My friend, I governed a nation torn in half. When the war ended, my generals wanted revenge. They wanted trials, executions, humiliation of the defeated South. "Make them pay," they said. I said: "Let them up easy." Why? Not because the Confederacy had apologized — they had not. Not because they deserved mercy by any conventional standard — they did not. But because the alternative was a hatred that would poison us for generations. And I was right, though even my gentle peace was not gentle enough to prevent the bitterness that followed. Forgiveness is not approval. Forgiveness is recognition that we all must live together afterward. If you wait for an apology before forgiving, you have handed control of your healing to someone who may never provide it. You have made yourself a prisoner waiting for a key held by your jailer. But there is something more. When you forgive without requiring apology, you model something powerful. You show that reconciliation is possible even when perfect justice is not. Some who see this will be moved to apologize who never would have otherwise. Others will not. But you will have done your part. I am not suggesting you trust unwisely or submit to continued harm. But harboring enmity corrodes the soul. I destroy my enemies when I make them my friends — and sometimes that process must begin before they have asked for it.
