Collected Works of Martin Luther

by Martin Luther

  An old story that has repeatedly found its way even in recent times into popular writings tells how Luther, in conversation, sadly admitted to Catherine that “heaven is not for us.”

  “One fine evening,” so the tale goes, “Luther was in the garden with Catherine and both were looking up at the starlit sky. ‘Oh, how beautiful heaven is,’ Catherine exclaimed. ‘Yes,’ said Luther ruefully, ‘but I fear it will not be ours.’ ‘Will not be ours?’ cried Catherine, ‘then in God’s name let us retrace our steps.’ ‘It is too late,’ replied Luther, and went back into his study with a heavy heart.”

  A recent work against Luther quotes in support of the legend a modern Danish writer, Pastor Stub. It would have been better to cite J. M. Audin, an uncritical French author of a “Vie de M. Luther,” who helped to spread the story. Audin, on his side, refers to George Iwanek, S. J.(† 1693), who relates it in his “Norma Vitæ”; also to Johannes Kraus, S. J., author of a rather credulous polemical work entitled “Ovicula ex lutheranismo redux.” Kraus certainly took it from Iwanek, but from what source the latter had it we do not know. He mentions no authority and probably took the legend on hearsay and gave it too ready credence. As Luther seems occasionally to have said his night prayers in the open air, and as he frequently enough admits his struggles of conscience, the two together may have given rise to the legend.

  Far from being sorry for the work he had undertaken Luther, on the contrary, is ever throwing on the devil the blame for all its drawbacks. He it is who has to bear the blame for Luther’s own wretchedness, for inward wavering no less than for the lack of order, faith and morals among the Evangelical preachers and laity. He so works upon me “that I sometimes believe, and sometimes do not.” He could not view Satan’s raging as of small account; it was far more to be dreaded than all the persecution of men. “You see from my books what scorn I have for those men who withstand me. I look upon them as fools”; even the lawyers I am ready to defy; “but when these fellows, the evil spirits, come, then the congregation must back me up in the fight,” for then the devil, the very “Lord of the world,” is entering the lists against me. A glance at what has gone before shows how these “combats” must be understood.

  The tone he adopts, though frequently humorous and satirical, does not conceal the deep depression which unquestionably underlies many of his utterances.

  Such depression would quite well explain passing fits of real sorrow for all he had done. But that he really felt such sorrow is not sufficiently attested, so that all one can say is, that the ground for such a feeling of remorse was there. A discouraging sense of the instability of his doctrine and “reformation” might well have aroused contrition, for Luther himself saw only too plainly, as Döllinger rightly remarks, that, though he was strong enough to bring about an apostasy from the ancient Church yet he was powerless to effect a moral regeneration, or even to preserve religious order. Döllinger adds very truly: The reasons for his doubts were, “first of all the recognition of the evil effects produced by his doctrine, then the consciousness of having cut himself adrift from the Church for the sake of a new doctrine previously unknown, and lastly the inward contradictions from which his doctrinal system suffered and the impossibility of squaring it with the many Bible passages which embody or presuppose a contrary doctrine.”

  The words “agonies” and “nocturnal combats” which Luther so often used to describe his struggles of conscience remain to testify to their severity.

  In the years immediately preceding Luther’s death, these seem to have become less violent. Remorse of conscience, as experience teaches, however great it may at one period have been, can in progress of time be lulled to rest. We may quote in this connection the words of one of the most highly esteemed of the older Catholic spiritual guides, without however applying them unconditionally to Luther, as it is always difficult to gauge the extent and working of inward prejudice in the various stages of a man’s mental growth, particularly in the case of such a man as Luther. “Sometimes God withdraws himself from the soul,” writes this author, “on account of secret grievous sins which have been committed from culpable ignorance, or from that ignorance which, at the instigation of the Evil One, seeks to hide itself beneath a mantle of virtue. God then departs from the man, though the latter is not aware of it, and may remain unaware for the rest of his life until the night of death comes. The deluded man fancies he possesses God, but, to his infinite pain and loss, ultimately finds that he has been all the while without Him. In the Book of Proverbs (xiv. 12) it is written: ‘There is a way which seemeth just to a man, but the ends thereof lead to death.’”

  Who would venture to determine in Luther’s case when exactly he first clearly realised his moral responsibility, and when exactly he succeeded in forming himself a false conscience? Though on the one hand it is certain to every Catholic that at first, and for a considerable while, his attack on the Church was extremely culpable, still one cannot close one’s eyes to the fact that Luther himself was convinced that he was in the right, and that this conviction grew with advancing years. (See vol. iv., f.) It was, however, of his own free-will that he persisted in the unhappy attitude of apostasy and revolt which had become a habit with him and thus, in itself, his burden of moral responsibility remained.

  CHAPTER XXXIII

  THE COUNCIL OF TRENT IS CONVOKED, 1542. LUTHER’S POLEMICS AT THEIR HIGHEST TENSION

  1. Steps taken and Tracts Published subsequent to 1537 against the Council of the Church

  At the meeting held in 1537 by the protesting Princes and Estates at Schmalkalden the General Council, which had been suggested as a means of bringing about a settlement and of establishing religious peace, was most outspokenly rejected, and that in a way very insulting to Rome. In its blunt refusal the assembly was more logical than Luther and his theologians, who as yet were averse to an absolute repudiation of the Council. The hatred of the Pope which Luther himself had been so earnest in inculcating at Schmalkalden caused those with whom the decision rested to overlook certain considerations of prudence and diplomacy.

  If Luther opposed a thoroughgoing rejection of the Council it was not because he had the slightest intention of accepting any Council that did not at once declare in his favour. He knew very well that under the conditions on which he insisted there could be no question of a real Council as the Church had always understood it. The real motive for his hesitation was that, for him and his followers, it was a delicate matter, in view of the attitude they had previously adopted on this question, to oppose too abruptly the idea of a Council. He foresaw that the Catholic Imperialists would overwhelm the Protestants with most righteous and bitter reproaches for now turning their backs upon the Council after having at one time been loudest in their demands for it, and outdone themselves in complaints and murmurs on account of its postponement. What impression would the attitude of the protesting Princes make on the Emperor, who was now full of plans for the Council? And would not many be scared away who were still halting at the parting of the ways and were inclined to delay their decision until the looked-for Council? “The Papists assert that we are so reprobate,” wrote Luther, “that we refuse to listen to anybody, whether Pope, Church, Emperor, or Empire, or even the Council which we had so often called for.” Such considerations, however, were not strong enough to prevent him at once lending the whole weight of his voice in support of the resolution arrived at by the Schmalkalden Leaguers.

  After so offensive a rejection of any further attempts at reunion, the armed conflict with the Emperor which had so long been threatening now seemed bound to come. Luther, putting all subterfuge aside, looked this contingency boldly in the face. In a memorandum to his Elector dating from the end of January, 1539, he expressed himself even more strongly than before in favour of the right of armed resistance to the Emperor and the Empire; should the former have recourse to violent measures against the Evangel, then there would be no difference between the Emperor and a hired assassin; if the overlord attempt
s to impose on his subjects blasphemy and idolatry, he must expect to meet with bloody resistance on the part of those attacked.

  While negotiations on which hung war or peace were in progress at Frankfurt, and while, in consequence of this, the question of the Council receded once more into the background, Luther was putting the finishing touch to his “Von den Conciliis und Kirchen,” which appeared in the spring of 1539. In spite of being weak and unwell his powers of work seemed inexhaustible; his own troubles and worries were all forgotten when it was a question of entering the lists as the leader of the movement. The work was intended to forestall the Œcumenical Council should it ever become an accomplished fact, and to frustrate as far as possible its harmful effects on himself. In it with the utmost audacity the author pits his own authority against that of the highest secular and ecclesiastical powers; his tone is at once so self-confident and so coarse that here again it provides the psychologist with an enigma.

  With his projected Council, so he says at the commencement, the Pope in reality only wanted to deal the Emperor and all Christians “a blow on the snout.” He held out the Council to them just as, in playing with a dog, we offer him a morsel on the point of a knife, and, when he snaps at it, we hit him with the handle. He declares roundly that, “the Papists would not and could not hold a Council unless indeed they first took captive the Emperor, the kings and all the princes.” If the Emperor and the Princes wished “reprobates to slap their cheeks,” then let them continue to debate about the Council. The alleged impossibility of the Council he proclaims still more rudely, asserting that, the Papists being what they are, the whole world must despair of any amelioration of the Church: “They would rather leave Christendom to perish, and have the devil himself for their God and Lord, than accept Christ and give up even one jot of their idolatry.” Hence we must look for reformation from Christ our Lord, “and let them fare devilwards as they are bent on doing.”

  He then goes on to explain that amendment was impossible on the olden principles of the Fathers and canons, but could come about only by means of Holy Scripture; the Fathers and canons were not at one; even the first four Œcumenical Councils — the history of which he treats summarily though with little real historical knowledge — had only been able to ratify the belief laid down in Scripture; for faith a surer and more stable foundation was necessary than that of ecclesiastical Councils ever subject to make mistakes. At the same time he has nothing but scorn for the claims of the ancient and universal Church to be the permanent infallible teacher on matters of faith; he has no eye for her divinely guaranteed power as it had been exemplified in the General Councils, so solemnly representing the Churches of the whole world. On the other hand, his own pretensions are far above question. He knows, so he asserts, much more about the ancient Councils than all the Papists in a lump. He could instruct the Council, should one actually be summoned, on its procedure and its standards. It has, according to him, no power in the Church save to reject new errors which do not agree with Scripture (as though a Council had ever adopted any other course). Even the office of a clergyman or schoolmaster may, he says, be compared with that of the Councils in so far as, within their own small sphere, they judge human opinions and human rules by the standard of the Word of God, and seek to oppose the devil. But just as, in the case of these, he cannot guarantee that they will always read Holy Scripture aright, so also in the case of the Councils.

  If, however, such a solemn Council was convened — and such a thing might conceivably be of some use — then the first requirement, so he declares with surprising frankness, was “that, in the Council, the Pope should not merely lay aside his tyranny of human law, but also hold with us.... The Emperor and the kings must also help in this and compel the Pope should he refuse.” This he wrote for the disabusal of the infatuated, for at that time, strange to say, some Germans of the greatest influence still fancied it possible to pave the way for a reconciliation by means of negotiations and religious conferences, and were anxious to leave the Lutheran question in suspense until a General Council should meet. Luther further demands, that “the thoroughly learned in Holy Scripture ... and a few prudent and well-disposed laymen ... should also be invited to the Council. Then the abominations of the Pope would speedily be condemned.”

  He adds: “Yes, you will say, but of such a Council there is no hope. That is what I think too.”

  He is ready, however, to be content with a Provincial Council of the same sort held in Germany, and expresses the strange hope, that “the other monarchs would in time approve and accept the decisions of such a Council.” With this reference to the Provincial Council he is dallying with a proposal made by some short-sighted imperial advisers, viz. that a “free, German Council” should attempt to settle the controversy.

  The author then proceeds to set forth his jumbled theories on the “Church” and finally brings the lengthy work to a conclusion with a protestation that his doctrine forms the very pillars on which the Church rests: “Whoever teaches differently, even were he an angel from heaven, let him be anathema” (Gal. i. 8). “We are determined to be the Pope’s master and to tread him under foot, as Psalm xci. says: Thou shalt walk upon the asp and the basilisk and thou shalt trample under foot the lion and the dragon.”

  In many parts of the “Von den Conciliis und Kirchen” Luther is inclined to repeat himself, whilst the style exhibits a certain dreariness and monotony often met with in this class of Luther’s productions, at least when the ardour of his polemics begins to fail, or when his object in view is not popular instruction and edification. He himself on its completion wrote of it to Melanchthon who was attending the meeting at Frankfurt: “The book sadly vexes me, I find it weak and wordy.” At any rate with many who lacked any real discernment it no doubt served to cover Luther’s and his friends’ retreat from a position they had so long and persistently defended, viz. that a Council was the chief thing called for.

  The fruitless meetings of Frankfurt and Hagenau and the equally fruitless conferences of Worms and Ratisbon were followed, in 1541, by the Ratisbon Interim. This, as might have been foreseen, satisfied neither party. As for the Council it had been repeatedly postponed by Paul III on account of the embroilments between the Emperor and France and the opposition of the Protestants.

  At last, on May 22, 1542, the Pope convened a General Synod to begin in the town of Trent on Nov. 1 of that same year. The head on earth of the Catholic Church, in the Bull summoning the Council, spoke of the political obstacles now at last happily removed. The aim of the assembly was to be to debate, and by the light of divine wisdom and truth, settle on such steps “as might appear effective for the safeguarding of the purity and truth of the Christian religion, for the restoration of good morals and the amendment of the bad, for the establishing of peace, harmony and concord among Christians, both rulers and ruled, and lastly for opposing the inroads of the unbelievers [the Turks].” The Pope most earnestly implores the Emperor and the other Christian monarchs “by the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ, Whose faith and religion are being most violently assailed both from within and from without,” not to forsake God’s cause but by active co-operation to support it in every way.

  The grand project of a Council was, however, further delayed by the war which suddenly broke out between Charles V and France. Only on Dec. 13, 1545, could the first session be held at Trent. It was then indeed high time, for the Emperor Charles V, in the hope of securing a united front against the French, had shown himself much too disposed to yield to the German Protestants, as is evident from the Reichsabschied of Spires in 1544.

  As to Luther: up to the very last moment he scoffed at the efforts of Rome, as though her proposals for reform were all mere sham. Under this cloak of contempt he concealed his real annoyance at the opening of the Council.

  As soon as the new Bull of Convocation for 1545 appeared he wrote to his old friend, Wenceslaus Link: “I have seen the Pope’s writing and the Bull convening the Council to Trent for Lætare Su
nday. May Christ laugh last at the reprobates who laugh at Him. Amen.” A few days later he said in a letter to his confidant, Justus Jonas: “To believe the Pope’s promises would be like placing faith in the father of lies whose own darling son he is.”— “The Pope is mad and foolish from top to toe,” so he informs his Elector. A “Feast of Fools” is the only fit word with which he can describe the assembly of the ablest and most learned men in the Church, who came from every land, honourably intent on bringing peace to Christians and gaining a victory for truth. Luther had not the slightest doubt where the real well-spring of truth undefiled was to be found; on the same day that he wrote to his Elector the words just quoted, in a letter to Nicholas Amsdorf, the “true and genuine bishop of the Church of Naumburg,” as he styles him, he says: “I glory in the fact that this at least is certain: The Son of God is seated at the right hand of the Father and by His Spirit speaks most sweetly to us here below, just as He spoke to the Apostles; we, however, are His disciples and hear the Word from His lips. Praise be to God Who has chosen us unworthy sinners to be thus honoured by His Son and has permitted us to hearken to His Majesty through the Word of the Evangel. The angels and the whole of God’s creation wish us luck; but the Pope, Satan’s own monster, grieves and is affrighted, and all the gates of hell shake. Let us rejoice in the Lord. For them the Day approaches and the end. I have in mind another book against Popery, but the state of my head and my endless correspondence hinders me. Yet with God’s help I shall set about it shortly.” What he is thinking of is a continuation — which death prevented him from carrying out — of a new book with which we must now deal.