The topic for my seminar class on the evening of November 8th was “Forgiveness and Reconciliation.” We sat around the table that night discussing the various theological perspectives on the topic, commenting on the many theories proposed by top scholars in the field, and offering our own insights into the intellectual conversation at large. We do that well, here in divinity school; we easily get lost in the theorizing and intellectualizing, often forgetting to ask what these theories really mean for us.
You see, something else happened on that Monday here in New Haven. Earlier in the day, in a courthouse just a few blocks down the street from the hill where we found ourselves that evening, jurors approved that the death penalty could be applied to a man convicted of many counts of sexual violence and the murder of three (a mother and her two young daughters). The crimes for which the man was found guilty are horrendous, and there is no doubt in my mind that he should be held accountable for his actions.
However, as I sat around the seminar table that evening, I found my stomach painfully knotted with questions and an aching sense of responsibility. I kept asking myself: As a person of faith, what is my responsibility to forgiveness and reconciliation, and what does that look like? To whom should the faithful extend forgiveness? Are there limits to that forgiveness? I believe in justice, but I do not believe in vengeance. What is the role of faith communities in creating a space safe for the victims’ family to feel grief and long for vengeance, while maintaining a commitment to justice that their grief cannot? What about the jurors? Who is caring for them? In three days, they decided a man’s life was worth taking. What does that do to someone spiritually? How do we care for them?
I strongly oppose the death penalty for many reasons, but the purpose of this post is not to start a political debate. Rather, I want to explore the deeply spiritual questions that this case has erupted for me. Tonight, Steven Hayes was officially sentenced; he is scheduled to be put to death on May 27, 2011.
The idea of putting someone to death, of taking someone’s breath, deeply disturbs me. My closest understanding of the Divine is the breath breathed through all of us. It is a breath that collapses time and space, breathing through me like it breathed through the generations before me and through those both far and near. Breath lives within all of us, it connects us, and it sustains us. God, to me, is this Divine Breath. The thought of taking this breath from another horrifies me, because it is an act of forcefully removing the Divine from that person.
For me, the spiritual crime, however, began when we forgot Steven Hayes’ humanity and we forgot the divine breath within him. Tonight I heard a commercial for the 11:00 broadcast of News 8 (WTNH), in which the broadcaster promised to reveal the intense emotions in the courtroom “as they sentenced the monster to death.” Yes, Hayes’ actions are incomprehensibly horrific, monstrous even. But, is he a monster? Is the breath that flows through him different than the breath within me?
In an article, William Petit (the husband and father of the victims) is quoted as saying “Evil does exist, and it can strike at any time…Evil is among us, and we need to rid the world of it.” A few paragraphs later, his sister is quoted as saying, “Some people are so evil that they do not deserve life…and Steven Hayes falls into that category.” What does it mean to be evil? I think actions can be evil. But, when we put someone to death as a way of ridding the world of evil, we seem to imply that it is not only something that lives within an action, but also something that lives within a being. If we all carry the Divine within us, how can one’s self be evil? Can the Divine dwell within an evil being? Can evil dwell within a Divine one?
I have few answers for my many gnawing questions, but I think this is a deeply spiritual conversation that people of faith must engage.
Elizabeth, this is a powerful post regarding a powerful question. Those of us in CT, and indeed those of us around the world, who “witnessed” these murders and the trial have been grappling with it–many of us from a safe distance not afforded the victims’ families. I would have said (and likely would still say) that I am ill at the thought of the death penalty–that it turns my stomach to even contemplate, but that I voice this opinion from a position of absolute privilege. I refuse to set or define a position, largely because I haven’t done the theological exploration you have done about it, but also because I have children….I know what it’s like to go to bed at night presuming their safety, and my imagination can take me to that wretched space where they aren’t there the next morning.
I, too, have wondered about our loss of Steven Hayes’ humanity–it creates a presumably safe distance. I think we are fully human when our imagination can take us to the place of fear I mentioned above, but also when our imagination can remind us that we are capable of the very acts for which he is now sentenced to death. The Bible is certainly a powerful tool in remembering this…
Thank you for bringing this story to light in this context. It’s one I’ve been thinking about a great deal….
Thanks for sharing your insights. I absolutely agree with you in that my writing and thoughts comes from a place of great privilege. I cannot come close to imagining the kind of grief the victims’ families must be facing, and I am not a parent. This grief–in all its intensity–is real, and there must be room for it within faith. It is crucial for faith communities to make space for the rage, the sadness, the chaos, the need for control, and the fear that these families endure. However, is it the responsibility of those farther from the heart of the grief to ensure it is justice–and not vengeance–that is sought?
On your reflection about why we are quick to dehumanize, I agree that we are frightened by the reality that we are capable of doing the unthinkable. Maybe that’s why the death penalty scares me so much. It reminds me that I am part of a society (and legal structure) that is capable of stealing one’s breath, and in that, I feel a sense of responsibility for his death. I am also part of a society that has contributed to systems and policies that break people–over and over again–and then punish them for what comes largely from their brokenness. No, not everyone who is broken by oppressive institutions commits murder, but many who commit murder have been deeply scarred by the systems that hold them. So, maybe, by calling Steven Hayes a “monster,” we are able to distance ourselves from our failed responsibilities to him (and so many others) throughout his life.
Thanks Elizabeth for raising the issue. I don’t think I have anything to add to your reflection other than my agreement with it. As a philosopher, I am unable to think of any compelling reasons for capital punishment. As a citizen, I find it to be a sad reflection on human civility. As a theologian, I think your statements say it all – how can the divine ruach/pneuma/prana/breath be evil? As a father, I don’t see how executing a prisoner makes my daughter safer – if anything, it makes her devalue human life. Sociologically, there is no evidence that capital punishment prevents crime. The only explanation that seem to make any sense to me at all is that capital punishment is vengeance… which is something I cannot advocate… but even still, one wonders if death is some kind of release for the prisoner. So, I think the fact that you were considering these things in a seminar on forgiveness and reconciliation is particularly poignant. Thanks again for raising the issue here.
Just catching up on comments after a busy weekend! Brad, my comment about being a parent is not intended to imply that the death of this particular individual makes my children safer (and, in fact, as you point out, a stand for the death penalty might actually be more threatening to my children’s humanity). Rather, in this particular case, the two men who sexually assaulted, tormented, and murdered this mother and her two daughters continue to speak out from prison in ways that continue the victimization. One of them in particular–the one still awaiting his trial–has spoken in ways that make me physically ill, and I cannot imagine how the father and spouse of those murdered can stand the continuing assault.
It has become important for me to say, “I understand where Elizabeth (and you) stands, and I also understand where the father of the deceased stands.” Stepping into my parent role and lens is my way to try and access why he believes as he does. Perhaps it’s my age, perhaps it’s gender, perhaps it’s a whole host of other things, but I am increasingly unwilling to state my “stand” on a whole host of things. I fear that even having “stands” might limit my own propensity toward curiosity, listening, careful questioning, and being present to the realities and experiences of others. I’m not short on opinions, but I’m far more in the gray these days–not a bad place to be.
Dear Elizabeth,
I think we’ve posted along the same lines. Forgiveness is a gripping issue for me too. On the topic of capital punishment, my position is simple: the state should not be allowed freedoms that individual citizens are not allowed. If individuals can’t rationalize and enact the end of someone’s life, why can the state?
My post, in any case, seems to relate to yours: https://stateofformation.org/2010/11/thoughts-on-forgiveness/
Shabbat Shalom,
Jenn
Jenn – that is an argument that I haven’t heard before… but one that I like very much!
Like Brad, I also really appreciate this argument.
In terms of forgiveness, I also wonder who can offer it? Can only the victims offer forgiveness? Or can those else hurt by the offense extend forgiveness? In this case, the victims are no longer able to offer forgiveness, but is it the right (or responsibility, even?) of their remaining family to extend it on their behalf? Is it unfair to ask others to forgive?
Can Steven Hayes forgive us for condemning him to death? I don’t necessarily believe in an afterlife, but rather I believe that we live on through others’ memories of us. Can Steven Hayes forgive us for only ever remembering him for his worst moment, and in that, vilifying him for eternity?
Thanks for your thoughts & for sharing your link with me. Both were very interesting reflections for me!
Elizabeth, nice article, but also, “nice pic!” Who is the gentleman in the pic? Am I right that he’s a “rock star”?
To be honest, I’m not sure who the man in the picture is. I found it in a Google Image search, and I really liked it. I was trying to find an image that looked like someone’s breath being taken from him/her, which I thought this image did well. I’m glad you connected with it, too. Sorry I can’t be more helpful with who he is.