Are You Living a Balanced Life?

Any time I take one of the zillion personality tests available online, I am almost always an even blend of two types. On right brain/left brain assessments, I fall precisely in the middle. I should naturally, then, be perfectly balanced at all times, shouldn’t I?

Unfortunately, this middle-mindedness often translates into a desire to find my comfort zone and stay there. Like a cat curled up on a sunny windowsill, what seems best to me is that everyone should walk softly around me, maintaining their own balance, refraining from loud noises and sudden movements.

Though cats love their comfort, it’s obvious they aren’t designed to remain on the sunny windowsill. They have an incredible sense of balance, but I imagine that if they never got up to stretch, jump, run, and chase things, they would eventually become rather clumsy.

Balance

Since no one made me read Aristotle when I was young, I assigned myself his writings as part of my middle-age-self-education plan. His concept of the Golden Mean brought to mind the Apostle Paul’s exhortation to “Let your moderation be known unto all men” ( Phil. 4:5 KJV).

In Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle asserts that each virtue is a desirable character trait between two vices, the mean or average. On a line segment, with a point in the middle representing a particular virtue, the vice on one end is that virtue taken to excess. The vice on the opposite end is a complete lack of that virtue.

An example is this of courage. Courage is noble and beneficial. With courage as the midpoint, at one extreme the person who exceeds in fearlessness would be “a sort of madman or insensible if he feared nothing . . . while the man who exceeds in confidence about what really is terrible is rash.” On the opposite end of the line, “the man who exceeds in fear is a coward.”

Aristotle wasn’t a Christian, though, so how does this apply to us?

The apostle Paul wrote at least two letters to Timothy, his son in the faith. In the first letter, Paul says he hopes to see Timothy in person soon, but is “writing these things to you so that, if I delay, you may know how one ought to behave in the household of God . . .”

Paul writes as if Timothy’s situation requires urgent instruction. He repeatedly uses phrases such as I urge you; this charge I entrust to you; I charge you; teach and urge these things. Timothy is instructed to flee certain things but to pursue others.

As I read slowly through 1 Timothy, I began to notice a theme. Amidst the urgency is a call to moderation. This isn’t necessarily obvious in English, but when I looked up the meaning of each Greek word, I noted several references to Aristotle’s Golden Mean.

After some warnings about people who are swerving from the truth, Paul says, “First of all, then, I urge you that supplications, prayers, intercessions and thanksgivings be made for all people, for kings and all who are in high positions” (2:1).

Why is this important?

That we may lead a peaceful and quiet life, godly and dignified in every way.

Imagine the Golden Mean line segment as a teeter-totter. With peacefulness and quietness as the fulcrum, I stand with a foot on either side, trying to maintain equilibrium. I mustn’t lean toward the chaos on one end, which desires to overbalance me, nor toward the slothfulness that would weigh down the other side.

But, how is <em?dignity a mean? Spiros Zodhiates, in his Complete Word Study Dictionary, explains that Aristotle defined the word translated here as dignity (semnotēs) as the average of virtue that lies between two extremes, arrogance and an ignoble attempt to please everybody. Therefore, semnotēs stands between caring to please nobody and endeavoring at all costs to please everybody. This balance draws respect and approval.

Another common admonition throughout Paul’s letters is that we ought to maintain self-control. This word means we should be of sound mind, sane and temperate. Aristotle says that temperance is the mean, while the excess is self-indulgence: “Persons deficient with regard to the pleasures are not often found; hence such persons also have received no name. But let us call them ‘insensible.’” How true that persons deficient regarding pleasure are not often found. We all battle self-indulgence, but I don’t believe I know anyone who struggles against the tendency to too much temperance.

Paul closes his letter with a warning to flee false teaching and those who cause dissension. He admonishes Timothy to “pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, steadfastness, gentleness” (6:11).

Righteousness is justice. After a detailed discussion of justice, Aristotle says, “This, then, is what the just is–the proportional; the unjust is what violates the proportion.” Proportion is a proper share of something.

Godliness is the translation of the Greek word eusebeia, which, Zodhiates tells us, literally means “well-directed reverence.” I must fear and respect the right things. I can’t lean toward paralyzing fear of things that are out of my control. I need to cultivate rightly ordered fear of the one who is in ultimate control. My respect should be reserved for the things of God, rather than attempting to maintain friendship with this world.

Aristotle describes a gentle man as one who “is angry at the right things and with the right people, and, further, as he ought, when he ought, and as long as he ought.” Zodhiates says, “Primarily it does not denote outward expression of feeling, but an inward grace of the soul, calmness toward God in particular.” And later, “It is a balance born in strength of character.” It does not mean that I must never get angry, but that I will find the correct balance between excesses of anger and apathy.

Besides faith and love, then, we should be running after a proper sense of proportion, directing our reverence rightly, and developing a strength of character that knows where to find balance.

In this life, I will sometimes feel like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Among the profusion of chairs, my tail is likely to get caught once in a while. If I don’t get down from my comfortable perch and regularly exercise my discernment muscles, I will become trapped and useless. I can’t sit around yowling about my tail. Rather than seeking my comfort, I ought to be seeking to glorify Christ. My moderation should become evident to everyone.

Through the gift of a faithful mother and grandmother, Diane Pendergraft grew up knowing Jesus as a friend. Married for nearly two-thirds of her life, there has been time for several seasons, from homeschooling to owning a coffee shop. She has three grown children and eight grandchildren. An element of this season is writing about literature and life at Plumfield and Paideia.