On the Wretchedness of Man
A biblical anthropology must begin where the Bible itself begins: with the dignity of man as a creature made in the image of God, fashioned good and for good ends. Yet it cannot end there, for the fall has left a deep and disfiguring scar on the human condition. We are not born as blank slates, nor are we born already condemned for the sins of our first parents; but we are born into a nature bent towards transgression, a nature that, left to itself, will inevitably follow the course of this world. The biblical testimony on this point is overwhelming and unsparing.
The opening pages of the post-fall narrative set the tone. Before the flood, the Lord surveyed the children of man and found that “every intention of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually” (Genesis 6:5). The Psalmist concurs: “They have all turned aside; together they have become corrupt; there is none who does good, not even one” (Psalm 14:3). David, reflecting on his own moral origin, confesses, “In sin did my mother conceive me” (Psalm 51:5). The Preacher in Ecclesiastes observes that “the hearts of the children of man are full of evil, and madness is in their hearts while they live” (Ecclesiastes 9:3). Isaiah laments that even our most righteous acts are as a polluted garment before God (Isaiah 64:6), and Jeremiah pronounces the heart to be “deceitful above all things, and desperately sick” (Jeremiah 17:9). When Jesus himself is addressed as “Good Teacher,” he redirects the title with a sharp theological precision: “No one is good except God alone” (Mark 10:18). The implicit force of this declaration is that goodness, in any ultimate sense, is not a human possession.
The Apostle Paul draws all of these threads together with devastating clarity. Citing the Psalms, he concludes: “None is righteous, no, not one; no one understands; no one seeks for God” (Romans 3:10–11). He confesses of himself that “nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh” (Romans 7:18), and he teaches that “the mind set on the flesh is hostile to God, for it does not submit to God’s law; indeed, it cannot” (Romans 8:7). He reminds the Ephesians that they were once “dead in trespasses and sins,” following the prince of the power of the air, and were “by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind” (Ephesians 2:1–3).
Yet the picture is not uniform across all of humanity at all times. The fallen state is most complete and most dire for the reprobate, who remain enslaved to sin and dead in their transgressions, with neither the will nor the capacity to please God (John 5:40, Romans 3:11, Romans 8:8). For the regenerate, however, there is a different—though still sobering—account to give. The work of the Holy Spirit does not instantly eradicate the propensity towards sin but initiates a lifelong process of transformation: putting off the old man, putting on Christ, walking in the Spirit rather than in the flesh. The believer is being conformed progressively to the likeness of the Son, and by God’s grace alone, grows in genuine goodness. Yet John is careful to hold even the regenerate to account: “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us” (1 John 1:8). The Christian life is not one of arrived perfection, but of honest, Spirit-assisted struggle—and of eager anticipation of the day when, in the twinkling of an eye, the old man will be completely and indelibly purged.
In the meantime, we must hold two postures in tension. We are to think on whatever is true, honourable, just, pure, and lovely (Philippians 4:8), cultivating a charitable attention to the good that remains in God’s image-bearers. But we are also to be wise as serpents (Matthew 10:16), never naive about the depth of the corruption that the fall has wrought. To underestimate human depravity is not kindness—it is a failure of both theological honesty and practical wisdom.