In all this we can but discern a morbid reaction against the disquieting memory of his former state of life, not, as the legend asserts, peace of mind and assurance of having won a “Gracious God,” thanks to his change of religion. The reaction was throughout attended by remorse of conscience.
These struggles of soul in order to find a Gracious God, which lasted, as he himself says (above, vol. v., pp. 334 f.; 350 f.), even down to his later years, constitute a striking refutation from his own lips, of the legend of the wonderful change which came over him in the monastery.
On the other hand, the story of his long-drawn devotion to the monastic practice of good works is no less at variance with the facts. On the contrary, no sooner did Luther begin his official career as a monk at Wittenberg, than he showed signs of his aversion to works; the trend of his teaching was never in favour of strictness and penance, which, as he declared, could only fill the heart with pride. (Above, vol. i., pp. 67 ff., 117 ff.) At a later date, however, he sought to base this teaching on his own “inner experiences” and with these the legend supplied him (above, vol. iv., p. 404, n. 2).
Some Doubtful Virtues
It is worth while to examine here rather more narrowly than was possible when giving the history of his youth, the zeal for virtue and the self-sacrificing industry for which, according to the legend, the youthful monk was so conspicuous. What in our first volume was omitted for the sake of brevity may here find a place in order to throw a clearer light on his development. Two traits are of especial importance: first humility as the crown of all virtue, on account of the piety Luther ascribes to himself, and, secondly, the exact character of his restless, feverish industry.
Luther’s humility presents some rather remarkable features. In the documents we still possess of his we indeed find terms of self-depreciation of the most extravagant kind. But his humility and forced self-annihilation contrast strangely with his intense belief in his own spiritual powers and the way in which he exalts himself above all authorities, even the highest.
This comes out most strongly at the time when, as a young professor at Wittenberg, Luther first dipped into the writings of the mystics. The latter, so one would have thought, ought rather to have led him to a deeper appreciation and realisation of the life of perfection and humility.
He extols the books of certain mystics as a remedy for all the maladies of the soul and as the well-spring of all knowledge. To the Provost of Leitzkau, who had asked for his prayers, he expressed his humility in the language of the mystics: “I confess to you that daily my life draws nigh to hell (Ps. lxxxvii. 4) because daily I become more wicked and wretched.”[702] At the same time he exhorts another friend in words already quoted, taken from the obscure and suspicious “Theologia Deutsch,” “to taste and see how bitter is everything that is ourselves” in comparison with the possession of Christ.[703] “I am not worthy that anyone should remember me,” so he writes to the same, “and I am most thankful to those who think worst of me.”[704]
Yet mystical effusions are intermingled with charges against the opponents of his new philosophy and theology which are by no means remarkable for humility. “For nothing do my fingers itch so much,” he wrote about this time,[705] “as to tear off the mask from that clown Aristotle.” The words here uttered by the monk, as yet scarcely more than a pupil himself, refer to a scholar to whom even the greatest have ever looked up, and, who, up till then, had worthily represented at the Universities the wisdom of the ancients. The young man declares, that “he would willingly call him a devil, did he not know that he had had a body.” Luther also has a low opinion of all the Universities of his day: “They condemn and burn the good books,” he exclaims, “while fabricating and framing bad ones.”[706]
Self-confidence had been kindled in the monk’s breast by a conviction of future greatness. He speaks several times of this inkling he had whilst yet a secular student at the Erfurt University; when ailing from some illness of which we have no detailed account, the father of one of his friends cheered him with certain words which sank deeply into his memory: “My dear Bachelor, don’t lose heart, you will live to be a great man yet.” In 1532 Luther related to his pupil Veit Dietrich this utterance which he still treasured in his memory.[707] How strong an impression such lightly spoken words could make on his too susceptible mind is evident from a letter of 1530 where he speaks of his vivid recollection of another man, who, when Luther was consoling him on the death of his son, had said to him: “Martin, you may be sure that some day you will be a great man.” Since, on the same occasion, he goes on to refer to the remark made by Staupitz, viz. that he was called to do great things, and declares that this prediction had been verified, it becomes even clearer that this idea had taken root and thriven in his mind even from early years.[708] But how does all this harmonise with the humility of the true religious, and with the pious self-forgetfulness of the mystic? There can be no doubt that it is more in accordance with the quarrelsomeness and exclusiveness, the hot temper and lack of consideration for others to which the testimonies already recorded have repeatedly borne witness. (Above, vol. i., passim.)