Infected with Self-Righteousness
A Family's Struggle with Pharisee Disease
Joe and Deb Killjoy were nervously waiting to see the doctor. They expected a shocking diagnosis and felt very vulnerable. Joe kept checking his watch, a habit that really irritated Deb, but maybe less today in their uncertain world.
Joe had spent a lifetime in close fellowship with people so excited about their convictions and beliefs that they shot tiny specks of contagious spit across the room. The room seemed like the choir, all in complete agreement. Now, Joe and Deb waited to find out how infected Joe was.
“Killjoy, Joseph?” called the nurse, clipboard in hand.
Joe stood immediately, straightening his tie. “That’s Dr. Killjoy, actually,” he corrected, ignoring Deb’s subtle elbow to his side. His doctoral degree had been hard-earned, and he never missed an opportunity to remind others of his credentials.
The nurse merely nodded and led them down a hallway lined with informational posters about various conditions. Joe couldn’t help but mentally critique the grammatical errors he spotted on one.
Inside the examination room, Dr. Mercy entered with Joe’s file, his expression carefully neutral in the way doctors perfect when delivering tough news.
“I’ve reviewed all your test results, Mr. Killjoy,” he began.
“Doctor Killjoy,” Joe interjected.
Dr. Mercy paused briefly. “Dr. Killjoy, then. I’m afraid the results confirm what we suspected. You’ve contracted Pharisee Disease.”
Deb gasped softly beside him. They had researched the possibility online after Joe’s preliminary symptoms appeared, but hearing the official diagnosis made it suddenly terrifyingly real.
“As you may know,” Dr. Mercy continued, “Close contact with others who have Pharisee Disease transmits the disease. The incubation period can typically be from one to two weeks to much longer before symptoms manifest.”
Joe nodded stiffly.
“The disease affects neural pathways related to social perception and behavior,” Dr. Mercy explained, pulling up a diagram on his tablet. “It creates what we call a ‘superiority complex cascade’ in the brain, leading to the characteristic symptoms: heightened feelings of moral superiority, hypercritical assessment of others, rigid expectations of conformity, preoccupation with status and recognition.”
Joe shifted uncomfortably in his seat. These symptoms sounded disturbingly familiar, even before the most recent fellowship meeting.
“How... how long has he had it?” Deb asked hesitantly.
Dr. Mercy studied Joe’s file. “Based on the antibody levels, I’d estimate this is a recently acquired acute infection. However,” he added carefully, “indicators suggest you may have had a mild, subclinical form of the condition for some time. It’s not uncommon—many people carry a dormant version without knowing it until an acute exposure triggers full manifestation.”
Deb glanced at Joe with a look that mixed concern with something like vindication. For years, she had gently suggested that his tendency to correct others’ grammar at dinner parties and insist that the neighborhood children stay off their meticulously maintained lawn might be a bit excessive.
Joe knew he wasn’t like other people. He was better. He thanked God daily for not being like others and for having grown spiritually and close to God. His Bible knowledge and walk with God was superior to most, if not all, though he tried to act somewhat humble about it. Joe loved praying in public, making sure people knew about his generosity, and of course, even that he lived cleaner, better, and more righteous than others.
Joe had limited his friendships to others like himself, which compounded the disease. Even his children had picked up on the same superiority and judgmental attitude. His children would see someone smoking and make condemning comments like those smokers already smell like where they are going to spend eternity, hell. Joe’s most minor children had learned to say ugly, judgmental things from a young age.
Being young, Joe’s kids hadn’t learned the fine art of feeling without speaking so clearly to all who could hear.
“What’s the treatment?” Joe asked, his voice uncharacteristically small.
“It’s complex,” Dr. Mercy admitted. “Pharisee Disease affects both neurological and behavioral patterns. We’ll start you on an immunosuppressant to address the physical infection, but the behavioral aspects require cognitive-behavioral therapy. The disease literally rewires your brain to derive satisfaction from judging others and feeling superior.”
Joe thought back to the fierce pleasure he’d felt when pointing out the flaws in the others who thought they were family too. The subtle thrill when correcting someone’s pronunciation, Shibboleth, not Sibboleth, the satisfaction of pointing out other people’s failures brought much joy.
“The hardest part,” Dr. Mercy continued, “is that patients often resist treatment because the disease creates a self-reinforcing cycle. It feels good to judge others because the infection triggers dopamine release when you do so. Breaking that cycle requires acknowledging that these behaviors aren’t actually signs of superiority—they’re symptoms of an illness.”
Joe stared at his hands. “And if left untreated?”
“Progressive social isolation is common; you will be left only with other sufferers of the disease that feel and think like you. Patients often find themselves estranged from family and friends. Workplace relationships deteriorate. The disease feeds on itself—as relationships falter, patients typically double down on their judgmental behaviors, blaming others rather than recognizing their condition.”
Deb reached for Joe’s hand again. “We’ll do whatever it takes,” she said firmly.
Dr. Mercy nodded. “I recommend testing you now, while you are not exhibiting many symptoms, Mrs. Killjoy,” Dr. Mercy said. Household members often develop subclinical cases through prolonged exposure.”
Deb’s expression froze. She thought about her friendships, where she’d recently begun designating herself as the unofficial arbiter of “worthy”, dismissing others’ suggestions as “carnal trash.” She remembered her silent judgment of her sister’s parenting choices and her insistence that her way of organizing the church fundraiser was the only correct approach.
“I think that would be wise,” she admitted quietly.
As they left the office with prescriptions and therapy referrals in hand, Joe and Deb walked slowly toward their car, both lost in thought.
“I always thought I was just maintaining standards,” Joe finally said. “That someone needed to uphold proper behavior and traditions.”
Deb nodded. “I told myself I was helping others by pointing out better ways to do things.”
They reached their immaculately maintained sedan, parked precisely between the lines of its space—further from other vehicles than necessary to avoid door dings.
“Dr. Mercy said something that stuck with me,” Joe reflected. “She said Pharisee Disease doesn’t actually create new behaviors—it amplifies existing human tendencies and removes the natural empathy that usually keeps them in check.”
“Meaning we all have these impulses,” Deb concluded. “The disease just breaks the mechanisms that help us see others as complex humans rather than projects to fix or examples of what not to be.”
Joe unlocked the car, but paused before getting in. “You know what’s ironic? I’ve always prided myself on being nothing like my father. He was so controlling and judgmental of everything I did. And here I am...”
Deb’s eyes softened. “This could be a new beginning for us, Joe. A chance to rebuild with awareness.”
As they drove home, Joe wondered about the people who might benefit from their story, diagnosis and help they were receiving It was a small shift, barely perceptible, but perhaps the first step in a long recovery.
The diagnosis had been shocking, as they’d feared. But perhaps, they both silently reflected; it also offered something unexpected: an explanation that wasn’t an excuse, and an opportunity for change that neither had recognized they needed.
They both decided to get more help and a second opinion from Dr. Grace. When they realized their condition, the hardening of the arteries and heart, the heart swollen with pride, they knew they needed help and wanted Dr Grace to help them continue in healing.