Original Article
Cultivating Self-Control:Foundations andMethods in the ChristianTheological Tradition
James S. SpiegelTaylor University
AbstractIn the New Testament the concept of self-control or voluntary restraint of one’s desires ishighlighted as a “fruit of the Spirit,” a trait of the spiritually mature, and a hallmark ofChristian leadership. But as a Christian virtue, self-control is a product of spiritual discipline,a trait for which the Christian must engage in “strict training.” This biblical theme hasinspired a long history of Christian moral-spiritual practices aimed at cultivating self-masteryor strength of will. Here I discuss several of these as found in the writings of the DesertFathers, Augustine of Hippo, Julian of Norwich, Thomas Aquinas, John Calvin, Thomas àKempis, and John Wesley. Despite their theological diversity, these Christian thinkers areunited in the belief that self-control can and ought to be intentionally nurtured via thesystematic practice of self-denial.
Keywordsself-control, virtue, Christian theology, spiritual discipline
In the New Testament the concept of self-control or voluntary restraint of one’s
desires is highlighted as a “fruit of the Spirit” (Gal. 5:22–23), a trait of the spiritually
mature (Titus 2:2–6, 12), and a hallmark of Christian leadership (1 Tim. 3:2). But as
a Christian virtue, self-control is not a trait that one develops naturally or passively.
It is a product of spiritual discipline. In the Pauline epistles the Apostle directs his
readers to “train for godliness” (1 Tim. 4:8) and to do “strict training” (1 Cor. 9:25)
Corresponding author:
James S. Spiegel, Taylor University, 236 West Reade Ave., Upland, 46989 IN, USA.
Email: [email protected]
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for the sake of virtue and the eternal rewards it brings.1 This counsel is especially
apposite when it comes to self-control, as this is a core Christian virtue, essential for
the development of many other virtues.2 Throughout church history the ways in
which Christians have sought to do this have been rich and varied. Here I intend
to explore some of the principal ways this has been done, mining resources from a
broad range of Christian thinkers: ante-Nicene church fathers, monks, mystics,
scholastics, Reformers, and later Protestant theologians. These include personal
dispositions and motivations which are critical for the pursuit of self-control as well
as methods and practices for actively nurturing this virtue, such as fasting, sacrifice,
meditation, prayer, rebuke, admonition, and moral exemplars.
I should note that many of the guidelines, methods, and practices discussed here
are not uniquely Christian. That is, some of these means of cultivating the virtue of
self-control have been used or recommended in other religious and philosophical
traditions. However, they are nonetheless distinctively Christian in the sense that
they all flow naturally from Christian moral theology. Moreover, in some ways there
is a uniquely Christian quality to the moral regimens described here, as well some of
the dispositional and motivational components. Here I hope to show that these
spiritual practices are not only biblical but have a long history of deployment among
Christian moral theologians, whose counsel and insights regarding these practices
are as useful and relevant today as they have ever been. We will see that despite their
theological diversity, these Christian thinkers are united in the belief that self-control
can and ought to be intentionally nurtured via systematic practice of self-denial.
Cultivating self-control—some distinctions
The cultivation of any virtue is a complex and complicated business. So to simplify
and clarify our discussion of the modes of cultivating self-control, it will be helpful
to make a few distinctions, each of which will be unpacked somewhat throughout the
course of this discussion. First, we may make some distinctions related to the
dialectic relationship between self and other. One of these pertains to the practice
of cultivating self-control in oneself as opposed to cultivating this virtue in another
person. We most naturally think of building this virtue in ourselves as we fast or
practice other disciplines of self-denial. But through modeling, prayer, and personal
rebuke, the virtue may be nurtured in others as well.
We may also distinguish between building self-control in the individual as
opposed to cultivating this virtue in an entire community. Again, paradigmatically,
the pursuit of growth in self-control is a mostly personal and private affair, whether
undertaken alone or between two people, such as in a mentoring or accountability
1. Unless otherwise noted, all biblical quotations in this article are taken from the New International
Version of the Bible (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1973).
2. For a discussion of how self-control is a core Christian virtue, see chapter 1 in my How to be Good in
a World Gone Bad: Living a Life of Christian Virtue (Grand Rapids: Kregel, 2004).
194 Journal of Spiritual Formation and Soul Care 13(2)
relationship (e.g. teacher–student, counselor–client, etc.). But a pastor, coach, or
even a business executive may work to instill self-control in their congregation,
team, or corporation. In fact, we might even say that to succeed in such leadership
roles, one must cultivate self-control in the community one leads.
Another distinction is that between attitudes and practices. By this I mean to
distinguish between the intentions, perspectives, or aims one might bring to the
pursuit of self-control, on the one hand, and the actual practices or disciplines one
performs in order to manifest or develop those attitudes. In a sport such as basketball
one must have an attitude of dedication and commitment to the team but must also
engage in practices of wind sprints, shooting drills, and passing drills. Similarly, in
the moral life, one can only grow in a virtue if one maintains a certain mentality
while also disciplining oneself in tangible ways.
Finally, when it comes to the intentional practices aimed at cultivating self-
control, we may distinguish between active and passive forms. There is the practice
of positive or engagement-oriented disciplines (e.g., meditation and prayer), and
there is the cultivation of self-control through negative or abstinence-oriented dis-
ciplines (e.g., fasting and sacrifice). That both active and passive disciplines should
be practiced for the development of self-control is evident in the fact that this virtue
likewise takes active and passive forms. The stingy or cowardly person must take
active steps to be virtuously generous or bold, while the recovering alcoholic must
regularly exhibit passive restraint to remain sober.
In what follows, all of these aspects of the cultivation of the virtue of self-control
will come into play in various ways. And some of these distinctions will provide
organizational structure to the discussion.
Cultivating self-control: Dispositions and motivations
From a Christian standpoint, the personal psychological foundation for cultivating
self-control lies in certain dispositions or attitudes, specifically regarding one’s life
aims and commitments. Specifically, there must be a serious devotion to God and
recognition that this devotion comes with certain costs as well as profound rewards
for those who assume the mantle of the virtuous life. In the Old Testament this theme
is evident in such charges as these: “sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have
you, but you must rule over it” (Gen. 4:7) and “like a city whose walls are broken
through is a person who lacks self-control” (Prov. 25:28). With the ministry of Christ
in the New Testament this call is presented in more severe terms, as Jesus declares,
“whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily
and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses
their life for me will save it” (Lk. 9:23–24). Elsewhere, in the Sermon on the Mount,
Jesus says, “if your right eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away.
It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be
thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to stumble, cut it off and throw it
away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go
Spiegel 195
into hell” (Mt. 5:29–30). Clearly, these are hyperbolic statements, the point of which
is that the Christian moral life is demanding and requires an extreme level of
commitment. The road that leads to eternal life is narrow, and few are those who
find it, as Jesus notes elsewhere (Mt. 7:14).
Coming to a proper understanding of the serious demands of the Christian moral
life is the first critical step in the Christian’s pursuit of self-control. Because this is a
countercultural teaching that is rarely emphasized (or even explicitly preached and
taught) in Western churches, it should not be taken for granted that most Christians
properly embrace it. But the contemporary American church is hardly unique in this.
The first-century church also apparently struggled to understand this, as is evident in
the Apostle Paul’s repeated emphatic exhortations to train for the righteous life.
However, in contrast to Jesus in the text cited above, Paul deploys a positive incen-
tive rather than the threat of hell to motivate his readers when he says, “Have nothing
to do with godless myths and old wives’ tales; rather, train yourself to be godly. For
physical training is of some value, but godliness has value for all things, holding
promise for both the present life and the life to come” (1 Tim. 4:7–8). Elsewhere he
makes a more expansive application of this metaphor:
Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in
such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict
training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will
last forever. 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. 9:24–27)
In contrast to Jesus, Paul’s metaphor of choice here is not self-mutilation but athletic
competition. Still, the import of his admonition is severe, acknowledging the need to
be harsh with oneself, even to the point of regarding one’s own body as a “slave.”
This perspective on the body and its impulses is one that remains prominent through-
out the history of Christian moral–spiritual praxis, as we will see. But, again, this is a
deeply countercultural perspective which, in addition to its inherent practical diffi-
culty, makes this teaching doubly challenging. To overcome the naturally strong
psychological and cultural resistance to this biblical teaching, the Christian can find
tremendous help and support from thinkers down through the ages who have
expounded upon these biblical teachings in diverse ways. Some have emphasized
chastened dispositions toward the self in the form of self-renunciation and mortifi-
cation of the flesh, while others have focused on reverence for God and our escha-
tological hope in Christ. Let’s consider some examples of each.
Self-renunciation and the willingness to suffer
Just as the crucifixion of Jesus is central to Christian soteriology, the general practice
of self-renunciation is a core concept in the Christian moral life, as has been noted by
196 Journal of Spiritual Formation and Soul Care 13(2)
theologians down through the ages, from the Desert Fathers to John Calvin to
contemporary times. One of the paragons of extreme self-renunciation was the
Desert Father Antony the Great. His remarkable spiritual exploits were recorded
by Athanasius, who thoroughly described Antony’s intense mortification of the
body. He typically ate just once daily and often received food only every second
or fourth day. His food was bread and salt, and he drank only water. Antony often
went without sleep, and when he did sleep, it was on a rush mat, if not the bare
ground. As for his daily activities, he spent much time doing manual labor. Antony
maintained this lifestyle of stringent self-denial because, as he put it, “the soul’s
intensity is strong when the pleasures of the body are weakened.”3
New Testament inspiration for this perspective is found in the Apostle Paul’s
declaration, “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives
in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me
and gave himself for me” (Gal. 2:20). This theme has been expounded upon by many
Christian thinkers and has inspired countless ascetic practices. Desert Father John
Cassian calls self-renunciation “nothing but the evidence of the cross and of morti-
fication. And so you must know that today you are dead to this world and its deeds
and desires.”4 And Thomas à Kempis counsels, “unless you do violence to yourself,
you shall never get the victory over wickedness.”5 Elsewhere he writes,
Nature is loath to die, or to be kept down, or to be overcome, or to be in subjection, or
readily to be subdued. But grace studies self-mortification, resists sensuality, seeks to
be in subjection, longs to be defeated, has no wish to use its own liberty. It loves to be
kept under discipline, and desires not to rule over any, but under God to live, to stand,
and to be.6
This is strong and severe imagery, presumably inspired by Jesus’ and the Apostle
Paul’s violent imagery of self-mortification (i.e., self-crucifixion, self-eye-gouging,
and self-beating).
Lest we think of extreme self-denial as the exclusive emphasis of the ascetic
tradition, we should note that the same teaching resonates among the more staid
Protestant theologians, including John Calvin and John Wesley. Calvin goes so far as
to assert that self-denial constitutes the essence of the Christian moral life, noting
that “unless you give up all thought of self and, so to speak, get out of yourself, you
will accomplish nothing here.”7 Wesley makes the same point, in terms that have a
3. Athanasius, The Life of Antony and The Letter to Marcellinus, trans. Robert Gregg (New York:
Paulist Press, 1980), 36.
4. John Cassian, The Twelve Books on the Institutes of the Coenobia and the Remedies for the Eight
Principal Faults, trans. Edgar C. S. Gibson (London: Aeterna Press, 2015), 55.
5. Thomas à Kempis, Of the Imitation of Christ (Pittsburgh: Whitaker House, 1981), 49.
6. Ibid., 200.
7. John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, trans. Ford Lewis Battles (Philadelphia:
Westminster Press, 1960), 695.
Spiegel 197
Calvinist ring, reinforcing the need for extreme steps to restrain one’s innate incli-
nations: “Our will, depraved equally with the rest, is wholly bent to indulge our
natural corruption. On the other hand, it is the will of God that we resist and
counteract that corruption, not at some times or in some things only, but at all times,
and in all things.”8
The call to self-renunciation and mortification of the body presupposes an atti-
tude that is probably best described as a psychological paradox, and that is the
willingness to suffer. Our most basic biological drive as human beings is self-
preservation, and acquiescence to suffering seems to defy this. Though counter-
intuitive, it is a recurrent New Testament theme, as suffering unites the believer
to Christ, whose redemptive work was characterized by suffering. The Christian
must participate in Jesus’ sufferings in order to participate in his resurrection and
glory. The Apostle Paul writes, “If we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God
and coheirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also
share in his glory” (Rom. 8:17; see also Phil. 3:10–11). And Peter tells us to “rejoice
that you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when
his glory is revealed” (1 Pet. 4:13).
Many of the greatest writers on Christian spirituality have emphasized this point,
noting that, again paradoxically, to welcome suffering is the key to finding true joy
and satisfaction. Thus, Thomas à Kempis says, “As long as it is grievous to you to
suffer, and you desire to flee it, so long shall you be ill at ease, and the desire of
escaping tribulation will follow you everywhere. If you set yourself to what you
ought, namely, to suffering and to death, it will be better with you and you shall find
peace.”9
In some cases Christian ascetics have taken this admonition to entail the appro-
priateness of actual infliction of bodily damage but fortunately this extreme has been
rejected by the mainstream Christian tradition. But what criteria are we to use to
distinguish appropriate and inappropriate forms of suffering? Wesley offers helpful
guidance in this regard when he notes that self-renunciation
does not imply the . . . literally tearing our own flesh: the wearing haircloth, or iron
girdles, or anything else that would impair our bodily health . . . but the embracing the
will of God, though contrary to our own; the choosing wholesome, though bitter,
medicines; the freely accepting temporary pain, of whatever kind, and in whatever
degree, when it is either essentially or accidentally necessary to eternal pleasure.10
Wesley’s observations evidently presuppose two delimiting criteria. One of these is
that proper self-renunciation must not be inimical to the health of one’s body. While
spiritual discipline may, and usually does, cause physical discomfort, this need not
8. John Wesley, “Self-Denial,” The Works of John Wesley, vol. 2 (Nashville: Abingdon, 1984), 242.
9. Of the Imitation of Christ, 90.
10. “Self-Denial” in The Works of John Wesley, 245.
198 Journal of Spiritual Formation and Soul Care 13(2)
and must not involve actual bodily damage. Not all hurt is harm. While the former is
appropriate, the latter is not. The other criterion assumed here by Wesley pertains to
moral necessity. There is an important difference between a willingness to suffer
when morally necessary and when it is not morally necessary. Self-discipline that is
painful should improve us morally somehow. Moreover, Wesley seems to suggest
we may “freely accept” pain even if it does involve harm to the body, even resulting
in death, if to avoid it would be immoral. Presumably he has in mind situations in
which a Christian may be asked to deny her faith or else sin in some way to avoid
injury or death.
As regards the willingness to suffer, how does this connect to self-control? To use
Paul’s terminology, how does this beating of my body effectively make it my
“slave”? One dimension of this surely pertains to the fact that self-control is often
uncomfortable, which makes for a natural deterrent of this virtue. To become accus-
tomed to suffering, even to the point of welcoming it, then, removes or at least
diminishes the force of this deterrent. One is more likely to be self-controlled when
the unpleasant consequences of displaying this virtue are not regarded as signifi-
cantly negative.
Another dimension to the psychological mechanics of suffering and self-control
has to do with the “purging” function of suffering. The great sixteenth-century
Spanish mystic St. John of the Cross expounds on this point extensively. In his
classic meditation Dark Night of the Soul he describes how the spiritual life some-
times brings a season of “purgative contemplation” that brings about a negation of
the self for the sake of God. This “dark night” is an “inflowing of God into the soul,
which purges it from its ignorances and imperfections, habitual, natural and
spiritual.”11 He explains that “inasmuch as the soul is . . . purged from the affections
and desires of sense, it obtains liberty of spirit, whereby in ever greater degree it
gains the twelve fruits of the Holy Spirit. Here, too, it is wondrously delivered from
the hands of its three enemies—devil, world, and flesh.”12 The idea here seems to be
that this dark night quells bodily desires while increasing mental acuity, bringing
about a freedom from spiritual assaults and temptations that typically draw a person
into sin. This principle can be extended beyond the acute “dark night” of contem-
plative purgation to any situation involving suffering. Pain has a way of focusing the
mind, and it naturally diminishes the allure of indulgent pleasures. Perhaps this is
what the Apostle Peter has in mind when he cryptically remarks, “whoever suffers in
the body is done with sin” (1 Pet. 4:1).
11. St. John of the Cross, Dark Night of the Soul, trans. E. Allison Peers (New York: Doubleday, 1990),
100.
12. Ibid., 86.
Spiegel 199
Holy fear and eschatological hope
Another important dimension to the Christian cultivation of virtue is motivational,
and there are two poles to this, negative and positive. On the negative side there is
the fear of God. “Holy fear,” says St. John of the Cross, “is the key and the custodian
of all the virtues.”13 On the positive side, there is the hope and promise of eternal
life, including rewards or “crowns” awaiting the faithful in the next world. This, too,
is a “custodian” of virtue. And both fear and hope are powerful reinforcements of
self-control in particular.
Proverbs 1:7 tells us “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge.” The
writer of Hebrews says, “since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let
us be thankful and worship God in reverence and fear in a way that pleases him”
(Heb. 12:28; ISV). And scores of biblical passages extol godly people for their fear
of God. At the same time, the Apostle John declares, “There is no fear in love. But
perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who
fears is not made perfect in love.” So what exactly is the holy fear that should be
displayed by the devout? One dimension seems to concern deep moral respect, the
honoring of God as holy, a reverence for his absolute purity and goodness. Another
aspect has to do with acknowledgment of sovereign divine power, God’s capacity to
do whatsoever he wills. Third, the biblical concept of holy fear involves recognition
of God as judge and executor of our eternal destiny. Given God’s grace and mercy,
none of this would necessitate anything like an anticipation or anxiety over one’s
being personally condemned. But the understanding that one’s moral corruption
nevertheless warrants such condemnation and that there are those who are subjects
of such judgment and wrath should inspire a moral sobriety and seriousness.
Now, as for the positive motivational pole of the cultivation of virtue, what is
Christian eschatological hope? For one thing it means an embrace of the promise of a
glorious afterlife. This is a constant New Testament theme, reiterated by Paul when
he testifies, “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the
glory that will be revealed in us” (Rom. 8:18) and Peter who celebrates believers’
new birth “into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade. This inheritance is
kept in heaven for you, who through faith are shielded by God’s power until the
coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time” (1 Pet. 1:4–5).
The eschatological hope also entails an acceptance of the promise of tangible
rewards in the next world, to which Paul refers when he says, “there is in store for
me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to
me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his
appearing” (2 Tim. 4:8; see also 1 Cor. 9:25; 1 Thess. 2:19; and James 1:12). As
to the precise nature or import of this “crown,” biblical scholars and theologians can
only speculate, but that it will be good and pleasing, all are agreed.
13. Ibid., 95.
200 Journal of Spiritual Formation and Soul Care 13(2)
So how do holy fear and Christian eschatological hope motivate self-control? I
think this happens in two major ways. First, the motivational power of Christian fear
and hope has to do with simple gratitude, an abiding thankfulness for all that we’ve
been spared and what we’ve been promised. The grateful servant is an obedient
servant, and the Christian gospel, exchanging eternal destruction for everlasting
blessedness, creates gratefulness to the extreme.
Second, Christian fear and hope reinforce a transcendent orientation, which
diminishes the allure of transitory bodily temptations. Specifically, to bear in mind
the punishments we avoid and the goods we will attain in the coming greater reality
if we persist in obedient faith can only enhance the attractiveness of virtuous choices
and provide a spur to exercise the self-control necessary to make these choices when
tempted to succumb to vice. This could be expressed in terms of cost–benefit
analysis. The passing pleasures of food, sex, and money pale in comparison to the
everlasting pleasures of eternal joy and the rewards of the afterlife. Or, negatively,
no earthly pleasures could possibly be worth the devastating afterlife consequences
of living according to fleshly vices.
Cultivating self-control: Methods and practices
In the Christian theological tradition the cultivation of self-control is not just about
the generation and maintenance of certain dispositions and motivations. It is also
about practice, the employment of specific disciplines designed to bring the believer
into active cooperation with the Holy Spirit in the process of moral growth. Some of
these disciplines involve abstinence while others involve engagement. Here I will
focus on four such disciplines that are especially effective in building self-control,
two of which involve abstinence and two of which involve certain forms of engage-
ment. None of these is entirely exclusive to the Christian tradition nor even neces-
sarily to religious practice. But all of them—fasting, sacrifice, meditation, and
prayer—are distinctive Christian practices.
Fasting
Fasting, or the voluntary abstinence from food and/or water for the sake of spiritual
growth, is an especially powerful spiritual discipline, serving diverse functions in the
moral-spiritual life of the Christian. Common biblical occasions for fasting include
seeking divine forgiveness, counsel, or strength. We see fasting on occasions of
repentance in the Old Testament “day of atonement” (Lev. 23:27), Israel’s repen-
tance of idol worship (1 Sam. 7:2–6), the repentance of Nineveh (Jonah 3), and the
repentance of the apostle Paul (Acts 9:1–9). Occasions of fasting while seeking
God’s counsel or blessing are found in the commissioning of Paul and Barnabas
(Acts 13:2–3) and those same apostles’ commissioning of elders at the churches of
Lystra, Iconium, and Antioch (Acts 14:21–23). And biblical instances of fasting to
seek divine strength are found in Jesus’ wilderness fast (Matt. 4:1–2) and where
Spiegel 201
Jesus says, according to some manuscripts, that certain demons “can come out only
by prayer and fasting” (Mark 9:29).
Among other things, fasting trains us to maintain our focus on God through
suffering, makes a statement of our moral-spiritual earnestness (especially with
prayer), and reminds us that our bodily comforts are not most important. But as a
means of cultivating self-control fasting is particularly useful, as it builds moral
strength by challenging one of the most basic human drives. By systematically
denying oneself food one intentionally places oneself in a position of weakness and
strong desire, thus at once putting one’s moral resolve to the test and improving
one’s ability to abide by that resolve. Fasting is a straightforward example of a
discipline that “buffets” one’s body. It is also comparable to athletic training, which
improves one by simulating an aspect of actual competition, like wind sprints or
basketball shooting drills. This is why the Desert Father John Cassian repeatedly
refers to the serious Christian as a spiritual “athlete.”
Cassian expounds on fasting in particular: “When the desires of the belly and of
the palate have been by these considerations overcome, and when we have been
declared, as in the Olympic contests, neither slaves of the flesh nor infamous through
the brand of sin, we shall be adjudged to be worthy of the contest in higher struggles
as well,” by which he means spiritual battles, contests against wickedness.14 Thus,
the discipline of self-denial when it comes to food is a transferrable skill. Other
Desert Fathers echo this observation, including John the Short: “If a man is sincere
about fasting and is hungry, the enemies that trouble his soul will grow weak”;15 and
Hyperichius: “Fasting is the monk’s control over sin . . . When the monk’s body is
dried up with fasting, this lifts his soul from the depths. Fasting dries up the channels
down which worldly pleasures flow.”16
However, there is a certain moderation that should be observed even in the
practice of fasting, as even the greatest Christian monks have noted. John Cassian
offers this counsel:
The general rule to be followed in the case of abstinence [from food] is this. One should
take cognizance of the state of one’s strength and body and age and allow oneself as
much food as will sustain the flesh but not satisfy its longings. There will be the greatest
danger for anyone who either restrains his appetite by excessive fasting or who opens
up his appetite by too much eating. The spirit, brought low by lack of food, loses the
vigor of its prayerfulness. Too much weariness weighs it down into unlooked-for sleep.
Or again, if it is caught in the grip of too much eating, it will not be able to utter pure
and winged prayers to God.17
14. John Cassian, Institutes, 71.
15. The Desert Fathers: Sayings of the Early Christian Monks, trans. Benedicta Ward (London:
Penguin, 2003), 22.
16. Ibid., 27.
17. John Cassian, Conferences, trans. Colm Luibheid (New York: Paulist Press, 1985), 77–78.
202 Journal of Spiritual Formation and Soul Care 13(2)
There is a delicate balance to be achieved, then, between challenging oneself too
much or too little by fasting. Cassian’s recommendation to “take cognizance” of
one’s own strength and age suggests that there is some personal relativity here, and it
takes wisdom to know just how much abstinence from food is ideal to maximize
rather than compromise one’s moral growth.
Sacrifice
The discipline of fasting is a form of voluntary surrender, but this takes other forms
as well. Anything that one gives up for the sake of spiritual growth and serving God
is generally called sacrifice. The monastic tradition, dating back to the Desert
Fathers, has been systematic in the practice of this discipline. Antony the Great
surrendered nearly all of his possessions, saying, “What benefit is there in possessing
these things that we do not take with us? Why not rather own those things that we are
able to take away with us—such things as prudence, justice, temperance, courage,
understanding, love, concern for the poor, faith in Christ, freedom from anger,
hospitality?”18 As with Cassian’s attitude toward fasting, Antony saw sacrifice of
tangible possessions as a discipline that builds self-control in other areas, including
interior attitudes having nothing to do with the impulse of greed. Antony tells us that
if we make such sacrifice a lifestyle, giving up our tangible possessions daily, “we
will not sin, nor will we crave anything, nor bear a grudge against anyone, nor will
we lay up treasures on earth, but as people who anticipate dying each day we shall be
free of possessions, and we shall forgive all things to all people.”19 Strange as it
might initially sound, the connection here should not surprise us, since to hold a
grudge, to refuse to forgive someone, is a way of clinging to what is mine; it is to
maintain one’s hold on a particular justice claim against someone. To forgive, in
contrast, is to forswear condemnation and thus to sacrifice that possession, to sur-
render one’s justifiable claim against the offender.
The Desert Fathers recommended other forms of sacrifice as well in order to
cultivate self-control in areas that transcend the physical realm. For example, the
ancient monk Evagrius quoted a hermit who said, “I cut away bodily pleasure in
order to get rid of occasions for anger. I know that it is because of pleasure that I have
to struggle with anger, my mind being disturbed, and my understanding dis-
ordered.”20 Again, depriving oneself of bodily pleasures might not immediately
appear to be a way of improving control of one’s temper. But if overindulgence
in bodily pleasure does disrupt a person’s cognitive function, then tempering such
indulgence, or abstaining altogether for periods of time, would naturally improve
one’s understanding. And to the extent that fits of anger are attributable to warped
18. The Life of Antony, 44.
19. Ibid., 45.
20. The Desert Fathers, 21.
Spiegel 203
understanding, such abstinence would be effective in combatting this vice and
building control over one’s passions.
Meditation
The use of meditation, or extended periods of intentional mental focus, especially on
spiritual truths, is another Christian discipline that transcends historical epochs and
theological traditions. John Cassian directly linked meditation to one’s capacity for
resisting temptation, stating that,
The regular reading and the continuous meditation on Scripture are undertaken so that a
spiritual turn be given to our memory. The constant singing of the psalms is designed to
produce a persistent compunction within us so that the mind, slimmed down, may not
have a taste for the things of earth and will turn, instead, to behold the things of heaven.
And if we carelessly neglect these, then of necessity the mind, filled with the squalor of
sin, turns soon and comes rushing toward the domain of the flesh.21
Such spiritual meditation creates a sort of moral inertia, which effectively reduces
the appeal of what might otherwise be serious temptations. In other words, this
discipline defeats temptation before it begins by nurturing a mind that is no longer
inclined to find immoral options appealing. Thus, unlike fasting and sacrifice, which
train the soul to decline genuinely appealing immoral choices, meditation kills
temptation at the root, by producing a mental “soil” that will not sustain the devel-
opment of illicit desires that lead to vice.
A more austere version of this same technique is to be found in the Cloud of
Unknowing. The author offers this counsel for his readers:
Lift up your heart to God with humble love: and mean God himself, and not what you
get out of him. Indeed, hate to think of anything but God himself, so that nothing
occupies your mind or will but only God. Try to forget all created things that he ever
made, and the purpose behind them, so that your thought and longing do not turn or
reach out to them either in general or in particular. Let them go, and pay no attention
them . . . When you first begin, you find only darkness, and as it were a cloud of
unknowing . . . Reconcile yourself to wait in this darkness as long as is necessary, but
still go on longing after him whom you love. For if you are to feel him or to see him in
this life, it must always be in this cloud, this darkness.22
While the author does not explicitly discuss the value of this meditation-generated
“unknowing” for building self-control, he does regard it as crucial for anyone
seeking to live a faithful Christian life, which, of course, entails consummate
21. Conferences, 52.
22. The Cloud of Unknowing, trans. Clifton Wolters (Baltimore: Penguin, 1961), 53–54.
204 Journal of Spiritual Formation and Soul Care 13(2)
self-control. Its effectiveness toward this end is evident when we consider the two
poles—negative and positive—of the unknowing meditative state. Negatively, there
is the attitude of forgetfulness of created things, including all potentially tempting
items of touch that routinely occupy our minds and entice us to indulgence or
overindulgence. As we “let them go” or “pay no attention to them,” the author tells
us to expect “only darkness,” which is perhaps a commentary on just how much of
our conscious life is consumed with the pleasures of touch. This is the unknowing
phase, but it is only the negative pole of the discipline. The positive aspect is the
complete consumption of the mind by the divine, a “humble love” of God that
eventually—presumably after much mental exertion—completely occupies the
mind. So the cloud of unknowing is really only the subtractive aspect of this disci-
pline, but it deserves special attention in the author’s study because it is a necessary
first phase in the deep contemplation of God which, due to its sheer “darkness,” is an
unfortunate deterrent to continuing meditation and discovering its great rewards.
Such rewards include profound advances in self-control, because the attractiveness
of worldly things is lost while desire for steadfast union with God is strengthened.
In addition to the desert fathers and Christian mystics, exhortations to deep
meditation are to be found in the Protestant reformers. For example, John Calvin
tells us, “Nothing is more difficult than, having bidden farewell to the reason of the
flesh and having bridled our desires—nay, having put them away—to devote our-
selves to God and our brethren, and to meditate, amid earth’s filth, upon the life of
the angels.”23 And elsewhere, he says,
We are not our own: let not our reason nor our will, therefore, sway our plans and
deeds . . . We are not our own: in so far as we can, let us therefore forget ourselves and
all that is ours . . . On the other hand, wherever denial of ourselves does not reign, there
either the foulest vices rage without shame or if there is any semblance of virtue, it is
vitiated by depraved lusting after glory.24
Here we find similar themes of turning the mind, as Cassian would put it, and the
self-forgetfulness and world-forgetfulness, as enjoined by the author of Cloud of
Unknowing, though with a particular emphasis on the divine ownership of all things.
To interiorize this fact is to build a further hedge against the allure of worldly objects
and thus fortify one’s capacity for self-restraint.
Prayer and reliance on divine providence
Lastly, there is the discipline of prayer, which is agreed upon by all Christians as
essential to the cultivation of self-control. It is interesting to note, however, that there
is little in Scripture that directly enjoins us to pray for self-control. In the “Lord’s
23. Calvin, Institutes, 693.
24. Ibid., 690–91.
Spiegel 205
Prayer” Jesus tells us to ask God to “lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from
the evil one” (Mt. 6:13). But this is not a prayer for self-control when facing
temptation so much as a plea to be spared from situations when self-control is
necessary. Nonetheless, great Christian thinkers have emphasized the need for
prayer and the reliance on the work of God when cultivating this virtue.
From the Desert Fathers to the Protestant Reformers we find a dual emphasis on
divine providence and our own responsibility when it comes to moral growth. Thus,
despite all of his instructions for cultivating humility and self-control, Thomas à
Kempis prays, “Grant me to use such refreshments moderately, and not to be
entangled with an overly great desire of them . . . Herein, I beseech Thee, let Thy
hand govern me and teach me, that there may be no excess.”25 Similarly, John
Cassian, says this: “the chief part . . . of our improvement and peace of mind must
not be made to depend on another’s will, which cannot possibly be subject to our
authority, but it lies rather in our own control.”26 Yet, just a little while later he also
recognizes that
a man’s own efforts and human exertions will never make up for the lack of the divine
gift, unless it is granted by divine compassion in answer to his prayer. Nor do I say this
to cast a slight on human efforts, or in the endeavor to discourage any one from his
purpose of working and doing his best. But clearly and most earnestly do I lay
down . . . that perfection cannot possibly be gained without these, but that by these only
without the grace of God nobody can ever attain it.27
This paradoxical theme is effectively summed up by St. John of the Cross when he
asserts, “however assiduously the beginner practices the mortification of him-
self . . . he can never completely succeed—very far from it—unless God shall work
in him.”28
The upshot here seems to be that while human effort is necessary it is not a
sufficient condition for self-control in particular or moral virtue generally. Rather,
divine providence, more specifically, the active help of the Holy Spirit, is also a
necessary (but not alone sufficient) condition for self-control, along with the other
moral virtues. We might say, then, that human effort and divine providence are
individually necessary and jointly sufficient conditions for cultivating self-control.29
All of the other disciplines discussed above—fasting, sacrifice, and meditation—
25. Of the Imitation of Christ, 147.
26. Cassian, Institutes, 114 (emphasis mine).
27. Ibid., 156.
28. Dark Night of the Soul, 60.
29. Here we may ask, exactly how does human effort to cultivate self-control connect to or interact with
the work of the Holy Spirit to develop this virtue in us? One view, with which I am sympathetic, is
that the believer’s practice of the disciplines deepens her sense of dependence, which naturally
fosters an attitude of humility. This in turn prompts one to more fully surrender to God, which
occasions the transformative work of the Spirit in the person’s life. In this way, then, the
206 Journal of Spiritual Formation and Soul Care 13(2)
involve concerted human effort in order to develop this moral skill. Cassian, à Kempis,
and St. John of the Cross, like so many others, exhort us to remember that such efforts
are effective only insofar as God wills them to be. What is unique about the discipline
of prayer for self-control is that to practice it is a tacit recognition of this fact. A prayer
for self-control, one might say, embodies, or perhaps is a microcosm of, the paradox of
cultivating virtue from a Christian theological perspective. For while it is itself a
significant, even strenuous, human endeavor (cf. Col. 4:12), the fact that one is asking
for self-control is a confession that one’s own efforts are insufficient for the task.
Cultivation of self-control: Community reinforcement
The above-discussed disciplines are effective means for individuals to cultivate their
own self-control. But in the Christian tradition such individually pursued practices
are not the only means by which self-control is to be developed. The morally serious
person will also recognize the need to help others grow in this virtue. Moreover, for
any Christian community, there will be a shared commitment to the cultivation of
self-control throughout the community.
Moral exemplars
Aristotle observed, “imitation is natural to man from childhood.”30 Thus, one sig-
nificant way that the virtues are built among fellow believers is through personal
modeling. The same practice is evident in the Old Testament literature where the
great patriarchs of Israel—Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, David, etc.—are
revered and held up as models, despite their flaws, of many critical virtues. In the
New Testament the apostle Paul twice exhorts the church at Corinth to regard him as
such an exemplar, saying, “I urge you to imitate me” (1 Cor. 4:16) and “follow my
example, as I follow the example of Christ” (1 Cor. 11:1). This latter directive
clarifies the broader context of moral inspiration, recognizing that the ultimate moral
exemplar is Christ and any modeling that fellow Christians do is merely proximate in
nature. Nonetheless, such modeling can be powerful, as moral virtues are, to some
degree, contagious through intentional imitation.
Among the Desert Fathers, the greatest moral exemplar was St. Antony. Atha-
nasius tells us that
It was not his physical dimensions that distinguished him from the rest, but the stability
of character and the purity of the soul. His soul being free of confusion, he held his
outer senses also undisturbed, so that from the soul’s joy his face was cheerful as well,
development of self-control (as well as other fruit of the Spirit) is simultaneously the consequence of
human effort and a supernatural work of the Holy Spirit.
30. Aristotle, Poetics, trans. Ingram Bywater, in The Basic Works of Aristotle, ed. Richard McKeon
(New York: Random House, 1941), 1457.
Spiegel 207
and from the movements of the body it was possible to sense and perceive the stable
condition of the soul.31
One can hardly overestimate the extent of Antony’s positive moral influence on the
Christian community, not only in his own lifetime but also on the subsequent history
of the church. While he lived, Antony’s virtue and spiritual devotion inspired a
monastic tradition that profoundly impacted Western Christianity in its early devel-
opment. And through Athanasius’ account of his life—possibly the most widely read
Christian book for 1300 years, specifically until Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress—the
church has been inspired ever since.
Later Desert Fathers were quite intentional regarding the use of moral exemplars
in cultivating virtue, recognizing the power of moral example and encouraging
fellow believers to be careful regarding whom they choose to emulate. John Cassian
writes,
the examples of the perfect life of one dwelling in the congregation, which you may
imitate, should be sought from a very few or indeed from one or two only and not from
too many. For apart from the fact that a life which is tested and refined and purified is
only to be found in a few, there is this also to be gained, viz.: that a man is more
thoroughly instructed by the example of some one, towards the perfection which he sets
before him.32
Cassian’s reasons for selectivity when it comes to conscious patterning of one’s life
after that of another are interesting. His first consideration—that those whose lives
are worthy of such emulation are rare—is perhaps uncontroversial. But it poses the
practical challenge of how to identify those rare moral gems. Regarding this chal-
lenge, two general criteria are commonly used for identifying moral exemplars:
reputation and personal observation. These are straightforward enough, and as we
consult these factors in practice most of us probably implicitly affirm Jesus’ meta-
phorical recommendation that we should judge a tree by its fruit (Mt. 7:16 and Lk.
6:44). One’s moral merits are apparent by the life one leads.
Cassian’s second claim—that a person is more effectively instructed by a single
exemplar—begs for explanation. Perhaps his rationale for this is that such focus on a
single person would likely be more personal and intentional and therefore more
motivationally effective. Also, his counsel would seem to recommend the practice
of mentoring, which has a long history in the Christian tradition, going back to Jesus
and his disciples and the rabbi–student relationship dating back centuries before that.
In any case, the intentional use of moral exemplars for the cultivation of virtue, and
self-control in particular, is a significant traditional Christian practice and as valu-
able today as ever.
31. The Life of Antony, 81.
32. Cassian, Institutes, 58.
208 Journal of Spiritual Formation and Soul Care 13(2)
Rebuke and admonition
Now as to community reinforcement of virtue, this comes in both positive as well as
negative forms. Moral exemplars are certainly a positive form, as such people
constructively model the virtues and ideals we aim for. Moreover, it is a moral
pleasure to observe and imitate them. The negative forms of community reinforce-
ment, such as rebuke and admonition, might be equally important, though this form
of moral reinforcement is hardly pleasurable and in most cases is actually
unpleasant.
It is an understatement to say that the practice of rebuke has fallen out of favor in
much of the Western Christian community. So some countercultural thinking is
required here. For while in the twenty-first-century Western society the concept
of intentional community is widely accepted and even celebrated, the notion of
moral accountability and morally challenging one another is regarded with suspicion
if not outright rejection as arrogant or “judgmental.” However, throughout church
history, and throughout most of the global Christian church today, such practices
have been and are nearly universally accepted. For example, St. Augustine published
an entire treatise on the subject where he discusses the necessity and benefits of
rebuking fellow Christians.33
Long before Augustine, Clement of Alexandria had much to say about negative
moral reinforcements. In his remarkable treatise The Instructor, he writes,
“Admonition is . . . the regimen of the diseased soul, prescribing what it must take,
and forbidding what it must not. And all these tend to salvation and eternal health.”34
Clement goes on to itemize and elaborate on the various forms of admonition:
upbraiding, complaint, invective, reproof, visitation, denunciation, accusation, and
bewailing are all forms of censure, a form of loving care that lends to greater moral
understanding. He explains that “reproof and rebuke . . . are the stripes of the soul,
chastising sins, preventing death, and leading to self-control those carried away to
licentiousness.”35
Fifteen hundred years later, John Wesley would endorse the related practice of
admonition, or the issuing of moral warnings, for the same reasons:
Love indeed requires us to warn him, not only of sin, (although of this chiefly,) but
likewise of any error which, if it were persisted in, would naturally lead to sin. If we do
not “hate him in our heart,” if we love our neighbour as ourselves, this will be our
constant endeavour; to warn him of every evil way, and of every mistake which tends to
evil.36
33. A Treatise on Rebuke and Grace, published in 426 or 427.
34. Clement of Alexandria, The Instructor in Ante-Nicene Fathers, vol. 2, edited by Alexander Roberts
and James Donaldson (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1994), 225.
35. The Instructor, 230.
36. John Wesley, “The Duty of Reproving Our Neighbour,” The Works of John Wesley, vol. 2, 513.
Spiegel 209
So, like rebuke, admonition is motivated by love and aimed at the moral betterment
of the person who is warned. Wesley recognizes, however, that this is no easy task, at
least for most people, though “some there are who are particularly qualified for it,
whether by nature, or practice, or grace. They are not encumbered either with evil
shame, or that sore burden, the fear of man: They are both ready to undertake this
labour of love, and skillful in performing it.”37 However much naturally inclined a
person is in admonishing others, Wesley tells us that certain qualities must be
displayed by the person who does this. Specifically, this must be done in a spirit
of love, humility, and meekness, with a dispassionate spirit and not a trace of anger,
“either in the eyes, the gesture, or the tone of voice.”38
The negative practices of rebuke and admonition are morally demanding, just as
is the positive practice of moral modeling. Both call for a complex of virtuous traits
and, when effective, inspire similar traits in others. And both are effective commu-
nity reinforcements of moral virtue, inspiring the cultivation of all of the moral
virtues, but especially self-control. This is because failures in most areas of the
moral life—resulting in the whole gamut of vices, from greed and gluttony to lust
and rage—can be analyzed in terms of the loss of self-control.
Conclusion
John Cassian once said, “the number of sins which attack us is far larger than that of
the virtues which fight for us.”39 Self-control is one of the core Christian virtues
fighting for us, and fortunately it is a transferrable skill the cultivation of which has
benefits for virtually every domain of the moral life. As we have seen, many major
Christian thinkers down through history are united in the conviction that self-control
can and ought to be intentionally nurtured by systematically practicing self-denial.
These same moral theologians have bequeathed to us a rich compendium of
resources for the development of self-control—resources that are conceptual and
practical, negative and positive, and applicable for the individual as well as com-
munities. The tools are there—blessings, as it were, from our theological forbears
and from on high. Now it is up to us to deploy them.40
ORCID iD
James S. Spiegel https://orcid.org/0000-0001-9505-7568
37. Ibid., 515.
38. Ibid., 516.
39. Cassian, Institutes, 96.
40. I want to thank two anonymous referees for many helpful comments on this article.
210 Journal of Spiritual Formation and Soul Care 13(2)
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