It’s advice we have heard throughout our life: forgive others. It sounds simple, but as anyone who has tried it knows, forgiving someone can be truly difficult.
Let’s say a coworker criticizes us in front of everyone. His sarcastic attack seems completely unwarranted. Not sure of how to react, some in the group gasp but others laugh. Humiliated, we desperately wish we could disappear, while at the same time angrily wonder how we can retaliate and regain some respect.
If we’re to have a chance to forgive in such a situation, it will be helpful to understand what is really going on.
As the Buddha explained, all beings have lived countless lifetimes. So we have interacted with innumerable beings in myriad ways, both good and bad. All these interactions are karmic causes, seeds that remain dormant until they encounter certain conditions. This is not unlike planting strawberry seeds. Without the right conditions of good soil and adequate water, the seeds won’t germinate and bear fruit.
Like those strawberry seeds, our karmic seeds also need to encounter their own right conditions in order to germinate. When they do, we will experience their respective karmic retributions, their fruit, some good, others bad.
When the seeds, the causes, are good, we find that the person we are interacting with is thoughtful and caring, just as we are with them. They want the best for us, and when we say or do something that upsets them, they shrug it off. Again, we reciprocate in the same gracious way. Letting go of the rising irritation, and then forgiving, our friendship or love prevails as minor annoyances are let go.
But what if it is some of our bad seeds that encounter certain conditions? Since we have not only failed to resolve our differences in the past, but have actually made them worse, an enmity would have become more intense. So we end up in situations like the one with our angry coworker.
Over time, his anger toward us intensified. He is long past the point where he would quietly take us aside and clear things up. Now he waits until everyone is present to witness him making a scathing mockery of what we did. The result? We are humiliated as others look at us, and laugh.
Instead of planning how to get even, thereby escalating our mutual animosity, what can we do? Remind ourselves—as often and as sincerely as necessary—that if we do not let go of our embarrassment, bitterness, or anger, we are doomed to more of the same. And worse. For a long time.
Next, we remind ourselves that just as dropping a lump of burning coal will ease the pain in our hand, forgiveness will ease our suffering. And bring us peace.
Can this really work?
In the Pennsylvania countryside in the United States, in the year 2006, on a cloudless autumn day, twenty-six children were at the West Nickel Mines Amish School. After the morning recess, the children returned to the schoolhouse. A non-Amish man who lived in the area entered the schoolhouse carrying a semiautomatic handgun. The young teacher and her visiting mother, knowing three other visiting female relatives were in the schoolroom, were able to slip out the side door and run across the field to the nearest farm for help.
The man tied up the girls and told them to line-up at the chalkboard. He assured them he would not hurt them if they did as he said. Taught to trust elders, the girls believed him initially. He ordered the women to leave. Next, he ordered the boys to bring in the provisions he had in his truck and then also to leave the building. At their departure, the man nailed the doors shut as he prepared for a siege.
State troopers arrived within minutes of receiving the emergency call from the neighboring farm to find the man barricaded inside the school with the girls. A police negotiator called out to the man. His response was to warn the police that if they did not leave immediately, he would start killing the ten girls. As the man then began firing, the police stormed the building, and the man killed himself with his handgun.
The call went out: mass casualty. State police, ambulance crews, emergency vehicles, and helicopters turned out in a desperate attempt to save the young girls. Family members and friends gathered at the nearest farm to wait word. Due to the confusion of the girls being rushed to different hospitals, the sameness of their attire, and the extent of the injuries, identification was difficult and not immediate.
The shooting stunned people around the world. Ten innocent girls were shot. Five had died. The youngest had been seven years old. And then the world was further stunned by the reaction of the Amish. Those who spoke to the media, the police, the hospital staff did not speak from anger. Though shocked and grieving for the sudden loss of beloved children, the Amish responded with grace and concern for the shooter’s wife and her three children. Within hours, some Amish were calling on her, not out of bitterness and recrimination, but out of deep compassion for her.
A few days later, among those attending the shooter’s funeral were some of the parents who had just buried their children. As donations came in for the Amish, they were put aside to help with medical expenses. The Amish then arranged for some of the funds to go to the shooter's family, since they were now without a breadwinner.
The Amish had responded not with anger, but with forgiveness. That is perhaps what stunned people the most. In a world where grudges are held and nurtured; where retaliation for wrongs, real or perceived, is becoming a norm; and where conflicts are routinely fought; in such a world, forgiveness for such an act is amazing.
How could the Amish forgive such a heinous act? And so quickly? Their children had begun their day as usual, by reciting, "And forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors." As an Amish bishop later said, "Refusing to forgive is not an option. It's just a normal part of our life . . . . Forgiveness was a decided matter . . . . It was spontaneous . . . . It was automatic.’”1 Did the Amish forgive completely and immediately? Some had. Others said they were still working on it. But the thought of forgiveness came spontaneously and automatically.
For most of us, initially, forgiveness takes hard work. The Amish did the work. The children had begun their day by reciting a Bible verse—if they were to be forgiven, they had to forgive others first. They had to plant the seed in order to reap the result.
We know that what we affirm to ourselves repeatedly will take root over time. The behavior we reinforce will be the behavior that comes more easily and even spontaneously. The Amish had reinforced the importance of forgiveness and so when they needed to, the thought to forgive arose naturally.
What about us?
When someone tells us to do something, too often our automatic response is resistance. We silently wonder, Why? Not the How can this help? kind of why. But the rebellious, Why should I? Any parent of a young child quickly learns that "Because I said so” does not work.
What often does work is when someone explains the reasons for doing something. Set in our ways, few of us like change when it is thrust upon us by circumstances or other people. Plus, we wouldn’t be currently doing something if we didn’t, at some level, think it was the thing to do. So doing something differently often requires us to admit to ourselves that we’ve been wrong. Something else most of us don’t enjoy doing. Also, changing the way we think and follow through takes work. Not crazy about that either. Perhaps most importantly, doing something differently from the accepted norm requires motivation.
A strong motivator is believing in something greater than or beyond ourselves. As in the Amish account above, this belief may be religious—people must forgive others so that they themselves will be forgiven. For others, the answer may be secular—forgiveness is a universal virtue. It benefits both ourselves and the other person.
And for some of us, the answer lies in our understanding of causality. Our every thought, word, and action will have consequences. We need to remember this when someone offends, acts against, or even hurts us. How we react will have consequences for us. Not just in the next few moments but for lifetimes to come.
We have two basic choices here.
We can choose to live in bitterness and resentment. Left unchecked, these will surely destroy us. Growing and spreading like a virus, they will infect our present and future lives. Our bitterness and resentment will contaminate and infect those we love and care about in ever-widening circles of destruction.
Or we can choose to forgive and live in peace. Herein lies the answer to our unconvinced “Why should I?” Revenge and bitterness will affect our future lives, as will forgiveness and equanimity. Revenge negatively. Forgiveness positively. For too many lifetimes, we have chosen revenge and bitterness. Not surprisingly, we're still paying the price. But by wisely choosing forgiveness, we set ourselves on a path to a better future. Not just for the next few years, but for countless lifetimes to come. And not just for ourselves, but for those we will love and care about.
If only forgiveness were as forthcoming in our own communities as it was in that Pennsylvania countryside, so much would change. No longer would we see every conversation as a competition between ourselves and others, hear every "no" as a challenge to everything we believe. No longer would we struggle with ourselves, swinging like a pendulum between retribution and respite. No longer would we suffer the painful consequences of our anger and rage. Our chosen response would no longer be an anonymous retort, a hateful tirade, a fist, a knife, or a gun.
Family grievances would be a thing of the past, and workplaces would become far less anxiety-producing. Driving a car or flying in a plane would again be an uneventful means of getting from one place to another. Everyday activities would become more civil.
Forgiveness will enable us to deflect the first arrow of pain and never reach for the quiver filled with the arrows of suffering.