The Ultimate Scandal of Withholding Forgiveness

Forgiving past wrongs, whether real or perceived, sometimes may not be a big problem. Much harder, if not impossible, is trying to forgive an ongoing wrong. Or one with long and lingering harmful consequences, as happens all the time in situations of a continuous imbalance of power – in relationships, in politics, etc. How to simply “forgive” being stuck, seemingly powerless, on the receiving end therein? Staying in an oppressive situation while continually forgiving seems an impossible situation. Do you forgive and move on/run away – if the latter is at all possible?

Is there perhaps another attitude better suiting such situations, but still witnessing to the same spirit, a spirit laid so much store by Christianity? Or one that supplements forgiveness, making it more humanly possible? Even Jesus seemingly rationalized his forgiveness, saying, “for they know not what they are doing”: was it because he was addressing his Father, ostensibly doing even more, asking God to forgive them too? Can we imagine him on the Cross just saying, “I forgive you”? Should we allow ourselves to rationalize too, in the same vein – for our own sake? For the sake of others? If we were able to forgive at all, that is…

There is an uncanny relationship between lack of forgiveness and scandal. If only humanly possible, perhaps I should forgive to release myself from my neighbor’s sin that so affects me, that so scandalizes and oppresses me – as well as mine, committed out of a spirit of reciprocity that I cannot seem to disentangle myself from. Forgiving, releasing myself from the spiritual bondage of unrelenting mutual accusation, I would be free. In other words, I would be doing it for my own sake first and foremost. 

But how to even begin making forgiveness more humanly possible, especially when there is no sign of repentance in our wrongdoer/oppressor? Just as there is a relationship between lack of forgiveness and scandal, there is one too between forgiveness and kenosis – and a model of both…

In the following meditation several sources, Christian in inspiration as well as representing some other spiritual traditions, are consulted and referred to in order to shed light on the subject, including Catholic anthropologist Rene Girard’s mimetic theory (MT). It culminates, as it does for all Christians, in the Gospels’ revelatory self-sacrifice of Jesus Christ, with its imagery of forgiveness at the moment of suffering a cruel death on the cross, and, more broadly, as a way out of scandal brought on by mimetic reciprocity that always tends to devolve into conflict, rivalry and violence.  

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The Bible contains powerful stories and examples of unfolding human mimesis and mimetic desire, set against the backdrop of what may seem as God’s denial of maturity to humans (the commandment not to eat from the Tree of the Knowledge of good and evil), arguably implying a prohibition of any and all manifestations of mimesis, and subsequently, of its conflictual forms (the Ten Commandments), mostly having to do with mimetic desire – and how it went largely unheeded by humanity.  

One of the most powerful expositions speaking directly to conflictual human mimesis is the whole of Matthew 18, an extended narration that starts with Jesus’ warnings against scandalizing the “little ones,” then moves through a scene depicted with strokes of “inverted” Girardian-like imagery, only to proceed to an admittedly disquieting scene of an otherization backed up by an apparent display of self-righteousness, and finally finds its denouement with His call for repeated, unstinting forgiveness, reinforced by the Parable of the Unforgiving Slave  – and not just the first 10 verses dealing with scandal only, as might be acknowledged at first. Here it is (sans the parable): 

‘At that time the disciples came to Jesus and said, “Who then is greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” ² And He called a child to Himself and set him before them, ³ and said, “Truly I say to you, unless you are converted and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven. ⁴ Whoever then humbles himself as this child, he is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. ⁵ And whoever receives one such child in My name receives Me; ⁶ but whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to stumble, it would be better for him to have a heavy millstone hung around his neck, and to be drowned in the depth of the sea.

⁷ “Woe to the world because of its stumbling blocks! For it is inevitable that stumbling blocks come; but woe to that man through whom the stumbling block comes!

⁸ “If your hand or your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off and throw it from you; it is better for you to enter life crippled or lame, than to have two hands or two feet and be cast into the eternal fire. ⁹ If your eye causes you to stumble, pluck it out and throw it from you. It is better for you to enter life with one eye, than to have two eyes and be cast into the fiery hell.

¹⁰ “See that you do not despise one of these little ones, for I say to you that their angels in heaven continually see the face of My Father who is in heaven. ^11 [For the Son of Man has come to save that which was lost.]

¹² “What do you think? If any man has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go and search for the one that is straying? ¹³ If it turns out that he finds it, truly I say to you, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine which have not gone astray. ¹⁴ So it is not the will of your Father who is in heaven that one of these little ones perish.

¹⁵ “If your brother sins, go and show him his fault in private; if he listens to you, you have won your brother. ¹⁶ but if he does not listen to you, take one or two more with you, so that by the mouth of two or three witnesses every fact may be confirmed. ¹⁷ If he refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church; and if he refuses to listen even to the church, let him be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector. ¹⁸ Truly I say to you, whatever you bind on earth shall have been bound in heaven; and whatever you loose on earth shall have been loosed in heaven.

¹⁹ “Again I say to you, that if two of you agree on earth about anything that they may ask, it shall be done for them by My Father who is in heaven. ²⁰ For where two or three have gathered together in My name, I am there in their midst.”

²¹ Then Peter came and said to Him, “Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me and I forgive him? Up to seven times?” ²² Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven.’

Jesus has only the sternest of admonitions for those culpable of scandalizing their brethren, especially “the little ones,” and ostensibly there is no reproof of those taking scandal. But in a mimetic exchange there truly is no innocent party, participants by turns cause one another to stumble. The inevitable corollary fight over who is to blame for actually starting the cycle, always shifting the blame onto the other party, is humanly unsolvable. Does that mean that trying to stay innocent we should always endeavor to keep away from any verbal fray, if at all possible?

It should be stressed, however, that Jesus’ words warn specifically against scandalizing “the little ones.” Who are those little ones? The context refers one back to children, or – maybe – child-like persons. Dealing with such people one would certainly do well abstaining from any heated debate – for many reasons, not only those having to do with a threat of scandal.

So again: it seems at first that the onus is only on those causing scandal. Apparently it is OK to feel scandalized. But our attention should focus on the fact that Jesus expressly and favorably speaks here also about those who humble themselves. His words in fact are a powerful praise of the virtue of humility itself – when He sets those humbling themselves as exemplary models of humility, such as makes them the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.

Now the obvious reason that such humble “little ones” or children should be shielded from scandal is that they are humble because they do not (are not able to) exercise judgment yet. Scandalizing such “naturally” humble is an outrage, is a scandal.

Yet mature adults, even  those who “are converted and become like children,” should not be so thin-skinned as to be scandalized easily, they should exercise proper judgment and discernment. Discernment entails for example seeing into whether the “scandal” is real, rather than caused by a self-conscious and grandiose image of oneself that the one scandalized might be nourishing. Those easily scandalized are not humble, on the contrary, they evince hubris. A truly humble person would never, or at least should never, experience humiliation, or else would use it as a way to becoming even more humble.

That things are not clear-cut  is also testified to by how the problem is dealt with in Thomas Aquinas’ Summa Theologica. His insights on the matter apparently go totally against the grain of any straightforward reading of the Gospel message, or, alternatively, arguably on account of its paradoxical and seemingly inextricable nature, his extensive analysis of the subject at times might seem to be lacking in consistency. It certainly shows, though, the importance he accords it. An excerpt:

“…scandal is of two kinds, passive scandal in the person scandalized, and active scandal in the person who gives scandal, and so occasions a spiritual downfall. Accordingly passive scandal is always a sin in the person scandalized; for he is not scandalized except in so far as he succumbs to a spiritual downfall, and that is a sin. Yet there can be passive scandal, without sin on the part of the person whose action has occasioned the scandal, as for instance, when a person is scandalized at another's good deed.

In like manner active scandal is always a sin in the person who gives scandal, since either what he does is a sin, or if it only have the appearance of sin, it should always be left undone out of that love for our neighbor which binds each one to be solicitous for his neighbor's spiritual welfare; so that if he persist in doing it he acts against charity. Yet there can be active scandal without sin on the part of the person scandalized,…,” but that only happens when in effect “there is active without passive scandal, for instance when one, by word or deed, provokes another to sin, and the latter does not consent.”

Here is the crux of Aquinas’ argumentation: “Therefore scandal is not found in those who adhere to God perfectly by love, according to Ps. 118:165: ‘Much peace have they that love Thy law, and to them there is no stumbling-block (scandalum).’" He also states: “…scandal is opposed to a special virtue, viz. charity,” and approvingly quotes Jerome as saying: "Observe that it is the little one that is scandalized, for the elders do not take scandal," where the onus again is squarely on those exposed to scandal.

And Jesus, who warned against scandalizing “the little ones,” himself does in fact a lot to scandalize them. For could anyone confronted with His words in John 6 about a truly cannibalistic need to eat his flesh and drink his blood in order to have eternal life, or even life as such, be really mature enough so as not to be scandalized? Not react as a little one, as an innocent one? No, not in His age, as reported by John; and hardly in our times, where Christians now tend to gloss over the true meaning of this demand, having struggled over the dogma in the past. 

Was Jesus placing us in a double bind?, a situation so impossible of reconciliation, so adverse to it, that we could only disentangle ourselves from it by a huge leap of faith and trust? But why? And what would this leap amount to, anyway?

According to Irenaeus, a second century saint of the Church and one of its preeminent early thinkers, man’s original state of moral purity and innocence couldn’t but have been one of immaturity, due to his de facto spiritual childhood. Though created in the image of God, man is not eternal and thus not perfect. But for Irenaeus the true meaning of history was a slow process of maturation, “from image into likeness,” whereby man was eventually to achieve the divine likeness: “God became man so that man might become a god,” in which sentiment he actually preceded Athanasius. One might  say, however, that with Jesus’ intervention man was actually given a crash course in humanity.

So the whole John 6 scene might be viewed as one of Jesus seemingly jolting His listeners into growing spiritually in His presence, right there on the spot, into getting a glimpse into the truly horrific nature of sacrifice that was still well-entrenched at the time. One where, as Caiaphas said (John 11:50), “…it is expedient… that one man should die for the people, and that the whole nation should not perish.” 

But having come full circle as it were, does spiritual maturity/divine likeness not mean that we should not only refrain from scandalizing others (we are not divine after all), especially the little ones (and how are we to know how spiritually mature those we are dealing with are?), but, moreover, in view of the above, also that we ourselves must not succumb to being scandalized, not ever?

If we understand that being scandalized is already being involved in mimetic reciprocity, if not full-blown rivalry, heading toward violence as it does most of the time – the answer should be clear: no, we should not, we must not. That is what Thomas Aquinas in effect has established in his study. And that is what in the context of scandal spiritual maturity means, that is what divine likeness is about.

This is also what nonviolence is, both as regards others and ourselves. For being scandalized is violence, at least against oneself if not against others: “If your hand or your foot causes you to stumble [be scandalized], cut it off and throw it from you; it is better for you to enter life crippled or lame, than to have two hands or two feet and be cast into the eternal fire. If your eye causes you to stumble [be scandalized], pluck it out and throw it from you. It is better for you to enter life with one eye, than to have two eyes and be cast into the fiery hell.”

Christ’s injunction seems paradoxical, but the truth is that as long as one is involved in scandal on either side of it, there is no way of extricating oneself from it other than self-mutilation. Actually, in scandal there are no sides, there is just an abyss into which most fall instantly, in tandem with whoever happens to be our partner-in-scandal – given our mimetic, interdividual nature. That is why moment-to-moment spiritual discernment or mindfulness is necessary – that one may know what he/she is in fact doing.

Now for some insights from a different spiritual tradition: it is discernment that was supposed to govern the behavior of the Malamatis, or the people of blame, when they engaged in deliberate scandalizing of their fellow Muslim community members, for the sake of both bursting their own egos and jolting their neighbors into overcoming their idolatrous propensities and into a higher level of spiritual awareness. The Malamatiyya, the way of blame, used to set great store by the problem of hypocrisy and hubris as obstacles to spiritual growth on its path to wisdom through humility acquired by both self-scrutiny and self-blaming as well as incurring blame. The discernment also involved knowing who was allowed to do the scandalizing and who was not. It was reserved in fact for those well-advanced spiritually, but such as were also highly regarded by their community, if not renowned for their spirituality and  wisdom – the latter for the sake of its expected unqualified and indisputable impact. Some of the best known exemplars manifesting this approach include the martyr al-Hallaj on the practical side and the philosopher and Malamati apologist Ibn al-Arabi, on a more theoretical. 

Though in Christianity there is a tradition of fools for Christs (St Francis of Assisi is often seen as such), including the characteristic yurodivy version in Russia, which might also be the closest in spirit, there has never been a Christian counterpart as radical as the Malamatiyya. But there is one thing in common: if we as regular Christians nevertheless for some reason, e.g., for the sake of justice – and certainly not out of contempt, from manifesting which we are enjoined by Jesus next in the Matthew passage – were to scandalize our neighbors, we should be ready to absorb all the violence generated. From the Christian perspective this would entail falling back on Jesus Christ, the kenotic self-sacrificing victim of violence, and being ready to share His fate. Which obviously is easier said or imagined than done. But the Christian in such a situation has no other option than trying again and again, in hope, faith and trust, actuated by His love.

Now St Irenaeus on his part went on to say reassuringly that man’s fall should not be seen as a rebellion against God or His strictures, but rather as an impulsive, then increasingly prideful, desire to grow on one’s own, which also meant: prematurely, before one’s proper time. Yet this process might rightfully be called hominization, and mimetic theory fully corroborates that view from several angles. Individually, our hope and trust in Christ is sustained by the fact that in imitatio Christi there is also scope for our continued growth, a growth that can be unforced and tolerant of others – truly nonviolent, both on our neighbors and ourselves.

What follows then in Matthew’s Gospel is a passage that resorts to imagery and language that must strike Girardians as familiar, namely the image of ninety-nine and one, apt to evoke an even more powerful image, that of all and one. That it does not become all AGAINST one – as in Girard’s tale of a scapegoating that ends in sacrifice for the sake of the community – is made possible by the shepherd, a loving leader of that community. Instead of pouncing on an opportunity to solidify his grip on power by presenting the lost one as a sacrificial scapegoat, or reinforcing that perception – thus acting as a sacrificial high priest out to unite the fold around the sacrificial altar – he makes every necessary effort to bring it back to and reunite it with the community. “It is not the will of your Father who is in heaven that one of these little ones perish.”

Having passed on that archaic yet effective peace-bestowing stratagem, Jesus seems then forced by the logic of events to propose something else in its stead. The next verses show it to consist in attempting to win one’s transgressing – which must also include the causing of scandal – brother by having him admit his guilt and mend his ways, then, in case of that not happening, actually shunning him, as one would a tax collector in Jesus’ times.

Is shunning a charitable response? It certainly does not seem so, even if not done for all the wrong, evidently unchristian-like, motives. But for the Girardian it must be obvious that it is the proper, or at least adequate, recourse enabling one to avoid being forcibly drawn into the mimetic fray, where one is exposed to far greater spiritual dangers and violence than those involved in the shunning. While Jesus cannot be conceived as universally advocating such a practice, His doing so here might be construed as holding out an imperfect solution to a moral predicament facing an imperfect – as yet – humanity, a lesser of many possible evils, if you will.  

Many progressive Christians might be actually scandalized by this apparent advocacy of shunning. But by being scandalized they would obviously be falling into a mimetic reciprocity that would certainly be lacking in charity and, most of all, in humility. They would instantly find themselves in a double bind that is the lot of so many well-meaning and seemingly loving people, intent on doing good by their neighbors. What they would be evincing would certainly be pride, or at least insufficient humility. And they might easily find themselves succumbing to the mimetically-stoked violent impulses just beneath the surface of their civility.

Now what seems to be behind Jesus’ admonition here – if we were to attempt to square it with the thrust of progressive Christianity, including “Girardian” varieties, for that matter – is advocacy of a humility that is able to recognize one’s inability to get the better of one’s conflictual mimetic propensities, such as are easily able to subvert any love that one might have. Observing what happens to so many progressive Christians in the political arena makes this admonition to be one of utmost practicality, even if it appears to amount to falling short of the lofty ideal of charity. That is what true humility is about: being able and ready to recognize in oneself an imperfection of charity, one that stems from, as well as corresponds with, that of a humanity still in the throes of maturation.

But next in the narration comes something apparently even more disturbing: Jesus’ seeming justification of the shunning – not just an admission of its expediency – the kind of  reinforcement of otherization that might tend to stoke one’s self-righteousness that is trying to get the better of one’s more charitable motivations. “Again I say to you, that if two of you agree on earth about anything that they may ask, it shall be done for them by My Father who is in heaven” – if seen in the apparently obvious context of excluding the unrepentant from the community (“…let him be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector,” and “whatever you bind…” or “…loose on earth…”) just preceding it, the “agreed request” scene suddenly becomes redolent of a conflictual mimesis in search of equilibrium, and finding a modicum of that by ganging up on the shunned. All that is expected is that it all be done in Jesus’ name.

What redeems the whole narration, at least from a progressive, Girardian perspective, is Peter’s intervention: “Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me and I forgive him? Up to seven times?” Responding, Jesus enjoins now a virtually infinite forgiveness. Taking into account exegetical nuances of the “binding… loosing” passage (meaning “forbidding” and “permitting” something; thus it “shall have been forbidden…” or “…permitted in heaven”), having God “loose [i.e., permit] in heaven” (or, conversely, “bind [i.e., secure] in heaven,” in some popular readings) an act of exclusion on earth turns out not to be the best of solutions after all. But what is also important here is that this last admonition is offered in response to a question testifying to an admittedly advanced level of spiritual sensitivity on the part of the one asking.

It is obvious that forgiveness can hardly be imagined to be consistent with unashamed exclusion. Shunning one’s brother in the context of acknowledging the need of forgiveness could only be motivated by recognition of one’s own spiritual imperfection, or immaturity. Far from glorying in self-righteousness, if accompanied by earnestly imploring God’s mercy, it might then actually be a sign of a humility recognizing one’s inability to refrain from lashing out when scandalized or harmed. It might, or maybe even should, feel also like self-exclusion, not only that of one’s brother, from the wider Christian fold. For the Christian on a spiritual path scandal should always be recognized as claiming victims on both sides of whatever divide it creates.

Pope Francis is one spiritual leader who sees it very clearly. In his teaching he devotes much time to the problem of scandal (as well as to gossip, its seemingly a bit more innocuous variety). He also stresses in this context the importance of forgiveness, for “a Christian who is not able to forgive scandalizes: he is not Christian,” as he stated in one of his homilies. Forgiveness is difficult because the concept of forgiving as we ourselves are forgiven, taught in the Our Father, is not one which can be understood by human logic, which leads us rather towards revenge, hate, and division. But “if I do not forgive,” the pope says, “I do not have the right – it seems – to be forgiven,” and do not understand what it means to have been forgiven by God.

The predicament of falling into scandal of not being able to forgive the one scandalizing us should be well understood by Girardians. But even if that be in fact the case, it does not vaccinate us against the mimetic contagion of scandal, with its meanderings involving self-righteousness on the one hand, and varieties of emotions pivoting on or stemming from anger, on the other. It also involves being insensitive, being blind to our causing scandal in others. And although the latter situation is probably a clearer sign of spiritual immaturity, the former must also be treated as such.

From this perspective the human maturity spoken of by Irenaeus would first and foremost consist in acquiring wisdom, not just a knowledge of mechanisms; a discerning wisdom whose operation in man would be able to unlock his latent capacity to be transparent to God’s grace, to “putting on the mind of Christ,” and opening oneself to growth “from image into likeness” of God. A wisdom able to unlock man’s reservoir of humble, Christ-like love capable of self-sacrifice if need be, but also, short of attaining that ideal, constantly able to beg God’s mercy and forgiveness – for the sake of us all.

In the meantime, while praying for the grace of forgiveness, while learning and maturing into it, we must tend to becoming less and less scandalized by others, while also growing more and more sensitive to others’ scandal-taking sensibilities. Otherwise humanity’s cycle of violence that pivots on scandal is not going to be subverted, ever.

And if withholding forgiveness is the ultimate scandal, denying humanity its potential to grow beyond the spiritual station of the “little one,” mimetic theory should be able to contribute significant insights. Scandal is about undiscerning mimetic reciprocity, and MT has a lot to say about that, including what models to choose to be on the side of loving mimesis. MT recognizes in Jesus Christ the model most conducive to human growth, understood as man’s increasing capacity for humble, forgiving love. Jesus’ forgiveness from the Cross, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing,” is also a wisdom teaching that must be familiar to students of MT, pointing as it does to blind spots in those engaged in scapegoating.

Yet Jesus is also the preeminent model for Christians on the path of kenosis, something hardly explored by MT. Kenosis as exemplified by Jesus’ self-sacrifice on the Cross and more widely by His posture of self-emptying, if metaphorically seen as man’s day-to-day or even moment-to-moment responsibility, can best be learnt in and nurtured by contemplative practices. They are known for their capacity to cut if not eradicate the roots of rivalrous mimesis in man, if engaged in faithfully, on a steady basis. Christian contemplative masters have over the centuries been able to derive inspiration for their spiritual path from the person of Jesus. We would do well to follow their example whereby we might progress and mature “from image into likeness” of God.

Significantly, forgiveness and kenosis are inextricably bound together: true forgiveness is predicated on ongoing self-emptying, the former is impossible without the latter. The ultimate scandal of withholding forgiveness can only be undone in this most radical, Christ-modeled state of receptivity to the grace of God, a state allowing for continued growth of human maturity, which, paradoxically, also means being continuously “converted [to] become like children.” Only then the truly Girardian question: "who is going to forgive first," might start receding from its initial unbearable poignancy into oblivion. Which obviously does not solve all the problems of the world but at least is a beginning.