There’s a conversation that’s exploded over the past day or so, mostly on Instagram, I guess, about Catholic “influencers” – echoing similar conversations one regularly hears about influencers and social media in general.
For those interested, here are a few posts/articles I’ve written on related themes. The main theme being ego, vanity and profit.
Update: (4/22) I was looking through the archives for something else, and I ran across this post from just last fall, quoting Thomas Merton from Seasons of Celebration. Quite apt:
Christian personalism does not root out the inner secret of the individual in order to put it on display in a spiritual beauty-contest.
First, my posts on Wilfred Sheed’s novel The Hack:
I reworked those posts into an essay for Notre Dame’s Church Life Journal here
And then there is pride, always, pride. As a person evolves into some kind of spiritual guru, or good example—this is not Bert’s problem, because he does not put himself in the center of his writing—but the refrain “he’s doing so much good” still echoes, functioning, as a barrier to the truth. “He was so hell-bent on edification that truth had no claims on him anymore.”
But it can do that, any kind of ministry, including spiritual writing. Constantly focusing on the self, on packaging one’s life as a spiritual model, even if you continually brush that off and say all for Jesus or something; putting yourself out there, making your carefully composed faux-messiness a daily destination for those seeking insight and comfort; making yourself a thought-leader whose opinions on everything must be posted as quickly as possible; producing a social media feed you say is about evangelization but is, somehow, not much more than a wall of photos of your face—it all has the power to form one’s own faith in ways that are subtly prideful and do indeed, put the focus on us. Nothing new here: “When the crowds saw what Paul had done, they cried out in Lycaonian, ‘The gods have come down to us in human form’” (Acts 14:11).
It happens all the time. It is a constant temptation. In the late 1950’s and early 60’s, faith was diluted in the marketplace most often by sentimentality and idealistic, black-and-white caricatures of virtue. In the present moment—which, given the pace of change, might last until next week—the market demands a kind of performative authenticity played out by personalities, inviting you to faith, not so much because it is objectively real and true, but because, well, I’m a part of it and I’m pretty cool, so you’ll probably want to join up, too.
The format has changed, pamphlets replaced by Instagram posts and sentimental tales supplanted by first-person accounts of self-acceptance, but the dynamic is the same: the risk and fact of the content being shaped by the format, the message by the needs of the messenger and demands of the audience. So evangelization in the age of Instagram becomes just what Instagram and the rest of social media is: an aspirational marketplace trading in curated imperfection and performative authenticity.
Filtered images and tapped out tales of imperfection and self-acceptance, millions and millions of them, a digital flood of faith, but faith in what? . . .
And then, in a couple of posts, I looked at the phenomenon from the perspective of time – is it ethical to try to get people to spend more time online and spend that time investing in your persona, your life, your lifestyle, your message? And is that good for you – the “influencer” or just one engaged in this type of activity online – to be expected to engage in this performativity?
Secondly, I thought: Life is pretty freaking short. Is it really right to play on people’s boredom and need for connection by invited busy people to take time out of their day to watch a video of me packing for a trip?….or invite them to spend energy investing in my family’s life or any particular part of my “story,” especially on a day-to-day basis?
As I said, YMMV and yes, there’s a line which is not always thick and easy to discern – I search for an instructional video on cleaning my shower and get hooked into something less relevant and then something else, maybe involving the shower cleaner’s fascinating life and before I know it, well that shower will get cleaned tomorrow, I guess.
And what’s the difference between reading a narrative in a novel and following a personal narrative via an Instagram account? What’s the difference between laughing at a quality comedic show or film and laughing at a hilarious TikTok creator?
Sometimes – nothing.
And what’s the difference between all of that and me taking time to craft this blog post and inviting you to take a couple of minutes out of your busy life to read it?
Perhaps there’s no difference. Or perhaps it goes back to what I judge I would honestly do in face-to-face interactions and apply that, in some way, to a digital space.
But sometimes, there’s quite a bit of difference, and it’s obvious. Ultimately the onus is on me as a consumer to draw back and make the best use of the limited time I have on this earth.
But in a time in which it’s so easy to create content and the temptation to build a personal brand that way, by moving from informative and uniquely helpful to pulling folks into my narrative in a way that I never would IRL unless I’m a attention-seeking narcissist – there’s an onus on creators, too.
As in:
Her time should weigh on us.
What your Father sees in secret
So, when consumers of mass media and spiritual seekers and tourists of all kinds virtually approach the online evanginfluencers expecting and demanding “openness” and “authenticity” and almost claiming a place in their role model’s lives, they’re putting them in a spot. Yes, it’s a spot most of them have cleared out for themselves and settled in, happily, Patreon button at the ready, but everyone has a role to play here, everyone’s responsible in their own way.
Keep saying we’re one body in Christ, sure. Keep saying we take care of each other, that we’re here to help each other to sainthood and holiness.
How is encouraging, expecting, and paying for another person to put their lives on public display as your spiritual food helping them?
Whose command wins?
Inspire me with your relatable authenticity….
…..your Father who sees what is hidden will repay you
Finally, somewhat related: Prosperous. In which I say that there’s more than one kind of “prosperity gospel” that instrumentalizes religious faith.
Bottom line:
I have a very hard time seeing how a persona-centered “outreach” can be squared with the Gospel call to humility.
It’s a hard thing, because, I say in the posts linked above, if you have a message or a creative gift to share, it doesn’t get transmitted through the ether – you create it. There’s definitely a you in there somewhere. The trick is, in a Christian context, to center the effort on what’s created or shared, not on you.
(Pro tip for this effort? Read Paul. He’s the master.)
Further, in a moment in time in which one of our greatest hungers is for communion, community and being loved, understood and accepted for who we are, I have a hard time seeing how screen-mediated lifestyles and communities really, truly and deeply help.
As I have said countless times before – face-to-face is hard. Forming relationships and community with the people who happen to be around us, rather than a curated, interest-specific feed, is challenging.
And yes, of course, this is our primary mode of communication now. So what do we do?
I don’t know.
All I know is that the temptation to shut our doors and fire up our screens is very strong for us as individuals and institutions, and the temptation is especially strong because we convince ourselves this is the best – or maybe even only way – to reach out.
But is it?
Charlotte was Both 