CHAPTER FOUR: Of Faith, In Which the Apostles' Creed Is Explained (part 1 of 6)
CHAPTER FOUR
Of Faith, In Which the Apostles' Creed Is Explained
From the preceding discussion, it is now easy to understand what the Lord requires of us in his law. If we fail in even the smallest point, he declares against us his wrath and the terrible judgment of eternal death. Moreover, it has been shown not only how difficult it is for men to fulfill the law, but that this is entirely beyond their power. Therefore, if we look only at ourselves and consider what we deserve, not a single drop of good hope remains for us, but only the certain ruin of death, since we are utterly rejected by God.
It was then shown that there is only one way to escape this calamity: namely, the mercy of God, provided that we receive it with firm faith and rest in it with assured hope. It now remains for us to explain what this faith must be, by means of which all whom our Lord has chosen to be his children enter into possession of the heavenly kingdom. For it is evident that just any opinion or persuasion concerning God would not be sufficient to produce so great a blessing.
We must therefore apply ourselves all the more diligently to discovering the true nature of faith, because we see how perniciously ignorant of it people are today. For a great part of the world understands by the word faith nothing more than a common credulity by which a man assents to what is related in the Gospel. This evil, like countless others, must be attributed to the Sophists and Sorbonnists. For besides diminishing the power of faith by their obscure and shadowy definition, they introduce some frivolous distinction between formed and unformed faith, and bestow the name of faith upon a vain opinion empty of the fear of God and of all godliness. Against this the whole of Scripture bears witness.
I intend to refute their definition in no other way than by simply declaring the nature of faith as it is shown to us by the word of the Lord. From this it will appear clearly how foolishly they prattle about it. Their distinction is not worth a straw more. For although, as a manner of teaching, we allow that there are two kinds of faith when we wish to show what knowledge of God the wicked possess, nevertheless, with Saint Paul, we acknowledge and confess only one faith among the children of God.
It is indeed true that many believe there is a God and think that what is contained in the Gospel and Scripture is true, with the same sort of judgment by which one commonly regards as true what one reads in histories or has seen with one’s own eyes. Others go still further, for they hold the word of God to be an unquestionable oracle, do not altogether despise its commandments, and are somewhat moved by its promises. We say that such people are not without faith, but only in an improper manner of speaking, because they do not openly assail the word of God with impiety, nor reject or despise it, but rather display some appearance of obedience.
Yet just as this shadow or image of faith is of no value, so it is unworthy of such a name. And although we shall shortly see more fully how greatly it differs from true faith, it will do no harm to give a brief demonstration of it now.
It is said of Simon Magus:
“Simon himself also believed.”
Yet soon afterward he revealed his unbelief. When Scripture gives him this testimony of faith, we will not understand it, as some do, to mean that he merely pretended faith in words while having none of it in his heart. Rather, we think that, being overcome by the majesty of the Gospel, he had given it some sort of credence, acknowledging Christ as the author of life and salvation in such a way that he willingly accepted him as such.
In this same manner, our Lord says in the eighth chapter of Saint Luke:
“They believe for a time.”
These are the ones in whom the seed of the word is choked before it bears fruit, or else withers and perishes before taking root. We do not doubt that such people are touched by some taste of the word, so that they receive it eagerly, and are struck by its power in such a way that, in their hypocrisy, they deceive not only other men but also their own hearts. For they persuade themselves that the reverence they bear toward the word of God is the truest godliness they could possess, because they consider nothing in the world to be impiety except when that word is openly reviled or despised.
Yet whatever this reception of the Gospel may be, it does not penetrate to the heart so as to remain firmly planted there. And although at times it appears to take root, those roots are not living. So full of vanity is the human heart, so filled with countless hiding places of falsehood, and so shrouded in hypocrisy that it deceives itself.
Nevertheless, let those who glory in such a counterfeit of faith understand that in this respect they are in no way superior to the devil. Indeed, the first group of whom we have spoken are far inferior to the devils, since they remain stupefied when hearing those things at which the devils tremble. The others resemble them in this respect: whatever perception they possess ultimately ends in terror and dread.
On the contrary, true Christian faith, which alone deserves to be called faith, is not content with a bare knowledge of history. It takes its seat in the human heart, cleansing it of pretense, falsehood, and hypocrisy, and so possessing it that it does not readily vanish from it.
First, in order rightly to understand its power and proper nature, we must be warned to have recourse to the word of God. Faith has such an affinity and correspondence with the word that it cannot properly be judged from anywhere else. For the word is, as it were, its object and goal, upon which it must continually look. If it turns away from that word, it is no longer faith, but uncertain credulity and wandering error. That same word is the foundation by which faith is sustained and supported; if faith is removed from it, it immediately stumbles. Take away the word, therefore, and no faith will remain.
We are not discussing here whether the ministry of man is necessary to sow the word from which faith is conceived. We shall treat that elsewhere. We are saying that the word, from whatever quarter it comes to us, is like a mirror in which faith must look upon and contemplate God. Therefore, whether God employs the service of man in this matter or works by his power alone, he always presents himself through his word to those whom he wills to draw to himself.
For faith does not consist merely in understanding that there is a God. What is chiefly required is that we understand what his will is toward us. It is useful for us to know not only what he is in himself, but what he wills to be toward us. We now know, therefore, that faith is a knowledge of the will of God derived from his word.
The foundation of faith is the persuasion we possess concerning the truthfulness of God. So long as your heart does not have a settled certainty of this, the word possesses very little authority in you, or none at all. Moreover, it is not enough to believe that God is truthful and can neither lie nor deceive, unless you are firmly resolved that everything proceeding from him is sure and inviolable truth.
But since the human heart is not established in faith by every word of God alike, we must inquire further what faith properly looks for in the word. It was the voice of God that said to Adam:
“You shall surely die.”
It was also the voice of God that said to Cain:
“The blood of your brother cries to me from the earth.” —Genesis 4:10
Yet such declarations could only shake faith, so far were they from establishing it. We do not deny, meanwhile, that it is the office of faith to assent to the truth of God whenever he speaks, whatever he says, and in whatever manner he speaks. But we are now asking what faith finds in that word upon which it may lean and rest.
If our conscience sees nothing but indignation and vengeance, how can it fail to tremble with horror? And if once it regards God with horror, how can it fail to flee from him? Yet faith must seek God, not flee from him. It is therefore evident that we do not yet have a complete definition, since merely knowing each and every expression of God’s will must not be regarded as faith.
What, then, if in place of “will” we put “goodwill” or “mercy”? Certainly, in this way we come nearer to the nature of faith. For we are moved to seek God after we have learned that our good is found in him—something he declares to us by assuring us that he cares for our salvation. Therefore, we need the promise of his grace, in which he testifies to us that he is a gracious Father toward us, because the human heart can rest only upon that promise.
Moreover, since the knowledge of God’s goodness can be of no great value unless it causes us to rest in that goodness, we must exclude every understanding mingled with doubt, which does not stand firm but wavers as though uncertain about the matter. Yet so far is the human understanding, blinded and darkened as it is, from being able to penetrate and attain to the knowledge of God’s will, and so far is the heart—accustomed as it is to waver in doubt and uncertainty—from being assured so as to rest in such a persuasion, that the human understanding must be illuminated from elsewhere and the heart strengthened before the word of God can obtain full faith within us.
We now have a complete definition of faith if we determine that it is a firm and certain knowledge of God’s goodwill toward us, which, being founded upon the free promise given in Jesus Christ, is revealed to our understanding and sealed upon our heart by the Holy Spirit.
Let us now examine each word in order. When we have carefully considered them, I think no difficulty will remain.
When we call faith a knowledge of the will of God, we do not mean an apprehension like that which men have of things subject to their senses. For it so far surpasses every human sense that the mind must rise above itself to attain to it. Even when it has attained, it does not comprehend what it perceives. Yet, being fully assured and persuaded of what it cannot comprehend, it understands more by the certainty of this persuasion than it would if it comprehended some human thing according to its own capacity.
Saint Paul therefore speaks very well when he says that we must comprehend the length, breadth, depth, and height, and know the love of Christ, which surpasses all knowledge:
“That you may comprehend what is the breadth, length, depth, and height, and know the love of Christ, which surpasses all knowledge.”
For he intended to signify both things together: namely, that what our understanding apprehends of God by faith is altogether infinite, and that this manner of knowing surpasses all understanding. Nevertheless, because our Lord has revealed to his servants the mystery of his will, which was hidden throughout all ages and generations, faith is rightly called knowledge.
Saint John also calls it knowledge when he says that believers know they are the children of God:
“We know that we are the children of God.”
Indeed, they know it with certainty, being strengthened by persuasion of the truth of God rather than instructed by any human demonstration or argument. This is also signified by the words of Saint Paul:
“While we dwell in this body, we are as pilgrims far from the Lord, for we walk by faith and not by sight.”
By this he shows that the things we understand by faith are absent from us and hidden from our sight. We therefore conclude that the understanding of faith consists more in certainty than in apprehension.
We add that this knowledge is certain and firm in order to express how solid its constancy is. For just as faith is not content with a doubtful and shifting opinion, neither is it content with an obscure and perplexed thought. Rather, it requires a full and settled certainty, such as one ordinarily possesses concerning things thoroughly proved and understood.
There are many who conceive of the mercy of God in such a way that they receive very little consolation from it. Meanwhile, they are confined in miserable anguish because they doubt whether he will be merciful to them, for they restrict too narrowly the clemency they think they know. This is how they regard it: they consider it great and abundant, extended to many and offered to all; yet, on the other hand, they doubt whether it will reach them, or rather whether they will be able to reach it. Since this thought stops halfway, it is only half a thought. Therefore, instead of confirming the soul in tranquility and assurance, it troubles it with doubt and anxiety.
The certainty that Scripture always joins with faith is of a very different character: namely, to place beyond doubt the goodness of God as it is set before us. This cannot be done unless we truly taste its sweetness and experience it within ourselves. For this reason the Apostle derives confidence from faith, and boldness from confidence, saying:
“Through Christ we have boldness and access with confidence by faith in Jesus Christ.”
This is so true that the word faith is often used to mean confidence. Here lies the principal point of faith: that we do not think the promises of mercy offered to us by the Lord are true only outside us and not within us, but rather that, by receiving them into our hearts, we make them our own.
From such a reception proceeds the confidence that Saint Paul elsewhere calls peace—unless someone should prefer to derive that peace from confidence as its consequence:
“Being justified by faith, we have peace with God.”
This peace is an assurance that gives rest and gladness to the conscience before the judgment of God. Without it, the conscience must necessarily be wonderfully troubled and almost torn apart, unless, by forgetting God and itself, it falls asleep for a little while. I rightly say “for a little while,” for it does not long enjoy this miserable forgetfulness before it is immediately pierced and stung to the quick by the judgment of God, the remembrance of which confronts it from hour to hour.
In short, no one is truly a believer except the person who, being assured by a settled persuasion that God is a gracious and benevolent Father toward him, expects all things from his goodness; except the person who, relying upon the promises of God’s goodwill, conceives an undoubted expectation of his salvation. The Apostle shows this in these words:
“If we hold firm to the end our confidence and the rejoicing of our hope.”
By saying this, he testifies that no one rightly hopes in God unless he dares boldly to glory in being an heir of the heavenly kingdom.
I say again, no one is a believer except the person who, resting upon the assurance of his salvation, dares without doubting to defy the devil and death, as the Apostle teaches in the conclusion he draws in Romans:
“I am assured that neither death nor life, neither angels nor principalities nor powers, neither things present nor things to come, shall be able to separate us from the love that God bears toward us in Jesus Christ.”
For this reason, he does not consider the eyes of our understanding to be properly enlightened unless we behold the hope of the eternal inheritance to which we are called:
“That the eyes of your understanding may be enlightened, so that you may know what is the hope of his calling and what are the riches of the glory of his inheritance.”
Throughout his teaching, he maintains that we do not properly comprehend the goodness of God unless we possess great assurance in it.
But someone will object that believers have a very different experience. For not only are they troubled and agitated by doubts while acknowledging the grace of God toward them—which ordinarily happens to them—but at times they are also greatly astonished and terrified, so violent are the temptations that shake them. This does not seem very compatible with the certainty of faith of which we have spoken. We must therefore resolve this difficulty if we wish the doctrine set forth above to remain intact.
When we teach that faith must be certain and assured, we do not imagine a certainty untouched by any doubt, or an assurance assailed by no anxiety. On the contrary, we say that believers wage a perpetual battle against their own distrust. Far from placing their consciences in some peaceful repose disturbed by no storm, we affirm that they are continually exercised by unrest. Nevertheless, however they may be assailed, we deny that they ever fall or depart from the assured confidence they have once conceived in the mercy of God.
To understand this better, we must return to the division between the Spirit and the flesh, of which we have spoken elsewhere and which is clearly displayed here. The heart of the believer therefore feels this division within itself: in part it is filled with gladness through the knowledge it possesses of God’s goodness, and in part it is pierced with bitterness by the sense of its misery; in part it rests upon the promise of the Gospel, and in part it trembles at the sight of its iniquity; in part it apprehends life with joy, and in part it recoils in horror from death.
This conflict arises from the imperfection of faith, because during the present life we never attain to that blessed condition in which, being cleansed of all distrust, we possess the fullness of faith within us. From this arises the battle: the distrust still remaining in the flesh rises up to assail and overthrow faith.
But here someone will say: If such doubt is mingled with certainty in the heart of the believer, do we not always return to the conclusion that faith possesses no certain and clear knowledge of the will of God, but only an obscure and perplexed one? I answer, no. For although we are distracted by various thoughts, it does not follow that we are separated from faith. If we are driven here and there by the assaults of unbelief, it does not follow that we are cast into its abyss. If we are shaken, that does not mean we fall. For the outcome of this battle is always that faith rises above those difficulties by which it is besieged, even when it appears to be in danger.
In short, as soon as the smallest drop of faith imaginable is placed in our souls, we immediately begin to behold the face of God as gracious and favorable toward us. It is true that we behold it from afar, yet with so certain a gaze that we know there is no deception in it. Afterward, as we make progress—and we ought to make continual progress—we advance and draw nearer, so that our vision becomes more certain. Moreover, through continued contemplation, this knowledge becomes more familiar to us.
Thus we see that the understanding, when first enlightened with the knowledge of God, remains enveloped in great ignorance, which is gradually removed. Nevertheless, neither its ignorance nor the obscurity of its vision prevents it from enjoying a clear knowledge of the will of God. This is the first and principal point of faith.
It is as though someone confined in a deep prison received the light of the sun only indirectly and imperfectly through a high and narrow window. He would not have a full and unobstructed view of the sun, yet he would still possess its certain light and receive its benefit. In the same manner, although we are confined in the prison of this earthly body and surrounded on every side by much darkness, if we possess even the smallest spark of God’s light revealing his mercy to us, we are sufficiently enlightened to possess firm assurance.
Both of these things are clearly shown to us by the Apostle in various places. For when he says:
“We know in part, and we prophesy in part,” and, “We see obscurely, as through a mirror.”
—1 Corinthians 13:9, 12 he indicates how small a portion of divine wisdom is allotted to us in the present life. Yet elsewhere he shows how great is the certainty contained in even the smallest drop of such knowledge, testifying that through the Gospel:
“We behold the glory of God with unveiled face and without obstruction, and are transformed into the same image.” —2 Corinthians 3:18
It is indeed inevitable that amid such ignorance there should be many doubts and fears, especially since our heart is naturally inclined toward unbelief. Moreover, temptations arise, infinite in number and diverse in kind, which from hour to hour make astonishing assaults upon us. Above all, the conscience, being burdened by the weight of its sins, now complains and groans within itself, now accuses itself, at times is silently pierced, and at other times is openly tormented.
Therefore, whether adversities present some appearance of God’s wrath or the conscience finds an occasion for it within itself, unbelief arms itself with these things to fight against faith. It directs all its weapons toward this end: to make us think that God is opposed to us and angry with us, so that we expect no good from him and fear him as our mortal enemy.
To withstand such assaults, faith is armed with the word of God. When it is assailed by the temptation that God is opposed to us and is our enemy because he afflicts us, faith sets against it this defense: that even in afflicting us he is merciful, because his chastisements proceed from love rather than wrath. When it is attacked by the thought that God is a righteous Judge who punishes all iniquity, it holds up this shield: that mercy is prepared for every sin whenever the sinner turns to the Lord’s clemency.
In this manner, however severely the believing soul may be tormented, it ultimately overcomes every difficulty. It never permits its confidence in the mercy of God to be torn away or shaken from it. On the contrary, all the doubts by which it is exercised are turned into a greater certainty of that confidence.
We experience this in the saints, who, when they see themselves severely pressed by God’s vengeance, nevertheless continue to address their complaints to him. Even when it appears that they will not be heard at all, they still call upon him. For why would they complain to one from whom they expected no relief? And how would they be moved to call upon him unless they hoped to receive some help from him?
In this way, the disciples whose weakness of faith Jesus Christ rebuked cried out that they were perishing, yet they still implored his help:
“Lord, save us; we are perishing.”
We therefore affirm again what was said above: that the root of faith is never entirely torn from the heart of the believer, but always remains firmly planted there, although, when shaken, it may appear to bend this way and that. Its light is never so completely extinguished that at least some spark does not always remain. Job shows this when he says:
“Though he should kill me, yet will I hope in him.”
For the saints never have greater cause for despair than when they feel the hand of God raised to destroy them, according to what they can judge from the present condition of things.
There is another kind of fear and trembling by which the certainty of faith is so far from being diminished that it is instead strengthened. This occurs when believers regard the examples of God’s vengeance executed upon the wicked as warnings for themselves, so that they may not provoke God’s wrath by committing the same offenses, and therefore guard themselves more diligently against doing evil.
Or else, when they acknowledge their misery, they learn to depend wholly upon God, without whom they see themselves to be more frail and unstable than a breath of wind. For when the Apostle, after setting forth the chastisements God had inflicted upon the people of Israel, warns the Corinthians not to fall into the same sins, he does not in any way overthrow their confidence. He merely awakens them from their indolence, which ordinarily tends to bury faith rather than establish it.
Likewise, when he takes occasion from the ruin of the Jews to exhort the person who stands to take heed lest he fall, he does not command us to waver as though uncertain of our steadfastness. He merely removes all arrogance and rash confidence in our own strength, so that we Gentiles may not triumph over the Jews whose place we have taken:
“Do not be proud, but fear.”
Likewise, when he teaches us to work out our salvation with fear and trembling:
“Work out your salvation with fear and trembling.”
he requires nothing else than that, in deep humility concerning ourselves, we should accustom ourselves to rely upon the power of the Lord.
Nothing can move us more powerfully to rest the certainty and confidence of our faith in God than distrust of ourselves and the distress we feel after recognizing our misery. In this sense we must understand the words of the Prophet:
“I will enter your temple in the abundance of your goodness, and there I will worship in fear.”
Here he very properly joins the boldness of faith, which rests upon the mercy of God, with that fear and holy trembling by which we must be affected whenever we appear before the majesty of God and, by its brightness, perceive the uncleanness within us.
Solomon therefore speaks truly:
“Blessed is the man who continually causes his heart to fear, but he who hardens his heart shall fall into ruin.”
He means a fear that makes us more watchful and prudent, not one that afflicts us to the point of despair. This occurs when our courage, confused within itself, is comforted in God; cast down in itself, it is raised up in him; distrusting itself, it stands firm in the hope it possesses in him. There is therefore no obstacle preventing believers from feeling fear and trembling while at the same time enjoying the surest consolation, since on the one hand they consider their own vanity and on the other behold the truth of God.
The fear of God, which throughout Scripture is attributed to believers and is sometimes called the beginning of wisdom and sometimes wisdom itself, is one, yet it proceeds from a twofold affection. For God possesses the reverence due both to a father and to a master. Therefore, whoever wishes rightly to honor him will endeavor to conduct himself toward him as an obedient son and a servant ready to perform his duty.
Through his Prophet, God calls the obedience rendered to him as our Father “honor,” and the service performed to him as our Master “fear”:
“The son honors his father, and the servant his master. If I am your Father, where is the honor you owe me? If I am your Master, where is the fear?”
Yet although he distinguishes the two, he joins them together at the beginning by comprehending both under the word “honor.” Let the fear of God, therefore, be for us a reverence mingled with such honor and fear. It is no wonder that the same heart should receive both affections together.
It is indeed true that the person who considers what a Father God is to us has sufficient reason—even if there were no hell—to dread offending him more than death. Yet, on the other hand, because our flesh is inclined to cast off all restraint in doing evil, it is necessary, in order to restrain it, to keep this thought in mind: that the Lord, under whose power we are, abominates all iniquity, and that those who provoke his wrath by living wickedly will not escape his vengeance.
What Saint John says does not conflict with this:
“Fear is not in love, but perfect love casts out fear.”
For he is speaking of the trembling produced by unbelief, from which the fear of believers is far removed. The wicked do not fear God because they dread offending him, if they could do so without punishment. Rather, because they know he has the power to avenge himself, they recoil in horror whenever his wrath is mentioned to them. Indeed, they fear his wrath because they think it near and expect from hour to hour that it will fall upon and overwhelm them.
Believers, on the contrary, as has been said, fear offending him more than they fear punishment. They are not terrified by the fear of punishment as though hell were already present to swallow them up, but by that fear they are drawn back from exposing themselves to danger. Therefore, when the Apostle speaks to believers, he says:
“Let no one deceive you concerning these things, for because of them the wrath of God comes upon the children of disobedience.”
He does not threaten that the wrath of God will descend upon them. Rather, he exhorts them to consider that God’s wrath is prepared for the wicked because of the sins he had just recounted, so that they may not venture to follow them and thereby come to the same destruction.
Moreover, by the goodwill of God, upon which we say faith looks, we must understand that we obtain possession of salvation and eternal life. For if nothing can be lacking to us when God is gracious toward us, it ought to suffice for the certainty of our salvation that God assures us of his love toward us. As the Prophet says:
“Cause your face to shine, and we shall be saved.”
Scripture therefore places the sum of our salvation in this: that the Lord, having abolished all enmity, has received us into his grace:
“He is our peace, who has abolished the enmity, that he might reconcile us to God.”
By this it signifies that, once God is reconciled to us, no danger remains that can prevent all things from turning to our good. Therefore, in apprehending the love of God, faith comprehends within it the promises of the present and future life and a firm assurance of every good thing—such assurance, that is, as may be obtained from the word of the Gospel.
For faith does not certainly promise itself either long life, great honors, or an abundance of riches in the present life, since the Lord has not willed to guarantee any of these things to us. Rather, it is content with this certainty: that although many supports of this life may fail us, God will never fail us. Its principal assurance rests in the expectation of the life to come, which has been placed beyond all uncertainty for us by the word of God.
Whatever calamity and misery may befall those whom our Lord has once received into his love, it cannot prevent the goodwill of God alone from being their complete blessedness. Therefore, when we wished to express the sum of all blessedness, we set forth the grace of God, as the fountain from which every kind of good flows to us. This is readily observed throughout Scripture, which always directs us back to the love of God whenever it speaks not only of eternal salvation but of any good thing we possess. For this reason David testifies that the goodness of God, when perceived by the believing heart, is sweeter and more desirable than life itself:
“Your goodness is better than life.”
We make the free promise the foundation of faith because faith properly rests upon it. For although faith regards God as truthful in everything and everywhere—whether he commands, forbids, promises, or threatens—and although it obediently receives his commandments, observes his prohibitions, and fears his threats, nevertheless, properly speaking, it begins with the promise, rests upon it, and ends in it. For faith seeks life in God, and life is not found in the commandments or threats, but solely in the promise of mercy—and that promise must be free.
For conditional promises, insofar as they direct us back to our works, promise life only if we find it within ourselves. Therefore, if we do not wish faith to tremble and waver from side to side, we must support it upon such a promise of salvation as is offered to us freely and out of pure generosity by the Lord, in consideration of our misery rather than our worthiness.
For this reason, the Apostle gives the Gospel the particular title “the word of faith”:
“This is the word of faith that we preach.”
He grants this title neither to the commandments nor to the promises of the law, because nothing can assure faith except this message sent from the goodness of God, by which he reconciles the world to himself. From this arises the correspondence he frequently establishes between faith and the Gospel, as when he says:
“Through him we have received grace and apostleship for the obedience of faith.”
Again:
“The Gospel is the power of God unto salvation to everyone who believes.”
And again:
“In it the righteousness of God is revealed from faith to faith.”
This is no wonder. For since the Gospel is the ministry of our reconciliation with God, there is no other sufficient testimony of God’s goodwill toward us, the knowledge of which is required in faith:
“God has given us the ministry of reconciliation, declaring that he was in Christ reconciling the world to himself.” —2 Corinthians 5:18–19
Therefore, when we say that faith must rest upon free promises, we do not deny that believers receive and reverence the word of God in all its parts. Rather, we appoint the promise of mercy as the proper object of faith.
Believers must indeed acknowledge God as the Judge and punisher of evildoers. Nevertheless, they look especially upon his clemency, since he is described to them in this manner:
“He is good and merciful, slow to anger and abundant in goodness, gracious to all, and extending his mercy over all his works.”
—Psalms 86:5, 15; 145:8–9
Moreover, it is not without reason that we enclose all the promises in Christ, since the Apostle comprehends the whole Gospel in the knowledge of him. In another passage he teaches:
“All the promises of God are in him Yes and Amen.”
That is to say, they are ratified in him. The reason for this is evident. For whatever good the Lord promises, he thereby testifies to his goodwill, so that there are no promises from him that are not testimonies of his love.
This is not contradicted by the fact that the more benefits the wicked receive from his hand, the more guilty they become and the more severe the judgment they incur. For since they neither consider nor acknowledge that the blessings they possess come to them from the hand of God—or, if they acknowledge it, do not ponder his goodness in their hearts—they can no more comprehend his truth than brute beasts, which, according to the nature given them, receive the same fruit of his generosity without acknowledging it in any way.
Nor does it contradict what we have said that, by rejecting the promises addressed to them, they thereby gather a more severe vengeance against themselves. For although the power of the promises is finally displayed when they are received by us, their truth and proper character are never extinguished by our unbelief or ingratitude.
Therefore, since the Lord by his promises invites and summons men not only to receive the fruits of his goodness but also to recognize and esteem them, he likewise declares his love toward them. We must therefore return to this point: every promise is a testimony of God’s love toward us.
Now it is beyond dispute that no one is loved by God outside Christ, since he is the beloved Son in whom the Father’s affection rests:
“This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” —Matthew 17:5
Therefore, this love must come to us through him. For this reason the Apostle calls him our peace:
“He is our peace.”
And in another passage he presents him as the bond by which the Father’s goodwill is joined to us:
“Nothing shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Jesus Christ our Lord.”
It follows that we must always look to Christ whenever any promise is offered to us. Saint Paul therefore speaks rightly when he teaches that all God’s promises are confirmed and fulfilled in him.
The bare declaration that we possess the word of God ought indeed to be sufficient to engender faith within us, were it not that our blindness and stubbornness hindered it. But because our mind is inclined to vanity, it can never adhere to the truth of God; and because it is stupefied, it cannot behold his light. Therefore, the word by itself profits nothing without the illumination of the Holy Spirit. From this it is evident that faith surpasses all human understanding.
Nor is it enough for the understanding to be illuminated by the Spirit of God unless the heart is also strengthened by his power. In this matter the Sorbonne theologians err most grievously, for they think that faith is merely an assent to the word of God residing in the understanding, while leaving behind the confidence and certainty of the heart.
Faith, therefore, is a singular gift of God in two respects: first, because the human understanding is illuminated to perceive the truth of God; and then because the heart is strengthened in that truth.
It is indeed an opinion very strange to the world when it is said that no one can believe in Christ except the person to whom it is particularly given. This is partly because men do not consider how lofty and difficult to comprehend heavenly wisdom is, nor how great their dullness and weakness are in comprehending the mysteries of God. It is also partly because they do not regard that firmness of heart which is the principal part of faith.
This error is easily refuted. For, as Saint Paul says:
“Who knows the things of a man except the spirit of the man that is within him?”
How, then, could a creature be certain of the will of God? And if the truth of God is doubtful to us even in the things we presently see with our eyes, how could it be firm and indubitable when the Lord promises us things the eye does not see and the understanding cannot comprehend?
Human wisdom is so stupefied and bewildered here that the first step toward making progress in the Lord’s school is to renounce it. For by it, as by an intervening veil, we are prevented from comprehending the mysteries of God, which are revealed only to little children:
“You have hidden these things from the wise and understanding and have revealed them to little children.” —Matthew 11:25; Luke 10:21
Indeed, flesh and blood do not reveal them:
“Flesh and blood have not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven.”
And the natural man is incapable of understanding spiritual things. On the contrary, the doctrine of God is foolishness to him, because it can be known only spiritually:
“The natural man does not receive the things of the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him, and he cannot know them because they are spiritually discerned.”
Therefore, the help of the Holy Spirit is necessary to us here—or rather, his power alone reigns here.
“Who has known the mind of the Lord, or who has been his counselor?”
But:
“The Spirit searches all things, even the hidden things of God,” and through him “we know the mind of Christ.” —1 Corinthians 2:10, 16
The Lord Jesus says:
“No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him. Therefore, everyone who has heard my Father and learned from him comes to me—not that anyone has seen the Father except him who is sent from God.”
Therefore, just as we cannot approach Christ unless we are drawn by the Spirit of God, so when we are drawn, we are carried altogether beyond our own understanding. For the soul, being enlightened by him, receives, as it were, a new eye with which to behold the heavenly mysteries, by whose brightness it was formerly dazzled.
Thus, when the human understanding is illumined by the light of the Holy Spirit, it then begins to taste the things belonging to the kingdom of God, of which it could previously have no perception. Therefore, although our Lord Jesus Christ explains the mysteries of his kingdom most clearly and properly to the two disciples mentioned by Saint Luke, he accomplishes nothing until:
“He opens their minds to understand the Scriptures.” —Luke 24:45
In the same manner, after the Apostles had been instructed by his divine mouth, it was still necessary for the Spirit of truth to be sent to them, to give entrance into their understandings to the doctrine they had previously received through their ears:
“When the Spirit of truth comes, he will lead you into all truth.”
The word of God is like the sun, for it shines upon all to whom it is proclaimed, but without effect among the blind. Now we are all naturally blind in this respect. Therefore, the word cannot enter our minds unless the Spirit of God, who is the inward teacher, gives it entrance by his illumination.
It remains, then, that what the understanding has received should be planted in the heart. For if the word of God merely flutters about in the head, it has not yet been received by faith. Its true reception occurs only when it has taken root in the depths of the heart, so as to become an invincible fortress for withstanding and repelling every assault of temptation.
Now, if it is true that the proper understanding of our mind comes from the illumination of the Spirit of God, his power appears much more evidently in such a strengthening of the heart. For there is more distrust in the heart than blindness in the mind, and it is more difficult to give assurance to the heart than to instruct the understanding.
Therefore, the Holy Spirit serves as a seal to imprint upon our hearts the same promises he first impressed upon our understanding, and as a pledge to confirm and ratify them. As the Apostle says:
“After you believed, you were sealed with the promised Spirit, who is the pledge of your inheritance.”
Do you see how he shows that the hearts of believers are marked by the Holy Spirit as by a seal, and how he calls him the Spirit of promise because he makes the Gospel certain to us? Likewise, he says to the Corinthians:
“God, who has anointed us, has also sealed us and given the pledge of his Spirit in our hearts.”
Again, in another place, when speaking of the confidence and boldness of our hope, he places its foundation in the pledge of the Spirit:
“He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us the pledge of the Spirit.”
From this we may judge how pernicious the doctrine of the Sophistical theologians is when they teach that we can determine nothing concerning the grace of God within us except by moral conjecture, according as each person considers himself not unworthy of it.
Certainly, if we must judge from our works what disposition God has toward us, I confess that we cannot comprehend it by even the slightest conjecture. But since faith must correspond to the simple and free promise of God, no room remains for doubt. For with what confidence shall we be armed against the devil if we think that God is gracious toward us only under the condition that we deserve his favor?
But since we have reserved a separate discussion for this subject, we will not pursue it further at present, especially because it is evident that nothing is more contrary to faith than conjecture or any other persuasion approaching doubt and uncertainty.
To confirm this error, they always have upon their lips a passage from Ecclesiastes, which they wickedly corrupt:
“No one knows whether he is worthy of hatred or love.” —Ecclesiastes 9:1
Even if I leave aside the fact that this sentence has been poorly rendered in the common translation, little children can still see what Solomon intended to say. His meaning is that if anyone attempts to judge from present circumstances who is loved and who is hated by God, he will labor in vain, since prosperity and adversity are common both to the righteous and the wicked, both to the person who serves God and to the person who pays him no regard.
It follows that God does not always testify his love toward those whom he causes to prosper temporally, nor does he declare his hatred toward those whom he afflicts. Solomon says this to rebuke the vanity of the human understanding, since it is so stupefied when considering matters of the greatest importance. As he had said shortly before, one cannot discern how the soul of man differs from the soul of a beast, because it appears that both die the same death:
“As the one dies, so dies the other.”
If anyone wished to infer from this that the doctrine we hold concerning human immortality rests upon nothing but conjecture, would we not rightly judge him to be mad? Are these men, then, of sound mind when they argue that there is no certainty of God’s grace among men simply because it cannot be comprehended by a fleshly examination of present circumstances?
But they allege that it is rash presumption to attribute to ourselves an undoubted knowledge of the divine will. I would grant them this if we undertook to subject the incomprehensible counsel of God to the narrow limits of our understanding. But when we simply say with Saint Paul:
“We have received, not the spirit of this world, but the Spirit who proceeds from God, that we might know the things God has given us.”
what can they murmur against this without insulting the Spirit of God? If it is a horrible sacrilege to suspect any revelation proceeding from him of falsehood, uncertainty, or ambiguity, how do we err by affirming the certainty of what he has revealed to us?
But they again maintain that we act rashly in daring thus to glory in the Spirit of Christ. In this they display their profound stupidity.
Who would imagine that those who wish to make themselves teachers of the whole world could be so ignorant as to err so grossly in the first elements of Christianity? Indeed, I would find it unbelievable if their writings did not bear witness to it.
Saint Paul declares that none are children of God except those who are led by his Spirit:
“As many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the children of God.”
These men would have the children of God guided by their own spirits while being empty of the Spirit of God.
Saint Paul teaches that we cannot call God our Father unless the Spirit impresses this cry within us, for he alone can bear witness to our souls that we are the children of God:
“You have received the Spirit of adoption, by whom we cry, ‘Abba, Father.’ The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are the children of God.”
These men, although they do not forbid us to call upon God, deprive us of the Spirit by whose guidance we must invoke him.
Saint Paul denies that anyone who is not led by the Spirit of Christ belongs to him:
“If anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, he is not his.” —Romans 8:9
These men invent a Christianity that has no need of the Spirit of Christ.
Saint Paul gives us no hope of the blessed resurrection unless we know the Holy Spirit to be dwelling within us:
“If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead shall also give life to your mortal bodies by his Spirit dwelling in you.” —Romans 8:11
These men imagine a hope empty of any such knowledge.
Perhaps they will reply that they do not deny the necessity of the Holy Spirit, but that in humility and modesty we ought to suppose we do not possess him. But what, then, does the Apostle mean when he commands the Corinthians:
“Examine yourselves and prove whether Jesus Christ dwells in you,”
adding that whoever does not possess this knowledge is reprobate?
“Do you not know yourselves, that Jesus Christ is in you, unless you are reprobates?”
Saint John likewise says:
“By the Spirit whom he has given us, we know that he dwells in us.”
And what else do we do but call the promises of Jesus Christ into doubt when we wish to be his servants without his Spirit, seeing that he declared he would pour him out upon all his people?
“I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh.”
What else do we do but rob the Holy Spirit of his glory when we separate faith from him, although faith is properly his work?
Since these things are the first lessons we must learn in our religion, it is great blindness to accuse Christians of arrogance when they glory in the presence of the Holy Spirit, without whom there is no Christianity. Indeed, by their own example these men demonstrate the truth of what the Lord says: that his Spirit is unknown to the world and is known only by those in whom he dwells:
“The world cannot receive him, because it neither sees nor knows him; but you know him, because he dwells with you and shall be in you.”
And so that they may overthrow the foundations of faith on every side, they attack them from yet another direction. They say that although we may judge the grace of God according to the righteousness in which we presently stand, the certainty of our hope must nevertheless remain in suspense.
A fine confidence of salvation would remain to us if we could do nothing more than suppose, by what they call “moral conjecture,” that we are presently in the grace of God while not knowing what may happen tomorrow. The Apostle speaks very differently:
“I am certain that neither angels nor powers nor principalities, neither death nor life, neither things present nor things to come, shall be able to separate us from the love with which God embraces us in Jesus Christ.”
They attempt to escape by a frivolous answer, saying that the Apostle possessed this certainty by a special revelation. But they are held too firmly by his words to escape so easily. For there he treats the blessings that proceed from faith generally to all believers, not something he experienced only in his own person.
“Yes,” they say, “but he himself endeavors to make us afraid by reminding us of our weakness and instability when he says”:
“Let him who thinks he stands take heed lest he fall.” —1 Corinthians 10:12
That is true. Yet he does not give us a fear intended to terrify us, but only to teach us to humble ourselves beneath the mighty hand of God, as Saint Peter declares:
“Humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God.” —1 Peter 5:6
Moreover, what madness is it to limit the certainty of faith to a brief period of time, when it properly belongs to faith to pass beyond the present life and extend into future immortality?
Therefore, when believers acknowledge that it comes from the grace of God that, being enlightened by his Spirit, they enjoy by faith the contemplation of the life to come, such glorying is so far from deserving the charge of arrogance that anyone ashamed to confess it displays extreme ingratitude rather than modesty or humility, since he suppresses and obscures the goodness of God that he ought to magnify.
By the same reasoning, two other falsehoods of the Sophists are likewise overthrown. The first is their notion that faith is “formed” when a good affection is added to the knowledge of God. The second is that, by bestowing the name of faith upon ignorance and lack of knowledge of God, they deceive ordinary people, persuading them that ignorance does not prevent a person from possessing what they call “implicit faith.”
As to the first, they show plainly enough that they do not understand the nature of faith’s assent in receiving the truth of God, since they fabricate an “unformed faith” consisting of a bare and frivolous assent. For we have already declared that the assent of faith belongs more to the heart than to the mind, and more to the affections than to mere understanding.
For this reason, faith is called obedience, above which the Lord prefers no other service:
“Through Jesus Christ we have received grace and apostleship for the obedience of faith.”