Discipline – The Mark of
Maturity
Lazy dreamers will never achieve the high goal of
spiritual maturity without self discipline
– in appetites, emotions,
moods, speech, and priorities.
The term discipline carries a variety of meanings.
To the child it means being compelled to do something undesirable and being
punished if he rebels. Discipline for him means compulsion, pain, authority. To the soldier discipline means conformity to
regulations, instant obedience to orders, K.P. duty, reveille
on cold mornings. To the student it means the course of instruction he is
undertaking, with the specific requirements and rules and examinations
incident to it. I heard one man describe his academic qualifications in the
words, “I submitted to the discipline of 12 units in psychology.” To the
Christian, discipline means discipleship – following Jesus, with one’s self denied
and one’s cross resolutely carried.
The child, the soldier, the student, the disciple
are all correct. But there is something more. The aim of child discipline, or
military, or academic, or religious, is a disciplined character which goes
beyond the minimum whole life. Imposed discipline (of which we will say more
later) must lead to self-discipline. It is even
possible for the Christian to be a sincere and regenerated follower of Jesus,
yet remain undisciplined in many facets of his character and in many areas of
life. One may be a cross-bearer – one may, in fact, be purified from the carnal
mind and filled with the Spirit – yet be merely on the threshold of that larger
discipline of full maturity.
In a general sense, self-discipline is the ability
to regulate conduct by principle and judgment rather than impulse, desire, high
pressure, or social custom. It is basically the ability to subordinate.
There are several aspects here. For one thing, there
is included the ability to subordinate the body and its physical appetites to
the service of the mind. Paul said, “I keep my body under.” This was
exemplified by a fellow preacher who became convinced that coffee was affecting
his heart. A Norwegian – mind you – who had enjoyed his coffee all his life!
“But,” he said, “that moment it became a matter of conscience with me. So I
stopped.” Just that simple. He hasn’t touched it
since. This ability was also seen in another friend who was 50 pounds
overweight. When challenged by the doctor, he resolutely embarked on a rugged
diet which he maintained in all company, at all places and times, until his
weight was normal – much to the improvement of his health. He explained simply,
“It’s not a question of will power, but of ‘won’t’ power … No thank you, I
won’t have any.” Such drastic adjustments are not always necessary, but the
day-by-day discipline in many little things is. In truth we may say that the finest
display of such discipline is not the spectacular achievement but the permanent
adjustment of living pattern.
The subordination of the physical includes not only
the appetite for food but also the sex urge. In some this has been so humored
that it is abnormally excitable. To make matters worse, such persons often live
by the creed of impotence, “I can’t help it,” and similar expressions of moral
flabbiness. Overindulgence even within marriage may have the effect of
cultivating this basic urge until it is increasingly imperious [domineering or
authoritative] in its demands. Those so afflicted are in grave danger of
succumbing to temptations from outside marriage when domestic stress,
“frigidity” in their mates, long illness, or separations subject their
enfeebled powers of self-control to an abnormal strain.
Emotions must be subordinate to the reason. God
wants all of us to be warm-hearted. But the warm heart must
have the wisdom of maturity, or it can become (or remain) the giddy
impulsiveness of adolescence. When warmness is not disciplined, it tends
to degenerate into irresponsible sentimentality, caprice [impulsiveness],
frivolity followed by depression – or even worse, flirting and philandering.
Too often the mind serves only the purpose of
devising excuses for doing what the heart wants to do. The heart needs to be
first cleansed, then kept on the leash of discipline.
Then it can safely become the co-partner with the mind in living according to
fixed principles. The disciplined man has learned this art. He distrusts his
sudden impulses. Not that he is cold and calculating; he may be warm and
sympathetic; but he has grown up “into Christ” and is not “tossed to and fro,
and carried about” either by “every wind of doctrine” or the winds of impulse,
fancy, and strange feelings.
Disciplined character also means the mastery of
moods. This is yet another area of conquest in the subordination of one’s
emotions. Actually, the need here is two-fold. First, we must cultivate that
fixedness of purpose, that steadiness of faith, that quiet almost rhythmic
performance of duty, which gradually chastens our moods, cleansing from them
their fierce wildness and bringing them into keeping with our total pattern.
Then our moods will fluctuate less often and certainly less radically. The
pendulum, even if it still swings, will not swing so far.
Secondly, we must learn to transcend the moods which
we cannot entirely elude. Some ebb and flow of feeling is inevitable. Some
slight shifting of interest or attitude is apt to occur in the steadiest
personality. A failure in our work combined with physical weariness may bring a
cloud of depression and discouragement. A windy day, a letter
from home, a personal misunderstanding are some of the many little
things which play on our spirits and produce some variations in our feelings –
possibly a touch of nostalgia or loneliness.
With the changed mood may come strange impulses
which we dare not heed – maybe to take a trip, or make an unwise purchase, or
neglect some duty – impulses which will not pass one’s common sense in sober moments. With the changed mood also may come the temptation
to let our mood show. There is danger of appearing
suddenly altered in our relationships with the people around us. According to
the mood we may be abnormally happy and open or morose [depressed] and closed,
generous to the point of profligacy [wastefulness] or prudent to the point of
stinginess. One day we may be optimistic, the next day pessimistic. Because our
personalities cannot be relied upon for consistency, our friends do not know
what to expect next. At first people are puzzled. Then they learn to say,
“Just one of his moods” – with a hint of scorn. And they learn to be wary and
apprehensive in all relationships with us, for they never quite know what mood
they will find us in, or how soon our mood will change.
A mature, disciplined Christian has learned “to feel
just as good when he feels bad as he does when he feels good” – in the Lord;
and in the quiet, steady application of his energies to life.
Disciplined character never dissipates time and
energy by catering to moodiness. “I don’t feel like it” may at times express
the plain truth, but the habitual use of this phrase is the trait of the
weakling, not the strong man. When a college student explained that he had not
attended the last class session because he “didn’t feel like it,” the professor
said: “Young man, has it ever occurred to you that most of the world’s work is
done by people who don’t feel like it?”
Regardless of how carefully controlled a person is
at all other points, none can qualify for the high rating of a truly
disciplined character whose tongue is not restrained by the bridle of prudence
and directed by the reins of love. And this is scriptural. “If anyone thinks
himself to be religious, and yet does not bridle his tongue but deceives his
own heart, this man's religion is worthless” (James
Some people pride themselves on their frankness. “I
say what I think,” they boast. So does the fool, according to the Bible: “A
fool does not delight in understanding, but only in revealing his own mind” (Prov.
18:2). Frankness is indeed a virtue when coupled with intelligent, loving
tact and discretion. But it becomes a sadistic [cruel or vicious] vice when it
is merely the unbridled eruptings of opinions without regard to times and
places or human feelings. “There is one who speaks rashly like the thrusts of a
sword, but the tongue of the wise brings healing” (Prov.
Furthermore, a truly disciplined character has the
ability to subordinate the lesser to the greater. Here is the problem of
priorities – probably the most crucial problem of life. On its solution hangs
success or failure, improvement or degeneration, and in the larger sense,
heaven or hell.
The battle here is not primarily to achieve a clear
perception of what is more important, for all Christians acknowledge that God
and Church should hold first place in our lives. Without hesitation we would
concede that heaven is an infinitely richer goal than earthly position, that
persons come before profits, that the culture [cultivation or refinement] of
the soul and the mind is more to be desired than entertainment, that character
is of far greater value than pleasure, that usefulness is better than idleness,
that soul winning is life’s crowning achievement, that righteousness is
infinitely more satisfying than popularity. When confronted bluntly with these
simple alternatives we know instantly which to approve. We would say, “Yes,
these are the supreme values, and to realize them is my supreme goal.” The
problem therefore is not knowledge. The problem is actually giving first place
to these values in practical daily living and that is a problem primarily of
character.
This involves ability to reject day by day that
great army of possible activities which clamor for our precious energy but
which would hamper the doing of more important things. All of us are confronted
by a bewildering multiplicity [quantity and diversity] of claims upon our time,
talent, money, and loyalties. The claims are not only legion, but loud and
insistent. To attempt to satisfy even half of them would result in frittering
[wasting] life away to nothingness. If life with us is to be fruitful and
purposeful, we must heroically and decisively put the knife to most of the
possible activities which could clutter every single day.
Selection – selection – selection! This is the law
of life. We cannot join everything; therefore, we must select. We cannot
participate in every good cause; therefore, we must select. We cannot give to
everything; therefore, we must select. We cannot go to every interesting
concert or lecture or meeting; therefore, we must select. We cannot read
everything; therefore, we must select.
To become well read is vastly more than reading; it
is a matter of exclusion as well as inclusion. President Case of
Our stature as men and women, certainly our stature
as Christians, will be determined exactly and entirely by our skill in
selecting. If we give top priority to those pursuits which should have low
priority, if we “major in minors,” if we show a “first-rate dedication to
second-rate causes,” if we allow friends and impulse and the convenience of
the moment to dictate our priorities, while we weakly drift with the tide of
daily circumstances, we will be shabby, mediocre, and ineffective persons.
If we affirm certain priorities but fail to give
them first place day by day; if we allow them to remain in the
“never-never-land” of good intentions, without rigid adherence right now – the
end result of character-zero will be just as sure. Now we must say “yes” to this
and “no” to that. Now we must put first things first. And we must do it no
matter how much more pleasant and appealing other things may be at the moment.
It is reported that when a professional author said to Sir Winston Churchill
that he couldn’t write unless the “mood” came on him, the great statesman
replied: “No! Shut yourself in your study from nine to one and make yourself
write. Prod yourself! – Kick yourself!”
The final hallmark of the disciplined character is
the ability to assimilate imposed discipline with grace and profit. It is by no
means easy to subordinate natural initiative and self-assertion to legitimate
authority. But it must be done if one expects maximum happiness and
usefulness, and if one desires to achieve a mature character. Rebellion at
times may be one’s clear duty. But in most of life’s normal relationships,
rebellion is stupid and destructive. Being a constitutional rebel is no ground
for pride. Habitual rebellion is the cult of weaklings rather than the strong.
It requires neither intelligence nor character to assert loudly, “No one can
tell me what to do.” But it requires both to submit to the
inescapable and necessary constraints of society; and submit, not
grudgingly, but graciously, with mature understanding and cheerful good will.
The unbroken colt is of little value. Whatever value
he has is based on the assumption that he will not remain unbroken. The person
who finds his true place and worth is the person who learns to wear the yoke.
When a young man or woman intelligently learns that life is a bundle of
relationships involving give as well as take, subordination as well as
domination, that moment is his or her value to society compounded many fold.
This is exemplified first in the home, then in school, then in the church, then
in one’s vocation. Whether one is a lawyer, or doctor, or railroad engineer,
or office clerk – no matter where or how one works, there are rules, or codes
of ethics, or government regulations, or superior levels of authority in the
form of employers, boards, managers, superintendents, etc., to which one must
submit. If we are constantly kicking and chafing, we will be unhappy, to say
the least, and in danger of becoming drifters. Insubordination, selfishness,
misery, and uselessness are bedfellows.
The Christian, of course, must make sure he does not
confuse such subordination to imposed discipline with blind, unthinking
submission to the wishes and opinions of everyone about him. Proper submission
to legitimate authority by no means extends to conformity to the world. Even
that spirit of submission which Christian wives are to manifest toward unsaved
husbands, and which is such an acid test of the wife’s spiritual maturity, is
not to be interpreted as requiring obedience to demands which violate her
conscience (based on the Bible) as a Christian.
Then in the larger circles, such as in the world of
fashion and custom, a fine independence of spirit, opinion, and practice is a
noble thing. Discipline does not require that we be echoes only. The wise
Christian must learn to submit to some yokes, but throw off others. If there
must be dictation at all in matters of personal life and fashion, it had better
come from the church than from the world. But even the church must not dictate
too much. Christians must find their way between extreme non-conformity and
extreme conformity or subjugation. They must learn to draw the line before
proper assimilation of imposed discipline becomes extinction of private
thinking and personal initiative. Insubordination is bad, but individuality is
good.
It takes careful thinking to discriminate between
distortion and normalcy in all of these facets of Christian discipline. But the
essential fact is clear. Discipline is the mark of maturity. Without discipline
the character will remain weak and infantile.
In a discipleship ministry, if one agrees to be
trained by a spiritual leader, then he should follow the spiritual
teacher-trainer in all matters that pertain to training, teaching, and
character development to the extent that the leader is following Christ and the
Bible (1 Cor. 11:1; 4:16; Phil. 3:17; 4:9; 2 Tim. 3:10; 1 Thes. 1:6; Heb.
13:17).