Modern psychology reminds us that forgiveness can be tangled with power dynamics. As Kramer and Alstad point out, when forgiveness becomes moralistic, it can contain an implicit superiority— “as long as one is judging the other lacking, how much letting go can there be?” In other words, forgiveness can easily slide into a performance of virtue rather than a true release of pain.
By George Cassidy Payne
“See with the sight of forgiveness,” wrote Abdu’l-Bahá.
It sounds simple, but if you’ve ever tried to forgive someone who wounded you deeply, you know it can feel impossible. Forgiveness is one of the great paradoxes of human life: it’s universally praised, endlessly written about, and yet one of the hardest things for us to practice.
Across faiths and philosophies, forgiveness is not a side teaching, it’s central. Judaism, in the Mishneh Torah, insists that one should be, “easily pacified and find it difficult to become angry.” Islam teaches that while justice is permitted, forgiveness is better: “Although the just requital for an injustice is an equivalent retribution, those who pardon and maintain righteousness are rewarded by God” (Qur’an 42:40).
Buddhism places forgiveness at the heart of its path through loving-kindness, compassion, and equanimity, urging us not to let resentment calcify into a lifelong identity: “He abused me, he struck me, he overcame me, he robbed me, in those who harbor such thoughts hatred will never cease.” (Dhammapada).
Even the Mahabharata—one of humanity’s longest epics—pauses its battlefield drama to reflect that “forgiveness is a virtue of the weak, and an ornament of the strong. Forgiveness subdues all in this world; what is there that forgiveness cannot achieve?”
Yet, as anyone who has wrestled with it knows, forgiveness is not a tidy moral act.
Modern psychology reminds us that forgiveness can be tangled with power dynamics. As Kramer and Alstad point out, when forgiveness becomes moralistic, it can contain an implicit superiority— “as long as one is judging the other lacking, how much letting go can there be?” In other words, forgiveness can easily slide into a performance of virtue rather than a true release of pain.
That tension sits at the heart of our struggle: forgiveness is liberating, but it is not naïve. Forgiveness does not mean condoning abuse, nor does it mean rewarding dysfunction by endlessly excusing harmful behavior. As many spiritual traditions emphasize, true forgiveness involves honesty: recognizing the offense, naming it, and—when possible—making amends.
Without that recognition, “forgiving” may just mean suppressing what is too heavy to face.
The good news is that forgiveness is not some mystical gift granted only to saints, it’s a skill we can cultivate.
Dr. Fred Luskin of Stanford University has spent decades researching the health effects of forgiveness. His findings? Forgiveness reduces stress, improves heart health, and even boosts immune response. In other words, letting go is good for the body as well as the soul.
But perhaps the most compelling reason to forgive is simpler: when we don’t, we end up bound to our pain. As Buddhist teacher Jack Kornfield puts it, “If we haven’t forgiven, we keep creating an identity around our pain, and that is what is reborn. That is what suffers.” Forgiveness, then, is not about erasing the past or excusing cruelty, it’s about refusing to chain our future to the injuries of the past.
Seen this way, forgiveness is less a gift to the offender than a form of spiritual hygiene. Like brushing our teeth, it’s maintenance work. The resentment we carry corrodes us; forgiveness clears away the toxins.
So how do we begin? Across traditions, the steps converge: honesty, intention and release. Recognize the wound. Commit, however shakily, to letting go of vengeance. Ask for help if needed—whether from God, the universe, or your own higher self. And remember: forgiveness is not a one-time act, but a practice, as much a discipline as meditation or prayer.
Forgiveness, at its core, is sight.
To forgive is to see differently, to view the world not through the haze of anger, but through the clarity of compassion. Or, as Abdu’l-Bahá reminds us: to “see with the sight of forgiveness.”
Photo: Pixabay
Editor: Dana Gornall
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George’s essays have appeared in publications such as The Good Men Project, The Buffalo News, The Rochester Democrat & Chronicle, and many more. A poet at heart, his work often blends memoir, philosophy, and theological reflection, rooted in the belief that language can be both a balm and a spark.
Whether reflecting on the writings of Marcus Aurelius, the parables of Jesus, or the mindfulness of a Jain monk sweeping the ground before them, George writes to make space for wonder, doubt, and dialogue.
He joins The Tattooed Buddha as a regular columnist to explore themes of death, inner peace, activism, grief, and contemplative life in a world on fire—and to ask, again and again: How can we live as if everything we do matters?
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