Category: Forgiveness

  • Where does “forgiveness” come from?

    Where does “forgiveness” come from?

    Since I began discussing forgiveness as the topic of my new book project, I have had a number of very smart friends send over great research materials.

    One person pointed out the two Greek words used in the Bible for forgiveness: charizomai, which translates roughly to “grace” or to “bestow a favor unconditionally” and aphiemi, which translates to “set free,” “let go,” or “cast off.”

    Both are good words to use when discussing forgiveness in a general manner. But, unfortunately, neither are useful for a discussion of the etymology (origin) of the word we use (or misuse) everyday: we do not speak Greek and I’m not anchoring my discussion in Christianity. (Instead, Christianity is only one facet of the discussion).

    The bigger the vocabulary, the more precise the language

    English is a very precise language with a huge vocabulary. Experts who study the English language say that there are approximately 350,000 words (although some estimates go up to one million words and the Oxford English Dictionary says that English has 273,000) in our vocabulary (including words that have fallen out of usage and words adopted from other languages). Spanish, on the other hand, has about 150,000.

    Greek, however, is known as one of the world’s richest languages, with dictionaries and experts estimating that the language contains anywhere from 200,000 to 5 million words.

    Obviously, counting vocabulary words is not an exact science. But we can see here that Greek has more words to choose from when we talk about the idea of forgiveness. No wonder they are able to use two, very distinct words.

    What about “pardon” or “reconciliation”

    Yes, these words can be seen as synonyms or similar words to “forgive.” But in English, we seldom say, “Pardon me” (from the French perdonare and the French pardoner) when referring to anything other than accidentally bumping into people or burping in public.

    “Reconciliation” in English, unlike forgivess, is a two-way street. Both parties have to agree.

    Which leads us back to “forgive.”

    Word Origin

    From approximately the 5th to the 12th century, the people of England and southern Scotland spoke what scholars call Anglo Saxon, a Germanic language that was comprised of numerous dialects depending on geography. This is also often referred to “Old English.”

    That all changed with the Norman Invasion of 1066 CE, when William the Conquerer and his armies introduced French to the region. For a number of centuries after the invasion, most “learned” Brits were bilingual and Old English evolved into what we call Middle English.

    “Forgive” is derived from the Anglo Saxon forgiefan, a word from the West Saxon dialect which means “to give,” “allow,” “pardon an offense,” or to “forgive.” The Norman invasion introduced words like pardoner centuries later.

    Not very helpful, huh? I was hoping for something a little more enlightening as well. We don’t have additional words for forgiveness with subtle differences to help with nuance (as we can see, “pardon” and “reconciliation” are poor replacements).

    So how did this word with such humble beginnings become so loaded and so weaponized in the 21st century? How did a language so rich refuse to adopt or create new words to help embrace one of the fundamental concepts of society and community living?

    How did we let forgiveness f*ck us up so much, and what do we do about it?

  • Weaponized Forgiveness: A New Blog Series

    Weaponized Forgiveness: A New Blog Series

    “Forgive me.”

    “Times were different then.”

    “You need to forgive to heal.”

    “Let go of your anger and find healing and peace.”

    Heard these before? What is this is a lot of sociological, historical, and political bunk?

    That’s what I am looking to find out.

    I am working on a new book project. The idea came to me piece by piece during the past few months as a culmination of my observations of how people are systematically manipulated and controlled by one principle: forgiveness.

    My observations began with the place where I spend most of my blogging time: the world of exposing child sexual abuse. I noticed how perpetrators use forgiveness to manipulate victims into keeping silent. I’ve watched how institutions such as the Catholic Church use Christian principles of forgiveness to allow abuse to continue and flourish.

    Then, just as the idea was beginning to solidify, current affairs stepped in to help.

    From the recent protests over racial injustice, to police, to politics, to corporate misdeeds, why is it that wrong-doers always hide behind the need for victims to forgive?

    Then, it got personal.

    Method of control

    In the past couple of weeks, a credibly accused child predator emailed me, asking that I take down a Diocese of Belleville warning about him. The warning states:

    The Diocese of Belleville informs the Conference that it has dismissed Fr. Balili from this position, and has requested his bishop to direct Fr. Balili to return to his home diocese, and that it took this action based on instances of what the Diocese of Belleville viewed as inappropriate conduct regarding certain of his parishioners. The Diocese of Belleville also indicates
    that it has learned of similar inappropriate conduct in Fr. Balili’s
    previous assignments.

    And, of course, I am not the only outlet that has reported on the allegations.

    In his email to me, he asks to be “reconciled with me” because much time has passed since he was removed from Belleville. He wants to get on with his life, he says. He opened the email with “Pax Christi” (Latin for Peace of Christ).

    I told him that if the Diocese of Belleville chooses to retract the statement, I will issue a correction.

    But what do his language and tone tell us? If I don’t reconcile (actually a step beyond forgiveness), am I a bad person? Do I defy Christian values? Am I not following the example of Christ (turn the other cheek, love the prodigal son, find the lost sheep)?

    Has this kind of control mechanism been used on an individual, institutional, and systematic basis for as long as man has lived communally?

    That is what I hope to find out.

    Weaponized Forgiveness will not be a “how to” or “self-help” book. Instead, I plan to create a historical lesson and sociological study. I want to examine the roles that institutions and families—faith and government—individuals and mobs—peaceful protests and riots—play in creating the social norms and emotional health of individuals in the modern world.

    In other words: why does forgiveness f*ck us up so much?