"The Simple Material of God": Luther's Disputatio de homine and the Philosophy of Christ

Every once in a while, Luther's name is mentioned among the philosophers. He even has two lengthy articles devoted to him on the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. But this is an appellation which he would undoubtedly reject with no lack of vehemence. Time and again he sought to direct the eyes of the Church toward those matters far above the weak thoughts and customs of man, away from the futile speculations of unregenerate reason and toward the unshakable promises of God; out of esoteric systems and toward the clear, refreshing truths of Scripture. Still, whenever Luther seems to thoroughly skewer the realm of human reason and tradition (including his infamous labeling of reason as the "devil's whore"), we must remember that he was reacting toward the elevation of human artifice by the Roman Church with all its Aristotelian conceits, impenetrable scholastic thickets, and  unwarranted doctrinal accretions. We must not let these attacks on reason distract us from the fact that Luther's interest in a clear delineation of human nature coram Deo (before God) and coram homini (before man) remained consistent throughout his lifetime.

This is to say that Luther wanted to define a set of metaphysical suppositions from which a proper Biblical understanding of humanity and the universe could flow. His essential qualification that led him to approach this arena with caution was the danger of succumbing to a theology of glory by placing too much stock in the intellect. Just as theological inquiry can quickly become Pharisaical and uncharitable when practiced apart from love for one's neighbor, so philosophy becomes self-absorbed and concerned only with mental gymnastics when it is not taken captive to serve our Lord and our fellow men. Luther agrees with Augustine that no human activity can be loved "for its own sake" in the strictest sense. We must first learn to love God in His true revelation of Himself through the slain, risen, and glorified Christ in Word and Sacrament. Only then can we take philosophy into servitude for His sake, which naturally encompasses our neighbors' good as well. To understand further how philosophy can flourish and provide vital insights into reality within this model, we will examine a brief and highly overlooked text in Luther's body of work: his 1536 Disputatio de homine ("Disputation Concerning Man"), which is both one of his most overtly philosophical pieces of writing and one of the most important prolegoumena for his entire theological project.

As a doctor of theology, Luther was steeped in the scholastic method of the late medieval university. His famous 95 Theses were delivered in the form of a classic disputation, presenting the theses as a series of premises to be debated and analyzed in the quaestio format known best through the works of Thomas Aquinas, and heavily based on formal logic. As he matured, Luther came to be much more influenced by Renaissance Humanism, which bestowed on him a great love for languages, literature, rhetoric, history, and imitation of great moral precepts learned from reading ancient texts. Nonetheless, he still continued to participate in scholastic disputations held at universities. The Disputatio de homine survives as a series of 40 theses for discussion, but only 13 fragments of the disputation itself have been passed down (the 40 theses can be viewed here, while the whole work can be found in Luther's Works, Vol. 34). Nonetheless, the series of short theses provide the most valuable look into a side of the Reformer that few would imagine existed. They show him to be a man eager and willing to use scholastic modes of thinking if they proved helpful in comprehending man's position as fallen and redeemed imago Dei.

The theses begin with an exaltation of reason that Aristotle would have little reason with which to disagree, and which may surprise those who believe that Luther was entirely opposed to the use of reason. Although he attacked certain uses of reason that were more "magisterial" (claiming authority in itself) than "ministerial" (serving and disseminating the Word), he was fully in keeping with classical beliefs about its primacy and inherent dignity as a fundamental quality of man which divides him from the beasts. "And it is certainly true that reason is the most important and the highest in rank among all things and, in comparison with other things of this life, the best and something divine. . . . [I]t is a sun and a kind of god appointed to administer these things in this life" (Theses 1-2). Recall that this was written 11 years after The Bondage of the Will, which is often cited by unsympathetic scholars as proof that Luther was anti-intellectual or fideistic. When considering the nature of man, Luther begins by observing what is common to all men, whether they be baptized believers or not. Experience tells us that earthly reason can discern the general will of God as manifested in the natural law of morality. For good government, a temperate life, robust vocations, and preservation of family and society; reason is indeed a "sort of god in this life," for it moderates and directs all temporal affairs.

But this is only one side of the thread. Luther must weave the other half of man—his spiritual, outward-facing side—into the scholastic equation in order to get a complete anthropology. Rational man and theological man are both inextricable components of the person, but one does not come to comprehend his nature in the same way in which the other does. "In spite of the fact that [the rational man] is of such majesty, it does not know itself a priori, but only a posteriori" (Thesis 10).  Luther references Aristotle's theory of four causes (material, final, efficient, and formal) to prove that our minds alone cannot lead us to any confidence regarding our origin, spiritual composition, and purpose. For as much as reason tells us that it is wrong to steal from our neighbor, it fails to answer the question, "What is the purpose of man?" For as much as it tells us that rulers should confer justice upon their people and not oppress them with murder and plunder, it comes up short when asked, "Where did man come from?" So when Luther says that the rational man only knows himself a posteriori, he is saying that it only knows the what, not the why. It knows only facts, not ultimate causes.

But to come to a complete understanding of anything, causes are essential. Therefore, theological man must perfect rational man. This is a restatement of one of the core principles of Thomistic thought, usually expressed as "grace completes nature." But Luther contributes his own unique perspective when he asserts that the theological man knows himself a priori; that is, through the assuring promises of Scripture and the Sacraments which suffuse a holy certainty over our beings. Frail reason cannot think of furnishing us with such a certainty concerning our origin, the composition of our soul, and our ultimate end. Word and Sacrament place Christ Himself in our very bodies and souls. Through this, our knowledge of the four causes is satisfied, since Christ is the Alpha and Omega, the fountain of all wisdom. In summary: the rational man knows what he should do, but his abilities are frustrated when he tries to discern why he should do them. But theological man—that is, man baptized and made new by Christ—knows the why of all things needful and hence serves as a minister to the rational part of the soul like a gentle father helping his child to walk.

Luther fought to keep these two equally true definitions of man—the rational and the theological— properly distinct, just as he distinguished between Law and Gospel, justification and sanctification, left-hand and right-hand kingdoms. These dichotomies do not necessarily imply tension or contradiction, but they represent the various "faces" of critical concepts in theology and ethics. All of these dichotomies have a "rational" side that is mortally incomplete without the quickening, enlightening work of the Holy Spirit, who imbues us with the heavenly knowledge of our whole self before God. Thus a properly Lutheran approach to philosophy will acknowledge that the things of the "natural" creation are perfectly legitimate and proper subjects for study, but our study of them must be purified by Christ. Just as the Gospel perfects and consummates the steely beauty of the Law by means of abundant grace, the concept of theological man overcomes the shortcomings of rational man by returning our focus to God's intention for humanity at both the beginning and end of time.

In Theses 21–22, Luther infers that man was created entirely whole, with no sundering between rational and theological. The minds of Adam and Eve served God in perfect harmony, allowing them to thoroughly delight in His will for them. The rational nature certainly did not come into being with the Fall, nor will it be eradicated in the New Jerusalem. But the Fall has caused rational man to rebel against theological man post-Fall, necessitating the reconciliation of the Atonement. Man now receives his complete identity in reference to what Christ has done for him in restoring Himself as king of the soul, helping our reason to become subject to Him through the Spirit. This is why, despite a heavy use of Aristotelian terminology in this disputation, Luther is so harsh on Aristotle and his followers in Thesis 28—he critiques those who affirm the ability of reason to seek the good apart from regeneration, and the scholastics for continuing to cling to frivolous categories of "natural" philosophy in their theological endeavors. In truth, neither reason nor will is capable of completing the gulf between natural and supernatural. This alone is the domain of Christ in His taking-on of flesh.

Having explained the venerable yet catastrophically weak state of rational man and the salving antidote of theological man, Luther completes his theses with an Augustinian move, changing gears quite rapidly from Aristotelian discussion of causes and effects to a thoroughly Platonic view of reality:

Therefore, man in this life is the simple material of God for the form of his future life. Just as the whole creation which is now subject to vanity is for God the material for its future glorious form. And as earth and heaven were in the beginning for the form completed after six days, that is, its material, so is man in this life for his future form, when the image of God has been remolded and perfected (35–38).

Shying away from the Aristotelian concept of perfection through habituation, Luther thoroughly aligns himself with Plato, declaring that we only see mere shadows of the future life in this world, and that the highest forms of reality are invisible to mortal eyes. John Ehrett has recently laid out a convincing case for Luther's Platonic sympathies on this site. Of course, Luther would resent being called a Platonist, and for good reason. For one, Lutheran sacramental theology is incompatible with a Platonic emphasis on the duality of matter and spirit. But we can find fascinating parallels with how Plato sees the natural man in Luther’s anthropology. Plato imagines the natural state of man to be that of a prisoner with his eyes glued on the shadows in the cave. Yet even in his lost state the possibility remains of rediscovering his primal nature through the pursuit of enlightening wisdom. Luther can recognize that “Paul does not even deign to call that realm of reason world, but rather calls it the form of the world" (Thesis 40). "Form" here is better translated as "shadow" or "reflection." Justification leads us out of the shadowy realm of pure reason toward the perfect presence of the Godhead. The world we currently inhabit lies somewhere in between the Rational and the Theological. We are, indeed, simul justus et peccator. We direct our eyes toward the day when we will come out on the other side of the weakness of the rational man to gaze upon the One who made us who we are: He who both creates and perfects our "natural" beings through participation in His own essence.

Luther's metaphysics thus allows us to view all history and reality as ultimately Christocentric. This is the central goal of all of his thought: to redirect the oft-abused and fallen yet glorious gifts of education, Church tradition, liturgy, government, Biblical interpretation, preaching, and, yes, philosophy, back to their common source: the all-creative, all-powerful Word of God as made manifest in the flesh and in Scripture. By giving up our claims to natural righteousness, our rational nature is brought to its final cause, and we become truly ourselves. This is one of the oldest paradoxes of all: by losing ourselves, we find ourselves. But there could be nothing more Lutheran in spirit.

Davis C. Smith is an MA student at Hillsdale College's Graduate School of Classical Education. His research interests include aesthetics, hymnody and liturgics, the Western literary tradition, the intersection of Athens and Jerusalem; and the theology of Augustine, Luther, and Kierkegaard. His work has been featured by the Sigma Tau Delta Review, Voegelin View, and the Consortium for Classical Lutheran Education.