Mediocrity is not the absence of greatness—it’s the refusal to reach for it.

Let’s suppose you’re a high school student. You have an exam next week, and instead of studying, you spend your nights scrolling, gaming, maybe watching reruns of The Simpsons or Battlestar Galactica. You pass the test, barely. You didn’t lie. You didn’t cheat. You didn’t hurt anyone. You didn’t technically do anything wrong. But you know in your bones that you’ve let yourself down. Jordan Peterson equates this as sin. This, I think, is a powerful reframe.

We often treat “sin” as a list of no-nos, an archaic moral police code. But what if sin is not primarily about violating rules—but failing to live up to what we could have been? As Peterson suggests, mediocrity isn’t just disappointing; it’s morally significant. The Greek word for sin, hamartia, literally means “missing the mark.” What if that “mark” is not just obedience, but potential?

Jesus’ teachings point in this direction. In the Sermon on the Mount, he says, “You have heard that it was said… but I tell you…”—pushing commandments to their radical core. Hate is equated with murder, lust with adultery. It’s not enough to follow the law externally; our inner posture matters. The standard becomes impossible. Not because God is cruel, but because the ideal is infinite.

You might say, “But that’s paralyzing. If I can never measure up, what’s the point?” Well, perhaps the point isn’t perfection—but transformation. Not static righteousness, but what I think of as the “upward spiral”: the path of sanctification. In Christian thought, sanctification is the slow, painful, progressive journey of becoming who we were meant to be. It’s not a flip of the switch; it’s Frodo dragging his feet to Mount Doom, Sam beside him, step by burning step.

“It is not death that a man should fear, but never beginning to live.”
—Marcus Aurelius

Mediocrity and Spiritual Gravity

Let’s compare two types of people: One who tells lies, exploits others, and descends into bitterness. The other coasts through life. No great failures, but no real growth either. The first is clearly a problem. But the second? In Peterson’s schema, they too are culpable. Because they’re capable of more. Mediocrity, in this view, is moral laziness masquerading as neutrality.

Peterson warns us of the Matthew Principle: To those who have, more will be given; from those who have not, even what they have will be taken away. This isn’t merely economic. It’s spiritual entropy. If you’re not climbing the staircase of your own growth, you’re tumbling down it. In Star Wars terms, refusing your call to adventure doesn’t keep you safe—it turns you into a stormtrooper. A number. A shell.

Even Harry Potter teaches this. Neville Longbottom starts off timid, forgotten, the very model of mediocrity. But each act of courage builds, until by Book Seven, he becomes the hero no one saw coming. Spiraling upward.

“Perfection is not attainable, but if we chase perfection we can catch excellence.”
—Vince Lombardi

The Impossible Ideal and the Honest Start

But here’s the twist: the ideal must be unreachable. As Peterson says, it must be “a heaven that recedes as you approach it.” That’s not cruel; that’s how you grow. Each step towards it changes you. C.S. Lewis echoed this when he described how our virtues must be formed in the face of impossibility—not merely obeying rules, but becoming a kind of person.

Well, you might object: “Isn’t this just performance-based spirituality?” Isn’t grace supposed to free us from all this striving?

Good question. Here’s where sanctification comes in. Grace isn’t opposed to effort; it’s opposed to earning. (Dallas Willard said that.) We don’t spiral upward to earn God’s love. We spiral upward because we are loved—freed from condemnation, we are free to grow. Sanctification is how salvation stretches into our habits, our studies, our conversations, our Netflix history.

And so, even something as mundane as schoolwork becomes charged with spiritual gravity. To blow off your potential is not neutral. It is, perhaps, a small betrayal. One that echoes through time.

From Fantasy to Formation

Peterson distinguishes between fantasy and delusion. A fantasy—like becoming a writer, or a musician, or the next Tony Stark—is a projection of potential. But if we ignore the sacrifices required, the work, the pain, it becomes a delusion. In the Matrix, Cypher wants the fantasy of the steak, not the truth of the real. And so he betrays everyone.

What makes the difference between delusion and dream is discipline.

Discipline turns the chaos of potential into the cosmos of reality. In this way, every act of self-improvement, however small, is a blow against the mediocrity of sin. A victory in the invisible war.

“Hell is when you meet the person you could have been.”
—Unknown

Sin Reimagined

Let’s reframe sin.

Not as rule-breaking. Not as a moral tally sheet. But as failing to become who you were meant to be.

• A fallen Frodo is still on the mountain.
• A wounded Luke Skywalker still hears the call.
• A stumbling Harry still carries the scar.

We are not condemned for falling short. We are condemned for refusing to climb.

So where does that leave us? It leaves us at the foot of the spiral staircase, looking up—not with guilt, but with resolve. It’s not about being better than others. It’s about being better than yesterday. Compare yourself to who you were, not to who Gandalf was.

Final Thought

Imagine if every student saw their homework, not just as busywork, but as spiritual formation. Imagine if every act of diligence, every moment of effort, was seen not as obligation, but as worship. That is the shift from mediocrity to sanctification.

Peterson says: Be a monster, then learn to control it.

• Scripture says: Be holy, for I am holy.
• Perhaps the two are not so far apart.

“The horizon is an imaginary line that recedes as you approach it” – Ginnifer Goodwin 

That reminds me of the Heart of Gold in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. With its Infinite Improbability Drive, it takes you to the weirdest places—not because the path is straight, but because the journey itself transforms you. Keep spiraling upward. Even if the staircase is invisible.

Excerpt

Mediocrity isn’t just laziness—it’s a moral failure to live up to your potential. Like sin, it’s falling short of who you could be. Perfection is impossible, but growth is sacred. Life isn’t about arriving—it’s about spiraling upward. The goal isn’t flawlessness, but transformation. Choose the climb.