Luther’s Insistence on Private Revelation
Luther certainly never dreamt of making so bold and hazardous an assertion so long as a spark of hope remained in him that the Church of Rome would fall in with his doctrines. It was only gradually that the phantom of a personal revelation grew upon him, and, even later, its sway was never absolute, as we can see from our occasional glimpses into his inward struggles of conscience.
We may begin with one of his latest utterances, following it up with one of his earliest. Towards the end of his life he insisted on the suddenness with which the light streamed in upon him when he had at last penetrated into the meaning of Rom. i. 17 (in the Tower), thus setting the coping-stone on his doctrines by that of the certainty of salvation. Again, at the outset of his public career, we meet with those words of which Adolf Harnack says: “Such self-reliance almost fills us with anxiety.”
The words Harnack refers to are those in which Luther solemnly assures his Elector that he had “received the Evangel, not from man, but from heaven alone, through our Lord Jesus Christ.” This he wrote in 1522 when on the point of quitting the Wartburg.
In the same year in his “Wyder den falsch genantten geystlichen Standt,” full of the spirit he had inhaled at the Wartburg, he declared that he could no longer remain without “name or title” in order that he might rightly honour and extol the “Word, office and work he had from God.” For the Father of all Mercies, out of the boundless riches of His Grace, had brought him, for all his sinfulness, “to the knowledge of His Son Jesus Christ and set him to teach others until they too saw the truth”; for this reason he had a better right to term himself an “Evangelist by the Grace of God” than the bishops had to call themselves bishops. “I am quite sure that Christ Himself, Who is the Master of my doctrine, calls and regards me as such.” Hence he will not permit even “an angel from heaven to judge or take him to task concerning his doctrine”; “since I am certain of it I am determined to be judge, not only of you, but, as St. Paul says (Gal. i. 8), even of the angels, so that whoever does not accept my doctrine cannot be saved; for it is God’s and not mine, therefore my judgment also is not mine but God’s own.”
Such Wartburg enthusiasm, where all that is wanting is the actual word revelation, agrees well with his statement about the sort of ultimatum (“Interminatio”) sent him by God: “Under pain of eternal wrath it had been enjoined on him from above,” that he must preach what had been given him; he describes this species of vision as one of the greatest favours God had bestowed on his soul. Nor did he scruple to make use of the word “revelation.”
The dispute he had with Cochlæus in the presence of others at Worms in 1521 shows not only that he had sufficient courage to do this but also, that, previously, from whatever cause, he had hesitated to do so. We have Cochlæus’s already quoted account of the incident in the detailed report of his encounter with Luther. It is true he only published it in 1540, but it is evidently based on notes made by the narrator at the time. In reply to the admonition, not to interpret Holy Scripture “arbitrarily, and against the authority and interpretation of the Church,” Luther urged that there might be circumstances where it was permissible to oppose the decrees of the Councils, for Paul said in 1 Corinthians: “If anything be revealed to another sitting, let the first hold his peace,” though, so Luther proceeded, he had no wish to lay claim to a revelation. In the event, however, as he was always harking back to this instance of revelation mentioned by the Apostle it occurred to Cochlæus to pin him down to this expression. Hence, without any beating about the bush, he asked him: “Have you then received a revelation?” Luther looked at him, hesitated a moment and then said: “Yes, it has been revealed to me, ‘Est mihi revelatum.’” His opponent at once reminded him that, before this, he had protested against being the recipient of any revelation. Luther, however, said: “I did not deny it.” Cochlæus rejoined: “But who will believe that you have had a revelation? What miracle have you worked in proof of it? By what sign will you confirm it? Would it not be possible for anyone to defend his errors in this way?” The text in question speaks of a direct revelation. It was in this sense that Luther had appealed to it before, and that Cochlæus framed his question. It is impossible to understand Luther’s answer as referring to a revelation common to all true Christians. Either Luther made no answer to Cochlæus’s last words or it was lost in the interruption of his friend Hieronymus Schurf. In any case his position was a difficult one and it was simpler for him when he repeated the same assertion later in his printed writings quietly to treat all objections with contempt. At any rate he never accused the above account given by Cochlæus of being false.
Again, in 1522, Luther declares in his sermons at Wittenberg, that “it was God Who had set him to work on this scheme” (the reform of the faith), and had given him the “first place” in it. “I cannot escape from God but must remain so long as it pleases God my Lord; moreover, it was to me that God first revealed that the Word must be preached and proclaimed to you.” Hence his revelation was similar to that of the prophets, for he is alluding to the prophet Jonas when he says that he could “not escape from God.” The Wittenbergers, he says, ought therefore to have consulted him before rashly undertaking their own innovations under Carlstadt’s influence: “We see here that you have not the Spirit though you may have an exalted knowledge of Scripture.” Hence, on the top of his knowledge of Scripture, he himself possesses the “Spirit.”
From the twelvemonth that followed Luther’s spiritual baptism at the Wartburg also date the asseverations he makes, that his doctrine was, not his, but Christ’s own, and that it was “certain he had his doctrines from heaven.”
“By Divine revelation,” as we learn from him not long after, “he had been summoned as an anti-pope to undo, root out and sweep away the kingdom of malediction” (the Papacy). In 1527 he assures us: This doctrine “God has revealed to me by His Grace.” And, at a later period, though rather more cautiously, he does not shrink from occasionally making use of the word revelation. From the pulpit in 1532 he urged opponents in his own camp to lay aside their peculiar doctrines, because, “God has enjoined and commanded one man to teach the Evangel,” i.e. himself.
So familiar is this idea to him that it intrudes itself into his conversations at home. It was the “Holy Ghost” who had “given” to him his doctrine, so he told his friends and pupils in his old age. At Wittenberg, according to his own words which Mathesius noted down, they possessed, thanks to him, the divine revelation. “Whoever, after my death, despises the authority of the Wittenberg school, provided it remains the same as now, is a heretic and a pervert, for in this school God has revealed His Word.” He also complains in the same passage that the sectarians within the new fold who turned against him had fallen away from the faith.
At that time, i.e. during the ‘forties, the idea of an inspiration grew stronger in him. He boasts that his understanding of Romans i. 17 was due to the “illumination of the Holy Ghost,” and tells how he suddenly felt himself “completely born anew,” as if he had passed “through the open portals into Paradise itself,” and how, “at once, the whole of Scripture bore another aspect.”
Thus his idea of the revelation with which he had been favoured gradually assumed in his mind a more concrete shape.
According to the funeral oration delivered by his friend Jonas on Feb. 19, 1546, at Eisleben, Luther often spoke to his friends of his revelations, hinting in a vague and mysterious way at the sufferings they had entailed. Jonas tells the people in so many words, “that Martin himself had often said: ‘What I endure and have endured for the doctrine of the beloved Evangel which God has again revealed to the world, no one shall learn from me here in this world, but on That Day it will be laid open.’ Only at the Last Day will he tell us what during his life he ever kept sealed up in his heart, viz. the great victories which the Son of God won through him against sin, devil, Papists and false brethren, etc. All this he will tell us and also what sublime reve
lations he had when he began to preach the Evangel, so that verily we shall be amazed and praise God for them.”
Hence Luther had persuaded his friends that he had been favoured with particular revelations.
From all the above it becomes clear that the revelation which Luther claimed was regarded by him throughout as a true and personal communication from above, and not merely as a knowledge acquired by reflection and prayer under the Divine assistance common to all. It was in fact only by considering the matter in this light that he was able effectually to refute the objections of outsiders and to allay to some extent the storms within him. The very character of his revolt against the Church, against the tradition of a thousand years, against the episcopate, universities, Catholic princes and Catholic instincts of the nation demanded something more than could have been afforded by a mere appeal to the revelation common to all. Of what service would it have been to him in his struggles of conscience, and when contending with the malice and jealousy of the sects, to have laid claim to a vague, general revelation?
Nevertheless, the appeals Luther makes to the revelation he had received are at times somewhat vague, as some of the passages quoted serve to prove. We shall not be far wrong if we say that he himself was often not quite clear as to what he should lay claim. His ideas, or at any rate his statements, concerning the exalted communications he had received, vary with the circumstances, being, now more definite, now somewhat misty.
Here, as in the parallel case of his belief in his mission, his assertions are at certain periods more energetic and defiant than at others (see above, vol. iii., ff.).
However this may be, the idea of a revelation in the strict sense was no mere passing whim; it emerges at its strongest under the influence of the Wartburg spirit, and, once more, summons up all its forces towards the end of his days, when Luther seeks for comfort amid his sad experiences and for some relief in his weariness. Yet, in him, the idea of a revelation always seems a matter of the will, something which he can summon to his assistance and to which he deliberately holds fast, and which, as occasion requires, is decked out with the necessary adjuncts of angels descending from heaven, visions, spirits, inward experiences, inward menaces, or triumphs over the temptations of the devil.
Some Apparent Withdrawals
Various apparently contradictory statements, such as the reader must expect to meet with in Luther, are not, however, wanting, even concerning his revelations.
Discordant statements of the sort do not, indeed, occur in the passages, where, as in the quotations given above, he is defending his theological innovations against the authority of the Church. Often they are a mere rhetorical trick to impress his hearers with his modesty. In his sermons at Wittenberg in 1522, for instance, he declared that he was perfectly willing to submit his “feeling and understanding” to anyone to whom “more has been revealed”; by this, however, he does not mean his doctrine but merely the practical details of the introduction of the new ritual of public worship, then being discussed at Wittenberg. This is clear from the very emphasis he here lays on his teaching, thanks to which the Wittenbergers now have the “Word of God true and undefiled,” and from his description of the devil’s rage who now sees that “the sun of the true Evangel has risen.”
Again, when, in his later revision of the same course of sermons, we hear him say: “You must be disciples, not of Luther, but of Christ,” and: “You must not say I am Luther’s, or I am the Pope’s, for neither has died for you nor is your master, but only Christ,” he has not the least intention of denying the authority of the doctrine revealed to him, on the contrary, on the same page, he has it that, “Luther’s doctrine is not his but Christ’s own”; he had already said, “Even were Luther himself or an angel from heaven to teach otherwise, let it be anathema.” He is simply following St. Paul’s lead and pointing out to his hearers the supreme source of truth; he still remains its instrument, the “Prophet,” “Evangelist” and “Ecclesiastes by the grace of God,” favoured, like the inspired Apostle of the Gentiles, with revelations.
Nevertheless, we cannot shut our eyes to the fact, that, subsequent to 1525, Luther tended at times to be less insistent on his revelations. From strategic considerations he was careful to keep more in the background his revelations from the Spirit now that the fanatics were also claiming their own special enlightenment by the “Spirit.” His eyes were now opened to the danger inherent in such arbitrary claims to revelation, and, accordingly, he now begins to insist more on the outward “Word.”
It is true, that, in Nov., 1525, in refutation of the Zwinglian theologians of Strasburg, he still appealed not merely to his visions of angels (see above, ) but also to the certain light of his doctrine inspired by the Holy Ghost, and to his sense of the “Spirit.” “I see very well,” he says, “that they have no certainty, but the Spirit is certain of His cause.” Even then, however, a change had begun and he preferred to appeal to Holy Scripture, which, so he argued, spoke plainly in his favour, rather than to inspirations and revelations. Hence his asseveration that this outward Word of God has much more claim to consideration than the inward Word, which can so easily be twisted to suit one’s frame of mind. He now comes unduly to depreciate the inward Word and the Spirit which formerly he had so highly vaunted, though, on the other hand, he continues to teach that the Spirit and the inward enlightening of the Word are necessary for the interpretation of Holy Scripture.
His Commentary on Isaias contains a delightful attack on the “all-too spiritual folk, who, to-day, cry Spirit, Spirit!” “Let us not look for any private revelations. It is Christ who tells us to ‘search the Scriptures’ [John v. 39]. Revelations puff us up and make us presumptuous. I have not been instructed,” so he goes on, “either by signs or by special revelations, nor have I ever begged signs of God; on the contrary I have asked Him never to let me become proud, or be led astray from the outward Word through the devil’s tricks.” He then launches out against those who pretend they have “particular revelations on the faith,” being “misled by the devil.” These words occur in the revised and enlarged Scholia on Isaias published in 1534. It may, however, be that they did not figure in Luther’s lectures on Isaias (1527-30) but were appended somewhat later.
After thus apparently disowning any title to private revelation and a higher light Luther’s inevitable appeal to the certainty of his doctrine only becomes the more confident. Thanks to his temptations and death-throes, he had become so certain, that he can declare: Possessed of the “Word” as I am, I have not the least wish “that an angel should come to me, for, now, I should not believe him.”
“Nevertheless, the time might well come,” so he continues in this passage of the Table-Talk, “when I might be pleased to see one [an angel] on certain matters.” “I do not, however, admit dreams and signs, nor do I worry about them. We have in Scripture all that we require. Sad dreams come from the devil, for everything that ministers to death and dread, lies and murder is the devil’s handiwork.”
It is true Luther was often plagued by terrifying dreams, and as he numbered them among his “anxieties and death-throes” what he says about them may fittingly be utilised to complete the picture of his inward state. To such an extent was the devil able to affright him, so he says, that he “broke out into a sweat in the midst of his sleep”; thus “Satan was present even when men slept; but angels too were also there.” He assures us, that, in his sleep, he had witnessed even the horrors of the Last Judgment.
The “Temptations” as one of Luther’s Bulwarks
The states of terror and the temptations he underwent were to Luther so many confirmations of his doctrine. Some of his utterances on this subject ring very oddly.
To be “in deaths often” was, according to him, a sort of “apostolic gift,” shared by Peter and Paul. In order to be a doctor above suspicion, a man must have experienced the pains of death and the “melting of the bones.” In the Psalms he hears, as it were, an echo of his own state of soul. “To desp
air where hope itself despairs,” and “to live in unspeakable groanings,” “this no one can understand who has not tasted it.” This he said in 1520 in a Commentary on the Psalms. And, later, in 1530, when engaged at the Coburg in expounding the first twenty-five psalms: “‘My heart is become like wax melting in the midst of my bowels’ [Ps. xxi. 15]. What that was no one grasps who has not felt it.” “In such trouble there must needs be despair, but, if I say: ‘This I do simply and solely at God’s command,’ there comes the assurance: Hence God will take your part and comfort you. It was thus we consoled ourselves at Augsburg.”
Many others who followed him were also overtaken by similar distress of mind. Struggles of conscience and gloomy depression were the fate of many who flocked to his standard (cp. above, vol. iv., p-27). Johann Mathesius, Luther’s favourite pupil, so frequently referred to above, towards the end of his life, when pastor at Joachimsthal, once declared, when brooding sadly, that the devil with his temptations was sifting him as it were in a sieve and that he was enduring the pangs of hell described by David. The very mention of a knife led him to think of suicide. He was eager to hold fast to Christ alone, but this he could not do. After the struggle had lasted two or three months his condition finally improved.
Such were Luther’s temptations, of which, afterwards, he did not scruple to boast. “Often did they bring us to death’s door,” he says of the mental struggles in which his new doctrine and practice of sheltering himself behind the merits of Christ involved him. But, nevertheless, “I will hold fast to that Man alone, even though it should bring me to the grave!”
Collected Works of Martin Luther Page 860
