Rethinking “Forgiveness”

Forgiveness is often hailed as the ultimate moral virtue — a cleansing of the soul, a sign of spiritual maturity, and the first step toward healing fractured relationships. But in modern discourse, particularly in religious and pop-psychological circles, “forgiveness” has extended beyond the sensible, beyond etiquette, and beyond justice and useful application. The concept of “forgiveness” has been stretched far outside of the realms of that which is easy to “forgive”, that which is merely inconvenient or annoying, or relatively innocuous or insignificant, where “forgiveness” is merely part of tolerating people’s human shortcomings, their mistakes and their accidents, or extending ‘mercy’ to those who’ve disrespected or “trespassed against us” (and have since offered sincere apologies and the necessary restitution). This reimagined kind of “forgiveness” has taken on a dangerously idealized form ignorant to or dismissive of the laws and limits of human nature and the potential implications for the social order: a form of “forgiveness” that insists that all debts can (or ‘must’) be erased as if they never existed, that “forgiveness” can be unconditional, immediate, and even theatrically expressed; a form of “forgiveness” extended for all things, at all times, no matter what, and which, once universalized, would not only be assumed, expected and implied in all cases, but would continue to be exploited (only at the extreme, in this case) by the opportunists and evildoers who flourish in the absence of consequences and who, in this case, stand to be set free or shown mercy regardless. 

This popular view, while noble in some nebulous abstract theory detached from reality, fails to grapple with the relational, moral, and practical complexities that surround real-life wrongdoing. In truth, forgiveness mustn’t be unconditional, especially when it comes to serious harm, broken trust, or ongoing injustice. This kind of “forgiveness” is not just disingenuous but dangerous enough to corrupt and to pressure others who haven’t offered their “forgiveness” — who have good reasons for withholding “mercy” or “forgiveness” from those who have harmed them.

At the heart of the issue is a fundamental confusion between two very different ideas: the internal release of anger, and the external restoration of a relationship. When someone deeply wounds another, it can be profoundly therapeutic — even restorative, psychologically and emotionally — to release the emotions of bitterness and personal vengeance; however, this internal freedom — should it last — mustn’t (and doesn’t necessarily) imply a restoration of trust or a reconciliation of debts, and it mustn’t come from rejecting the value and validity of the emotions nor from pretending the offense was never committed. The external aspects of “forgiveness” must be earned, not given unconditionally, whereas the internal aspects might be described more clearly as “release”.

To grant forgiveness without repentance or restitution not only dilutes its meaning but also risks enabling further harm. It is neither wise nor just to offer restoration to someone who shows no remorse or any intention to change. As such, genuine “forgiveness” cannot be divorced from the offender’s response — and where there is a response, that response may be either inadequate or disingenuous. The goodhearted and the goodnatured mustn’t go out of their way searching for ways to offer their “forgiveness”, especially where they risk offering a kind of false “forgiveness” and committing the sin of false witness; especially where strength and courage might be required in the pursuit of Earthly justice, where premature “release” (or “forgiveness”) might otherwise preclude it; and especially where they are to err in “forgiving” the unforgivable — that for which restitution is functionally impossible — and, through vacuous moral posturing, enable more of the same.

“Forgiveness” is often portrayed as a moral performance, especially in public settings. Victims are lauded when they “forgive” their abusers quickly, particularly in high-profile cases. But this kind of performative “forgiveness” serves more to soothe social discomfort than to promote true healing. It can pressure victims into premature emotional resolutions, minimize the seriousness of the offense, and cater more to the emotional needs of the offender than to justice. It can also frame performative “forgiveness” as a form of strength, and anger — whether expressed or internalized — as a form of weakness. Worse still, it can frame the issue in such a way that it convinces people that there are only two options when wronged, regardless of the severity of the offense: immediate “forgiveness” or the kind of anger that will haunt the victim until she finally extends her “forgiveness”. Lost in this false dichotomy is the option of withholding “forgiveness”, harnessing the anger for constructive ends, and working to manage the emotions through therapeutic “release”. Ultimately, the emphasis on performative “forgiveness” is not only dishonest but incredibly destructive to both the individual and society.

Genuine “forgiveness”, by contrast, has a practical and moral purpose: to restore what was broken, to repair trust, to move toward reconciliation, and to first ensure that reasonable steps have been taken to prevent a repeated offense. This requires more than a symbolic gesture — it demands repentance, change, and accountability from the one who caused harm. As it is declared in Acts 26:20, it is essential that offenders “repent and turn to God, performing deeds in keeping with their repentance,” bearing in mind (per Romans 2:4) that “God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance.”

One helpful reframing is to distinguish between “forgiveness” and “release.” While reconciliation depends on mutual effort, “release” is a solo act. It means letting go of the desire for personal revenge, refusing to be controlled by anger, and freeing oneself from the emotional grip of the offense. This internal release is valuable and necessary, even when the offender remains unrepentant.

However, release does not require trust, nor does it imply that the offender deserves any shred of “mercy” or any place back in society or the victim’s life. In fact, choosing not to restore a relationship can be an act of wisdom and self-preservation — especially when the offender is unrepentant, abusive, or dangerous. Reconciliation without repentance is not forgiveness — it is enablement.

Some argue that placing conditions on “forgiveness” — such as demanding repentance or restitution — is unloving or harsh. But in reality, conditional “forgiveness” is deeply ethical and constructive, and, in practice, it is the only kind that human beings are even capable of extending. It respects the moral agency of the offender and holds the person accountable for the harm caused, and thereby serves the interests of justice and preserves the integrity of the social order. It treats “forgiveness” as something sacred, not something cheapened by being handed out indiscriminately or for theatric effect. After all, where cheap or automatic “forgiveness” is offered following a serious moral offense or a particularly heinous crime, the cheapness of the “forgiveness” represents either ignorance, apathy, selfishness, sanctimony, false witness, or a lack of care, concern, or love.  

Even in modern Christian circles, where “forgiveness” is often described among congregants as unconditional, a closer reading reveals nuance. The New Testament refers to “forgiveness” in the Greek “aphiēmi”, meaning “to send away, to let go, to release, to remit, to leave behind, to cancel (a debt)”. Biblical “forgiveness” often includes conditions of repentance — as in Acts 2:38, where Peter calls on his Jewish audience to “Repent and be baptized... for the forgiveness of your sins.” Jesus’ teachings, such as in Luke 17:3–4, explicitly tie “forgiveness” to the offender’s repentance. The parable of the unmerciful servant highlights the mutual obligations within “forgiveness”, and Jesus’ own words from the cross (“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do”) also imply a certain moral context, where “they” — the offenders — are known by Christ to “know not what they do” as they proceed to carry out His public execution in a procedural manner in adherence to the orders of Pontius Pilate. This example is distinct from others where offenders are generally aware of the wrongs and the sins they commit, who carry or express guilt or otherwise seek to evade justice or conceal evidence of their crimes.

All of this demonstrates that biblical “forgiveness” is relational and restorative, not merely emotional or symbolic; it is neither expected nor automatic but occasionally warranted where the necessary conditions are met. Even then, it is still a rightful decision, not a moral obligation, to extend “forgiveness”. Ultimately, the restoration of any relationship is conditioned upon a moral transformation — a turning away from wrongdoing and a sincere desire to make things right.

There are times when withholding forgiveness is the most responsible choice, when holding on to the anger and the desire for vengeance are necessary for the achievement of justice. When offenders are unrepentant, when the wounds are still bleeding, or when justice has yet to be served, offering premature forgiveness can distort the moral order. It can shield the offender from consequences, silence the victim’s pain, and obstruct justice — and it can diminish the pain and the sorrow of those also grieving who are unwilling to “forgive” (and who are completely in the right and justified to withhold “forgiveness”).

In such cases, withholding “forgiveness” is not an act of vengeance but of moral clarity. It sends the message that wrongdoing has consequences, that healing cannot be forced, and that reconciliation requires more than a one-sided gesture.

Finally, if “forgiveness” is an internal act — a spiritual and moral release — then it does not require announcement or recognition. Informing the offender may sometimes be appropriate or charitable, especially if reconciliation is possible, but it is not always necessary. In some cases, it may even be counterproductive or outright destructive (as shown), serving more as a performance or a (potentially futile) plea for closure than an act of healing.

“Forgiveness” is not a virtue that should be handed out cheaply or automatically. It is not a badge of moral superiority or a public performance for applause. Rather, it is a moral process — one that includes both internal release and external accountability. While it may begin as a personal decision to release bitterness, it finds full expression only through mutual effort, repentance, and restitution.

In this light, “forgiveness” is not unconditional. It is conditioned upon change, upon justice, and upon the restoration of what was broken. Anything less may feel virtuous, but in practice, it may only perpetuate harm.

Let “forgiveness” be wise, honest, and just — not only for the sake of the one who “forgives”, but also for the integrity of what “forgiveness” is meant to be. While, in the course of healing, one might eventually have “release” or find “peace,” those are very different from “forgiveness”. And if there is no difference, let’s just get rid of the word “forgiveness” entirely, as it merely causes problems and confusion.