It is hard to know just how to take an invitation to write about gluttony. “We thought you would be the perfect person,” the editor’s letter read. “Gee, is it that obvious?” I thought, alarmed. “No, no, that’s not really me. It’s just these horizontal stripes.”
But, if I am honest, I have to admit that it is me. It’s most of us. Food is an intoxicating pleasure, and it appears superficially like an innocuous one. What is so bad about engaging in a little gluttony, anyway? It’s not one of the bad sins, like adultery or stealing -- we wouldn’t do that. All gluttony does is make you soft and huggable. It’s the cute sin.
But gluttony is not about appearance; our inclination to associate it with external effects alone shows how reluctant we are to confront the sin in the heart. The gluttonous impulse is a sign of disharmony with God’s provision and creation, and it can disrupt the spiritual lives of people of every size. External dimensions are no predictor of internal rebellion.
Previous generations of Christians knew this. Overindulgence in food did not just lead to thickened waistlines and arteries; it led to spiritual disaster. These words from a nineteenth-century Russian monk, Bishop Ignatius Brianchaninov, build in an alarming crescendo: “Wise temperance of the stomach is a door to all the virtues. Restrain the stomach, and you will enter Paradise. But if you please and pamper your stomach, you will hurl yourself over the precipice of bodily impurity, into the fire of wrath and fury, you will coarsen and darken your mind, and in this way you will ruin your powers of attention and self-control, your sobriety and vigilance.”
If that doesn’t make you take a second look at your second helpings, nothing will.
The key word in the passage above is self-control. Gluttony is not wrong because it makes you fat; it is wrong because it is the fruit of self-indulgence. Gluttony says, “Gimme”; Jesus says, “Come to me.” When we come to him, we give up all claims to be coddled; we come to shoulder our own rough cross. The path to the buffet table and the path to sanctification lie in opposite directions.
Yet anyone who has tried to diet knows that the will to eat indulgently is surprisingly strong and unruly. Plans to eat reasonably and with an eye to good health may look attractive on Sunday night, when sketched out on a full stomach. (Oh yes, and we’ll get up early every day to jog, too.) About 3 p.m. on Monday afternoon, however, it’s a different story. The stomach that was placid and amiable has become a bucking, rebellious pony, with a defiance that was never evident until it was made to wear a bridle. Dieters are often shocked at their deep-seated and ungovernable compulsion to eat, as facets of unconverted willfulness, never suspected, are being brought to light. What makes gluttony such a hard sin to break?
FOOD AS POWER
Of course, food is pleasurable; that alone can make a sin enticing. But while some pleasures can be relinquished with a melancholic pang, the attempt to discipline food sins prompts a ferocious, angry resistance. Something more is going on here. The urge to overindulge in food is powerful, I think, because it is linked to a desire for power. A complex net of submerged assumptions teaches us that food grants some limited, but tangible, control over the exterior world. We bite the apple (or the doughnut) because we have heard a whisper, “You shall be as gods.” This plays out in various ways:
1. EMPEROR BABY.
Eating is the first pleasure. Researchers have found that if amniotic fluid is sweetened, unborn babies will gulp it more greedily. For a newborn, many sensations are unpleasant or frightening, but food, glorious food, is a constant and dependable comfort. Controlling access to food, crying to be fed, and winning the reward of sweet, warm milk is the first task of newborn life. No wonder we retain into adulthood a zeal to gather as much good, sweet food as we can grab; it was the first job we ever had, and it felt like an urgent one, indeed. “I don’t think it’s fair that they changed the rules,” my husband said one day, looking forlornly at the ends of his belt; they would no longer quite meet in front. “I can remember a time in my life -- in fact, it lasted quite a long time -- when people were constantly affirming me with, ‘My, you’re becoming such a big boy!’” He tried once more to make the belt ends meet. “Now that I’ve gotten really good at it, suddenly they changed the rules.”
His whimsical protest conceals a grain of truth. The baby that focuses all its attention on getting food soon grows to be a child that is praised for eating, indulged with treats, and admired for getting bigger. Not only is getting food our first job, not only is it intrinsically pleasurable, but it’s a talent for which most of us were praised throughout our childhoods, the way in which we elicited praise and admiration from our elders.
2. I’M IN CONTROL.
Succumbing to the desire to overeat may be a straightforward way that people demonstrate power. Life is complicated and fraught with compromises, unmet desires, and nettling disappointments. We cannot make other people do right. Friends, neighbors, spouse, children all may resist our will, but, darn it, that chocolate cream pie is going to know who’s boss. Overeating can become a secret, habitual way to reassure yourself that you are not powerless, that you can subdue and conquer as much food as you choose. Viewed in this light, anorexia has the same root as gluttony: a desire to demonstrate control. Women starve themselves to prove that they are the Empresses of Ice Cream, wielding a scepter of iron rejection where a plumper sister might choose the tactic of conquering by consuming.
3. SQUIRREL AWAY.
A related impulse is the need to hoard. Perhaps a cream pie this perfect will never cross my path again; it is only wisdom to tuck away as much as possible before the waiter clears the plates and we must part forever. Hoarding food discloses our need to establish ourselves as independent resources, free from dependence on God. There is an intrinsic mistrust of his ability to provide, though he owns the cream pies on a thousand hills.
4. BOREDOM.
A constant stream of pleasant sensations coming in may help keep more troubling self-confrontation at bay. The continuing work of repentance is lifelong, and comparatively less jolly than a bag of gumdrops; those gumdrops may be just enough to keep us distracted one more day. Bishop Brianchaninov, cited above, insisted that an evil of gluttony was its ability to dull the mind. Pennsylvania pastor Pat Reardon says, “When people ask me why God seems so distant, I ask them ‘How much TV have you been watching? What thoughts are you allowing into your mind?’” We could add: And how much idle junk food do you nibble for no apparent reason?
5. BIG.
The title is clumsy and forbidding, but Fat Is a Feminist Issue delivers a startling insight. Author Susie Orbach writes that many dieters self- sabotage because they fail to realize that “compulsive eating is linked to a desire to get fat.... Many women are positively afraid of being thin.” This strikes us as howlingly counterintuitive, but Orbach’s research is intriguing. She has women imagine themselves in a social situation; they are to envision every detail of dress, posture, with whom they talk, how others react to them. Orbach has them imagine themselves in the same situation, but immensely fat; then she has them repeat the exercise, but imagine themselves with ideal slimness.
In a culture where slimness equals beauty, women have powerful reasons to want to be thin; but, surprisingly, when they imagined it, they found they did not enjoy it. Slimness was associated with being “cold and ungiving,” “self-involved,” burdened with others’ expectations, the object of unwanted desire from men and uncomfortable jealousy from women. The fat self, on the other hand, was relaxed, free from unwanted sexual attention and the need to compete, and able to talk comfortably with others. As the study demonstrated, another reason people subconsciously desired a greater girth was because they sensed that, as a result, they had more authority. One woman put it this way: “The fat in the situation [made] me feel like a sergeant major-big and authoritative. When I go through the fantasy of seeing myself thin, what immediately strikes me is just how fragile and little I feel, almost as though I might disappear or be blown away.” Men have as many reasons as women do -- maybe more -- to want to be bigger. Our attempts at self-control in eating fail, in part, because part of us really doesn’t want to risk shrinking. We want to be big.
A “Bizarro” cartoon by Dan Piraro showed an enormously fat man looking into a refrigerator, while a smaller man stood nearby, holding up a finger of admonition. “You are what you eat,” the scolder said. The fat man replied, “Good. That makes me omnipotent.”
SATAN’S PLOY
One of the crueler tricks of temptation is that it exacts painful dues while failing to deliver the promised pleasure. A really clever temptation can impose the very opposite of what was promised. This is the case with gluttony. If overeating is about gaining power, the stomach may indeed feel a gratifying, temporary dominance-after which the overeater will likely feel ashamed and, ironically, out of control. Overeating may be an assertion of power, but the classic confession is, “I have no will power.” Far from establishing the glutton as a master, it exposes him as a slave.
This is not a slavery merely to self; it is worse than that. The apostle Paul speaks of those whose “god is the belly” (Phil. 3:19; all Scripture references quoted are NRSV), and Saint John Climacus, seventh-century abbot of the monastery on Mount Sinai, writes of “that clamorous mistress, the stomach.” Those who succumb to gluttony experience themselves not as rulers, but as helpless prey. Prey, indeed, we are; this is not just a matter of deficient self-control, but of slipping under another’s control, into another’s trap. “Like a roaring lion, your adversary the devil prowls around, looking for someone to devour” (1 Peter 5:8). It is in the nature of evil to consume, and those who feast wantonly become themselves morsels.
In “The Screwtape Letters,” C. S. Lewis has the senior devil write to his nephew: “To us a human is primarily food; our aim is the absorption of its will into ours, the increase of our own area of selfhood at its expense. But the obedience which the Enemy [God the Father] demands of men is quite a different thing....We want cattle who can finally become food; He wants servants who can finally become sons. We want to suck in; He wants to give out. We are empty and would be filled; He is full and flows over.”
When Screwtape’s nephew finally fails in his mission, the senior devil gloats in a fashion that any glutton would find chilling: “I think they will give you to me now; or a bit of you. Love you? Why, yes. As dainty a morsel as ever I grew fat on.”
“He is full and flows over,” Lewis’s devil wrote. The flowing over by which God would fill us extends from Genesis to Revelation. He does not merely decline to devour us, he feeds us. Eden was planted with “every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food” (Gen. 2:9); in the New Jerusalem there is “the tree of life, with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month” (Rev. 22:2). In the Song of Solomon we sing, “He brought me to the banqueting house” (Song of Sol. 2:4), and at the end we hear, “Blessed are those who are invited to the marriage supper of the Lamb” (Rev. 19:9). We are invited to ask, “Give us this day our daily bread.”
He feeds us. Safe in his pasture, we will not become food. The task is learning to eat the food he gives, in the measure he gives it. Our whole lives consist of learning what he meant when he said: “I have food to eat that you do not know about” (John 4:32).
Satan came to Adam in Paradise; he came to Christ in the desert. He came to two hungry men and said: eat, for your hunger is proof that you depend entirely on food, that your life is in food. And Adam believed and ate; but Christ rejected that temptation and said: man shall not live by bread alone but by God. By doing this, Christ restored that relationship between food, life, and God which Adam broke, and which we still break every day. (Alexander Schmemann, “On Fasting at Great Lent”)
THE GRAYNESS OF GLUTTONY
“Which we still break every day.” How do we restore the food-life-God relationship? Mastering gluttony is a tricky task, because you can never be sure you have arrived. With the broader sins, you can swear off the behavior and know with certainty at the end of the day that you either kept your promise or did not. The thief does not wonder whether or not he stole. The person struggling with homosexual longing either went out and picked up a date, or didn’t. With some sins, there is not much gray area.
With gluttony, it is almost all gray. You cannot simply swear off eating, and learning to eat aright seems such a slippery, indefinable goal. The standards we concoct for ourselves seem to mock us. Sallie Tisdale wrote of dieting in “Harper’s” (March 1993), “Eating became cheating. One pretzel was cheating. Two apples instead of one was cheating -- a large potato instead of a small, carrots instead of broccoli.... Diets have failure built in, failure is the definition. Every substitution -- even carrots for broccoli -- was a triumph of desire over will....I saw that the real point of dieting is dieting -- to not be done with it, ever.”
Yet overcoming gluttony must mean getting a handle on our intake of food, and Christians through the ages have discovered various helps. For example, Saint John Climacus gave his monks specific, concrete advice. “He who fondles a lion tames it, but he who coddles the body makes it still wilder,” he warned. But he cautioned against excessive discipline, criticizing one who advised taking only bread and water: “To prescribe this is like saying to a child: ‘Go up the whole ladder in one stride.’” Saint John recommended, rather, varying one’s discipline: “Let us for awhile only deny ourselves fattening foods, then heated foods, and only then what makes our food pleasant. If possible, give your stomach satisfying and digestible food, so as to satisfy its insatiable hunger by sufficiency, and so that we may be delivered from excessive desire.”
Learning to eat rightly usually means, in our modern age, dieting. But dieting can merely be a substitute of one of the Seven Deadly Sins for another: forsaking Gluttony, we fall into Vanity. Christians have, from the earliest times, wrestled with the temptation to misuse food, but the weapon they used wasn’t dieting. It was fasting.
[see #3647]
