testimonial: “During these three years so many lies have been invented
about me, as you know, and yet they have all been disproved.” “I think
that people ought to believe my own Wittenbergers, who are in daily
intercourse with me and see my life, rather than the tales of liars who
are not even on the spot.” His life was a public one, he said, and he
was at the service of all; he worked so hard that “three of my years
are really equal to six.”[343]
His energy in work was not to be gainsaid, but it was just his numerous
writings produced in the greatest haste and under the influence of
passion which led his mind further and further from the care of
his spiritual life, and thus paved the way for certain other moral
imperfections; here, also, we see one of the effects of the struggle
on his character. At the same time he exposed himself to the danger of
acquiring the customs and habits of thought of so many of his followers
and companions, who had joined his party not from higher motives but
for reasons of the basest sort.
In 1522 Johannes Fabri writes of the moral atmosphere surrounding
Luther and his methods of work: “I am well aware, my Luther, that your
only object was to gain the favour of many by this concession [the
marriage of priests], and as a matter of fact, you have succeeded
in doing so.” Why, he asks, did you not rather, “by your writings
and exhortations, induce the priests who had fallen into sin to give
up their concubines?” “I see you make it your business to tell the
people what will please them in order to increase the number of your
supporters.... You lay pillows under the heads of those who, from
the moral standpoint, are snoring in a deep sleep and you know how
difficult, nay dangerous, it is for me and those who think as I do, to
oppose the doctrine which you teach.”[344]
That his work was leading him on the downward path and threatened to
extinguish his interior religious life, Luther himself admitted at
that time, though in some of his other statements he declares that his
zeal in God’s service had been promoted by the struggle. He confesses
in 1523, for instance, to the Zwickau Pastor Nicholas Hausmann, whom
he esteemed very highly, that his interior life was “drying up,” and
concludes: “Pray for me that I may not end in the flesh.” He is here
alluding to the passage in St. Paul’s Epistle to the Galatians where he
warns the latter, lest having begun in the spirit they should end in
the flesh.[345] This Pastor was a spiritual friend to whom, owing to
his esteem for him, he confided much, though his confessions must not
always be taken too literally.
The well-known incident of the flight of the nuns from the convent at
Nimbschen, and their settling in Wittenberg, was looked upon by Luther
and his followers as a matter of the greatest importance. The apostasy
of the twelve nuns, among whom was Catherine von Bora, opened the door
of all the other convents, as Luther expressed it, and demonstrated
publicly what must be done “on behalf of the salvation of souls.”[346]
Some of these nuns, as was frequently the case, had entered the
Cistercian convent near Grimma, without a vocation, or had gradually
become disgusted with their state owing to long-continued tepidity
and want of fidelity to their profession. They had contrived to place
themselves in communication with Luther, who, as he admits later in
a public writing, himself arranged for them to be carried away by
force, seeing that their relatives would do nothing. The plan was put
into effect by one of the town councillors of Torgau, Leonard Koppe,
aided by two other citizens of that town. Koppe had shortly before
displayed heroic energy and skill in an attack upon a poor convent;
with sixteen young comrades he had stormed the Franciscan friary at
Torgau on the night of Ash Wednesday, 1523, thrown the monks who
offered any resistance over the wall and smashed the windows, doors and
furniture.[347] At the close of the Lenten season of the same year he
signalised himself by this new exploit at Nimbschen.
On the Saturday in Holy Week, 1523, agreeably with an arrangement
made beforehand with the apostate nuns, he made his appearance in the
courtyard of the convent with an innocent-looking covered van, in
which the nuns quietly took their places. As the van often came to
the convent with provisions, no one noticed their flight. So runs the
most authentic of the various accounts, some of them of a romantic
nature, viz. that related by a chronicler of Torgau who lived about the
year 1600.[348] Koppe brought the fugitives straight to Wittenberg,
where they were safe. After a while they were received into different
families in the town, or were fetched away by their relatives. Thus set
free from their “bonds” on that memorable day of the Church’s year,
they celebrated their so-called “resurrection.”
Luther declared, in a circular letter concerning this occurrence, that
as Christ, the risen One, had, like a triumphant robber, snatched his
prey from the Prince of this world, so also Leonard Koppe might be
termed “a blessed robber.” All who were on God’s side would praise
the rape of the nuns as a “great act of piety, so that you may rest
assured that God has ordained it and that it is not your work or your
conception.”[349]
The twelve nuns were, as Amsdorf writes to Spalatin on April 4,
“pretty, and all of noble birth, and among them I have not found one
who is fifty years old.... I am sorry for the girls; they have neither
shoes nor dresses.” Amsdorf praises the patience and cheerfulness of
the “honourable maidens,” and recommends them through Spalatin to the
charity of the Court. One, namely the sister of Staupitz, who was no
longer so youthful, he at once offers in marriage to Spalatin, though
he admits he has others who are prettier. “If you wish for a younger
one, you shall have your choice of the prettiest.”[350]
Soon after this three other nuns were carried off by their relatives
from Nimbschen. Not long after, sixteen forsook the Mansfeld convent
of Widerstett, five of whom were received by Count Albert of
Mansfeld. Luther reported this latter event with great joy to the
Court Chaplain, Spalatin, and at the same time informed him that the
apostate Franciscan, François Lambert of Avignon, had become engaged
to a servant girl at Wittenberg. His intention, and Amsdorf’s too,
was to coax Spalatin into matrimony and the violation of his priestly
obligation of celibacy. “It is a strange spectacle,” he writes; “what
more can befall to astonish us, unless you yourself at length follow
our example, and to our surprise appear in the guise of a bridegroom?
God brings such wonders to pass, that I, who thought I knew something
of His ways, must set to work again from the very beginning. But His
Holy Will be done, Amen.”[351]
Luther at that time was not in a happy frame of mind. He knew what
was likely to be his experience with the escaped monks and nuns. The
trouble and waste of time, as well as the serious interruption to his
work, which, as he complains, was occasioned by the religious who had
left their convents, appeared to him relatively insignificant.[352]
The large sums of money which, as he remarks, he had to “throw away
on runaway monks and nuns,” he might also have overlooked, as he was
not avaricious.[353] Yet the disorders introduced by the arrival of
so many people bent on matrimony were distasteful to him. In a letter
to Spalatin, July 11, 1523, this complaint escapes him: “I am growing
to hate the sight of these renegade monks who collect here in such
numbers; what annoys me most is that they wish to marry at once,
though they are of no use for anything. I am seeking a means to put
an end to it.”[354] The good name of his undertaking seemed to him to
be at stake. On the occasion of the marriage of a Court preacher to a
very old but wealthy woman, a match which was much talked about, he
complains bitterly that the step was a disgrace to the Evangel; the
miserly bridegroom was “betraying himself and us.”[355]
Above we have heard him speak of the monks who were desirous of
marrying; he was more indulgent to the nuns who had come to Wittenberg.
According to Melanchthon’s account he entered into too frequent and
intimate relationship with them. (See below.)
Of the twelve who escaped from Nimbschen, nine, who were without
resources, found a refuge in various houses at Wittenberg, while only
three went to their relatives in the Saxon Electorate. To begin with,
from necessity and only for a short time, the nine found quarters in
the Augustinian monastery which had remained in Luther’s hands, in
which he still dwelt and where there was plenty of room; later they
found lodgings in the town. Luther had to provide in part for their
maintenance. Catherine von Bora was lodged by him in the house of the
Town-clerk, Reichenbach.
There was no longer any question of monastic seclusion for those
quondam nuns, or for the others who had taken refuge at Wittenberg.
Bora started a love affair in 1523 with Hieronymus Baumgärtner, a
young Nuremberg patrician; he, however, married another girl in the
commencement of 1525.[356] Christian, the exiled King of Denmark, made
her acquaintance during his stay at Wittenberg in October, 1523; she
showed, at a later date, a ring he had presented to her. In 1524 she
was to have been married to Dr. Glatz, then Pastor of Orlamünde, in
consequence of Luther’s stern and repeated urging. She let it, however,
be understood that she looked higher, refused Glatz’s proposal, and
announced quite frankly to Amsdorf that she would give her hand only
to Luther himself, or to Amsdorf, his confidant. Amsdorf was not to be
allured into matrimony, and remained single all his life. Luther, on
the other hand, was also not then desirous of marrying and, besides,
stood rather in awe of a certain haughtiness of bearing which was said
to be noticeable in her, and which was attributed to her aristocratic
descent.
Had he wished to marry at that time Luther, as he declared later,
would have preferred one of the other nuns, viz. Ave von Schönfeld,
who, however, eventually married a young physician who was studying
at Wittenberg. He also speaks on one occasion, at a later date, of a
certain Ave Alemann, a member of a Magdeburg family, as his one-time
“bride,” but simply, as it seems, because Amsdorf had proposed her to
him as a wife. Confirmed bachelor as he was, Amsdorf appears to have
developed at that time a special aptitude for arranging matches.
Luther’s intercourse with his female guests at Wittenberg naturally
gave rise to all sorts of tales among his friends, the more so as he
was very free and easy in the company of women, and imposed too little
restraint upon his conduct. When it was said, even outside Wittenberg
circles, that he would marry, he replied, on November 30, 1524, that,
according to his present ideas, this would not happen, “not as though I
do not feel my flesh and my sex, for I am neither of wood nor of stone,
but I have no inclination to matrimony.”[357]
He was all the more zealous, however, in urging others, his friend
Spalatin in particular, to this step. Spalatin once jokingly reproved
him for this, saying he was surprised he did not set the example, being
so anxious to induce others to marry. To this friendly poke Luther
replied with a strange admixture of jest and earnest. He wrote to him,
on April 16, 1525, that, notwithstanding the fact that he himself was
far removed from thoughts of marriage, yet, after all, as God was wont
to bring the unexpected to pass, it might well be that of the two he
would be the first to wed. He also speaks of himself jestingly as a
“famous lover.” It was doubtless surprising, he says, that he, such a
famous lover, had not married, though, as he wrote so frequently about
marriage and had so much to do with women (_misceor feminis_), it was
still more astonishing that he had not long ago become a woman.[358]
The letter, which has been much discussed in recent times, is not to be
taken seriously; here it is that he speaks, with misplaced pleasantry,
of the “three wives” whom he had already had on his arm.
This letter calls, however, for some further observations.
It is hard to believe that Luther, in an everyday letter to a friend,
should have spoken in earnest of a previous connection of his with
three women at once. Is it likely that he would accuse himself of
such intercourse, and that in a letter to a man whose good opinion of
himself and his work he was in every way careful to preserve?
We are not here concerned with the question whether such jests were
suitable, coming from a reformer of faith and morals, yet they
certainly do not, as has been thought, contain anything of a nature to
compromise him in his relations with the escaped nuns.
That Luther is jesting is plain from the conclusion: “Joking apart, I
say all this in order to urge you on to what you are striving after
[viz. marriage]. Farewell.” Hence it is clear that what precedes was
said as a joke.
He chose to make the matter one of jest because he fancied that
thus he could best answer Spalatin’s objection against his former
invitation to him to marry. The latter had retorted: “Why am I
expected to start? Set the example yourself by your own marriage!”
Luther thereupon replied in the following terms:
“As for your observations about my marriage, do not be surprised that
I, who am such a famous lover (_famosus amator_), do not proceed to
matrimony. It is still more remarkable that I, who write so frequently
concerning marriage and have so much to do with women (_sic misceor
feminis_), have not become a woman long since, not to mention the fact
that I have not as yet even taken one to wife. Still, if you want my
example, here you have a forcible one, for I have had three wives at
one time (_tres simul uxores habui_) and loved them so desperately
that I lost two who will get other bridegrooms; as for the third I
can hardly keep hold of her with my left arm, and she too will perhaps
soon be snatched away from me. But you, you slothful lover, you do not
even venture to become the husband of one wife. Take care, however,
lest I [though still in spirit disinclined to marriage] do not
nevertheless outstrip you people who are all ready for the wedding,
for God is wont to bring to pass what we least expect.” Then follow
the words already mentioned, introduced by the formula: “Joking apart.”
These rather unseasonable words were written in a merry mood on Easter
Sunday, just as Luther was on the point of leaving Wittenberg for
Eisleben. As Luther had not yet made up his mind whether to marry or
not, he evaded Spalatin’s invitation to do so immediately with the
jest about being a “famous lover,” words probably applied to him by
Spalatin in the letter to which this is an answer. He means to say:
As a famous lover I have already given you the encouraging example
you desire, and the proof of this is to be found in the “three
women I loved so deeply as to lose them.” This refers doubtless to
three aspirants to matrimony with whom Spalatin was acquainted, and
whom common report had designated as likely to wed Luther; who they
actually were we do not know. Some Protestants have suggested Ave
Alemann and Ave Schönfeld (see above p. 139). The first, a native of
Magdeburg, had been presented to Luther during his stay in that town
as a likely wife. He would have preferred the second. But of neither
could he have said in his letter that they would shortly have other
bridegrooms, for Alemann had been married some time, and Schönfeld had
to wait long for a spouse. Thus it is incorrect to class them amongst
the “three wives,” and these must be sought among others who had
intercourse with Luther. The third, at any rate, seems to have been
Catherine von Bora, who was stopping at that time in Wittenberg and
actually was engaged on matrimonial plans.
In any case, the husband who loses three wives through his “too great
love” is a joke on a par with the wonder expressed by Luther, that,
after having written so much about marriage and had so much to do with
women, he had not himself been turned into a woman.
In his not very choice pleasantries when referring to the intercourse
with women which resulted from his writings, Luther makes use of a
very equivocal expression, for “_misceor feminis_,” taken literally
in the context in which it stands, would imply sexual commerce with
women, which is not at all what the writer intends to convey. It
cannot be denied that the jest about the three women and the ambiguous
word “_misceor_,” are out of place and not in keeping with the gravity
and moral dignity which we might expect from a man of Luther’s
position. Such jests betray a certain levity of character, nor can we
see how certain Lutherans can describe the letter as “scrupulously
decorous.”
It is nevertheless true, and more particularly of this letter, that
the unrestrained humour which so often breaks out in Luther’s writings
must be taken into account in order to judge fairly of what he says;
it is only in this way that we are able to interpret him rightly.
Owing to the fact that the jocose element which, in season and out of
season, so frequently characterises Luther’s manner of speaking is
lost sight of, his real meaning is often misunderstood.
Just as he had urged his friend Spalatin, so, though in more serious
language, Luther exhorts the Elector Albert, Archbishop of Mayence, to
matrimony.
This alone should be a sufficient reason for him, he writes, namely,
that he is a male; “for it is God’s work and will that a man should
have a wife.... Where God does not work a miracle and make of a man
an angel, I cannot see how he is to remain without a wife, and avoid
God’s anger and displeasure. And it is a terrible thing should he be
found without a wife at the hour of death.” He points out to him that
the downfall of the whole clergy is merely a question of time, since
priests are everywhere scoffed at; “priests and monks are caricatured
on every wall, on every bill, and even on the playing cards.” The
sanguinary peasant risings which were commencing are also made to
serve his ends; God is punishing His people in this way because
“the bishops and princes will not make room for the evangel”; the
Archbishop ought therefore to follow the “fine example” given recently
by the “Grand Master in Prussia,” i.e. marry, and “turn the bishopric
into a temporal principality.”[359]
This letter was printed in 1526. Dr. Johann Rühel received
instructions to sound the Archbishop as to his views and seek to
influence him. It is a well-known fact that Albert was more a temporal
potentate than an ecclesiastical dignitary, and that his reputation
was by no means spotless.
Archbishop Albert was said to have asked Dr. Rühel, or some other
person, why Luther himself did not take a wife, seeing that he “was
inciting everyone else to do so.” Should he say this again, Luther
writes to Rühel, “You are to reply that I have always feared I was
not fit for it. But if my marriage would be a help to his Electoral
Grace, I should very soon be ready to prance along in front of him as
an example to his Electoral Grace; before quitting this life I purpose
in any case to enter into matrimony, which I regard as enjoined by
God, even should it be nothing more than an espousal, or Joseph’s
marriage.”[360] In what way he feared “not to be fit” for marriage, or
why he contemplated nothing more than a “Joseph’s marriage,” Luther
does not say. A “Joseph’s marriage” was certainly not calculated to
satisfy the demands which he himself was accustomed to make, in the
name of nature, concerning conjugal life. At any rate, his observation
to Dr. Rühel is very remarkable, as being one of the first indications
of his approaching marriage.
At this critical period of his life the free and unrestrained tone
which he had employed at an earlier date becomes unpleasantly
conspicuous in his letters, writings and sermons. It is sufficient
to read the passages in his justification of the nuns’ flight where
he treats of his pet conviction, viz. the need of marrying, in words
which, from very shame, are not usually repeated. “Scandal, or no
scandal,” he concludes his dissertation on the nuns who had forsaken
their vow of chastity, “necessity breaks even iron and gives no
scandal!”[361] He had already once before complained that our ears have
become “much purer than the mouth of the Holy Ghost,” referring to
certain sexual matters spoken of very openly in the Old Testament.[362]
He himself, however, paid little heed to such conventions, and,
especially when jesting, delighted to set them at defiance.
Many passages already quoted from his letters to friends prove
this. The “_misceor feminis_” and the “three wives” on his hands
were unbecoming jokes. Kawerau, the historian of Luther, admits the
“cynicism of his language”[363] and this unpleasing quality, which
is more particularly noticeable when he becomes abusive, is also to
be met with even elsewhere, especially in the years which we are now
considering.
Luther, for instance, jocosely speaks of himself as a virgin,
“_virgo_,” and, in a letter to Spalatin where he refers playfully to
his own merry and copious tippling at a christening at Schweinitz, he
says: “These three virgins were present [Luther, Jonas and his wife],
certainly Jonas [as a virgin], for as he has no child we call him the
virgin.”[364] Jonas, one of the priests who married, had celebrated his
nuptials February 22, 1522.
On account of his habit of making fun Luther’s friends called him a
“merry boon companion.”
No one could, of course, blame his love of a joke, but his jokes were
sometimes very coarse; for instance, that concerning his friend Jonas
in his letter of February 10, 1525, to Spalatin, of which the tone
is indelicate, to say the least, even if we make all allowance for
the age and for the customs in vogue among the Wittenberg professors.
Jonas, he there says, was accustomed to write his letters on paper
which had served the basest of services; he (Luther) was, however, more
considerate for his friends. “Farewell,” he concludes, “and give my
greetings to the fat husband Melchior [Meirisch, the stout Augustinian
Prior of Dresden, who had married on February 6]; my wishes for him
are, that his wife may prove very obedient; she really ought to drag
him by the hair seven times a day round the market-place and, at night,
as he richly deserves, ‘_bene obtundat connubialibus verbis_.’”[365]
The reference in this letter to Carlstadt and his “familiar demon” (a
fanatical monk who was given to prophesying) calls to mind the indecent
language in which Luther assailed the Anabaptists and “fanatics” during
those years. He makes great fun at the expense of the “nackte Braut
von Orlamünde” and her amorous lovers, referring, in language which is
the reverse of modest, to a ludicrous, mystical work produced by the
“fanatics.”[366]
Melanchthon is very severe in censuring Luther’s free behaviour and
coarse jests, especially when in the presence of ex-nuns. It has been
pointed out by a Protestant that Luther’s tendency to impropriety of
language, though it cannot be denied, is easily to be explained by the
fact of his being a “monk and the son of a peasant.”[367] It is hard
to see what his being a monk has to do with it, and by what right the
excesses which were perhaps noticeable in some few frivolous monks are
to be regarded as characteristic of the religious state. Melanchthon’s
reproaches lead the same writer to say, this time with at least some
show of reason, that his friend surpassed Luther in “delicacy of
feeling.”
Melanchthon, on June 16, 1525, in a confidential letter written in
Greek to Camerarius about Luther’s recent marriage, complains of his
behaviour towards the runaway nuns then at Wittenberg: “The man,” he
says, “is light-hearted and frivolous (_εὐχερής_) to the last degree;
the nuns pursued him with great cunning and drew him on. Perhaps all
this intercourse with them has rendered him effeminate, or inflamed his
passions, noble and high-minded though he is.” Melanchthon desiderates
in him more “dignity,” and says that his friends (“we”), had frequently
been obliged to reprove him for his buffoonery (_βωμολοχία_).[368]
In consequence of this unseemly behaviour with the nuns, blamed even by
his intimate friends, we can understand that the professors of theology
at Leipzig and Ingolstadt came to speak of Luther with great want of
respect.
Hieronymus Dungersheim, the Leipzig theologian, who had before this
had a tilt at Luther, wrote, with undisguised rudeness in his “Thirty
Articles,” against “the errors and heresies” of Martin Luther: “What
are your thoughts when you are seated in the midst of the herd of
apostate nuns whom you have seduced, and, as they themselves admit,
make whatever jokes occur to you? You not only do not attempt to avoid
what you declare is so hateful to you [the exciting of sensuality],
but you intentionally stir up your own and others’ passions. What
are your thoughts when you recall your own golden words, either when
sitting in such company, or after you have committed your wickedness?
What can you reply, when reminded of your former conscientiousness,
in view of such a scandalous life of deceit? I have heard what I
will not now repeat, from those who had intercourse with you, and I
could supply details and names. Out upon your morality and religion,
out upon your obstinacy and blindness! How have you sunk from the
pinnacle of perfection and true wisdom to the depths of depravity and
abominable error, dragging down countless numbers with you! Where
now is Tauler, where the ‘Theologia Deutsch’ from which you boasted
you had received so much light? The ‘Theologia’ condemns as utterly
wicked, nay, devilish through and through, all that you are now
doing, teaching and proclaiming in your books. Glance at it again and
compare. Alas, you ‘theologian of the Cross!’ What you now have to
show is nothing but the filthiest wisdom of the flesh, that wisdom
which, according to the Apostle Paul (Rom. viii. 6 f.), is the death
of the soul and the enemy of God.”
Dungersheim then quotes for his benefit the passage from the
Epistle of St. James concerning the “earthly and devilish wisdom,”
notwithstanding that Luther treats this Epistle with contempt; his
real reason for refusing to recognise it was that it witnessed so
strongly against his teaching. “What will you say on the day of
reckoning to the holy Father Augustine [the reputed founder of the
Augustinians] and the other founders of Orders? They come accompanied
by a countless multitude of the faithful of both sexes who have
faithfully followed in the footsteps of Christ, and in the way of the
evangelical counsels. But you, you have led astray and to destruction
so many of their followers. All these will raise their voices against
you on the dreadful Day of Judgment.”[369]
The Leipzig University professor, in his indignation, refers Luther to
the warning he himself (in his sermons on the Ten Commandments) had
given against manners of talking and acting which tempt to impurity;
he continues: “And now you set aside every feeling of shame, you speak
and write of questionable subjects in such a disgraceful fashion that
decent men, whether married or unmarried, cover their faces and fling
away your writings with execration. In order to cast dishonour upon the
brides of Christ you [in your writings], so to speak, lead unchaste men
to their couches, using words which for very shame I cannot repeat.”
He also answers his opponent’s constant objection that without
marriage, on account of the impulse of nature, people must needs be
ever falling into sin. “You forget two things, viz. that grace is
stronger than nature and that, as Augustine rightly teaches, no one
sins without free consent. You exaggerate that impulse and speak of
‘sin’ merely to exonerate your own behaviour and your doctrine. In
other matters you declare that everything is possible to him who
believes. You, like all other Catholics, were formerly convinced
that involuntary movements of the flesh are not sinful unless a man
consents to them; they are to the good a cross rather than a fault, and
frequently only come from the devil and are not imputed to them at
all.”[370]
This protest from Leipzig was reinforced in 1523 from Ingolstadt by
Dr. Johann Eck, who kept a keen eye on Luther and pursued him with a
sharp pen. In the following description of Luther his bitter opponent
complains not only of the frivolous behaviour of the apostate monk
in his former monastery which the Elector had made over to him, but
above all of the untruth and dishonesty displayed in his writings.
“More than once have I proved,” he says, “that he is a liar and hence
that he has for his father, him [the devil] of whom the Scripture
says that he is a liar and a murderer.” “The fellow exudes lies from
every pore and is inconstancy itself (_homo totus mendaciis scatens
nil constat_). His teaching too is full of deception and calumny.
What he has just advanced, he presently rejects without the least
difficulty.” “The dregs of those vices of which he is always accusing
the Christians, we rightly pour back upon his own head; let him drink
himself of the cup he has mixed.” “He heaps up a mountain of evil on
the Pope and the Church,” but with “his nun,”--this is what he adds
in a later edition in his indignation with Luther’s marriage--“he is
really worshipping Asmodeus”; and this he is not ashamed to do in the
old monastery of the Augustinians, “where once pious monks served the
Lord God, and pious foundations, now alienated from their original
purpose, proclaimed the Christian virtues to the faithful.”[371]
It is no pleasant task to examine Luther’s sermons and writings of
those years, and to represent to ourselves the turmoil of his mind at
the time directly preceding his marriage.
In 1524 he repeatedly discourses to his Wittenberg hearers on his
favourite theme, i.e. that man cannot control himself in sexual
matters, save by a miracle and with the help of an “exceedingly rare
grace.” Speaking of impotence, he says, that although he himself “by
the grace of God does not desire a wife,” yet he would not like, as a
married man, to go through the experience of those who are impotent.
If nature was not to be satisfied, “then death were preferable.” “I
have no need of a wife,” he says, “but must provide a relief for your
need.”[372] This was perhaps his reply to those who said: “Oh, how the
monk feels the weight of his frock, how glad he would be to have a
wife!”[373] “Hitherto,” he says, “the married state has been condemned
and styled a sensual state.... Alas, would that all men were therein
... in support of it we have the Word of God.... Those who have the
grace to be chaste are few, and among a thousand there is scarcely one
to be found.”[374]
“I have frequently tried to be good,” he says to his hearers in 1524,
“but the more I try the less I succeed. See from this what free-will
amounts to.” And then, in excuse, he unfolds his theology. “Sin urges
so greatly that we long for death. If to-day I avoid one sin, to-morrow
comes another. We are obliged to fight without ceasing: the Kingdom
of Christ admits all, provided only they fight and hold fast to the
Head of the Kingdom, namely, [believe] that Christ is the Redeemer.
But if we exalt works, then all is lost!... If we desire to attain to
purity, this must not be done by works, but Christ must be born in us
anew [by faith].... Sin cannot harm (‘_mordere_’) us; the power of sin
is at an end. We hold fast to Him who has conquered sin.” “‘_Summa,
summarum_,’ works or no works, all is comprised under faith and true
doctrine.... But do not let us sleep meanwhile and lull ourselves into
security.”[375]
In 1523 Luther wrote on “the Devil’s chastity,” as he called it, an
exposition of the 7th chapter of the first Epistle to the Corinthians,
which the Papists used, so he says, as a “fig-leaf” for celibacy and
the monastic state. In it he deals with the inspiring, spiritual
teaching of the Apostle of the Gentiles in the chapter which commences
with the words: “It is good for a man not to touch a woman.”[376]
This publication, which has been extolled as “the happy inauguration
of a healthy love of the things of sense,”[377] was preceded in 1522
by his sermon “On conjugal life.” We must here call to mind a similar
earlier publication of 1519. When, on the 2nd Sunday after Epiphany, he
preached a “sermon on the conjugal state,” this was at once printed
by some stranger from notes made. Many who read it were filled with
astonishment at the unheard-of freedom of speech displayed. Very soon
Luther’s friend, Christoph Scheurl, expressed his disapproval of the
tone: “I have read many of Martin’s writings which appeal to his best
friends more than his sermon on Matrimony, because they are pure,
humble, modest, measured and earnest, as beseems a theologian.”[378]
After this letter Luther declared that the sermon had been printed
without his knowledge, and with many stupid mistakes, so that he was
“ashamed” of it,[379] and that same year (1519) he had it reprinted in
an amended form.[380] It has been proved, however, that another sermon,
which had been taken down and printed at the same time as the first
sermon on Matrimony, was reported quite correctly;[381] hence the first
printed edition of the sermon on Matrimony was probably not as inexact
as Luther afterwards pretended.
When we come to examine the teaching contained in the sermon “On
conjugal life” of the year 1522, we find, regarding the marriage tie,
notwithstanding the protestation that marriage was to be considered
sacred and indissoluble, such sentences as the following: “If the wife
is stubborn and refuses to fulfil her duty as a wife,” “it is time for
the husband to say: If you refuse, another will comply; if the wife
will not, then let the maid come.” She is however to be reprimanded
first “before the Church,” and only then is the above counsel to be
put in force: “If she refuses, dismiss her, seek an Esther and let
Vasthi go.... The secular power must here either coerce the woman or
make away with her. Where this is not done, the husband must act as
though his wife had been carried off by brigands, or killed, and look
out for another.” In short, the marriage is dissolved, and the husband
is at liberty to marry the maid.[382] We must not, however, overlook
the fact that in other passages of the same sermon Luther gives some
quite excellent advice, whether against evil desires, or for the
exercise of patience in matrimony.
As one on whom the highest authority has been unconditionally
conferred, he declares in the same sermon that he “rejects and
condemns” almost all the matrimonial impediments or prohibitions
invented by the Pope.[383] Virginity he refuses to reject absolutely,
but nevertheless he declares: “It is true that he who does not marry
must lead an immoral life, for how can it be otherwise?” “without a
special grace” it is utterly impossible.[384]
According to his ideas, the duties incident to matrimony cannot
be complied with without sin. “No conjugal duty can be performed
without sin,” he teaches in conclusion,[385] “though God by His mercy
overlooks it”--a statement which certainly does not show any great
esteem for matrimony, although Luther is under the impression that he
is raising the union of man and wife to a higher plane. The Church
had never taught that the use of matrimony, which she looked upon as
based on the order of nature, involved any sin. Some few theologians
had, it is true, spoken of venial sin as unavoidable here, but these
were opposed by others, and, besides, the views of these theologians
concerning sinfulness differed widely from those of Luther. Luther’s
erroneous notion that every feeling of concupiscence was sinful,
indeed mortally sinful, caused him to see grievous sin even here.
In view of his severity in this matter, the freedom of speech which he
retains even in the revised edition (1519), and his coarse treatment
of the sexual subject is all the more surprising. His tendency
to throw off the fetters of decency is at times quite needlessly
offensive. Cochlæus remarks of this work: “Luther here speaks in the
most filthy way of the intercourse between husband and wife, contrary
to the laws of natural modesty.”[386]
Others, and Cochlæus himself in his previous indecent writings, bear
witness to the excess of coarseness of this sort which, partly as
a consequence of Italian Humanism, had found its way into German
literature at that time. Few, however, went so far as Luther. Several
of his contemporaries told him so openly, though they were themselves
accustomed to strong expressions. It is notorious that the sixteenth
century was accustomed to speak more bluntly and openly than is at
present usual. Yet in judging Luther’s case a circumstance which
is often overlooked should also be borne in mind, namely, that the
standard by which he is to be tried is not that of profane authors
and literary men of Humanistic leanings, but that of professedly
religious writers. Luther not only professed to be a religious writer,
but also gave himself out as the introducer of a great reform in
faith and morals. From this standpoint the impropriety of his speech
must assuredly be more severely judged. He employs by preference
such language in his bitter and violent polemics, seeking to make an
impression upon the lower classes by a naturalism not far removed from
filthy talking. The vulgar figures of speech of which he makes use are
all saturated with hate and rendered still more distasteful by the
unclean aspersions he is ever casting on his adversaries; from his
manner of writing we can gather the satisfaction he derives from seeing
the defenders of virginity, the religious and clergy, thus overwhelmed
with filth.
Certain preachers of the late Middle Ages, religious and others, for
instance, Geiler von Kaysersberg, when dealing with sexual matters
sometimes went very far in their plain speaking on the subject, yet
their words were, without exception, characterised by gravity and
the desire of saving souls. Their tone excludes any levity; indeed,
the honesty and simplicity of these productions of the Middle Ages
impress the reader at every turn; he may perhaps be inclined to extol
the greater delicacy of feeling which obtains at the present day, but
he will refrain from blaming the less covert style of days gone by.
Luther’s “cynical” language, however, impresses one as an attempt
to pit nature, with all its brutality, with its rights and demands,
against the more exalted moral aims of earlier ages; the trend of such
language, as contemporary Catholics urged, was downwards rather than
upwards.
One tract of Luther’s, which dates from about that time, that “Against
the Clerical State falsely so called of Pope and Bishops,” contains a
chapter “Concerning Vows,”[387] in which the descriptions are so coarse
and the language so nasty that Staupitz might well have considered even
his censure of certain earlier writings of Luther’s not sufficiently
strong: “Your works are praised,” he had told him, “by those who keep
houses of ill-fame,”[388] etc. Several particularly violent polemical
tracts of those years, meant by Luther for his theological adversaries
generally, are so brimful of words descriptive of the vilest parts and
functions of the human body, that it would be impossible to match them
in the writings of previous ages. His manner of speech was considered
by his foes to have reached the lowest depths of thought and feeling.
The vulgarity of his language was held to display the utter depravity
of his mind.
* * * * *
In polemics Luther was not merely the “greatest, but also the coarsest
writer of his century”; such is the opinion recently expressed by a
Protestant historian.[389]
In the work dating from 1522, “Bulla Coenæ Domini, i.e. the Bull
concerning the Evening feed of our most holy Lord, the Pope,”[390] he
replies, with startling fluency, to the menaces of this Papal Bull
against all heretics, including himself. Therein he describes the life
and manners of the Roman “prostitutes” with the express intention of
degrading all that Catholics considered most worthy of respect and
veneration. The Pope and his followers he represents as indulging in
every kind of sensuality, “rape, seduction and fornication” to their
heart’s content.
Still more degrading are the opprobrious and insulting figures of
which he makes use in 1522 in his furious reply “Against King Henry
of England,” who had attacked and pilloried his teaching.[391] In
his tract it is his aim not only to “lay bare the shame of the Roman
prostitute before the whole world, to her eternal disgrace,” but also,
as he says further down, to reveal the “shameless audacity” of the
King of England, who is a defender of “the scarlet woman of Rome, the
tipsy mother of unchastity”; the King, “that fool,” “lies and gibbers
like the filthiest of prostitutes,” and that, merely to defend the
Pope and his Church, “who are after all nothing more than pimp and
procuress, and the devil’s own dwelling.” All this abuse is crammed
into a few pages. To conclude, the King, according to Luther’s dictum
and description, has been fitly consigned to “the dungheap with the
Thomists, Papists and other such-like excrements.” Side by side with
all this we find his grand assurances of his, Luther’s, position as the
messenger of God. “Christ through me has begun His revelations of the
abomination in the Holy Place”;[392] “I am convinced that my doctrines
have come down to me from Heaven,”[393] etc. The King he politely
describes as a crowned donkey, an infamous knave, an impudent royal
windbag, the excrement of hogs and asses. The King, according to him,
is more foolish than a fool; His Majesty ought to be pelted with mud;
he deserves nothing better, this stupid donkey, this Thomistic hog,
this lying rascal and carnival clown, who sports the title of king. He
is a nit which has not yet turned into a louse, a brat whose father
was a bug, a donkey who wants to read the Psalter but is only fit for
carrying sacks, a sacrilegious murderer. He is a chosen tool of the
devil, a papistical sea-serpent, a blockhead and as bad as the worst
rogues whom indeed he outrivals; an abortion of a fool, a limb of Satan
whose God is the devil--and so forth.
One of the unfortunate effects of his public struggle on Luther was,
that he entangled himself more and more in a kind of polemics in
which his invective was only rivalled by his misrepresentation of his
opponents’ standpoint and arguments.
Preachers of the new faith frequently complained of his insulting and
unjust behaviour.
Thus Ambrose Blaurer, the spokesman of the innovation in Würtemberg,
laments, in 1523, that Luther’s enemies quite rightly made capital
out of the hateful language employed in his controversial writings.
“They wish to make this honey [Luther’s teaching] bitter to us because
Luther is so sharp, pugnacious and caustic, ... because he scolds and
rants.... Verily this has often displeased me in him, and I should
not advise anyone to copy him in this respect. Nevertheless I have
not rejected his good, Christian teaching.”[394] Matthew Zell, also a
Lutheran, wrote in 1523: “Nothing has turned me more against Luther
and pleased me less in him, and the same is true of other good men,
than the hard, aggressive and bitter vindications and writings which
he has composed against even his own friends, not to speak of the
Pope, the bishops and others whom he has attacked so violently and so
derisively that hardly has anything sharper, more violent and mocking
ever been read.”[395]
Carlstadt, Luther’s friend, and later theological opponent, underwent
such rough treatment at his hands, that a modern Protestant writer
on Carlstadt says of the chief work Luther directed against him: Its
characteristic feature is the wealth of personal invective.... Though
attempts have been made to explain the terrible bitterness of his
polemics by Luther’s disposition and the difficulty of his situation
at the time the work was composed, yet the deep impression left by his
controversial methods should not be overlooked. From that time forward
they were generally imitated by the Lutheran party, even in disputes
among themselves, and made to serve in lieu of true discussion; that
such a procedure was entirely alien to Christian charity seems not
to have been noticed. The author also refers and, with even greater
reason, to the attacks against the “Papists,” “to the constantly
recurring flood of abusive language, insults, misrepresentations and
suspicions which the reformer poured upon his foes.” He made use of
“his extraordinary command of language,” to accuse Zwingli, after his
death, most maliciously of heresy.[396]
Amongst other opponents of the new faith, Erasmus, in a writing
addressed to Luther, says: “Scarcely one of your books have I been
able to read to the end, so great and insatiable is the tendency to
libel which they display (‘_insatiata conviciandi libido_’). If there
were only two or three libels one might think you had given vent to
them without due consideration, but as it is, your book swarms with
abuse on every page (‘_scatet undique maledictis_’). You begin with
it, go on with it, and end with it.”[397] Thomas Murner says, in a
reply to Luther, as early as 1520, “I see and understand that you are
angry. Therefore it will be best for me to keep cool in order that it
may not be said that we both are mad. You really go too far.”[398]
It is true that Murner is very severe and satirical towards Luther;
in fact, all Luther’s opponents who wrote against him frequently made
use of stronger expressions than became the cause they advocated,
being incited and encouraged in this by the language he employed.
The Dominican, Conrad Köllin, in his answer to Luther’s attacks on
the indissolubility of Christian marriage, is a good instance in
point.[399] The Dominicans of Cologne were particularly irritated by
Luther’s insults, for at the very outset of the struggle he had called
them asses, dogs and hogs.[400]
That Luther’s scolding and storming grew worse and worse as the years
went on has been pointed out by the Protestant historian Gustav
Krüger, who remarks that Melanchthon could never “see eye to eye with
him in this”; Luther, however, did not “by any means always reflect
upon what he said, and he must not be held responsible for all he
flung among the people by word and pen.”[401]
Luther’s friend, Martin Bucer, strove to console himself in a peculiar
fashion for the insults and libels which increased as Luther grew
older. To the above-mentioned Ambrose Blaurer he wrote concerning
Luther’s attacks on the Zwinglians: “These are terrible invectives
and even calumnies, but if you take into account Luther’s character,
the evil is diminished. He is by nature violent and accustomed to
vituperation, and the abuse of such men (‘_conviciari assuetorum
convicia_’) is not to be made so much of as that of persons of a more
peaceable temper.” Two years later, however, Bucer confesses to the
same friend his real concern regarding Luther’s outbreaks of passion:
“It thrills me with a deadly fear (‘_tantum non exanimor_’) when I
think of the fury that boils in the man whenever he is dealing with an
opponent. With what utter rage did he not fall on the [Catholic] Duke
George.”[402]
In recent times Protestants have spoken with a certain admiration
of the “heroic, yea, godlike,” rage which always inspired Luther’s
vituperation. One admirer emphasises the fact, that he “was only too
often right,” because his Popish opponents were altogether hardened,
and “therefore it could do their souls no harm to make use of sharp
weapons against them”; “it was necessary to warn people against
these obdurate enemies and to unveil their wickedness with that
entire openness and plainness of speech which alone could impress his
contemporaries. He considered this his sacred duty and performed it
with diligence.” “When he laid about him so mightily, so scornfully,
so mercilessly, his efforts were all directed against the devil.”
“Where it is necessary for the salvation of souls,” this theologian
urges in excuse, “true charity must not refrain from dealing severe
wounds, and Luther was obliged to describe as filth what actually
was such.” “Thus we see why he not unfrequently chooses dirty, common
words and comparisons intentionally in order adequately to express
his horror. His eloquence becomes at times a stream carrying with
it a quantity of mud, dirt and filth of every kind; but had it not
been for it this filth would never have been swept away.”[403] All
this is expressed, even more briefly and drastically, by the Luther
biographer, Adolf Hausrath, where, in reply to Harnack’s criticism
of the “barbarity of Luther’s polemics,” he says: “Since Luther’s
road led him to his goal it must have been the right road, and
fault-finders should hold their tongues.... He knew the best language
to make use of in order to shake his Germans out of their stupid
respect for the Roman Antichrist.” ... Luther, the “prophet,” treated
his foes “exactly as they deserved,” save in the case of Zwingli.[404]
This was too much for Gustav Kawerau, another historian of Luther.
He pointed out, as against Hausrath, that, not to mention others,
Duke George and also Schwenckfeld had experienced such treatment at
Luther’s hands as was certainly not “deserved.” If Hausrath “thanked
God” for the barbarity of Luther’s prophetical polemics, he, for his
part, felt compelled to “protest against the proclamation of any
prophetical morality which would oblige us to set aside our own moral
standard.” “This is to do Luther and his cause, a bad service,” says
Kawerau.... “We are not going to venerate in Luther what was merely
earthly.”[405] Whether the “earthliness” of his libels and filthy
polemics clung only to Luther’s feet, or whether it involved his
character and whole work, Kawerau does not say.
We may fairly ask whether on the whole the character of the man has
been more correctly gauged by those who look upon his favourite kind
of controversy as nothing more than the disfiguring dirt under his
feet, or by those others who trace it back to the very nature of
his titanic struggle with the Church. Bucer, as we just saw, traced
Luther’s outbursts to the violence of his temper, and Luther himself
frequently declares that he wrote “so severely, intentionally and
with well-considered courage.”[406] This he looks upon as demanded by
his position and, therefore, it is, as he thinks, “well done.”[407]
According to Wilhelm Walther, Luther had chosen the “heroic method of
development,” i.e. “of isolating himself as it were from the whole
world”; his standpoint was not “within the grasp” of the world of his
opponents.[408] Thus, unless he wished to forsake his cause, he had
to carry it through single-handed, straining every nerve and having
recourse to vituperation the like of which had never hitherto been
heard.
We shall examine elsewhere the psychological questions involved in this
sort of polemics (vol. iv., xxvi. 3). The above will suffice concerning
the influence exercised on his literary activity by the public position
which Luther had assumed.
4. Further Traits towards a Picture of Luther. Outward Appearance.
Sufferings, Bodily and Mental
A change had gradually taken place in Luther’s outward appearance even
previous to his stay at the Wartburg. By the time he had returned to
Wittenberg his former leanness had gone and he was inclined to be stout.
Johann Kessler, a Swiss pupil who saw him often in 1522 and who
frequently played the lute to cheer him, writes in his “Sabbata”: “When
I knew Martin at the age of forty-one in 1522 he was by nature somewhat
portly, of an upright gait, inclined rather backward than forward, and
always carried his face heavenward.”[409]
Albert Burer, who was also studying at Wittenberg after Luther’s return
from the Wartburg, praises his amiability, his pleasant, melodious
voice, and his winning manner of speech.[410] Thomas Blaurer, then his
enthusiastic disciple, is also full of praise of his kindly, attractive
and sympathetic manner towards those who came under his influence and
to whom he ever behaved in a simple and natural fashion.[411] Neither
of them, however, describes his facial appearance.
From the likenesses of him to be referred to below it appears that
his face usually wore an expression of energy and defiance. His chin
and mouth protruded slightly and gave an impression of firmness; a
slight frown denoted irritability; over his right eye there was a
large wart; a lock of curly hair overhung his forehead. His “dark eyes
blinked and twinkled like stars so that it was difficult to look at
them fixedly.”[412] (J. Kessler.) As remarked above, his deportment was
upright and almost defiant.
Of what Luther must have been, judging by his descriptions, not one
of the portraits which have come down to us gives any good idea.[413]
This sounds strange, as the art of portrait painting was already
very highly developed in Luther’s day, whilst his likenesses were in
great demand and were despatched from Wittenberg to every quarter in
order to increase his popularity. Dürer and Holbein, who have left us
characteristic and faithful likenesses of Melanchthon, never employed
their brush or pencil in depicting Luther. The death-mask which we
still have was not taken till four days after Luther’s death from a
stroke, i.e. after decomposition had already made some progress, while
the portrait of the dead man painted in haste by Lucas Fortenagel is
almost terrifying and betrays a very unpractised hand.[414]
Lucas Cranach the elder, as is well known, sketched or painted several
likenesses of Luther, and as the two were very intimate with each
other we might have anticipated something reliable. He was, however,
not sufficiently true to life; he suppressed what he considered to
be defects in his sitter, and, in spite of his artistic talent, he
did not possess the special qualifications for faithfully reproducing
in a portrait the expression of the soul. In his pictures of Luther
we are at a loss to find certain traits mentioned in the accounts we
possess; the artist introduces into the face an expression of mildness
and tenderness which was foreign to Luther. Neither is it a fact that
we have hundreds of pictures from his studio, as is so often stated,
for of all the portraits and engravings ascribed to Cranach only five
can be considered as absolutely genuine, the copper plates of 1520 and
1521,[415] then the “Squire George” of the Wartburg in the Leipzig
Town Library, and two portraits in the Kaufmann Gallery in Berlin. “If
we examine the absolutely genuine ‘Cranachs’ we at once notice that
they have nothing in common with the typical Luther features [of a
later day].” From these original likenesses down to the pictures of
Luther which circulate to-day there are many steps. The transformation
was carried further and further, though the “broad, peasant face” and
the “powerful jaw” were destined to remain. Nearly all these pictures
represent an elderly man, inclined to corpulence, with somewhat blurred
features, with surprisingly abundant curly hair and small, kindly eyes.
This, the typical Luther of to-day, appears perhaps for the first time
in the so-called “_Epitaphium Lutheri_,” a woodcut which was made after
Luther’s death by the elder Cranach’s son, Lucas Cranach the younger.
The type in question became very generally known owing to the picture
of Luther painted nine years after his death by the younger Cranach
for an altar-piece in the parish church at Weimar, although in this
likeness, which has been so frequently copied, there may still be found
some traces of the bold, warrior features of the real Luther. Böhmer,
the Protestant historian, remarks: “In the most popular of these modern
‘ideal pictures,’ viz. the oleograph of Luther in the fur cappa which
‘adorns’ so many churches, even the Doctor’s own Catherine would be
unable to recognise her Martin.”
The pictured Luther has become almost a fable among Protestants. This
may well make us suspicious of the pen-picture of him now spread
abroad by so many of his followers and admirers. Is it in the least
trustworthy? Here again it is the Protestant authority cited above who
complains: “The literary Luther-portraits, though strikingly similar,
are all more or less unlike the original. In the strict sense they are
not portraits at all, but presentments of a type.”
* * * * *
The strain of such strenuous literary work, in the case of one whose
public life was so full of commotion as Luther’s, could not fail to tax
the most healthy nervous system. We can only wonder how he contrived to
cope with the excitement and incessant labour of the years from 1520 to
1525 and to continue tirelessly at the task till his life’s end.
Amongst his works in those years were various controversial writings
printed in 1523, for instance, that against Cochlæus; also tracts
such as those “On the Secular Power” and “On the Adoration of the
Sacrament”; also the Instructions on the Supper, on Baptism and on
the Liturgy, etc., and, besides these, voluminous circular-letters,
translations from, and extensive commentaries on, the Bible. There
was also a vast multitude of sermons and private letters. Among the
writings on widely differing subjects dealt with by Luther in 1524-25
the following may be specified: “On Christian Schools,” “Two Unequal
Commands of the Emperor,” “On Trade and Usury,” “On the Abomination of
silent Mass,” “Against the Heavenly Prophets,” “Against the Murderous
Peasants,” “On the Unfreedom of the Will.” His publications in the
three years 1523-25 number no less than seventy-nine. His attacks on
the vow of chastity, and on celibacy, constitute a striking feature of
many of his then writings. Obstinacy in the pursuit of one idea, which
characterises the German, degenerates in Luther’s case into a sort of
monomania, which would have made his writings unreadable, or at least
tedious, had not the author’s literary gifts and unfortunately the
prurient character of the subject-matter appealed to many. The haste in
which all this was produced has left its mark everywhere.[416]
In those years Luther’s nerves frequently avenged themselves by
headaches and attacks of giddiness for the unlimited demands made upon
them. Irregular meals and the want of proper attention to the body in
the desolate “black monastery” of Wittenberg also contributed their
quota. Among the bodily disorders which often troubled him we find him
complaining of a disagreeable singing in the ears; then it was that he
began to suffer from calculus, a malady which caused him great pains in
later years and of which we first hear in 1526. We reserve, however,
our treatment of Luther’s various ailments till we come to describe the
close of his life. (See vol. v., xxxv. 1.)
We cannot, however, avoid dealing here with a matter connected with
his pathology, which has frequently been discussed in recent times.
The delicate question of his having suffered from syphilis was first
broached by the Protestant physician, Friedrich Küchenmeister, in 1881,
and another Protestant, the theologian and historian Theodore Kolde,
has brought it into more prominent notice by the production of a new
document, which in 1904 was unfortunately submitted to noisy discussion
by polemical writers and apologists in the public press.
Küchenmeister wrote: “As a student Luther was on the whole healthy.
From syphilis, the scourge of the students and knights at that time
(we have only to think of Ulrich von Hutten), he never suffered, ‘I
preserved,’ he says, ‘my chastity.’”[417]
The inference is, however, not conclusive, since syphilis is now
looked upon as an illness which can be contracted not merely by sexual
intercourse, but also in other ways. There was therefore no real
reason to introduce the question of chastity, which the physician here
raises.
As regards, however, the question of infection, every unbiassed
historian will make full allowance for the state of that age.
Owing to the great corruption of morals which prevailed, syphilis,
or the “French sickness, _malum Franciæ_,” as it was called, raged
everywhere, but especially in France and Italy. The danger of
infection was, as Luther himself points out, extremely great, so that,
as he says, even “boys in the cradle are plagued with this disease.”
So prevalent was this formerly unknown malady that “friends wished it
to each other in jest.”[418] He sees in the spread of the “_scabies
gallica_” a manifest Divine judgment for the growing lack of the fear
of God, and looks upon it as a sign of the approaching end of the
world.[419] In his “Chronicle” he says that, in 1490, a new illness,
the French sickness, made its appearance, “one of the great signs of
the coming of the Last Day.”[420]
The new material furnished by Theodore Kolde in his “_Analecta
Lutherana_” consists of a medical letter of Wolfgang Rychardus to
Johann Magenbuch dated June 11, 1523, taken from the Hamburg Town
Library, and is of a character to make one wonder whether Luther did
not at one period suffer from syphilis, at any rate in a mild form.[421]
The circumstances of the letter are as follows: Luther was recovering
from a serious attack of illness which he himself believed to be due
to a bath.[422] We learn from Melanchthon that this indisposition was
accompanied by high fever.[423] On May 24, however, the patient was
able to report that he was better, but that he “was over-burdened with
distracting labours.”[424] At that time a certain Apriolus, a renegade
Franciscan and zealous disciple of Luther’s (his real name was Johann
Eberlin), was staying with Luther at Wittenberg. He forwarded detailed
accounts of Luther’s illness to a physician with whom he was intimate,
Wolfgang Rychardus, at Ulm. Rychardus was also a great admirer of
the Wittenberg professor and at the same time, as it would appear, a
devoted friend of Melanchthon’s. In consequence of Apriolus’s reports
he wrote the medical letter now in question to another physician
then studying at Wittenberg, Johann Magenbuch of Blaubeuren, who also
was intimate with the Wittenberg Reformers, had helped Melanchthon in
his Greek lexicon with regard to the medical side, and was then in
attendance on Luther. It was Magenbuch who had first brought Rychardus
into touch with Luther, and both had already exchanged letters
concerning him.[425] Rychardus remained Luther’s friend at a later
date.[426]
Rychardus wrote to the physician attending Luther, that he had heard
of the illness of the new “Elias” (Luther), but now rejoices to learn
he is convalescent. It was evident that God was preserving him. In the
meantime, out of pity [in a letter not extant], Apriolus had given him
various particulars concerning Luther’s illness and his sleeplessness.
He points out that it was not sufficient that Luther should only
enjoy some sleep every second night, though, of course, his mental
exertion explained his sleeplessness, hence, as a careful physician,
he recommends his friend Magenbuch to give the patient a certain
sleeping-draught, which he also describes, and with which Magenbuch
(“_qui medicum agis_”) must already be acquainted. “But if,” he says,
“the pains of the French sickness disturb his sleep,” these must be
alleviated by means of a certain plaster, the mysterious components
of which, comprising wine, quicksilver (“_vinum sublimatum_”), and
other ingredients he fully describes; this would induce sleep which
was absolutely essential for the restoration of health. “For God’s
sake take good care of Luther,” he concludes, and adds greetings to
Apriolus his informant.[427]
Divergent interpretations have naturally been placed upon this
letter by Luther’s friends and enemies. It might have sufficed to
detail the circumstances and the contents of the letter, did not the
somewhat violent objections raised against the view, that, owing
to the information given him by Apriolus, Rychardus took Luther to
be suffering from the French sickness, render some further remarks
necessary.
It has been said that Luther was not ill at all at the time Rychardus
wrote, but had recovered his health long before. It is true that in
June, 1523, his life was no longer in danger, since Rychardus had
heard from Giengerius, who came from the fair at Leipzig, that Elias
had recovered (“_convaluisse Heliam_”); but then his friend Apriolus
forwarded the above disquieting accounts (“_multa de valetudine
adscripsit_”) which led Rychardus to write his letter, which in turn
is an echo of his informant’s letter. The circumstance that Luther
was on the whole much better is therefore, as a matter of fact, of no
importance. It has also been said that “Rychardus can be understood as
speaking in general terms without any reference to Luther.” According
to this view of the matter the physician’s meaning would amount to
this: “Luther must be made to sleep by means of the remedy well known
to you [and which he describes], but if along with it (‘_cum hoc_’)
the pains of the French sickness should disturb anyone’s sleep, they
must be allayed by a plaster,” etc. It is surely all too evident that
such an explanation is untenable.
Again, the word “if” has been emphasised; Rychardus does not say that
Luther has syphilis, but that _if_ he has it. But, as a matter of
fact, he does not write “if he be suffering from it,” but, “_if this
malady disturbs his sleep_”; taken in connection with the account
of the illness, supplied by Apriolus, the most natural (we do not,
however, say necessary) interpretation to be placed on his words is
that he was aware the patient was suffering from this malady, perhaps
only slightly, yet sufficiently to endanger his sleep. “But if, when
use is made of the sleeping-draught indicated, syphilis should prevent
his sleeping,” is surely a proviso which no physician would make in
the case of a patient in whom syphilitic symptoms were not actually
present; Rychardus would never have spoken of the “new Elias” in this
way unless he had reason to believe in the existence of the malady. It
would have been far-fetched to introduce the subject of so disgusting
a complaint, and much more natural to speak of other commoner causes
which might disturb sleep.
It must, however, be allowed, that, both before and after this
letter was written, no trace of such an illness occurs in any of
the documents concerning Luther. The “_molestiæ_” twice mentioned
previously, which by some have been taken to refer to this malady,
have, as a matter of fact, an altogether different meaning, which is
clear from the context.[428]
In addition to his bodily ailments, the result more particularly of
extreme nervous agitation, the indefatigable worker was over and again
tormented with severe attacks of depression and sadness.
They were in part due to the sad experiences with his followers and to
the estrangement--now becoming more and more pronounced--of his party
from the fanatical Anabaptists; in part also to the alarming reports of
the seditious risings of the peasants; also to his deception concerning
the Papacy, which, far from falling to pieces “at the breath of the
true Gospel,” had asserted its authority and even strengthened it by
reforms such as those commenced under Hadrian VI. It was, however,
principally his “interior struggles,” and the pressing reproaches of
his conscience concerning his work as a whole, which rendered him a
prey to melancholy. This mental agony never ceased; the inward voice
he had heard in the Wartburg, and which had pierced his very soul with
the keenness of a sword, continued to oppress him: “Are you alone wise?
Supposing that all those who follow you are merely dupes.”[429]
If he sought for distraction in cheerful conversation, this was merely
to react against such gloomy thoughts. The more and more worldly life
he began to lead may also be regarded as due in some measure to the
effort on his part to escape these moods. We may also find in them the
psychological explanation of the excesses he commits in his attacks
upon the Church, his very violence serving to relieve his feelings and
to reassure him. His customary defiance enables him to surmount all
obstacles: the external anxieties caused by his adversaries and the
interior temptations which he ascribes to the devil. “I have triumphed
over him [the devil],” he exclaims confidently, “who has more power and
cunning in his smallest claw than all the popes, kings and doctors....
My doctrine shall prevail and the Pope fall, in defiance of the gates
of hell and all the powers of the air, the earth and the sea.”[430]
We feel it our duty to complete this remarkable picture of passion,
defiance and struggle by some few additional traits taken from Luther’s
writings at that time.
On the question of the vow of chastity and priestly celibacy a rude
though perfectly justified answer was supplied him by many writers
on the Catholic side, yet he ignored them all, and on the contrary
proceeded on his way with even greater fury and passion. He proclaims
a sacred command to marry, a command not one whit less binding than
the Decalogue. Here, as in the case of other questions of morals
and dogma, he is carried forward by passion, rather than by a calm
recognition of the truth. He exclaims somewhat later: “Just as it is
a matter of stern necessity and strict command when God says: ‘Thou
shalt not kill, Thou shalt not commit adultery,’ so there is also
stern necessity and strict command, nay a still greater necessity and
yet more stringent command: ‘Thou shalt marry, Thou shalt have a wife,
Thou shalt have a husband.’ For there stands God’s Word (Gen. i. 27),
‘God created man ... male and female he created them’! The consciences
of the unmarried must be importuned, urged and tormented until they
comply, and are made at length to say: ‘Well, if it must be so, then
let it so be.’”[431]
When it was pointed out to him, that in the New Testament celibacy
embraced from love of God was presented as one of the evangelical
counsels, he straightway denied both the existence and the authority
of the evangelical counsels. And when his opponents replied that
Christ frequently counselled acts of great virtue without making of
them strict commands, but mere counsels of perfection, for instance
with the words: “If one smite thee on the right cheek, turn to him
the other also,” Luther will have it that Christ, even here, gave the
strict command to allow ourselves to be smitten also on the left cheek.
In his attack on the Mass, in his excitement, he went so far as to
state: No sin of immorality, nay not even “manslaughter, theft, murder
and adultery is so harmful as this abomination of the Popish Mass.” He
adjured the authorities to take steps against the blinded parsons “who
run to the altar like hogs to the trough,” “the shame of the scarlet
woman of Babylon” must be laid bare in order that the “dreadful
anger of God may not be poured forth like a glowing furnace upon the
negligence” of those who fail to use the “sword entrusted to them
by God.” These were his words to the people in a sermon of the year
1524.[432]
How deeply his experiences with the fanatics excited and enraged him
is apparent, for instance, from this statement concerning Carlstadt:
“He is no longer able to go back, there is no hope for this orator,
inflated and hardened as he is by the applause of the crowd”
(“_plausu vulgi inflatus et induratus_”).[433] Carlstadt and his
followers, according to him, “are always on the look-out for a chance
of incriminating the evangel.”[434] Luther in these struggles felt
bitterly that he himself, the originator of the great movement, had
already become to many a byword and a jest, “a target for malice, for
deceit, for buffoonery--by reason of my simplicity.”[435]
It is true he had a fellow-sufferer at his side, Melanchthon, who at
that time “was brought to the brink of the grave”[436] by cares and
want of sleep; yet none of his friends suffered as much as he, for the
whole burden of care settled upon him. To-day he has to dispute with
a “sly and cunning monk,” who ill-uses his wife because she desires a
separation, and, then, when she actually leaves him, wishes to marry
another; Luther flings the desired permission after him (“if others
will allow him so to do, I am content”).[437] On the morrow he has to
go to Wittenberg to take steps “against a new sort of prophets arrived
from Antwerp,” who deny the Godhead of the Holy Ghost, which, they
say, is not founded on the “Word,”[438] On the day following he is
assailed with complaints regarding the encroachments of the Lutheran
authorities.
“How does Satan rage,” he cries in view of the above, “how he rages
everywhere against the Word!”[439]
When the news of the fanatics with their revelations concerning
the “Word” arrived from Thuringia, and of the iconoclastic tumult
at Rothenburg-on-the-Tauber, he again exclaims: “Thomas Münzer at
Mühlhausen, not only teacher and preacher, but also king and emperor!”
“Thus Satan rages against Christ now that he finds Him to be the
stronger.”[440]
It was formerly believed, he says at this time, that the world was
full of noisy and turbulent ghosts and hobgoblins, and that they were
the souls of the dead, a delusion which has been dispelled to-day by
the evangel, “for we know now that they are not the souls of men but
merely naughty devils.” “But now that the devil sees that all his
noise and storming is no longer of any avail, he acts in a different
manner and begins to rage and storm in his members, i.e. in the
godless [and false teachers], hatching in them all sorts of wild and
shady beliefs and doctrines.”[441]
“Yea, verily this rage of Satan everywhere against the Word is not the
least significant sign that the end of the world is approaching.” At
that time, scarcely ten years after the discovery of the evangel, this
opinion was already firmly fixed in his mind. “Satan seems to be aware
of it, hence his extraordinary outburst of anger.”[442] A confirmation
of the approach of Judgment Day was discerned by Luther in the
circumstance that, as he thought, “the princes were falling” (the
French king had been taken captive by Charles V), “that the Emperor
would also fall in the end,” and that “more of the princes will fall
if they permit the people to grow so audacious.” “These are greater
signs that many believe.”[443] The conjunction of the planets is also
not to be overlooked, although, he admitted, “I do not understand much
about them; the bloody western sun would seem to indicate the king
of France, another in the centre, the Emperor; Philip [Melanchthon]
is also of this opinion; both together foretell the end of the
world.”[444]
He declares later that it “may occur any day,” and that actual signs
of extraordinary magnitude will be seen “in the sun and moon,”
although we have “already sufficient warning in the sun”; above all,
according to him, “the sign among men” [who shall wither away for
fear and expectation, Luke xxi. 26] has already been fulfilled: “I am
entirely of opinion that we have already experienced it. The evil Pope
with his preaching has done very much towards this, namely by greatly
affrighting pious minds.... The forgiveness of sin through Christ had
disappeared.” We were “frightened to death at Christ, the Judge.”
“Owing to the preaching of the evangel I am of opinion that this sign
is in great part passed, in the same way that I hold most of the other
signs in the heavens to have also already taken place.”[445]
His scruples of conscience and the “inward struggles” referred to above
Luther accustomed himself more and more to regard as the voices of the
Evil One. He fancied it was the Good Spirit who taught him to despise
them. It was only the Papists who were deluded and led astray by
“Satan.” “There,” he writes in 1522, viz. among the Papists, “the true
masterpiece of Satan is discernible, for he transforms himself into an
angel of light. As in the beginning he wished to be equal to the Most
High, so now he does not cease to pursue the same aim by deceiving
the sons of unbelief with godly words and deeds. Thus does he make
the Pope his instrument.” “To what an abyss,” he exclaims, “is he not
capable of dragging down the Church by means of his sophists seated in
the professorial chairs.”[446] When the thought of the day of reckoning
or remorse of conscience for their infidelity to the Church awoke
either in himself or in his followers, this was to be silenced as the
voice of the wicked angel. Uxorious renegades from the religious Orders
and the priesthood, who were now assailed by doubts, he consoles by
means of his own moral dialectics, telling them they should go “forward
with a strong conscience in order to be able to withstand the devil at
the hour of death.” They were to “arm themselves with the Word of God”
against the devil; “you will stand in need of it, but rely upon this,
that it is the Word of God, Who cannot lie; read this [my own] little
book ‘On Vows’ carefully and strengthen yourself as best you can,” for
the “devil will work against you with your vow for all it is worth
and make out your marriage and freedom to be sinful.”[447] Here he is
establishing a new school for the formation of consciences.
How greatly the “inward struggles” pressed upon him in those years,
notwithstanding such teachings and his own practice, is plain from two
incidents of which we hear by chance.
On one occasion, in a letter written in March, 1525, he invites his
old friend, Amsdorf of Magdeburg, to come to Wittenberg that he
may assist him “with comfort and friendly offices,” because, as he
complains, he is “very sad and tempted.” The captain of the garrison,
Hans von Metzsch, is also, so he reports, in a very troubled state of
mind: he too looks for Amsdorf’s help, and will put a carriage at the
disposal of the Magdeburg guest for the journey here and back.[448]
As Luther later, in 1529, urged Metzsch, who till then had remained a
bachelor, to marry forthwith and so save himself mental trouble,[449]
it has been assumed by Protestants that Metzsch was tormented by
temptations concerning marriage as early as 1525, and that, as Luther
in his letter to Amsdorf places himself in the same category with
him,[450] “it was plain of what nature Luther’s temptations were.” It
is certainly
above, p. 166, n. 1. possible that Luther meant by what he styles his
“temptations,”[451] the struggles he had to sustain on account of the
question of his marriage, which was pressing upon him more and more
heavily. He elsewhere admits his fear lest he should lower himself
and his cause in the eyes of many by his marriage, while on the other
hand he feels himself impelled to matrimony by the impulse of nature.
It was not merely concern for the good name of the evangel (“We are a
spectacle to the world,” etc.)[452] which troubled him. There is no
doubt that these “temptations,” if they really referred to matrimony,
consisted in scruples of conscience which he had not yet mastered. We
can readily understand that it was only gradually, and by means of
strong representations from within and from his friends, that he was
at length able to overcome the hesitation which had persisted from his
Catholic days when his opinions had been so different.
Another instance of the effect of his temptations on his temperament
is related in the Notes of his physician Ratzeberger.[453] The
details refer to 1525 or 1524.[454] Ratzeberger says that Luther “had
privatim to endure great attacks of Sathana,” and had “frequently been
disturbed by the demon in various ways when studying and writing in
his little writing-room.” On one occasion Master Lucas Edemberger,
George Rhau and some other good comrades, who were musicians, came to
visit Luther, but on enquiry at his house, learnt that he had “for
some time past” shut himself up and refused to see anyone, or to
taste food or drink. Edemberger received no answer to his knock, and,
looking through the keyhole, saw Luther lying on his face on the floor
with outstretched arms in a faint. He forced open the door, raised
him and brought him to a lower chamber where some food was given him.
“Thereupon he and his comrades began to play; at this Dr. Luther came
to himself slowly, and his melancholy and sadness vanished”. Becoming
cheerful he begged his visitors to visit him often and cheer him
with their music, “for he found, that as soon as he heard music his
temptations and melancholy disappeared; hence the devil was a great
enemy of music, which cheers a man, for he loves nothing better than
to reduce him to gloom and sadness and make him faint-hearted and full
of doubts.”
We have here a remarkable example of how his temptations affected
Luther bodily and were in turn influenced by his bodily state, a
subject which we shall reserve for future consideration (vol. vi.,
xxxvi. 1, 2). This mutual influence finds its expression in the relief
afforded him by music.
Ratzeberger adds other interesting particulars, showing the happy
effect of music on Luther’s mind when confused by anxieties and inward
torments.
“As he found great relief from music in his temptations, sadness and
fits of melancholy, he wrote to Ludwig Senftlin [Senfl], the Ducal
Bavarian Band-master, and begged him to set to music the text ‘_In
pace in idipsum dormiam et requiescam_,’ which he did”; it was also
Luther’s custom to have some music after supper with his guests,
“especially devotional music, taken from the Gregorian chants.”[455]
It is a relief to dwell for a moment, at the conclusion of a rather
disagreeable chapter, on the pleasing trait of Luther’s fondness for
the melodies of the Church which he had known and loved from his
youth, and for music generally. Formerly, the notes of the Church’s
chants had summoned him to “raise a clean heart to God,” and now music
assists him to assuage to some extent the storms which rage in his
breast.
His letter to the highly esteemed composer Senfl, who was in the
service of the Duke of Bavaria, is still extant.[456] It is dated
October 4, 1530, and in it Luther asks for a copy of a motet on the
text “_In pace_,” etc., arranged for several voices, should Senfl
have such a thing, for since his boyish days the (Gregorian) melody
to this text had pleased him, and did so still more when he learnt to
understand the meaning of the words of the text. If Senfl had no such
composition in his possession then he would beg him to compose one
later, perhaps after Luther’s death, for he now hoped that death would
soon free him from a world of which he was as weary as it was of him,
one reason why that Antiphon of the entrance into rest was so dear to
him. It is the first Antiphon in the Nocturns of the Holy Saturday
Office and runs: “In peace in the selfsame I will sleep and I will
rest, for Thou, O Lord, hast singularly settled me in hope.”[457]
“We know,” he continues, “that music is hateful and unbearable to
the devils, and I am not ashamed to declare, that next to theology
only music is able to afford interior peace and joy. The devil likes
to cause us trouble and perplexity, but he takes to flight at the
sound of music, just as he does at the words of theology, and for
this reason the prophets always combined theology and music, the
teaching of truth and the chanting of psalms and hymns.” “It was thus
that David with his harp,” he said on another occasion, “allayed
Saul’s temptations when the devil plagued him.... Do not dispute with
the devil about the law, for he is a rare conjurer.”[458] “He has
a bulwark against us in our flesh and blood; ... when he makes me
fancy that God is far from me, I say: Well then, I will cry and call
upon Him.”[459] “ Many temptations and evil thoughts are dispelled
by music.”[460] “Singers are cheerful and drive away cares with
song.”[461]
Senfl’s sweet and charming motets had, he assures him, special power
over him.[462] “But I allow myself to be carried away almost too
much by my love for this art,” he says at the end of his letter to
Senfl, “which has often refreshed me and delivered me from great
molestations.”
It would doubtless have been of great advantage to Luther’s cause
had his insistent praise of the person he is addressing, and of the
Dukes of Bavaria for their love of music, succeeded in securing for
him a footing in Munich. He does not in this letter conceal the fact
that these Dukes were not favourably disposed towards him. Senfl,
though holding constant intercourse with the followers of the new
teaching, remained a member of the Catholic Church, nor were the Dukes
of Bavaria, for all their enlightened ideas, to be tricked into a
compromise with heresy by any attempt, however clever and pious in
appearance. The warm expression of trust and confidence in God, such
as we find here, was not unusual in the letters Luther addressed to
princely Courts and high officers of state.