The Sunflower

Edward H. Flannery begins by framing Simon Wiesenthal’s question as follows: “Is it permitted to refuse forgiveness to a sincerely repentant malefactor?” (135). He observes that, by walking away from the dying Nazi without giving forgiveness, Simon brought upon himself years of self-doubt and questioning. This uncertainty is evidenced by his decision to visit Karl’s mother after the war and his decision not to tell her the truth about her son’s crimes. Flannery surmises that “it is difficult not to see these waverings as a leaning toward atonement” (136).

He identifies the obligation to forgive the repentant as a principle of Judeo-Christian practice, acknowledging the New Testament reference to an unforgivable sin, which does not apply under these circumstances. Flannery suggests that Simon’s leaving Karl to die with his own guilt was a response to the wickedness of those who were silent in the face of the Nazi mistreatment of the Jews. He dismisses the question of whether Simon had the right to forgive on behalf of Karl’s victims as irrelevant, as, in the moment, the question was a personal one between Karl and Simon and was not meant to be collective in nature.

As a final statement, Flannery says that in the same situation, he hopes he would have forgiven the dying man, suggested that the man make his peace with God, and then prayed for the man and for his victims.

Eva Fleischner begins her response by pointing out that, as a person who was not around during the event, and as a non-Jew, she feels that she is incapable of answering Wiesenthal’s question as to what she would have done under the circumstances. Instead, she opts to react to Wiesenthal’s reactions throughout his own story.

She points out that while his failure to give forgiveness may be seen by many as a “lack of response” (138), Simon actually responds in many ways to the dying man by letting him hold his hand, by sitting on the bed, by waving the fly away from his face, and, ultimately, by visiting the man’s mother.

Fleischner points out that in her use of The Sunflower as a discussion text with her students, the trend seems to be that Christian students tend to favor forgiveness, while the Jewish students generally do not. She points out the common understanding shared within the Judeo-Christian experience of God as a loving, forgiving father. She goes on to identify a potential misreading by Christians of the teaching of Jesus to turn the other cheek, pointing out that Jesus does not call on the Christian to forgive on behalf of others, but only for sins committed against the individual himself. She points out as well that, in the Jewish tradition of atonement, there must be a tangible turning away from the sin, not merely a ritual act of penance as is practiced in the Catholic Church. With these thoughts in mind, Fleischner determines that Simon could not, in that situation, feel justified in offering the forgiveness Karl was requesting.

She concludes by observing that the very situation Karl created by having one of the Jewish prisoners brought to his room to hear his confession, exposing him to potential punishment, was a further act of injustice toward Simon. She questions whether, in those final penitential moments of his life, Karl might have done something to ease the lot of the Jewish people within his circle of influence, thereby constituting the atonement required by the Jewish tradition for forgiveness.

Matthew Fox begins by considering the guilt of the SS officer, pointing out that while the one episode of the torched house is the one that troubles Karl, surely his guilt extends to many more crimes. His act of confessing this one event is an attempt to clear himself of the torment for the episode that troubles his sleep.

Fox points out that, in the Catholic tradition in which Karl grew up, confession must be accompanied by penance. He suggests that, under the circumstances, Simon’s leaving Karl “alone with his conscience before he died” would constitute an ideal penance. Furthermore, because Simon is not able to forgive on behalf of Karl’s direct victims, his own integrity is spared at the same time. He suggests that this might be a form of “nonsentimenal compassion” (145), to have left Karl alone with his guilt in those last days. Rather than be relieved of his torments by the prisoner he had someone bring to his bed, Karl was left to struggle in his own darkness for those final hours. Fox acknowledges that, in spite of his refusal to offer the requested forgiveness, by staying at his side and waving the fly away, Simon did attend to the few creature comforts that it was within his power to address.

Fox observes that a “mysterious grace” (146) occurred between Karl and Simon, both of whom “were victims of older men’s decision making” (145). He raises the idea that, considering the scope of his work since the Holocaust, Simon may have received his life’s vocation from Karl.

When Simon visits Karl’s mother, Fox points out, the issue is raised of the guilt of those who watched the Nazi actions without speaking out. He points out that today, long after the Nazi movement has fallen, we are still at risk of similar “sins of complicity” (147) in new contexts. In the end, he suggests that forgiveness is beneficial, so that the victim can move past the evil done to him, but that it is important not to forget.  

Rebecca Goldstein begins her discussion by recognizing the value of the particularity of Wiesenthal’s story in the face of the abstractions of guilt and forgiveness. She says that the very value of this story is Wiesenthal’s “fierce attention to the details that engender the severe discomfort of answerlessness” (148).

Goldstein distinguishes between the attitudes of Simon and Karl in their ways of viewing each other. For Karl, Simon is a Jew, an interchangeable sample of that mass known to Nazis as the Jews. By contrast, Simon views Karl as an individual separate from that group of evildoers of which he is a member. She points out that Simon seeks to determine, “both in his death chamber and long afterward, to figure out what manner of person he truly is” (149).

Goldstein observes that Karl was a man who acted not by denying his conscience, but by exercising his already-developed sense of duty. She recognizes that, despite his many opportunities to recognize the evil in the Nazi treatment of Jewish people, it wasn’t until he participated in the torching of the houseful of people that he experienced a true “conversion” (151), a partial recognition of the evil he was perpetrating. She asserts that “had he understood the enormity of his crimes, he would never have dared to ask for forgiveness” (151).