“𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑔𝑜. 𝐼 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑎 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑢𝑛𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠.”

I heard those words 38 years ago.

They came from my father.

He was a man who had suffered injustice and had nearly lost his life because of people who hated him for no justifiable reason.

Yet he taught me to forgive.

Dad died shortly thereafter.

A couple of years later, on February 11, 1990, after 27 years of imprisonment, Nelson Mandela walked out of a South African prison.

I watched his release on television. Glued and transfixed. The image stayed with me because I had already heard the deeper lesson from my father: 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑘 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢.

For centuries, we largely placed forgiveness within the realms of philosophy and spirituality.

But neuroscience has given us another lens.

Functional MRI does not show us a mystical “forgiveness center” in the brain. Nor does it prove that unforgiveness damages one particular structure. But it does suggest… something fascinating.

When people engage in forgiveness, studies have demonstrated recruitment of the prefrontal and parietal parts of the brain. These regions are associated with cognitive control, emotional regulation, perspective-taking, and social cognition.

In other words, forgiveness is not necessarily passive. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜.

And that brings me to the biblical Joseph.

Joseph eventually stood face-to-face with his own brothers who had demeaned him, stripped him of his identity, thrown him into a cistern, and sold him into slavery. Painful!

But Joseph was no longer the defenseless boy in the multicolored garment. No. He now possessed enormous authority in Egypt.

The power relationship had reversed, and his brothers were vulnerable. 𝑊𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑎 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑒? After all, he 𝑛𝑜𝑤 had power.

Imagine that moment. A painful memory, with betrayal and grief playing games in his mind. And he had power… and the opportunity for revenge.

We cannot place Joseph inside an MRI scanner. We cannot know precisely what happened neurologically in his brain. But contemporary neuroscience helps us understand what human beings 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 do when confronted by reminders of profound injury.

Threat-related networks can mobilize. Yes. Emotion rises. Old memories return, especially the painful ones. And the nervous system prepares us to respond.

Yet human beings possess another extraordinary capacity: 𝑤𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑝𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒. 𝑊𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒. And, more importantly, we can 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑠𝑒. And that is where the prefrontal cortex becomes particularly important.

The prefrontal cortex participates in executive function and cognitive 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑙. This helps us regulate appropriate emotional responses.

Joseph did something unexpected. He acknowledged what happened. He did not call evil good. Nor did he pretend the pit never existed.

He did not rewrite his brothers’ intentions. Instead, he changed the meaning his suffering would have over his future.

His extraordinary reframing is reflected in what he said, “𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑚 𝑚𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐺𝑜𝑑 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑.”

That does not sound like a denial; it is a 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑙.

The injury remains part of the story. But the injury no longer gets to write the ending.

And here, recent neuroscience offers something fascinating. A 2026 fMRI study found evidence that forgiveness can update interpersonal memories so that they become less negative. The researchers found involvement of the dorsomedial prefrontal cortex and posterior hippocampus, regions associated with mentalizing and episodic memory.

They described it beautifully. Perhaps it is not simply “forgive and forget.” Perhaps it is “forgive and update.”

There is an important distinction here. Forgiveness does not erase memory. Nor does it pretend that injustice never occurred. It does not necessarily restore trust nor eliminate accountability.

And it does not mean that the nervous system instantly forgets what happened.

Forgiveness can instead represent something far more powerful: a decision that yesterday’s offender will not be given unlimited control over tomorrow’s mind.

But Biblical wisdom adds another dimension. 𝑊𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑦 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑠𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛. 𝑌𝑒𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑖𝑠𝑑𝑜𝑚. We can forgive and still remember the warning not to 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑠 carelessly. We can become 𝑤𝑖𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑠.

𝐹𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡.

That is where neuroscience and spirituality meet beautifully.

Rumination repeatedly brings an injury back into consciousness. Chronic psychological stress, more broadly, is associated with changes in cardiovascular, endocrine, immune, and neural function.

But to be precise, science has not demonstrated that refusing to forgive 𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 causes hippocampal atrophy or prefrontal destruction. What science permits one to say is that sustained threat and rumination can contribute to physiological and psychological stress that can, in turn, be detrimental to our health.

Forgiveness may be one way of changing that relationship to the injury… through 𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔.

And perhaps that is one of the most important attributes of resilient people. They refuse to give suffering the privilege of becoming meaningless. They reach for something bigger than the injury.

They reach for some purpose or service, something beyond them.

𝐼𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠? I don’t think so. Sometimes forgiveness requires considerably more strength than anger.

Anger can be immediate while revenge can be crudely instinctive. And rumination…painful as it is, can be habitual. But forgiveness asks something extraordinarily difficult of us.

My dad understood that.

Joseph understood it.

And Mandela came to symbolize it for millions.

And perhaps you, or somebody you know, has had to learn it too.

Thirty-eight years later, my father’s words still ring in my ears: “𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑔𝑜. 𝐼 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑎 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑢𝑛𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠.”

Maybe more than fatherly wisdom… that was a lesson in resilience.

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑑𝑜𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒. 𝐵𝑢𝑡… 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑑𝑜𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛.

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Author Bio
Dr. Ivan Edwards is a man who is comfortable wearing a few hats in life. A polymath, he is an ordained non-denominational minister, a medical doctor, a USAF flight surgeon (at the rank of Colonel), an entrepreneur and CEO, and a writer-poet.

His work explores healing, restoration, resilience, identity, and the strength of the human spirit shaped by faith.

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