Divine Forgiveness

To err is human; to forgive, divine.

We are all guilty of wronging someone and desiring their forgiveness. Likewise, we have all been wronged and implored to forgive our wrongdoer. Forgiveness, however, is not easy; indeed, forgiveness is so hard that people will sometimes choose to inhabit their deeply-held resentment for decades before even considering forgiveness as an option.

Despite the obstacles we must surmount in our attempts to award our wrongdoers with forgiveness, people tell us that forgiveness is good for us. “Forgive your wrongdoer––you’ll feel less stress!” If it was as obviously good for us as proponents of forgiveness make it sound, why, then, is forgiveness so hard to offer?

You might think to yourself, “That which is best for us is often hardest to obtain.” Good health, for example, is something that clearly requires a lot of effort and dedication to maintain. But there is a difference between pursuing health and offering forgiveness. After I exercise, the pain I might have felt during subsides and I return to a state of equilibrium where I reap the benefits of my health without interruption, at least until I choose to exercise again. The same is not so with forgiveness.

After I forgive, the pain caused by my being wronged may never go away. Some days, I may not think about it. But when I am reminded of my pain, I will revisit it and be forced to confront just how bad it felt to be wronged. The pain will come to me, unbidden, and I am compelled to feel it completely. But after I have forgiven the person who caused my pain, I no longer have them to blame for it. My pain becomes nonsensical, for it has no accountable cause, which makes it even more profound and maddening.

Liz Bruenig suggests that our damage––that is, the damage incurred on us after we are wronged––is “our own kingdom: an interior place of pain and outrage but also moral clarity, where we know that, in being angry over having been wronged, we are in the right.” To Bruenig, the act of forgiveness is synonymous with the obliteration of our damage, which is sacred to us because that is where we are the most tender, vulnerable, and human. Our damage is, or at least feels, integral to who we are, so we cling to it desperately.

This is why forgiveness is so hard. When we are asked to forgive, we are asked to abandon our damage and accept that the pain wrapped up in it may stay with us. By forgiving, we hurt ourselves.

Alexander Pope famously wrote, “To err is human; to forgive, divine.” Part of what makes Bruenig’s account of forgiveness so attractive to me is that it explains, in part, why forgiveness is so hard to give to others sometimes. It also has the benefit of going some way to explain the righteousness of forgiveness.

If forgiveness hurts, what reason have we to forgive lest we concede it is nothing but a masochistic enterprise? Bruenig suggests that forgiveness is good because “it may be a necessary ingredient for peace as we know it.” When we are wronged, we have the choice to either eventually avenge ourselves or to eventually forgive the wrongdoer. If everyone chose vengeance, the world we would live in would be dreadful if not impossible. So, says Bruenig, we must choose forgiveness. Because choosing forgiveness is choosing peace––not inner peace, but peace for humankind.

When we forgive, we sacrifice the vested interest we have in the preservation of our damage for the good of humanity. Forgiveness is righteous because it is the ultimate sacrifice.

There is a wrinkle in Bruenig’s view, though. Are we righteous for doing what we are obligated to do? Am I righteous for choosing not to murder? I think not. When I choose not to murder, I am doing what is minimally expected of me as a person. I am not exalted for my restraint and self-sacrifice when I choose not to maul someone to death. Indeed, it seems that a righteous act is righteous only to the extent that it is supererogatory. God’s forgiveness, according to the Christian worldview, is divine not because He has to forgive but because He chooses to forgive despite His not having to.

For forgiveness to be divine, as Pope says it is, we must not be obligated to give it to our wrongdoers. Every time we are wronged, we are given the opportunity to choose to supersede our humanity by sacrificing that which is most sacred to us. Sometimes, it makes sense for us to sit with our humanity, especially if our withheld forgiveness applies moral pressure to wrongdoers to go to lengths to rehabilitate themselves. But other times, everything will point to forgiveness, and we have the choice to offer it. In doing so, we become as powerful, as beneficent, and as loving as God.