NEWSWEEK
When I had a falling out with a long-time mentor, I insisted he owed me an apology. “I’m sorry for the imaginary crime you think I committed,” he responded, making me want to commit a real crime. I found it impossible to forgive someone who showed no remorse. But was that a bad thing? It’s a question especially relevant during the High Holy Days this weekend, when Jews atone and repent for past sins we’ve committed against God and our fellow humans, asking for absolution.
As an analytic Jewish journalist desperately seeking answers during that emotional upheaval, I’d stumbled upon an entire “forgiveness industry” out there: a British charity, a PBS documentary, a Mayo clinic website and TED talks touting the physical, emotional and spiritual benefits of exoneration. Books from all religions promoted radically forgiving everyone to help you “get rid of the gorilla.” But what if it was all bull? Without the contrition I felt I was owed, my gorilla only grew.
I asked different spiritual leaders their opinion. A Manhattan reverend explained that by telling God, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing” while he was being crucified, Jesus offered immediate unconditional mercy in advance. However, a theologian from my Michigan hometown insisted that in Christianity, without repentance, you are sent to a place of eternal torment.
A Hasidic colleague said “Jewish law requires a person to ask heartfelt forgiveness three times. If the injured party won’t forgive, the sinner is forgiven but the non-forgiver has to seek forgiveness for not forgiving.” Still, the request had to be inspired by true regret. More helpful to me was the Harvard psychologist who, citing Maimonides, delineated four elements of an effective apology: acknowledging the offense, explaining why it happened, expressing sincere remorse, and offering reparations to fix what was broken. And my lawyer cousin reminded me that admitting guilt and expressing remorse were often the deciding elements of criminal verdicts in the eyes of the law.
Yet does retrospective regret help anyone heal from crimes and atrocities or keep them from recurring? A Holocaust survivor I interviewed who refused to accept the German government’s official apology in 1951—despite the restitution paid—and lived his life thriving out of spite, pointed out how antisemitism is now soaring in Europe and the United States. A Bosnian Muslim victim of ethnic cleansing in the Balkan war healed only by speaking out against the crimes he witnessed. Meanwhile Islamophobia in his former region remains widespread. After a woman raped by her father at age 13 was pushed by Baptist clergy to accept his apology, her father tried it again, (not surprising, as criminal recidivism can be as high as 77 percent). In her 40s, she felt liberated by unforgiving him after he’d died, while doing everything she could to safeguard herself and her children from predators in the future.
Interestingly, a new wave of books confirmed my belief that instead of sweepingly exonerating everyone, you should protect yourself first. In Forgiveness: An Alternate Account, Boston minister Matthew Ichihashi Potts claims that too often forgiveness is “a salve to the conscience of power rather than an instrument of healing and justice.” Illinois trauma psychoanalyst Amanda Ann Gregory’s upcoming book is titled: You Don’t Need To Forgive: Trauma Recovery on Your Own Terms.
The Hindu-born L.A. psychologist Ramani Durvasula, author of the bestselling book It’s Not You, agrees with that premise.
“People who don’t forgive are portrayed as cold, inflexible, and hardhearted. But that’s pathologizing the person harmed versus the offender who caused the damage,” she recently said over the phone. “The pressure to forgive can lead people to feel guilty or prematurely forgive. But if you forgive someone who repeats the misdeed, it significantly harms your well-being. We should not feel an obligation to forgive someone who has hijacked our souls and made it impossible to find peace.”
Just as I pondered the compromise of pardoning my mentor for my own peace of mind while never seeing him again, he emailed that he was sorry. In rendering his belated regret, he explained that his wife and daughter had been terribly ill and that he’d spent a whole year not thinking clearly. I forgave him.
Still I’m not an advocate of universal amnesty, despite spending 10 years on a book about forgiveness. But now I strive to be more sensitive and not slight people I care about to begin with. And when I do make a mistake, I’ve learned how important and empowering it can be to sincerely express regret, offering a heartfelt, full-fledged apology to anyone I’ve hurt.
