CHAPTER TWO: The Knowledge of Man and Free Will (part 2 of 4)
For on account of its dullness, the human understanding cannot maintain a sure path in seeking truth but wanders through various errors. Like a blind man walking in darkness, it stumbles here and there until it loses its way altogether. Thus, in seeking truth, it shows how unfit and incapable it is to seek and find it, since it usually does not even discern what things it ought to apply itself to knowing.
It therefore torments itself with foolish curiosity in investigating superfluous and worthless things. As for necessary things, it either despises them altogether or, instead of looking directly at them, merely casts a passing glance in their direction—and even this rarely occurs. Certainly, it almost never happens that man applies himself to them seriously.
Although all pagan writers complain about this perversity, we nevertheless see that they have all become entangled in it. Therefore Solomon, in Ecclesiastes, after recounting all the things in which men delight and imagine themselves to be wise, finally declares them all to be vain and frivolous.
Nevertheless, when the human understanding applies itself to some field of study, its labor is not so entirely vain that it makes no progress, especially when it directs itself toward earthly things. Indeed, it is not so dull that it receives no slight taste of heavenly things, although it pursues them carelessly. Yet it does not possess equal ability regarding both. For when it attempts to rise above the present life, it is then chiefly convicted of its weakness.
Therefore, to understand more clearly how far the understanding can ascend in each sphere, we must employ a distinction.
The distinction shall be this: the understanding of earthly things is different from the understanding of heavenly things. By earthly things, I mean those which do not extend to God and his kingdom, to true righteousness, or to the immortality of the life to come, but are connected with the present life and are, as it were, enclosed within its bounds. By heavenly things, I mean the rule and nature of true righteousness and the mysteries of the heavenly kingdom.
Under the first category are included political knowledge, the proper governance of a household, the mechanical arts, philosophy, and all the disciplines called liberal arts. To the second belong the knowledge of God and his will and the rule for conforming our lives to it.
Concerning the first category, we must confess this: because man is by nature a social creature, he is also moved by a natural inclination to foster and preserve society. Therefore, we see that certain general conceptions of civil integrity and order are impressed upon the understanding of all men.
From this it follows that no one can be found who does not recognize that all human societies ought to be regulated by laws and who does not possess within his understanding some principles from which such laws arise. From this also comes the agreement that has always existed among both nations and individuals in accepting laws, because some seed of them proceeds from nature in everyone without the instruction of any teacher or lawgiver.
This is not contradicted by the disputes and conflicts that immediately arise. Some would have every law abolished, all integrity overthrown, and all justice extinguished so that they might govern themselves according to their own desires, like thieves and robbers. Others—as more commonly happens—regard as unjust what one lawgiver ordains as good and right and judge to be good what he forbids as evil.
The first do not hate laws because they are unaware that laws are good and holy. Rather, being seized and carried away by their desires as by a frenzy, they fight against reason. What they approve in their understanding they hate in their heart, where wickedness reigns.
The second group, despite their disagreement, do not differ so completely that they lack the common apprehension of equity we have mentioned. For since their disagreement concerns which laws are best, it is a sign that they agree upon some general principle of equity. In this also the weakness of the human understanding is displayed, for while imagining that it follows the right path, it limps and wavers.
Nevertheless, this remains firmly established: there is in all men some seed of civil order. This is a strong indication that, regarding the government of the present life, no one is entirely destitute of the light of reason.
As for both the mechanical and liberal arts, our possession of some aptitude for learning them demonstrates that the human understanding retains some ability in this sphere. Although everyone is not suited and able to learn them all, it is nevertheless a sufficient indication that the human understanding has not been deprived of all power in this respect, since no one can be found who does not possess some readiness to learn at least one of them.
Moreover, men possess not merely the power and facility to learn the arts. We see that each person, within his own art, frequently invents something new or improves and refines what he has learned from others. In this matter Plato was mistaken in thinking that such apprehension was merely the recollection of what the soul knew before being placed within the body. Nevertheless, reason compels us to confess that some principle of these things has been impressed upon the human understanding.
These examples therefore show that a certain universal apprehension of reason is naturally imprinted upon all men. Yet it is universal in such a way that each person ought to acknowledge in his own understanding a particular grace of God.
God sufficiently exhorts us to this acknowledgment by creating some who are foolish and senseless. In them he represents, as in a mirror, what excellence the human soul would possess if it were not enlightened by his light—a light which, although natural to all, is nevertheless a gracious benefit of his generosity toward every individual.
The invention of the arts, the methods of teaching them, orderly instruction, and distinguished knowledge and excellence within them —because these things are granted only to a few—are not certain proofs of the natural ability possessed by all men. Nevertheless, because they are bestowed upon both the good and the wicked, we may properly number them among the gifts of nature.
Therefore, when we behold in pagan writers that admirable light of truth which shines in their works, it ought to remind us that human nature, although fallen from its integrity and greatly corrupted, nevertheless continues to be adorned with many gifts from God.
If we acknowledge the Spirit of God as the only fountain of truth, we shall neither reject nor despise the truth wherever it appears, unless we wish to dishonor the Spirit of God. For the gifts of the Spirit cannot be treated with contempt without showing contempt and reproach toward him.
Can we deny that the ancient jurists possessed great clarity of judgment when they established such excellent order and so equitable a civil government? Shall we say that the philosophers were blind when they investigated the secrets of nature so diligently and described them with such skill? Shall we say that those who taught us the art of reasoning—that is, the method of speaking rationally— possessed no understanding? Shall we say that those who devised the science of medicine were senseless? Shall we regard the other disciplines as follies?
On the contrary, we cannot read the books written on these subjects without being filled with admiration. We admire them because we are compelled to recognize the wisdom they contain. Yet we ought not to regard anything as excellent or praiseworthy without acknowledging that it comes from God. To do otherwise would be the grossest ingratitude—an ingratitude not found even among the pagan poets, who confessed that philosophy, law, medicine, and the other disciplines were gifts of God.
Since, therefore, these men, who possessed no assistance beyond the gifts of nature, displayed such ingenuity in understanding worldly and earthly things, their examples ought to teach us how much grace our Lord has left to human nature even after it was stripped of the highest good.
Nevertheless, we must not forget that all such abilities are gifts of the Spirit of God, which he distributes to whomever he pleases for the common good of the human race. For if knowledge and skill had to be specially bestowed by the Spirit of God upon those who constructed the tabernacle in the wilderness, it is no wonder that we should say that the knowledge of those things chiefly necessary to human life is communicated to us by the Spirit of God.
If anyone objects, “What does the Spirit of God have to do with the wicked, who are altogether alienated from God?” I answer that this argument is insufficient. For when Scripture says that the Spirit dwells only in believers, this refers to the Spirit of sanctification, by whom we are consecrated to God to be his temples.
Nevertheless, God does not cease to fill, move, and give life to all creatures by the power of this same Spirit, and he does so according to the particular nature he bestowed upon each creature at its creation. Now if the Lord has willed that the wicked and unbelieving should serve us in understanding natural philosophy, dialectic, and the other disciplines, we ought to make use of them in these matters, lest our negligence be punished for despising the gifts of God wherever they are offered to us.
Yet so that no one imagines man to be truly blessed merely because we grant him such great ability to comprehend earthly things contained within this corruptible world, we must likewise observe that his whole faculty of understanding, together with the knowledge arising from it, is frivolous and of no importance before God when it lacks a firm foundation in truth.
For the statement of Saint Augustine is entirely true—a statement that the Master of the Sentences was compelled to approve: just as the supernatural gifts bestowed upon man at the beginning were taken from him after he fell into sin, so the natural gifts remaining to him were corrupted. Not that these gifts can in themselves be defiled, insofar as they proceed from God, but they ceased to be pure in man after he became polluted, so that no praise for them may be attributed to him.
It now remains to explain what human reason is capable of perceiving when it seeks the kingdom of God and what capacity it possesses for comprehending spiritual wisdom. This wisdom consists in three things: knowing God, knowing his will, and knowing how we ought to regulate our lives according to that will.
Concerning the first two—and especially the second—even those possessing the most subtle understanding among men are blinder than the blind themselves. I do not deny that here and there in the writings of the philosophers we find well-expressed statements concerning God. Yet such instability always appears in them that it is evident they possessed only confused notions of him.
It is true that God gave them some slight taste of his divinity so that they could not plead ignorance as an excuse for their impiety. He also moved them to utter certain statements by which they might be convicted. But what they saw, they saw in such a way that it could not direct them to the truth—much less enable them to attain the true knowledge of God.
We may explain this by a comparison. If a man stands in the middle of a field at night during a thunderstorm, a flash of lightning may enable him to see a great distance around him—but only for an instant. Thus it will be of no use in guiding him along the right path. For the light vanishes so quickly that, before he can properly fix his eyes upon the road, he is again overwhelmed by darkness. So far is that momentary light from conducting him safely home.
Moreover, those few drops of truth that we see scattered throughout the writings of the philosophers—by how many dreadful falsehoods are they obscured?
But, as I have said, concerning the second matter their ignorance is such that they have never possessed even the slightest certain knowledge of the will of God, without which the human understanding is filled with extraordinary confusion.
Therefore human reason can never approach, strive toward, or direct itself to this truth: to understand who the true God is and what he wills to be toward us.
But because, being intoxicated with false presumption, we can scarcely believe that our reason is so blind and dull in understanding the things of God, it will be better, as it seems to me, to prove this from the testimonies of Scripture rather than by arguments.
Saint John demonstrates it clearly when he says that from the beginning life was in God, that this life was the light of men, and that this light shines in darkness but is not received by the darkness. —John 1
By these words he teaches that the soul of man is to some extent enlightened by the light of God, so that it is never entirely destitute of some flame, or at least some spark. Nevertheless, he also declares that by this illumination it cannot comprehend God.
Why is this? Because man’s entire natural ability, as far as the knowledge of God is concerned, is nothing but darkness. For when the Holy Spirit calls men darkness, he strips them of every faculty for spiritual understanding.
Therefore John affirms that believers who receive Christ are born neither of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God alone. It is as though he were saying that the flesh is incapable of wisdom so high as to comprehend God and the things belonging to God unless it is illuminated by the Holy Spirit. In the same way, Jesus Christ testified to Saint Peter that his ability to know him came through a spiritual revelation from God his Father. —Matthew 16
If we held as settled—as we unquestionably ought—that everything our Lord confers upon his elect through the Spirit of regeneration is lacking in our nature, we would have no reason to waver on this point.
For the faithful people speak in this manner through the prophet:
“With you, Lord, is the fountain of life; in your light we shall see light.”
Saint Paul likewise testifies that no one can rightly confess Christ except by the Holy Spirit.
Again, John the Baptist, seeing the dullness of his disciples, cries out that no one can understand anything unless it is given to him from heaven.
—John 3
That by this word gift he means spiritual revelation and not the ordinary understanding of nature is evident from his complaint that all his preaching concerning Christ had accomplished nothing among his disciples. It is as though he said, “I see plainly that my words possess no power to instruct men in divine things unless God instructs them by his Spirit.”
Likewise, Moses, reproaching the people for their forgetfulness, also observes that they cannot understand anything of the mysteries of God unless grace is given to them:
“Your eyes have seen great signs and wonders, yet the Lord has not given you a heart to understand, ears to hear, or eyes to see.”
What more could he have said if he had called them senseless blocks when it came to considering the works of God?
For this reason, the Lord promises the Israelites through his prophet, as a particular grace, that he will give them a heart by which they will know him.
By this he signifies that the human understanding can possess no spiritual wisdom except insofar as it is enlightened by him.
But Saint Paul speaks still more clearly than all the others. In treating this subject, he reaches the following conclusion:
“The natural man cannot comprehend the things of the Spirit; they are foolishness to him, and he cannot grasp them.”
Whom does he call the natural man? The one who relies upon the light of nature. Here, then, is how man naturally stands: he cannot know spiritual things.
If the reason is asked, it is not merely that he neglects them. Even if he were to exert himself with all his strength, he would still be altogether unable to attain them, because, as Saint Paul says, they must be spiritually discerned.
By this he means that these things, being hidden from human understanding, are illuminated through the revelation of the Spirit. Thus all the wisdom of God is nothing but foolishness to man until he is enlightened by grace.
Paul had previously exalted the knowledge of the things God has prepared for his servants above the reach of sight, hearing, and the capacity of our understanding. Indeed, he had testified that human wisdom is like a veil that prevents us from beholding God properly.
What more do we require? The apostle declares that the wisdom of this world must be made foolish—as God has indeed determined to make it—and shall we attribute to it such great subtlety that it can penetrate to God and all the mysteries of his kingdom? May such madness be far from us.
It remains to speak of the third point: knowing the rule by which we may rightly order our lives—that is, knowing the true righteousness of works. In this matter the human understanding appears to possess somewhat greater discernment than in the subjects previously discussed.
For the apostle testifies that the Gentiles, who do not possess the law, are a law to themselves and show that the work of the law is written upon their hearts, since their consciences bear witness and their thoughts accuse or defend them before the judgment of God. —Romans 2
Now if the Gentiles naturally possess the righteousness of God impressed upon their minds, we shall not say that they are altogether blind concerning the knowledge of how they ought to live. Indeed, it is commonly held that man is sufficiently instructed in the right rule of living well by this natural law of which the apostle speaks.
Nevertheless, we must consider the purpose for which this knowledge of the law was given to men. Then it will become evident how far it can direct us toward the goal of reason and truth. This may be clearly understood from Saint Paul’s words if we consider the course of his argument.
He had said shortly before that those who sinned under the law would be judged by the law and that those who sinned without the law would perish without the law. Because this latter point appeared unreasonable—namely, that poor, ignorant peoples should perish without possessing any light of truth—he adds that their conscience may serve them as a law, since it is sufficient to condemn them justly.
The purpose of the natural law, therefore, is to render man inexcusable. Accordingly, we may properly define it in this way: it is an awareness of conscience by which conscience sufficiently distinguishes between good and evil to deprive man of the excuse of ignorance, since he is convicted by his own testimony.
Man possesses such a strong inclination to flatter himself that he always willingly attempts, as far as he is able, to turn his understanding away from acknowledging his sin. This seems to have moved Plato to say that we sin only through ignorance.
That would have been well said if human hypocrisy could so conceal its vices that the conscience would not meanwhile be pursued by the judgment of God. But since the sinner, although turning away from the discernment of good and evil contained within his heart, is continually dragged back to it by force and cannot so close his eyes that he is not compelled, whether willing or unwilling, sometimes to open them, it is false to say that men sin only through ignorance.
Themistius, another philosopher, therefore speaks more truly when he teaches that man’s understanding is seldom mistaken in its general judgment but is deceived when it considers a particular matter involving himself.
For example, if it is asked generally whether murder is evil, no one will deny that it is. Nevertheless, the man plotting his enemy’s death deliberates upon it as though it were a good thing. Likewise, an adulterer will condemn sexual immorality in general while flattering himself concerning his own adultery.
Here, then, is where ignorance lies: after man has formed a sound universal judgment, once he includes himself in the particular matter, he forgets the rule he previously followed and fails to apply it to himself. Saint Augustine treats this subject very well in his exposition of Psalm 57.
Nevertheless, the statement of Themistius does not apply universally. Sometimes the shamefulness of an evil deed presses so closely upon the sinner’s conscience that he does not fall because he is deceived by a false appearance of good but knowingly and willingly gives himself over to evil.
From this disposition arise the statements found in pagan writings:
“I see and approve the better course, yet I still follow the worse.”
And there are other similar sayings.
To remove all uncertainty concerning this question, Aristotle gives a useful distinction between incontinence and intemperance. Where incontinence reigns, he says, man’s particular knowledge of good and evil is taken away by his disordered desire. Thus, in his own sin, he fails to recognize the evil that he condemns generally in everyone else. But after his desire has ceased to blind him, repentance follows and brings him to recognize his wrongdoing.
Intemperance is a more dangerous disease. It is the condition in which a man sees that he is doing evil yet does not desist, but obstinately persists in his wicked purpose.
When we see that man possesses a general judgment by which to distinguish good from evil, we must not therefore suppose that this judgment is altogether sound and unimpaired. For if men possess discernment between good and evil only so that they cannot plead ignorance as an excuse, it is by no means necessary that the truth should be known to them in every particular. It is sufficient that they know enough of it to be unable to evade judgment without being convicted by the testimony of their own conscience.
Indeed, if we examine what understanding of righteousness we possess according to the law of God, which is the pattern of perfect righteousness, we shall discover in how many ways our understanding is blind.
Certainly, it does not at all understand the chief matters contained in the First Table: placing our trust in God, giving him the praise due to his power and righteousness, calling upon his name, and observing his Sabbath rest. What human understanding, by its natural perception, has ever—not merely known, but even imagined—that the true honor and worship of God consists in these things?
For when the wicked desire to honor God, although they are drawn away a hundred thousand times from their foolish fantasies, they always return to them. It is altogether impossible to persuade them that no worship is pleasing to God except spiritual worship. Can we praise an understanding which can neither comprehend the truth by itself nor listen to sound admonitions? Yet this is precisely how the human understanding has conducted itself in this matter. We therefore perceive that it is altogether dull and senseless.
As for the commandments of the Second Table, man possesses somewhat greater understanding of them because they relate more closely to human and civil life. Nevertheless, his understanding sometimes fails even here.
To the most excellent human minds, it appears absurd to tolerate an excessively harsh ruler when that authority may be resisted by any means. Human reason can judge only that patiently bearing such rule is the mark of a cowardly and broken spirit, while resisting it is honorable and manly. The Lord, however, condemns this excessive pride of heart and commands his people to exercise the patience that men condemn and reproach.
Moreover, our understanding is so blind concerning this point of God’s law that it cannot recognize the evil of its own sinful desire. For the natural man cannot be brought to acknowledge his inward disease, and the light of nature is extinguished before it can even approach the entrance to that abyss.
When philosophers speak of the immoderate movements of our hearts, they mean those that reveal themselves through visible signs. But they regard as nothing those evil desires that secretly stir the heart.
Therefore, just as Plato was rightly reproved above for attributing every sin to ignorance, so we must reject the opinion of those who think that every sin involves fully deliberate malice. For we experience more often than we should how frequently we go astray while possessing what we imagine to be a good intention.
Our reason and understanding are enveloped in so many forms of ignorance, subject to so many errors, hindered by so many obstacles, and so frequently thrown into perplexity that they are far from being able to direct us with certainty.
Saint Paul demonstrates how weak our understanding is to guide us throughout our lives when he says:
“We are not sufficient of ourselves to think anything as of ourselves.”
He is not speaking merely of the will or affection. He deprives us even of the ability to conceive by ourselves what it is good to do.
Someone will ask, “Are all our skill, wisdom, knowledge, and careful thought so depraved that we cannot think or meditate upon anything good before God?” I confess that this appears very harsh to us, since it greatly offends us to be stripped of prudence and wisdom, which we consider our principal excellence.
Yet it appears entirely just to the Holy Spirit, who knows that all the thoughts of the world are vain and plainly declares that everything the human heart is capable of devising is evil. If everything our understanding conceives, considers, deliberates, and plans is always evil, how could it occur to us to deliberate upon anything pleasing to God, to whom nothing is acceptable except righteousness and holiness?
Thus we may see that the reason of our understanding, whichever way it turns, is altogether subject to vanity. David recognized this in himself when he prayed that understanding might be given to him by God so that he might rightly learn his commandments. For the man who desires a new understanding signifies that his own is insufficient.
Saint Augustine so clearly recognized this inability of our reason to understand the things of God that he confessed the grace and illumination of the Holy Spirit to be no less necessary to our understanding than the light of the sun is to our eyes. Indeed, not content with this, he adds that although we open our bodily eyes to receive the light, the eyes of our understanding remain closed unless our Lord himself opens them.
We must now examine the will, in which liberty—if any remains in man—properly resides. For we have seen that choice belongs more to the will than to the understanding.
First, lest the common philosophical maxim—that all things naturally desire the good—should appear to prove that some uprightness remains in the human will, we must observe that the power of free will is not to be sought in an appetite that proceeds more from natural inclination than from deliberate judgment.
Even the scholastic theologians confess that there is no exercise of free will except where reason considers both alternatives. By this they mean that the object of desire must be something subject to choice and that deliberation must precede in order to make choice possible.
Indeed, if we consider the nature of this natural desire for good in man, we shall find that he shares it with brute beasts. For they all desire what benefits them, and when something bearing the appearance of good presents itself to their senses, they pursue it.
But in this natural appetite man does not rationally discern, according to the excellence of his immortal nature, what he ought to seek. Nor does he consider it with true wisdom. Rather, without reason or deliberation, he follows the impulse of his nature like a beast.
Therefore, the mere fact that man is moved by a natural instinct to desire the good has nothing to do with free will. For free will would require that he discern the good by right reason, choose it after recognizing it, and pursue it after choosing it.
To remove every difficulty, we must observe two points at which men are deceived in this matter. First, in the common saying that all things desire the good, the word desire does not mean a proper movement of the will but a natural inclination. Second, the word good does not mean righteousness and virtue but that every creature desires its own well-being according to the nature it possesses.
Since this natural desire is of no importance in proving that man possesses liberty—any more than the inclination of all inanimate creatures to attain the perfection of their nature proves that they possess liberty—we must now consider whether man’s will has been so completely corrupted and depraved that it can produce nothing but evil, or whether some sound portion remains from which good desires may proceed.
Those who attribute our ability to will the good effectually to God’s first grace appear by their language to imply that the soul possesses some faculty for aspiring willingly toward the good, but that this faculty is so weak that it cannot attain a firm affection capable of moving man to exert himself.
There is no doubt that the scholastics commonly received this opinion as it had been handed down to them by Origen and certain ancient writers. For when they consider man in his merely natural condition, they describe him according to Saint Paul’s words in the seventh chapter of Romans:
“I do not do the good that I will, but I do the evil that I do not will. I possess the will, but I lack the ability to accomplish it.”
In this manner they completely distort the argument Saint Paul pursues in that passage. For he is treating the Christian conflict, which he touches upon more briefly in Galatians: believers continually experience within themselves a conflict between the Spirit and the flesh.
They do not possess the Spirit by nature but through regeneration. That Paul is speaking of the regenerate is evident from the fact that, after saying no good dwelt in him, he adds by way of explanation that he means in his flesh. Therefore, he denies that it is properly he who does the evil but says that it is sin dwelling within him.
What does he mean by the words in me—that is, in my flesh? It is as though he had said, “No good dwells in me from myself, since nothing good can be found in my flesh.”
From this follows his manner of excusing himself:
“It is no longer I who do the evil, but sin dwelling within me.”
Such an explanation belongs only to believers, who strive after the good through the principal part of their soul.
Moreover, the conclusion that follows demonstrates this with perfect clarity:
“I delight in the law of God according to the inward man, but I see another law in my members warring against the law of my mind.”
Who could possess such a conflict within himself except the man who, having been regenerated by the Spirit of God, still carries the remnants of his flesh? Saint Augustine, therefore, having at one time interpreted this passage as referring to man in his natural condition, afterward retracted that interpretation as false and unsuitable.
Indeed, if we concede that man possesses even the slightest movement toward good without the grace of God, what shall we answer the apostle, who denies that we are sufficient even to think anything good? What shall we answer the Lord, who declares through Moses that everything devised by the human heart is altogether perverse?
Since, therefore, they have gone astray by misunderstanding one passage, we ought not to be detained by their notion. Rather, we must receive what Christ says:
“Whoever commits sin is the slave of sin.”
—John 8
Now we are all sinners by nature. It follows, therefore, that we are all under the yoke of sin. Moreover, if the whole man is held in bondage to sin, his will—which is the principal part of him—must necessarily be constrained and enclosed within the strongest chains.
Nevertheless, man cannot be better understood in either part of his nature than when we give him the descriptions with which Scripture adorns him. If the whole man is described by the Lord’s words, “That which is born of the flesh is flesh,” as can easily be proved, it is evident that he is a miserable creature.
—John 3
For the mind of the flesh, as the apostle testifies, is death, since it is hostility against God, being neither subject to the law of God nor able to submit to it.
If the flesh is so perverse that in its every affection it exercises hostility against God; if it cannot agree with divine righteousness; in short, if it can produce nothing but the material of death—then, assuming that there is nothing in man’s nature except flesh, how could we extract from it even one drop of goodness?
But someone will say that the term flesh refers only to the sensual part of man and not to the higher part of the soul. I answer that this is easily refuted by the words of Christ and the apostle.
The Lord’s argument is that man must be born again because he is flesh. He does not mean that man must be born again merely according to his body. Now the soul cannot be said to be born again if it is corrected only in some portion, but only if it is entirely renewed.
This is confirmed by the contrast made both there and in Saint Paul. For the Spirit is so opposed to the flesh that nothing intermediate remains. Therefore, according to this distinction, everything in man that is not spiritual is carnal. Yet we possess not a single drop of this Spirit except through regeneration. Everything we possess by nature, therefore, is flesh.
I shall not recount individually everything David and all the prophets say concerning the vanity of man. But it is a weighty declaration in the Psalms that if man were weighed against vanity, he would be found even more vain than vanity itself.
It is a severe condemnation of man’s understanding that all the thoughts proceeding from it are derided as foolish, frivolous, mad, and perverse. Nor is the condemnation of the heart any less severe when it is declared to be more deceitful and perverse than all things. —Jeremiah 17
But because I am endeavoring to be brief, I shall content myself with one passage that will serve as a perfectly clear mirror in which we may contemplate the whole image of our nature. For when the apostle seeks to overthrow the pride of the human race, he employs these testimonies:
“There is none righteous, none who understands, none who seeks God. All have turned aside; all have become worthless. There is none who does good, not even one. Their throat is an open grave; their tongues are deceitful; the venom of asps is under their lips; their mouth is full of cursing and bitterness; their feet are swift to shed blood; destruction and misery are in their paths; and the fear of God is not before their eyes.”
With these severe words, he does not thunder against certain particular men but against the whole lineage of Adam. Nor does he merely reprove the corrupt conduct of one age; he accuses the perpetual corruption of our nature.
For his intention in that passage is not simply to rebuke men so that they might amend their ways. Rather, it is to teach that every one of them, from the first to the last, is enveloped in such calamity that none can escape unless delivered by the mercy of God.
Since this could not be proved unless it were evident that our nature has fallen into this ruin, he cites these testimonies in which our nature is shown to be more than lost.
Let this therefore be settled: men are not as Saint Paul describes them merely because of corrupt custom but also because of natural perversity. Otherwise, his argument could not stand. His purpose is to demonstrate that we possess no salvation except through the mercy of God, since every man is in himself lost and ruined.
I am not concerned here to explain how each testimony fits into Saint Paul’s argument, for I receive these declarations as though Paul himself had first spoken them rather than quoted them from the prophets.
First, he strips man of righteousness—that is, of integrity and purity. Then he deprives him of understanding, the evidence of which follows: all men have turned away from God, although seeking God is the first step of wisdom.
Next follow the fruits of unbelief: all have turned aside and become, as it were, corrupt, so that not one of them does good. He then lists all the wickednesses with which those who have abandoned themselves to unrighteousness defile every member of their bodies.
Finally, he testifies that all men are without the fear of God, by whose rule we ought to direct all our ways. If these are the hereditary riches of the human race, it is vain to seek any goodness in our nature.
I confess that all these wickednesses do not outwardly appear in every person. Nevertheless, no one can deny that each person carries their seed enclosed within himself. For just as a body containing within itself the cause and matter of disease will not be called healthy, even though the disease has not yet manifested itself and no pain is felt, neither can the soul be regarded as sound while containing such impurities within itself.
Yet the comparison is not entirely adequate. For however diseased the body may be, it still retains the vigor of life. But the soul, being submerged in this abyss of iniquity, is not merely diseased; it is also empty of every good.
A question arises here nearly identical to the one already resolved above. For in every age there have been some who, under the guidance of nature, have aspired to virtue throughout their lives. Even when much could be criticized in their conduct, they nevertheless showed, by their devotion to honorable living, that some purity seemed to remain in their nature.
Although we shall explain more fully what value such virtues possess before God when we treat the merit of works, we must say here whatever is necessary for the subject presently before us.
These examples might appear to warn us against regarding man’s nature as altogether corrupt, since by its inclination some men have not only performed many excellent deeds but have conducted themselves honorably throughout the whole course of their lives.
But we must remember that amid the universal corruption of which we have spoken, the grace of God still has some place—not to correct the perversity of nature, but to suppress it and restrain it inwardly. For if God permitted all men to follow their desires with the reins completely loosened, there would be no one who did not demonstrate by experience that all the vices for which Saint Paul condemns human nature were present within him.
For who could separate himself from the number of mankind? Yet this is what anyone must do if he wishes to exempt himself from what Saint Paul says of everyone: that their feet are swift to shed blood; their hands are defiled with robbery and murder; their throats resemble open graves; their tongues are deceitful; their lips are venomous; their works are useless, unrighteous, corrupt, and deadly; their hearts are without God and contain nothing but malice; their eyes are set upon ambush; their hearts are lifted up to commit outrage; and, in short, every part of them is prepared to do evil.
If every soul is subject to all these monstrous vices, as the apostle boldly declares, we can see what would happen if the Lord allowed human desire to roam according to its inclination. No rabid beast is carried away so violently, and no river is so fierce and swift that its flood rushes forth with such impetuosity.
In his elect, the Lord cures these diseases in the manner we shall afterward explain. In the reprobate, he merely restrains them as with a bridle, so that they do not break forth beyond the measure he knows to be expedient for the preservation of the whole world.
From this it comes that some are restrained by shame and others by fear of the laws from abandoning themselves to many wicked deeds, although they do not entirely conceal their evil desires. Others, because they think that an honorable manner of life will benefit them, aspire to it after a fashion. Still others go further and display a particular excellence so that, by an appearance of majesty, they may keep the common people obedient to them.
In this manner, the Lord by his providence restrains the perversity of our nature, but he does not cleanse it.
Someone may say that this is insufficient to resolve the question. For either we must regard Catiline as equal to Camillus, or else in Camillus we possess an example that nature, when properly guided, is not entirely destitute of goodness.
I confess that the virtues found in Camillus were gifts of God and that, considered in themselves, they might be regarded as praiseworthy. But how will they prove that there was natural uprightness within him? Must we not return to the heart and argue in this way: if a natural man possessed such integrity of heart, then human nature is not without some faculty for aspiring to the good?
But what if his heart was perverse and crooked and sought anything rather than uprightness? If we grant that he was a natural man, there can be no doubt that his heart was such.
What power, then, shall we attribute to human nature for applying itself to the good if, even in the greatest appearance of integrity found within it, we see that it always tends toward corruption?
Just as we shall not praise as virtuous a man who possesses nothing but vices concealed beneath the appearance of virtues, neither shall we attribute to the human will the ability to desire the good while it remains fixed in its perversity.
Nevertheless, the surest and simplest answer is this: such virtues are not common properties of human nature but particular graces of the Lord, which he distributes even to the wicked in whatever manner and measure he pleases.
For this reason, in our ordinary manner of speaking, we do not hesitate to say that one person is well-born and another ill-born, or that one possesses a good nature and another a bad nature. Nevertheless, we do not cease to include both under the universal condition of human corruption. We mean only that God has granted a particular grace to the one which he has denied to the other.
The will, therefore, being bound and held captive under the slavery of sin, cannot in any way move itself toward the good, much less apply itself to it. For such a movement is the beginning of our conversion to God, which Scripture attributes entirely to the grace of the Holy Spirit.
Thus Jeremiah prays that the Lord would turn him if he wills that he should be turned. For the same reason, when the prophet describes the spiritual redemption of believers in that chapter, he says that they have been redeemed from the hand of one stronger than themselves. By this he indicates how tightly the sinner is bound while, being forsaken by God, he remains under the devil’s yoke.
Nevertheless, the will always remains in man, and by its own inclination it is bent toward sin. For when man fell into this necessity, he was not deprived of his will but of a sound will.
Saint Bernard therefore speaks correctly when he says that willing is found in every man, but to will the good is the result of correction, while to will evil is the result of our defect. Thus simply to will belongs to man; to will evil belongs to corrupted nature; and to will good belongs to grace.
Now when I say that the will has been deprived of liberty and is necessarily drawn toward evil, it is remarkable that anyone should find this manner of speaking strange, since it contains no absurdity and was commonly employed by the ancient doctors.
Some are offended because they cannot distinguish between necessity and compulsion. But if someone were to ask them whether God is not necessarily good and whether the devil is not necessarily evil, what would they answer?
It is certain that God’s goodness is so inseparably joined to his divinity that it is no less necessary for him to be good than to be God. And by his fall the devil has so alienated himself from every participation in goodness that he can do nothing but evil.
Now if some blasphemer should murmur that God deserves little praise for his goodness because he is necessarily good, would the answer not be easy? It is because of his infinite goodness—and not because of violent compulsion—that he cannot do evil.
If, therefore, the fact that God necessarily does good does not prevent his will from being free in doing good, and if the devil still sins willingly although he can do nothing but evil, who will argue that sin is not voluntary in man merely because man is subject to the necessity of sinning?
Although Saint Augustine teaches this necessity everywhere, he did not cease to affirm it even when Celestius slandered the doctrine in order to make it hateful. He uses these words:
“Through man’s liberty it came about that he fell into sin; now the corruption that followed has changed liberty into necessity.”
We must therefore carefully observe this distinction: after man was corrupted by his fall, he sins willingly—not against his heart and not by compulsion. He sins, I say, from a thoroughly willing inclination and not because he is driven by violence. He sins from the impulse of his own sinful desire and not because he is constrained by something outside himself.
Nevertheless, his nature is so perverse that he cannot be moved, urged, or led except toward evil. If this is true, it is evident that he is subject to the necessity of sinning.
It is now time to speak of the remedy provided by the grace of God, through which our corrupt nature is corrected. For since the Lord, in coming to our aid, supplies what we lack, when it becomes evident what his work within us is, it will also be easy to understand the extent of our poverty.
When the apostle tells the Philippians that he is confident that the one who began a good work in them will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ, there is no doubt that by the beginning of this good work he means the origin of their conversion—when their will was turned toward God.
Therefore, the Lord begins his work within us by inspiring in our hearts the love, desire, and pursuit of goodness and righteousness—or, to speak more properly, by inclining, forming, and directing our hearts toward righteousness. He completes his work by confirming us in perseverance.
So that no one may quibble that God begins the good within us merely by assisting our will, which would otherwise be too weak, the Holy Spirit declares elsewhere what our will is worth when abandoned to itself:
“I will give you a new heart and create a new spirit within you. I will remove the heart of stone from within you and give you a heart of flesh. I will put my Spirit within you and cause you to walk in my commandments.”
Who can now say that the weakness of the human will is merely strengthened so that it may aspire vigorously to choose the good, when we hear that it must be entirely reformed and renewed?
If stone is so pliable that by handling it we can bend it into whatever form we wish, I shall not deny that the human heart possesses some ability and inclination to obey God, provided its weakness is strengthened. But if our Lord intended by this comparison to show that nothing good can be drawn from our heart unless it is made entirely different, then let us not divide between God and ourselves the praise that he attributes to himself alone.
If, therefore, when the Lord turns us toward the good, it is as though a stone were transformed into flesh, it is certain that everything belonging to our own will is abolished and that everything succeeding it comes from God.
Some may perhaps concede that the human will is turned toward righteousness and uprightness by the power of God alone and that by itself it is turned away from them, yet maintain that once it has been prepared, it performs its own part.
They may appeal to Saint Augustine, who writes that grace precedes every good work and that in doing good the will is led by grace and does not lead it; it follows and does not go before.
But I understand the prophet’s words to contain two things: first, that the Lord corrects—or rather abolishes—our perverse will; and then that he gives us a good will from himself.
Insofar as our will is preceded and prepared by grace, I allow it to be called grace’s handmaid. But because the will, once reformed, is itself the work of God, it must not be attributed to man that by his will he submits to preceding grace.
Saint Chrysostom therefore did not speak properly when he said that grace can accomplish nothing without the will, just as the will can accomplish nothing without grace—as though the will itself were not produced and formed by grace.
As for Saint Augustine, it was not his intention to give the human will any share of the praise for good works when he called it the handmaid of grace. He intended only to refute the wicked doctrine of Pelagius, who placed the first cause of salvation in human merit.
Therefore, addressing what was necessary for that controversy, Augustine demonstrates that grace precedes every merit, while leaving aside the other question: what is the continual effect of grace within us? This he treats exceedingly well elsewhere.
For when he says repeatedly that the Lord goes before the unwilling man so that he may will, and assists the willing man so that he may not will in vain, Augustine makes God entirely the author of every good.
Since we have now reached the principal point of the matter, let us summarize the issue and establish our position by testimonies from Scripture. Afterward, so that no one may falsely accuse us of overthrowing Scripture, let us show that the truth we maintain was likewise taught by this holy man.
I do not think it necessary to produce one after another every testimony from Scripture that might be cited to confirm our position, provided we select those that open the way to understanding the rest. On the other hand, I think it useful to demonstrate clearly how fully I agree with this holy man, whom the Church rightly reveres.
When the Lord places these two things in the conversion of his people—that he will remove their heart of stone and give them a heart of flesh—he openly testifies that everything originating from us must be abolished in order to bring us to the good, and that everything substituted in its place proceeds from his grace.
Nor does he say this in only one passage, for we also read in Jeremiah:
“I will give them one heart and one way, that they may fear me all their days. Then I will put the fear of my name within their hearts, so that they may not turn away from me.” —Jeremiah 32
Likewise, in Ezekiel:
“I will give them one heart and create a new spirit within them. I will remove their heart of stone and give them a heart of flesh.”
He could not more completely remove from us the praise for everything good and upright in our will and claim it for himself than by calling our conversion the creation of a new spirit and a new heart.
For it always follows that nothing good can proceed from our will until it has been reformed, and that after its reformation, insofar as it is good, it is from God and not from us.
Thus we see how the saints prayed. Solomon said:
“May the Lord incline our hearts to himself, that we may fear him and keep his commandments.”
He shows the stubbornness of our heart by confessing that it is naturally rebellious against God and his law unless it is bent in the opposite direction.
Likewise, when David asks the Lord to create a new heart within him and renew a right spirit within him, does he not acknowledge that every part of his heart is filled with impurity and defilement and that his spirit is enveloped in perversity? Moreover, by calling the purity he desires a creation of God, he attributes the whole power of producing it to him.
It is remarkable that, to humble our pride, God requires nothing more strictly than that we observe his Sabbath—that is, that we rest from all our works. Yet nothing is extracted from us with greater difficulty than this: that, abandoning all our own works, we should give place to his.
If this madness did not hinder us, the Lord Jesus has given sufficiently abundant testimony to his grace so that its glory might not be obscured:
“I am the vine; you are the branches, and my Father is the vinedresser. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me; for apart from me you can do nothing.”
—John 15
If we can no more bear fruit from ourselves than a branch torn from the vine and deprived of all nourishment, there is no longer any need to inquire how capable our nature is of doing good. Nor is there any ambiguity in the conclusion: apart from him, we can do nothing.
He does not say merely that we are so weak that we cannot accomplish enough. By reducing us altogether to nothing, he excludes every notion that we possess even the slightest power.
If, being grafted into Christ, we bear fruit like a branch of the vine which receives its vigor from the moisture of the earth, the dew of heaven, and the warmth of the sun, it seems to me that no portion of praise remains for us in any good work if we intend to preserve God’s honor entire.
Therefore, the apostle gives all the praise to God:
“It is God who works in us both to will and to accomplish.” —Philippians 2
The first part of a good work is the will. The second is to strive to perform it and to possess the power to do so. God is the author of both. It follows, therefore, that if man attributes anything to himself, either in the willing or in the accomplishment, he robs God of precisely that much.
If it were said merely that God assists our feeble will, something would remain to us. But when it is said that he produces the will, it is thereby shown that everything good within it comes from somewhere other than ourselves.