What Does Forgiveness Mean? And Why Are We Obsessed with It?

Plus tales of AUDACITY!

Photo by Alex Shute on Unsplash

Last week I was on the road with storytelling organization The Moth. When my brother died, I thought about canceling this trip, but I’m glad I went. It was like a little grief vacation—I’ve never been bereaved in Bellingham! my brain exclaimed and I spent a few days in blissful denial.

I performed my tragicomic story about growing up as a Christian puppeteer. The show went well. Then a funny thing happened. After the performance, an audience member told me I ought to forgive my mother. It wasn’t even a question, like, “Have you forgiven your mother?” no. It was a directive: you should. I was stunned. While my story touches on my difficult relationship with my mom, it’s not a litany of maternal wrongdoing. I thought I had painted her reasonably well. So, WTF? While I am, to a certain degree, accustomed to older men calling me “dear” and offering unsolicited life advice (do I just have “daughter face” or what?) this was an audacity of heretofore unseen proportions!

Luckily, I have enough recovery under my belt to recognize that this “advice” was more about him than me. But it did make me wonder: what do we mean by forgiveness? And why are we so keen to make sure EVERYONE (including total strangers) has forgiven?

A lot of this is cultural, I think. In On Repentance and Repair, Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg characterizes the typical American attitude towards forgiveness thusly:

“[Forgiveness] is regarded as a universal good, as something we should give, freely, regardless of whether the perpetrator of harm has done the work of repentance, regardless of whether they have fully owned their harm, regardless of whether they have done the work of repair, regardless of whether they have done the work to change.”

I would add that our concept of forgiveness is bound up in certain emotions. To have forgiven means that the forgiver feels a certain way, i.e. not angry. They should, if they’ve *actually* forgiven, be at peace with the wrongdoing, no longer grieving, perhaps even no longer hurt.

Combining our American preoccupation with quick, anger-less forgiveness, you have a recipe for a “spiritual bypass”—that is, “a tendency to use spiritual ideas and practices to sidestep or avoid facing unresolved emotional issues, psychological wounds, and unfinished developmental tasks.” Instead of facing our messy emotions, we are urged to rush to a tidy resolution. We want to wring meaning from an experience without doing any of the work to get there.

Do I need to say this doesn’t work? That unprocessed anger and sadness never disappear, they only roam around the body, causing digestive issues, tension headaches, insomnia, and worse? Take it from someone who’s spent several hundred dollars injecting Botox into her *perpetually clenched* jaw muscles.

Given that we can’t outrun our unpleasant feelings, is there a definition of forgiveness that can allow them?

Ruttenberg points out two words used in Hebrew scriptures, which she translates alternately as “pardon” and “forgiveness.” Pardon is “relinquishing a claim against an offender; it’s transactional,” whereas forgiveness connotates a more empathetic and understanding look at the perpetrator, believing them to be worthy of mercy despite harm caused. You’ll note that neither word involves forgetting what transpired, nor do they imply reconciliation. In fact, the vast majority of forgiveness-talk in the Hebrew scriptures are the first definition, that of pardon—no emotions involved.

Looking more recently, Merriam-Webster describes forgiveness as ceasing to feel resentful and/or deciding to forego retribution. I can definitely advise against retribution. As Beyonce, in her infinite wisdom, hath taught us, “Always stay gracious, best revenge is your paper.”

Perhaps even wiser than Beyonce (if that’s possible) Bishop Desmond Tutu said:

“[Forgiveness] is a process that does not exclude hatred and anger.  These emotions are all part of being human.  You should never hate yourself for hating others who do terrible things:  The depth of your love is shown by the extent of your anger.

However, when I talk of forgiveness, I mean the belief that you can come out the other side a better person.  A better person than one being consumed by anger and hatred.  Remaining in that state locks you in a state of victimhood, making you almost dependent on the perpetrator.  If you can find it in yourself to forgive, then you are no longer chained to the perpetrator.  You can move on, and you can even help the perpetrator to become a better person, too.”

Bishop Tutu drew an important distinction here—being angry versus being consumed by anger. Growing up in conservative Christianity, we were afraid of feelings. You could feel two things safely: guilt, or joy in the Lord. (And only the Lord, nothing else!) All other emotions were highly suspicious and likely to lead you down the path to Hell. Recovering from that has meant learning that all emotions are allowed, it’s not a sin to feel. Also, emotions give us important information: generally, I get angry when someone is crossing my boundaries or the boundaries of those I care about. My anger has allowed me to stand up for myself and others when I’d normally be too timid.

Bishop Tutu seems to say that we don’t want to be preoccupied with the anger forever, nor controlled by it. But being angry does not nullify our forgiveness.

When the audience member told me to forgive, what I really think he meant was, “Your story didn’t resolve the way I wanted it to, and that made me uncomfortable.” What I think he wanted was some assurance that my mom and I have reconciled, when we haven’t. Still, I love her and wish her well. I don’t harbor revenge fantasies, nor have I demanded she pay for my therapy. I look upon her with empathy and understanding, while also knowing that she hurt me deeply and will likely never take responsibility for that. This, too, is forgiveness.

So here’s the good news: you can be as angry as you need to be for as long as you need to be. You can call out wrongs, even if it makes others uncomfortable! To do so, is to paraphrase Brene Brown, to choose momentary discomfort over long-term resentment.

For what it’s worth, once I got over THE AUDACITY of the gentleman from the audience, I asked, “What spiritual processes have you used to forgive?”

His answer? “Mushrooms.”

And no, he didn’t even offer me any.

Do any of these definitions of “forgiveness” particularly resonate with you? Why do you think people are obsessed with getting people to forgive each other? Have you ever tried mushrooms? Do you think I should, or would it just bring up weird puppet memories?