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A long time ago I suddenly realized that the country one belongs to is not, as the usual rhetoric goes, the one you love but the one you are ashamed of. Shame can be a stronger bond than love. I repeatedly tested my discovery with friends from different countries: they all reacted the same way - with surprise immediately followed by full agreement, as if my suggestion was a self-evident truth. I am not claiming that the burden of shame is always the same; in fact, it varies immensely among countries. But the bond of shame - shame as a bond - invariably works, for a larger or smaller number of individuals. Aristotle listed "shame" ('aidos') among the passions, pointing out that "it is not a virtue" ('Nicomachaean Ethics' 1108 a 30-31). This definition still makes sense. Shame is definitely not a matter of choice: it falls upon us, invading us - our bodies, our feelings, our thoughts - as a sudden illness. It is a passion placed at the intersection between biology and history: the domain which Sigrid Weigel made so distinctively her own.
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