A priest I know once talked at length in a seminarian supervisors' group session about his desire to be "authentic." Since the 1960s, the word "authentic" has been used frequently in religious circles (and elsewhere) to describe someone whose way of life has integrity, who is genuine and honest. Authenticity is a lofty goal, but one I know we cannot meet, and so I challenged him on it.
I told a story once related to me by an older priest, who had attended a lecture on the Nicene Creed by an elderly patriarch of the Greek Orthodox Church "back in the day," as the "authenticity movement" was just taking root. When the good bishop had finished his lecture, he fielded questions from his audience. A seminarian stood up and said he did not think he could say the Creed with any real "authenticity" because it was so full of mythological imagery, including doctrinal statements about the virgin birth of Jesus he could not possibly recognize as true in any objective, empirical sense. The patriarch stared at him over his glasses in silence for a few moments and then said slowly, "Young man, this creed represents the accumulated wisdom of the Church. It took nearly three hundred years to formulate and has been reaffirmed by the Church again and again over more than sixteen hundred years of subsequent history. Who are you to set your understanding above it? Far greater minds and hearts than yours or mine have wrestled with it and been shaped by it. As a representative of the Church, it is not for you to set it aside. You may struggle with it all you like, that is a good thing, but you must not toss it aside in the name of some imagined 'authenticity'. You are not fully formed in Christ--none of us are--and therefore cannot describe yourself as 'authentic' in any true sense. Rather, you need to say it every day as a prayer, in the hope that it will shape your mind and your heart, so that one day you will understand it as it is meant to be understood."
My friend was, I think, a bit upset at me, judging from his expression. He said that I had misunderstood him, that it wasn't that he did not recognize his present understandings as limited and still "in process", but that he wanted to be transparent, the kind of person who was true to his heart, and not some phony pretending to be someone he was not. But his attempt at clarification did not turn away my objection. I wondered aloud how anyone could be fully transparent, given the truth that most of us cannot see very clearly into our own hearts. I could not help remembering Jeremiah's lament, "The human heart is deceitful above any other thing, desperately sick; who can fathom it?" (Jeremiah 17:9, REB) I said I did not know who I was, really, "authentically". I knew I was in the process of becoming someone, someone whom I prayed would be conformed to the image of Christ, but the fulfillment of that longing only would come with the fullness of time. As the old patriarch no doubt would have affirmed, it was that person, and not the person I was now, that I should understand to be the authentic Jonathan.
This did not sit well either. In hindsight, I think I should have more clearly acknowledged the validity of wanting to be transparent and genuine. It is something we all long for and a noble aspiration. And it is our destiny, if we are true to our calling and forge ahead in our pilgrimage, trusting the Lord will lead us in the way. Paul gives voice to this yearning with great eloquence, most especially in I Corinthians 13: "For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I am fully known." We long to have the fig leaves of Adam and Eve stripped away, to know the perfect intimacy of Eden before the Fall. But the road is long before that joy becomes ours once again. It demands an arduous trek through a desert land, a confrontation with the sin that has made it impossible to know ourselves or one another fully, and a deep supply of grace.
What's more, pushing to reveal too much of ourselves can backfire, precisely because we are, in the world as it stands, prone to disharmony, unable to enter fully into oneanother's hearts. Misunderstanding and hard feelings easily undermine a relationship when opinions and perspectives are shared that may be upsetting or off-putting. Yes, honesty about our own struggles with sin and relationships can help in developing personal connections because it makes clear we know the burden of being human--we can "relate"--but we had best be judicious in what we choose to share and what we don't... and with whom. Our sense of community is always tenuous and provisional, this side of the Kingdom, and what little we do have is, in part, based on a kind of studied ignorance, a willingness to look away from those things that would divide us and fix our gaze upon those things that unite us. Too much information can kill a good thing. I do not want to know too much about the self-doubts and late-night anguish of my president or bishop. I do not want to know too much about the political biases and animosities of my parishioners. I do not want to know too much about the sex life and fantasies of my parents or my children. Let me keep some of my illusions. I need them. They lend me a kind of stability, a stability I need to move forward and not fall into despair. God knows I have enough trouble struggling with my own inner demons, let alone those of others.
So yes, spare me the fully authentic. Inauthenticity, in judicious, well measured portions, is good for me. Paradoxically, it is the very thing that gives me the strength and courage to carry on, a peculiar, inverted grace that makes it possible for me to work toward the authentic. I cannot bare myself and become too naked too soon, or I will perish in the fiercely cold and unforgiving winds of a hostile world utterly unlike the warm and open paradise of Eden.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Shame and Grace
We sometimes hear certain cultures described as "shame cultures." By this, anthropologists mean cultures that seek to compel conformity through shaming, imbuing people with a sense of worthlessness when they fail to live up to the social norms of the community. Japan is considered a shame culture, as are many African and Middle Eastern cultures. By contrast, Western cultures are thought, by dint of their embrace of individual freedom, to have transcended the abuse of human shame and to celebrate the individual, with all his idiosyncrasies and foibles. But if this is so, why the high level of suicide and depression in Western cultures relative to the rest of the world? Why are so many of our counseling centers and psychotherapy couches filled with people with so little sense of self-worth, haunted by their inadequacies, by a conviction of their own "failure"? Why do people report themselves happier in Nigeria than in France?
In his brilliant but unfinished work, Ethics, Dietrich Bonhoeffer argues that shame is a consequence of our disunion with God. He points to Genesis 2, the story of the Fall, as the mythic revelation of this truth. He says that shame demonstrates an awareness of this fractured union, driven by the human desire to become "like God," i.e., to make our own choices utterly apart from God, to define our own good. The impulse to cover up, to hide, that is intrinsic to shame, is a indicator of our sense that we have broken something vital. Perfect intimacy has been destroyed. Judgment has been introduced. What is "good" and what is "bad" must be discerned and separated out, now that we know good and evil.
In many cultures, this discernment is made by a group of elders adhering to longstanding tradition. Anyone who fails to conform with their judgment is shunned and those who have transgressed are not easily reconciled back into the culture. He or she carries a black mark that taints the family, clan, or tribe. Reconciliation and forgiveness are unlikely. Second chances are nearly impossible, unless one leaves the group completely. The burden of shame is huge. Occasionally the stain is seen as so great a blight upon the family name that it can be removed only through some form of "honor killing."
In the West we have convinced ourselves we are too "advanced" to submit ourselves to such treatment. We argue that human dignity won't allow it, that human beings are redeemable, that forgiveness is always possible. Those who transgress, rather than hiding in shame, sometimes make public and open confessions as a way of "working through" the whys and wherefores of their actions. They often are welcomed back into the fold once they have "come clean" and admitted their fault, especially if they pledge to reform. Quarterback Michael Vick, President Bill Clinton, and former D.C. mayor Marion Barry all demonstrate the point: few transgressors remain beyond the pale forever. There is almost always a road back to respectability.
And yet, huge sectors of our population, crossing all ages and income levels, report feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy, a kind of shame that seems unrelated in any direct way to a specific action in the world, but rather to who they are... or, more accurately, what they have become. These people describe a sense that somehow they have not "made the grade," that they have not lived up to their own best expectations for themselves. They see themselves as failures in a culture of success, a culture that says you can be anything you choose to be. Not infrequently they are, by any objective, external measure, actually quite successful, but internally they are convinced that they have not measured up, that they have been judged wanting, if only by themselves.
Perhaps this is the dark side of a culture that dares to assert the limitless possibilities of individual achievement without an adequate understanding of human frailty. Disunion with God cannot be overcome through human effort. It can only be transcended by grace, by God's free gift of himself. We cannot "achieve" our way back to Eden, but yet, somehow, we have convinced ourselves we can. As long as we believe this to be true, consciously or unconsciously, we will continue to be haunted by a sense of failure that is rooted in shame, in an innate awareness that we are not who we should be. We tell ourselves we are not the professional success or the lover or the parent we should be, but the problem goes deeper than that. And paradoxically it is only by recognizing the depth of our predicament that we find the freedom to forgive one another, to forgive ourselves, and set ourselves in a position of openness, so that God can find us again.
In his brilliant but unfinished work, Ethics, Dietrich Bonhoeffer argues that shame is a consequence of our disunion with God. He points to Genesis 2, the story of the Fall, as the mythic revelation of this truth. He says that shame demonstrates an awareness of this fractured union, driven by the human desire to become "like God," i.e., to make our own choices utterly apart from God, to define our own good. The impulse to cover up, to hide, that is intrinsic to shame, is a indicator of our sense that we have broken something vital. Perfect intimacy has been destroyed. Judgment has been introduced. What is "good" and what is "bad" must be discerned and separated out, now that we know good and evil.
In many cultures, this discernment is made by a group of elders adhering to longstanding tradition. Anyone who fails to conform with their judgment is shunned and those who have transgressed are not easily reconciled back into the culture. He or she carries a black mark that taints the family, clan, or tribe. Reconciliation and forgiveness are unlikely. Second chances are nearly impossible, unless one leaves the group completely. The burden of shame is huge. Occasionally the stain is seen as so great a blight upon the family name that it can be removed only through some form of "honor killing."
In the West we have convinced ourselves we are too "advanced" to submit ourselves to such treatment. We argue that human dignity won't allow it, that human beings are redeemable, that forgiveness is always possible. Those who transgress, rather than hiding in shame, sometimes make public and open confessions as a way of "working through" the whys and wherefores of their actions. They often are welcomed back into the fold once they have "come clean" and admitted their fault, especially if they pledge to reform. Quarterback Michael Vick, President Bill Clinton, and former D.C. mayor Marion Barry all demonstrate the point: few transgressors remain beyond the pale forever. There is almost always a road back to respectability.
And yet, huge sectors of our population, crossing all ages and income levels, report feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy, a kind of shame that seems unrelated in any direct way to a specific action in the world, but rather to who they are... or, more accurately, what they have become. These people describe a sense that somehow they have not "made the grade," that they have not lived up to their own best expectations for themselves. They see themselves as failures in a culture of success, a culture that says you can be anything you choose to be. Not infrequently they are, by any objective, external measure, actually quite successful, but internally they are convinced that they have not measured up, that they have been judged wanting, if only by themselves.
Perhaps this is the dark side of a culture that dares to assert the limitless possibilities of individual achievement without an adequate understanding of human frailty. Disunion with God cannot be overcome through human effort. It can only be transcended by grace, by God's free gift of himself. We cannot "achieve" our way back to Eden, but yet, somehow, we have convinced ourselves we can. As long as we believe this to be true, consciously or unconsciously, we will continue to be haunted by a sense of failure that is rooted in shame, in an innate awareness that we are not who we should be. We tell ourselves we are not the professional success or the lover or the parent we should be, but the problem goes deeper than that. And paradoxically it is only by recognizing the depth of our predicament that we find the freedom to forgive one another, to forgive ourselves, and set ourselves in a position of openness, so that God can find us again.
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