Commentary

One of the best ingredients of a happier life involves no money, no power or prestige, no car, computer, or fancy home. It is described by St. Paul in the letter to the Philippians (King James version):

“Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.”

It is perhaps a surprise that St. Paul makes no mention here of Jesus or of faith. The list is broad, the exhortation simple. Each object is the better half of a familiar pair—true, not false; honest, not dishonest; noble, not ignoble, etc. And all he asks is that we “think” on these things—just think on them. You don’t have to do anything with them or even talk about them. Only let them fill your mind and hold your attention.

It’s harder than it sounds, however. Every time I open X on my phone and begin scrolling in the “For You” feed, one instance after another pops up showing people behaving badly. They resist arrest, argue over trivia, dance crazily, shout obscenities, and suffer karma. Road rage is a frequent genre, as are “Karens” going hyper.

When I stay in hotels and flip on the TV, surfing from channel to channel, it only takes a moment for bad behavior to appear. It may be a reality show, a cop show, or a cable news panel with people bickering like high schoolers—not to mention the many movies about serial killers, robbers, and pathological villains. Even the good guys lace their speech with f-words.

It’s a guilty fascination—I admit to being tempted and staying on the screen as the misconduct proceeds. Something about people getting out of control, breaking the rules and being caught, speaking and acting viciously, and striking one another—they draw human attention.

If we were there in person as the scene unfolded, instead of watching on a screen, we might turn and flee, the situation too upsetting or threatening for one to remain a bystander. The camera, though, molds it into a spectacle and us into spectators. We may observe in lurid curiosity and remain safe and unaffected.

Or so we believe. St. Paul’s implied point is that exposure to the negative is itself corrupting. You don’t have to be involved to be touched by evil. Consumption of it, however distant, erodes the soul. When a demeaning occasion occurs, people in the audience who have nothing to do with it undergo a subtle lowering of their moral scruples.

The Italian poet Dante understood the impact well. Late in the “Inferno,” as Virgil guides Dante through the depths of hell, they encounter liars and frauds who endure intense tortures for their sins. At one point, in Canto 30, two damned souls insult and harangue each other.

One of them is Sinon, the Greek who persuaded the Trojans to roll the Trojan Horse inside the city walls. The other is a man from Dante’s own time—a counterfeiter from northern Italy—who tells Sinon that the whole world knows of his deceit. Sinon replies with a bilious gibe of his own. Dante enjoys the banter and pays close attention: “I listened to their snarl and snap.”

Virgil responds differently. He stands beside Dante and notes his fixation with a curt reprimand: “A little longer look, / And ‘twixt us erelong shall a quarrel hap.”

In plain words, if he keeps hearkening to the cheap argument, Virgil and Dante too shall argue. It’s not just that Virgil rebukes Dante for enjoying the sight of nasty human beings at verbal war. It’s also the conviction that their rancor will spill over to Virgil and Dante—that the mere presence of such bickering will affect them.

The lesson is that you can’t watch degrading conduct without being infected by it. That’s the deeper warning: Dante’s viewing of this scene of snide wrangling is not innocent. It partakes of sin. Virgil concludes, “The wish to hear them is a wish that’s base.”

Hence, St. Paul’s admonition: Stay away from the sordid and vulgar, the crude and violent. People who think the screen disengages them sufficiently so they are not affected by what they consume with their eyes and ears are mistaken.

The more I view those people behaving badly, the more my sensibility coarsens. I may think I’m immune to what goes on, that I can judge it objectively as awful and demeaning, and maintain my moral compass. But if I keep watching beyond those first moments, I am showing that I like it and want more.

Pull away. Surround yourself—and your children—with things of beauty and goodness. You are what you eat. Or, as the Victorian critic John Ruskin put it, “Tell me what you like and I’ll tell you what you are.”

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