Is Punishment Normal?

I have asked myself this question many times. Perhaps none more than when I was teaching Criminal Justice courses at the local community colleges. One of the things I loved most about teaching wasn't lecturing. It was asking questions and taking in the responses. Community colleges bring together an incredible mix of people. Some students were only sixteen years old. Others were nearing retirement and exploring an entirely new career. Each class became a collection of different life experiences, and I was always fascinated by the conversations that emerged.

In one particular class, I asked:

Is punishment normal? The responses came quickly. "I was punished growing up, so yes." "Of course it's normal. We have prisons and jails." "Without punishment, how would we have justice?"

A hallway with jail bars.

I can certainly understand the responses. And the responses also made me wonder whether we were answering a different question. Perhaps punishment is common. But does common mean natural? Does natural mean effective? And if punishment is common, does that mean it is an effective way of motivating someone to change? 

This question follows me outside the criminal/legal system as well. I have taught a few classes based on the book, Crucial Conversations. I love the book for many reasons and it is always a reminder that punishment isn't confined to courtrooms or correctional facilities. The authors describe how quickly we can move into silence or violence when conversations become difficult. For many of us, punishment looks surprisingly ordinary. It looks like withdrawing affection. It looks like giving someone the silent treatment.It looks like eye rolling, passive aggression, exclusion, or cancel culture. It looks like saying, "After what she said yesterday, I don't think she should be invited." If I'm being honest, I've done some of these things too.

Because we're human.

Sometimes the harm we cause is profound. Sometimes it's subtle. Most of us know what it feels like to respond to pain by creating more distance, more silence, or more suffering. And we also know what it feels like to receive that type of treatment. Punishment, in that sense, is remarkably common. Which brings me back to the question:

Does common necessarily mean it is the most effective path toward change?

I also want to be clear about something. This isn't an argument against accountability. In my years as a parole officer, I supervised people who caused tremendous harm. I know firsthand that accountability matters. I've also seen how difficult it can be for someone to acknowledge the harm they've caused. Even in our own lives, admitting we've hurt another person isn't easy. We all carry internal stories about who we are, and when our actions don't align with that story, our instinct is often to defend ourselves. That isn't unique to people in the criminal/legal system. It's profoundly human.

When I think about accountability now, I find myself asking different questions. Not just: What happened? Who was harmed? How do we repair the harm? But what was the environment like when the harm was caused? How can we prevent the harm from happening again? What is our collective responsibility and accountability in the harm that happened?

Wrapping a finger in a Band-Aid.

Those questions feel fundamentally different from asking,

"How much suffering should follow someone after they inflicted harm?" This question can be applied to prison sentences or to the person who cut me off on the interstate.

When I started to study Ayurveda, my field of understanding broadened. One of its foundational treatment principles can be summarized simply:

Like increases like. Opposites bring balance.

The more I studied this principle, the more I began wondering whether it applies far beyond health care and Ayurveda. If someone's life has been shaped by chronic chaos...what happens when we place them into another chaotic environment? If someone's physiology has adapted to constant stress...what happens when we add more stress? If instability meets instability...what grows?

We already know that environments shape people. We know sleep matters. We know nourishment matters. We know access to sunlight, meaningful work, healthy relationships, purpose, and predictable routines influence human physiology. We recognize these things in schools. In workplaces. In our homes. In health care. So I continue returning to a question that has become increasingly difficult for me to ignore:

Why do we suspend what we know about human physiology when someone commits a crime?

One important distinction feels necessary here. Expanding our collective capacity to care does not mean individuals must remain in relation with people who have harmed them.Healthy boundaries, distance, and even permanent separation may be the wisest and safest choice in some relationships. I'm not suggesting forgiveness or reconciliation is required. I'm asking a different question.

How should we, as a society, respond when our goal is both accountability and the possibility of restoration?

I find myself imagining something different. What if environments were intentionally designed to cultivate greater balance rather than greater imbalance? What if accountability and restoration weren't competing values? What if they actually depended on one another? Perhaps the better question isn't simply whether punishment is normal. Perhaps it's time for something more expansive.

More to share very soon, thank you for being here.