Journeeman.

Begin with the Question of Agency

Agency is an essential part of what it means to be human. Yet there are two ways of thinking about it that miss the truth entirely.

Some believe we have almost no agency at all — that everything is determined by nature, nurture, the structures we inhabit, and the forces of the universe. On this view, we have little to no say in who we are or what we become. At the opposite extreme are those who scarcely acknowledge constraint — who believe they are free to do whatever they will, striving toward a kind of anarchy against the very nature of existence.

The truth lies between these two: there is no absolute freedom, yet there is always some degree of agency, no matter where we find ourselves. This was one of Viktor Frankl’s profound insights, drawn from his experiences in Nazi concentration camps. Even there, in the most dehumanizing conditions imaginable, he observed that every human being retains a choice — even if it appears barely more than a shift in attitude. It is still there. And it must be made. We must choose. We must exercise our agency.

This leads us to a specific, profound question: When we look at Daniel 7:9–14, by whose agency did Jesus perform His miracles and signs? This passage, with its imagery of the Son of Man ascending to heaven, connects directly to Christ’s fulfilment of His mission. It prompts us to ask: How much agency did Jesus possess as the incarnate One, to decide what He would or would not do?

We hear Him speak in John’s Gospel with words that might seem to suggest a lack of agency — yet they reveal agency in its purest form:

• John 5:19 (ESV): “Truly, truly, I say to you, the Son can do nothing of his own accord, but only what he sees the Father doing. For whatever the Father does, that he does likewise.”
• John 6:38 (ESV): “For I have come down from heaven, not to do my own will but the will of him who sent me.”
• John 14:10 (ESV): “Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own authority, but the Father who dwells in me does his works.”

These words do not testify to a lack of agency. They reveal agency in its purest and most perfect form: His decision to align His very being and actions with the Father’s will. This is His complete participation in the Father’s will — His perfect agency, expressed in alignment with His true being.

Agency, for our purposes, is not primarily the power to determine our circumstances. Agency is the capacity to respond meaningfully to circumstances we do not determine. It is the fundamental human capacity to choose, to act, to consent or resist, to wait or engage — and to shape our being within the world as it presents itself, through deliberately willful enactment. This capacity ranges from the profound choice to do nothing — to observe, to withhold action — to the decisive “yes” or “no” that casts our inward reality out toward the world and its possibilities.

This leads us to the idea that life, like a playground, is a bounded field of possibility. We do not choose all the conditions into which we are born, but within those conditions we exercise agency. And so the question becomes: What does human agency look like when lived perfectly in relationship with God? This moves the discussion from abstract freedom toward Jesus.

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The Incarnation Means Genuine Human Agency

The Incarnation is not divine play‑acting. The Son entered fully into human existence, with all its realities. This is not a superficial assumption of humanity; it is a profound identification with it. Therefore, Jesus encountered circumstances He did not choose, experienced suffering, faced temptation, formed relationships, responded to people, withdrew and returned, prayed, chose, obeyed, and gave Himself.

Here we find a profound theological foundation: Jesus’ agency belongs to the reality of His humanity without compromising His divinity.

Consider the challenging words of Hebrews 5:8 (ESV): “Although he was a Son, he learned obedience from what he suffered.” This verse raises an extraordinary question: What does it mean for the incarnate Son to learn obedience? It suggests a difference between possessing divine identity and living that identity within the messy, constrained reality of human existence. Jesus did not merely know obedience abstractly; He enacted it. He lived it through His circumstances. Therefore, obedience is not the negation of agency — it is its most profound expression.

This is powerfully illustrated in the narrative of Jesus’ temptation. Weakened by fasting, He deliberately allowed Himself to enter a state of profound physical humility. He faced the very powers that would corrupt and destroy — what some might call the manifestation of nothingness, the embodiment of chaos and destruction that existed before creation stepped in. In this interaction, fundamental questions were laid before Him: about hunger, about identity, about self‑importance, about proving oneself to be in the will of God. In each instance, Jesus’ agency was exercised not by avoiding the challenge, but by deliberately choosing the Father’s path — demonstrating that His agency was rooted in a deeper commitment than mere self‑preservation or immediate gratification.

Furthermore, throughout John’s Gospel we see Jesus engaging with people with profound insight. He knew the hearts of the crowds and did not entrust Himself to them, as John 2:24–25 (ESV) states: “But Jesus on his part did not entrust himself to them, because he knew all people and needed no one to bear witness about man, for he himself knew what was in man.” Yet despite this deep understanding of their inner dispositions, He did not withdraw or condemn. Instead, His agency engaged them realistically — meeting them where they were, without pretense or distortion. This is agency with realism: the will actively engaging with the fallen world and imperfect people, acknowledging our shared fallibility.

This culminates in the dramatic centre of His human experience: Gethsemane. In Luke 22:42 (ESV) we hear the pivotal words: “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.” This passage is crucial because it reveals a genuine act of willing. Jesus does not say, “I have no will.” Rather, His human will confronts an unbearable reality — and then He chooses. He entrusts His will to the Father’s will. Here is a remarkable theological paradox: Jesus’ agency is demonstrated not by resisting the Father’s will, but by freely consenting to it. Obedience is not something that happens to Jesus; it is something Jesus does.

Even before His earthly ministry began, the Apostle Paul points to the agency inherent in Jesus’ divine being. In Philippians 2:5–8 (ESV), Paul writes: “Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” This passage highlights that His incarnation was not something that happened to Him; it was a choice. Though in the form of God, He voluntarily emptied Himself and chose the path of servanthood and obedience — even unto death. This was no passive act. It was a radical, volitional movement of His being, demonstrating that His agency was not merely a human capacity acquired in the Incarnation, but an intrinsic aspect of His being, freely chosen to be expressed in humility.

To encapsulate this profound reality, Karl Barth offers this powerful observation: “He humbled himself, but he did not do it by ceasing to be who he is. He went into a strange land, but even there, and especially there, he never became a stranger to himself.” This is the core of His agency: not an abandonment of His true self, but a consistent, willful enactment of who He is within the reality He entered — even when that reality did not recognize Him.

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Agency Does Not Require Autonomy

Our exploration of Jesus’ agency has revealed a profound truth: genuine agency does not require absolute autonomy. In fact, the most powerful expressions of agency often arise precisely within limitations, relationships, and even suffering. Jesus, in His incarnate life, serves as the ultimate example of this principle.

We have seen how Jesus, despite His divine nature, chose to enter a human existence bound by necessity, relationship, and the will of the Father. His obedience was learned; His temptations were real; His engagement with humanity was realistic; and His ultimate choice in Gethsemane was to submit His will to the Father’s. These are not signs of a lack of agency — they are demonstrations of agency exercised in its most profound, relational, and meaningful form.

The idea that agency requires autonomy is a modern, often individualistic, conception that can lead us astray. It suggests true freedom means being unconstrained, unbound, entirely self‑determining. But human existence is inherently relational. Our choices are always made within a context of circumstances, other people, and often greater purposes.

Psychological and sociological research consistently confirms that we are fundamentally social beings — designed to find meaning and connection within one another. Attachment theory illuminates this: secure bonds provide the foundation from which we develop a sense of self, security, and the capacity to explore and act in the world. Connection is not opposed to agency; it provides the very ground from which agency grows.

As Mario McCauley and Phillip Shaver write in Attachment Theory Expanded (Guilford Press, 2023, p. 72): “Humans are completely dependent on each other in myriad ways and, in general, have evolved to experience positive feelings during social interactions and to thrive in the context of multiple relationships. They are also curious and continually changing and developing, and they naturally must confront the inevitable downsides of social relations such as experiences of neglect, rejection, ostracism, coercion, infidelity, and abuse.”

This quote underscores that our very design for connection carries inherent risk. Agency is not found in the absence of others or in seeking risk‑free autonomy — it is found in navigating the complexities and vulnerabilities of relationship. It is in confronting these inevitable downsides that our agency is tested and refined. Meaningful belonging comes through both connection and risk. And within this web, we must remember to maintain our individual agency — without being flattened or consumed by the crowd. As Gustave Le Bon famously observed: “The individual in the crowd is a grain of sand, easily swept away by the storm of the masses.”

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Constrained Freedom

As noted in an earlier discussion, the playground concept is helpful here. Human beings do not choose the boundaries of the field into which we enter. These constraints are real, and they shape the context of our existence. We do not choose:

• our birth,
• our biological limitations,
• our historical moment,
• our culture,
• many of our circumstances,
• the actions of others,
• suffering,
• or mortality.

Yet, within these undeniable realities, we still act.

This leads us to a crucial understanding: freedom is not unlimited possibility. It is meaningful agency exercised within conditions that are not entirely ours to determine.

Jesus embodies this perfectly. He did not choose the political circumstances of first‑century Palestine. He did not choose the hostility of the religious authorities. He did not choose Judas’s betrayal. He did not choose suffering or death as though suffering itself were intrinsically desirable. Rather, within circumstances He did not choose, He chose His response. He chose faithfulness, love, and obedience to the Father — even when the cost was the cross. That is agency: not choosing the field, but choosing how to stand within it.

The cross, therefore, becomes the ultimate act of constrained agency. It was not an escape from suffering, but a deliberate engagement with it — a willing embrace of the Father’s will even when every other option had been stripped away. As His circumstances narrowed, His agency became most clear. He could not control what happened to Him. But He could choose how to meet it, how to imbue it with meaning, and how to love to the very end.

This profound freedom — the ability to choose our response even when the options are dire — can be exhilarating, yet deeply daunting. Søren Kierkegaard captured this existential tension in The Concept of Anxiety: “Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.” This dizziness arises precisely because we are confronted with our own capacity to choose, to act, and to shape meaning within realities we cannot control. The weight of responsibility — of choosing within limits — can feel overwhelming.

Our agency is not about eliminating these constraints or the anxiety they provoke. It is about navigating them with intention and purpose. In this navigation — this courageous response to the conditions we did not choose — we find our most authentic self and discover what it truly means to belong.

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Conclusion

No matter how we understand freedom and agency, one thing is certain: we have to make choices.

There are those who argue for determinism — that we have little or no choice at all, that we are merely biological machines compelled by forces within and without. Such a view risks rendering morality and ethics irrelevant, because it assumes actions lie beyond the reach of free will and agency.

Then there is the other extreme: those who believe they cannot move unless God explicitly tells them what to do. For a significant part of my life, I was one of those people — waiting to be told. I even believed that when other people told me what to do, it was as if God was speaking — and I would blindly follow, thinking, “This must be God.”

I have learned since: such ways of thinking are merely escapisms — escapes from the responsibility of choice, from freedom before God, from agency. I now understand that it is within my faith, my beliefs, my understanding, and my desire to stand before God as the self created by the complexity of divine will, human existence, and all the influences around me — it is within that complexity that I find my agency. What is required of me is the deepest knowing that arises from myself: my being, my beliefs, my understanding, and my willingness to cast myself into reality.

Summary and Reiteration

Our journey has illuminated a profound understanding of agency. We began with the Incarnation — Jesus demonstrating genuine human agency, not as performance, but as full engagement with our condition. We then saw that agency is fundamentally relational, not autonomous — thriving in connection even amidst imperfection. Finally, we established that agency is exercised in response to constraint: our freedom is not boundless possibility, but the capacity to respond meaningfully to circumstances we do not determine. Jesus’ life, culminating in the cross, stands as the ultimate model — acting purposefully within the profound limitations of human existence.

Final Reflection and Application

The “dizziness of freedom” Kierkegaard describes is the weight of choice — especially when faced with limits we cannot escape. Yet it is precisely within those constraints — our birth, our biology, our history, our relationships, our suffering, our mortality — that agency finds its truest expression. It is not in the absence of boundaries, but in our courageous, faithful, and discerning response to them, that we create meaning, live authentically, and stand before God as the persons we are called to be. This understanding calls us: not to wait for dictation, nor to be swept away by the crowd — but to engage actively with the reality before us, guided by our deepest convictions, and willing to step into the world empowered by the very freedom that arises within our constraints.