By Casey Chalk
Earlier this year, a meta-analysis in Advances in Psychological Science found a correlation between having a pronounced sense of moral self-righteousness and what is called “third-party punishment,” that is, punishing someone for a perceived offense, even when one is not the victim of that offense. A previous study in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology found that people are eager to express indignation and punish the guilty even when there is no identifiable personal benefit, because moralistic behavior signals to others our moral character.
Contemporary troubling factors aggravate this phenomenon. We live in a culture that diminishes the role of sin and personal guilt while amplifying our sense of self. Social media encourages the creation of curated versions of ourselves that foreground our “best selves” while concealing our vices or flaws. We inhabit a rootless, atomized society in which we know and are known by few people, yet, ironically, we are subject to an obsession with celebrity—not only real celebrities, but the cult of celebrity, where we aspire to be celebrated through “likes” and “shares.” Much of this digital culture predisposes us both to virtue signaling and to participating in “cancel culture.”
It is alarming, not only because of the likelihood of unjustly ruining reputations and careers, but because of what this paradigm does to the souls of those who participate in it. We do not know those people online, and we rarely have sufficient context to evaluate them effectively. Yet we acerbically comment on the public and viral misdeeds of others: parenting decisions, relationship choices, appearance, or social etiquette. How could such conduct not harm our souls?
The Church offers a different way of understanding correction, a truly Christian ethic grounded in a proper anthropology, in an understanding of human weakness, repentance, forgiveness, and redemption that allows us to overcome mistakes. It benefits both the one corrected and the one who corrects.
At Mass on Sunday earlier this month, we read: “If your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault, between you and him alone.” (Matthew 18:15) This is a method of correction that is discreet, respectful, and based on the existence of a relationship: someone we know, with whom there is a degree of trust and social capital. That correction, in turn, is not a way of burnishing our own moral credentials, but a desire for metanoia and the strengthening of personal bonds. We admonish the wayward because we love them and desire their good.
Another component of the Christian conception of correction is the prudential assessment of circumstances. Is the person we perceive to be in error capable of receiving correction? If not, attempting to do so may well delay that person’s ability to receive correction later.
Even if we think someone is capable of listening to us, we may be rejected, and we must prudently judge whether the error is so grave as to warrant raising it in a broader forum, which may well cause greater evils than the first. Perhaps the offense simply deserves to be suffered patiently and prayed over. It is unsatisfying, but often it is the best option, because many grievances, though censurable, risk causing far more harm if exposed publicly.
The sacrament of penance offers another appropriate forum for confrontation and repentance, because all Catholics are expected to regularly examine their conscience according to an objective standard of justice, and to confess their sins to a priest who offers absolution in persona Christi. Many Catholics do not take advantage of this incomparable gift. But those who do, even those stubbornly resistant to perceiving their own sins, enter a framework where they are humbly disposed to be instructed and strengthened by sacramental grace.
I knew a laywoman who served in a variety of roles of authority in the Church and who was outraged by yet another round of clerical sexual abuse. She publicly declared on social media that she would no longer financially support the bishop’s annual Lenten collection, and encouraged others to do the same.
However justified her indignation may have been, attacking the bishop’s Lenten collection—used primarily to fund the formation of seminarians—was a punishment that was both irrelevant and incommensurate with the crime. What, after all, was the intended goal of the protest? To express frustration with the bishop’s handling of allegations of sexual abuse? Fair enough, but how did effectively crippling the formation of seminarians achieve that end?
Undoubtedly, there is much evil in the world today, both inside and outside the Church. But we must be discerning and careful about how we react to that evil, lest, instead of mitigating the offense, we aggravate it or create new problems. The sad truth of the matter is that “third-party punishment” is a drug to which many of us are addicted.
Yet for Catholics, this presents a privileged opportunity for holiness and evangelization. A culture subject to “third-party punishment” is one defined by anxiety and fear that something you do will make you the object of public scorn and ridicule.
That Catholics embody an ethic of humility, personal responsibility, and a willingness to forgive evil offers a welcome balm to those who fear that some misstep, however minor, will destroy their reputation or career. Deep down, we all know that we are weak human beings capable of making mistakes, and the Church affirms that yes, we are sinners in need of forgiveness and repentance, but that there is an objective means of finding mercy.
Our duty as Catholics, therefore, is to transcend the arena of aliases and avatars and cultivate genuine friendships with all. It is to develop the trust necessary where we are vulnerable, and where others feel comfortable being vulnerable with us. They will witness the fraternal correction that defines authentic Catholic relationships, and will long for that deep sense of knowing others and being known.
May it be said of us, as Tertullian once wrote of the early Christians: “See, they say, how they love one another.” (Apology 39)
About the author
Casey Chalk is the author of The Obscurity of Scripture and The Persecuted. He is a contributor to Crisis Magazine, The American Conservative, and New Oxford Review. He holds degrees in history and teaching from the University of Virginia and a master’s degree in theology from Christendom College.