A Philosophy of Adversity

For those who suffer — whether for righteousness’ sake or as a consequence of their own wrongdoing — the feeling that most easily takes root in the heart is hatred. Hatred is a double-edged sword. On one side, it summons the strength to confront hardship and come through it; on the other, even as it exerts that force, it cuts deep into oneself and tears at the heart.

I told them that I, too, had suffered deeply from hatred — so deeply that I could not free myself. One Christmas Eve, as a Christian, I thought of the forgiveness taught in the Bible. From that moment I understood that merely telling others to endure, or telling myself to endure, is never enough. Endurance means forcibly suppressing the sense of injustice, anger, or resentment in one’s heart; it is still there, only held back from erupting for a while. Only forgiveness brings true liberation and release.

On the day I walked out of my prison cell, I said: “Endurance is not enough. We must forgive.” That was what I had come to understand.

Some interpret forgiveness as regarding oneself as “superior” and others as “inferior,” and so as a kind of charity bestowed. In truth, those who understand forgiveness and live it come to grasp its real meaning: its most precious value lies in “forgiving oneself.” Forgiving oneself for refusing to hate one’s persecutors as an ordinary person would.

A resister who has passed through hatred and come to understand forgiveness will surely advocate reconciliation in his political actions as well. Retaliation, hatred, and hostility all spring from a kind of “hatred” within society as a whole. Like personal hatred, it acts as a double-edged sword, producing two opposing forces in society. Twentieth-century Taiwan did know oppression and resistance — a history woven of blood and tears. How should we face it? Surely as I have dealt with myself: through forgiveness. But collective hatred requires a collective process of forgiveness. That is what everyone speaks of: first truth, then reconciliation; and after that, not retaliation, but remembering the lessons of history.

Regrettably, after the Democratic Progressive Party came to power, President Chen Shui-bian (“A-Bian”) and the successive premiers were none of them resisters. None had suffered persecution, and none had truly borne the pain and ravages of hatred. And so, in eight years in power, they never allowed the truth to come to light. The Ma Ying-jeou administration, heir to the group responsible for the persecution, is naturally even less willing to reveal the truth; the National Archives Administration still keeps the truth tightly sealed to this day. Whenever elections come around, the DPP — no longer a party of victims — often singles out a token figure such as Lin Hui-huang for public denunciation, as if this were an effort at transitional justice! Transitional justice is comprehensive; it is not aimed at individuals.

Once again, I understand why I have survived to this day without losing my soul: because I have forgiven myself.

If Taiwan is to be young, vital, and happy, reconciliation is the only way.