William S. Burroughs, who shot his wife in the head and killed her during a drunken game of "William Tell" was once asked by a journalist if there was anything in his life he regretted. He quoted the following lines from a poem by Edward Arlington Robinson in reply:
"There are mistakes too monstrous for remorse to tamper or to dally with." Say what you will about Burroughs, but he knew something about guilt: there is no real redemption.

That's just a despicable position to take. You imply that the only significant grounds for recompense are actions for which one can find full personal responsibility and you sneer at any attempt to promote reform or reparation on a larger scale as superficial self-condolence. That kind of fraudulent economy leaves no place for collective action to repair harm committed by others, especially others who are no longer living. I'm sure you're quite aware of the effective moral and political armor against real participatory responsibility that such a position provides for you and your prosperous allies. It's clear that you also acknowledge no kind of prejudice except that which is motivated by personal animus and even that you tend to defend as a form of free speech. That snide insistence upon "true" guilt as an authenticating subject position is simple moral relativism -- something I believe you are more than ready to decry when it suits you. There's no need to invoke guilt when critiquing progressive impulses. That gesture is nothing more than a means to deflect the accusation that you who feel content to let injustice persist and thrive are complacent and even hateful in your refusal to accept that you might very easily consent to reform and reparation, even participate were you not so intent on keeping things the way they are.

Flannery O'Connor's short story "Everything That Rises Must Converge" is one of the most powerful presentations of guilt that I have ever read. The betrayal by arrogant Julian of his mother Mrs. Chestny, a betrayal that contributes immediately and potently to her death when she desperately needs his help, promises a life of "guilt and sorrow" that can never end. Unlike an equally potent portrayal in "The Artificial Nigger," traitor (the grandfather, Mr. Head) and victim (his grandson Nelson) live. They live to grow in understanding, an understanding that promises compassion and even the possibility of love. Any of us who have visited abominable betrayal upon someone close, or who have been thus betrayed, can find in O'Connor, if not redemption, at least clarity of vision and reconciliation to the albatross we must bear.

The Scarlet Letter is a classic exploration of the effect of guilt on the human psyche, though I wouldn't take it as a life lesson. Flagellating yourself in the privacy of your home on a nightly basis as payment for past wrongs is probably not the must constructive method of seeking personal redemption.