For I know that in me, that is, in my flesh, good does not dwell for to will is there with me, but to do right [I find] not.
Paul has traced his failure back to sin living inside him. Now he draws his verdict, and it raises two questions: how can he say nothing good is in him, and why does wanting to do right not produce the power to do it?
Paul chooses his words carefully. He does not say that he never does anything good.
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 words "that is, in my flesh" are not filler. Paul limits what he says, because something else is in him too.
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."
One writer takes the phrase at full strength, and notes how slow we are to accept it.
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.
The second half of the verse moves from what I am to what I can do.
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.
The blame does not lie with the law. One writer explains with a picture from a workshop.
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.
The flesh will never improve. So what is left for it?
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.
This discovery hurts. It is not a dead end.
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.
- Learned — "I know" is the result of experience, not a theory. It is a verdict on what I am, not a record of what I do.
- Limited — the words "that is, in my flesh" guard the statement. The believer has a new life and the Holy Spirit; the flesh is the old nature that remains.
- Lacking — the desire to do right is real, but the power is missing. Wanting the good and doing it turn out to be two different things.
- Lost cause — the flesh is hopeless material for the law to work on. No training or cleansing improves it; its only fitting place is the cross.
- Liberating — the discovery is agonizing, yet it is the stepping stone. Stop expecting good from within, and you begin to look outside yourself for deliverance.
For I do not practise the good that I will; but the evil I do not will, that I do.
This is the cry of a man who wants what is right and still fails to do it. Is such defeat normal, permanent, or a stage on the way to something better?
The words describe a shock, not a theory.
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.
The failure comes at the very moment the man tries his hardest.
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.
The will to do good is there. The problem lies elsewhere: in the power to carry it out.
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.
This man differs from someone whose desire for the good is not real.
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.
What he learns here goes deeper than a list of wrong actions.
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.
The wasted effort is not pointless. The failure itself is the teacher.
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.
Readers have long argued whether the speaker is a believer. One writer says the question itself is wrong.
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.
Another writer answers with a picture, and with Paul's own case.
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.
This verse is not the end of the road. Later the man's question changes shape.
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.
- Shock — The verse records a discovery, not a doctrine. Good intentions meet an inability to carry them out, and that is humbling.
- Diagnosis — The will to do good is there. The strength is not. Both natures show their character.
- Distinction — The lesson learned is to separate yourself from the sin living in you. That brings real comfort, though not yet liberty.
- Dead end — Every effort of our own to win must collapse. The strength it depends on is not there.
- Deliverer — The state is transitional, not final. The man stops looking inside himself and starts looking outside for a deliverer.
But if what *I* do not will, this I practise, [it is] no longer *I* [that] do it, but the sin that dwells in me.
Paul has just said that nothing good lives in his flesh. Now he repeats a conclusion he drew three verses earlier: when he does what he does not want, the sin living in him is doing it. That raises two hard questions. Who is the "I" that is no longer doing it? And does this let a believer off the hook?
Verse 20 is not new ground. It closes a second round of the same argument.
It is worth noticing that there is a second discussion in verses 18-20. It leads to the same result and closes in the same way, only with greater personal emphasis along the way.
The man saying this is already converted. He calls one side of himself "I" — while admitting the other side is also his.
So in Romans 7 the man who feels the power of evil in him is already converted. He is also aware of something inside him that leans the opposite way from sin and flesh. In fact, he identifies himself rather with that opposite tendency — "Now, if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me" (v. 20). Twice over he asserts this, although unable to deny either that the flesh too is himself (v. 18).
The stress in the sentence falls on one small word.
In verse 20 the "I" in "what I do not want" is emphatic. So is the "I" in "it is no longer I who do it." He now sees that he does more than agree with the law in his conscience. He delights in it in his inner self. But another law in his body takes him captive.
Yet the separation does not make life simpler. The believer becomes an unsolved riddle to himself.
I learn more clearly than ever to tell the difference between myself as one born of God and the sin that dwells in me. That is why the verse seems to contradict itself. "I do the wrong thing," I have to cry out after each new failure. Yet when I look closely I see that "it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me." I am a puzzle to myself. Here I am almost like two people.
The man in this chapter wants the right thing. What he lacks is the strength to do it.
I do not do the evil with the intent of my will, for I do not want the evil that I do. On the contrary, I hate it. So it is the sin that dwells in me. In me (that is, in my flesh — the whole natural man as he is) there is no good at all. Even where the will is there, I find no way to do any good. The power is entirely missing.
Some readers fear this verse hands out an excuse. Two answers meet that fear. The first: the man speaking here hates what he does.
Some people are afraid of this chapter because they think it lets people sin freely. That could never be. We seek to shun sin when there is a work of God in us. It causes all our anguish and distress. God brings the believer to a holy hatred of sin. It is a spiritual work. The man who is not born again knows nothing about this.
The distinction is true, yet it settles nothing about guilt.
When we sin we can say, "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, and under that law we feel ourselves to be. We cannot reach such unworthy conclusions as that God would excuse our sins. What can we do? And who can we look to for relief?
The value of the verse lies in where it leads. It is a step, not a resting place.
He learnt to tell himself, as a man born again, apart from the burden and pressure of sin inside him. This seems to be the first ray of light in this experience, the light that leads at last to deliverance and thanksgiving (v. 25).
- Repeated — Paul draws the same conclusion twice, in verse 17 and again here, with stronger personal emphasis the second time.
- Distinguished — the emphatic "I" separates the believer from the sin living in him. Yet the flesh is still his.
- Powerless — the will is right; the strength to carry it out is missing.
- Not excused — the man here hates his sin and feels its misery. Naming its source does not free him from responsibility.
- Leading onward — this discovery is the first light, not the destination. It leads on to deliverance and thanksgiving.
I find then the law upon *me* who will to practise what is right, that with *me* evil is there.
This verse names a rule, not just a failure: every time the will turns toward good, evil is already there. Does this experience prove a person is not born of God, or prove the opposite — and where is it meant to lead him?
The word "law" carries more than one sense in this chapter. Readers stumble when they take every use as the law given through Moses. One commentator sorts them out:
In this passage the word "law" is used in two senses. In most cases it refers, of course, to the law of God given through Moses. In verses 2 and 3, however, we get "the law" of a husband; in verse 21, "a law"; in verses 23 and 25, "another law," "the law of my mind," and "the law of sin." In these cases the word clearly means a power or force that always acts in one direction — just the sense we use when we talk about "the laws of nature."
By this point guilt is no longer the question. What breaks the speaker is that his good desires produce nothing.
The question here is not guilt but power — or rather the total absence of it. So even with the best possible attitudes and desires, everything ends in captivity to sin, though sin is now hated. This is not the soul in the death and darkness of nature, but a renewed soul. God is loved and evil detested; but the soul finds itself powerless either to act on the one or to avoid the other. There is progress despite this, sad as the experience still is... As far as feeling goes, he was never more miserable.
Many read this verse and conclude the opposite of what it proves. One commentator answers the worried reader:
Yes, you say, that is just what I have found, to my deep sorrow; indeed, it has made me almost conclude that I cannot have been born of God at all. Those who are not born of God never discover themselves to be half as bad as you find your old self to be. But do not the very next words prove that you are born of God — that is, that you have a new "I," or new nature?
The discovery itself is the evidence.
Commentators point out what is missing from this part of the chapter, not what is in it:
We believe that in Romans 7 the apostle shows us the inner struggle of a soul that has been made alive but does not yet know deliverance. It is, to use a picture, a man who has got out of a trap describing his feelings 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... In all this part of the chapter you do not get the Holy Spirit in His indwelling power. There is new life, but there is no power, no sense of full deliverance, no consciousness of victory... It is very good for the soul to pass through Romans 7, but it is not for God's glory to stay there.
You cannot win this fight by fighting harder. One writer presses the point with a picture from wrestling:
The flesh in me is, after all, too strong for me. The more I struggle with it for control, it struggles with me and overpowers me. I am like a man in a wrestling match, and my opponent has me down, and, wriggle and struggle as I will, I cannot rise up... But must I not strive? you say. Strive on! Strive on! You have not come to the end of yourself yet. God has to let the weary struggle go on until you reach that end. Then you lie back in your proved helplessness over the evil inside you, and look for a Deliverer outside yourself to deliver you from yourself.
Reaching that end is gain, not loss:
When the believer has come to this — "I find it to be a law — a principle — that when I want to do right, evil lies close at hand" — he has learned a profitable lesson. He then makes much of Christ and nothing of self.
- Law. "A law" here means a force acting always in the same direction, like the laws of nature — not the law given through Moses.
- Powerlessness. The problem here is not guilt but a total lack of strength. Even the best desires end in captivity to sin.
- Proof. Seeing how bad your old self really is proves a new nature is there. Someone who has only the old nature never makes that discovery.
- Missing. The Spirit's indwelling power is absent from this part of the chapter. So there is life, but no power. Writers call it a state to pass through, not to stay in.
- Deliverance. Striving harder only proves the flesh is stronger. The lesson ends when a person stops looking for victory in himself and looks for a Deliverer outside himself. Then he makes much of Christ and nothing of self.
For I delight in the law of God according to the inward man
The apostle has been describing a struggle inside himself, and now he says something the old nature could never say: deep down, he loves God's law. So who is this man — and if he delights in God's law, why is he still miserable?
The writers quoted below use an older translation, which reads "after the inward man" where the ESV has "in my inner being." They point to this sentence as proof that a believer carries two natures at once.
This proves, beyond a doubt, that there are two natures. How could the old nature, which is sin, delight in the law of God? But it is so. Well, you say, it seems like a contradiction. That is exactly what the two natures are to each other.
Commentators differ over who has this "inward man." Some say only the believer has it.
"I delight in the law of God after the inward man." In the middle of all this struggling, he discovers an inward delight in what is of God. The only person who has this "inward man" is the believer, and so he delights in the wonderful law of God. Men often talk of feeding the inner man when they really mean the outer man, which perishes.
Others take the phrase to mean the part of a person that is not the body.
The inner man refers to the heart, mind, and so on: all that is within the body, but is distinct from it, and which can never die.
The same expression turns up in a later letter, and the comparison shows what Romans 7 lacks.
When the apostle looked into himself in Romans 7, he made a wonderful discovery. There was a part of him, the flesh, which "does not submit to God's law; indeed, it cannot." But there was also a part of himself which delighted in the things of God. In Romans 7 that inward man is without power. In Ephesians 3 the apostle prays for his readers to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in the inner man. What is lacking is strength, and the Spirit of God is there to give that strength.
Wanting the good and being able to do it are two different things, and this verse only proves the first.
"I delight in the law of God after the inward man." "I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out." That is, the man born again, before he learns by experience the true secret of strength, has spiritual instincts, but no spiritual power.
The more he values the law, the clearer his real condition becomes to him.
In Romans 7 the man has become intelligent. He acknowledges that the law is good, and he submits to it. His will is broken, for he takes pleasure in it. But one thing still fails — he has no righteousness. The more he understands how spiritual the law is, and the more he wants to keep it, the more he sees that righteousness is not in him. He is a miserable man.
One writer notices what this man is occupied with, and where he must look instead.
This delight he speaks of is no doubt proper enough. But it is also plain that he is occupied more with "the law of God" than with God Himself. No wonder he is miserable. He must learn that "the law of God" is not to be his standard of conduct, nor his source of strength. He must find both in the Son of God... "The law of God" is not "the power of God."
That leaves one question: how does a person get this new nature in the first place?
The law and the sinner are complete opposites — they can never be reconciled. I must get a new nature, stand on new ground, be in the new creation, before I can delight in the law of God. But how do I get this "inward man," this new nature? Not by works of law of any kind, but by faith in Jesus Christ.
- Born, not built. No one delights in God's law by nature. You receive the "inward man" through faith in Christ; no effort produces it.
- Proof. The delight itself is the evidence. The old nature could never take pleasure in God's law, so two natures are present at once.
- Gap. The inward man supplies desires, not power: spiritual instincts without spiritual strength.
- Misery. The more the man values the law, the more he sees that righteousness is not in him. The delight deepens the misery.
- Deliverance. The way out is a change of object. The law of God was never the power of God; strength comes from the Son of God and by His Spirit.
but I see another law in my members, warring in opposition to the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which exists in my members.
Paul's cry in this verse is not about things he has done wrong but about a force inside him that overpowers what he most wants. Two questions press on every reader. Who is the man speaking here? And why does someone who delights in God's law end up a prisoner?
One word carries two different meanings in this chapter.
Near the end of chapter 7 it is important to notice that this passage uses the word law in two senses. In most cases it means the law of God given through Moses. But in verses 23 and 25 we get "another law," "the law of my mind," and "the law of sin." Here the word means a power or force that acts in one steady direction. That is just the sense we use when we talk about "the laws of nature."
So the two "laws" at war in this verse are not two codes of rules. They are two forces, and the stronger one wins.
The verse is not about guilt. It is about power — and the lack of it.
Guilt is not the matter in hand, but power — or rather the total absence of it. So with the best possible desires and intentions, everything ends in captivity to sin, though sin is now hated. This is not the soul in the death and darkness of nature, but a renewed soul. God is loved, evil is hated; but the soul finds itself powerless either to carry out the one or to avoid the other.
This misery is not a sign of a false conversion. Only a person with a new nature could feel it.
Some may turn on me and say, "But sir, I am a child of God, I am not all flesh, I am born again, I have a new nature." But the man who cries, "Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?" had a new nature too. It was his new nature that made him groan like that! ... Thank God for a new nature; but deliverance is another matter. Is there not a law in your members warring against the law of your mind? Are you not learning weakness rather than power — the strength of sin rather than the holiness you are seeking?
Fighting this inner force does not weaken it. The fight only shows how strong it is.
The flesh in me is, after all, too strong for me. The more I struggle with it for the mastery, the more it struggles with me and overpowers me. I am like a man in a wrestling match. My opponent has me pinned down, and however I wriggle and struggle, I cannot get up. The secret is out. You have been looking for victory over yourself, to beat this lust and that passion. And how proud you would be if you had won it! But must I not strive? you say. Strive on! Strive on! You have not come to the end of yourself yet.
Commentators are agreed that this experience is meant to teach something, not to be a permanent home.
In order to be truly delivered, you must learn, and learn by experience, that you are captive to the power of sin and have no power to free yourself, even when you want to be free. God uses the law for this purpose, along with the new man's desire to be free from the yoke of sin that he hates.
The one writing this was not in that condition when he wrote it.
We believe that in Romans 7 the apostle shows the exercise of a soul made alive but not yet knowing deliverance. 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. But he is describing a soul still under the law with no power against sin. In all this part of the chapter you do not find the Holy Spirit in His indwelling power. There is new life, but no power and no sense of full deliverance. All this you have in chapter 8.
The man's mistake is where he looks. He watches a standard instead of a Person.
The delight he speaks of is right enough, but it is also clear that he is more occupied with "the law of God" than with God Himself, and his misery is no surprise. He must learn that "the law of God" is neither to be his standard of conduct nor his source of strength; he must find both in the Son of God. In these verses he sees two distinct laws — that is, governing principles — in conflict. Each one claims him. But the "law of sin" keeps defeating "the law of God," so that against his own will he is carried captive.
- Force, not rule. "Another law" means a steady force, like a law of nature — sin at work in the body against the mind that loves God's law.
- Power, not guilt. The problem is not what he has done. It is that he has no strength, and the better his desires, the worse he feels.
- Proof, not doubt. Only a new nature can groan like this; the conflict is evidence of life, not evidence against it.
- Captivity, not stalemate. Struggling for mastery does not win; it pins you down until you come to the end of yourself.
- Deliverer, not standard. The law of God is neither his standard nor his strength. He finds both in the Son of God, and chapter 8 brings in the indwelling Spirit.