Forgiving Self The Road from Resentment to Connection

ONE Saints and Monsters In talking to people about forgiveness I've been surprised at the resistance that some smart, sensitive people feel to this subject. They believe that to forgive is to condone somehow the harmful things people have done; that it's not only a pardon for past crimes but a virtual license to commit them again; that to forgive is to lack the guts to call a spade a spade and to condemn what deserves condemnation. They feel that the admonition to forgive is a kind of coercion that takes no account of the offense, the presence, absence, or degree of contrition in the offender, or the emotional readiness of the victim to let go. I have a friend who told me point-blank, and with some passion, "I don't believe in forgiveness," largely for these reasons. But she admitted, "Once I understand, I can't hold a grudge any more. That's the big thing for me. Understanding." "So you do believe in forgiveness then," I said. "How do you define forgiveness?" "Allowing someone back into your heart." She thought a moment. "Yes, if that's how you define it." What tarnishes forgiveness for some people is a churchy moralism that ignores ordinary human feeling. An extreme example was reported in the press when high school students in a Christian prayer group in West Paducah, Kentucky, responded to the shooting deaths of three of their classmates on December 1, 1997, by announcing with large placards, "We forgive you, Mike," to the disturbed boy who committed the murders. Ordinary sensibility is struck dumb. Leaving aside the question, Who are they to forgive this, and in such a public manner?, one wonders if they allowed themselves to experience the terrible losses involved, let alone to deal with them. Such fanatical piety feels shallow and misguided, even repugnant, especially to those most immersed in the hurt, including the boy and his family. There is always something deadly about inauthentic forgiveness. Often it is little more than a cover for contempt. In a famous dilemma, created by psychologist Lawrence Kohlberg as part of a study of the psychology of morality, a man named Heinz has a wife who is near death from a rare form of cancer. One drug might save her, which has been discovered and produced by a local druggist. The drug is expensive, costing the pharmacist $200 per dose to make, and he sells it for $2,000. Heinz, a poor man, goes to everyone he knows but can only borrow $1,000. The druggist, insisting on his right to a profit, refuses to sell it at that price or to let Heinz pay the balance later. So Heinz, in desperation, breaks into the pharmacy and steals the drug. Kohlberg asked his child subjects whether Heinz was right to do so. Years later the same fable was revived by Charles Enright for the study of forgiveness. A psychologist asked adult subjects if they thought Heinz could ever forgive the pharmacist if he were unable to get the drug and his wife died, especially if the pharmacist showed no remorse or change in behavior. "Yes," one subject responded, "despite his anger toward the druggist, he'd still love him because he is a human being worthy of respect and love. Heinz would be angry at the druggist's actions, but not at the druggist himself." This answer was taken to reflect advanced moral development. It does sound enlightened. Stigmatize the behavior, not the person. This is the way we often try to train children. But there are two realities here. One is the reality of who the pharmacist is, which is probably quite complex, including admirable and lovable aspects, wounds that might cause us to sympathize with him, and perhaps some feeling of bitterness on his part toward a community that he may feel has cheated him in the past. The other is the reality of how the bereaved husband feels in the wake of his monstrous behavior--he is unlikely toKaren, Robert is the author of 'Forgiving Self The Road from Resentment to Connection' with ISBN 9780385488747 and ISBN 0385488742.