In June and July, 1552, Margrave Albert of Brandenburg-Kulmbach laid waste the country around Mayence with fire and sword to such an extent, that the bishop of Würzburg, in order to raise the unheard-of sums demanded, had, as we find it stated in a letter of Zasius to King Ferdinand dated July 10, to lump together “all the gold and silver plate in the churches, the jewels, reliquaries, monstrances, statues and vessels of the sanctuary” and have them minted into thalers. “At Neumünster one reliquary was melted down which alone was worth 1000 florins.” The citizens of Würzburg were obliged to give up all their household plate and the cathedral itself the silver statue of St. Kilian, patron of the diocese.
When the commanders and the troops of the Elector Maurice withdrew from the Tyrol after the frustration of their undertaking owing to the flight of the Emperor to Carinthia, all the sacred objects of value in the Cistercian monastery of Stams in the valley of the upper Inn were either broken to pieces or carried off. The soldiers broke open the vault, where the earthly remains of the ruling Princes had rested for centuries, dragged the corpses out of their coffins and stripped them of their valuables. The inventory of the treasures of art made of precious metal and other substances which perished at Stams must be classed with numerous other sad records of a similar nature dating from that time.
After the truce of Passau, Margrave Albert of Brandenburg, with the help of France, turned his attention to Frankfurt, Mayence and Treves. At Mayence, after making a vain demand for 100,000 gold florins from the clergy, he gave orders to ransack the churches, and set on fire the churches of St. Alban, St. Victor and Holy Cross, the Charterhouse and the houses of the Canons. He boasted of this as a “right princely firebrand we threw into the damned nest of parsons.” In Treves all the collegiate churches and monasteries were “sacked down to the very last farthing,” as an account relates; the monastery of St. Maximin, the priory of St. Paul, the castle of Saarburg on the Saar, Pfalzel and Echternach were given to the flames. “Such proceedings were incumbent on an honourable Prince who had the glory of God at heart and was zealous for the spread of the Divine Gospel, which God the Lord in our age has allowed to shine forth with such marvellous light.” So Albert boasted to an envoy of the Archbishop of Mayence on June 27, 1552, when laying waste Würzburg.
“The archbishoprics of Treves and Mayence, the bishoprics of Spires, Worms and Eichstätt are laid waste with pillage,” wrote Melchior von Ossa the Saxon lawyer, “the stately edifices at Mayence, Treves and other places, where lay the bones of so many pious martyrs of old, are reduced to ashes.” The complaints of a Protestant preacher who had worked for a considerable time at Schwäbisch-Hall ring much the same: “Our parents were willing to contribute towards the building of churches and to the adornment of the temples of God.... But now the churches have been pilfered so badly that they barely retain a roof over them. Superb Mass vestments of silk and velvet with pearls and corals were provided for the churches by our forefathers; these have now been removed and serve the woman-folk as hoods and bodices; indeed so poor have some of the churches become under the rule of the Evangel, that it is impossible to provide the ministers of the Church even with a beggarly surplice.”
The wanton waste and destruction which took place in the domain of art under Lutheran rule during the first fifty years of the religious innovations, great as they were, do not by any means approach in magnitude the losses caused elsewhere by Zwinglianism and Calvinism.
Yet two things in Lutheranism had a disastrous effect in checking the revival of religious art, even when the first struggles for mastery were over: first, there was the animosity against the Sacrifice of the Mass and the perpetual eucharistic presence of Christ in the tabernacle; this led people to view with distrust the old alliance existing between the Eucharistic worship and the liberal arts for exalting the dignity and beauty of the churches. After the Mass had been abolished and the Sacrament had ceased to be reserved within the sacred walls, respect for and interest in the house of God, which had led to so much being lavished on it, began to wane. The other obstacle lay in Luther’s negative attitude towards the ancient doctrine and practice of good works. The belief in the meritoriousness of works had in the past been a stimulus to pecuniary sacrifices and offerings for the making of pious works of art. Now, however, artists began to complain, that, owing to the decline of zeal for church matters their orders were beginning to fall off, and that the makers of works of art were being condemned to starvation.
In a protocol of the Council of Strasburg, dated Feb. 3, 1525, we read in a petition from the artists: “Painters and sculptors beg, that, whereas, through the Word of God their handicraft has died out they may be provided with posts before other claimants.” The Council answered that their appeal would “be borne in mind.”
The verses of Hans Sachs of Nuremberg are well-known:
“Bell-founders and organists,
Gold-beaters and illuminists,
Hand-painters, carvers and goldsmiths,
Glass-painters, silk-workers, coppersmiths,
Stone-masons, carpenters and joiners,
‘Gainst all these did Luther wield a sword.
From Thee we ask a verdict, Lord.”
In the poet’s industrious and artistic native town the decline must have been particularly noticeable. According to the popular Lutheran poet of Nuremberg the fault is with the complainants themselves, who,
“With scorn disdain
From greed of gain”
the Word of Christ. “They must cease worrying about worldly goods like the heathen, but must seek the Kingdom of God with eagerness.”
It is perfectly true that the words that Hans Sachs on this occasion places in the mouth of the complainant are unfair to Luther:
“All church building and adorning he despises,
Treats with scorning,
He not wise is.”
For in spite of his attacks on the veneration of images, on the Catholic doctrine of the Eucharist and the meritoriousness of pious foundations, Luther was, nevertheless, not so “unwise” as to despise the “building and adorning” of the churches, where, after all, the congregation must assemble for preaching, communion and prayer.
That Luther was not devoid of a sense of the beautiful and of its practical value in the service of religion is proved by his outspoken love of music, particularly of church-music, his numerous poetic efforts, no less than by that strongly developed appreciation of well-turned periods, clearness and force of diction so well seen in his translation of the Bible. His life’s struggle, however, led him along paths which make it easy to understand how it is that he has so little to say in his writings in commendation of the other liberal arts. It also explains the baldness of his reminiscences of his visit to Italy and the city of Rome; the young monk, immersed in his theology, was even then pursuing quite other interests than those of art. It is true Luther, once, in one of the rare passages in favour of ecclesiastical art, speaking from his own point of view, says: “It is better to paint on the wall how God created the world, how Noah made the ark and such-like pious tales, than to paint worldly and shameless subjects; would to God I could persuade the gentry and the rich to have the whole Bible story painted on their houses, inside and out, for everyone’s eye to see; that would be a good Christian work.” Manifestly he did not intend his words to be taken too literally in the case of dwelling-houses. A fighter such as Luther was scarcely the right man to give any real stimulus in the domain of art. The heat of his religious polemics scorched up in his soul any good dispositions of this sort which may once have existed, and blighted in its very beginnings the growth of any real feeling for art among his zealous followers. Hardly a single passage can be found in which he expresses any sense of satisfaction in the products of the artist.
It is generally admitted that in the 16th century German art suffered a severe set-back. For this the bitter controversies which for the while transformed Germany into a hideous battlefield were largely responsible; for
such a soil could not but prove unfavourable for the arts and crafts. The very artists themselves were compelled to prostitute their talents in ignoble warfare. We need only call to mind the work of the two painters Cranach, the Elder and the Younger, and the horrid flood of caricatures and base vilifications cast both in poetry and in prose. “The rock on which art suffered shipwreck was not, as a recent art-writer says, the fact that ‘German art was too early severed from its bond with the Church,’ but that, with regard to its subject-matter and its methods of expression, it was forced into false service by the intellectual and religious leaders.”
CHAPTER XXXI
LUTHER IN HIS DISMAL MOODS, HIS SUPERSTITION AND DELUSIONS
1. His Persistent Depression in Later Years Persecution Mania and Morbid Fancies
Among the various causes of the profound ill-humour and despondency, which more and more overshadowed Luther’s soul during the last ten years of his life, the principal without a doubt was his bitter disappointment.
He was disappointed with what he himself calls the “pitiable spectacle” presented by his Church no less than with the firmness and stability of the Papacy. Not only did the Papal Antichrist refuse to bow to the new Evangel or to be overthrown “by the mere breath of Christ’s mouth,” as Luther had confidently proclaimed would be the case, but, in the evening of his days, it was actually growing in strength, its members standing shoulder to shoulder ready at last to seek inward reform by means of a General Council.
The melancholy to which he had been subject in earlier years had been due to other thoughts which not seldom pressed upon him, to his uncertainty and fear of having to answer before the Judge. In his old age such fears diminished, and the voices which had formerly disquieted him scarcely ever reached the threshold of his consciousness; by dint of persistent effort he had hardened himself against such “temptations.” The idea of his Divine call was ever in his mind, though, alas, it proved only too often a blind guide incapable of transforming his sense of discouragement into any confidence worthy of the name. At times this idea flickers up more brightly than usual; when this happens his weariness seems entirely to disappear and makes room for the frightful outbursts of bitterness, hate and anger of a soul at odds both with itself and with the whole world.
Doubtless his state of health had a great deal to do with this, for, in his feverish activity, he had become unmindful of certain precautions. Lost in his exhausting literary labours and public controversies his state of nervous excitement became at last unbearable.
The depression which is laying its hand on him manifests itself in the hopeless, pessimistic tone of his complaints to his friends, in his conviction of being persecuted by all, in his superstitious interpretations of the Bible and the signs of the times, in his expectation of the near end of all, and in his firm persuasion that the devil bestrides and rules the world.
His Depression and Pessimism
Disgust with work and even with life itself, and an appalling unconcern in the whole course of public affairs, are expressed in some of his letters to his friends.
“I am old and worked out— ‘old, cold and out of shape,’ as they say — and yet cannot find any rest, so greatly am I tormented every day with all manner of business and scribbling. I now know rather more of the portents of the end of this world; that it is indeed on its last legs is quite certain, with Satan raging so furiously and the world becoming so utterly beastly. My only remaining consolation is that the end cannot be far off. Now at last fewer false doctrines will spring up, the world being weary and sick of the Word of God; for if they take to living like Epicureans and to despising the Word, who will then have any hankering after heresies?... Let us pray ‘Thy will be done,’ and leave everything to take its course, to fall or stand or perish; let things go their own way if otherwise they will not go.” “Germany,” he says, “has had its day and will never again be what it once was”; divided against itself it must, so he fancies, succumb to the devil’s army embodied in the Turks. This to Jakob Probst, the Bremen preacher. Not long after he wrote to the same: “Germany is full of scorners of the Word.... Our sins weigh heavily upon us as you know, but it is useless for us to grumble. Let things take their course, seeing they are going thus.”
To Amsdorf he says in a letter that he would gladly die. “The world is a dreadful Sodom.” “And, moreover, it will grow still worse.” “Could I but pass away with such a faith, such peace, such a falling asleep in the Lord as my daughter [who had just died]!” Similarly, in another letter to Amsdorf we read: “Before the flood the world was as Germany now is before her downfall. Since they refuse to listen they must be taught by experience. It will cry out with Jeremias [li. 9]: ‘We would have cured Babylon, but she is not healed; let us forsake her.’ God is indeed our salvation, and to all eternity will He shield us.”
“We will rejoice in our tribulation,” so he encourages his former guest Cordatus, “and leave things to go their way; it is enough that we, and you too, should cause the sun of our teaching to rise all cloudless over the wicked world, after the example of God our Father, Who makes His sun to shine on the just and the unjust. The sun of our doctrine is His; what wonder then if people hate us.” “Thus we can see,” so he concludes, that “outwardly we live in the kingdom of the devil.”
Plunged in such melancholy he is determined, without trusting in human help, so he writes to his friend Jonas, “to leave the guidance of all things to Christ alone”; of all active work he was too weary; everything was “full of deception and hypocrisy, particularly amongst the powerful”; to sigh and pray was the best thing to do; “let us put out of our heads any thought and plans for helping matters, for all is alike useless and deceitful, as experience shows.”
Christ had taken on Himself the quieting of consciences, hence, with all the more confidence, “might they entrust to Him the outcome of the struggle between the true Church and the powers of Satan.” “True, Christ seems at times,” he writes to his friend Johann August, “to be weaker than Satan; but His strength will be made perfect in our weakness (2 Cor. xii. 9), His wisdom is exalted in our foolishness, His goodness is glorified in our sins and misdeeds in accordance with His wonderful and inscrutable ways. May He strengthen you and us, and conform us to His likeness for the honour of His mercy.”
During such a period of depression his fears are redoubled when he hears of the atrocities perpetrated by the Turks at Stuhlweissenburg; the following is his interpretation of the event: “Satan has noticed the approach of the Judgment Day and shows his fear. What may be his designs on us? He rages because his time is now short. May God help us manfully to laugh at all his fury!” He laments with grim irony the greed for gain and the treachery of the great. “Devour everything in the devil’s name,” he cries to them, “Hell will glut you,” and continues: “Come, Lord Jesus, come, hearken to the sighing of Thy Church, hasten Thy coming; wickedness is reaching its utmost limit; soon it must come to a head, Amen.”
Even this did not suffice and Luther again adds: “I have written the above because it seems better than nothing. Farewell, and teach the Church to pray for the Day of the Lord; for there is no hope of a better time coming. God will listen only when we implore the quick advent of our redemption, in which all the portents agree.”
The outpourings of bitterness and disgust with life, which Antony Lauterbach noted while a guest at Luther’s table in 1538, find a still stronger echo in the Table-Talk collected by Mathesius in the years subsequent to 1540.
In Lauterbach’s Notes he still speaks of his inner struggles with the devil, i.e. with his conscience; this was no longer the case when Mathesius knew him: “We are plagued and troubled by the devil, whose bones are very tough until we learn to crack them. Paul and Christ had enough to do with the devil. I, too, have my daily combats.” He had learnt how hard it was “when mental temptations come upon us and we say, ‘Accursed be the day I was born’”; rather would he endure the worst bodily pains during which at least one could s
till say, “Blessed be the Name of the Lord.” The passages in question will be quoted at greater length below.
But according to Lauterbach’s Notes of his sayings he was also very bitter about the general state of things: “It is the world’s way to think of nothing but of money,” he says, for instance, “as though on it hung soul and body. God and our neighbour are despised and people serve Mammon. Only look at our times; see how full all the great ones, the burghers too, and the peasants, are with avarice and how they stamp upon religion.... Horrible times will come, worse even than befell Sodom and Gomorrha!”— “All sins,” he complains, “rage mightily, as we see to-day, because the world of a sudden has grown so wanton and calls down God’s wrath upon its head.” In these words he was bewailing, as Lauterbach relates, the “impending misfortunes of Germany.”— “The Church to-day is more tattered than any beggar’s cloak.” “The world is made up of nothing but contempt, blasphemy, disobedience, adultery, pride and thieving; it is now in prime condition for the slaughter-house. And Satan gives us no rest, what with Turk, Pope and fanatics.”
“Who would have started preaching,” he says in the same year, oppressed by such experiences, “had he known beforehand that such misfortune, fanatism, scandal, blasphemy, ingratitude and wickedness would be the sequel?” To live any longer he had not the slightest wish now that no peace was to be hoped for from the fanatics. He even wished his wife and children to follow him to the grave without delay because of the evil times to come soon after.
In the conversations taken down by Mathesius in the ‘forties Luther’s weariness of life finds even stronger expression, nor are the words in which he describes it of the choicest: “I have had enough of the world and it, too, has had enough of me; with this I am well content. It fancies that, were it only rid of me, all would be well....” As I have often repeated: “I am the ripe shard and the world is the gaping anus, hence the parting will be a happy one.” “As I have often repeated”; the repulsive comparison had indeed become a favourite one with him in his exasperation. Other sayings in the Table-Talk contain unmistakable allusions to the bodily excretions as a term of comparison to Luther’s so ardently desired departure from this world. The same coarse simile is met in his letters dating from this time.
Collected Works of Martin Luther Page 799