Hater of the Cross
Via On Being a Theologian of the Cross, pp. 91-95
Thesis 22. That wisdom which perceives the invisible things of God by thinking in terms of works completely puffs up, blinds, and hardens.
Thesis 22 takes aim particularly at our religious sensibilities, that uneasiness of conscience or feeling of resentment arising within us when our religious aspirations come under attack. The wisdom of our ordinary religious outlook, the scheme of law and works, simply puffs us up, blinds us, and hardens us. The theologian of the glory becomes a “hater of the cross.” In his proof for this thesis Luther picks up from the claim of the previous thesis that theologians of glory have reversed the value signs, calling the bad (works to gain merit) good and the good (suffering and the cross) bad:
Because men do not know the cross and hate it, they necessarily love the opposite, namely, wisdom, glory, power, and so on. Therefore they become increasingly blinded and hardened by such love, for desire cannot be satisfied by the acquisition of those things that it desires. Just as the love of money grows in proportion to the increase of money itself, so the dropsy of the soul becomes thirstier the more it drinks, as the poet says: “The more water they drink, the more they thirst for it.” The same thought is expressed in Eccles. 1[:8]: “The eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.” This holds true of all desires.
Thus also the desire for knowledge is not satisfied by the acquisition of wisdom but is stimulated that much more. Likewise the desire for glory is not satisfied by the acquisition of glory, nor is the desire to rule satisfied by power and authority, nor is the desire for praise satisfied by praise, and so on, as Christ shows in John 4[:13], where he says, “Everyone who drinks of this water will thirst again.” [LW 31.53-54]
What is interesting here is that Luther likens the plight of the theologian of glory to that of an obsessive lover or a miser. In our day the drug addict or alcoholic would be the closest parallel. The desire, the thirst for glory or wisdom or power or money, is never satisfied by the acquisition of what is desired. The more we get, the more we want. There is never real satisfaction, never the confidence that we have or have done enough. “How much money does it take to make one happy?” “Just a little more!” As sinners we are like addicts–addicted to ourselves and our own projects. The theology of glory simply seeks to give those projects eternal legitimacy. The remedy for the theology of glory, therefore, cannot be encouragement and positive thinking, but rather the end of the addictive desire. Luther says it directly: “The remedy for curing desire does not lie in satisfying it, but in extinguishing it.” So we are back to the cross, the radical intervention, end of the life of the old and the beginning of the new.
Since the theology of glory is like addiction and not abstract doctrine, it is a temptation over which we have no control in and of ourselves, and from wich we must be saved. As with the addict, mere exhortation and optimistic encouragement will do no good. It may be intended to build up character and self-esteem, but when the addict realizes the impossibility of quitting, self-esteem degenerates all the more. The alcoholic will only take to drinking in secret, trying to put on the facade of sobriety. As theologians of glory we do much the same. We put on a facade of religious propriety and piety and try to hide or explain away or coddle our sins. In our day we will even curry affirmation and acceptance. We may listen to the voices that please us most, those of optimists who peddle “The Power of Positive Thinking,” “Possibility Thinking,” and similar theological marshmallows. We may even be temporarily encouraged. But in more lucid moments, we, like the addict, suspect it won’t do, that we aren’t really up to it. Instead of building self-esteem the voices of optimism eventually undermine and weaken it. Ultimately they destroy (thesis 23).
As with the addict there has to be an intervention, an act from without. In treatment of alcoholics some would speak of the necessity of “bottoming out,” reaching the absolute bottom where one can no longer escape the need for help. Then it is finally evident that the desire can never be satisfied, but must be extinguished. In matters of faith, the preaching of the cross is analogous to that of intervention. It is an act of God, entirely from without. It does not come to feed the religious desires of the Old Adam and Eve but to extinguish them. They are crucified with Christ to be made new.
