Scatterbrain

Little Truths: Guilt

12/18/24

// forward: Imagine, for a moment, a shattered mirror trying to reflect someone’s face. Alone, the individual shards of glass aren’t sufficient - they each only show a minuscule fragment of a complete picture. Still, on occasion, they can be viewed at a perfect angle which echoes a brief but important portion of the visage. Maybe a corner of an eye, or the crook of a grin. After studying enough of these critical features, one can begin to form an idea of the original countenance.

The “little truths” one encounters in their day-to-day are these slivers of mirror, and they are quite commonplace. Occasionally however, an especially precious shard will glint at you from amongst the rest. Take heed when one does – you might find this little truth provides insight towards one far more profound.

I recently finished Brandon Sanderson’s The Way of Kings¹. I doubt most reading will have heard of it before – it’s a rather obscure tale with which only true fantasy connoisseurs will be familiar.

Jests aside, this post is not a review of The Way of Kings. In actuality, I could probably write 20 posts on topic – the novel is over a thousand pages after all. No, instead I want to focus on a single quote from the book: one which contains one of the wisest principles I have ever encountered:

Navani eyed him. “There you go again.”
“What?”
“Feeling guilty. Dalinar, you are a wonderful, honorable man—but you really are quite prone to self-indulgence.”

Guilt as a self-indulgence. There’s something stubborn about the concept – it’s almost a knot, all tangled and layered. I pondered this idea for over a week, and my best interpretation is rudimentary at best:

Guilt is a pleasure masquerading as punishment.

Even now, the notion sounds foreign when I read it aloud. And yet, when I mull over the guilt I’ve experienced in my own life, I believe this has merit. There are three main types of guilt I generally encounter, and I now consider them all equally self-indulgent if allowed to persist without address.

#1. Guilt from rightful judgement – arguably the most common form of guilt, this is the classic “you lied about eating the last cookie” feeling which manifests after wrongdoing. Now, I want to focus specifically on the term “wrongdoing”, because it’s ambiguous. It equally refers to moral, religious, societal, and lawful offenses (amongst others). Notice how each is sentenced by a different judicator – a government, your family and friends, God, or you yourself can all be sources of the judgement which is causing your guilt. Regardless, the ends remain the same – deep down, you know and agree you’ve committed a wrongdoing, and hence you feel guilty. As universal as this type of guilt is, there’s no surprise that the remedy is equally well known: rectify your wrongs.

Except, sometimes you won’t. You’ll continue performing the same misdeeds despite your inner certainty of their criminality and harm. Why? Because the discomfort you experience from guilt is less severe than the predicted pain of addressing your detrimental behavior. In this fashion, avoiding the pain required to absolve your guilt is an indulgence.

#2. Guilt from wrongful judgement – the opposite side of the coin from the previous class of guilt. It surfaces when you’re judged by an entity or power you deem more authoritative than yourself, but you honestly disagree with the judgement. Maybe your heart can’t accept the validity of an ancient moral rule you consider outdated, or you’re certain a law is discriminatory and unfairly oppressive. Reconciling this form of guilt requires action and a firm, defiant stance. Often, you’ll find yourself alone against institutional structures or cultural norms which threaten to break your resolve or cast you in a shameful light for your beliefs.

Caving in the face of adversity when you’re certain you’re right is an indulgence. Refusing to stand and fight solely² because the pain of the struggle is worse than the weight of the inflicted guilt is a pliant choice.

#3. Guilt from taking false accountability – a final, more nuanced guilt which I’ve often observed is manufactured by people without them realizing. As I understand it, the prevalent motivation behind the self-infliction revolves around the suffering of others, normally those close to the afflicted individual. You convince yourself that the harmful choices and damaging experiences of your loved ones (or other people you feel responsible for) are the result of your own actions or inactions³. In a vacuum, the act can appear rather touching and self-sacrificial, while slightly naïve.

However, if you pause and reflect, the true reason for the behavior is actually insidious. By assuming unrealistic responsibility, you can protect yourself from a bitter, uncomfortable truth: you often have far less control over others and their circumstances than you wish. Instead, you can believe the inverse: if all of your loved ones’ misfortunes and mistakes were swayed by your own influence, then you logically also possess the capacity to shield them from those same hardships.

This subconscious lie is appealing and often reassuring – people despise feelings of helplessness and will cling to false notions of control. Similar to what we’ve already established with other forms of guilt, this pursuit of comfort is also an indulgence. It prevents you from finding peace in your lack of control and pursuing truly impactful actions which only become apparent once you stop blaming yourself and acknowledge you’re rarely fully responsible for the negative experiences of others.

After all this deliberation, I wondered: if most guilt is genuinely self-indulgent, how should my my interactions with the feeling adjust? It’s still a natural emotion and cannot be entirely disregarded or avoided. However, I decided to focus on how I proceed immediately after guilt’s onset. Previously, I’d brace myself for a period of self-loathing, regret, and pity, which generally began with self-admonishment for my mistakes. Now, guilt instead represents an internal alarm bell, signifying I’m avoiding taking action.

I imagine this sounds like a subtle, (potentially) disappointingly modest change. Nonetheless, I’ve observed tangible improvement in my daily life by adopting the belief. I could end this post by providing a few personal anecdotes in an attempt to prove this to you, but instead I’ll issue a challenge. The next time you experience guilt, try acknowledging it as an avoidance of action (rather than an emotional crucible) and proceed to address the core underlying issue as best you can. I hope you’ll find the perspective shift as impactful as I have.