4. Revelation and Illusion. Morbid Trains of Thought
One ground for considering the question of Luther’s revelations in connection with the darker side of his life lies in the gloomy and unearthly circumstances, which, according to his own account, accompanied the higher communications he received (“sub æternæ iræ maledictione”),[444] or else preceded them, inducing within his soul a profound disturbance (“ita furebam.”…), “I was terrified each time.”[445]
A further reason is the unfortunate after-effect that the supposed revelations from above had upon his mind. Outwardly, indeed, he seemed an incarnation of confidence, but, inwardly, the case was very different. Chapter xxxii. (vol. v.) of the present work will have shown how it was his new doctrines, and his overturning of the Church which accounted for his “agonies of soul,” his “pangs of hell” and “nightly combats” with the devil, or rather with his own conscience. “Why do you raise the standard of revolt against the house of the Lord?… Such thoughts upset one very much.”[446] His irritation, melancholy and pessimism were largely due to his disappointment with the results of his revelations. “They know it is God Whose Word we preach and yet they say: We shan’t listen.” “We are poor and indifferent trumpeters, but to the assembly of the heavenly spirits ours is a mighty call.” “My only remaining consolation is that the end of all cannot be far off.” “It must soon come to a head. Amen.”[447] And yet, for all that, he insisted on his divine mission so emphatically (above, vol. iii., p. 109 ff.).
The revelations which confirmed him in the idea of his mission deserve more careful examination than has hitherto been possible to us in the course of our narrative.
That Luther ever laid claim to having received his doctrine by a personal revelation from God has been several times denied in recent times by his defenders. They urge that he merely claimed to have received his doctrine from above, “in the same way that God reveals it to all true Christians”; in this and in no other sense, does he speak of his revelations, nor does he ascribe to himself any “peculiar mission.”
It is true Luther taught that the content of the faith to which every true Christian adheres had come into the world by a revelation bestowed on mankind; he also taught that the Holy Ghost lends His assistance to every man to enable him to grasp and hold fast to this revelation: “This is a wisdom such as reason has never framed, nor has the heart of man conceived it, no, not even the great ones of this world, but it is revealed from heaven by the Holy Ghost to those who believe the Gospel.”[448]—This, however, is not the question, but rather, whether he never gave out that he had reached his own fresh knowledge, and that reading of the Bible which he sets up against all the rest of Christendom, thanks to a private and particular illumination, and whether he did not base on such a revelation his claim to infallible certainty?
Luther’s Insistence on Private Revelation
Luther certainly never dreamt of making so bold and hazardous an assertion so long as a spark of hope remained in him that the Church of Rome would fall in with his doctrines. It was only gradually that the phantom of a personal revelation grew upon him, and, even later, its sway was never absolute, as we can see from our occasional glimpses into his inward struggles of conscience.
We may begin with one of his latest utterances, following it up with one of his earliest. Towards the end of his life he insisted on the suddenness with which the light streamed in upon him when he had at last penetrated into the meaning of Rom. i. 17 (in the Tower), thus setting the coping-stone on his doctrines by that of the certainty of salvation.[449] Again, at the outset of his public career, we meet with those words of which Adolf Harnack says: “Such self-reliance almost fills us with anxiety.”[450]
The words Harnack refers to are those in which Luther solemnly assures his Elector that he had “received the Evangel, not from man, but from heaven alone, through our Lord Jesus Christ.” This he wrote in 1522 when on the point of quitting the Wartburg.[451]
In the same year in his “Wyder den falsch genantten geystlichen Standt,” full of the spirit he had inhaled at the Wartburg, he declared that he could no longer remain without “name or title” in order that he might rightly honour and extol the “Word, office and work he had from God.” For the Father of all Mercies, out of the boundless riches of His Grace, had brought him, for all his sinfulness, “to the knowledge of His Son Jesus Christ and set him to teach others until they too saw the truth”; for this reason he had a better right to term himself an “Evangelist by the Grace of God” than the bishops had to call themselves bishops. “I am quite sure that Christ Himself, Who is the Master of my doctrine, calls and regards me as such.” Hence he will not permit even “an angel from heaven to judge or take him to task concerning his doctrine”; “since I am certain of it I am determined to be judge, not only of you, but, as St. Paul says (Gal. i. 8), even of the angels, so that whoever does not accept my doctrine cannot be saved; for it is God’s and not mine, therefore my judgment also is not mine but God’s own.”[452]
Such Wartburg enthusiasm, where all that is wanting is the actual word revelation, agrees well with his statement about the sort of ultimatum (“Interminatio”) sent him by God: “Under pain of eternal wrath it had been enjoined on him from above,” that he must preach what had been given him; he describes this species of vision as one of the greatest favours God had bestowed on his soul.[453] Nor did he scruple to make use of the word “revelation.”
The dispute he had with Cochlæus in the presence of others at Worms in 1521 shows not only that he had sufficient courage to do this but also, that, previously, from whatever cause, he had hesitated to do so. We have Cochlæus’s already quoted account of the incident in the detailed report of his encounter with Luther.[454] It is true he only published it in 1540, but it is evidently based on notes made by the narrator at the time. In reply to the admonition, not to interpret Holy Scripture “arbitrarily, and against the authority and interpretation of the Church,” Luther urged that there might be circumstances where it was permissible to oppose the decrees of the Councils, for Paul said in 1 Corinthians: “If anything be revealed to another sitting, let the first hold his peace,”[455] though, so Luther proceeded, he had no wish to lay claim to a revelation. In the event, however, as he was always harking back to this instance of revelation mentioned by the Apostle it occurred to Cochlæus to pin him down to this expression. Hence, without any beating about the bush, he asked him: “Have you then received a revelation?” Luther looked at him, hesitated a moment and then said: “Yes, it has been revealed to me, ‘Est mihi revelatum.’” His opponent at once reminded him that, before this, he had protested against being the recipient of any revelation. Luther, however, said: “I did not deny it.” Cochlæus rejoined: “But who will believe that you have had a revelation? What miracle have you worked in proof of it? By what sign will you confirm it? Would it not be possible for anyone to defend his errors in this way?” The text in question speaks of a direct revelation. It was in this sense that Luther had appealed to it before, and that Cochlæus framed his question. It is impossible to understand Luther’s answer as referring to a revelation common to all true Christians. Either Luther made no answer to Cochlæus’s last words or it was lost in the interruption of his friend Hieronymus Schurf.[456] In any case his position was a difficult one and it was simpler for him when he repeated the same assertion later in his printed writings quietly to treat all objections with contempt. At any rate he never accused the above account given by Cochlæus of being false.
Again, in 1522, Luther declares in his sermons at Wittenberg,[457] that “it was God Who had set him to work on this scheme” (the reform of the faith), and had given him the “first place” in it. “I cannot escape from God but must remain so long as it pleases God my Lord; moreover, it was to me that God first revealed that the Word must be preached and proclaimed to you.” Hence his revelation was similar to that of the prophets, for he is alluding to the prophet Jonas when he says that he could “not escape from God.”[458] The Wittenbergers, he says, ought therefore to have consulted him before rashly undertaking their own innovations under Carlstadt’s influence: “We see here that you have not the Spirit though you may have an exalted knowledge of Scripture.”[459] Hence, on the top of his knowledge of Scripture, he himself possesses the “Spirit.”
From the twelvemonth that followed Luther’s spiritual baptism at the Wartburg also date the asseverations he makes, that his doctrine was, not his, but Christ’s own,[460] and that it was “certain he had his doctrines from heaven.”[461]
“By Divine revelation,” as we learn from him not long after, “he had been summoned as an anti-pope to undo, root out and sweep away the kingdom of malediction” (the Papacy).[462] In 1527 he assures us: This doctrine “God has revealed to me by His Grace.”[463] And, at a later period, though rather more cautiously, he does not shrink from occasionally making use of the word revelation. From the pulpit in 1532 he urged opponents in his own camp to lay aside their peculiar doctrines, because, “God has enjoined and commanded one man to teach the Evangel,” i.e. himself.[464]
So familiar is this idea to him that it intrudes itself into his conversations at home. It was the “Holy Ghost” who had “given” to him his doctrine, so he told his friends and pupils in his old age.[465] At Wittenberg, according to his own words which Mathesius noted down, they possessed, thanks to him, the divine revelation. “Whoever, after my death, despises the authority of the Wittenberg school, provided it remains the same as now, is a heretic and a pervert, for in this school God has revealed His Word.” He also complains in the same passage that the sectarians within the new fold who turned against him had fallen away from the faith.[466]
At that time, i.e. during the ’forties, the idea of an inspiration grew stronger in him. He boasts that his understanding of Romans i. 17 was due to the “illumination of the Holy Ghost,” and tells how he suddenly felt himself “completely born anew,” as if he had passed “through the open portals into Paradise itself,” and how, “at once, the whole of Scripture bore another aspect.”[467]
Thus his idea of the revelation with which he had been favoured gradually assumed in his mind a more concrete shape.
According to the funeral oration delivered by his friend Jonas on Feb. 19, 1546, at Eisleben, Luther often spoke to his friends of his revelations, hinting in a vague and mysterious way at the sufferings they had entailed. Jonas tells the people in so many words, “that Martin himself had often said: ‘What I endure and have endured for the doctrine of the beloved Evangel which God has again revealed to the world, no one shall learn from me here in this world, but on That Day it will be laid open.’ Only at the Last Day will he tell us what during his life he ever kept sealed up in his heart, viz. the great victories which the Son of God won through him against sin, devil, Papists and false brethren, etc. All this he will tell us and also what sublime revelations he had when he began to preach the Evangel, so that verily we shall be amazed and praise God for them.”[468]
Hence Luther had persuaded his friends that he had been favoured with particular revelations.
From all the above it becomes clear that the revelation which Luther claimed was regarded by him throughout as a true and personal communication from above, and not merely as a knowledge acquired by reflection and prayer under the Divine assistance common to all. It was in fact only by considering the matter in this light that he was able effectually to refute the objections of outsiders and to allay to some extent the storms within him. The very character of his revolt against the Church, against the tradition of a thousand years, against the episcopate, universities, Catholic princes and Catholic instincts of the nation demanded something more than could have been afforded by a mere appeal to the revelation common to all. Of what service would it have been to him in his struggles of conscience, and when contending with the malice and jealousy of the sects, to have laid claim to a vague, general revelation?
Nevertheless, the appeals Luther makes to the revelation he had received are at times somewhat vague, as some of the passages quoted serve to prove. We shall not be far wrong if we say that he himself was often not quite clear as to what he should lay claim. His ideas, or at any rate his statements, concerning the exalted communications he had received, vary with the circumstances, being, now more definite, now somewhat misty.
Here, as in the parallel case of his belief in his mission, his assertions are at certain periods more energetic and defiant than at others (see above, vol. iii., p. 120 ff.).
However this may be, the idea of a revelation in the strict sense was no mere passing whim; it emerges at its strongest under the influence of the Wartburg spirit, and, once more, summons up all its forces towards the end of his days, when Luther seeks for comfort amid his sad experiences and for some relief in his weariness. Yet, in him, the idea of a revelation always seems a matter of the will, something which he can summon to his assistance and to which he deliberately holds fast, and which, as occasion requires, is decked out with the necessary adjuncts of angels descending from heaven, visions, spirits, inward experiences, inward menaces, or triumphs over the temptations of the devil.
Some Apparent Withdrawals
Various apparently contradictory statements, such as the reader must expect to meet with in Luther, are not, however, wanting, even concerning his revelations.
Discordant statements of the sort do not, indeed, occur in the passages, where, as in the quotations given above, he is defending his theological innovations against the authority of the Church. Often they are a mere rhetorical trick to impress his hearers with his modesty. In his sermons at Wittenberg in 1522, for instance, he declared that he was perfectly willing to submit his “feeling and understanding” to anyone to whom “more has been revealed”; by this, however, he does not mean his doctrine but merely the practical details of the introduction of the new ritual of public worship, then being discussed at Wittenberg. This is clear from the very emphasis he here lays on his teaching, thanks to which the Wittenbergers now have the “Word of God true and undefiled,” and from his description of the devil’s rage who now sees that “the sun of the true Evangel has risen.”[469]
Again, when, in his later revision of the same course of sermons, we hear him say: “You must be disciples, not of Luther, but of Christ,”[470] and: “You must not say I am Luther’s, or I am the Pope’s, for neither has died for you nor is your master, but only Christ,”[471] he has not the least intention of denying the authority of the doctrine revealed to him, on the contrary, on the same page, he has it that, “Luther’s doctrine is not his but Christ’s own”;[472] he had already said, “Even were Luther himself or an angel from heaven to teach otherwise, let it be anathema.”[473] He is simply following St. Paul’s lead[474] and pointing out to his hearers the supreme source of truth; he still remains its instrument, the “Prophet,” “Evangelist” and “Ecclesiastes by the grace of God,” favoured, like the inspired Apostle of the Gentiles, with revelations.
Nevertheless, we cannot shut our eyes to the fact, that, subsequent to 1525, Luther tended at times to be less insistent on his revelations. From strategic considerations he was careful to keep more in the background his revelations from the Spirit now that the fanatics were also claiming their own special enlightenment by the “Spirit.” His eyes were now opened to the danger inherent in such arbitrary claims to revelation, and, accordingly, he now begins to insist more on the outward “Word.”[475]
It is true, that, in Nov., 1525, in refutation of the Zwinglian theologians of Strasburg, he still appealed not merely to his visions of angels (see above, p. 127) but also to the certain light of his doctrine inspired by the Holy Ghost, and to his sense of the “Spirit.” “I see very well,” he says, “that they have no certainty, but the Spirit is certain of His cause.”[476] Even then, however, a change had begun and he preferred to appeal to Holy Scripture, which, so he argued, spoke plainly in his favour, rather than to inspirations and revelations. Hence his asseveration that this outward Word of God has much more claim to consideration than the inward Word, which can so easily be twisted to suit one’s frame of mind. He now comes unduly to depreciate the inward Word and the Spirit which formerly he had so highly vaunted, though, on the other hand, he continues to teach that the Spirit and the inward enlightening of the Word are necessary for the interpretation of Holy Scripture.
His Commentary on Isaias contains a delightful attack on the “all-too spiritual folk, who, to-day, cry Spirit, Spirit!” “Let us not look for any private revelations. It is Christ who tells us to ‘search the Scriptures’ [John v. 39]. Revelations puff us up and make us presumptuous. I have not been instructed,” so he goes on, “either by signs or by special revelations, nor have I ever begged signs of God; on the contrary I have asked Him never to let me become proud, or be led astray from the outward Word through the devil’s tricks.” He then launches out against those who pretend they have “particular revelations on the faith,” being “misled by the devil.” These words occur in the revised and enlarged Scholia on Isaias published in 1534. It may, however, be that they did not figure in Luther’s lectures on Isaias (1527-30) but were appended somewhat later.[477]
After thus apparently disowning any title to private revelation and a higher light Luther’s inevitable appeal to the certainty of his doctrine only becomes the more confident. Thanks to his temptations and death-throes, he had become so certain, that he can declare: Possessed of the “Word” as I am, I have not the least wish “that an angel should come to me, for, now, I should not believe him.”
“Nevertheless, the time might well come,” so he continues in this passage of the Table-Talk, “when I might be pleased to see one [an angel] on certain matters.” “I do not, however, admit dreams and signs, nor do I worry about them. We have in Scripture all that we require. Sad dreams come from the devil, for everything that ministers to death and dread, lies and murder is the devil’s handiwork.”[478]
It is true Luther was often plagued by terrifying dreams, and as he numbered them among his “anxieties and death-throes” what he says about them may fittingly be utilised to complete the picture of his inward state. To such an extent was the devil able to affright him, so he says, that he “broke out into a sweat in the midst of his sleep”; thus “Satan was present even when men slept; but angels too were also there.”[479] He assures us, that, in his sleep, he had witnessed even the horrors of the Last Judgment.
The “Temptations” as one of Luther’s Bulwarks
The states of terror and the temptations he underwent were to Luther so many confirmations of his doctrine. Some of his utterances on this subject ring very oddly.
To be “in deaths often” was, according to him, a sort of “apostolic gift,” shared by Peter and Paul. In order to be a doctor above suspicion, a man must have experienced the pains of death and the “melting of the bones.” In the Psalms he hears, as it were, an echo of his own state of soul. “To despair where hope itself despairs,” and “to live in unspeakable groanings,” “this no one can understand who has not tasted it.” This he said in 1520 in a Commentary on the Psalms.[480] And, later, in 1530, when engaged at the Coburg in expounding the first twenty-five psalms: “‘My heart is become like wax melting in the midst of my bowels’ [Ps. xxi. 15]. What that was no one grasps who has not felt it.”[481] “In such trouble there must needs be despair, but, if I say: ‘This I do simply and solely at God’s command,’ there comes the assurance: Hence God will take your part and comfort you. It was thus we consoled ourselves at Augsburg.”[482]
Many others who followed him were also overtaken by similar distress of mind. Struggles of conscience and gloomy depression were the fate of many who flocked to his standard (cp. above, vol. iv., pp. 218-27). Johann Mathesius, Luther’s favourite pupil, so frequently referred to above, towards the end of his life, when pastor at Joachimsthal, once declared, when brooding sadly, that the devil with his temptations was sifting him as it were in a sieve and that he was enduring the pangs of hell described by David. The very mention of a knife led him to think of suicide. He was eager to hold fast to Christ alone, but this he could not do. After the struggle had lasted two or three months his condition finally improved.[483]
Such were Luther’s temptations, of which, afterwards, he did not scruple to boast. “Often did they bring us to death’s door,” he says of the mental struggles in which his new doctrine and practice of sheltering himself behind the merits of Christ involved him. But, nevertheless, “I will hold fast to that Man alone, even though it should bring me to the grave!”[484]
Again, in 1532, we hear him making his own the words: “Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, O Lord” (Ps. cxxix. 1). The prophet is not complaining of any mere “worldly temptations,” but of “that anguish of conscience, of those blows and terrors of death such as the heart feels when on the brink of despair and when it fancies itself abandoned by God; when it both sees its sin and how all its good works are condemned by God the angry Judge.… When a man is sunk in such anxiety and trouble he cannot recover unless help is bestowed on him from above.… Nearly all the great saints suffered in this way and were dragged almost to the gates of death by sin and the Law; hence David’s exclamation: ‘Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, O Lord!’”—The whole trend of what he says, likewise the counsels he gives on the remedies that may bring consolation, show plainly his attachment to this dark night of the soul and his conviction that he is but treading in the footsteps of the “great Saints” and “Prophets.”[485]
At any rate there is no room for doubt that this opened out a rich field for delusion; what he says depicts a frame of mind in which hallucinations might well thrive; we shall, however, leave it to others to determine how far pathological elements intervene.
In the certainty that his cause was inspired he calmly awaits the approach of the fanatics; they can serve only to strengthen in him his sense of confidence. Of them and their “presumptuous certainty” he makes short work in a conversation noted down by Cordatus:[486] Marcus Thomae (Stübner) he requests to perform a miracle in proof of his views, warning him, however, that “My God will assuredly forbid your God to let you work a sign”; he also hurls against him the formula of exorcism: “God rebuke thee, Satan” (Zach. iii. 2).[487] Nicholas Storch and Thomas Münzer, so he assures us, openly show their presumption. A pupil of Stübner was anxious to set himself up as a teacher, but the fellow had only been able to talk fantastic rubbish to him. Of people such as these he had come across quite sixty. Campanus, again, is simply to be numbered among the biggest blasphemers. Carlstadt, who wanted to be esteemed learned, was only distinguished by his arrogant mouthing. Nowhere was there profundity or truth. “Not one of you has endured such anxieties and temptations as I.”[488] “And yet Carlstadt wanted us to bow to his teaching.… Like Christ, however, I say: ‘My doctrine is not mine but his that sent me’ (John vii. 16). I cannot betray it as the world would have me do. The malice of all these ministers of Satan only serves my cause and exercises me in indomitable firmness.”[489] Hence he derives equal benefit from the malice of his opponents within the fold and from the inward apprehensions of which Satan was the cause.
The manifold errors which had sprung from the seed of his own principles, in any other man would have elicited doubts and scruples; Luther, however, finds in them fresh support for his dominating conviction: My glorious sufferings at the devil’s hands are being multiplied and, thereby, too, the witness on behalf of my doctrine is being strengthened.
The mystical halo of the “man of suffering” certainly made a great impression on some of his young followers and admirers such as Spangenberg, Mathesius, Cordatus and Veit Dietrich. On others of his circle the effect was not so lasting.
Melanchthon, for instance, was well acquainted with Luther’s fits of mystic terror, yet how severe is the criticism he passes on Luther’s ground-dogmas, particularly after the latter’s death.
The doctrine of man’s entire unfreedom in doing what is good may serve as an instance.
This palladium of the new theology had been discovered by Luther when overwhelmed with despair; by it he sought to commit himself entirely into God’s hands and blindly and passively to await salvation from Him; this he regarded as the only way out of inward trials; no man could face the devil with his free will; he himself, so he wrote, “would not wish to have” free-will, even were it offered him (“nollem mihi dari liberum arbitrium”), in order that he might at least be safe from the devil; nay, even were there no devil, free-will would still be to him an abomination, because, with it, his “conscience would never be safe and at rest.” The words occur in the work he declared to be his very best and a lasting heirloom for posterity.[490] This particular doctrine, Melanchthon was, however, so far from regarding as a “revelation,” that he wrote in 1559: “Both during Luther’s lifetime and also later, I withstood that Stoical and Manichæan delusion which led Luther and others to write, that all works whether good or evil, in all men whether good or bad, take place of necessity. Now it is evident that this doctrine is contrary to God’s Word, subversive of all discipline and a blasphemy against God.”[491] Melanchthon did not even scruple to call upon the State to intervene and prohibit such things being said. In his Postils, dealing with the question whether heretics should be put to death, he declares: “By divine command the public authorities must proceed against idolaters and also interdict blasphemous language, as, for instance, when a man teaches that good or evil takes place of necessity and under compulsion.”[492]
He could not well have said anything more deadly against the foundation on which Luther’s whole edifice was reared.
In spite of all, Luther always stood by his pseudo-mystic idea of his having received revelations. Without it he could never have ventured to threaten as he did the secular and ecclesiastical authorities who opposed his dogmas, with “extermination” and “great revolts,” or to proclaim so confidently that they would fall, blown over by the breath of Christ’s mouth, or to prophesy that, even beyond the grave, he would be to the impenitent Papists, what, according to the prophet Osee, God threatened to be to Israel, viz. “a bear in the road and a lion in the path.”[493]
His whole process of thought was, as it were, held captive in the heavy chains of this idea.
Three Perverted Theories Dominating Luther’s Outlook
In order to enter even more deeply into Luther’s mentality three categories of ideas by which he determined his life well deserve consideration here. Only at the point we have now reached can some of his statements be judged of aright.
Among his strange ideas must be reckoned his threefold conviction, first, that he was called to be the opponent of Antichrist, secondly, that Popery was a thing of boundless and utter depravity, thirdly, that in his own personal experiences and gifts he was blessed beyond all other men. Here again we shall have to refer to many passages already quoted and also to some fresh ones of Luther’s which afford a glimpse into his perverted mode of thought and incredible prejudice.
His obstinate belief in his mission against Antichrist keeps the thought of a mortal combat ever before his mind; a decisive battle at the approaching end of all, between heaven and hell, between Christ and the dragon. This struggle, such as he viewed it, needless to say existed only in his imagination. If, according to him, the devil fights so furiously that at times Christ Himself seems on the point of succumbing, this is only because Luther’s cause does not thrive, or because Luther himself is again the butt of gloomy fears. As early as 1518, as we know, he fancied he had detected the Papal Antichrist, and could read the thoughts of Satan, who was at work behind his opponents.[494] In this idea he subsequently confirmed himself by his reading of the Old-Testament prophecies, on which, till almost the very end of his life, he was wont laboriously to base new calculations. From the dawn of his career it has been borne in on him with ever-growing clearness how Christ, using Luther as His tool, will overthrow, as though in sport, this “man of sin” of which Popery is the embodiment; at the very close of his days, when the sight of the evils rampant in Germany was causing him the utmost anxiety, he seems to hear the trump that heralds the Coming of the Judge.
Using images that suggest a positive obsession, he depicts the world as full of the traces of Antichrist and the devil his forerunner. Yet all the machinations of the old serpent avail only to strengthen the defiance with which he opposes Satan and all his myrmidons. The signs in the heavens above and on the earth below all point to him, the great, albeit unworthy, champion of God’s cause. Though Antichrist and the powers that are his backers in this world may for the time have the better of the struggle this is but the last flicker of the dying flame which, by prophecy and vision, he had been predestined to extinguish (above, vol. iii., p. 165 ff., etc.).
Hence his confidence in unveiling the action of Antichrist as portrayed in the birth of the Monk-Calf; like some seer he hastens to pen a special work for the instruction of the people in the meaning of the Calf’s anatomy.[495] His growing uncanny imagination goes on to describe, in colours more and more glaring, the abominations of that Antichrist from whom he has torn the veil. The fury of the Turk is but child’s play to the horror of the Papal Antichrist. That portion of the Table-Talk which deals with Antichrist, comprising no less than 165 sections brimful of the maddest fancies, begins with the description of Antichrist’s head. “The head is at the same time the Pope and the Turk. A living animal must have both soul and body. The spirit or soul of Antichrist is the Pope, his flesh or body the Turk”;[496] the concluding words on the subject are in the same vein: “The blood of Abel cries for vengeance on them,” viz. on the followers of the Pope-Antichrist.[497] These chapters of the Table-Talk dealing with Antichrist scarcely do credit to the human mind. We can, however, understand them, for to Luther nothing is plainer than that the “nature of his foes is utterly devilish”; all he sees is the claws, paws, horns and poison-fangs of Antichrist.[498]
Luther revealed the anti-Christian nature of the Pope, in accordance with the prophet Daniel whom he read on the principle: “Sic volo, sic iubeo, sit pro ratione voluntas”; “Nevertheless we attach but little importance to our deliverance and are very ungrateful. This, however, is our consolation, viz. that the Last Day cannot now be long delayed. Daniel’s prophecy is fulfilled to the letter and paints the Papacy as plainly as though it had been written post factum.”[499]
In spite of Antichrist and “all that is mighty” the Article concerning Holy Scripture and the Cross still holds the field. And, so Luther proceeds in the Table-Talk, “I, a poor monk, had to come,” with “an unfortunate nun” [Catherine Bora who doubtless was present], and “seize upon it and hold it. Thus ‘verbum’ and ‘crux’ are the conquerors; they make us confident.”[500]
The reason why Luther longed with such ardour for the coming of the Last Day has already been shown to have been his growing pessimism and the depression resulting from the sad experiences with which he had met (above, vol. v., p. 245 ff.). In his elastic way he, however, manages, when preaching to the people, to give a rather different reason for his prediction of the fall of Antichrist and the coming of the end. In Popery, he declares, we were not allowed to speak of the Last Judgment; “how we dreaded it”; “we pictured Christ to ourselves as a Judge to Whom we had to give account. To that we came, thanks to our works.” But now it is quite otherwise. “Now on the contrary I should be glad if the Last Day were to come, because there is no greater consolation.”[501] Here he speaks as though inspired solely by the purest of intentions when he looked forward to the coming of the vanquisher of Antichrist.
The wickedness of his opponents and the weapons to be used against them constitute a second group of ideas. Here, once again, the psychological or pathological appreciation of Luther’s strange and morbid train of thought makes imperative a further investigation of certain points already discussed in other connections.
Often Luther seems unable to stem the torrent of charges and insults that streams from him as soon as adversaries appear in his field of vision. Frequently it almost looks as though some superhuman agency outside himself had opened the sluice-gates of his terrible eloquence. He is determined to rage against them “even to the very grave”; his wrath against them “refreshes his blood.” It is actually when expressing his hatred in the most incredible language that he is most sensible of the “nearness of God.” Do not his Popish foes deserve even worse than he, a mere man, is able to heap on them? Those scoundrels who “only seek a pretext for telling lies against us and misleading simple folk, though quite well aware that they are in the wrong.”[502] Their palpable obstinacy, in spite of their better judgment, was so great, so he argued, that it was only because Luther advocated it that they refused to hear of any moral reform, for instance, of the clergy marrying, etc., otherwise they would have held it “quite all right.” He does not shrink from demanding that such roguery should “be hunted down with hounds,” no less than the wickedness of these “most depraved of brothel-keepers, open adulterers, stealers of women and seducers of maidens.”[503]
The most curious thing, however, one, too, that must weigh heavily in the balance when judging of his mental state, is that, as shown elsewhere, by dint of repeating this he actually came to believe that his caricature of Catholicism was perfectly true to fact. The calumnies become part of his mental framework, the very frequency and heat of his charges blinding him to all sense of their enormity, and clouding his outlook. What is even worse is, that, even when he occasionally glimpses the truth he yet believes it lawful to deviate from it where this suits his purpose. Thus he came to formulate the dangerous theory of the lie of necessity and the useful lie which we have already described in his own words. He goes so far as to say, that the nature of his foes was utterly devilish (above, p. 155, n. 4), and, when assailing the wickedness of Popery, he considers “everything lawful for the salvation of souls” (“omnia nobis licere arbitramur”).[504] Our “tricks, lies and stumblings” may “easily be atoned for, for God’s Mercy watches over us.”[505]
On other occasions his opponents become “a pack of fools”; they deserve nothing but scorn and no heed should be paid to their objections. Even should the world write against him he will only pity them. All earlier ages and “a thousand Fathers and Councils of the Church” cannot rob him of the golden grains of truth which he alone possesses.
No sooner does he speak of the Papists and their religion, than, irresistibly, there rises up before his mind the picture of the “tonsures, cowls, frocks and bawling in the choir,” in short the so-called holiness-by-works, on which he seizes to load ridicule on all that is Popish.
This Luther is apt to do even when treating of subjects quite alien to this sort of polemics.
In his “Von den Conciliis und Kirchen” (1539) he has a lengthy dissertation on the marks of the Church; the subject being a wide one he is anxious to get on with it, yet, even so, his pen again and again wanders off into vituperation. He apostrophises himself incidentally as follows: “But how is it that I come again to speak of the infamous, filthy menials of the Pope? Let them begone, and, for ever,” etc. With these words he breaks off a wild outburst in which he had declared that the Pope and his men were persecuting the Word of God, i.e. Luther’s doctrine, “though well aware of its truth; very bad Apostles, Evangelists and Prophets must they be, like the devil and his angels.”[506]
Yet, on the very next page, the same subject crops up again. A lay figure serves to introduce it. To him Luther says: “There you come again dragging in your Pope with you, though I wanted to have no more to do with you. Well, as you insist on annoying me with your unwelcome presence I shall give you a thoroughly Lutheran reception.” He then proceeds to enlarge in “Lutheran” fashion on the fact, that the Pope “condemns the wedded life of the bishops and priests.” “If a man has seduced a hundred maidens, violated a hundred honourable widows and has besides a hundred prostitutes behind him, he is allowed to be not merely a preacher or parson but even a bishop or Pope, and though he keeps on in his evil ways he would still be tolerated in such an office.” “Are you not mad and foolish? Out on you, you rude fools and donkeys!… Truly Popes and bishops are fine fellows to be the bridegrooms of the Churches. Better suited were they to be the bridegrooms of female keepers of bawdy houses, or of the devil’s own daughter in hell! True bishops are the servants of this bride and she is their wife and mistress.” According to you “matrimony is unclean, and a merdiferous sacrament which cannot please God”; at the same time it is supposed to be right and a sacrament. “See how the devil cheats and befools you when he teaches you such twaddle!” Further on he begins anew: “To violate virgins, widows and married women, to keep many prostitutes and to commit all sorts of hidden sins, this he is free to do, and thereby becomes worthy of the priestly calling; but this is the sum total of it all: The Pope, the devil and his Church are enemies to the married state as Dan. (xi. 37) says, and are determined to abuse it in this way so that the priestly office may not thrive. This amounts to saying that the state of matrimony is adulterous, sinful, impure and abominated of God.”
Bidding farewell to Popery, Luther gives it a truly “Lutheran” send off: “So for the present let us be done with the Ass-Pope and the Pope-Ass, and all his asinine lawyers. We will now get back to our own affairs.”
This, however, he only partially succeeds in doing. After discussing the 6th and 7th mark of the Church the “spirit” once more seizes him. The caricature of Popery with which he is wont to pacify his conscience here again figures with the whole of the inevitable paraphernalia: “[Holy] water, salt, herbs, tapers, bells, images, Agnus Dei, pallia, altar, chasubles, tonsures, fingers, hands. Who can enumerate them all? Finally the monks’ cowls,” etc. A page further we again read: “Holy water, Agnus Dei, bulls, briefs, Masses and monks’ cowls.… The devil has decked himself out in them all.”
Weary as he is at the end of the lengthy work, he is still anxious to “tread under foot the Pope, as Psalm xci. [xc., verse 13] says: ‘Thou shalt walk upon the asp and the basilisk, and shalt trample under foot the lion and the dragon’; this we will do with the help and strength of the Seed of the woman that has crushed and still crushes the serpent’s head, albeit we know that he will turn and bite our heel. To the same blessed Seed of the woman be all praise and glory together with the Father and the Holy Ghost, One True God and Lord for ever and ever. Amen.”
Here, in the few pages we have selected for quotation, the whole psychological Luther-problem unrolls itself.
In the pictures his imagination conjures up, the sacrifice of the Mass—the most sacred mystery of Catholic worship—occupies a special place. It is the idolatrous abomination foretold by the prophet, or rather the idol Moasim itself (above, vol. iv., p. 524). One wonders whether he really succeeded in persuading himself that his greatest sin, a sin that cried to heaven for vengeance and deserved eternal damnation (above, p. 136; cp. vol. iv., p. 509), was his having—as a monk and at a time when he knew no better—celebrated the sacrifice of the Mass? It is true that, in the solemn profession he makes of his belief in the Sacrament (1528), when resolved to confess his faith “before God and the whole world,” he says: “These were my greatest sins, that I was such a holy monk and for over fifteen years angered, plagued and martyred my dear Master so gruesomely by my many Masses.” The words occur at the close of his “Vom Abendmal Christi Bekentnis,” with the asseveration, that he would stand firm in this faith to the very end; “and were I, which God forbid, under stress of temptation or in the hour of death to say otherwise, then [what I might say] must be accounted as nought and I hereby openly proclaim it to be false and to come from the devil. So help me My Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ Who is blessed for ever and ever. Amen.”[507]
According to what he once remarked in 1531 (above, p. 136 f.) it was, however, not the devil who was prompting him to despair by calling up his crying sin of having said Mass. If Luther is indeed telling the truth, and if his doings as a zealous monk really seemed to him to be his worse sins, then we can only marvel at his confusion of mind having gone so far. From other admissions we should rather gather that what disquieted his conscience was more the subversion of the olden worship, the ruin of the religious life and, in fact, the whole working of the innovations. And yet, here, we have a solemn assurance that the very contrary was the case.
It is in itself a problem how he contrives to make such frightful sins of his monastic life—into which, on his own showing, he had entered in ignorance—and of the Masses which he had said all unaware of their wickedness.
But, in his polemics, such is the force with which he is swept along, that he does not pause to consider his blatant self-contradictions, or how much he is putting himself at the mercy of his opponents, or how inadequately his rhetoric and all his playing to the gallery hides the lack of valid proofs and the deficiencies of his reading of Scripture.
As for his foes, in his mind’s eye he sees them wavering and falling, blown over, as it were, by the strength of his reasoning, even when they are not overtaken and slain by the righteous judgment of God. When need arises he has ready a list of deaths, particularly of sudden ones, by which opponents had been snatched away.[508] The “blessed upheaval,” however, which is one day to carry them all off together, is, so at least his morbid fancy tells him, still delayed by his prayers.
As for himself personally, he stood under the spell of a train of thought displaying pathological symptoms, which, taken in the lump, must raise serious questions as to the nature of his changing mental state.
Being chosen by God for such great things, being not merely the “prophet of the Germans” but also destined to bring back the Gospel to the whole Christian world, Providence, in his opinion, has equipped him with qualities such as have hitherto rarely graced a man. This he does not tire of repeating, albeit he ever refers his gifts to God. He is fond of comparing himself not merely with the Popish doctors of his day but also with the most famous of bygone time. In the same way he is fond of measuring foes within the fold by the standard of his own greatness. He is thus betrayed into utterances such as one usually hears only from those affected with megalomania; this sort of thing pleases him so well, that, intent on his own higher mission, he fails to see the bad taste of certain of his exaggerations and how repulsive their tone is.[509]
God at all times has saved His Church “by means of individuals and for the sake of a few”; this Luther pointed out to his friends in 1540, instancing Adam, Abraham, Moses, Elias, Isaias, Augustine, Ambrose and others. “God also did something by means of Bernard and now again through me, the new Jeremias. And so the end draws nigh!”[510] The end, however, for which he has made everything ready, may now come quite peacefully and speedily, for he has not merely done “something,” but “everything that pertains to the knowledge of God has been restored”; “the Gospel has been revealed and the Last Day is at the door.”[511]
Fancying himself the passive tool of Divine Providence, it becomes lawful for him deliberately to scatter over the world his literary bomb-shells, exclaiming: God wills it, for, did He not, He could prevent it! He flings broadcast atrocious charges of a character to arouse men’s worst passions, and, at the same time, writes to his friends: If it is too much, God at our prayer must provide a remedy.[512] Hence it is God Who must bear the blame for everything, seeing that He works through Luther. God made him a Doctor of Holy Scripture, let Him therefore see to it.
He “throws down the keys at the door” of God when the work goes ill. Why did He will it? “I cannot stop the course of events,” he says somewhat more truly in 1525, “for matters have gone too far”; he adds, however: “I will shut my eyes and leave God to act; He will do as He pleases.”[513]
This way of thinking was nothing new in Luther, but may be traced in his earliest literary efforts, which only shows how deeply it was rooted in his mind. “In all I do I wish to be led, not by the rede and deed of man, but by the rede and deed of God!” so he said in 1517, when declining the advice of those who only wished to serve his best interests; yet, in the same letter in which these words occur, he confesses his “precipitancy, presumption and prejudice,” qualities “on account of which he was blamed by all.”[514]
Later, too, as we know, he saw in things both great and small the hand of God at work in him; all his efforts and even his very mistakes were God’s, not his. It was by God that, while yet a monk, he had been “forcibly torn from the Hours,”[515] i.e. freed from the duty of reciting the Divine Office; God had led him like a blinkered charger into the midst of the battle; it was God, again, Who had “flung him into matrimony” and Who had laid upon him, the “wonderful monk,” the burden of preaching to the great ones and the tenor of his message. “Hence you ought to believe my word absolutely … but, even to this day, people do not believe that my preaching is the Word of God.… But, on it I will stake my soul, that I preach the true and pure Word of God, and for it I am also ready to die.… If you believe it you will be saved, if you don’t you will be damned.”[516]
Seeing the tumults and disorders that had arisen through him, he cries: “It is the Lord Who does this”; “we see God’s plan in these things”; “It was God Who began it”; “in our doings we are guided by the Divine Counsel alone.”[517]
It is when in such a frame of mind that he detects those signs and wonders that witness against his foes; given the magnitude of the war he was waging whilst waiting for the coming of the Judge, these signs were no more to be wondered at than the obstinacy of his foes: “Now that the end of the world is coming the people [the Papists] storm and rage against God most gruesomely, blaspheming and condemning the Word of God, though knowing it to be indeed the Word and the Truth. And, on the top of this, are the many dreadful signs and wonders in the skies and among almost all creatures, which are a terrible menace to them.”[518]
Though quite full of the idea that his own doctrine was alone right, yet, as already shown, he went in early days so far as to grant to every man freedom of belief and the right to read Scripture according to his lights; for to him every Christian is a judge of Holy Scripture, a doctor and a tool of the Holy Ghost. The assumption underlying this, viz. that, in spite of all, the necessary unity of doctrine would be preserved, is not easy to explain. When, however, experience stepped in and disproved the assumption, Luther’s behaviour became even more inexplicable. He was by nature so disposed to ignore the claims of logic that the contradiction between his demand that all should bow to his doctrine, and such theories as that the Bible is, for all, the true and only fount of knowledge, and that no other outward ecclesiastical authority exists, never seems to have troubled him. Though he claimed to be the “liberator of minds and consciences,” he, nevertheless, called on the authorities to put down all other doctrines.[519]
The dignity of his chair at Wittenberg is exalted by him to giddy heights. “This university and town,” he said of Wittenberg, may vie with any others. “All the highest authorities of the day are at one with us, like Amsdorf, Brenz and Rhegius. Such men are our correspondents.” In comparison, the sects are simply ludicrous in their insignificance. Woe to those within the fold who dare to run counter to Luther, “like ‘Jeckel’ and ‘Grickel’; they imagine that they alone are clever and that they, like ‘Zwingel’ also, never learnt anything from us! Yet who knew anything 25 years ago? Who stood by me 21 years since, when God, against both my will and my knowledge, led me into the fray? Alas, what a misfortune is ambition!” This he said in 1540,[520] but already eight years before he had complained bitterly: “Each one wants to make himself out to be alone in knowing everything.… Everywhere we find the same Master Wiseacre, who is so clever that he can lead a horse by its tail.” Though one alone has received from God the mission of preaching the Gospel, yet “there are others, even among his pupils, who think they know ten times more about it than he.… Then, hey presto, another doctrine is set up.”[521] “Deadly harm” to Christianity is the result; nevertheless, according to Christ’s prophecy, “factions and sects” there must be; but their source is and remains the devil[522]—who, according to Luther, is the true God of this world in which indeed his finger can everywhere be seen. (See above, vol. v., p. 275 ff.)
Strange indeed is the frame of mind here presented to the observer. So much is Luther the plaything of his fancy and the feeling of the moment, that, at times he seems the victim of a sort of self-suggestion and to be following blindly the idea which happens to hold the field.
His judgment being seen to be so confused, it becomes easier to estimate at their right value certain of his ideas, particularly his conviction that he and his cause owed their preservation to a series of palpable miracles. He contrived to spread among his pupils the belief that “holy Luther” was the greatest prophet since the time of the Apostles.[523] Yet anyone who reflects how Luther could devote a special tract to proving that so everyday an occurrence as the “escape” of a nun from her convent was worthy of being deemed a great miracle for all time, can only marvel at the facility with which Luther could delude himself.[524]
Other Abnormal Lines of Thought and Behaviour
Luther’s action presents many other problems to the psychologist, for instance, in its waverings and contradictions. Strong in his belief in his Divine mission, he roundly abuses kings and princes in the vilest terms, and yet, at the same time, he teaches respect and obedience towards them and even sets himself up as a model in this respect, all according to his mood and as they happen to be favourable to him or the reverse. On the one hand, he presumes to incite the people to acts of violence, and, on the other, he preaches no less cogently the need of calmness and submission. He boasts of the courage with which he had dashed into the very jaws of Behemoth, and of his utter contempt for his foes; yet this same Luther is obsessed by the idea that his own life is threatened by poison and sorcery, just as his party is menaced by the hired assassins of the monks and Papists. While he extols the University of Wittenberg as the bulwark of theological unity, he is at the same time so distrustful of the doctrine of his friends that his intercourse with them suffers, and, to at least one of his intimates, Wittenberg becomes a “cave of the Cyclops.”
Such contradictions and many of the like combined to induce in him an abnormal state of mind. Harmony and consistency of thought and feeling was something he never knew. Hence the charge brought against him, not merely by opponents, but even by many of his own followers, viz. of being muddled, illogical and not sure of his ground.
While he is perfectly able at times to speak and write with such candour and truth that one cannot but admire the wholesome sense, and sober, witty, cheery style of his literary productions, yet their tone and character change entirely as soon as it becomes a question of his polemics or of his Evangel. Then his mind becomes overcast, his thoughts pursue one another like storm-clouds, assuming meanwhile the strangest shapes and the reader is over whelmed by a torrent of mingled abuse and paradox. His very proofs are caught up in the whirl and become so distorted that it is often impossible even to tell whether they are meant in earnest or are merely in the nature of a challenge.
According to Luther, to mention only a few of the strangest of his sayings, his doctrine of justification and the forgiveness of sins is present “in all creatures” and is confirmed by analogy.[525] The very doctrine of creation rests on the doctrine of justification as on “its foundation.”[526] “If the article of our souls’ salvation is embraced and adhered to with a firm faith, then the other articles follow naturally, for instance, that of the Trinity.”[527]
Marriage he finds stamped on the whole of nature, “even on the hardest stones.” New-born infants he assumes capable of eliciting an act of faith in baptism; simply because he could not otherwise defend against the Anabaptists the traditional infant baptism and at the same time maintain that the efficacy of the sacraments depends on faith. His doctrine of the spiritual omnipresence of the body of Christ is an absurdity involving the presence of Christ in all food; but even this is not too much for him if it enables him to defend his theory of the Supper. His imputation-theory led him to that considered utterance which has shocked so many: “Be a sinner and sin boldly, but believe more boldly still.”[528] “Sic volo, sic iubeo, sit pro ratione voluntas,” was elsewhere his answer to another objection.[529]
He made no odds about declaring rhetorically, of all classes of men and all branches of religious knowledge: that, “in a word, before me no one knew anything.”[530] Of the daring eloquence he can use when expressing such ideas we have a sample in the statement: “Were the Papists, particularly those who are now bawling at me in their writings, all stamped together in the wine-press and then boiled down and distilled seven times over, not a quarter would be left capable of using their tongues to teach even one article [of the Catechism], nor from the whole of their doctrine could so much be drawn as would serve to teach a manservant how to behave in God’s sight towards his master or a maid towards her mistress.”[531] He alone, Luther, it was, who had brought to all ranks and classes throughout the world “a good conscience and order.”[532]
Finally we have the paradox apparent in his practical instructions and the curious behaviour into which his belief in his mission occasionally led him. We may recall the means to be employed for overcoming temptations, one of the mildest of which was a good drink,[533] and the measures to be taken to induce peace of soul. “Break out into abuse,” such is his advice, and that will bring inward peace.[534] If this does not work, then coarse humour will often succeed, one of those jests, for instance, where the sacred and sublime is vulgarised simply to raise a laugh. “Against the devil Luther makes use of ‘stronger buffoonery’ and dismisses him curtly, nay, often rudely.”[535] Pointless jests often spoil the force of his words. For instance, he found himself in a difficulty about the second wife whom one of Carlstadt’s followers, acting on Luther’s own principles, wished to take in addition to his ailing spouse; whilst stipulating that the man must first “feel his conscience assured and convinced by the Word of God,” and doing his best to dissuade him from taking such a step, Luther adds in a jesting tone, that it were perhaps better to let the matter take its course, as at Orlamünde (under the rule of Carlstadt and his Old-Testament ideas) they would soon be introducing circumcision and the Mosaic Law in its entirety.[536]
His instability of mind and ever-changing feeling ended by impressing a peculiar stamp on his whole mentality.
At one time he is delighted to see all things subject to the new Evangel, and extols the gigantic success of his efforts; at another he complains bitterly that the world is turning its back on the Word and deserting the little flock of true Evangelicals. Thus the world could promptly assume in his mind quite contradictory aspects. Of his alternating moods of confidence and despair he told his friends: “My moods vary quite a hundred times a day—nevertheless I stand up to the devil.”[537] Hence he was aware of his vacillations, though on the same occasion he declares that he knows right well how Holy Scripture strengthens him against them. He also feels and acknowledges his inconsistency, in being, for all his changeableness, so rigid and obstinate in his dealings with his friends. They knew his character, he said, and called it “obstinate.”[538]
Profound depression can alone account for the step he took in 1530, when, for a while, he discontinued his sermons at Wittenberg because he was sick of the indifference of his hearers to the Word of God and disgusted with their conduct. The editor of the sermons of this year, which have only recently been published, remarks justly, that “the only possible explanation of this step is a pathological one.”[539] Luther even went so far as to declare from the pulpit that he was “not going to be a swine-herd.”[540] Yet, a little after, during the journey to the Coburg, a sudden change occurred, and we find Luther making jokes and writing in a quite optimistic vein, and, no sooner had he reached his new abode, than he plunged into new literary labours. Nevertheless, whilst at the Castle, he was again a victim of intense depression, was visited by Satan’s “embassy” and even vouchsafed a glimpse of the enemy of God. On his departure from the Coburg good humour again got the better of him, as we see from his jovial letter to Baumgärtner of Oct. 4, 1530, and on reaching Wittenberg, he was soon up to his ears in work, so that he could write: “I am not only Luther, but Pomeranus, Vicar-General, Moses, Jethro and I know not who else besides.”[541] The facility with which his moods altered is again apparent when, in his last days, he left Wittenberg in disgust only to return again forthwith in the best of spirits. (See below, xxxix., 1.)
Yet in his attitude to the olden Church this same man, who otherwise shows himself so instable, knows how to display such defiant obstinacy that Protestants who look too exclusively at this side of his character have even been able to speak of his inflexible firmness. What steels him here is his ardent belief in his calling.
The idea of his vocation ever serves to help him over his difficulties. An instance of that marvellous elasticity of mind with which he seizes on his calling to pacify both himself and his friends, is to be found in an intimate conversation held after the “greatest of his temptations” in 1527, and recorded by Bugenhagen. After Luther had declared that he saw nothing to regret in his severity towards his foes he went on to speak, with tears in his eyes, of the sects that would spring up and which his friends would not be able to withstand. He proceeded to admit that “he was sorry if he had given scandal by his buffoonery and by his vituperation,[542] but that the cause could not be displeasing to the pious, for he loved mankind [this is Bugenhagen’s remark] too much and was an enemy to all hypocrisy.” “God had not ordained” that he, so Luther here declares, “should appear as a stern and austere figure. The world finds no sins (‘crimina’) wherewith to reproach me, but, because it follows its own judgment, it takes great offence at me, as I see. Possibly,” so he goes on, “God wishes to delude the blind and ungrateful world (‘mundum stultum facere’) so that it may perish in its contempt and never see what excellent gifts God has bestowed on me alone out of so many thousands, wherewith I am to minister unto those who are His friends. Thus the world, which refuses to acclaim the word of salvation which God sends through me, will find in me, according to the divine counsel, what offends it and is to it a stumbling-block. For this God is answerable; for I shall pray that I may never be to any a cause of scandal by my sins.”
“This I learnt with wondrous joy from his own lips,” adds Bugenhagen.[543] Others will, however, find Luther’s enigmatical train of thought more difficult to understand.
The above are but a few instances of an abnormal turn of mind; of the like the present work contains others in abundance. Anyone desirous of penetrating further into the folds and windings of a mind so involved should study Luther’s letters, particularly those dating from 1517 to 1522 and from 1540 to 1546. He will there find much of the same sort, which can hardly be termed either sane or reasonable; but even the passages we have quoted suffice to reveal in him an uncanny power of self-deception such as few historic characters display. Many a great genius has betrayed psychological peculiarities, indeed it seems at times to be the fate of those endowed with eminent gifts to overstep the boundaries and to venture further than the reason and reflection of thinking men can follow.[544] That Luther carried certain mental peculiarities to their utmost limit is plain from what we have seen, nor can it be right to close one’s eyes to the fact.
Luther showed the defects of a “genius” not least in his vituperation and in the other far from commendable methods he used in his polemics. It was precisely these defects which led Erasmus to question whether he was quite in his right mind. “Had a man said this in the delirium of fever, could he have uttered anything more insane?” Thus Erasmus in his “Hyperaspistes.”[545] He often speaks of his opponent’s feverish fancies. He denies that his spirit is a “sober” one, and maliciously supposes that he was drunk. In spite of his usual moderation and reticence, the scholar, when dealing with Luther’s assertions, constantly uses such words as “delirus,” “insanus,” “lymphatus,” “sine mente,” “mera insania.” On one occasion he says of the “devils, spectres, ‘lamiæ,’ ‘megæræ’ and other more than tragic words” which Luther was addicted to flinging at his foes, that such a habit was a “sign of coming madness” (“venturæ insaniæ præsagia”); elsewhere he views with misgiving the sort of compulsion (“non agere sed agi”) which urges Luther to abuse all who differ from him.[546]
In other circles, too, the opinion prevailed that Luther was suffering from some sort of mental disease. We may recall the remarks of Boniface Amerbach, who was not unkindly disposed to Luther, in sending the latter’s tract of 1534 against Erasmus, to his brother Basil (above, vol. iv., p. 183).
In Luther’s immediate surroundings we also find traces of a fear that the Master stood in some danger of losing his mind.
A thoroughgoing investigation of the matter by some unbiassed expert in mental diseases would, however, be of immeasurably greater value than the mere opinions of contemporary admirers and opponents. But the difficulty is to find an impartial expert. Protestant theologians will not easily be found ready to agree with Catholic writers regarding the process which made of a quondam monk the founder of the Protestant faith, or to see Luther’s scruples in quite the same light. Entire agreement would seem for ever excluded, owing to differences of outlook so deep-seated. If, to some, Luther appears as a “new Paul,” and as one who removed every obstacle to free religious research, then the view they take of his inward change and later spiritual life must perforce be coloured to some extent by this idea.
Nor must the fact be lost to sight that many of the apparently suspicious symptoms were, in Luther’s case, quite wilful. Thus his outbreaks of fury against Popery, the psychological origin of which we have already described (vol. iv., p. 306 ff.), are largely an outcome of the feelings of hatred he deliberately encouraged, and a reaction against his earlier and better convictions. Again, self-deception and lack of self-control, i.e. moral elements, played a great part in him. Since, however, even at the outset of his career he already displayed these moral defects, they must be carefully distinguished from his morbid states and no less from his doubts and remorse of conscience.
At the very least, however, we should give to the purely historical facts such unbiassed, broadminded recognition as that editor of the great Weimar Edition of Luther’s works (see above, p. 168), who, as we heard, spoke of the “pathological” explanation of certain acts and statements of Luther’s as the only one possible. The word “pathological,” and other similar ones, had, however, been used even earlier, and, that, even by non-Catholics, as descriptive of certain of Luther’s states, nor was the remark entirely new, that in many a great genius we find something pathological.[547]