German Pietism and the Pedagogic Reformation of Human Nature 

 

Stephen Tomlinson 

University of Alabama 

 

In recent years, interest in the origins and influence of German educational thought has focused 

attention on the pedagogic innovations developed by August Herman Francke at the University of Halle. 

In line with the theological reforms promoted by Jacob Spener, Francke developed a program of 

clerical and teacher training designed to initiate a new era of religious piety. The centerpiece of his 

energetic and ever-expanding mission was the Halle Foundation, a “Godly City,” where students could 

perfect the instructional skills necessary to promote spiritual conversion and practical Christianity. 

Following Comenius, Francke adhered to a Biblically based account of nature. But his focus went 

beyond the rational understanding of Creation to the perfection of the soul through the transformative 

power of the Holy Word. The emotionally evocative passages of Scripture had to be employed to sculpt 

and secure a person’s love of God and their neighbor. The result was a powerful pedagogy of 

psychological control with obvious political implications for the management of an inherently volatile 

population.  

 

 

Any systematic approach to education must 

incorporate some understanding of human nature 

and a vison of the social good. Oftentimes such 

ideas are tacit, implicitly defined by received 

practices and intellectual traditions. But during 

periods of radical reform they emerge as animating 

norms that guide new approaches to schooling. 

Pietism, one of the most influential movements in 

the history of education, illustrates the productive 

role of these foundational conceptions. Driven by 

the religious ambition to construct a Godly society, 

the pietists campaigned for mass instruction so that 

all could understand and embrace the imperatives 

of Scripture. This demanded a fundamental change 

in the mission of the Church and a new form of 

clerical training. Centered at the University of 

Halle, theology students originally tutored on 

points of orthodox doctrine were trained in the use 

of the Revealed Word for religious edification and 

spiritual rebirth (Shantz, 2014). Armed with a 

pedagogy of psychological control, they not only 

brought literacy to the population, but a practical 

Christianity infused with the ethos of obedience, 

industry, and community service. According to 

Richard Gawthrop (2006), while initially embraced 

by the Calvinist king Fredrick I as a means to 

further toleration in the predominantly Lutheran 

Prussia, under his successor Frederick William 

pietism evolved into a powerful political ideology 

that furthered the efficiency of Prussia’s 

centralized government, transforming a 

fragmented regional state into the most 

economically and militarily powerful nation in 

Germany. In what follows I examine the ideas 

about mind and society at the heart of this 

revolutionary movement. My focus is the program 

of clerical reform envisioned by Philipp Jakob 

Spener (1653-1705) and its implementation at 

Halle by August Hermann Francke (1663–1727). It 

was here, at Germany’s first pedagogic seminary, 

that Francke forged the instructional methods 

which would shape the educational thought of the 

Eighteenth Century, and beyond.  

 

True Christianity 

The German Pietist movement of the late 

Seventeenth and Eighteenth centuries arose from 

the ashes of the Thirty Years’ War (1618-1648). 

Squeezed between two superpowers—Catholic 

France to the west, Muslim Turkey to the east—

Protestant states such as Brandenburg-Prussia 

struggled to support a strong military with limited 

resources. Continuing conflicts combined with 

poor harvests and plague brought famine, poverty, 



15 
 

and an inevitable train of social ills. Given the 

religious and political convulsions of the past, the 

Lutheran Church naturally sought to secure order 

by establishing the authority of its basic doctrines 

and sacramental practices. Scholarly orthodoxy 

and strict ritual under strong hierarchical control 

became the antidote to the volatile enthusiasm and 

prophetic spiritualism that had stirred antebellum 

divisions (Stoeffler, 1965). Yet for many 

theologians this focus on doctrine generated a 

destructive divide between the Church and the 

people. Preoccupied with the sanctity of their 

creed, the clergy had abrogated the fundamental 

duty of pastoral care. Rising levels of crime and 

poverty were readily interpreted as divine 

punishments; clear signs that the Church must 

reinvigorate its practical mandate and take a more 

active role in regulating the life of the population. 

Fueled by an emerging book trade that popularized 

the devotional tracts of English and Dutch Puritans, 

a new religious sensibility took shape, emphasizing 

the apostolic mission of the early Christians 

(Shantz, 2013). Spener (1675/1964) captured this 

growing imperative in what would become the 

foundational text of the Pietistic movement, Pia 

Desidra. First published in 1675 as a Preface to a 

volume of Johann Ardnt’s sermons (1590/1979), it 

laid out a program of sweeping reforms the Church 

must undergo to combat the causes of social 

corruption and create a community of true 

Christians. 

Raised a consistent disciple of Luther in a 

devout, well-paced family, Spener entered the 

University of Strasburg at age 16 with a deep 

interest in Biblical study and a strong commitment 

to pious living. Earning his masters in just two 

years, he embarked on a three-year sojourn through 

southern Germany and Switzerland. While in 

Geneva he came under the orbit of Jean de Labadie, 

the charismatic proponent of Christian 

communities, translating two of his works before 

returning to Strasburg to complete his doctorate in 

1664. On a path to academia, Spener’s life changed 

to one of service two years later with his 

appointment as senior minister of the Lutheran 

Church in Frankfort. Over the next two decades his 

writings, teaching, and pastoral work gained wide 

recognition, ultimately earning him, in 1686, the 

prestigious appointment as head chaplain to the 

Elector of Saxony.  

In concert with Labadie’s teachings, 

Spener’s overriding concern was improving the 

religious character of the population through 

adherence to the practical lessons of Scripture 

(Shantz, 2013). To this end, he initiated catechism 

programs for the young, combined workhouse 

relief with religious instruction, and initiated study 

groups designed to encourage leading citizens and 

earnest theology students in the discussion of 

devotional texts (Sattler, 1989). Their spiritual 

growth, he reasoned, would help spread the ethic 

of brotherly love throughout the community, 

teaching Christ’s message by example and solving 

social problems through works of Christian 

charity. The idea caught light. Starting in 1670 with 

intimate gatherings in his own home, by 1677 

Spener, was offering Church meetings with a 

hundred or more in attendance. Many were un-

educated tradespeople, and shockingly for the 

times, many were female. For Spener this 

extension of Scriptural education into the 

community answered Luther’s call for a priesthood 

of all believers. But it also brought a dangerous 

mutation. Animated by the emotional power of 

conversion, a few of Spener’s more radical 

followers established alternative conventicles, 

often without ministerial supervision, that 

embraced the efficacy of personal experience over 

sacramental ritual (Stoeffler, 1965). With similar 

groups popping up across the region, orthodox 

leaders naturally viewed this energetic and 

expansive movement as existential threat to the 

integrity of the Lutheran faith. Spener was 

sympathetic to the goals of those seeking the truly 

pious life but remained firmly committed to the 

established order. Reform, he insisted, had to occur 

within the Church. In fact, Biblical prophecy, the 

subject of his doctoral study, suggested the vital 

work of the clergy in preparation for Christ’s 

second coming. 

Tensions came to a boil in 1687 when 

Spener’s most committed disciple, August Francke 



16 
 

set up a series of private lectures in opposition to 

the theological instruction offered at the University 

of Leipzig. Where his former professors taught the 

philosophical basis of dogma in Latin, Francke 

provided a guide to practical Christianity in the 

vernacular. Students fled the university lecture 

halls in droves. Many started their own 

conventicles, generating much excitement among 

the wider population. The situation was further 

exacerbated, Gawthorp (2006) explains, by “the 

interjection of enthusiasm” as spiritual visionaries 

and would-be prophets sought to share their 

experiences (p. 118). This dangerous dynamic was 

more than the orthodox establishment could bear. 

Francke was expelled from the city and all 

conventicles banned. Spener’s position also 

became untenable. Out of favor with Saxony’s 

elector, in 1691, he accepted the appointment as 

Provost of St Nicholas Church and a member of the 

state’s Lutheran Consistory in the more tolerant 

Brandenburg-Prussia. This was a pivotal turning 

point in the history of pietism. When radicals 

sought to establish separate Christian communities 

across Europe, the Americas, and Asia, Spener and 

Francke pursued their instructional project 

internally, aligning pietism’s religious goals with 

the economic and political ambitions of the 

Prussian state (Gawthorp, 2006).  

Gaining the trust of officials in Frederick’s 

court, Spener successfully engineered numerous 

clerical and academic placements for his followers. 

The appointment of faculty to the University of 

Halle proved key. A counterbalance to the more 

orthodox Universities of Wittenberg and Leipzig, 

it was established in 1694 under the twin principles 

of intellectual tolerance and social utility. The 

crown needed skilled professionals dedicated to the 

economic interests and political harmony of the 

state. Spener’s practical theology proved a perfect 

fit. Pietism would replace the divisional 

scholasticism of traditional Lutheran schooling 

with pragmatic lessons in orderly, cooperative, and 

productive Christian life. Francke was appointed 

professor of Greek and Oriental Languages and 

assigned the ministry of St George’s Church in the 

nearby slum of Glaucha, thus setting up a 

theoretical and practical axis with which 

demonstrate the effectiveness of pietistic reform. 

The extraordinary support Francke and his 

associates received in this experiment as they 

struggled to overcome opposition from local 

Church and civic leaders vividly demonstrates the 

royal court’s investment in this inherently political 

project. Indeed, the dynamics of regional and 

centralized power struggles are key to 

understanding Francke’s work at Halle and the 

profound influence his pedagogic reforms played 

in the formation of the increasingly absolutist state.  

Historically, Brandenburg-Prussia was 

divided into numerous local serfdoms, each 

administered by noble lords. The royal court 

mediated between these estates. Its authority rested 

upon ties of blood and patronage that knit the 

country’s elites into a kind of national family 

presided over, father-like, by the elector. His role 

was to balance competing interests and establish 

common purpose through the prestige of the station 

and the support of the Church. To this end, under 

Fredrick William (1640 to 1688) and Frederick I 

(1688 to 1713), Berlin began to emulate the 

elegance and culture of Paris. But the taxes 

necessary to support such extravagances generated 

resentment among those who drew wealth from the 

land. Religion was also a concern. The 

Hohenzollern rulers were staunchly Calvinist in a 

predominately Lutheran state. Preaching 

tolerance—nobody would be compelled to worship 

in a church that opposed the dictates of their 

conscience—they nonetheless looked to religious 

reunification in the hope of social and spiritual 

harmony. Orthodox Lutherans, whose status was 

tied to the noble estates, naturally opposed the 

rising influence of the Reformed in increasingly 

Francophile Berlin—especially after Frederick 

permitted the immigration of some 40,000 

Huguenots displaced by the repeal of the Edict of 

Nantes (1598). Healing confessional divisions thus 

became politically expedient, especially at Halle, 

in the staunchly independent Duchy of the 

Magdeburg (Clark, 2006). 

Also important for understanding the 

pietist-state alliance was a parallel quest for the 



17 
 

unification of knowledge spearheaded by a coterie 

of theologians and philosophers who gathered 

under the patronage of Frederick’s erudite and 

sophisticated wife Sophia Charlotte, herself an 

avowed disciple of Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz 

(Antognazza, 2008). Much as Comenius had 

argued, Leibniz hoped to heal sectarian divisions 

through the establishment of an evangelical church 

committed to a broad understanding of Christian 

truth. Minimizing the importance of sacramental 

and dogmatic disputes, he turned to Natural 

Theology confident that knowledge of God’s 

creation would justify the religious imperatives of 

life. It would also promote the scientific 

advancement and useful learning promised by 

Bacon—a prayer that dovetailed perfectly with the 

political and economic goals of the monarchy.  

With the promise of new discoveries in 

medicine, agriculture, and other practical fields 

Leibniz helped found the Berlin Society of 

Sciences in 1700. Francke followed a similar track 

at Halle. As Kelly Whitmir (2015) explains, the 

development of scientific reasoning became a 

central plank of pietist pedagogy, both as a 

devotional tool and a means to technological 

advancement. Francke’s physico-theology thus 

cohered with the larger irenic program 

masterminded by Leibniz and Fredrick’s court 

preacher, Comenius’ grandson, Daniel Ernst 

Jablonski. Given Francke’s own Comenian 

schooling, Whitmer makes the important claim that 

education at Halle realized many of the 

instructional principles developed by Comenius, 

although it should be noted, with much greater 

attention to the training of the heart rather than the 

head.  

 

The Pietistic Manifesto  

Christopher Clarke (2006) argues that the 

unique convergence of religious and political 

interests transformed the pietists into a veritable 

“fifth column” of the Prussian state (p. 127). 

Certainly, Francke and Spener were adept in 

promoting the social value of their reforms, but 

they had a larger goal than to be servants of the 

crown. No less than Comenius, they envisioned a 

second educational reformation. Empowered with 

the pedagogic skills to awaken Mankind’s spiritual 

nature, the teachers and clergy trained at Halle 

would spread across the nation and then the world 

creating the global community of practicing 

believers prophesized in Scripture. The blueprint 

for this overarching mission is set out in the 

compact three-part argument of Spener’s Pia 

Desidra. The first section analyzes the Church’s 

failings, the second expands on its duty to reform 

human nature, and the third details the means it 

must embrace to fulfil its true purpose.  

The living body of Christ lay on its 

deathbed, riddled with sin. The nobility looked 

upon the Church as a political instrument for 

preserving power and privilege; the clergy, more 

interested in the temporal well-being than the 

teachings of Christ, performed their office without 

spiritual meaning; and, deprived of religious 

guidance, the common people had fallen into lives 

consumed by selfish and depraved pleasures. 

Drawing upon Revelations and the teachings of 

Arndt, Spener pictured a reborn Church energized 

by the Holy Spirit. Luther had ensured the purity of 

doctrine; it was now time to secure the purity of 

faith. If the Church could not create a heaven on 

Earth, it could at least bring men and women closer 

to the image of God within, able to enjoy the fruits 

of Christian life rather than suffering the disorder 

that flows from the base passions of the Old Adam. 

This demanded the reinvigoration of the apostolic 

mission and the religious life exemplified by the 

early Christians. The priesthood, he concluded, 

must become a teaching estate committed to 

sharing the transformative power of the Divine 

Word.  

 “As the old birth is propagated carnally 

from Adam,” Arndt (1979) explained in True 

Christianity, “so the new birth is spiritually 

propagated from Christ, through the word of God. 

This word is the seed of the new creature” (p. 52). 

Given the majority of the population only knew the 

Scriptures through Sunday sermons, Spener 

demanded a system of instruction that would 

enable everyone to access the profound messages 

of the Bible firsthand. But simple knowledge of 



18 
 

God’s Word was not sufficient. Christianity was a 

religion of the faith, not dogma. It required the kind 

of guided inquiry discussed by Paul in Corinthians. 

“Every Christian,” he insisted, must study 

 

 industriously . . . in the Word of the Lord, 

[and] with the grace that is given him to 

teach others, especially those under his own 

roof, to chastise, exhort, convert, and edify 

them, to observe their life, pray for all, and 

insofar as possible be concerned about their 

salvation. (p. 94) 

 

Only through critical interrogation and 

admonishment could the pure sentiments of 

Christian love be implanted in the heart.  

Spener’s reformed Church required a new 

kind of priest, a true Christian who could serve as 

a living example of God’s love. He would admit 

none to the ministry who were unwilling to “die 

unto the world. . .. Study without piety was 

worthless” (1675/1964, p. 104). Certainly, scholars 

were required to protect the Church from the 

polemical attacks of other denominations. But the 

majority only needed to explain the basic truths of 

Christianity to their congregation. Determined that 

the university become a “workshop of the Holy 

Spirit,” he even cautioned professors to avoid 

“unnecessary argumentation” and counteract the 

“curiosity of lustful intellects” (p. 110). Theology 

was the practical discipline teaching how the 

Divine Word could be employed to fashion a 

believer’s soul—skills which drew upon the 

individual’s own heartfelt religious experience. 

Students required “concrete suggestions on how to 

institute pious meditations, how to know 

themselves better through self-examination, [and] 

how to resist the lusts of the flesh” (p. 112). 

Expanding upon the conventicle, he suggested they 

“admonish one another to put what they have heard 

into practice” and explain in a public confessional 

“how, in this or that situation, they have acquitted 

themselves” (p. 112-113).  

Of course, putting such intimate knowledge 

to work demanded more than personal piety. 

Students had to master the rhetorical and soft skills 

necessary for the conversion of others. There had 

to be exercises in how to counsel the wayward, 

comfort the infirm, and lead the congregation in the 

teachings of Christ. This last task involved the 

delivery of effective sermons, a central concern of 

the theology student’s training. The typical pulpit 

oration was meaningless to the average 

parishioner. Steeped in abstract and technical 

points of doctrine, it addressed the ear rather than 

the heart. Spener was not interested in such 

intellectual gymnastics; the Word of the Lord had 

to be communicated plainly and powerfully to 

excite religious feelings and instill Christian love. 

Church attendance was not sufficient, the minister 

had to enter the inner temple of the soul and 

cultivate a sincere faith in God through the 

transformative power of the Holy Word. 

 

August Francke 

August Francke was the living epitome of 

Spener’s reformed minister (Yoder, 2020). Under 

Spener’s support and tutelage, his intense 

conversion experience during the fall of 1687 

became the fuel of a “burning piety” that propelled 

him to the leadership of an energetic movement 

bent on enacting the educational reforms outlined 

in Pia Desidra. Indeed, as his vocal disdain for the 

Lutheran establishment demonstrates, Francke’s 

religiosity had an even more radical edge than that 

of his mentor. Certainly, both believed that 

“children of the world” must become “children of 

God,” but his own emotional rebirth revealed the 

profound psychological change this entailed. 

Becoming a true Christian necessitated the 

complete denial of all selfish impulses and total 

submission to the will of God. But what joy 

conversion would bring! Free from base desires, 

the imago Dei would be resurrected and the 

individual transformed into a spiritual being able to 

enjoy the higher delights of life promised by the 

Almighty. 

Like Spener, Francke (1663–1727) was 

raised in a devout Lutheran family where, next to 

the Bible, True Christianity was the prime source 

of spiritual guidance (Sattler, 1989). His father 

served as a counselor at the court of Saxe-Gotha, 



19 
 

advising Duke Ernst “the Pious” in his effort to 

improve the religious condition of the population 

through a system of compulsory schooling based 

upon the teachings of Comenius. Every child was 

to learn the catechism in the vernacular and 

understand basic facts about the design of God’s 

Cosmos. At Halle, Francke (1727) would use the 

“small Treatise” Ernst published, laying out “in a 

most compendious Way the Principles of the chief 

and most useful Sciences” (p. 153). In his 

Autobiography, Francke (cited in Erb, 1983), also 

speaks of the role played by his elder sister, who 

after the death of their father, sought to curb his 

boyish ways with daily lectures from Ardnt (Erb, 

1983). Evidently, the germ of piety took root. For 

while he made easy progress through academia, 

Francke was troubled by the shallowness of his 

faith and the irrelevance of his training for the 

practical tasks of the ministry. “I had no other 

concept of theological studies” he confesses, “than 

that they consisted of having theological lectures 

and theological books firmly in one’s head and 

could carry on an erudite discussion about them” 

(quoted in Sattler 1989, p. 26). Indeed, he 

graduated from Leipzig in 1685 hopeful that his 

skills in Biblical exegesis would secure him a 

comfortable university or ecclesiastical 

appointment. The following year—while 

supporting himself through tutoring and private 

lectures—he helped form the Collegium 

Philobiblicum, a study group dedicated to 

exploring the sacred word in its original Greek and 

Hebrew. Given the rising interest in conventicles, 

membership quickly expanded, and discussions 

turned from the meaning of scripture to its 

implication for Christian life. Yet, he reports, 

determined to “become a distinguished and learned 

man, to become rich, and to live an easy life,” both 

“inwardly and outwardly” he remained “a man of 

the world” (quoted in Sattler 1989, p. 28). All this 

changed when he was asked to deliver a sermon on 

the nature of a living faith. Thrown into a crisis of 

conscience over the superficiality of his own 

convictions, his atheistic head did battle with his 

contrite heart, until the night before the scheduled 

oration he sank to his knees and prayed for God’s 

forgiveness. In that moment, his plea was 

answered. Overwhelmed by the experience of a 

father’s love, he rose completely assured “of the 

grace of God in Christ Jesus” (Erb, p. 105). 

“Reason stood away; victory was torn from its 

hands, for the power of God had made it 

subservient to faith” (p. 105). This foretaste of the 

Lord’s goodness released him from all material 

interests. “From this time on,” he reports, “I held 

contentiously to God, and I cared nothing for 

promotion, honor, and visibility in the world, 

riches, good days, and exterior worldly pomp” (p. 

106). Faith, he declared, brought the gift of a “new 

birth from God.”  It “makes us completely other 

men in our hearts, minds, thoughts, and all our 

powers and brings the Holy Spirit with it” (p. 106). 

These powers soon became evident at 

Halle. Expanding  his ministry from the steps of St 

George’s Church, Francke took the promise of 

pietism to the squalid and sordid streets of Glaucha. 

From catechism classes to stirring emotional 

sermons, the religion of the heart energized the 

community; hundreds were drawn from 

neighboring churches to his daily prayers and 

readings from Arndt. Recognizing Francke’s 

blatant disregard for doctrine as a threat to their 

authority, city and Church leaders were quick to 

react. Particularly troubling was his use of the 

confessional. Where other priests absolved sins as 

a matter of course, Francke demanded sincere 

contrition and repentance. To make matters worse, 

it was reported he was hosting conventicles that 

encouraged religious visionaries. Charging heresy 

and enthusiasm, complaints were submitted to 

Berlin and a commission established to review his 

conduct. Headed by the University of Halle’s 

Chancellor, the result inevitably weighed in his 

favor. But this did little to heal divisions. Indeed, 

Francke became increasingly strident in his 

criticism of the orthodox. For example, expanding 

on Luther’s Doctrine of the Cross in a 1694 

sermon, he attacked those who believed in the 

historical accuracy of the Bible hoping “to attain 

eternal life through the death of Christ” but were 

unwilling to “die to sin and mortify the matters of 

the flesh” (Sattler, 1982, pp. 125-126). “The mere 



20 
 

knowledge of the suffering, death, and resurrection 

of Jesus Christ is fruitless” (p. 127). A true 

Christian had to endure the crucifixion of bodily 

desires so that they might be born again with 

Christ, a new creature with a divine nature. Most 

galling for Francke were the clergy who placed 

their own temporal ends before the duty of the 

ministry. In a volcanic 1698 sermon he compared 

his orthodox critics to wolves in sheep’s clothing, 

warning the congregation against false prophets 

who served up religion as mere dogma and ritual. 

Their pure theology was only the husk of faith, not 

its kernel (Sattler, 1982). Jesus, he later noted, had 

given up “honors, pleasures, and riches . . . entirely 

spending the days of his humiliation on procuring 

our salvation and happiness” (Francke, 1831, p. 

vii). This was the lesson priests must follow. Yet 

most had no “living experience of the work of 

conversion in their own souls, which they are to 

preach to others” (p. xi). Why? The “Fear of Man” 

had undermined the “Fear of God.” Future clergy 

had to understand and conquer their own nature if 

they were to be servants of Christ. This was to be 

the central goal of his educational project at Halle.  

 

A Christian Community 

Spener had not envisioned a sudden change 

in society; correcting human nature was a task for 

the ages. But he was hopeful that the Holy Word 

would elevate personal piety and infuse the 

positive ethic of neighborly love within the 

population. Those of the true faith would follow the 

example of Christ and embrace the duty to care for 

the poor and needy. But Christian charity meant 

more than simply distributing relief to the destitute, 

it implied attending to the root causes of their 

distress. The pauper, for example, had to be taught 

control over the bodily desires that drove them into 

a life of debauchery, drunkenness, and beggary. 

The slums of Glaucha, recently devastated by fire 

and plague, was the perfect site to demonstrate the 

efficacy of Spener’s pietistic pedagogy (Gawthrop, 

2006). It would also provide proof of God’s 

sanction for the reformation of Mankind. As 

Francke (1727) explained in Pietas Hallensis, his 

1701 “account of the marvelous foot-steps of 

Divine Providence,” the Almighty always 

rewarded good works. 

Uniting material support with religious 

instruction, Francke set about curing the social ills 

of the city through education. Relying mainly on 

philanthropic bequests, in just four years he 

established an expansive Foundation that included 

an orphanage, several schools, and even a home for 

destitute widows. His scheme had a simple 

beginning. Starting in 1695, he restricted the 

weekly distribution of alms to those who accepted 

lessons on the Lutheran catechism. While this 

brought little change in the behavior of adults, his 

interactions with children convinced him that the 

vice and ignorance of the population could only be 

conquered by shaping the minds and morals of 

future generations. With this end in view, he 

employed the church collection to subsidize a 

charity school run by financially strapped theology 

students. Yet even with four hours of daily teaching 

“those good Impressions, which perhaps during 

their Stay in the school were Stamped on their 

Mind, were obliterated again, whilst they were 

abroad, and so the intended reflection of their ill 

Habits was much obstructed” (p. 20). Confident 

that God’s bounty would stream “down more and 

more plentifully, to Shew us he was ready to do still 

greater Things, if we could but believe,” Francke 

resolved to extend religious control over the child’s 

entire environment (p. 19-20). His first step was to 

board orphans with respected members of the 

community. As donations from the “well-

disposed” flowed in, the number under his care 

soon swelled. Charity bred charity. The promise of 

Christian transformation ensured funds not only for 

the children’s upkeep and instruction, but also the 

purchase a common house and the establishment of 

an orphanage. Confident in the workings of 

Providence, Francke committed to the construction 

of a grand, five story brick building that would 

house over a hundred children.  

A second, unexpected consequence of his 

initiative, was the request from better-placed 

townspeople that educational opportunities be 

provided for their children. Before long, his charity 

school expanded to accommodate 50 or 60 



21 
 

students, with gendered classes for the young and 

old, the poor and the well-to-do. In addition, 

although not mentioned in Pietas Hallensis, he also 

opened a school for the sons of the nobility and 

upper classes, what would later become known as 

the Paedagogium.  

Over the next a decade Francke’s 

Foundation expanded into a veritable school city. 

By the time of his death in 1727, Gawthrop (2006) 

reports 170 teachers were engaged in the 

instruction of over 2200 German, Latin, and elite 

students. There was a seminary to train future 

teachers, a hospital, a workhouse, and a home for 

widowed women. There were also numerous 

workshops, a grocery, an apothecary, and a print 

shop. More than simply supporting the needs and 

the instructional goals of the community, the 

various trades—especially through the sale of 

books and medicine—had brought substantial 

profits to fuel building and growth. Francke even 

envisioned investments in mining, agriculture, and 

shipping!  Complemented by a museum, a library, 

and elaborate gardens, the whole enterprise 

conjured up images of Johann Valentin Andrea’s 

(1999) Christianopolis.  

How are we to understand this expansive 

foundation with its seemingly incongruous mix of 

projects? Perhaps the best guide is Francke’s 

unpublished Der Grosse Aufsatz, written and 

rewritten over the years to explain the importance 

of his work and solicit funds from supporters 

(Menck, 2009). Like Pia Desidra it explains how 

vice and ignorance can be overcome by teachers 

and clergy empowered to redeem the unregenerate. 

Two tasks loomed large: the instruction of children 

and the care of the poor. Given that only those who 

have experienced the inner emotions of conversion 

could hope to shape other souls, theology students 

had to be carefully mentored through their own 

religious struggles. They also needed a practical 

apprenticeship in the employment of the Holy 

Word within a Christian community that 

exemplified the essential values of faith, love, and 

industry. The pietist faculty at Halle and the 

associated Orphanage met these twin needs. Here 

was a city on a hill, a model of Christian life that 

would help prepare disciples of Christ to spread 

God’s word across the nation and then the world.  

Francke devoted much time and effort to 

raising the money necessary for his expansive 

plans. His chief argument, reiterated throughout 

Pietas Hallensis, was that Halle served as an 

instrument of the Holy Spirit, furthering the work 

of Christ. The wealthy could play their part through 

financial donations. He also promised material 

rewards for those willing to invest in the 

Foundation’s businesses, which had a competitive 

edge thanks to the lower labor costs. True 

Christians and their student helpers, he explained, 

did not work for profit, only God’s glory 

(Gawthrop, 2006). Initially Francke attempted to 

fund his teaching corps by setting orphans to work 

in a stocking factory. But the poor quality of 

workmanship, even after long hours of labor, 

rendered the venture unprofitable.  

The Paedagogium was far more successful. 

In addition to handsome fees, many of the 

children’s parents exercised influence at the Berlin 

Court, helping to build royal support for his efforts. 

This came first with the supply of building 

materials for the Orphanage then, in subsequent 

years, legal charters and tax exemptions for his 

business projects. Turning from child labor to 

commerce, Francke could now employ his 

entrepreneurial skills to help further the 

Foundation’s philanthropic mission. Most 

important was the publication of schoolbooks, 

devotional works, and cheap Bibles necessary for 

the Pietist crusade. By 1727 some 80,000 copies of 

the Bible had been sold. Equally lucrative was the 

sale of essentia dulcis, an elixir recognized across 

the Continent as a treatment for gout. By 1710 

revenues had matched donations. In 1727, at over 

30,000 talers per year (though difficult to ascertain 

equivalent value, the taler had about 1.5 times the 

silver as the later US silver dollar (German Silver 

Coins, 2022)), they constituted more than 90% of 

the Foundations income, funding the construction 

of classrooms, dormitories, a library, a hospital, a 

lecture hall, and a host of other buildings 

(Gawthrop, 2006).  



22 
 

With the resources to match his zeal for 

reform, Francke had no problem attracting 

students. By 1727 Halle had grown into Germany’s 

largest university, with 1500 students, two thirds of 

whom were under the theology faculty. In 1710 

some 500 were attending his dinner tables, many in 

the hope of securing board and lodging in exchange 

for work in one of the institution’s schools. For 

those with limited means, earning a scholarship 

was a way to meet the crippling cost of university 

education. It also offered a golden opportunity to 

develop professional skills—a passport to future 

employment. But none could advance unless they 

demonstrated the right motives. Accordingly, a 

special seminar was established for those deemed 

spiritually fit to teach in the Latin school or the 

Paedagogium. Committing to a multi-year year 

contract, those enrolled in the seminarium selectum 

praeceptorium worked under the supervision of the 

institution’s inspector, joined, it was hoped, 

through bonds of mutual admonition, in the 

perfection of the pedagogic skills necessary for the 

spiritualization of the child’s soul. 

 

Theology and Praxis  

Close to Arndt on original sin, Francke’s 

anthropology cast human nature in a slightly 

different light to Comenius. In his Naturall 

Philosophie (1651) Comenius expands on the 

unique station of men and women within God’s 

creation. Like other creatures we are composed of 

matter and animated by spirit. But God went 

further with Mankind. Breathing life into Adam, he 

produced a more refined spirit, a rational soul with 

the power to understand the world and exercise free 

will. Able to grasp the cause of events, we can 

know good and evil and choose between virtue and 

vice. Certainly, Comenius recognized the many 

emotions inherent in our animal nature—more 

intense and varied than any other creature—but he 

believed that human beings would always follow 

the dictates of reason. Francke’s (1813)  theory of 

the affections revealed the need for a more intense 

struggle with the passions. “A good man,” he 

quoted Christ, “out of the treasure of his heart, 

bringeth forth good things; and an evil man out of 

the evil treasure, bringeth forth evil things.” What 

was this treasure “but those internal emotions 

which inform and actuate the human soul?” (p. 

125).  

Francke’s analysis identified three levels of 

emotions; appetites (shared with animals) 

necessary to meet basic needs, affections informed 

by intelligence that express human desires, and the 

higher feelings of a sanctified soul. The “Carnal 

Man” of the second tier was very different to the 

“Spiritual Man” of the third. Guided by self-love, 

the unregenerate sought temporal pleasure and 

sensual gratification. By contrast those awakened 

by the Holy Spirit looked to the eternal and the 

glory of God. Rejecting bodily desires, they 

enjoyed a life of peace and love in the face of 

worldly turmoil. Killing the Old Adam was not an 

all or nothing affair; Spiritual Man had to do battle 

with Carnal Man every day. The inspired writers of 

the Bible led the way. Productive, daily 

engagement with Scripture demanded prayer, 

meditation, and personal examination in the face of 

the Almighty’s judgment (Bayer, 2011). Naturally, 

there would be earnest tears and pleas for guidance. 

“The reading of Holy Scripture,” Francke (Franke 

& Strom, 2011) explained, had to “be carried out 

with loud prayer and sighing as well as with praise 

and thanks to God” (p. 377). This was the only way 

the Holy Spirit could enter the heart and cultivate 

the soul. It was through this “dear cross” of 

suffering that “we here become akin to his only 

born son.” We must “never neglect our self-

examination,” Francke insisted, for it is “from the 

divine word we will learn to recognize properly the 

corruption of our heart” (p. 379). Fortunately, the 

Bible also provided the means to escape torment 

and experience the sweet joy of God’s redeeming 

grace. It abounded with passages to elevate the 

soul. All “thoughts of external affliction” could be 

remedied by pondering uplifting passages 

“devoutly in your heart” (p. 380). Armed with a 

comprehensive knowledge of Scripture—the who, 

what, and why of each circumstance—the priest 

could utilize this pedagogy of fear and love to 

engage the entire range of human affections. The 

subtle use of voice and gesture was also important. 



23 
 

The closer a person came to emulating the feelings 

of the inspired author, the greater its effect on their 

emotions. Given the diversity of character, this 

demanded an intimate knowledge of the 

individual’s inner state. Best achieved through 

confessional interrogation, checked by the careful 

observation, a person’s motives could then be 

compared with those of exemplary figures to 

promote imitation of the Godly.  

Given the notoriously riotous behavior of 

university students, the theology faculty at Halle 

put great stress on the care of the soul. Their 

standing in Berlin, no less than the greater pietist 

mission, depended upon it. The discipline of the 

enclosed Foundation provided constraints upon 

behavior, but more telling was the internal 

surveillance of the heart. To this end, students were 

directed to keep a diary chronicling their emotional 

struggles. Writing was seen as an effective means 

to promote reflection; it also provided mentors a 

tool with which to explore inner motives and 

encourage progress toward conversion. Sincerity 

was key.  

Francke bemoaned those who would ape 

the emotions of the devout for personal gain. He 

also bristled at clever students who put human 

learning before the teachings of God. Philosophy’s 

office was to be the handmaiden of theology. His 

greatest hope was that students would embrace the 

overarching goal of the seminar by observing, 

reporting, and encouraging one another in the 

mutual search for atonement. To steel them to their 

future task, he delivered weekly moral lectures on 

the mission of the early Christians. Titus and 

Timothy were to be their example; the epistles of 

Paul the guide to their pastoral duties (Yoder, 

2020).  

The Foundation’s various institutions 

provided the essential spaces in which theology 

students could translate Francke’s teachings into 

religious praxis. Under the supervision of faculty 

and staff they would engage in the work of 

Christian charity, providing spiritual edification as 

they attended to the needs of the poor and 

dependent. Most important however, was the 

education of children. Like Comenius, Francke 

compared the young mind to softened wax and 

counselled that the deepest impressions were made 

in early age. The overarching goal was to implant 

the central lessons of Scripture as the basis of all 

learning and free the soul from the base impulses 

inherited from Adam. But this natural willfulness 

could not be subdued by “Severity and sharp 

discipline” as many Puritan divines advocated—

the rod would excite the very passions that had to 

be overcome! Nor should the child be motivated by 

praise and shame. All rewards and punishments 

had to come from the Almighty. Relying on a 

“condescending Christian Meekness,” Francke’s 

(1727) teacher was to wield the love and fear of 

God using “the most pathetick and sweet 

expressions” (p. 194). The joys of heaven were to 

be emphasized over the eternal pains of hell. In 

extreme cases, when physical correction was 

necessary, the offender would join with the master 

in an earnest prayer of forgiveness, while those that 

excelled would be told they were coming closer to 

the example of Christ.  

Gawthrop (2006) provides a vivid account 

of how this regimen of moral discipline pervaded 

every aspect of the Foundation’s highly controlled 

environment. Children were never be left to 

themselves. Under the continuous eye of their 

masters every action became a measure of their 

soul. Teachers even keep a register detailing each 

pupil’s background, temperament, and evolving 

frame of mind. Those who lived within the 

compound were supervised day and night to ensure 

they didn’t engage in competitive sports, 

boisterous play, or read books that excited 

inappropriate passions. Their leisure time had to be 

spent in cooperative, community-focused 

activities, such as helping in the gardens or 

workshops. As for the children who returned home 

after long hours of schooling, their behavior was 

monitored with the support of parents. 

Francke repeatedly explained in his 

sermons that education must begin in the home 

(Sattler, 1982). The pious family had to engage in 

daily prayer, devotional reading, and joint 

reflection on the text covered in the Sunday 

service. The Bible was to be read cover to cover 



24 
 

every two years; the Lutheran Catechism reviewed 

every four weeks. The same expectations 

structured life within the Foundation. Irrespective 

of the educational track, the school day began and 

ended with prayer and hymns. Periods in-between 

were dedicated to study of the Holy Word. Far 

from the recitation of memorized passages, 

children would be tested on the meaning of 

Scripture and their ability to apply Christian 

principles to the practical problems of life. They 

were even encouraged to pray in their own words 

(Shantz, 2013). For those of the lower orders who 

attended the German School, Francke confessed 

this comprised the bulk of their instruction, with 

additional time devoted to practical arts and the 

pupil’s future trade. Throughout, emphasis was 

placed upon neighborly love so that all understood 

and embraced the part they were to play within the 

community.  

The Latin School and the Paedagogium had 

deeper and broader curriculums that prepared 

students from the Burgher class for university, and 

those from elite and wealthy families for leadership 

roles in the military and government. Here the twin 

goals of social service and individual piety were 

fused with Christian wisdom. Science played an 

important role. Much as Leibniz argued, the 

wonderous order and beauty of Creation provided 

proof of God’s power and goodness. It also 

promised to reveal properties of nature that could 

be employed for the improvement of human life. 

No one doubted that the book of nature was in 

complete harmony with the revealed word. The 

complex economy of the world and the intricate 

adaptations of its innumerable parts bore the 

signature of God’s workmanship; a source of awe 

proudly displayed for its instructional purposes in 

the Foundation’s famed museum of artifacts, 

objects, and animals collected from around the 

globe.  

God had gifted Mankind rational powers to 

understand and govern the Earth. But the mind had 

its limits. Human wisdom could not be placed 

above that of the Almighty. Men and women might 

seek practical knowledge of nature but such 

discoveries had to comply with the larger truths 

contained in the Bible. According to Ann Blair 

(2000), Comenius’ reconciliation of sense, reason, 

and Scripture provided the most influential 

statement of this Christian Philosophy. His sense-

based curriculum also illuminates the pedagogic 

methods employed at Halle. As Whitmir (2015) 

shows, students at the Latin School and the 

Paedagogium were engaged in hands-on activities 

designed to teach the implicit order of the world 

and reveal how its inherent forces could be 

harnessed. These vivid experiences were designed 

to make deep impressions on the developing mind. 

Practical activities were better than words; 

objects—such as the museum’s models of the rival 

planetary systems—were better than pictures. 

Students even used the used the mathematical text 

written by the university’s popular and 

increasingly prominent rationalist philosopher 

Christian Wolff to guide the process of identifying 

causal powers through systematic measurement 

(Whitmir (2015). 

The Clash of Faculties 

While philosophy remained subservient to 

theology, scientific study reinforced the religious 

goals of Francke’s instructional project. The 

problem came when Wolff turned his rational 

method on what the pietists viewed as the unique 

province of Scripture, the shaping of mind and 

character. The result was an explosive 

epistemological dispute that resulted in Wolff’s 

dismissal from Halle, and a profound public debate 

over the proper relation of the academic faculties 

within the German university (Howard, 2006).  

Human reason could not be allowed to challenge 

the authority of the Bible and the priority of faith.   

The now famous clash was ignited by his 

1721 lecture to students and faculty—delivered as 

outgoing rector—on the practical value of 

Confucianism (Becker, 1991). Drawing upon the 

writings of Leibniz and various Jesuit authors, 

Wolff described how the Chinese had developed a 

system of education designed to school the future 

leaders of a rationally ordered, virtuous, and happy 

society. Although this did not conflict with the 

teachings of Christianity, it did support his 

contention that scientifically informed experts 



25 
 

should shape social policy. This was pure heresy 

for the pietists. Committed to the spiritual elevation 

of the soul, Wolff’s secularism was received as an 

endorsement of atheism. Far from learning from 

Confucius, Francke was insistent that Christian 

missionaries be sent to offer the divine guidance 

and religious discipline necessary to raise the 

Chinese from their carnal depravity (Holloran, 

2000).  

As for Wolff, both he and his doctrines 

became the object of severe and bitter criticism. 

Protected by the University’s rules of toleration, he 

battled against charges of determinism and the 

denial of God’s active agency in the world. He was 

also accused of corrupting the morals of students 

with materialistic doctrines; many of whom had 

fled theology for his more engaging classes. The 

Jena theologian Johann Franz Buddeus was 

recruited to assess Wolff’s philosophical sins. But 

an official tribunal judged his conclusion—that 

rationalist doctrines might be dangerous to religion 

because they undermined the authority of divine 

law—insufficient to warrant Wolff’s censure. At 

this point Francke turned to politics. Convincing 

the king of Wolff’s threat to the state, Frederick 

gave Wolff just 48 hours to leave the country 

(Holloran, 2000).  

Wolff found a more accommodating 

position at the neighboring University of Marburg 

where he continued to defend and popularize 

rational analysis. Determined to protect the 

dominion of theology, the pietists increased their 

attacks on naturalistic explanations of morals. In 

their anthropology virtue flowed from the 

sentiments of the regenerated mind. Reason had to 

show humility before God. Naturally, philosophers 

and theologians across Europe were drawn into the 

contest, including many who sought to reconcile 

the insights of the two camps. But the pietists did 

not relent. In 1727, as interest in Wolff’s 

philosophy continued, Frederick was persuaded to 

ban the sale and discussion of his works. He also 

ordered all theology students to matriculate under 

the pietist controlled faculties at Halle or 

Konigsberg (Melton, 2003).  

Francke’s dispute with Wolff also had 

ramifications for the pupils in the Foundation’s 

schools. According to Whitmer (2015) the 

curriculum became increasingly Biblio-centric. 

Geography and history, for example, focused on 

the Holy Land and the key figures of the Old 

Testament. The same held true for the sciences. 

Where earlier students had been encouraged to 

observe, examine, and form their own conjectures, 

the dangers of rationalism necessitated a more 

structured approach. How could the mere 

observation of events unlock the inner properties 

and complex order of the world? As Arndt and his 

followers taught, nature had to be approached 

through a Christian Philosophy that explained the 

purpose of God’s workmanship. Expanding upon 

Comenius’ Mosaic account of creation, Buddeus’ 

presented an eclectic philosophy designed to 

provide a comprehensive Christian understanding 

of life and the religious uses of natural 

knowledge—an ideal captured in the image of 

Solomon’s Temple, modeled within the Museum, 

and the rivers of enlightenment that would flow 

from it (Kelley, 2001; Whitmer, 2015). 

 

Conclusion  

The pietist ascendency at the University of 

Halle was short lived. By the early 1730s most of 

its leading figures had followed Francke to grave 

(died 1727). None that followed could match his 

reformist drive. Pietism also lost standing with 

Berlin, especially after the more cerebral and 

religiously skeptic Fredrick II succeeded his father 

to the throne in 1740. Indeed, given the alignment 

of Wolff’s rational paternalism with the goals of 

the absolute state, Frederick, Prussia’s 

“philosopher king,” convinced Wolff to return to 

Halle the following year claiming in a letter that it 

was now “up to the philosophers to be the 

preceptors of the universe and the tutors of its 

princes” (quoted in Andrew, 2006, p. 70). But 

Francke and his co-religionists at Halle did leave 

an important intellectual deposit. Their stress on 

Biblical hermeneutics and the development of a 

personal relationship with God helped shape the 

course of theological thought through the century 



26 
 

(Zimmermann, 2012). The role of language in the 

cultivation of the faculties also proved key. 

Together with the writings of Locke and other 

influential enlightenment thinkers, Wolff’s views 

on the innate powers of the mind undercut the 

pietist vison of human depravity. Yet for those 

schooled in pietistic theology, such as Alexander 

Gottlieb Baumgarten, Wolff’s narrow focus on 

calculating interests failed to capture the intense 

inner experiences generated by the affective 

faculties, most especially through the 

contemplation of poetry and the inspired verses of 

Scripture. The true, the good, and the beautiful 

were not merely questions for intellectual intuition, 

they involved aesthetic appreciation. The 

development of the sentiments was as important as 

the development of reason for the virtuous life. 

Meshing with similar arguments forwarded by 

English and Scottish moralists, Baumgarten’s 

synthesis contributed to a fundamental turn in 

German anthropology (Grote, 2017). As witnessed 

in Kant and Herder, the pietistic project of 

overcoming of human corruption gave way to 

Bildung, the full and harmonious cultivation of all 

the mind’s powers. 

Francke also had a profound influence on 

educational practice. Halle served as a model for 

Königsberg’s Collegium Fridericianum (where 

Kant studied and Herder taught), Johann Hecker ’s 

institute and Realschule in Berlin, and numerous 

orphanages and schools throughout Europe 

(Melton, 2003). Its graduates were instrumental in 

the transformation of the Prussian military and the 

state bureaucracy. They also took Francke’s 

message of Biblically-informed Christian praxis to 

communities across the land (Gawthorp, 2006). As 

Melton (2003) explains, pietism focus on voluntary 

action, industry, and community service met the 

monarchy’s principal need for social control 

without coercion—evolving, as the century 

progressed, into reforms aimed at the creation of an 

independent and disciplined workforce. Drafted by 

Hecker in the aftermath of the Seven Years’ War, 

Frederick II’s Generalandschulreglement of 1763 

looked to the pietistic schooling of the nation’s 

largely rural population in face of famine and 

economic distress. But with little financial support 

from the crown the law remained a dead letter; 

local authorities could or would not raise taxes for 

schools and teachers. It was not until the 

Nineteenth Century reforms initiated by Wilhelm 

von Humboldt that compulsory public education 

was finally established across Prussia. While these 

famously promoted the goal of human Bildung in 

the university and the Gymnasium, elementary 

schooling for the children of agricultural and 

manufacturing workers inevitably turned to the 

century-long tradition of promoting practical or 

“Positive Christianity” through the kind of pietistic 

pedagogy pioneered by Francke (Schleunes, 1989).  

What I hope this paper shows is the origin 

of this hugely influential movement in the 

theocentric anthropology of Spener and Francke. 

Their energetic crusade for the reformation of 

human nature through education gave birth to a 

powerful pedagogy of psychological control. It 

also formulated a profound new mission for 

teachers and clergy; the creation of a religious 

commonwealth dedicated to personal industry and 

neighborly love. While the vision of Mankind’s 

fundamental character evolved under the influence 

of enlightenment thought, the nuanced cultivation 

of the mind’s faculties remained a potent political 

instrument, especially for the management of an 

inherently volatile population. 

 

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Manuscript received, March 8, 2022 

Revision received, August 29, 2022 

Manuscript accepted, August 29, 2022