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368 pages, Hardcover
First published November 24, 2015
Scott H. Hendrix, late Professor Emeritus of Reformation History and Doctrine at Princeton Theological Seminary, writes in his 2015 Martin Luther: Visionary Reformer, “My reason for attempting the unattainable is simple … I could not find a biography that satisfied me” (xi). After earning his doctorate at the University of Tübingen in Germany and becoming a Lutheran pastor, Hendrix spent decades researching and publishing on Luther and the reformation, establishing himself as one of the field’s foremost scholars. Despite the abundance of biographies on the German reformer—and doubtless aware that many more would soon appear with the 500th anniversary of Luther’s Ninety-five Theses approaching—Hendrix remained unsatisfied and undertook the ambitious task of writing his own.
Hendrix identifies a persistent gap in Luther biographies: “We cannot tell the story of his life separately from that of the early reformation, but neither can we allow the reformation to overwhelm the person. Histories of the reformation say a lot about what Luther did but very little about who he was” (x). Hendrix therefore argues that understanding Luther requires a fuller portrait that captures the complexities of his character: “The reformation was started not by a heroic robot but by a dynamic human being leading a vigorous life. . . . Luther was neither a hero nor a villain, but a human being with both merits and faults” (x–xi). For Hendrix, a faithful account of Luther cannot focus solely on his theology; it must also attend to the relational, political, and personal dimensions of his life.
Hendrix divides Luther’s life into two parts: “before and after he became a reformer” (xiii). The first part, “Pathways to Reform,” traces Luther’s early life (1483/4–1521), while the second, “Pursuit of a Vision,” examines his later years (1522–1546). Hendrix justifies this division by arguing that although “Luther proposed many reforms” before 1521, it was in that year that he “states for the first time his calling to oversee the remaking of medieval religion according to his vision of what Christianity should be” (xiii). Accordingly, the more expansive second half of the book follows Luther as he came to see himself as a reformer of the church.
From the outset, Hendrix resists the anachronistic tendency to psychologize Luther’s actions. He rejects, for example, a psychoanalytic interpretation that attributes Luther’s defiance of the pope to a dysfunctional family life that bred resentment and ambivalence toward his parents, particularly his father. Instead, Hendrix situates Luther’s relationship with his parents within its historical and cultural context and offers a more nuanced account of Luther’s conflict with his father over his monastic turn (16–17). This careful attention to historical context characterizes Hendrix’s treatment of Luther throughout the biography.
Another strength of the book is Hendrix’s willingness to challenge commonly accepted Luther lore. He questions, for example, the well-known story that a single thunderstorm drove Luther to become a monk (33). Hendrix also revises the familiar image of Luther as merely “a troubled monk who quivered in his sandals,” portraying him instead as both “a skillful young scholar” and “a conscientious Augustinian friar” (39–40). Likewise, he rejects the picture of Luther as “an isolated hero” who suddenly arrived at a “reformation discovery,” instead highlighting the network of influential relational connections that shaped his spiritual and intellectual development (32–33). Throughout these early chapters, Hendrix also emphasizes the gradual nature of Luther’s theological evolution toward a more Augustinian understanding of grace, without pinpointing a specific moment of breakthrough (52).
A central theme in Hendrix’s narrative is what he calls “the essence of [Luther’s] reforming agenda,” namely, complete reliance on Christ (68). As Luther himself explains, “I teach that people should put their trust in nothing but Jesus Christ alone, not in their prayers, merits, or their own good deeds” (qtd. in 68). Hendrix identifies Luther’s stay at the Wartburg in 1521 as a decisive moment in the development of this understanding. During this period, Luther began to more fully articulate the implications of gospel freedom: “Christ ... granted me so much liberty that … I am subject to no one but him alone” (qtd. in 114). He later summarized this freedom in a simple maxim: “Do not make what is free into a must” (qtd. in 129). According to Hendrix, it was this Wartburg experience—not the Ninety-five Theses or the Diet of Worms—that marked the true turning point in Luther’s life, the moment “where he adopted a new identity and a new purpose that he believed to have come from God” (115). Hendrix’s interpretation thus places the Wartburg at the center of Luther’s emerging self-understanding as a religious reformer.
As the narrative progresses, Hendrix situates Luther firmly within the context of his own time without excusing some of his most troubling failures. In discussing Luther’s anti-Jewish writings, he describes Luther as “a prisoner of his age and its prejudices,” who was “infected with the anti-Jewish virus that had … permeated late medieval Europe” (276). At the same time, Hendrix avoids anachronistically equating Luther’s views with those of later Nazis, noting that Luther “never advocated exterminating the Jews or physically harming them” (276). Yet he also rejects Luther’s attempt to frame his recommendations—including the burning of synagogues and the social exclusion of Jews—as a form of “sharp mercy” (qtd. in 276). Even in Luther’s own day, some of his contemporaries regarded his rhetoric toward Jews and other opponents as crude (276). Hendrix also notes Luther’s tolerance toward bigamy in at least two cases (240, 259–260).
Despite the book’s many strengths, Hendrix’s discussion of Luther’s relationship to the medieval mystical tradition is underdeveloped. Although he acknowledges the influence of figures such as Bernard of Clairvaux, Jean Gerson, John Tauler, the anonymous author of A German Theology, and Luther’s confessor John Staupitz, Hendrix maintains that “Luther cannot accurately be called a mystical theologian,” even if “elements of mystical theology appear in his writings” (72). He argues that Luther’s mature understanding of union with Christ by faith “was not a rapturous experience of losing oneself to the degree that medieval mystics described,” but rather a union that “empowered believers to look outward instead of inward” (72). Yet Hendrix himself notes Luther’s remarkable praise of A German Theology: “no book except the Bible and St. Augustine has come to my attention from which I have learned more about God, Christ, man, and all things” (WA 1:378.21–23; LW 31:75). That text, however, describes a radical inward union with God as “a true inward life” in which “God himself becomes the person in such a fashion that there is nothing that is not God or things of God” (chapter 55). Given Luther’s clear admiration for A German Theology, it is highly plausible that he shared aspects of this mystical outlook. Hendrix’s treatment of Luther’s relationship to medieval mysticism would therefore benefit from greater nuance.
Scott Hendrix has rendered a valuable service to readers interested in Luther’s life, both newcomers and specialists. His portrait of the visionary reformer is refreshingly free of unnecessary jargon, making the book highly readable while remaining a serious work of scholarship. Hendrix ultimately succeeds at his stated aim of refusing to let the reformation overwhelm Luther’s person or reduce him to a mythic hero. Instead, he allows Luther to emerge as a complex yet compelling historical figure, a man determined to let nothing and no one stand in the way of the gospel’s radical freedom.