SOME PARTICULARS WITH REGARD TO THE OUTWARD CIRCUMSTANCES AND INWARD
LIFE OF LUTHER AT THE TIME OF THE CRISIS
1. Luther as Superior of eleven Augustinian Houses
HIS election as Rural Vicar, which took place at the convocation of the
Order at Gotha (on April 29, 1515), had raised Luther to a position of
great importance in his Congregation.
He had, within a short time, risen from being Sub-Prior and Regent
of the Wittenberg House of Studies to be the chief dignitary in
the Congregation after Staupitz, the Vicar-General. The office was
conferred on him, as was customary, for a period of three years, i.e.
till May, 1518. Of the eleven monasteries which formed the District
the two most important and influential were Erfurt and Wittenberg.
The others were Dresden, Herzberg, Gotha, Langensalza, Nordhausen,
Sangershausen, Magdeburg and Neustadt on the Orla, to which Eisleben
was added, when, in July, 1515, Staupitz and Luther presided at the
opening of a new monastery there. As Staupitz was frequently absent
from the District, the demands made on the activity of the new Superior
were all the greater.
At this time too his professorial Bible studies and his efforts to
clear up the confusion and difficulties existing in his mind must
have kept him fully occupied. In addition to this there was the
dissension within the Order itself on the question of observance and
of the constitution, a dispute which required for its settlement a man
filled with zeal for the spiritual welfare of the monasteries, and one
thoroughly devoted to the exalted traditional aims of the Congregation.
The mordant discourse on the “Little Saints” which the fiery Monk
delivered on May 1 at the Gotha meeting showed in what direction the
influence of the new Rural Vicar would be exerted. Johann Lang, his
friend who was present at the time, had a good reason for sending
this discourse to Mutian, the head of the Humanists at Gotha; the
bitter critic of the “uncharitable self-righteous” gave promise of the
establishing of a freer ideal of life in the Order, and so original and
powerful a speaker was certain to be strong enough to draw others with
him.
What has been preserved of Luther’s correspondence with the priories
and the monks of his District is unfortunately very meagre; the
remarkable rapidity with which the Lutheran innovations spread among
the Augustinians speaks, however, at a later date very plainly of the
powerful influence which he had exerted on his brother monks during the
years that he held the office of Rural Vicar. The first result of his
influence was to bring into the ascendant a conception of the aims of
the Order differing from that of the Observantines. Hand in hand with
this went the recruiting of followers for his new theological ideas
and for the so-called Augustinian or Pauline movement, of which the
Wittenberg Faculty was the headquarters.
Johann Lang prepared the ground for Luther at the Erfurt monastery,
whither he went in 1515 and where he became Prior in 1516. The
Augustinian, George Spenlein, Luther’s Wittenberg friend, to whom
he addressed the curious, mystical letter on Christ’s righteousness
(above, p. 88 f.), became, later on, a Lutheran preacher and parson
at Arnstadt. Luther, during his Vicariate, had as Prior at Wittenberg
his friend Wenceslaus Link, who was also Doctor and Professor in the
Theological Faculty. He was, however, relieved of his office of Prior
in 1516, left Wittenberg and went to Munich as preacher, whence he
removed to Nuremberg at the beginning of 1517; in that town he became
later a zealous promoter of the Reformation. The friendship which
Luther had formed at Wittenberg with George Spalatin, the astute
courtier in priest’s dress, was, however, of still greater importance
to him in his work both within the Order and outside. Spalatin, who
had received a humanist training under Marschalk and Mutian at Erfurt,
came in 1511 to Wittenberg, where he entered the family of the Elector
as tutor to his two nephews, and, in 1513, was promoted to the office
of Court Chaplain and private secretary to the Elector. He readily
undertook the management at Court of the business in connection with
the priories under Luther’s supervision, and, later on, contrived by
his influence in high quarters to promote the spread of the religious
innovations.
The letters which Luther wrote as Vicar he signed, as a rule, “Frater
Martinus Luther,” though sometimes “Luder, Augustinensis,” usually with
the addition “Vicarius,” and on one occasion “Vicarius Districtus,”
which, needless to say, does not mean “the strict vicar” as it has been
mistranslated, but refers to his office as Rural Vicar of the District.
In these letters, chiefly in Latin, which Luther addressed to his
monasteries, we meet with some pages containing beautiful and inspiring
thoughts. There can be no question that he knew how to intervene with
energy where abuses called for it, just as he also could speak words of
consolation, encouragement and kindly admonition to those in fault. The
letters also contain some exhortations, well-worded and full of piety,
tending to the moral advancement of zealous members of the Order.
The allusions to faith in Christ, our only help, and the absolute
inadequacy of human effort, are, however, very frequent, though he does
not here express his new theological opinions so definitely as he does
in expounding St. Paul.
To Johann Lang, who, as Prior of the Erfurt house, met with many
difficulties from his subordinates, he writes comforting and consoling
him: “Be strong and the Lord will be with you; call to mind that you
are set up for a sign which shall be contradicted (Luke ii. 34), to
the one, indeed, a good odour unto life, to another an odour of death
(2 Cor. ii. 16).”[681] At Erfurt, as the same letter shows, he had to
intervene in the interests of discipline. In order that no complaints
might be brought against the Prior by the brethren on account of the
expenses for food and drink in entertaining guests and for the keep of
those who collected the alms (_terminarii_) he orders an exact account
to be kept of such expenses; the hostel for guests might, he says,
become a real danger to the monastery if not properly regulated; the
monastery must not be turned into a beer-house or tavern, but must
remain a religious house. To uphold “the honour of the Reverend Father
Vicar,” Staupitz, he directed that three contumacious monks should
be removed, by way of punishment, from Erfurt to a less important
convent. On the occasion of some unpleasantness which Lang experienced
from his brother monks, Luther impressed on him that, after receiving
this blow on the one cheek, he should bravely present the other also;
“and this is not the last and worst slap you will have to endure, for
God’s wisdom is as yet playing with you and preparing you for greater
struggles.”[682]
“Be mild and friendly to the Prior of Nuremberg,” he says to him at a
later date; “it is necessary to be so, just because he is harsh and
unfriendly. One who is severe cannot get the better of a hard man, but
he who is mild can, just as one devil cannot overcome another, but the
finger of God must do this.”[683]
And again, “As regards the brother who has fallen away, take pity on
him in the Lord. He has forsaken you, led astray by impiety, but you
must not on that account be wanting in charity and turn your back upon
him. Do not take the scandal too much to heart. We have been called,
baptised and ordained in order to bear the burdens of others, for this
reason the office clothes our own wretchedness with honour. We must,
according to the proverb, ourselves cover our neighbour’s shame, as
Christ was, still is, and for all eternity will be our covering, as it
is written: ‘Thou art a priest for ever’ (Heb. v. 6). Therefore beware
of desiring to be so clean that you will not allow yourself to be
touched by what is unclean, or of refusing to put up with uncleanness,
to cover it over and to wipe it away. You have been raised to a post
of honour, but the task it involves is to bear dishonour. It is on the
cross and on affronts that we must pride ourselves.”[684]
At the commencement of the autumn term in 1516, he complained that
Lang was sending him too many brothers to study at Wittenberg, more
in fact than he was able to provide for,[685] and later, as the
reason for his concern, he mentions that the Wittenberg house already
numbered 41 inmates, of whom 22 were priests and 12 students, “who
all have to live on our more than scanty means; but the Lord will
provide.”[686]
At that time it was feared that Wittenberg might suffer from an attack
of the plague which was raging in the vicinity, and which actually
did break out there in October. Luther reassures the troubled Prior
of Erfurt, who had besought him to depart: “It is possible that the
plague may interfere with the lectures on the Epistle to the Galatians
which I have just commenced. But, so far, it only snatches away two or
three victims daily at most, and sometimes even fewer.... And whither
should I flee? I trust the heavens will not fall even should brother
Martin be stricken. I shall send the brothers away and distribute
them should the mischief increase; I have been appointed here and
obedience does not allow of my taking flight, unless a new order be
imposed on me to obey. Not as though I do not fear death, I am not a
Paul but merely an expounder of Paul; but I trust that the Lord will
deliver me from my fear.”[687]
When a member of the Teutonic Order sought for admission into
the Augustinian house at Neustadt, Luther instructed the Prior
there, Michael Dressel (Tornator) to observe very carefully the
ecclesiastical and conventual regulations provided for such a case.
“We must, it is true, work with God in the execution of this pious
project,” he writes, “but we shall do this not by allowing the ideas
of the individual, however pious his intentions may be, to decide the
matter, but by carrying out the prescribed law, the regulations of our
predecessors, and the decrees of the Fathers: whoever sets these aside
need not hope to advance or find salvation, however good his will may
be.”[688]
This Prior also had complained of the numerous contrarieties which he
experienced from his subordinates, and that he was unable to enjoy
any peace of soul. Luther says to him among other things:[689] “The
man whom no one troubles is not at peace, that is rather the peace of
this world, but the man to whom people bring all their troubles and
who nevertheless remains calm and bears everything that happens with
joy. You say with Israel: ‘Peace, peace, and there is no peace!’ Say
rather with Christ: the cross, the cross, there is no cross.[690] The
cross will at once cease to be a cross when a man accepts it joyfully
and says: Blessed cross, sacred wood, so holy and venerable!... He
who with readiness embraces the cross in everything that he feels,
thinks and understands will in time find the fruit of his suffering
to be sweet peace. That is God’s peace, under which our thoughts and
desires must be hidden in order that they may be nailed to the cross,
i.e. to the cross of contradiction and oppression. Thus is peace truly
established above all our thinking and desiring, and becomes the most
precious jewel. Therefore take up all these disturbances of your peace
with joy and clasp them to you as holy relics, instead of endeavouring
to seek peace according to your own ideas.”
When Luther afterwards visited the monastery of this same Prior,
on the occasion of an official visitation, he found the community
estranged from its head. He did not at that time take any steps, but
after a few weeks he suddenly removed Michael Dressel from his office.
In confidence he informed Johann Lang, rather cryptically, that: “I
did this because I hoped to rule there myself for the half-year.”[691]
Do the words perhaps mean that he was anxious to secure a victory for
that party in the Order which was devoted to himself and opposed to
Dressel, who on this hypothesis was an Observantine? His action was
peculiar from the fact that his letter addressed to the community at
Neustadt and to Dressel himself gave no reason for the measure against
the Prior other than that the brothers were unable to live with
him in peace and agreement; the Prior, he says, had always had the
best intentions, but it is not enough for a Superior to be good and
pious, “it is also necessary that the others should be at peace and
in agreement with him”; when a Superior’s measures fail to establish
concord, then he should revoke them.[692] Still more unusual than such
advice was the circumstance that Luther would not allow the Prior to
make any defence, and cut short any excuses by his sudden action. In
another letter to the monks he justified his measure simply by stating
that there was no peace. In short, the rebellious monks speedily got
the better of the Superior whom they disliked. The ex-Prior, Luther
tells him, must on no account murmur because he has been judged
without a hearing (“_quia te non auditum iudicaverim_”); he himself
(Luther) was convinced of his good will and also hoped that all the
inmates of the convent were grateful to him for the good intentions
which he had displayed. In the new election ordered by the Rural
Vicar, Heinrich Zwetze was chosen as Prior. Of the latter or how the
matter ended nothing more is known.
The office of Rural Vicar required above all, that, when making his
regular visitation of the religious houses, the Vicar should have a
personal interview with each brother, hear what he had to say, and
give him any spiritual direction of which he might stand in need. We
learn the following of a visitation of this kind which Luther made in
1516: At the Gotha monastery the whole of the visitation occupied only
one hour; at Langensalza two hours. He informs Lang: “In these places
the Lord will work without us and direct the spiritual and temporal
affairs in spite of the devil.”[693] He at once proceeded on the same
journey to the house at Nordhausen and then on to those at Eisleben
and Magdeburg. In two days the Rural Vicar was back in his beloved
Wittenberg. There is no doubt that such summary treatment of his most
important duties was not favourable to discipline.
At Leitzkau the Augustinians possessed rights over the large fisheries
and Luther was intimate with the local Cistercian Provost. When the
Provost, George Maskov, asked him how he should behave towards a
brother monk who had sinned grievously, seeing that he himself was a
still greater offender, Luther replied, saying, among other things,
that he ought certainly to punish him, for, as a rule, it was necessary
to exercise discipline towards those who are better than ourselves.
“We are all children of Adam, therefore we do the works of Adam.” But
“our authority is not ours, but God’s.” Perhaps God desired to help
that brother on the road of sin, namely, through shame. “It is God Who
does all this.”[694] And in another letter he says to the Provost:[695]
“If many of your subjects are on the way to moral ruin, yet you must
not for that reason disquiet them all. It is better quietly to save
a few.... Let the cockel grow together with the wheat ... for it is
better to bear with the many for the sake of the few than to ruin the
few on account of the many.” In a mystical vein he says: “Pray for me,
for my life is daily drawing nearer to hell (i.e. the lower world,
‘_inferno appropinquavit_,’ Ps. lxxxvii. 4), as I also become worse and
more wretched day by day.”[696]
Bodily infirmities were then pressing hard upon him in consequence
of his many labours and spiritual trials, while much of his time was
swallowed up by his lectures which were still in progress.
2. The Monk of Liberal Views and Independent Action
With regard to his own life as a religious and his conception of his
calling Luther was, at the time of the crisis, still far removed from
the position which he took up later, though we find already in the
Commentary on Romans views which eventually could not fail to place him
in opposition to the religious state.
What still bound him to the religious life was, above all, the ideal of
humility, which his mystical ideas had developed. He also recognised
fully the binding nature of his vows. According to him man cannot steep
himself sufficiently in his essential nothingness before the Eternal
God, and vows are an expression of such submission to the Supreme Being.
“To love is to hate and condemn oneself, yea even to wish evil to
oneself.” “Our good is hidden so deeply that it is concealed under
its opposite; thus life is hidden under death, real egotism under
hatred of self, honour under shame, salvation under destruction, a
kingdom under exile, heaven under hell, wisdom under foolishness,
righteousness under sin, strength under weakness; indeed all our
affirmation of any good is concealed under its negation in order that
faith in God, Who is the negation of all, may remain supreme ...
thus ‘our life is hidden with Christ in God’ (Col. iii. 3), i.e. in
the negation of all that can be felt, possessed and apprehended....
That is the good which we must desire for ourselves,” he says to his
brother monks, “then only are we good when we recognise the good God
and our evil self.”[697]
He says elsewhere regarding vows: “All things are, it is true, free
to us, but by means of vows we can offer them all up out of love;
when this has once taken place, then they are necessary, not by their
nature but on account of the vow which has been taken voluntarily.
Then we must be careful to keep the vows with the same love with
which we took them upon us, otherwise they are not kept at all.”[698]
In many points he goes further than the Rule itself in the mystical
demands he makes upon the members of the Order.
In other respects Luther’s requirements not only fall far short of
what is necessary, but even the ordinary monastic duties fare badly at
his hands. If it is the interior word which is to guide the various
actions, and if without the “spirit” they are nothing, indeed would be
better left undone, then what place is left to the common observance of
the monastic Rule and the numerous pious practices, prayers and acts of
virtue to which a regular time and place are assigned?
From the standpoint of his pseudo-mystical perfection he criticises
with acerbity the recitation of the Office in Choir; also the
“unreasonableness and superstition of pious founders of benefices,”
who, as it were, “desired to purchase prayers” at certain fixed times.
Founders of a monastery ought not to have prescribed the recitation of
the Office in Choir on their behalf; by so doing they wished to secure
their own salvation and well-being before God, instead of making their
offerings purely for God’s sake.[699] Such remarks plainly show that
he was already far removed in spirit from a right appreciation of his
Order. He had also expressed himself against the mendicancy practised
by the Augustinians, and yet the Order was a Mendicant Order and the
collecting of alms one of its essential statutes.[700]
Nevertheless, again and again he speaks in lofty language of the
value of the lowliness of the religious life. Now especially, he
writes in the Commentary on Romans under the influence of his mystical
“_theologia crucis_,” it is a good thing to be a religious, better
than during the last two centuries. Why? Because now monks are no
longer so highly esteemed as formerly, they are hated by the world and
looked upon as fools, and are “persecuted by the bishops and clergy”;
therefore the religious ought to rejoice in their cross and in their
state of humiliation.[701]
Whoever takes vows imposes upon himself “a new law” out of love for
God; he voluntarily renounces his own freedom in order to obey his
superiors, who stand in God’s place. The vows are for him indissoluble
bonds, but bonds of love.[702] “Whoever wishes to enter the cloister,”
he says,[703] “because he thinks he cannot otherwise be saved, ought
not to enter. We must beware of exemplifying the proverb: ‘despair
makes a monk’; despair never made a monk, but only a devil.[704] We
must enter from the motive of love, namely, because we perceive the
weight of our sins and are desirous of offering our Lord something
great out of love; for this reason we sacrifice to Him our freedom,
assume the dress of a fool, and submit to the performance of lowly
offices.”
His complaints are very serious and certainly somewhat prejudiced,
owing partly to his new theology, partly to his wrong perception of
the facts.
“Whoever keeps his vows with repugnance is behaving
sacrilegiously.”[705] Even he who is animated by the best of motives
scarcely acts from perfect love, but when this is entirely absent,
he says, “we sin even in our good works.”[706] Many who fulfil their
religious duties merely from routine and with indolence “are apostates
though they do not appear to be such,” and in his excessive zeal he
continues: “the religious in the Church to-day are held captive under
a Mosaic bondage, and together with them the clergy and the laity
because they cling to the doctrines of men (‘_doctrinæ hominum_’);
we all believe that without these there is no salvation, but that
with these salvation is assured without any further effort on our
part.”[707]
On the same occasion he allows himself to be carried away from the
subject of monasticism to the complaints regarding the too frequent
Feasts and Fasts and the formalism pervading the whole life of the
Church, to which we referred on page 227. Returning to the monks, he
declares that he finds the interior man so greatly lacking in them
that (without considering the many exceptions) they were the cause of
the hostile attitude which the world assumed towards them. “Instead
of rejoicing in shame, they are only monks in appearance; but I know
that if they possessed love they would be the happiest of men, happier
than the old hermits, because they are daily exposed to the cross and
contempt. But to-day there is no class of men more presumptuous than
they.”[708]
At the same time, however, he blames the religious who are too zealous
for his liking, saying: “they are desirous of imitating the works
of the Saints and are proud of their Founders and Fathers; but this
is merely trumpery, because they wish to do the same great works
themselves and yet neglect the spirit; they are like the Thomists
and Scotists and the other sects, who defend the writings and words
of their pet authors without cultivating the spirit, yea rather
stifling it ... but they are hypocrites, as Saints they are not holy,
as righteous they are anything but righteous, and, while ostensibly
performing good works, they, in fact, do nothing.”[709]
And what sort of works do the religious perform? “In the same way
that nowadays all workmen are as lazy as though they were asleep all
day, so religious and priests sleep at their prayer from laziness,
both spiritually and corporally; they do everything with the utmost
indolence ... this fault is so widespread that there is hardly one
who is free from it.”[710] “Now,” he exclaims passionately, speaking
of the monks and clergy, “almost all follow their vocation against
their will and without any love for it.” “How many there are who would
gladly let everything go, ceremonies, prayers, rules and all, if the
Pope would only dispense from them, as indeed he could.” “We ought to
perform these things willingly and gladly, not from fear of remorse of
conscience, or of punishment, or from the hope of reward and honour.
But supposing it were left free to each one to fast, pray, obey, go
to church, etc., I believe that in one year everything would be at an
end, all the churches empty and the altars forsaken.”[711] He does
not remember that shortly before he had been complaining that outward
observances were taken too seriously so that they were looked upon as
necessary means of salvation (“_sine his non esse salutem_”), that
“the whole of religion was made to consist in their fulfilment to the
neglect of the actual commandments of God, of faith and love,” and
that the “lower classes observe them under the impression that their
eternal salvation depends upon them.”[712] These complaints, too, he
had redoubled when speaking of the religious.
According to the testimony of the religious and theological literature
of that day, the monastic Orders were better instructed in the
meaning and importance of outward observances than Luther here
assumes. Expounders of the Rules and ascetical writers speak an
altogether different language. In the monasteries the distinction
between the observances which were enjoined under pain of grievous
sin and were, therefore, under no circumstances to be omitted, and
such as were binding under the Rule but not under pain of sin, was
well understood, and a third category was allowed, viz. such as were
undertaken voluntarily, for instance, the construction of churches,
or their adornment. It was also known, and that not only in religious
houses—for the popular manuals of that day set it forth clearly—that
for an action to be good the motive of perfect love, which Luther
represented as indispensable,[713] was not requisite, but that other
religious motives, such as the fear of punishment of sin, were
sufficient though it was, indeed, desirable to rise to a higher level.
Above all, it was well known that the disinclination towards what is
good, which springs from man’s sensual nature like the temptation to
indolence which still held sway even in religious, are not sin but may
be made the subject of a meritorious struggle.
The formalism which it is true was widely prevalent in the religious
life at that time was due not so much to a faulty conception of the
religious state as to the inadequate fulfilment of its obligations
and its ideals. This deterioration was not likely to be remedied by
the application of the mistaken idea which Luther advocated, namely,
that not the slightest trace of human weakness must be allowed to
enter into the performance of good works, otherwise they became
utterly worthless. His stipulation that everything must be done
from the highest “_spiritus internus_,” could only be the result
of his extravagant mysticism. The Rules of no Order, not even that
of the Augustinians, went so far as this. Yet the Rule of Luther’s
Augustinian Congregation did not seek a merely outward, Pharisaical
carrying out of its regulations, but a life where the duties of the
religious state were performed in accordance with the inward spirit of
the Order.
Luther’s master, the Augustinian Johann Paltz, emphasises this spirit
very strongly in the instructions which he issued for the preservation
of the true ideals of the Order.
“Love,” he there says, “pays more heed to the inward than to the
outward, but the spirit of the world mocks at what is inward and
sets great value on what is outward.” He opposed the principles
tending to formalism and the deterioration of the religious life
and shows himself to be imbued with a true and deep appreciation of
his profession. He entitles that portion of his treatise directed
against deviations from the Rule: “Concerning the wild beasts who
lay waste the religious life.” He writes with so much feeling and in
so vivid a manner that the reader of to-day almost fancies that he
must have foreseen the approaching storm and the destruction of his
Congregation. He scourges those who allow themselves to be led away by
the appearance of what is good (“_sub specie boni_”), who introduce
new roads to perfection according to their own ideas and require men
to do what lies beyond them; they thus endanger the carrying out of
the ordinary good works and practices of the religious life which all
were able to perform. This, he says, was a temptation of the enemy
from the beginning, who seduced such innovators to rely upon their own
ideas and to consider themselves alone as good, wise and enlightened.
“If the Babylonians [this is the name he gives to the instigators of
such disturbances] force their way into the Order and if they obtain
the upper hand, that will be the end of discipline, or at least it
will be undermined; but if the spirits of Jerusalem [the city of
Peace] retain the mastery, then the religious life will flourish and
its development will not be hindered by certain defects which are, as
a matter of fact, unavoidable in this life.” These words are found
in a book written by the clear-sighted and zealous Augustinian and
published at Erfurt the year before Luther begged for admittance at
the gate of the Augustinian monastery of that town.[714] The monk of
liberal views was already on the point of becoming to his Order one of
the “Babylonians” above referred to.
Luther wished to introduce into the religious life the confused ideas
begotten of his mysticism, at the expense of the observances which all
were bound to fulfil. In this connection it should not be forgotten
that Tauler, the teacher whom Luther so much admired, had shown that
religious obedience if exercised in the right spirit was capable, by
the observance of the Rule in small matters, of leading to greater
perfection than could be arrived at by the performance of great works
or by contemplation when these were self-chosen. Luther must have been
acquainted with the instructive story which Tauler relates and which
was often told in conventual houses, of the Child Jesus and the nun.
The Divine Child appears to her during her meditation, but, on being
suddenly called away to perform some allotted task and obeying the
summons, as a reward she finds on her return the Divine Child wearing
a still more benign and friendly countenance, and her visitor is also
at pains to point out to her that the humble task for which she had
left Him, pleases Him better than the meditation in which she had been
engaged when He first appeared to her.[715]
Teachers of Tauler’s stamp inculcated on monks and laymen alike the
highest esteem for small and insignificant tasks when performed in
compliance with obedience to the duties of one’s state, whatever it
might be. It was unfair to the religious life and at the same time
to true Christian mysticism when Luther at a later date, after his
estrangement from the Order, in emphasising the works which please God
in the secular life, saw fit to speak as though this view had hitherto
been unknown.
Tauler had summed up the doctrine already well known in earlier ages
in the beautiful words: “When the most trivial work is performed in
real and simple obedience, such a work of an obedient man is nobler
and better and more pleasing to God and is more profitable and
meritorious than all the great works which he may do here below of
his own choice.”[716] Every artisan and peasant is able, according to
Tauler, to serve God in perfect love in his humble calling; he need
not neglect his work to tread the paths of sublime charity and lofty
prayer. The mystic illustrates this also by a little anecdote: “I know
one who is a very great friend of God and who has been all his days a
farm-labourer, for more than two score years. He once asked our Lord
whether he should leave his calling and go and sit in the churches.
But the Lord said No, and that he was to earn his bread with the sweat
of his brow and thus honour His true and noble Blood. Every man must
choose some suitable time by day or by night during which he may go to
the root of things, each one as best he can.”[717]
Luther, during the time of his crisis, was not only a monk of
dangerously wide views, but he was also inclined to take liberties in
practice.
There is a great dearth of information with regard to the way in which
Luther practised at that time the virtues of the religious life, and
from his own statements we do not learn much. He complains, in 1516,
to his friend Leiffer, the Erfurt Augustinian: “I am sure and know
from my own experience, from yours too, and, in fact, from the general
experience of all whom I have seen troubled, that it is merely the
false wisdom of our own ideas which is the origin and root of our
disquietude. For our eye is evil, and, to speak only of myself, into
what painful misery has it brought me and still continues to bring
me.”[718]
Luther, whose capacity for work was enormous, flung himself into
the employments which pressed upon him. He reserved little time for
self-examination and for cultivating his spiritual life. In addition
to his lectures, his studies, the direction of the younger monks, his
sermons, whether at the monastery or in the parish church, and the
heavy correspondence which devolved on him as Vicar, he also undertook
various other voluntary labours. Frequently he had several sermons to
preach on the same day, and with his correspondence he was scarcely
able to cope. This was merely a prelude to what was to come. During the
first years after his public apostasy he himself kept four printing
presses at work, and besides this had a vast amount of other business
to attend to. His powers of work were indeed amazing.
In 1516 in a letter he tells his friend Lang of his engagements. “I
really ought to have two secretaries or chancellors. I do hardly
anything all day but write letters.... I am at the same time preacher
to the monastery, have to preach in the refectory and am even expected
to preach daily in the parish church. I am Regent of the Studium [i.e.
of the younger monks] and Vicar, that is to say Prior eleven times
over [i.e. of the eleven houses under his supervision]; I have to
provide for the delivery of fish from the Leitzkau pond and to manage
the litigation of the Herzberg fellows [the monks] at Torgau; I am
lecturing on Paul, compiling an exposition of the Psalter and, as I
said before, writing letters most of the time.”
“It is seldom,” he adds, “that I have time for the recitation of the
Divine Office or to celebrate [Mass], and then, too, I have my peculiar
temptations from the flesh, the world and the devil.”[719]
Thus at the time he was constantly omitting Office in Choir, the
Breviary and the celebration of Mass, or performing these sacred duties
in the greatest haste in order to get back to his business. We must
dwell a little on this confession, as it represents the only definite
information we have with regard to his spiritual life. If, as he says,
he had strong temptations to bewail, it should have been his first
care to strengthen his soul by spiritual exercises and to implore
God’s assistance in the Holy Mass and by diligence in Choir. Daily
celebration of Mass had been earnestly recommended by teachers of the
spiritual life to all priests, more particularly to those belonging to
religious Orders. The punctual recitation of the canonical Hours, i.e.
of the Breviary, was enjoined as a most serious duty not merely by
the laws of the Church, but also by the constitutions of the Augustine
Congregation. The latter declared that no excuse could be alleged for
the omission, and that whoever neglected the canonical Hours was to be
considered as a schismatic. It is incomprehensible how Luther could
dispense himself from both these obligations by alleging his want of
time, as, according to his Rule, spiritual exercises especially in the
case of a Superior, took precedence of all other duties, and it was for
him to give an example to others in the punctual performance of the
same.
There was probably another reason for his omitting to celebrate Mass.
He felt a repugnance for the Holy Sacrifice, perhaps on account of his
frequent fits of anxiety. He says, at a later date, that he never took
pleasure in saying Mass when a monk; this statement, however, cannot be
taken to include the very earliest period of his priestly life, when
the good effects of his novitiate were still apparent, for one reason
because this would not agree with the enthusiasm of his letter of
invitation to his first Mass.
Religious services generally, he says in 1515-16 to the young monks,
with a boldness which he takes little pains to conceal, “are in fact
to-day more a hindrance than a help” to true piety. Speaking of the
manner of their performance he says with manifest exaggeration, that
it is such as to be no longer prayer. “We only insult God more when we
recite them.... We acquire a false security of conscience as though
we had really prayed, and that is a terrible danger!”[720] Then he
goes on to explain “Almost all follow their calling at the present
day with distaste and without love, and those who are zealous place
their trust in it and merely crucify their conscience.” He speaks
of the “superstitious exercises of piety” which are performed from
gross ignorance, and sets up as the ideal, that each one should be at
liberty to decide what he will undertake in the way of priestly or
monastic observances, among which he enumerates expressly “celibacy,
the tonsure, the habit and the recitation of the Breviary.”[721]
We see from this that he was not much attached even to the actual
obligations of his profession, and we may fairly surmise that such
a disposition had not come upon him suddenly; these were rather the
moral accompaniments of the change in his theological views and
really date from an earlier period. We can also recognise in them the
practical results of his strong opposition to the Observantines of the
Order, which grew into an antagonism to all zeal in the religious
life and in the service of God, and even to the observance of the
duties, great or small, of one’s state of life.
With his mystical idealism he demands, on the other hand, what is
contrary to reason and impossible of attainment. Prayer, according
to him, if rightly performed, is the “most strenuous work and calls
for the greatest energy”; “the spirit must be raised to God by the
employment of constant violence”; this must be done “with fear
and trembling,” because the biblical precept says: “work out your
salvation with fear and trembling”; in short, it is, he declares,
“the most difficult and most tedious affair” (“_difficillima et
tædiosissima_”).[722] Only then is it not so “when the Spirit of God
takes us beneath His wings and carries us, or when misfortune forces
us to pray from our hearts.”
He can describe graphically the lukewarmness and distractions which
accompany the recitation of the Divine Office, and can do so from
experience if we may trust what he says in 1535 of himself: “I have in
my day spent much time in the recitation of the canonical Hours, and
often the Psalm or Hour was ended before I knew whether I was at the
beginning or in the middle of it.”[723]
The ironical description which he gives in 1516 of those who pray
with a good intention runs as follows:[724] “They form their good
intention and make a virtue of necessity. But the devil laughs at them
behind their backs and says: ‘put on your best clothes, Kitty, we are
going to have company.’[725] They get up and go into the choir and
say to themselves [under the impression that they are doing something
praiseworthy]: ‘See, little owl, how fine you are, surely you are
growing peacock’s feathers!’[726] But I know you are like the ass
in the fable, otherwise I should have taken you for lions, you roar
so; but though you have got into a lion’s skin, I know you by your
ears! Soon, whilst they are praying, weariness comes over them, they
count up the pages still to be gone through, and look at the number
of verses to see if they are nearly at the end. Then they console
themselves [for their tepidity] with their Scotus, who teaches that
a virtual intention suffices and an actual intention is unnecessary.
But the devil says to them: ‘excellent, quite right, be at peace and
secure!’ Thus we become,” so the amusing description concludes, “a
laughing-stock to our enemy.”
He thinks he has found a way out of the dualism which formerly
tormented him, and has become more independent. But what has he found
to replace it? Merely fallacies, the inadequacy and inconsistency
of which are hidden from him by his egotism and self-deception.
“This good intention,” he says of the teaching of Scotus—which was
perfectly correct, though liable to be misunderstood, as it certainly
was by Luther—“is not so easy and under our own control, as Scotus
would have it to our undoing; as though we possessed free will to
make good intentions whenever we wish! That is a very dangerous and
widespread fallacy, which leads us to carelessness and to snore in
false security.” We must, on the contrary, he continues, prostrate in
our cell, implore this intention of God’s mercy with all our might
and wait for it, instead of presumptuously producing it from within
ourselves; and in the same way after doing any good works we must not
examine whether we have acted wickedly by deed or omission (“_neque
quid mali fecimus aut omisimus_”), but with what interior fervour and
gladness of heart we have performed the action.[727]
As the recitation of the Hours in the monastery was one of the duties
of the day in the same way as the recitation of the Breviary and
Office in Choir is to-day, i.e. an obligation which expired when the
day was over, it is rather surprising to hear it said of Luther that,
at a later period, “after the rise of the Evangel [i.e. actually
during his conflict with the Church], he frequently shut himself up in
his cell at the end of the week and recited, fasting, all the prayers
he had omitted, until his head swam and he became for weeks incapable
of working or hearing.” This strange tale about Luther reads rather
differently in Melanchthon’s version which he reports having had
from Luther himself: “At the commencement it was Luther’s custom on
the days on which he was not obliged to preach to spend a whole day
in repeating the Hours seven times over [i.e. for the whole week],
getting up at 2 a.m. for that purpose. But then Amsdorf said to him:
‘If it is a sin to omit the Breviary, then you sinned when you omitted
it. But if it is not a sin, then why torment yourself now?’ Then when
his work increased still more he threw away the Breviary.”[728] The
latter statement may indeed be true, as Luther himself says in his
Table-Talk: “Our Lord God tore me away by force ‘_ab horis canonicis
an. 1520_’ [?] when I was already writing much.” In this same passage
he again mentions how he recited the whole of the Office for the
seven days of the week on the Saturday and adds the historic comment,
that, owing to his fatigue from the Saturday fast and consequent
sleeplessness, they had been obliged to dose him with “Dr. Esch’s
haustum soporiferum.”[729] It is therefore quite possible that his
statements as to the circumstances under which he dispensed himself
from the Breviary may contain some truth; all the facts point to the
violent though confused struggle going on in the young Monk’s mind.
Yet Luther speaks ably enough in 1517 of the urgent necessity of
spiritual exercises, more particularly meditation on the Scriptures,
to which the recitation of the Office in Choir was an introduction:
“As we are attacked by countless distractions from without, impeded by
cares and engrossed by business, and as all this leads us away from
purity of heart, only one remedy remains for us, viz. with great zeal
to ‘exhort each other’ (Heb. iii. 13), rouse our slumbering spirit
by the Word of God, reading the same continually, and hearing it as
the Apostle exhorts.” Not long after he is, however, compelled to
write: “I know right well that I do not live in accordance with my
teaching.”[730]
The exertions which his feverish activity entailed avenged themselves
on his health. He became so thin that one could count his ribs, as
the saying is. His incessant inward anxieties also did their part in
undermining his constitution.
The outward appearance of the Monk was specially remarkable on account
of the brilliancy of his deep-set eyes, to which Pollich, his professor
at the University of Wittenberg, had already drawn attention (p. 86).
The impression which this remarkable look, which always remained with
him, made on others, was very varied. His subsequent friends and
followers found in his eyes something grand and noble, something of the
eagle, while, on the other hand, some remarks made by his opponents on
the uncanny effect of his magic glance will be mentioned later. Anger
intensified this look, and the strange power which Luther exerted over
those who opposed him, drew many under the spell of his influence and
worked upon them like a kind of suggestion.[731]
Many remarked with concern on the youthful Luther’s too great
self-sufficiency.
His then pupil Johann Oldecop describes him as “a man of sense,”
but “proud by nature.” “He began to be still more haughty,” Oldecop
observes, when speaking of the incipient schism.[732] He will have it
that at the University. Luther had always shown himself quarrelsome and
disputatious. Oldecop could never forget that Luther, his professor,
never held a disputation which did not end in strife and quarrels.[733]
Luther’s close connection with Johann Lang, the Augustinian and rather
freethinking Humanist, was also remarked upon, he says. We know from
other sources that Lang encouraged Luther in his peculiar ideas,
especially in his mysticism and in his contempt for the theology of the
schools.
3. Luther’s Ultra-Spiritualism and calls for Reform. Is
Self-improvement possible? Penance
It is clear from the above, that the passionate zeal for reform which
inspired the Augustinian proceeded chiefly from his pseudo-mysticism.
It would, however, be incorrect to attribute all this zeal simply to
mysticism, but neither would it be in accordance with the facts of
history were we to deny the connection between his repeated complaints
and calls for reform and his spiritualistic ideas.
It may be worth while to listen here to what the youthful Luther had to
say of the reforming notions which already inspired him, for it opens
up a wide horizon against which his psychology stands out in clear
relief. Plans so far-reaching can only have been the result of the
exaggerated and one-sided spiritualistic point of view, from which he
regarded the perversity of the world at large. The following passages
show what were the motives which urged him on. He declared it to be the
duty of ecclesiastical superiors to show more indulgence to those who
scorn their position and “the rights and privileges of the Church,”
and this from the motive of mystical resignation; theologians ought to
teach, in place of their traditional science, how we are “humbly to
sigh after grace”; philosophy must for the future be silent because it
is nothing but “the wisdom of the flesh”; lay authorities, moreover,
who now begin to see through our wickedness, ought to seize upon the
temporalities of the Church in order that she may be set free to devote
herself entirely to the interior Christian life. Luther’s view of the
position and actual character of the worldly powers at that time was
absolutely untrue to life, and one that could have been cherished only
by a mystic looking out on the world from the narrow walls of his cell.
A strange self-sufficiency, of which he himself appears to have been
utterly unaware, and which is therefore all the more curious, was at
the root of these ideas.
Such a tone unmistakably pervades the projects of reform expressed not
only in the Commentary on Romans, but also in his exposition of the
Psalms; but a comparison of these two works shows the increased stress
which Luther lays upon his own opinion in the later work, and the still
greater inconsideration with which he rejects everything which clashes
with his views, a fact which proves that Luther was progressing. In his
Commentary on Romans he appeals formally to the “apostolic authority”
of his Doctor’s degree, when giving vent to the most unheard-of
vituperation of the highest powers, ecclesiastical and lay. He declares
it to be his duty to reprove what he finds amiss in all, and almost
at the same moment denounces the bishops who defend the rights of the
Church as “_Pharaonici_, _Sathanici_, _Behemotici_”; so convinced is he
that their supposed abuse of power entitles him to reprove them.[734]
The language in which the mystic unhesitatingly passes the severest
possible judgments could scarcely be stronger.
“We have fallen under a Jewish bondage ... our preachers have
concealed from the people the truth regarding the right way of
worshipping God, and the Apostles must needs come again to preach to
us.”[735]
“When shall we at last listen to reason,” he cries,[736] “and
understand that we must spend our valuable time more profitably [than
in the study of philosophy]? ‘We are ignorant of what is necessary,’
thus we should complain with Seneca, ‘because we merely learn what
is superfluous.’ We remain ignorant of what might be of use to us
while we busy ourselves with what is worse than worthless.”[737] He
speaks thus because others were not alive to the state of things, or
had not the courage to open their mouths: “Perhaps they would not be
believed, but I have spent years in these studies, have seen and heard
much and know that they are vain and perverse” (“_studium vanitatis
et perditionis_”). Therefore let us rise and destroy them! “We must
learn to know Jesus Christ, and Him Crucified.... Is it not a strange
madness to praise and belaud philosophy, a doctrine which is merely
the perverse wisdom of the flesh advocated by so-called wise men and
theologians!”
“Those fools” who do not even know what grace is.... “Who can
bear with their blasphemous ideas?” “They do not know what sin or
remission of sin is.” “Our theologians see sins only in works, and do
not teach us how to change our minds and how to implore grace with
humble sighing.... They make proud men, men who after due performance
of their works look on themselves as righteous, and seek not to
fight against their passions. That is the reason why Confession
is of so little use in the Church and why backsliding occurs so
frequently.”[738]
His hatred for theology leads him to make the following false and
bitter charges: “The Scholastics teach that it is only necessary to
fulfil the law outwardly, in deed, not with the heart; they do not
even show how this is to be done, and thus the faithful are left in
the impossibility of doing good, because they will never be able
to fulfil the commandments unless they do so with the heart. These
teachers do not even stretch out a finger towards the fulfilment of
the law, I mean, they do not make its fulfilment depend even in the
slightest on the heart, but merely on outward acts. Hence they become
vain and proud.”[739] An esteemed Protestant historian of dogma, in a
recent work, speaks of Luther’s knowledge of Scholasticism as follows:
“Luther does not appear to have been acquainted with the Schoolmen
of the Middle Ages, more especially Thomas of Aquin. About this
statement, which Denifle constantly repeats, there seems to me to be
no doubt.”[740]
The Wittenberg Professor makes use of scathing reproofs such as had
never before been heard. A good deal of his criticism was justifiable,
and he was certainly not wrong in applying it judiciously in his own
special domain to much that had hitherto been accepted as true. It
is refreshing to those engaged in historical research to note how he
cuts himself adrift from the legends of mediæval hagiography, and
how he writes on one occasion requesting Spalatin to copy out some
particulars for him from Jerome’s book which he might use for a sermon
on St. Bartholomew, “for the fables and lies of the ‘_Catalogus_’
and ‘_Legenda aurea_’ make my gorge rise.”[741] Criticism of
ecclesiastical conditions was also quite permissible when made in the
right way and in the proper quarters; examples of such criticism were
not wanting among the saintly mediæval reformers, and they might have
been acceptable to the authorities of the Church, or, at any rate,
could not have been repudiated by them.
But when Luther is dealing with the faults of the clergy, secular
or regular, he looks at everything with a jaundiced eye as being
saturated with arrogance, avarice and every vice, and seems to fancy
all have become traitors to God’s cause. His love of exaggeration and
his want of charity override everything, nor do these faults disappear
with advancing years, but become still more marked. Never was there
an eye more keen to detect the faults of others, never a tongue more
ready to amplify them. And yet he, who does not scruple to support his
fierce and passionate denunciations by the coarsest and most unfair
generalisations, is himself the first to admit in his Commentary on
Romans that: “There are fools who put the fault they have to find
with a priest or religious to the account of all and then abuse them
all with bitterness, forgetting that they themselves are full of
imperfections.”[742]
He announces to his hearers in 1516 that, “to-day the clergy are
enveloped in thick darkness”; “it troubles no one that all the vices
prevail among the faithful, pride, impurity, avarice, quarrelling,
anger, ingratitude” and every other vice; “these things you may do as
much as you like so long as you respect the rights and liberties of
the Church! but if you but touch these, then you are no longer a true
son and friend of the Church.” The clergy, he continues, have received
many possessions and liberties from the secular princes, but now they
are quarrelling with their patrons and insisting on their exemptions:
“Bad, godless men strut about with the gifts of their benefactors and
think they are doing enough when they mutter a few prayers on their
behalf,” “and yet Paul when describing the priest and his duties
never even mentioned prayer[!]. But what he did mention, that no one
complies with to-day.... They are priests only in appearance....
Where do you find one who carries out the intention of the Founders?
Therefore they deserve that what they have received [from the princes]
should be taken away from them again.”[743]
“As a matter of fact,” the mystic continues, quite manifestly
conveying a hint to the secular authorities, “it were better, and
assuredly safer, if the temporalities of the clergy were placed under
the control of the worldly authorities ... then they would at least be
obliged to stand in awe of others and would be more cautious in all
matters.”
“Up to now the laity have been too unlettered, and from ignorance have
allowed themselves to be led, though full of complaints and bitterness
against the clergy. But now they are beginning to be aware of the
secret of our iniquity (‘_nosse mysteria iniquitatis nostræ_’) and
to examine into our duties.... In addition to this, it seems to me
that the secular authorities fulfil their obligations better than our
ecclesiastical rulers. They rigorously punish theft and murder, at
least when the lawyers do not intervene with their artfulness. The
Church authorities, on the other hand, only proceed against those
who infringe their liberties, possessions and rights, and are filled
with nothing but pomp, avarice, immorality and disputatiousness.” In
the course of this strong outburst, which gives us an insight into
the working of his mind, he goes on to brand the higher clergy as
“whited sepulchres” and as the “most godless breakers of the law,”
who purposely promote only stupid fellows to the priesthood, or even
to the most exalted offices. Here the intemperance of his language is
already that of his later days, though a year was yet to elapse before
he published his Indulgence theses.
Strictures on the use of Indulgences occur, however, among his
criticisms dating from this time. He attacks the “unlearned preachers”
whose promises of Indulgences in return for donations for the building
of churches, or similar pious objects, attract the people, though the
latter are “altogether careless about fulfilling the duties of their
calling.” He lays to the charge of the Pope and the Bishops not merely
the real abuses in the preaching of Indulgences—as though they had
been aware of them all—but also the making of Indulgences to depend
on offerings; all the Bishops are, however, on the path to hell, and
intent on seducing the people from the true service of God.[744]
He had, as we have seen, praised the worldly authorities at the
expense of the ecclesiastical dignitaries, and now we find him
introducing into his theological lectures a strange eulogy of
Frederick, his Elector: “You, Prince Frederick, are yet to be guided
by a good angel, therefore be on the watch. How greatly have you
already been tried by injustice, and how rightly might you have
taken up arms! You have suffered, you remained peaceable. I wonder,
were you calling to mind your sins, and wishing thereby to confess
them and do penance?” To this the mystic himself prudently replies:
“I know not,” and adds: “Perhaps it was merely the fear of possibly
getting the worse.”[745] The exhortations he sees fit to address
to his sovereign are directed not so much against selfishness or
other faults, but rather against his supposed excessive piety; he is
blamed for frequently postponing audiences on the plea that he must
be present at prayers or Divine Service, and yet, Luther thinks, “we
ought to be resigned and indifferent to go wherever the Lord calls
us and not attach ourselves obstinately to anything”;[746] another
complaint was that the Elector was too much given to imitating the
Bishop in the collecting of relics. The Elector’s love for rare relics
was indeed notorious, and, as a matter of fact, Luther himself was of
service to the Elector in this very matter at the time when Staupitz
was negotiating for him at St. Ursula’s in Cologne. We hear of this
in a letter, in which Luther also sends his thanks to the Elector for
his present of a new cowl (_cucullus_) “of really princely cloth.”[747]
When, after his second course of lectures on the Psalms, Luther
commenced the publishing of an amended edition he dedicated this, his
first effort in biblical exegesis, to the Elector, with a preface in
the form of a panegyric couched in the most fulsome language.[748]
The Elector, Luther tells him, possessed all the qualities of a good
ruler in no common degree; his love of learning not only rendered him
immortal himself, but conferred this quality on all those who were
permitted to belaud him. Under his rule “pure theology triumphed”;
secular rulers had, by promoting learning, taken precedence of
spiritual dignitaries, “for the Church’s exuberant riches and her
powerful influence did not avail her much.”[749] Would that there were
other such temporal princes as Frederick, who, as Staupitz had said,
was able to discourse on Holy Scripture as learnedly and acutely as
the Pope himself (“_vel sanctissimum et summum pontificem deceret_”);
whose utterance bore witness to the “sagacity of his judgment,” filled
Luther with love for such a sovereign and made him strong in the
defence of Holy Scripture against all Scotists, Thomists, Albertists
and Moderns (Nominalists). It was only on account of his opponents,
who scoffed at the Bible and wished to replace God’s Word by their
own, that he had been induced to quit his beloved solitude and
retirement; indeed, he felt quite unworthy to wear the Doctor’s cap
which the Prince had so kindly bought for him,[750] and merely did so
from obedience; the Prince had been more careful for him than he was
for himself, had upheld him in his professorship and not allowed him
to suffer expulsion, however much he (Luther) had desired to suffer
this at the hands of his enemies.
The clever eulogist appears soon to have gained for himself great
favour at Court. Barely two months after the letter spoken of, he
requests of the sovereign, in the name of his priory, permission “for
the monks to build a chamber outside the walls in the moat.” The
intention was to erect a privy in the town moat for the use of the
monastery, which was situated close to the walls. At the same time he
begs that a black _cappa_ (habit) which had been promised him in 1516
or 1517 might now be bestowed upon him, and refers to his dedication
of the Psalter as perhaps deserving some such reward; he also asks
the Prince to include in his gift a white cloak, which he might
perchance have merited by the “Apostle,” i.e. by his Commentary on
the Epistle of St. Paul to the Galatians, upon which he was at that
time engaged.[751]
Such little touches often reveal the spiritual atmosphere in which
a man moves, and by which he is influenced, quite as well as more
important matters.
The frightful accusations which Luther brings forward in his Commentary
on Romans against the state of morals in Rome belong to a somewhat
earlier period; their tone is such as to lead one to fear the worst for
the author’s submission to the highest authorities in the Church. The
language St. Bernard employed, though he too reproved the immorality of
the Papal residence, is quite different in tone from the arrogant words
of the Wittenberg Doctor; in the former the most grievous reproofs
are mitigated by the warm esteem the saint displays for authority as
such, and by filial affection for the Church; in the latter there is
nothing but bitterness. Such outbursts of spite confirm our previous
observations concerning the results of Luther’s journey to Rome. His
indignation with what he had seen or heard during his visit to Rome of
the moral conditions under Alexander VI and Julius II became gradually
more apparent.
“At Rome,” he exclaims, “they no longer recognise any restrictions
on their liberty, everything is set aside by means of dispensations.
They have arrogated to themselves freedom of the flesh in every
particular.”[752]
“Rome to-day has sunk back to its old heathen state,” where, as Paul
says, licentiousness prevailed.[753]
“To-day Rome drags the whole world with her into the puddle; she far
exceeds in unbridled luxury even ancient Rome, and stands in even
greater need of apostolic messengers from God than she did at the
beginning. My only hope is that these may come to her in friendly guise
and not to execute stern justice.”[754]
“We may well be amazed at the thick darkness of these times.” “It
matters nothing to the Church authorities though you be steeped in
all the vices on the list drawn up by Paul (2 Tim. iii. 2 ff.); the
sins may cry to Heaven for vengeance, but that does not matter, you
are still looked upon as the most devout of Christians so long as
you respect the rights and liberties of the Church.”[755] “We have
mere phantom priests, who are well supported by phantom revenues. The
priests are such only in name.”[756] “Those who ought to keep order are
themselves the most godless transgressors,”[757] etc.
Pride, everywhere, is, he thinks, the main cause of the corruption of
the times. The humility of Christ is forgotten, and each one wants to
exalt himself and amend others instead of himself.
The worst kind of pride, he constantly declares, is that which exalts
its own good works in the sight of God. This spiritual overbearing is
the reason why the world is filled with the heresy of the Pelagians;
the sovereign efficacy of grace is not recognised.[758] Almost the
whole Church is overturned because men have put their trust in the
deceptive doctrines of the Schoolmen, which are opposed to grace, “for
owing to this, all commit sin with impunity ... and have lost all sense
of fear.”[759]
In 1514 we hear Luther asserting, that of the three vices, sensuality,
anger and pride, pride was the most difficult to overcome, a warning
which his own experience had confirmed all too surely. “This vice,” he
complains, “arises even from victory over the other vices.”[760] One
wonders whether he is speaking here from personal experience.
We may ask a similar question with regard to the two other faults
mentioned by him, anger and sensuality. Putting aside anger, the
effects of which upon himself he frequently admits, we find that he
also gives an answer concerning the third temptation. He writes in 1519
of the experiences of his earlier years with regard to sensuality: “It
is a shameful temptation, I have had experience of it. You yourselves
are, I fancy, not ignorant of it. Oh, I know it well, when the devil
comes and tempts us and excites the flesh. Therefore let a man consider
well and prove himself whether he is able to live in chastity, for when
one is on heat, I know well what it is, and when temptation then comes
upon a man he is already blind,” etc.[761]
In his later years he also refers to the “very numerous temptations”
which he underwent at the monastery, and of which he complained to
his confessor; the more he fought against them, the stronger they
became.[762]
What he says of falling into sin is very instructive from the
psychological point of view. It serves as a stepping-stone to his views
on penance.
“Even to-day,” he writes in his Commentary on Romans where he deals
with hardened sinners, “God allows men to be tempted by the devil,
the world and the flesh until they are in despair, choosing thus to
humble His elect and lead them to put their trust in Him alone without
presuming upon their own will and works. Yet He often, especially in
our day, incites the devil to plunge His elect into dreadful sins
beneath which they languish, or at least allows the devil ever to
hinder their good resolutions, making them do the contrary of what
they wish to do, so that it becomes plain to them that it is not they
who will or perform what is good. And yet by means of all this God
leads them against their expectations [to His grace] and sets them
free while they are sighing because they desire and do so much that is
evil, and are unable to desire and do the good they would. Yea, it is
thus that God manifests His strength and that His name is magnified
over the whole earth.”[763] This passage is scored in the margin of
the original MS. Was it his intention to include himself among those
who are always hindered by the devil from doing what is good, or
even among those whom he plunges into dreadful sins, who despair and
are then at last led by God to His grace and become promoters of the
glory of His name? A certain resemblance which this description bears
to other passages in which he recounts his temptations, despair and
supposed deliverance and election makes this seem possible, though it
is by no means certain.
We are more inclined to apply to him a remarkable description, which
he gives in another passage of the Commentary on Romans, of the
devil’s action on a man whom he wishes to lead astray. Man’s fall
under the bondage of sin and his resuscitation by grace engage his
attention often and with a singular intensity, but generally speaking
he makes no mention of contrition or satisfaction, but only of a
covering over with the righteousness of Christ. The description in
question, given in eloquent language, is based on the well-known
passage in Romans iii. 28: “We account a man to be justified by
faith without the works of the law.” This is the verse in which
Luther later, in his translation, interpolated the word “alone” (“by
faith alone”), but on which he does not as yet bestow any particular
attention. On the contrary, he commences his exposition of this text
with the statement: “Righteousness must, indeed, be sought by works,
but these are not the works of the law because they are performed by
grace and in faith.”[764]
He goes on to mention four classes of men who are led away by the
devil in their esteem and practice of works.[765] The first he draws
away from all good works and entangles in manifest sin. The second,
who think themselves righteous, he makes tepid and careless. The
third, also righteous in their own eyes, he renders over-zealous
and superstitious, so that they set themselves up as a class apart
and despise others; they have been mentioned over and over again in
the above pages, in recounting his warfare with the Observants, the
“Spirituals,” the proud self-righteous, etc.
The fourth and last class might possibly include himself.
“The fourth class consists of those who, at the instigation of
the devil, desire to be free from any sin, pure and holy. But as
they, nevertheless, feel that they commit sin and that all they do
is tainted with evil, the devil terrifies them to such an extent
with fear of the judgments of God and scruples of conscience that
they almost despair. He is acquainted with each one’s disposition
and tempts him accordingly. As they are zealous in the pursuit of
righteousness the devil is unable to turn them aside from it so
readily. Therefore he sets himself to fill them with enthusiasm,
so that they wish to free themselves too speedily from all trace
of concupiscence. This they are unable to do, and consequently he
succeeds in making them sad, downcast and faint-hearted, yea, even in
causing them unendurable anxiety of conscience and despair.”
When prescribing the remedy, he begins to use the first person plural.
“Therefore there is nothing for us to do but to make the best of
things and to remain in sin. We must sigh to be set free, hoping in
God’s mercy. When a man desires to be cured he may, if in too great a
hurry, have a worse relapse. His cure can only take place slowly and
many weaknesses must be borne with during convalescence. It is enough
that sin be displeasing, though it cannot be altogether expelled. For
Christ bears everything, if only it is displeasing to us; His are the
sins not ours, and, here below, His righteousness is our property.”
We may take that portion of the description where the first person is
used as an account of his own state. Here he is describing his own
practice. This passage, which in itself admits of a good interpretation
and might be made use of by a Catholic ascetic, must be read in
connection with Luther’s doctrine that concupiscence is sin. Looking
at it in this light, the sense in which he understands displeasure
with sin becomes clear, also why, in view of the ineradicable nature
of concupiscence, he is willing to console himself with the idea
that “Christ bears it all.” His dislike of concupiscence is entirely
different from contrition for sin. The young Monk frequently felt
himself oppressed by an aversion for concupiscence, but of contrition
for sin he scarcely ever speaks, or only in such a way as to raise
serious doubts with regard to his idea of it and the manner in which
he personally manifested it, as the passages about to be quoted will
show. The practice of making Christ’s righteousness our own, saying,
“His are the sins,” etc., he does not recommend merely in the case of
concupiscence, but also in that of actual sins; it should, however, be
noted that the latter may quite well be displeasing to us without there
being any contrition in the theological sense, particularly without
there being perfect contrition.
Luther is here describing the remedy which he himself applies in place
of real penance, wholesome contrition and compunction. It is to replace
all the good resolutions which strengthen and fortify the will, and all
penitential works done in satisfaction for the guilt of sin, and this
remedy he begins to recommend to others.
His contempt for good works, for zeal in the religious life and for any
efforts at overcoming self encourage him in these views. His new ideas
as to man’s inability to do anything that is good, as to his want of
free will to fight against concupiscence and the sovereign efficacy of
grace and absolute predestination, all incline him to the easy road of
imputation; finally, he caps his system by persuading himself that only
by his new discoveries, which, moreover, are borne out by St. Paul’s
Epistle to the Romans, can Christ receive the honour which is His due
and His Gospel come into its rights. Such was Luther’s train of thought.
* * * * *
The characteristic position which Luther assumed in his early days with
regard to penance and the motive of fear, must be more closely examined
in order to complete the above account.
The Monk frankly admits, not once but often, that inward contrition
for sin was something foreign, almost unknown, to him. The statements
he makes concerning his confessions weigh heavily in the scale when we
come to consider the question of his spiritual life.
In a passage of his Commentary on the Psalms where he would in the
ordinary course have been obliged to speak of contrition he refrains
from doing so on the plea that he has had no experience of it, and
refers his hearers to the Confessions of St. Augustine.[766]
He admits in his Commentary on Romans that he had struggled with
himself (“_ita mecum pugnavi_”) because he could not believe that
contrition and confession really cleansed him from sin, as he had
always been conscious of sin, viz. concupiscence, still continuing
within him.[767]
In 1518 he writes: because the evil inclination to sin always remains
in man “there are none, or at least very few, in the whole world
who have perfect contrition, and I certainly admit this in my own
case.”[768]
According to the statements he made in later years concerning his
fruitless attempts to awaken contrition within himself, and concerning
his relations with his confessor, he must have taken the wrong road at
an early period in his religious life; the more earnestly he sought
to conceive contrition, he says, the greater was his trouble of mind
and remorse of conscience. “I was unable to accept (‘_non poteram
admittere_’) the absolutions and consolations of my confessors, for I
thought to myself, who knows whether I can put faith in these words
of comfort?”[769] This sentence occurs in the passage mentioned
above, where he states how he had been tranquilised by the repeated
exhortations of his preceptor to recall God’s command and cultivate
the virtue of hope.[770] It is true he here ascribes the original
cause of his trouble of mind to the teaching he had received “in the
schools, which had such a bad effect on him that he could not endure
to hear the word joy mentioned.” It is clear that he is here speaking
with an ulterior purpose, namely, with a view to supporting his
polemic against the Catholic Church (“_meo exemplo et periculo moniti
discite!_”). But it is highly probable that his idea of concupiscence
as sin tended to confuse his conception of contrition, and made
confession and contrition painful to him.
At a later date he opposed the Catholic doctrine of contrition on
account of his aversion to the motive of fear of the judgments of God.
The Church had always taught that perfect contrition was that which
proceeded from a real love of God, but that contrition from a holy
fear of God was salutary because it involved a turning away from sin
and a beginning of love. Luther, however, at the very commencement of
his new teaching, was at pains to exclude fear as an inspiring motive.
He was determined to weed it out of the religious life as unworthy of
the service of God, quite unmindful of the fact that it was expressly
recommended by reason, by the Fathers of the Church and by the very
words of the Bible.
He says, for instance, in 1518 in his sermon on the Ten Commandments,
that in contrition for sin no place is to be assigned to fear.
The contrition which must be aroused is, he says, to proceed from
love alone, because that which is based on fear is always outward,
hypocritical and not lasting.[771]
In an earlier sermon he mentions the two kinds of contrition, namely,
that which, according to him, is the only true one, “out of love of
justice and of punishment,” or which, in other words, hates sin from
the love of God, and that which springs from fear, which he says is
artificial and not real, and to which he gives the nickname “gallows
grief.” The latter, he says, does not make us abhor sin, but merely
the punishment of sin, and were there no punishment for sin it would
at once cease.[772] Hence he misapprehends the nature of imperfect
contrition, for this in reality does not desire a return to sin.
He begins his tract on Penance in 1518 with the assertion, that
contrition from the motive of fear makes a man a still greater
sinner, because it does not detach the will from sin, and because
the will would return to sin so soon as there was no punishment to
be feared.[773] This contrition, he says, his opponents among the
theologians defend; they could not understand that penance is sweet
and that this sweetness leads to an abhorrence and hatred of sin.[774]
As he had banished contrition from a motive of fear, he should have
laid all the more stress upon that which springs from love. But here
he was met by a difficulty, namely, that concupiscence still exists
in man and draws him towards sin, or rather, according to Luther’s
ideas, of itself makes him a real sinner, so that no actual turning
away from sin can take place in the heart. What then was to be done?
“You must,” he says, “cast yourself by prayer into God’s hands so that
He may account your contrition as real and true.” “Christ will supply
from His own what is wanting in yours.”[775] Thus we again arrive at
imputation, at a mere outward covering over of the defect of inward
change.
If he looked upon penance and confession in this light, then, indeed,
they were not of a nature to satisfy and tranquilise him.[776] We may,
however, remark that in the time of his great crisis an earnest and
devout fear of God the Judge would have availed him more than all his
extravagant mysticism with its tendency to cast off the bonds of fear
and abolish the keeping of the law.
We shall not be wrong if we assume that the frequent states of
terror—of which the cause lay in his temperament rather than in his
will—had their part in his aversion to fear and to the idea of God’s
judgment. He felt himself impelled to escape at any cost from their
dominion.
Other passages which Luther wrote at a later date on fear and
contrition read rather differently and seem to advocate fear as a
motive. We see thereby how hard he found it to cut himself adrift from
the natural and correct view taught by theology. He declares, for
instance, later, with great emphasis, that “true penance begins with
the fear and the judgment of God.”[777]
He betrays in this, as in other points, his confusion and
inconsequence.[778]
He is utterly unfair to the Church and to her theology when he falsely
asserts that she had admitted contrition from fear alone, i.e. to the
utter exclusion of love; every kind of fear, he says maliciously, was
recognised as sufficient for receiving absolution, even that “gallows
grief” which abhorred sin solely from fear of punishment and with
the intention of returning to it if no punishment existed (_timor
serviliter servilis_, as it was subsequently termed by theologians).
This reproach did not strike home to the theologians or to the Church.
Theological and moral treatises there were in plenty, which, like the
Fathers of the Church and the mediæval Doctors, taught in express terms
the advantage of perfect contrition and exhorted the faithful to it.
Indeed, most of the popular manuals merely taught that sin must be
repented of for God’s sake, from love of God, without even mentioning
simple attrition. It was not only generally recognised and taken for
granted that the lower, imperfect contrition, i.e. that which arises
from fear, in order to be a means of forgiveness in the Sacrament of
Penance, must include a firm resolution of not returning to sin, but it
was set down as requisite that this so-called “servile” fear (_timor
servilis_) must be coupled with a commencement of love of God, or else
be of such a nature as to lead up to it. It is sufficient to open the
works in circulation in the theological schools at the turn of the
fifteenth and sixteenth centuries to see at what length and with what
care these questions were discussed. It cannot, however, be denied that
some few of the later scholastic theologians—among them, significantly
enough, Johann Paltz, preceptor in the Augustinian monastery at Erfurt
at the time Luther entered—did not express themselves clearly, and
that some other theologians defended views which were not correct.[779]
But whether such theologians exerted a positive or negative influence
on Luther we do not know. One thing is certain, however, namely, that
he was influenced chiefly by his own desire to free himself from what
he looked upon as an oppressive yoke and that his self-sufficiency
and ignorance speedily led him to fancy it his duty to confront the
theology of previous ages with his epoch-making discovery regarding the
doctrine of fear and penance.
This process is confirmed by a letter of his addressed to Staupitz,
his esteemed Superior, at a time when the commotion caused by his
Indulgence theses was in full swing, which gives us a picture of his
mental state.[780] In it he says:
“The word which I hated most in all the Scriptures was the word
penance. Nevertheless [when performing penance and going to
confession], I played the hypocrite bravely before God, attempting
to wring out of myself an imaginary and artificial love.” He
also grumbles here about the “works of penance and the insipid
satisfactions and the wearisome confession”; such a prominent position
ought not to be assigned to them; the ordinary instructions and
the _modus confitendi_ contained nothing but the most oppressive
tyranny of conscience. He had always felt this, and in his trouble
it had been to him like a ray from heaven when Staupitz once told
him: “True penance is that only which begins with the love of God
and of justice, and what the instructions represent as the last and
crown of all is rather the commencement and the starting-point of
penance, namely, love.” This precious truth he had, on examination,
found to be absolutely confirmed by Holy Scripture (“_s. scripturæ
verba undique mihi colludebant_”)—Luther had a curious knack of
finding in Scripture everything he wanted—even the Greek term for
penance, metanoia, led up to the same conclusion, whereas the Latin
“_pœnitentiam agere_” implied effort and was therefore misleading.
Thus Staupitz’s words had turned the bitter taste of the word penance
into sweetness for him. “God’s commandments always become sweet to us
when we do not merely content ourselves with reading them in books; we
must learn to understand them in the wounds of our Sweetest Saviour.”
The Monk was well aware that such mystical utterances were sure
of finding a welcome echo with the influential Vicar of the whole
Augustinian Congregation, himself a mystic. He sends him with
the same letter his long Latin defence of his Indulgence theses
(_Resolutiones_), which Staupitz was to forward to the Pope.
He at the same time expresses some of his thoughts concerning the
connection between his doctrine of penance and the controversy on
Indulgences which had just commenced, probably hoping that Staupitz
would also acquaint Rome with them. These we cannot pass over without
remark in concluding our consideration of Luther’s doctrine on penance.
The Indulgence-preachers, he says, must be withstood because they
are overturning the whole system of penance; not only do they set up
penitential works and satisfaction as the principal thing, but they
extol them, solely with a view to inducing the faithful to secure
the remission of satisfaction by their rich offerings in return for
Indulgences. Therefore he has been obliged, though unwillingly, to
emerge from his retirement in order to defend the doctrine that it is
better to make real satisfaction than merely to have it remitted by
securing an Indulgence.
* * * * *
Staupitz, a shortsighted man, was not to be convinced that, by Luther’s
teaching and the commotion which it was arousing, the very existence
of the Augustinian Congregation was endangered and the Catholic Church
herself menaced in her dogma and discipline.
Instead of watching over the communities committed to his care he
spent his days in travelling from place to place, a welcome and witty
guest at the tables of great men, devoting his spare time to writing
pious and learned books. The sad instances of disobedience, dissension
and want of discipline which became more and more prevalent in his
monasteries did not induce him to lay a restraining hand upon them.
Too many exemptions from regular observance and the common life had
already been permitted in the Congregation in the past, and of this the
effect was highly pernicious.[781] Luther himself had scarcely ever had
the opportunity of acquiring any practical experience of the monastic
life at its best during his conventual days; it offered no splendid
picture which might have roused his admiration and enthusiasm. This
circumstance must be taken into account in considering his growing
coldness in his profession and his gradually increasing animosity
towards the religious life. He and Staupitz helped to destroy the fine
foundation of Andreas Proles at a time when it already showed signs of
deterioration.
On one occasion, when referring to his administration, Staupitz told
Luther, that at first he had sought to carry out his plans for the good
of the Order, later he had followed the advice of the Fathers of the
Order, and, then, entrusted the matter to God, but, now, he was letting
things take their course. Luther himself adds when recounting this:
“Then I came on the scene and started something new.”[782] It is a
proof of the weakness which was coming upon the institution, that a man
holding principles such as Luther was advocating in his lectures and
sermons should have been allowed to retain for three years the position
of Vicar with jurisdiction over eleven monasteries. When he laid down
his office in the Chapter at Heidelberg in 1518 we do not even learn
that the Chapter carried out the measures which had meanwhile been
decreed against Luther by the General of the Augustinians at Rome.
The election of the Prior of Erfurt, Johann Lang, Luther’s friend and
sympathiser, as his successor, and the Heidelberg disputation in the
Augustinian monastery of that town, of which the result was a victory
for the new teaching, show sufficiently the feelings of the Chapter.
This election was the final triumph of the non-Observantine party.
A later hand has added against Lang’s name in the Register of the
University of Erfurt the words “_Hussita apostata_,”[783] intended to
stigmatise his falling away to the Lutheran heresy comparable only with
that of Hus. On leaving the Order he wrote an insulting vindication
of his conduct, in which among other things he says all the Priors
are donkeys. While he was Prior at Erfurt, a Prior was appointed at
Wittenberg whom Luther, as Rural Vicar, raised to this dignity almost
before he had finished his year of noviceship. Only Luther’s strange
power over men can account for the fact that so many of the monks were
convinced that he was animated by the true Spirit of God in his new
ideas with regard to conventual life and religion generally, and even
in his overhauling of theology. Later, when the Catholic Church had
spoken, they did not see their way to retract and submit, but preferred
to marry. Staupitz himself, the inexperienced theologian, deceived
by his protégé’s talents, often said to him: “Christ speaks through
you.” It is true, that, at a later date, he sternly represented to
Luther that he was going too far. After most of the monks had ranged
themselves under the new standard, their apathetic and disappointed
Superior withdrew to a Catholic monastery at Salzburg, where he expired
in peace in 1524 as a Benedictine Abbot.
* * * * *
At that period Church discipline in Germany was already ruined. The
man who was responsible for the downfall reveals a mental state
capable of going to any extreme when in 1518 he writes to his fatherly
friend Staupitz in almost fanatical language: “Let Christ see to it
whether the words I have hitherto spoken are mine or His. Without His
permission no Pope or Prince can give a decision (Cp. Prov. xxi. 1)....
I have no temporal possessions to lose, I have only my weak body,
tried by many labours. Should they desire to take my life by treachery
or violence they will but shorten my existence by a few hours. I am
content with my sweetest Saviour and Redeemer, our Lord Jesus Christ.
Him I will praise as long as life lasts (Ps. ciii. 33). Should others
refuse to sing with me, what matters it? Let them howl alone if it
pleases them. May our Lord Jesus Christ ever preserve you, my sweetest
father.”[784]
The ultra-spiritualism which had cast its spell over Luther
was compounded, as we may see from what has gone before, of
pseudo-mysticism, bad theology, a distaste for practical works of
piety, a tendency to polemics and a misguided zeal for reform, not to
speak of other elements. This it was which animated him during the
years which preceded his public apostasy. On the other hand, in the
subsequent struggle against the Church it is rather less apparent,
being, to a certain extent, kept within bounds by the conflict he was
obliged to wage in his own camp against dangerous fanatics such as
Münzer and Carlstadt. Nevertheless, his spirit had not been entirely
tamed, and, when occasion arose, as we shall see later, was still
capable of all its former violence.
The Monk, at the time he was at work on the Epistle to the Romans, by
dint of studying the Bible and Tauler, had, as he thought, attained
to the mystical light of a higher knowledge, and begins accordingly
to speak of hearing the inward voice. He tries to persuade himself
that he hears this voice speaking in his soul; he looks upon it as so
imperative that he is obliged, so he says, to do what it commands,
“whether it be foolish or evil or great or small.”[785] Thus the way
is already paved for his mysterious comprehension of the Scriptures
through the inner word, as his letter to Spalatin shows;[786] we have
also here the beginning of what he supposed was the ratification of his
Divine mission as proclaimer of the new teaching.
Even before much was known of the data furnished by the Commentary on
Romans regarding Luther’s development, Fr. Loofs, on the strength of
the fragments which Denifle had made public, ventured to predict that,
on the publication of the whole work, it would be seen, “that Luther
was at that time following a road which might justly be described as a
peculiar form of quietistic mysticism.”[787] To-day we must go further
and say that Luther’s whole character was steeped in ultra-spiritualism.
Johann Adam Möhler says of Luther’s public work as a teacher: “In his
theological views he showed himself a one-sided mystic.”[788] He adds,
“had he lived in the second century Luther would have been a gnostic
like Marcion, with some of whose peculiarities he is in singular
agreement,” a statement which is borne out by what we have seen of
Luther’s work so far. Neander, the Protestant historian, also compares
the growth and development of Luther’s mind with that of Marcion.[789]
Neander looks upon Marcion as Luther’s spiritual comrade, in fact as a
Protestant, because he, like the founder of Protestantism, emphasised
the evil in man everywhere, set up an antagonism between righteousness
and grace, between the law and the gospel, and preached freedom from
the works of the law. This Marcion did by appealing to the gnosis,
or deeper knowledge. Luther likewise bases his very first utterances
on this teaching and appeals to the more profound theology; he
possesses that seductive enthusiasm which Marcion also displayed at the
commencement of his career. Soon we shall see that Luther, again like
Marcion, brushed aside such books of the Bible as stood in his way; the
canon of Holy Scripture must be brought into agreement with his special
conception of doctrine, and he and his pupils amplified and altered
this doctrine, even in its fundamentals, to such a degree, that the
words which Tertullian applied to Marcion might quite fit Luther too:
“_nam et quotidie reformant illud_,” i.e. their gospel.[790] Luther
at the very outset obscured the conception of God by his doctrine
of absolute predestination to hell. Marcion, it is true, went much
further than Luther in obfuscating the Christian teaching with regard
to God by setting up an eternal twofold principle, of good and evil.
The Wittenberg Professor never dreamt of so radical a change in the
doctrine respecting God, and in comparison with that of Marcion this
part of his system is quite conservative.
We find in Luther, from the beginning of his career, together with his
rather gloomy ultra-spiritualism, another characteristic embracing
a number of heterogeneous qualities, and which we can only describe
as grotesque. Side by side with his love of extremes, we find an
ultra-conservative regard for the text of Holy Scripture as he
understood it, no matter how allegorical his pet interpretation might
be. Again, the pious mysticism of his language scarcely agrees with
the practical disregard he manifested for his profession. To this must
be added, on the one hand, his tendency to spring from one subject
to another, and the restlessness which permeates his theological
statements, and on the other, his ponderous Scholasticism. Again we
have the digressions in which he declaims on public events, and,
besides, his incorrect and uncharitable criticisms; here he displays
his utter want of consideration, his ignorance of the world and finally
a tempestuous passion for freedom in all things, which renders him
altogether callous to the vindication of their rights by others and
makes him sigh over the countless “fetters of men.”[791] All this,
taken in connection with his unusual talent, shows that Luther, though
a real genius and a man of originality, was inclined to be hysterical.
How curiously paradoxical his character was is revealed in his
exaggerated manner of speech and his incessant recourse to antithesis.
With an unbounded confidence in himself and all too well aware of the
seduction exercised by his splendid talents, he yet does not scruple to
warn others with the utmost seriousness against their “inclinations
to arrogance, avarice and ambition,” and to represent pride as the
cardinal sin.[792] He is keen to notice defects in earlier theologians,
but an unhappy trait of his own blinds him to the fact that the Church,
as the invincible guardian of truth, must soon rise up against him.
He has already discovered a new way of salvation which is to
tranquilise all, and yet he will be counted, not among those who feel
sure of their salvation, but among the pious who are anxious and
troubled about their state of grace, “who are still in fear lest they
fall into wickedness, and, therefore, through fear, become more and
more deeply steeped in humility in doing which they render God gracious
to them.”[793] The assurance of salvation by faith alone, the _sola
fides_ of a later date, he still protests against so vigorously, that,
when he fancies he espies it in his opponents in any shape or form, he
attacks them as “a pestilential crew,” who speak of the signs of grace
and thereby, as he imagines, lull men into security.
The last words show that the process of development is not yet ended.
What we have considered above was merely the first of the two stages
which he traversed before finally arriving at the conception of his
chief doctrine.[794]