Seek happiness in tranquillity and avoid ambition, even if it be only the apparently innocent one of distinguishing yourself…
–– Victor Frankenstein
In Mary Shelley’s classic novel, Victor Frankenstein is a young intellectual with an excessive thirst for glory and worldwide acclaim. Having lost his beloved mother, Frankenstein works to “banish disease from the human frame,” but in truth, he is motivated by a corrupt and hubristic desire to play god, until he at last becomes “capable of bestowing animation upon lifeless matter.” For readers familiar with Greek mythology, the book’s subtitle, The Modern Prometheus, hints from the very onset that Frankenstein’s ambition will produce unintended consequences.
In Genesis, man is created out of two distinct elements: the dust of the ground and the breath of life. Man is made of heaven and earth, soul and body. But Frankenstein’s creature, in contrast, is composed entirely of earthly elements. Even the spark which animates the creature is ultimately an earthly phenomenon. And immediately upon achieving his purpose, Frankenstein is filled with regret:
I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body. For this I had deprived myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an ardor that far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart. Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I rushed out of the room, and continued a long time traversing my bedchamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep.
The sub-creator deprives himself of rest, and upon completing the project, he can’t rest. His idealism is eclipsed by the disturbing reality of the waking creature before him. In short, Frankenstein narrates a creation account centered upon the sabbath-less toil of a selfish and deistic god who, upon bestowing life to his creature, declares it “not good” and abandons it.
Over 200 years later, Shelley’s novel continues to haunt those working at the frontiers of science, technology, and medicine –– and rightly so. But I believe there are also important lessons to be learned by the Church and her leaders, especially with regard to ambition.
To some extent, the motives which drive us toward success and fruitfulness are impossible to sort out or untangle, but with that said, the mere existence of an enigmatic mixed bag of motives deep within me does not justify the harboring of selfish ambition. I am called to “do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit” (Philippians 2:3). This is a very difficult calling for the average American Christian, because ambition is deeply imbedded in our culture; we hardly detect its noxious particles in the very air we breathe.
For church leaders, ambition is an especially deceptive form of pride. Just as Frankenstein masked his ambition as an attempt to rid the world of disease, so pastoral vainglory often presents as a sincere concern for godly endeavors. In the name of evangelistic zeal, missional living, kingdom expansion, reaching the lost, pursuing excellence, etc., we can easily baptize an unbridled ambition for personal glory and achievement in the language of Christian faithfulness. Aaron Renn calls this “sacralizing your own self-interested desires.” And it’s nothing new: Richard Baxter warned against “covetous designs for rising in the world” that masquerade “under pretense of diligence in your calling.”
We pastors are tempted to look to our own congregations for affirmation and the fleeting morsel of success for which American culture has given us the taste. This is true for all pastors, but church planters are especially susceptible. More so than others, those who labor to start new churches can easily deceive themselves along the same lines as Victor Frankenstein: “A new species [will] bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures [will] owe their being to me.” To be sure, creativity, diligence, and competence are godly qualities, and even the desire for glory is a God-given good. But we must not settle for glory at the expense of humility. In the economy of the Cross, humiliation is the path to glorification.
So as we tend to the Body, we must not attempt to manufacture the breath of life by our own diligence and competence. The Breath of Life is the Holy Spirit, who alone can give life to the Body. When we attempt to do for the Body what only the Spirit can do, to be for the Body what only the Spirit can be, we are bound to feel powerless and out of control –– because that’s precisely what we are apart from the Spirit. Like Frankenstein, we will grow to despise the Body to whom we minister, and our unchecked ambition will end up destroying everything and everyone we love. The Spirit alone gives life to the Body; without Him, we are fashioning monsters, earthly phenomena absent the Breath of Life.
So we ought to heed Frankenstein’s advice:
A human being in perfection ought always to preserve a calm and peaceful mind, and never to allow passion or a transitory desire to disturb his tranquillity. I do not think that the pursuit of knowledge is an exception to this rule. If the study to which you apply yourself has a tendency to weaken your affections, and to destroy your taste for those simple pleasures in which no alloy can possibly mix, then that study is certainly unlawful, that is to say, not befitting the human mind.
In other words, pastoral ministry should never crowd out a pastor’s ability to stop and smell the roses, to enjoy his wife, his children, the good world he’s been given, food, art, music, and of course, the members of the Body to whom he tends. Slow down, Pastor Frankenstein; put your selfish ambition to death, and depend upon the divine Breath to give life to the Body. Therein lies your glory.
Drew Knowles is a Theopolis Fellow and pastor serving in Houston, TX.