Nevertheless, in a letter to Melanchthon of June 29, 1530, he praised the comfort of his place of residence. Above all he was able to report that “the spirit who formerly beat me with fists [in mind] seems to be losing heart.” Yet, alluding to his bodily pains, he says sadly: “I fancy that another has taken his [the other tormentor’s] place and plagues my body; but I prefer to endure this torture of the body rather than that hangman of the spirit. But he has sworn to have my life, this I feel plainly, and will never stop until he has gobbled me up.”
But when he had returned safe and sound to Wittenberg he was disposed to look back with utter horror on what he had gone through, physically and mentally, when at the Coburg. “Now my shoulders are really beginning to feel the weight of my years,” he writes to trusty Amsdorf; “and my powers are going. The angel of Satan has indeed dealt hardly with me.”
“My thoughts did me more harm than all my work,” he said, in May, 1532, speaking of those which came by night (“curæ nocturnæ”). Nothing, so he says elsewhere, had brought him so nigh to death as these; with them all his labours, to which the great numbers of letters he received bore witness, were not to be compared. To young Schlaginhaufen Veit Dietrich related, as a memory of the Coburg days, how Luther had said to him there: “Were I to die now and be cut open, my heart would be found all shrivelled up in consequence of my distress and sadness of spirit.”
His having to wrestle with such moods is also in great part responsible for the stormy and extravagant tone of the works he wrote during, or shortly after, his stay at the Coburg.
“I should have Died without any Struggle”
In 1537, in his second serious illness, at Schmalkalden, and on the return journey from this town to Wittenberg, Luther displayed the same stubborn spirit as in 1527. In 1537 it was an attack of stone which brought him to the brink of the grave. Later on he himself declared of this crisis, that he would have died quite easily and trustfully. Into his deepest feelings at that time we have, of course, no means of probing, but it may be, that, by dint of persistently repressing his earlier scruples, he had indeed reached the state of calm resignation he depicts. At the same time his great bodily exhaustion will probably have reacted on his spirit, his very weakness thus explaining the silence of the inward voices.
“At Gotha [on my way back],” so he told his friends in 1540, “I was quite certain I was to die; I said good-bye to all, called Bugenhagen, commended to him the Church, the school, my wife and all else, and begged him to give me absolution.... Thus I should have died in Christ with a perfectly quiet soul and without a struggle. But the Lord wished to preserve me in life. My ‘Catena’ [Katey] too,” so he goes on to speak of one of his wife’s illnesses, “when once we had already given up all hopes for her life, would have died gladly, and readily, and with a quiet soul; she merely repeated a thousand times over the words: ‘In Thee, O Lord, have I hoped, I shall not be confounded for ever.’” From such experiences in her case and in his own Luther draws the conclusion, that “at times the devil desists from tempting to blasphemy.” “At other times God allows him,” so he thinks, “to try us thereby, so that we may not become indolent but may learn to fight. At the end of our life, however, all such temptations cease; for then the Holy Spirit is at the side of the faithful believer, restrains the devil by force and pours into the heart perfect peace and security.”
Such was his interpretation of the case.
At other times Luther expresses wonder at the wrong-headed sectarians who can with such confidence look even death itself in the face. He refuses to apply to them what has just been said; it is no real peace that they die in, rather they are blinded by Satan’s delusions. “This new sect of the Anabaptists,” he says indignantly, “grows marvellously, they live with a great show [of the spirit] and boldly face death by fire and water.” He is thinking of the Anabaptists who were executed in 1527— “May God have mercy on these poor captives of Satan.... They cannot be coerced either by fire or by the sword; so greatly does Satan rage in this hour because it is his last.” And yet the whole thing was little more than a joke of Satan’s.
“With me, however, he certainly does not jest; I believe that I am pleasing to God and displeasing to Satan.”
He overlooks the fact that the Anabaptists, too, fancied they were pleasing Christ, nay, were passionately convinced that they were living for Christ and not for Satan; they even exposed themselves of their own accord to the worst torments of the executioner before they passed out of life, obstinately declaring that it was impossible for them to recant. The words in which Luther complains of their obstinacy are a two-edged sword.
He is fond of bewailing the stubbornness of the heretics; it was a subject of wholesome fear for all; it penetrated “like water into their inward parts and like oil into their bones”: so far do they go that they see “salvation and blessing” in their own doctrine alone; few are they who “come right again,” “the others remain under their own curse.” “Neither have I ever read,” he assures us, “of any teacher who originated a heresy being converted”; “the true Evangel which teaches the contrary of their doctrine is and always will be to them a devil’s thing.”— “No heretic,” he cries, “will let himself be talked over.... A man is soon done for when the devil thus lays hold of him.” Such a one boasts that, “he is quite certain of things”; “No Christian ever held so fast to his Christ as a Jew or a fanatic does to his pet doctrine.” He also believes his opponent to be a liar “as surely as God is God.” And yet, so Luther argues, the sectarian or fanatic can never be certain at all; not one of his gainsayers is sure of his cause; not one has “felt the struggle and been at grips with the devil” like himself.
But I, “I am certain that my word is not mine but the word of Christ,” and “every man who speaks the word of Christ is free to boast that his mouth is the mouth of Christ.”— “Had not the devil attacked us with such power and cunning during all these years,” he says in his second exposition of the 1st Epistle of Peter (published in 1539), “we should never have acquired this certainty on doctrine.” It is to his awful “temptations,” that, as we have heard him repeatedly assure us, he owes the strength of his faith. Unceasingly did he strive to acquire a feeling of strong certainty in defiance of the devil, as indeed his theology demanded: We must by fiducial faith have made our position secure against the devil, otherwise we have no stay at all.
“Even though I stumble yet I am resolved to stand by what I have taught.” And, as though to falter in this way was inevitable, he continues: “for although a Christian holds fast until death to his doctrine, yet he often stumbles and begins to doubt; but it is not so with the fanatics, they stand firm.” And yet, according to Luther, everyone must “stand firm,” for in theology there is no room for “fears and doubts. And we must have certainty concerning God. But in conversing with other men we must be modest and say, ‘If anyone knows better let him say so.’”
The “Struggles by Day and by Night” gradually Wane
Hardly had Luther recovered from his second bout of illness than the gloomy thoughts once more emerged from their hiding-place and began again to dog his footsteps, though perhaps not quite so persistently as after his recovery from his previous sickness ten years earlier. It is as though on both occasions the sight of the gaping jaws of death had set free the troubled spirits within, and as though the spell which momentarily restrained his terrors of soul had been loosed as soon as his bodily powers returned. This was the last great attack he had to endure, or at least from this time onward definite allusions to his struggles of conscience are not forthcoming as before.
In 1537 he lay for a fortnight under the stress of that “spiritual malady” (above, ), during which he “disputed with God,” was scarcely able to take food, to sleep or to preach, in spite of his “understanding a little” “the Psalter and its consolation,” viz. that one must be patient. — On Oct. 7, 1538, he bewails his “daily agony.” In the same year he wrings some comfort out of Paul
, who also had been unable to “lay hold of” what was right; he also has a poke at the devil: “Why arraign us so sternly before God as though you were quite holy, and the highest judge!”
He then realised in his own person how one thus oppressed with terrors of soul could be tempted, like Job (iii. 1 ff.), to curse the day of his birth. After having, during the night of Aug. 1, 1538, suffered severe pains in the joints of the arm, he said next day, that such pains were tolerable in comparison with others: “The flesh can get used to this sort of thing. But when the spiritual temptations come and the ‘Cursed be the day I was born’ follows, that is a harder matter. Christ was tried in a similar way in the Garden of Olives.... He, on account of His temptations, is our best advocate in all temptations.... Let us but cling fast to hope!”
It cannot be established that he was speaking seriously or was prompted by despair when he wished that “he had died as a child,” nay, “had never been born,” and stated that he would gladly see “all his books perish.” We must beware of laying too great stress on occasional deliverances spoken in moments of irritation, or on little tricks of speech such as his depreciatory remarks concerning his books.
It may be to the purpose to quote here some undated statements of Luther’s which paint in lurid style his frequent struggles of mind and his manner of resistance.
Jerome, Augustine and Ambrose had “carnal and childish temptations”; “these are nothing compared with Satan who strikes us, the [Greek: skolops], that, as it were, fastens us to the gallows; then Jerome’s and the others’ child-temptations are chased away entirely.”— “On one occasion I was greatly tempted in my garden near the bush of lavender, whereupon I sang the hymn ‘Now praise we Christ the Holy One,’ otherwise I should have expired on the spot. Hence, when you feel such a thought, say, ‘This is not Christ.’ ... This I preach and write, but I am not yet at home in this art when tempted in this way.”
The worst temptations of all are those when “one does not know whether God is the devil or the devil God.” “The Apostle Judas, when the hour [of temptation] came, walked into the snare and knew not how to get out. But we who have taken the field against him [the devil] and are at grips with him know, by God’s grace, how to meet and resist him.”— “The devil can affright me to such an extent that in my sleep the sweat breaks out all over me; otherwise I do not trouble about dreams or signs.... Sad dreams are the work of the devil. Often has he driven me from prayer and put such thoughts into my head that I have run away; the best fights I have had with him were in my bed by the side of my Katey.”
Elsewhere, however, he says: “I have found the nocturnal encounters far harder than the daylight ones”; “but, that Christ is master, this I can show not merely by Holy Scripture but also by experience”; “God gives richly of both. But all has become bitter to me through these temptations.”— “I know from my own experience what we read of in the Psalms (vi. 7): ‘Every night I will wash my bed: I will water my couch with my tears.’ In my temptations I have often wondered and asked myself whether I had any heart left in my body, so great a murderer is Satan; but he will not long keep the upper hand, for he has indeed burnt his fingers on Christ.”
To add to the terrors of such struggles came thoughts of suicide. When Leonard Beyer, an Augustinian, who had become pastor of Guben, spoke to Luther of his temptations to take his own life, and of the voice which occasionally whispered to him “Stick a knife into yourself,” Luther answered: “This used to be the same with me. No sooner did I take a knife in my hand, than such thoughts came to me; nor could I kneel down to pray without the devil driving me out of the room. We have to suffer from the great devils, the ‘theologiæ doctores’; but the Turks and Papists have only the little devils” to tempt them. It would indeed be no wonder if Luther in his excited frame of mind was for a while troubled by such thoughts of suicide. By thoughts of the sort sufferers of gloomy disposition are often tormented quite involuntarily and without any fault of their own. It is hardly worth our while to prove that another passage, which occurs in Cordatus, is not at all to the point though it has been quoted against Luther as showing his inclination to suicide. There, in his usual vein of exaggeration, he says that he “would hang himself on the nearest tree” were Satan to succeed in dragging down Christ from heaven. Surely there was just as little likelihood of his being his own hangman as of the enemy succeeding in this. And yet some Catholic polemists who believed in the fable that Luther killed himself, seized on such passages in order to show that Luther had long been bent on suicide.
How to find Peace of Conscience
If, towards the end of the ‘thirties, Luther was more successful in countering his inward anxieties, this may have been due to the means he used and the efficacy of which he frequently extols. Some of the remedies to which he had recourse appear comparatively innocent, and had even been recommended by Catholic spiritual writers to be used when the circumstances demanded. Others, however, must be described as doubtful and even dangerous, particularly considering what his moral position was.
Above all he recommends distraction; people tempted should engage in cheerful intercourse, or in games; in his own case he had urgently desired the return of his friends, “in order that Satan may no longer rejoice that we are so far apart.” He also bears witness to the improvement which resulted from cheerful, animated conversation.
He also advises people to awaken some “stronger emotion so as to counteract the disquieting thoughts.” For instance, it is a good thing “to break out into scolding,” or to give vent to a “brave outburst of anger.”
Further, animal pleasures are, according to him, of advantage; he himself, on his own admission, sought to distract his thoughts by sensual joys of the most material kind. In the case of gloomy thoughts “a draught of beer” was, so he avers, of much greater use than, e.g. astrology.
Sensuality, however, is not always sufficiently powerful or effective. It is better to have recourse from the beginning to religious remedies. “If I but seize the Scripture [text] I have gained the day,” but, unfortunately, the verse wanted often won’t come. In general, what is required is prayer, much patience and the arousing of confidence. One’s patience may be fortified by the thought that “perhaps, thanks to these temptations, I shall become a great man,” as he himself had actually become, thanks largely to his temptations.
Further, the words of “great and learned men to one who is tempted may serve him as an oracle or prophecy, which indeed they may really be.” To hold fast to a single word spoken by a stranger had often proved very helpful. We may recall how he compared Bugenhagen’s words to him: “You must not despise our consolation,” to “a voice from heaven.” Another saying of his same friend and confessor, had, so he declares, greatly strengthened him. “Surely enough, God thinks: ‘What more can I do for this man [Luther]? I have given him such excellent gifts and yet he despairs of my grace!’”
In these “temptations,” whether in his own case or in that of others, he hardly gives a thought to penance and mortification, such as olden Churchmen had always recommended and employed. On the contrary, ascetic remedies of the sort would, according to him, only make things worse. Needless to say, even Catholics were anxious that such remedies should not be applied without discretion, since lessening of the bodily powers might conceivably weaken the resistance of the spirit, nay, even promote fears and temptations. Luther says, in 1531: “Were I to follow my inclination I should [when in this state] go three days without eating anything. This then is a double fasting, to eat and drink without the least appetite. When the world sees it, it looks on it as drunkenness, but God will judge whether it is drunkenness or fasting. They will have fasts, but not as I fast. Therefore keep head and belly full. Sleep also helps.” Sleep seemed to him especially important, not merely as a condition for hard work, but also to enable one to resist low spirits. It was when unable to sleep, that, as he tells us, “the devil had annoyed him until he said: ‘Lambe mihi nates,’ etc. We have
the treasure of the Word; God be praised.”
His practice and teaching with regard to inward sources of troubles were indeed miles apart from those of earlier Catholic times, and even from what in his own day Catholic masters of the first rank in the spiritual life had written for the benefit of posterity. Everybody knows how these writers are, above all, desirous to provide their readers with a method whereby they may discern between, on the one hand, the voice of conscience, whether it warns us to desist from wrong or encourages us to do what is good, and, on the other, the promptings of the Evil Spirit. They say that it is the devil’s practice alternately to disquiet and to cheer, though in a way very different from that of the spirits from above. It was unfortunate for Luther that he chose to close his eyes to any such “discerning of the spirits.” He resolutely steeled his conscience once for all against even wholesome disquietude and anxiety, and of set purpose he bore down all misgivings. Of one thing he was determined to be convinced: “Above all hold fast to this, that thoughts bad and sad come, not from God, but from the devil;” “make it your wont at once to tell all inward reproaches: ‘You were not sent by God.’”
“At first,” he adds, as though describing his own case, “this struggle is hard, but practice makes it easier.”
Collected Works of Martin Luther Page 814