held back by the Saxon minister of finance. Other pieces were added to coin collections in ways that we can no longer trace today. The rest was melted down again during the 1918 revolution.

Thus, “Frederick the Wise” became the most beautiful, rarest, most popular and therefore most expensive coin of the German Empire.

A Spectacular Collection of German Coins Minted After 1871

Therefore, the quality of a collection of coins from the German Empire is (unfortunately) often measured by the fact of whether it contains a “Frederick the Wise” or not. But there are so many other magnificent issues in the field of German coins minted after 1871. You can acquire many of them in extraordinary condition in the upcoming auction 422. Here you can find a few other spectacular coins from the auction. But this is only the tip of the iceberg. So do not miss out on carefully studying the catalog if you are interested in German coins minted after 1871!

Bibliography:

Wolfgang Flügel, Konfession und Jubiläum. Zur Institutionalisierung der lutherischen Gedenkkultur in Sachsen 1617-1830. Leipzig (2005) Armin Kohnle und Uwe Schirmer (ed.), Kurfürst Friedrich der Weise von Sachsen – Politik, Kultur und Reformation. Leipzig (2015) Dorothea Wendebourg, Vergangene Reformationsjubiläen. In: Heinz Schilling (ed.), Der Reformator Martin Luther 2017. Berlin (2014), pp. 261-281