The value of hate

Following my previous blog, Forgiveness as a form of revenge I intended for this one to describe how hate is a better alternative to forgiveness, however hate can also be a realistic way to heal pain and let go of hurt and resentment.

When nurtured in a healthy way hate can also enable a fuller expression of love and transform intimacy.

This blog is about the potential of hate.

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As a psychotherapist people often say to me, ‘I love the wrong person’, they rarely say ‘I hate the wrong person’ unless it is someone they love.

Their initial thought is usually that there is something wrong with themselves, the other person or perhaps the relationship itself. Rarely is hate seen as an indication that they, the relationship and their love are maturing.

Unfortunately, largely due to prejudice, many people overlook the value of benign hate.

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Anger can come from love as easily as it does from hate, and since anger is most commonly an expression of care it is an emotion that bridges love and hate.

Hate has within it thwarted love, in this sense it is not possible to hate without implicating yourself in love.

Love and hate belong together, when taken out of context hate becomes objectified.

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Hate has long been demonised and misconstrued as the source of many of the world’s ills. This narrative is so dominant that it is scarcely possible to approach hate without bias.

The kindness of hate directed towards loved ones is also kindness towards oneself: it means embracing yourself and those you love more fully.

Once you have learnt how to hate and give yourself permission to do so, hate generally dissipates and there is less chance of it leaking out and taking over, or being consumed by it.

We must learn to love, learn to be kind, and this from earliest youth… Likewise, hatred must be learned and nurtured, if one wishes to become a proficient hater.

Friedrich Nietzsche

Only when we learn to hate is it possible to see hate clearly.

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It is wonderful seeing the relief of a person disabused of the pressure to forgive and the idea that hate is wrong or bad.

I have seen many people crack up in that moment. We are then able to explore what they had always known: this was never their burden to carry.

It is difficult to overstate the significance of this realization. It is as though the introjection to forgive and not hate had become part of them.

The following vignette illustrates some of the significance of the permission to hate and the relief of not having to forgive.

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When I first met Calum it was unclear why he had come to see me. He had struggled with drug and alcohol addiction from adolescence into adulthood and had attempted suicide twice as a young man. Much of his life was spent outside the law and living on the streets. Calum was now clean and for the first time had begun to get his life on track. When he first came to see me he had just turned forty and had recently begun a relationship which became the focus of our early conversations.

Calum was concerned he would mess up this relationship as he had done with previous ones. Over the first few months I got the sense that there was something he was not telling me. This sense grew as he began missing sessions. When I confronted him he immediately acknowledged he was withholding but could not say why. He said that he had talked about it to previous therapists and had discussed it in groups and with addiction counsellors, and so he could not understand why he had not told me.

Calum then described how he had been repeatedly and regularly raped by his father over a two or three year period when he was a boy. There was a heaviness about him, I felt my stomach drop as though I was sitting above an abyss.

Almost immediately Calum said, ‘I know I should forgive him, but…’

‘But…’ I prompt.

‘Well every therapist I’ve ever had has said I should forgive. I just don’t think I can… in truth I don’t think I want to. Perhaps I’m not ready.’

‘Why do you think you might not be ready?’

‘Well that’s what previous therapists have said.’

‘That’s patronising.’

‘Really, you think so?’

‘Well saying you’re not ready is putting it back on you rather than listening to you,’ I pause and add ‘even if you did want to forgive, do you think what he did is forgivable?’

‘When you ask me like that, no – of course not.’

I wondered if this was why he had not told me: he imagined I too would expect him to forgive. I told him that I did not. He looked relieved and puzzled and asked why. I told him I do not think forgiveness works with such things, and even if I did, I would not put my expectations on him. I pointed out that if I had, I would be doing what his father and previous therapists had done: assert their power over him by deciding what he should do.

So what did he want from me? He told me he thought perhaps he might now be ready and that maybe this time he would not fail. Rather than failing, I suggested he had succeeded in listening to himself and had successfully resisted previous therapists, and if I had pushed him towards forgiveness he would have resisted me too.

‘Do you hate your father?’ I ask.

‘No, I love him’.

‘So you love him and you don’t hate him?’

‘Well no, I hate him for what he did, but…’ he shifts his weight on the couch, ‘I know it sounds mad but I love him.’

‘So you love him and feel hate towards him,’ I reiterate.

‘Yes, but maybe it’s not love, since I can’t forgive him.’

‘Or perhaps you love him too much to forgive him,’ I suggest.

‘That doesn’t make sense, how can I love him if I can’t forgive him?’

‘Who told you you can’t?’

‘Well everybody, society, religion, all my previous therapists – everyone says it.’

‘Is that what you hear yourself saying?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well you said you don’t think you can forgive him, and you don’t want to.’

‘So you think I’m right and everyone else is wrong?’

‘Well, this is about you and nobody else.’

‘Hmm,’ Calum’s look suggests disbelief and perhaps suspicion.

‘Well, suppose if by not forgiving him you’re doing exactly what’s right for you, what then?’ I ask.

‘Well either I’ve got it wrong and I shouldn’t listen to myself, or, if that were true, surely I wouldn’t feel so guilty all the time.’

‘It seems to me you feel bad and rather than questioning where the guilt comes from you assume it’s yours.’

‘I see what you’re saying, but surely if I love him then I should be able to forgive him.’

‘You think forgiveness is an expression of love? If anything forgiveness is a foreclosure of love. Besides it sounds as though you love and hate your father too much to forgive him.’

‘You said that before, I don’t understand.’

‘How so?’

‘Well if I let myself hate him what happens to the love?’

‘The idea that hate will destroy your love is just fear. By denying hate you’ll likely create a split in yourself and in your relationship with your father: this would effectively make your love conditional.’

‘Yeah but I know he doesn’t deserve my love, conditional or not.’

‘Well considering what he has done to you, what possible condition could you put on your love?’

‘Hm,’ Calum was quiet for a while, ‘fair point but if I hate him I may lose the love I have.’

‘Your love survived the abuse and the self-abuse: so it can surely survive your hate and anger. Even though your father’s dead, in a certain sense allowing yourself to hate him holds him accountable: your love and hate don’t let him or you off the hook. To love and hate him is to no longer fear him, or how you feel.’

‘Hmm,’ Calum is breathing deep into his stomach, his upper-body rises up and down with his breathe as he repeats ‘Hmm…’ it looks as though he is affirming something to himself.

‘So I don’t need to forgive him at all,’ his words are slow and register somewhere between a question and a statement. I give him a few moments in silence to listen and digest his words. ‘What’s the point of forgiveness then?’

‘That’s a good question, I think it’s mostly an attempt to take power back, but there are better ways to become empowered. People like to think forgiveness is noble and compassionate but it’s not really about love.’

‘So if I do ‘love him too much to forgive him’, how can I hate him?’

‘Allowing yourself to hate your father will help release the love you have. Usually what happens is an oscillation between the two. You’ll probably find your hate comes closer to love, it’s a strange thing: when you allow yourself to hate it releases the love and in turn more hate, and gradually through this process both are transformed.’

‘Hm,’ Calum looks directly at me.

‘You’re thinking something,’ I prompt him.

‘Yeah, I was wondering if you’d show me how to hate him.’

‘I think you’re along way there, but yes I will. Is he worthy of your hate?’

‘Yes definitely,’ he replies without hesitation.

‘Is he worthy of your love?’

Calum’s eyes fill with tears, and then with a shaky voice he says ‘No.’

‘Are you worthy of loving him?’

Struggling to get his words out, ‘I don’t know…’ he replies, ‘I want to be.’

***

When feelings and emotions are no longer seen as good or bad, or good or evil, love and hate may then become complimentary and when this happens they are no longer an obstacle. With permission for both, love and hate cease to be figure and can then slip back into the field.

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about. Ideas, language, even the phrase ‘each other’ doesn’t make any sense.

Rumi

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