Review: A Philosophy of Shame, Frederic Gros, Verso
Frederic Gros suggests that shame is the ‘major emotion of our time’, which may seem odd since contemporary society seems filled with ‘shameless’ individuals, as Barack Obama has just pointed out in relation to Trump’s unapologetic racism. But there is also a push in the opposite direction – to shame those who have perpetrated crimes and so far gotten away with it.
But not only do victims want to shame oppressors; it is the ‘major emotion’ also because we are at the same time encouraged to not let others shame us. We are encouraged to express ourselves, to not feel ashamed of who we are (though some who are ‘shameless’ perhaps should be shamed into retreating from flaunting themselves, especially online). There is perhaps a feeling that shame should be reapportioned. This suggests, also, that there is legitimate and illegitimate shame.
Shame, Gros writes, is different to guilt and embarrassment. Shame, like rage, is not an emotion that affects us lightly. I may be embarrassed if I trip over in front of my work colleagues, or even if I am praised disproportionately in front of them, but it would be odd if I described myself as ashamed. I might do this, however, if I have been found out defrauding the company. There is a moral element to shame, as there is to guilt but not generally embarrassment, but with shame, it is about judgement coming from others, rather than from myself.
Or is it? As communal beings, there is a certain porousness here. We describe ourselves as ashamed of our own actions, but this is often due to what other people may think of us, due to shared moral standards that we feel the need to conform to.
It is also possible to be shamed but not feel guilty – think of the (mostly male) celebrities recently shamed (‘cancelled’) for previously hidden misdemeanours – it is unlikely they all feel guilty, but they have been shamed and might feel ashamed. This, though, raises the question of whether you can shame someone who doesn’t feel ashamed, like fossil fuel CEOs or misbehaving footballers.
Shame sticks to people who have done wrong, but the element of shame is to be unjustly shamed for simply being who they are, something that is not in itself wrong but is seen as deficiency in an area determined by their accusers. This is most obvious in areas of class and race. Shame is a loss of social standing that can be enacted on you, sometimes from birth. We can be made to feel ashamed if our clothes or accent don’t measure up, by arbiters of taste usually backed by wealth. Thankfully, modern societies have made some progress in making minorities not feel ashamed of not being in the majority, but Gros points out how insidious prejudice can be, and how the marginalised can be made to feel ashamed of their status in the most veiled of ways.
The difference between being shamed for being poor and being shamed for being a thief might be clear cut, but what constitutes legitimate shaming may be not so clear. Should a billionaire philanthropist be ashamed for the gargantuan inequality of his wealth or the morally dubious aggression in accumulating it? Or has he now somehow made up for these through his largesse? Should the convict who stole a loaf of bread to feed her family be ashamed of her convict status?
Strangely, we can feel shame as victims. Gros writes of the rape victims or traumatised soldiers who feel shame because they have been violated or traumatised – it is as if they have some inadequacy even if it is not of their own making. Even with recent high-profile cases and changes of societal attitudes, victims of sexual assault still feel shame because they have been made to feel dirty, as it were. This is often exacerbated by their victimhood being questioned, such as when rape victims are accused of having given mixed signals.
Enlightenment philosophers, unsurprisingly, tended to think about individual shame, but this is quite different to the historically prevalent issues of family honour. In the past, shame may have been no less a ‘major emotion’ than today, but it was linked more to the shame of an individual bringing shame onto family or social group, as is the case with many Asian societies. Gros notes, in contrast, that Christianity has historically emphasised the individual side – family honour is less important than doing the right thing by the neighbour/stranger – something we see quite obviously in Jesus’ ministry.
Shame can be evoked in the presence of others, but that presence doesn’t have to be physical. Mental presence (what would she think of me?) can be just as powerful. Going further, Gros suggests that our conscience is like another person, shaming us when we do wrong. He gives the example of listening in at a stranger’s closed apartment door – we can feel shame at doing something society frowns on (invading privacy), either because my conscience – a stand-in for society – reproaches me, or an actual third party catches me listening in. Additionally, for those so inclined, conscience can blur with a feeling that God is looking at us disapprovingly.
If this is the case, can shame be a good thing? It is difficult today, perhaps, to think of shame as an ‘ethical cornerstone’, but both Confucius and Plato thought we need shame to reign people in, to stop them, not in the sense of anticipating punishment but in the sense of deeply ingrained collective virtues making us feel ashamed when we transgress those virtues. This encourages thinking of others and restraining our egos, not acting rashly or selfishly. Critics of this approach suggest that using shame to encourage good behaviour puts the emphasis on the stick rather than the carrot, but it’s hard to see how remaining virtuous couldn’t come with some danger of feeling shame if we slip up.
Pope Francis described shame as a gift from God: a spur to examine our conscience. (He was especially keen for us to think not only of individual virtue, but also of the collective virtue of governments and societies.) Otherwise, we easily justify what we should be ashamed of. (Think how easily we do this with wealth.) Christians in the past could see shame as like poverty – a helpful thing to make us focus on God and others.
Gros writes about how shame can make us stay silent – as in the case of being sexually abused – or can make us speak out when we are ashamed of the silences and inequalities of our society. He also alerts us to times when we may take on shame because through sheer love we want a higher outcome. This, incidentally, is one aspect of the crucifixion in Christian doctrine – Jesus not only accepts a painful death, but also the shame of a criminal’s public execution. St Paul writes to his fellow Christians in Rome to not be ashamed of the gospel, but he was also happy to take on the shame of being put in prison for his beliefs – though we might suggest that Paul is encouraging his fellows to not be ashamed by what others might determine is shameful.
Saint Francis of Assisi was happy to take on the shame of poverty, but he suggested, counter-intuitively, that it is being rich that is a source of shame – a viewpoint inherited by those on the contemporary Left, though getting the rich to feel ashamed is usually a difficult task. Gros suggests we should feel ashamed of the way the world is, in its inequalities and injustices, which for him is to use the imagination – to imagine what it feels like to be humiliated and to imagine a better world. This is like indignation, he writes, but it is deeper, where we feel at some level complicit, which can be a prompt to right wrongs.
Nick Mattiske blogs on books at coburgreviewofbooks.wordpress.com and is the illustrator of Thoughts That Feel So Big.
