Collected Works of Martin Luther

by Martin Luther

  In 1534, in an exposition of Psalm ci., where he describes the doings of the “Secular Estate,” he is no less hopeless concerning this plague which afflicts Germany: “Every country must have its own devil; our German devil is a good skin of wine and surely his name is Swill”; until the last day eternal thirst would remain the German’s curse; it was quite useless to seek to remedy matters, Swill still remained the all-powerful god. More dignified language would assuredly have been better in place here and elsewhere where he deals with this subject. For quaint homeliness it would, however, be hard to beat him; referring to their drinking habits, he tells the great men at the Court: “In the morning you really look as though your heads had been pickled in brine.” Yet, from the very passage in the Table-Talk where this is recounted, we learn that he said to the guests, again in a far too indulgent strain: “The Lord God must account the drunkenness of us Germans a mere daily [i.e. venial] sin, for we are unable to give it up; nevertheless, it is a shameful curse, harmful alike to body, soul and property.”

  Witnesses to Luther’s Temperate Habits.

  Within Luther’s camp the chief witnesses to his temperate habits are Melanchthon and Mathesius.

  Melanchthon in his formal panegyric on the deceased says, that “though a stout man, he was very moderate in eating and drinking (‘natura valde modici cibi et potus’). I have seen him, when quite in good health, abstaining entirely from food and drink for four days. At other times I frequently saw him content himself for many days with a little bread with kippers.” His four days’ abstinence, however, probably coincided with one of his attacks— “temptations,” which, as we know from Ratzeberger, his medical adviser, were usually accompanied by intense dislike for food. Besides, before his marriage, Luther had not the same attention and care he received later from his wife. It is not unlikely that Melanchthon was thinking of this period when he speaks of the “bread and kippers,” for the passage really refers to the beginning of his acquaintanceship with Luther, possibly even to his monastic days. However this may be, we must not forget that the clause is part of a panegyric.

  Mathesius, Luther’s attentive pupil and admirer, says of him in his sermons, that Luther, “although he was somewhat corpulent, ate and drank little and rarely anything out of the common, but contented himself with ordinary food. In the evening, if not inclined to sleep, he had to take a draught to promote it, often making excuse for so doing.”

  That Luther was perfectly content “without anything out of the common” is confirmed by other writers, and concerning the general frugality of his household there can be no question. In this respect we may well believe what Mathesius says, for he was a regular attendant at Luther’s evening table in the forties of the century. His assertion that Luther “drank but little” must, however, be considered in the light of other of his statements.

  What Mathesius thought of the “sleeping-draught” and the feasts at which, so he relates, Luther assisted from time to time, appears from a discourse incorporated by him in his “Wedding-sermons.” Here he speaks of the “noble juice of the grape and how we can make use of it in a godly fashion and with a good conscience”; he is simply the mouthpiece of Luther. Like Luther, he condemns gluttony and “bestial drunkenness,” but is so indulgent in the matter of cheerful carousing that a Protestant Canon in the eighteenth century declared, that Mathesius had gone astray in his sermon on the use of wine. Mathesius says that we must have “a certain amount of patience” with those who sometimes, for some quite valid reason, “get a little tipsy,” or “kick over the traces,” provided they “don’t do so every day” and that “the next morning they are heartily sorry for it”; the learned were quite right in distinguishing between “ebriositas” and “ebrietas”; if a ruling Prince had worked industriously all day, or a scholar had “read and studied till his head swam,” such busy and much-tired people, if they chose “in the evening to drink away their cares and heavy thoughts, must be permitted some over-indulgence, particularly if it does not hinder them in the morning from praying, studying and working.”

  This is the exact counterpart of Luther’s theory and practice as already described, in the distinction made between “ebriositas” and “ebrietas,” in the statement that drunkenness is no more than a venial sin, in the unseemly and jocose tone employed when speaking of tipsiness, and in the license accorded those who (like Luther) had much work to do, or (again, like Luther), were plagued with “gloomy thoughts.” The other conditions are also noteworthy, viz. that it must not be of “daily occurrence” and that the offender must afterwards be “heartily sorry”; in such a case we must be tolerant. All this agrees with Luther’s own teaching.

  Such passages, coming from the master and his devoted disciple, must be taken as the foundation on which to base our judgment. Such general statements of principle must carry more weight than isolated instances of Luther’s actual practice, more even than the various testimonies considered above. In the eyes of the impartial historian, moreover, the various elements will be seen to fit into each other so as to form a whole, the elements being on the one hand the highly questionable principle we have just heard expressed, and on the other his own admissions concerning his practice, supplemented by the testimony of outsiders.

  In the first place, there is no doubt that his theory was dangerously lax. We need only call to mind the string of reasons given in vindication of a “good drink” and mere “ebrietas.” Such excuses were not only insufficient but might easily be adduced daily in ever-increasing number. Luther’s limitation of the permission to occasional bouts, etc., was altogether illusory and constituted no real barrier against excess. How could such theories, we may well ask, promote temperance and self-denial? Instead of resisting the lower impulses of nature they give the reins to license. They are part and parcel of the phenomenon so noticeable in early Lutheranism, where Christian endeavour, owing to the discredit with which penance and good works were overwhelmed, was not allowed to rise above the level of ordinary life, and indeed often failed to attain even to this standard. How different sound the injunctions of Christ and His Apostles to the devoted followers of the true Gospel: Take up thy cross; resist the flesh and all its lusts; be sober and watch.

  The result as regards Luther’s practice must on the whole be considered as unfavourable, though it is not of course so well known to us as his theory. It may also, quite possibly, have varied at different periods of his life, for instance, may not have been the same when Mathesius was acquainted with him, i.e. when his mode of life had become more regular, as when Count Hoyer of Mansfeld wrote so scornfully after the Diet of Worms. Nevertheless, Luther’s vigorous denunciation of habitual drunkenness on the one hand, and the extraordinary amount of work he contrived to get through on the other, also the absence of any very damaging or definite charge by those who had every opportunity of observing him at Wittenberg, for instance, the hostile Anabaptists and other “sectarians,” all this leads us to infer, that he availed himself of his theories only to a very limited extent. His own statements, however, as well as those of his friends and opponents, enable us to see that his lax principle, “ebrietas est ferenda,” was not without its effects upon his habits of life. The allegation of his joy of living, and his healthy love of the things of sense, does not avail to explain away his own admissions, nor what others laid to his charge. The worst of it is, that we gain the impression that the lax theory was conceived to suit his own case, for all the reasons which he held to excuse the “good drink” and the subsequent “ebrietas” were present in his case — depression caused by bad news, cares and gloomy thoughts, pressure of work, temptations to sadness and doubts, sleeplessness and mental exhaustion.

  From the Cellar and the Tap-Room.

  The task remains of considering certain further traits in Luther’s life with regard to his indulgence in drinking.

  During the first part of his public career Luther himself speaks of the temptation to excessive eating and drinking and other bad hab
its to which he was exposed. This he did in 1519 in his remarkably frank confession to his superior Staupitz. Here the expression “crapula” must be taken more seriously than on another occasion when, in a letter to a friend written from the Wartburg in the midst of his arduous labours, he describes himself as “sitting idle, and ‘crapulosus.’”

  After Luther’s marriage, when he had settled down comfortably in the Black Monastery, it was Catherine, who, agreeably with the then custom, brewed the beer at home. It seems, however, to have been of inferior quality, indeed not fit to set before his guests. That he had several sorts of wine in his cellar we learn on the occasion of the marriage of his niece Lena in 1538. He complains that in Germany it was very hard to buy “a really trustworthy drink,” as even the carriers adulterated the wines on the way.

  As already stated, beer was his usual drink. Whilst he was “drinking Wittenberg beer with Philip and Amsdorf,” he said as early as 1522, in a well-known passage, “the Papacy had been weakened through the Word of God” which he had preached.

  It was, however, with wine that on great occasions the ample “Catechismusglas” (see above, ) was filled. How much this bowl contained which Luther, though not his guest Agricola, could empty at one draught, has not been determined, though illustrations of it were thought to exist. Agricola’s statement concerning his vain attempt to drain it leads us to conclude that the famous glass was of considerable size. It impresses one strangely to learn that Luther occasionally toasted his guests in a crystal beaker reputed to have once belonged to St. Elizabeth of Hungary; this too, no doubt, passed from hand to hand.

  An example of Luther’s accustomed outspokenness was witnessed by some of those who happened to be present on the arrival of a Christmas gift of wine in 1538. The cask came from the Margrave of Brandenburg and, to the intense disappointment of the recipient, contained Franconian wine. Luther, in spite of the importance of the gift, made no secret of his annoyance, and his complaints would appear to have duly reached the ear of the Margrave. In order to efface the bad impression made at Court, Luther was obliged to send a letter of excuse to Sebastian Heller, the Chancellor. Therein he says he had been quite unaware of the excellence of Franconian wine, and, “like the big fool” he was, had not known that the inhabitants of Franconia were so fortunate in their wine as now, after tasting it, he had ascertained to be the case. In future he was going to stick to Franconian wine; to the Prince he sent his best thanks and trusted he would take nothing amiss. — From the Landgrave Philip of Hesse, after he had forwarded him his memorandum regarding his bigamy, he received a hogshead of Rhine wine. In the same year he received from the Town Council of Wittenberg a present of a gallon of Franconian “and four quarts of Gutterbogk wine” on the occasion of the marriage of his niece, mentioned above.

  From the magistrates, in addition to other presents, came frequent gifts of liquor for himself and his guests, of which we find the entries since 1519 recorded in the Town-registers.

  Only recently has attention been drawn to this.

  In 1525 we find the following items: “7 Gulden for six cans of Franconian wine at 14 Groschen the quart presented Doctori Martino on his engagement; 136 Gulden, 6 Groschen for a barrel of Einbeck beer presented Doctori Martino for his wedding; 440 Gulden Doctori Martino for wine and beer presented by the Council and the town on the occasion of his nuptials and wedding. Fine of 120 Gulden paid by Clara, wedded wife of Lorenz Eberhard dwelling at Jessen for abusive language concerning Doctor Martin and his honourable wife, and also for abusing the Pastor’s [Bugenhagen] wife at Master Lubeck’s wedding; 136 Gulden, 2 Groschen for wine sent for during the year by Doctor Martin from the town vaults and paid for by the Council.” In addition to the various “presents” made by the Council, we meet repeatedly in other years with items recording deliveries of beer or wine which Luther had sent for from the town cellar. These are entered as “owing.... The Council loath to sue him for them....” And again, “allowed to Doctor Martin this year....”

  This explains the low items for liquor in Luther’s own list of household expenses, which were frequently quoted in proof of his exceptional abstemiousness. As a matter of fact, they are so small simply owing to the presents and to his requisitions on the town cellars, for much of which he never paid. “Four pfennigs daily for drink” we read in his household accounts in a Gotha MS., the date of which is uncertain. Seeing that at Wittenberg a can of beer cost 3 pfennigs, this would allow him very little. According to another entry Katey required 56 pfennigs weekly for making the beer; the date of this is equally uncertain. It is to the filial devotion of Protestant researchers that we owe this information.

  Luther was in a particularly cheerful mood when he wrote, on March 18, 1535, the letter, already quoted ( f.), to his friend Caspar Müller, the Mansfeld Chancellor at Eisleben. The letter is to some extent a humorous one, but is it really a fact that in the last of the three signatures appended he qualifies himself as “Doctor plenus”? According to some controversialists such is the case.

  It is true that Denifle says of this signature, now-preserved with the letter in the Vatican Library, “that the badly written and scarcely legible word ... either reads or might be read as ‘plenus.’” According to R. Reitzenstein, on the other hand, who also studied them, the characters cannot possibly be read thus. E. Thiele, who mentions this, suggests that perhaps we might read it as “Doctor Hans,” and that the signature in question might refer to Luther’s little son who was with him and whose greetings with those of the mother Luther sends at the end of the letter to Müller, who was the child’s godfather.

  First comes the legible signature “Doctor Martinus” in Luther’s handwriting; below this, also quite legible, stands “Doctor Luther,” possibly denoting his wife, as Thiele very reasonably conjectures; finally we have the questionable “Doctor plenus.” To read “Hans” instead of “plenus,” is, according to Denifle, “quite out of the question,” as I also found when I came to examine the facsimile published by G. Evers in 1883. On the other hand, to judge by the facsimile, it appeared to me that “Johannes” might possibly be the true reading, and the Latin form also seemed to agree with that of the previous signatures. When I was able to examine the original in Rome in May, 1907, I convinced myself that, as a matter of fact, the badly formed and intertwined characters could be read as “Johannes”; this reading was also confirmed by Alfredo Monaci, the palæologist. Hence the reading “Doctor plenus,” too confidently introduced by Evers and repeated by Enders, though with a query, in his edition of Luther’s letters, may safely be consigned to oblivion. Even had it been correct, it would merely have afforded a fresh example of Luther’s jokes at his own expense, and would not necessarily have proved that his mirth was due to spirituous influence.

  In one letter of Luther’s, which speaks of the time he passed in the Castle of Coburg, we hear more of the disagreeable than of the cheering effects of wine.

  “I have brought on headache by drinking old wine in the Coburg,” he complains to his friend Wenceslaus Link, “and this our Wittenberg beer has not yet cured. I work little and am forced to be idle against my will because my head must have a rest.” In the Electoral accounts 25 Eimer of wine are set down for the period of Luther’s stay at the Coburg; seeing that he and two companions spent only 173 days there, our Protestant friends have hastened to allege “the frequent visits he received” in the Coburg. It is true that he had a good many visitors during the latter part of his stay. However this may be, the illness showed itself as early as May, 1530. His own diagnosis here is no less unsatisfactory than the accounts concerning the other maladies from which he suffered. No doubt the malady was chiefly nervous.

  In October of that same year, Luther protested that he had been “very abstemious in all things” at the Coburg, and Veit Dietrich, his assistant at that time, wrote in the same sense on July 4: “I carefully observed that he did not transgress any of the rules of diet.” His indisposition showed itself in unbearable noises i
n the head, at times accompanied by extreme sensitiveness to light. Luther was convinced that the trouble was due to the qualities of the strong wines provided for him at the castle — or, possibly, to the devil. “We are very well off,” he says in June, 1530, “and live finely, but for almost a month past I have been plagued not only with noises but with actual thundering in my head, due, perhaps, to the wine, perhaps to the malice of Satan.” Veit Dietrich inclined strongly to the latter view. He tells us of the apparition of a “flaming fiery serpent” under which form the devil had manifested himself to Luther during his solitude in the Coburg: “On the following day he was plagued with troublesome noises in his head; thus the greater part of what he suffered was the work of the devil.” Luther himself complained in August of a fresh indisposition, this time scarcely due to nerves, which, according to him, was the result either of wine, or of the devil. “I am troubled with a sore throat, such as I never had before; possibly the strong wine has increased the inflammation, or perhaps it is a buffet of Satan [2 Cor. xii. 7].” Four days later he wrote again: “My head still buzzes and my throat is worse than ever.” In the following month some improvement showed itself, and even before this he had days free from suffering; still, after quitting the Coburg, he still complained of incessant headache caused, as he thought, by the “old wine.” When all is said, however, it does seem that later controversialists were wrong in so confidently attributing his illness in the Coburg merely to excessive love of the bottle.