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Psalm 107: 1-9
I Corinthians 9: 19-27
Luke 12: 13-21
“Temperance… now usually means teetotalism. But in the days when the Second Cardinal Virtue was christened ‘temperance,’ it meant nothing of the sort. Temperance referred not specially to drink, but to all pleasures; and it meant not abstaining, but going the right length and no further.” —C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, Book 3, Chapter 2.
Jesus says of the rich fool, “this is how it will be with whoever stores up things for themselves but is not rich toward God.” That could be a description of the self-indulgent man, as Aristotle describes him in his Nicomachean Ethics: “The self-indulgent man, then, craves for all pleasant things or those that are most pleasant, and is led by his appetite to choose these at the cost of everything else.” Aristotle sees this as a failure of the person to allow “the rational principle” to rule over the appetite. As a result, he warns, the pursuit of self-gratification is never satisfied, but only gets worse: “For in an irrational being the desire for pleasure is insatiable even if it tries every source of gratification. The exercise of appetite increases its innate force, and if appetites are strong and violent they even expel the power of calculation.” Essentially, the pursuit of self-gratification becomes a kind of insanity (Nicomachean Ethics, 12).
Let’s be honest with ourselves: it’s an insanity that afflicts us all. In a consumer society, it’s our bread and butter. Today companies can know us so well by our Internet and shopping habits that they actually can tailor ads that appeal to our own personal mode of self-gratification. I suspect many of us can already think of what that might particularly be. For many of us, all we have to do is ask ourselves, “What is it I just could not be happy without?” Almost certainly some indulgence or hobby or habit or material “thing” will come to mind.
Philosophers and mystics down through the ages have warned us about the dangers of self-gratification. The worst aspect of it, they warn, is that it is a kind of slavery. As Aristotle rightly points out, ultimately “the exercise of appetite” can never be fully satisfied, but rather “increases its innate force,” until “they even expel the power of calculation.” Ultimately we store up so many things for ourselves that, even if we want to, we don’t have anything left over to be rich to God.
The multiplication of Twelve-Step styled groups for everything from overeating to shopaholism is proof of two things. First, it’s proof that the problem is serious. And second, it’s proof that we are desperate for self-discipline—what the ancients called “temperance.” Temperance is not abstinence and self-denial so much as it is self-control, the ability, as C.S. Lewis says, “to go the right length and no more” when it comes to the pleasures of living. Another term traditionally used is moderation. Temperance is different from abstinence, mainly in its underlying assumption that God has created a good world and we are to take pleasure in it. The temperate person knows that the things that give us pleasure are good, but also understands that overindulgence in any pleasure is spiritually—and often physically—dangerous, and the temperate person has developed the self-discipline to control himself or herself.
Unfortunately, we live in an immoderate age, and self-discipline is one of its victims. People look with suspicion on self-discipline, as if it’s a way of limiting a person’s freedom. But mystics and philosophers have viewed self-discipline as the doorway to true freedom. Plato talked about the importance of ordering one’s soul, and that ultimately is what self-discipline is about: ordering our souls, getting the right balance between mind, heart, body, and spirit. Self-discipline isn’t the doorway to slavery, but to freedom, because it’s how we learn to take charge of our unruly lives rather than allow our passions and fears to continue to control us.
Bill Bennett says in his Book of Virtues, that “we learn to order our souls the same way we learn to do math problems or play baseball well—through practice.” He continues that “Practice, of course, is the medicine so many people find hard to swallow… but in the end, it is practice that brings self-control.”
Bennett says that “In self-discipline one makes a ‘disciple’ of oneself. One is one’s own teacher, trainer, coach, and ‘disciplinarian.’ It is an odd sort of relationship, paradoxical in its own way, and many of us don’t handle it very well.” (William Bennett, The Book of Virtues, pp. 21-22.).
In self-discipline, you are your own coach, and what that means is that you’re in charge of somebody who is likely to resist, complain, have doubts, prefer to do something else, want to sleep in, or just want to give up. We all know those problems from the times we’ve tried to break habits, or create new ones, and failed—we are our own worst enemy. Everything in us rebels against our desire to change. It feels wrong; we get anxious. It’s often a physiological reaction.
Our inner coach needs to stand outside of that, apart from that, and speak for the rational brain that says, “Even though this feels wrong, it’s right. And I’m going to make you do it until it becomes a habit, it becomes natural, and it feels right.”
Paul points out in our reading today that just as self-discipline is essential to the boxer or the runner, so that they can become better athletes, so it is essential to the believer, so that we can become better Christians. And that is the most important benefit of self-discipline: we become the person we want to be. As Christians, we become more Christlike. But it applies in other things, too. Do you want to be a writer or an artist, a success in your chosen field, a person who is respected and loved, a person who makes a difference in the world? Do you want to be a better Christian and a better human being? Our tendency is to believe that it’ll happen naturally somehow. But it won’t, and even if it does, it won’t happen the best way it could–without practice, without self-discipline.
Giving financially to the church or to charity is a key discipline for fighting the power that material “things” have over our souls. The practices of generosity and stewardship are spiritual disciplines in which we live into the servant behavior of Christ. They remind us that we aren’t to live for ourselves, but for others and for God.
The church is the place where those of us seeking to grow in the Christian virtues are to find support in that discipline and opportunities to practice it. It’s at and through the church that we learn to love, forgive, and be generous; that we learn to pray, study scripture, and seek God; and that we are challenged to live more Christlike lives. We’re all here because we desire to be better people, but know that we still have a long way to go. So we lean on one another, and we trust God to make us better. Attending church, supporting its ministry with our time, talents, and wealth, these are disciplines that help us toward more Christlike living, and make us better people, and by God’s grace make the world a better place.