Remorse

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  Soon he fell deathly ill and had to be carried to a stationmaster’s cottage near the railway tracks in some out-of-the-way village. In bed, it was clear now he was dying. He heard that Sonya had arrived in town but could not bear the thought of seeing her now. The family kept her outside, where she continued to peer through the window at him as he lay dying. Finally, when he was unconscious, she was allowed in. She knelt beside him, kissed him continually on the forehead, and whispered into his ear, “Forgive me. Please forgive me.” He died shortly thereafter. A month later, a visitor to the Tolstoy house reported the following words from Sonya: “What happened to me? What came over me? How could I have done it? . . . You know I killed him.” • • • Interpretation: Leo Tolstoy displayed all of the signs of the deep narcissist. His mother had died when he was two and left a giant hole in him that he could never fill, although he tried to do so with his numerous affairs. He behaved recklessly in his youth, as if this could somehow make him feel alive and whole. He felt continually disgusted with himself and could not figure out who exactly he was. He poured this uncertainty into his novels, assuming different roles in the characters he created. And by the age of fifty, he finally fell into a deep crisis over his fragmented self. Sonya herself rated high on the self-absorption scale. But in looking at people we tend to overemphasize their individual traits and not look at the more complex picture of how each side in a relationship continually shapes the other. A relationship has a life and personality all its own. And a relationship can also be deeply narcissistic, accentuating or even bringing out the narcissistic tendencies of both sides. What generally makes a relationship narcissistic is the lack of empathy that makes the partners retreat deeper and deeper into their own defensive positions. In the case of the Tolstoys this started right away, with the reading of his diary. Each side had their divergent values through which they viewed the other. To Sonya, raised in a conventional household, this was the act of a man who clearly regretted his marriage proposal; to Tolstoy, the iconoclastic artist, her reaction meant she was incapable of seeing into his soul, of trying to understand his desire for a new married life. They each misunderstood the other and fell into hardened positions that lasted for forty-eight years. Tolstoy’s spiritual crisis epitomized this narcissistic dynamic. If only in that moment they each could have attempted to see this action through the eyes of the other. Tolstoy could have clearly foreseen her reaction. She had lived her whole life in relative comfort, which had helped her manage the frequent pregnancies and upbringing of so many children. She had never been deeply spiritual. Their connection had always been more physical.

• From On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous (2019)

  I think of those men who sweated, who joked and sang beside me in the endless tobacco. How George was one grand away, about two months of work, from buying his mother a house outside Guadalajara. How Brandon was going to send his sixteen-year-old daughter, Lucinda, to university in Mexico City to be a dentist, like she always wanted. How after one more season, Manny would be back by the seaside village in El Salvador, running his fingers over the scar on his mother’s collarbone where a tumor would’ve just been removed using the pay he received removing tobacco from the Connecticut soil. How he’d buy, with his remaining savings, a boat and try his luck fishing for marlins. Sorry, for these men, was a passport to remain. The day’s work done, my white tank top so stained with dirt and sweat, it was like I wore no shirt at all as I walked my bike out of the barn. Fingers sticky and raw over the handlebars, I plunged my silver Huffy forward, down the dust-blown street, past the vast and now empty distances where the crop once stood, the sun burning low above the tree line. And I heard them behind me, their voices distinct as channels on a radio. “¡Hasta mañana, Chinito!” “¡Adios, muchacho!” And I knew which men the voices belonged to. Without looking, I could tell Manny was waving, like he did each day, his three-and-a-half-fingered hand black against the last light. What I wanted to say to them, as I rode away, and also the next morning, all mornings, is what I want to say to you now: Sorry. Sorry that it would be so long before they would see their loved ones, that some might not make it back across the desert border alive, taken by dehydration and exposure or murdered by drug cartels or the right-wing crack militia in Texas and Arizona. Lo siento, I wanted to say. But I couldn’t. Because by then my sorry had already changed into something else. It had become a portion of my own name—unutterable without fraudulence.

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  authority but had tried to resist its power, including that morning in her bedchamber when she had stood before him so regal and self- possessed, suddenly overwhelmed him. He confessed his crimes to the chaplain. In his mind, he mixed the image of his imminent judgment before God with the majesty of the queen, and he felt the full weight of his betrayal. He could see her face before him, and it frightened him. He told the chaplain, “I must confess to you that I am the greatest, the vilest, and most unthankful traitor that ever has been in the land.” The queen was right to execute him, he said. He requested a private execution so as not to inflame the public. In his last words, he asked God to preserve the queen. He went to his death with a submissiveness and quiet dignity that no one had seen or suspected in him before. • • • Interpretation: When Elizabeth Tudor became queen, she understood her supremely fragile position. Unlike her father or almost any other English monarch, she had zero credibility as a ruler, and no respect or authority to draw upon. The country was in a weakened state. She was too young, with no political experience or prior proximity to power to learn from. Yes, by merely occupying the throne she could expect some obedience, but such loyalty was thin and could change with the slightest mistake or crisis. And within months or years she would be forced to marry, and as she knew, being married could lead to all sorts of problems if she did not quickly produce a male heir. What made this even more troubling was that Elizabeth was ambitious and highly intelligent; she felt more than capable of ruling England. She had a vision of how she could solve its many problems and transform it into a European power. Marriage would not only be bad for her but for the country as well. Most likely she would have to marry a foreign prince, whose allegiance would be to his country of origin. He would use England as a pawn in the Continent’s power games and drain its resources even further. But given all the odds against her, how could she hope to rule England on her own? She decided the only way forward was to turn her weak position into an advantage, forging her own type of credibility and authority, one that in the end would give her powers far greater than any previous king. Her plan was based on the following logic: Kings and queens of her time ruled with a tremendous sense of entitlement due to their bloodline and semidivine status. They expected complete obedience and loyalty. They did not have to do anything to earn this; it came with the position. But this sense of entitlement had its consequences. Their subjects would pay homage, but the emotional connection to such rulers was in most cases not very deep. The English people

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  Another long silence. “You know something, Jess? I’m still mad at you, but not as mad as you’re afraid I am. And [ll tell you something else. It matters to me that you called to say that. Pll be in Manhattan on the 15", at the labor college. I could meet you at the Duchess for a drink around 11:00.” I paused. “Is that the lesbian bar in Sheridan Square?” “Yeah.” “Well, I don’t know if they'll let me in. Can I meet you outside the bar?” “Sure,” Frankie said. “Pll see you then.” When the night finally arrived I paced under a streetlamp outside the bar chewing my thumbnail. I saw Frankie approach from across the street. We stood awkwardly. Neither of us knew where to begin. I reached out my hand; she shook it. I found our shared past in her grasp. Stone Butch Blues 297 I'd forgotten how much I love butches until I looked at her standing there—the defensive defiance of her stance, one hand jammed in her trouser pocket, her head cocked to the side. I don’t know which shocked me more, the ways Frankie had changed or how much she looked exactly the way I remembered her. Strange to see soft wrinkles in that freckled teenage face, silver hairs among the wiry red ones. “It’s good to see you, Frankie.” She scuffed her shoe against the pavement. “It’s good to see you, too.” I tried to keep my lower lip from trembling. “I don’t just mean it’s nice to see you, Frankie. Just looking at you is bringing back a whole part of my life I really need right now. It’s really good to see you.” I opened my arms and we hugged each other tight, then we wrestled playfully. I scruffed her hair, she punched my shoulder. “Jess, no matter what went down in the past, we’re still from the old days. You still matter to me,” Frankie said. I thought that was such a generous thing to say. “You ever see anyone from the old crowd?” I asked. She nodded. “I see Grant a lot.” “What about Theresa?” I held my breath. Frankie shook her head. “You remember Butch Jan? She and her lover got a flower shop on Elmwood 298 Leslie Feinberg Avenue—Blue Violets. I can’t think of anybody else, except for Duffy. You remember Duffy, the union organizer?” I smiled. “Yeah, I remember Duffy.” Frankie leaned forward. “You don’t know how sorty he was that he fucked up that job for you. He really didn’t mean it, Jess.” I nodded. “Yeah, I know he didn’t. I want his phone number, if you’ve got it. I'd like to talk to him, too.” Frankie nodded. We stood in shy silence. “Frankie, I’m sorry. I always thought I was so open-minded. But when I came up against my own fears, I tried to separate myself from you. ’ve done some growing up since then. I can’t take it back, but I’m real sorry.”

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  Milli came home within hours. She left the apartment door open as she stormed up to me. I must have sensed what was coming because I buried my hands deep inside my pockets. She slapped me hard actoss my face. “T’m sorry,” was all I could say. I really, really meant it. “T’ll bet you are,” Milli said. Her voice was cruel and cold because she was hurting too. “Did you get to see everything you wanted?” “I’m sorry, baby,’ I tried to explain. “I didn’t go there to hurt you. I wanted to start over. I made a mistake.” “You sure did,” she said, but her voice was quieter. She looked at me quizzically. “What were you thinking of?” Then she stopped being angry for a moment. “How did you feel when you walked in there, Jess? Did it hurt you?” “It’s funny,” I said. “I sort of felt closer to you right then. And I was thinking about how brave you all are.” “Braver” Milli narrowed her eyes. “Yeah. I don’t think I could be strong enough to fight without my clothes on.” Milli stood and looked at me without speaking, Then she went into out bedroom and started throwing clothing into a suitcase. I didn’t move from where I stood. When she came out, she acted like she was looking around for whatever else she wanted to take, but I knew she was stalling. “Ts there anything I can say?” I asked, already knowing the answer. Milli softened her expression and came closer. “T’m sorry, baby.” I told her as the tears streamed down my face. She came into my arms for the last time. “T know I made a big mistake tonight, Milli. ’m sorry I hurt you.” She shook her head and took my face in her hands. “It was a mistake. But that’s all it was. Pve made some pretty big ones with you. That’s not why I’m leaving.” She went over to her suitcase and took out the porcelain kitten she’d left home with fifteen years before and put it down on the coffee table near me. She came back and put one hand on my cheek. “T just don’t think it’s going to be much different than it is, not for now anyway,” she explained. “I want to leave before we break everything,” Milli brushed my cheek with her lips, and then she walked through that open door. She was gone. I sat down on the couch and cried because I just didn’t know what else to do. I jumped up and ran downstairs and outside, but she was already gone. Besides, I didn’t know how to change everything back to the way it had been.

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  studio executive in town. The Lion King had become one of the most profitable films in Hollywood history. It was Katzenberg who was behind Disney’s acquisition of Miramax, considered a great coup with the ensuing success of Pulp Fiction. It seemed like madness on his part, but Eisner did not care. Finally freed of Katzenberg’s shadow, he could relax and now take Disney to the next level, on his own and with no more distractions. To prove he had not lost his touch, he soon dazzled the entertainment world by engineering Disney’s purchase of ABC. The sheer audacity of this coup once again made him the center of attention. Now he was forging an entertainment empire beyond what anyone had ever attempted or imagined. This move, however, created a problem for him. The company had virtually doubled in size. It was too complex, too big for one man. Only a year earlier he had undergone open-heart surgery, and he could not handle the added stress. He needed another Frank Wells, and his thoughts soon turned to his old friend Michael Ovitz, one of the founders and the head of Creative Artists Agency. Ovitz was the greatest deal maker in Hollywood history, perhaps the most powerful man in town. Together they could dominate the field. Many within the business warned him against this hire—Ovitz was not like Frank Wells; he was not a finance guy or a master of detail, as Ovitz himself would have admitted. Eisner ignored such advice. People were being too conventional in their thinking. He decided to lure Ovitz away from CAA with a very lucrative package and offer him the title of president. He assured Ovitz in several discussions that although Ovitz would be second in command, they would eventually run the company as coleaders. In a phone call Ovitz finally agreed to all of the terms, but the moment Eisner hung up, he realized he had made the biggest mistake of his life. What had he been thinking? They might have been the closest of friends, but how would two such larger-than-life men ever be able to work together? Ovitz was power hungry. This would be the Katzenberg problem times two. It was too late, however. He had gotten the board’s approval for the hire. His own reputation, his decision-making process as a CEO, was at stake. He would have to make it work. He quickly decided upon a strategy—he would narrow Ovitz’s responsibilities, keep a tight leash on him, and make him prove himself as president. By doing so Ovitz could earn Eisner’s trust and get more power. From day one Eisner wanted to signal to Ovitz who was boss. Instead of moving him into Frank Wells’s old office on the sixth floor at Disney headquarters, next to Eisner’s, Eisner put him in a rather unimpressive office on the fifth floor. Ovitz liked to spread money around with gifts and lavish parties to charm people; Eisner

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Objection 2: Further, it was stated above ([4833]Q[3], A[3]) that for greater sins one ought to have greater contrition. Now contrition does not blot out sin, unless it fulfills the requisite conditions. Therefore the least contrition does not blot out all sins. On the contrary, Every sanctifying grace blots out every mortal sin, because it is incompatible therewith. Now every contrition is quickened by sanctifying grace. Therefore, however slight it be, it blots out all sins. I answer that, As we have often said ([4834]Q[1], A[2], ad 1;[4835] Q[3], A[1];[4836] Q[4] , A[1]), contrition includes a twofold sorrow. One is in the reason, and is displeasure at the sin committed. This can be so slight as not to suffice for real contrition, e.g. if a sin were less displeasing to a man, than separation from his last end ought to be; just as love can be so slack as not to suffice for real charity. The other sorrow is in the senses, and the slightness of this is no hindrance to real contrition, because it does not, of itself, belong essentially to contrition, but is connected with it accidentally: nor again is it under our control. Accordingly we must say that sorrow, however slight it be, provided it suffice for true contrition, blots out all sin. Reply to Objection 1: Spiritual remedies derive infinite efficacy from the infinite power which operates in them: wherefore the remedy which suffices for healing a slight sin, suffices also to heal a great sin. This is seen in Baptism which looses great and small: and the same applies to contrition provided it fulfill the necessary conditions. Reply to Objection 2: It follows of necessity that a man grieves more for a greater sin than for a lesser, according as it is more repugnant to the love which causes his sorrow. But if one has the same degree of sorrow for a greater sin, as another has for a lesser, this would suffice for the remission of the sin. OF CONFESSION, AS REGARDS ITS NECESSITY (SIX ARTICLES)We must now consider confession, about which there are six points for our consideration: (1) The necessity of confession; (2) Its nature; (3) Its minister; (4) Its quality; (5) Its effect; (6) The seal of confession. Under the first head there are six points of inquiry: (1) Whether confession is necessary for salvation? (2) Whether confession is according to the natural law? (3) Whether all are bound to confession? (4) Whether it is lawful to confess a sin of which one is not guilty? (5) Whether one is bound to confess at once? (6) Whether one can be dispensed from confessing to another man? Whether confession is necessary for salvation?Objection 1: It would seem that confession is not necessary for salvation. For the sacrament of Penance is ordained for the sake of the remission of sin. But sin is sufficiently remitted by the infusion of grace. Therefore confession is not necessary in order to do penance for one’s sins.

• From Quit: The Power of Knowing When to Walk Away (2022)

  Even playing 50% of your hands comes at a great price. But what you get in return for that cost is peace of mind. When you hold ’em instead of fold ’em, you experience a lot less of the pain of knowing that you could be throwing away a winner. You won’t have to deal with the version of “What if?” on steroids: watching players throwing chips into a gigantic pot and seeing someone else rake it in, knowing that could have been you if you just hadn’t folded your hand. For most players, that peace of mind is a potent force, another siren song. It’s one of the main reasons why amateurs play so many hands. If folding is difficult for amateurs at the beginning of the hand, it’s even more difficult once a player has committed money to the pot. It is hard to overcome the urge to protect the money you have already bet, regardless of the likelihood that the next bet is a favorable choice. Because of the uncertainty during the hand—not being able to see the other players’ cards and not knowing the cards that are yet to come—you can’t be sure how that particular hand will turn out. That pushes most players toward continuing rather than cutting their losses because if they stay in the hand, they still preserve some hope of winning it. In contrast, if you fold ’em, that’s the way to guarantee that you lose a pot and any chance of getting back the money you just bet. If you generally land on the side of playing your starting hand, and you keep sticking with your hand to the end, you will be more likely to avoid the regret of folding a hand that would have won. You will also quickly go broke. The best poker players avoid that trap. In addition, great players know when to walk away. When experts are in a game, they are more likely than other players to recognize when the game conditions aren’t favorable or when they’re not playing well. And, given that they recognize those things, they are more likely to quit the game because of it. Quitting a game is a decision fraught with uncertainty because it is never clear exactly why you are losing. While you could be playing poorly, you could also be playing really well but still losing in the game because of an unlucky run of cards. In other words, if you want to blame your losses on luck and keep playing, you can always find a way to do that. Quitting a game is the same as admitting that you might not be good enough compared with the other players, that you might not have an edge in the game that you’re playing in. That’s a blow to the ego few are willing to take.

• From Blue Like Jazz (2003)

  “What’s up, man?” Duder sat himself on the chair with a smile on his face. He told me my pipe smelled good. “Thanks,” I said. I asked him his name, and he said his name was Jake. I shook his hand because I didn’t know what to do, really. “So, what is this? I’m supposed to tell you all of the juicy gossip I did at Ren Fayre, right?” Jake said. “No.” “Okay, then what? What’s the game?” He asked. “Not really a game. More of a confession thing.” “You want me to confess my sins, right?” “No, that’s not what we’re doing, really.” “What’s the deal, man? What’s with the monk outfit?” “Well, we are, well, a group of Christians here on campus, you know.” “I see. Strange place for Christians, but I am listening.” “Thanks,” I told him. He was being very patient and gracious. “Anyway, there is this group of us, just a few of us who were thinking about the way Christians have sort of wronged people over time. You know, the Crusades, all that stuff . . .” “Well, I doubt you personally were involved in any of that, man.” “No, I wasn’t,” I told him. “But the thing is, we are followers of Jesus. We believe that He is God and all, and He represented certain ideas that we have sort of not done a good job at representing. He has asked us to represent Him well, but it can be very hard.” “I see,” Jake said. “So there is this group of us on campus who wanted to confess to you.” “You are confessing to me!” Jake said with a laugh. “Yeah. We are confessing to you. I mean, I am confessing to you.” “You’re serious.” His laugh turned to something of a straight face. I told him I was. He looked at me and told me I didn’t have to. I told him I did, and I felt very strongly in that moment that I was supposed to tell Jake that I was sorry about everything. “What are you confessing?” he asked. I shook my head and looked at the ground. “Everything,” I told him. “Explain,” he said. “There’s a lot. I will keep it short,” I started. “Jesus said to feed the poor and to heal the sick. I have never done very much about that. Jesus said to love those who persecute me. I tend to lash out, especially if I feel threatened, you know, if my ego gets threatened. Jesus did not mix His spirituality with politics. I grew up doing that. It got in the way of the central message of Christ. I know that was wrong, and I know that a lot of people will not listen to the words of Christ because people like me, who know Him, carry our own agendas into the conversation rather than just relaying the message Christ wanted to get across. There’s a lot more, you know.”

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  tomorrow, as could other adversity or separation. We must stop postponing our awareness. We need to stop feeling superior and special, seeing that death is a fate shared by us all and something that should bind us in a deeply empathetic way. We are all a part of the brotherhood and sisterhood of death. In doing so, we set a much different course for our lives. Making death a familiar presence, we understand how short life is and what really should matter to us. We feel a sense of urgency and deeper commitment to our work and relationships. When we face a crisis, separation, or illness, we do not feel so terrified and overwhelmed. We don’t feel the need to go into avoidance mode. We can accept that life involves pain and suffering, and we use such moments to strengthen ourselves and to learn. And as with Flannery, the awareness of our mortality cleanses us of silly illusions and intensifies every aspect of our experience. When I look back at the past and think of al the time I squandered in error and idleness, lacking the knowledge needed to live, when I think of how often I sinned against my heart and my soul, then my heart bleeds. Life is a gift, life is happiness, every minute could have been an eternity of happiness! If youth only knew! Now my life wil change; now I wil be reborn. Dear brother, I swear that I shal not lose hope. I wil keep my soul pure and my heart open. I wil be reborn for the better. —Fyodor Dostoyevsky Keys to Human Nature If we could step back and somehow examine the train of our daily thoughts, we would realize how they tend to circle around the same anxieties, fantasies, and resentments, like a continuous loop. Even when we take a walk or have a conversation with someone, we generally remain connected to this interior monologue, only half listening and paying attention to what we see or hear. Upon occasion, however, certain events can trigger a different quality of thinking and feeling. Let us say we go on a trip to a foreign land we have never visited before, outside our usual comfort zone. Suddenly our senses snap to life and everything we see and hear seems a little more vibrant. To avoid problems or dangerous situations in this unfamiliar place, we have to pay attention. Similarly, if we are about to leave on a trip and must say good-bye to people we love, whom we may not see for a while, we might suddenly view them in a different light. Normally we take such people for granted, but now we actually look at the particular expressions on their faces and listen to what they have to say. The sense of a looming separation makes us more emotional and attentive. A more intense version of this will occur if a loved one—a parent

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Objection 2: Further, as contrition is so called from its being a crushing, so is attrition. Now all agree in saying that attrition is not an act of virtue. Neither, therefore, is contrition an act of virtue. On the contrary, Nothing but an act of virtue is meritorious. But contrition is a meritorious act. Therefore it is an act of virtue. I answer that, Contrition as to the literal signification of the word, does not denote an act of virtue, but a corporeal passion. But the question in point does not refer to contrition in this sense, but to that which the word is employed to signify by way of metaphor. For just as the inflation of one’s own will unto wrong-doing implies, in itself, a generic evil, so the utter undoing and crushing of that same will implies something generically good, for this is to detest one’s own will whereby sin was committed. Wherefore contrition, which signifies this, implies rectitude of the will; and so it is the act of that virtue to which it belongs to detest and destroy past sins, the act, to wit, of penance, as is evident from what was said above (Sent. iv, D, 14, Q[1], A[1]; [4821]TP, Q[85], AA[2],3). Reply to Objection 1: Contrition includes a twofold sorrow for sin. One is in the sensitive part, and is a passion. This does not belong essentially to contrition as an act of virtue, but is rather its effect. For just as the virtue of penance inflicts outward punishment on the body, in order to compensate for the offense done to God through the instrumentality of the bodily members, so does it inflict on the concupiscible part of the soul a punishment, viz. the aforesaid sorrow, because the concupiscible also co-operated in the sinful deeds. Nevertheless this sorrow may belong to contrition taken as part of the sacrament, since the nature of a sacrament is such that it consists not only of internal but also of external acts and sensible things. The other sorrow is in the will, and is nothing else save displeasure for some evil, for the emotions of the will are named after the passions, as stated above (Sent. iii, D, 26, Q[1], A[5]; [4822]FS, Q[22], A[3], ad 3). Accordingly, contrition is essentially a kind of sorrow, and is an act of the virtue of penance. Reply to Objection 2: Attrition denotes approach to perfect contrition, wherefore in corporeal matters, things are said to be attrite, when they are worn away to a certain extent, but not altogether crushed to pieces; while they are said to be contrite, when all the parts are crushed [tritae] minutely. Wherefore, in spiritual matters, attrition signifies a certain but not a perfect displeasure for sins committed, whereas contrition denotes perfect displeasure. Whether attrition can become contrition?Objection 1: It would seem that attrition can become contrition. For contrition differs from attrition, as living from dead. Now dead faith becomes living. Therefore attrition can become contrition.

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  playing a role to such an extent, by straining to live up to ideals that are not real, you will emit a phoniness that others pick up. Look at great public figures such as Abraham Lincoln and Winston Churchill. They possessed the ability to examine their flaws and mistakes and laugh at themselves. They came across as authentically human, and this was the source of their charm. The tragedy of Nixon was that he had immense political talent and intelligence; if only he had also possessed the ability to look within and measure the darker sides to his character. It is the tragedy that confronts us all to the extent that we remain in deep denial. This longing to commit a madness stays with us throughout our lives. Who has not, when standing with someone by an abyss or high up on a tower, had a sudden impulse to push the other over? And how is it that we hurt those we love although we know that remorse wil fol ow? Our whole being is nothing but a fight against the dark forces within ourselves. To live is to war with trol s in heart and soul. To write is to sit in judgment on oneself. —Henrik Ibsen Keys to Human Nature If we think about the people we know and see on a regular basis, we would have to agree that they are usually quite pleasant and agreeable. For the most part, they seem pleased to be in our company, are relatively up-front and confident, socially responsible, able to work with a team, take good care of themselves, and treat others well. But every now and then with these friends, acquaintances, and colleagues, we glimpse behavior that seems to contradict what we normally see. This can come in several forms: Out of nowhere they make a critical, even cruel comment about us, or express a rather harsh assessment of our work or personality. Is this what they really feel and were struggling to conceal? For a moment they are not so nice. Or we hear of their unpleasant treatment of family or employees behind closed doors. Or out of the blue they have an affair with the most unlikely man or woman, and it leads to bad things. Or they put their money in some absurd and risky financial scheme. Or they do something rash that puts their career in jeopardy. Or we catch them in some lie or manipulative act. We can also notice such moments of acting out, or behaving against reputation, in public figures and celebrities, who then go through lengthy apologies for the strange moods that came over them. What we glimpse in these moments is the dark side of their character, what the Swiss psychologist Carl Jung called the Shadow. The Shadow consists of all the qualities people try to deny about themselves and repress. This repression is so deep and effective that people are generally unaware of their Shadow; it operates

• From Cleanness (2020)

  I took advantage of the pause to check my phone again. We were taking a break, that was how R. had left things, but though I tried not to think it I knew the break was final. For the past two weeks we hadn’t had any contact, stopping our Skype chats and emails, which had become essential to the structure of my day, even as they had also begun to seem like a trap, taking me away from writing, keeping me up too late. He never wanted to hang up, I’ll be so bored, he would say, I’ll be so lonely, and the next day I would struggle to make it through class. They had come to feel like a trap but without them I found the evenings intolerable, there was too much time for thinking, too much time for remorse. It wasn’t really true that we had no contact, we still looked at each other’s Facebook pages; the night before I had posted photos of the drive from Sofia to Sozopol, of our group beside the sea, probably that was what had spurred him to send, very early that morning, the message I had worried over all day. It was full of regret and self-recrimination, I’ve broken the best thing, he wrote, he didn’t know why he had done it, it was just the same thing again and again, he said, it’s like I hate my own happiness, which was a phrase I had repeated to myself all day. This had been the worst part about distance, the helplessness I felt when he was anxious or sad, as he often was, when nothing I could say would comfort him. Sex could comfort him, or just the presence of my body beside his, he wanted physical comfort, and it was terrible to think of him in his room alone. I know I can’t fix it, he said, I know it’s too late, we can’t go back, he spoke of it as if it were the distant past, and this made me angry, since what was the point of his message then, why had he sent it to me, why had he drawn me back to him, drawn me back but only so far.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Objection 2: Further, contrition should be for sins, inasmuch as they turn us away from God, because we need not be contrite for turning to creatures without turning away from God. Now all mortal sins agree in turning us away from God. Therefore one contrition for all is sufficient. Objection 3: Further, mortal sins have more in common with one another, than actual and original sin. Now one Baptism blots out all sins both actual and original. Therefore one general contrition blots out all mortal sins. On the contrary, For diverse diseases there are diverse remedies, since “what heals the eye will not heal the foot,” as Jerome says (Super Marc. ix, 28). But contrition is the special remedy for one mortal sin. Therefore one general contrition for all mortal sins does not suffice. Further, contrition is expressed by confession. But it is necessary to confess each mortal sin. Therefore it is necessary to have contrition for each mortal sin. I answer that, Contrition may be considered in two ways, as to its origin, and as to its term. By origin of contrition I mean the process of thought, when a man thinks of his sin and is sorry for it, albeit not with the sorrow of contrition, yet with that of attrition. The term of contrition is when that sorrow is already quickened by grace. Accordingly, as regards the origin of contrition, a man needs to be contrite for each sin that he calls to mind; but as regards its term, it suffices for him to have one general contrition for all, because then the movement of his contrition acts in virtue of all his preceding dispositions. This suffices for the Reply to the First Objection. Reply to Objection 2: Although all mortal sins agree in turning man away from God, yet they differ in the cause and mode of aversion, and in the degree of separation from God; and this regards the different ways in which they turn us to creatures. Reply to Objection 3: Baptism acts in virtue of Christ’s merit, Who had infinite power for the blotting out of all sins; and so for all sins one Baptism suffices. But in contrition, in addition to the merit of Christ, an act of ours is requisite, which must, therefore, correspond to each sin, since it has not infinite power for contrition.

• From Cleanness (2020)

  I took advantage of the pause to check my phone again. We were taking a break, that was how R. had left things, but though I tried not to think it I knew the break was final. For the past two weeks we hadn’t had any contact, stopping our Skype chats and emails, which had become essential to the structure of my day, even as they had also begun to seem like a trap, taking me away from writing, keeping me up too late. He never wanted to hang up, I’ll be so bored, he would say, I’ll be so lonely, and the next day I would struggle to make it through class. They had come to feel like a trap but without them I found the evenings intolerable, there was too much time for thinking, too much time for remorse. It wasn’t really true that we had no contact, we still looked at each other’s Facebook pages; the night before I had posted photos of the drive from Sofia to Sozopol, of our group beside the sea, probably that was what had spurred him to send, very early that morning, the message I had worried over all day. It was full of regret and self-recrimination, I’ve broken the best thing, he wrote, he didn’t know why he had done it, it was just the same thing again and again, he said, it’s like I hate my own happiness, which was a phrase I had repeated to myself all day. This had been the worst part about distance, the helplessness I felt when he was anxious or sad, as he often was, when nothing I could say would comfort him. Sex could comfort him, or just the presence of my body beside his, he wanted physical comfort, and it was terrible to think of him in his room alone. I know I can’t fix it, he said, I know it’s too late, we can’t go back, he spoke of it as if it were the distant past, and this made me angry, since what was the point of his message then, why had he sent it to me, why had he drawn me back to him, drawn me back but only so far.

• From The Annotated Lolita (1991)

  If you really wish to triumph in your mind over the idea of death—” “Ray,” said Lo for hurray, and languidly left the room, and for a long while I stared with smarting eyes into the fire. Then I picked up her book. It was some trash for young people. There was a gloomy girl Marion, and there was her stepmother who turned out to be, against all expectations, a young, gay, understanding redhead who explained to Marion that Marion’s dead mother had really been a heroic woman since she had deliberately dissimulated her great love for Marion because she was dying, and did not want her child to miss her. I did not rush up to her room with cries. I always preferred the mental hygiene of noninterference. Now, squirming and pleading with my own memory, I recall that on this and similar occasions, it was always my habit and method to ignore Lolita’s states of mind while comforting my own base self. When my mother, in a livid wet dress, under the tumbling mist (so I vividly imagined her), had run panting ecstatically up that ridge above Moulinet to be felled there by a thunderbolt, I was but an infant, and in retrospect no yearnings of the accepted kind could I ever graft upon any moment of my youth, no matter how savagely psychotherapists heckled me in my later periods of depression. But I admit that a man of my power of imagination cannot plead personal ignorance of universal emotions. I may also have relied too much on the abnormally chill relations between Charlotte and her daughter. But the awful point of the whole argument is this. It had become gradually clear to my conventional Lolita during our singular and bestial cohabitation that even the most miserable of family lives was better than the parody of incest, which, in the long run, was the best I could offer the waif.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  On the contrary, Augustine says in De Poenitentia [*De vera et falsa Poenitentia, the authorship of which is unknown]: “Penance is the vengeance of the sorrowful, ever punishing in them what they are sorry for having done.” But to take vengeance is an act of justice, wherefore Tully says (De Inv. Rhet. ii) that one kind of justice is called vindictive. Therefore it seems that penance is a species of justice. I answer that, As stated above (A[1], ad 2) penance is a special virtue not merely because it sorrows for evil done (since charity would suffice for that), but also because the penitent grieves for the sin he has committed, inasmuch as it is an offense against God, and purposes to amend. Now amendment for an offense committed against anyone is not made by merely ceasing to offend, but it is necessary to make some kind of compensation, which obtains in offenses committed against another, just as retribution does, only that compensation is on the part of the offender, as when he makes satisfaction, whereas retribution is on the part of the person offended against. Each of these belongs to the matter of justice, because each is a kind of commutation. Wherefore it is evident that penance, as a virtue, is a part of justice. It must be observed, however, that according to the Philosopher (Ethic. v, 6) a thing is said to be just in two ways, simply and relatively. A thing is just simply when it is between equals, since justice is a kind of equality, and he calls this the politic or civil just, because all citizens are equal, in the point of being immediately under the ruler, retaining their freedom. But a thing is just relatively when it is between parties of whom one is subject to the other, as a servant under his master, a son under his father, a wife under her husband. It is this kind of just that we consider in penance. Wherefore the penitent has recourse to God with a purpose of amendment, as a servant to his master, according to Ps. 122:2: “Behold, as the eyes of servants are on the hands of their masters . . . so are our eyes unto the Lord our God, until He have mercy on us”; and as a son to his father, according to Lk. 15:21: “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee”; and as a wife to her husband, according to Jer. 3:1: “Thou hast prostituted thyself to many lovers; nevertheless return to Me, saith the Lord.”

• From How Emotions Are Made: The Secret Life of the Brain (2017)

  40 It’s possible that Cinelli was putting on an act. It’s also possible that Cinelli authentically felt remorse in the moment while he was testifying, but once he was out of prison, his old model of the world resurfaced, with his old predictions, creating his old self, and his remorse evaporated. Since there is no objective criterion for feelings of remorse, we will never know for sure. There is likewise no objective criterion for anger, sadness, fear, or any other emotion relevant to a trial. U.S. Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy once said that juries must “know the heart and mind of the offender” in order for a defendant to have a fair trial. Emotions, however, have no consistent fingerprints in facial movements, body posture and gestures, or voice. Jurors and other perceivers make educated guesses about what those movements and sounds mean in emotional terms, but there is no objective accuracy. At best, we can measure whether jurors agree with one another in the emotions they perceive, but when the defendant and the jurors have different backgrounds, beliefs, or expectations, agreement is a poor substitute for accuracy. If a defendant’s demeanor cannot reveal emotion, then the legal system is left to grapple with a difficult question: under what circumstances can a trial be completely fair? 41 ... When jurors or judges see smugness in a defendant’s smile, or when they hear a witness’s quavering voice as fear, they are making a mental inference, employing their emotion concepts to guess that the action (smiling or quavering) was caused by a particular state of mind. Mental inference, you’ll remember, is how your brain gives meaning to other people’s actions through a cascade of predictions (chapter 6). 42 Mental inference is so pervasive and automatic, at least in cultures of the West, that we’re usually unaware of doing it. We believe that our senses provide an accurate and objective representation of the world, as if we had X-ray vision for deciphering another person’s behavior to discover his intent (“I can see right through you”). In these moments, we experience our perceptions of other people as an obvious property of them—a phenomenon we’ve called affective realism—rather than a combination of their actions and the concepts in our own brain. When someone is on trial for a crime, and liberty and life are at stake, there can be a gaping chasm between appearance and reality. Deep down we know this, but at the same time we are supremely confident that we can discern truth from fiction more accurately than the other schmucks in the room. And herein lies the problem in court. Jurors and judges are charged with an almost impossible task: to be a mind reader, or if you’d rather, a lie detector.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “The whole of his behaviour,” replied Elinor, “from the beginning to the end of the affair, has been grounded on selfishness. It was selfishness which first made him sport with your affections; which afterwards, when his own were engaged, made him delay the confession of it, and which finally carried him from Barton. His own enjoyment, or his own ease, was, in every particular, his ruling principle.” “It is very true. My happiness never was his object.” “At present,” continued Elinor, “he regrets what he has done. And why does he regret it?—Because he finds it has not answered towards himself. It has not made him happy. His circumstances are now unembarrassed—he suffers from no evil of that kind; and he thinks only that he has married a woman of a less amiable temper than yourself. But does it follow that had he married you, he would have been happy?—The inconveniences would have been different. He would then have suffered under the pecuniary distresses which, because they are removed, he now reckons as nothing. He would have had a wife of whose temper he could make no complaint, but he would have been always necessitous—always poor; and probably would soon have learned to rank the innumerable comforts of a clear estate and good income as of far more importance, even to domestic happiness, than the mere temper of a wife.” “I have not a doubt of it,” said Marianne; “and I have nothing to regret—nothing but my own folly.” “Rather say your mother’s imprudence, my child,” said Mrs. Dashwood; “she must be answerable.” Marianne would not let her proceed;—and Elinor, satisfied that each felt their own error, wished to avoid any survey of the past that might weaken her sister’s spirits; she, therefore, pursuing the first subject, immediately continued, “One observation may, I think, be fairly drawn from the whole of the story—that all Willoughby’s difficulties have arisen from the first offence against virtue, in his behaviour to Eliza Williams. That crime has been the origin of every lesser one, and of all his present discontents.” Marianne assented most feelingly to the remark; and her mother was led by it to an enumeration of Colonel Brandon’s injuries and merits, warm as friendship and design could unitedly dictate. Her daughter did not look, however, as if much of it were heard by her. Elinor, according to her expectation, saw on the two or three following days, that Marianne did not continue to gain strength as she had done; but while her resolution was unsubdued, and she still tried to appear cheerful and easy, her sister could safely trust to the effect of time upon her health. Margaret returned, and the family were again all restored to each other, again quietly settled at the cottage; and if not pursuing their usual studies with quite so much vigour as when they first came to Barton, at least planning a vigorous prosecution of them in future.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Reply to Objection 3: Penance regards every kind of sin in a way, but not each in the same way. Because Penance regards actual mortal sin properly and chiefly; properly, since, properly speaking, we are said to repent of what we have done of our own will; chiefly, since this sacrament was instituted chiefly for the blotting out of mortal sin. Penance regards venial sins, properly speaking indeed, in so far as they are committed of our own will, but this was not the chief purpose of its institution. But as to original sin, Penance regards it neither chiefly, since Baptism, and not Penance, is ordained against original sin, nor properly, because original sin is not done of our own will, except in so far as Adam’s will is looked upon as ours, in which sense the Apostle says (Rom. 5:12): “In whom all have sinned.” Nevertheless, Penance may be said to regard original sin, if we take it in a wide sense for any detestation of something past: in which sense Augustine uses the term in his book De Poenitentia (Serm. cccli). Whether the form of this sacrament is: “I absolve thee”?Objection 1: It would seem that the form of this sacrament is not: “I absolve thee.” Because the forms of the sacraments are received from Christ’s institution and the Church’s custom. But we do not read that Christ instituted this form. Nor is it in common use; in fact in certain absolutions which are given publicly in church (e.g. at Prime and Compline and on Maundy Thursday), absolution is given not in the indicative form by saying: “I absolve thee,” but In the deprecatory form, by saying: “May Almighty God have mercy on you,” or: “May Almighty God grant you absolution and forgiveness.” Therefore the form of this sacrament is not: “I absolve thee.” Objection 2: Further, Pope Leo says (Ep. cviii) that God’s forgiveness cannot be obtained without the priestly supplications: and he is speaking there of God’s forgiveness granted to the penitent. Therefore the form of this sacrament should be deprecatory. Objection 3: Further, to absolve from sin is the same as to remit sin. But God alone remits sin, for He alone cleanses man inwardly from sin, as Augustine says (Contra Donatist. v, 21). Therefore it seems that God alone absolves from sin. Therefore the priest should say not: “I absolve thee,” as neither does he say: “I remit thy sins.”