Collected Works of Martin Luther

by Martin Luther

  The new material furnished by Theodore Kolde in his “Analecta Lutherana” consists of a medical letter of Wolfgang Rychardus to Johann Magenbuch dated June 11, 1523, taken from the Hamburg Town Library, and is of a character to make one wonder whether Luther did not at one period suffer from syphilis, at any rate in a mild form.

  The circumstances of the letter are as follows: Luther was recovering from a serious attack of illness which he himself believed to be due to a bath. We learn from Melanchthon that this indisposition was accompanied by high fever. On May 24, however, the patient was able to report that he was better, but that he “was over-burdened with distracting labours.” At that time a certain Apriolus, a renegade Franciscan and zealous disciple of Luther’s (his real name was Johann Eberlin), was staying with Luther at Wittenberg. He forwarded detailed accounts of Luther’s illness to a physician with whom he was intimate, Wolfgang Rychardus, at Ulm. Rychardus was also a great admirer of the Wittenberg professor and at the same time, as it would appear, a devoted friend of Melanchthon’s. In consequence of Apriolus’s reports he wrote the medical letter now in question to another physician then studying at Wittenberg, Johann Magenbuch of Blaubeuren, who also was intimate with the Wittenberg Reformers, had helped Melanchthon in his Greek lexicon with regard to the medical side, and was then in attendance on Luther. It was Magenbuch who had first brought Rychardus into touch with Luther, and both had already exchanged letters concerning him. Rychardus remained Luther’s friend at a later date.

  Rychardus wrote to the physician attending Luther, that he had heard of the illness of the new “Elias” (Luther), but now rejoices to learn he is convalescent. It was evident that God was preserving him. In the meantime, out of pity [in a letter not extant], Apriolus had given him various particulars concerning Luther’s illness and his sleeplessness. He points out that it was not sufficient that Luther should only enjoy some sleep every second night, though, of course, his mental exertion explained his sleeplessness, hence, as a careful physician, he recommends his friend Magenbuch to give the patient a certain sleeping-draught, which he also describes, and with which Magenbuch (“qui medicum agis”) must already be acquainted. “But if,” he says, “the pains of the French sickness disturb his sleep,” these must be alleviated by means of a certain plaster, the mysterious components of which, comprising wine, quicksilver (“vinum sublimatum”), and other ingredients he fully describes; this would induce sleep which was absolutely essential for the restoration of health. “For God’s sake take good care of Luther,” he concludes, and adds greetings to Apriolus his informant.

  Divergent interpretations have naturally been placed upon this letter by Luther’s friends and enemies. It might have sufficed to detail the circumstances and the contents of the letter, did not the somewhat violent objections raised against the view, that, owing to the information given him by Apriolus, Rychardus took Luther to be suffering from the French sickness, render some further remarks necessary.

  It has been said that Luther was not ill at all at the time Rychardus wrote, but had recovered his health long before. It is true that in June, 1523, his life was no longer in danger, since Rychardus had heard from Giengerius, who came from the fair at Leipzig, that Elias had recovered (“convaluisse Heliam”); but then his friend Apriolus forwarded the above disquieting accounts (“multa de valetudine adscripsit”) which led Rychardus to write his letter, which in turn is an echo of his informant’s letter. The circumstance that Luther was on the whole much better is therefore, as a matter of fact, of no importance. It has also been said that “Rychardus can be understood as speaking in general terms without any reference to Luther.” According to this view of the matter the physician’s meaning would amount to this: “Luther must be made to sleep by means of the remedy well known to you [and which he describes], but if along with it (‘cum hoc’) the pains of the French sickness should disturb anyone’s sleep, they must be allayed by a plaster,” etc. It is surely all too evident that such an explanation is untenable.

  Again, the word “if” has been emphasised; Rychardus does not say that Luther has syphilis, but that if he has it. But, as a matter of fact, he does not write “if he be suffering from it,” but, “if this malady disturbs his sleep”; taken in connection with the account of the illness, supplied by Apriolus, the most natural (we do not, however, say necessary) interpretation to be placed on his words is that he was aware the patient was suffering from this malady, perhaps only slightly, yet sufficiently to endanger his sleep. “But if, when use is made of the sleeping-draught indicated, syphilis should prevent his sleeping,” is surely a proviso which no physician would make in the case of a patient in whom syphilitic symptoms were not actually present; Rychardus would never have spoken of the “new Elias” in this way unless he had reason to believe in the existence of the malady. It would have been far-fetched to introduce the subject of so disgusting a complaint, and much more natural to speak of other commoner causes which might disturb sleep.

  It must, however, be allowed, that, both before and after this letter was written, no trace of such an illness occurs in any of the documents concerning Luther. The “molestiæ” twice mentioned previously, which by some have been taken to refer to this malady, have, as a matter of fact, an altogether different meaning, which is clear from the context.

  In addition to his bodily ailments, the result more particularly of extreme nervous agitation, the indefatigable worker was over and again tormented with severe attacks of depression and sadness.

  They were in part due to the sad experiences with his followers and to the estrangement — now becoming more and more pronounced — of his party from the fanatical Anabaptists; in part also to the alarming reports of the seditious risings of the peasants; also to his deception concerning the Papacy, which, far from falling to pieces “at the breath of the true Gospel,” had asserted its authority and even strengthened it by reforms such as those commenced under Hadrian VI. It was, however, principally his “interior struggles,” and the pressing reproaches of his conscience concerning his work as a whole, which rendered him a prey to melancholy. This mental agony never ceased; the inward voice he had heard in the Wartburg, and which had pierced his very soul with the keenness of a sword, continued to oppress him: “Are you alone wise? Supposing that all those who follow you are merely dupes.”

  If he sought for distraction in cheerful conversation, this was merely to react against such gloomy thoughts. The more and more worldly life he began to lead may also be regarded as due in some measure to the effort on his part to escape these moods. We may also find in them the psychological explanation of the excesses he commits in his attacks upon the Church, his very violence serving to relieve his feelings and to reassure him. His customary defiance enables him to surmount all obstacles: the external anxieties caused by his adversaries and the interior temptations which he ascribes to the devil. “I have triumphed over him [the devil],” he exclaims confidently, “who has more power and cunning in his smallest claw than all the popes, kings and doctors.... My doctrine shall prevail and the Pope fall, in defiance of the gates of hell and all the powers of the air, the earth and the sea.”

  We feel it our duty to complete this remarkable picture of passion, defiance and struggle by some few additional traits taken from Luther’s writings at that time.

  On the question of the vow of chastity and priestly celibacy a rude though perfectly justified answer was supplied him by many writers on the Catholic side, yet he ignored them all, and on the contrary proceeded on his way with even greater fury and passion. He proclaims a sacred command to marry, a command not one whit less binding than the Decalogue. Here, as in the case of other questions of morals and dogma, he is carried forward by passion, rather than by a calm recognition of the truth. He exclaims somewhat later: “Just as it is a matter of stern necessity and strict command when God says: ‘Thou shalt not kill, Thou shalt not commit adultery,’ so there is also stern necessity and strict command, nay a still greater ne
cessity and yet more stringent command: ‘Thou shalt marry, Thou shalt have a wife, Thou shalt have a husband.’ For there stands God’s Word (Gen. i. 27), ‘God created man ... male and female he created them’! The consciences of the unmarried must be importuned, urged and tormented until they comply, and are made at length to say: ‘Well, if it must be so, then let it so be.’”

  When it was pointed out to him, that in the New Testament celibacy embraced from love of God was presented as one of the evangelical counsels, he straightway denied both the existence and the authority of the evangelical counsels. And when his opponents replied that Christ frequently counselled acts of great virtue without making of them strict commands, but mere counsels of perfection, for instance with the words: “If one smite thee on the right cheek, turn to him the other also,” Luther will have it that Christ, even here, gave the strict command to allow ourselves to be smitten also on the left cheek.

  In his attack on the Mass, in his excitement, he went so far as to state: No sin of immorality, nay not even “manslaughter, theft, murder and adultery is so harmful as this abomination of the Popish Mass.” He adjured the authorities to take steps against the blinded parsons “who run to the altar like hogs to the trough,” “the shame of the scarlet woman of Babylon” must be laid bare in order that the “dreadful anger of God may not be poured forth like a glowing furnace upon the negligence” of those who fail to use the “sword entrusted to them by God.” These were his words to the people in a sermon of the year 1524.

  How deeply his experiences with the fanatics excited and enraged him is apparent, for instance, from this statement concerning Carlstadt: “He is no longer able to go back, there is no hope for this orator, inflated and hardened as he is by the applause of the crowd” (“plausu vulgi inflatus et induratus”). Carlstadt and his followers, according to him, “are always on the look-out for a chance of incriminating the evangel.” Luther in these struggles felt bitterly that he himself, the originator of the great movement, had already become to many a byword and a jest, “a target for malice, for deceit, for buffoonery — by reason of my simplicity.”

  It is true he had a fellow-sufferer at his side, Melanchthon, who at that time “was brought to the brink of the grave” by cares and want of sleep; yet none of his friends suffered as much as he, for the whole burden of care settled upon him. To-day he has to dispute with a “sly and cunning monk,” who ill-uses his wife because she desires a separation, and, then, when she actually leaves him, wishes to marry another; Luther flings the desired permission after him (“if others will allow him so to do, I am content”). On the morrow he has to go to Wittenberg to take steps “against a new sort of prophets arrived from Antwerp,” who deny the Godhead of the Holy Ghost, which, they say, is not founded on the “Word,” On the day following he is assailed with complaints regarding the encroachments of the Lutheran authorities.

  “How does Satan rage,” he cries in view of the above, “how he rages everywhere against the Word!”

  When the news of the fanatics with their revelations concerning the “Word” arrived from Thuringia, and of the iconoclastic tumult at Rothenburg-on-the-Tauber, he again exclaims: “Thomas Münzer at Mühlhausen, not only teacher and preacher, but also king and emperor!” “Thus Satan rages against Christ now that he finds Him to be the stronger.”

  It was formerly believed, he says at this time, that the world was full of noisy and turbulent ghosts and hobgoblins, and that they were the souls of the dead, a delusion which has been dispelled to-day by the evangel, “for we know now that they are not the souls of men but merely naughty devils.” “But now that the devil sees that all his noise and storming is no longer of any avail, he acts in a different manner and begins to rage and storm in his members, i.e. in the godless [and false teachers], hatching in them all sorts of wild and shady beliefs and doctrines.”

  “Yea, verily this rage of Satan everywhere against the Word is not the least significant sign that the end of the world is approaching.” At that time, scarcely ten years after the discovery of the evangel, this opinion was already firmly fixed in his mind. “Satan seems to be aware of it, hence his extraordinary outburst of anger.” A confirmation of the approach of Judgment Day was discerned by Luther in the circumstance that, as he thought, “the princes were falling” (the French king had been taken captive by Charles V), “that the Emperor would also fall in the end,” and that “more of the princes will fall if they permit the people to grow so audacious.” “These are greater signs that many believe.” The conjunction of the planets is also not to be overlooked, although, he admitted, “I do not understand much about them; the bloody western sun would seem to indicate the king of France, another in the centre, the Emperor; Philip [Melanchthon] is also of this opinion; both together foretell the end of the world.”

  He declares later that it “may occur any day,” and that actual signs of extraordinary magnitude will be seen “in the sun and moon,” although we have “already sufficient warning in the sun”; above all, according to him, “the sign among men” [who shall wither away for fear and expectation, Luke xxi. 26] has already been fulfilled: “I am entirely of opinion that we have already experienced it. The evil Pope with his preaching has done very much towards this, namely by greatly affrighting pious minds.... The forgiveness of sin through Christ had disappeared.” We were “frightened to death at Christ, the Judge.” “Owing to the preaching of the evangel I am of opinion that this sign is in great part passed, in the same way that I hold most of the other signs in the heavens to have also already taken place.”

  His scruples of conscience and the “inward struggles” referred to above Luther accustomed himself more and more to regard as the voices of the Evil One. He fancied it was the Good Spirit who taught him to despise them. It was only the Papists who were deluded and led astray by “Satan.” “There,” he writes in 1522, viz. among the Papists, “the true masterpiece of Satan is discernible, for he transforms himself into an angel of light. As in the beginning he wished to be equal to the Most High, so now he does not cease to pursue the same aim by deceiving the sons of unbelief with godly words and deeds. Thus does he make the Pope his instrument.” “To what an abyss,” he exclaims, “is he not capable of dragging down the Church by means of his sophists seated in the professorial chairs.” When the thought of the day of reckoning or remorse of conscience for their infidelity to the Church awoke either in himself or in his followers, this was to be silenced as the voice of the wicked angel. Uxorious renegades from the religious Orders and the priesthood, who were now assailed by doubts, he consoles by means of his own moral dialectics, telling them they should go “forward with a strong conscience in order to be able to withstand the devil at the hour of death.” They were to “arm themselves with the Word of God” against the devil; “you will stand in need of it, but rely upon this, that it is the Word of God, Who cannot lie; read this [my own] little book ‘On Vows’ carefully and strengthen yourself as best you can,” for the “devil will work against you with your vow for all it is worth and make out your marriage and freedom to be sinful.” Here he is establishing a new school for the formation of consciences.

  How greatly the “inward struggles” pressed upon him in those years, notwithstanding such teachings and his own practice, is plain from two incidents of which we hear by chance.

  On one occasion, in a letter written in March, 1525, he invites his old friend, Amsdorf of Magdeburg, to come to Wittenberg that he may assist him “with comfort and friendly offices,” because, as he complains, he is “very sad and tempted.” The captain of the garrison, Hans von Metzsch, is also, so he reports, in a very troubled state of mind: he too looks for Amsdorf’s help, and will put a carriage at the disposal of the Magdeburg guest for the journey here and back. As Luther later, in 1529, urged Metzsch, who till then had remained a bachelor, to marry forthwith and so save himself mental trouble, it has been assumed by Protestants that Metzsch was tormented by temptations concerning marriage as early
as 1525, and that, as Luther in his letter to Amsdorf places himself in the same category with him, “it was plain of what nature Luther’s temptations were.” It is certainly

  above, , n. 1. possible that Luther meant by what he styles his “temptations,” the struggles he had to sustain on account of the question of his marriage, which was pressing upon him more and more heavily. He elsewhere admits his fear lest he should lower himself and his cause in the eyes of many by his marriage, while on the other hand he feels himself impelled to matrimony by the impulse of nature. It was not merely concern for the good name of the evangel (“We are a spectacle to the world,” etc.) which troubled him. There is no doubt that these “temptations,” if they really referred to matrimony, consisted in scruples of conscience which he had not yet mastered. We can readily understand that it was only gradually, and by means of strong representations from within and from his friends, that he was at length able to overcome the hesitation which had persisted from his Catholic days when his opinions had been so different.

  Another instance of the effect of his temptations on his temperament is related in the Notes of his physician Ratzeberger. The details refer to 1525 or 1524. Ratzeberger says that Luther “had privatim to endure great attacks of Sathana,” and had “frequently been disturbed by the demon in various ways when studying and writing in his little writing-room.” On one occasion Master Lucas Edemberger, George Rhau and some other good comrades, who were musicians, came to visit Luther, but on enquiry at his house, learnt that he had “for some time past” shut himself up and refused to see anyone, or to taste food or drink. Edemberger received no answer to his knock, and, looking through the keyhole, saw Luther lying on his face on the floor with outstretched arms in a faint. He forced open the door, raised him and brought him to a lower chamber where some food was given him. “Thereupon he and his comrades began to play; at this Dr. Luther came to himself slowly, and his melancholy and sadness vanished”. Becoming cheerful he begged his visitors to visit him often and cheer him with their music, “for he found, that as soon as he heard music his temptations and melancholy disappeared; hence the devil was a great enemy of music, which cheers a man, for he loves nothing better than to reduce him to gloom and sadness and make him faint-hearted and full of doubts.”