Collected Works of Martin Luther

by Martin Luther

  That, on the occasion of the Visitation, he began to lay stress on works as well as faith, has already been pointed out. In this connection it is curious to note how, with his usual caution and prudence where Luther and his more ardent followers were concerned, he recommends that works should be represented as praiseworthy only when penance was being preached, but not, for instance, when Justification was the subject, as, here, Lutherans, being accustomed to hear so much of the “sola fides,” might well take offence.

  In the matter of Justification, he, like Luther, made everything to rest on that entirely outward covering over of man by Christ’s merits received through faith, or rather through confidence of salvation. Indeed, Luther’s greatest service, according to him, lay in his having made this discovery. It was necessary, so he taught, that Christian perfection should be made to consist solely in one’s readiness, whenever oppressed by the sense of guilt, to find consolation by wrapping oneself up in the righteousness of Christ. Then the heart is “fearless, though our conscience and the law continue to cry within us that we are unworthy.” In other words, we must “take it as certain that we have a God Who is gracious to us for Christ’s sake, be our works what they may.”

  It was his advocacy of this doctrine, as the very foundation of sanctification, which earned for him the striking commendation we find in a letter written by Luther to Jonas in 1529. Melanchthon had been of greater service to the Church and the cause of holiness than “a thousand fellows of the ilk of Jerome, Hilarion or Macarius, those Saints of ceremonies and celibacy who were not worthy to loose the laces of his boots nor — to boast a little — of yours [Jonas’s], of Pomeranus [Bugenhagen], or even of mine. For what have these self-constituted Saints and all the wifeless bishops done which can compare with one year’s work of Philip’s, or with his ‘Loci’?”

  Yet this very work was to bear additional testimony to Melanchthon’s abandonment of several of Luther’s fundamental doctrines.

  In 1530 and 1531 Melanchthon passed through a crisis, and from that time forward a greater divergency in matters of doctrine became apparent between the two friends. Even in his work for the Diet in 1530 Melanchthon had assumed a position of greater independence, and this grew more marked when he began to plan a revised edition of his “Loci.” He himself was later to acknowledge that his views had undergone a change, though, in order to avoid unpleasantness, he preferred to make out that the alteration was less far-reaching than it really was. “You know,” he wrote to an ardent admirer of Luther’s, “that I put certain things concerning predestination, determination of the will, necessity of obedience to the law, and grievous sin, less harshly than does Luther. In all these things, as I well know, Luther’s teaching is the same as mine, but there are some unlearned persons, who, without at all understanding them, pin their faith on certain rude expressions of his.” But was Luther’s teaching really “the same”? The truth is, that, on the points instanced, “Luther had not only in earlier days taught a doctrine different from that of Melanchthon, but continued to cherish the same to the very end of his life.” It fitted, however, the cowardly character of Melanchthon to conceal as much as possible these divergencies.

  It is worth our while to examine a little more closely the nature of the doctrinal differences between Luther and Melanchthon, seeing that the latter — to quote the Protestant theologian Gustav Krüger — was the real “creator of evangelical theology” and the “founder of the evangelical Church system.”

  As a matter of fact Melanchthon had already shaped out a course of his own by the modifications which he had seen fit to introduce in the original Confession of Augsburg.

  Not only did he omit whatever displeased him in the new doctrine, but he also formulated it in a way which manifestly deviated from Luther’s own. Human co-operation, for instance, plays a part much greater than with Luther. Unlike Luther, he did not venture to assert plainly that the gift of faith was the work of God independent of all human co-operation. Concerning the “law,” too, he put forward a different opinion, which, however, was not much better than Luther’s. In 1530, so says Fr. Loofs, one of the most esteemed Protestant historians of dogma, “he was no longer merely an interpreter of Luther’s ideas.” “Yet he had not yet arrived at a finished theology of his own even in 1531, when he published the ‘editio princeps’ of the ‘Augustana’ and the ‘Apologia.’” One of the first important products of the change was the Commentary on Romans which he published in 1532. Then, in 1535, appeared the revised edition of the “Loci,” which, in its new shape, apart from mere modifications of detail, was to serve as his measure for the last twenty-five years of his life. “The ‘Loci’ of 1535 embody the distinctive Melanchthonian theology.”

  “Thus, even before the death of Luther, and before altered circumstances had restricted Melanchthon’s influence, the stamp which the latter had impressed upon the principles of the Reformation had already become the heritage of a large circle of evangelical theologians.”

  Leaving aside the idea of an unconditional Divine predestination, he spoke in both these works of the “promissio universalis” of salvation. The Holy Ghost — such is his view on the question of conversion — by means of the “Word” produces faith in those who do not resist. The human will, which does not reject, but accepts grace, forms, together with the “Word of God” and the “Holy Ghost,” one of the three causes (“tres causæ concurrentes”) of conversion. It is really to Luther’s deterministic doctrine that the author of the “Loci” alludes in the 1535 edition: “The Stoics’ ravings about fate must find no place in the Church.”

  Human co-operation in the work of salvation came to be designated Synergism. The Protestant historian of dogma mentioned above points out “that, by his adoption of Synergism, Melanchthon forsook both the Lutheran tradition and his own earlier standpoint.” The assumption of an unconditional Divine predestination, such as we find it advocated by Luther, Zwingli, Bucer, Calvin and others, was here “for the first time thrown overboard by one of the Protestant leaders.” The same author, after commenting on Melanchthon’s new exposition of justification and the law in relation to the Gospel, declares that here, too, Melanchthon had exploited “only a part of Luther’s thought and had distorted some of the most precious truths we owe to the Reformation.”

  This same charge we not seldom hear brought against Melanchthon by up-to-date Protestant theologians. In the school of Albert Ritschl it is, for instance, usual to say that he narrowed the ideas of Luther, particularly in his conception of faith and of the Church. The truth is that Melanchthon really did throw overboard certain radical views which had been cherished by Luther, particularly in his early days. The faith which is required for salvation he comes more and more to take as faith in all the articles of revelation, and not so much as a mere faith and confidence in the forgiveness of sins and personal salvation; “the first place is accorded no longer to trust but to doctrine,” though, as will appear immediately, he did not feel quite sure of his position. In his conception of the Church, too, he was more disposed to see “an empirical reality and to insist on its doctrinal side,” instead of looking on the Church, as Luther did, viz. as the “invisible band of all who confess the Gospel.” Johannes Haussleiter, the Protestant editor of the Disputations held under Melanchthon from 1546 onwards, thus feels justified in saying that, “it was in Melanchthon’s school that the transition was effected ... from a living confession born of faith and moulded with the assistance of theology, to a firm, hard and rigid law of doctrine.... This, from the point of view of history, spelt retrogression.... If it was possible for such a thing to occur at Wittenberg one generation after Luther’s ringing testimony in favour of the freedom of a Christian Man, what might not be feared for the future?”

  Carl Müller is also at pains to show that it was Melanchthon who imbued the first generation of theologians — for whose formation he, rather than Luther, was responsible — with the idea of a Church which should be the guardian of that “pure d
octrine” to be enshrined in formularies of faith. According to Müller it can never be sufficiently emphasised that the common idea is all wrong, and that “to Luther himself the Church never meant a congregation united by outward bonds or represented by a hierarchy or any other legal constitution, rule or elaborate creed, but nothing more than a union founded on the Gospel and its confession”; Luther, according to him, remained “on the whole” true to his ideal. How far the words “on the whole” are correct, will be seen when we come to discuss Luther’s changes of views.

  Melanchthon betrays a certain indecision in his answer to the weighty question: Which faith is essential for salvation? At one time he takes this faith, according to the common Lutheran view, as trust in the mercy of God in Christ, at another, as assent to the whole revealed Word of God. Of his Disputations, which are the best witnesses we have to his attitude, the editor says aptly: “He alternates between two definitions of faith which he seems to consider of equal value, though to-day the difference between them cannot fail to strike one. He wavers, and yet he does so quite unconsciously.” The same editor also states that all attempts hitherto made to explain this phenomenon leave something to be desired. He himself makes no such attempt.

  The true explanation, however, is not far to seek.

  Melanchthon’s vacillation was the inevitable consequence of a false doctrinal standpoint. According to the principles of Luther and Melanchthon, faith, even as a mere assurance of salvation, should of itself avail to save a man and therefore to make him a member of the Church. Thus there is no longer any ground to require a preliminary belief or obedient acceptance of the whole substance of the Word of God; and yet some acceptance, at least implicit, of the whole substance of revelation, seems required of everyone who desires to be a Christian. This explains the efforts of both Luther and Melanchthon to discover ways and means for the reintroduction of this sort of faith. Their search was rendered the more difficult by the fact that here there was a “work” in the most real sense of the word, viz. willing, humble and cheerful acceptance of the law, and readiness to accord a firm assent to the truths revealed. The difficulty was even enhanced because in the last resort an authority is required, particularly by the unlearned, to formulate the doctrines and to point out what the true content of revelation is. In point of fact, however, every external guarantee of this sort had been discarded, at least theoretically, and no human authority could provide such an assurance. We seek in vain for a properly established authority capable of enacting with binding power what has to be believed, now that Luther and Melanchthon have rejected the idea of a visible Church and hierarchy, vicariously representing Christ. From this point of view it is easy to understand Melanchthon’s efforts — illogical though they were — to erect an edifice of “pure doctrine for all time” and his fondness for a “firm, hard and rigid law of doctrine.” His perplexity and wavering were only too natural. What reliable guarantee was Melanchthon in a position to offer — he who so frequently altered his teaching — that his own interpretation of Scripture exactly rendered the Divine Revelation, and thus constituted “pure doctrine” firm and unassailable? Modern theologians, when they find fault with Melanchthon for his assumption of authority and for his alteration of Luther’s teaching, have certainly some justification for their strictures.

  As a matter of fact, however, Luther, as we shall see below, was every whit as undecided as Melanchthon as to what was to be understood by faith. Like his friend, Luther too alternates between faith as an assurance of salvation and faith as an assent to the whole Word of God. The only difference is, that, in his earlier years, his views concerning the freedom of each individual Christian to expound the Word of God and to determine what belonged to the body of faith, were much more radical than at a later period. Hence Melanchthon’s fondness for a “rigid law of doctrine” was more at variance with the earlier than with the later Luther. From the later Luther he differs favourably in this; not being under the necessity of having to explain away any earlier radical views, he was better able to sum up more clearly and systematically the essentials of belief, a task, moreover, which appealed to his natural disposition. Luther’s ideas on this subject are almost exclusively embodied in polemical writings written under the stress of great excitement; such statements only too frequently evince exaggerations of the worst sort, due to the passion and heat of the moment.

  Of special importance was Melanchthon’s opposition to Luther on one of the most practical points of the Church’s life, viz. the doctrine of the Supper. At the Table which was intended to be the most sublime expression of the charity and union prevailing among the faithful, these two minds differed hopelessly.

  It was useless for Luther to assure Melanchthon that the Real Presence of Christ in the Sacrament was so essential an article of faith that if a man did not believe in it he believed in no article whatever. From the commencement of the ‘thirties Melanchthon struck out his own course and became ever more convinced, that the doctrine of the Real Presence was not vouched for by the Bible. Once he had gone so far as to tell the Zwinglians that they had “to fear the punishment of Heaven” on account of their erroneous doctrine. After becoming acquainted with the “Dialogus” of [Œcolampadius, published in 1530, he, however, veered round to a denial of the Sacrament. Yet, with his superficial rationalism and his misinterpretation of certain patristic statements, [Œcolampadius had really adduced no peremptory objection against the general, traditional, literal interpretation of the words of consecration to which Melanchthon, as well as Luther, had till then adhered. In view of Melanchthon’s defective theological education little was needed to bring about an alteration in his views, particularly when the alteration was in the direction of a Humanistic softening of hard words, or seemed likely to provide a basis for conciliation. There was some foundation for his comparison of himself, in matters of theology, to the donkey in the Palm-Sunday mystery-play.

  On the question of the Sacrament, the theory of the “Sacramentarians” came more and more to seem to him the true one.

  Owing, however, to his timidity and the fear in which he stood of Luther, he did not dare to speak out. The “Loci” of 1535 is remarkably obscure in its teaching concerning the Sacrament, whilst, in a letter to Camerarius of the same year, he speaks of Luther’s view as “alien” to his own, which, however, he refuses to explain. Later the Cologne scheme of 1543 in which Bucer, to Luther’s great annoyance, evaded the question of the Real Presence, obtained Melanchthon’s approval. When, in 1540, Melanchthon made public a new edition of the Confession of Augsburg (“Confessio variata”), containing alterations of greater import than those of the previous editions, the new wording of the 10th Article was “Melanchthonian” in the sense that it failed to exclude “the doctrine either of Melanchthon, or of Bucer, or of Calvin on the Supper.” It was “Melanchthonian” also in that elasticity and ambiguity which has since become the model for so many Protestant formularies. In order to secure a certain outward unity it became usual to avoid any explicitness which might affright such as happened to have scruples. A Melanchthonian character was thus imparted to the theology which, with Melanchthon himself as leader, was to guard the heritage of Luther.

  Points of Accord between Melanchthon and Luther.

  Melanchthon’s religious character naturally exhibits many points of contact with that of Luther.

  Only to a limited extent, however, does this hold good of the “inward terrors.” Attempts have been made to prove that, like Luther, his more youthful friend believed he had experienced within him the salutary working of the new doctrine of Justification. But, though, in his “Apologia” to the Augsburg Confession and in other writings, he extols, as we have seen, this doctrine as alone capable of imparting strength and consolation in times of severe anxiety of conscience and spiritual desolation, and though he speaks of the “certamina conscientiæ,” and of the assurance of salvation in exactly the same way that Luther does, still this is no proof of his having experienced an
ything of the sort himself. The statements, which might be adduced in plenty from his private letters, lag very far behind Luther’s characteristic assurances of his own experience.

  Of the enlightenment from on high by which he believed Luther’s divine mission as well as his own work as a teacher to be the result, of prayer for their common cause and of the joy in heaven over the work, labours and persecution they had endured, he can speak in language as exalted as his master’s, though not with quite the same wealth of imagination and eloquence. That the Pope is Antichrist he proves from the Prophet Daniel and other biblical passages, with the same bitter prejudice and the same painstaking exegesis as Luther. On hearing of the misshapen monster, alleged to have been found dead in the Tiber near Rome in 1496, his superstition led him to write a work overflowing with hatred against the older Church in which in all seriousness he expounded the meaning of the “Pope-Ass,” and described every part of its body in detail. This work was published, together with Luther’s on the Freiberg “Monk-Calf.” Melanchthon there says: “The feminine belly and breasts of the monster denote the Pope’s body, viz. the Cardinals, Bishops, Priests, Monks, Students, and such-like lascivious folk and gluttonous swine, for their life is nothing but feeding and swilling, unchastity and luxury.... The fish scales on the arms, legs, and neck stand for the secular princes and lords” who “cling to the Pope and his rule,” etc. This curious pamphlet ran through a number of editions, nor did Melanchthon ever become aware of its absurdity. As for Luther, in 1535 he wrote an Appendix, entitled “Luther’s Amen to the Interpretation of the Pope-Ass,” confirming his friend’s reading of the portent. “Because the Divine Majesty,” so we there read, “has Himself created and manifested it [the monstrosity], the whole world ought rightly to tremble and be horror-struck.”

  In his fondness for the superstitions of astrology Melanchthon went further than Luther, who refused to believe in the influence of the planets on man’s destiny, and in the horoscopes on which his companion set so much store. Both, however, were at one in their acceptance of other superstitions, notably of diabolical apparitions even of the strangest kinds.