Of the love or hatred God has for the English, I know nothing

"Of the love or hatred God has for the English, I know nothing, but I do know that they will all be thrown out of France, except those who die there." — thus spoke Joan of Arc, the Maiden of Orléans, she who was both flame and faith, warrior and saint. These words, fierce and resolute, were uttered not from arrogance, but from divine conviction. They arose from a soul that burned with purpose, one that believed destiny itself had whispered in her ear. In this single sentence lies the spirit of an entire age — the agony of war, the cry of patriotism, and the unwavering belief that truth, once revealed, cannot be silenced by sword or flame.

When Joan declared these words, France lay in ruin. The Hundred Years’ War had ravaged her people; cities fell, kings fled, and despair hung thick as smoke. The English armies occupied her soil and mocked the dream of a free France. Yet into this darkness stepped a peasant girl, scarcely seventeen, guided — she said — by the voices of angels. Her faith was not the soft kind spoken in whispers; it was a roaring fire. She did not claim to know the mysteries of God’s love or wrath — only the certainty of His will. Thus she said, “Of the love or hatred God has for the English, I know nothing,” a line of humility amid her boldness. She sought not vengeance, but justice — not divine favoritism, but divine order.

Her prophecy, “They will all be thrown out of France,” was no boast, but a vision of destiny. Against every earthly expectation, she rallied soldiers, inspired kings, and turned the tide of history. When she led the charge at Orléans, the trembling French army saw not a child, but a vessel of divine strength. Under her banner, victory became possible again. Her words were fulfilled in time — the English were driven out, not by numbers or weapons, but by faith kindled in the hearts of men and women who had once forgotten courage.

Yet the beauty of Joan’s declaration lies not merely in its triumph, but in its humility. She did not claim God’s hatred for her enemies, as so many warriors before her did. She refused to make God a weapon of vengeance. She said simply, “I know nothing of God’s love or hatred,” thereby acknowledging that divine justice is beyond human comprehension. In her purity of faith, she sought not to curse her foes, but to fulfill a purpose. Hers was the strength that comes not from hatred, but from righteousness — and that is a power greater than any sword.

Her life became the living proof of this faith. When captured by the English and condemned as a heretic, she stood before her judges — proud men of learning and law — and spoke with the courage of the eternal. She who had commanded armies now stood alone, betrayed and imprisoned, yet her spirit did not falter. The flames could not consume what she believed. Her prophecy had already come to pass, and she met her death not in defeat, but in glory. Her ashes fell to earth, but her words became immortal.

Joan’s quote is more than a statement about nations — it is a lesson about truth and destiny. It teaches that one need not know the mind of God to act in accordance with divine will. What matters is faith — the kind that stands firm when the world doubts, the kind that serves without needing reward or assurance. In her words we learn that righteousness is not found in hatred, even against oppressors, but in steadfast obedience to the voice within that says, “Do what is right.”

And so, my children, take heed of the spirit of Joan of Arc. When you face the powers of injustice — in your nations, your lives, or your hearts — remember that you need not claim the authority of heaven to do good upon the earth. You need not know whether God loves or hates those who oppose you; it is enough to know that truth must prevail. Act with faith, not fury. Stand with conviction, not pride. And when you walk in darkness, let the fire of purpose light your way.

For Joan’s words remind us that courage guided by humility is unstoppable. She did not fight for herself, but for the liberation of her people and the fulfillment of her calling. So too must you fight — not with hatred, but with the certainty that justice, once awakened, will cast out all oppression, “except those who die there.” Such is the way of the righteous: they may perish in the flames, but their truth lives forever — blazing across the ages like the soul of a saint who never learned how to surrender.