You probably can change
I’ve been listening to R.C. Sproul talk through Jonathan Edwards’ views on free will. To them, there is no conflict between God’s total sovereignty and our ability to make free choices. The harmony hinges on the belief that we always, without exception, act according to the strongest motive in the moment; i.e., we only ever choose to do what we desire to do the most.
God can determine our choices without violating our freedom by replacing our natural will with a different one. He thereby moves the chess pieces, but the pieces still have free agency, because they only ever go where they want to go.
That’s not to say a choice is always easy or simple. Our inclinations are often in battle against each other, with one barely overpowering the other just long enough to act. There’s very little rationality and a lot of dissonance in play. Paul expresses the confusing tension in Romans 7.
I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.
Romans 7:15 (NIV)
Messier yet, sometimes the only choices that exist are bad ones, and our inclinations have to wrestle over which is the least painful or catastrophic, like the victim of a mugging choosing to either give up his wallet or lose his life.
Enslaved by freedom
I’ve generally agreed with this view, albeit with an open hand. And lately, I’ve been thinking about how it relates to pieces of me I’d like to uproot; patterns I want to change; habits I want to kill. In frustration, I’ve often told myself and others that “I can’t change,” as if I’m being held in bondage by something outside myself, maybe just by “the way I’m built.” I’ve then pointed to every past failure as evidence it’s true. I’m a prisoner being held against my will!
That, of course, a bald-faced lie. No one is coercing me into a choice. Nothing is neuro-chemically compelling me to respond or act in a certain way. It does not matter how deep the predisposition, how strong the genetic makeup, or how pivotal the upbringing. I can, in the literal sense of the word, refrain from acting and instead take a step toward building new patterns, even despite all those things standing against me.
I know want to take that step too, but I still don’t budge. The real reason I’m still sitting in that prison is because a part of me evidently likes the musty smell or the refreshing coolness of the floor. Meanwhile, the part of me that wants change is fully aware that the road to transformation already being a long, arduous one, and yet I refuse to haul my stubborn a$$ to the starting line.
You can imagine the frustration and exhaustion in those battles. In some sense, it really is true that “I can’t,” but not because I lack the power or competency to do it. It’s because my already weak inclination to change isn’t strong enough to overpower whatever I want more in those moments. Maybe it’s the split-second, satisfying release of rage, or the gratifying one-liner slung back at someone who hurt me. There are countless other examples. My strongest motive is appeased. I do what I want most, yet and I’m still held captive by my own choosing.
The only way out
It’s easy to say this can be solved by pulling the levers of my inclinations; by cultivating stronger, holy desires and suffocating the bad ones. But I don’t have the power to transform a will like God does. The best I can do is manage impulses. If you’re gonna begin to build meaningful change, you either need to uncover a sleeping giant of pious motives, or have God begin to generate them within you.
I’m not optimistic on the former. I’ve never believed there’s a good, undiscovered will buried within any of us. If you think there is, my hunch is that it’s secretly fueled by some other selfish benefit (ex: “I’ll change so they like me more”). It’s counterfeit and unlasting. The only way you’ll pursue good for goodness’ sake is if the desire is put there by Goodness itself.
There is hope in the fact that merely wrestling with these thoughts might indicate something is working inside of you. If you feel that, yield to it. Pray for God to grow holy desires and kill whatever’s left. Ask for discernment to know if a motive is coming from the man comfortable in prison or the one who wants out. Beg for endurance to fight the grueling war that begins only when you’re willing to finally take a first step. You might prove to yourself how big of a lie "I can't" really is.