You don’t hear the expression “sackcloth and ashes” much these days. From the Book of Daniel, the expression refers to the custom of wearing crude material and covering yourself with ash to express humility at a religious ceremony. Its colloquial meaning, however, is to be publicly penitent, to be sorry and chagrined and so desperate for relief from guilt that you announce you need either forgiveness or to be put out of your misery.
Like tearing out your hair, punching yourself in the face, rending your clothing, or running amok, you’d never do it unless you couldn’t stop yourself—it’s indecorous, indecent, and embarrassing.
But sometimes necessary.
When I feel the flush of terrible mistake, I sometimes wish for a more vivid way to express regret. I might have a task I was supposed to finish a long time ago that I put off as an odious duty and—perhaps pointedly/subconsciously—forgot. When the work is overdue, someone is angry and disappointed in me. It won’t be enough to say I finished it and just didn’t take the last step. Though that might be true, it should have been complete. It won’t fly to say it isn’t all my fault because I never heard back from others whose task it was to approve it. My superiors would never take that view of things—they’d say it was my responsibility, and they’d be right. I can’t point out my account is otherwise good, this lapse a moment in an otherwise decent record. Sometimes the size of the mistake is less important than its visibility.
Then I wonder where one buys sackcloth.
Socrates said, “Remember that there is nothing stable in human affairs; therefore avoid undue elation in prosperity, or undue depression in adversity.” He had a nice thought there, but I’ve never been good at keeping a brave face or showing only an even strain. Some instabilities feel like I’m holding a live electric wire I can’t put down. What do you do when an unstable life leads you into forgetfulness, procrastination, and self-delusion?
I try “mea culpa,” but that doesn’t seem sufficient. And I see why. We’ve all experienced apologies that are mere convenience, attempts to wriggle from under blame instead of carry it…and then there are apologies expressed with sarcasm stretched like taffy, so thin you can’t know what to believe.
Some people are better at forgiving themselves than others. I find nothing so difficult. I own blame. Even when I might pass it off or express the appropriate niceties and move on, I have trouble doing so. I can’t forget or overlook that I screwed up and don’t blame anyone for being angry at me. In fact, I want to agree with most of what my accuser might hurl at me. I search for better ways to express my regret.
And I also see why my apologies can’t be believed, why people might have trouble seeing me as sincere now. When people use “sackcloth and ashes” today, it’s usually in the negative, as in “What do you expect me to do, dress in burlap and cover myself with cinders?!” The person who denies forgiveness is the evil one. Celebrities, politicians, and public figures seem to choose between superficial absolution or stonewalling. They do one, the other, or both. No real sackcloth. No real ashes.
It’s hard to know what sincere regret looks like, what it is really, what to do with it…or how to believe it and accept it.
Which makes me think perhaps it sometimes takes something indecorous and dramatic to say what you are trying to say, what you must say no matter what…”I’m sorry.”
Filed under: American Life, Anger, Essays, Forgiveness, Grief, Human Nature, Identity, Life, Mortality, Musings, Secrets, Society, Thoughts, Words, Work
An Emersonian moment, D. Thank you for taking us on this moral excursion.
I’ve been mulling over what makes this moment Emersonian, and I’m struck by what an astute description that is…down to Emerson’s largely secret self-doubts, the feelings of inadequacy he fought in coming up with such a self-assured and confident philosophy. But Emerson said, “To believe that what is true for you is true for all men, that is genius.” I’ve never been able to believe that entirely, though I think expressing my own view, as sincerely and openly as possible, stands the greatest chance of resonating with the experience of others. Thanks for visiting—it was good to see your square in my right margin again. —D
You must come from what I call “penitente” background. Do you know what the penitentes of northern New Mexico are? My grandfather on my dad’s side was the head of his town’s “brotherhood,” which is what the translation is. And my father is one of the most penitente men I know.
I actually think people can see that kind of humility that you talk about. Almost literally see it, like a veil. Those closest to you might not be able to, or not when they’re mad for what you did, but when they, too, are in a pure state, they can see it.
I knew nothing about the penitentes of the southwest until you brought them to my attention. I didn’t know they existed, though I suppose that’s part of the point—it isn’t about public display of penitence but being penitent. I wonder if I’m so strong. As I wrote this post, it’s obvious I like my penitence public…or at least semi-public. But you aren’t the first person to identify my flagellant tendencies, and I did grow up Roman Catholic. I had a friend who tried to convince me my self-loathing was a former life coming out—perhaps I was a monk or a southwestern Native American—but I only know how I feel.
You’re right that people can see your emotional state, but, these days, when so much communication occurs through e-mails, it seems much harder. I’ve never understood why tone is so hard to read—or is it easy to misread?—in e-mails. On the other hand, it’s hard to express feelings like these in person. I’m relieved to have e-mail—it’s easy—but the braver thing might be what, in the end, I don’t want to do, speak. Thanks for alerting me to penitentes—what an interesting group. I do strangely identify with them. —D
I wanted to know did you ever get sack cloth to wear?
And where did you find it?