I’ve received a few comments via email on my last post, but one of them struck me. The sentence that got to me was:
When one is judged on “(morally) failing as a human being”, this is called “shaming” and it is very different than mere “judging”.
She was right – what I meant to convey was that I had been shamed as a kid. I’m sure many of you felt this as well – “hey author, judgment is a part of life – why so down about it?” but probably (hopefully?) saw what I described as something more than a simple judgment.
Judging is an essential act – the scales we give to Justice the ancient goddess are appropriate, as it’s really just weighing the morality, howsoever we define it, of a given action. Shaming, though, takes this to a different degree – it’s the application of social condemnation to an act of judgment. My simple way of thinking of it is that judgment is what determines guilt; shaming is one of the forms of punishment, but a particularly harsh form of punishment. Unfortunately it seems to be the dominant form of punishment these days, but nevertheless, it is different from judgment. Judgment does not define what we do with the assessment we apply; shaming says we destroy (or at least maim for the purposes of punishment) the soul of the person who has been judged.
Shame, really, is what I’ve been feeling from lots of directions – by no means all, but quite a bit – in the wake of my divorce. Shame for being too selfish, that I’m not co-locating in the same place as my son and making sure I’m always seconds away from his every need; but also shame that I’m not being selfish enough, that because I’m still devoting myself to the mental and emotional welfare of my son’s mother even though post-divorce, I “should” be released to devote myself to my own happiness. Frankly I’d expect to have the shame police weighted to one side or the other, but no: which may speak more to the cultural divide we face at the moment than anything else.
Similarly, my commenting friend asked me amend my statement about what relationships require. Rather than “honesty and forgiveness,” she suggested “honesty and empathy,” and I think she’s on to something. Forgiveness, to me, is a natural outcome of empathy – but empathy is the starting point. With empathy, too, I realize that shame is what was being broadcast to my ex-wife during our marriage by my parents – and her parents, for that matter, which must have been an absolute hell. And yes, it’s come from both sides, in surprisingly equal measure. Relationships require that we are honest, and that we can see the other person’s point of view – and maybe more than that, but that we desperately want to see things from the other person’s point of view. What I mean here is in intimate relationships: do we want to empathize with the other person may be one of a small number of basic gating questions for whether or not we want intimacy. Do we want to fully absorb another person’s point of view – which naturally comes with a parallel question, do we believe the other person wants to see our point of view? Both questions need to be in the affirmative for intimacy to emerge. And then honesty is required so as to allow the other person to have access to that perspective.
All of this, applied to my own life, creates a weird dynamic. I grew up in an environment where “shaming” was the strategic bombing option employed by my parents – reserved for the big things, but nevertheless employed without regret when deemed necessary. Avoiding this Bomber Harris of emotional approaches led me to develop my bubbles, my hiding and (mis)management of information which has proven to be so futile in my adult relationships. But while avoiding shame is actually totally rational – and if shame is employed by others in the future, those techniques not only will be used, but it’s rational to use them – the techniques we employ can erode the honesty required to be whole in a relationship. If shame emerges as a default – and shame can take many forms, not just public humiliation – then for me at least, I’ll respond with withholding honesty. It’s a negative feedback loop of devastating power.
I’m not good at saying “you’re making me feel shameful,” however. Partially this is because when I was a kid, pointing this out would have been redundant – that was the whole point. As an adult, I feel like a whiny jerk. Much better, therefore, to hold in the thought and just manage around the shaming. Using whatever information advantage I may have, I’ll see what I can do.
When I was younger, experimenting with the limits of childhood and what adulthood would demand, there were plenty of times I knew I was skirting the limits of what was “right” in the sense that I was often trying to engineer a space for play (cigarettes, late night diner runs, baseball games in Cleveland). Now, though, I often feel like I’m trying to engineer time with my son and my dog and for myself and what I need, navigating the hazards of girlfriend, parents, ex-wife, and friends all of whom have varying degrees of sympathy or distaste for one another. The sense I had when I was a kid was, well, if I screw up and get shamed, I don’t really have a leg to stand on in terms of any moral right for, say, busting curfew. And in fairness, the moral whip hand held by my parents wasn’t that strong, even if they overplayed it – as I said in the article, it wasn’t like I was running a numbers racket or dealing blow. Now, though, I feel like I have a moral obligation to try and figure out a pathway to be a good father and a good me, but that moral obligation isn’t viewed as being valid by others – or else, they have a different morality that’s driving their judgment. It feels like higher stakes today, and because others feel that much more certain about their own moral judgment of the situation, they are much more confident – and deadly – in dropping their shame on me.
I wanted to write this addendum not to correct or shift what I was saying before, but I think making a distinction between shame and judgment was a brilliant clarifier. Thanks to all of you who respond back to me, by the way.
One final point: my friend also was concerned about my characterization of Sartre’s existentialism. I misspoke when I said I carry the blame for the evils of the world; I do not, or at least, I only carry blame for that which I’ve actually chosen to do. I do, however, accept responsibility for that evil in the sense that, as a conscious adult, I now have an obligation to either challenge that evil – as actively or passively as I am able – and not reinforce it through my inaction or inattention. If I choose to be lazy and not confront evil in some way, then I become guilty; blame thereby attaches to me. But no matter what, I accept responsibility for the world I live in. I’m trying, every day, to do better.
Thanks for reading…