"Forgive them,
Even if they're not sorry."
It sounds like a good idea.
The post was followed by several comments and affirmations, as well as some mild disputation. The original poster added:
The post was followed by several comments and affirmations, as well as some mild disputation. The original poster added:
"Sometimes people haven't apologized because they're ashamed. Forgive them anyway! Sometimes you have to be okay with a sorry you never got. Forgiveness unblocks your blessings. Do it. You're worth it!"More affirmation followed, such as:
- This is the GREATEST LESSON in life!!!!
- Yes, one has a clearer long term vision on the high road.
- Forgiveness heals.
- Very true! Thanks!
"Many say that this is such an important lesson, and perhaps it is, but what does it actually mean to forgive someone? If someone has harmed you, what is the material difference between forgiving and not forgiving them?"
One person wrote in reply:
"It sets one's own heart free. It releases the burden. It's a gift to give yourself so you can move forward and not be bound by pain, revenge or entitlement."Another added, in the same vein:
".... [By forgiving] you set yourself free from negative energy which actually brings harmful chemistry to you body."These responses might be sincere and true, but they don't really answer the question of what forgiveness is. Many things "set the heart free" (whatever that means). Many things "release the burden" (again, whatever that means). I can think of many gifts to give to myself, none of which are forgiveness. I can also assure you of two things:
- The writers believed that they answered the question.
- Any further questioning from me would likely be received as odd, and perhaps even hostile.
We frequently talk about principles and such that we believe we understand... until someone asks us to explain them, at which point it gradually becomes apparent that we have, at best, a mushy conception of what we really meant. "Forgiveness" is one of these, along with freedom, democracy, love, and any number of other concepts that we banter about casually but really don't understand, in some cases at all.
Though the education and intelligence of the average person is a something of a concern, this experience of not really understanding the concepts we use in common conversation is neither exclusively contemporary nor limited to just one culture or country. Socrates made a meager living, many enemies, and a famous death, dealing with this very dynamic about 2300 years ago. While defending himself from accusations of offenses against the gods and corrupting the youth, among other things, he said the following:
Socrates was a bit of a scoundrel in the sense that it is much easier to pick apart someone else's position when you refuse to take a position, yourself -- sometimes referred to as the "no-position position" -- but he was also onto something important. Socrates' point (for anyone who missed it), isn't that he knows so much more than anyone else, but that he merely knows that he does not know, while most other people think they know, yet do not -- in other words, they don't know that they don't know. This is a dangerous position, and it is hard to help people who believe they know something when the really don't (hence the tactic of just asking open-ended questions rather than making assertions).
The good news is that we don't have to end lost in the state of realizing we don't know what we're talking about. As amazing beings with an innate capacity for rationality (in most cases), we can take steps forward in understanding by listening, reflecting and asking careful questions. Unfortunately, many online "discussions" are little more than an exchange of emotional, irrational assertions, but by asking honest questions, being gentle, thinking things through and answering each other, we can often arrive at a greater understanding than that with which we started. This may have happened, at least to some degree, in the forgiveness-discussion, depending on how open and reflective the other participants were.
Well, Chaerephon, as you know, was very impetuous in all his doings, and he went to Delphi and [...] he asked the oracle to tell him whether there was anyone wiser than I was, and the Pythian prophetess answered that there was no man wiser. Chaerephon is dead himself, but his brother, who is in court, will confirm the truth of this story.
Why do I mention this? Because I am going to explain to you why I have such an evil name. When I heard the answer, I said to myself, What can the god mean? and what is the interpretation of this riddle? for I know that I have no wisdom, small or great. What can he mean when he says that I am the wisest of men? And yet he is a god and cannot lie; that would be against his nature. After a long consideration, I at last thought of a method of trying the question. I reflected that if I could only find a man wiser than myself, then I might go to the god with a refutation in my hand. I should say to him, "Here is a man who is wiser than I am; but you said that I was the wisest." Accordingly I went to one who had the reputation of wisdom, and observed to him - his name I need not mention; he was a politician whom I selected for examination - and the result was as follows: When I began to talk with him, I could not help thinking that he was not really wise, although he was thought wise by many, and wiser still by himself; and I went and tried to explain to him that he thought himself wise, but was not really wise; and the consequence was that he hated me, and his enmity was shared by several who were present and heard me. So I left him, saying to myself, as I went away: Well, although I do not suppose that either of us knows anything really beautiful and good, I am better off than he is - for he knows nothing, and thinks that he knows. I neither know nor think that I know. In this latter particular, then, I seem to have slightly the advantage of him. Then I went to another, who had still higher philosophical pretensions, and my conclusion was exactly the same. I made another enemy of him, and of many others besides him.
After this I went to one man after another, being not unconscious of the enmity which I provoked, and I lamented and feared this: but necessity was laid upon me - the word of God, I thought, ought to be considered first. And I said to myself, Go I must to all who appear to know, and find out the meaning of the oracle. And I swear to you, Athenians, by the dog I swear! - for I must tell you the truth - the result of my mission was just this: I found that the men most in repute were all but the most foolish; and that some inferior men were really wiser and better. I will tell you the tale of my wanderings and of the "Herculean" labors, as I may call them, which I endured only to find at last the oracle irrefutable. When I left the politicians, I went to the poets; tragic, dithyrambic, and all sorts. And there, I said to myself, you will be detected; now you will find out that you are more ignorant than they are. Accordingly, I took them some of the most elaborate passages in their own writings, and asked what was the meaning of them - thinking that they would teach me something. Will you believe me? I am almost ashamed to speak of this, but still I must say that there is hardly a person present who would not have talked better about their poetry than they did themselves. That showed me in an instant that not by wisdom do poets write poetry, but by a sort of genius and inspiration; they are like diviners or soothsayers who also say many fine things, but do not understand the meaning of them. And the poets appeared to me to be much in the same case; and I further observed that upon the strength of their poetry they believed themselves to be the wisest of men in other things in which they were not wise. So I departed, conceiving myself to be superior to them for the same reason that I was superior to the politicians.
At last I went to the artisans, for I was conscious that I knew nothing at all, as I may say, and I was sure that they knew many fine things; and in this I was not mistaken, for they did know many things of which I was ignorant, and in this they certainly were wiser than I was. But I observed that even the good artisans fell into the same error as the poets;because they were good workmen they thought that they also knew all sorts of high matters, and this defect in them overshadowed their wisdom - therefore I asked myself on behalf of the oracle, whether I would like to be as I was, neither having their knowledge nor their ignorance, or like them in both; and I made answer to myself and the oracle that I was better off as I was.
This investigation has led to my having many enemies of the worst and most dangerous kind, and has given occasion also to many calumnies, and I am called wise, for my hearers always imagine that I myself possess the wisdom which I find wanting in others: but the truth is, O men of Athens, that God only is wise; and in this oracle he means to say that the wisdom of men is little or nothing; he is not speaking of Socrates, he is only using my name as an illustration, as if he said, He, O men, is the wisest, who, like Socrates, knows that his wisdom is in truth worth nothing. And so I go my way, obedient to the god, and make inquisition into the wisdom of anyone, whether citizen or stranger, who appears to be wise; and if he is not wise, then in vindication of the oracle I show him that he is not wise; and this occupation quite absorbs me, and I have no time to give either to any public matter of interest or to any concern of my own, but I am in utter poverty by reason of my devotion to the god.
Socrates was a bit of a scoundrel in the sense that it is much easier to pick apart someone else's position when you refuse to take a position, yourself -- sometimes referred to as the "no-position position" -- but he was also onto something important. Socrates' point (for anyone who missed it), isn't that he knows so much more than anyone else, but that he merely knows that he does not know, while most other people think they know, yet do not -- in other words, they don't know that they don't know. This is a dangerous position, and it is hard to help people who believe they know something when the really don't (hence the tactic of just asking open-ended questions rather than making assertions).
The good news is that we don't have to end lost in the state of realizing we don't know what we're talking about. As amazing beings with an innate capacity for rationality (in most cases), we can take steps forward in understanding by listening, reflecting and asking careful questions. Unfortunately, many online "discussions" are little more than an exchange of emotional, irrational assertions, but by asking honest questions, being gentle, thinking things through and answering each other, we can often arrive at a greater understanding than that with which we started. This may have happened, at least to some degree, in the forgiveness-discussion, depending on how open and reflective the other participants were.
....
But, yes, what of forgiveness? One definition floating about on the interwebs reads:
Forgiveness is the intentional and voluntary process by which a victim undergoes a change in feelings and attitude regarding an offense, lets go of negative emotions such as vengefulness, with an increased ability to wish the offender well. Forgiveness is different from condoning, excusing, pardoning, forgetting, and reconciliation.
Other sources refer to the elimination of feelings of anger or resentment.
That is a pretty good definition. I don't think that we forgive acts, but we forgive people who do them (or we don't). In that way the word "forgiveness" describes a kind of change in disposition toward a person who has wronged us. This still doesn't reveal precisely what it is, so let us examine it further.
Forgiveness doesn't get much ink in philosophy proper. It gets more in religious texts, as well as psychology. However, it is very much implied in the moral philosophies of virtue ethics and deontology; it is present in the spaces that haven't been filled in. From a philosophical perspective, the question is generally going to revolve around:
In virtue ethics there are several virtues related to our interactions with others, the most fundamental of which is (arguably) justice. Stated simply, justice is the virtue by which we give others what is due them. If I withhold from someone what I owe him, if I take from him what does not belong to me, or if I otherwise harm him without any cause, I am violating the person and demonstrating that I lack the virtue or excellence of justice. My act creates a relational imbalance, a kind of debt between me and my victim. This harm has multiple dimensions, and the effects in different dimensions can have very different intensities, depending on the act and the relationship between the parties. For example, there is a vast difference between buying a product worth $100 from a distant company and them failing to deliver it (or it arriving junked), and having a member of your family or trusted friend steal $100 from you (or steal something with sentimental value, but little monetary value). Both involve the loss of $100, but the difference in proximity, relationship, intention and overall circumstances are important and relevant. The meaning and effects of each act differ substantially.
- Precisely what does someone mean by the word, "forgive"?
- Is this something real and distinct in itself, or something that encompasses other dynamics (or is it purely a mental construct/fiction)?
In virtue ethics there are several virtues related to our interactions with others, the most fundamental of which is (arguably) justice. Stated simply, justice is the virtue by which we give others what is due them. If I withhold from someone what I owe him, if I take from him what does not belong to me, or if I otherwise harm him without any cause, I am violating the person and demonstrating that I lack the virtue or excellence of justice. My act creates a relational imbalance, a kind of debt between me and my victim. This harm has multiple dimensions, and the effects in different dimensions can have very different intensities, depending on the act and the relationship between the parties. For example, there is a vast difference between buying a product worth $100 from a distant company and them failing to deliver it (or it arriving junked), and having a member of your family or trusted friend steal $100 from you (or steal something with sentimental value, but little monetary value). Both involve the loss of $100, but the difference in proximity, relationship, intention and overall circumstances are important and relevant. The meaning and effects of each act differ substantially.
In some cases that debt can be repaid and in some it cannot. And it is easier to do in some dimensions than in others; that is, one can usually easily return stolen property, but it is another matter to restore the purity to a sullied relationship. Some things take time to make right -- a long time -- and some things, once broken never can be repaired, no matter how hard one tries. Even when or if the situation can be remedied, it is often the case that the person who created the debt will refuse to take steps to do so, whether callously or ignorantly. For example, if I destroy your good name through libel, or if a spouse is betrayed by infidelity, how can that really be repaired or made right? In some cases, an apology, even a genuine one (as rare as that is these days), just isn't sufficient. Some wounds never really heal, and some debts cannot be repaid by any sum.
In this sense, forgiveness seems to represent a choice to not pursue retribution in one or more dimensions, to "let it go." There are many possible motivations for such a choice. Perhaps the forgiver genuinely loves the other and is acting out of charity. Perhaps the offender has made suitable efforts to repair the harm he caused and is contrite. Perhaps the forgiver recognizes that contrition will not be forthcoming and cannot be expected. Perhaps the forgiver recognizes that he should, if only for his own peace, take this step. Obviously, this doesn't mean that there isn't still a debt owed, that the relationship is necessarily repaired, or that the forgiven person is now trusted, worthy of trust, or otherwise restored. Further the choice to forgive doesn't mean that the forgiver is not suffering, and he may still struggle with feelings of anger or resentment. What it does indicate is a choice to attempt to temper these with respect to the aggressor, and that might be very wise.
Forgiveness is neither digital nor permanent. In addition to recognizing that human actions, and therefore any forgiveness thereof, have dimensions (or, as one dialog participant wrote, "layers"), there are also degrees of forgiveness. That is, forgiveness with respect to a person and his actions can vary from none to partial to full or comprehensive. This is another, perhaps complementary way, of thinking about the various layers of interaction and forgiveness. For example, someone might forgive an offender in the sense of re-accepting him and moderating his anger about the event, yet still require the return of stolen property. On the other hand, someone might forgive (in the sense of not require or demand) the return of stolen property, yet not forgive in the relational sense -- still holding anger and resentment, refusing personal reconciliation, etc. In some cases, depending on the particular event, such partial forgiveness may be prudent, perhaps even the best that one really can do. In other cases, an ongoing refusal to forgive might indicate a problem on the part of the victim.
The reasons for this are complex and many. One of them is the recognition that comprehensive forgiveness involves genuine reconciliation between the offender and his victim -- a restoration of a trusting relationship. However, that may not be realistic or possible, depending on the nature of the offense, the psychology of the victim, the proximity of the event, the relationship between them, and the contrition or lack thereof of the offender, among other things. If a person steals something from me, for example, I might choose to forgive him in the sense of moderating my feelings of anger, and genuinely desiring his good, but complete forgiveness may be difficult or impossible if I sense that he isn't actually sorry for what he did, engaged in it deliberately, makes no attempt to repay and reconcile, etc. When someone does something to intentionally harm you, full forgiveness might not be a realistic or appropriate expectation, especially if the offender has no change of heart. That is, the circumstances that foster complete forgiveness are not merely the responsibility of the victim, but depend to a large degree on the subsequent actions and contrition of the offender. When contrition and repentance are not present, complete forgiveness not only doesn't happen -- it cannot happen. Indeed, the pretense of forgiveness in the context of an offender who is not truly repentant and contrite -- or who has a vice/disorder such that he is only going to repeat the same behavior -- is, as one commentator painfully wrote, little more than tacit approval and permission to harm me again.
Degrees of Forgiveness
Forgiveness is neither digital nor permanent. In addition to recognizing that human actions, and therefore any forgiveness thereof, have dimensions (or, as one dialog participant wrote, "layers"), there are also degrees of forgiveness. That is, forgiveness with respect to a person and his actions can vary from none to partial to full or comprehensive. This is another, perhaps complementary way, of thinking about the various layers of interaction and forgiveness. For example, someone might forgive an offender in the sense of re-accepting him and moderating his anger about the event, yet still require the return of stolen property. On the other hand, someone might forgive (in the sense of not require or demand) the return of stolen property, yet not forgive in the relational sense -- still holding anger and resentment, refusing personal reconciliation, etc. In some cases, depending on the particular event, such partial forgiveness may be prudent, perhaps even the best that one really can do. In other cases, an ongoing refusal to forgive might indicate a problem on the part of the victim.
The reasons for this are complex and many. One of them is the recognition that comprehensive forgiveness involves genuine reconciliation between the offender and his victim -- a restoration of a trusting relationship. However, that may not be realistic or possible, depending on the nature of the offense, the psychology of the victim, the proximity of the event, the relationship between them, and the contrition or lack thereof of the offender, among other things. If a person steals something from me, for example, I might choose to forgive him in the sense of moderating my feelings of anger, and genuinely desiring his good, but complete forgiveness may be difficult or impossible if I sense that he isn't actually sorry for what he did, engaged in it deliberately, makes no attempt to repay and reconcile, etc. When someone does something to intentionally harm you, full forgiveness might not be a realistic or appropriate expectation, especially if the offender has no change of heart. That is, the circumstances that foster complete forgiveness are not merely the responsibility of the victim, but depend to a large degree on the subsequent actions and contrition of the offender. When contrition and repentance are not present, complete forgiveness not only doesn't happen -- it cannot happen. Indeed, the pretense of forgiveness in the context of an offender who is not truly repentant and contrite -- or who has a vice/disorder such that he is only going to repeat the same behavior -- is, as one commentator painfully wrote, little more than tacit approval and permission to harm me again.
Along with justice, prudence (wisdom), and fortitude (courage), temperance is another of the cardinal virtues for human beings. "Cardinal" mean "hinge," indicating that this is among the key virtues upon which human character hinges. Our response to events, especially injustices, exhibits the degree to which virtue of temperance is present within us (or not, as the case may be). Many people confuse Stoicism or temperance with being unfeeling. That is not the case. A genuinely temperate person is not one who never or rarely shows emotions, but whose emotions, words and behaviors are proportional to the gravity of the situation, whereas an intemperate person's reactions are disproportionate (by definition). Temperance is also known as moderation or balance.
We seem to naturally respond to injustices -- whether actual or perceived -- with feelings ranging from mild annoyance to rage, depending on the totality of the circumstances. If someone carelessly cuts you off in traffic, or says something thoughtless and rude, mild annoyance might be a proportional response. If someone kidnaps, tortures and murders your child, severe grief and rage might be appropriate. The difference between being rational and irrational is whether the emotional response (and any behaviors it prompts) is proportional to the event. To respond to an inconvenience with rage and violence is irrational in a way similar to responding to the murder of innocents with indifference.
When anger or any emotion is properly ordered, it can propel us to do amazing things. When it is not properly ordered -- when we are angry at the wrong things, or to a disproportionate degree -- it can become extremely destructive to us and those around us. Choosing to forgive -- choosing to moderate one's feelings with regard to a person and unjust situation -- can help a person grow and expresses the virtue of temperance. As rational beings, we can make efforts to mitigate anger and similar emotions when they are inappropriate or unfruitful. These efforts may not always be completely successful, and may take time and repeated attempts, but a good initial step is to simply think through a situation and ask myself:
- Is anger appropriate here? Why?
- Is this much anger appropriate here? Does this call for rage or mild annoyance?
- What good thing can I do with this anger, or is it just going to harm me and those around me?
- What has happened has happened. Given the current circumstances, what is the best thing I can do, and how can my emotions fuel my efforts in that direction?
- If this anger can't be an engine to help me or others, what can I do to redirect, quench or moderate it?
- How would a virtuous person respond to this situation?
This is something that everyone experiences. Is there someone in your life -- renting space in your head (without paying, of course) -- about whom you feel very angry or resentful? Do these feelings interfere with your peace? Do the words or events play over in your mind?
Reflect on it. Is your anger proportional to the event, or is it perhaps excessive? Do you find yourself meditating upon bad things that happened to you in the past, playing them over in your head? If so, perhaps it is time to try to forgive, to accept what has happened and move forward, no longer expecting or demanding some apology or compensation (or retribution, or revenge) that may never come and wouldn't make up for the harm, anyway. You can choose to moderate your emotions, to temper and direct them. This may take many attempts, and to that end it can be best to start with a small issue first. With practice you will become better at it, to the point that it becomes like second nature to you.
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