Few books capture the darkness of the human heart as starkly as William Golding’s Lord of the Flies. For many of us, it was required reading in high school English class, one of those books almost everyone was assigned at some point. The novel tells the story of a group of British schoolboys stranded on an uninhabited island after a plane crash. At first, things seem hopeful. They organize themselves, establish rules, and try to build a little civilization of their own. A conch shell becomes their symbol of authority, calling meetings and enforcing civility.
But as time passes, that structure begins to collapse. Fear replaces reason. The imagined threat of a lurking beast stirs paranoia. What begins as rivalry turns into cruelty, and eventually into violence. The rules lose their power, the conch is shattered, and the boys descend into chaos. When they are finally rescued, they are horrified by what they have become.
Golding’s conclusion is bleak. He is offering an evaluation of the human condition. Strip away external restraints, and humanity cannot sustain goodness. No matter how hard we try, no matter what structures we put in place, there is something deeply broken within us. Given enough time and freedom, our darker impulses rise to the surface. The struggle for goodness over evil inside the human heart seems endless and, ultimately, unwinnable.
That conclusion resonates because it feels honest. Most people, whether religious or not, recognize the conflict within themselves. There is the person we want to be and the person we actually are. There is a desire for goodness alongside of a pull toward selfishness. There is a longing to do what is right and a stubborn tendency to do what we know is wrong.
Scripture acknowledges this struggle, but it does not leave us where Golding does. Romans 7 goes deeper into that inner struggle and then points us to the only true source of hope.
In Romans 7:14–25, the apostle Paul describes an intense inner battle. He speaks of the struggle in very candid terms: “For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate” (Romans 7:15). Anyone who has sincerely tried to live faithfully before God can recognize themselves in those words.
Paul describes a war within. He wants to do good, yet finds himself doing evil. He agrees with God’s law, yet feels the pull of sin. He says, “For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out” (Romans 7:18), and he sees “another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin” (Romans 7:23). All of this gives way to a desperate question: “Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?” (Romans 7:24).
At first glance, Paul’s words sound very much like Golding’s conclusion. A never-ending struggle. A divided self. A sense of futility. But Paul is not writing a novel, and he is not offering a philosophical reflection. He is addressing the reality of sin and the limits of human effort.
Christians have long wrestled with this passage. Some understand Romans 7 as describing Paul’s life before conversion under the law. Others see it as the experience of Israel under the law. Still others understand it – describing the ongoing struggle believers experience while living in the flesh. However one understands the details, the reality of the inner conflict is undeniable. The question is not whether the struggle exists, but how it is resolved.
Now, the struggle itself is not unique to Christians. Every human being wrestles with conflicting desires. We all experience tension between what we know is right and what we are tempted to do. But there is a profound difference between the struggle of someone who belongs to Christ and the person who does not.
Before Paul became a Christian, he does not present himself as a man crushed by moral defeat. In Galatians, he speaks of his former life in Judaism with confidence: “I was persecuting the church of God violently and trying to destroy it… I was advancing in Judaism beyond many of my own age” (Galatians 1:13–14). In Philippians, he even calls himself “blameless” with respect to “righteousness under the law” (Philippians 3:6).
That is not the voice of a man who feels defeated. That is the voice of someone convinced he was doing well. What changed was not Paul’s personality or his moral seriousness. What changed was his relationship to Christ.
When Paul encountered the risen Lord and later submitted to Him in obedient faith, his life was transformed. Scripture describes this transformation: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come” (2 Corinthians 5:17). When we are united with Christ in His death and resurrection, our sins are forgiven and we begin a new life (Romans 6:3–4). Becoming a Christian does not remove the presence of temptation, but it does change our allegiance and direction.
This is why Paul can say: “For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh” (Romans 7:18). This is not self-deprecation but a sober self-assessment. Paul now sees himself honestly before a holy God. He recognizes that he has nothing to commend himself apart from Christ. His confidence has shifted away from his own righteousness and toward the grace made available through Jesus. This awareness brings anguish, but it also opens the door to hope.
Paul makes a crucial distinction in Romans 7:20: “Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me” (Romans 7:20). He is not excusing sin or removing responsibility. He is highlighting the internal conflict between the desire to do right and the persistent power of sin. Whether describing life under the law or the ongoing tension believers feel in the flesh, Paul’s point is clear: human strength alone cannot win this battle. Deliverance must come from outside of us.
This is where Golding’s assessment reaches its limits. Lord of the Flies exposes the battle within the human heart, but it offers no Deliverer. Without Christ, the struggle between good and evil is hopeless. There is no final resolution. The best one can do is manage it, suppress it, or resign oneself to it. But Scripture does not end with despair.
Paul’s cry of anguish is immediately followed by a declaration of gratitude: “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:25). The question “Who will deliver me?” is not left unanswered. Deliverance comes through Jesus.
The Christian life is not without struggle. It is a life in which the struggle is met with grace and strength from God. Victory does not mean sinless perfection, but it does mean that sin no longer has to reign. Through Christ, we are freed from sin’s dominion and called to walk in newness of life (Romans 6:6–7).
This changes how believers view their ongoing battle. The presence of struggle is not evidence that faith is empty. In many cases, it is evidence that the conscience has been awakened and the heart desires righteousness. The discomfort we feel toward sin is not a sign that something has gone wrong, but just the opposite. We are being reshaped by the truth of God’s Word and His Spirit within.
The Christian mourns sin and rejoices in grace at the same time. Like Paul, we cry out in honesty and then lift our eyes in hope. Without Jesus, we cannot win the battle. But, with Him, as we walk faithfully in His light, the struggle will not have the final word. That is the hope of the gospel. And it is the hope that every Christian needs to hear.
Thessalon, ON