Søren Kierkegaard, in his work *The Sickness Unto Death*, explores despair as an intensification of sin—a refusal to rest fully in God’s grace and presence. He describes sin as the culmination of despair, which manifests as either a rebellious assertion of oneself or a tragic capitulation. He writes: “Sin is: before God, or with the conception of God, in despair not to will to be oneself, or in despair to will to be oneself. Thus sin is the intensification of despair.” Further, he notes: “To despair over one's sins indicates that sin has become or wants to be internally consistent. It wants nothing to do with the good, does not want to be so weak as to hear anything about repentance and grace.” This captures the vicious cycle: the addictive pattern involves a persistent striving for assurance—an attempt to earn or justify grace—yet it remains elusive, fueling ongoing guilt and shame. The addict’s experience is marked by a desire for relief or redemption that seems perpetually out of reach, leading to a kind of internal stalemate. Further reflecting on the human condition, Augustine confesses that the soul is often held captive by long-standing habits: “The long habit of doing wrong which has infected us from childhood and corrupted us little by little over many years and ever after holds us in bondage and slavery to itself, so that it seems somehow to have acquired the force of nature” (*Confessions*). This insight echoes your observation about addiction’s secret power—its persistence is not simply a matter of moral failure but a deep-rooted, often unconscious, bondage. Nevertheless, Augustine emphasizes that grace can illuminate a path through this darkness, transforming the habit into a journey of dependence on Christ rather than a final defeat. The theologians remind us that the “secret” of persistent sin and addiction is not a sign of ultimate defeat but an entry point for divine grace to operate most powerfully. The unbreakable reality is that the struggle itself—marked by guilt, shame, and repeated fallings—becomes the very terrain where Christ’s mercy is most vividly experienced. It is through acknowledging and embracing this ongoing weakness that the soul is drawn closer to the Redeemer, who alone offers perfect freedom—a freedom rooted in filial dependence, trust, and grace. Martin Luther, influenced heavily by Augustine and by Paul’s anguished cry in Romans 7, emphasized the radical bondage of human will—an enslavement to sin that only grace can break. In his work *The Bondage of the Will*, Luther states plainly: “Free-will without God's grace is not free at all, but is the permanent prisoner and bond slave of evil, since it cannot turn itself to good.” He further clarifies: “We do everything of necessity, and nothing by 'free-will'; for the power of 'free-will' is nil, and it does no good, nor can do, without grace.” Luther’s words underscore a core point: by our own power, we are incapable of freeing ourselves from sin’s dominion. Even our attempts at choosing or resisting are tainted by our fallen condition, and without divine grace, we remain in a state of slavery. This insight directly supports the point that choosing to remain under sin’s rule—whether consciously or unconsciously—leads to a kind of spiritual imprisonment, where illusions of control or self-justification obscure the reality of our bondage. John Calvin, another towering theological voice, acknowledged that even in believers, the remnants of sin—what he called “indwelling sin”—persistently remain. He admits in his *Institutes* that this ongoing presence of sin creates continual internal conflict and humility: “I cannot preach, but I sin. I cannot administer, nor receive the holy sacrament, but I sin. My very repentance needs to be repented of and the tears I shed need washing in the blood of Christ.” Calvin’s honesty about personal failure and ongoing struggle aligns with your phenomenology of relapse—highlighting that guilt often resurfaces after a fall, revealing the profound and persistent pain sin inflicts upon the human heart. Yet, crucially, Calvin emphasizes that grace is operative even amid this vulnerability, transforming it into a space where one encounters Christ anew. The deep and complex struggle —where the soul, on an intellectual level, recognizes and affirms the reality of divine grace and acceptance, yet at the same time remains entangled in addictive tendencies that lead to self-condemnation—resonates profoundly with the teachings and reflections of some of the most influential theologians in Christian history. Their insights into the nature of sin, the persistent pull of disordered desires (known as concupiscence), the painful experience of guilt, and the transformative yet imperfect work of grace shed light on this very human predicament with remarkable honesty and depth. Augustine, a towering figure whose understanding of human nature has shaped Western theology for centuries, often spoke of sin not simply as individual wrong actions but as a force that enslaves the human will—a habitual condition rooted in the disordered desires inherited from the Fall of Adam. He described concupiscence as a kind of internal law of sin present within our members, constantly battling against the renewed law of the mind. In his work *On Marriage and Concupiscence*, Augustine writes: “Now this concupiscence, this law of sin which is in their members, warring against the law of their mind... Concupiscence in the Regenerate Without Consent is Not Sin; In What Sense Concupiscence is Called Sin.” Here, he acknowledges that while disordered desire persists even in those redeemed by grace, it is not always voluntary sin but a condition that can provoke sin. In sum, the profound tension —where the soul recognizes the truth of grace but remains entangled in addictive patterns—finds its most truthful reflection in the writings of these great theologians. Their reflections show us that the unchangeable secret is not the eradication of sin’s grip in this life but the transformative process by which grace operates amid weakness. It is precisely in the acknowledgment of our persistent struggle that the divine liberating power is most fully revealed, leading us inexorably toward the hope of ultimate redemption and the fullness of life in Christ. All of these theologians converge on a profound paradox: that sin’s addictive power, along with the pain—manifested as guilt, shame, and helplessness—are not simply eradicated in the process of sanctification. Instead, they are transformed through grace into a cruciform experience. As Paul cries out in Romans 7:24–25 (ESV): “Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” Grace does not erase the wounds inflicted by sin; rather, it crucifies them and raises the soul into new life. This process involves a descent into honest awareness of one’s ongoing struggle with sin’s remnants and a simultaneous ascent into communion with Christ, where pain and vulnerability become the very means through which divine mercy is received.