Making Sense of Apparent Injustice and the Path to Forgiveness (part 3)

In part 2 of this 3 part series I spoke of how choosing to retaliate or seek vengeance is an unwise response to handling apparent injustice. By taking this approach, we effectively reduce a flowing river into a cup of salty water, no longer able to nourish ourselves or provide nourishment for others. In this final segment of this article, I provide further instructions for responding wisely to injustice which involves the skill of forgiveness.

So lets unpack this further...

The Courage to Let Go: Forgiveness, Remorse, and the Effort to Begin Again

There are moments in life when the weight of the past presses against the heart like a stone. A harsh word spoken. A trust broken. An action taken—or not taken—that continues to echo long after the moment has passed. Whether we are the one who caused harm or the one who was harmed, the truth remains: pain has entered the field, and something in us longs for release.

In Buddhist practice, this release is known not as forgetting or excusing, but as forgiveness. To forgive or be forgiven is not a passive act; it is a movement of the heart toward freedom—a decision to no longer fuel the fire of suffering, resentment, or shame.

To Forgive is to Stop the Bleeding

When we say, "Please forgive me," what we are really saying is: 

I see that I have caused pain. May you no longer allow my past action to continue to burden your present.

Forgiveness in this light becomes an offering, not a request for permission to forget. It’s a gesture of responsibility and compassion—a way of saying, “Let this suffering end here.”

A young woman once described the moment she finally forgave her estranged father. He had walked out when she was a child and never returned. For years, she carried the story: I was not enough. I was not lovable. One day, through the slow unfolding of therapy and meditation, she realized that holding onto anger was keeping her tied to that identity. Forgiving him, she said, wasn’t about saying what he did was okay. It was about saying, “You don’t get to define who I am anymore.”

Forgiveness was the moment she laid down the story—and with it, the pain.

If we return to the analogy of the glass of salty water in part 1, we recognise that some pain hurts more than others the vessle through which we are processing the pain has become small. However if we see the situation through the vantage point of the right view - the first stage of the eightfold path, then we can let our cup of water flow like a river.

Wise Remorse: Regret Without Self-Hatred

In the Buddhist view, remorse is not a sin. It is a sacred compass—a sign that our moral sensitivity is still intact. But it must be wise. Wise remorse sees the suffering caused by past actions and uses that insight to deepen our commitment to goodness. It’s like a bell ringing in the heart that says: This is not who I want to be.

A monk once shared that as a layperson, he had been dishonest in business. After years of meditation, the memory arose with great pain. He wept—not out of self-hatred, but out of recognition. He could see, perhaps for the first time, the ripple effect of his choices. But he also saw this: I am not bound to that self. The remorse became a turning point. He offered restitution, and more importantly, he chose to live differently from that day forward.

Compare this to unwise remorse, or what we often call guilt. This is the voice of the inner tyrant:

“I’m a terrible person. I’ll never be enough. I don’t deserve peace.”

But wise remorse says:

“I see the harm. I feel the pain of it. Let this pain deepen my commitment to kindness, to truth, to awakening.”

Wise remorse is the choice to see clearly into the nature of suffering we've caused, accompanied by the sincere wish that it not be repeated. In Pāli, this is connected to hiri and ottappa—the healthy sense of conscience and moral caution. These are considered “guardians of the world,” because they protect the heart from heedlessness.

It humbles us without breaking us. It allows us to feel sorrow without identifying as the wrong itself. It gives us the moral sensitivity to pause, reflect, and turn toward the noble path.

The Subtle Bondage of Self-Loathing

It is often said that hate is a form of clinging. This includes self-hate. Self-loathing may masquerade as humility, but it is another way of clinging to an identity of being bad, broken or unlovable.  In Buddhist terms, it is conceit (māna) in disguise: “I am the worst” is just as sticky as “I am the best.”

The Buddha never taught us to condemn ourselves. He taught us to see clearly. To acknowledge suffering, understand its causes, and put an end to it.

To forgive ourselves, then, is to say:

I am not this unskillful act. I am not this moment of ignorance. I am a being in process, capable of awakening.

And from there, we begin again. 

Wise Effort: The Noble Response

Right effort (sammā vāyāma) is the determination to grow the good and abandon the harmful. Wise effort is one of the Eightfold Path factors and is defined as the effort to:

1. Prevent unwholesome states from arising,

2. Abandon unwholesome states that have arisen,

3. Develop wholesome states not yet arisen,

4. Maintain and perfect wholesome states already present.

   
   

This is not striving in the worldly sense—not ambition or willpower driven by ego. Wise effort comes from faith—a deep trust that awakening is possible, and that every moment is a chance to realign with truth.

Now that I see clearly, I will not plant the same seeds again.” “Let me cultivate the opposite—truth where there was deceit, generosity where there was greed, compassion where there was harm.

It is constructive, not punitive. It mobilizes energy to grow the good, not just to avoid the bad.

Example: If I spoke harshly to someone and caused harm, wise remorse would allow me to feel the sting of regret—not as self-hate, but as moral sensitivity. Wise effort would then guide me to apologize sincerely, reflect on the inner anger that fueled my speech, and train myself to respond with more mindfulness in the future.

In this way, regret becomes a teacher, not a prison.

A Story for the Heart

A monk once wept when he remembered a lie he had told in his youth. Not because he thought himself evil, but because he saw for the first time the shadow it had cast. He did not say, “I am beyond redemption.”He said, “Let this pain bear fruit in kindness.” He planted a tree in the monastery garden that day.

It still stands. They say its blossoms are unusually sweet.

When the fire of shame dies down, The embers can warm a new beginning. And when remorse bows low enough, It becomes prayer.

May all beings forgive. May all beings be forgiven. May all beings know the effort that leads to peace.

Reflections for Your Path

• What burden of the past am I still asking others—or myself—to carry?

• Do I confuse guilt with virtue?

• Is my remorse a doorway or a wall?

• What would change if I believed I could begin again?

• What seed of kindness can I plant today, in the soil of my sincerity?

Did you know that when you share the Dharma with others, it becomes a blessing? If you know someone who can benefit from these teachings, please share the fruits of clarity with others 🙏🏻