In a recent sermon at the Methodist Church, Reverend Short expounded on forgiveness. He related his own struggles with forgiving a parishioner in his first pastorate who continually demanded special attention without regard for the hardships this imposed. The parson acknowledged the raw emotions stirred by being wronged but emphasized the freedom afforded by releasing this debtor. And as a bonus, he satisfied a biblical mandate. He outlined an effective strategy to evict this menacing tenant from leased space in his head—advice I have delivered countless times to my patients.

There is a tension in the Bible about forgiveness. Jesus is all in favor of amnesty, inserting it as a quid pro quo in the Lord’s Prayer and requiring its repetition up to 490 times if necessary. He even exonerated his tormentors while being executed (even though early texts omit this generosity).  

Yet the Psalms are filled with entreaties for the Almighty to extinguish their enemies. The Old Testament God freely commands the slaughter of heathens, including women and children, without mercy. I find modern Christians in both of these camps. 

If Scripture can’t quite make up its mind, neither can the secular world, which offers its own colorful cast of opinions on when and why to forgive. Perhaps the most quoted is Alexander Pope: “To err is human; to forgive, divine.” Nineteenth-century social reformer Hannah More argues for psychological economy: “Forgiveness saves the expense of anger, the cost of hatred, the waste of spirits.” After spending 27 years as a political prisoner, Nelson Mandela pointedly agreed: “Resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping that it will kill your enemies.”  

Oscar Wilde wryly advises, “Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them as much.” This, of course, is just a sassier version of St. Paul’s counsel in Romans 12:20: “If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink: for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head.” 

Most people seem to harbor a good number of grievances. My patients regularly prosecuted their nemeses in my consulting courtroom, often indicting parents and spouses. Some can remember every tort ever experienced and supply details of their mistreatment long after their tormentors are pushing up daisies. Whole countries and cultures pass down resentments to their succeeding generations—a certain Middle Eastern conflict, no doubt, comes to mind. For many Montagues, there is an unforgivable Capulet.

Among my ample supply of vices, unforgiveness does not make the list. Far from claiming this as a virtue, I might chalk it up to good fortune. Since I have been offended only by misdemeanors, exoneration is an easy verdict. 

Another factor may be what country tunesmith Jo Dee Messina describes as my busted ‘give a damn.’ I find it hard to get too upset by torts that don’t threaten my valued personal resources. When my thoughtful and well-articulated suggestion draws an “O.K. Boomer” response, my bank account loses no value, my friends don’t desert me, and my granddaughters still love me. The tattooed thirty-something who rolls her eyes while saying it may even have a point.

For those harmed by interpersonal felonies—assaults, unfaithfulness, neglect, abuse, etc.— the prescription is not different, just much harder. Evicting these mental tenants is a process of fits and starts. Defanging monsters, conquering fear, and asserting your power take time and persistence. But the dividends are your Emancipation Proclamation.

Regardless of whether your acts of forgiveness are large or small, forgetting is another matter altogether. Thomas Szasz explains: “The stupid neither forgive nor forget; the naive forgive and forget; the wise forgive but do not forget.” It can be healthy to wipe inconsequential misdemeanors from memory, especially when our intimates commit the petty crimes. But for felonies, we should never rent our mental space to the offending tenant, nor let him sneak back in on a sublease.