Deanna A. Thompson
September 2006
Letting the Word Run Free:
Luther’s Lectures on Romans and
Popular Reception
“Here the door is thrown
open wide for the understanding of Holy Scriptures, that is, that everything
must be understood in relation to Christ . . . .”[1]  Martin Luther spoke these words to his
students in
In fact, Luther himself
attributes his breakthrough to a new way of seeing to PaulÂ’s words in Romans
1.17, “The righteous shall live by faith.”[2] This paper will trace Luther’s training,
immersion in the biblical text, and new approach to understanding
scripture. Then we will examine how
Luther uses PaulÂ’s letter to the Romans as one of the essential underpinnings
of his new theological vision. Finally,
we will investigate how this approach was received by those around him.
The Stirring of LutherÂ’s Theological Imagination
At twenty-one years old,
Luther entered the order of Augustinian monks.Â
Luther devoted himself whole-heartedly to both serious academic study
and the severe aesthetic practices for which the Augustinians were known. While scholastic texts were required reading,
Luther was drawn to the biblical text. While
inside the text, he wrestled with images of an angry God and a judgmental
Christ. As a monk he tried desperately
to live a godly life, but his conscience refused to let him believe that
placating this God was actually possible.Â
It also troubled him that the adherents to scholasticism seemed unaware
of the terror he called Anfechtung that
pervaded his own encounters with God.
        Â
While he failed to find
comfort in the scholastic texts, Luther did embrace other aspects of late medieval
thought. For instance, Luther followed
humanists in their insistence upon returning to scripture itself—in its
original languages—rather than relying solely on the scholia (commentaries written by medieval theologians). While Luther could not have become the biblical
scholar he did without building on the scholastic tradition, he also followed
humanism as he grew to rely more on personal impressions and their
intersections with the biblical text rather than on the scholia as his primary source for reflection.[3]
Luther also shared with
humanists a wariness of the scholastic appetite for Aristotle and what he came
to regard as an overly formulaic approach to theology. While many humanists preferred Cicero and
other Latin writers to Aristotle, Luther favored the Bible above all other
sources. In his inaugural lectures on
the Psalms (1513-1515), Luther relied predominantly on the quadriga, the accepted fourfold scholastic method of
interpretation. In his lectures on
Romans, the reliance is less apparent.Â
And by the time he entered the national stage with his public protests
of the Church, Luther had abandoned the quadriga
and many of scholasticismÂ’s fundamental assumptions.Â
Finally, one can argue that
the humanist fascination with rhetorical eloquence influenced LutherÂ’s own
exegetical and theological expression.Â
While at times humanists regarded eloquence as an end in itself, Luther
always intended for his rhetorical creativity to serve the preaching and
proclaiming of GodÂ’s Word.[4]Â Moreover, Luther captured the imaginations
not only of his students but of average folk throughout
In his earliest days of
writing and lecturing, LutherÂ’s exegesis and theology was both grounded in the
tradition he inherited as well as reflective of movements such as humanism,
which did not go unnoticed by humanists themselves. In the early days of Reformation activity,
humanists such as Erasmus provided Luther critical support for his vision, thus
bolstering his influence both within and outside the church.Â
The Totally Other Face
Luther received his
doctorate in theology and joined the faculty at the university in
In his early
interpretations of Psalms, Luther employed the fourfold meaning of scripture,
but he altered the scholastic conventions.Â
Infusing the process with his existential emphasis, Luther instead
revived the Pauline distinction of the letter versus the spirit of the text,
which, as Gerhard Ebeling suggests, had come to be used very differently within
medieval biblical interpretation.Â
Luther, writes Ebeling,
did
not regard the literal meaning as such as the “letter that kills,” and the
allegorical, tropological, and anagogical interpretations [elements of the
fourfold method of interpretation] imposed upon it as the ‘life-giving
Spirit’. Instead, he based the
fundamental distinction between the letter that kills and the life-giving
Spirit on the substance of what was expressed in the whole fourfold meaning of
scripture. The whole can be the letter
that kills, or the whole can be the life-giving Spirit, depending upon whether
the understanding is oriented toward Moses or towards Christ.[7]
LutherÂ’s insistence that an
entire Psalm can preach letter or spirit signaled his first significant break
with medieval biblical interpretation.Â
This letter/spirit distinction later gives way in Luther to the law/gospel
dialectic, and it is here that Luther begins to grasp at a new imaginative
universe. In his lectures on the Psalms,
we see a Luther striving to understand the Psalms as communicating more than
mere letter. Immersed in the Psalter’s
laments, Luther discovers a text concerned with “Christ himself,” finding in
the Psalms details of ChristÂ’s suffering, all the way to his experience of
abandonment by God. Â It is through this
immersion, writes Ebeling, that Luther prepares the way for his new theological
vision.
Lecturing on Romans, Luther
worked to inculcate in his students this process of becoming immersed in the
biblical text itself. Twice weekly for
two years Luther moved through this epistle.Â
For his lectures, he required his students to have their own copies of
the Bible in class, so that “the experience of the Word could be lived and
felt.”[8] Even though Luther began with the glosses and
moved on to the scholia, Luther continued
to push up against the boundaries of the traditional fourfold method. As Walter von Lowenich asserts, Luther’s
theology was “more than academic, it was a confession of faith.”[9]
In these early lectures, we
see Luther repeatedly grappling with an understanding of GodÂ’s righteousness
that seemed to counter prevailing views of the role of righteousness in oneÂ’s
relationship with God. For Luther, a
crucial error for scholastic theologians was their appropriation of
Aristotelian categories within the realm of grace. The problem was not that scholastics claimed
that persons could become righteous before God without grace; for Luther the error involved the use of AristotleÂ’s
concept of habitus, or formation of
an inner disposition, to claim that grace was imparted as an inner quality[10]
which then was made manifest by the believer externally. Why exactly did
Luther believe it necessary to reject such an approach? Luther’s own struggles with his conscience
convinced him that a focus on human cooperation with GodÂ’s righteousness only
left one in a state of fear. “Have I
done enough?” Luther would ask, petrified that he had not satisfied God’s
daunting expectations. Toward the end of
his life, Luther recalled these early days as a time not of loving God but of
despising the one who would demand the impossible of sinners:
[U]ntil
[his lectures on Romans] it was not the cold blood about the heart, but a
single word in chapter 1 [.17], “In it the righteousness of God is revealed,”
that had stood in my way. . . . As if, indeed, it is not enough that miserable
sinners, eternally lost through original sin, are crushed by every kind of
calamity by the law of the Decalogue, without having God add pain to pain by
the gospel and also by the gospel threatening us with his righteousness and wrath.[11]
In LutherÂ’s mind, to speak
of grace as something within is to assert that a person is justified only to
the extent to which that grace is realized externally,
within works.[12]Â To direct our gaze inward, toward the quality
of the believerÂ’s inner life, left Luther with a God of whom he was terrified;
he could do nothing other than hate the God he longed to love and serve.
The saving vision that
struck Luther came through the very same verse in Romans that had initially
caused him terror: “The righteous will live by faith” (1.17). Luther’s mentor Johann von Staupitz, then dean
of the faculty at
This gift of GodÂ’s
righteousness places the sinner as one who stands before God is now clothed in
divine righteousness. The magnitude of
this realization for Luther cannot be underestimated: “I felt that I was
altogether born again and had entered paradise itself through open gates. There a totally other face of the entire
scripture showed itself to me.”[14] This totally other face is neither remote nor
even external; this face of scripture dynamically engages the hearer, placing
the believer coram Deo. Set free by this new insight, Luther is
liberated from the problem of human attempts at justification before God. He embraces the vision he finds in Paul: that
the gospel reveals GodÂ’s righteousness as rendering sinners righteous through
the death and resurrection of Christ.
Transformed by this new
vision, LutherÂ’s views emerge as pointedly in opposition to both his predecessors
and his contemporaries. Late-medieval
scholastic theologians interpreted the righteousness of Christ as ushering in a
new law for Christians. For them, Christ
replaced Moses as lawgiver, and although Christ initiates the process of
justification in the believer, the law still needs to be fulfilled. In this vision, God’s righteousness remains
distant, conferred upon sinners only after fulfillment of the new law. Luther’s new vision of justification,
however, offered a radical alternative. As
Luther says when commenting on Romans 1.17, “For the righteousness of God is
the cause of salvation. . . . [This is] the righteousness by which we are made
righteous by God.”[15] Grace does not equip human beings to become
righteous; rather, the gift of grace fundamentally alters the situation for
humanity coram Deo. Luther reasserts Christ’s redemptive role,
for Christ himself is the
righteousness of God. Christ’s life,
death, and resurrection, Luther writes, guarantees “our own spiritual
resurrection and life.”[16] Here he uses the term “spiritual” to indicate
“the category of true understanding,” wherein living in the Spirit means to
live in faith.[17]Â Consequently, our spiritual relationship to
GodÂ’s work in Christ is one of radical receptivity, where righteousness is
received by us through the gift of grace.Â
Luther states: “The righteousness of God is completely from faith, but
in such a way that through its development it does not make its appearance but
becomes a clearer faith according to that expression in 2 Cor. 3:18: ‘We are
being changed . . . from one degree of glory to another. . . .”[18] Therefore Luther counsels sinners to “believe
at least your own experience,” for by the law you deserve God’s wrath, but by
grace you have been saved through faith.[19]  This “totally other face of scripture” seen
first in Romans caught Luther in its gaze and never let him go.
Letting the Word Run Free
It was only a matter of
time before LutherÂ’s new vision pushed him to publicly oppose the prevailing
views of his day.  Luther declares, “I
have learned nothing [from the scholastics] but the ignorance of sin,
righteousness, baptism, and the whole of Christian life. I certainly didn’t learn there what the power
of God is . . . Indeed, I lost Christ there, but I have found him again in
Paul.”[20] Equipped with this new understanding of God’s
Word, Luther spoke out, calling the church and the academy away from Aristotle
and back to the encounter with God through the Word. Therefore, Luther repeatedly claims he is
“duty bound” to speak out publicly against the church hierarchy. Early on he contradicts the claim, voiced
repeatedly by his opponents, that only the pope can interpret scripture. Luther intentionally subverts that mandate
throughout his treatises, claiming himself a fool on the order of PaulÂ’s
playing the fool, and insists that the Word cannot be held captive by the
papacy, but rather must be allowed to run free.Â
In his 1518 Heidelberg
Disputation, with help from PaulÂ’s words in Romans, Luther develops further the
link between righteousness and the freedom it affords all who receive it. In thesis 25, Luther refers again to Romans
1.17, using it to explain that the righteous person understands “works do not
make him [sic] righteous, rather his righteousness creates works.”[21] Luther reinforces the point that our
righteousness is God-given when he states in thesis 26 that “through faith
Christ is in us, indeed, one with us.”[22] This portrait of what a justified life looks
like leads Luther to quote Paul in Romans 13.8: “Owe no one anything, except to
love one another.” This belief that
righteousness leads to freedom from rules and regulations allowed Luther to
realize that
It is also important to
stress, however, that for all LutherÂ’s talk of Christian freedom, he repeatedly
invokes Romans 13.1-7 and PaulÂ’s discussion of obedience to earthly rulers, claiming
that Christian freedom coram Deo does
nothing to alter one’s necessary obedience to temporal authorities. Going even further, Luther insists that
Christians are to be subject not just to rulers, but to all others. To experience
the death of our outer, sinful self with Christ is to experience a shattering
of all pretense. Living coram hominibus, where self-absorption
has been broken, gives Christians what Otto Pesch calls “freedom of
conscience”: Christians are freed to serve others without being forced to trust
in the works themselves.[23]Â Being subject to all, then, offers its own
version of freedom—the freedom of keeping track of one’s deeds toward
others. Any scorekeeping ultimately
coaxes one back to a preoccupation of self over others. It is important to acknowledge, however, that
“we only begin to make some progress in that which shall be perfect in the
future life.”[24]
In the face of ecclesial
opposition, Luther repeatedly refused to recant. In 1521 he was summoned to the Diet of Worms,
where he was given one last chance to change his position. He declared, “I am bound by the scriptures I
have quoted and my conscience is captive to the Word of God. I cannot and will not retract anything, since
it is neither safe nor right to go against conscience.” Then he added, “Here I stand. I can do no other. God help me!Â
Amen.”[25] Here Luther makes it clear that he stands accountable
not first to spiritual authorities, but ultimately to the Word of God.Â
LutherÂ’s understanding of faith
given by God freed him to follow his conscience rather than the external
commands he believed contradicted GodÂ’s Word.Â
Walther von Lowenich frames the significance of these words for
Christian history: “For the first time, the principle of freedom of conscience
was exposed publicly before the highest ranking representative of the church
and the world. One could make demands of
everything else, but not of faith, for faith was a matter of conscience, [and
conscience was] bound to God’s Word.”[26] This bold claim highlights the heroic
significance of LutherÂ’s early career.Â
As Matheson suggests, Luther’s career began with “works of rare lyrical
quality” that broke through the fortress and led the march back to faith.[27] Indeed, for most Christians of his day,
LutherÂ’s vision of freedom was more aspiration than reality; yet it is
difficult to overestimate the force with which these visions of freedom
permeated the imaginations of the disenfranchised, the voiceless.[28]Â They were captured by the image of freedom,
understanding its relevance to their lives in ways that would shock even the
reformer himself.
As quickly became clear, not
everyone embraced the sharp distinction Luther did between the spiritual and
temporal realms. Authorities rightly
feared that LutherÂ’s ecclesiastical disobedience could spawn civil
disobedience, unrest, and even outright rebellion throughout society. While Luther was forced into seclusion after
the Diet of Worms, it was not long before his vitriolic calls for
ecclesiastical reform fanned flames of unrest among
While LutherÂ’s defiant
words and actions alone did not stir German peasants to action, it can be
argued that Luther functioned as “a symbol, a beacon, a sign of the times” for
the peasants,[31]
and that his theological vision equipped them with a lens through which they
could interpret and protest their experience of oppression. Although Luther repeatedly invoked Paul’s
words in Romans 13, preaching patience and endurance of trials inflicted by
unjust rulers, his noisy disobedience in response to papal injustices fueled
the imaginations and religious zeal of the peasants set on ushering in the
reign of God on earth. Buoyed by Luther,
the peasants demanded better treatment by the rulers, only to witness Luther
raging against them, accusing them of misinterpreting Christian freedom. Luther even reached the point of calling the rulers
“unjust” if they didn’t use their God-given authority to harshly punish the
evil-doers.Â
Where did this come
from? Peter Matheson helps set the stage
for a response, suggesting that “when a great shattering takes place and an
enchanted world is lost, it can free us up to step out in new directions but
can also toss us into the abyss. Dreams
and nightmares frequently interweave.Â
There is a nightmarish dimension to the Reformation, too.”[32] Indeed, Luther’s stance against the peasants
qualifies as one of the nightmarish aspects of his life. It appears that Luther himself underestimated
the potential fruitfulness of how GodÂ’s righteousness leads to a radically
altered existence in the world.[33]Â A key insight of the Reformation undeniably
lies in LutherÂ’s vision that the reformation of life necessarily follows from
the reformation of faith. Despite his
continued insistence that GodÂ’s righteousness transforms the sinful self,
altering the way the believer acts in the world, in the context of the Peasants
uprising this sheltered monk narrowed his vision too far.Â
It is true that Luther
“opened wide the door” to understanding a new way of interpreting the biblical
text—indeed, a new way of being in the world—but in letting the Word run free
it quickly ran away from his control.Â
One of LutherÂ’s most enduring contributions to the history of Christian
thought is his telling, again and again, the story that he found in Paul: that
the gospel message gives us “grace and mercy” and the gospel, as Luther
discovered through Romans, is full of claims about “how great this is for us.”[34] While Luther himself resisted the full
implications of his understanding of Christian freedom, his insight into the
freedom preached in the gospel remains an innovative aspect of Christian
history.      Â
Â
[1] LW 24:4, footnote 4.
[2] According to contemporary scholarship, Paul utilized the genre of Greek scholastic diatribe when writing Romans. In that light, it is interesting to note that in stressing Paul’s words in 1.16-17, Luther is actually identifying the basic thesis of the letter as a whole. See Stanley Stovers, The Diatribe and Paul’s Letter to the Romans (Atlanta: Scholars Press Dissertation Series, 1981). I am indebted to my Hamline colleague Timothy Polk for this insight.
[3] Martin Brecht, Martin Luther: His Road to Reformation, 1483-1521, trans. James L. Schaaf (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1985), 82.
[4] Alister McGrath makes this point in LutherÂ’s Theology of the Cross: Martin LutherÂ’s Theological Breakthrough (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1985), 51.
[5] As quoted in Gerhard Ebeling, Luther: An Introduction to His Thought, trans. R. A. Wilson (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1970), 58.
[6] Peter
Matheson, The Imaginative World of the
Reformation (
[7] Ebeling, 104.
[8] David Jasper, A Short Introduction to Hermeneutics (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1989), 58.
[9] Walther von Lowenich, Martin Luther: The Man and His Work, trans. Lawrence W Denef (Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing, 1982), 86.
[10] Ebeling, 156.
[11] LW 34:37.
[12] Ebeling, 156.
[13] Rowan
Williams, Christian Spirituality: A
Theological History from the New Testament to Luther and
[14] LW 34:337.
[15] LW 25:151.
[16] LW 25:45.
[17] Ebeling, 106. Here we see Luther’s strong emphasis on the subjective genitive, that is, on our dependence on the righteousness of God rather than on our own ability to be righteous. But as Arland Hultgren insists and as we shall see later on in this essay, “Luther himself didn’t carry out the implications of his insight consistently.” See Hultgren’s Paul’s Gospel and Mission (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1980), 17.
[18] LW 25:153.
[19] LW 25:145.
[20] WA 12:414, as cited in Wilhelm Pauck, “General Introduction,” in Martin Luther, Lectures on Romans, Library of Christian Classics 15 (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1961), xxxix.
[21] LW 31:55.
[22] LW 31:56.
[23] Otto Pesch, “Free by Faith: Luther’s Contributions to Theological Anthropology,” in Martin Luther and the Modern Mind: Freedom, Conscience, Toleration, Rights, vol. 22, Toronto Studies in Theology, ed. Manfred Hoffman (Lewiston, N.Y.:Mellen, 1985), 45.
[24] LW 31:370. Of course here is where we see the objective genitive interpretation at work, which is definitely a minority position represented by Luther, but it harkens us back to Hultgren’s point about Luther having not worked this distinction out in a fully consistent way.
[25] LW 32:123.
[26] Von Lowenich, 195.
[27] Matheson, 123.
[28] Matheson, 38.
[29] Martin Brecht, Martin Luther: Shaping and Defining the Reformation: 1521-1532, trans. James Schaaf (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990), 30-39.
[30] Heiko Oberman, “The Gospel of Social Unrest: 450 Years after the So-Called ‘German Peasants’ War’ of 1525,” in The Dawn of the Reformation: Essays in Late Medieval and Early Reformation Thought, ed. Heiko Oberman (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1992), 155-178.
[31] Oberman, 161.
[32] Matheson, 77.
[33] Oberman, 164.
[34] LW 25:43.