by Drew Dyck
I read a powerful story from business thinker Clayton M. Christensen that drove home this point for me. Christensen, who graduated from the prestigious Harvard Business School (HBS), writes about how he’s witnessed talented and hard-working colleagues ruin their lives:
Over the years I’ve watched the fates of my HBS classmates from 1979 unfold; I’ve seen more and more of them come to reunions unhappy, divorced, and alienated from their children. I can guarantee you that not a single one of them graduate with the deliberate strategy of getting divorced and raising children who would become estranged from them. And yet a shocking number of them implemented that strategy.1
What went wrong with these promising HBS grads? According to Christensen, it boiled down to a strategic error: “They didn’t keep the purpose of their lives front and center as they decided how to spend their time, talents, and energy.”2
Christensen believes he was rescued from similar heartache by a practice he instituted while he was a student at Oxford: “I decided to spend an hour every night reading, thinking, and praying about why God put me on this earth.” But many of his peers never established a worthwhile purpose and ended up sabotaging themselves. “People who are driven to excel have this unconscious propensity to underinvest in their families and overinvest in their careers,” he writes. They “inadvertently invested for lives of hollow unhappiness.”3
What makes the plight of these HBS grads so sobering is that they’re the last people you would expect to lead “lives of hollow unhappiness.” Intelligent, educated, and hard-working, they had every opportunity in life. The problem was they had no ultimate purpose, so their priorities were skewed. They ended up living for themselves, which meant pursuing career at the expense of relationships. It’s a cautionary story worth heeding. They served themselves and they ended up alone.
Unfortunately, much of the material on self-control simply perpetuates this problem. Recently at the local bookstore, I surveyed the literature on developing discipline and was struck by how often words like “Power” and “Success” appeared in the titles. Self-control is presented as a means to get rich or popular or wealthy. It encourages people to set goals—whatever goals they want—and pursue them with single-minded determination. But biblical self-control can’t be divorced from biblical purposes. And we know what those purposes are.
When Jesus was asked, “Which is the greatest commandment?,” His reply was simple: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment.” Then He added this addendum: “And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments” (Matt. 22:36–40).
The religious leader who posed the commandment question had sinister motives. He was “testing” Jesus, trying to trip Him up and discredit Him. But thanks to his question, we have a perfect distillation of God’s law, right from the mouth of God’s Son. Call it the divinely inspired purpose statement. If you really want to bottom-line things, if you truly desire to know what’s most important, here’s what you need to do:
Love God. Love others.
Unfortunately, we don’t always obey those commands. Why? Because our hearts are all messed up.
OUT OF ORDER
The fourth-century theologian Augustine knew a lot about sin. He’s the one who uttered the highly questionable prayer: “Grant me chastity and self-control, but please not yet.”4 Even as he cried out for freedom from sin, he could still feel its pull.
Ultimately, though, Augustine concluded that sin wasn’t merely about individual acts. It was about the heart. He believed that what you love is the most important thing about who you are. But he observed that we tend to have “disordered loves.” In other words, we love some things more than we should. And we love other things less than we should. We should love people more than possessions, but often our hearts prize the latter more than the former. We should desire God more than His gifts, but we get that mixed up too.
These disordered loves cause all kinds of problems. Pastor Tim Keller offers this example. “There is nothing wrong with loving your work, but if you love it more than your family, then your loves are out of order and you may ruin your family.”5 When I read that example, I couldn’t help think of Christensen’s colleagues: their personal lives were destroyed by disordered loves.
Loving career more than family is just one example of disordered love. From a Christian perspective, not even family should command our highest devotion. That spot is reserved for your Creator. Keller explains: “The ultimate disordered love, however—and the ultimate source of our discontent—is failure to love the first thing first, the failure to love God supremely.”6 There’s a cruel irony that comes into play whenever we value something above God. If we prioritize happiness above all else, we will never find happiness. If we grant marriage or family or work the highest place in our hearts, we will end up hurting those too. These are all good things, but they were never meant to bear the full weight of our ultimate allegiance.
Lavishing our highest love on something other than God leaves us empty, dissatisfied. We have a “God-shaped vacuum” in our hearts. Only when we grant God our highest love do we find the contentment we crave. As Augustine wrote, “You have made us for yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.”7
Biblical self-control is about keeping our loves in the right order. In a sense, we can only do what we love. When we succumb to sin, it’s because in that moment, we loved something else—pleasure, pride, comfort—more than God. We will always operate out of our loves. That means we must rightly order our hearts, taking special care to ensure we are not worshiping anything or anyone other than God. Doing so will also help us fulfill the second greatest commandment: loving others.
Loving others doesn’t come naturally for us. We’re selfish creatures; we tend to put our needs and interests first. The needs of others? We’ll get to them … if there’s enough time. It takes discipline to resist this selfish impulse and serve others. It’s hardly a natural thing to do.
People often comment on what a “natural mother” my wife, Grace, is. Indeed, she’s an excellent mom. After working full-time for the first eight years of our marriage, she now spends her days at home with our three young children. I marvel at her ability to read children’s books (over and over), do kids’ crafts, play toys with them, clean up spills, and otherwise entertain, discipline, educate, correct, and comfort little human beings. But she’ll be the first one to tell you that these activities don’t come naturally for her. Some people enjoy the trappings of childcare. Interacting with small children and entering their world energizes them. Not her. Before we had children, Grace would volunteer in the church nursery and come out frazzled. When she was a teenager, she found babysitting stressful. Even caring for our children has been challenging. “I don’t love playing kids’ games and reading kids’ books,” she told me. “But I love our kids so much that I’m happy to do those things.” Grace isn’t a hero; she’s a mom. And because she loves her children she consistently puts her own preferences aside. She exercises self-control to do what’s best for them.
The same principle applies when it comes to loving people outside our biological family. It’s no coincidence that the fruit of the Spirit Paul lists (love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control) has a communal dimension. In fact, most aren’t virtues per se. They’re more like states of being designed to promote interpersonal harmony. By placing self-control at the end of this list, I believe Paul is emphasizing its value for relationships. Being self-controlled enables us to suspend our interests enough to truly love others. As Sir Alec Paterson prayed, “O God, help us to be masters of ourselves that we may be servants of others.”8
Once you understand self-control in this way, the very idea of using it for selfish reasons becomes a contradiction, an absurdity. The first job of self-control is resisting the
temptation to put yourself first. There’s a certain pain in loosening your grip on self-centeredness. Like Augustine, you feel like crying out for God to free you from the slavery of sin—but please not yet.
Of course loving God and others ends up being the best thing for you. Paradoxically, that’s how you discover true joy and fulfillment. But you can’t do it by placing yourself on the throne of your own heart. You will indeed find your life, but only once you’re willing to lose it. Once you surrender, however, the true adventure begins. Self-control becomes a powerful tool for living a life that glorifies God and blesses others. Ultimately, self-control isn’t about you. It’s about surrendering to God’s purposes for you. And it’s not about getting success or money or power. In the end, it’s about love.
PURPOSE IS AN ENGINE
We know a lot today about the mechanics of self-control. Thanks to an explosion of research from social scientists over the past two decades, we have a greater understanding of the subject than ever before. We know how willpower works, why it fails, and what we can do to rein in our impulses. We can map out the areas of the brain involved in resisting temptation and overcoming challenges. We also have a host of tools and tactics to help us change our behavior. These insights and strategies are valuable, and we’ll explore them in this book. Yet as we survey strategies for increasing willpower and improving “self-regulation,” we can’t forget the purpose of self-control. Loving God and others is our ultimate aim. But there’s also a practical benefit to defining our ultimate purpose. Focusing on a transcendent goal actually fuels the formation of self-control. Purpose is like a steering wheel and an engine. It guides and propels us.
The life of Paul provides a perfect example. While Paul lamented his struggles with self-control, it’s apparent he was no slacker. Consider just a few of the things he accomplished. He evangelized huge swaths of the Roman Empire (on foot!), wrote almost a third of the New Testament (often from jail!), and nurtured church plants across the empire. And he did so all in the teeth of violent opposition. At one point, Paul provides a sample of the hardships he endured along the way: shipwrecks, lashings, imprisonment, a stoning, hunger, nakedness, sleeplessness, and constant danger. On top of all that, he adds, “I face the daily pressure of my concern for all the churches” (2 Cor. 11:28).
How could Paul withstand these hardships and keep going? I’m guessing most people would have given up after just a sampling of the persecution he experienced. Take, for instance, the lashings he received. This was a customary Roman punishment for criminals. The offender was given forty lashes, minus one. That’s thirty-nine strokes on the back with a whip that was cruelly outfitted with small pieces of bone and metal designed to rip away chunks of flesh. I think one of these sessions would probably be enough to stop me. Paul endured five.
Why did Paul do it?
Fortunately, we don’t have to speculate about his motives, because he came right out and told us what they were. “Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus” (Phil. 3:13–14).
Paul’s extraordinary feats weren’t undertaken to impress onlookers. He wasn’t interested in flaunting his steely resolve or pursuing selfish ends. It wasn’t self-control for self-control’s sake. He did it for an ultimate purpose: to win the “prize” of being united to Christ and to help as many people as possible do the same. That’s what kept him going. That’s the bright future he glimpsed as he languished in dark prisons. That’s the comfort he felt as whips tore into his flesh. That’s what fueled his determination and confidence. It’s what gave him the oomph to stagger to his feet for the thousandth time and strike off for the next city. Paul had a purpose.
When Paul wrote to the Corinthians, urging them to live disciplined lives of self-control, he emphasized the necessity of keeping this ultimate purpose in sight. Comparing the Christian journey to a race, he asked, “Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize?” (1 Cor. 9:24).
The Corinthians were very familiar with races. Corinth was home to the Isthmian Games, a massive sporting event held every three years. It was second in popularity only to the Olympic Games held in Athens. Paul’s words would have called to mind fresh images of athletes in the stadium, circling the hard-packed dirt track, their heads down and arms pumping. Paul points out what the Corinthians already knew. The runners weren’t out there for the fresh air; they wanted to win. The purpose of the race was the prize.
But as Paul stresses, the key to winning prizes is preparation. “Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training,” he wrote (1 Cor. 9:25). We know from history just how strict the training for these Greek athletes was. Competitors in the Isthmian Games were required to provide proof that they had trained for at least ten months and were confined to the gymnasium for the thirty days preceding the games. When it came time to compete, some athletes pushed themselves so hard, they died.
Paul noted the impressive commitment of these athletes, and urged the Corinthians to have the same unwavering focus and discipline when it came to their spiritual journey. “Run in such a way as to get the prize,” he implored (v. 24). And he reminded them that there was a crucial difference between the spiritual race and a physical one. While runners expended all their efforts “to get a crown that will not last,” believers “do it to get a crown that will last forever” (v. 25). The winners in the Isthmian games received a wreath made from celery or pine leaves. Talk about temporary! The Corinthian believers were working for a reward that would last forever.
Having assured them of the reward, Paul gives a glimpse of his training regimen.
Therefore I do not run like someone running aimlessly; I do not fight like a boxer beating the air. No, I strike a blow to my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize. (1 Cor. 9:26–27)
That’s strong language. Paul switches the analogy from racing to boxing and describes himself squaring off against his own fleshly desires. The words “strike a blow to my body” is translated from a Greek word that means “to give a black eye to.” This doesn’t mean that Paul literally hit his body. He forcibly subdued his sinful desires that threatened to make him forfeit the prize. But the flesh never goes down easy. It’s a violent, sweaty struggle. Here we see an example of self-control as the “fierce fruit” of the Spirit in action.9 Paul transforms his body from an enemy into an ally. He makes it his slave, an agent to serve his ultimate purpose rather than sabotaging it. Whereas before it threatened to take him out of the race, now it can help him win it.
I’ve been going to church all my life and can honestly say I’ve never heard a sermon with that kind of language. It seems we’re reluctant to speak of the war against the flesh in the same graphic terms. Even when we do broach the topic of sin, we use language that implies a sort of helplessness and resignation. We “deal with” issues or “struggle with” sins. Rarely do we speak of defeating them. Seldom do we don the armor of God and fight. Perhaps it’s no surprise then, that when temptation comes, we roll over for it. We shrug our shoulders and repeat some cliché about how no one is perfect.
We desperately need the kind of Spirit-empowered, sin-killing approach Paul described. And that comes only when we’re focused on the prize. When Paul wrote these words, the church in Corinth was a mess. They were plagued with divisions. They were getting drunk at the Lord’s Supper. One guy was sleeping with his father’s wife. On top of it all, they were arrogant. Paul addressed these sinful behaviors, but ultimately to help them develop the self-control they so badly needed, he directed their eyes heavenward. He reminded them of their ultimate purpose. Like athletes, they must fight idleness and submit to training.
When I read this passage, I picture Paul as a track coach. It’s like he’s jogging alongside his spiritual trainees, shouting encouragements. “Have you heard about the prize? Don’t you want to
win? Run! Run! Run!” All the effort and sacrifice would be worth it, he assured them. No cost was too great to win the prize.
In some ways, Paul’s advice to the Corinthians doesn’t seem very practical. Was it really best to encourage them to think about heaven when they had so many problems right here on earth? Had I been in Paul’s position, I might have handled things differently. I would have been more practical. “Let’s get some guidelines in place to deal with your appalling lack of self-control,” I would have said. “The Sunday school lesson on heaven can wait for later. Forget winning races; you just need to get back on your feet.”
But Paul was right to direct their gaze heavenward. He knew that seeing the prize would help them run the race. That ultimate goal would infuse their efforts with meaning and help them push a little harder to overcome obstacles. It would equip them to endure.
SANCTIFIED GOALS
In 2009, University of Miami researchers Michael McCullough and Brian Willoughby did something weird. Well, at least it seemed weird to their fellow academics. They published a paper on the link between religion and self-control. “For a long time it wasn’t cool for social scientists to study religion,” McCullough explained. But when they started looking, they found “some researchers were quietly chugging along for decades.”10 McCullough and Willoughby examined these studies, and found “remarkably consistent findings that religiosity correlates with higher self-control.”11
The studies went back nearly a hundred years. One from the 1920s found that children who went to Sunday school scored higher on tests measuring their self-discipline. McCullough and Willoughby also analyzed a dozen other studies showing that religious beliefs and practices boosted self-discipline, and not just for Sunday school kids. The positive impact cut across all age groups and socioeconomic strata, from “adolescents, university students, community-dwelling adults, and convicted drug offenders.”12