Romans 7:16–19

In Romans 7 we meet a man with a renewed conscience. He recognises the claims of righteousness — or more correctly, holiness. He hates evil and desires good. But his utter powerlessness to do the good fills him with dismay and wretchedness. His is plainly the case of a soul born of God, for no unbeliever actually hates evil… Still, here the soul must learn that abhorring evil and loving good is not in itself the power for doing good.

Nor is it bowing to an unavoidable fact only, but the heart agreeing that what it bows to is good. Faced with the truth, the soul does not wish to weaken the spirituality of the law. It will not drag the law down to the level of what people are able, or unable, to do. The soul reaches this point through the deep and terrible process of learning itself. Then it makes no excuses. It says in secret, "I agree with the law, that it is good." God is justified as to His holy law, and "I" is silent. An immense gain, spiritually, is reached.

He discovered by experience the good and holy character of the law. It is good as verse 9 states; but he now has to say "I agree with the law, that it is good."

You will find in Romans 3 these three characters of unconverted man — none righteous, none who understands, none who seeks after God. Now in Romans 7 the man has become intelligent; he acknowledges that the law is good, and he submits to it (Rom. 7:12-16); his will is broken, for he takes pleasure in it (Rom. 7:22); but the third thing fails — he has no righteousness. The more he understands how spiritual the law is, and the more he wants to fulfil it, the more he sees that righteousness is not in him. He is a miserable man.

First of all, he has found a fleshly "I," sold under sin — captive to it like a slave. He did not approve what he did. He did what he hated instead of what he wanted. But if he would not do it, his will was agreeing with the law that it was good. And if his will agreed, then it was not really he who was doing it. He would not do it, and yet he did. It was sin dwelling in him. There is an "I" distinct from the sinful principle — an "I" that was not his flesh. So he could see the sinful working of the flesh as coming from sin that dwelt in him. It did not come from the "I," which he knew was his own inmost will.

First, the discovery that there are two natures in the believer… two directly opposite energies come to light, one against the other. That is a relief, but not yet full clearance. Second, the conviction that "nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh." This conviction goes far beyond admitting and confessing particular sins. Third, that I have no strength: I find no ability to carry out what is good. So the distressed one looks outward for a deliverer, since he knows there is no good and no strength within.

The second half of the chapter gives us the experience of a man who wants to fulfil the righteousness of the law. He wants to bring forth fruit to God while standing under the law. God has awakened him, and the new life is at work in him. He understands how spiritual the law is, and what it requires. He wants to keep it, and his conscience cannot rest until he does. The new nature loves the righteousness of the law. But the flesh opposes it, and so the new nature does not fulfil it… in this passage there is no mention made either of Christ or of the Holy Spirit.

In that miserable experience, grace taught him how to tell himself apart from the sin that lived in him and that he now hated. This is a great step forward, and a relief to an honest soul. The next step was to tie himself to the new desires, and to seek deliverance through Christ Jesus, so that he might do what he now wanted, and not the sin he hated. He could then say, "It is no longer I … but sin." He does not say "Not I," as he does elsewhere. He says "No more I" or "No longer I," because before the change took place it was "I."

The moment I seriously set out to do what the law asks, I become aware of a force inside me working against me. It is too strong for me to fight. It wakes me up to the fact that "sin dwells in me." It is no accident and no habit. It is a principle I was born with. So I am forced to separate myself from myself.

Our wisdom is to fall into line with God's thoughts and to treat it as He does. Begin by recognizing that you are now identified with the new nature and entitled to disown the old. "It is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me." The new nature is your true self, not the old. It is like a grafted apple tree: as soon as the graft takes, the tree is the cultivated apple.

So sin is at least marked out as the terrible and powerful enemy of the soul. This is good, because it would be ruinous to fail to recognise an enemy, or to underrate his power. Once we see the true character of our souls' enemies, comparing it with our own weak forces may stagger us. But it would drive us to seek another refuge — in Him who alone is stronger than all enemies.

There he finds out that there is no good in him. Then he learns a second thing, one that people are often content with — but it is no deliverance. I hate it; well then, it is not I. The third thing is that the flesh is too strong for me. The will is there, but he does not find how to carry it out.

We can say when we sin, "It is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me." Even so, we cannot say that our doing evil does not matter. Nor can we escape the condemnation of the law, under which we feel ourselves to be. We cannot reach such unworthy conclusions as that God would condone our sins.

Sooner or later the believer discovers that sin still dwells in him, and that the old nature is as bad as ever, or worse. Then, instead of trying uselessly to make it better, he can take sides with God against it. He never treats it as anything but the deadliest enemy. He always distrusts it and never indulges it. He knows that God has completely condemned it at the cross, and so he condemns it completely too. He counts himself dead to it, but alive to God in Christ Jesus.

Second, in this struggle to do right and overcome sin by our own efforts under law, another important truth is learned. I discover that the evil of the flesh cannot be cured. As the Apostle says, "I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh." He does not say, "I do nothing good," but "nothing good dwells in me." It is here a question of what I am, not of what I do. In fact the flesh can do many things that are morally right. In the case described, the man's life was no doubt blameless. The failure was lust, and that is inward.

The believer is not in the flesh, but he sadly finds that the flesh is in him. He learns through humbling experiences to say, "nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh." He does not say, "no good dwells in me," because he has a new life and the Holy Spirit in him. He says, "nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh." Though he has been delivered from his standing in Adam, he still has the nature of Adam — the flesh, with its passions and lusts. That evil principle is ready to serve the law of sin. In fact he has two natures: the old nature, "that which is born of the flesh," which "is flesh"; and the new life, or new nature, "that which is born of the Spirit," which "is spirit."

First, the true character of the flesh — the old evil nature still inside us — is hopelessly bad. "I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh" (Rom. 7:18). If nothing good is there, then not even a good desire can be found there. Yet how long it takes most of us to give up all expectation of good, or even of improvement, from within.

So it is the sin that dwells in me. In fact there is no good in me — that is, in my flesh, the whole natural man as he is. Even where the will is present, I do not find the way to do any good. Power is completely missing.

This statement of Scripture is no discredit to the law, which was "holy and righteous and good" (Rom. 7:12). The fact is that "nothing good" dwells in the flesh (Rom. 7:18), so the flesh is hopeless material for the law to work on. Give a sculptor first-class tools and an excellent block of marble, and if the result is a hopeless mess, the critics will rightly blame the sculptor. Give him a heap of dry sand to work on, and they will clear him of all blame. Then all the failure is in the material and not the sculptor.

We need examples like this to get to know the flesh in ourselves: "nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh." This flesh cannot be trained, cleansed or improved. The only fitting place for it is nailed to the cross.

Discovering that "nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh" is agonizing. Yet it is the only true stepping stone to deliverance and to practical Christian holiness.

We try to do it, and then we get a very unpleasant shock. Our intentions are of the best, but somehow we have no power to put these things into practice. We see the good and approve it in our minds, yet we fail to do it. We recognise the evil we disapprove of, and yet we are trapped by it. A very distressing and humbling state of affairs, which we find stated in verse 19.

All that I did before I was awakened was of course only sin. But it is a hundred times worse to find that even when I want to do what is good, the flesh is incapable of it.

It is a question of power coming in, not of will; for he is supposed to will the opposite, but sadly does what he does not will. So the moral character of both natures is made plain. The flesh never goes along with the moral judgment and desire of the renewed man while under law.

Even an unbeliever often approves what is good and tries in some measure to do it. But more often he weakly gives way to the evil — in fact, he prefers it. Reality of desire is not there, and of course neither is power.

It is not a question here of what I have done, but of what I am. So for the first time I discover that in me there is no good thing. I would do good, but I do not do it. I am under the yoke of sin in the flesh. I acknowledge that the law is good; I hate sin, and yet I do it. But what I hate, I am not myself; I do indeed hate it. So, taught by God, I learn to distinguish between myself and what I do... This is not liberty yet; liberty needs power. But it is a very real comfort to tell the difference between me and the sin that lives in me. Power is missing because redemption is not yet fully known.

Our useless efforts to overcome the flesh teach us that we have no strength in ourselves against it. We realise that this lust, this pride, this vanity is wrong and must be overcome. So we set to work to overcome these evils by prayer, by study of the word and other religious exercises. The result is that we find we are wearing ourselves out with efforts that get nowhere... So we learn that if victory depends on our own efforts we must be utterly defeated, for we have no strength.

One question divides most of those who have written and preached on it: is the experience described that of a natural man or of a Christian? Both sides assume it must be one or the other. But that assumption is a mistake, and that is exactly where both fail... There is a transitional state, found again and again in souls who are born again but not yet in conscious deliverance. This is the exact state in question... There is an awakened conscience, but no power.

To use a picture, it is a man who has got out of a trap describing how he felt while he was in it. Do you think Paul was a "wretched man" crying out for deliverance when he wrote his letter to the Romans? Certainly not! He was a happy man rejoicing in full deliverance.

Earlier in the story the speaker went through the experiences described in verses 14 to 19. Then his question would have been, "How shall I deliver myself?" He was still searching for something inside himself that would do it, but searching in vain. Now he is beginning to look outside himself for a deliverer.