As for the times when you realize
that you’ve harmed others, the Buddha recommends that you understand that
remorse is not going to undo the harm, so if an apology is appropriate, you
apologize. In any case, you resolve not to repeat the harmful action again.
Then you spread thoughts of goodwill in all directions.
This accomplishes several things.
·
It
reminds you of your own goodness, so that you don’t — in defense of your
self-image — revert to the sort of denial that refuses to admit that any harm
was done.
·
It
strengthens your determination to stick with your resolve not to do harm.
·
And
it forces you to examine your actions to see their actual effect: If any of
your other habits are harmful, you want to abandon them before they cause
further harm.
In other words, you don’t want your
goodwill to be just an ungrounded, floating idea. You want to apply it
scrupulously to the nitty-gritty of all your interactions with others. That way
your goodwill becomes honest. And it actually does have an impact, which is why
we develop this attitude to begin with: to make sure that it truly animates our
thoughts, words, and deeds in a way that leads to a happiness harmless for all.
I see apology as being a reorientation of our
being toward the good. Our minds and selves are modular: some parts of us see
the way to happiness as lying in selfishness and aggression, while other parts
of us see the path to happiness as lying in mindfulness and compassion. When
the unskillful takes hold of us, it’s crucial to re-establish as quickly as
possible that this was a deviation, and to redirect ourselves toward awakening.
When we try to justify what we’ve done, by rationalizing or weaseling our way
out of admitting fault, we actually strengthen the unskillful within us, and
end up perpetuating our own and others’ suffering.
Another way to deal with our
unskillful actions is confession. Confession’s what I’m doing here, in part.
When we confess we’re being honest about what we’ve done, so that we can own it
and move on.
When I first did formal confession,
I was terrified that the people I was confessing to (we did it in a group)
would stop liking me if they knew what I was “really” like. But in fact, I
discovered that they loved me more for having been honest with them. In
confessing we’re not looking for forgiveness, just to have what we’ve done out
in the open, rather than festering inside us. I don’t need you to forgive me; I
just need you there to hear me.
The power of confession, like that
of apology, lies in re-establishing our connection with who we truly want to
be. It gives the reins of our being back to the wiser, kinder, and more honest
parts of ourselves.