The problem with apologies

Dear reader,

In spite of all my efforts to keep mum, I just can’t help it: I tend to speak too soon and follow up with all kinds of clumsy apologies. I’m not alone either: politicians regularly go on apology tours, and so do business leaders. Like Martin Winterkorn, former CEO of Volkswagen, who had to step down in 2015 over the emissions scandal, in spite of all his efforts to atone. In a time when we’re urged to stop blushing at our blunders and show our vulnerabilities – even when in a position of power –, the fact that public apologies simply don’t work might seem paradoxical. So why is saying sorry such a risky exercise?

To say sorry is first of all to recognise that we’re wrong. In The Red and the Black (1830), the French novelist Stendhal went straight to the point, writing: “He who apologises accuses himself.” Until the apology happens, there is still room for doubt; afterwards, it’s difficult to deny one’s guilt.

‘If anyone apologizes to us he has to do so very well: otherwise we can easily feel that we ourselves are the guilty party and are affected unpleasantly’

—Friedrich Nietzsche

But then our apology must be accepted as such, rather than perceived as an attempt at manipulation. And here’s the thing: sometimes they do feel like an attempt to brush the facts of the matter under the carpet and even turn the situation around in a way that strips the offended person’s indignation of some of its legitimacy. This is why Nietzsche recommends we handle it with care: “If anyone apologizes to us he has to do so very well: otherwise we can easily feel that we ourselves are the guilty party and are affected unpleasantly.” He further says that many people use this trick of turning the tables to transform any injustice they commit into an injustice committed against them... By positioning themselves as victims – of a vendetta, a polemic, or disinformation –, those guilty of wrongdoing manage to “reserve for themselves the exceptional right to self-defence, to excuse what they have done.”

Nietzsche also tells us that apologies can make us more isolated. Whether they’re proffered in good or bad faith, they remain a solitary exercise. Unlike the forgiveness we ask for and might not receive, there is something about an apology which is irrefutable, almost authoritarian. Where forgiveness means some form of dialogue, an apology is imposed without concession. It puts a problem to rest when others might still feel they’ve barely begun to address it. This is why we sometimes get even more irate when someone apologises too soon.

Given the risks associated with the gesture, some might be tempted not to apologise at all, and simply “recognise” and “take ownership” of their actions instead. This approach might even be encouraged in today’s workplace, where openness and transparency has become the new watchword. In some circles, “unapologetic” has almost become synonymous with “confidence”.

But de facto, once a polemic has started, it is difficult to avoid apologising. Not even Emmanuel Macron – who isn’t known for his readiness to say sorry – can escape this rule. As an Economy Minister, he once described the employees of a slaughterhouse as “illiterate”, before telling the French parliament, that he “could never apologise enough.”

Can one ever apologise enough? There is something inexhaustible, almost impossible, in this gesture – as if it sought to cancel the past. To avoid its pitfalls, it’s probably best to think twice before speaking!

Alexandre Jadin

Picture © golibtolibov / iStockphoto