Auden understands Luther’s doctrine of justification by faith not as a mere theological platitude, a trick of biblical grammar, or a catchphrase for men to rally around.
The poet W.H. Auden is widely considered one of the greatest writers of the twentieth century. I tend to think of him in tandem with his near-contemporary, T.S. Eliot, but whereas Eliot was an American who ended up in Britain, Auden was a Brit who emigrated to America. He was heavily influenced by the modernist movement, though his own poetic style shifted throughout his lifetime. He won the Pulitzer Prize for his long-form poem The Age of Anxiety, which inspired Leonard Bernstein’s symphony of the same name. What most people may not know is that Auden also wrote about Martin Luther.
The first mention of Luther to be published was Auden’s poem “September 1, 1939,” which captured his reaction to the German invasion of Poland that sparked the Second World War. Early in the poem, Auden addresses the public speculation about how Germany could have ended up in such a state.
“Accurate scholarship can
Unearth the whole offence
From Luther until now
That has driven a culture mad,
Find what occurred at Linz,
What huge imago made
A psychopathic god…” [1]
Auden is referencing the sweep of German history, as well as the German belief that their country had been victimized and must strike back. Linz is likely mentioned due to its status as Adolf Hitler’s childhood home. An imago is a love connection with another person that is formed in childhood and continues to shape one’s psychology as an adult. So, what Auden is getting at here are the psychological hangups of Adolf Hitler and his followers: their mental conception of the German nation and the belief that they have been conspired against by Bolsheviks, Jews, and weak liberal politicians who chose to surrender to the Allies at the end of the First World War.
Luther’s inclusion in this tale of national humiliation is probably not because of Nazi appeals to his writings (which did occur, though in a piecemeal way that ignored anything inconvenient for Nazi ideology). Rather, Luther is included as a titanic historical figure who contributed to the formation of German nationalism.
Auden knew what he was talking about. He had lived in Berlin during 1928-29, the period of the troubled Weimar Republic. There he was exposed to ideas from across the German-speaking world, such as the psychological theories of Sigmund Freud and the novels of Thomas Mann. We already see Auden’s interest in psychology by his use of the term imago. But his connection with Thomas Mann was firmly established in 1935 when he married the author’s daughter, Erika, purely to share his British citizenship with her. (Erika was by that point in danger of having her German citizenship stripped by the Nazi regime.)
It is unsurprising, then, that Auden’s first mention of Luther references the reformer’s place in the German psyche rather than anything theological. Hannah Arnold notes that Auden’s characterization of Luther in this poem shares much in common with the writings of Thomas Mann. “A similar contextualisation can be found in Mann’s famous speech ‘Deutschland und die Deutschen’ from 1945…In it, Mann mentions Luther as an exemplary German who was a great thinker but lacked political sense.” [2]
To see what Auden thought of Luther as a theologian, we must turn to a lesser-known work written in the same period and simply titled “Luther.” As the short poem opens, we find Martin Luther beset by psychological distress, terrified of divine judgment and convinced of the sinfulness of everything on earth.
“With conscience cocked to listen for the thunder,
He saw the Devil busy in the wind,
Over the chiming steeples and then under
The doors of nuns and doctors who had sinned.” [3]
This is a Luther I met often while researching for my novels Broken Bonds and Face to Face. He was keenly aware of spiritual activity in the world, spoke often of his bouts with the devil, and liked to tell the story of entering the monastery after nearly being struck by a lightning bolt. Auden’s reference to thunder could therefore be the literal thunder presaging that fateful lightning bolt or the general thunder of God’s anger at human iniquity. We see Luther’s conviction that even things considered righteous—church buildings and authorities, consecrated sisters and theological experts—were under the curse of sin, condemned by the perfect law of God. Luther’s appreciation for the severity of sin and man’s inability to make himself righteous were hallmarks of his eventual theology.
Auden also captures the dynamism of Luther’s thinking that sets him apart from most other theologians. The specter of death and divine judgment is ever present. Half measures will not do if humanity is to be saved. Auden gives voice to Luther’s thoughts: “Flesh was a silent dog that bites its master, / World a still pond in which its children drown.” In other words, the Christian knight is constantly beset by the world, the flesh, and the devil, and has no hope of making himself righteous. There is something here of Luther’s understanding of Anfechtung, the trials of this life which the Christian must endure in fear and trembling, despairing of personal ability and reaching desperately for the one thing that can save: the grace of God. Auden then brings the poem to the crisis point.
“‘All Works, Great Men, Societies are bad.
The Just shall live by Faith…’ he cried in dread.”
Auden understands Luther’s doctrine of justification by faith not as a mere theological platitude, a trick of biblical grammar, or a catchphrase for men to rally around. It is the guttural cry of a man who has fought with demons both external and internal. Only Luther’s appreciation for the severity of iniquity and the awesomeness of God allow him to grasp this truth, the last hope for sinners. But Auden’s real trick comes in the following two lines, the last of the poem.
“And men and women of the world were glad,
Who’d never cared or trembled in their lives.”
I admit that when I first read this poem, I misunderstood Auden’s intent. I thought he was suggesting Luther suffered from psychological hangups unknown to his contemporaries, obsessed with fire and brimstone when other Christians were perfectly happy with their lives. The conclusion then would be that Luther was a troubler of humanity, not a true spiritual guide.
That is not what Auden meant. In an article for The Christian Century in 1983, the late Lutheran scholar Martin E. Marty provided the original text of the poem, which had been featured in that publication before Auden included an edited version in his collected works. The final two lines of that original version read,
“And men and women of the world were glad
Who never trembled in their useful lives.” [4]
I agree with Marty that the inclusion of the word “useful” is critical here. It speaks to the common belief among Luther’s audience that their personal efforts counted for something. Their lack of trembling is not freedom from scrupulosity, but a failure to properly fear God. Luther is then a true visionary in Auden’s estimation, having arrived by way of suffering at an understanding his contemporaries could not share. The point of the poem is the difference between the message that Luther preached—“The just shall live by faith”—and the message many Protestants would eventually absorb, which Dietrich Bonhoeffer describes as “cheap grace”: the justification of sin without the justification of the sinner, a permission to do anything (or nothing) without guilt instead of a call to worship the one who has purchased us with his blood.
Luther gave the people Christ, but they did not want Christ. He offered them forgiveness, but they did not believe they needed it. Marty explains this well in his article:
“If they were moved, they were moved only so far. Before his death in 1546 Luther had given up on his fellow Wittenbergers…Records from the times show that spiritual carelessness lived on in the towns where Lutheran leaders held visitations, and that they had to fall back on legalisms when their gospel did not produce its effects. Useful lives. No trembling.” [5]
How could Auden see what so many Christians fail to grasp? The poet’s intense interest in psychoanalysis may point us in the right direction. In fact, Auden seems to have suffered from profound guilt and mental anguish. Here the prime example is Auden’s understanding of his attraction to other men. He left Britain in part because of the ostracism of homosexuals at that time. Auden was not a Christian during this period: his shame was social rather than spiritual.
Like many intellectuals of the period, Auden tested out various theories and ideologies, trying socialism at one point only to end up rejecting it. One of his chief interpreters, Katherine Bucknell, observes that, “He possessed a technical virtuosity bordering on wizardry and a questing intellect that embraced and discarded, like a serial monogamist, some of the most challenging beliefs of the 20th century. In the end, he settled on his first faith, Christianity.” [6]
Auden was a deeply flawed person with a long list of sins, but he did not simply explain them away. He feared God enough to seek forgiveness.
Becoming a Christian changed the way Auden viewed his mental struggles, mainly because of his hope in divine mercy. “As a Christian he came to believe that homosexuality was a sin for which he hoped to be forgiven by God, but he could be funny, even camp, about it.” [7] This may echo Luther’s understanding of the Christian as simultaneously just and sinful. Auden was a deeply flawed person with a long list of sins, but he did not simply explain them away. He feared God enough to seek forgiveness.
Auden had a final encounter with Luther in 1960, when he reviewed Erik Erikson’s book Young Man Luther, an examination of the reformer focusing almost exclusively on psychology. It is no surprise that Auden leapt at the chance to review such a book and grant it a glowing endorsement. In the review, Auden credits much of Luther’s evolution, such as his entrance into the monastery and embrace of the doctrine of justification by faith, to psychological factors, most especially Luther’s relationship with his father Hans. This reflects Erikson’s own arguments. It is uncertain whether the review marks a change in Auden’s thinking from his more theological analysis in “Luther,” or whether the works written two decades apart merely speak to the complexity of Auden’s understanding.
What is clear is that Auden spent his life fascinated with Martin Luther and likely felt commonality with another man who struggled with feelings of guilt. We can hope Auden found solace in the same gospel message that Luther preached.
