How Bad Can I Possibly Be?

“I meant no harm. I most truly did not.

But I had to grow bigger. So bigger I got.

I biggered my factory. I biggered my roads.

I biggered my wagons. I biggered the loads

Of the Thneeds I shipped out. I was shipping them forth

To the South! To the East! To the West! To the North!

I went right on biggering, selling more Thneeds.

And I biggered my money, which everyone needs.”

Dr. Seuss, The Lorax (1971)

 

The book was better. The book was always better.

The 2012 animated adaptation of Dr. Seuss classic poetical picture-book The Lorax was, in my view, a mistake. The Lorax is simply not of such a genre as to be successfully adaptable into a feature-length film: it’s too short for its events to constitute the entire plotline, but too downright good to be anything but worsened by their augmentation and expansion. Part of the brilliance of the book The Lorax is the very ambiguity of where it takes place and who these characters are: at no point, for instance, does the reader see the face of the Once-ler, despite the fact that he’s arguably the main character, nor are we given any real details about the identity of the boy whose trip to see the Once-ler represents the story’s framing device. These people could be anyone, anywhere, and that lends the ecological moral of the tale a great sense of universal applicability: if the characters are simply too anonymous to act as scapegoats onto which the blame for environmental problems might be shoved, then oneself, as the reader, is forced to acknowledge one’s own responsibility in this sphere. The film, by contrast, gives both these key characters, as well as a host of others, pretty specific identities and backstories. That whole element of inescapable accountability beyond the world of the story that made the book so effective is thus lost.

There is one part of the film, however, that I like very much indeed, namely the song ‘How Bad Can I Be?’, which is sung by the Once-ler during a montage of the growth of his Thneed business and the accompanying destruction of the Truffula forests (and their inhabitants) needed for Thneed manufacture, a section of the plot roughly equivalent to the few lines of the book I included in my opening quotation.¹ This is the song’s chorus:

How bad can I be?

I’m just doing what comes naturally.

How bad can I be?

I’m just following my destiny.

How bad can I be?

I’m just doing what comes naturally.

How bad can I be?

How bad can I possibly be?

The first verse consists of the Once-ler attempting to justify his wanton felling of countless Truffula trees using the biological principle of ‘survival of the fittest’, the second of him attempting to justify it using the economic principle of ‘money makes the world go round’. He then resumes the chorus in a variant form:

How bad can I be?

I’m just building the economy.

How bad can I be?

Just look at me petting this puppy.

How bad can I be?

A portion of proceeds goes to charity.

How bad can I be?

How bad can I possibly be?

This song is, I think, the point at which the film comes closest to its book counterpart in demanding moral self-scrutiny of its readers. The Once-ler is probably the protagonist and definitely a character with which the viewer is encouraged to empathise, yet at this point in the story, he firmly takes on a role as its villain – and so those lyrics are perhaps the best articulation of the human propensity for denial of our sinfulness that I have ever come across in a secular motion picture. It is so painfully obvious to the viewer that what the Once-ler is doing is horribly avaricious and self-seeking and uncompassionate and, in a word, wrong, but the Once-ler himself just throws out excuse after flimsy excuse for why his actions are perfectly acceptable, acknowledges no need for change, and goes on doing what he’s doing.

Surely all of us have tried the same trick before God. I think we often try a lot of the same excuses, actually.

How bad can I be? I’m just doing what comes naturally. That is to say, a proclivity to a particular sin exists in my fallen heart, and it’s easier to vindicate that as an element of my God-given personality than to seriously wage war against the sin in question.² I’ll give a personal example, just so this isn’t all in the abstract: I have very little natural talent for offering emotional support (of a kind that isn’t just trying to fix the problem at hand) to the distressed, and am far from comfortable doing so, a fact which I am often tempted to employ as a convenient get-out clause from the Bible’s exhortation to weep with those who weep and so forth.³

How bad can I be? I’m just following my destiny. That is to say, an opportunity has arisen for me to do something I want to do, and it’s easier to assume that God is ‘opening a door’ for me than to acknowledge that pursuing said opportunity entails sinning. Personal example: I have, as yet, never done very badly on any piece of assessed work at university level. The circumstances are practically begging me to ground at least some corner of my identity and security in academic success instead of in Christ and, far too often, that’s exactly what I do.

How bad can I be? I’m just building the economy. That is to say, my indulging in a particular sin would appear ostensibly to be having beneficial effects on others, and it’s easier to pretend that the ends justify the means than to give up the sin and the benefit together. Personal example: I have, after more than one church service, been complimented on my singing voice, or told that hearing me sing has been encouraging in some measure, affording me a handy pretext for concentrating more on how I sound when I’m singing a worship song than the one I’m actually supposed to be worshipping. The edification of my fellow-believers is the ostensible benefit, my loathsome pride and self-obsession the sin it conceals.

How bad can I be? A portion of proceeds goes to charity. That is to say, I would seem to be doing pretty well at living for Jesus in other areas of my life, and it’s easier to kid myself that it’s possible to use godliness in some areas to offset sinfulness in others than to commit my whole self to becoming more holy. Personal example: by the grace of God, I’ve got a lot better of late at steering my mind clear of wilful sexual fantasy, but that means I’ll often compensate myself by indulging in other kinds of fantasies that, though they might seem more innocuous, are actually just as rooted in sin. Mainly they involve me being really impressive and other people being really impressed – pride again.

And if I thought the Once-ler was unconvincing when he came up with this stuff, how much more so am I! How bad can I be? Immeasurably. And I think-

Um, excuse me, could I say something?

Sorry, who are you?

Oh, sorry, I thought you’d recognise me; I’m the Imaginary Interlocutor. I live in the bit of your head where we manufacture counterarguments against and criticisms of everything you write. I’ve been in quite a few of your blog posts, actually.

Really? I’m terribly sorry, I don’t remember.

Well, thinking about it, I suppose you wouldn’t. I’m not normally very ostentatious, you know; I’m quite content to leave no more trace than an outline of a foil for your argument, a hypothetical question, perhaps an objection placed in the mouth of your reader. I don’t like to make a habit of speaking directly. It can be a tad confusing, and gives off the unfortunate impression that you spend most of your time refuting imaginary theological arguments in your head.

Well, I do spend quite a lot of time refuting imaginary theological arguments in my head.

Granted.

What was it you wanted to say?

Well, it’s just that … you’re talking about sin again. I mean, again. You do realise you talk about sin an awful lot on this blog? I mean, I get that it’s important and all, but the constant, unrelenting repetition of the whole ‘identify-and-express-suitable-shame-over-particular-sin-then-make-some-overwhelmingly-inadequate-statement-about-the-brilliance-of-the-cross’ thing-

The whole ‘repent-and-believe’ thing, you mean?

Whatever, you say tomato. The point is, it’s getting a bit dull. Would it kill you to change the record?

Um, yes, quite possibly it actually would.

I don’t follow.

Can we go back to the Once-ler and ‘How Bad Can I Be?’?

*Sigh.* If we must.

Thank you kindly. Here’s the thing: we’ve established that the Once-ler is totally unconvincing when he tries to pass himself off as a decent enough chap. To the viewer, it’s obvious that he’s basically a total scumbag. But the Once-ler himself is completely blind to the fact: how bad can I possibly be? And it’s the fact that he’s persuaded himself that he’s not that bad that removes any obstacle there might have been to him getting worse and worse and worse. It’s the fact that he won’t acknowledge any problem that prevents him from accepting any solution.

If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, [God] is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. – 1 John 1:8-9⁴

The reason I can’t let myself shut up about my sin is because if I do, I’ll start to deceive myself. I’ll drift into forgetting that it’s a problem – the biggest problem, in fact, in all existence – and that I need a solution of similarly titanic proportions. Slowly, I’ll forget that I need Jesus’ sacrifice on my behalf, that I need it desperately, more than I need the blood in my veins and the oxygen in my lungs. Without the righteousness given me in Christ, I can have no place in God’s kingdom, no place in the immortal order. And that, my dear Imaginary Interlocutor, is what real death is. So yes, it might very well kill me to change the record.

But, magnificently, if I acknowledge my sin before God, he is faithful and just to recognise it as already paid for by my Lord and Saviour’s death in my place. That’s a promise, that he will never lay any of my wrongdoing to my charge, provided I acknowledge that only in Christ – and not possibly by any activity of my own, since my natural self exists in helpless slavery to sin – is it atoned for.

That means not alleging pathetic excuses for my sin – just doing what comes naturally, just following my destiny and so forth. It means calling my sin what it is and knowing that I stand no chance of dealing with it by myself, but that, mercifully, Jesus has already dealt with it all. It means remembering that every day, lest I end up like the Once-ler, oblivious to my own wrongdoing even as I stand surrounded by the smouldering ruins of beautiful things that are its result.

If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.

But,

Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered.

Blessed is the man against whom the Lord counts no iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no deceit. – Psalm 32:1-2 (emphasis mine, obviously)⁵

Does that satisfy you, my dear Imaginary Interlocutor?

Of course not. You must remember that I pretty much exist for nothing other than to provide counterarguments against everything you have to say.

That is a pity. Ah well, it was worth a try.

In conclusion: how bad can I be? Immeasurably. Grossly. You don’t even want to know. But never to such an extent that the most mind-boggling act of unmerited mercy in the whole of history, my Saviour’s death on my behalf, can’t handle it.

So does that mean-

Shush. This post has gone on long enough as things are.

But does it mean-

No. Romans 6. Can we please take this argument back into my head and stop bothering my charming readers with it?

Footnotes

¹ Do take the opportunity to familiarise yourself with the song before reading further: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YYmrPn1CnzY. First off, it’ll probably be quite useful for understanding what the heck I’m on about, and second, it’s a really fun song.

² On this point, you might also like to check out my post ‘Myers-Briggs and Morality’, under ‘July’ in the box on the right.

³ See Romans 12:15 for that particular exhortation.

⁴ Whole chapter: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1%20John+1&version=ESVUK. Go on, it’s only short.

⁵ I’d probably call this one a favourite: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=psalm+32&version=ESVUK.

How to Be Productive, By Someone Who Isn’t Particularly

“Do you think I sit around doing nothing? I haven’t had a chance to sit around and do nothing since the day I arrive in Camelot. I’m too busy running around after Arthur – ‘Do this, Merlin!’ ‘Do that, Merlin!’ – and when I’m not running around after Arthur, I’m doing chores for you, and when I’m not doing that, I’m fulfilling my destiny!”

Merlin S2 E2, ‘The Once and Future Queen’ (2009)

 

Look at all the work you’re not doing because you’re reading my blog instead! Terribly kind of you.

And so we’ve reached October. The leaves are beginning their yearly chromatic transformation, I’ve started wearing my warm coat on a regular basis, and the new academic year is well and truly underway. Done with are the course admin, timetabling hiccoughs, and introductory lectures: from now on it’s down to the real business of doing what’s necessary to obtain a degree. And that means finding the willpower to actually spend one’s time doing work instead of throwing it away on some less-than-crucial, secondary endeavour like, I don’t know, writing a weekly blog.

If you’re expecting this post to be a list of highly practical hints and tips for maximising motivation and avoiding procrastination, I’m afraid you’re going to be rather disappointed, O Understandably Mistaken Reader. For one thing, I’d hardly be the best person to ask for such a list; I very much doubt that I have any more skill at maximising motivation and avoiding procrastination than your average twenty-first-century arts student. More importantly, however, what I actually want to do in what follows is challenge the understanding of productivity that such a list would imply, were it to be this post’s major component.

Have you ever had a conversation in which you’ve asked how someone’s day is going and he or she has replied purely in terms of what he or she has got done during it so far? I have. Often. “How was your morning?” I ask, and my friend replies with something to the effect of, “Not too bad – quite productive; I wrote a bit more of my essay and replied to a whole bunch of emails.” Or, “What have you been up to today?” I ask, and my friend replies with something to the effect of, “Ugh. Nothing. I’ve just been bingeing on The Littlest Elf¹ in my room. I feel so unproductive.”

From the way we talk about it, it would appear that getting things done – academic work as a first priority, but also admin, household tasks, society-related obligations, and so forth – were the primary measure for the meaningful worth of a day. Never mind our physical, mental, or spiritual wellbeing: what matters is whether we’re getting things done. And productivity, defined in this sense, is upheld as the goal for which we should be striving, so that all day long, we’re either getting things done or feeling guilty for not getting things done. I’d consider it a sinful side effect of the setup of university life: few contact hours and mountains of work to do outside them, coupled with our first steps into real responsibility for looking after ourselves, and more extra-curricular opportunities than we’ve ever encountered before,² together result in us having both abnormally large amounts of time to do things, and abnormally large amounts of things to do. Thence springs the notion that we need to be deploying the former as efficiently as possible to get done the latter, and the feeling of failure if our efficiency is less than it could be.

I call the getting things done mindset sinful because I think it’s idolatry. Getting things done becomes the most important thing, the thing against which I measure myself, the thing according to which I define my life and in which I find my assurance that I’m doing all right. Cue the alarm bells: Productivity, in this sense, has become my god.³ Every decision I make based on the ultimate goal of getting things done to the greatest extent possible, represents an offering at her altar. Every time I talk about my day as if its value were contained in how much I get done, represents a nod to the praise of her name. Every time I feel guilty for procrastinating simply because I haven’t got done as much as I could have, and consequently resolve to procrastinate less in future, represents a repentance at her feet.

Like all idols, though, Productivity, in the end, proves to be nothing. The following chunk of Isaiah is an address to idols:

Set forth your case, says the Lord; bring your proofs, says the King of Jacob.

Let them bring them, and tell us what is to happen. Tell us the former things, what they are, that we may consider them, that we may know their outcome; or declare to us the things to come.

Tell us what is to come hereafter, that we may know that you are gods; do good, or do harm, that we may be dismayed and terrified.

Behold, you are nothing, and your work is less than nothing; an abomination is he who chooses you.⁴

Can Productivity explain the past or the future? Can she bless me for my dedication to her, or curse me for my lack of it? Can she actually do anything? Or is she, like all idols, something I have created within my own mind as an insultingly inferior alternative to the one true living God, who alone knows all things, sustains the existence of all things, and holds all things to account? Productivity is nothing, and her work is less than nothing, and an abomination is the one who chooses her. And in this scenario, I’m afraid that’s my very own sinful self. I too really would be less than nothing and worthy of ultimate punishment without God’s phenomenal grace to forgive me through the death of my Saviour Jesus Christ.

So what does it look like, having identified the sin and repented of it, to tear down and annihilate my altar to Productivity? Well, for a start, it’s certainly not about doing less work and procrastinating more: Proverbs, for instance, has plenty to say about laziness, and none of it’s positive.⁵ That’s not, of course, to say that a failure to get things done must be symptomatic of laziness: such an attitude actually upholds the status of getting things done as a measure of worth. Productivity is an uncaring master to serve: she demands results, and doesn’t care a jot about the nuances of the situation. As just one example, a very good friend of mine suffers from a chronic illness and is forced, some days, to spend almost all of her precious little energy simply on keeping herself functioning⁶ – but there’s no room for that in the getting things done mindset. To strip Productivity of her deity in my imagination, we need to detach the issue of where the worth of any given day lies, from how much has been got done during that day.

God’s purpose for us, after all, isn’t that we achieve tasks, that we tick off a to-do list, that we efficiently fill our time with activities the world considers valuable. It’s that we become more like Christ Jesus. Check out the following chunk of that old favourite of mine, Romans 8:

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn among many brothers. And those whom he predestined he also called, and those whom he called he also justified, and those whom he justified he also glorified.⁷

Today, or any other day, is not a good day because I got things done, or a bad day because I didn’t. If our good and our Christlikeness are one and the same thing, as is made clear in the above verses, then a good day is one in which I go to bed as a person who is a bit more like Jesus than I was when I woke up. How much I got done is suddenly irrelevant; it’s much more a question of whether I did what I did in submission to God’s purpose of conforming me to the image of his Son.

In the end, after all, productivity is only as valuable as the thing that’s being produced. One can be as productive as one likes, but if what one is producing is worthless, what does the vastness of the quantity in which it is produced matter? What God, in his grace, is interested in producing in us, is Christlikeness; that’s what will last, in the end. So let’s leave aside our obsession with getting things done, repent of our idolatry of Productivity, and focus on better knowing God that we might become more like him; that, my friends, is How to Be Productive in the only way that really matters.

Footnotes

¹ I used The Littlest Elf as a generic term for a piece of entertainment in ‘Catch-Up Culture’ last month; it’s fulfilling the same role here.

² My university now has over two hundred student societies, https://www.exeterguild.org/societies/, so it’s not exactly hard to find ways to fill one’s time even outside of academic, administrative, and domestic necessities.

³ I here flesh out an idea I first expressed in ‘Ten British Authors Who Shaped My Childhood’, in the box on the right under ‘2015’, then ‘September’. Goodness me, that was over a year ago now.

⁴ Here’s the whole chapter, https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Isaiah+41&version=ESVUK, though you’d perhaps do better to flick through a paper copy of the last third or so of Isaiah and look for all the bits that talk about how pointless idols are. I picked this particular chunk more because it showed up a couple of times during my week and so was coincidentally on my mind than because it’s categorically the best passage for the purpose.

⁵ We had a copy of the Good News translation at home when I was younger, and I especially liked Proverbs 26:13: “Why don’t lazy people ever get out of the house? What are they afraid of? Lions?”

⁶ The illness in question is lupus, which I hadn’t heard of myself before she told me about it, so, on the off-chance that you might be in the same boat, here’s your daily dose of extra-curricular education, courtesy of the NHS: http://www.nhs.uk/conditions/Lupus/Pages/Introduction.aspx.

⁷ I love this chapter so much: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=romans+8&version=ESVUK.