THE WILL by J. A. L. Derby

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Nov 27, 1900

THE WILL.

By J. A. L. Derby

J. A. L. DERBY.

“By grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: . . . not of works.” Eph. 2:8, 9.

The sphere of will activity is very small; the consequences are eternal and infinite. It performs but one action—assumes an attitude.

Not long ago the writer stood on a high ridge of the continent, where water falling upon the ground might take either of two directions: by one, the slope of the land and the force of gravity would send it to the Gulf of Mexico and the hurricane waters of the Caribbean Sea; by the other, to the calm waters of the Pacific Ocean. So the soul standing on the summit of will-freedom has but to abandon itself to one of two ways, and natural and supernatural forces will either drag it to the gulf of despair or draw it to the pacific ocean of God’s unbounded love.

Will chooses; Satan or God does the rest. As when Emin Pasha, cut off from the world, between the impenetrable jungle of Africa on one side and the Sahara Desert on the other, hemmed in by the fanatical Arab hosts, and surrounded by his own mutinous soldiers, asked by Stanley, who had braved a thousand perils for the pasha’s relief, whether he chose to be rescued or not, might have replied, “I stay,” to his own destruction; or, “I go,” and have been snatched from certain doom. He could do nothing but decide: neither can the will; but life or death is the inevitable consequence.

In the first second a falling body passes over sixteen feet, but it gathers a velocity of thirty-two for the next; in the third second it falls forty-eight feet. And thus it is driven along, each moment gaining in velocity, until its path can no longer be traced with the eye. Likewise, the man who resigns himself to hellward gravities can sweep to ruin with so frightful a speed as ultimately to carry him beyond the influence of God’s Spirit.

Some time ago the writer understood from an excited conversation among some fellow passengers on a train in the West, that they had been aboard a railroad car that had become unmanageable while going down a mountain side. Beyond control, the car, with its living freight, darted forward at a fearful speed. Some persons grew dizzy and others faint. Down, down it flew, rocking, careening, each minute threatening to leap the track, whirl down the descent, and dash itself and the passengers to atoms. Fortunately, it was not far from the bottom when power over the brake was lost; and so its fearful speed was soon spent, and it came to rest.

Not so with the soul from which the power of the Holy Spirit has been cut off. On and on it rushes down the steep declivity of death, only to perish at last in abysmal darkness. But the beginning was with the decision of the will. “What would Jesus do?” becomes with you and me momentarily a fateful question. Blest be God for evermore! he places within the grasp of the will the possibilities—nay, the certainties—of eternal life.

From the Omnipotent comes the power to exercise the will, just as he gives the power to use the muscles; and either may be used in rebellion against him. The will may be used for a wrong decision. Within the sacred precincts of the human will even the Creator will not step to coerce it. There man is absolute. The right and the power to direct the will, both originally from God, have been granted to man in fee simple.

All that the will can do toward salvation—all you can do—is to decide, to choose. Not one good deed can you, in your own strength, perform toward gaining the kingdom. Not one meritorious act can you do—not one. This is indeed a trite saying, but it is uttered none too often, considering the deep-seated legalism of the human heart: “By grace are ye saved; . . . not of works.”

Mental scientists tell us that to will includes both to choose and to execute; that to choose, but not to execute, is merely to wish. But to choose God, implies a faith in him both to will and to do henceforth. Just as soon as will surrenders, God takes charge of the citadel, and begins to execute his plan of bringing to Zion the erstwhile prisoner of hope.

Sometimes the deceitful legal heart persuades us to permit God to will, while it reserves to itself the right to do. Thus Abraham trusted God for a child, and took Hagar. O sinner, Christian, surrender all, both willing and doing, to God; then the delightful life begins.