by Drew Dyck
So how did religion increase self-control?
Some of the explanations were hardly surprising. McCullough and Willoughby cited the influence of religious practices and rituals. Anyone who has sat through a long sermon on a hard pew understands the character-building value of such experiences. Then there was the benefit of having behavioral guidelines and accountability. But there was something more: what researchers call “sanctified goals,” the tendency of believers to give spiritual significance to their endeavors. According to McCullough and Willoughby, this dynamic was powerful. “Goal sanctification of this nature appears to energize goal striving and, possibly, influence successful goal attainment.”13
One self-identified “heathen,” writing in The New York Times, was so impressed with McCullough’s and Willoughby’s findings he wondered, “If I’m serious about keeping my New Year’s resolutions…. should the to-do list include, ‘Start going to church’?” But McCullough burst his bubble, explaining to him that only true believers reap the benefits. “Religious people are self-controlled … because they’ve absorbed the ideals of their religion into their own system of values, and have thereby given their personal goals an aura of sacredness,” McCullough told him. “The belief that God has preferences for how you behave and the goals you set for yourself has to be the granddaddy of all psychological devices for encouraging people to follow through with their goals.”
It turns out that this “granddaddy of all psychological devices” exerts influence on just about every area of life. Studies show that couples who view their marriages as “manifestations of God” have better relationships and do better at resolving conflict. People who view their bodies as a “gift[s] from God” have healthier lifestyles. Workers who see their careers as a calling work harder and perform better at their jobs. It turns out that seeing your life through a spiritual lens has massive practical benefits.
To get a better understanding of this phenomenon, I talked to Sarah Schnitker, a professor of psychology at Baylor University who studies virtue and character development. Schnitker isn’t surprised that religion boosts self-control. Though she’s a psychologist, she’s quick to point out that character building has religious roots. “Virtue formation historically wasn’t the domain of psychology, because we didn’t have psychology until modern times,” she told me. “It was done in the context of the church. And it had an overarching purpose. It was about honoring God, benefiting community.”
Schnitker speculates that many attempts at developing character suffer by neglecting this heritage. “Secular efforts to build self-control have been ineffective because they don’t have the spiritual telos [purpose],” she said. “When people are pursuing sanctified goals,” she concluded, “they pursue them differently.”
But why exactly do people pursue sanctified goals more effectively?
Schnitker pointed out one reason that seems pretty obvious, what I call the “God-is-always-watching” factor. “Beliefs about God affect the way people perform on self-control tests,” Schnitker said. “If you believe in an omniscient, watchful God, you perform much better on temptation-resistance tests.”
However, the power of sanctified goals isn’t all due to the watchful eye in the sky. “Sanctification of even mundane goals changes the way people engage in goal pursuit,” Schnitker explained. “So take a goal, say being a good parent. It’s not necessarily a spiritual goal, but if you imbue that goal with sacred meaning, and say that God cares about this calling, you pursue goals related to that role with more effort.” That’s a benefit you don’t get if you are motivated by more self-focused concerns. “We find that when you pursue happiness for your own sake, it often doesn’t end well,” Schnitker said. “You need another reason for why you’re developing character.”
Sanctified goals are actually easier to pursue. I talked to Elliot Berkman, a University of Oregon psychologist who specializes in the study of goals and motivation. “There’s a deep connection between identity and motivation,” he said. “A behavior that holds greater subjective value for a person will be relatively easy for them to complete versus tasks of lesser significance. These identity-linked goals are more likely to be successful.”
In other words, we have an easier time pursuing goals when we believe they have an ultimate purpose, one that is closely aligned with our identity. That makes sense to me. I’ve known a lot of people who see their job as a calling, something with significance beyond earning a paycheck. They’re the same people who report that their work doesn’t feel like work. Sure, it can still be difficult. But because they believe it’s important, it doesn’t feel like a grind—and that belief in what they’re doing keeps them motivated and focused.
I was intrigued by the idea of sanctified goals. I was convinced that seeing goals through a spiritual lens was thoroughly biblical. As Christians, all of our pursuits should ultimately be for God’s glory—and no activity is too small or insignificant. As we’re commanded in Colossians 3:23, “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters.” Furthermore, as the studies show, there are enormous practical benefits to having sanctified goals.
All too often I miss out on those benefits. I fail to consider what I’m doing through a spiritual lens. It’s not that I pursue bad goals; I just have a tendency to leave God out of it. I go to church on Sunday, maybe even attend a prayer meeting or Bible study during the week—and then go back to living my “regular” life. Rarely do I pause to reflect on how everything I do—from attending meetings to returning emails to teaching my daughter how to ride a bike—connects to spiritual reality.
It’s a little frightening to consider how good I am at compartmentalizing life into sacred and secular categories. I’m starting to realize this is a dangerous dichotomy. If I’m not careful, I can live as a functional atheist, blind to the supernatural light illuminating the world. I need to train my imagination to see the eternal dimensions of my everyday life.
Not only is training our imagination to focus on our ultimate purpose thoroughly biblical, it will also strengthen our willpower and fortify our resolve. It will give us the passion we need to press on when things get tough. It will equip us to resist the temptations that threaten to distract and derail us along the way.
Doing that successfully will mean listening to the sweeter song. Let me explain.
TWO WAYS TO TACKLE TEMPTATION
In Homer’s classic tale The Odyssey, the hero Odysseus embarks on a perilous journey. He must escape many dangers on his long voyage home from the Trojan War. None of these dangers is more deadly than the Sirens. These mythical mermaids are beautiful, seductive. But their appeal is deceptive. In truth, they’re murderous creatures that use their sweet singing to lure sailors to their deaths.
Odysseus understands the danger. He knows he’s vulnerable to their song. So he hatches a plan to sail past the Sirens without succumbing. He instructs his sailors to lash him to the mast of the ship. That way, even if Odysseus surrenders to the Sirens’ song, he will be unable to free himself and go to them. He commands his sailors not to loosen the ropes, no matter how much he pleads with them to do so. They must ignore him and continue sailing. To make sure the sailors aren’t seduced, Odysseus has them stuff their ears with beeswax so they won’t hear the Sirens’ singing.
The plan works. As Odysseus suspects, when he hears the Sirens, he’s overcome with temptation. He tries to escape and pleads with the sailors to release him. But his sailors tighten the ropes and continue to sail.
This classic story provides us with one rather shrewd approach to temptation. Odysseus is wise to account for his weakness. He sees the danger coming and prepares. His precautions are extreme, but effective.
Many of the strategies in this book have an Odysseus flavor. They’re about avoiding temptation and taking practical precautions to help guard against the flesh. They involve taking a realistic look at our nature and planning accordingly. We’re wise to employ this strategy. Bein
g aware of our sinful nature, preserving willpower, and building holy habits are critical. Only fools assume they can tough it out on their own.
But there’s a second approach to temptation. It’s different from Odysseus’s plan and even more crucial to developing true self-control. This approach is depicted in the Argonautica, another Greek epic.
In this story, the Argonauts must sail past the same Sirens that threatened the sailors in The Odssey. But they escape their deadly snare with a very different strategy. As they sail past the Sirens, they hear the singing. But they have the legendary musician and poet Orpheus on board. He draws his lyre and plays a louder and more beautiful song, drowning out the Sirens’ music. Enthralled with Orpheus’s “sweeter song,” the sailors pass by in safety.
It’s an effective strategy, one that doesn’t rely on ropes and beeswax. Instead of merely restraining the hand, it aims to capture the heart.
Like I said, there’s nothing wrong with employing practical tools to avoid temptation. It’s wise to anticipate temptations and take proactive steps to avoid giving in. Sometimes we have to lash ourselves to the mast. Tighten the ropes and keep sailing.
But ultimately the best way to avoid sin, the most powerful means of self-control, comes by listening to a “sweeter song.” For Christians, this means tuning in to God’s ultimate purpose for us. It means listening to His voice and obeying His commands. It involves desiring and delighting in Him. It requires that, like Paul, we focus on the prize and run with all our strength. Ultimately, that’s the best way to drown out the seductive strains of the world and sail safely toward home.
In What I Believe, the French novelist Francois Mauriac gives a candid account of his struggles with lust. The elderly Mauriac found that the golden years provided no reprieve from the battle. “Old age risks being a period of redoubled testing,” he wrote, “because the imagination in an old man is substituted in a horrible way for what nature refuses him.”14
In the book, Mauriac considers a number of arguments and defenses against lust that he’d learned during his religious upbringing, but found them all insufficient. In the end, he could find only one compelling reason for purity: “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.” Why were Jesus’ words so inspiring to him? Mauriac wrote, “Impurity separates us from God. The spiritual life obeys laws as verifiable as those of the physical world…. Purity is the condition for a higher love—for a possession superior to all possessions: that of God.”15
Mauriac’s story reminded me of what the nineteenth-century Scottish preacher Thomas Chalmers called “the expulsive power of a new affection.” Chalmers believed that conquering sin wasn’t just a matter of steely resolve or external controls; it was best accomplished by replacing sinful affections with holy ones. “A moralist will be unsuccessful in trying to displace his love of the world by reviewing the ills of the world,” he preached. “Misplaced affections need to be replaced by the far greater power of the affection of the gospel.”16
Mauriac found that guilt, discipline, even a fulfilling marriage couldn’t hold up against the tidal wave of lust. He needed a new affection. Only the sweeter song of intimacy with God was enough for him to resist the siren song of lust.
WINNING THE PRIZE
When Paul died, it looked as though his life had been a failure.
The book of Acts closes with Paul under house arrest. We’re told that during this stint, he was able to have visitors and “proclaimed the kingdom of God … without hindrance” (Acts 28:31). When he was eventually released, the tireless apostle hit the road again, visiting churches in Macedonia, Colossae, Crete, and Ephesus, where he was rearrested.
This second imprisonment was far worse than the first. He was chained “like a criminal” in his cell (2 Tim. 2:9). Some of his closest friends abandoned him and he knew he was going to die. “For I am already being poured out like a drink offering, and the time for my departure is near” (2 Tim. 4:6). He begged Timothy to come and visit him before winter. He wanted to see his son in the faith one last time. But most scholars believe the end came quicker than he anticipated and Paul was executed that summer. The final moments of Paul’s life were unceremonious and brutal. The man who had spent decades traversing the dusty roads of the Roman Empire was likely led outside the city of Rome and beheaded in the street.
Yet that grim scene didn’t tell the full story of Paul’s life. In truth, his story was just beginning.
Paul’s crazy dream to bring the message of Jesus beyond the Jewish world had taken root. The Empire, which put Paul to the sword, would eventually embrace his message and spread it to the ends of the earth. Within a few hundred years, the majority of Romans would identify themselves as followers of the crucified Nazarene that Paul proclaimed.
Paul’s life was anything but easy. He expended incredible energy and overcame towering obstacles. But it wasn’t sheer force of will that enabled Paul to prevail. No, he tuned his ear to the sweeter song of the gospel and he ran with everything he had. From prison, he wrote these final words:
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day. (2 Tim. 4:7–8)
Self-Control Training: Entry #2—Making the Inventory
WHEN I ENLISTED MY WIFE TO HELP me in my attempt to improve my self-control, I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect. After a couple of sighs and an eye-roll or two, she agreed to help me form this unusual inventory. And since she’s just about the nicest person on the planet, she started with a cascade of compliments and qualifiers to offset the criticism.
“I appreciate that,” I told her, “but I want you to be completely honest with me.”
I was hoping she would name specific behavioral traits. You start things, but don’t finish them. You spend too much time on your phone. You leave your socks on the floor. Maybe I was hoping she’d single out those kinds of behaviors because they’re concrete and easy to target, if not to change. And maybe I was hoping she’d pinpoint those quirks because, while they’re frustrating, they aren’t exactly threatening. No one ever threw himself off a bridge because he wasn’t tidy enough around the house. Unfortunately, she didn’t mention any of those behaviors. No, she aimed her critique at the level of my soul.
“You’re a really good man,” she started, “and I know you love God. But …”
Her voice trailed off as she searched for the right words.
“Just tell me,” I said.
“Well, sometimes I think you could stand to be a little more spiritual.”
Ouch.
She pointed out (amid another avalanche of compliments and qualifiers) that while I spend a lot of time reading about God and talking about God, I don’t seem to spend a ton of time with God.
“Really, I’m not trying to be critical,” she said. “I’m weak in those areas too. I hope you aren’t offended. See, I hate this.”
It was hard to hear, but she was right. The truth is I tend to neglect many of the basic formative disciplines like Bible reading and prayer—those alone-with-God activities.
This helped me. Originally, I had my eye on more exotic disciplines. Maybe I’d start walking labyrinths or mastering Lectio Divina, an ancient style of Benedictine prayer. Alas, I’ve settled on a handful of prosaic but powerful practices: Bible reading, prayer, and (I’m bracing myself as I write this), fasting. Oh, and exercise. I’m going to start running. That may not sound superspiritual, but let’s face it. If I’m going to improve my self-control, I need to get off the couch.
I thanked my wife for her help, but it turned out she had one more piece of advice.
“You need to start picking up your dirty socks, too.”
Chapter 3
Meeting the Enemies
What Scripture Says about Fighting the Flesh and the Devil
“I do not understand what I do…. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not w
ant to do—this I keep on doing.”
—ROMANS 7:15, 19
These words, written by the apostle Paul almost two thousand years ago, may be the most relatable in all of Scripture. Who hasn’t muttered some form of them as they fall, for the thousandth time, to that old besetting sin? Or think them as they, yet again, leave a good deed undone, that expression of love unsaid? A lack of knowledge isn’t always the culprit either. Like Paul, we often “know the good we ought to do.” The problem is that we don’t do it.
I know I don’t. In the introduction to this book I confessed some of my deficiencies in this area. Well, “deficiencies” is a convenient euphemism, but it sounds more respectable than face-plant failures. The purpose of my confessing wasn’t to hit you up for free counseling; I was trying to communicate something of the frustration (and surprise!) I feel when my behaviors fall short of my beliefs. I’m flabbergasted each time I give free rein to a destructive impulse or fail to do what’s right.
I also mentioned my conviction that the biggest obstacle to improving in this area isn’t usually a lack of resources or understanding. Rather, it’s the tenacious enemy I encounter in the mirror every morning. In the famous words of the cartoonist Walt Kelly, “We have met the enemy, and he is us.” Part of me wants to do the right thing. Yet another part really doesn’t want to.
The frustrating thing is that my behavior often contradicts my most deeply held beliefs and values. It’s like I have a split personality. When I flip to Romans 7, I could be reading my journal. “I have the desire to do what is right,” Paul lamented, “but not the ability to carry it out” (ESV).
What’s going on? Paul identified the reason for his predicament, and for ours. He strove to please God, but there was a saboteur in the ranks—sin. “But if I am doing the very thing I do not want, I am no longer the one doing it, but sin which dwells in me…. on the one hand I myself with my mind am serving the law of God, but on the other, with my flesh the law of sin” (Rom. 7:20, 25 NASB). As a result, Paul was a house divided, a walking civil war. “What a wretched man I am!” Paul wrote, exasperated at his failures. “Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death?” (7:24).