Melanchthon can neither satisfy himself in
imputed justice, nor resolve to abandon it.
But
what most deserves our observation in this place is, that he himself, smitten
as he was with the specious idea of his imputed justice, never could succeed in
explaining it to his own liking. Not content with laying down the dogma
regarding it in the most ample manner in the Confession of Augsburg, he applies
himself wholly to the expounding of it in the Apology; and, whilst he composed
it, he wrote to his friend Camerarius, “I truly suffer a very great and painful
labour in the Apology, in the points of justification, which I desire to
explain profitably” (Lib. iv. Ep. 110) But, however, after all this
pains-taking, has he fully explained it? Let us hear what he writes to another
friend; it is the same we have seen him reprove as too much wedded to St.
Augustine’s imaginations. “I have endeavoured (says he) to explain this
doctrine in the Apology, but, in such discourses as these, the calumnies of our
adversaries permit not the explaining of myself so as I do to you at present, though,
in reality, I say the same thing” (Lib. i. Ep. 94). And, a little after, “I
hope you will find some kind of help from my Apology, although I there speak
with caution of so great matters.” This whole letter scarcely contains one
single page, the Apology has more than a hundred on this subject; and,
notwithstanding, this letter, according to him, explains it better than the
Apology. The thing was, he durst not say in the Apology as clearly as he did in
this letter, “that we must entirely take off our eyes from the accomplishment of
the law, even from that which the Holy Ghost works in us.” This is what he
called rejecting St. Augustine’s imagination. He saw himself always pressed
with this question of the Catholics: IF we are agreeable to God independently
of all good works, and all fulfilling of the law, even of that which the Holy
Ghost works in us, how and whereto are good works necessary? Melanchthon
perplexed himself in vain to ward off this blow, and to elude this dreadful
consequence: “Therefore good works, according to you, are not necessary.” This is
what he called calumnies of adversaries, which hindered him from owning
frankly, in the Apology, all he had a mind to say—this was the cause of that
great labour he had to undergo, and of those precautions of which he spoke.
To a friend the whole mystery of the doctrine was disclosed, but in public he was
to be on his guard; he yet further added to his friend, that, after all, this
doctrine is not well understood, except in “the conflicts of conscience:” which
was as much as to say, that when a man could do no more, and knew not how to
assure himself of having a will sufficient for fulfilling the law, the remedy for
preserving all this, notwithstanding the undoubted assurance of pleasing God
preached up in the law and thus fulfilling of it, in order to believe that,
independently of all this, God reputed us for just. This was the repose
Melanchthon flattered himself with, and which he never would relinquish. This
difficulty, indeed, always occurred, that of holding oneself assured of the
forgiveness of sins without a like assurance of conversion; as if these two
things were separable, and independent one of the other. This occasioned, in
Melanchthon, that great labour; and therein he could never satisfy himself; so
that after the Confession of Augsburg, and so many painful inquiries of the Apology,
he comes besides, in the Confession called Saxonic, to another exposition of
justifying grace, where he advances other novelties, which we shall see in
time.
Thus
in man agitated when smitten with an idea that has but a delusive appearance—fain
would he explain in his thoughts, but knows not how—fain would he find in the
Fathers what he searches after; no such principle is to be found in them, yet
cannot he renounce the flattering idea that so agreeably prepossesses him. Let
us tremble and humble ourselves—let us acknowledge that, in man, there is a
profound source of pride and error; and that the weaknesses of the human mind,
like to the judgments of God, are unfathomable. (Jacques Bénigne Bossuet, The
History and the Variations of the Protestant Churches, 2 vols. [2d ed.;
Maynooth: Richard Coyne, 1836], 1:194-95)
