Forgetting How to Blush
The gamut of human experiences is so large that, always again, one discovers the penury of the human vocabulary incapable of covering a field so rich in nuances. Consequently, we use the same word for things that are widely different. This is the cause of innumerable equivocations and misunderstandings. One of these misleading words is the word shame. This brief essay is a modest effort to show that it is applied to a great variety of experiences that should be carefully differentiated.
Physical shame
Let us begin with tragic cases of physical abnormalities. Years ago, I met a woman whose left hand looked like a huge rat's paw. Her mother was so ashamed of her that she rejected her child, depriving her of the love to which she was entitled. Already as a very young child, she realized that people looked at her hand with horror and disgust. She formed the habit of instinctively hiding it whenever possible. She hated her body; she was ashamed of her hand. One can also be ashamed of the disgusting manifestations of certain diseases such as leprosy. The appearance of faces eaten by this terrible disease is so abominable—a sort of vision of hell—that only the supernatural heroism of a Father Damien de Veuster can explain his freely going to Molokai to minister—spiritually and physically—to these poor human beings, rejected, abandoned by a humanity that wanted to forget their very existence. He caught this revolting disease, and we know that now in eternity his very face, chiseled by true love of neighbor, has a radiance that "human beauties" can envy. Holiness is holy cosmetics.
There are sicknesses the stench of which causes nausea. Yet, throughout the history of Christianity, many heroic nuns have given loving care to those unfortunate people, managing through grace to hide their disgust. One can be disgusted by one's own body.
To trigger loathing in our fellow men is "shameful" and profoundly humiliating. Humanly speaking, there is no solution. But faith opens our eyes to the fact that our sinfulness is leprosy in God's eyes, and it is precisely our unfathomable misery which touched the "eternal Heart of God" and made him send us a savior. Isaiah announced that he would be rejected, looked down upon because of his very appearance. He carried our iniquities, inviting us to turn lovingly to our neighbors whose physical or moral sicknesses call for compassion.
There are physical flaws that trigger compassion. A soldier who lost an arm in a war calls for pity mixed with admiration and gratitude: he has sacrificed himself to defend his country.
Shame: Response to moral ugliness
Quite different are cases when shame is a response to something ugly for which we are responsible. A thief caught red-handed either feels shame or should feel ashamed. A liar caught lying is ashamed. It is, however, conceivable that someone has led such an immoral life that "he no longer knows how to blush" (Jer. 8:12). The only thing that he is "ashamed" of is that he has been caught and therefore was not as clever as he thought he was. It is also conceivable that some liars or some immoral people are so good at their "trade" that they are never caught. They are such "experts" that they are only discovered at the end of their lives—Madoff and Maciel may come to mind. Unbelievable as it is, they played their hands so skillfully that most people trusted either their financial integrity or their "holiness." Let us hope that, for their own sakes, they have now finally "blushed."
Adam and Eve after sinning felt "shame" upon discovering their nakedness. From now on, lust will spread its deadly poison. Moreover, our first parents perceived the moral ugliness of their disobedience. Their conscience was not dead. We, their descendants, should never forget that we are still marked by original sin, and realize that there are things that call for blushing. Indeed, what is terrible is that many of us no longer feel ashamed ("everybody does it") and therefore no longer "know how to blush." This is a "sickness unto death," because when there is no awareness of sin, there is no contrition, and no humble begging for forgiveness.
Illegitimate feelings of shame,or false shame
Man is capable of any deformation, of any perversion, of any irrational response. There are people who experience "shame" and spend their lives desperately trying to hide things that, to their minds, "stain them" and therefore must be hidden at any cost.
Illegitimate shame is eloquently sketched in St. Augustine's Confessions. He relates that a speaker who mispronounced a word (said "omo" instead of "homo," or made a grammatical mistake) was ridiculed and looked down upon (Confessions, 1.18.29). On the other hand, if he related "unsavory" adventures, clearly offending God's laws, and worded his speech brilliantly, delivering it with the most refined rhetorical art, he would be wildly applauded.
Some people are ashamed of their modest social ancestry. That his grandfather worked on the railroad, or was a bus boy in a cheap restaurant or a subway operator, strikes this kind of person as a blot on his "social image," and when asked about his ancestry he either lies or desperately tries to give misleading and confusing information. These people live in a constant state of tension because they fear that their "shame" might be discovered. There is a lovely passage in Don Quixote. The hero kept promising Sancho Panza that he would one day become governor of some island. Amused by the gullibility of Sancho, friends of Don Quixote set the stage for a high-class entertainment: indeed Sancho Panza had been named governor of some unknown island. Upon receiving this great news, Don Quixote thought it proper to remind Sancho of his very modest origin. He said to him, "When governing never forget for a single day that in your youth you tended swine." "Yes, sir," answered Sancho Panza, "but that was only for a very short time. I then tended geese." Apparently that was more aristocratic.
On the other hand, we all like to advertise our closeness to someone who has achieved prominence in some field. The talented French writer Louis Veuillot (1813-83) had, one day, a very lively and tense discussion with a French aristocrat, who, at one point—probably running short of arguments—said to him: "Don't forget that I descend from the Crusaders." To which Veuillot responded: "Oh! Sir, you descend from the Crusaders; I ascend from a shoemaker." He was "free"; his modest ancestry in no way weighed on him.
This dread that one's modest origin might be discovered and publicized is much more widespread in Europe than in the United States. In the "new world," the "self-made" man is a hero. People pride themselves on their modest backgrounds: "This is what I came from"; or, "Look at me, and see: I have achieved greatness on my own merit." This too has its dangers; one needs not say "thank you" to anybody. In the United States money makes one an "aristocrat."
Another interesting case of false shame is the shame of one's poverty. It also was more frequent in pre-war Europe than in the United States. The French novelist Alain Rene Lesage (1668-1747) depicts this phenomenon in his novel Gil Blas. A young Frenchman, looking for work, is told that it was easy to find in Spain. He crossed the Pyrenees and offered his services to anyone willing to engage him. One day, on the city square, he met a hidalgo looking for a servant. The man's appearance was impressive—elegant, self-assured, with a "panache" about him that seem to indicate that he was a rich aristocrat. Much to his surprise and disappointment (because the young man's stomach was empty), he found out upon accompanying his new master to his home (the facade of which was impressive) that he clearly was a totally ruined man who had only one idea in mind, that of keeping up appearances. Gil Blas was hoping to get a meal, but the kitchen was ominously quiet. Fasting was advertised as a virtue, but in the long run it can lead to starvation. One protocol was, however, rigorously followed: the daily walk of the hidalgo through the main squares of his town. It was a matter of "honor" to let people believe that he still was the possessor of an impressive fortune. Our French hero did not stay long.
In Transformation in Christ, Dietrich von Hildebrand has admirably shown how small ties—like the tiny strings used by the Lilliputians to bind Gulliver—can impede our freedom to serve God and to relate to others. They explain dissimulations, half lies, irrational behavior in our spiritual lives; even though seemingly innocuous, these have a paralyzing effect humanly, psychologically and spiritually. There are people maimed by the fear that others might discover that they never completed high school, or flunked a final examination or otherwise demonstrated abysmal ignorance in whatever field is under discussion. The list is long and totally irrational. No special graces are granted for "false" shame, but there are always available to those who call for help.
There are tragic cases in which a person is "ashamed" because of his race. During the Second World War, a young Italian student either committed suicide or tried to kill himself because his school fellows were constantly making fun of him and nagging him because "Italians" were "cowards." In fact history teaches us that though Spartans were much better soldiers than Athenians and Prussians were famous for their military achievements, Sparta did not have the culture of Athens, nor Prussia that of southern Germany. Anyone who knows Italy, where great art is king, should be amazed at this type of "shame." Military strength is very plebeian compared to true culture, marked with the imprint of the spirit.
Wellington did not like to be reminded that he was Irish; Edmund Burke, on the other hand, was free from this ridiculous "shame" while living in Great Britain. In his unpublished Memoirs, my husband relates the sad case of Edmund Husserl, the founder of phenomenology. He was Jewish by birth but converted to Protestantism (the religion of the majority in Germans) because he was more than anxious to hide his Jewish roots. Max Scheler—half Jewish himself—knew of Husserl's inhibition. Having a light sadistic quality about him, Scheler purposely brought a book to a meeting to which Husserl had invited him. In this book, it was expressly stated that Husserl had pure Jewish blood. While Husserl was talking, Scheler—having made sure that Husserl was aware of the title of the book—kept paging through the volume as if looking for a passage that had special interest to him. He clearly enjoyed Husserl's nervousness. There is something tragic in the fact that someone should be "ashamed" of belonging to the race of our Savior.
Holy bashfulness, holy reserve
Just as lust disguises itself in the garments of true love, just as people confuse miracles and magic, just as the devil can take the appearance of an angel of light, so what we call "holy bashfulness" is likely to be interpreted by many as "shame," that is, a manifestation of prudery or Puritanism, which some diagnosed as a great danger often found among Roman Catholics. For such people, a naked body is "shocking." This is a "Catholic deformation" that should be urgently corrected, and might explain the failure of many marriages. This view is gaining currency in our society. The point we wish to examine is if this approach is not once again based on an equivocation.
Things we "hide" because they are private
It is typical of human persons to have a "private" domain. This can embrace a wide range of experiences: be it secrets confided to us, be it financial affairs or medical records. They are not other people's business and are not meant to be divulged, not because they are evil or dirty but because they are personal and intimate. One of the many curses of being a public figure is that one is preyed upon from morning to night by journalists who make of living by "unveiling" and delivering to a public always on the look-out for scandals or secrets the most private things of this unfortunate victim of fame. Let us think of the psychological crucifixion that Sarah Palin and her family have gone through.
There are also things that call for hiding because they are mysterious, sublime or sacred; therefore "veiling" is appropriate. When the greatest event in history took place, namely the Incarnation, the Blessed One among women kept this divine secret to herself. She did not even share it with St. Joseph, knowing full well that her very silence could cause great pain to the man she loved. She let an angel of the Lord reveal to St. Joseph's noble heart that this fiancée was now hiding the God-man in her sacred womb. He too kept the secret to himself. This should give food for thought to all those who erroneously assume that to "veil" an event or an object is ominous.
In fact, good deeds and heroic actions, if they are to have any value in God's eyes, must be "concealed" and if accidentally discovered will make the perpetrator of these noble deeds "blush." Fr. Benedict Groeschel, C.F.R. relates that when he was a novice, he once discovered Brother Casey, during the night, prostrated in front of the Blessed Sacrament. The novice made a point of being so quiet that this holy friar never realized that he had been "caught" praying. The young brother did not spread the news, knowing that it would be a deep source of grief to the holy man if his intimacy with God were publicized. The Gospel is very explicit on this and orders us, when we fast, to make sure that no on notices that we are practicing this form of penance. "When you pray, go to your room, close the door and speak to your Father in Heaven" (Matt. 6:1ff).
He who gives generously to charity or to any noble cause should chastely hide the amount of his donations. If he gives in order to advertise his generosity, "he has already received his reward." The poor benefit all the same. All the saints who received exceptional graces carefully hid "the secrets of the King" (in the words of St. Therese of Lisieux). One mystic who received the stigmata humbly begged God that they would remain invisible: the pains were welcome; the "glory" was hidden.
In her autobiography, St. Teresa of Avila related that once in the choir, her body was elevated in the air, and she felt humiliated because others were now fully aware of the extraordinary graces that God was showering upon her. St. Thomas More—a layman—always wore a hair shirt. He did not want this to be known and he asked his daughter Margaret, the only one in his family who was apprised of this fact because of the close bond existing between them, to wash this instrument of penance. The rest of his dear family remained unaware of his asceticism. To use the word "shame" for all the experiences just mentioned would not only be completely inappropriate but a clear case of gratia confusa.
The modern world is marked by a tragic inability to make distinctions. This is why it is assumed by some that covering our bodies is an indication that we are "ashamed" of them because they are "dirty." The human body created by God is, like the whole of creation, "very good." But two remarks are called for; the first is that an immediate consequence of original sin is that Adam and Eve—ashamed of their nakedness—covered themselves. What they "covered' was their awareness that lust had now put poison into something meant to be an expression of self-donation. Lust takes; love gives. Alas, down to this very day, this wound remains; this should not be forgotten. While through God's grace and the sacraments concupiscence can be "tamed" by humility and prayer, the constant awareness of a potential danger should remain. This does not mean that man is bound to suffer defeat. But when he achieves victory, he ought to give the credit to the Giver of All Gifts.
St. Paul refers to some sins as too shameful even to mention (cf. Eph. 5:12), leaving no need to be more explicit. Yet the idea that certain deviations are tragic but not "dirty" is also gaining currency in our sex-mad society. Alas, original sin has opened the door to perversions that are plainly "dirty" and should be diagnosed as such.
Shamelessness is no cure for Puritanism. Human beings are so weak, so imperfect, and often so hopelessly stupid, that they have a strange propensity to go from one error to its opposite without ever finding the truth. The same errors, the same aberrations, the same confusions, the same heresies—even though brilliantly refuted—will always reappear on the screen of man's consciousness. The Greek genius has not only made magnificent contributions to philosophy; we should not forget that apart from the two great luminaries, Plato and Aristotle, second-rate minds have also "generously" offered us a fairly complete gamut of key philosophical aberrations. The list is long. These have been refuted time and again, but, with the persistence typical of stupidity, they keep reappearing in the history of human thought. The great heresies—while condemned—reappear periodically. The formulation might be slightly different. The "hat" is tipped at a different angle. But they will only be buried forever when all men embrace the One who said: "I am the Truth."
Dr. Alice von Hildebrand was born in Brussels, Belgium. She earned her Ph.D. in philosophy at Fordham University. She was the wife of the famous philosopher Dietrich von Hildebrand. She is the author of Introduction to Philosophy and collaborated with her husband in the writing of Situation Ethics, Graven Images and The Art of Living. In 1989 Sophia Institute Press published her book By Love Refined. She has lectured extensively and is professor emeritus at Hunter College of the City of New York
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