Peter F. Wiener
MARTIN LUTHER AND THE STATE
WE have seen how contradictory was Luther’s character, how differently he often acted from what he taught. But nowhere is contradiction stronger, or at least does it appear more marked than in Luther’s political teachings. The reason for this seems to me obvious. For all we usually look at is the young Luther, the Luther who fought so bravely the Church of Rome, the Luther who acted (even if the words are merely a legend) according to the principle, “Here I stand, I cannot do otherwise, God help me, Amen.”
The later Luther is so often ignored. The change which took place once he had achieved his aim, once he was a national hero, a dictator of morals, politics, and religion, is rarely taken into account. And yet it is the later Luther who had (anyhow in my interpretation) so much greater an influence on Germany than the young rebellious monk.
In no sphere is this so clear as in Luther’s attitude towards the State, as in his commands governing relations between the ruling class and the working classes. The line of demarcation is clearly the year 1525. And before we attempt a more theoretical interpretation of Luther’s political teachings, let us look for a short while at the historical facts.
We are always inclined to interpret present-day history as something new. We are always tempted to see the sufferings of our own times as something unheard of, as something more modern and more important than any other period in history. To me it seems that the problems are, at least to a certain degree, always the same. One of these great problems which we are facing at the moment is the relationship between the “capitalists” or “upper class”, and the “working classes”, or proletariat. But this struggle, this conflict of interests is nothing very new. Indeed, as long as there has been human history, there has been class-struggle. The only difference is that the various classes appear at different periods under different names. Thus, in the Germany of Luther, the upper classes were “the princes”, the working classes were “the peasants”. This ought to be remembered, for I shall refer quite often to “the princes” and “the peasants”—a traditional but not quite correct terminology.
The suppression which the “princes” imposed upon the “peasants” early in the sixteenth century is something almost unbelievable. Taxes, rents, rates, work, and so forth were unbearable. The working classes were treated in a loathsome way and there was much, very much justifiable grumbling and discontent. But these poor oppressed creatures, whose life was less than worth living, could not see a way out of their tragedy; they lacked leadership, they lacked ideas; nobody seemed to be able or willing to help them, nobody seemed to possess the necessary courage and conviction to oppose the cruel treatment which they received from the princes.
Then there came Martin Luther. He acted like a great and courageous man. He showed no signs of fright. He said what he thought. He brought the true idea of Christianity back to the oppressed masses. His preachings of “Christian Freedom” were eagerly read and learnt by those thousands of “peasants” who had merely been waiting for a man of Luther’s greatness, honesty, fearlessness, true Christianity.
Luther encouraged these exploited creatures as much as he could. “Among Christians”, he told them, “no authority can or ought to exist, but everyone should be subject to all.” Moreover, Luther was fearless enough to tell the oppressing princes what he thought of them, what would happen to them. “God Almighty,” he wrote, “has struck our princes with madness so that they imagine they may treat and command their subjects just as they please; and the subjects too are crazy enough to think that it is their duty to obey all that is commanded them.” “God has delivered the princes up to a perverted mind, and means to make an end to them. . . . All the princes could do was to rob and oppress the people, heaving tax upon tax, and rate upon rate.”” He warned the princes that they would soon be destroyed. “The princes”” he continued, “are the greatest fools and the worst scoundrels on earth. The people cannot, will not any longer, endure your tyranny and your presumption.
It is thus not surprising that the peasants in Germany looked to Luther, to Christian teaching, to the Bible, as their one and only hope. “All the peasants of Germany were soon united in the immense hope to reconstruct society on Christian ideas.” Revolt was in the air; it was unavoidable. And Luther was not merely the born leader of this great movement of liberation, but he had purposely put the common hatred of the princes into words and had threatened action. The revolution which was about to break out in 1525 is known in history as “the Peasants’ War”, and on its eve Luther was the avowed champion of the most oppressed class in Germany. “Luther was the creator and leader of the whole movement”—no historian has ever doubted this fact.
The term “Peasants’ War” is, as I have indicated already, somewhat misleading. “It is difficult to generalise a movement so widespread as this. We might call it a social revolution based on the `divine justice’ as revealed in the Bible,” says Professor MacKinnon, Luther’s most recent, most complete biographer and apologist. And he continues: “The phrase `rising of the peasants’ is strictly speaking insufficient as a designation of the insurrection of 1525, in view of the wider discontent which coalesced with the movement.”
The discontented peasants published their grievances in a memorandum consisting of twelve articles. It is a very calm and moderate document. They state their claims and express their discontent. Michelet, the great French historian, calls it “a model of courageous moderation”. Professor MacKinnon says: “The moderate persuasive tone of these articles is surprising. The peasants will not use force except in the last resort and against glaring abuses, which were really indefensible from the Christian standpoint. . . . Brotherly love and the Gospel are to decide in all contentious matters.” “The Christian liberty which proclaimed was applied directly to temporal questions.”
What now was Luther’s attitude in these crucial hours? The peasants looked at him as their leader. They felt confident that he, the great lover of Christian freedom and brotherhood, could be relied upon. But Luther’s reply to the twelve articles was somewhat ambiguous. He gave to this reply the title “Exhortation to Peace regarding the Twelve Articles”. “Brother Martin here showed the greatest circumspection. His reply to the overlords as well as to the peasants, in its fundamentals at all events is neither fish nor fowl. The peasants were certainly wrong, but the overlords were not right” (Funck-Brentano).
Luther calls the peasants “dear brothers” and the princes “dear masters”. And while he urges the peasants not to revolt, explaining that “never did rebellion end in good” (Friend Martin was forgetting his own rebellion”), he continues to state the injustice of the princes. “Since it is certain that you govern tyrannically and savagely, fleecing and oppressing the common people, there is no comfort or hope for you but to perish as those like you have perished.”
Obviously, the peasants took these hints much more seriously than Luther’s demand to them “to suffer in a Christian manner, and to be ready to endure persecution and even oppression willingly.” In any case, matters had gone too far, and Luther’s exhortation meant nothing either to princes or peasants. “He states the case for the peasants and then runs away from it,” as MacKinnon expresses it. But the revolution was in full swing. The more extreme elements were no longer prepared to submit quietly to the princes. It is at this very moment that Luther decides to support the princes. “When it came to civil war, Luther did not prove to be a Cato. He went over to the victorious side after he had tried as long as possible to please both parties.”
“Peasants”, Luther declared, “are no better than straw. They will not hear the Word and they are without sense; therefore they must be compelled to hear the crack of the whip and the whizz of bullets, and it is only what they deserve. We must pray for them that they may become obedient; but if they do not, pity is of no avail here; we must let the cannon-balls whistle among them, or they will only make things a thousand times worse.”
A strange way to talk about his most faithful followers! But once Luther had made up his mind which side he was going to back, which side it was more profitable to back, his violence knew no limits. On May 6 of this fatal year Luther published his pamphlet, “Against the Peasant Bands of Robbers and Murderers”, which Funck-Brentano has described as a “horrible document which it is impossible to read, not only without disapproval but without disgust. The Reformer, who always had the Gospel on his lips, now talked of nothing but killing, torturing, burning and murdering the very people whom his work had driven to rebel.” Let us listen to the Reformer, the so-called champion of Christian freedom.
To kill a peasant is not murder; it is helping to extinguish the conflagration. Let there be no half measures! Crush them! Cut their throats! Transfix them! Leave no stone unturned! To kill a peasant is to destroy a mad dog!. . . Our princes must in the circumstances regard themselves as the officers of the divine wrath which bids them chastise such scoundrels. A prince who failed to do so would be sinning against God very badly. He would be failing in his mission. A prince who in such circumstances avoided bloodshed would become responsible for the murders and all the further crimes which these low swine might commit. It is no longer a question of tolerance, patience, pity. It is the hour of wrath and for the sword; the hour for mercy is past.”
Luther is full of similar advice. “It is a trifle for God to massacre a lot of peasants, when He drowned the whole world with a flood and wiped out Sodom with fire. He is an almighty and frightful God.” “If there are innocent men amongst the peasants, God will certainly prepare and keep them, as He did with Lot and Jeremiah.”” ““ will not forbid such rulers as are able, to chastise and slay the peasants without previously them offering terms, even though the Gospel does not permit it.”” Once more, the Devil is brought into it. ““he peasants serve the Devil. . . . I believe that there are no devils left in hell, but all of them have entered into peasants.”” And Luther surpasses himself when he exclaims: ““hat strange times are these when a prince can enter heaven by the shedding of blood more certainly than others by means of prayer!”” And he ends with the peroration: “Come, dearly-beloved lords and nobles, strike them, transfix them, and cut their throats with might and main. Should you find death in so doing, you could not wish for one more divine, for you would fall in obedience to God and in defending your like against the hordes of Satan.”” I know of no example in history (with the exception of Hitler” famous, or rather infamous, June 30, 1934) where a man turned in such an inhuman, brutal, low way against his own followers—merely in order to establish his own position, without any reason. Treason of any kind is, in my opinion, honourable compared to Luther’s change of colours.
The effect of Luther’s pamphlet was terrible. It was exactly what the princes had hoped for. “It was due to Luther’s pamphlet against the peasants, so said the Strasburg preacher Capito, that the country had passed from the turmoil of insurrection to the horrors of retaliation and revenge.” The princes translated the Reformer’s inhuman orders into practice with a terrifying speed.
Even Luther’s own followers got frightened. They reproached him, they tried to explain that the irrational, quick-tempered Luther had acted on the spur of the moment, that he did not mean what he said. In cold blood Luther replied: “An insurgent is not worthy of being answered with reason, for he cannot understand it; such mouths must be stopped with fisticuffs till their noses bleed. The peasants would not hear, would not listen to reason, therefore it was necessary to startle their ears with bullets, and send their heads flying in the air. . . . If they say I am very hard and merciless, mercy be damned. Let whoever can stab, strangle, and kill them like made dogs” (E24, 294). “The intention of the Devil was to lay Germany waste, because he was unable in any other way to prevent the spread of the Evangel.”
He would have no criticism—Luther, who is reported to be the great champion of tolerance. “Those who thus blame my little book (against the peasants) must be warned to hold their tongues and to take care what they say; for most certainly they are insurgents at heart, therefore the authorities must keep an eye on such people and let them see that they are in earnest.” Indeed, Luther “attributed his pamphlet against the peasants to Divine inspiration.”
No, Luther would not retract a single word of his pamphlet or apologise for it as the offspring of momentary passion. Instead, he began to elaborate his new political theory, a theory which was so readily accepted in Germany. “Scripture speaking figuratively”, wrote Luther in 1526, “calls rulers drovers, taskmasters, and scourgers. Like the drivers of donkeys, who have to belabour the donkeys incessantly with rods and whips, or they will not obey, so must the ruler do with the people; they must drive, beat, throttle, hang, burn, behead and torture, so as to make themselves feared and to keep the people in check” (E15, 276).
The princes obeyed. A “brutal revenge” took place. Typical is the assertion of one of the princes: “I hope we are now going to play with heads as the boys play with marbles.”
The lot of the poor peasants was worse than horrible. “Captains and overlords vied with each other in the ferocity of the punishments inflicted on the inhabitants of the conquered districts. The mildest way for the victims was to have their heads chopped off with an axe. Many, both men and women, had their tongues torn out; others had their fingers chopped off. The executions took place in public squares, the wives and children of the condemned being forced to witness the horrible spectacle at sight.” Some of the princes made all their subjects who had taken part in the revolt kneel in groups, and then mowed them down with artillery. Others crowded them into the cellars under their castles, where they died of suffocation in the most terrible stench. “Historians have estimated the number of poor wretches put to death in this way at about 100,000. The victorious landowners used to amuse themselves by playing bowls with their heads” (Funck-Brentano).
The whole of Germany seemed to collapse. But Luther did not care. “What I teach and write remains true though the whole world should fall to pieces over it” (W18, 401).
Nor did the Reformer feel any sympathy of any kind for the victims of the atrocities committed by his orders. “’Why treat the peasants so cruelly?’ I am asked,”, wrote Luther in May, 1525; “let them all be killed. In such circumstances is it not God Himself who by our hands, hangs, breaks on the wheel, blows to bits and decapitates.”
The immediate results were obvious. “The peasants sank back into their servile conditions.” “The practical outcome of the great popular movement was deplorable. The condition of the common people became even worse than before.” “A general and rapid decay of intellectual life was the natural result.”
Perhaps the one and greatest chance in Germany’s history to have a revolution of the people, to force the Junkers to give in, to have a democracy based on Christian principles—was squashed, by Martin Luther. The common people sank back into a pitiful state—at least those poor wretches who survived. Germany was a battlefield, disunited, more oppressed than ever by the ruling classes. At this moment the Reformer thought it appropriate to exclaim with pride: “It was I, Martin Luther, who slew all the peasants in the insurrection, for I commanded them to be slaughtered. All their blood is upon my shoulders. But I cast it on our Lord God who commanded me to speak in this way” (E59, 284).
So much for the facts, and for Luther’s change of attitude. What interests us here is not his personal psychology in this dark affair, but the change in his political theories. For the Reformer had become from the defender of liberty, freedom, and tolerance the preacher of “the new doctrine of the unlimited authority of secular rulers over their subjects”—a theory to which he consistently adhered, which was to become for over four centuries the new Gospel of the Reich, to the everlasting tragedy of mankind.
If we look at Luther until just before the Peasants’ War, i.e.1525, then it might be true to say, as so many of his biographers have done, that “The roots of religious freedom are to be found in Lutheranism.” “Luther repelled the use of violence in religion; he protested against propagating reforms by persecution, and with a wise moderation he maintained the sublime doctrine of freedom of conscience.”
Luther himself had said: “The secular authorities are not to hinder anyone from teaching and believing what he pleases.” “I cannot admit that false teachers are to be put to death. It is enough to banish them.” We might be justified in concluding, if we look only at the first part of his life, that “Luther’s service to mankind was nothing less than the successful declaration of individual freedom of conscience from the dictates of any human authority.” “Luther is a beacon light of history, for he is the founder of modern liberty.” Over and over again the Reformer pleaded: “Everyone ought to be allowed what he will.”
But then came his sudden change. This terrible attitude towards the peasants, this desire to seek their blood and life, this unparalleled intolerance. Many, too many, historians do not look at it, ignore it. And yet it is here that the true Luther reveals himself. Ever since the Peasants’ War the Reformer maintained the same brutal attitude. Take, to quote merely another case (but there are many more), the way in which he treated the Anabaptists.
Against this was a sect which had come into being through Luther himself. “Whatever may have been their historical origin, Anabaptist ideas were undoubtedly stirred to vigorous life by Luther’s revolutionary writings.” The Anabaptists were “left-wing Lutherans”; they preached “Socialism in the 16th century”. It was a “very moderate movement”. They aimed at the “establishment of a democratic socialist republic,” and demanded “abolition of all class distinctions, freedom and equality.” It was a purely religious movement—as compared with that of the peasants—and they had no political aim. The Cambridge Modern History says (vol. II, p. 223) that some of the Anabaptists “were anticipating the Quakers,” and that they denounced the dependence of the Lutheran Church upon the State, and denied the right of the secular magistrate to interfere in religious matters.
Surely here was a movement which the Luther of 1520, the traditional Luther, should have welcomed and hailed. But in 1535 Luther was at the peak of his power and tolerated no other belief, no other religion, no other leadership, but his own. So he recommended the same treatment for the Anabaptists as he had previously urged should be applied to the peasants. “The principal thing”, he said, “required to protect the people against the devils who were teaching through the mouths of the Anabaptist prophets was in the case of the common people compulsion by the sword and by the law . . . the law with its penalties rules over them in the same way that wild beasts are held in check by chains and bars, in order that outward peace may prevail amongst the people; for this purpose the temporal authorities are ordained and it is God’s will that they be honoured and feared.”
Once more Luther encouraged the secular authorities to commit the worst atrocities. “Many Anabaptists were beheaded with the express approbation of Luther, who regarded their heroism in the face of death as proof of diabolic possession.”
Is there any possibility of explaining this change in attitude in Luther? The man who denounced the State and the princes, who fought them gallantly and with heroism, turning suddenly into a supreme upholder of complete dictatorship, being more intolerant, more brutal, more bloodthirsty than any of his own opponents had ever thought of being?
Many historians have abandoned the hope of explaining the strange phenomenon. “A curious changeableness and want of logic are apparent, not merely in Luther’s way of expressing himself, but also in his views,” says Professor Grisar. “This was due in part to the fact that his mental abilities lent themselves less to the statement and defence of general theories than to controversy on individual points; but still more to the influence on his doctrine exercised by the changes proceeding in the outer world.”
Another typical comment is that “Luther’s lack of system is nowhere more apparent than in his views concerning the authorities and their duty towards religion. The attempt to sum up in a logical system the ideas which he expressed on this subject under varying circumstances and at different times, and to bring these ideas into harmony with his practice will ever prove a failure. It will never be possible to set aside the contradictions of his theory, and between his theory and his practice.”
Nevertheless I do believe that a psychological explanation is possible. Luther, as I have tried to show, was an extremely self-centred man, obsessed by the idea of being inspired by Heaven. While he was fighting for his own ideas, he preached that it was unchristian to restrain him; he demanded absolute and complete liberty of thought and word, action, and deed. But once he had been successful, he believed himself to be the one and only authority on all matters of faith and religion—and woe to those who dared to argue with him! It is then that he called the secular power to his assistance, that he gave rights and tasks, absolute authority and dictatorial powers to the princes such as they had never known before.
Of course, Luther was too clever not to see that he contradicted himself—that he called his former enemies to his assistance against those whom he had most influenced, who had believed in him, but who refused to see in him, and in him alone, a new Jesus Christ. It is then that he elaborates his fateful theory of two moralities, two lives, two authorities.
I have already drawn attention to the fact that Luther separated action and behaviour from thought and belief. Ever since the Peasants’ War, he expanded this strange and somewhat muddle-headed theory, as an apology for his contradictions. “The kingdom of Christ,” he wrote, “wholly belongs to the order of Grace, but the kingdom of the world and worldly life belong to the order of the law. The two kingdoms are of a different species and belong to different worlds. To the one you belong as a Christian to the other as a man or a ruler. Christ has nothing to do with the regulations of worldly life but leaves them to the world; earthly life stands in no need of being outwardly hallowed by the Church.”
“A great distinction,” Luther said, “must be made between a worldling and a Christian, i.e. between a Christian and a worldly man. For a Christian is neither man nor woman . . . he must know nothing and possess nothing in the world. . . A prince may indeed by a Christian, but he must not rule as a Christian, and when he rules, he does so not as a Christian but as a prince. As an individual he is indeed a Christian, but his office or princedom is no business of his Christianity.”
An ideal solution to save his own skin. Whenever he acted, protested, fought—he was doing so as a true Christian, and the authorities had no right whatsoever to interfere with him. But whenever any of his opponents dared to say something or to act—they were not Christians, and it was the duty of the prince to stop them, kill them, hang them. “Hitherto,” Luther explained, “I have foolishly hoped for something superhuman from men, that they might be led by the Gospel. But experience has taught me that in contempt of the Gospel they need to be contained by laws and the sword.”
And he comes to the logical conclusion: “Every Christian leads a double life: One faithful and spiritual, the other as a citizen or a worldly one.” The two have nothing to do with each other. “Civilian life does not regard God.” “God does not need our works, if we praise him and thank Him, that is all He wants.” This idea that our life as a citizen does in no way whatsoever concern God and that we need not be guided in it by Christian standards, is to be found throughout Luther’s writings. “We must make a great distinction”, Luther teaches us, “between justice on earth and the justice of God.” “As far as earthly justice is concerned, we need not be guided by the Scripture.”
Over and over again he returns to this favoured subject, that there are two moralities; the one in which we are faithful Christians and which regards merely our spiritual life, and the other which we adopt as citizens and where we owe obedience to the secular power.
The secular power has to be blindly obeyed by the citizens. It is God’s will that there are rulers and princes in order to see that these secular laws are obeyed. The princes are the gods upon earth. “Wherever the princes take their power from, it does not regard us. It is the will of God, irrespective whether they have stolen their power or assumed it by robbery” (W30,1). “If anybody has the might, he obtained it from God. Therefore he has also the right.” It is strange to notice that more than once Luther—not Bismarck!—uses the term “Might is Right”.
Nobody has a right ever to oppose this secular power. “Even if the authorities are wicked and unjust, nobody is entitled to oppose them, or to riot against them.” The people, the mass of the people have no rights whatsoever. “The ass must have blows and the people must be ruled by force. God knew this well, for it was not a fox’s brush He gave to rulers, but a sword.” “Even though the authorities act unjustly, God wills that they should be obeyed without deceit . . . for to suffer unjustly harms no man’s soul; indeed it is profitable to it.”
We have seen, and it is only the logical conclusion of these theories, how Luther ordered the peasants and Anabaptists to be treated. It was also Luther, that so-called champion of freedom, who re-introduced censorship and concentration camps. “The princes and estates will not henceforth allow nor tolerate the printing of any book which has not been diligently examined to see whether, not in the substance only, butalso in the style and form of the language, it coincides with the Augsburg Confession.”
“Carlstadt has set up printing works at Jena”, Luther wrote in 1534, “but the Elector of Saxony and our Academy have promised, in conformity with the Imperial edict, to tolerate no publication that has not been submitted to the `commissions,’ that is to say, the censorship.” Funck-Brentano very justifiably comments here: “Thus we find Luther invoking the edicts of the Roman Catholic Emperor and the censorship of a commission of control, against votaries of the reformed religion who did not feel called upon to adhere strictly to its doctrines. What cries, what protestations would he not have raised against anybody who had dared to treat him in a similar fashion!” Funck-Brentano continues: “Luther persuaded the Elector of Saxony to have a prison built and reserved for pastors and preachers whose conduct or utterances he regarded as reprehensible. He himself mentions a certain John Sturm `who insisted on believing that Christ died only to set an example’. And he was taken to Schweinitz, where he was shut up in a tower to the day of his death.”
Christian ethics and Christian principles—it cannot be too often repeated—according to Luther did not regard the prince and his conduct. “If you are a prince, judge, man, woman, etc., and if you have people under your authority, and if you want to know how to act, then you must not ask Christianity, but ask the Emperor, local laws or customs about it. This will tell you how to behave towards your inferiors.”
These teachings of Luther had two very natural results. In the first place, the people were taught that they had no right to rebel or protest against even the most unjust ruler. I have never believed that the herd-instinct of the Germans, this blind obedience to Kaiser or Fuehrer, Chancellor or General, is an inborn, inhuman instinct. On the contrary, I have always believed that it is part of the German Lutheran tradition. Those who write about a “German revolution”, those who hope that the Germans will one day protest against the Nazis or militarism know nothing of either German history (for since the peasants’ War and Martin Luther there has never been in Germany even the attempt of a real revolution), but they know less still about the basic German belief and spiritual background—the teachings of Luther about strict and absolute obedience.
The other result, closely connected with the former, is that Luther strengthened to the highest degree the power of the princes, or whoever their successors were. “Since the times of the Apostles, no doctor or scribe, no theologian or jurist, has confirmed, instructed, and comforted the consciences of the secular estates so well and lucidly as I have done.” “Even had I, Dr. Martin, taught or done no other good, save to enlighten and instruct the secular government and authorities, yet for this cause alone they ought to be thankful and well-disposed towards me,” the Reformer exclaims with pride.
“Luther”, says Janssen, “began to proclaim the political doctrine—altogether unknown in the history of German law—of the unlimited power of rulers over their subjects; insisted on unconditional obedience to the commands of those in authority, preached and taught slavery and despotism. From the Peasants’ War, so he said, the ruling powers should learn in future to govern with firmness and severity. The common people must be kept down with `heavy weights’ or they would become insolent.”
A slavishly obedient people, without any desire or spiritual power to fight for their freedom, and omnipotent secular rulers, without any regard for the teachings of Christianity—these were the fundamental views of Martin Luther on the State and the citizen. They provided a foundation without which no Frederick or Bismarck, William II or Hitler, could have built.
“The spirit of tolerance which had been increasing with the Renaissance had left Germany for centuries as a result of Luther’s reformation” (Paulsen). “Luther was instrumental in destroying not merely the fact, but even the principle of liberty throughout Germany” (Figgis). And let me again quote the great Protestant scholar Troeltsch: “Lutheranism provided a most favourable setting for the development of the territorial state. It smoothed the way for territorial absolutism. . . . Its only service to the actual modern state has been to encourage the spirit of modern absolutism.”
Naturally I fully realise that this absolute power of the ruler and this complete, slavish obedience of the masses is only one of many ingredients which make up that strange and perverted political outlook of modern Germany. There are at least three other major factos which have to betaken into account: the modern Germans’ love and veneration for war, their inhuman Jew-baiting, and their exaggerated nationalism, their doctrine of Deutschland, Deutschland u*ber alles. It is therefore appropriate if we look in turn at these three factors and investigate Luther’s attitude towards them.
From Martin Luther: Hitler’s Spiritual Ancestor, (1945), pp. 49-64.