The Sin No One Confesses: Self Will

There is a sin that is rarely named in confession.
It is not because it is uncommon. Quite the opposite. It is woven into so much of our daily life that we hardly recognize it as a sin at all.
It is self-will.
We confess anger (sometimes). We confess lust (sometimes). We confess envy (sometimes). We confess gossip (sometimes). We confess pride (sometimes).
But how often do we say to our spiritual father:
“I wanted my own way, and I chose my own will instead of God’s.”
Yet this may lie at the root of many of the sins we do confess.
The spiritual life can be understood in a very simple way: Will I do God’s will, or my own?
Much of our struggle begins when those two wills come into conflict.
And when that happens, we often have a remarkably convenient solution.
We decide that our will must be right. 😁
“I know better.”
“I have thought about this carefully.”
“God understands my situation.”
“This is different.”
“I have no choice.”
“I know what is best for me.”
And so, without realizing it, we place our own judgment above obedience to God.
It began in Paradise
The first great fall of mankind was, in a sense, an act of self-will.
God had given Adam and Eve everything they needed. They lived in Paradise and had communion with their Creator. Yet the serpent introduced a question into Eve’s heart:
Perhaps God has not told you the whole truth.
The temptation was not simply to eat a particular fruit.
The deeper temptation was to decide for oneself what was good and what was evil.
Instead of trusting God’s command, mankind chose its own judgment.
And the tragedy of that decision continues in every human heart.
Whenever we say in our own particular way, “I know better than God,” we repeat the ancient rebellion.
Saul knew better
Consider King Saul.
God gave him a command, but Saul did not obey it completely. He preserved what he thought should be preserved and offered an explanation for his disobedience.
He had reasons.
He had an argument.
He could even make his disobedience sound religious.
But the Prophet Samuel answered him with words that should make every Christian tremble:
“To obey is better than sacrifice.”
Saul wanted to serve God according to his own judgment.
That is one of the most dangerous forms of self-will because it can disguise itself as zeal for God.
We can convince ourselves that we are defending truth when, in reality, we are defending our own will.
Judas and the road of his own choosing
Judas is another terrible example.
We cannot know everything that was taking place within his heart, but the Gospel shows us a disciple who gradually separated his own expectations from the will and teaching of Christ.
He followed Christ physically, but his heart was not surrendered.
There is a warning here for all of us.
It is possible to be outwardly close to Christ while inwardly insisting that things must happen according to our own expectations.
We can attend church, pray, fast, read the Fathers, and still say quietly within ourselves:
“Lord, I will follow You—as long as You lead me where I want to go.”
That is not surrender.
That is negotiation.
Even Peter had to learn
The Apostle Peter loved Christ.
His love was genuine.
Yet Peter also had a strong will.
When Christ spoke about His coming Passion, Peter objected. He could not accept what the Lord was telling him.
The Lord’s response was severe:
“Get behind Me, Satan.”
Why such strong words to the Apostle who loved Him?
Because Peter was thinking according to human reasoning rather than according to God’s will.
Peter wanted Christ to avoid suffering.
Christ had come precisely to embrace the Cross.
Peter had to learn that loving Christ does not mean telling Christ what He should do.
This lesson is not only for apostles.
It is for us.
“But I know what is best”
This is where the monastic wisdom of the Fathers becomes so important.
The old monks understood that self-will was not a small character defect.
They regarded it as a serious spiritual danger.
Why?
Because the person who always insists upon his own will eventually becomes incapable of obedience.
And without obedience, humility becomes almost impossible.
The Fathers therefore placed enormous importance on learning to say:
“Not my will, but Thine be done.”
This does not mean that Christians should become mindless or irresponsible. Nor does it mean obeying sinful or evil commands.
It means learning to distrust the fallen judgment of our own fallen hearts.
It means becoming willing to hear correction.
It means admitting that perhaps I am wrong.
It means being able to say:
“I do not understand why this is happening, but I will trust God.”
That is a very difficult prayer.
It is also one of the most liberating.
Self-will in ordinary life
Most of us are not living in monasteries.
We have families, jobs, responsibilities, financial problems, difficult relationships, and decisions that must be made every day.
Yet monastic wisdom applies directly to us.
Self-will appears when a husband refuses to apologize because he believes he is right.
It appears when a wife silently punishes someone because she did not get her way.
It appears when children or parents refuse to forgive.
It appears when we cannot accept correction.
It appears when we insist upon having the last word.
It appears when we refuse advice.
It appears when we pray for God’s blessing while having already decided what answer God must give us.
And sometimes it appears in the most religious places.
We can become angry because a priest did not do something the way we wanted.
We can criticize another Christian because he does not practice his faith exactly as we do.
We can become offended when our opinion is not accepted.
We can even become proud of our “Orthodox convictions” while losing the humility that Orthodoxy demands of us.
Then our defense of truth becomes mixed with the defense of ourselves.
The confession we should make
Perhaps there is another confession we need to learn.
Not only:
“I became angry.”
But:
“I became angry because I wanted things to go my way.”
Not only:
“I judged my brother.”
But:
“I judged my brother because I believed my judgment was superior to his.”
Not only:
“I disobeyed.”
But:
“I disobeyed because I believed I knew better.”
Not only:
“I was offended.”
But:
“I was offended because I expected others to treat me according to my own will.”
When we begin to confess the root rather than merely the branches, repentance becomes deeper.
The question is no longer simply, “What did I do?”
It becomes:
“Why did I insist on doing it my way?”
The hardest prayer
Perhaps one of the hardest prayers a Christian can make is also one of the simplest:
“Lord, let Thy will be done—not mine.”
We say so in the Lord’s Prayer.
But do we mean them?
Because when God’s will agrees with ours, the prayer is easy.
It becomes difficult when God allows something we did not want.
When someone disappoints us.
When a door closes.
When our plans fail.
When we are corrected.
When we must wait.
When we must forgive.
When we must accept that we are not in control.
That is when the words become real.
The saints did not become saints because they always understood God’s will.
They became saints because they learned to trust God even when they did not understand.
This is the great freedom of Christian obedience.
The world tells us that freedom means being able to do whatever we want.
The Fathers teach us something much deeper.
If I must always have my own way, I am not free.
I am a slave to my own will.
True freedom begins when I can say:
“Lord, I am willing to let go of my way.”
And perhaps this is the sin that so few of us confess because it is the sin we most desperately want to keep.
We do not merely want forgiveness.
We want God to forgive us without requiring us to surrender control.
But Christ does not call us merely to improve our behavior.
He calls us to follow Him.
And following Christ eventually leads us to the same place where He stood in the Garden of Gethsemane:
“Not My will, but Thine, be done.”
There is the cure for self-will.
Not weakness.
Not passivity.
Not the abandonment of responsibility.
But surrender.
The surrender of the heart that finally says:
“Lord, You know better than I do.”
And perhaps that is where repentance truly begins.