The struggles of conscience which we already had occasion to consider (vol. v., p. 319 ff.) were not the only gloomy elements in Luther’s interior life. Other things, too, must be taken into our purview if we wish to appreciate justly the more sombre side of his existence, viz. his bodily ailments and the mental sufferings to which they gave rise (e.g. paroxysms of terror and apprehension), his temptations, likewise his delusions concerning his intercourse with the other world (ghosts, diabolical apparitions, etc.), and, lastly, the revelations of which he fancied himself the recipient.
It is no easy task to understand the nature of the morbid phenomena which we notice in Luther. His own statements on the subject are not only very scanty but also prove that he was himself unable to determine exactly their cause. Nevertheless, it is our duty to endeavour, with the help of what he says, to glean some notion of what was going on within him. His gloomy mental experiences are so inextricably bound up with his state of health, that, even more than his “agonies of conscience” already dealt with, they deserve to take their place on the darker background of his psychic life. Here again, duly to appreciate the state of the case, we shall have to review anew the whole of Luther’s personal history.
What first claims our attention, even in the early days of Luther’s life as a monk, are the attacks of what he himself calls fears and trepidations (“terrores, pavores”). It seems fairly clear that these were largely neurotic,—physical breakdowns due to nervous worry.
According to Melanchthon, the friend in whom he chiefly confided, Luther gave these sufferings a place in the forefront of his soul’s history. The reader may remember the significant passage where Melanchthon says, that, when oppressed with gloomy thoughts of the Divine Judgments, Luther “was often suddenly overwhelmed by such fits of terror (‘subito tanti terrores’)” as made him an object of pity. These terrors he had experienced for the first time when he decided to enter the monastic life, led to this resolution by the sudden death of a dearly loved friend.[306]
We hear from Luther himself of the strange paroxysms of fear from which he suffered as a monk. On two occasions when he speaks of them his words do not seem to come under suspicion of forming part of the legend which he afterwards wove about his earlier history (see below, xxxvii.). These statements, already alluded to once, may be given more in detail here. In March, 1537, he told his friends: “When I was saying Mass [his first Mass] and had reached the Canon, such terror seized on me (ita horrui) that I should have fled had not the Prior held me back; for when I came to the words, ‘Thee, therefore, most merciful Father, we suppliantly pray and entreat,’ etc., I felt that I was speaking to God without any mediator. I longed to flee from the earth. For who can endure the Majesty of God without Christ the Mediator? In short, as a monk I experienced those terrors (horrores); I was made to experience them before I began to assail them.”[307] Incidentally it may be noted that “Christ the Mediator,” whom Luther declares he could not find in the Catholic ritual, is, as a matter of fact, invoked in the very words which follow those quoted by Luther: “Thee, therefore, most merciful Father, we suppliantly pray and entreat through Jesus Christ Thy Son our Lord to accept and bless these gifts,” etc. Evidently when Luther recorded his impressions he had forgotten these words and only remembered the groundless fear and inward commotion with which he had said his first Mass.
Something similar occurred during a procession at Erfurt, when he had to walk by the side of Staupitz, his superior, who was carrying the Blessed Sacrament. Fear and terror so mastered Luther that he was hardly able to remain. Telling Staupitz of this later in Confession, the latter encouraged him with the words: “Christ does not affright, He comforts.” The incident must have taken place after 1515, the Eisleben priory having been founded only in that year.[308]
If we go back to the very beginning of his life in the monastery we shall find that the religious scruples which assailed him at least for a while, possibly also deserve to be reckoned as morbid. We shall return below to the voice “from heaven” which drove him into the cloister.
Unspeakable fear issuing in bodily prostration was also at work in him on the occasion of the already related incident in the choir of the Erfurt convent, when he fell to the ground crying out that he was not the man possessed. Not only does Dungersheim relate it, on the strength of what he had heard from inmates of the monastery,[309] but Cochlæus also speaks of the incident, in his “Acta,” and, again, in coarse and unseemly language in the book he wrote in 1533, entitled “Von der Apostasey,” doubtless also drawing his information from the Augustinian monks: “It is notorious how Luther came to be a monk; how he collapsed in choir, bellowing like a bull when the Gospel of the man possessed was being read; how he behaved himself in the monastery,” etc.[310] We may recall, how, according to Cochlæus, his brother monks suspected Luther, owing to this attack and on account of a “certain singularity of manner,” of being either under diabolical influence or an epileptic.[311] The convulsions which accompanied the fit may have given rise to the suspicion of epilepsy, but, in reality, they cannot be regarded as sufficient proof. Epilepsy is well-nigh incurable, yet, in Luther’s case, we hear of no similar fits in later life. In later years he manifested no fear of epileptic fits, though he lived in dread of an apoplectic seizure, such as, in due course, was responsible for his death. A medical diagnosis would not fail to consider this seeming instance of epileptic convulsions in conjunction with Luther’s state of fear. For the purpose of the present work it will be sufficient to bring together for the benefit of the expert the necessary data for forming an opinion on the whole question, so far as this is possible.
From the beginning Luther seems to have regarded these “states of terror” as partaking to some extent of a mystic character.
To what a height they could sometimes attain appears from the description he embodied in his “Resolutiones” in 1518, and of which Köstlin opines that, in it Luther portrayed the culminating point to which his own fears had occasionally risen. It is indeed very probable that Luther is referring to no other than himself when he says in the opening words of this remarkable passage: “I know a man who assures me that he has frequently felt these pains.”[312] G. Kawerau also agrees with Köstlin in assuming that Luther is here speaking of himself,[313] a view which is, in fact, forced upon us by other similar passages. Walter Köhler declares: “Whether Luther intended these words to refer to himself or not, in any case they certainly depict his normal state.”[314]
Luther, after saying that, “many, even to the present day,” suffer the pangs of hell so often described in the Psalms of David, and [so Luther thinks], by Tauler, goes on to describe these pangs in words which we shall now quote in full, as hitherto only extracts have been given.[315]
“He often had to endure such pains, though in every instance they were but momentary; they were, however, so great and so hellish that no tongue can tell, no pen describe, no one who has not felt them believe what they were. When at their worst, or when they lasted for half an hour, nay, for the tenth part of an hour, he was utterly undone, and all his bones turned to ashes. At such times God and the whole of creation appears to him dreadfully wroth. There is, however, no escape, no consolation either within or without, and man is ringed by a circle of accusers. He then tearfully exclaims in the words of Holy Scripture: ‘I am cast away, O Lord, from before Thy eyes’ [Ps. xxx. 23], and does not even dare to say: ‘Lord, chastise me not in Thy wrath’ [Ps. vi. 1]. At such a time the soul, strange to tell, is unable to believe that it ever will be saved; it only feels that the punishment is not yet at an end. And yet the punishment is everlasting and may not be regarded as temporal; there remains only a naked longing for help and a dreadful groaning; where to look for help the soul does not know. It is as it were stretched out [on the cross] with Christ, so that ‘all its bones are numbered.’ There is not a nook in it that is not filled with the bitterest anguish, with terror, dread and sadness, and above all with the feeling that it is to last for ever and ever. To make use of a weaker comparison: when a ball travels along a straight line, every point of the line bears the whole weight of the ball, though it does not contain it. In the same way, when the floods of eternity pass over the soul, it feels nothing else, drinks in nothing else but everlasting pain; this, however, does not last but passes. It is the very pain of hell, is this unbearable terror, that excludes all consolation!… As to what it means, those who have experienced it must be believed.”[316]
A physical accompaniment of these fears was, in Luther’s case, the fainting fits referred to now and again subsequent to the beginning of his struggle against the Church.
On the occasion of the attack of which we are told by Ratzeberger the physician, when he was found by friends lying unconscious on the floor, he had been “overpowered by melancholy and sadness.” It is also very remarkable that when his friends had brought him to, partly by the help of music, he begged them to return frequently, that they might play to him “because he found that as soon as he heard the sound of music his ‘tentationes’ and melancholy left him.”[317] According to Kawerau the circumstances point to this incident having taken place in 1523 or 1524.[318]
On the occasion of a serious attack of illness in 1527 his swoons again caused great anxiety to those about him. This illness was preceded by a fit in Jan., 1527. Luther informs a friend that he had “suddenly been affrighted and almost killed by a rush or thickening of the blood in the region of the heart,” but had as quickly recovered. His cure was, he thinks, due to a decoction of milk-thistle,[319] then considered a very efficacious remedy. The rush of blood to the heart, of which he here had to complain, occurred at a time when Luther had nothing to say of “temptations,” but only of the many troubles and anxieties due to his labours.
The more severe bout of illness began on July 6, 1527, at the very time of, or just after, some unusually severe “temptation.”[320] Jonas prefaces his account of it by saying that Luther, “after having that morning, as he admitted, suffered from a burdensome spiritual temptation, came back partially to himself (‘utcunque ad se rediit’).” The words seem to presuppose that he had either fainted or been on the verge of fainting.[321] Having, as the same friend relates, recovered somewhat, Luther made his confession and spoke of his readiness for death. In the afternoon, however, he complained of an unendurable buzzing in his left ear which soon grew into a frightful din in his head. Bugenhagen, in his narrative, is of opinion that the cause of the mischief here emerges plainly, viz. that it was the work of the devil. A fainting fit ensued which overtook Luther at the door of his bedchamber. When laid on his bed he complained of being utterly exhausted. His body was rubbed with cloths wrung out of cold water and then warmth was applied. The patient now felt a little better, but his strength came and went. Amongst other remarks he then passed was one, that Christ is stronger than Satan. When saying this he burst into tears and sobs. Finally, after application of the remedies common at that time, he broke out into a sweat and the danger was considered to be over.
There followed, however, the days and months of dreadful spiritual “temptations” already described (vol. v., p. 333 ff.). At first the bodily weakness also persisted. Bugenhagen was obliged to take up his abode in Luther’s house for a while because the latter was in such dread of the temptations and wished to have help and comfort at hand. For a whole week Luther was unable either to read or to write.
At the end of August and again in September the fainting fits recurred.
His friends, however, were more concerned about Luther’s mental anguish than about his bodily sufferings. The latter gradually passed away, whereas the struggles of conscience continued to be very severe. On Oct. 17, Jonas wrote to Johann Lang: “He is battling amidst the waves of temptation and is hardly able to find any passage of Scripture wherewith to console himself.”[322]
In 1530 again we hear of Luther’s life being endangered by a fainting fit, though it seems to have been distinct from the above attack of illness. This also occurred after an alarming incident during which he believed he had actually seen the devil. It was followed the next day by a loud buzzing in the head. Renewed trouble in the region of the heart, accompanied by paroxysms of fear, is reported to have been experienced in 1536.[323] After this we hear no more of any such symptoms till just before Luther’s death. In the sudden attack of illness which brought his life to a close he complained chiefly of feeling a great oppression on the chest, though his heart was sound.[324]
Quite a number of Luther’s minor ills seem to have been the result of overwrought nerves due partly to his work and the excitement of his life. Here again it is difficult to judge of the symptoms; unquestionably some sort of connection exists between his nervous state and his depression and bodily fears;[325] the fainting fits are even reckoned by some as simply due to neurasthenia.
There can be no doubt that his nervousness was, to some extent inherited, to some extent due to his upbringing. His lively temper which enabled him to be so easily carried away by his fancy, to take pleasure in the most glaring of exaggerations, and bitterly to resent the faintest opposition, proves that, for all the vigour of his constitution, nerves played an important part.
Already in his monastic days his state was aggravated by mental overstrain and the haste and turmoil of his work which led him to neglect the needs of the body. His uninterrupted literary labours, his anxiety for his cause, his carelessness about his health and his irregular mode of life reduced him in those days to a mere skeleton. At Worms the wretchedness of his appearance aroused pity in many. It is true that when he returned from the Wartburg he was looking much stronger, but the years 1522-25, during which he led a lonely bachelor’s life in the Wittenberg monastery, without anyone to wait on him, and sleeping night after night on an unmade bed, brought his nervous state to such a pitch that he was never afterwards able completely to master it. On the contrary, his nervousness grew ever more pronounced, tormenting him in various ways.
So little, however, did he understand it that it was to the devil that he attributed the effects, now dubiously, now with entire conviction.
Among these effects must be included the buzzing in the head and singing in the ears, to which Luther’s letters allude for many a year. When, at the end of Jan., 1529, the violent “agonies and temptations” recurred, the buzzing in the ears again made itself felt. He writes: “For more than a week I have been ailing from dizziness and humming in the head (‘vertigo et bombus’), whether this be due to fatigue or to the malice of the devil I do not know. Pray for me that I may be strong in the faith.”[326] He also complains of this trouble in the head in the next letter, dating from early in Feb.[327] He was then unable to preach or to give lectures for nearly three weeks.[328]
He goes on to say of himself: “In addition to the buffets of the angel of Satan [the temptations] I have also suffered from giddiness and headache.”[329] It was, however, as he himself points out, no real illness: “Almost constantly is it my fate to feel ill though my body is well.”[330]
In the new kind of life he had to lead in the Castle of Coburg in 1530, when, to want of exercise, was added overwork and anxiety of mind, these neurasthenic phenomena again reappeared. He compares the noises in his head to thunder, or to a whirlwind. There was also present a tendency to fainting. At times he was unable even to look at any writing, or to bear the light owing to the weakness of his head.[331] Simultaneously the struggle with his thoughts gave him endless trouble; thus he writes: “It is the angel of Satan who buffets me so, but since I have endured death so often for Christ, I am quite ready for His sake to suffer this illness, or this Sabbath-peace of the head.”[332] “You declare,” he says laughingly in a letter to Melanchthon, “that I am pig-headed, but my pig-headedness is nothing compared with that of my head (‘caput eigensinnigissimum’); so powerfully does Satan compel me to make holiday and to waste my time.”[333] Towards the middle of August his head improved, but the tiresome buzzing frequently recurred. Luther complained later that, during this summer, he had been forced to waste half his time.[334]
When, from this time onwards, “we hear him ever saying that he feels worn-out (‘decrepitus’), weary of life and desirous of death … all this is undoubtedly closely bound up with these nerve troubles.”[335] The morning hours became for him the worst, because during them he often suffered from dizziness. After his “prandium,” between nine and ten o’clock, he was wont to feel better. As a rule he slept well.
The attacks which occurred early in 1532 must also be noted.
In Jan., so his anxious pupil Veit Dietrich writes, Luther had a foreboding of some illness impending and fancied it would come in March; in reality it came on on Jan. 22. “Very early, about four o’clock, he felt a violent buzzing in his ears followed by great weakness of the heart.” His friends were summoned at his request as he did not wish to be alone. “When, however, he had recovered and had his wits about him (‘confirmato animo’), he proceeded to storm against the Papists, who were not yet to make gay over his death.” “Were Satan able,” he says, “he would gladly kill me; at every hour he is at my heels.” “The physician declared,” so the account goes on, “after having examined the urine, that Luther stood in danger of an attack of apoplexy, which indeed he would hardly escape.” The prediction was, however, not immediately verified and the patient was once more able to leave his bed. On Feb. 9, however (if the date given in the Notes be correct),[336] after assisting at a funeral in the church of Torgau, he was again seized with such a fit of giddiness as hardly to be able to return to his lodgings. When he recovered he said: “Do not be grieved even should I die, but continue to further the Word of God after my death.… It may be we are still sinners and do not perform our duty sufficiently; if so we shall cloak it over with the forgiveness of sins.” This time again he was not able to work for a whole month.
What he at times endured from the trouble in his head we learn from a statement in the Notes of the Table-Talk made by Cordatus: “When I awake and am unable to sleep again on account of the noise in my ears, I often fancy I can hear the bells of Halle, Leipzig, Erfurt and Wittenberg, and then I think: Surely you are going to have a fit. But God frequently intervenes and gives me a short sleep afterwards.”[337]
No notable improvement took place until the middle of 1533.
The noises in the head began again in 1541. He fancied then that he could hear “the rustling of all the trees and the breaking of the waves of every sea” in his head.[338] When he wrote this he was also suffering from a discharge from the ear, which, for the time, deprived him of his hearing; so great was the pain as to force tears from him. Alluding to this he says that his friends did not often see him in tears, but that now he would gladly weep even more copiously; to God he had said: “Let there be an end either of these pains or of me myself,” but, now that the discharge had ceased, he was beginning to read and write again quite confidently.[339]
From the commencement of his struggle, however, until the end of his life his extreme nervous irritability found expression in the violence of what he said and wrote. There can be no question that, had he not been in a morbidly nervous state, he would never have given way to such outbursts of anger and brutal invective. “There was a demoniacal trait,” says a Protestant Luther biographer, “that awakened in him as soon as he met an adversary, at which even his fellow-monks had shuddered, and which carried him much further than he had at first intended.” He became the “rudest writer of his age.” In his controversy with the Swiss Sacramentarians he “was domineering and high-handed.” “His disputatiousness and tendency to pick a quarrel grew ever stronger in him after his many triumphs.”[340]—But, even among his friends and in his home, he was careless about controlling his irritation. We find him exclaiming: “I am bursting with anger and annoyance”; as we know, he excited himself almost “to death” about a nephew and threatened to have a servant-maid “drowned in the Elbe.”[341] (Cp. the passages from A. Cramer quoted below, towards the end of section 5.)
Other maladies and indispositions, of which the effects were sometimes lasting, also deserve to be alluded to. Of these the principal and worst was calculus of which we first hear in 1526 and then again in 1535, 1536 and 1545. In Feb., 1537, Luther was overtaken by so severe an attack at Schmalkalden that his end seemed near.—In 1525 he had to complain of painful hæmorrhoids, and at the beginning of 1528 similar troubles recurred. The “malum Franciæ,” on the other hand, cursorily mentioned in 1523,[342] is not heard of any more. The severe constipation from which he suffered in the Wartburg also passed away. Luther was also much subject to catarrh, which, when it lasted, caused acute mental depression. The “discharge in his left leg” which continued for a considerable while[343] during 1533 had no important after-effects.
The maladies just mentioned, to which must be added an attack of the “English Sweat,” in 1529, do not afford sufficient grounds for any diagnosis of his physical and mental state in general.[344] On the other hand, the oppression in the præcordial region and his nervous excitability are of great importance to whoever would investigate his general state of health.
Anyone who passes in review the startling admissions Luther makes concerning his struggles of conscience (above, vol. v., pp. 319-75), or considers the dreadful self-reproaches to which his apostasy and destruction of the olden ecclesiastical system gave rise, reproaches which lead to “death and hell,” and which he succeeded in mastering only by dint of huge effort, cannot fail to see that these mental struggles were something very different from any physical malady. Since, however, some Protestants have represented mere morbid “fearfulness” as the root-cause of the “temptations,” we must—in order not to be accused of evading any difficulties—look into the actual connection between natural timidity and the never-ending struggles of soul which Luther had to wage with himself on account of his apostasy.
Luther’s temptations, according to his own accurate and circumstantial statements, consisted chiefly of remorse of conscience and doubts about his undertaking; they made their appearance only at the commencement of his apostasy, whereas the morbid sense of fear was present in him long before. Of such a character were the “terrores” which led him to embrace monasticism, the unrest he experienced during his first zealous years of religious life, and the dread of which he was the victim while saying his first Mass and accompanying Staupitz in the procession; this morbid fear is also apparent in the monk’s awful thoughts on predestination and in his subsequent temptations to despair. Moreover, such crises, characterised by temptations and disquieting palpitations ending in fainting fits, were in every case preceded by “spiritual temptations,” and only afterwards did the physical symptoms follow. Likewise the bodily ailments occasionally disappeared, leaving behind them the temptations, though Luther seemed outwardly quite sound and able to carry on his work.[345]
Hence the “spiritual temptations” or struggles of conscience were of a character in many respects independent of this morbid state of fear.
They occur, however, on the one hand, in connection with other physical disorders, as in the case of the attack of the “English Sweat” or influenza which Luther had in 1529, and which was accompanied by severe mental struggles; on the other hand, they appear at times to excite the bodily emotion of fear and in very extreme cases undoubtedly tended to produce entire loss of sleep and appetite, cardiac disturbance and fainting fits. Luther himself once said, in 1533, that his “gloomy thoughts and temptations” were the cause of the trouble in his head and stomach;[346] in his ordinary language the temptations were, however, “buffets given him by Satan.”[347] He is fond of clothing the temptations in this Pauline figure and of depicting them as his worst trials, and only quite exceptionally does he call his purely physical sufferings “colaphi Satanæ,” they, too, coming from Satan. Now we cannot of course entirely trust Luther’s own diagnosis—otherwise we should have to reduce all his maladies to a work of evil spirits—yet his feeling that the “temptations” were on the one hand a malady in themselves and on the other a source of many other ills, should carry some weight with us.
It is also clear that, in the case of an undertaking like Luther’s, and given his antecedents, remorse of conscience was perfectly natural even had there been no ailment present. It was impossible that a once zealous monk should become faithless to his most solemn vows and, on his own authority and on alleged discoveries in the Bible, dare to overthrow the whole ecclesiastical structure of the past without in so doing experiencing grave misgivings. Add to this his violence, his “wild-beast fury” (J. von Walther), his practical contradictions and the theological mistakes which he was unable to hide. Hence we need have no scruple about admitting what is otherwise fairly evident, viz. that his ghostly combats stand apart and cannot be attributed directly to any bodily ailment.
It remains, however, true that such struggles and temptations throve exceedingly on the morbid fear which lay hidden in the depths of his soul. It must also be granted that neurasthenia sometimes gives rise to symptoms of fear similar to those experienced by Luther, as we shall hear later on from an expert in nervous diseases, whom we shall have occasion to quote (see section 5 below). Consideration for such facts oblige the layman to leave the question open as to how much of Luther’s fear is to be attributed to nervousness or to other physical drawbacks.
We do not think it desirable here to enter further into the views of the older Catholic polemics, already referred to, who looked upon Luther as possessed (as labouring under an “obsessio” or at least a “circumsessio”). The fits of terror he endured both before and after his apostasy seemed to them to prove that he was really a demoniac. As already pointed out above (vol. iv., p. 359), this field is too obscure and too beset with the danger of error to allow of our venturing upon it.[348] Quite another matter is it, however, with regard to temptations, with which, according to Holy Scripture and the constant teaching of the Church, the devil is allowed to assail men, and to discuss which in Luther’s case we will now proceed, using his own testimonies.
From the beginning of his apostasy and public struggle we find in Luther no peace of soul and clearness of outlook; rather, he is the plaything of violent emotions. He himself complains of having to wrestle with gloomy temptations of the spirit. It is these that we now propose to investigate more narrowly. In so doing we must also examine how his nervous state reacted on these temptations, whereby we shall, maybe, discern more clearly than before the connection of Luther’s doctrine with his distress of soul.
As to the temptations admitted by Luther to be such, we must first of all recall the involuntary thoughts of despair which occurred to him in the convent and the inclination he felt, against his will, to abandon all hope of his salvation and even to blaspheme God. Everybody in the least acquainted with the spiritual life knows that such darkening of the soul may be caused by the Spirit of Evil and often accompanies certain morbid conditions of the body. When the two, as is often the case, are united, the effects are all the more far-reaching. Now, on his own showing, this was precisely the case with the unhappy inmate of the Erfurt monastery. Luther felt himself compelled, as he says, to lay bare his temptations (the “horrendæ et terrificæ cogitationes”) to Staupitz in confession.[349] The latter comforted him by pointing out the value of such temptations as a mental discipline. Staupitz, and others too, had, however, also told him that his case was to some extent new to them and beyond their comprehension.[350] Hence, understood by none, he passed his days sunk in sadness. All to whom he applied for consolation had answered him: “I do not know.”[351] His fancy must, indeed, have strayed into strange bypaths for both Pollich, the Wittenberg professor, and Cardinal Cajetan expressed amazement at the oddness of his thoughts.
His theological system finally became the pivot around which his thoughts revolved; to it he looked for help. He had created it under the influence of other factors to which it is not here needful to refer again; particularly it had grown out of his own relaxation in the virtues of his Order and religious life.[352] His system, however, had for its aim to combat despair, overmastering concupiscence and the consciousness of sin by means of a self-imposed tranquillity. He was determined to arrive by main force at peace and certainty. Only little by little, so he wrote in 1525, had he discovered, “God leads down to hell those whom He predestines to heaven, and makes alive by slaying”; whoever had read his writings “would understand this now very well”; a man must learn to despair utterly of himself, and allow himself to be helplessly saved by the action of God, i.e. by virtue of the forgiveness won by fiducial faith.[353] How he himself was led by God down to hell he sets forth in his “Resolutiones,” in the account of his mental sufferings given above (p. 101 f.), a passage which transports the reader into the midst of the pains which Luther endured in his anxiety.
The man most deeply initiated into the darker side of Luther’s temptations and struggles was the friend of his youth, the Augustinian, Johann Lang. He, too, apparently suffered severely beneath the burden of temptations regarding predestination and the forgiveness of sins. It was in a letter to him, that, not long after the nailing up of the Wittenberg Theses, Luther penned those curious words: They would pray earnestly for one another, “that our Lord Jesus may help us to bear our temptations which no one save us two has ever been through.”[354] Shortly before this Luther had commended to the care of his friend, then prior at Erfurt, a young man, Ulrich Pinder of Nuremberg, who had opened his heart to him at Wittenberg; on this occasion he wrote that Pinder was “troubled with secret temptations of soul which hardly anyone in the monastery with the exception of yourself understands.”[355] He also alludes to the temptations peculiar to himself in that letter to Lang, in 1516, in which he describes his overwhelming labours, which “seldom leave him due time for reciting the hours or saying Mass.” On the top of his labours, he says, there were “his own temptations from the world, the flesh and the devil.”[356] To this same recipient of his confidences Luther was wont regularly to give an account of the success attending his attacks on the ancient Church and doctrine; he kindled in him a burning hatred of those Augustinians at Erfurt who were well disposed towards scholasticism and Aristotle, and forwarded him the controversial Theses for the Disputations at the Wittenberg University embodying his new doctrine of the necessity of despairing of ourselves and of mystically dying, viz. the new “Theology of the Cross.”
Some mysterious words addressed to Staupitz, in which Luther hints at his inward sufferings, find their explanation when taken in conjunction with the above. He assured Staupitz (Sep. 1, 1518) in a letter addressed to him at Salzburg, that the summons to Rome and the other threats made not the slightest impression on him: “I am enduring incomparably worse things, as you know, which make me look upon such fleeting, shortlived thunders as very insignificant.”[357] His temptations against God and His Mercy were of a vastly different character. By the words just quoted he undoubtedly meant, says Köstlin, “those personal, inward sufferings and temptations, probably bound up with physical emotions, to which Staupitz already knew him to be subject and which frequently came upon him later with renewed violence. They were temptations in which, as at an earlier date, he was plunged into anxiety concerning his personal salvation as soon as he started pondering on the hidden depths of the Divine Will.”[358]
In this connection it will be necessary to return to Luther’s earlier predilection for a certain kind of mysticism.[359]
As we know, at an early date he felt drawn to the writings of the mystics, for one reason, because he seemed to himself to find there his pet ideas about spiritual death and wholesome despair. Their description of the desolation of the soul and of its apparent abandonment by God appeared to him a startling echo of his own experiences. He did not, however, understand or appreciate aright the great mystics, particularly Tauler, when he read into them his own peculiar doctrine of passivity.
To a certain extent throughout his whole life he stood under the shadow of this dim, sad mysticism.
He will have it that he, like the mystics, had frequently been plunged in the abyss of the spirit, had been acquainted with death and with states weird and unearthly. He refuses to relate all he has been through and actually gives as his ground for silence the very words used by St. Paul when speaking of his own revelations: “But I forbear, lest any man should think of me above that which he seeth in me, or anything he heareth from me” (2 Cor. xii. 6). When speaking thus of the mystic death he fails to distinguish between such thoughts and feelings as may have been the result solely of a morbid state of fear, or of remorse of conscience, and the severe trials through which the souls of certain great and holy men had really to pass.
It is indeed curious to note how he was led astray by a combination of fear, mysticism and temptation.
He was deluded into seeing in his own states just what he desired, viz. the proof of the truth of his own doctrine and exalted mission to proclaim it; he will not hear of this being a mere figment of his own brain. On the contrary, he is convinced that he, like the inspired Psalmist, has passed through every kind of the terrors which the latter so movingly describes. Like the Psalmist, he too must pray, “O Lord, chastise me not in thy wrath,” and like him, again, he is justified in complaining that his bones are broken and his soul troubled exceedingly (Ps. vi.). He even opines that those who have endured such things rank far above the martyrs; David, according to him, would much rather have perished by the sword than have “endured this murmuring of his soul against God which called forth God’s indignation.”[360]
There is no doubt that Johann Lang might have been able to tell us much about these gloomy aberrations of Luther’s, for he had a large share in Luther’s development.
It is worthy of note that it was to this bosom friend that Luther sent his edition of “Eyn Deutsch Theologia.”[361] “Taulerus tuus” (“Your Tauler”[362]) so he calls the German mystic when writing to his friend, and in a similar way, in a letter to Lang, he speaks of the new theology built entirely on grace and passive reliance as “our theology.” “Our theology and St. Augustine,” he says, “are progressing bravely at our University and gaining the upper hand, thanks to the working of God, whereas Aristotle is now taking a back seat.”[363] We must not be of those who, “like Erasmus, fail to give the first place to Christ and grace,” so he writes to Lang, knowing that here he would meet with a favourable response. The man who “knows and acknowledges nothing but grace alone” judges very differently from one “who attributes something to man’s free-will.”[364]
It was not long before Luther’s pseudo-mysticism translated itself into deeds. He persuades himself that he is guided in all his actions and resolutions by a sort of Divine inspiration. A singular sort of super-naturalism and self-sufficiency gleams in the words he once wrote to Lang. After reminding him of the unquestioned truth, that “man must act under God’s power and counsel and not by his own,” he goes on to explain defiantly, that, for this reason, he scorns once and for all any objections the Erfurt Augustinians might urge against the “paradoxical theses” he had sent them a little earlier, also their charge that he had shown himself hasty and precipitate: God was enough for him; of their counsel and instruction he stood in no need.[365] As though real wisdom and true mysticism did not teach us to welcome humbly the opinion of well-meaning critics, and not to trust too implicitly our own ideas, particularly in fields where one is so liable to trip. But the “Theology of the Cross,” sealed by his fears, now seemed to him above all controversy. During his temptations he had come to see its truth, and it also fell in marvellously with his changed views on the duties of a religious and with his renunciation of humility and self-denial.