There’s a Franz Kafka character known only as “the officer”, whose guiding principle is that guilt should never be doubted—even when the sentence is death. It’s a chilling prospect. Shouldn’t we always demand proof, beyond reasonable doubt?
What of other kinds of guilt: lesser kinds with lesser stakes, guilt we feel ourselves? We joke about “guilty pleasures”, we pay to offset carbon (guilt) when booking flights, we might even feel guilty about how (in)frequently we wash our sheets. How can we tell when guilt is “healthy” and when it’s “unhealthy”, when it’s irrational and when it’s reasonable, when it should be acknowledged, and when it should be discounted?
I don’t question the guilt that strikes when I’m unkind or unfair, when I let someone down, when I feel, and say, sorry. And I’m not inclined to feel much guilt at all if I indulge in a decent quantity of chocolate or neglect a decent quantity of washing.
The guilt I find myself questioning is the kind I wouldn’t judge in others, but condemn in myself, and mostly, it relates to parenting. I feel guilty for letting our children have screen time for longer than I read to them aloud, and I feel guilty for not forcing them to endure piano lessons (they’ll thank you when they’re older, or in our case, won’t). I even feel a twinge when I let them have honey on their Weet-Bix.
Then I think: Hang on! Their screen time is limited and often educational, just because it gives me a break doesn’t make it wrong! Tasty food isn’t immoral! I put honey on Weet-Bix, why shouldn’t they? And while we could carve out time and money for piano lessons, it would take time and money from something else worthwhile, and then I’d feel guilty about neglecting that. Isn’t the mental load I carry heavy enough without adding a load of guilt for not doing all the right things, all the time? Still, the feeling lingers.
Socially prescribed perfectionism
I suspect part of the problem is the influence of social media and “socially prescribed perfectionism” on my thinking. According to psychologists Thomas Curran and Andrew Hill, who broadly define perfectionism as “an irrational desire for flawlessness, combined with harsh self-criticism”, the phenomenon is on the rise and with it, a tendency to overvalue performance and undervalue the self.
While I’m stressing about my parenting, the next generation of perfectionists is obsessing about their performance at university, in the workplace, and on social media. When they don’t meet their own, often unrealistic, expectations, or secure the approval they crave, they feel “a profound sense of guilt and shame”, Curran says.
Again I think: Hang on! If someone fails to meet a personal goal despite their best efforts, wouldn’t disappointment or frustration be a more appropriate response than guilt and shame? They could even congratulate themselves for having done their best. If an unmet desire causes guilt, surely that guilt should be scrutinised? Doubted? Dismissed?
And if the desire is to be hailed as the smartest, the prettiest, the most popular—even the kindest or wisest—perhaps that should be scrutinised too.
Overthinking some failings, overlooking others
In addition to the (questionable) guilt we feel when we let ourselves down, and the (often justified) guilt we feel when we let others down, what if there are worse failings we don’t even think about? Failings we should feel guilty about, but don’t?
Are there people I judge with such habitual self-righteousness, such unconscious bias, that I don’t even realise I’m doing it? Or priorities I justify in the name of self-care when really, they’re just selfish? Do I hide my greatest failings from the world—and from myself—then ruminate on trivia instead?
The notion there are different types of guilt certainly isn’t new. Jewish law presupposed numerous categories; its extensive sacrificial system included rituals to atone for unintentional failings, even failings we remain unaware of. The lesson was clear: human guilt is extensive and diverse, a messy problem that cannot be ignored. Perhaps some guilt is unfounded, but if it’s justified it cannot be dismissed; one way or another, it must be dealt with.
If the officer’s guiding principle is that guilt can’t be doubted, the Bible’s is that guilt can be forgiven. As a Christian, I believe the reason Old Testament sacrifices are no longer necessary isn’t that the system was misguided or uncalled for. I know that I’ve “done what I ought not to have done” and “left undone what I ought to have done”; a good and just God can’t just let that go. But I also believe he provided the ultimate sacrifice—his son. Given once, for all; his blood for ours. All that came before foreshadowed this.
It’s a messy solution with a clean result. Perfect, even. Forgiveness isn’t dependent on a person’s ability to list every failing, or feel appropriately sorry for every sin, or even have the emotional intelligence to be aware of them all. It’s dependent on them depending on a saviour, to take their guilt—all their guilt—away. On trusting, not with blind faith, but belief beyond reasonable doubt.
