Guilt, Shame, and Redemption

Guilt, Shame, and Redemption

Samuel Bird

Begging my dad for long enough and working like mad was about to pay off. We were on our way with our horse trailer with the rusty bottom falling out, to get enough hay to feed our cows for the week. We pulled into the farmer’s field as he stood next to his tractor with a horse lead around the neck of a beautiful black labrador and mystery mix dog. He handed me the lead as I ran off before dropping down and giving her a hug. “You are coming home with me. I get to keep you and take care of you.” The farmer loaded the hay with his tractor as my dad walked toward me. “Well Sam, how do you feel?” “I am so happy Dad. Thank you so much!” “Have you picked out a name for her?” “I looked at her sleek black coat. I was reminded of the times we had come here to get hay and she always ran to me. She was loyal and never seemed to give up on me, no matter how long between times I had come to visit. I thought of the Iliad and the Odyssey which were my favorite, despite pushing me to the limit of my literacy. “Penelope. Her name is Penelope.” He looked shocked at the name as the farmer walked up. “Where’d you find her?” Dad asked. “Over on County Line Road there. There were two other puppies with her, but they got hit.” I held her as a way of consoling her for her loss. “Well, she is yours now kid.” We loaded up and went home. That night and many after, I slept outside so I could be with her. We had an old broken grain silo I kept her in, and I would join her there. My sister Annie soon got a little red heeler she called Beatrice, and life seemed to be perfect. I would take her out and run with her through the field. I showed her my cows, my BB gun, and the little truck I used to pull the dead cows during the spread of Coccidiosis. I would talk to her and pet her silky black hair. The time came that Mom and Dad inevitably could no longer get food. Our family would get moldy bread from a local bread store, saying we would feed it to our cows, but it was most of what we kids ate. I fed that bread to her, but it was clear it wasn’t good for her. Over time and many fights I lost, I began to lose the pep in my step and twinkle in my eye. There came a time when if dad didn’t threaten me to get out of bed, which often happened, I would stay stuck there. I felt powerless and trapped as I often was in my childhood room, but even when the cage around me was lifted, there was some cage on my mind I fight to this day. I began to venture outside less. Feeling bad for what I could not offer her, I began to not want to see her. I wanted the best for her, but I didn’t have anything at all. One day I opened the silo door to see her lying there. I myself was lifeless and despondent and couldn’t bear to prove what I knew. I walked toward her to find that bundle of energy and love was no more than the bundle that once held her. I collapsed to my knees as I began to sob furiously, not just for her loss, but that I hadn’t been able to save her. 

Shame and guilt can be tools for those seeking power at the expense of others. I have spent much of my life, weighing and combating the grief that comes from such. I reasoned, even at the time, that the only way I could be immoral was to not want to fix it. In a similar vein, when my mother was seeking to convince me I was a narcissist, I spent a few months researching it to find the fact I was so horrified about being one was a good indicator I was not. People need a sense that they are good, whatever that entails. Guilt is the cognitive dissonance of all the possible reasons to think otherwise. It fights what we think and want to think of ourselves. It can be a powerful thing that motivates one to do and be better. However, that same drive for good can drive one mad. This experience with Penelope has been a source of guilt that has weighed on my heart for some time.

Because there will always be evidence against our case for goodness, guilt seems to be a pretty necessary condition for those seeking to have a good life and be a good person. Many great systems have sought to make a system for this guilt management. Christianity may be the most notable example. From the series of facts one faced implying one was vile, they could take the heavy load that came with it and lay it at the feet of a deity who was infinitely aware of that pressure. While the commandments that came with Christianity could create more guilt, there was a real resolution in sight such that it was for the best. In the secularization of society, there was a notion that the giving of a law for someone to be guilty was cruel, and as such, it was kinder to do away with this system of guilt and resolve. However, what didn’t do away was the natural and pre-Christian state of guilt. It simply took away the avenue from responding to it. Shame and guilt have always been a powerful tool for societies to get members to act within the bounds and benefits of the people at large. In my time, however, I think this may have gone too far. Just about everyone has an idea of what is good or at least desirable. If there is a good, and I fail to bring it into fruition, then this at the very least an omission of value. So, guilt persists, but without a religious methodology for responding to it. Well-meaning notions and practices will simply claim that we are good all along, but since we need to resolve the proof against that, it fails to give any real relief. 

While the religious will always have some tools that the rest of the world does not, and Christianity is paramount in resolving guilt, I think a philosopher has something to still add to a secular conversation. What Jesus was able to preach and bring about was a state of redemption, which is a sort of homeostasis for the sense of self. This came from a maximal being deeming your deeds for evil not more powerful than either the goodness that He or you possessed. As a theist, I have and will use this medium of confession and repentance myself, however I disagree with a large swath of Christians in one factor. This redemption can come from our actions. To be more exact, this redemption doesn’t just come from our actions, but our actions are a needed condition for it. However, this now adds a sense of empowerment for will over circumstance, which is always a primary concern of mine. Esse Maxim as Narrativism is then the needed “how” to the possibility. Rather than seeing things in terms of the moments we occupy, by having the context of our lives as a metric, we can see changes across time. Our minds are designed for these stories. One of the obvious ways to see this, is the value of our life across time. For example, when I was younger and first began to believe in God after serious atheism, I found a tale of my life that went from a sinner to a sinner who tried to do saintly things. This sense of trajectory gave me the idea that I was getting better. This idea of trajectory gives an idea of betterment. We can console ourselves from the evil we have brought into the world when we learn from it and have brought about more goodness. 

Shortly after meeting God, I walked down the county road I was raised on to a neighbor's house as my blood raced through my veins. When he answered, I held up two hundred dollar bills, which were most of my money as a blue-collar worker. I told him that some years ago, I had broken into his garage and stolen a number of tools. “What were they?” He asked in his gruff construction worker tone. I told him I had forgotten, but it was certainly worth less than what I was offering. He went quiet as he grabbed the money and held it up to look at it. Having heard the stories of him being a violent drunk, I was ready to run and leave my penance behind. “Small town like this, word gets around.” He said. “Yes sir!” I nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve heard you have been trying to clean up your act.” “That is right sir. I did wrong by some people and I want to make it right as best as I can.” He smirked. “Cleaning up your act is hard huh?” I nodded. “When I was younger, I was my own fool. Fixing it up takes a lot.” I nodded. “Takes a lot from you.” He started to tear up. “In fact, I think you need this on your way kid.” He said as he planted my life savings back in my hand.

Time will never let me do what I crave, which is to go back and make some choices differently. I have caused good people harm and helped others do bad things. I’m not special and time bars me from entry to another age just like everybody else. While I can never make the same choice after knowing the outcome, I can change my choices now around it. All this pain I caused can be redemptive, and so can the pain I have felt. I went across that small town and made right with everyone but the small grocery store I shoplifted from. I hope my patronage when I pass through is enough to make up for it. This guilt I felt, resulted in something wonderful. I could let it fester in me until I became dead to its headings and found myself another being with an intentionally dimmed conscience, but I am too selfish and want everything that little angel on my shoulder has to offer. Because of efforts to recoup, reassess, reward, renew, restore, rehabilitate, and realize, not only have I been able to fix the real and tragic damage I have made in the world, I may have been able to bring about more good than otherwise. 

Shortly after this, I met the grandfather of a kid I would steal with. This kid followed my lead, and then when I changed my ways, he kept going. He was now in jail and I knew I had a part to play in getting him going down that road. His grandfather glared at me as my naturally shy demeanor was shed for what was needed. I walked up to him with a hand ready to shake. “My name is Samuel Bird, and I grew up with your grandson,” which he knew well. I told him how sorry I was. I watched as his eyes flared from hatred for taking the child he raised to internal conflict and finally a look of peace. He put his hand on my shoulder as he teared up and said, “I want you to know you’ve done right by my family and me. I hold nothing against you.” Guilt was able to drive me from the horrors of what I had done, to taking a bit of the pain in those tired old eyes. Guilt alone is not good or bad. As I say with suffering, it is a question and we humans have a habit of looking for answers. 

I decided during the writing of this paper that it is time to scatter Penelope’s ashes after all these years. I think I’ll go to the same river where I left my adopted mother’s ashes and let her be in the mountains forever. I still feel a sting when I think of her goodness and my failing, but I’ve raised enough horses, cows, goats, and chickens since. I’ve even helped a crane, a skunk, and many birds to heal up and be on their way. Time won’t let me slip behind its seamless walls, but I can say that I have done something, perhaps enough to say enough good was brought into the world to be redemptive. After a difficult sentence had been served, I had a judge ask me if I had paid my burden. I think when we truly have, not only can we justifiably do so, but naturally, guilt and shame will fade into glorious redemption.