Saying Sorry

I READ recently that an Australian academic has been researching the effect of apologising on our self-esteem. He was intrigued by the fact that people are often unwilling to apologise, even when it would reduce blame and punishment. He asked a group of volunteers to send an email apologising for some real-life incident, a second group to send an email refusing to apologise, and a third group to send no email at all. He found that while those who had apologised reported that they had felt better about themselves, this was much more so in those who had refused to apologise. Those who had simply not responded felt no benefit at all.

I wonder what this means? One of the things we are taught by our faith is the need to confess our sins, with real contrition. St. Anthony stresses this time after time. In the liturgy we frequently include an act of penitence. We are told that the Sacrament of Reconciliation is a means of healing, a way in which we can be freed from the burden of guilt which we so often carry. How does this recent research sit with this?

Perhaps we should ask what, exactly, we mean by ‘self-esteem’. Is ‘apologising’ the same as contrition? Is saying ‘sorry’ necessarily the same as being sorry? And where does forgiveness come in? What about the acceptance of an apology? There seems to be quite a lot to think about.

 

Painful realisation

 

St. Anthony writes frequently about ‘compunction’. The word is related to ‘puncture’, and I suppose one meaning is what we sometimes call the ‘prick’ of conscience. The realisation that we have done wrong, perhaps hurt someone in some way, punctures our self-esteem. We are not quite as marvellous as we thought we were. Clearly, this is a painful realisation. What should be our reaction?

Anthony writes, “There are two sorts of compunction, according as we fear punishment from the remembrance of our evil deeds, or burn with desire for heavenly things and groan at their delay.” (Sermons IV, 113). Elsewhere, speaking of our Lord’s parable of The Friend at Night (or The Man Who Asked to Borrow Three Loaves from His Neighbour), he says, “The ‘three loaves’ are the three-fold grace of compunction. The first is the remembrance of one’s own frailty and sin; the second is the consideration of our present exile; the third is the contemplation of the Creator.” (Sermons IV, 234). By compunction, we become vividly aware of our real situation, the contrast between what we are and deserve, and the goodness of God who invites us to something better. The first result of this self-awareness is surely a lowering of our self-esteem. “The grace of compunction is as it were judge, whereby the sinner judges himself and condemns what he has done wrong.” (Sermons IV, 290).

 

God’s ‘misericordia’

 

In most of our Saint’s references to compunction, he links it with ‘tears’. We sorrow over our shortcomings. But such sorrow must not be mere self-pity: it should lead to a real change, to amendment. In relation to God our Father, we must be like the Prodigal Son who confessed his sin and his unworthiness. We do this in sacramental confession, but even before that in our heart-felt contrition. We lay our burdened and wounded selves before God, just as we are, and acknowledge our need for his mercy – his ‘misericordia’, his loving pity for our condition. God is always more ready to be reconciled than we are to seek reconciliation.

In laying down our burden, in exposing our wounds, and accepting the healing love of God, of course we feel relief, we feel better and we are beginning to be better. We ‘feel better about ourselves’ because we have taken the first steps towards renewal of our lives. This is in relation to God. But the research I mentioned at the beginning had to do with our human relationships. Does the same hold true there? Certainly, where there has been a breach between ourselves and someone we esteem or even love, the realisation of that breach will be painful, and reconciliation will here too tend to make us feel better. But why should refusal to apologise have an even more powerful effect?

 

Aspects of pride

 

The refusal to admit wrongdoing by the guilty is surely connected, first, with the fear of appearing weak, the fear of unpleasant consequences of some sort. This alone, though, would hardly make someone feel better about himself. No, it comes rather from a belief in one’s own superiority, from a belief that, in deceiving others about one’s weakness, one is actually asserting one’s power. Self-satisfaction over what actually demeans us is an aspect of pride, the root of all sin.

Anthony has much to say about pride and hypocrisy. The proud man looks down on other people, the hypocrite covers his sin with an appearance of virtue. “There are three sorts of pride,” says the Saint, “towards inferiors, towards equals and towards superiors. The proud man treads underfoot, despises and mocks. He treads on his inferiors as on the ground… He despises his equals… and has no difficulty in looking down on those close to him. He even mocks his superior, whom he should respect as his father.” (Sermons I, 53) Anthony compares hypocrites to ostriches, which have fine feathers, but are incapable of flight. They pretend to be virtuous, but cannot rise to true union with God.

 

God is not deceived

 

It may well be true that those who refuse to admit their mistakes and to apologise for them have a greater self-esteem than those who do own up. But that kind of self-esteem is not something to be praised. It is the opposite of humility. “The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.” We may deceive our fellow human beings, but we cannot deceive God. He sees not only the initial sin, but the obduracy and hardness of heart that refuses to admit it. God save us from that sort of ‘self-esteem’!