Are Christians Called to Be More Judgmental?

We live in an age that regards the identification of sin as the worst of all sins. As Regis Nicoll points out, “Today instead of 10 commandments, there is just one: thou shalt not judge.” Even within Christian circles, it is common to hear the phrases “Don’t judge” or “I’m not judging.” So afraid are we to commit this transgression called judgment that we hesitate to call out even the most blatant of wrongs. 

When we allow fear to eclipse our responsibilities to admonish grave wrongs and encourage virtue over vice, we abandon duties central to Christianity. Instructing the ignorant and admonishing the sinner are spiritual works of mercy that we seem to have abandoned due to the misguided notion that it harms rather than helps our neighbor.

While it is true that, as Alice von Hildebrand argues, judgement can become sinful, and that puritanical attitudes have historically led to overemphasis on shame, the antidote is not to deny the reality of sin altogether. Virtue is found at the midpoint of two extremes. It is our duty as Christians to care for the spiritual health of our society by speaking the truth about practices that do not uphold human dignity. Even—or perhaps especially—when our neighbor does not recognize that an act or behavior undermines her dignity, our duty to speak out remains. 

Making Space for Moral Judgment

Moral judgment didn’t use to be a social faux pas; it used to be a virtue. We called it prudence: the art of practical wisdom. When we divorce our minds from the realities of objective truth and goodness, what remains is merely the subjective will of each individual. A society like this has no use or room for moral discourse. There is nothing left for a community to do except refrain from each “imposing” his will on the other. 

In taking a hands-off approach to the moral quandaries that our present age presents, we are abdicating our responsibility to one another. We are watching those around us spiritually suffocate and treating it as though they’ve merely chosen a different entree at the buffet line. “We all like different things,” my 4-year-old is fond of saying—and at preschool, where they’re bickering over whether to play in the rice bin or paste Cheerios on construction paper, this is an appropriate attitude to cultivate. 

When we enter the realm of those choices that change the trajectory of our eternal souls, however, the stakes are quite a bit higher. The choice is not between meals that differ by degrees of taste or nutritional value; the difference is between food that nourishes and things that may not only fail to satisfy us but actually poison us at varying rates. 

The response required is not to look up from this article and immediately begin barking orders. Whether dealing with a picky toddler or a rebellious teenager, the quickest way to close their mouths or minds is to attempt to fill them by force. Instead, we are called to witness and to invitation. This can be frustrating and even heartbreaking. It is difficult to navigate, and we might lose friendships regardless of how kindly we communicate our hopes for one another to make life-giving, dignity-affirming choices. There will be times when our only recourse is prayer. 

Controversial Conversations

We need something of a renaissance, or perhaps just a reality check, in the way we approach controversial conversations. Differences in opinion are not dangerous; the idea that we need to designate spaces as “shelter” from unpalatable ideas is insulting. It can be difficult to navigate tense conversations about differing points of view, and this difficulty does increase when the subject is sensitive. Stakes rise even higher when the context is conversation with a loved one rather than dispassionate academic discourse. But however difficult confronting conflict may be, we are capable.

God has entrusted this to us as a spiritual work of mercy: fraternal correction. In our adolescent preoccupation with control, we tend to view any and all dictates in a restrictive light. The moral guidance the Church offers us is entirely different. Her compassionate correction issues out of hesed: mercy. This loving-kindness, as the Hebrew is sometimes translated, is the compassion of Jesus, whose heart was moved, “for they were like sheep without a shepherd” (Matthew 9:36). This is the direction the Church offers us, the mercy of a Good Shepherd willing to lay down His life for the rescue of sheep who insist on straying among the wolves. 

The Good News about Mercy

The truly tragic thing about this moratorium on judgment is its ironic consequence of creating a vastly more judgmental world. The “nonjudgment” worldview holds that behavior is mostly OK, so long as it doesn’t have negative consequences for other people. This has the result of absolving us from most of our sins, creating a class of “basically good people.” It separates this class from the unacceptable people: murderers, rapists, pedophiles, human traffickers, etc. Of course, we judge those actions as wrong because we recognize the grave harms of those offenses. 

What is behind the nonjudgment worldview, however, is actually the opposite of nonjudgment. It is the impetus to separate all people into these two classes: the basically good and the unacceptable. The emphasis on nonjudgment stems from the desire to create more space in this class of the basically good. This worldview rings of Puritanical influence: a Heaven and Hell with no in-between, the saved and the damned. Although the criterion for salvation in Protestant theology is acceptance of Christ, we can see how the culture has evolved out of this dichotomous categorization of our souls. Secular culture has kept the impetus to judge and to separate; it has merely changed the measure. 

The Catholic worldview is different; we hold that “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23, emphasis added). While this fallenness tarnishes each of us, it cannot diminish our innate dignity. We are all created in the image and likeness of God, and while we can mar that image through sin, it can never be lost. There are no separate classes of people. We recognize the dignity in the murderer, the unborn, the refugee, the rapist, the severely disabled—there is no disqualifying any human being from the realm of “us.” There is no “them.” 

Do we embody that perfectly? Nope. We struggle. And here’s the beautiful part: We have the freedom to recognize our struggles and our sinfulness, repent, and move on. It is precisely because we have the freedom to judge our collective actions that we are able to throw ourselves at the feet of Jesus and accept the sweet embrace of His mercy. 

Called as Prophets

By virtue of our baptism, all Christians are anointed in the roles of Christ: priest (prayer and sacrifice), prophet (proclaiming the truth), king (servant leadership). It is the middle role, that of prophet, which places squarely on our shoulders the responsibility to proclaim the Good News of Christ. And it is good news, no matter how inconvenient or unpopular; though honoring that Good News may require that we pass through moments and trials that feel anything but. 

As Flannery O’Connor wrote, 

The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it emotionally. A higher paradox confounds emotion as well as reason and there are long periods in the lives of all of us, when the truth as revealed by faith is hideous, emotionally disturbing, downright repulsive. 

At times, being a truth-bearer calls us to refinement by fire, whether we are made to bear the crucible of public scrutiny or even martyrdom. 

But bear the truth in love we must if we are to remain faithful to our prophetic call. When we shy away from opportunities to witness the truth in kindness, we shelter ourselves from challenge and rebuff. The price of hiding our convictions, however, is that we withhold the truth and, with it, the freedom Jesus has promised us. In declaring the truth, we run the risk of being crucified. Indeed, history often turns prophets into martyrs. But as we all must die, is this not a hill worth dying on?

If our culture succeeds in sanitizing our discourse of moral values, of appeals to the good, all that will be left to govern our future is power. We cannot leave our future to the hands of whichever perspective manages to amass the most power—void of any criterion on which to judge the value of that viewpoint. So, let us own our prophetic call as Christians and, with it, our right to denounce certain practices and promote others according to the criteria of love and goodness established by the Word of God. 

For the sake of individual souls as well as the future generations we will never know, we must refuse to be silent. We must raise our voices, however “unsafe” our echoes may resound in delicate ears. When they accuse us of judgment, let them. If we conduct ourselves in love and patiently bear these wrongs, our words carry all the more weight. 

As Christ commanded, we shall shake the dust off our feet as we leave behind those who refuse to listen (see Matthew 10:14). As Christ directed, we will turn the other cheek to those who strike us (see Matthew 5:39). As Christ did, we will lay down our lives for those who scoff at and spit upon us. These are tough expectations, but as St. Peter himself declared, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” (John 6:68).

NB: This essay draws on material from my earlier book, Reclaiming Motherhood from a Culture Gone Mad (rights reverted), and has been substantially revised and updated for Crisis readers.