“Be a sinner and sin boldly, but believe more boldly still.”
Luther’s “Pecca fortiter.”
In what has gone before, that we might the better see how Luther’s standard of life compared with his claim to a higher calling, we have reviewed in succession his advice and conduct with regard to one of the principal moral questions of the Christian life, viz. how one is to behave when tempted to despondency and to despair of one’s salvation; further, his attitude — theoretical and practical — towards sin, penance and the higher tasks and exercises of Christian virtue. On each several point the ethical defects of his system came to light, in spite of all his efforts to conceal them by appealing to the true freedom of the Christian, to the difference between the law and the Gospel, or to the power of faith in the merits of Christ.
On glancing back at what has been said, we can readily understand why those Catholic contemporaries, who took up the pen against Luther and his followers, directed their attacks by preference on these points of practical morality.
Johann Fabri (i.e. Schmidt) of Heilbronn, who filled the office of preacher at Augsburg Cathedral until he was forced to vacate the pulpit owing to the prohibition issued by the Magistrates against Catholic preaching in 1534, wrote at a later date, in 1553, in his work “The Right Way,” of Luther and those preachers who shared his point of view: “The sweet, sugary preachers who encourage the people in their wickedness say: The Lord has suffered for us, good works are unclean and sinful, a good, pious and honest life with fasting, etc., is mere Popery and hypocrisy, the Lord has merited heaven for us and our goodness is all worthless. These and such-like are the sweet, sugary words they preach, crying: Peace, Peace! Heaven has been thrown open, only believe and you are already justified and heirs of heaven. Thus wickedness gets the upper hand, and those things which draw down upon us the wrath of God and rob us of eternal life are regarded as no sin at all. But the end shall prove whether the doctrine is of God, as the fruit shows whether the tree is good. What terror and distress has been caused in Germany by those who boast of the new Gospel it is easier to bewail than to describe. Ungodliness, horrible sins and vices hold the field; greater and more terrible evil, fear and distress have never before been heard of, let alone seen in Germany.”
Matthias Sittardus, from the little town of Sittard in the Duchy of Jülich, a zealous and energetic worker at Aachen, wrote as follows of Luther’s exhortations quoted above: “The result is that men say, What does sin matter? Christ took it away on the cross; the evil that I do — for I must sin and cannot avoid it — He is ready to bear; He will answer for it and refrain from imputing it to me; I have only to believe and off it goes like a flash. Good works have actually become a reproach and are exposed to contempt and abuse.” — Elsewhere he laments, that “there is much glorying in and boasting of faith,” but of “good works and actions little” is seen.
Alluding to man’s unfreedom for doing what is good, as advocated by Luther, Johann Mensing, a scholarly and busy popular writer, says: “They [the preachers] call God a sinner and maintain that God does all our sins in us. And when they have sinned most grievously they argue that such was God’s Will, and that they could do nothing but by God’s Will. They look upon the treachery of Judas, the adultery of David and Peter’s denial as being simply the work of God, just as much as the best of good deeds.”
The words quoted above: “Be a sinner and sin boldly, but believe more boldly still,” are Luther’s own.
The saying, which must not be taken apart from the context, was employed by Luther in a letter to Melanchthon, on August 1, 1521. The writer, who was then at the Wartburg, was engaged in a “heated struggle” on the question of the Church, and on religious vows, for the setting aside of which he was seeking a ground. At the Wartburg he was, on his own confession, a prey to “temptations and sins,” though in this he only saw the proof that his Evangel would triumph over the devil. The letter is the product of a state of mind, restless, gloomy and exalted, and culminates in a prophetic utterance concerning God’s approaching visitation of Germany on account of its persecution of the Evangel.
The passage which at present interests us, taken together with the context, runs thus:
“If you are a preacher of grace, then preach a real, not a fictitious grace; if your grace is real, then let your sin also be real and not fictitious. God does not save those who merely fancy themselves sinners. Be a sinner and sin boldly, but believe more boldly still (‘esto peccator et pecca fortiter, sed fortius fide’); and rejoice in Christ, Who is the conqueror of sin, death and the world; we must sin as long as we are what we are. This life is not the abode of justice, but we look for a new heaven and a new earth wherein dwelleth righteousness, as Peter says. It suffices that by the riches of the glory of God we have come to know the Lamb, Who taketh away the sin of the world; sin shall not drag us away from Him, even should we commit fornication or murder thousands and thousands of times a day. Do you think that the price and the ransom paid for our sins by this sublime Lamb is so insignificant? Pray boldly, for you are in truth a very bold sinner.”
This is language of the most extravagant paradox. What it really means is very objectionable. Melanchthon is to pray very fervently with the hope of obtaining the Divine assistance against sin, but at the same time he is to sin boldly. This language of the Wartburg is not unlike that in which Luther wrote, from the Castle of Coburg, to his pupil, Hieronymus Weller, when the latter was tempted to despair, to encourage him against the fear of sin (above, f.); that letter too was written in anguish of spirit and in a state of excitement similar to what he had experienced in the Wartburg. We might, it is true, admit that, in these words Luther gave the rein to his well-known inclination to put things in the strongest light, a tendency to be noticed in some of his other statements quoted above. On the other hand, however, the close connection between the compromising words and his whole system of sin and grace, can scarcely be denied; we have here something more than a figure of rhetoric. Luther’s endeavour was to reassure, once and for all, Melanchthon, who was so prone to anxiety. The latter shrank from many of the consequences of Luther’s doctrines, and at that time was possibly also a prey to apprehension concerning the forgiveness of his own sins. Hence the writer of the letter seeks to convince him that the strength of the fiducial faith preached by himself, Luther, was so great, that no sense of sin need trouble a man. To have “real, not fictitious, sin” to him, means as much as: Be bold enough to look upon yourself as a great sinner; “Be a sinner,” means: Do not be afraid of appearing to be a sinner in your own sight; Melanchthon is to be a bold sinner in his own eyes in order that he may be the more ready to ascribe all that is good to the grace which works all. Thus far there is nothing which goes beyond Luther’s teaching elsewhere.
The passage is, however, more than a mere paradoxical way of expressing the doctrine dear to him.
Luther, here and throughout the letter, does not say what he ought necessarily to have said to one weighed down by the consciousness of sin; of remorse and compunction we hear nothing whatever, nor does he give due weight and importance to the consciousness of guilt; he misrepresents grace, making it appear as a mere outward, magical charm, by which — according to an expression which cannot but offend every religious mind — a man is justified even though he be a murderer and a libertine a thousand times over. Luther’s own words here are perhaps the best refutation of the Lutheran doctrine of Justification, for he speaks of sin, even of the worst, in a way that well lays bare the weaknesses of the system of fiducial faith.
It is unfortunate that Luther should have impressed such a stigma upon his principal doctrine, both in his earliest statements of it, for instance, in his letter to George Spenlein in 1516, and, again, in one of his last epistles to a friend, also tormented by scruples of conscience, viz. George Spalatin.
In the above-mentioned letter to Melanchthon, in which Luther expresses his contempt for sin by the words “Pecca fortiter,” he is not
only encouraging his friend with regard to possible sins of the past, but is also thinking of temptations in the future. His advice is: Sin boldly and fearlessly — whereas what one would have expected would have been: Should you fall, don’t despair. The underlying idea is: No sin is so detestable as to affright the believer, which is further explained by the wanton phrase: “even should we commit fornication or murder thousands and thousands of times a day.”
However much stress we may be disposed to lay on Luther’s warnings against sin, and whatever allowance we may make for his rhetoric, still the “Pecca fortiter” stands out as the result of his revolt against the traditional view of sin and grace, with which his own doctrine of Justification refused to be reconciled. These inauspicious words are the culmination of Luther’s practical ideas on religion, borne witness to by so many of his statements, which, at the cost of morality, give the reins to human freedom and to disorder. Such was the state of mind induced in him by the spirits of the Wartburg, such the enthusiasm which followed his “spiritual baptism” on his “Patmos,” that isle of sublime revelations.
Such is the defiance involved in the famous saying that an impartial critic, Johann Adam Möhler, in his “Symbolism” says: “Although too much stress must not be laid on the passage, seeing how overwrought and excited the author was, yet it is characteristic enough and important from the point of view of the history of dogma.” G. Barge, in his Life of Carlstadt, says, that Luther in his letter to Melanchthon had reduced “his doctrine of Justification by faith alone to the baldest possible formula.” “If Catholic research continues to make this [the ‘Pecca fortiter’] its point of attack, we must honestly admit that there is reason in its choice.”
The last words are from Walter Köhler, now at the University of Zürich, a Protestant theologian and historian, who has severely criticised all Luther’s opinions on sin and grace.
One of the weak points of Luther’s theology lies, according to Köhler, in the “clumsiness of his doctrine of sin and salvation.” “How, in view of the total corruption of man” (through original sin, absence of free will and loss of all power), can redemption be possible at all unless by some mechanical and supernatural means? Luther says: “By faith alone.” But his “faith is something miraculous, in which psychology has no part whatever; the corruption is mechanical and so is the act of grace which removes it.” In Luther’s doctrine of sin, as Köhler remarks, the will, the instrument by which the process of redemption should be effected, becomes a steed “ridden either by God or by the devil. If the Almighty is the horseman, He throws Satan out of the saddle, and vice versa; the steed, however, remains entirely helpless and unable to rid himself of his rider. In such a system Christ, the Redeemer, must appear as a sort of ‘deus ex machina,’ who at one blow sets everything right.” It would not be so bad, were at least “the Almighty to overthrow Satan. But He remains ever seated in heaven, i.e. Luther never forgets to impress on man again and again that he cannot get out of sin: ‘The Saints remain always sinners at heart.’”
Although, proceeds Köhler, better thoughts, yea, even inspiring ones, are to be found in Luther’s writings, yet the peculiar doctrines just spoken of were certainly his own, at utter variance though they be with our way of looking at the process of individual salvation, viz. from the psychological point of view, and of emphasising the personal will to be saved. “In spite of Luther’s plain and truly evangelical intention of attributing to God alone all the honour of the work of salvation,” he was never able “clearly to comprehend the personal, ethico-religious value of faith”; “on the contrary, he makes man to be shifted hither and thither, by the hand of God, like a mere pawn, and in a fashion entirely fatalistic”; “when Christ enters, then, according to him, all is well; I am no longer a sinner, I am set free” (“iam ego peccatum non habeo et sum liber”);— “but where does the ethical impulse come in?” Seeing that sin is merely covered over, and, as a matter of fact, still remains, man must, according to Luther, “set to work to conquer it without, however, ever being entirely successful in this task, or rather he must strengthen his assurance of salvation, viz. his faith. Such is Luther’s ethics.” The critic rightly points out, that this “system of ethics is essentially negative,” viz. merely directs man how “not to fall” from the “pedestal” on which he is set up together with Christ. Man, by faith, is raised so high, that, as Luther says, “nothing can prejudice his salvation”; “Christian freedom means ... that we stand in no need of any works in order to attain to piety and salvation.”
3. Luther’s Admissions Concerning His own Practice of Virtue
St. Paul, the far-seeing Apostle of the Gentiles, says of the ethical effects of the Gospel and of faith: “Those who are Christ’s have crucified their flesh with the lusts thereof. If we live in the Spirit let us also walk in the Spirit.” He instances as the fruits of the Spirit: “Patience, longanimity, goodness, benignity, mildness, faith, modesty, continency, chastity” (Gal. v. 22 ff.). Amongst the qualities which must adorn a teacher and guide of the faithful he instances to Timothy the following: “It behoveth him to be blameless, sober, prudent, of good behaviour, chaste, no striker, not quarrelsome; he must have a good testimony of them that are without, holding the mystery of the faith in a pure conscience” (1 Tim. iii. 2 ff.). Finally he sums up all in the exhortation: “Be thou an example to the faithful in word, in conversation, in charity, in faith, in chastity” (ibid., iv. 12).
It seems not unjust to expect of Luther that his standard of life should be all the higher, since, in opposition to all the teachers of his day and of bygone ages, and whilst professing to preach nought but the doctrine of Christ, he had set up a new system, not merely of faith, but also of morals. At the very least the power of his Evangel should have manifested itself in his own person in an exceptional manner.
How far was this the case? What was the opinion of his contemporaries and what was his own?
Catholics were naturally ever disposed to judge Luther’s conduct from a standpoint different from that of Luther’s own followers. A Catholic, devoted to his Church, regarded as his greatest blemish the conceit of the heresiarch and devastator of the fold; to him it seemed intolerable that a disobedient and rebellious son of the Church should display such pride as to set himself above her and the belief of antiquity and should attack her so hatefully. As for his morality, his sacrilegious marriage with a virgin dedicated to God, his incessant attacks upon celibacy and religious vows, and his seducing of countless souls to break their most sacred promises, were naturally sufficient to debase him in the eyes of most Catholics.
There were, however, certain questions which both Catholics and Lutherans could ask and answer impartially: Did Luther possess in any eminent degree the fiducial faith which he represented as so essential? Did this faith produce in him those fruits he extols as its spontaneous result, above all a glad heart at peace with God and man? Further: How far did he himself come up even to that comparatively low standard to which, theoretically, he reduced Christian perfection?
If we seek from Luther’s own lips an estimate of his virtues, we shall hear from him many frank statements on the subject.
The first place belongs to what he says of his faith and personal assurance of salvation.
Of faith, he wrote to Melanchthon, who was tormented with doubts and uncertainty: “To you and to us all may God give an increase of faith.... If we have no faith in us, why not at least comfort ourselves with the faith that is in others? For there must needs be others who believe instead of us, otherwise there would be no Church left in the world, and Christ would have ceased to be with us till the end of time. If He is not with us, where then is He in the world?”
He complains so frequently of the weakness of his own faith that we are vividly reminded how greatly he himself stood in need of the “consolation” of dwelling on the faith that was in others. He never, it is true, attributes to himself actual unbelief, or a wilful abandon of trust in the promises of Christ, yet he do
es speak in strangely forcible terms — and with no mere assumed humility or modesty — of the weakness of this faith and of the inconstancy of his trust.
Of the devil, who unsettles him, he says: “Often I am shaken, but not always.” To the devil it was given to play the part of torturer. “I prefer the tormentor of the body to the torturer of the soul.”— “Alas, the Apostles believed, of this there can be no doubt; I can’t believe, and yet I preach faith to others. I know that it is true, yet believe it I cannot.” “I know Jonas, and if he [like Christ] were to ascend to heaven and disappear out of our sight, what should I then think? And when Peter said: ‘In the name of Jesus, arise’ [Acts iii. 6], what a marvel that was! I don’t understand it and I can’t believe it; and yet all the Apostles believed.”
“I have been preaching for these twenty years, and read and written, so that I ought to see my way ... and yet I cannot grasp the fact, that I must rely on grace alone; and still, otherwise it cannot be, for the mercy-seat alone must count and remain since God has established it; short of this no man can reach God. Hence it is no wonder that others find it so hard to accept faith in its purity, more particularly when these devil-preachers [the Papists] add to the difficulty by such texts as: ‘Do this and thou shalt live,’ item ‘Wilt thou enter into life, keep the commandments’ (Luke x. 28; Matthew xix. 17).”
He is unable to find within him that faith which, according to his system, ought to exist, and, in many passages, he even insists on its difficulty in a very curious manner. “Ah, dear child, if only one could believe firmly,” he said to his little daughter, who “was speaking of Christ with joyful confidence”; and, in answer to the question, “whether then he did not believe,” he replied by praising the innocence and strong faith of children, whose example Christ bids us follow.
In the notes among which these words are preserved there follows a collection of similar statements belonging to various periods: “This argument, ‘The just shall live in his faith’ (Hab. ii. 4), the devil is unable to explain away. But the point is, who is able to lay hold on it?”— “I, alas, cannot believe as firmly as I can preach, speak and write, and as others fancy I am able to believe.” — When the Apostle of the Gentiles speaks of dying daily (1 Cor. xv. 31), this means, so Luther thinks, that he had doubts about his own teaching. In the same way Christ withdraws Himself from him, Luther, “so that at times I say: Truly I know not where I stand, or whether I am preaching aright or not.” “I used to believe all that the Pope and the monks said, but now I am unable to believe what Christ says, Who cannot lie. This is an annoying business, but we shall keep it for that [the Last] Day.”
Collected Works of Martin Luther Page 685