From "Thy Will" to "My Will" — and Beyond

This formula sounds humble, but often becomes: a refusal of responsibility, an attempt to explain what we don't understand, psychological pain relief.

In Vedanta this is called tamasic surrender — when a person doesn't see causes but covers them with God.

If everything were merely God's will, then karma would lose meaning, learning would be impossible, and suffering would be arbitrary rather than consequential.

But Krishna says clearly: God does not cancel causality. He is the law, not a caprice.

Modern humans, tired of religious passivity, say: "I create my own reality."

But this trap is subtler.

If we examine "my will," we find: genetics, childhood, language, culture, hormones, unconscious patterns, current circumstances.

Where is the "I" that chooses?

Buddhism states directly: What you call will is simply the next impulse in a chain of causes.

Both positions share the same structure: a transfer of agency, a false subject, an attempt to find "the owner of the process."

There is no difference between them.

What remains when both illusions fall away?

For a long time, the formula "Thy will be done" helped me accept what was happening. It felt like surrender — and in a sense, it was.

But over time I noticed another side of this state: it became a warm swamp where nothing was required of me.

In Yoga and Vedanta they distinguish this clearly: sattvic surrender is clear, sober, active; tamasic surrender is warm, viscous, lulling. What I had found was tamas, not God.

I began to see how complaint becomes strategy. How sympathy from others feeds the victim image. How reflection reinforces the identity of "the unfortunate one." The loop is simple: I complain → I receive pity → I feel significant → the identity of "sufferer" solidifies → responsibility is postponed → an illusion of meaning arises.

Buddhism calls this upādāna — clinging to self-image.

This is exactly where I said to myself: "My will be done." Not in the sense of omnipotence, but in the sense of recognition — I agree to the impulse, I feed this loop, and I can stop doing it.

Not "I created the impulse," but: I didn't stop it. This is the zone of practical freedom that Stoics, Buddhists, and modern neurobiologists all speak of.

I returned to chess because I learned to accept losing. I stopped reacting impulsively — cursing, throwing, closing the app, deleting the game from my phone.

Before: loss = threat to self-image, impulse = flight, aggression, breaking off.

Now: loss = fact, emotion arises, but I don't feed it with action.

This is exactly what the Yoga Sutras call abhyāsa + vairāgya — practice + non-attachment.

And here it becomes clear why from the very beginning I said: "There is no difference between them." Because truth is not in the formula, but in the ability not to identify.

Vedanta, Buddhism, and modern neuroscience converge on one point:

There is no free will. But there are levels of awareness of causes.

Not "I choose" and not "God chose for me," but: choice happens, and can be witnessed.

I traveled from "Thy will be done" — as a refusal to understand, to "My will be done" — as an illusion of control.

And at some point it became clear: neither God nor I make decisions.

Decisions arise as consequences of causes, and freedom is not power over them, but the ability to see them.

This is authentic freedom — not metaphysical, but alive.