Understanding (Power Imbalances) Is Not Excusing

Image credit: Raphael Brasileiro

*This essay has not yet been featured in the Newsletter. I plan to continue sending the Newsletter no more than once a month. Any blog posts published on this website between issues will be included in the next edition, either as full text or as links.

Complicating our understanding of power in general, and power imbalances in particular, is not just a scholarly pursuit—though I approach it as a scholar of society and human nature. It is also a spiritual pursuit, as I’ve come to realize in the course of this project. For me, one of the most vital aims of examining power is the possibility of restoring human connection. But that is also where the idea becomes most fraught. The very notion of extending human connection to someone who has caused harm can provoke deep discomfort, even outrage. After all, perpetrators—some will argue—do not deserve connection. Only their victims do.

When I speak about compassion—particularly about extending understanding to those who have committed harmful acts—I often encounter a deeply emotional, and entirely valid, response: But think about what they did. People begin recounting the crime in detail, the suffering of the victims, the irreversible harm done. How, they ask, can one possibly shift attention to the person who caused it? Isn’t that a betrayal of the victim’s pain?

My answer is: I do think about the crime. I do grieve for the suffering. My heart bleeds when I learn what people are capable of doing to one another. But that’s precisely why I want to prevent such suffering from happening again. And I believe one of the most powerful ways we can do that is by trying to understand—not excuse, not justify, but understand—the person who caused the harm.

This isn’t about minimizing a crime or denying justice. It’s about resisting the temptation to treat people as only good or only bad. Real change, especially the kind that reduces future harm, requires us to move beyond punishment and toward insight. Understanding the perpetrator—what formed them, what shaped their choices, what inner forces were at play—can illuminate the deeper roots of violence. And only when we see those roots clearly can we begin to address them at the level where prevention is possible.

To hold complexity does not mean we betray the victim. In fact, it may be the truest way to honor the pain: not by staying in the cycle of retribution, but by breaking it. We can—and must—mourn the suffering, enforce consequences when needed, and still refuse to give up on our capacity to understand. Compassion for the complexity of human behavior is not a weakness. It is one of the strongest tools we have for building a future where less harm happens in the first place.