One of the hardest things I will ever try to do in life is learn to forgive. In fact, I have listed it on my personal “Impossible List” as something I hope to accomplish. Forgiveness, despite being a cornerstone of many religious and ethical systems, remains a deeply perplexing and elusive virtue. If Jesus, even in His greatest agony, could ask the Father to forgive those who crucified Him, for “they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34), then why does forgiveness often seem unattainable for me? What is it that makes this act so profoundly difficult? Is it ego? Pride? A sense of justice left unsatisfied? This post seeks to explore forgiveness as a philosophical matter, drawing on the wisdom of Michel de Montaigne, Aristotle, and Christian teachings to unravel the complexities of this elusive virtue.
The Nature of Forgiveness
To begin with, what is forgiveness? Philosophically speaking, forgiveness is not simply the act of absolving someone of wrongdoing or forgetting the hurt they have caused. Rather, it is a deliberate decision to release feelings of resentment and a desire for retribution. This definition raises several questions: What must one do to forgive? Who has the authority or standing to grant forgiveness? And under what conditions is forgiveness morally right or praiseworthy?
The first question concerns the nature of forgiveness itself. Aristotle, in his Nicomachean Ethics, would argue that forgiveness is a virtue that must be cultivated through conscious effort and habituation. Just as one develops courage or temperance, so too must one practice forgiveness. It is not a natural inclination but a discipline that requires us to moderate our emotions and find balance between justified anger and the grace to let go. Montaigne, on the other hand, would remind us that forgiveness is deeply human, often colored by the messiness of our emotions. He wrote extensively about the complexities of human behavior, observing that our struggle to forgive is intertwined with our desires, fears, and pride.
Who Has the Standing to Forgive?
The question of who has the right to forgive is also significant. Are there wrongs that only the victims can pardon? And what happens when a wrong affects not just an individual but a community or society? These questions take on personal significance when I consider the betrayals I have experienced. Betrayal shatters trust and leaves deep scars, making the act of forgiving feel almost impossible. It is in these moments that the standing to forgive feels not just like a right but an overwhelming burden.
Philosophers have debated whether forgiveness must be contingent upon the repentance of the wrongdoer. Christian doctrine, for instance, emphasizes unconditional forgiveness as a reflection of God’s grace. Yet, human forgiveness often feels bound by conditions. Montaigne might suggest that while divine forgiveness is infinite, human forgiveness must contend with the limitations of our emotional and moral capacities. When betrayal cuts deep, can we forgive someone who has shown no remorse? Or does true forgiveness require a transformation in the heart of the wrongdoer?
The Norms Governing Forgiveness
The norms of forgiveness, or when it is morally good to forgive, present yet another challenge. Some argue that forgiveness is always virtuous, while others believe it must be earned. Aristotle’s emphasis on the “mean” of virtues is instructive here: forgiveness should be practiced with wisdom. If we forgive too easily, we risk enabling harmful behavior; if we refuse to forgive, we risk becoming trapped in bitterness.
This tension between justice and mercy is evident in my own struggle with forgiveness. Betrayal has been one of the most searing experiences of my life. It disrupts our sense of reality and fractures the trust we build with others. In moments of deep hurt, the desire for justice feels justified, even necessary. Yet, Christian philosophy challenges this view. Jesus taught the importance of forgiveness, not as a sign of weakness but as a profound expression of strength. He called His followers to love their enemies and to pray for those who persecute them (Matthew 5:44). But reconciling this teaching with the raw pain of betrayal remains one of the greatest moral dilemmas I have faced.
The Rule of One Chance
Throughout my life, I have adhered to a strict rule: when someone betrays or significantly wrongs me, they only get one chance. There are no second opportunities; they are, as I put it, out forever. This unwavering principle reflects my deep sense of self-respect and the boundaries I have established to protect my emotional well-being. Even as I grapple with forgiveness, this rule remains resolute. For me, the act of forgiveness does not necessarily equate to reconciliation. Forgiveness, in my view, is more about letting go of bitterness, resentment, and the emotional weight that comes with betrayal. It is a personal act of liberation, not a gateway back to toxicity with someone. Aristotle would likely approve of this tempered approach: forgiveness, practiced with wisdom, does not have to mean naivety or a blind return to harmful patterns.
A Profound Struggle with Disrespect
During a harrowing two-year period of deep inner struggle, I found myself broken and lost, my sense of self shaken by relentless trials. It was a time when I allowed a profound amount of disrespect from others to seep into my life—a reality that would have been unthinkable in my former, more resolute self. I endured slights and insults that, under different circumstances, I would have never tolerated. Yet, even in the depths of my brokenness, one principle remained steadfast: betrayal or dishonor were still intolerable. Despite feeling shattered and vulnerable, my one rule—the idea that a person only gets one chance with me—remained ingrained in my core. This principle acted as a last bastion of my self-worth, a line that no amount of pain or self-doubt could erase. There were, indeed, those who were forever eliminated from my life due to acts of betrayal and dishonor.
During my two-year struggle, there were moments when I allowed smaller offenses to pass unaddressed because I lacked the energy to respond. In hindsight, this may have been to my detriment, possibly encouraging others to become even more brazen in their vile behavior. However, when it came to being dishonored, the one-chance rule remained a non-negotiable part of my identity. Even at my lowest, this boundary was fiercely upheld, a remnant of my self-worth that refused to be extinguished, no matter how broken I felt.
A Personal Struggle with Betrayal
The journey toward forgiveness becomes even more complex when betrayal is involved. On a personal note, betrayal has left me wrestling with feelings of anger and a sense of injustice. Montaigne described how reason often fails us in the face of deep emotional pain, likening our reactions to those of “brute beasts” rather than rational beings. Betrayal shatters our sense of self and makes forgiveness feel insurmountable. The mind clings to the memory of the wrong, justifying our refusal to forgive.
Ego and pride play a significant role in this struggle. Betrayal wounds our pride, making us feel foolish or naive. We want to protect our sense of self-worth by holding onto anger, using it as a shield. But Aristotle would argue that true virtue lies in overcoming these impulses. The act of forgiving, even when it feels impossible, is a step toward moral excellence. It requires letting go of our wounded pride and choosing a higher path.
Rebuilding Trust and the Question of Reconciliation
Another challenge in forgiving betrayal is deciding whether it should lead to reconciliation. Forgiveness does not necessarily mean restoring a relationship to its former state. Christian teachings emphasize the value of reconciliation, but they also acknowledge that it is not always possible. Sometimes, forgiveness is an act of self-liberation rather than a means of rekindling a connection. Montaigne would likely advocate for a pragmatic approach: forgive to free yourself from the chains of resentment, but proceed with caution in restoring trust.
A Philosophical and Spiritual Pilgrimage
Ultimately, learning to forgive is a journey—a philosophical and spiritual pilgrimage. It demands rigorous self-examination and a willingness to cultivate virtue, even when it feels unnatural. Montaigne, Aristotle, and Christian philosophy each offer insights into this journey, but the act of forgiving must come from within. It is a labor of the soul, a testament to our capacity for grace, and perhaps the most noble act of self-mastery.
In grappling with forgiveness, especially in the face of betrayal, I have come to see it not as a one-time act but as a continuous process. It is a choice to release bitterness, to embrace humility, and to strive for inner freedom. While I may never fully conquer this challenge, I am committed to the journey. In this sense, forgiveness remains both my greatest trial and my highest aspiration, a philosophical endeavor that continues to shape who I am and who I hope to become.