Martin Luther (1483-1546) is remembered for being the initiator of the Protestant Reformation, the great enemy of the Pope. After his rebellion against Roman Catholicism, Europe, immersed in conflicts of faith, was no longer the same. If you want to go beyond the dissident theologian and delve into his private life, there is nothing better than his correspondence, recently published in volume III of his Collected Works (Trotta, 2023).
In his epistolary we find a passionate, deeply emotional man. He is frank, direct. At times, he even bares his soul as he recognizes his temptations “of the flesh, of the world, and of the devil.” He exudes so much authenticity that he can arouse sympathy even when expressed in unnuanced or overly aggressive terms. He may not always think enough about what he says, but he always says what he thinks.
Why do you present yourself as a sinner if that, at first glance, may disqualify you? He is convinced that, if he obtains eternal salvation, it will not be by his own works. What is important for the believer is not actions, but faith. Although men are full of darkness, they can always trust in God’s generosity, even if they do not deserve it.
Luther spent a lot of time interacting with his correspondents. In October 1516, he confesses, for example, that most of his day is spent writing letters. That’s why he says that he would need, at least, two copyists or secretaries. In addition to talking about big political or religious issues, he makes all kinds of comments on everyday aspects that help us understand how people in the 16th century reacted to difficulties.
The plague was obviously one of the most dangerous problems. On one occasion, the German theologian, when he was still an Augustinian religious, says that the disease killed two or three people a day in Wittenberg. The epidemic caused a situation of tremendous uncertainty, because anyone’s life could suddenly experience a tragic change: “Yesterday our neighbor’s carpenter had a healthy son, today he is buried and the other son lies sick.” The plague, according to Luther, appeared suddenly and was especially destructive among young people.
As a father, the founder of Protestantism had a special sensitivity towards everything that could affect his children, those he had from his union with Catherine of Bora, a former nun whom he married after leaving the Augustinian order.
Mandatory celibacy, he indicated, had no divine origin. It was a human creation, and, therefore, it could be abolished in the same way it had been instituted. It had to be something voluntary, because its imposition, in practice, was counterproductive: “It causes constant burning and filthy pollution.”
Marriage, therefore, constituted an honorable path to live one’s sexuality without repression. The opposite was equivalent to plunging into “hell.” How did Luther’s experience turn out then? Judging by his own words, he was satisfied with what appears to be a happy relationship. From time to time, he gives details about his wife, some even intimate: “My Käthe is nauseated and vomiting again due to her second pregnancy.”
As the attentive husband that he was, he was worried about the risky situation in which his wife found herself. He knew perfectly well that any woman who was expecting a child was risking her life. Sometimes, to his dismay, this threat became a tragic reality. On November 4, 1527, he expressed his sadness at the misfortune that one of his acquaintances had suffered: “On Saturday I almost died when the chaplain Jorge’s wife miscarried, and shortly afterward she herself suffered the same fate as her child.”
It is possible to imagine the shock he must have suffered at that time. Because of the death of specific people and also because of a logical concern regarding his own family. What if the same thing happened to Catalina? She could never rule out the worst. He himself expresses this fear very sincerely and explicitly: “What happened to the chaplain’s wife has me terrified.”
In his letters, Luther makes several references to his relationship with Erasmus of Rotterdam, a friendship that ended up being ruined by theological disagreements. For the German, the Dutch did not grant Jesus Christ sufficient importance: “The human in him prevails over the divine.” This discrepancy caused the personal consideration he felt towards Erasmus, whom he initially admired, to cool down: “My affection for him decreases day by day,” he noted.
Thus, he declares that his opinion does not matter to him in the least. He would have liked her to support his cause, but he is disappointed to discover that his colleague is not a fighter. He even openly reproaches her for his cowardice: “The Lord has not yet given you the strength, or rather the courage to fight openly and decisively alongside us against these monsters that surround us.”
The two men were separated by a very different disposition. The German, in favor of direct confrontation with his enemies, feels rejection of good manners that do not seem to him to lead anywhere: “He thinks that everything can be treated and achieved with courtesy and with some good will.” His, on the contrary, is far from being the personality of a diplomat: “I am naturally irritable.”
However, he still has some pragmatism left to propose a non-aggression pact to Erasmus: “Do not publish books against me and I will not publish anything against you either.” The agreement, in any case, was not possible, and the war of words between the two continued.
There is also no shortage of Luther’s allusions to his state of health. In various passages he mentions constipation that causes him apocalyptic suffering. The pain is so unbearable that he does not know if he will be able to withstand such torture.
All these details help to configure a more human image of the character, with his lights and shadows. Sometimes he surprises with the modernity of some revolutionary ideas, in the case of his emphasis on the freedom of the believer to live the faith in accordance with his convictions. On other occasions, he demonstrates the prejudices typical of someone who still has one foot in the Middle Ages, as when he rants against the Jews and preaches the submission of women.
In any case, we are not facing an ordinary man, but rather a force of nature, a hurricane that does not retreat no matter how many obstacles it encounters. It was precisely his indomitable character that allowed him to change the world.