Ordinary language is all right.
One could divide humanity into two classes:
those who master a metaphor, and those who hold by a formula.
Those with a bent for both are too few, they do not comprise a class.
If others know what you have done, they may find you guilty. If others see who you are, they may make you ashamed. But the world may not see you for who you are, without this stopping it from making you ashamed.
Those who do us wrong also often try to make us party to the secret that they have done us wrong.
You could think of evils as things that no one, in the end, will let stay secret.
Revealing yourself to have been a victim can feel like confessing. It may expose you to feeling ashamed, or release you from any shame you have been harboring. And you do usually tell a secret—make known something which had been concealed from others. Doing so may normally make you feel guilty. It is not, however, your secret, but the wrongdoer's.
One can confess both to things one feels guilty about, and things one is ashamed of.
'The images I have cited of the philosophical mood in Socrates and in Descartes are images of isolation, of singling oneself, or being singled, out. And we know there is also such a thing as philosophical dialogue. But then isn't lecturing about philosophy an extraordinary, even bizarre, activity, neither a time of solitude nor of conversation? If we agree that it is bizarre, then do we know how writing philosophy is any the less bizarre? These doubts may usefully raise the question of the audience of philosophy, perhaps in the form of asking how philosophizing is to sound.'
Thoreau fits in the space Bernard Williams makes when he distinguishes ethical thought from what he calls the morality system.
In Celan, sunlessness.