Shame: What Is It Good For?
Absolutely nothing
A week or so ago, a friend of mine confided in me that he felt intense shame over something he had done. That confession got me thinking about my own sense of shame, and how utterly useless it has always been. It got me thinking that maybe shame isn't all it's cracked up to be. Perhaps our lives would be better if we left our shame in the dust.
What is shame? As one of my friends who's a theologian told me, shame is the ruthless sense that something is wrong with me. It's the sense that I am broken, that I am deficient, that I am not (and never can be, however hard I try to mask it) enough.
I think this belief in our fundamental brokenness is a lie. When we see ourselves through the lens of our shame, we see a foundationally different person than the man or woman whom God sees.
An episode of Dr. Who recently helped me clarify this.
In "Vincent and the Doctor," the Doctor and his companion travel back in time to talk to Vincent Van Gogh. Van Gogh is very clearly crippled by shame. None of his contemporaries like his artwork; in one remarkable scene, he pleads with a local bartender to trade one of his paintings for a single drink.
Van Gogh: "Come on! Come on! One painting for one drink. That's not a bad deal."
Bartender: "It wouldn't be a bad deal if the painting were [sic] any good."
When the Doctor meets Van Gogh, the latter has clearly internalized the lie that his paintings aren't any good. He treats his paintings with contempt; he sits a coffee mug on one, leaving a brown stain, and casually paints over another one so that he has room to draw something the Doctor asked about. As he tells the Doctor, "No one ever buys any of my paintings or they would be laughed out of town."
But at the end of the episode, the Doctor takes Van Gogh to the 21st century, to the majestic Musée d'Orsay ("home to many of the greatest paintings in history" as the Doctor says); and Van Gogh sees an entire room dedicated to his work. The paintings that he spurned as worthless are framed and watched over by security guards and oohed over by admiring crowds. As the curator of the museum says, when asked what he thinks of Van Gogh (without realizing that the real Van Gogh is in hearing), "To my mind, that strange, wild man who roamed the fields of Provence was not only the world's greatest artist, but also one of the greatest men who ever lived."
The entire scene is quite touching, and is well worth watching if you haven't seen it before.
I think the dichotomy in that episode also shows the dichotomy between how our shame tells us we are versus how God sees us.
Our shame tells us that we are broken and worthless. But God sees us as His infinitely treasured sons and daughters.
Our shame says that nothing we do is ever good enough. But God takes absolute delight in our smallest steps towards him. As C.S. Lewis writes in Mere Christianity, God is "delighted with the first feeble, stumbling effort you make tomorrow to do the simplest duty."
Our shame says that we have nothing to contribute to the world. But God says that we have an irreplaceable role to play in the grand adventure of bringing His kingdom to earth. As theologian Dwight Edwards writes in Revolution Within, "we were created and redeemed to mount up on God-given wings…and to abandon ourselves to the high adventure of warring on behalf of God's kingdom in this dark world."
Van Gogh's shame told him that he was a broken madman with nothing of value to offer the world. But God saw an artist whose work was so utterly beautiful that it merited an entire room in the Musée d'Orsay.
As Brennan Manning writes, "Define yourself as one radically loved by God-this is your true self. All other identity is illusion."
Our shame lies to us. I wrote awhile ago that fear is the great lie that whispers in our ear that it is the great truth. I think that the other great lie is shame. Shame whispers in our ear that we are broken, that we are deficient, that we are worthless. But no voice in all of history has ever been less trustworthy.
Perhaps it's time that we stop believing it.
But sometimes, when we say that we're ashamed, what we really mean is that we feel guilty.
What's the difference? As my theologian friend explained, shame says that something is wrong with us. Guilt says merely that we did something wrong. Unlike shame, guilt is not always a lie. But all the same, I think we experience far more guilt than is good for us.
So what's the purpose of guilt? I think of guilt as a warning sign, like a light on the dashboard of our car. It tells us that something is wrong.
A couple of weeks ago, I blew up at a friend. I was in a rough place; and when I perceived him as poking me, I lashed out. I felt immensely guilty afterwards. That guilt prompted me to apologize, and to make amends. It prompted me to dig deep into my soul, and introspect about why I attacked him. It prompted me to start making changes inside so that I could respond with more care and kindness the next time that I felt poked.
But after it motivated me to make those changes, the guilt had officially served its purpose. And I could let it go.
I think some of us hang on to guilt for far too long. I have a friend who still feels acute guilt over mistakes that he made decades ago. That guilt eats him up inside; it makes him scared and cautious. But the reason his guilt cuts him so deeply is that he would never make those mistakes again. His guilt tears at him so hard precisely because it is no longer useful.
I think of guilt as similar to the chains that the ghost of Jacob Marley drags around in A Christmas Carol.
Those chains weigh us down. We tell ourselves that we need them so that we won't recommit the same mistakes, but I don't think we do. I think we should let those chains go as soon as they've served their purpose of warning us that we did something wrong, and as soon as we've begun the necessary internal inventory to avoid making the same mistake again.
In fact, I think guilt can even be counterproductive. Too much guilt can get in the way of our goal of doing good in the world.
How?
For years, I was addicted to pornography. Each time I would go on a binge, I would feel intense guilt afterwards. But the guilt never actually stopped me from watching porn. Instead, my guilt merely exacerbated my desire. My desire to watch porn came from feeling worthless and from trying to fill a hole inside of myself. Feeling guilty just made that hole bigger, which made the desire to watch porn the next time even more intense.
The thing that could have actually filled the hole inside of me was the very thing that my guilt kept crowding out: God.
Theologian Jamie Winship says that fear, guilt, and shame are part of the "false self." They are (with minor exceptions) lies that we tell ourselves. It's been my experience that the false self and God can crowd each other out. A deep connection to God can crowd out my fear ("Perfect love drives out fear" 1 John 4:18 NIV), but feeding my feelings of fear can also crowd out my connection to God. Hearing from God can cure my shame by showing me the infinite love with which my maker sees me; but embracing my shame can also crowd out my ability to hear from God. God's infinite forgiveness can crowd out my guilt; but choosing to live from a place of guilt can also crowd out God.
If God loves every single human being as His cherished son or daughter, and if He also knows in any given moment what's best for each and every person with whom we might interact, then it seems to me that the absolute best way to maximize the good that we do in the world is to try to hear from Him all the time, and to keep that connection as open and clear as we possibly can. Embracing our guilt is likely to fulfill the opposite end.
In The Narrow Path, theologian Rich Villodas writes that, "fixing our attention and affection on God is the most powerful strategy for defeating sin." If we can focus more of our energy and attention on Him and less on our false self, than we can stop our fear and guilt and shame from flaying us alive. That's good for us. I also suspect it's good for the world.
Heal the West is 100% reader-supported. If you enjoyed this article, please consider upgrading to a paid subscription or becoming a founding member. Your support is greatly appreciated.
Thank you for this, Julian. I think most of us deal with some level of shame and guilt in our lifetime, and it may be evolutionarily hardwired, as Mullet says in his response below, for a reason. For it is moving through shame and guilt, and coming to terms with our own aching humanity, that we can arrive at a place of grace. Grace is a hard-earned reward for soul searching and internalizing a better belief system that reminds of the divine within and without. We are indeed forged by fire.