“Not my will, but Yours be done.” — Luke 22:42
“Christ’s human will was not abolished by the divine will, but deified by it.”
— Maximus the Confessor
The Question That Tested the Faith
After the Church had proclaimed at Nicaea (AD 325) that Christ is true God, and at Chalcedon (AD 451) that He is true man, another question naturally followed: If Jesus Christ is both fully divine and fully human, does He have one will or two? This was not an abstract curiosity of scholars but a matter that reached to the very heart of the gospel. The question was deeply pastoral and profoundly theological, for it concerned how God saves humanity. If Christ were not fully human — if He lacked a human will — then His obedience, His suffering, and His love could not truly represent ours. The Incarnation would then be only partial, not complete.
The debate emerged with intensity in the 7th century, when the unity of Christ’s person was being discussed across the Christian world. A group known as the Monothelites (from monos thelēma, meaning “one will”) proposed that Jesus had only a single, divine will. Their concern was understandable: they feared that affirming two wills might divide Christ into two persons, one human and one divine. To them, unity seemed safer than complexity. However, their solution, though well-intended, subtly diminished Christ’s humanity — for to remove His human will was to make Him less than fully human, a divine being merely clothed in flesh rather than sharing in our full human experience.
Those who opposed this view — the Dyothelites (from dyo thelēmata, “two wills”) — held firmly to Scripture and the faith handed down from the apostles. They argued that Christ, in His one person, possessed both a divine will and a human will that worked together in perfect harmony. This understanding preserved both His full divinity and His complete humanity. The Dyothelites insisted that the Son of God did not absorb or override the human will but redeemed it, aligning it perfectly with the divine. This teaching affirmed the mystery of the Incarnation: that in Jesus Christ, divine majesty and human weakness met not in conflict, but in loving cooperation. The question of “one will or two” was thus not about dividing Christ but about protecting the truth that in Him, God and humanity are perfectly united — each will freely working toward the salvation of the world.
The Biblical Foundation: Gethsemane
Nowhere is the mystery of Christ’s two wills more vividly revealed than in the Garden of Gethsemane, on the night before His crucifixion. As the shadow of the cross drew near, Jesus withdrew to pray:
“Father, if You are willing, take this cup from Me;
yet not My will, but Yours be done.”
Luke 22:42
In those words lies the tender paradox of the Incarnation. The Son of God, fully divine and yet fully human, feels the natural weight of human sorrow and the instinct to avoid suffering. He does not speak as one pretending to be man, but as one who truly shares our humanity — capable of pain, fear, and the deep desire for life. Yet in that same moment, He reveals what it means to be perfectly human: to bring every desire into loving obedience to the will of the Father. Christ’s prayer does not reveal conflict between divinity and humanity, but rather the sacred cooperation of the two — the divine will leading, and the human will responding in trust.
This moment in Gethsemane is not a hesitation of faith but the culmination of obedience. Jesus’ human will was not crushed by divine authority; it was freely offered. He chose to obey. His surrender was not resignation but love — a conscious yielding of human longing to divine purpose. This act was the healing of the will itself, the restoration of what humanity had lost in Eden. Where the first Adam said, “My will, not Yours,” the second Adam prayed, “Not My will, but Yours be done.” The story of rebellion that began in a garden finds its redemption in another garden, where the Son’s perfect obedience became the seed of salvation for all.
St. Maximus the Confessor, wrote with profound insight:
“Christ’s human will was not abolished by the divine will,
but deified by it.”
St. Maximus the Confessor, one of the greatest theologians of the early Church, defended this truth with unwavering courage — even when it cost him his freedom and, ultimately, his life. He boldly affirmed that in Jesus Christ, the divine and human wills were not in opposition but in perfect communion, declaring with luminous clarity: “Christ’s human will was not abolished by the divine will, but deified by it.” In this profound insight, Maximus revealed the heart of Christian transformation — that true divinity does not destroy humanity but fulfills and glorifies it. Jesus did not overcome His humanity by suppressing it; rather, He elevated it, showing that to be fully human is to be fully aligned with God. In Gethsemane, when He prayed, “Not my will, but Yours be done,” the eternal Son healed the rupture between heaven and earth, not by an act of sheer divine power, but by a human act of perfect obedience. In that sacred moment, the rebellion of Eden was reversed, and creation’s harmony was restored through love freely chosen. The “yes” of Christ became the “amen” of all creation — the place where divine will and human freedom met and were forever united.
The Council of Constantinople III (AD 680–681)
The debate over the wills of Christ raged for decades, troubling emperors and bishops alike, until the Church gathered once again to discern the truth. In AD 680–681, the Third Council of Constantinople — recognized as the Sixth Ecumenical Council — met under the patronage of Emperor Constantine IV. Representatives from both East and West attended, seeking to heal a division that had shaken the unity of Christendom. The question before them was not simply how to define a mystery, but how to preserve the heart of the gospel: Was Jesus Christ truly one of us, or only seemingly so?
After careful study of Scripture and the writings of the early Fathers, the Council affirmed with one voice that in Christ there are two natural wills — one divine and one human — and two natural operations, each proper to its nature, yet perfectly united in the one person of the Son. Their defining statement reads:
“We proclaim equally two natural wills in Him, and
two natural operations — divine and human —
without division, without change, without separation, without confusion.”
This confession safeguarded the Church’s faith in the full divinity and humanity of Jesus. The two wills were not opposed but worked together in perfect harmony — as St. Maximus had argued, the human will freely following and cooperating with the divine. In this, the Council preserved the integrity of the Incarnation: Christ was not a divided being, nor a mere instrument of divinity, but a true person in whom both God and humanity are fully present and active.
The outcome of Constantinople III was not merely theological precision; it was a reaffirmation of the mystery of salvation itself. By declaring that Christ’s human will remained distinct yet perfectly obedient to the divine, the Church proclaimed that salvation comes through Christ’s full participation in our humanity. He redeemed the human will not by erasing it but by healing and elevating it. In that harmony of wills — divine majesty and human obedience — the Church saw the pattern of redemption: the reconciliation of God and man, the joining of heaven and earth in the person of Jesus Christ, the obedient Son who freely willed the will of His Father for the life of the world.
Additional Note: The Church of India and the Sixth Ecumenical Council
While detailed records of every regional delegation at the Third Council of Constantinople (AD 680–681) are scarce, historical tradition and ecclesiastical correspondence indicate that the Church of the East — which included the ancient Christian communities of Persia and India — maintained communion with the wider Church during this period. The Indian Church, tracing its origin to St. Thomas the Apostle, was under the spiritual oversight of the Catholicos-Patriarch of Seleucia-Ctesiphon, whose jurisdiction extended over Persia, Parthia, and India.
In the proceedings of Constantinople III, the Eastern Patriarchates were represented by legates who spoke for the broader Syriac-speaking world, including the Indian believers along the Malabar Coast. Although we do not have a direct record of an individual bishop from India attending, the faith of the St. Thomas Christians was represented through the Church of Persia, their mother Church at that time. This connection was both spiritual and liturgical: Indian Christians shared the same East Syriac liturgy, theology, and ecclesiastical hierarchy that aligned with the orthodox confession proclaimed at the Council.
Thus, when the Council declared that Christ possesses “two natural wills and two natural operations,” it was not only the bishops of Constantinople or Rome who bore witness to this truth, but also the believers from Edessa, Seleucia, and even distant India, bound together in the same confession of Christ’s full divinity and full humanity. The Nicene and Chalcedonian faith had long reached their shores — and through their enduring witness, the Church of India stood in continuity with the universal Church’s defense of the incarnate Word, true God and true man.
Theological Meaning
The confession that Christ possesses both a divine and a human will lies at the very heart of the Christian understanding of salvation. The Incarnation was not merely God appearing in human form — it was God truly becoming human, entering fully into our condition without sin. If Christ lacked a human will, then He could not truly represent us before the Father; His obedience would be that of a divine being acting in disguise, not the real, redeeming obedience of a human heart. And if He lacked a divine will, He would be unable to redeem, for no mere human could bear the weight of the world’s sin or reconcile humanity to God. Only the union of both — the divine and the human — could achieve salvation.
In the Garden of Gethsemane, we behold not divine distance but divine intimacy., Christ’s human will — trembling, suffering, yet obedient — is brought into perfect alignment with the eternal will of the Father. This is not weakness; it is the perfection of humanity. Jesus’ surrender is not forced submission but an act of love freely offered. He shows us that the fullest expression of human freedom is not independence from God, but joyful cooperation with His will. His obedience reveals what it means to be truly human — not the assertion of self, but the willing harmony of love. In this moment, humanity is no longer at war with God; the wound of rebellion that began in Eden is healed in the obedience of the Son.
As Gregory of Nazianzus wisely declared,
“What has not been assumed cannot be healed.”
As Gregory of Nazianzus wisely declared, “What has not been assumed cannot be healed.” With this single sentence, the great theologian captured the essence of the Incarnation and the entire mystery of redemption. Gregory understood that salvation required Christ to enter into every dimension of human existence — body, mind, and will — so that nothing in us would remain untouched by His grace. By assuming our full humanity, Jesus did not merely identify with our weakness; He healed it from within. When His human will was joined in perfect harmony with the divine, the capacity to choose — once the source of our fall — became the very means of our salvation. In Christ, self-will was transformed into surrender, rebellion into reverence, and human desire into divine alignment. Thus, this truth is not a distant abstraction but a living promise: the same Christ who united divine and human wills in Himself now works within us, restoring our disordered loves and teaching our hearts to will what God wills. In Him, the broken human will finds both its healing and its peace.
Leslie Weatherhead and the Will of God
In his timeless classic The Will of God, Leslie Weatherhead offers a deeply compassionate and practical framework for understanding how divine purpose unfolds amid the brokenness of human experience. Writing in the midst of World War II, when suffering and loss filled every home, he sought to help believers discern the difference between what God wills, what God allows, and what God ultimately brings to fulfillment. Weatherhead described three expressions of God’s will: the Intentional Will — God’s perfect design for humanity, rooted in love and goodness; the Circumstantial Will — God’s working within the limitations and consequences of a fallen world; and the Ultimate Will — His final triumph, when all pain and evil are redeemed in eternal victory. This distinction does not weaken the sovereignty of God but deepens our understanding of His unchanging love — a love that continues to work redemptively even in circumstances far from His original intention.
In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus Himself entered the center of this mystery. There, He encountered the circumstantial will of the Father — the necessity of suffering that existed because of sin and the brokenness of the world. Yet, in the same moment, He looked beyond that immediate pain toward the ultimate will of God — the redemption of all creation through His obedience and sacrifice. When He prayed, “Father, if You are willing, take this cup from Me; yet not My will, but Yours be done,” He acknowledged the natural human longing to avoid suffering but freely chose to yield His will to the greater purpose of love. In that act, He revealed that God’s will is not the cause of the world’s suffering but the pathway through which suffering can be transformed. Weatherhead’s insight reminds us that the cup of sorrow is not handed by a cruel God but permitted by a loving Father who uses even pain to pour out grace.
Seen through this lens, Christ’s agony becomes a revelation of divine hope. The circumstantial will — the suffering and injustice Christ endured — did not stand in opposition to the ultimate will, but became its very means of fulfillment. In Gethsemane, Jesus did not passively resign Himself to tragedy; He actively cooperated with a plan that would turn evil to good and death to life. His obedience transformed pain into purpose and surrender into salvation. This is the great paradox of Christian faith: what appears as defeat in human eyes is, in divine reality, the triumph of love. The place of anguish becomes the womb of redemption when the human will, in faith, aligns with the divine.
For every believer, Gethsemane is not only a story of Christ’s obedience but an invitation to enter the same holy struggle. We, too, must face moments when God’s circumstantial will — what He allows in a broken world — feels unbearable, and yet trust that His ultimate will — what He brings out of that suffering — will be glorious. Weatherhead’s wisdom calls us not to passive submission but to active faith — to believe that God’s will is not a burden to carry but a relationship of love to embrace. When we pray, “Thy will be done,” we step into that sacred harmony where divine and human wills meet. It is in that prayer of surrender that pain is transformed into purpose, and sorrow becomes a seed of hope. For, as Weatherhead and the gospel alike proclaim, God’s will always moves through suffering toward redemption, through the cross toward resurrection, and through our brokenness toward His ultimate victory of love.
In Reflection
The debate over Christ’s two wills is far more than an ancient theological dispute — it is the key to understanding the very rhythm of redemption. In the Garden of Gethsemane, we see humanity’s self-will — the will that once chose its own way in Eden — finally meet divine love face to face, and there it is healed. The Son of God, fully human and fully divine, did not suppress His human longing but offered it in obedience to the Father. That moment of surrender transformed the history of the world: what had been the source of our fall became the means of our salvation. Through Christ’s “Yes,” the human will, long fractured by sin, was restored to its rightful harmony with God.
Leslie Weatherhead adds another layer of wisdom, showing that to accept God’s will is not passive submission, but active faith. God’s will is not an impersonal decree that crushes human desire, but a relationship in which love transforms suffering into meaning. When we pray, “Thy will be done,” we are not resigning ourselves to fate but trusting in the Redeemer who can bring good even from pain. Christ’s obedience in Gethsemane is thus not only our example but our empowerment — the living assurance that the human will, when surrendered to God, becomes the very channel of divine purpose.
The Christian life, then, begins and continues at the intersection of these truths: where our will meets His, and our desires are reshaped by His love. Every act of surrender is not a loss, but a step deeper into divine life — a participation in the eternal dance of Father, Son, and Spirit. In that sacred rhythm, our prayers, choices, and even our sufferings are gathered into the music of redemption. And we hear again the voice of Jesus, who still leads the way:
“For I have come down from heaven, not to do My own will
but the will of Him who sent Me.” — John 6:38
Thy Will Be Done — The Prayer of East and West
The simple yet profound words “Thy will be done” have reverberated through the centuries — rising from the agonized prayer of Christ in Gethsemane to the whispered petitions of believers in every generation. This prayer, taught by Jesus Himself, stands at the heart of both personal devotion and global worship. It is not a plea of resignation but an act of profound trust, a declaration that God’s wisdom is greater than our understanding and His love deeper than our fear. From the garden where Jesus knelt to the sanctuaries of every continent, this prayer has become the universal language of surrender, echoing through the Church’s hymns, liturgies, and hearts.
In the Eastern Church, these words are infused with the warmth of mystical intimacy rather than the chill of fatalism. For the early Syriac Christians, to pray “Thy will be done” was to enter into participation with divine love, not to submit to blind destiny. Their ancient liturgies — still cherished today in the Mar Thoma and Orthodox churches of India — include the prayer: “May Your will be accomplished in us, O Lord, as it is in heaven.” This beautiful phrase expresses a vision of obedience that is creative, joyful, and relational. In their worship, the will of God is seen not as something imposed from above but as a melody sung within the human heart — one that gathers every discordant note of life into harmony with the eternal song of love.
This, too, is the truth that Leslie Weatherhead articulated for a suffering world. He taught that God’s will is not the source of our pain but the channel through which it is redeemed. When we pray “Thy will be done,” we are not asking for hardship, but for transformation — that even in our trials, the redemptive purpose of God might shine. To join Christ in His obedience is to believe that no suffering is wasted, no loss is final, and no darkness is beyond the reach of divine light. The prayer becomes not an end but a beginning — the turning of the soul toward trust, the moment when human weakness opens itself to the strength of grace.
In that surrender, we step into the divine dance of the Trinity — the eternal rhythm of giving and receiving, of love perfectly obeying love. Every time a believer says “yes” to God’s will, another note joins the eternal song of grace. Obedience becomes worship, and surrender becomes joy. East and West, ancient and modern, all find their unity in this prayer — the echo of Gethsemane that continues to resound wherever hearts learn to trust the Father’s love. “Thy will be done” is not the sigh of defeat, but the anthem of redemption — the harmony of heaven born in the heart of earth.
Prayer
Lord Jesus Christ, true God and true man, whose divine and human wills moved together in perfect harmony, teach us to pray as You prayed — not with fear but with trust.
When life brings pain we cannot understand, remind us that Your will is not the author of our suffering but the Redeemer who works through it.
Align our restless hearts with Yours until our will becomes one with the Father’s, and our lives echo Your words: “Not my will, but Yours be done.”
Amen.
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