Taking the 'Shame & Blame of it'

Pictured here on the left is one of a series of murals which adorns the House of Representatives in the Massachusetts State House. The series is called 'Milestones on the Road to Freedom in Massachusetts'. This one particularly, is called 'The Dawn of Tolerance in Massachusetts: Public Repentance of Judge Samuel Sewall for His Action in the Witchcraft Trials.'  The title refers, of course, to the Salem witchcraft trials which took place in colonial Massachusetts in the last decade of the 17th century.  Of all the Judges involved, only Samuel Sewall made public apology without qualification. Others certainly took responsibility and expressed regret; but only Judge Sewall publicly took the  'Blame & Shame of it' without offering explanation of extenuating circumstances.  In short, he simply apologised.  

In the latest biography of Sewall, Judge Sewall's Apology, Richard Francis writes that 'for all of us, it's difficult to say we're sorry. An apology means repudiating an aspect of our past selves; in a way it's like a suicide.'  I could not agree more.  An apology is a kind of death; a death not only to some aspect of our past selves, but also to the images of our constructed selves which we project to those around us and which we work so hard to maintain almost at any cost. Apologising is so difficult for human beings, that we hardly ever do it.  There may be the passing almost conditioned, 'sorry'; or there may be the more seemingly heartfelt apology which is then followed very quickly with some reason, some mitigating circumstance, which we use to explain our actions and thereby diminish our responsibility.  However, real apologies are rare. Our instinctive unwillingness to really offer apology, coupled with a particular brand of social determinism prevalent today - 'there is a reason beyond my control for my actions' - makes genuine apology in our society even more elusive.

Ultimately, apology is about seeing ourselves for who we really are and taking responsibility. It is about admitting that the actions I take or have taken are mine and mine alone.  A genuine apology offers no extenuating circumstances, not even 'it seemed to me the right thing to do at that time.'  It says simply, 'I'm sorry.'  For the most part, any qualification beyond an apology seems a way of saying, 'but it wasn't really my fault because.....'  These observations may appear harsh, but it can't be denied that it is this kind of unequivocal apology that gains from us the greatest admiration, namely because of its unadorned integrity  After all, no murals commemorate the 'apologies' of the other Salem witch trial judges.