The Inward Struggle: the Law of the Mind Against the Law of Sin (Romans 7:16–20)

Rom. 7:16. If then I do what I do not will, I agree that the Law is good.

Speaking above: “I do what I do not will and I do what I hate”—though he spoke abstractly without specifying what exactly he wills and what he hates—yet from the course of the discourse it is evident that he wills what is lawful and hates what is unlawful. If we insert these terms into the discourse, we get: I do not do the lawful which I will, but I do the unlawful which I hate. But if it is so, then it is evident that I “agree that the Law is good”—both in the conviction of the mind and in the feeling of the heart I approve the Law—I hold that the Law is good for me, given to me for my good and will lead me to good if I follow it. And even in the fallen sinner, the fear of God remains intact, and so does the conscience, which points to what is right. For this reason, moral and religious truths—true ones—are found among all peoples. And among those who have received revelation, or the written Law, they are both fuller and more determinate. Thus everyone praises the Law as good and desires lawful action; but when it comes to act in deed, soul-and-body self-indulgence rises up, turns them from the path, and they do what they disapprove of and what they praise in their ordinary state. One must, however, complete the Apostle’s speech and see in his words this train of thought: if I say of myself that I do what I do not will, it means I am aware that I ought not to do as I do; and if I am aware of this, it means I approve of the opposite of this action—that is, I approve of the Law. Saint Chrysostom says: “Do you see among other things that reason is not damaged, but truly preserves its inherent nobility? Even if it gives itself to vice, in giving itself to vice it hates it. And this has always served as the finest praise of the Law, both natural and written. That the Law is good, reasons the Apostle, is evident from this: that I accuse myself; although I do not obey the Law, yet I hate what I have done.”

Rom. 7:17. So then it is no longer I who do it, but sin which dwells in me.

“So then” does not denote time, but is a concluding particle, as we too often use it in the same sense: “now,” or “it turns out.” I approve the Law, I will what is lawful and hate what is unlawful, yet I do the opposite of all this. It turns out that it is not I who do this. I am not the actor here, but the acted upon. Someone else has seized me, takes me as if bound, and leads me where he wishes, and I follow. Who then is this other? The sin dwelling in me. Sin is personified by the force of its pull, and man is depersonalized by reason of his weakness toward sin and proneness to it. The Apostle seems to shift the blame from man, as before from the Law. But in fact it happens that man always voluntarily consents to sin. If he did not consent to sin, there would be no sin. And we often say in our speech: what will you do? I simply cannot manage myself, as if by necessity we do what we do, whereas we know that we do all of it willingly. Thus the Apostle’s word does not assert the involuntariness of sin nor does it deny its willingness. It usually happens that before sin man does not will sin, and after sin he does not approve it, but when he sins, he both wills sin and considers the doing of the sinful deed better than not doing it. It seems as though some third party came, took his hands and feet, and even his very soul with its thoughts, feelings and desires, and brought about the sin. But in reality, the sinful stirring does indeed come, yet man sins himself, with his whole being, and only insofar as he willingly consents to sin. One can only wonder at the mystery in sin, but one cannot absolve man of responsibility.

Let us repeat what was said before. Man: spirit—soul—body. The norm of his life is life in the spirit under the action of the fear of God and conscience, with submission of soul and body to it and their spiritualization. When in the fall man tore himself from God and resolved to manage his own well-being, he took on, as a new principle of life, selfhood and self-indulgence. Since the spirit is by nature self-renouncing and the character of its life is self-sacrifice to God, selfhood could find no nourishment in it for self-indulgence and turned instead to soul and body, which ordinarily move by impulses of pleasure and utility. Soul and body have many needs, each of which generates many desires, according to the variety of objects suited to their satisfaction. Each need presents a particular kind of self-indulgence, and the objects satisfying them provide nourishment for self-indulgence. Having fallen into this realm, man entered into a kind of dissonant multitude, where each voice offers him its own, something pleasing and pleasant to him. Since he from the beginning of the fall, tasting the sweetness of self-indulgence, himself raised this passion into a principle determining his activity, then, moving in the midst of this crowd, as soon as he feels the proffered pleasure, he falls upon it, corrupted as he is by the sweetness of self-indulgence initially embraced. Since in such a manner of acting one looks not to whether the deed is right or wrong, but only whether it is sweet, herein lies the very root of sinfulness. All done according to the principle of self-indulgence is sinful, though not all such actions are contrary to righteousness in their kind. The unrighteousness here lies in this: the demands of the spirit, which belong to the essential needs of human nature, are given no consideration whatever. Generally they are not disputed, for they inhere in consciousness; but in action they are not taken into account, because they do not provide nourishment for the sweetness of self-indulgence but demand self-sacrifice. In this way fallen man would be sinful even if, in appearance, he did what is natural to soul and body—satisfied their needs. But in reality his life is more unrighteous than this alone. It is unrighteous in this further, that the measure of satisfying needs is determined by the sweetness of pleasure, not by some higher standard, and so he always falls into excess—and in that the relation of needs, which should be satisfied more and more urgently, as well as the choice of objects for this satisfaction, he also determines not from some higher principle, but again by that same sweetness—whence comes disorder, acting detrimentally upon man, destroying itself. And this greatly increases sinfulness. But there is more. The spirit of the fallen man is selfhood: I myself. From this selfhood were born the passions, proceeding directly from selfhood and resting on nothing natural—such as pride, envy, hatred, malice, avarice, vainglory and the like. Selfhood, seeking self-indulgence and able to find it only in soul and body and having descended into them, entered there with all its host of passions. There already, without that, much unrighteousness was possible (in not observing the measure of satisfying needs and their mutual relations, as well as in the choice of objects for their satisfaction); but on account of this poison of passions poured into them, unrighteousness exceeded all measure; under their influence all there became perverted, and the satisfaction of needs turned into the satisfaction of the passions—took on a contrary-to-nature direction, destructive both for the one acting and for others.

All this in its totality is the sin dwelling in us. It is hidden by natural needs of soul and body, is set in motion by the sweetness of self-indulgence, is directed by the passions. One may describe it thus: a self-centered, passion-driven, pleasure-loving soul-and-body self-indulgence. Its spawn are many, but all ordinarily are silent and very much like a band of robbers lying in ambush. Like these robbers in ambush, or beasts in a den, they are hidden somewhere in us, and as if they do not exist. Since the spirit of man is still, even in the fallen state, alive and constitutes the norm of human life, ordinarily man stands on the side of the spirit—that is, he recognizes the legitimacy of its demands and is not averse to wishing to act according to them: “he praises the Law as good.” But as soon as it comes to actual action according to the spirit, since it is contrary to sin in all its described manifestations, the spawn of sin, against which the present deed should be directed, immediately rises up—with it rise all that is akin to it and rooted in it, seeking pleasure and self-indulgence. There occurs dispute and struggle: the spirit proposes its reasons, while sin with its spawn displays its enticements. Since the demands of the spirit are self-renouncing, and if they promise good, it is also spiritual, self-renouncing, while sin gives tangible pleasure directly in the action contrary to the spirit’s demand, man, having once chosen pleasure as the principle determining his deeds, inclines toward the action giving pleasure and commits sin. After the sin he again harkens to the spirit and condemns his action. But when he again turns to some deed according to the spirit’s demand, he again yields to sin, beforehand seduced by sin’s pleasure. Thus acts every sinner while he is a sinner. In him is fulfilled what the Apostle said: I praise the Law as good; but the sin dwelling in me seduces me and draws me to deeds contrary to the Law, and I sin. Oecumenius asks: how then does sin manage to do this? And answers: “It offers me pleasure in the deed at hand and thus seduces me not to remain faithful to what I knew to be right and what I wished.” Theodoret writes that the Apostle, speaking thus, “calls sin the slavery of the mind (spirit) and the dominion of the passions; the mind (spirit) does not itself act, because it hates what is done, but the dominion of the passions acts.”

Rom. 7:18. For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh: for the will to do good is present to me, but not the ability to accomplish the good.

“For I know”—I know from experience, from the experiences of my own life I have been convinced that: “nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh.” Nothing good dwells: what then dwells? Something not good. So one is inclined to think that the Apostle’s thought is: I know from experience that in me dwells something not good. For to say generally that nothing good is left would be contrary to the Apostle’s teaching. And immediately after this he says: “for the will to do good is present to me”; and this is good. Or—nothing good dwells in me in the sense that it is not the determining principle (Oecumenius). The power of action has passed into other hands, while the good is confined to mere desires. However, the Apostle has sufficiently clarified in which aspect of us the good does not dwell, by adding: “in my flesh.” Not in human nature does the good not dwell, for it, as God’s creation, is good; but: “in the flesh”—a word the Apostle ordinarily uses to mean that which is not good and which has formed in us as a result of the fall and hovers there in the interstices of nature. In this Epistle he calls this fleshly nature, and in the Epistle to the Corinthians soulishness. Combining both, we get a soul-and-flesh nature as an expression of the corruption of the fallen. Soul and flesh, as God’s creatures, are good; but as a result of the fall they became the seat of all that is not good. Selfhood has made its home in them with its passions and turns all their powers and needs to self-indulgence. And there formed, in the midst of nature, a special kind of self-centered, passion-driven, pleasure-seeking soul-and-flesh self-indulgence. And in this body—the newcomer—the good does not dwell.

“For the will to do good is present to me, but not the ability to accomplish the good.” That is why, he says, I know that something not good dwells in me, or—that the good does not dwell in the self-centered and pleasure-seeking body formed in me through the fall—because I cannot accomplish good: I desire it, but when it comes to deed—no. “Not the ability”—again he points to experience; I see good desires in myself, but that deeds should go according to these desires, I do not see, do not find. How this happens was explained under the previous verse: the good deed before us is desired, but in doing it the opposing passion is aroused, seduces, and the desired deed is not done. “I wish, but I do not do, because of sin seizing me: it seizes me so that I do not do what I approve”—writes Oecumenius. “In saying: not the ability, the Apostle means not ignorance or doubt, but the attack and schemes of sin”—says Saint Chrysostom. All this is done by the “predominance of the passions”—Theodoret explains. “He shifts the blame both from the essence of the soul and from the essence of the flesh and attributes all to the corrupt will, the influence of sin”—adds Theophylact. “And the lawful pleases, and there is the wish to do it, but to accomplish it there is lacking power and strength. Thus confined is he (the fallen man) by the power of sin that he cannot run where he wishes, and is not able to resist it: it has become master in him. Moreover the habit of sin weighs upon man, and he falls more readily into sin than he is able to follow good. Although he wishes to do good, this habit does not allow him to do it. And the enemy is helper to evil.” Thus interprets Ambrosiaster.

Rom. 7:19. For the good which I wish to do, I do not do; but the evil which I do not wish, this I do.

He demonstrates by experience why “to do the good, I do not find,”—because instead of the good—the desired—I do the evil—not desired. The nineteenth and twentieth verses are a repetition of the fifteenth and seventeenth verses, but with a particular emphasis. There the enslavement to sin was proved, here the impossibility of performing good is explained. There is the cause, here the consequence. The explanation of why “what I do not wish, evil I do,”—can be drawn from there, adding: because I am sold under sin. The word “do” points to every particular case. Generally “I wish” for good, approve of it and have in mind to do it; but in particular cases sin approaches—sensual self-indulgence—attracts me and carries me away, and I do what I do not usually wish. Thus: “to do the good, I do not find.” “The Apostle points here to allurement and seduction by sin. I wish, he says, to do good, I wish not to do evil; but desire attacks, captures and inclines to despise what is recognized as good and desired and to do what it suggests” (Oecumenius).

Rom. 7:20. If then I do what I do not wish, it is no longer I who do it, but sin which dwells in me.

He seems altogether to shift the blame from himself. It is not I, he says, who do this, but the sin dwelling in me—this master to whom I am sold. But what is the nature of this master? He is a person whose soul consists of pleasure-loving self-indulgence, and whose body is all the passions with all the habits that feed them; while the soul and body with their powers and functions are merely his instruments. If so, then how can one absolve himself of guilt? The Apostle does not absolve himself. And that is not what his discourse is about. He only depicts here the wretched condition of the fallen man, in order to move him to seek effective help, but he reasoned about culpability at the beginning of the Epistle. Who self-indulges? The very sinner himself. By the pleasure of sin who is seduced? He himself, and willingly. Why? Because he himself first came to love it and took it as the principle of his life. In that moment he sold himself to this master—and he it is who rules him. Saint Chrysostom says: “everything depends solely on evil intent. The soul, body, and will are not in essence one and the same, but the first two are God’s creatures, while the last is a movement born in us ourselves, which we direct where we will. The will in itself is a natural faculty given by God; but the will directed toward a certain end is something of our own, the action of our disposition.” Blessed Theophylact, following the words of Saint Chrysostom, adds: “sin, dwelling in us, is a corrupt and sinful will; in it lies the root of the torment of sin, drawing the mind through pleasure.” Ambrosiaster writes the same: “not I… but the sin dwelling in me”—pressed and drawn by sin, I do not my will, but his. But is man truly free from blame when the Apostle calls him as if sinning involuntarily? Not at all; for sin captivates him through his own depravity and carelessness. Since through his consent to sin he himself delivers himself into slavery to sin, sin rightfully takes possession of him. It first bends man’s will, and then rules over him as over a captive. The Apostle sets this forth in order to magnify the grace of God, showing what evil it delivers man from or what wretched condition he inherits from Adam and what good he receives in Christ.