I bruise easily. A nasty gesture from a crude motorist may ache for days. Why would anyone want to wound me! Inadvertent injuries hurt almost worse. I brood over slights. My cultural moment taught manly indifference to adversaries – the lonely cowboy, hard-bitten P.I. Good luck with that. I don’t cry when hurt – that is repugnant – but I sulk.
Sometimes I feign forgiveness – but the hurt persists like that thorn in the lion’s paw. Shake it off, I exhort myself. No such luck. Compliments I forget, while insults swell in hindsight.
How sensitive is too sensitive? How thick should one wish one’s skin? I get through life OK, unhobbled by apprehension. But I am cautious – everywhere but here, where I can hide behind my wall of words.
Forgiveness is a complicated calculus. We’re expected to forgive – up to a point. After that point’s passed, we’re expected not to. We deem a crime forgivable when we can imagine ourselves committing it; unforgivable if, to us, it’s unimaginable. “Beyond the pale” is a different measure for each.
Jesus was all for forgiveness – until he wasn’t. “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you,” he preached. But then: “I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” Doesn’t sound so forgiving.
Many argue for forgiveness because God forgives us. In my theology, whoever knows God’s mind is smoking something. The one thing I know about God is He’s unknowable.
Forgiveness is not a superstitious obligation, but a practical tool. “As I walked out the door toward the gate that would lead to my freedom,” wrote Nelson Mandela, “I knew if I didn't leave my bitterness and hatred behind, I'd still be in prison.” Now, there’s a good reason to forgive. Bitterness shackles you; grudges weigh a ton. Shake off your grievance to get on with your life.
What we cannot forgive, we must oppose – avenge, if we can. What Putin did to Ukraine is, by my lights, unforgivable; likewise, what the Gazans did to Israelis – and now, alas, what Israel is doing to Gaza in return. I will never forgive Trump for his spoliation of America. I’ve a small hive of personal resentments I’ll never be rid of. The malefactors may be dead, but I despise them still.
One good argument for forgiveness is selfishness. It feels great – and costs nothing. “It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,” said Saint Francis. Who doesn’t enjoy feeling forgiven! “Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong,” said Gandhi. Who doesn’t enjoy feeling strong!
Forgiveness is a precondition of love: that is its wondrous remedial power. One cannot hate and love at the same time – one or the other emotion must prevail – and hatred tends to become a vocation. Who wouldn’t rather love! “There isn't time, so brief is life, for bickerings, apologies, heartburnings, callings to account” said Mark Twain. “There is only time for loving, and but an instant, so to speak, for that.”
The more easily one bruises, the harder to forgive, but we can improve with practice. Moral, no less than corporal, sinews strengthen with exercise. Resentment, the product of mind, must be wrestled by mind. Being good, it turns out, is a good idea. We can think our way to equanimity. Incessant rancor is a symptom of stupidity.
Easily said – I say it to myself all the time – but it takes doing. “Forgiveness is not an occasional act,” said Martin Luther King Jr., “it is a constant attitude.” “Do not weep. Do not wax indignant,” said Spinoza. “Understand.”