Faces of Forgiveness
Today is one of the days where I can remember everything. I feel the room twisting around me like it never had before, but has many times since. I smell his shampoo- rosemary mint. I’ve always hated that combination. The open window shares a cool breeze that I want to escape in, but my limbs are frozen. My breath is frozen. I am frozen, and I can’t figure out how to get out without compromising friendships that ended up crumbling anyway.
It’s a funny feeling to be ashamed of something that you didn’t do.
These days I don’t think about it much. Too caught up in living life, I just can’t find the energy to waste on wondering how things could have been without him, and honestly I’m far too content these days to want them any other way. But, when this memory bubbles to the surface it feels inescapable, and I find myself paralyzed once again.
Despite the lingering effects, or perhaps in conjunction with them, I wrestled for years with whether or not to forgive this person. Would that be excusing his actions and the damage that resulted from them? Would it mean that I am okay with what happened?
But, what does it even mean to forgive? And is it distinct from whether an act itself is forgivable? These concepts are often presented as inherently intertwined, yet each holds its own substantial weight.
WHAT IS FORGIVENESS?
Forgiveness can take on a plethora of forms, from formally saying the words, “I forgive you,” to silently deciding to work through the pain. For many, confronting the offender is empowering. For others, facing the offender does more harm than good. The balance between confrontation and avoidance is different for every individual, so what does it actually mean to forgive?
It’s often described as “letting go” or “moving on,” and I appreciate that analogy. Still, some things that end up forgiven will stay with us throughout our lives because they became a part of our story – a small piece of how we became who we are.
The subject of the forgiveness can be difficult to nail down. Do we forgive people or events? Do we forgive the perpetrator, or the crime itself? The offense may be a singular event, in which case we might forgive both. But, if the offense was part of a larger pattern or series, the debt of forgiveness may rest entirely on the offender themselves.
Forgiveness of others is what quickly jumps to mind, but forgiveness of self can be just as challenging. Many victims, particularly sexual assault and abuse victims, are conditioned to believe that what happened to them was in some way their fault. Self-blame has been found to be a significant barrier to recovery, so self-forgiveness can be a powerful tool.
We often think of forgiveness as it centers around an act, but forgiving a lack of action can be just as monumental. One of the most difficult aspects of self-forgiveness is forgiving yourself for doing nothing – for not fighting back, for not speaking up, for not saying, “no.”
In addition to victim self-forgiveness we have to examine the extent to which we allow offender self-forgiveness. When was the last time you did something that may have hurt someone else? Called someone a nasty name behind their back, used condescending language, or outright insulted a person? I don’t know anyone who is perfect, and part of learning, growing, and doing better in the future has to involve forgiving ourselves for things that we have done wrong in the past, even if that means a painful confrontation with ourselves about how much damage we may have caused.
The journey of offender self-forgiveness is extremely delicate, requiring a balance between acknowledging what was done wrong, understanding why it was wrong, and setting the intention to do better going forward. All three are necessary – any two without the third would be an incomplete process. I would even go so far as to argue that offender self-forgiveness has a major impact on victim self-forgiveness, though the two can certainly happen separately.
Individual-level forgiveness is a deeply personal journey. But, the atonement doesn’t stop at one or two people. Social and legal forgiveness are the other side of the story, rooted in unwritten contracts and written laws.
Legal forgiveness comes in the form of fines, periods of incarceration, and limitations on civil rights. The idea is that once you’ve paid your dues for the crime, you’re legally “forgiven.” It’s concrete and clear, documented extensively and interpreted regularly by judges and juries alike. Sentences have a defined end point, after which there is legal “forgiveness.”
Social forgiveness, on the other hand, is sand. It changes constantly, depending on the mood and culture of the time. What may have been socially forgivable 50 years ago (or even 10 years ago) may now be considered reprehensible. Often, this shift is in the name of progress, though at times it can surge into vengeance for offenses that have long since passed, coupled with the assumption that the offender is the exact same person that they were years ago and that they would do the same thing today. But, how many of us can really say that? Certainly sometimes this can be the case, but I’d venture to guess that most people change drastically over their years of experience (at least most of the people that I know do).
Let’s say that an offending person has not changed at all and would without a doubt commit the same offense again. If they have served their legal punishment and the victim has “forgiven” them, to what degree does social forgiveness play a role? Is society responsible for keeping that person accountable, and for how long?
To this end, time seems to be a critical part of forgiveness without any clear-cut rules. A small offense may be forgiven right away, whereas a more significant offense may take years to forgive, if ever. In many ways time is distance, and it seems like the more distance we have from the transgression, the easier it is to forgive from a personal standpoint – but not necessarily from a social one.
Social forgiveness seems to transcend the changes of time. Social forgiveness is not typically contextualized within time, and sometimes offenders are held to temporally incongruent standards, making the journey much more difficult to navigate. This disregard of distance and shifting norms can drive progress or hinder growth, depending on the specific situation at hand.
It seems like these days social forgiveness is extremely rare, based broadly on a one-strike policy that demands perfection. And honestly, the things that people are exposing can be truly disgusting, and my emotional gut also wants to shame and belittle these people that have done such awful things. But, many offenses that are exposed can be chalked up to insensitivity and thoughtlessness rather than pure malice, rooted primarily in situational differences.
Maybe the offense came at a time when sociopolitical norms were different (not right, just different). Maybe the person was lashing out after a particularly terrible day. Maybe they were raised in a hateful home and truly don’t know any better. Do we withhold social forgiveness, and for how long?
All of this forces us to ask: What do we consider true forgiveness, and whose forgiveness really matters? Is it the individual’s? Is it the legal system’s? Is it the broader society’s? Maybe it’s a culmination of all of these, but to what extent?
Perhaps more importantly: is forgiveness even necessary? What purpose does it serve? It can relieve guilt and shame; it can instill a sense of justice; it can serve as permission to let go of harmful ruminating thoughts. Understanding why we choose to forgive (or not) is essential to the process of forgiveness itself, but doesn’t necessarily impact our determination of what is (and is not) forgivable.
WHAT IS FORGIVABLE?
The concept of forgiveness itself is categorically distinct from the determination of what is forgivable. Both are unavoidably subjective, yet they can each stand alone. An experience can be forgivable yet remain unforgiven. Likewise, an experience that is commonly considered unforgivable may end up forgiven, given the circumstances.
Take murder, for example. Most people believe that murder is unforgivable. Yet, context can have an immense impact on how we determine this.
Let’s say a person shoots and kills another person (which is tragically common in the U.S., but I digress). Is this unforgivable?
Now, we find out the shooter was an underage teenage girl and the victim was an adult man. Does this change anything?
Then it is revealed that the man was sexually abusing this girl (among numerous other girls) over an extended period of time, including trafficking her out to other adult men and filming child porn.
Unforgivable?
Which part?
This is the true story of Chrystul Kizer. There are many different opinions about what kind of legal action should be taken against her for this murder. Some make the valid point that this kind of “vigilante justice” (their words, not mine) is a slippery slope, and to a certain point I agree. She did technically commit a crime. However, I also admire the incredible courage it takes for a child to stand up to a pedophile abuser, and empathize with her choice. To the deepest level, this shooting was in self-defense – defending her right to not be repeatedly abused and raped by this adult.
So, is this murder unforgivable? At what point in context did your opinion shift, if at all?
In many cases (definitely not all), the more that we understand about the context surrounding the incident, the less unforgivable it becomes. Behind most pain there is often just more pain. Many people who can be aggressive and hurtful are suffering themselves, seeking empowerment and doing fucked up things in their quest. It’s not an excuse for their actions, it’s just a deeper understanding of the context.
With this in mind, I wonder: Is there anything that we consider truly unforgivable? Is this determination circumstantial, varying by time period, event, or location? Things that may have been relatively commonplace in the 1700s may leave us aghast today, but on the other hand there are progressive rights that we exercise today that would not even be considered an option less than 100 years ago (or even modern-day in various places around the world).
Can something be forgivable and unforgivable depending on perspective, or is it an objective judgement? To what degree are people themselves forgivable versus the actions or events that they are involved in? If someone was traumatized before they committed an offense, are they more forgivable?
I prefer to see the concept of “forgivable” as a gradient, dependent almost entirely on context. An unforgivable event may be committed by a forgivable person, and every individual will have a different interpretation of how forgivable these aspects may be, depending on their own experiences and background.
We like to think of the world as a high-contrast, black-and-white existence. Good or evil. Agree or disagree. Forgivable or unforgivable. But, this is an overly simplified outlook on an intricately complicated and intertwined universe where perspective and relativity are everything. In different situations, the same basic action may have drastically different measures of significance, which is closely tied to the people involved, their backgrounds, and their values.
Individual forgiveness (of other and self), event forgiveness, legal forgiveness, and social forgiveness are all distinct aspects of recovery following an offense, and they each interact differently depending on time and history with whether or not something or someone is considered forgivable. In short, it’s a complicated gradient that relies on empathy and perspective.
In the end, who is forgiveness really for? It seems to me that forgiving is focused on empowering the giver through acknowledgement, acceptance, and amendment, even in the absence of the offender themselves. Forgiveness is not a duty, it is an option.
To the person that raped me, stole my virginity, and humiliated me among our friends afterward: I see now that you were immature, horny, and insecure. You could not understand the breadth of harm that you were causing, and I can only hope that you’ve grown into a more empathetic person. I do not care to know you, see you, or talk to you ever again.
But still, I forgive you.