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CLOSE
your eyes and think of someone who has hurt you. The
offense might be profound or small but deeply painful, a
single arrow to your heart or a thousand wounding
slights. The perpetrator might be a stranger—the guy who
caused your accident, the gang-banger who took your
child. More likely, it will be someone close and
trusted. The sister who killed herself. The parent who
lashed out, the spouse mired in addiction, an unfaithful
lover.
It might
even be yourself.
Let all
the anger, hurt and resentment you feel for that
wrongdoer bubble to the surface. Seethe, shout, savor
it. Feel your heart pounding, your stomach churning and
your thoughts racing in dark directions.
OK,
stop. Now, forgive your offender. Don’t just shed the
bitterness and drop the recrimination, but empathize
with his plight, wish him well and move on—whether he’s
sorry or not.
University of
Wisconsin
psychologist Robert D. Enright, the guru of what many
are calling a new science of forgiveness, calls this
final step “making a gesture of goodness” to a
wrongdoer. It’s the culmination of a process that, he
insists, “you’ve got to be able to see through to the
end.”
But why,
exactly, would you do that? For the good of your soul?
To hold the family or business together, to make the
world a better place?
A
growing corps of researchers thinks they have it.
Forgiveness—a virtue embraced by almost every religious
tradition as a balm for the soul—might be medicine for
the body, they suggest. In less than a decade, those
preaching and studying forgiveness have amassed an
impressive slate of findings on its possible health
benefits.
They
have shown that “forgiveness interventions”—often just a
couple of short sessions in which the wounded are guided
toward positive feelings for an offender—can improve
cardiovascular function, diminish chronic pain, relieve
depression and boost quality of life among the very ill.
An AIDS
patient who has forgiven the person presumed to have
transmitted the virus is more likely to care for him or
herself and less likely to engage in unprotected sex.
Those more inclined to pardon the transgressions of
others have been found to have lower blood pressure,
fewer depressive symptoms and, once they hit late middle
age, better overall mental and physical health than
those who do not forgive easily.
Like
proper nutrition and exercise, researchers say,
forgiveness appears to be a behavior that a patient can
learn, exercise and repeat as needed to prevent disease
and preserve health.
“Who
would have thunk it—that something locked away in
religious culture could be turned into a secular
training program,” says psychologist Fred Luskin,
director of Stanford University’s Forgiveness Projects
and a leading researcher in the field who teaches
groups—many of them bound together in the workplace—to
forgive offenses large and small. “It’s a skill that can
be taught.”
Psychologist Loren Toussaint of
Luther
University
in Decorah, Iowa, and colleagues were the first to
establish a long-term link between people’s health and
their propensity to forgive.
Their
national survey, published in the Journal of Adult
Development in 2001, found forgiveness rare enough: Only
52 percent of Americans said they had forgiven others
for hurtful acts. But willingness of young respondents
to forgive showed no link to health; that propensity
began to make a difference as respondents approached
middle age. The survey found that those 45 and older who
forgave others were more likely to report having better
overall mental and physical health than those who did
not.
Efforts
to put forgiveness to a rigorous scientific test have
been funded largely by two philanthropies long
associated with research on faith, religion and science:
the Michigan-based Fetzer Foundation and the John
Templeton Foundation of Pennsylvania, which effectively
created the field in 1997 with a pledge of $2 million
for research on forgiveness. The leading thinkers on the
subject are clinical and academic psychologists whose
devotion to the goal of forgiveness either springs from
religious teachings or verges on the religious.
To many
in mental health who fear that traumatized patients face
pressure to forgive when doing so is premature or
ill-advised, the new science of forgiveness is
worrisome. “The whole Christian, 12-step mentality has
permeated our culture, and the emphasis on forgiveness
is part of that,” says Jeanne Safer, a New York
psychoanalyst and author of Must We Forgive? “For many
patients, forgiveness is a double-whammy: First someone
screws you, and then it’s your fault you don’t want to
embrace them in heaven. I’m not against forgiveness; I’m
against compulsory forgiveness with no choice. And I’m
against ‘forgiveness lite,’ which keeps you from feeling
the intensity of the experience, from deeply grappling
with what’s been done to you.”
Among
victims of incest—many of whom have turned blame inward
or fear that forgiveness entails reconciliation with an
abuser—pressure to forgive can be stressful and
sometimes impossible, says Linda Davis, the executive
director of Survivors of Incest Anonymous. “I always
tell ministers, “Don’t use the F-word.’”
“You
have to get to a place of acceptance,” Davis says.
“Forgiveness is a bonus. You don’t have to get there.”
Scientific scrutiny has a way of upending pious notions,
and the science of forgiveness is no exception. While
much of the field’s early work has focused on
forgiveness of others, academic psychologists and
clinicians are turning up evidence that forgiving
oneself might have a more powerful effect on overall
health and well-being.
Eruptions of anger at others have been shown, clearly,
to increase the risk of heart arrhythmias, heart attacks
and high blood pressure, says Dr. Douglas Russell, a
Veterans Administration cardiologist who, in a 2003
study, found that the coronary function of patients who
had suffered a heart attack improved after a 10-hour
course in forgiveness. But when anger is turned inward
and directed at oneself, lack of forgiveness appears
likely to have an ongoing, toxic health effect that
might be even more corrosive to physical and mental
health than anger directed outward.
“Sometimes people hurt us, and we move on, and it might
fade,” says Toussaint, the psychologist. As he has
refined that work with better definitions of
forgiveness, however, Toussaint says he has been
surprised to learn that those who hold onto self-blame
might suffer more. “Forgiveness of self holds the more
powerful punch,” Toussaint says. “The effects are
dramatic.”
The
early pioneers of the forgiveness field have focused
largely on an unselfish, altruistic version of
forgiveness—one that replaces ill will toward hurtful
others with positive feelings. By contrast, while the
health benefits of forgiving oneself for past mistakes
or misdeeds may be considerable, there is arguably
little altruism in it, says Safer, the New York
psychoanalyst. Does that, she wonders, make it a less
appealing object of research or a less worthy goal for
clinicians to foster?
And then
there is the complex relationship, for many people,
between forgiveness of others and self-blame.
Clinicians skeptical of forgiveness as a necessary
endpoint of therapy say they are quick to recognize
them: Many of those who are quickest to forgive others,
often at the urging of a relative or clergy member, do
so because they blame themselves for the bad things that
have happened to them. Others forgive too quickly
because they are unwilling to acknowledge their general
feelings of shame and anger, or simply because they feel
unworthy of better treatment.
Safer
calls this “fake forgiveness.” It allows victims to
continue blaming themselves, she says. And it’s a
dangerous side effect of what Safer sees as a bid to
sell forgiveness as a panacea.
Jeffrey
R., a Maryland man whose father sexually molested him
and three siblings as children, acknowledges that
self-blame and denial after the abuse has exacted a
terrible cost on his family. Two older brothers—both of
whom have refused to discuss their father’s actions—have
had seven heart attacks between them before the age of
60. One is a drug addict for whom a longtime stomach
ailment now threatens to become deadly. Another lives
alone, “eats unhealthy, lives unhealthy,” says Jeffrey,
a member of Survivors After Incest who spoke on
condition that his full name not be revealed.
“When
you have this background, you become very skilled at
pretending things are OK, just ignoring it,” Jeffrey
says. Meanwhile, the guilt, shame and anger, he says,
“are just consuming.”
After
nine suicide attempts and decades of contending with
temper and suspicion toward others, Jeffrey says he’s
not ready to forgive the father who did it, the mother
who looked the other way, or the aunts and uncles who,
after the abuse came to light, refused to discuss it.
His sister, who was raped by her father at 5, has
embraced forgiveness, says Jeffrey, telling her brother
God will judge their father. Jeffrey insists he’s let go
of the anger and bitterness caused by his abuse, and it
“has saved my life.”
But
forgiveness on the same level as his sister’s? “I’m not
really there yet,” he says. |