By George Pence–
What do we owe those who would have us violate our sense of what’s right?
Well, I think, quite a lot actually.
Many years ago I converted from a Protestant faith and became a Catholic. Why? Well there is no simple answer to that question. I could say that it all hung on Aquinas’ third proof for the existence of God. And that would be a lie, but not entirely.
Or I could say that I became a Catholic because stained glass windows are pretty. And that would be a lie, but not entirely.
The truth is that we make important choices and lasting commitments for reasons both trivial and profound.
However, if I had to draw up a “top ten list” of reasons I became a Catholic, near the top of that list would be its sense of mutual interdependence. From a classically Protestant perspective the issue of salvation is an entirely individual matter. One day each of us will stand before the Lord and be judged. In that moment it is me, the Lord, and the truth. All I can hope for is justice and God’s infinite mercy.
However, for a Catholic, salvation comes in the context of community – what we owe to one another. We pray for those in purgatory and we ask Mary and the saints to intercede for us. My salvation is not just about me, it is about you too. I can’t achieve salvation entirely on the octane of my own faith. I need your prayers, your help, your example, your inspiration… and your correction.
So that brings me to the issue of sexual harassment and the men who have been recently, and accurately, accused of abusive behavior.
For the most part, these accusations have been made for transgressions that happened many years ago. And the justification for the lateness of these reports is that the women, mostly in subordinate positions, felt they had something to lose if they reported the offense, or even if they objected in real time to the very person who was the perpetrator.
Yes, I’m sure there would have been a real cost to defending what’s right; a movie role could have been denied, a promotion might have been deferred and in extreme circumstances a job might have been lost. So these women felt obliged to stifle their objections and pretend they weren’t offended, while the perpetrator continued with his offensive behavior.
These women are helpless victims, and the men who did the offending are owed nothing.
But I wonder.
I would ask, since when has it been easy to lead a life that is moral and ethical? Who promised that a virtuous life would not come at a cost? Doesn’t the very example of Christ emphasize that sacrifice is necessary to a life well lived? Doesn’t our sense of mutual obligation occasionally exact a dear price, and if it doesn’t then what is it worth?
So a particular man misbehaves. He is boorish and lewd, or maybe worse, even as his conduct is dismissed as typical or harmless. Hands are deflected, obscene words are ignored and quarter is given. Since his transgression comes without challenge he believes that what he’s doing is not really wrong, and perhaps even invited.
But wasn’t he owed more than this?
Wasn’t the offender’s opportunity to lead a decent life worth the risk of correction, even if that risk was significant? Wasn’t he owed a stern rebuke or the embarrassment of revelation? What would the example of someone standing up to that offender have meant to him, and what would it have meant to those who witnessed the offense?
Finally, who are the heroes in this sorry record of dysfunction? The women who went public twenty years after the fact in a circumstance of general affirmation, or those who clearly objected when there was still so much to lose – and the possibility of still so much to gain?
For everyone.
