Luther and the Jews III: Lessons
August 28, 2010
In yesterday's post, I pointed to the fact that, while we today find Luther's 1543 work, On the Jews and their Lies, extraordinarily vile and offensive, it was, sadly, in many ways a rather conventional piece for the time. I also noted that Luther was also not operating with racial categories: he consider Jews evil because they opposed the gospel, not because they were racially inferior. Conversion to Christianity would have solved the problem. This does not make his hate any more acceptable, but it does mean that the road between Luther and Auschwitz is a complicated one which defies direct and simplistic attempts to make him one of the primary historical culprits.
I also noted on Friday that it is the unusual, not the usual, which is often most interesting to the historian. Luther's 1543 treatise is not unusual; but this was not the only book he wrote on the Jews; and the other book, the earlier one, is much more unusual. That Jesus Christ Was Born a Jew (1523) is a remarkable piece of work. In it, far from calling for the Jews to be incinerated in their own places of worship, Luther calls on Christians to be good and loving neighbours to them, to help them, to extend hospitality to them, to reach out to them with the love of Christ. In the context of the times, this is what we would now call an incredibly progressive position. So why the change? From enlightened gentlemen to foaming at the mouth extremist in just 20 years?
The reason lies with Luther's understanding of the times in which he was living. Scholars have become increasingly aware over the years that Luther is part of a late medieval culture of eschatological expectancy. To put it simply: he thought his rediscovery of the gospel was a sign that history was about to end, with the triumph of the church and the return of Christ.
This connects to his early attitude to the Jews. The 1523 treatise was written in the context of great hope for the gospel, and his advice then is to reach out to them as positively as possible, to win them for Christ. When we move forward to 1543, by contrast, Luther is old, ill, and, above all, disillusioned both by the divisions among the Reformers and the way in which the gospel has not carried all before it. In such a context, he looks for those who are responsible; and, among them, he sees the Jews, those who have the Holy Scriptures but who adamantly refuse to see Christ therein. It is this that drives him to write such a bombastically bitter and hateful treatise against them.
What lessons can we draw from this? First, I would suggest that the connection between Luther and the Holocaust is clearly very complicated. Luther was no racist in the modern terms because he did not have the categories; rather, he was fairly typical of the kind of anti-Jewish sentiment which later morphed through a complex of contexts into modern, racial, anti-Semitism. His treatise of 1543 is grim reading and has been appropriated by various neo-Nazi and racist groups; but the history of textual reception is different from the original textual intention.This, of course, is not to excuse the 1543 work or ameliorate its viciousness; it is simply to point out that the story is more complicated than many have made it out to be.
Secondly, there is no necessary connection between his doctrine of justification and his hatred of Jews. Indeed, in the early years, his doctrine of justification was part of what made him break with the standards of his day and reach out to the Jewish community. The connection is rather more with his eschatology, and the failures of the Reformation project as a whole. This is important because his hatefulness to the Jews does not mean we cannot learn positively from things he said and did elsewhere.
Third, the whole matter should be a salutary warning that Christians need to pray continually that they will finish well. It is sad that Luther's 1543 treatise overshadows that of 1523, but quite understandable, given the content. What a tragedy that a man used for such great good in the church could also become in popular culture associated with something as vile and evil as the Holocaust. Few of us, I expect, will make errors as public and influential as his; but that is a sign rather of singular lack of importance and stature on our part, not any particular moral superiority. Those with the greatest gifts in the church are often those with the greatest flaws. As we age, and as the dreams and aspirations of youth are snuffed out one by one like so many candles, and as the darkness of death starts to encroach, the temptation to bitterness and recrimination no doubt increases. At that point, more than any other, we need to seek grace to remain faithful and gracious. The sins of youth are terrible enough; for some, the sins of old age are even worse.
I also noted on Friday that it is the unusual, not the usual, which is often most interesting to the historian. Luther's 1543 treatise is not unusual; but this was not the only book he wrote on the Jews; and the other book, the earlier one, is much more unusual. That Jesus Christ Was Born a Jew (1523) is a remarkable piece of work. In it, far from calling for the Jews to be incinerated in their own places of worship, Luther calls on Christians to be good and loving neighbours to them, to help them, to extend hospitality to them, to reach out to them with the love of Christ. In the context of the times, this is what we would now call an incredibly progressive position. So why the change? From enlightened gentlemen to foaming at the mouth extremist in just 20 years?
The reason lies with Luther's understanding of the times in which he was living. Scholars have become increasingly aware over the years that Luther is part of a late medieval culture of eschatological expectancy. To put it simply: he thought his rediscovery of the gospel was a sign that history was about to end, with the triumph of the church and the return of Christ.
This connects to his early attitude to the Jews. The 1523 treatise was written in the context of great hope for the gospel, and his advice then is to reach out to them as positively as possible, to win them for Christ. When we move forward to 1543, by contrast, Luther is old, ill, and, above all, disillusioned both by the divisions among the Reformers and the way in which the gospel has not carried all before it. In such a context, he looks for those who are responsible; and, among them, he sees the Jews, those who have the Holy Scriptures but who adamantly refuse to see Christ therein. It is this that drives him to write such a bombastically bitter and hateful treatise against them.
What lessons can we draw from this? First, I would suggest that the connection between Luther and the Holocaust is clearly very complicated. Luther was no racist in the modern terms because he did not have the categories; rather, he was fairly typical of the kind of anti-Jewish sentiment which later morphed through a complex of contexts into modern, racial, anti-Semitism. His treatise of 1543 is grim reading and has been appropriated by various neo-Nazi and racist groups; but the history of textual reception is different from the original textual intention.This, of course, is not to excuse the 1543 work or ameliorate its viciousness; it is simply to point out that the story is more complicated than many have made it out to be.
Secondly, there is no necessary connection between his doctrine of justification and his hatred of Jews. Indeed, in the early years, his doctrine of justification was part of what made him break with the standards of his day and reach out to the Jewish community. The connection is rather more with his eschatology, and the failures of the Reformation project as a whole. This is important because his hatefulness to the Jews does not mean we cannot learn positively from things he said and did elsewhere.
Third, the whole matter should be a salutary warning that Christians need to pray continually that they will finish well. It is sad that Luther's 1543 treatise overshadows that of 1523, but quite understandable, given the content. What a tragedy that a man used for such great good in the church could also become in popular culture associated with something as vile and evil as the Holocaust. Few of us, I expect, will make errors as public and influential as his; but that is a sign rather of singular lack of importance and stature on our part, not any particular moral superiority. Those with the greatest gifts in the church are often those with the greatest flaws. As we age, and as the dreams and aspirations of youth are snuffed out one by one like so many candles, and as the darkness of death starts to encroach, the temptation to bitterness and recrimination no doubt increases. At that point, more than any other, we need to seek grace to remain faithful and gracious. The sins of youth are terrible enough; for some, the sins of old age are even worse.
