I'm sorry that I am beginning yet another entry about a book...
The above, friends, would qualify as a poor apology, or at least, such is my interpretation of Nick Smith's argument. See, it's a conditional apology in which my sincerity is in question.
I'm more than a third into I Was Wrong: The Meanings of Apologies, to which I can say this: I'm enthralled. I've until today inexplictably anticipated reading this book since March, when I listened to an author radio interview. What about apologies has got me so wrapped up?
I think, in part, it's got to do with how Smith has chosen to approach apologies, which is not solely how we define apologies, instead, he discusses the meanings of apologies. Beyond their utility - what purposes do they serve - what do apologies mean to apologizers - to victims - and what do we, as a society, make of collective apologies?
I found the dig after an entire day of reading. Three parts.
First, I'm narrowing my legal interests. I've had a long-standing interest in ethics and the law. Smith is a philosophy of law scholar who examines ethical questions as well. I am geniunely excited about ethics around legal issues and relatedly (in a way), arbitration.
On a more personal level, I realized that I'm waiting for a significant apology of my own. Sometimes, I fantasize in which form it will take and how I would feel once given. My intuition is that this awaited apology is necessary to a year-long healing process, a path which is near complete. I need to grapple with this more to understand why it seems necessary, and which role, if any, it'll play in my closure. I'm sure there'll be plenty furture comments.
When you can receive apologies, you also can impart a few of your own. There's a particular wrong which I did not reconcile well last spring. I have realized how incomplete my apology was, and need to reflect more about how to make it complete, if appropriate.
In a similar way, my absence has signified a moral failing in a couple instances. One with my grandparents. I told my dad today that I'll make an effort to see his parents before law school. I was never very close to these grandparents, was deeply offended by a homophobic statement my grandmother made to me a few years ago, and have struggled to make sense of their physical ailing's impact on my father. I should see them.
I'm also still remorseful about a middle school friend I have who was diagnosed with cancer after she moved to Arizona. Our relationship was complicated, but I should have been more present, if not supportive. I may have to let that incident go.
If you're interested in what Smith has to say about the "categorical apology," let me know.
For my small blogging audience (of friends), please do tell me if you believe I should offer you an apology. Among other things, things are becoming clearer.
See ya,
R.
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2 comments:
You owe me an apology, biotch!
Just kidding.
But seriously, apologies serve a purpose in family and in society. But even more so, forgiveness (the other half of the apology) is important. And it's hard to make people understand that forgiving is more important than receiving an apology, especially without going into a disputable Judeo-Christian pretext for it.
I can only say that apologies are nice because they make the apologizer humble... but forgiveness is better because it makes both sides humble. At least it does when it's genuine.
And while you may feel that you need to apologize to people you may never see again, making a wish to apologize and trusting that that person is benevolent enough to forgive you is really the best way to get rid of your guilt. On the same token, there are some you may believe owe you an apology. I can't tell you how to live your life or what feelings to have... but what if they never apologize? You'll always have that void there, whereas if you preempt the reconciliation with forgiveness, you might feel better about that person, eh?
Sorry this comment was so long.
NOT. :)
Care to elaborate on the "categorical apology"? This book sounds interesting.
(And, no, no apologies needed here!)
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