Monasticism is a pagan shoot grafted on a Christian tree. At its base
lies the heathenish notion that sin can be extirpated by severe
onslaughts upon the body and the physical life. It has existed in
Buddhism before some Christians adopted it. In the early days of
Christianity it was proclaimed as superior wisdom by the Platonic
philosophers. Like many a lie it has been decked out with Bible-texts to
give it respectability, and to soothe disquieted consciences. The
Scripture-sayings regarding fasting, sexual continence, chastity,
crucifying the flesh, etc., are made to stand sponsor for this bastard
offspring of the brain of Christian mystics.
With excellent discrimination Mosheim has traced the origin of
monasticism to the early Christian fathers. The earliest impulses to
monasticism are contained in such writings as the Epistle to Zenas,
found among the writings of Justinus, the tracts of Clement of
Alexandria on Calumny, Patience, Continence, and other virtues, the
tracts of Tertullian on practical duties, such as Chastity, Flight from
Persecution, Fasting, Theatrical Exhibitions, the Dress of Females,
Prayer, etc. These writings "would be perused with greater profit, were
it not for the gloomy and morose spirit which they everywhere breathe. .
. . In what estimation they ought to be held, the learned are not
agreed. Some hold them to be the very best guides to true piety and a
holy life; others, on the contrary, think their precepts were the worst
possible, and that the cause of practical religion could not be
committed to worse hands. . . . To us it appears that their writings
contain many things excellent, well considered, and well calculated to
kindle pious emotions; but also many things unduly rigorous, and derived
from the Stoic and Academic philosophy; many things vague and
indeterminate; and many things positively false, and inconsistent with
the precepts of Christ. If one deserves the title of a bad master in
morals who has no just ideas of the proper boundaries and limitations of
Christian duties, nor clear and distinct conceptions of the different
virtues and vices, nor a perception of those general principles to which
recurrence should be had in all discussions respecting Christian virtue,
and therefore very often talks at random, and blunders in expounding the
divine laws; though he may say many excellent things, and excite in us
considerable emotion; then I can readily admit that in strict truth this
title belongs to many of the Fathers. . . . They admitted, with good
intentions no doubt, yet most inconsiderately, a great error in regard
to morals, and pernicious to Christianity; an error which, through all
succeeding ages to our times, has produced an infinity of mistakes and
evils of various kinds. Jesus, our Savior, prescribed one and the same
rule of life or duty to all His disciples. But the Christian doctors,
either by too great a desire of imitating the nations among whom they
lived, or from a natural propensity to austerity and gloom, (a disease
that many labor under in Syria, Egypt, and other provinces of the East,)
were induced to maintain that Christ had prescribed a twofold rule of
holiness and virtue; the one ordinary, the other extraordinary; the one
lower, the other higher; the one for men of business, the other for
persons of leisure, and such as desired higher glory in the future
world. They therefore early divided all that had been taught them either
in books or by tradition, respecting a Christian life and morals, into
Precepts and Counsels. They gave the name Precepts to those laws which
were universally obligatory, or were enacted for all men of all
descriptions; but the Counsels pertained solely to those who aspire
after superior holiness and a closer union with God. There soon arose,
therefore, a class of persons who professed to strive after that
extraordinary and more eminent holiness, and who, of course, resolved to
obey the Counsels of Christ, that they might have intimate communion
with God in this life, and might, on leaving the body, rise without
impediment or difficulty to the celestial world. They supposed many
things were forbidden to them which were allowed to other Christians,
such as wine, flesh, matrimony, and worldly business. They thought they
must emaciate their bodies with watching, fasting, toil, and hunger.
They considered it a blessed thing to retire to desert places, and by
severe meditation to abstract their minds from all external objects, and
whatever delights the senses. Both men and women imposed these severe
restraints on themselves, with good intentions, I suppose, but setting a
bad example, and greatly to the injury of the cause of Christianity.
They were, of course, denominated Ascetics, Zealous Ones, Elect, and
also Philosophers; and they were distinguished from other Christians,
not only by a different appellation, but by peculiarities of dress and
demeanor. Those who embraced this austere mode of life lived indeed only
for themselves, but they did not withdraw themselves altogether from the
society and converse of men. But in process of time, persons of this
description at first retired into deserts, and afterwards formed
themselves into associations, after the manner of the Essenes and
Therapeutae.
"The causes of this institution are at hand. First, the Christians did
not like to appear inferior to the Greeks, the Romans, and the other
people among whom there were many philosophers and sages, who were
distinguished from the vulgar by their dress and their whole mode of
life, and who were held in high honor. Now among these philosophers (as
is well known) none better pleased the Christians than the Platonists
and Pythagoreans, who are known to have recommended two modes of living,
the one for philosophers who wished to excel others in virtue, and the
other for people engaged in the common affairs of life. The Platonists
prescribed the following rule for philosophers: The mind of a wise man
must be withdrawn, as far as possible, from the contagious influence of
the body. And as the oppressive load of the body and social intercourse
are most adverse to this design, therefore all sensual gratifications
are to be avoided; the body is to be sustained, or rather mortified,
with coarse and slender fare; solitude is to be sought for; and the mind
is to be self-collected and absorbed in contemplation, so as to be
detached as much as possible from the body. Whoever lives in this manner
shall in the present life have converse with God, and, when freed from
the load of the body, shall ascend without delay to the celestial
mansions, and shall not need, like the souls of other men, to undergo a
purgation. The grounds of this system lay in the peculiar sentiments
entertained by this sect of philosophers and by their friends,
respecting the soul, demons, matter, and the universe. And as these
sentiments were embraced by the Christian philosophers, the necessary
consequences of them were, of course, to be adopted also.
"What is here stated will excite less surprise if it be remembered that
Egypt was the land where this mode of life had its origin. For that
country, from some law of nature, has always produced a greater number
of gloomy and hypochondriac or melancholy persons than any other; and it
still does so. Here it was long before the Savior's birth, not only the
Essenes and Therapeutae--those Jewish sects, composed of persons with a
morbid melancholy, or rather partially deranged--had their chief
residence; but many others also, that they might better please the gods,
withdrew themselves as by the instinct of nature from commerce with men
and with all pleasures of life. From Egypt this mode of life passed into
Syria and the neighboring countries, which in like manner always
abounded with unsociable and austere individuals: and from the East it
was at last introduced among the nations of Europe. Hence the numerous
maladies which still deform the Christian world; hence the celibacy of
the clergy; hence the numerous herds of monks; hence the two species of
life, the theoretical and mystical." (_Eccles. Hist.,_ I, 128 f.)
One may well feel pity for the original monks. Their zeal was heroic,
but it was spent upon an issue that is in its very root and core a
haughty presumption and a lie. Exhaust all the Scripture-texts which
speak of indwelling sin, of the lust that rages in our members, of the
duty to keep the body under by fasting and vigilance, and there will not
be found enough Bible to cover the nakedness of the monastic principle.
Its fundamental thought of a select type of piety to be attained by
spectacular efforts at self-mortification flies in the face of the
doctrine that we are rid of sin and sanctified by divine grace alone.
Monkish holiness is a slander of the Redeemer's all-sufficient sacrifice
for sin and of the work of the Holy Spirit. It started in paganism, and
wants to drag Christianity back into paganism.
But monasticism in Luther's day was no longer of the sort which one may
view with a pathetic interest. The old monastic ideals had been largely
abandoned. Instead of crucifying the flesh, the monks were nursing and
fondling carnal-mindedness. The cloisters had become cesspools of
corruption. Because the reputation of monks was utterly bad, and monks
were publicly scorned and derided, Luther's friends tried to dissuade
him from entering the cloister. That was the reason, too, why Luther's
father was so deeply shocked when he heard of what his Martin had done,
and Luther had to assure his father that he had not gone into the herd
of monks to seek what people believed men sought in that profligate
company. For that reason, too, he had chosen the Augustinian order,
because a strong reform movement had been started in that order, and its
reputation was better than that of the other orders. Luther meant to be
a monk of the original type.
Since the days of Alexander of Hales, Albert the Great, and Thomas
Aquinas the Roman Church teaches that there is in the Church a treasury
of supererogatory works, that is, of good works which Christ and the
saints have performed in excess of what is ordinarily demanded of every
man in the way of upright living. We shall meet with this idea again in
another connection. It flows from the monastic principles. Monks must
have not only enough sanctity for their own needs, but to spare. Of this
superfluous sanctity they may make an assignment in favor of others. Do
not smile incredulously; monks actually make such assignments. Luther
may not have thought of this when he entered the cloister, but he
rejoiced in this scheme of substitutive sanctity later. He thought he
had found in monkery a gold-mine of holiness that would be sufficient
not only for himself, but also for his parents. While at Rome some years
later, he was in a way sorry that his father and mother were not already
in purgatory. He had such a fine chance there to accumulate
supererogatory good works which he might have transferred to them to
shorten their agonies, or release them entirely.
In order to make a successful monk, one must be either a Pharisee or an
epicurean. The Pharisee takes an inventory of the works named in the Law
of God, and sets out to perform these in an external, mechanical manner.
He adds a few works of his own invention for good measure. Every work
performed counts; it constitutes merit. On the basis of his two pecks
and a half of merit the Pharisee now begins to drive a bargain with God:
for so much merit he claims so much distinction and glory. He figures it
all out to God, so that God shall not make a mistake at the time of the
settlement: I have not been this, nor that, nor the other thing; I have
done this, and that, and some more. Consequently . . . ! The epicurean
is a jolly fatalist. Whatever is to happen will happen. Why worry? Go
along at an even pace; eat, drink, be merry, but for Heaven's sake do
not take a serious or tragical view of anything! Take things as they
are; if you can improve them, well and good; if not, let it pass; forget
it; eat a good meal and go to sleep.
Luther was never an epicurean. The seriousness of life had confronted
him at a very early date. The sense of duty was highly developed in him
from early youth. In all that he did he felt himself as a being that is
responsible to his Maker and Judge. Easy-going indifference and ready
self-pity were not in his character. For this Luther is now faulted by
Catholics. It is said he extended the rigors of monasticism beyond the
bounds of reasonableness. He was too severe with himself. He outraged
human nature. Quite correct; but is not monasticism by itself an
outrage upon human nature? Luther had endured the monastery for the very
purpose of enduring hardness. He did not flinch when the battle into
which he had gone commenced in earnest. Luther is said to have been
tardy and neglectful in the observance of the rules of the order.
Sometimes he would omit the canonical hours, that is, the stated
prayers, or some form of prescribed devotion, and then he would endeavor
to make up for the loss by redoubled effort, which overtaxed his
physical strength. Quite true. It is not such a rare occurrence that a
monk forgets the one or the other of the minutiae of the daily monkish
routine. The regulations of his orders extended to such things as the
posture which he must assume while standing, while sitting, while
kneeling; the movement of his arms, of his hands; how to approach, how
to move in front of the altar, how to leave it, etc. When his mind was
engrossed with the study of the Bible or some commentary of a Church
Father, it was easy for Luther to forget parts of the program which he
was to carry out. Whenever this happened, was it not his duty to
endeavor to repair the damage? Were not penances imposed on him in the
confessional for every default? Luther is said to have been led into
still deeper gloom by his study of the doctrine of predestination. True,
but even this study did not lead Luther off into fatalism. It terrified
him, because he studied that profound doctrine without a true perception
of divine grace and the meaning of the Redeemer's work. However, this
study did not at any time permanently affect his vigorous striving after
holiness.
When Catholics explain Luther's failure as a monk by such assertions,
they involve themselves in self-contradiction. By their own principles
monkery is not a natural life; yet, when a monk fails in his monkery,
they fault him for not being natural. First, they tell the applicant
that he must not be what he is, and afterwards they blame him for
wanting to be what they told him to be, and what he finds he cannot be.
If this is not adding insult to injury, what is? Francis of Assisi
became a great saint by that very inhuman treatment of himself for which
Luther is censured. But then Francis of Assisi did not quit his order
and did not attack the Pope.
The other reason why Luther failed is, because he could not make a
Pharisee of himself, which is only another name for hypocrite. The Law
of God had such a terrible meaning to him because he applied it as the
Lawgiver wants it applied, to his whole inner life, to the heart, the
soul, the mind, and all his powers of intellect and will. It is
comparatively easy to make the members of the body go through certain
external performances, but to make the mind obey is a different
proposition. The discovery which disheartened Luther was, that while he
was outwardly leading the life of a blameless monk, his inward life was
not improved. Sin was ever present with him, as it is with every human
being. He felt the terrible smitings of the accusing conscience because
he was keenly alive to the real demands of God's Law. The holy Law of
God wrought its will upon him to the fullest extent: it roused him to
anger with the God who had given this Law to man; it led him into
blasphemous thoughts, so that he recoiled with horror from himself. Does
the true Law of God, when properly applied, ever have any other effect
upon natural man? Paul says: "It worketh wrath" (Rom. 4, 15), namely,
wrath in man against God. It drives man to despair. That is its
legitimate function: No person has touched the essence of the Law who
has not passed through these awful experiences. Nor did any man ever
flee from the Law and run to Christ for shelter but for these
unendurable terrors which the Law begets. That was Luther's whole
trouble, and that is why he failed as a monk: he had started out to
become a saint, and he did not even succeed in making a Pharisee of
himself. If Rome has produced a monk that succeeded better than Luther,
he ought to be exhibited and examined. He will be found either an angel
or a brazen fraud. He will not be a true man.