Calvin's Response to Pighius On Book Six [of Pighius]

In his sixth book, Pighius tries to address the strong counterarguments that we have used to defend our teaching. He says his aim is to refute these arguments, yet he quickly shifts to distracting his readers from actually considering them. He urges his readers to ignore any scriptural passages that we bring forward by keeping them within the “fence” of church consensus, implying that stepping even slightly away from it is dangerous. But what if Scripture itself clearly teaches something different? Pighius insists that his readers remain unmoved, even if they see it plainly in the text, suggesting they should doubt their own eyes if Scripture appears to contradict church consensus.

Later, he regains his confidence, aiming to show that my arguments lack any real force. I had previously noted in The Institutes that for centuries it has been commonly believed that man possesses a freedom of will in all things, both good and evil—meaning that no one is compelled to sin, nor does anyone naturally incline toward the good apart from the Spirit of God. Pighius brings in a collection of ancient writers to prove that this view is the longstanding position of the church. However, his efforts are wasted, as I have already addressed and made peace with these writers in my earlier arguments.

Pighius distorts my teachings, making it appear that I advocate for coercion, even though I frequently stress that a work must be voluntary to be truly good or evil. I have worked diligently to clarify that our actions are not forced but shaped by God’s work within us. The real dispute between Pighius and me lies in this: we both agree that God deserves credit for any good in us. Yet, when I describe God as actively forming and directing our hearts toward good, Pighius objects. He argues that while God is responsible for the beginning of good in us, part of the responsibility must remain with us.

When I reference Paul’s words, “He who began a good work in you will complete it” (Phil. 1:6), and explain that God starts this work by stirring our love for righteousness and guiding our hearts toward it, Pighius initially accepts my words. However, he objects to my description of God as “bending” and “directing” our hearts, finding these terms foreign. Yet, these are not new words; they are rooted in Scripture and have been used by the faithful throughout history. In Psalm 119, David prays, “Incline my heart to your testimonies.” Similarly, Solomon declares, “The king’s heart is like streams of water in the hand of the Lord; he turns it wherever he will” (Prov. 21:1).

Pighius further accuses me of promoting a new, strange language unfamiliar to believers, but his objection seems born of ignorance. He is offended by expressions that Scripture itself often uses and that the church fathers, especially Augustine, have employed. Yet, his complaint rests not on biblical teaching but on his own misunderstandings. Paul himself uses language that describes the heart as under God’s guidance, and this is no new teaching—it is the very voice of the Spirit.

Pighius even goes so far as to say I depict God’s influence on our hearts as a sort of possession, akin to the control evil spirits have over the possessed. This accusation is baseless. I have plainly stated that humans naturally have the will to act, but, due to sin’s corruption, we tend toward evil on our own. Therefore, the ability to will rightly is a gift from God, not something that forces us against our will, but that lovingly transforms our desires.

Pighius accuses me of denying that human will can be good on its own, even with some assistance from grace. He claims I take this view too far by stating that God must completely transform the human heart to produce any good within it. I reference the prophet Ezekiel, where God says, "I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh" (Ezek. 36:26). By this, I mean that God does not merely support a human will that is naturally weak but inclined to good. Rather, He entirely renews it, for without this transformation, the human heart can yield no true good.

Pighius, however, dismisses this view, accusing me of leading people astray and of twisting Scripture. He argues that the command in Ezekiel for people to “cast away iniquities” and “make a new heart” (Ezek. 18:31) suggests human capability and responsibility. He insists that these commands imply that people can partly effect their own transformation, in cooperation with grace. He assumes that if God commands something, it must be possible by human effort, even if aided by grace.

Yet, Pighius overlooks a crucial truth: the purpose of God’s law is to reveal human inability, not to confirm human capability. As Paul teaches, the law ultimately “kills” (2 Cor. 3:6) because, without God’s Spirit, we are powerless to fulfill it. The law’s commands are meant to humble us, leading us to seek grace when we see our failure and need.

This is why Jeremiah prophesies a new covenant, where God will not merely preach His commands externally but will inscribe them directly onto our hearts (Jer. 31:33). The old covenant, based on external commands, could not be kept due to human rebellion. The new covenant, however, promises that God will write His law within us, transforming us from the inside out through His Spirit.

If Pighius understood the depth of human weakness and our dependence on God, he would not assume that simply being commanded implies capability. Instead, he would recognize, as Scripture shows, that true obedience is only possible through a heart transformed by the Spirit of God.

Pighius argues that if God’s promises show conversion to be solely God’s work, then the commandments imply that we can fully obey on our own without God’s help, since the commandments place requirements on us without explicitly mentioning grace. But he misses the purpose of God’s commandments entirely. The law is not meant to imply that we can fulfill it through our strength but to show us our weakness and lead us to rely on God’s grace. In contrast, the promises show that God alone fulfills His work in us. He says, “I will give you a new heart; I will cause you to walk in my ways” (Ezek. 36:26-27). These promises place all responsibility on God and do not rely on human effort to be fulfilled.

By giving commands, God does not grant us new strength or commend any ability within us. Instead, He shows us our inability, so we realize we must look beyond ourselves for the help we need. Pighius’s attempt to assign a “moderate” balance between God’s work and our efforts is misguided. The promises point us to God’s gracious work, while the law drives us to seek His grace by revealing our total insufficiency.

Pighius’s idea that we work alongside God in our spiritual renewal is a dangerous mixture. He suggests that in the work of our soul’s transformation, God and man have an equal role. According to him, God converts us, but we also convert ourselves; we crucify our sinful nature, yet God renews us. He draws this supposed equality from the fact that God commands us to do what He also promises to accomplish. However, God’s promises assure us of what He alone will do. The commandments, on the other hand, reveal our lack of power and are given to drive us to depend fully on God’s strength, not on any imagined capacity of our own.

Pighius reacts strongly, almost as if he’s struck with disbelief, when I say that describing the human heart as “stony” means that it must be completely transformed for any good to come from it. He assumes I am speaking of the heart’s very substance rather than its nature or quality. He imagines I am suggesting the heart itself is literally stone before God changes it. But the prophet’s metaphor of a "heart of stone" transformed into "a heart of flesh" clearly refers to a change in its nature or disposition, not in its material substance.

Pighius attempts to trap me with what he thinks is clever reasoning. Since I affirm that the heart, in Scripture, often represents the will, he argues that I must be claiming a transformation in the power or capacity to will itself. But Pighius mistakenly equates the ability to will with the moral character of that will. In my response, I draw a logical distinction that even a beginner in philosophy should understand: between the substance of the will (the ability to choose) and its moral inclination (how it wills).

Using simple categories, I laid out that the will itself remains constant in all people, but its character varies. The will can be inclined toward good or evil, depending on whether it is naturally corrupt or renewed by the Spirit of God. This distinction is not difficult to grasp and is foundational to the biblical teaching on the transformation of the heart.

David’s plea to God, “Create in me a clean heart, O God” (Psalm 51:10), reflects the same understanding. David seeks not a new physical heart, nor a new power to will, but a renewed spirit inclined to righteousness. It is this profound change—a heart now inclined to obey God—that Scripture celebrates. In the end, Pighius’s objections fall flat, as he misunderstands both the intent of Scripture and the nature of true spiritual renewal.

In summary, I argue that the human will is not evil by God’s design but is corrupted by sin. This corruption remains until God’s grace transforms it through the Holy Spirit. This change is not a replacement of the will itself but a renewal of its disposition, making it inclined toward righteousness rather than rebellion. When David prays for a “new heart” (Psalm 51:10), he is asking for this inward transformation, not a replacement of his heart’s substance. However, Pighius misunderstands, accusing me of suggesting that the heart’s actual essence is altered.

Pighius interprets the biblical imagery of a “heart of stone” turning to “a heart of flesh” (Ezek. 36:26) as merely a call for us to soften our hearts, as though we have the power to make ourselves spiritually responsive. But the Scriptures show that God alone transforms our hardened hearts. In Ezekiel, the Lord speaks of removing the “heart of stone”—a metaphor for our natural, obstinate opposition to God—and giving a “heart of flesh,” a new disposition that responds willingly to His commands. God promises to “cause” us to walk in His ways, not simply to give us the option. This transformation by grace leads us to actually follow His commands, not merely to have the potential to do so.

By downplaying this divine action, Pighius diminishes the power and necessity of grace. He limits God’s promise to a mere enabling, implying that God’s role is simply to make us capable of obedience without securing that obedience in us. But God declares that He will inscribe His law upon our hearts (Jer. 31:33), meaning He will actually shape us to love His righteousness. This is a transformation of the will’s disposition, enabling us to desire and act according to God’s ways.

In contrast to Pighius’s claim that spiritual hardness is merely a bad habit, Scripture reveals it as an innate rebellion within all humanity due to our corrupted nature. Only God’s grace can change this condition, replacing our natural opposition with a heart ready to follow Him. This transformation is not something we can achieve on our own but is wholly a work of divine grace.

To clarify my point: the prophet makes it clear that human will isn’t just weak and in need of extra help to desire what’s good. Augustine explains this in Grace and Free Choice and his letter to Vitalis, arguing that our will doesn’t start with any good impulse that God simply assists; rather, it is entirely corrupt and opposed to God until God transforms it.

When I say that “everything which is ours” must be removed in regeneration, Pighius misinterprets me to mean that both body and soul are annihilated when we turn to God. But this is not my meaning. Augustine expressed it well when he said that whatever righteousness we have is from God, while anything we can call our own is only sin (Homily on John 49). By “everything which is ours,” I mean the sinful corruption that pervades our nature as a result of the fall, which affects every part of us.

Pighius then argues that if our reasoning and will need complete renewal, that would mean our very soul must be replaced, as reasoning and willing are inseparable from the soul. But he overlooks that these capacities can take on corrupted qualities due to sin. The soul itself doesn’t need replacing, but its reasoning and willing are tainted by sin and need renewal. So, I maintain that, because sin has fully tainted our soul’s powers, everything corrupted within us must be remade. This doesn’t mean a new soul, but a new, purified disposition within us.

To summarize my argument: I assert that the will, naturally turned away from God, is only brought to Him through God’s power alone. The will plays no active role except as directed by God’s Spirit. Augustine captures this truth, saying that the will follows rather than leads. In this view, any good desire in our will originates solely from the Spirit’s renewal.

Pighius sees my view as an insult to God, claiming it implies that the will is bound to be separated from God because of a corrupted nature. However, I’ve already explained that humanity’s sinful state is our own doing, not God’s fault. Scripture consistently affirms the evil in human hearts, even without my input.

Pighius also challenges my claim that the will does not contribute to its own conversion unless it has been renewed. He asks, “If conversion depends solely on God’s will—where, when, and how He chooses—why does He repeatedly call us to turn to Him?” Isn’t it unjust, he argues, like asking a poor person to repay a debt they can’t afford?

But God calls us to conversion in a different way than Pighius suggests. When God commands us to turn to Him, He is not making empty demands; rather, He prepares us by His command to receive His promise. Through His Spirit, God inscribes His words on our hearts, so the call to turn to Him isn’t merely heard but made effective by the Spirit. This work, therefore, is both spoken and achieved by God Himself, who uses His call to transform us inwardly (2 Cor. 3). It’s not for us to dictate to God how He should work but to submit to His wisdom in calling and converting us as He wills.

In response to Pighius’s question about why God would offer His Word to the reprobate, who receive only a "dead letter" rather than true faith, I say this: God's instruction is always intended to bring salvation to those who believe. For those who reject it, however, it becomes a means of judgment rather than grace. Pighius, however, assumes that God wants all people to turn to Him equally and thus offers grace to everyone indiscriminately, making salvation dependent on their choice to accept or reject it. He interprets the prophetic calls to repentance—like “Return, and I will heal you” (Jeremiah 3:22) or “Return, and I will not turn my face away from you” (Jeremiah 18:11)—as if they imply that people must first turn on their own initiative for God to act.

I see these calls to repentance differently. They are assurances that if a person’s heart turns back to God, He will forgive and restore them. But because repentance is, in essence, a “spiritual resurrection,” I believe it is no more in a person’s power to make this change on their own than to give themselves life. True repentance is God’s work; it is a transformation that only He can accomplish.

Pighius then asks why the prophets call people to repentance if it is beyond human ability. The reason is that God has chosen to work through outward preaching, even though He is fully able to accomplish this inward change by His Spirit alone. When His Word is preached, God often writes these very truths on people’s hearts, making His message spiritually alive and effective through the Holy Spirit.

Pighius also argues that God requires humility and repentance before He will show favor, citing Isaiah: “To whom will I have regard, but to the humble and broken of spirit?” (Isaiah 66:2). But this requirement doesn’t conflict with God’s sovereign grace. As I’ve explained in my Institutes, God has regard for people in two ways: in one sense, He shows favor when He sees people’s repentance and humility; in another, He extends grace even while they are still in rebellion against Him. For example, Paul tells us that the Romans and Ephesians were reconciled to God when they were still His enemies, living in sin and without hope. This pattern of God’s mercy is evident throughout Paul’s letters. Paul himself was transformed by God’s intervention on the road to Damascus, not because he was seeking God but while he was actively opposing Him. God did not merely call out to Paul’s ears; He inscribed His law of obedience onto Paul’s heart by the Holy Spirit, making him willing where he had been unwilling.

So, I conclude that God, in His grace, transforms hearts and draws people to Himself, not because they prepare themselves, but by His sovereign initiative.

The prophet’s words, “I was found by those who did not seek me,” along with Paul’s explanation that the Gentiles found righteousness though they were not seeking it, highlight that God often reaches out to those who had no prior pursuit of Him (Romans 10:20). This was true from the beginning, even for Abraham and his descendants, who initially were not seeking after God but were graciously drawn near by Him. This shows that God’s acceptance of people happens in two ways. First, He loves and favors His chosen people even before they are called to Himself, and this love is given through Christ. Then, when He calls them, He reveals this love so they can recognize and enjoy it.

When God calls people to Himself, it is evident in their repentance and faith. The beginning of repentance involves a humble dissatisfaction with oneself, which leads to a softened, teachable spirit. At this point, God shows His regard for people in a way they can personally understand; He reveals Himself as their Father, confirming His kindness to them.

However, Pighius argues that God simply encourages the sinner to turn but does not make him turn by His own power. According to Pighius, it is up to us to return to God, and only after we turn does God receive us and give us life. In this view, God’s role is reduced to mere exhortation, as though He only urges us without actively enabling us. This teaching is essentially what Pelagius promoted—claiming that humans must take the initiative in returning to God, and God merely assists afterward. Even though Pighius admits that God provides help, he insists that man must first make the effort, giving man the lead role while relegating God to a secondary one.

A little later, Pighius goes even further than Pelagius in his views on how God converts us. He argues that God’s method of converting people involves only outward actions—showing patience by withholding punishment, giving time for repentance, and using various means such as encouragement, blessings, and even discipline. In this view, the whole work of God’s grace in conversion is limited to external influences, leaving out any mention of the internal work of the Holy Spirit in renewing and changing the heart.

By defining conversion this way, Pighius suggests that God's influence is entirely outward, effectively denying that there is any inward transformation or renewal of the heart through the Spirit’s power. His silence on the work of the Holy Spirit implies that he dismisses this essential aspect of conversion, as if the mere application of external means could bring about true repentance and faith without a change within. This neglect of the Spirit’s role is not just an omission; it reveals a fundamental misunderstanding of how deeply grace operates in the believer’s heart.

Pighius tries to use Scripture to support his argument that people initiate their own conversion. For example, he cites Jeremiah: “If you turn, I will cause you to turn” (Jer. 15). But Pighius misinterprets the context. In this passage, God is speaking to the prophet Jeremiah, who, overwhelmed by despair, begins to doubt his calling. God responds, encouraging him to return to trust and obedience, promising that He will restore Jeremiah’s faith and resolve.

In saying, "If you turn, I will cause you to turn," God is not suggesting that Jeremiah initiates his own change but rather that any return to faithfulness will ultimately be by God’s own enabling. This phrase serves as a gentle reminder of God’s grace—if Jeremiah returns, it will be because God has graciously caused him to.

Pighius also amasses other Scripture references where God rebukes the stubbornness of people who resist His kindness, using this to argue that, if people are condemned for not turning, then turning to God must be their own achievement. But while Scripture does reveal that people resist God out of their own sinful nature, it also clearly states that true conversion is a work of the Holy Spirit. Therefore, while stubbornness comes from the human heart, the ability to repent and turn back to God is fully a gift from God, not an act of human strength.

If Pighius’s objection were to be valid, he would have to prove that my teaching drives men to despair, just as Israel lamented, “Our sins are upon us; we are consumed by them” (Ezek. 33:10). He argues that if God alone turns our hearts, then the sinner might despair, believing himself condemned to perish unless God chooses to raise him. But this is a gross misunderstanding. When we recognize our own weakness and inability, it does not lead to hopelessness but directs us to seek God’s mercy. For God’s elect, this truth is a source of hope, as they look not to themselves but to the grace and strength God promises to supply. For the reprobate, who remain hardened, their ruin is not caused by God’s neglect but is rather a testimony to their own guilt and refusal of the divine call.

Consider the context of the passage Pighius cites from Ezekiel. The people’s complaint was not born of genuine humility or remorse; rather, it came from hardened hearts resentful of God’s judgments. Their question, “Why should we repent if God has already determined our destruction?” reveals a spirit of rebellion, not repentance. God’s reply, “I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked” (Ezek. 33:11), is not a statement of human power over salvation. It is a proclamation of God’s mercy and His continual offer of reconciliation to the wayward. Pighius, in his blindness, imagines that this means salvation is somehow within our control. Yet it is clear from the whole of Scripture that God’s Spirit alone can soften the heart, so that His call to repentance is fruitful.

Pighius further points to the decree of the king of Nineveh in response to Jonah’s warning, as if to suggest that the command to “turn from evil” indicates that repentance lies within our own grasp. Here again, he misinterprets the text. The king’s call to repentance was indeed his duty, but this does not mean that human strength alone could bring about conversion. Prophets, pastors, and kings alike must call sinners to repentance, yet it is God alone who brings life to the dead soul. The king’s decree did not signify that he, or the people, could turn themselves to God by sheer force of will; it was a plea for divine mercy, which God graciously answered. Just as God grants the grace to repent, He also chooses to accept that repentance as a work of His own Spirit in us, rather than human merit.

Finally, Pighius claims that the Ninevites’ repentance was rewarded by God as if it were the fruit of their own power, as if human effort alone had spared the city. Yet even their repentance was a gift from God, who worked in their hearts and withheld His wrath as an act of pure mercy. Here, I agree with Augustine, who says, “If our merits are of ourselves, they are evil; for them to be good, they must be gifts from God” (Grace and Free Choice, ch. 6). The Lord crowns His own work in us, recognizing the goodness He Himself has brought to life in our hearts. Thus, God’s mercy is not a reward for human striving; it is the overflowing of His goodness toward those who are wholly dependent on Him. Let Pighius learn from Augustine: the goodness in us is not ours to boast of; it is God’s alone, who gives, sustains, and crowns it.

Pighius argues that when Jesus says to Capernaum, “If the miracles done in you had been done in Tyre or Sidon or Sodom, they would have repented in sackcloth and ashes” (Matthew 11:21-23), this implies that God would have granted those cities repentance if He had shown them the same miracles. If that’s true, he says, why didn’t God perform miracles there if He knew they would repent? And why give miracles to Capernaum if they were going to reject them?

In response, I would say that Jesus here is not discussing why some are granted repentance while others are not. He’s highlighting how hardened Capernaum has become, despite the abundant signs and teachings they received. He compares them to other cities, saying that even the most stubborn hearts would have repented if they had seen the same miracles. Jesus isn’t implying that God withheld miracles to keep Tyre, Sidon, or Sodom from repentance. Instead, He emphasizes the unique privilege and responsibility of those who hear the gospel and witness God’s works, yet remain unmoved.

If Pighius insists on pressing the phrase, “they would have repented,” then he must answer this question: if God knew those cities would respond to His message, why didn’t He give them the same opportunities as Capernaum? Pighius’s reasoning leaves him entangled in his own arguments.

Next, Pighius lists God’s commands as evidence that we must have the power to prepare our hearts and respond to God’s call. He argues that it would be “madness” for God to command things beyond our capacity to fulfill. He cites Jeremiah’s words: “Let us examine our ways and return to the Lord; let us lift up our hearts with our hands to heaven, saying, ‘We have sinned…’” (Lamentations 3:40-41). Pighius claims this shows people can prepare for grace by selfexamination and repentance. To him, “lifting our hearts” means turning away from earthly desires, while “lifting our hands” means doing good works.

However, this argument twists Scripture to suit his point. “Lifting our hearts and hands” simply means turning to God in humility and prayer, acknowledging our need for His mercy. Pighius’s elaborate interpretation here is nothing more than unnecessary complication—filling simple phrases with imagined meanings that suit his own theology.

In reality, God’s commands reveal our need for His grace, not our own power. If anything, the commands lead us to acknowledge our inadequacy and drive us to rely on God’s Spirit. Rather than proving human ability, they show us how dependent we are on God’s mercy and the working of His Spirit within us.

Right after discussing preparation for repentance, Pighius shifts to the next phase, which he calls "conversion," or the main part of repentance. He claims that repentance itself is entirely within our own power. But what he describes as the beginning of repentance—the sinner’s shame and discomfort upon recognizing his own wrongdoing—is actually a work of God’s grace. In Ezekiel, God says to His people, "Though you have broken my covenant, I will remember it and make a new, everlasting covenant with you. Then you shall remember your ways and be ashamed" (Ezek. 16:60-63). Here, God takes the initiative, stirring His people to recognize and regret their sins. Pighius imagines that man takes the first step toward God, but the Lord shows that He Himself initiates this change in the heart.

Then, regarding prayer, Pighius claims that people take the first step by calling on God of their own strength, thereby anticipating His grace. But Paul states clearly: "How shall they call on him in whom they have not believed?" (Rom. 10:14). Paul shows that calling on God flows from faith, which itself is a gift of God. Faith is the root, and calling on God is the fruit. But where does this faith come from if not from God? Pighius might go as far as to claim that faith itself is something we prepare on our own. Yet Augustine reminds us, “Faith strengthens us to pray so that we may be heard, to seek so that we may find, and to knock so that the door may be opened” (The Perfection of Righteousness).

Pighius also uses Solomon’s words to argue that people have the power to prepare their hearts on their own, quoting, “The preparations of the heart belong to man” (Prov. 16:1). But this verse doesn’t mean that man controls his heart; rather, it’s a subtle irony. Solomon is pointing out human arrogance, in which people take on the greatest tasks as though they control their own hearts, though they can’t even manage the smallest things—such as guiding their own tongues. The verse warns against human pride, showing that apart from God, even the smallest efforts are futile. Yet Pighius twists this to suggest that man can somehow precede God’s grace.

Pighius argues that people can prepare their hearts in ways that are pleasing to God, and he attempts to support this by misquoting David: “God heard the petition of the poor; Your ear heard the preparation of their heart” (Ps. 10:17). But the original text actually says, “You will prepare their heart; Your ear will hear.” Here, David affirms that it is God, not the person, who prepares the heart. Pighius, by using a poor translation, tries to twist this verse to suggest that human effort somehow competes with God’s grace.

Pighius also points to Rehoboam’s failure as proof that people can prepare their hearts to seek God, saying Rehoboam lost his kingdom because he “did not prepare his heart to seek the Lord” (2 Chron. 12:14). Pighius asks, if people cannot prepare their hearts for God, why would Scripture specifically mention this failure in Rehoboam? His mistake here is assuming that every person naturally has a “tractable heart” that can turn to God without the Spirit’s influence. The real meaning is that Rehoboam did not direct his heart toward God, a trait common to all who are hardened against Him.

Scripture distinguishes between two types of hearts: one hardened by sin and rebellion, and the other softened and made obedient by God’s Spirit. Without God’s intervention, all human hearts are hardened, inclined to evil, and incapable of seeking good. But when God replaces a “heart of stone” with a “heart of flesh” (Ezek. 36:26), He makes it receptive and obedient to His law, inscribing it on the heart itself. Those whom God renews are willing and able to serve Him; those who remain hardened in sin resist Him by their own stubbornness. Thus, people who are, by nature, identical in their inability to seek God are transformed only by God’s grace or remain resistant by His judgment. This is not my invention but the clear teaching of Scripture, which leaves no confusion on the matter.

Pighius claims to find proof of human ability to prepare for God’s grace in David’s words: “God heard the petition of the poor; your ear heard the preparation of their heart.” Yet his interpretation, due to poor translation, is flawed. The text literally reads, “You will prepare their heart.” This speaks not of any preparation originating from the person but of God Himself preparing the heart. Pighius attempts to make it sound as if human effort could equal the work of God’s grace, but he does so by misreading the text.

He also points to the downfall of Rehoboam, arguing that the king’s failure to “direct his heart” toward God is evidence that people inherently have this ability. Pighius asks, if humans cannot prepare their hearts for God, why does Scripture even mention Rehoboam’s failure? But he misses the true point: the passage does not imply that Rehoboam had a natural, godly inclination to prepare his heart without God’s intervention. Rather, it simply observes that he did not turn to God—a sign of his ungodly character.

This confusion is common in Pighius’s arguments, as he often fails to distinguish between the natural state of humans, who are inclined toward sin, and the transformed state of those who are directed by God’s Spirit. Scripture teaches that all humanity has a natural heart of stone, resistant to God, until God Himself applies the “cure” by His Spirit (Ezekiel 36:26). When God transforms the heart, making it a “heart of flesh,” it becomes capable of willing and obeying Him.

Thus, those with hearts softened by God’s grace live in obedience to Him, while those left in their natural state remain hardened, stubborn, and defiant. In their unchanged state, people cannot rightly follow God’s commands. But once God gives the heart a new disposition, the person is inclined to follow His will. In short, the obedience of the godly is entirely a work of God, while the rebelliousness of the ungodly is their own doing. In this, the distinction between the elect and the reprobate lies in God’s grace, not human merit.

So then, Scripture is clear: the change of heart that enables us to seek God comes only from Him, and this work cannot be claimed as human preparation for grace. All of it depends upon God’s intervention and His Spirit working within us.

Pighius, as he often does, returns to the commandments, suggesting that faithful people throughout history have been able to fulfill God’s commands. He points to David urging the people to offer their hearts to God, and Hezekiah encouraging Israel not to be stubborn but to submit to the Lord. Scripture even records that people from all over Israel gathered and surrendered their hearts to God. Who could deny this? But Pighius overlooks an essential point: Scripture also notes that it was only those “whose hearts the Lord had touched” who truly surrendered to Him. The real issue is whether such acts of devotion arise from human effort alone or are led and inspired by the Holy Spirit.

In an attempt to unite free will with grace, Pighius argues that God’s gifts, like wisdom, are given only to those who seek them humbly. According to him, wisdom is not imposed by God but received only by those who prepare their hearts for it. But here he misses a fundamental truth: even humility itself is a gift from God. Can he really claim that humility is self-generated? The faithful know well that all good things, including humility, come from God’s grace alone.

Pighius implies that if God grants grace without regard to a person’s preparation, then God is unfair to those He passes over. If God stood trial under Pighius’s standards, He would be judged as unjust. Yet God Himself declares that it is His own grace alone that sets His people apart; without it, all would remain equally in sin. Pighius’s argument, then, is as futile as “throwing stones at heaven” only for them to fall back upon himself.

He may protest endlessly, even pronounce curses on those who deny human ability to merit God’s grace. But without stronger arguments from Scripture, his objections are as weak as “barking at the wind.” God’s truth, founded upon His sovereignty and grace, is too firmly established to be shaken by such empty reasoning.

In moving to his next point, Pighius attempts to refute my arguments and claims to Scripture. I had written in Institutes that the human will cannot be seen as something that independently follows the leading of God’s grace, as though it cooperates through its own separate power. Instead, the will’s readiness to receive and follow the Spirit comes only after it has been renewed by God, making it willing and responsive to His influence. Pighius dismisses this as incoherent, claiming not even I understand my own point. Furthermore, he accuses me of outright impiety, alleging I’ve wrongly invoked Augustine’s support by carelessly misreading him. If only Pighius had approached the Scriptures with the same diligence he claims I lack! I will let the evidence speak for itself on that matter.

In addressing the issue at hand, I had criticized Chrysostom’s statement that neither grace alone nor the human will alone could produce any good without the other. Pighius accuses me of unfairly attributing this idea to Chrysostom alone, insisting that it’s a broadly accepted view in the church and even affirmed by Augustine. He cites a passage from the Hypognosticon, a work often attributed to Augustine. Although the language here is somewhat similar to Chrysostom’s, the meaning is fundamentally different. The author of the Hypognosticon suggests that good works result from both grace and free will, comparing the process to a rider guiding a horse: while the horse does the running, it stays on course only through the rider’s guidance. He further explains that the will, like a straying beast, is aimless in worldly pursuits until the Spirit of God enters, leading it back to the way of righteousness. Once guided, it continues on the right path only through the ongoing direction of the Spirit.

Thus, he concludes that while the will does “run,” it is God who keeps it on course, making it reach its intended destination.

I have always maintained that the will itself, the capacity to choose, remains intact within us. However, the ability to will and do what is good is not ours by nature; it is solely a gift from God’s grace. In this, I see no contradiction in saying that our will, in its natural state, is capable of choosing but is so corrupted that it chooses only evil. When God’s Spirit renews the will, it acquires a new inclination toward righteousness, and this transformation is entirely God’s doing. The will, therefore, belongs to man, yet it is only by the preceding work of God that it turns toward good.

I find no problem in saying that the will “goes along with” grace, much as matter conforms to form. Just as the matter of clay is shaped by the potter, so too is our will shaped by God’s Spirit. Our ability to will rightly does not come from us; rather, it is the Spirit that reforms our nature and gives it a new disposition toward good. Yet Chrysostom’s view distorts this truth by suggesting that grace depends on human cooperation for its effectiveness. Pighius, in his turn, clings to Chrysostom’s error and deceives himself—and others —by failing to distinguish words from their intended meaning.

Augustine rightly dismissed as absurd the idea that God’s mercy would be ineffective unless it received support from our will. As he writes, “It is not of him who wills or runs, but of God who shows mercy” (Romans 9:16). God alone prepares the will so that it can receive grace and assists it even after it has been prepared. He goes before the unwilling soul to make it willing and continues to support it so that it does not will in vain. This is the very doctrine I affirm: God’s grace is wholly sufficient.

Yet Pighius asserts that I destroy free will altogether, as if I taught that the very substance of the will is obliterated. This is nonsense. I have never said that the essence of the will must be destroyed. Rather, I have always spoken of the corruption of its quality, the inclination that is hostile to God, which must be transformed by grace. When Augustine spoke of “prevenient grace” that prepares free will to do good, he did not speak of human effort as preceding God’s grace; rather, he showed that it is grace that both initiates and completes the good in us, while free will follows.

Pighius, however, attempts to twist Augustine’s words, imagining that he condemns my teaching. Augustine’s words—“Grace does the work, directs it, and completes it, even as it engages the will”—could almost have been penned by me, for they reflect my own conviction that all our good works flow from God’s gracious initiative, not from our own strength. If Pighius cannot see this, it is due not only to blindness but to malice.

Pighius continues his critique of my arguments with the same flawed reasoning he has employed before. To begin, he claims he has already adequately responded to my citation of Jeremiah, where God says, “I will put the fear of my name into their hearts, so they will not turn away from me,” and, “I will give them a new heart, so that they will fear me all their days” (Jer. 32:40, Ezek. 11:19). However, Pighius’s so-called response is merely a contradiction. The Lord plainly declares that He is the one who causes us to remain faithful to Him. He clarifies this by saying He grants us a new heart and implants reverence for Him within us.

Pighius, however, insists that God’s grace merely gives us the ability to stay faithful, should we choose to do so. Further, he suggests that we must first seek God on our own initiative before receiving grace. Such an idea lacks scriptural support, yet Pighius seems to expect it to be accepted without question.

When I reference the prayers of the saints asking God to “direct their hearts” and “create in [them] a clean heart” (Psalm 51:10), he counters by citing God’s commands for us to direct our own hearts. But there should be no confusion: by praying in this way, the saints acknowledge that their ability to do good ultimately comes from God. Commands, on the other hand, reveal our duty, not our capacity to fulfill it without divine help.

Pighius claims that the prayers of the saints reflect only their desire for grace, arguing that this contradicts my view that we do not prepare ourselves to receive grace. Yet these prayers clearly reflect the saints’ dependence on God to sustain the work He began. As David and Solomon cry, “Direct our hearts, O God,” they acknowledge that it is God who must complete the renewal He has started. In these prayers, they are not claiming any ability of their own but pleading for God to fulfill what only He can complete.

Pighius has not yet managed to undermine the teaching that directing human hearts toward righteousness is solely the work of God. I pointed out that God requires nothing of us more urgently than that we observe His Sabbath—a true Sabbath rest that means resting from our own works (Isaiah 58:13-14). Pighius counters that God only wants us to refrain from "servile" work, not from acts of devotion and obedience. Yet, my purpose in mentioning the Sabbath was to emphasize that even fearing God and following His ways are not tasks we achieve on our own. When God commands us to rest from our works, He highlights that, in ourselves, our works amount to nothing but sin. Isaiah confirms this by saying the Sabbath is violated when we impose our own will on it. The real meaning of Sabbath, as Paul points out in Romans 6, is that our sinful nature—the “old man”—is crucified, something that Pighius overlooks entirely.

Next, I referenced Christ’s words: “I am the true vine, you are the branches. Just as a branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it remains in the vine, so neither can you, unless you abide in me, for without me you can do nothing” (John 15:1-5). Here, Pighius sees support for his own view, arguing that the relationship between the vine and branches illustrates both free choice and grace. According to him, the vine gives life, while the branch (us) brings forth fruit through its own effort, suggesting a partnership. But Christ’s meaning is simpler and far more profound. Just as a branch detached from the vine becomes entirely lifeless, so, without being joined to Christ, we are utterly powerless to bring forth spiritual life. Even while connected to Him, we depend on God’s constant care to be fruitful. Those who understand this analogy as Christ intended will not be led astray by the confusion Pighius tries to introduce.

But Pighius tries to twist even this clear teaching. He insists that, like a branch, we bear fruit by our own life-giving ability, even if that life comes from God. If he merely means that God has given us faculties like the will, judgment, and strength to act, I agree. But if he implies that any good we do is partly due to us rather than wholly to God, he is clearly mistaken. Scripture tells us that both good and evil actions are called “fruit,” but apart from Christ, we can produce only the fruit of sin and death. We need grace to bear good fruit. Left to ourselves, we are barren of anything good and prolific in wrongdoing.

I would also like to know if Pighius believes everyone is naturally joined to Christ or if he admits that this union is a unique blessing of grace, beyond natural ability. If he concedes this—as he must—then what becomes of his idea that free choice has a role in preparing us for grace? Paul settles the matter by comparing those apart from Christ to wild olive branches (Romans 11:17), showing that, without being grafted into Christ, we can never bear the fruit that God desires.

Pighius thinks he has made his case by arguing that, if a branch cannot bear fruit unless it remains in the vine, then it must bear fruit naturally once it abides there. In his view, once we are in Christ, our will produces fruit “of itself.” He celebrates this point, but anyone can see the flaw in his reasoning. Christ’s words clearly mean that a branch is not fruitful by its own power; it only bears fruit if it abides in the vine. Pighius tries to twist the meaning, but his approach fails. Christ contrasts “of itself” with “in the vine,” implying that “of itself” means being separated from the vine. Without Christ, we are barren and unfruitful.

When Paul says, “It is God who works in us to will and to act according to his good pleasure” (Philippians 2:13), Pighius responds by claiming that the will also acts, as if that assertion changes anything. Yes, the will does act; the question is whether it acts independently or under God’s guidance. Paul’s point is that our will, directed by the Spirit, is turned toward the good by God’s work, not our own. Pighius’s response, therefore, lacks substance.

Regarding Paul’s statement that “God does all in all” (1 Corinthians 12:6), Pighius argues that while God is the ultimate cause, His creatures carry out their actions independently. However, Paul’s purpose in saying that God does all things is to emphasize that nothing happens apart from Him. This does not refer to God’s general rule over creation but specifically to His work in guiding believers through the Holy Spirit into obedience. By missing this distinction, Pighius offers a superficial and inadequate understanding.

Pighius attempts to argue that people come to Christ only with their own consent, referring to Chrysostom’s claim that God draws people to Himself by their willingness. He tries to back this with the supposed consensus of the church over the centuries and by saying that God simply "stands at the door," waiting for us to open it. But this argument misses the depth of what Scripture teaches about God’s role in salvation. Ambrose rightly noted that both Christ and Satan enlist followers, but we know that Christ’s followers are transformed by His Spirit. As Augustine put it, God draws us without force, but He does so by shaping our will. I agree that those drawn by God come willingly; however, they do so because God has renewed their will.

Pighius then critiques my use of Christ’s words, “Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me” (John 6:45), insisting that this "learning" merely means agreeing to listen. He implies that one can choose to accept or reject God’s teaching. But Christ’s intention here is to show the distinction between mere outward teaching, which reaches the ear, and the Spirit’s inward work, which enlightens the heart. Jesus speaks this way because many who heard His words were spiritually blind and resistant. Thus, teaching bears fruit only when God grants understanding and a will to follow.

Pighius tries to undermine my interpretation by appealing to Cyril’s view, as if this alone would invalidate my point. But if we are considering historical support, I have Augustine firmly on my side, and he saw Christ’s words as declaring that only those inwardly taught by the Father truly come to Christ. This instruction is effective, not optional. Pighius counters by claiming that learning depends on personal choice, yet this clearly contradicts the intention of Christ’s teaching, which stresses that coming to faith is a gift granted by God. Cyril’s view, stating that those who come are not coerced, is not something I dispute; my argument rests on the nature of God’s inward work that leads us willingly, not on any idea of force.

Pighius concludes his argument by endorsing William of Ockham's statement, steeped in Pelagian thought: "God does not deny his grace to one who does what he can." He believes my teaching, that no one seeks God’s grace without the Spirit moving them, renders people like “lifeless stumps.” His reasoning is that if grace cannot be sought without God’s initiation, then grace is already present before one can even seek it. But he is missing the distinction I’ve drawn between two kinds of grace: the godly desire to seek God and the actual receiving of His grace. Augustine captures this well when he says, “It is faith’s health that leads you to ask, seek, and knock,” which ultimately comes from God, not from the seeker alone.

Regarding the gift of perseverance, Pighius claims it is both freely given and a reward for our own merits. Yet, Paul’s clear teaching opposes this idea: "If it is by grace, it is no longer based on works"

(Rom. 11:6). Paul even argues that if something is given as a reward, it is a debt, not grace (Rom. 4:4). Pighius seems to miss that claiming to earn grace contradicts the very concept of it being free.

Pighius then uses Christ’s parable of the talents, claiming that it supports the idea that God rewards the proper use of earlier graces with further gifts. I agree in part; God does indeed grant greater graces in response to faithful use of His gifts. However, I stress two essential points: First, we must not think our own efforts make grace effective. Second, we must never imagine grace ceases to be a free gift. God certainly increases His gifts in response to how we use them, but this faithfulness itself is enabled by His grace. I’ve clearly stated in Institutes that when God praises and rewards our faithfulness, He is essentially crowning His own gifts in us. Even Paul says that it is God who works in us to both will and do His good pleasure (Phil. 2:13).

Pighius’s interpretation of the parable does not contradict my own teaching. We are the servants, God’s gifts are the talents, and God Himself is the master. The faithful should indeed expect that as they respond well to God’s grace, He will graciously add more. But their very ability to respond faithfully is yet another gift from God.

Pighius uses Paul’s words to argue that our will cooperates with God’s grace, citing Paul’s statement that he labored “more abundantly than all others” (1 Corinthians 15:10). However, Paul quickly clarifies, saying, “Not I, but the grace of God which was with me.” Pighius claims Paul only meant that he labored with God’s assistance. But if Paul intended to say that he worked with God’s help, he would have said he labored alongside grace. Instead, Paul’s correction emphasizes that his labor was entirely a result of God’s grace. This correction shows that all the strength and effort Paul exerted came not from himself but from God’s empowering grace.

Pighius insists that human effort in Christian life is our own, with God simply supplying strength for it. Yet Paul’s words challenge this view, affirming that God doesn’t merely assist but is the source of both the will and the action (Philippians 2:13). When people labor in the faith, it is because God causes them to act according to His purpose. If Pighius wants to contend with this interpretation, he must face Paul’s own words, which clearly credit God alone for such work.

Pighius then points to Jesus’ parable of the laborers in the vineyard to argue that human labor has its own value apart from God’s grace, thinking we can only respond by saying that grace alone accounts for the laborers’ reward. But we do not deny the reality of faithful laborers. Instead, we affirm that their ability to work, their desire, and even their labor itself are all gifts from God’s grace. In this teaching, there is no contradiction: though laborers are rewarded, they owe their willingness and strength to God, who alone enables them to serve in His vineyard. This understanding of the parable preserves the truth that all human goodness flows from God’s abundant grace.

Augustine’s View on Free Will and Grace

In support of our position, I have quoted passages from Augustine, particularly from his letters to Valentinus. However, rather than addressing these passages directly, Pighius leads his readers on lengthy, irrelevant diversions, as if attempting to obscure the clear truth of Augustine’s words. He claims that because Augustine speaks of “free choice” alongside grace, this alone proves his point. But we have already shown what Augustine means by this term. By “free choice,” Augustine refers to the will itself, which he openly admits is bound by sin until freed by grace. This view does not contradict our teaching.

When Augustine says that the will is “not abolished by grace but transformed from evil to good, and once made good, is aided by grace,” he aligns closely with our understanding. The will remains, but it is powerless for good until God transforms it. Pighius argues over terms, but the substance of Augustine’s teaching affirms our view: human will, though real, is captive to sin and powerless for good without God’s grace.

Pighius also highlights a phrase where Augustine says that “to desire grace is already the beginning of grace,” implying that this contradicts our doctrine. Yet, there is no actual conflict here. This phrase simply means that any inclination to seek God is itself a gift of His grace—a point we readily affirm. Ironically, Pighius now praises as “orthodox” the very idea he previously denounced as heretical. He fails to see that by acknowledging this truth, he undermines his entire argument, for it suggests that even the first steps of seeking God are moved by His grace, not by any inherent ability in us.

Pighius claims that Augustine rebukes those who say that emphasizing grace makes exhortation pointless. But when has anyone in our tradition ever suggested such a thing? Pighius insists that our teaching leads to this conclusion—that if no one can resist evil or do good without grace, and if grace alone does this work in us, then calling people to do good is as futile as telling a blind person to see. Yet Augustine says nearly the same thing: “People are freed from evil by the grace of Christ alone. Without this, they do no good at all, whether by thinking, willing, loving, or acting” (ch. 2). He also states, “The human will does not gain grace through its freedom, but rather gains freedom through grace” (ch. 8). Further, Augustine affirms, “God is within, who holds back hearts, moves them, and draws people by their wills, which he has worked in them” (ch. 14).

Pighius then claims Augustine shows that it’s within each person’s power to receive admonition. This misreads Augustine’s words entirely. Augustine repeatedly clarifies that any benefit from rebuke depends solely on God. He writes, “Man benefits from rebuke only when God, who can work good even without rebuke, has mercy and helps him” (ch. 5). Further, “The multitude deserving condemnation should be rebuked, so that God may work inwardly, even if rebuke is heard outwardly” (ch. 6). He also states, “When people respond to rebuke and return to righteousness, who causes this in their hearts? Only God, who gives the increase” (ch. 14).

Augustine concludes, “For us, who cannot tell who is predestined, we must rebuke all so that they may not perish or mislead others. But only God makes this beneficial for those he has predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son” (ch. 16). Thus, Augustine makes clear that it is God alone who turns the heart, though admonitions may serve as instruments. In all of this, Augustine’s position remains in full agreement with our teaching: while we administer rebuke, its true power rests entirely in God’s sovereign work.

Pighius acknowledges, though he later contradicts himself, that Augustine teaches this: conversion, growth in goodness, and perseverance to the end are entirely gifts of God’s grace—and that this grace is not offered to everyone. Augustine argues that these things are granted by God’s will alone and cannot be attained by human effort or desire. Although Pighius admits this, he still tries to twist Augustine's meaning, claiming that while conversion and perseverance are gifts from God, they are somehow rewards for a person’s prior free choice. In doing so, he openly disagrees with Augustine. Pighius thinks he can resolve these tensions with a few clever words, but anyone with clear sense will recognize the absurdity of his argument.

I also quoted Augustine’s words, "Grace to persevere would have been given to Adam if he had chosen it; it is given to us so that we may choose and overcome our sinful desires by our will. Adam had the ability to choose, though not the will to make him able; we are given both the will and the ability." Here, Augustine makes a distinction: Adam’s freedom was the ability not to sin, while our freedom in Christ is greater, as we are given the will and the ability to overcome sin. Pighius then accuses me of misapplying this to the saints’ present life, claiming that it applies only to the perfected state after the resurrection.

I do not deny that the complete freedom Augustine describes will only be perfected after the resurrection. However, Augustine clearly means that the beginnings of this freedom already take root in the lives of the saints today. This is evident when Augustine writes that the strength to stand firm, now given to the holy angels as a reward for their faithfulness, would have been humanity’s as well if Adam had remained obedient. Due to his fall, however, we now receive this gift as grace, not as a reward.

Moreover, Augustine explains that God’s grace enables us not only to desire good but to persist in it. He draws a distinction between the “ability not to sin” and “not being able to sin,” and between “the ability not to die” and “not being able to die.” Augustine argues that a greater grace has been given to us—not merely to restore our freedom but to also instill in us the will to choose and persevere in goodness. This transformation is a gift, showing God’s work in us here and now as it will be fully revealed in glory.

In Augustine’s words, our present freedom and future hope are gifts from God, making clear that our will, while active, is enabled and sustained by God’s grace alone.

Pighius questions why Augustine uses the future tense when describing complete freedom. Augustine's answer is clear: in this life, we experience only a partial freedom granted through regeneration, but the fullness of freedom from sin is reserved for the resurrection. Augustine explains, “The first man was created with free will, without sin, yet he enslaved himself to sin. But through Christ, who said, ‘If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed,’ our will, once enslaved to sin, is now freed. We fight against sin while in this life, but we are no longer bound by it as slaves leading to death” (ch. 12). Thus, when Augustine speaks of a time when we “will be” unable to sin, he refers to the final state of freedom that will be fully realized in Christ’s kingdom after the resurrection.

Pighius insists that I do not permit anyone to interpret Augustine’s statement about freedom as relating to our perfected state after resurrection. But this is incorrect. While the fullness of freedom awaits us in glory, Augustine is clear that the grace of regeneration is active even now.

I cited Augustine’s words to eliminate any doubt on this matter. Augustine states, “The wills of the saints are so stirred by the Holy Spirit that they are able to act because they so will, and they will because God works in them to will. Divine grace upholds their frail wills, giving them stability so that they do not turn away or detach themselves from Him.” Pighius mocks my citation, suggesting it’s irrelevant. Yet, Augustine makes a precise distinction here that addresses our present spiritual aid and future hope.

Augustine speaks of two types of divine help. First, he describes the help given to Adam, which allowed him to persevere but did not compel him to do so. Adam was given the capacity to choose rightly, but he lacked the enduring power of perseverance. In contrast, Augustine explains that the saints, who are destined for Christ’s kingdom, receive a more effective grace. God’s grace now not only assists perseverance but ensures it. Jesus declared, “Without me, you can do nothing” and “You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to bear fruit that will remain.” This shows that God gives not only the righteousness necessary for salvation but also the gift of perseverance to sustain it.

Thus, Augustine affirms that the perseverance of believers is secured by God’s grace. In Christ, we are not merely given the potential to endure but are upheld so that we cannot ultimately fall away. Augustine’s teaching is clear: God’s grace initiates, sustains, and completes our journey in faith, assuring our perseverance to the end.

Who, I ask, could deny that Augustine’s teachings align closely with what I have explained, though he uses different words? How can Pighius benefit by trying to separate concepts that Augustine so firmly connects? Augustine clearly teaches that not only does God’s grace enable us to believe, but it also gives us the will to believe. His grace is effective not merely in offering us the chance to have faith or the potential to hold onto it; it actually ensures that we believe and persevere. It grants us a steadfast will to cling to what is good and the determination not to let it go.

Pighius, however, misrepresents this. He insists that Augustine is saying only that we are “helped” to such an extent that victory is assured if we do not fail ourselves. In his view, we can withstand hell and resist Satan’s power as long as we do not fall into corruption or negligence. But if one of the elect were to turn away, neglect grace, or lose it due to weakness, what then would become of that grace Augustine speaks of, which secures us with unwavering resolve? Augustine teaches that grace not only gives us the power to believe but actually makes us believers. It doesn’t merely offer us perseverance but instills in us a constancy that compels us to persevere. Augustine speaks of an “unconquerable will” to hold fast to the good and an “unconquerable constancy” that does not let go.

Yet Pighius dismisses all this with a loud, misguided confidence, claiming that Augustine clearly contradicts me. He refuses to see that Augustine’s words stand in agreement with my teaching: grace is not a mere offer that leaves our will to itself, but a powerful force that transforms, sustains, and assures our perseverance in faith.

In conclusion, Pighius’s work is divided into ten books: the first six discuss human free will, and the remaining four cover God’s predestination and providence. Since these are distinct topics, I have focused so far on addressing the question of free will to the best of my ability within a limited time. I plan to address the subjects of predestination and providence later, as there is no urgency, and a careful treatment will be more beneficial when it is published, if the Lord wills.

I was concerned, however, that if I stayed silent for too long, Pighius might mislead some readers with his usual, flashy rhetoric. Therefore, I decided to release this portion as a preview—to temper his arrogance and to encourage godly people. May they see that the truth of God remains undefeated, even under the force of Pighius’s attacks, and may they be strengthened in their faith.