In one of C.S. Lewis’s Narnia books, a character asks Aslan, the Christ figure of his allegory, “what would have been the good” of her breaking away from friends to follow him when they did not believe that she had seen him. Met with silence, she pleads with Aslan to explain how it could have turned out well if she had followed him alone, saying, “Am I not to know?”
“‘To know what would have happened, child?’ said Aslan. ‘No. Nobody is ever told that.’”
Since the presidential election last November, there has been a drumbeat of criticism of the U.S. bishops for not speaking out clearly or boldly enough against Donald J. Trump. I have even seen a few comments on some America articles castigating the bishops for “endorsing” Mr. Trump, which they never did.
In the background of this critique is a reaction against fear-mongering from some, who misuse what the bishops have said and tell Catholics that they can only vote one way, based on abortion. That kind of attempted domination of conscience must be rejected. While such abuses do not fairly represent the bishops’ teaching, the bishops do need to take much more seriously how readily their attempts to offer moral guidance about voting have been distorted, leading to a widespread perception that the church explicitly or implicitly backs Mr. Trump. But some go so far as to demand that the bishops should have pivoted completely to the opposite position, forbidding Catholics from supporting Mr. Trump.
That is a step that Pope Francis refused to take when asked about the U.S. election, saying each person must decide according to their own conscience. America’s editors adopted that position also, even while continuing to warn, as we have in his first administration, during the 2020 and the 2024 elections, and again in this issue (“Our Take,” p. 8), about the threat Mr. Trump poses to constitutional norms.
A secular parallel of this dynamic of critique about what should have happened can also be seen in criticism of Joe Biden for staying in the race too long or at the Democratic Party for choosing Kamala Harris without serious consideration of any other candidates. While the criticisms are fair enough, they are often presented as a retrospective silver bullet, an “if only” hypothetical that fixes everything.
But these kinds of critiques run into the “what would have happened” problem that Lewis has Aslan point out. What would have happened if the bishops had denounced Mr. Trump in unison? What would have happened if there had been a Democratic primary? What would have happened if Mr. Trump had been held to account sooner or more firmly for his lies about the 2020 election?
Or to frame such questions more clearly, what would have happened if those people in power had done what their critics would have done in their place?
Nobody is ever told that.
Nobody is ever told how the better judgment they have now would have worked out for themselves had they had it back then, much less how their better judgment would have worked out for other people.
I am not arguing that the bishops or the Democrats or anyone, including myself and my colleagues at America, should be above critique when they speak about politics simply because no one can predict the future. Arguments need to be judged, both when they are being made and as results become clear, by how honest, realistic and morally cogent they are. Those making public arguments also have a responsibility to account for the readily foreseeable outcomes of the positions they advocate and to acknowledge when the unfolding of history makes it clear they have gotten it wrong.
But there is no retroactive responsibility for everything that could have turned out otherwise if someone had argued differently. There is no ongoing obligation in regard to “what would have happened” in an alternate timeline—and it is a moral and spiritual dead end to focus on such phantoms. It is hopeless first because it replaces the complicated reality of prudence with the seeming simplicity of hindsight, and second because it distracts us with the feeling of moral courage regarding an imaginary replay of a real choice that has already been made differently.
The seductive feeling of righteousness in hindsight can even become an obstacle to solidarity. It can pull us into a self-satisfied purity, when what is needed instead is the humility to make common cause with people who may well share in responsibility for the very problem that needs fixing. “What would have happened?” can easily become the perfect acting as the enemy of the good.
Instead, as Aslan says: “Anyone can find out what will happen,” simply by beginning to do what is right and necessary now. With the many challenges that require solidarity going forward, including advocacy for the human dignity of our migrant brothers and sisters and defense of the checks and balances of the American constitutional system, there is an overwhelming need for such courage.
