We Have Got to Talk About Usury (Part XIII): Miscellaneous Mentions by Luther and a Few Misconceptions
The following post is the thirteenth in a series on usury by the Rev. Vincent Shemwell. Rev. Shemwell serves as pastor of Bethlehem Lutheran Church in Johnson City, Tennessee. He graduated from Concordia Theological Seminary in Fort Wayne with the M.Div. in 2022, and received his STM from CTSFW in 2024, writing his thesis on Johann Georg Hamann. The previous installments can be found below:
Part I: Introduction
Part II: The Old Testament
Part III: The New Testament
Part IV: The Church Fathers—Clement of Alexandria through Hilary of Poitiers
Part V: The Church Fathers — The Cappadocians
Part VI: The Church Fathers — Church Councils and Ambrose
Part VII: The Church Fathers—Chrysostom through Leo the Great
Part VIII: Medieval Theologians
Part IX: The Medieval Church Continued—Councils, Canon Law, Dante, and Other Matters
Part X: Luther—His First Foray, in Translation
Part XI: The Strauss Affair and Luther’s Long Sermon
Part XII: Luther on Why Pastors Must Preach against Usury
Throughout the past century or so, several references to usury in Luther’s works have been put forward as evidence that the reformer actually did permit certain interest rates on loans. The first such reference appears in a June 18, 1524 letter to John Frederick I, son of John the Steadfast (WA, Br 3: 305–8). The difficulty, however, is that some interpreters have thoroughly misconstrued what Luther is actually addressing in this correspondence. In the letter, Luther is speaking chiefly of Zinskauf, rather than interest-bearing loans. Moreover, what he says here is precisely what he had already affirmed in his Long Sermon on Usury, which was republished in Trade and Usury the same year that this letter was penned. The following is a translation of the pertinent section of the letter, rendered with due regard for both its context and the proper understanding of the business of rental-income purchases (pg. 307):
“As to the other question—whether it is fitting for a prince to tolerate usurious Zinskauf contracts—I answer thus: It would indeed be commendable if, in accordance with the custom of the ancient world, a tithe were taken from all goods; for that would be the godliest form of interest imaginable, since it would not burden sellers (i.e., borrowers) in Zinskauf contracts. If God granted abundance or scarcity of produce, the tithe would naturally correspond to it. Indeed, it would even be desirable and tolerable that, once all other burdens were removed, a fifth or sixth part should be taken from the people, as Joseph did in Egypt. But since such an orderly system does not presently exist in the world, I must here express my doubts and say that it is urgently necessary to reform and regulate Zinskauf contracts throughout all lands. To abolish them entirely, however, would also not be right, for they could well be made just. Yet that Your Princely Grace should either protect or forbid the people from paying what they owe under usurious Zinskauf arrangements, this I cannot advise. The toleration of such usurious contracts does not arise from any one prince; rather, it is a common plague sanctioned by all. Therefore, for the present, one must endure it and admonish those ensnared in usurious Zinskauf dealings to bear their circumstances patiently, neither resisting nor taking matters into their own hands, but rather making themselves equal with others, even in loss, as charity requires, until God grants that the princes may together consent to reform the whole business. Meanwhile, let the consciences of those who profit from unjust Zinskauf contracts remain burdened. Of course, what I say here concerns those contracts where the rates do not exceed four or five percent, which are not usurious on account of their rate but because they are fixed and not exposed to risk, as they ought to be. But where they exceed five percent, then every prince and ruler ought to intervene immediately and reduce the principal by a fifth or a fourth, granting some kind of relief on the principal according to how long the contract has gone on, applying the same equitable measure to all. In this way a beginning might be made toward bringing the entire Zinskauf business into good order and setting it upon a just and reasonable course in due time.”
In this letter, Luther advances the same argument he had already articulated in his two sermons on the subject. He did not interpret the Zinskauf contract as an interest-bearing loan, since it was tied to real property and its produce and was, in essence, a real estate arrangement. Nevertheless, he maintained that Zinskauf contracts could become usurious if the rates were excessive or if the element of risk (for example, the risk of crop failure) was not mutually borne. And just as in the Strauss Affair, Luther did not counsel borrowers involved in usurious contracts to cease their payments. Rather, he called for a comprehensive reform and regulation of this entire business, not to be undertaken in one isolated region of the empire, but through the concerted efforts of all governing authorities. The only distinctive feature of this letter lies in the fact that Luther appears to downplay the importance of shared risk to some extent, suggesting that the absence of such mutual exposure is not as grave a concern as extortionate rates. Hence, he allows that unexposed purchasers (i.e., lenders) may be burdened in conscience but does not regard this alone as sufficient grounds for immediate intervention by civil authorities. Yet, when read alongside Trade and Usury, published around the same time, the letter serves only to reinforce his consistent position. Thus, the only problem this letter reveals is a recurring failure on the part of some context-ignorant interpreters to understand what Luther means by “Zinskauf.”
The next misunderstood reference appears in a May 1540 table talk, given only months after Luther published To Pastors, That They Should Preach Against Usury. Johannes Mathesius recorded the following (LW 54: 369): “‘One must observe a little equity,’ Martin Luther said. ‘The value of goods has gone up not a little, and one can now enjoy a greater profit than formerly. Accordingly, I’m happy to concede what the law and the emperor allow, namely 5 per cent or 6 per cent. But 20 per cent, 30 per cent, and 40 per cent—this is excessive! Wollensecker is said to be a pious man, and yet he takes 20 per cent and makes forty on every one hundred. This is too much. And Dr. Lössel, I hear, gets four thousand annually on ten thousand, yet he’s a doctor of jurisprudence.’ Then I spoke about the case of Naevius and added, ‘In Bohemia it is the general custom, approved by the king and the nobles, to give 10 per cent, and our friend received 6 per cent.’ The doctor said, ‘If the laws permit it, what should I do? Equity should be advised.’”
As the Rev. Dr. Benjamin Mayes, editor of the American Edition and author of the introduction to Luther’s To Pastors, observes (LW 61:281), in this table talk Luther is not addressing “what a Christian is permitted to do,” but rather “how laws ought to be changed and the worst sorts of usury outlawed.” When Luther remarks, “If the laws permit it, what should I do?,” he is not theologically yielding to civil permission but expressing his frustration at being unable to effect greater reform. Far from condoning interest-bearing loans, Luther insists that the civil authorities should, at the very least, suppress the most oppressive rates. Given the consistency of his position elsewhere, it would be unreasonable to suppose that he was retreating from his convictions here. Once again, the problem lies not with Luther’s stance but with interpreters who have torn his words from their context and circulated them for decades as proof of a tolerance he never expressed, either publicly or privately.
In the year following this table talk, Luther published another significant work in which he once more briefly broaches the subject of usury, entitled Appeal for Prayer Against the Turks (LW 43: 219–41). With Turkish armies poised to strike at the borders of German territory, John Frederick I—by this time Elector of Saxony—requested that Luther compose a public appeal for prayer against the Turks. While the prince sought to rally his subjects and strengthen their resolve, as the text itself reveals, Luther’s chief concern was to inspire repentance and prepare the German people for potential divine punishment at the hands of foreign enemies. Early in the work, Luther bemoans the fact that “the great god Mammon or avarice” had already captured the hearts of the German people through foreign trade, usury, and the sinful indulgence in luxury these pursuits afforded (220). It is within this context that Luther returns to his familiar theme. He writes (221–23):
“I almost forgot to mention the banker. Oh, how complacent he is, as if he himself were God and master of the country. No one could dare oppose him. When I spoke out against those ‘holy bankers,’ they laughed at me and said, ‘That Luther does not understand the business of lending money. Let him stick to reading his Matthew and the psalter.’ All right, you cursed moneylenders! There is not the least question in my mind that I am a minister of Jesus Christ and my word is God’s word. And either the Turk or some other instrument of God’s wrath will teach you that Luther understood well enough what the moneylending business is all about. I’ll wager you a full florin on that.
I suppose we could put up with these abominable practices for a while longer, but in one regard things have gotten so bad they just cannot go on any further. Some of the nobles and cities, including a number of shabby little towns and villages, have gone so far as to forbid their pastors and preachers to rebuke sin and wickedness from the pulpit. Some have sunk so low as to kick their pastors out or to starve them out. If anyone robs them, he is called a saint. But if the pastors complain to the church officials, they are slandered as greedy and insatiable. Look, they say, a minister used to be well satisfied with thirty florins. Now they want ninety to a hundred florins. But that they, the officials, are greedy, thievish, rapacious, and disloyal to their superiors, that is supposed to be their ‘Christian holiness.’
Indeed, no one stops to think that he who could get along on thirty florins in times past can hardly make it on a hundred now. Why? It used to be that a peck of grain cost two or three groschen. You could get fifteen eggs for three pfennig, and so on down the line. Now the grain costs nine, ten, eleven, even twelve groschen and fifteen eggs cost eighteen pfennig. And then they say, ‘The parsons are greedy,’ when they themselves have pushed prices up and squeezed out sixty florins from the poor man. Yes, the preacher is greedy if he has a salary of ninety florins, out of which they greedily squeeze sixty florins. That is justice for you. You, ‘greedy belly,’ should not be called greedy, but rather the one who gets fleeced by your greed is the greedy one. Then they say we should smite the Turk, after we have first provoked God’s wrath in every way and when God could not possibly favor us because of our unheard-of wickedness.
Yes, indeed, ‘a parson will be a parson,’ as the saying has it. But if you do not want to concern yourself for the parson or listen to him, then ‘the Turk will be the Turk’ and ‘the devil will be the devil.’ Of that you can be sure! Take away the parson, that is, God’s servant and spokesman, and you will not be a Christian, lord, farmer, or burgher very long. You will not honor or heed the Book and the Christian teachers (for they are God’s representatives and he who rejects them rejects God Who sent them); you will soon learn that your sword and shield will be no more protection than paper or feathers.”
Several years prior, Luther had passionately implored his fellow pastors to preach steadfastly and consistently against lending at interest. By 1541, it appears that some had indeed done so, and were suffering punishment for it, just as Luther had forewarned. Such persecution of faithful pastors would continue, culminating in a memorable case after Luther’s death in Regensburg that will be examined in a subsequent part of our series. In this present work, Luther reaffirms his uncompromising opposition to interest-bearing loans and to those who profit from them, denouncing their role in fostering not only economic injustice but also grave spiritual corruption. His message, in essence, is this: “If the Turks should conquer us, part of the blame lies with the bankers, who defied God’s law and led others to do likewise.” And notably here, even in 1541, near the end of his life, Luther again grounded the moral prohibition against usury not in Exodus, Leviticus, or Deuteronomy, but in the Gospel and in Psalm 15 (“Matthew and the psalter”), which he considered the clearest and most decisive testimony against the practice.
The last major work in which Luther confronts the sin of usury is, by far, his most controversial. Most Lutherans tend to avoid this text, which I consider a somewhat regrettable fact, for through it one plainly sees just how strongly Luther felt about usury, even in the last few years of his life. I am, of course, referring to his 1543 treatise On the Jews and Their Lies (LW 47: 137–306). In the course of this treatise, Luther mentions usury by name approximately three dozen times. And I think, regardless of the controversial nature of the work, it is fair to conclude that this text serves as Luther’s final word on the subject.
I will not quote much from the work, since Luther introduces little in it that he had not already expressed in earlier works. But I will offer my own interpretation of how Luther’s perception of the relationship between Jews and usury in the sixteenth century may inform and illuminate the discussions undertaken thus far in our series.
Throughout this treatise, Luther depicts the Jewish people as particularly avaricious, identifying usury as one of their principal means of gratifying this vice. (The faithful reader will recall that moneylending was, at this time, undertaken predominantly by Jews, owing to the Christian prohibition). For him, the very continuation of lending at interest among the Jews served as proof of their rejection of Christ. Without faith in Christ, all they had was their legalism—adhering to the letter of the Mosaic law, which they construed as still permitting them to exact interest from Gentile “foreigners,” yet disregarding its true spirit. In Luther’s view, God had once tolerated usury toward foreigners only because of the hardness of the Israelites’ hearts; but they had exploited this concession, being more intent on profit than on obedience to God’s will. He writes (pp. 168–69): “Jews boast in their synagogues, praising and thanking God for sanctifying them through His law and setting them apart as a peculiar people, although they know full well that they are not at all observing this law, that they are full of conceit, envy, usury, greed, and all sorts of malice. The worst offenders are those who pretend to be very devout and holy in their prayers. They are so blind that they not only practice usury—not to mention the other vices—but they teach that it is a right which God conferred on them through Moses. Thereby, as in all the other matters, they slander God most infamously.”
In Luther’s personal judgment, the spiritually bankrupt legalism of Jewish unbelievers testified to their lack of faith in Christ, while their practice of usury was the perfect manifestation of the absence of saving faith. Through such faithless and unchristian conduct, he believed they slandered the very God Whom they professed to worship. According to Luther, the real god they worshipped was mammon and their own bellies. And in their service of mammon, just as he had written a few years before in To Pastors (LW 61: 311–13), they displayed their truest desire to be their own god and the god of all people. As confirmation of this narcissistic idolatry, Luther pointed to what he regarded as their religious expectation of a messiah who would sanction their greed and exist solely to further their avarice (LW 47: 218, 295). Everything Luther had long warned Christians against, he saw embodied in what he considered the idolatry of the avaricious Jewish moneylender.
It should go without saying that such views reflect Luther’s own polemical context. Yet understanding his rhetoric here helps us grasp the depth of his moral and economic concerns about usury itself. Luther obviously attributed much of Germany’s economic suffering to Jewish moneylenders and called for this occupation to be forbidden to them (270). But it is equally evident from his writings that he was far more exasperated by Christians who engaged in usurious practices. They, above all, were expected to live according to a higher standard: the Gospel standard of Christ (see his Short Sermon; WA 6:3–4). Jewish usury, in his estimation, was to be expected; lacking faith and salvation, they merely served their sinful nature. However, from his fellow Christians, much more was expected. Thus, while Luther’s denunciations of “Jewish usury” are severe, the reader must remember that his indignation burned still more fiercely against those who, bearing the name of Christ, persisted in the same sin.
One final point worth noting in this text is the recurring theme that runs through nearly all of Luther’s explicit mentions of usury: namely, that it was the primary means by which robbery was being perpetrated in the emerging economic order. For Luther, lending at interest was nothing more than theft. But in his context, this form of thievery was not only excused but encouraged, justified as the natural order of a modernizing world. Whereas in earlier times robbery had been more overt, in the sixteenth century its most grievous forms appeared under the guise of commerce, even of philanthropy. As such, echoing a familiar patristic motif, Luther lamented that vice had been rebranded as virtue and robbery as charity (To Pastors; LW 61: 284). That Christians themselves participated in this corruption broke Luther’s heart. And perhaps this sobering observation still speaks with no less force to our own age.
Before we leave Luther and proceed to the thinkers who came after him, I would like to mention at least one hymn. As any Lutheran reader will know, our reformer wrote dozens of hymns. These hymns served as a means of reinforcing evangelical teaching and preaching through melody and song. One of Luther’s more famous hymns is entitled “Dies sind die heilgen Zehn Gebot.” He published it in 1524 as the first hymn in the Erfurt Enchiridion, and it was intended as a catechetical aid for teaching the Ten Commandments. The eighth stanza of the hymn reads as follows: “Du sollst nicht stehlen Geld noch Gut, / nicht wuchern jemals Schweiß und Blut; du sollst auftun dein milde Hand / den Armen in deinem Land. / Kyrieleis.” It may be translated in this way: “You shall not steal either money or goods, / Nor ever usure sweat and blood; You shall open your generous hand, / To the poor within your land. / Lord, have mercy.” In The Lutheran Hymnal, published in 1941, the stanza reads: “Steal not; all usury abhor / Nor wring their life-blood from the poor; But open wide thy loving hand / To all the poor in the land. / Have mercy, Lord!” Yet for reasons unknown to me, both the Lutheran Service Book (2006) and the Wisconsin Evangelical Lutheran Synod’s Christian Worship (1993) rendered it otherwise: “You shall not steal or take away / What others worked for night and day; But open wide a gen’rous hand / And help the poor in the land. / Have mercy, Lord!” The very explicit reference to abhorring all usury (wuchern) was removed by the translators. Why might that be so? Well, that is a topic we will get to in a subsequent part of our series.
At least as late as 1941, Lutherans in America were still willing to condemn all usury publicly, even if by that time it was understood somewhat differently than in Luther’s day. Yet, as we will see when we soon turn to the early history of the Missouri Synod, only a generation or so before The Lutheran Hymnal appeared, the majority of the leaders of our synod understood usury precisely as Luther had. And they condemned it in no uncertain terms, as both a seventh and first commandment violation. In other words, following Luther, the Missouri Synod, through her seminary and synodical publications, once taught that all lending at interest is sinful.
I bring this up now, in advance, for a reason. One of the common accusations leveled against Luther’s passionate opposition to usury is that he was simply ignorant of the emerging forces of capitalism, or that he obstinately resisted a new economic order and invoked Scripture merely to justify his prejudices. Even in his own day, the “holy bankers” accused him of economic ignorance, right? But if that were true—if Luther’s economic ethics were just amateur products of their time and of little value for us today—then we would have to say the same of the opinions of those exceptionally brilliant men who came centuries after him, those much closer to us in time and context, who wholeheartedly agreed with him on this issue. We would have to conclude that Walther, Wyneken, Schwan, and Pieper, the presidents of our church body from 1847–1911, were likewise economically backwards.
That is certainly a view some may hold. But, God willing, we shall also have the opportunity to give these men their due. Before doing so, however, we will turn to Luther’s immediate disciples, picking up first with men like Melanchthon and Martin Chemnitz, the latter of whom stood firmly with Luther on the issue of usury.
Stay tuned.