AT THE END OF THIS TUNNEL OF GUILT AND SHAME THERE MUST BE A LIGHT OF SOME KIND: Helen’s most recent post on shame rounds up all of her arguments to date, and is therefore invaluable. I still stand by the argument I made in her comments box–humiliation often brings spiritual fruit to the shamed, but humiliating others is a form of cruelty which will condemn those who practice it–but I wanted to talk here about one way in which I do believe in “shame culture.”

(Ah, before we move on: I also agree with the class-based critique of shame culture, and it’s part of the motivation for this post. I don’t think there’s ever been a shame culture in which poverty wasn’t considered shameful–no, read that post first–so that’s obviously anti-Christian. And yet there have definitely been vocational subcultures in which underclass background and even female sex weren’t treated like crimes.)

Vocational training rests on shame culture. (Helen offers evidence here.) If you discern any kind of creative vocation, you are seeking to enter into a strict community of practice. This community uses harsh methods to teach you how to fulfill your vocation (think Kitchen Confidential) and promotes storylines, narratives of saints and villains, which show you how to live your vocation (newspapermen: All the President’s Men) and how not to (Shattered Glass).

This vocation-based shame culture is far less cruel than a universal shame culture, in my opinion, because it is obvious that everyone judging you has submitted to roughly the same standards, and because you are being judged on performance you explicitly chose to make public. Anthony Bourdain can tell you your broccolini is so burnt it looks like something dredged up from Bob Marley’s closet because you know he got yelled at and berated by chefs for years. Plus, you chose to present your broccolini to the outside world, your customer base, and not solely your friends, so you’ve submitted yourself to justice (for strangers!) rather than mercy.

(This btw is part of the intrinsic humility of entrepreneurship. If America can add anything to Catholic practice perhaps she can add this understanding of business as submission.)

The above claims are only partly true. Of course, if you have societal privilege then that privilege will affect how you’re judged and which standards–spoken or unspoken–you must meet. To use the chef example again, Anthony Bourdain has written pretty harshly about the difference between the huge numbers of Latinos in the kitchen vs. the tiny numbers of Latino chefs who earn high honors. It’s not because brown guys can’t cook or run a kitchen, you know? Nonetheless, vocation-as-subculture is a real thing, and vocations build real solidarity, within which harsh chastisement and shaming can be done without self-aggrandizement on the part of the chastiser.

The intense emotion this vocational submission evokes was brought home to me in the Top Chef finale, when the amazing, lovely, super-cute and gentle (and hometown honey!) Carla Hall broke down in tears because she had failed to present good food to the judges. She was ashamed in front of her profession. And I understood: You should be. When you do inadequate work, you should be ashamed. If you aren’t, you never understood your profession to begin with.

Vocation is performance–even a hermit’s vocation, which is why everyone always bothers hermits!–and so vocation necessarily partakes in shame culture, not just guilt culture.

On the other hand… two caveats. First, I wonder whether Christianity can really support a strong shame/guilt distinction at all–at least if that distinction is cast in Helen’s terms, rather than e.g. Ron Belgau’s.

God has already “found you out.” You are always watched. The only thing I remember from Lewis’s Perelandra is the moment when the narrator wishes he could go outside–away from God’s eyes!–and just have a quick smoke to re-establish his privacy. This small, human reticence of the cigarette is not available to Christians. For us, guilt is shame. Wrongdoing is always a violation of relationship, even if the only One we betrayed is our Lord.

And the second caveat: How do we understand a profession with a strong vocational ethos, which has nonetheless a deeply conflicted relationship with truth or virtue?

The obvious example for me is tabloid journalism. I far prefer the “black and white and red all over” style to the missish, Brahmin assumptions of the New York Times; but Five-Star Final is a terrific portrait of the cruelties of that profession, the shame involved in shaming others.

So, some questions: If Helen embraces Edward G. Robinson’s character’s shame in 5SF–he’s the tabloid editor who obsessively washes his hands, and by the way, he’s amazing in this role–is she necessarily embracing his actions in humiliating others? Can there be different standards of gossip, avoidance of scandal, and charity for different professions? Can a shame culture be a humility culture–rather than, what seems much more likely, a “good-people” culture of Pharisaical (sp??) self-satisfaction?

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