3. Luther’s Admissions Concerning His own Practice of Virtue
St. Paul, the far-seeing Apostle of the Gentiles, says of the ethical effects of the Gospel and of faith: “Those who are Christ’s have crucified their flesh with the lusts thereof. If we live in the Spirit let us also walk in the Spirit.” He instances as the fruits of the Spirit: “Patience, longanimity, goodness, benignity, mildness, faith, modesty, continency, chastity” (Gal. v. 22 ff.). Amongst the qualities which must adorn a teacher and guide of the faithful he instances to Timothy the following: “It behoveth him to be blameless, sober, prudent, of good behaviour, chaste, no striker, not quarrelsome; he must have a good testimony of them that are without, holding the mystery of the faith in a pure conscience” (1 Tim. iii. 2 ff.). Finally he sums up all in the exhortation: “Be thou an example to the faithful in word, in conversation, in charity, in faith, in chastity” (ibid., iv. 12).
It seems not unjust to expect of Luther that his standard of life should be all the higher, since, in opposition to all the teachers of his day and of bygone ages, and whilst professing to preach nought but the doctrine of Christ, he had set up a new system, not merely of faith, but also of morals. At the very least the power of his Evangel should have manifested itself in his own person in an exceptional manner.
How far was this the case? What was the opinion of his contemporaries and what was his own?
Catholics were naturally ever disposed to judge Luther’s conduct from a standpoint different from that of Luther’s own followers. A Catholic, devoted to his Church, regarded as his greatest blemish the conceit of the heresiarch and devastator of the fold; to him it seemed intolerable that a disobedient and rebellious son of the Church should display such pride as to set himself above her and the belief of antiquity and should attack her so hatefully. As for his morality, his sacrilegious marriage with a virgin dedicated to God, his incessant attacks upon celibacy and religious vows, and his seducing of countless souls to break their most sacred promises, were naturally sufficient to debase him in the eyes of most Catholics.
There were, however, certain questions which both Catholics and Lutherans could ask and answer impartially: Did Luther possess in any eminent degree the fiducial faith which he represented as so essential? Did this faith produce in him those fruits he extols as its spontaneous result, above all a glad heart at peace with God and man? Further: How far did he himself come up even to that comparatively low standard to which, theoretically, he reduced Christian perfection?
If we seek from Luther’s own lips an estimate of his virtues, we shall hear from him many frank statements on the subject.
The first place belongs to what he says of his faith and personal assurance of salvation.
Of faith, he wrote to Melanchthon, who was tormented with doubts and uncertainty: “To you and to us all may God give an increase of faith.... If we have no faith in us, why not at least comfort ourselves with the faith that is in others? For there must needs be others who believe instead of us, otherwise there would be no Church left in the world, and Christ would have ceased to be with us till the end of time. If He is not with us, where then is He in the world?”[596]
He complains so frequently of the weakness of his own faith that we are vividly reminded how greatly he himself stood in need of the “consolation” of dwelling on the faith that was in others. He never, it is true, attributes to himself actual unbelief, or a wilful abandon of trust in the promises of Christ, yet he does speak in strangely forcible terms—and with no mere assumed humility or modesty—of the weakness of this faith and of the inconstancy of his trust.
Of the devil, who unsettles him, he says: “Often I am shaken, but not always.”[597] To the devil it was given to play the part of torturer. “I prefer the tormentor of the body to the torturer of the soul.”[598]—“Alas, the Apostles believed, of this there can be no doubt; I can’t believe, and yet I preach faith to others. I know that it is true, yet believe it I cannot.”[599] “I know Jonas, and if he [like Christ] were to ascend to heaven and disappear out of our sight, what should I then think? And when Peter said: ‘In the name of Jesus, arise’ [Acts iii. 6], what a marvel that was! I don’t understand it and I can’t believe it; and yet all the Apostles believed.”[600]
“I have been preaching for these twenty years, and read and written, so that I ought to see my way ... and yet I cannot grasp the fact, that I must rely on grace alone; and still, otherwise it cannot be, for the mercy-seat alone must count and remain since God has established it; short of this no man can reach God. Hence it is no wonder that others find it so hard to accept faith in its purity, more particularly when these devil-preachers [the Papists] add to the difficulty by such texts as: ‘Do this and thou shalt live,’ item ‘Wilt thou enter into life, keep the commandments’ (Luke x. 28; Matthew xix. 17).”[601]
He is unable to find within him that faith which, according to his system, ought to exist, and, in many passages, he even insists on its difficulty in a very curious manner. “Ah, dear child, if only one could believe firmly,” he said to his little daughter, who “was speaking of Christ with joyful confidence”; and, in answer to the question, “whether then he did not believe,” he replied by praising the innocence and strong faith of children, whose example Christ bids us follow.[602]
In the notes among which these words are preserved there follows a collection of similar statements belonging to various periods: “This argument, ‘The just shall live in his faith’ (Hab. ii. 4), the devil is unable to explain away. But the point is, who is able to lay hold on it?”[603]—“I, alas, cannot believe as firmly as I can preach, speak and write, and as others fancy I am able to believe.”[604]—When the Apostle of the Gentiles speaks of dying daily (1 Cor. xv. 31), this means, so Luther thinks, that he had doubts about his own teaching. In the same way Christ withdraws Himself from him, Luther, “so that at times I say: Truly I know not where I stand, or whether I am preaching aright or not.”[605] “I used to believe all that the Pope and the monks said, but now I am unable to believe what Christ says, Who cannot lie. This is an annoying business, but we shall keep it for that [the Last] Day.”[606]
“Conscience’s greatest consolation,” he also says, according to the same notes, “is simply the Lord Christ,” and he proceeds to describe in detail this consolation in language of much power, agreeably with his doctrine of Justification. He, however, concludes: “But I cannot grasp this consoling doctrine, I can neither learn it nor bear it in mind.”[607]
“I am very wretched owing to the weakness of my faith; hardly can I find any comfort in the death and resurrection of Christ, or in the article of the forgiveness of sins.... I cannot succeed in laying hold on the essential treasure, viz. the free forgiveness of sins.”[608]
“It is a difficult matter to spring straight from my sins to the righteousness of Christ, and to be as certain that Christ’s righteousness is mine as I am that my own body is mine.... I am astonished that I cannot learn this doctrine.”[609]
In a passage already quoted Luther rightly described the task he assigned to grace and faith as something “which affrights a man,” for which reason it is “hard for him to believe”; he himself had often, so to speak, to fight his way out of hell, “but it costs much before one obtains consolation.”
Such statements we can well understand if we put ourselves in his place. The effects he ascribed to fiducial faith were so difficult of attainment and so opposed to man’s natural disposition, that never-ending uncertainty was the result, both in his own case and in that of many others. Moreover, he, or rather his peculiar interpretation of Holy Scripture, was the only guarantee of his doctrine, whereas the Catholic Church took her stand upon the broad and firm basis of a settled, traditional interpretation, and traced back her teaching to an authority instituted by God and equipped with infallibility. In his “temptations of faith,” Luther clung to the most varied arguments, dwelling at one time on the fact of his election, at another on the depravity of his opponents, now on the malice of the devil sent to oppose him, now on the supposed advantages of his doctrine, as for instance, that it gave all the honour to God alone and made an end of everything human, even of free will: “Should Satan take advantage of this and ally himself with the flesh and with reason, then conscience becomes affrighted and despairs, unless you resolutely enter into yourself and say: Even should Cyprian, Ambrose, Augustine, St. Peter, Paul, John, nay, an angel from heaven, teach otherwise, yet I know for a certainty that what I teach is not human but divine, i.e. that I ascribe all to God and nothing to man.”[610]
“I do not understand it, I am unable to believe ... I cannot believe and yet I teach others. I know that it is right and yet believe it I cannot. Sometimes I think: You teach the truth, for you have the office and vocation, you are of assistance to many and glorify Christ; for we do not preach Aristotle or Cæsar, but Jesus Christ. But when I consider my weakness, how I eat and drink and am considered a merry fellow, then I begin to doubt. Alas, if one could only believe!”[611]
“Heretics believe themselves to be holy. I find not a scrap of holiness in myself, but only great weakness. As soon as I am assailed by temptation I understand the Spirit, but nevertheless the flesh resists. [That is] idolatry against the first table [of the law]. Gladly would I be formally just, but I am not conscious of being so.”
And Pomeranus replied: “Neither am I conscious of it, Herr Doctor.”[612]
Before passing on to some of Luther’s statements concerning the consonance of his life with faith, we may remark that there is no lack of creditable passages in his writings on the conforming of ethics to faith. Although here our task is not to depict in its entirety the morality of Luther and his doctrine, but merely to furnish an historical answer to the question whether there existed in him elements which rendered his claim to a higher mission incredible, still we must not forget his many praiseworthy exhortations to virtue, intended, moreover, not merely for others, but also for himself.
That the devil must be resisted and that his tricks and temptations lead to what is evil, has been insisted upon by few preachers so frequently as by Luther, who in almost every address, every chapter of his works, and every letter treats of the sinister power of the devil. Another favourite, more positive theme of his discourses, whether to the members of his household or to the larger circle of the public, was the domestic virtues and the cheerful carrying out of the duties of one’s calling. He was also fond, in the sermons he was so indefatigable in preaching, of bringing home to those oppressed with the burden of life’s troubles the consolation of certain evangelical truths, and of breaking the bread of the Word to the little ones and the unlearned. With the utmost earnestness he sought to awaken trust in God, resignation to His Providence, hope in His Mercy and Bounty and the confession of our own weakness. One idea on which he was particularly fond of lingering, was, that we must pray because we depend entirely upon God, and that we must put aside all confidence in ourselves in order that we may be filled with His Grace.
Unfortunately such thoughts too often brought him back to his own pet views of man’s passivity and absence of free will and the all-effecting power of God. “The game is always won,” he cries, “and if it is won there is no longer any pain or trouble more; there is no need to struggle and fight, for all has already been accomplished.”[613] “Christ, the Conqueror, has done all, so that there is nothing left for us to do, to root out sin, to slay the devil or to overcome death; they all have been trampled to the ground.... The doing was not, however, our work.”[614]—“The Christian’s work is to sleep and do nothing”; thus does he sum up in one of his sermons the exhortations he had previously given to rest altogether on the merits of Christ; even should a man “fall into sin and be up to the neck in it, let him remember that Christ is no taker, but a most gracious giver”; this is “a very sweet and cheering doctrine; others, it is true, teach that you must do so much for sin, must live in this or that way, since God must be paid to the last farthing before you can appear before Him. Such people make of God a torturer and taskmaster.”[615] After having recommended prayer he inveighs against what he calls its abuse: “They say: I will pray until God gives me His Grace; but nothing comes of it, because God says to them: You cannot and never will be able to do anything; but I shall do everything.” “Everything through Christ: through works, nothing whatever.”[616]
Luther has some remarkable admissions to make, particularly in his private utterances, concerning the manner in which he himself and his chosen circle lived their faith.
“I cannot express in words what great pains I took in the Papacy to be righteous. Now, however, I have ceased entirely to be careful, because I have come to the insight and belief that another has become righteous before God in my stead.”[617]
“My doctrine stands whatever [my] life may be.”[618]
“Let us stick to the true Word that the seat of Moses may be ours. Even should our manner of life not be altogether polished and perfect, yet God is merciful; the laity, however, hate us.”[619]
“Neither would it be a good thing were we to do all that God commands, for in that case He would be cheated of His Godhead, and the Our Father, faith, the article of the forgiveness of sins, etc., would all go to ruin. God would be made a liar. He would no longer be the one and only truth, and every man would not be a liar [as Scripture says]. Should any man say: ‘If this is so, God will be but little served on earth’ [I reply]: He is accustomed to that; He wills to be, and is, a God of great mercy.”[620]
“I want to hand over a downright sinner to the Judgment Seat of our Lord God; for though I myself may not have actually been guilty of adultery, still that has not been for lack of good-will.”[621]—The latter phrase was a saying of the populace, and does not in the least mean that he ever really had the intention of committing the sin.
“I confess of myself,” he says in a sermon in 1532, “and doubtless others must admit the same [of themselves], that I lack the diligence and earnestness of which really I ought to have much more than formerly; that I am much more careless than I was under the Papacy; and that now, under the Evangel, there is nowhere the same zeal to be found as before.” This he declares to be due to the devil and to people’s carelessness, but not to his teaching.[622]
On other occasions he admits of his party as a whole, more particularly of its leaders, viz. the theologians and Princes, that they fell more or less short of what was required for a Christian life; among them he expressly includes himself: “It is certain with regard to ourselves and our Princes that we are not clean and holy, and the Princes have vices of their own. But Christ loves a frank and downright confession.”[623]
Among such “confessions” made by Luther we find some concerning prayer.
Comparing the present with the past he says: “People are now so cold and pray so seldom”; this he seeks to explain by urging that formerly people were more “tormented by the devil.”[624] A better explanation is that which he gave in his Commentary on Galatians: “For the more confident we are of the freedom Christ has won for us, the colder and lazier we are in teaching the Word, praying, doing good and enduring contradictions.”[625]
We possess some very remarkable and even spirited exhortations to prayer from Luther’s pen; on occasion he would also raise his own voice in prayer to implore God’s assistance with feeling, fervour and the greatest confidence, particularly when in anxiety and trouble about his undertaking. (See vol. iv., xxv. 3.) He refers frequently to his daily prayer, though he admits that the heretics, i.e. the Anabaptists, also were in the habit of praying—in their own way. His excessive labours and the turmoil of his life’s struggle left him, however, little time and quiet for prayer, particularly for interior prayer. Besides, he considered the canonical hours of the Catholics mere “bawling,” and the liturgical devices for raising the heart mere imposture. During the latter years he spent in the cloister outside cares left him no leisure for the prayers which he was, as a religious, bound to recite. Finally, towards the end of his life, he often enough admits that his prayers were cold.[626] Frequently he was obliged to stimulate his ardour for prayer as well as work by “anger and zeal”;[627] “for no man can say,” as he puts it, “how hard a thing it is to pray from the heart.”[628]
Even in the early part of his career he had deliberately and on principle excluded one important sort of prayer, viz. prayer for help in such interior trials as temptations against the celibacy enjoined by the religious state, which he came to persuade himself was an impossibility and contrary to the Will of God. Then, if ever, did he stand in need of the weapon of prayer, but we read nowhere in his letters, written in that gloomy period, of his imploring God humbly for light and strength. On the contrary, he writes, in 1521: “What if this prayer is not according to God’s Will, or if He does not choose to grant it when it is addressed to Him?”[629] He ironically attacks those who rightly said that “we must implore in all things the grace of God, that He denies it to none,” and, that, with God’s grace, it was possible to keep the vows. He replies to “these simple people and those who care nothing for souls”: “Excellent! Why did you not advise St. Peter to ask God that he might not be bound by Herod?” “That,” he says, “is to make a mockery of serious matters” (“est modus ludendi”)[630]—a censure which might very well have been flung back at such a teacher of prayer.
Seventeen years later he gave the following advice on prayer: “We must not curse, that is true, but pray we must that God’s name be hallowed and honoured, and the Pope’s execrated and cursed together with his god, the devil; that God’s Kingdom come, and that End-Christ’s kingdom perish. Such a ‘paternosteral’ curse may well be breathed, and so should every Christian pray.”[631] That the Pope be “cursed, damned, dishonoured and destroyed, etc.,” such was his “daily, never-ending, heartfelt prayer, as it was of all those who believe in Christ,” so he assures us, “and I feel that my prayer is heard.”[632] His opinion is that it is impossible to pray for anything without “cursing,” i.e. excluding the opposite. “Someone asked Dr. Martin Luther whether he who prayed thus must curse. ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘for when I pray “Hallowed be Thy Name,” I curse Erasmus and all heretics who dishonour and blaspheme God.’”[633] His anger against the devil often broke out in his prayers. “Though I cannot read or write,” he writes to Melanchthon from the Coburg, “I can still think, and pray, and rage (‘debacchari’) against the devil.”[634]
He ought to “offer incense to God,” he complains on one occasion in 1538 in his “Table-Talk,” but, instead, he brings Him “stinking pitch and devil’s ordure by his murmuring and impatience.” “It is thus that I frequently worship my God.... Had we not the article of the forgiveness of sins, which God has firmly promised, our case would indeed be bad.”[635] Again and again does he cast his anchor on this article when threatened by the storms.
His private, non-polemical religious exercises seem to have been exceedingly brief: “I have to do violence to myself daily in order to pray, and I am satisfied to repeat, when I go to bed, the Ten Commandments, the Our Father and then a verse or two; while thinking these over I fall asleep.”[636] Unusual, and at the same time peculiar, were the prayers which we hear of his offering with the intention of doing some wholesome ill to his neighbour, or even of bringing about the latter’s death in the interests of the Evangel. In a sermon on July 23, 1531, after reprimanding certain Wittenberg brewers, who, in the hope of adding to their profits, were accustomed to adulterate their beer, he says: “Unless you mend your ways, we shall pray that your malt may turn to muck and sewage. Don’t forget that.”[637]
The Christian’s life of faith ought not merely to be penetrated with the spirit of prayer but, in spite of all crosses and the temptations from earthy things, to move along the safe path of peace and joy of heart. Luther must have found much concerning “peace and joy in the Holy Ghost” in his favourite Epistle to the Romans. He himself says: “A Christian must be a joyful man.... Christ says, ‘Peace be with you; let not your heart be troubled: have confidence, I have overcome the world.’ It is the will of God that you be joyful.”
Of himself, however, he is forced to add: “I preach and write this, but I have not yet acquired the art when tempted the other way. This is in order that we may be instructed,” so he reassures himself. “Were we always at peace, the devil would get the better of us.... The fact is we are not equal to the holy Fathers in the matter of faith. The further we fall short of them [this is another of his consolations], the greater is the victory Christ will win; for in the struggle with the devil we are the meanest, most stupid of foes, and he has a great advantage over us.... Our Lord has determined to bring about the end [the impending end of all] amidst universal foolishness.”[638] Thus, according to him, the victory of Christ would be exalted all the more by the absence of peace and joy amongst His followers.
What do we see of pious effort on his part, more particularly in the matter of preparation for the sacraments, and repressing of self?
The spiritual life was to him a passive compliance with the faith which God Himself was to awaken and preserve in the heart.
For “this is how it takes place,” he says, in a carefully considered instruction, “God’s Word comes to me without any co-operation on my part. I may, it is true, do this much, go and hear it, read it, or preach it, so that it may sink into my heart. And this is the real preparation which lies not in man’s powers and ability, but in the power of God. Hence there is no better preparation on our part for all the sacraments than to suffer God to work in us. This is a brief account of the preparation.”[639]
Yet he himself perceived the peril of teaching that “those people were fit to receive the sacrament whose hearts had been touched by the Word of God so that they believed, and that whoever did not feel himself thus moved should remain away.” He says: “I remark in many, myself included, how the evil spirit, by insisting too much upon the right side, makes people lazy and slow to receive the sacrament, and that they refuse to come unless they feel assured that their faith has been enkindled. This also is dangerous.”
Nevertheless he will have no “self-preparation”; such preparation, “by means of one’s own works,” appeared to him Popish; it was loathsome to God, and the doctrine of “faith alone” should be retained, even though “reason be unable to understand it.”[640] Hence it is not surprising that he declared it to be a dreadful “error and abuse” that we should venture to prepare ourselves for the sacrament by our own efforts, as those do who strive to make themselves worthy to receive the sacrament by confession and other works.[641]
He storms at those priests who require contrition from the sinner who makes his confession; his opinion is that they are mad, and that, instead of the keys, they were better able to wield pitchforks.[642] Even “were Christ Himself to come and speak to you as He did to Moses and say, ‘What hast thou done?’ kill Him on the spot.”[643] “Contrition only gives rise to despair, and insults God more than it appeases Him.”[644] Such language may be explained by the fact, that, in his theory, contrition is merely consternation and terror at God’s wrath produced by the accusations of the law; the troubled soul ought really to take refuge behind the Gospel.—How entirely different had been the preparation recommended by the Church in previous ages for the reception of the sacraments! She indeed enjoined contrition, but as an interior act issuing in love and leading to the cleansing of the soul. According to Luther, however, excessive purity of soul was not advisable, and only led to presumption. “The devil is a holy fellow,” he had said, “and has no need of Christ and His Grace”; “Christ dwells only in sinners.”
On the other hand, in many fine passages, he recommends self-denial and mortification as a check upon concupiscence. He even uses the word “mortificare,” and insists that, till our last breath, we must not cease to dread the “fomes” of the flesh and dishonourable temptations. He alone walks safely, so he repeatedly affirms, who keeps his passions under the dominion of the Spirit, suffers injustice, resists the attacks of pride, and at the same time holds his body in honour as the chaste temple of God by denying it much that its evil lusts desire.
Luther himself, however, does not seem to have been overmuch given to mortification, whether of the senses or of the inner man. He was less notable for his earnest efforts to restrain the passions than for that “openness to all the world had to offer,” and that “readiness to taste to the full the joy of living,” which his followers admire. Not only was he averse to penitential exercises, but he even refused to regulate his diet: “I eat just what I like and bear the pains afterwards as best I can.” “To live by the doctor’s rule is to live wretchedly.” “I cannot comply with the precautions necessary to ensure health; later on, remedies may do what they can.”[645] “I don’t consult the doctors, for I don’t mean to embitter the one year of life which they allow me, and I prefer to eat and drink in God’s name what I fancy.”[646] With his reference to his “tippling” and the “Good drink” we shall deal at greater length below, in section 5.
The aim of Luther’s ethics, as is plain from the above, did not rise above the level of mediocrity. His practice, to judge from what has been already said, involved the renunciation of any effort after the attainment of eminent virtue. It may, however, be questioned whether he was really true even to the low standard he set himself.
There is a certain downward tendency in the system of mediocrity which drags one ever lower. Such a system carries with it the rejection of all effort to become ever more and more pleasing to God, such as religion must necessarily foster if it is to realise its vocation, and to which those countless souls who were capable of higher things have, under the influence of Divine grace, ever owed their progress. The indispensable and noblest dowry of true piety is the moulding of spiritual heroes, of men capable of overcoming the world and all material things. Thousands of less highly endowed souls, under the impulse from above, hasten to follow them, seeking the glory of God, and comfort amidst the troubles of life, in religion and the zealous practice of virtue. Mighty indeed, when transformed by them into glowing deeds, were the watch words of the Church’s Saints: “I was born for higher things,” “All for the greater glory of God,” “Conquer thyself,” “Suffer and fight with courage and confidence.”
On the other hand, the system of mediocrity, organised yielding to weakness, and the setting up of the lowest possible ethical standard, could not be expected to furnish Luther and his disciples with any very high religious motive. Even in the ordinary domain of Christian life Luther’s too easy and over-confident doctrine of the appropriation of the satisfaction made by Christ, sounds very different from our Saviour’s exhortations: “Do penance, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand”; “Whoever will come after Me, let him deny himself”; “Whoever does not take up his cross and follow Me cannot be My disciple”; or from those of St. Paul who said of himself, that the world was crucified to him and he to the world; or from those of St. Peter: “Seeing that Christ suffered in the flesh, arm yourselves with the like mind.” “Do penance and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out.” What Scripture requires of the faithful is not blind, mechanical confidence in the merits of Christ as a cloak for our sins, but “fruits worthy of penance.” In the long list of Luther’s works we seek in vain for a commentary which brings these solemn statements on penance before the mind of the reader with the emphasis hitherto habitual. Even were such a commentary forthcoming, the living commentary of his own life, which is the seal of the preacher’s words, would still be wanting.
On another point, viz. zeal for the souls of others, we see no less clearly how far Luther was removed from the ideal. True zeal for souls embraces all without exception, more particularly those who have gone astray and who must be brought to see the light and to be saved. Luther, on the other hand, again and again restricts most curiously the circle to whom his Evangel is to be preached; the wide outlook of the great preachers of the faith in the Church of olden days was not his.
“Three classes do not belong to the Evangel at all,” he had said, “and to them we do not preach.... Away with the dissolute swine.” The three classes thus stigmatised were, first the “rude hearts,” who “will not accept the Evangel nor observe its behests”; secondly, “coarse knaves steeped in great vices,” who would not allow themselves to be bitten by the Evangel; thirdly, “the worst of all, who, beyond this, even dare to persecute the Evangel.” The Evangel is, as a matter of fact, intended only for “simple souls ... and to none other have we preached.”[647] This explains why Luther long cherished the idea of forming a kind of esoteric Church, or community consisting simply of religiously disposed faithful; unfortunately “he did not find such people,”[648] for most were content to neglect both Church and Sacraments.
The older Church had exhorted all who held a cure of souls to be zealous in seeking out such as had become careless or hostile. When, however, someone asked Luther, in 1540, how to behave towards those who had never been inside a church for about twenty years, he replied: “Let them go to the devil, and, when they die, pitch them on the manure-heap.”
The zeal for souls displayed by Luther was zeal for his own peculiar undertaking, viz. for the Evangel which he preached. Zeal for the general spread of the kingdom of God amongst the faithful, and amongst those still sunk in unbelief, was with him a very secondary consideration.
In reality his zeal was almost exclusively directed against the Papacy.
The idea of a universal Church, which just then was inspiring Catholics to undertake the enormous missionary task of converting the newly discovered continents, stood, in Luther’s case, very much in the background.
Though, in part, this may be explained by his struggle for the introduction of the innovations into those portions of Germany nearest to him, yet the real reason was his surrender of the old ecclesiastical ideal, his transformation of the Church into an invisible kingdom of souls devoted to the Evangel, and his destruction of the older conception of Christendom with its two hinges, viz. the Papacy established for the spiritual and the Empire for the temporal welfare of the family of nations. He saw little beyond Saxony, the land favoured by the preaching of the new Gospel, and Germany, to which he had been sent as a “prophet.” The Middle Ages, though so poor in means of communication and geographical knowledge, compared with that age of discovery, was, thanks to its great Catholic, i.e. world-embracing ideas, inspired with an enthusiasm for the kingdom of God which found no place in the ideals of Lutheranism. We may compare, for instance, the heroic efforts of those earlier days to stem the incursions of the Eastern infidel with the opinion expressed by the Wittenberg professor on the war against the Crescent, where he declared the resistance offered in the name of Christendom to the Turks to be “contrary to the will of the Holy Ghost,” an opinion which he continued to hold, in spite of, or perhaps rather because of, its condemnation by the Pope (p. 76 ff., and p. 92). We may contrast the eloquent appeals of the preachers of the Crusades—inspired by the danger which threatened from the East—for the delivery of the Holy Land and the Holy Sepulchre, with Luther’s statement quoted above, that God troubled as little about the Tomb at Jerusalem as He did about the Swiss cows (p. 168). In Luther’s thoughts the boundaries of the Christian world have suddenly become much less extensive than in the Middle Ages, whilst ecclesiastical interests, thanks to the new territorial rights of the Princes, tend to be limited by the frontiers of the petty States.[649]
The stormy nature of the work on which his energies were spent could not fail to impress on his personal character a stamp of its own. In considering Luther’s ethical peculiarities, we are not at liberty to pass over in silence the feverish unrest—so characteristic of him and so unlike the calm and joyous determination evinced by true messengers sent by God—the blind and raging vehemence, which not only suited the violence of his natural disposition, but which he constantly fostered by his actions. “The Lord is not in the storm”; these words, found in the history of the Prophet Elias, do not seem to have been Luther’s subject of meditation. He himself, characteristically enough, speaks of his life-work as one long “tally-ho.” He was never content save when worrying others or being worried himself; he always required some object which he could pull to pieces, whereas true men of God are accustomed to proceed quietly, according to a fixed plan, and in the light of some great supernatural principle. With Luther excitement, confusion and war were a second nature. “The anger and rage of my enemies is my joy and delight, in spite of all their attempts to take it from me and defraud me of it.... To hell-fire with such flowers and fruits, for that is where they belong!”[650]
If, after listening to utterances such as the above, we proceed to visit Luther in his domestic circle—as we shall in the next section—we may well be surprised at the totally different impression given by the man. In the midst of his own people Luther appears in a much more peaceable guise.
He sought to fulfil his various duties as father of the family, towards his children, the servants and the numerous guests who lived in or frequented his house, whether relatives or others, so far as his occupations permitted. He was affable in his intercourse with them, sympathetic, benevolent and kind-hearted towards those who required his help, and easily satisfied with his material circumstances. All these and many other redeeming points in his character will be treated of more in detail later. It is true that the ceaseless labours to which he gave himself up caused him to overlook many abuses at his home which were apparent to others.
The unrest, noise and bustle which reigned in Luther’s house, were, at a later date, objected to by many outsiders. George Held wrote in 1542 to George of Anhalt, who had thought of taking up his abode with Luther, to dissuade him from doing so: “Luther’s house is tenanted by a miscellaneous crowd (‘miscellanea et promiscua turba’) of students, girls, widows, old women and beardless boys, hence great unrest prevails there; many good men are distressed at this on account of the Reverend Father [Luther]. Were all animated by Luther’s spirit, then his house would prove a comfortable and pleasant abode for you for a few days, and you would have an opportunity of enjoying his familiar discourses, but, seeing how his house is at present conducted, I would not advise you to take up your quarters there.”[651]
Many of Luther’s friends and acquaintances were also dissatisfied with Catherine Bora, because of a certain sway she seemed to exercise over Luther, even outside the family circle, in matters both great and small. In a passage which was not made public until 1907 we find Johann Agricola congratulating himself, in 1544, on Luther’s favourable disposition towards him: “Domina Ketha, the arbitress of Heaven and Earth, who rules her husband as she pleases, has, for once, put in a good word on my behalf.”[652] The assertion of Caspar Cruciger, a friend of the family, where he speaks of Catherine as the “firebrand in the house,” and also the report given to the Elector by the Chancellor Brück, who accuses her of a domineering spirit, were already known before.[653] Luther’s own admissions, to which we shall return later, plainly show that there was some truth in these complaints. The latest Protestant to write the life of Catherine Bora, after pointing out that she was vivacious, garrulous and full of hatred for her husband’s enemies, says: “The influence of such a temperament, united with such strength of character, could not fail to be evil rather than good, and for this both wife and husband suffered.... We cannot but allow that Katey at times exerted a powerful influence over Luther.” Particularly in moving him in the direction in which he was already leaning, “her power over him was great.”[654]
Luther’s son Hans was long a trial to the family, and his father occasionally vents his ire on the youth for his disobedience and laziness. He finally sent him to Torgau, where he might be more carefully trained and have his behaviour corrected. Hans seems to have been spoilt by his mother. Later on she spoke of him as untalented, and as a “silly fellow,” who would be laughed at were he to enter the Chancery of the Elector.[655] A niece, Magdalene Kaufmann, whom Luther brought up in his house together with two other young relatives,[656] was courted by Veit Dietrich, one of Luther’s pupils, who also boarded with him. This was, however, discountenanced by the master of the house, who declared that the wench “was not yet sufficiently educated.” Luther was annoyed at her want of obedience and ended by telling her that, should she not prove more tractable, he would marry her to a “grimy charcoal-burner.” His opposition to the match with Dietrich brought about strained relations between himself and one who had hitherto been entirely devoted to him. Dietrich eventually found another partner and was congratulated by Luther. Magdalene, with Luther’s consent, married, first, Ambrose Berndt, an official of the University, and, after his death in 1541, accepted the proposal of Reuchlin, a young physician only twenty years of age, whom she married in spite of Luther’s displeasure. With her restlessness she had sorely troubled the peace of the household.[657]
Other complaints were due to the behaviour of Hans Polner, the son of Luther’s sister, who was studying theology, but who nevertheless frequently returned home the worse for drink and was given to breaking out into acts of violence.[658] Another nephew, Fabian Kaufmann, seems to have been the culprit who caused Luther to grumble that someone in his own house had been secretly betrothed at the very time when, in his bitter controversy with the lawyers, he was denouncing such “clandestine marriages” as invalid.[659] Finally, one of the servant-girls, named Rosina, gave great scandal by her conduct, concerning which Luther has some strong things to say in his letters.[660]
The quondam Augustinian priory at Wittenberg, which has often been praised as the ideal of a Protestant parsonage, fell considerably short, in point of fact, even of Luther’s own standard. There lacked the supervision demanded by the freedom accorded to the numerous inmates, whether relatives or boarders, of the famous “Black monastery.”