In a previous article, I translated a few pages from Tish Warren’s book on our daily liturgies. This reflection has stayed with me ever since. Today I’d like to continue to reflect with you on this subject through Justin Earley’s book The Common Rule:

« In his fascinating book The Power of Habits, Charles Duhigg writes that « when a habit is formed, the brain ceases to participate fully in decision-making. The patterns we have are carried out automatically ». Brain activity during habits occurs in the deepest part of the brain, the basal ganglia. This saves a lot of mental energy for other thoughts. So we can get in the car and suddenly arrive home without thinking about a single turn we’ve taken. Instead, we’ve been thinking about a thorny work problem or a sick relative. Habits allow us to make better use of our brains.

This is very useful in general, but it does have its drawbacks. First of all, if we’re acting on a bad habit – one that reinforces an addiction, perpetuates a harmful thought pattern or encourages blind submission to technology designed to grab our attention and sell it to advertisers – we don’t have many ways to defend ourselves. We can know that something is unhealthy or wrong. We can know exactly why it’s bad or undesirable. We can tell ourselves over and over again, but that part of our brain is exactly the one that shuts down when the autopilot of habit kicks in.

Secondly, because our unconscious choices shape us just as much, if not more, than our conscious choices, we can lock ourselves into patterns that we would never consciously choose if we were aware of them. This is the difference between what we call education and training. Education is what you learn and know – the things you’re taught. Training is what you practice and do – what is taken. The most important things in life, of course, are caught, not taught, and training is largely about all the invisible habits.

That’s why, to understand habits properly, we need to think of them as liturgies. A liturgy is a set of words or actions repeated regularly in worship. The purpose of a liturgy is to form the participant in a certain way. For example, I recite the Our Father every night with my sons because I want the words of Jesus’ prayer to sink into their bones. I want this prayer to form the customs of their lives.

Notice how similar the definition of liturgy is to that of habit. In both cases, we’re talking about something repeated over and over again, which forms you; the only difference is that a liturgy admits that it is an act of worship. Calling habits liturgies may seem strange, but we need language to underline the non-neutrality of our daily routines. Our habits often mask what we actually worship, but that doesn’t mean we don’t worship something. The question is, what do we adore?

As the philosopher James K. A. Smith argues in his book You Are What You Love: The Spiritual Power of Habits, the habits we form day after day are tangential to our worship, but in reality they are central to it. Worship is training, and training is worship. As the psalmist says, those who make idols and trust in them will be like them (Psalm 31:6). In this way, we become our habits. When we combine Smith’s insight that our habits are liturgies of worship with Duhigg’s neurological insight that our brains aren’t fully occupied when our habits manifest, we have a solid explanation of how unconscious habits fundamentally reshape our hearts, regardless of what we tell ourselves we believe.

To make this concrete, let me show you how this played out in my daily routine before my anxiety attack.

Habits	Liturgy of mistaken beliefs
Waking up exhausted again, because I never go to bed on time.	I’m not a creature, I’m infinite. My body will be fine. I am God.
I check work e-mails on my phone before getting out of bed.	I can miss a quiet moment, but I can’t miss a quick response. If I don’t look good in the office, I’m worthless.
Having breakfast on the run, while all the other members of my family are struggling to arrive late. At the office, I eat breakfast at my desk.	Being too busy is normal, and perhaps even desirable. I’m important if a lot of people want my time. To stay important, I have to stay busy, and that means being late all the time.
I keep all computer notifications turned on and keep my phone on and in sight while I work.	I need to know what’s going on out there. The latest thing is the most important thing. The best way to love my fellow man is to stay on top of dramatic headlines and new memes, not to do focused work.
If a manager asks you to do something at the end of the day within an unrealistic timeframe, always say yes. If an invitation to do things together comes up, go for it.	I will become the best version of myself by expanding my options, so I can’t say no. I can be tired and busy, my family can be exhausted by my unpredictability, but if I don’t preserve choice, I can’t be who I really am.
Even when I feel that all of the above is getting out of hand, even when the best word to describe life is « scattered » or « busy », resist any rules that limit technology use and work schedules.	To limit myself is to restrict my freedom. And I’m not fully human without my freedom of choice at every moment. The good life comes from choosing what you want.

On peut s’arrêter là. Je ne suis même pas à la moitié de ma journée, et vous pouvez voir comment, en n’ayant pas de programme d’habitudes, je me soumettais à un régime rigoureux de liturgies, simplement en m’assimilant au mode de vie américain (ou français) habituel. Ma vie était une ode au culte de l’omniscience, de l’omniprésence et de l’illimité. Pas étonnant que mon corps se soit rebellé ».

Justin Earley, The Common Rule, Habits of Purpose for an Age of Distraction, (trad. Deeple), Intervarsity press, Illinois, 2019, p.8-10.