The Moral Psychology of Forgiveness 1786601397, 9781786601391

Table of contents :
Contents
Introduction: The Challenges of Forgiveness in Context
Chapter One. Intersubjectivity and Embodiment: Exploring the Role of the Maternal in the Language of Forgiveness and Reconciliation
Chapter Two. What Victims Say andHow They Say It Matters: Effects of Victims’ Post-Transgression Responses and Form of Communication on Transgressors’ Apologies
Chapter Three. An Aristotelian Perspective on Forgiveness Education in Contentious World Regions
Chapter Four. Forgiveness, Exemplars, and the Oppressed
Chapter Five. Resentment, Punitiveness, and Forgiveness: Criminal Sanction and Civil Society
Chapter Six. Once More with Feeling: Defending the Goodwill Account of Forgiveness
Chapter Seven. Forgiveness and Reconciliation
Chapter Eight. In Defense of Third-Party Forgiveness
Bibliography
Index
Notes on Contributors

Citation preview

The Moral Psychology of Forgiveness

Moral Psychology of the Emotions Series editor: Mark Alfano, Associate Professor, Department of Philosophy, Delft University of Technology How do our emotions influence our other mental states (perceptions, beliefs, motivations, intentions) and our behavior? How are they influenced by our other mental states, our environments, and our cultures? What is the moral value of a particular emotion in a particular context? This series explores the causes, consequences, and value of the emotions from an interdisciplinary perspective. Emotions are diverse, with components at various levels (biological, neural, psychological, social), so each book in this series is devoted to a distinct emotion. This focus allows the author and reader to delve into a specific mental state, rather than trying to sum up emotions en masse. Authors approach a particular emotion from their own disciplinary angle (e.g., conceptual analysis, feminist philosophy, critical race theory, phenomenology, social psychology, personality psychology, neuroscience) while connecting with other fields. In so doing, they build a mosaic for each emotion, evaluating both its nature and its moral properties. Forthcoming titles in the series: The Moral Psychology of Pride edited by Adam J. Carter and Emma C. Gordon The Moral Psychology of Sadness edited by Anna Gotlib The Moral Psychology of Disgust edited by Nina Strohminger and Victor Kumar The Moral Psychology of Contempt edited by Michelle Mason The Moral Psychology of Anger edited by Myisha Cherry and Owen Flanagan The Moral Psychology of Regret edited by Anna Gotlib

The Moral Psychology of Forgiveness Edited by Kathryn J. Norlock

London • New York

Published by Rowman & Littlefield International Ltd Unit A, Whitacre Mews, 26-34 Stannary Street, London SE11 4AB www.rowmaninternational.com Rowman & Littlefield International Ltd.is an affiliate of Rowman & Littlefield 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706, USA With additional offices in Boulder, New York, Toronto (Canada), and Plymouth (UK) www.rowman.com Selection and editorial matter © 2017 Kathryn J. Norlock Copyright in individual chapters is held by the respective chapter authors. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN:  HB 978-1-7866-0137-7 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Is Available Names: Norlock, Kathryn, 1969- editor. Title: The moral psychology of forgiveness / edited by Kathryn J. Norlock. Description: Lanham : Rowman & Littlefield International, 2017. | Series: Moral psychology of the emotions | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2017015123 (print) | LCCN 2017017232 (ebook) | ISBN 9781786601391 (electronic) | ISBN 9781786601377 (cloth : alk. paper) Subjects: LCSH: Forgiveness. Classification: LCC BJ1476 (ebook) | LCC BJ1476 .M663 2017 (print) | DDC 179/.9—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017015123 The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992. Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Introduction: The Challenges of Forgiveness in Context Kathryn J. Norlock 1  I ntersubjectivity and Embodiment: Exploring the Role of the Maternal in the Language of Forgiveness and Reconciliation Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela 2  W  hat Victims Say and How They Say It Matters: Effects of Victims’ Post-Transgression Responses and Form of Communication on Transgressors’ Apologies C. Ward Struthers, Joshua Guilfoyle, Careen Khoury, Elizabeth van Monsjou, Joni Sasaki, Curtis Phills, Rebecca Young, and Zdravko Marjanovic 3  A  n Aristotelian Perspective on Forgiveness Education in Contentious World Regions Robert D. Enright and Mary Jacqueline Song 4  F  orgiveness, Exemplars, and the Oppressed Myisha Cherry

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5  R  esentment, Punitiveness, and Forgiveness: Criminal Sanction and Civil Society Jonathan Jacobs

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6  O  nce More with Feeling: Defending the Goodwill Account of Forgiveness David McNaughton and Eve Garrard

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7  F  orgiveness and Reconciliation Barrett Emerick

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8  I n Defense of Third-Party Forgiveness Alice MacLachlan

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Bibliography 161 Index 173 Notes on Contributors

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Introduction The Challenges of Forgiveness in Context Kathryn J. Norlock

Of enduring interest to me over the years have been questions about moral agents’ responses in the aftermath of wrongdoing. The project of articulating the responsibilities of offenders, victims of harm, and witnesses to wrongs inevitably involves description of our moral and emotional capacities. When it comes to the moral psychology of forgiveness, questions as to what we can control and what is out of our control are important. Can we overcome inward feelings of anger, resentment, guilt, self-righteousness, indignation, schadenfreude, and defensiveness? How do moral choices to forgive affect the jumble of unexpected feelings after a wrongdoing? Further, the expectations of others, for example, the cultural expectation that women may be more forgiving than men, present external sources of the uncontrollable, complicating the possibilities for ethical recommendations to forgive or not.1 Such preoccupations have informed my scholarship. Yet like many philosophers drawn to the topic of forgiveness, I have routinely encountered the following objection to a presentation or paper. Especially at those times when I’m most gripped by moral issues arising from difficult experiences with serious harm or traumatic memories recurring long after a wrong, I net the following response from some philosophers: “But that’s psychology.” The implication is that where there is psychology, one is not doing philosophy. Complications for ethical theory that stem from the limitations of human minds and bodies or the multiplicities of human experiences are seen by such objectors as, while unfortunate or painful, largely irrelevant to abstract idealizations of morality. At those times when philosophers have suggested that philosophical questions should not occur in an admixture with psychology, I have found that the interdisciplinary scholarship of forgiveness affirms me in my course. As psychologist Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela says in the first chapter of this volume, “Philosophical questions such as the moral inapprovii

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priateness of forgiveness can and should give way and be subsumed to human questions, for in the end we are a society of people and not of ideas, a fragile web of interdependent human beings, not of stances.”2 It is a recommendation consistent with what some philosophers call naturalistic ethics, the commitments of which include “the belief that moral philosophy should not employ a distinctive a priori method of yielding substantive, self-evident and foundational truths from pure conceptual analysis. . . . Indeed, the naturalist is committed to there being no sharp distinction between her investigation and those of relevant other disciplines.”3 I was intrigued, as one such naturalist, when I was informed by series editor Mark Alfano that he invited proposals for anthologies in moral psychology including forgiveness. Given what Susan Dwyer has called “the relative newness—at least among philosophers—of thinking seriously about morality as involving a set of capacities that are amenable to empirical investigation,”4 I was drawn to Alfano’s description of the possibilities of volumes on particular moral emotions; he suggested that a volume could serve not as an encyclopedia or a handbook, but rather as a collection of perspectives, building a mosaic for each emotion and evaluating both its nature and its moral properties. The result of contributors’ efforts before you is not a compendium of all possible treatments of moral psychology and forgiveness; instead it is a collection of distinctive perspectives on empirically informed understandings of forgiveness. Selections appear in order from the more psychological or philosophically applied to the more philosophically abstract, but I hope readers will find, as I do, that they ultimately inform and enhance each other. The authors assembled here offer views that sometimes harmonize and at other times disagree with each other; I solicited their participation partly because I believe the juxtaposition of approaches is productive of new and better thinking about forgiveness. For the sake of proceeding with a rough understanding of the subject, I offer the following amalgam of authors’ accounts of the meaning of the term: they tend to converge on elements of forgiveness as a moral and therefore at least partly voluntary response to a wrongdoer that reflects commitment to or expresses a change in feelings about the wrong done and that (re)accepts the offender as a member of a moral community. Granting that the second chapter presents a more scientific study, it is largely the case in this volume that, without sacrificing necessary methodological descriptions and terminologies, the contributions of psychologists and philosophers are written in accessible terms for interdisciplinary audiences and for newcomers to the subject with interest in forgiveness but no prior background. Although contributors write invitationally and accessibly, it is also the case that they do not start at the beginning of the interdisciplinary conversation about forgiveness. Forgiveness is a subject that has enjoyed an



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intensity of interest in the past thirty years in both psychology and philosophy. Instead of introducing the literature, contributors often raise challenges to understandings of forgiveness or to recommending forgiveness in concrete contexts. Given the impressive scope of forgiveness studies today, it is difficult for a collection of works on it to comprehensively convey the many approaches useful to understanding its meaning, worth, and practice. To contextualize the conversations joined by my contributors, I offer a brief survey of thematic elements in contemporary literature on forgiveness and then an overview of the responses to that literature comprising the contents of this volume. To exercise some selectivity, I concentrate on discussing themes in psychology and philosophy that come closest to addressing the moral psychology of forgiveness, rather than canvassing the rich, but more discipline-specific, work in either field. Because I am a philosopher, my interest is chiefly in the extent to which work in moral psychology provides a needed corrective to some excesses in philosophical aversion to empirically informed theorizing. Therefore my overview is primarily one of the state of philosophical literature, with the eventual aim of complicating what has been referred to at times as the standard or classic view, by which philosophers often mean the predominant view of forgiveness in the first half of the thirty-year boom in contemporary philosophy of forgiveness. I conclude with my own perspective on forgiveness as a further challenge to consider psychological contexts in which forgiveness may be seen primarily as a commitment rather than primarily as an emotional state. First, some overview of the expansion in the literature on moral psychology of forgiveness is in order. In the surge of publications on the subject in the late 1980s and 1990s, psychologists argued for the potential functions of forgiveness in therapeutic counseling. Authors such as Robert D. Enright (a contributor to this volume) expressed interest in the well-being of victims of wrongdoing who experienced levels of resentment and anger that interfered with living well and emotionally recovering from harm.5 Psychologists including Everett Worthington and Michael McCullough attended to the desire to repair relationships and to the psychological needs of victims and transgressors.6 Forms of anger, grudge-holding, or resentment that clients of psychologists reported a desire to diminish received attention from psychologists as possible barriers to individual well-being and to relationships, and forgiveness emerged as a possible response of intense interest. Later expansion of literature in the social sciences on forgiveness was also due in part to the activities of post-conflict social projects such as South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC), on which contributor Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela served as a member and coordinator of public

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hearings. Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who first headed the TRC when it was established in 1996, has famously argued that “without forgiveness, there really is no future,” and psychologists including Gobodo-Madikizela have worked to articulate the different senses in which victims and offenders understand the meanings of forgiveness, the embodied experiences of feeling the attendant emotions incurred by the activities of the TRC, and the potentials, but also the limits, of forgiveness as a moral and psychological response.7 As the literature in psychology expanded, further critical voices appeared, including early attention to feminist concerns that positive psychology may disadvantage already oppressed and vulnerable groups. Sharon Lamb, for example, became a leading voice in raising concerns both about whether different sorts of victims are equally benefited by the results of forgiveness in therapy and whether forgiveness in counseling was morally and socially problematic to the extent that it may leave social problems unaddressed.8 Psychologists’ attention to gender was just one of many cultural dimensions along which forgiveness was studied; a rich example of the results is Women’s Reflections on the Complexities of Forgiveness, edited by Wanda Malcolm, Nancy DeCourville, and Kathryn Belicki. Their analyses regularly focus on the effects of forgiveness and the views that clients express toward the role of forgiveness in their attitudes toward their own past actions, their personal relationships, and their moral lives. The main interests in forgiveness notably differ in philosophy. Early works in the 1980s and 1990s include Joram Haber’s Forgiveness and, most influentially, Jeffrie Murphy and Jean Hampton’s Forgiveness and Mercy. Although the latter far outstrips the former in citation rates and influence, they are consistent with each other and notably different from much work in psychology at the time. While psychologists advocating forgiveness wrote regarding the value of reducing the pain, anger, and suffering of victims and even transgressors, and psychologist-critics attended to differential benefits and effects on societies, philosophers expressed much more interest in the moral rights of victims and the extent to which forgiveness was (in)compatible with retributive justice and self-respect. Further, philosophers expressed skepticism of the value of anger management or pain reduction as morally relevant in any way at all. Joram Haber and Jeffrie Murphy, in particular, argued forcefully against accounts of outcomes like the health of oneself or the community as instructive of the moral appropriateness of forgiveness. Murphy contended that the question as to what forgiveness is “cannot after all be sharply distinguished from the question ‘How is forgiveness justified?’”9 In other words, forgiveness was represented in its most basic conception in an idealized way that answered to nonconsequentialist forms of justification. Representative of this view, Haber said the beneficial results to forgivers “are largely irrelevant



Introduction xi

from a moral point of view”; rather than argue that positive results do not occur (although he suggested that they sometimes don’t), Haber objected that “consequentialist reasons . . . are essentially practical, rather than moral.”10 More often than not, philosophers at the time generally argued that forgiveness is essentially an internal state, a change of heart rather than a behavior, a belief, a commitment, or a speech act, and that it was only genuine forgiveness when justified. Most notably, Murphy held that “forgiveness is primarily a matter of changing how one feels with respect to a person who has done one an injury,” specifically overcoming resentment in a way that is compatible with self-respect; he added “[Jean] Hampton sees this as a prelude to forgiveness; I see it as the very thing.”11 Murphy based his conception of forgiveness as the overcoming of resentment on the conceptual analysis of Bishop Joseph Butler, whose 1796 sermons argue for the value of sudden resentment against injury as a mark of moral concern for oneself and for others and for the value of forgiveness as a remedy to settled anger. (Butler maintained that “we should not indulge in a passion, which, if generally indulged, would propagate itself so as almost to lay waste the world.”12) Interestingly, Butler argued that injuries against either oneself or others are reason for resentment and forgiveness; Murphy and Haber maintained that resentment applied only to injuries one suffers oneself and not to witnessing the injuries of others. Consideration of social contexts were not central to philosophical treatments in this period; authors more often articulated conceptual analyses abstracted from empirical information, developing distinctions between forgiveness and excuse, mercy, pardon, and forgetting.13 The early influence of accounts oriented firmly around the self-respect of individual victims and against consequentialism or self-care as morally salient led to two related tendencies in philosophy in the 2000s and 2010s. First, Murphy’s account, and thereby Butler’s, came to be referred to as the classic, standard, or paradigm view, which readers will find reflected in contributions in this volume (this is why you’ll see references to Butlerian resentment). At the same time, a proliferation of new publications came to challenge that view and prioritize different considerations, including those of naturalistic ethics, relational ethics, social philosophy, and feminist philosophy. The departures from the predominant view have been many and varied. For example, philosopher Glen Pettigrove has prominently argued for seeing forgiveness as a speech act that sets moral machinery in motion and affects the psychology of wrongdoers in important ways, an insight consistent with the findings of the psychologists who contribute the second chapter of this volume. Pettigrove suggests that the predominant account of forgiveness as the emotional state of a reduction in resentment is just one possible “lowest common denominator” view of the nature of forgiveness, and not always the best one if we wish

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to consider functions of forgiveness in the absence of a requisite emotion.14 Trudy Govier argues for group forgiveness and third-party forgiveness in ways that loosen the sole focus on victims’ internal senses of self-respect; her relational work serves as one of the supports in Alice MacLachlan’s feminist contribution in the last chapter of this volume.15 Robin Dillon, Charles Griswold, and I argue in different ways for self-forgiveness as a form of third-party forgiveness, and Griswold and I develop differing conceptions of forgiveness as a virtue.16 Philosophers including Dillon, Jeremy Watkins, and Margaret Holmgren argue for “forward-looking” reasons to forgive that do not depend on perpetrator acknowledgment for evidence of a victim’s justified forgiveness and do not necessarily overcome every trace of negative feeling.17 Increasingly, philosophers base their accounts of the nature of forgiveness on the testimony often provided in psychological accounts. MacLachlan agrees with Margaret Walker that, given the available empirical information regarding the many meanings and practices of forgiveness for different peoples, efforts “to articulate the perfect paradigm of moral forgiveness [are] a doomed enterprise,” and rejects “a single correct idea of forgiveness, in the way that there is a correct theory of the structure of DNA.”18 Perhaps we can now, at last, concur that what has been called classic or paradigmatic forgiveness is ultimately an idealized picture that rarely actually obtains. I say this knowing that two of the contributions to this volume defend a more traditional, internalist, and emotional account: “Forgiveness and Reconciliation,” by Barrett Emerick, and “Once More with Feeling: Defending the Goodwill Account of Forgiveness,” by David McNaughton and Eve Garrard. Yet in the course of defending their unilateral and more internal accounts of forgiveness, these contributors also expand the sets of emotions, utterances, and actors involved in forgiveness beyond the standard account centering resentment. I have come to think that philosophers can and should attend, better than we always have, to the point of appealing to a paradigm at all. As I’ve said elsewhere, appealing to a paradigm may perform one of three functions. The first is the entirely neutral job of identifying a pattern in contemporary theorizing without endorsing it as correct or even as very widely shared; rather, a paradigm view is a dominant, organizing account that tends to affect the way discourse proceeds. In that sense, Murphy’s conception of forgiveness is certainly paradigmatic. We also often appeal to a paradigm to indicate an area of general agreement among theorists, a point of convergence, as when we say that paradigm forgiveness does not condone or excuse the wrong, a common feature among otherwise disparate accounts of forgiveness. This second sense of “paradigm” is often used to connote an ideal and is not merely a neutral report of a pattern. It identifies desirable definitional elements. Clear cases



Introduction xiii

and central features are appealing, allowing us to feel we have arrived at some consensus about the nature of forgiveness. Yet Robin May Schott’s criticism of this approach correlates with my arguments: “The risk of this strategy . . . is that the conceptual analysis of forgiveness becomes a lens that directs the lines of inquiry, instead of creating an opening for other moral lenses.”19 This should give anyone in pursuit of a paradigm pause. Third, we occasionally argue for new paradigms, by which we mean models that many may not share, but that serve as more accurate and reflective examples of occasions for moral behavior and promote certain priorities. It is my hope that as attention to forgiveness enters its maturity, new paradigms of forgiveness will better reflect the sentiment MacLachlan expresses in her contribution in this volume: “A philosophical account should distill those features and functions that are central to the concept as it emerges from everyday practices and develop a rational or regulative ideal that best reflects them. If these cannot be unified into a single, universal paradigm, it is better to sit with complexity than to deny the phenomenology of moral experience.” The first contribution is a model of sitting with complexity. Psychologist Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela’s piece, “Intersubjectivity and Embodiment: Exploring the Role of the Maternal in the Language of Forgiveness and Reconciliation,” is essential reading for anyone seeking to understand why it is important to naturalize ethics and sets the tone for the volume. In it she discusses her experiences with South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission in order to advance appreciation for dialogical contexts in which dealing with the past permits “discovering and nurturing the conditions that make forgiveness first conceivable, then ultimately possible.” GobodoMadikizela provides readers with reason to hold that the moral powers of individuals and groups to assert the meaningfulness of forgiving or refusing forgiveness should be the starting point for any theorizing about forgiveness. As she argues regarding her work in South African communities, to say that even horrific deeds “are simply unforgivable does not capture the complexity and richness of all the social contexts within which gross human rights abuses are committed.” In the social contexts she considers in the selection in this volume, Gobodo-Madikizela explicitly sets aside her previous explorations of the meaning of the term “forgiveness” in order to attend to the felt and embodied experiences of black South African women. Her focus includes women who express motivations for forgiving, including senses of responsibility to the community as well as empathy, expressed with the Xhosa word inimba, which refers to the umbilical cord and “can be interpreted to mean the feeling of motherhood.” The complexities of the embodied, culturally located, and emotional motivations of these women suggest that no single account of forgiveness captures the reasons for different victims to forgive.

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As many readers know, a contentious aspect of forgiveness, especially in such contexts as truth and reconciliation commissions, is the danger of an expectation that wrongdoers will be provided with reconciliation and forgiveness that they do not deserve, without ever expressing remorse or apology. Therefore the next chapter will be of interest to those who wonder what the effects of forgiveness are upon wrongdoers. In “What Victims Say and How They Say It Matters: Effects of Victims’ Post-Transgression Responses and Form of Communication on Transgressors’ Apologies,” psychologist Ward Struthers and colleagues explore victims’ post-transgression responses in some detail, with an eye to discerning whether forgiveness or its refusal motivated apologies on the part of offenders. They find that forgiving responses generated greater motivation for wrongdoers to apologize when they were communicated using an indirect form rather than the more direct statement “I forgive you.” Intriguingly, they also find that unforgiving responses generated greater motivation to apologize when they were communicated using a more direct form. In other words, their results further disrupt simplistic understandings of forgiveness as necessarily functional or unforgivingness as necessarily dysfunctional in promoting the repair of relationships. Moreover, like Gobodo-Madikizela, Struthers et al. suggest that victims’ consideration of forgiveness is a part of the circumstances making some reconciliation possible: “Victims can play an active role in the reconciliation process by facilitating apologies in transgressors and making them feel accepted back into the moral community.” This original contribution is distinctive in offering evidence that direct expressions of unforgiving can serve that accepting function in addition to indirect expressions of forgiving. Whether victims can develop the capacities to forgive even in childhood is the focus of psychologists Robert D. Enright and Mary Jacqueline Song in the next chapter, “An Aristotelian Perspective on Forgiveness Education in Contentious World Regions.” Enright and Song argue for a conception of a virtue of forgiveness based in part on their experiences with developing forgiveness education in elementary school settings in Belfast and Milwaukee. In building their case for a virtue of forgiveness, they pause to parse distinctions between the uses of the term “resentment” in psychology and in philosophy. They suggest that psychologists tend to describe resentment in terms of longstanding and excessive anger and that philosophers tend to describe resentment in terms of immediate moral responses to injury; the former, they argue, is to be overcome and not fostered. Their contribution reduces the sense one can take from some forgiveness literature that psychologists and philosophers disagree as sharply as we sometimes seem to do, and instead Enright and Song direct attention to achieving manageable, nonclinical levels of anger. It is a further disruption of accounts of forgiveness as the eradication



Introduction xv

of negative feelings about a wrongdoer or harm, promoting instead a view of forgiveness compatible with living well with appropriate or reduced but still present negative feelings. Enright and Song further distinguish between the propositional thoughts accompanying resentment and the emotions accompanying the thoughts, encouraging efforts at modeling different thoughts rather than recommending different feelings. Their results indicate that children in first-, third-, fourth-, and fifth-grade classes decreased statistically significantly in anger compared to control groups and did so in part with practice in inherent worth thinking as informed by stories and pictures, appeals to concrete examples and exemplars. Of course, adults are also regularly presented with exemplars of forgiveness, as philosopher Myisha Cherry discusses in the subsequent chapter. In “Forgiveness, Exemplars, and the Oppressed,” Cherry’s concern is focused on those occasions when oppressed people are presented with exemplars, and she argues that, when used as instructions rather than as illustrative examples of larger principles, exemplars are a form of fallacious appeal that undermine the autonomy of victims, encouraging imitation rather than reflection. Cherry considers the Kantian perspective that moral exemplars are useful for moral education. She clarifies the distinction between imitation and emulation as a difference in unthinking versus reflective action. While contributions like Struthers’s explore victims’ post-transgression reactions, including expressions that are forgiving, Cherry explores the expressions of others to victims that they ought to forgive as exemplars have forgiven. What effects do the endorsements of exemplars have on victims of serious harm? In a literal sense, how are victims to think? Cherry notes that the forgiveness exemplar is held up to persuade the victim motivationally, not just to illustrate a principle. As she says, in some cases the exemplars themselves become the reason to forgive. She concludes, with Kant, that reason and emotion have or should have a relationship in morality and that attempts to appeal to exemplars may commit fallacies of reasoning. She appreciates the value of forgiveness exemplars that “can represent morality, inspire and give hope to others, be something to emulate, and aid in moral education.” However, she cautions against public appeals by powerful individuals to forgiveness exemplars: “When those in positions of power attempt to persuade the powerless to forgive by using exemplars, we have reasons to view their arguments as extremely dubious.” Like Cherry, philosopher Jonathan Jacobs is similarly concerned with attitudes and sentiments in the public sphere, especially in the criminal justice context with which he is centrally concerned. In “Resentment, Punitiveness, and Forgiveness: Criminal Sanction and Civil Society,” Jacobs argues that it is public attitudes and perspectives that shape the civic culture. Like Enright and Song, he also addresses moral education, as he notes that for Adam Smith,

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“actually having apt and fit sentiments is not automatic. One learns to have them, and such learning is a crucial element of moral education.” Jacobs explores Adam Smith’s conception of resentment in some detail, especially to the extent that resentment can erode relations and undermine the values crucial to maintaining the civility of society. Yet he is in strong sympathy with Smith’s view that resentment has its purposes as a crucial moral sentiment. Jacobs attends to the multifold dimensions on which criminal justice in America in particular is ultimately shaped for the worse by public resentments, hostilities, and indifference, but he concludes that forgiveness is not usually apt as a response in this constrained context. As he says, there are considerable difficulties concerning the right spirit in which we are to forgive, and the right conditions, and the difficulties are multiplied in the context of criminal justice. Contributors David McNaughton and Eve Garrard resolve the conflict between negative attitudes and the right spirit of forgiveness with arguments that forgiveness of even unrepentant offenders can be morally admirable, but forgiveness is compatible with indignation, outrage, and denunciation of an offense. In “Once More with Feeling: Defending the Goodwill Account of Forgiveness,” they argue that not all negative attitudes are hostile attitudes; how moral emotions feel may be quite similarly negative, but some have judgments and objects compatible with forgiving while others do not. They further distinguish between feeling ill-willed and bearing ill will toward another, suggesting the first is psychologically involuntary while the second is at least partially voluntary, a cultivated disposition that includes some decisional component to carry forward. In a move related to the arguments of Struthers et al., McNaughton and Garrard argue that there are moral reasons to apologize after being forgiven. Although they argue, against predominant conceptions, that there is more to forgiving than merely overcoming resentment, they also build a case for holding a more traditional conception of forgiveness, that forgiving is something you do in your heart, rather than an explicit performative utterance that can be taken at face value by a listener. They consider in some detail arguments to the contrary, but they conclude that forgiveness consists in holding a certain belief and not in expressing that belief to another. They have good company with philosopher Barrett Emerick, whose contribution follows. In “Forgiveness and Reconciliation,” Emerick argues for an expansion of the traditional view that forgiveness is concerned with resentment, and like McNaughton and Garrard, Emerick further argues for a unilateral and thoroughly internal account of forgiveness rather than, for example, a speech act. In disagreement with McNaughton and Garrard, however, Emerick holds that one’s own welfare as a victim is a moral reason to forgive (dismissed by McNaughton and Garrard as merely therapeutic). He



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is also the only contributor to explicitly advance the view that forgiveness comes in degrees; addressing the psychological obstacle that complete or perfect forgiveness is often impossible, Emerick sensibly advocates for the worth of partial forgiveness. On his view, forgiveness is a term that refers to both a practice and sometimes an achievement. He explains why reconciliation requires forgiveness and argues for epistemic requirements to be met on the part of both victims and wrongdoers in reconciliation processes, saying they need to know, at least to some extent, how the other feels, understanding enough about the inner lives of others for reconciliation to be genuine. That understanding is not limited to victims and wrongdoers, according to our final contribution, “In Defense of Third-Party Forgiveness.” Philosopher Alice MacLachlan explores the capacity to forgive a wrong and its grounds beyond that of victimization. A personal connection to a wrongdoer or victim can be indirect, she notes, and the personal quality of some connections possesses “a kind of limited transitivity.” Forgiveness on the part of someone other than the victim, or third-party forgiveness, relies on personal but indirect relationships to wrongdoers and victims. She further discusses when we can trust in the appearance of that transitivity, that is, when third parties are well-placed to sensitively and sincerely give or refuse forgiveness to wrongdoers. She concludes that third-party forgiveness has a double grounding in imaginative sympathy and transitive personal relations of identification and care. She argues for conceptual clarity in our moral psychology in order to make better recommendations in our ethical prescriptions, a fitting end to a volume collecting the perspectives of psychologists and philosophers. I find MacLachlan’s views most akin to my own. Elsewhere I argue that the fragmented nature of the self, especially the traumatized self, is one that supports and enables the possibilities of self-inflicted evil and self-forgiveness, and it is difficult to account for self-forgiveness either for harms to oneself or harms to others unless we can sensibly say that third-party forgiveness is possible; that is, in self-forgiving, we forgive the wrongdoer although someone else (a past self, another person) is the victim.20 Perhaps not surprisingly, the fragmented self is also the source of obstacles to self-forgiveness, as is the unpredictability of memory. Although I came to a view of forgiveness as a commitment through writing about self-forgiveness, I conclude that forgiveness of others may also be sensibly referred to as primarily a commitment, a promise to oneself that one may need to repeatedly renew with the passage of time. I rest my reasons for holding its commitment-like nature on the view that we can have relationships with our past, present, and future selves, and on views of beliefs as, rather than true or false propositions, more like modes of conduct, enacting attitudes in the way that we choose to live.

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So I conclude this introduction with my own challenge to my contributors. I outline the account of belief upon which I rely and argue for forgiveness as a commitment in light of the practices that believing and holding attitudes based on those beliefs may require. I then proceed to my account of selfforgiveness as one form of such a commitment, which one has to one’s current and future selves. In saying that forgiveness is a commitment, I do not mean to imply that we cannot overcome certain feelings or maintain substantial changes in our attitudes. I agree with Trudy Govier’s account of personhood as entailing some capability for moral transformation.21 Because persons are so capable, Govier further argues that victims should never give up on another human being, never commit to being unforgiving, because wrongdoers with personhood are capable of moral transformation.22 She indicates that if victims know that wrongdoers are persons, then it is a failure of the moral respect due all persons to disbelieve that a wrongdoer can change and become worthy of forgiveness. I agree that victims can know that a person is capable of future moral transformation, but I disagree with Govier’s statement in the same work that victims should never give up on another human being; I would not go so far as to say that victims fail morally when they adopt pessimistic or hopeless attitudes about the prospects of their wrongdoer’s moral change. One may have knowledge without belief, one may have correct and true beliefs that are not the basis of a particular attitude, and one may have attitudes that are predicated on attitudinal content in conflict with those true beliefs. To defend the distinction between a victim’s knowledge of a proposition, a victim’s belief in a proposition, and a victim’s attitude toward a person, I rely on Blake Myers-Schultz’s and Eric Schwitzgebel’s co-authored account of knowledge without belief.23 I then turn to Schwitzgebel’s account of dispositional attitudes “outside the belief box.”24 Myers-Schultz and Schwitzgebel cite Gilbert Ryle’s account of know and believe as “dispositional verbs of quite disparate types. ‘Know’ is a capacity verb, and a capacity verb of that special sort that is used for signifying that the person described can bring things off, or get things right. ‘Believe,’ on the other hand, is a tendency verb and one which does not connote that anything is brought off or got right.”25 Myers-Schultz and Schwitzgebel provide empirical evidence that respondents to thought experiments consistently distinguish between the same agent knowing P and yet not believing P. They conclude, “It is not prima facie obvious that all instances of knowledge are also instances of belief”; instead “it is as though knowledge requires only having the information stored somewhere and available to be deployed to guide action, while belief requires some consistency in deploying the information (at least dispositionally or counterfactually).”26 Knowledge of a true proposition



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can be on or off. The proposition is true or it is false. It does not appear that belief follows propositional knowledge so inevitably that one can be held responsible for failing at belief, however. If knowledge does not entail belief, then at times the knowledge-switch will be set to “on” while the belief falters. Belief in the moral transformative powers of wrongdoers starts to sound more like a virtue or an imperfect duty. As I said, I agree with Govier’s view of personhood, the proposition that moral transformation is possible for individual human beings with moral agency; moral agents are capable of at least some moral transformation. Yet even as I know that, I am inclined to agree with Myers-Schultz and Schwitzgebel that knowledge does not entail belief, that the former may be a propositional bit of information while the latter reflects “a tendency to succeed.”27 To believe is to carry one’s knowledge forward into situations; it is to bring it off, to get its application right in the presence of competing information. If so, then a failure to believe what I know is not necessarily a moral failure (although it can be). A prescription regarding what victims ought to believe amounts to a recommendation to carry forward a practice, the success conditions of which are not entirely up to victims; more importantly, it is not a moral failure in one’s respect for personhood, which one can know that one ought to bear, regardless of what one believes over time. For related reasons, attitudes that rely on our beliefs are difficult to contain in inner landscapes; as Schwitzgebel says, “To have an attitude is, at root, to live a certain way.”28 Attitudes are not internal representations written in a “Belief Box,” Schwitzgebel says, but come with postures and patterns of behavior in the world, and he argues this account for both propositional attitudes (in the set of which he includes believing and hoping) and reactive attitudes (in the set of which he includes resenting, forgiving, and being angry).29 If knowledge does not entail belief, then belief does not entail appropriate attitudes, and Schwitzgebel rejects as “misleading” the view that an attitude is “a matter of possessing some particular internally stored representational content, a content perhaps poised to play some specific set of cognitive roles depending on the attitude type.”30 Instead of holding that to have an attitude is to have a relationship to a belief, Schwitzgebel argues that to have an attitude is to have, “though probably only imperfectly, a certain profile of outward behavior and inner experience . . . to embody a certain broad-ranging actual and counterfactual pattern of activity and reactivity.”31 I suggest that forgiveness can be just such an attitude, a pattern of activity and reactivity, neither essentially an inward feeling nor essentially an utterance or behavior. Because it is not entirely up to us when and how well we are embodying the attitude, the moral and motivated, decisional component of such an attitude is best accounted for as a commitment to enact the attitude in the world. To borrow Schwitzgebel’s language, I see a commitment

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to forgiveness as one aspiring to the practice, over time, of embodying that broad-ranging pattern he describes, and therefore forgiveness can be a speech act prior to having all of the expected, attendant emotions one might describe as forgiving. A view of forgiveness as a belief requiring continual recommitment is compatible with forgiveness sometimes consisting in a speech act, because as Cheshire Calhoun says, “Reflection on the content of the social practice of morality is what normative moral theorizing should be about. The theorist is not to begin by ignoring actual social practices of morality, including those that shape the theorist’s own thought, in order to construct an ideal normative standard to then be applied in evaluating actual practices.”32 Morality refers to how we engage others as much as it refers to how we develop and shape principles and theories, and moral social practices are not anterior applications of theories; “the social practice of morality really is morality.”33 I agree with Calhoun that these two conceptions of morality, the theoretical one aiming to get it right and the social one aiming to live with others, work together and sometimes in tension due to the plurality of our moral aims. For these reasons, I tend to oppose arguments, like those by Emerick and by McNaughton and Garrard in this volume, that later wishing to tell someone “I didn’t really forgive you when I said I did” somehow reveals that forgiveness is essentially internal. Instead it seems to me that moral agents have a plurality of moral aims, including the aim of forgiveness as an expression of acceptance of a wrongdoer and the aim of overcoming one’s own hostile feelings regarding a wrong. They’re both forgiveness in different functioning forms, accomplishing different moral aims, referred to by the same word. Words admit ambiguity, and that is why it is coherent for a wrongdoer to take someone who communicated forgiveness before feeling it to have actually forgiven the wrongdoer. One moral aim was accomplished, while another with the same referent was not. Our plural moral aims reveal precisely why moral life is so difficult and moral psychology so important to articulate. I have argued elsewhere that forgiveness is centrally relational, and the nature of the relationship, especially the power relationship, that it is employed to repair provides important information as to the content of the normative role of forgiveness. Some relationships, especially between caregivers and those cared for, are (among other things) fiduciary relationships, “marked by the expectation that one party will use his or her judgment to act in the best interests of the other,”34 and other relationships between more equal parties (for example, married adults) are structured in part by their explicit, expressed commitments. In short, not all relationships are entirely chosen and not all relationships leave trust-building and wellness-maintaining activities to chance. Therefore, again unlike some of my contributors to this volume, I



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take it to be erroneous to hold that forgiveness is always necessarily elective because it is insufficiently responsive to the contexts that endow commitment to forgiveness with its appropriate moral import. I realize that some philosophers may hold that one cannot be required to make a promise or a commitment. But the position that commitments cannot be required seems, like necessarily elective forgiveness, an acontextual and nonrelational treatment of the nature of forgiveness. Surely, in certain relationships, one can absolutely be confronted with normative expectations to make commitments and promises. For example, when one takes on the responsibilities involved in caring for children or vulnerable adults, it is easy to imagine moral demands or requirements to make promises. I’m under some pressure to design a syllabus because even my adult and elective university students expect me to make commitments and promises that, given my obligations as structural of the relationship, are required of me, reasonable to demand. Wedding vows are regularly arranged between couples with respect to what promises are expected, not just for the sake of the ceremony itself but as a reflection of particular values that couple believes structural to the marital relationship. And my upcoming citizenship application to Canada includes the requirement that I make certain promises (in the form of an oath), an expectation with which I am keen to comply. Forgiveness can function similarly, as Linda Ross Meyer suggests with her example of saying to her child “I am still angry, but I forgive you anyway.”35 As children, we need to believe our parents won’t eternally resent us for our minor offenses and even for culpably wronging them in order to develop basic senses of trust; especially in response to the more trivial harms, then, parents may bear special obligations to their children to express forgiveness. I hope it is clear why I do not hold that the expression of a commitment to forgive is something less than actually forgiving while the overcoming of emotional states is actual; I understand that philosophical views that diverge with mine are predicated on a shared view that forgiveness must be a term referring to the emotional changes involved in overcoming resentment. Mine is a more multidimensional view. Forgiveness is ambiguous and multiply realizable in the same way that betting is multiply realizable, sometimes in the class of performative illocutions and sometimes not. In other words, it is my conviction that when we discuss forgiveness, we may be discussing many instantiations of it, including and not limited to the emotional transformation that is interior to the forgiving agent. I am advocating a more relational and externalist account than do all of my contributors equally. I am happy to offer this collection of interdisciplinary thinkers who occasionally disagree with each other and with me. I encourage readers to take the differing insights in these contributions as helpful in understanding the

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nature and worth of forgiveness. It is a pleasure to be a part of a multivolume series contributing to advancing a multiplicity of perspectives in morality and moral psychology. NOTES 1. Kathryn Norlock, Forgiveness from a Feminist Perspective (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2009), 7–9. 2.  Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela, “Intersubjectivity and Embodiment: Exploring the Role of the Maternal in the Language of Forgiveness and Reconciliation,” originally published in Signs 36, no. 3 (2011): 541–51, and reprinted as the first chapter in this volume with the permission of the author and of the University of Chicago Press. 3.  Owen Flanagan, Hagop Sarkissian, and David Wong, “Naturalizing Ethics,” in Moral Psychology, Volume 1: The Evolution of Morality: Adaptations and Innateness, ed. Walter Sinnott-Armstrong (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2008), 5. 4.  Susan Dwyer, “How Not to Argue that Morality Isn’t Innate: Comments on Prinz,” in Moral Psychology, Volume 1: The Evolution of Morality: Adaptations and Innateness, ed. Walter Sinnott-Armstrong (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2008), 417. 5.  See especially Robert D. Enright and Joanna North, eds., Exploring Forgiveness (Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 1998), and Robert D. Enright, Forgiveness Is a Choice (Washington, DC: APA LifeTools, 2001). 6.  Michael E. McCullough and Everett Worthington Jr., “Promoting Forgiveness: A Comparison of Two Brief Psychoeducational Group Interventions with a WaitingList Control,” Counseling and Values 40, no. 1 (1995): 55–68. 7.  Desmond Mpilo Tutu, No Future without Forgiveness (New York: Doubleday, 1999), 255; Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela, A Human Being Died That Night: A South African Woman Confronts the Legacy of Apartheid (Boston and New York: Houghton-Mifflin, 2003). 8.  Sharon Lamb, “Forgiveness Therapy: The Context and Conflict,” Journal of Theoretical and Philosophical Psychology 25, no. 1 (2005): 61–80. 9. Murphy, Forgiveness and Mercy, 23. 10.  Joram Haber, Forgiveness (Savage, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 1991), 108. 11. Murphy, Forgiveness and Mercy, 167. 12.  Bishop Joseph Butler, “Sermon IX: Upon Forgiveness of Injuries,” in Fifteen Sermons and Other Writings on Ethics, ed. David McNaughton (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017). 13.  There were notable exceptions, although they certainly constituted a minority. Cheshire Calhoun provided a more narrative-centered account of aspirational forgiveness for unrepentant wrongdoers, as a “choice to place respecting another’s way of making sense of her life before resentfully enforcing moral standards”; see “Changing One’s Heart,” Ethics 103 (1992): 95. Judith Boss averred that “discussions of forgiveness in our culture . . . cannot be separated from gender politics” in “Throwing Pearls



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to the Swine: Women, Forgiveness, and the Unrepentant Abuser,” in Philosophical Perspectives on Power and Domination, ed. Laura Duhan Kaplan and Lawrence F. Bove (Amsterdam-Atlanta: Rodopi Press, 1997), 235; of course, these were separated by most philosophers during the period when the morality and psychology of forgiveness were described to be more at odds than is now the case. 14. Glen Pettigrove, Forgiveness and Love (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 2. 15.  Trudy Govier, Forgiveness and Revenge (London and New York: Routledge, 2002). 16.  Robin Dillon, “Self-Forgiveness and Self-Respect,” Ethics 112 (2001): 53–83; Charles Griswold, Forgiveness: A Philosophical Exploration (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007); Norlock, Forgiveness from a Feminist Perspective. 17.  Jeremy Watkins, “Unilateral Forgiveness and the Task of Reconciliation,” Res Publica: A Journal of Legal and Social Philosophy 21, no. 1 (2015): 19–42; Margaret Holmgren, Forgiveness and Retribution: Responding to Wrongdoing (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012). 18.  The selections quoted are from, respectively, Alice MacLachlan, “Practicing Imperfect Forgiveness,” in Feminist Ethics and Social and Political Philosophy: Theorizing the Non-Ideal, ed. Lisa Tessman (Dortrecht and New York: Springer, 2009), 188, and Margaret Walker, Moral Repair: Reconstructing Moral Relations after Wrongdoing (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 152 (quoted in MacLachlan, “Practicing Imperfect Forgiveness,” 188). 19.  Robin May Schott, “The Atrocity Paradigm and the Concept of Forgiveness,” Hypatia 19, no. 4 (2004): 206. 20.  See Chapter 6, “Self-Forgiveness,” in Norlock, Forgiveness from a Feminist Perspective. 21. Govier, Forgiveness and Revenge, 137. 22.  Ibid., 140. 23.  Blake Myers-Schulz and Eric Schwitzgebel, “Knowing that P without Believing that P,” Noûs 47, no. 2 (2013): 371–84. 24.  Eric Schwitzgebel, “A Dispositional Approach to Attitudes: Thinking Outside of the Belief Box,” in New Essays on Belief: Constitution, Content and Structure, ed. Nikolaj Nottelmann (New York: Palgrave-MacMillan, 2013). 25. Gilbert Ryle, The Concept of Mind (London: Hutchinson, 1949), 133–34; quoted in Myers-Schulz and Eric Schwitzgebel, “Knowing that P without Believing that P,” 381. 26.  Myers-Schulz and Eric Schwitzgebel, “Knowing that P without Believing that P,” 381. 27. Ibid. 28.  Schwitzgebel, “A Dispositional Approach to Attitudes: Thinking Outside of the Belief Box,” 76. 29.  Ibid., 75. 30. Ibid. 31.  Ibid., 76.

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32.  Cheshire Calhoun, Moral Aims: Essays on the Importance of Getting It Right and Practicing Morality with Others (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 14. 33.  Ibid., 26. 34.  Alice MacLachlan, “Fiduciary Duties and the Ethics of Public Apology,” Journal of Applied Philosophy 33, no. 4 (2016), doi:10.1111/japp.12214. 35. Linda Ross Meyer, “Forgiveness and Public Trust,” Fordham Urban Law Journal 27, no. 5 (2000): 1523.

REFERENCES Boss, Judith. “Throwing Pearls to the Swine: Women, Forgiveness, and the Unrepentant Abuser.” In Philosophical Perspectives on Power and Domination, edited by Laura Duhan Kaplan and Lawrence F. Bove, 235–48. Amsterdam-Atlanta: Rodopi Press, 1997. Butler, Joseph. Fifteen Sermons and Other Writings on Ethics. Edited by David McNaughton. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017. Calhoun, Cheshire. “Changing One’s Heart.” Ethics 103 (1992): 76–96. ———. Moral Aims: Essays on the Importance of Getting It Right and Practicing Morality with Others. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016. Dillon, Robin. “Self-Forgiveness and Self-Respect.” Ethics 112 (2001): 53–83. Dwyer, Susan. “How Not to Argue that Morality Isn’t Innate: Comments on Prinz.” In Moral Psychology, Volume 1: The Evolution of Morality: Adaptations and Innateness, edited by Walter Sinnott-Armstrong, 407–18. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2008. Enright, Robert D. Forgiveness Is a Choice. Washington, DC: APA LifeTools, 2001. Enright, Robert D., and Joanna North, eds. Exploring Forgiveness. Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 1998. Flanagan, Owen, Hagop Sarkissian, and David Wong. “Naturalizing Ethics.” In Moral Psychology, Volume 1: The Evolution of Morality: Adaptations and Innateness, edited by Walter Sinnott-Armstrong, 1–25. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2008. Gobodo-Madikizela, Pumla. A Human Being Died That Night: A South African Woman Confronts the Legacy of Apartheid. Boston and New York: HoughtonMifflin, 2003. ———. “Intersubjectivity and Embodiment: Exploring the Role of the Maternal in the Language of Forgiveness and Reconciliation.” Signs 36, no. 3 (2011): 541–51. Govier, Trudy. Forgiveness and Revenge. London and New York: Routledge, 2002. Griswold, Charles. Forgiveness: A Philosophical Exploration. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. Haber, Joram. Forgiveness. Savage, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 1991. Holmgren, Margaret. Forgiveness and Retribution: Responding to Wrongdoing. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Lamb, Sharon. “Forgiveness Therapy: The Context and Conflict.” Journal of Theoretical and Philosophical Psychology 25, no. 1 (2005): 61–80.



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MacLachlan, Alice. “Fiduciary Duties and the Ethics of Public Apology.” Journal of Applied Philosophy 33, no. 4 (2016), doi:10.1111/japp.12214. ———. “Practicing Imperfect Forgiveness.” In Feminist Ethics and Social and Political Philosophy: Theorizing the Non-Ideal, edited by Lisa Tessman, 185–204. Dortrecht and New York: Springer, 2009. Malcolm, Wanda, Nancy DeCourville, and Kathryn Belicki, eds. Women’s Reflections on the Complexities of Forgiveness. New York and London: Routledge, 2007. McCullough, Michael E., and Everett Worthington Jr. “Promoting Forgiveness: A Comparison of Two Brief Psychoeducational Group Interventions with a WaitingList Control.” Counseling and Values 40, no. 1 (1995): 55–68. Meyer, Linda Ross. “Forgiveness and Public Trust.” Fordham Urban Law Journal 27, no. 5 (2000): 1515–40. Murphy, Jeffrie, and Jean Hampton. Forgiveness and Mercy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. Myers-Schulz, Blake, and Eric Schwitzgebel. “Knowing that P without Believing that P.” Noûs 47, no. 2 (2013): 371–84. Norlock, Kathryn. Forgiveness from a Feminist Perspective. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2009. Pettigrove, Glen. Forgiveness and Love. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Ryle, Gilbert. The Concept of Mind. London: Hutchinson, 1949. Schott, Robin May. “The Atrocity Paradigm and the Concept of Forgiveness.” Hypatia 19, no. 4 (2004): 202–9. Schwitzgebel, Eric. “A Dispositional Approach to Attitudes: Thinking Outside of the Belief Box.” In New Essays on Belief: Constitution, Content and Structure, edited by Nikolaj Nottelmann. New York: Palgrave-MacMillan, 2013. Tutu, Desmond Mpilo. No Future without Forgiveness. New York: Doubleday, 1999. Walker, Margaret Urban. Moral Repair: Reconstructing Moral Relations after Wrongdoing. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Watkins, Jeremy. “Unilateral Forgiveness and the Task of Reconciliation.” Res Publica: A Journal of Legal and Social Philosophy 21, no. 1 (2015): 19–42.

Chapter One

Intersubjectivity and Embodiment Exploring the Role of the Maternal in the Language of Forgiveness and Reconciliation Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela Over the course of days, weeks, and months, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) of South Africa featured stories of survivors and family and friends of victims.1 These stories exposed the years of suffering endured by victims, some of whom were still alive bearing scars, physical and emotional, from the trauma they suffered during the years of apartheid. As they spoke about their profound and irreparable trauma, they revealed their struggle to speak about the trauma as well as the continuing struggle to overcome it. For years, the apartheid government denied its oppression of and systematic violence against black South Africans. The public hearings of the TRC, however, forced South Africans to hear the mournful wails and cries of anguish that expressed the difficulties the majority of the population had to live through. It was the best testimony yet to the violent years of an oppressive government. Mothers, wives, and grandmothers were the main transmitters of the memory of that traumatic past. They came with their brokenness to overcome silence, yet they were the ones who expanded our conceptual horizons about the power of public testimony and introduced the language of forgiveness into their encounters with perpetrators of gross human rights violations. They paved the way for a new language of hope in a society trying to heal itself. As a site of testimony, the TRC was transformed into a site for healing, and survivors became wounded healers. The public hearings of the TRC helped the nation reconstruct itself and to begin healing, and women’s testimonial voices were at the center of that process. Thus in this chapter I will draw from the public testimonies of the TRC and argue, from a constructionist perspective, that the stories that women survivors brought to the TRC were stories of healing and reconciliation. I will explore how gender and the maternal body might be central in shaping this discourse of forgiveness and 1

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reconciliation—in other words, not only how processes of reconciliation may be gendered, but also how they may be embodied. First, I want to briefly present some perspectives on forgiveness in politics and discuss my own views on the concept.2 THE ISSUE OF THE UNFORGIVABLE In recent years, there has been a growing interest in the role of truth commissions in dealing with past atrocities and the capacity for truth commissions to create opportunities for lasting peace. For the first time in the history of dealing with past atrocities, forgiveness has become an acceptable, albeit contested, outcome of reconciliation processes in divided societies emerging from violent conflict. Stories of forgiveness that emerged at TRC public hearings were primarily personal; their telling in public, however, imbued them with the significance of a collective enterprise inspired at its core by a communal ethics. The debates about forgiveness in politics, however, have been characterized by notions of the “unforgivable,” a perspective inspired by the insights that Hannah Arendt described in her book The Human Condition and her analysis of the trial of Adolf Eichmann.3 Arendt argued that “radical evil,” the kinds of acts committed by perpetrators in the service of oppressive, murderous, and genocidal state policies, are unforgivable. After South African stories of forgiveness at TRC public hearings, and after stories of reconciliation between survivors and victims of the Rwandan genocide, on the one hand, and neighbors who were involved in such acts, on the other, the argument that some acts are unforgivable requires reexamination. The examples of forgiveness and reconciliation witnessed in both South Africa and Rwanda suggest that the context of dealing with the past—particularly the public testimonies and encounters between individual victims and perpetrators—creates the possibility for the emergence of forgiveness and gestures of reconciliation. Understanding what it is about this context that opens up the possibility for victims or surviving family members of victims to reach out to perpetrators or their families would enrich the debates about alternative strategies to peace building in the aftermath of mass violence and political conflict. FORGIVENESS AFTER MASS ATROCITY: SOME REFLECTIONS Stories of forgiveness that emerged at the South African TRC are significant not just because they set a precedent. Even more important is that the few



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stories witnessed at TRC hearings were illustrative of the critical attempts to bring people from two sides of a violent and hateful past together. It seemed that beyond the mere gesture of words of forgiveness, when forgiveness was expressed in the context of the dialogue about the past and in response to a remorseful perpetrator, forgiveness carried with it a sense of responsibility that was driven by a desire not for vengeance but for the higher priority of responsibility to the human community. The public hearings of the TRC imbued the dialogue process with a concept of human community that extended to others—even those responsible for gross human rights violations in the past. This inclusive concept of humanity recognizes that as an expression of being human, remorse transcends the evil deeds of the perpetrator. The capacity to recognize the transcendence becomes an important bridge for the victim or surviving families of victims to reach out to the perpetrator. Dialogue will of course not solve every problem faced by a society that has suffered sustained violence on a large scale; however, it can create avenues for broadening commonly accepted models of justice and of healing deep fractures in a nation by unearthing, acknowledging, and recording a brutal past. Dialogue allows victims and survivors to revisit the sites of trauma, humanizes victims, and confronts perpetrators with their inhumanity. Through dialogue, victims as well as the greater society come to recognize perpetrators as human beings who failed morally, whether through coercion, the perverted convictions of a warped mind, or fear. Far from relieving the pressure on perpetrators, recognizing the most serious criminals as human intensifies the pressure because society can then hold them to greater moral accountability. Indeed, demonizing those who have committed horrific deeds as monsters lets them off too easily. Managed carefully, dialogue condemns—but not too hastily, lest it foreshorten the accountability process and, perversely, excuse the criminal by dismissing him or her into the category of the hopelessly, radically Other. Sustained, engaged, ordered dialogue thus forces an offender to unearth what moral sensibilities he or she has buried under a facade of obedience to orders or righteous duty to country and to face what he or she has done in the sobering atmosphere of reflection on ordinary human lives now shattered. Thus dialogue invites the perpetrator to negotiate the chasm between his or her monstrousness and the world of the forgiven. The act of humanizing perpetrators is therefore at once punishment and rehabilitation. Finally, dialogue creates the possibility of setting the person’s actions, through testimony and witnessing, in the broader framework of the political-ideological context that may have supported and even directed his deeds. On the scale of horrible things that can happen to people, there are some for which the language of apology and forgiveness may be entirely inappropriate.

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To say, however, that horrific deeds committed in the context of systematic human rights abuses by states are simply unforgivable does not capture the complexity and richness of all the social contexts within which gross human rights abuses are committed. In South Africa and in Rwanda, for example, despite the complex challenges that these two countries continue to face in terms of healing the past, the stories of forgiveness and reconciliation that have emerged have set a remarkable, though hotly contested, precedent in the history of atrocities. Thus while there may be value in recognizing and positing the limits of forgiveness, if such exist, some societies have found it more constructive to focus on discovering and nurturing the conditions that make forgiveness first conceivable, then ultimately possible. Of course, in order to set conditions for forgiveness, it does indeed bear asking: When someone has committed the kind of “radically evil” acts that Arendt had in mind,4 what does remorse mean? How do we judge the genuineness of that remorse? How does one forgive unless one can find claims of remorse credible? In addition, how does one find them credible unless one first attempts to understand why the acts were committed? How do we know that the signs of alleged contrition are not simply a product of the perpetrator’s having been caught or of changes within the society that have destroyed his or her power base and support structures and have left him or her vulnerable? Some of these questions have to do with the moral possibility—the psychological and epistemological possibility—of achieving authentic remorse in the wake of having performed the unthinkable. “After such knowledge, what forgiveness?” T. S. Eliot asks in “Gerontion.”5 The question is quite legitimate. Yet it remains equally legitimate that when perpetrators do in fact express regret, guilt, or contrition, however it may be ascertained, what seems to lie, as Nicholas Tavuchis has put it, “beyond the purview of apology”6 and what Arendt has referred to as unforgivable7 can in fact be transformed from an unforgivable deed into a forgivable one. In other words, the narrative that unfolds in the dialogue about the past may be along the lines of “this has happened and we must find ways to move forward.” Philosophical questions such as the moral inappropriateness of forgiveness can and should give way and be subsumed to human questions, for in the end we are a society of people and not of ideas, a fragile web of interdependent human beings, not of stances. Therefore in the next section I will use a story from the TRC that is an illustrative example of the notion of transcendence I described earlier, in which surviving family members of victims reach out to perpetrators with forgiveness. Specifically, I am interested in exploring the meaning of forgiveness when the forgivers are women and in which both the forgiving party and the perpetrator are black Africans. I will explore how traumatic memory may be transformed



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through the maternal body as cultural and historical narrative and how an ethics of responsibility may be signified by the figure of the maternal body. FORGIVENESS AND THE MATERNAL BODY: NEW AND UNEXAMINED FORMS OF EXPRESSION OF WOMEN’S SUBJECTIVITY? The story that will provide a framework for my discussion here concerns forgiveness of a black former police informant who infiltrated a group of seven young black activists from one of Cape Town’s black townships during apartheid rule in South Africa. The former police informant pretended to be a member of the then-banned African National Congress (ANC) sent by his commander from the ANC to train the young activists. With no previous military training, the unsuspecting activists were given a crash course in the use of firearms by the police informant. The plan, which was a strategy used by apartheid security police throughout the country, was to train young black activists, and once they felt they were ready to fight the system, they would be lured to a police trap and killed. These incidents were reported in the media as terrorist attacks that were foiled by the police. The aim was to instill fear in South Africa’s black population, especially the antiapartheid movement, and to portray the security police as efficient in fighting opponents of the state. The truth behind these kinds of stories was clearly revealed at TRC hearings, and the story of the murder of seven black activists by the security police became emblematic of the sinister operations of the security police and the systematic killings that took place during apartheid. When he appeared before the TRC, the former police informant requested to meet with the families of the slain men whom he had lured to killing by security police. As coordinator of the public hearings of the Human Rights Violations Committee in Cape Town, I led the one-week preparation for the meeting between the families of the slain men and the former police informant.8 I cannot describe the encounter between the mothers of the slain men and the former informant in full in this chapter. For the purposes of this discussion, I will focus only on a specific moment during and specific details of the encounter. One of these concerns the language of apology on the one hand and the language of forgiveness on the other. I want to briefly illustrate the mood in the room where the former informant sat with his lawyer on his side to address the families of the slain victims. The mothers of the victims spoke angrily to the man who was to ask for their forgiveness and accused him of being “a wolf dressed in sheep’s skin” and of “selling his own blood” to the white apartheid government. The man cast a

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lonely figure as I observed the events unfolding. He was shaking in his chair, his face twitching nervously. At one point during the meeting, he looked at the mothers and, addressing them as “my parents,” he asked for their forgiveness “from the bottom of my heart.” There was silence in the room, and when the silence was broken, one of the mothers reached out to him with the words: “You are the same age as my son Christopher [who was murdered]. I want to tell you my son that I as Christopher’s mother, I forgive you my son. I want you to go home knowing that I have forgiven you. Yes, I forgive you; I am at peace. Go well my son.” Some of the rest of the mothers and family members of the slain men also gestured their forgiveness. They embraced him, each in turn, as the man who had lured their sons to death prepared to leave the room. In the years since the encounter just described, I have approached the analysis of the event by focusing on the meaning of forgiveness. Recently, however, my questions in my interviews with the mothers have focused not only on what they experienced as a turning point that opened up the space for expression of forgiveness, but also on the question of what they felt in their bodies as a sign that they could forgive. Themes of an embodied response have emerged from these interviews, and the mothers have described “signs” in the body that triggered feelings of empathy, which led to forgiving the perpetrator. They used the Xhosa word inimba to describe the bodily sign of empathy and located its source in the womb. Inimba, which may be translated as “umbilical cord,” can be interpreted to mean the feeling of motherhood. What feels exceptional about inimba as explained by the mothers is, I believe, that it allowed for an experience of empathy for their sons’ killer and ultimately the act of forgiveness. To feel inimba is to feel like a mother does for a child when her child is in pain. Inimba may be triggered even when one’s child is thousands of miles away—for example, a mother feeling her child’s desperation and longing for home or feeling that her child is in some trouble. Thus for those mothers who felt inimba in response to the former police informant begging for forgiveness, they were responding to him as if he were their own son. I now want to explore the significance of the maternal body in this forgiveness encounter. Lesley Saunders writes, “Far from being biologically disadvantaged, women are naturally privileged; their procreativity is both prototype and archetype, the psychophysical ground for all creativity.”9 One might ask, when is a mother rendered an ideation: “the mother”? At what point is a body of a woman who is also a mother or who has borne a child rendered emblematic, paradigmatic: “the maternal body”? It seems that there are different, albeit overlapping, senses of the maternal at play here: the womb as materiality (flesh, biology); the womb as a symbol, idea, or metaphor (as potentiality, as creative source, etc.); and the womb as experienced and as



Intersubjectivity and Embodiment 7

the possible expression of subjectivity/subjectivities. The boundaries between these different senses of the womb are by no means fixed or clear. According to Elizabeth Grosz, there is no dichotomy between the “‘real,’ material body” and cultural and historical representations of the body.10 Rather, bodies are constituted—and produced—by such representations. Representations in turn are reinforced, and in some instances challenged and subverted, by lived bodies. Grosz also observes that bodies “function interactively and productively. They act and react. They generate what is new, surprising, unpredictable.”11 Ruth Waterhouse echoes this thinking when she writes, “Thus, that which has been most objectified—our corporeality—is to become the major source of our subjectivity and agency, subject and object reunited and no longer split by the Western dualist tradition. . . . Devoid of patriarchal misrepresentation, the female body would be revealed in its natural, uncoded form, centring on the womb which bleeds and drips, reproduces and ceases in time with the seasons, or the phases of the moon. But . . . the human body is never free from signification, it is always circumscribed by layers of cultural meaning, ritual and custom.”12 What is the place here of cultural representations of maternal bodies and cultural contexts in which bodies are embedded? If inimba might be regarded as a new and unexamined form of expression of women’s subjectivity, can it also be regarded as a new and examined form of subjectivity constructed, at least in part, culturally? It seems that at least a consideration of the cultural making of bodies, and consequently embodied experiences, is called for. I should point out here that by raising the question of culture, my aim is not to racialize the experience of inimba, thus falling into the traps of reductionism and essentialism. In my discussions of empathy,13 I have argued that empathy is a human experience. The value of conceptualizing empathy within an African context is that this context provides specific language and meanings associated with human empathy (for example, the concept of ubuntu).14 Here too I believe that while inimba, as far as the language and meaning of its use are concerned, is a concept linked to African culture, the experience itself, which can be interpreted as the expression of empathy through the body, traverses cultural, religious, and racial boundaries. The value of conceptualizing empathy in a cultural context is that this context provides a vocabulary for articulating a wider range of meanings and expressions of empathy. It is the feeling of inimba—an embodied connection with one’s own child emanating from the womb—and the connection to someone who is not one’s son as if he is one’s own son, that invites us to consider the extent that an African ethos of interconnectedness might be relevant here.15 We may also consider the question of what the experience of inimba might have been had the man asking for forgiveness been white. Would the mothers’ forgiveness

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be expressed through an embodied experience of inimba? Alternatively, would the embodied expression of inimba have been qualitatively different for a white perpetrator? Space limitations do not allow me to explore these questions in this chapter. TURNING TO LEVINASIAN ETHICS I now turn to Emmanuel Levinas and other scholars for possible lenses through which to contemplate this experience of inimba. What follows is a consideration of a view of the maternal body as signification, conceived of as an embodiment of an ethics. Significations and representations of course shape lived experiences, while lived experiences are in many ways more ambivalent, in many instances flying in the face of signification. What is interesting about Levinas’s position on the question of responsibility for the Other is that responsibility for the Other requires that I bear the Other “like a maternal body.”16 To bear someone like a maternal body suggests that one need not be a mother, or indeed a woman, to bear responsibility for the Other. In her book The Gift of the Other: Levinas and the Politics of Reproduction, Lisa Guenther explains, “This distance implied by the word like in this phrase, ‘like a maternal body’ opens up a gap between maternity as a biological fact and as an ethical response.”17 For Guenther, Hélène Cixous’s notion of masculine and feminine economies—which does not purport to equate masculinity and femininity with anatomical distinctions—“account[s] for different ways of living the body, different modalities of fleshly existence.”18 Guenther argues that “while embodiment may seem only obscurely relevant to paternity, maternity implies an ethics in and of the flesh.”19 Guenther recognizes in Levinas’s ethics of responsibility for the Other and his use of the maternal body as symbol for this responsibility a feminist potential. However, she notes that “while Levinas does not exclude men from the ethical imperative to bear Others, his use of maternity as metaphor for ethics in general threatens to appropriate the generous gift of maternity without acknowledging women’s very particular, historical, and embodied experiences as mothers.”20 Guenther is right to make this point. Levinas, however, has introduced insights that allow us to think of the maternal as fundamental in both ethics and politics and to conceptualize the maternal and paternal body as bearing some significance for the embodied politics of forgiveness in the aftermath of trauma. In Otherwise than Being, Levinas elaborates on his ethics of responsibility for the Other: “In proximity the absolutely other, the stranger whom ‘I have



Intersubjectivity and Embodiment 9

neither conceived nor given birth to,’ I have already on my arms, already bear. . . . He has no other place, is . . . exposed to the cold and the heat of the seasons. To be reduced to having recourse to me is the homelessness or strangeness of the neighbor. It is incumbent on me.”21 In other words, in his Otherwise than Being Levinas uses the maternal to designate his ethics of responsibility. Guenther argues that for Levinas both men and women “are commanded to become like a maternal body for the Other, whether or not they give birth in a biological sense.”22 This is of course relevant to the experience of inimba described earlier. The mothers bear the former police informant—who, as their sons’ killer, should be Other and Persecutor exemplified—as they would their own child. As they would forgive their own child, they forgive this man; they assume responsibility for him and, in so doing, bring him back into the communal fold where his humanity might be restored. This leads me to contemplate possible parallels between an African ethics of interconnectedness and Levinasian ethics and the extent that both systems are signified by the figure of the maternal body. This would require further development in a separate paper. CONCLUSION In a cultural milieu in which connectedness to others is an essential feature of human relationships, an individual’s identity extends beyond selffocused individualism. A person’s identity is shaped by relationships with others and is inextricably intertwined with their identities. This shared humanity with others is captured in the African concept of ubuntu. As with Levinasian ethics, the guiding principles of ubuntu are based on a morality that is Other-directed, concerned with promoting the ethical vision of compassion and care for others. Therefore inimba as an expression in which one extends oneself to reach out to the Other signifies the expression of ubuntu through the body. Levinas’s ethics of responsibility to the Other have given us an important framework within which to contemplate dialogic encounters in the aftermath of mass trauma and systematic violence. By locating the essence of our ethical responsibility in the heart of the body, as symbolized by the maternal body, Levinas’s ethical observations call us to respond to the traumatic disruption of the past not with the moral force of righteous aggression but with the moral force of love, as we would to the child from our womb. In this context, the image of inimba is an evocative one because it draws us to respond to the suffering of the Other as if the Other were the child that one carried in one’s womb. Thus the body, be it paternal or maternal, points us toward understanding the body

10

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as a site for ethical engagement, a site for forging human links across time and space with the Other—even an Other responsible for one’s irreparable loss. NOTES 1.  This essay originally appeared in Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 36, no. 3 (2011): 541–51 (Symposium: Feminists Reconceptualize Peace), and is reprinted in this volume, unchanged except for citation style, with the kind permission of the author and the University of Chicago Press. 2. For a detailed background into how the TRC worked, see Desmond Mpilo Tutu, No Future without Forgiveness (New York: Doubleday, 1999), and Alex Boraine, A Country Unmasked (Cape Town: Oxford University Press, 2000). 3.  See Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998), and Hannah Arendt, Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil (New York: Penguin, 1994). 4. Arendt, The Human Condition. 5.  T. S. Eliot, “Gerontion,” in Ara Vos Prec (London: Ovid, 1920). 6.  Nicholas Tavuchis, Mea Culpa: A Sociology of Apology and Reconciliation (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1991), 21. 7. Arendt, The Human Condition, 241. 8.  For more background see Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela, “Trauma, Forgiveness and the Witnessing Dance: Making Public Spaces Intimate,” Journal of Analytical Psychology 53, no. 2 (2008): 169–88; see also Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela, “Working through the Past: Some Thoughts on Forgiveness in Cultural Context,” in Memory, Narrative, and Forgiveness: Perspectives on the Unfinished Journeys of the Past, ed. Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela and Chris van der Merwe (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars, 2009), 148–69. 9.  Lesley Saunders, Glancing Fires (London: Women’s Press, 1988), 22. 10.  Elizabeth Grosz, Volatile Bodies: Toward a Corporeal Feminism (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994), ix. 11. Ibid., xi. 12.  Ruth Waterhouse, “The Inverted Gaze,” in Body Matters: Essays on the Sociology of the Body, ed. Sue Scott and David Morgan (London: Routledge, 1993), 110–11. 13.  Gobodo-Madikizela, “Trauma, Forgiveness and the Witnessing Dance: Making Public Spaces Intimate,” and Gobodo-Madikizela, “Working through the Past: Some Thoughts on Forgiveness in Cultural Context.” 14.  As an ethical framework, ubuntu is part of the deep cultural heritage of African people based on communitarian principles. It inspires the following concept of identity: “I am because we are.” This philosophy of profound connectedness to others has been contrasted with the famous René Descartes quotation “I think, therefore I am,” which captures the individualism usually associated with Western culture. The ethos of ubuntu focuses on social relationships that encourage cooperation for the good of the community.



Intersubjectivity and Embodiment 11

15.  See my discussion of ubuntu and forgiveness in Gobodo-Madikizela, “Working through the Past: Some Thoughts on Forgiveness in Cultural Context.” 16.  Lisa Guenther, The Gift of the Other: Levinas and the Politics of Reproduction (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2006), 6. 17.  Ibid., 7. 18.  Ibid., 53. 19.  Ibid., 95. 20.  Ibid., 6. 21. Emmanuel Levinas, Otherwise than Being; or, Beyond Essence, trans. Alphonso Lingis (Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic, 1991), 91. 22. Guenther, The Gift of the Other, 7.

REFERENCES Arendt, Hannah. Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil. New York: Penguin, 1994. ———. The Human Condition. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998. Boraine, Alex. A Country Unmasked. Cape Town: Oxford University Press, 2000. Eliot, T. S. “Gerontion.” In Ara Vos Prec. London: Ovid, 1920. Gobodo-Madikizela, Pumla. “Trauma, Forgiveness and the Witnessing Dance: Making Public Spaces Intimate.” Journal of Analytical Psychology 53, no. 2 (2008): 169–88. ———. “Working through the Past: Some Thoughts on Forgiveness in Cultural Context.” In Memory, Narrative, and Forgiveness: Perspectives on the Unfinished Journeys of the Past, edited by Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela and Chris van der Merwe, 148–69. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars, 2009. Grosz, Elizabeth. Volatile Bodies: Toward a Corporeal Feminism. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994. Guenther, Lisa. The Gift of the Other: Levinas and the Politics of Reproduction. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2006. Levinas, Emmanuel. Otherwise than Being; or, Beyond Essence. Translated by Alphonso Lingis. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic, 1991. Saunders, Lesley. Glancing Fires. London: Women’s Press, 1988. Tavuchis, Nicholas. Mea Culpa: A Sociology of Apology and Reconciliation. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1991. Tutu, Desmond Mpilo. No Future without Forgiveness. New York: Doubleday, 1999. Waterhouse, Ruth. “The Inverted Gaze.” In Body Matters: Essays on the Sociology of the Body, edited by Sue Scott and David Morgan, 105–21. London: Routledge, 1993.

Chapter Two

What Victims Say and How They Say It Matters Effects of Victims’ Post-Transgression Responses and Form of Communication on Transgressors’ Apologies C. Ward Struthers, Joshua Guilfoyle, Careen Khoury, Elizabeth van Monsjou, Joni Sasaki, Curtis Phills, Rebecca Young, and Zdravko Marjanovic On November 30, 1984, Wilma and Cliff Derksen were waiting for their 13-year-old daughter, Candice, to come home from school, but she never did. After weeks of searching for their daughter, Candice’s body was found in a shack close to her neighborhood. Many were shocked when, in the midst of this horrific experience, Wilma and Cliff appeared in front of reporters to tell the world that they forgave the person who murdered their daughter. Although they wanted to see justice done, they may also have wanted their daughter’s murderer to acknowledge the pain he caused, to accept him back into the moral community, and to apologize. There are other instances in which victims have communicated forgiveness to transgressors before they received an apology; however, such examples seem to contradict common understandings of how the processes of apology and communication of forgiveness generally unfold in social interactions. According to Goffman (1955), the prototypical sequence following such events begins with victims drawing attention to the transgression and their pain, followed by transgressors offering an apology. Finally, victims either accept the apology, forgiving the transgressor, or not. Although Goffman describes the common sequence of victims’ and transgressors’ post-transgression responses, the case of Wilma and Cliff Derksen suggests that the typical sequence is not always the case. Because victims of transgressions do communicate their intent to forgive, seek revenge, and harbor grudges (that is, unforgiving) before transgressors apologize, it is important to ask how the communication of such responses change transgressors’ moral emotions and their motivation 12



C. Ward Struthers, et al. 13

to apologize. Although a growing body of research examines the influence of transgressors’ apologies on victims’ post-transgression responses (PTRs) (Fehr, Gelfand, & Nag, 2010), relatively little is known about how, when, and why victims’ PTRs influence transgressors’ apologies (Exline & Baumeister, 2000; Struthers, Eaton, Shirvani, Georghiou, & Edell, 2008). Generally, full apologies involve an acknowledgment of the transgression and one’s responsibility, saying sorry, an expression of remorse, an assurance of no future transgressions, and compensation to the victim (Lazare, 2004; Tavuchis, 1991; Weiner, 2006). Despite their potential benefits in repairing the damage caused by transgressions, transgressors are often reluctant to offer full apologies to their victims because they fear retaliation such as revenge and harsh judgments such as grudges or they feel they can treat their victims as doormats and walk all over them by continuing to transgress against them (Luchies, Finkel, McNulty, & Kumashiro, 2010; McNulty, 2011). This reluctance leads to hesitation and leaves ample time for victims to communicate their PTR before transgressors (Okimoto, Wenzel, & Hedrick, 2013; Schumann & Dweck, 2014; Struthers et al., 2008; Woodyatt & Wenzel, 2014). Surprisingly the association between victims’ PTRs and transgressors’ motivation to apologize is largely unknown (Adams, Zou, Inesi, & Pillutla, 2015; Kelln & Ellard, 1999; Leunissen, De Cremer, & Reinders Folmer, 2012; McCullough, Kurzban, & Tabak, 2013; Shnabel & Nadler, 2008; Struthers et al., 2008). The purpose of this research was to address this gap in the empirical literature by examining 1) how victims’ decision to respond in an unforgiving or forgiving way affects transgressors’ motivation to apologize; 2) to examine whether indirect or direct forms of communication moderate the relation; and 3) to examine whether transgressors’ moral emotions explain why victims’ PTRs and form of communication influence transgressors’ motivation to apologize. Shnabel and Nadler (2008) argue that following a transgression, both victims and transgressors are deprived of unique psychological resources that can facilitate the process of reconciliation. Being hurt by transgressors deprives victims of status and power, whereas being rejected by victims deprives transgressors of love and social bonds. Deficits in these respective psychological resources give rise to different emotions. Victims whose relative status or power is threatened will feel anger, whereas transgressors whose social bond to the victim is threatened will feel morally inferior. In turn, these corresponding emotions are predicted to facilitate a motivational state to fulfill the respective deficits. Victims who have a deficit in relative status or power, for instance, want transgressors to acknowledge the offense, take responsibility for it, understand the harm they caused, and say they are sorry. In short, they want them to apologize. In contrast, transgressors whose

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What Victims Say and How They Say It Matters

social bonds are threatened, for example, want victims to let go of their negative evaluations and accept them back into the moral community. In short, they want victims to forgive them. When their respective deficits are satisfied, that is, victims receive an apology and transgressors receive forgiveness, both victims and transgressors are inclined to alter their orientation toward each other and reconcile (Shnabel & Nadler, 2008; Staub, Pearlman, Gubin, & Hagengimana, 2005). However, victims and transgressors do not always get what they want (Leunissen, De Cremer, Reinders, & van Dijke, 2013). Although they may attempt to fulfill each other’s psychological need, victims and transgressors may also be motivated to fulfill their own psychological need, potentially hindering the path to reconciliation (Goffman, 1955; Gonzales, Manning, & Haugen, 1992; Hodgins & Liebeskind, 2003; McCullough et al., 2013). A number of post-transgression interpersonal responses may be employed by victims to satisfy their own psychological need. For instance, victims may seek to regain their loss of relative status or power by holding a grudge or seeking revenge. We define a grudge as a motivated decision to hang on to and maintain negative sentiment toward a transgressor. Although little scholarship exists on grudges (cf. Baumeister, Exline, & Sommer, 1998; Rapske, Boon, Alibhai, & Kheong, 2010; Witvliet, Ludwig, & Vander Laan, 2001; Wixen, 1971), some research shows that a grudge can increase negative emotions and physiological responses such as heart rate and blood pressure in victims (Witvliet et al., 2001) and decrease forgiveness (Fehr et al., 2010; McCullough, Bono, & Root, 2007). We argue that grudges serve the shortterm benefit of protecting victims from ongoing victimization by keeping them vigilant against repeated transgressions; however, holding a grudge may make transgressors reluctant to apologize because they imply that they are morally inferior, unworthy of reconciliation, and excluded from the moral community (Baumeister, Stillwell, & Heatherton, 1994; Baumeister, Stillwell, & Wortman, 1990; Exline & Baumeister, 2000; Shnabel & Nadler, 2008; Tavuchis, 1991; Zechmeister & Romero, 2002). By seeking revenge, victims can also fulfill their loss of relative status or power by getting back what they lost and by deterring transgressors from transgressing again. We define revenge as a motivated decision to retaliate against a transgressor for a perceived wrong. Although revenge can benefit victims, it is costly for transgressors and can make them reluctant to apologize because, like grudge, revenge can convey victims’ moral superiority, unwillingness to reconcile, and lack of acceptance. However, if victims consider transgressors appropriate targets of compassion (that is, have empathy for them), value transgressors (view them as part of the moral community), and believe that transgressors are unwilling to harm them in the future, then



C. Ward Struthers, et al. 15

forgiveness is a viable option for facilitating apologies and satisfying both victims’ and transgressors’ psychological needs (McCullough, 2008; McCullough et al., 2013). We define forgiveness as a motivated decision to let go of a negative attitude toward a transgressor and replace it with a more positive attitude. Forgiveness reduces victims’ motivation to retaliate and harbor negative sentiment and increases goodwill toward transgressors by signaling a willingness to accept them back into the moral community. Through this transformation, the ultimate goal is to increase transgressors’ value for victims and thereby regain any loss of relative status or power experienced by victims. Research shows that forgiveness increases psychological well-being (Berry & Worthington, 2001; Karremans, Van Lange, & Holland, 2005; Maltby & Day, 2004; Witvliet et al., 2001), promotes prosocial interactions (Karremans & Van Lange, 2004; Karremans et al., 2005), and decreases antisocial interactions (Aquino & Douglas, 2003; Exline, Baumeister, Bushman, Campbell, & Finkel, 2004). Notably, the form of communication used, either indirectly or directly, to express PTRs might also trigger unique effects on transgressors’ motivation to apologize by changing the meaning of the victim’s response, which in turn changes transgressors’ moral emotions associated with the transgression (Struthers et al., 2008). COMMUNICATION OF VICTIMS’ POST-TRANSGRESSION RESPONSES AND TRANSGRESSORS’ APOLOGIES Transgressors are most likely to apologize when their need for moral integrity is intact (Leunissen, De Cremer, & Reinders Folmer, 2012; Okimoto et al., 2013; Shnabel & Nadler, 2008) and the extent to which this is the case might depend on whether victims intend to forgive them as well as how they communicate their intentions. In their pursuit of social bonding, human beings depend on their unique ability to communicate a wide variety of information to others. In the process of communicating information, the speaker should communicate clear and accurate information if his or her goal is to fulfill his or her audience’s expectations. However, if his or her goal is to fulfill his or her own expectations, then his or her self-interests may be best served by being vague, misleading, or even deceitful (Sperber, Clement, Heintz, Mascaro, Mercier, Origgi, & Wilson, 2010). For instance, if a victim’s goal is to get revenge rather than get an apology, but they know that directly communicating their intended response is likely to cause the transgressor to feel moral indignation, the victim may mislead the transgressor about his or her actual intent by indirectly communicating his or her response, for example, “As it

16

What Victims Say and How They Say It Matters

turns out, I won’t be able to write that letter of reference for you.” In comparison, if a victim’s goal is to get the transgressor to apologize by making him or her feel morally inferior, the victim may be direct in his or her form of communication about his or her intent to seek revenge, for example, “I will not write a letter of reference for you to get back at you for hurting me.” Thus victims may convey different messages about transgressors’ moral inferiority depending on the form of communication they use (Exline & Baumeister, 2000; Kelley, 1998; Sperber et al., 2010). Surprisingly very little research exists on the dynamics of communicating unforgiveness and forgiveness and the effect this has on altering transgressors’ moral emotions and motivation to apologize. One of the earliest studies examining the communication of forgiveness was conducted by Kelley (1998). In his analysis of 304 forgiveness narratives, Kelley showed that victims of transgression used three forms of communication in granting forgiveness: indirect forgiveness, direct forgiveness, and conditional forgiveness. Of the three forms of communication, indirect and direct are the most common (Kelley, 1998; Merolla, 2008) and therefore were the focus of the current research. With indirect forgiveness, victims do not explicitly inform the transgressor that he or she has been forgiven; instead forgiveness is simply understood, for example, “oh well, no worries, it could happen to anyone” (Kelley, 1998; Merolla, 2008; Waldron & Kelley, 2005). In addition to communicating forgiveness, indirect forgiveness can also be used by victims to avoid confrontations by euphemizing the transgression or the harm it caused (Waldron & Kelley, 2005). In comparison, with direct forgiveness, victims clearly inform the transgressor that he or she has been forgiven and why, for example, “I forgive you for hurting me.” Although direct forms of communicating forgiveness are positively associated with romantic relationship outcomes (Waldron & Kelley, 2005), they can be confrontational by not minimizing the impact of transgressions, communicating a holier-than-thou or self-righteous attitude (Goffman, 1955), making transgressors feel morally inferior, and being misleading about their intent (Sperber et al., 2010). In one study, Younger, Piferi, Jobe, and Lawler (2004) found that almost half of their participants continued to harbor grudges after communicating forgiveness to transgressors, suggesting that victims may be misleading in what they are communicating. In this research, we propose that indirect and direct communication of forgiveness and unforgiveness could differentially affect transgressors’ moral emotions and their motivation to apologize. In particular, victims may convey different messages about their PTRs depending on whether victims use an indirect or direct form of communication to express their intended response to transgressors (Exline & Baumeister, 2000; Waldron & Kelley, 2005; McCullough et al., 2013;



C. Ward Struthers, et al. 17

Merolla, 2008). Given that indirect forms of communicating forgiveness (for example, “Don’t worry about it”) do not make reference to the transgression or the victim’s intent (Exline & Baumeister, 2000), they are more likely to be nonconfrontational (Goffman, 1955; Waldron & Kelley, 2005). In turn, indirect forms of forgiveness should make transgressors feel greater moral inferiority and motivated to apologize. In comparison, because direct forms of communicating forgiveness (for example, “I forgive you for hurting me”) make direct reference to the transgression and the victim’s intent (Exline & Baumeister, 2000), they can be viewed as self-righteous (Goffman, 1955) and confrontational (Waldron & Kelley, 2005) rather than truly forgiving. In such cases, direct forms of forgiveness should decrease transgressors’ feelings of moral inferiority and motivation to apologize. When it comes to unforgiving responses, direct forms of communication, such as “I’m holding a grudge because you hurt me” or “I’ll get you back for hurting me,” are clear about the transgression and affirms why the victim is holding the grudge or seeking revenge. By directly communicating unforgiveness, the victim clearly informs the transgressor of his or her response. It then follows that transgressors should feel morally inferior (that is, greater moral emotion) and motivated to apologize. In comparison, indirect expressions of unforgiveness such as “I won’t be able to write that letter of reference for you” are vague about the PTR and the victim’s intent. In this case, indirect forms of unforgiveness are unlikely to make transgressors feel morally superior and less motivated to apologize. OVERVIEW OF CURRENT RESEARCH Although there is a slow growing body of research examining the process of apologizing (Hodgins & Liebeskind, 2003; Howell, Turowski, & Buro, 2012; Leunissen et al., 2013; Schumann, 2014; Struthers et al., 2008), little research to date has examined the combined roles of victims’ PTRs and form of communication on transgressors’ moral emotions and motivation to apologize. As a result, scholars have a limited understanding of the interpersonal levers and theoretical explanations for why and when victims’ PTRs influence transgressors’ motivation to apologize. This research provides a deeper understanding of the nuance involved in how victims reconcile with transgressors following a transgression. Two studies and one meta-analytic integration analysis were conducted to test our predictions. The first goal of this research was to test the moderating effect of victims’ form of communication to examine when forgiveness versus unforgiveness might be more or less likely to facilitate transgressors’ willingness to apologize. Study 2 examined the mediational role

18

What Victims Say and How They Say It Matters

of transgressors’ moral emotions in explaining the moderated relation between victims’ PTRs and motivation to apologize. Given the similarity in design, method, measurement, and procedure of Studies 1 and 2, we also combined their data to conduct a meta-analytic integration analysis to determine the reliability of the effect across studies (Fleeson & Gallagher, 2009; Steinberg et al., 1997). Based on our theorizing, we predicted an interaction between victims’ PTRs and Form of Communication on motivation to apologize and moral emotions. We also predicted that transgressors’ moral emotions would mediate the moderated relation between victims PTRs and motivation to apologize. STUDY 1 In our first study we tested whether the relation between victims’ PTRs and transgressors’ motivation to apologize is moderated by victims’ form of communication in a 3 (PTR: grudge, revenge, forgive) x 2 (Communication Form: indirect, direct) between-groups experimental design. Previously we theorized that transgressors are most likely to apologize when they feel morally inferior (that is, feel like a bad person who did a bad thing) and the extent to which this is the case might depend on what information (PTR) and how that information is communicated (indirectly, directly). Based on this, we predicted that unforgiving responses (grudge, revenge) would be more likely to trigger apologies when expressed directly (for example, “I’m going to get revenge against you for hurting me”) compared to indirectly (for example, “I don’t think I’ll be able to write that letter of reference I promised”). In contrast, we predicted that forgiveness would be more likely to increase transgressors’ motivation to apologize if communicated indirectly (for example, “no worries”) rather than directly (for example, “I forgive you for hurting me”). In addition, we included an implicit and self-reported measure of apology to be more diverse with our measurement. METHOD Participants The participants were 214 introductory psychology students (74 males) who participated in exchange for course credit. Our sample size was determined using G*Power to conduct an a priori power analysis based on six groups, df = 2, α = .05, ES ƒ = .25, 90% power, N = 206. Participants were on average 20 years old (SD = 3.67).



C. Ward Struthers, et al. 19

Materials and Procedure Transgression Transgressions are negative events that occur when one person hurts another (Fincham, 2000; Heider, 1958; Eaton & Struthers, 2006). In this experiment, we employed a manipulation in the laboratory that has been successful in a number of previous studies (for example, van Monsjou et al., 2015; Young et al., 2013). The participants were told that the purpose of the study was to investigate how individuals interact in two-person teams using Computer Mediated Communication (CMC, for example, e-mail, texting, social networking). They were then informed that they would be playing an online version of Boggle, a word search game for those 8 years and older, with another student who was located in another room. The goal of Boggle is to quickly identify as many words as possible in a 4  4 matrix of random letters. Players accumulate points by identifying words. Although Boggle is not typically a team game, participants were told that they would be playing online, teamed with one other student, against another team of two participants. They were also told that their partner had already participated in two Boggle competitions with two other partners. Moreover, they were told that their partner had won both competitions and was now competing for the Grand Prize of $200 if their team beat the other team. The participants were informed that they would be playing five games of Boggle and that the team with the highest combined score would win the competition. In reality their partner and the other team were virtual players. The game was programmed using false feedback so the participant’s team lost the competition despite the participant’s partner getting the highest score of any individual player in the competition. Participants received a message summarizing each team player’s score clearly indicating they were responsible for the loss. The participant received a message reading “Your individual score places you in the bottom 40% of all Boggle players competing in this study. Mike’s [their partner] individual score places him in the top 5% of all Boggle players competing in this study. Due to this loss, Mike is now out of the competition for the grand prize of $200.” Victim’s Post-Transgression Response and Form of Communication After learning the outcome of the competition, participants were provided with one of six PTR (grudge, revenge, forgive) by Form of Communication (indirect, direct) responses from their partner. All participants received a message on their computer screen, ostensibly from their partner. For the indirect communication, participants received one of the following messages: (grudge) “I’m upset”; (revenge) “I’ll keep all of my ballots for the $100 draw for myself”; or (forgiveness) “Oh well, no worries, it could happen to

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What Victims Say and How They Say It Matters

anyone.” For the direct communication, participants received one of these messages: (grudge) “your scores essentially lost me the game and winning the $200, this will be a tough one to let go of”; (revenge) “your scores essentially lost me the game and winning the $200, I’ll be keeping all of my ballots for the $100 draw to get back at you”; and (forgiveness) “your scores essentially lost me the game and winning the $200, I forgive you.” Transgressor’s Apology We then measured participants’ implicit apology using an apology implicit association test (IAT, Greenwald & Farnham, 2000). During the IAT the participants were instructed to categorize six apology-related words (for example, repair, sorry) and six nonapology-related words (for example, stubborn, rigid) as well as four self-pronouns (for example, I, me) and four otherpronouns (for example, their, other). The first two blocks of the IAT were practice blocks that required participants to categorize apology vs. nonapology words (block 1) and self versus other words (block 2). The third block was a critical block that presented participants with a double-categorization task. Specifically, participants used the same key to categorize apology and self-related words and another key to categorize nonapology and otherrelated words. The fourth block was a practice block that reversed the key pairings from block 2. Finally, the fifth block was another double categorization task; participants were required to use the same key to categorize apology and other-related words and another key to categorize nonapology and self-related words. IAT scores were calculated as the difference in reaction times between the two critical blocks such that higher scores represent stronger associations between the self- and apology-related words. Participants also completed a brief online questionnaire to measure their motivation to apologize to their partner for losing the game. The following five items were used to measure motivation to apologize: Are you sorry for what happened?; Do you feel like saying sorry to your partner?; How apologetic are you toward your partner?; Do you feel like apologizing for what happened?; and Will you try to make things better with your partner if you have the opportunity to do so? Participants responded on a 7–point scale from 1 = Not at all to 7 = Very much so. RESULTS AND DISCUSSION Manipulation Checks We first conducted an online pilot study on 217 undergraduate students enrolled in introductory psychology to establish the effectiveness of our procedure, transgression, and independent variable manipulations. Because



C. Ward Struthers, et al. 21

of potential priming effects of our manipulation check items on our implicit measure of apology, we opted to confirm these manipulations a priori. We used the exact stimuli described earlier and measured the negativity of the event and the extent to which the participants perceived our PTR and Form of Communication manipulations as intended. In addition, we assessed the extent to which the transgressor felt to blame and responsible for the transgression. All items were assessed using 7–point scales that ranged from 1 = Not at all to 7 = Very much so. A significant effect was found for our PTR independent variable on the grudge, F(2, 212) = 27.52, p < .001, η2 = .21; revenge, F(2, 212) = 42.92, p < .001, η2 = .29; and forgiveness, F(2, 213) = 45.57, p < .001, η2 = .30 manipulation check items. Participants in the forgiveness condition scored the highest on the forgiveness manipulation check, M = 5.84, SD = .87, compared to the grudge, M = 3.79, SD = 1.91, t(123) = 6.47, p < .01, and revenge conditions, M = 3.10, SD = 1.96, t(151) = 9.42, p < .01. Participants in the grudge condition scored higher on the grudge manipulation check variable, M = 5.10, SD = 1.60, compared to the forgiveness condition, M = 3.21, SD = 1.64, t(123) = 5.91, p < .01, but not the revenge conditions, M = 5.19, SD = 1.67, t(151) = .76, p = .47. Participants in the revenge condition scored higher on the revenge manipulation check variable, M = 4.61, SD = 1.96, compared to the forgiveness, M = 2.13, SD = 1.41, t(151) = 8.83, p < .01, and grudge conditions, M = 2.92, SD = 1.48, t(151) = 6.14, p < .01. In general, the PTR conditions were manipulated as expected. Although there was no difference between grudge and revenge on the grudge manipulation check, for a number of reasons we did not consider this to be a problem. First, we had no specific prediction concerning differences between grudge and revenge. Second, grudges and revenge often go hand in hand and so it made sense that both conditions would be viewed similarly on grudges. Finally, we ultimately collapsed grudge and revenge into one condition (unforgiveness) because there was no difference between them on our dependent variable. Additionally, a significant effect was found for our communication independent variable on a direct communication manipulation check item, F(1, 213) = 61.18, p < .001, η2 = .22, (direct M = 5.55, SD = 1.37, indirect M = 4.05, SD = 2.00) and an indirect communication manipulation check item, F(2, 212) = 12.42, p < .001, η2 = .13 (direct M = 4.12, SD = 1.84, indirect M = 4.84, SD = 1.81). No significant differences were found on the blame or responsibility manipulation check items. Overall, participants felt like they were to blame, M = 5.58, and responsible for the transgression, M = 5.92. The results affirmed that the communication independent variable was also manipulated as intended. Main Analysis To examine the effects of victims’ PTR and Form of Communication, we conducted a 3  2 ANOVA on our apology dependent variables. First we

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What Victims Say and How They Say It Matters

recoded the implicit apology measure so that higher scores represented higher apology, M = 110.67, SD = 139.68. Next we averaged the self-reported apology scale items, M = 3.84, SD = 1.88, α = .94. The pattern of means for both DVs as a function of the independent variables were as predicted. Given this and their conceptual and statistical, r = .07, overlap, we converted both measures to standardized scores and combined them into a composite measure to simplify the analysis. As predicted, a significant victim PTR by Form of Communication interaction effect was found, F(2, 207) = 11.55, p < .001, η2 = .10. See figure 2.1 for the pattern of means. Because there were no statistical differences between the grudge and revenge conditions within the indirect, t(62) = .54, p = .59, and the direct, t(79) = .32, p = .75, communication conditions, we decided to combine grudge and revenge into an unforgiving condition and rerun our analysis using a 2 x 2, PTR by Form of Communication ANOVA. As predicted, a significant PTR by Form of Communication interaction effect was found for apology, F(1, 209) = 23.00, p < .0001, η2 = .10. See figure 2.2 for the pattern of the means as a function of the independent variables. To probe this interaction effect we conducted simple main effects tests. For participants in the indirect communication conditions, forgiving responses triggered greater apology, M = .34, SD = .92, than unforgiving responses, M = –.37, SD = 1.05, t(98) = 3.57, p = .0004, d = .72, whereas, for participants in the direct communication conditions, forgiving responses lowered apology, M = –.34, SD = .92, compared to unforgiving responses, M = .28, SD = .94, t(113) = 3.21, p = .002, d = .71. For participants in the forgiving conditions, indirect communication generated greater apology than direct communication, t(69) = 2.99, p = .003, d = .79, whereas for participants in the unforgiving conditions, direct communication generated greater apology than indirect communication, t(142) = 4.09, p < .0001, d = .65. In sum, Study 1 demonstrated that the effect of victims’ PTR on transgressors’ motivation to apologize is moderated by the Form of Communication. As predicted, forgiving responses that are communicated indirectly generate greater motivation to apologize than direct forms of communication. However, unforgiving responses that are communicated indirectly generate lower motivation to apologize than direct forms of communication. Also as predicted, participants in the indirect form of communication conditions were more motivated to apologize if they were forgiving compared to unforgiving, whereas participants in the direct form of communication groups were more motivated to apologize if the victim was unforgiving rather than forgiving. STUDY 2 In Study 2 we set out to systematically replicate the findings of Study 1 by confirming the relation between victims’ PTRs and Form of Communication



C. Ward Struthers, et al. 23

motivation to apologize and extend these findings by testing the mediational role of transgressors’ moral emotions in facilitating their motivation to apologize. Study 2 was conducted in a laboratory setting using the same transgression and procedure described in Study 1. Based on our theorizing and the findings from Study 1, we predicted that Form of Communication would moderate the relation between victims’ PTR and transgressors’ motivation to apologize. Uniquely, because certain combinations of victims’ PTRs and forms of communication are likely to influence transgressors’ moral emotions, which in turn should influence motivation to apologize, we also predicted that transgressors’ moral emotions would mediate the moderated relation between victims’ PTRs and transgressors’ motivation to apologize. More specifically, we predicted that direct forms of communicating forgiveness and indirect forms of communicating unforgiveness (that is, grudge and revenge) would produce lower moral inferiority (that is, feel less like a bad person who did a bad thing) and less motivation to apologize compared to indirect forms of communicating forgiveness and direct forms of communicating unforgiveness. We also predicted that moral emotions would explain the moderated effect of PTR expression on the relation between victims’ PTR and transgressors’ motivation to apologize. METHOD Participants The participants were 197 introductory psychology students (89 males) who participated in exchange for course credit. Our sample size was again determined using G*Power to conduct an a priori power analysis based on six groups, df = 2, α = .05, ES ƒ = .25, 90% power, N = 206. The sample had a mean age of 20 years, SD = 3.00. Materials and Procedure Transgression and Victim’s Post-Transgression Response and Expression This study used the same procedure as in Study 1 to manipulate the transgression and the independent variables. Again, the study was rigged so that the participants and their partner lost the Boggle game because of the participant’s poor play. Participants then received the same false feedback summarizing each team player’s score, clearly indicating that their poor personal performance caused their team to lose. After learning the outcome of the competition, participants were randomly assigned to receive one of six PTR (grudge, revenge, forgive) by Form of Communication (indirect, direct) responses from their partner.

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What Victims Say and How They Say It Matters

Moral Emotions Three items were used to measure moral emotions. Participants indicated whether they felt like a bad person, felt bad for losing the Boggle game, and felt awkward for losing the Boggle game. Of the many moral emotions identified in the literature, we chose these items because they are reflective of common self-directed moral judgments associated with one’s moral identity, specifically their moral character (feel like a bad person), behavior (feel like I did a bad thing), and social image (I feel awkward), and pertain to violations of moral and social standards or norms such as negatively affecting another individual (Eisenberg, 2000; Manstead, 2010; Nugier, Niedenthal, Brauer, & Chekroun, 2007; Rudolph & Tscharaktschiew, 2014; Weiner, 2006). The three items were measured using the same 7–point scale, 1 = Strongly disagree to 7 = Strongly agree. We argue that individuals who feel immoral would feel like a bad person, feel bad for losing the Boggle game, and feel awkward for losing the Boggle game, and therefore lower scores on this measure would indicate lower moral emotions. Motivation to Apologize Similar to Study 1 we measured implicit apology an apology IAT (Greenwald, McGhee, & Schwartz, 1998). Transgressors’ willingness to apologize was also measured on a 7–point scale from 1 = strongly disagree to 7 = strongly agree using four self-reported items: “I am sorry for what happened,” “I feel like apologizing to my partner,” “If my partner was willing to play another game of Boggle, I would like to,” and “I want to apologize to my partner.” Manipulation Checks To assess whether or not individuals perceived the experimental manipulation of victims’ PTR, we included three items following our dependent variables asking whether or not their partner forgave them, held a grudge, or sought revenge against them as a result of losing the Boggle game. We also included a manipulation check to assess if participants perceived the event as severe and important, and if they felt they committed a transgression, how responsible they were, and how much they were to blame. Example items include, “The negative event I just encountered with my partner was severe,” “It was important to me to have won the game and help my partner to win the $200 prize,” “I am responsible for what happened between my partner and me.” The participants used a 7–point scale to indicate their responses on all of these items, 1 = Not at all to 7 = Very much so.



C. Ward Struthers, et al. 25

RESULTS Preliminary Analysis Variable Construction Based on positive and statistically significant zero-order correlations between the self-reported apology items and an acceptable level of internal consistency, the four items were averaged into a composite measure of self-reported apology, M = 4.88, SD = 1.20, Cronbach’s α = .77. Using the same criteria, the moral emotion items were also averaged to create a composite measure, M = 3.98, SD = 1.42, Cronbach’s α = .76. A composite manipulation check of the transgression was also created, M = 4.84, SD = 0.96, Cronbach’s α = 75. Manipulation Check There were no PTR by Form of Communication differences on the manipulation check of the transgression, F(2, 191) = 1.41, p = .246, η2 = .01. Overall, the participants perceived the event as moderately severe and important and saw themselves as responsible for the transgression, M = 4.84, SD = 0.96. A significant effect was found for our PTR independent variable on the grudge, F(2, 196) = 56.87, p < .001, η2 = .37, revenge, F(2, 196) = 52.70, p < .001, η2 = .36, and forgiveness, F(2, 196) = 141.06, p < .001, η2 = .60, manipulation check items. As in Study 1, the PTR conditions were manipulated as intended. Main Analysis Given that Studies 1 and 2 had identical designs, we conducted the same 3 x 2 ANOVA on our apology measures. The self-reported and implicit measures of apology were unrelated, r = .01, and therefore we ran separate ANOVAs for each DV. The interaction effect for self-reported apology was significant, as predicted, F(2, 196) = 3.25, p = .041, η2 = .02; however, the interaction effect for the IAT was nonsignificant, F(2, 196) = 0.26, p = .77, η2 = .003. No differences were found between grudge and revenge on the self-reported apology measure and so we combined these conditions into one group (unforgiveness) as we did in Study 1 and conducted a PTR (forgiveness, unforgiveness) by Form of Communication (indirect, direct) ANOVA on self-reported apology and moral emotion. A significant 2 x 2 interaction was found for apology, F(1, 193) = 6.33, p = .01, η2 = .03, and moral emotion, F(1, 193) = 7.29, p = .008, η2 = .04. These interactions were probed by examining the simple main effects. Given our directional hypothesis and replication of Study 1, we used one-tailed tests (Maner, 2014).

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What Victims Say and How They Say It Matters

As predicted for the apology measure, an indirect communication of forgiveness generated greater motivation to apologize, M = 5.25, SD = 1.03, than the indirect communication of unforgiveness, M = 4.69, SD = 1.15, t(100) = 2.19, p = .01, d = .51, (see figures 2.3 and 2.4). Also as predicted, an indirect communication of forgiveness generated greater willingness to apologize, M = 5.25, than did the direct communication of forgiveness, M = 4.64, SD = 1.12, t(64) = 2.06, p = .02, d = .57. Moreover, the direct communication of unforgiveness, M = 5.00, SD = 1.34, generated more apology than the direct communication of forgiveness, M = 4.64, SD = 1.12, t(95) = 1.38, p = .08, d = .29. Although in the predicted direction, this last difference was marginally nonsignificant. Finally, participants were more motivated to apologize, M = 5.00, in the direct form of communication of unforgiveness compared to the indirect form of communication of unforgiveness, M = 4.69. The direction of the means was also as predicted but marginally nonsignificant, t(171) = 1.45, p = .07, d = .25. A similar set of multiple comparisons were conducted for the moral emotion variable. For participants who received an indirect form of communication, forgiveness generated higher moral emotions, M = 4.32, SD = 1.13, than unforgiveness, M = 3.88, SD = 1.52, though this finding was marginally nonsignificant, t(100) = 1.49, p = .065, d = .33. For participants who received a direct form of communication, forgiveness generated significantly lower moral emotions, M = 3.46, SD = 1.30, than unforgiveness, M = 4.17, SD = 1.47, t(95) = 2.32, p = .01, d = .51. Participants who received forgiveness had greater moral emotions, M = 4.32, SD = 1.13, when the response was communicated indirectly, compared to directly, M = 3.46, SD = 1.30, t(95) = 2.47, p = .005, d = .71, whereas participants who received unforgiveness had lower moral emotions when the response was communicated indirectly, M = 3.88, SD = 1.52, compared to directly, M = 4.17, SD = 1.47, though the difference was nonsignificant, t(131) = 1.18, p = .12, d = .19. Mediation Analysis Next we tested our prediction that the moderated effect of victims’ PTR on transgressors’ motivation to apologize would be explained by moral emotions. We tested this mediated-moderation prediction using Hayes’s (2012) process analysis. In addition to the direct effect of PTR by Form of Communication previously reported on our self-reported motivation to apologize and moral emotions, we found a significant indirect effect for moral emotions, b = –.55, 95% CI [–.95, –.18]. This mediated effect was qualified by the conditional indirect effect of PTR on motivation to apologize. Moral emotions mediated the effect of PTR on motivation to apologize when the participants



C. Ward Struthers, et al. 27

received a direct form of communication, b = .34, SE = 0.15, 95% CI [.09, .64]; however, they did not when participants received an indirect form of communication, b = 1.21, SE = 0.13, 95% CI [–.49, .02]. Taken together, these analyses show that the effect of victims’ PTRs on transgressors’ motivation to apologize is moderated by form of communication, and this moderated effect is mediated by transgressors’ moral emotions. More specifically, when victims’ PTRs were communicated using a direct form, unforgiving responses were more likely to generate moral feelings, which in turn generated more motivation to apologize. In comparison, moral emotions did not mediate the relation between PTRs and motivation to apologize when victims’ PTRs were communicated using an indirect form. META-INTEGRATION ANALYSIS OF STUDIES 1 AND 2 Given that the significance of the statistical tests varied between implicit and self-reported measures of apology in Studies 1 and 2, we decided to conduct a meta-analytic integration analysis or mega-analysis (Fleeson & Gallagher, 2009; Steinberg et al., 1997) to determine if the effect held across dependent measures and studies. Because the design, measures, method, and procedure were essentially identical for both studies and we had collected all of the raw data, we were able to combine the data from Studies 1 and 2 to conduct this analysis. This analysis included 412 undergraduate participants. We first converted our implicit and self-reported measures of apology to standardized scores and then combined them into one measure of apology. In addition, because no difference was predicted or found between victim grudge and revenge PTRs across all two studies, we collapsed these conditions into one unforgiving condition and tested the interaction between victim PTRs (unforgiveness, forgiveness) and Form of Communication (indirect, direct) in a 2  2 between-groups ANOVA. As predicted, a significant interaction was found, F(1, 410) = 9.33, p = .002, η2 = .02. To probe the interaction, we conducted a one-tailed, directional simple main effect test for victim PTRs at each level of Communication and then for Form of Communication for each level of victim PTR (see figure 2.5). When Form of Communication was direct, there was a marginally nonsignificant difference between unforgiveness, M = 1.0, SD = .89, and forgiveness, M = –.97, SD = .75, t(209) = 1.59, p = .06, d = .22, on apology. When Form of Communication was indirect, motivation to apologize was significantly higher for forgiveness, M = 1.80, SD = 0.76, than unforgiveness, M = –1.60, SD = 0.89, t(200) = 2.73, p = .01, d = .39. When the PTR was an unforgiving response, direct Forms of Communication produced significantly greater motivation to apologize, M = 1.0, SD = .89, than

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What Victims Say and How They Say It Matters

indirect forms, M = –1.6, SD = .89, t(275) = 2.60, p = .01, d = .31. Finally, when the PTR was a forgiving response, indirect forms of communicating forgiveness, M = 1.8, SD = .76, was superior to direct forms of communicating forgiveness in motivating apologies, M = –.97, SD = .75, t(134) = 1.91, p = .028, d = .33. It is also worth noting that a statistically significant interaction was found when we conducted a separate ANOVA on each measure of apology (that is, implicit, self-report) and a mixed model ANOVA on both measures of apology. The pattern of means was also the same regardless of the way we configured the apology measure (that is, separate vs. combined). We presented the combined DV analysis because it was the most parsimonious. GENERAL DISCUSSION Social bonds are fundamental to human beings’ survival and therefore we are motivated to form relationships (Baumeister & Leary, 1995; van Beest & Williams, 2006; MacDonald & Leary, 2005; Myers, 2000). However, in the process of developing and maintaining relationships, individuals commit acts that hurt others and jeopardize these social bonds. Fortunately, both victims and transgressors have developed a number of post-transgression responses (PTRs) that can help regulate damaged relationships (McCullough, 2008). Two of the most promising PTRs for facilitating the reconciliation process are forgiveness from victims and apologies from transgressors. Full apologies enable transgressors to acknowledge the transgression, express remorse, say sorry, remedy the harm caused, and assure victims that they will not transgress again (Exline & Baumeister, 2000; Lazare, 2004; Tavuchis, 1991). Given their beneficial role in the reconciliation process, one might expect that apologies are common and well understood by researchers. Surprisingly, however, they are neither. Transgressors are often reluctant to apologize because they fear harsh judgments (that is, grudges) and reprisals (that is, revenge) from victims (Exline & Baumeister, 2000; Exline, DeShea, & Holeman, 2007; Exline, Yali, & Lobel, 1999; Mikula, 2003; Schumann, 2014; Shnabel & Nadler, 2008; Struthers et al., 2008), and researchers have only begun to focus on transgressors and the factors that facilitate and hinder their apologies (for example, Kelln & Ellard, 1999; Schumann, 2014; Struthers et al., 2008). In this research, we tested the interpersonal effects of victims’ PTR on transgressors’ motivation to apologize. In addition, we also explored the moderating role of victims’ form of communication on influencing the link between victims’ PTR and transgressors’ motivation to apologize. Finally, we examined the mediational role of moral emotions in explaining the mod-



C. Ward Struthers, et al. 29

erated effect of victims’ PTR on apology. The results of two studies and a meta-analysis of them confirmed our hypotheses and extended the literature on this topic. Together the results of these studies showed that forgiving responses triggered a greater motivation to apologize in transgressors than unforgiving responses. The results also demonstrated no difference between holding a grudge and seeking revenge on motivation to apologize. The results of Studies 1 and 2 and their integration demonstrated that the effect of victims’ PTR was qualified by the victim’s form of communication. As predicted, when forgiving responses were communicated indirectly, they were significantly more likely to increase transgressors’ motivation to apologize than direct forms of communication. In contrast, when unforgiving responses (grudge, revenge) were communicated directly, they were significantly more likely to increase transgressors’ motivation to apologize than indirect forms. This research is consistent with previous research examining the effect of implied (what we label as indirect) and explicit (what we label as direct) forgiveness on motivation to apologize (Struthers et al., 2008); however, it extends this research by examining a broader range of unforgiving responses and PTR expressions within the same design. In addition, this research examined a novel explanation, namely moral emotions, in explaining why victims’ PTRs and PTR expressions influence transgressors’ motivation to apologize. This research has important theoretical implications. It is the first that we are aware of that examines the effect of victims’ PTR and form of communication on transgressors’ motivation to apologize in a fully factorial design. Moreover, this research is the first to show that unforgiving responses can facilitate transgressors’ apologies when they are communicated directly rather than indirectly. In addition, this research presents only the second study that we are aware of that shows that forgiving responses may hinder apologies when they are communicated directly rather than indirectly. Among a growing body of research beginning to demonstrate how factors such as self-affirmation, psychological needs, and motivation to reconcile can influence transgressors’ apologies (for example, Adams et al., 2015; Kelln & Ellard, 1999; Leunissen, De Cremer, & Reinders Folmer, 2012; Schumann, 2014; Shnabel & Nadler, 2008; Struthers et al., 2008), this research is also the first to demonstrate the mediational role of moral emotions in explaining why some transgressors may be more or less willing to apologize for their transgressions. Given that moral emotions are yet another form of self-threat, one avenue for future research would be to examine the role of self-affirmation in increasing one’s motivation to apologize following victims’ PTRs (Schumann, 2014). Additionally, despite the potential benefits of apologizing in repairing

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What Victims Say and How They Say It Matters

relationships, it is a difficult process to initiate and carry out because transgressors must first override their tendency to avoid threats such as admitting blame, taking responsibility, and admitting wrongdoing. Baumeister, Heatherton, & Tice (1994) argue that self-control, or one’s capacity to alter dominant responses, could influence self-control tasks such as apologizing (Hagger, Wood, Stiff, & Chatzisarantis, 2010). Given this, we suggest that self-control is another important factor to pursue in understanding when and why victims’ PTRs influence transgressors’ apologies. CONCLUSION Given the benefits of offering and the cost of withholding apologies on the reconciliation process, it is important to better understand the key variables that cause, explain, and moderate the process of apologizing. Although the vast majority of empirical research examining the relation between victims’ PTRs and transgressors’ apologies has focused on the effect of apologies on victims’ PTRs, this research is one of only a few studies to examine the reverse relation between victims’ PTRs and transgressors’ apologies. This research is important because it suggests that while victims may not be able to play an active role in becoming victims of transgressions, they can play an active role in the reconciliation process by facilitating apologies in transgressors and making them feel accepted back into the moral community. Moreover, this research is important because it demonstrates that not all forgiveness is functional and not all unforgiveness is dysfunctional in promoting the repair of relationships. Research is beginning to demonstrate that the relational damage caused by transgressions can be repaired when victims forgive transgressors. This research uniquely suggests that if victims are motivated to reconcile, both their forgiving and unforgiving responses can facilitate that process. However, this research also suggests that the way a victims’ posttransgression response is communicated is crucial to that endeavor. Thus not only what victims say but how they say it matters. COMPLIANCE WITH ETHICAL STANDARDS This study was funded by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (grant number 410-2010-2263). All procedures performed in studies involving human participants were in accordance with the ethical standards of the institutional and/or national research committee. Informed consent was obtained from all individual participants included in the study.

Figure 2.1.  Mean differences among victim PTRs by Form of Communication on apology for Study 1. Apology is a composite variable averaging standardized self-reported and implicit measures.

Figure 2.2.  Mean differences among victim PTRs by Form of Communication on apology for Study 1 combining grudge and revenge into unforgiveness. Apology is a composite variable averaging standardized self-reported and implicit measures.

Figure 2.3.  Mean differences among victim PTRs by Form of Communication on selfreported apology for Study 2.

Figure 2.4.  Mean differences among victim PTRs by PTR expression on moral emotions for Study 2.



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Figure 2.5.  Mean differences among victim PTRs by PTR expression on combined apology for meta-analysis integration of Studies 1 and 2.

REFERENCES Adams, G. S., Zou, X., Inesi, M. E., & Pillutla, M. M. (2015). Forgiveness is not always devine: When expressing forgiveness makes others avoid you. Organizational Behavior and Human Decision Processes, 126, 130–141. Aquino, K., & Douglas, S. (2003). Identity threat and antisocial behavior in organizations: The moderating effects of individual differences, aggressive modeling, and hierarchical status. Organizational Behavior and Human Decision Processes, 90, 195–208. Baumeister, R. F., Exline, J. J., & Sommer, K. L. (1998). The victim role, grudge theory, and two dimensions of forgiveness. In E. L. Worthington (Ed.), Dimensions of forgiveness: Psychological research and theological perspective (pp. 79–106). Philadelphia: Templeton Foundation Press. Baumeister, R. F., Heatherton R. F., & Tice, D. M. (1994). Losing control: How and why people fail at self-regulation. San Diego, CA: Academic Press. Baumeister, R. F., & Leary, M. R. (1995). The need to belong: Desire for interpersonal attachments as a fundamental human motivation. Psychological Bulletin, 117, 497–529. Baumeister, R. F., Stillwell, A. M., & Heatherton, T. F. (1994). Guilt: An interpersonal approach. Psychological Bulletin, 115, 243–267. Baumeister, R. F., Stillwell, A. M., & Wortman, S. R. (1990). Victim and perpetrator accounts of interpersonal conflict: Autobiographical narratives about anger. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 59, 994–1005. Berry, J. W., & Worthington, E. L. J. (2001). Forgivingness, relationship quality, stress while imagining relationship events, and physical and mental health. Journal of Counseling Psychology, 48, 447–455.

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Eaton, J., & Struthers, C. W. (2006). The reduction of psychological aggression across varied interpersonal contexts through repentance and forgiveness. Aggressive Behavior, 32, 195–206. Eisenberg, N. (2000). Emotion regulation, and moral development. Annual Review of Psychology, 51, 665–697. Exline, J. J., & Baumeister, R. F. (2000). Expressing forgiveness and repentance: Benefits and barriers. In M. E. McCullough, K. I. Pargament, & C. E. Thoresen (Eds.), The psychology of forgiveness (pp. 133–155). New York: Guilford. Exline, J. J., Baumeister, R. F., Bushman, B. J., Campbell, W. K., & Finkel, E. J. (2004). Too proud to let go: Narcissistic entitlement as a barrier to forgiveness. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 87, 894–912. Exline, J. J., DeShea, L., & Holeman, V. T. (2007). Is apology worth the risk? Predictors, outcomes, and ways to avoid regret. Journal of Social and Clinical Psychology, 26, 479–504. Exline, J. J., Yali, A. M., & Lobel, M. (1999). When God disappoints: Difficulty forgiving God and its role in negative emotion. Journal of Health Psychology, 4, 365–379. Faul, F., Erdfelder, E., Lang, A.-G., & Buchner, A. (2007). G* power 3: A flexible statistical power analysis program for the social, behavioral, and biomedical sciences. Behavior Research Methods, 39(2), 175–191. Fehr, R., Gelfand, M. J., & Nag, M. (2010). The road to forgiveness: A mega-analytic synthesis of its situational and dispositional correlates. Psychological Bulletin, 136, 894–914. Fincham, F. D. (2000). The kiss of the porcupines: From attributing responsibility to forgiving. Personal Relationships, 7, 1–23. Fleeson, W., & Gallagher, P. (2009). The implications of big-five standing for the distribution of trait manifestation in behavior: Fifteen experience-sampling studies and a meta-analysis. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 97, 1097–1114. Goffman, E. (1955). On face-work: An analysis of ritual elements in social interaction. Psychiatry: Journal of Interpersonal Relations, 18(3), 213–231. Gonzales, M. H., Manning, D. J., & Haugen, J. A. (1992). Explaining our sins: Factors influencing offender accounts and anticipated victim responses. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 62, 958–971. Greenwald, A. G., & Farnham, S. D. (2000). Using the Implicit Association Test to measure self-esteem and self-concept. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 79, 1022–1038. Greenwald, A. G., McGhee, D. E., & Schwartz, J. K. L. (1998). Measuring individual differences in implicit cognition: The implicit association test. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 74, 1464–1480. Hagger, M. S., Wood, C., Stiff, C., & Chatzisarantis, N. L. D. (2010). Ego depletion and the strength model of self-control: A meta-analysis. Psychological Bulletin, 136(4), 495–525. Hayes, A. F. (2012). PROCESS: A versatile computational tool for observed variable mediation, moderation, and conditional process modeling [White paper]. Retrieved from http://www.afhayes.com/public/process2012.pdf.



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Heider, F. (1958). The psychology of interpersonal relations. New York: Wiley. Hodgins, H. S., & Liebeskind, E. (2003). Apology versus defense: Antecedents and consequences. Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, 39, 297–316. Howell, A. J., Dopko, R. L., Turowski, J. B., & Buro, K. (2011). The disposition to apologize. Personality and Individual Differences, 51, 509–514. Howell, A. J., Turowski, J. B., & Buro, K. (2012). Guilt, empathy, and apology. Personality and Individual Differences, 53, 917–922. Karremans, J. C., & Van Lange, P. A. M. (2004). Back to caring after being hurt: The role of forgiveness. European Journal of Social Psychology, 34, 207–227. Karremans, J. C., Van Lange, P. A. M., & Holland, R. W. (2005). Forgiveness and its associations with prosocial thinking, feeling, and doing beyond the relationship with the offender. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 31, 1315–1326. Kelley, D. L. (1998). The communication of forgiveness. Communication Studies, 49, 255–271. Kelln, R. C., & Ellard, J. H. (1999). An equity theory analysis of the impact of forgiveness and retribution transgressor compliance. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 25, 864–872. Lazare, A. (2004). On apology. New York: Oxford University Press. Leunissen, J. M., De Cremer, D., & Reinders Folmer, C. P. (2012). An instrumental perspective on apologizing in bargaining: The importance of forgiveness to apologize. Journal of Economic Psychology, 33, 215–222. Leunissen, J. M., De Cremer, D., Reinders Folmer, C. P., & van Dijke, M. (2013). The apology mismatch: Asymmetries between victim’s need for apology and perpetrator’s willingness to apologize. Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, 49, 315–324. Luchies, L. B., Finkel, E. J., McNulty, J. K., & Kumashiro, M. (2010). The doormat effect: When forgiving erodes self-respect and self-concept clarity. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 98, 734–749. MacDonald, G., & Leary, M. R. (2005). Why does social exclusion hurt? The relationship between social and physical pain. Psychological Bulletin, 131(2), 202–223. Maltby, J., & Day, L. (2004). Forgiveness and defense style. Journal of Genetic Psychology, 165, 99–110. Maner, J. K. (2014). Let’s put our money where our mouth is: If authors are to change their ways, reviewers (and editors) must change with them. Perspectives on Psychological Science, 9, 343–351. Manstead, A. S. R. (2010). Social psychology of emotion (pp. 101–137). In Baumeister, R. F. & Finkel, E. J. (Eds.). Advances in social psychology: The state of the science. New York: Oxford University Press. McCullough, M. E. (2008). Beyond revenge: The evolution of the forgiveness instinct. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. McCullough, M., Bono, G., & Root, L. (2007). Rumination, emotion, and forgiveness: Three longitudinal studies. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 92, 490–505.

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McCullough, M. E., Kurzban, R., & Tabak, B. A. (2013). Cognitive systems for revenge and forgiveness. Behavioral and Brain Sciences, 36, 1–15. McNulty, J. K. (2011). The dark side of forgiveness: The tendency to forgive predicts continued psychological and physical aggression in marriage. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 37(6), 770–783. Merolla, A. J. (2008). Communicating forgiveness in friendship and dating relationships. Communication Studies, 59, 114–141. Mikula, G. (2003). Testing an attribution-of-blame model of judgments of injustice. European Journal of Social Psychology, 33, 793–811. Myers, D. G. (2000). The funds, friends, and faith of happy people. American Psychologist, 55(1), 56–67. Nugier, A., Niedenthal, P. M., Brauer, M., & Chekroun, P. (2007). Moral and angry emotions provoked by informal social control. Cognition and Emotion, 21(8), 1699–1720. Okimoto, T. G., Wenzel, M., & Hedrick, K. (2013). Refusing to apologize can have psychological benefits (and we issue no mea culpa for this research finding). European Journal of Social Psychology, 43, 22–31. Rapske, D. L., Boon, S. D., Alibhai, A. M., & Kheong, M. J. (2010). Not forgiven, not forgotten: An investigation of unforgiven interpersonal offenses. Journal of Social and Clinical Psychology, 29, 1100–1130. Rudolph, U., & Tscharaktschiew, N. (2014). An attributional analysis of moral emotions: Naïve scientists and everyday judgments. Emotion Review, 6(4), 1–9. Schumann, K. (2012). Does love mean never having to say you’re sorry? Associations between relationship satisfaction, perceived apology sincerity, and forgiveness. Journal of Social and Personal Relationships, 29(7), 997–1010. doi: dx.doi. org/10. 1177/0265407512448277 Schumann, K. (2014). An affirmed self and a better apology: The effect of selfaffirmation on transgressors’ responses to victims. Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, 54, 89–96. Schumann, K., & Dweck, C. S. (2014). Who accepts responsibility for their transgressions? Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 40(12), 1598–1610. Shnabel, N., & Nadler, A. (2008). A needs-based model of reconciliation: Satisfying the differential emotional needs of victim and perpetrator as a key to promoting reconciliation. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 94(1), 116–132. Sperber, D., Clement, F., Heintz, C., Mascaro, O., Mercier, H., Origgi, G., & Wilson, D. (2010). Epistemic vigilance. Mind and Language, 25, 359–393. Staub, E. Pearlman, L. A., Gubin, A., & Hagengimana, A. (2005). Healing, reconciliation, forgiving and the prevention of violence after genocide or mass killing: An intervention and its experimental evaluation in Rwanda. Journal of Social and Clinical Psychology, 24, 297–334. Steinberg, K. K., Smith, S. J., Stroup, D. F., Olkin, I., Lee, N. C., Williamson, G. D., & Thacker, S. B. (1997). Comparison of effect estimates from a meta-analysis of summary data from published studies and from a meta-analysis using individual patient data for ovarian cancer studies. American Journal of Epidemiology, 145, 917–925.



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Struthers, C. W., Eaton, J., Shirvani, N., Georghiou, M., & Edell, E. (2008). The effects of preemptive forgiveness and a transgressor’s responsibility on shame, motivation to reconcile, and repentance. Basic and Applied Social Psychology, 30, 130–141. Tavuchis, N. (1991). Mea culpa: A sociology of apology and reconciliation. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Van Beest, I., & Williams, K. D. (2006). When inclusion costs and ostracism pays, ostracism still hurts. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 91, 918–928. van Monsjou, E., Struthers, C. W., Khoury, C., Guilfoyle, J., Young, R., Hodara, O., & Muller, R. (2015). The effect of adult attachment style on post-transgression responses. Personal Relationships, 22, 762–780. Waldron, V. R., Kelley, D. L. (2005). Forgiving communication as a response to rational transgressions. Journal of Social and Personal Relationships, 22, 723–742. Weiner, B. (2006). Social motivation, justice, and the moral emotions. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Inc. Witvliet, C. V., Ludwig, T. E., & Vander Laan, K. L. (2001). Granting forgiveness or harboring grudges: Implications for emotion, physiology, and health. Psychological Science, 12, 117–123. Wixen, B. N. (1971). Grudges: A psychoanalytic study. Psychoanalytic Review, 58, 333–344. Woodyatt, L., & Wenzel, M. (2014). A needs-based perspective on self-forgiveness: Addressing threat to moral identity as a means of encouraging interpersonal and intrapersonal restoration. Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, 50, 125–135. Young, R., Struthers, C. W., Khoury, C., Muscat, S., Phills, C., & Mongrain, M. (2013). The moderating role of dependency and relationship threat on the relation between self-criticism and forgiveness and revenge. Journal of Clinical and Social Psychology, 32(10), 1099–1119. Younger, J. W., Piferi, R. L., Jobe, R. L., & Lawler, K. A. (2004). Dimensions of forgiveness: The views of laypersons. Journal of Social and Personal Relationships, 21, 837–855. Zechmeister, J. S., & Romero, C. (2002). Victim and offender accounts of interpersonal conflict: Autobiographical narratives of forgiveness and unforgiveness. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 82, 675–686.

Chapter Three

An Aristotelian Perspective on Forgiveness Education in Contentious World Regions Robert D. Enright and Mary Jacqueline Song

To our knowledge, the concept of forgiveness education did not exist until we started to write about it in 2002.1 There was what educators used to call “values clarification” in classrooms2 and what the proponents of psychologist Lawrence Kohlberg called “moral education”3 and now the contemporary theme of character education,4 but forgiveness as a prominent theme has been conspicuously absent from educators’ writings. The purpose of this chapter is to recommend forgiveness as a tool within an educational context for confronting interpersonal difficulties in world conflict zones. We emphasize forgiveness in particular because, as we have argued elsewhere, deep and abiding anger can be deleterious to health, both psychological and physical.5 Forgiveness is one empirically supported approach that can eliminate the deep angers or resentment that can suppress robust health and destroy joy within a person.6 We have three sections to this chapter. First, we introduce our conception of a virtue of forgiveness from an Aristotelian perspective. Next, we discuss the application of Aristotelian principles in forgiveness educational settings. We will provide examples of what is taught and what scientific evidence we find for the effectiveness of forgiveness education in such areas as Belfast, Northern Ireland, and Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Finally, we recommend the implementation of forgiveness education in contentious world regions as we look to greater peace in the future. FORGIVENESS FROM AN ARISTOTELIAN PERSPECTIVE Aristotle did not use the word forgiveness in his exposition of the moral virtues. Yet forgiveness fits well into his description of what constitutes a moral 38



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virtue. We see seven characteristics constituting an Aristotelian moral virtue of forgiveness:7 1.  A moral virtue is concerned with the good of human welfare. This includes other people and the self. In other words, the virtue originates within the person and is brought forth to others for good. We suggest that forgiveness starts with the insight of inherent worth that all people, even those who are unjust, possess. This does not mean that the forgiver excuses the injustice or even reconciles (because to reconcile is not a virtue but instead is a negotiation strategy of two or more people coming together again in mutual trust). 2.  The person expressing the virtue is motivated to deliberately effect moral goodness. 3.  At least to a degree, the one expressing the virtue knows that it is good, even though the person may not be able to articulate a precise rule or principle about why it is good. 4.  The expression of the moral virtue requires practice for greater proficiency in the development of that virtue. This characteristic points to the behavioral quality of the virtue. Our research studies have shown that people need weeks or sometimes months of practicing forgiveness before the person experiences it.8 5.  Different people demonstrate different degrees of the virtue. The science of forgiveness bears this out. There are wide individual variations in the degree to which people forgive others.9 6.  The person need not be perfect in the expression of the virtue. This probably includes the inner and behavioral (outward) expression of the virtue. This is the case because nature does not lead to an automatic perfect expression of virtue, which instead must mature over time through practice.10 Aristotle says that “some men become temperate and gentle,” again implying a gradual build-up of perfection in the virtues by acquiring a habit rather than possessing one.11 It is not either-or, in that we either possess the virtue in its fullness or we do not possess it at all. Further, as Aristotle explains, we have our eyes fixed on an end point, the perfection of the virtues, even if we are not at that end.12 Again, our research shows that as people practice forgiveness to a degree without coming even close to a perfection of that virtue, they begin to experience the fruit of forgiving: lowered anxiety and depression and an increase in self-worth.13 As Trudy Govier has argued, people need not be morally perfect to effectively practice forgiveness toward other groups.14 7.  The one who is practicing the virtue tries to do so as consistently as possible. Again, we have empirical evidence that people show consistency across weeks of retesting their degree of forgiving.15

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While this next point does not pertain to one particular virtue, Aristotle taught that the virtues should not be practiced in isolation from one another.16 This is so because an isolated virtue can become distorted. For example, a quest for justice without mercy or love can be a cold, calculating search for fairness. Courage without temperance or wisdom could lead to situations in which the people endanger their own lives and the life of others. When one forgives, one does not abandon the quest for fairness. When people forgive, they are exercising a moral virtue, related to what Aristotle called magnanimity, specifically toward those who were unfair.17 The forgiver does not excuse, forget, or even necessarily reconcile with them. As we define forgiving, the forgiver deliberately seeks to reduce resentment and to offer kindness, respect, generosity, and, on the highest level of this virtue, even love toward the offending people. Reducing resentment is part of this definition. Aristotle reasons that anger itself, when felt and expressed temperately, can be good because it is a healthy reaction to imperfections or injustices in this world.18 Yet anger to excess goes against the Aristotelian doctrine of the mean. It is unfortunate that excessive anger has been scientifically shown to occur in contentious regions, including in children.19 For example, in two psychological studies, the average level of anger in six-year-old students in Belfast and in Milwaukee’s central city has been shown to be at or near what psychologists call the “clinical level” of anger, meaning that it is high enough to be of concern for the child’s emotional well-being.20 Philosophy and psychology tend to use the term “resentment” in different ways. Psychologists in the helping professions see that an excess of angry feelings, harbored over a long period of time, can be deleterious to a person’s well-being.21 Psychologists refer to this kind of anger as resentment. In contrast, philosophers make the reasonable claim that resentment as a shortterm response to unjust treatment is morally viable because it shows a moral integrity that one should not be treated with disrespect. We seem to have an equivocation of meanings here in that psychologists, in using the term resentment, focus on the excess feelings of anger that are long-held, whereas philosophers, in using that same term, focus instead on the immediate moral response to injury.22 It seems to us that both philosophy and psychology need to make two distinctions. The first is between the thoughts accompanying resentment (“You did wrong and I will not take this”) and the emotions accompanying the thoughts. The thoughts may be good (under the right circumstances and if temperate rather than exaggerated). The emotions, on the other hand, can be (although not necessarily) dangerous. Psychologists, for example, have empirically shown a link between deeply held emotions of anger and the related



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emotion of excessive anxiety and the tendency toward psychological depression.23 The second distinction is between the short-term thoughts and feelings of resentment when treated unjustly and the deeply held, long-term emotions that can last long after the injustice had occurred. It is the latter that is associated with compromised mental and emotional health.24 For example, Alice MacLachlan’s philosophical analysis of resentment, although she argues for the moral good of what she calls “reasonable resentment,” has the following related reservations similar to psychologists’:25 As an emotional state with attendant desires and motivations, resentment can go wrong in other ways, too: even justified resentment can lead to excessive and violent acts of retribution. It can preoccupy the bearer to the neglect of other serious moral considerations and—over time—a fierce and nagging resentment causes harm to the person who experiences it.26

If we can acknowledge that 1) resentments can grow out of control and 2) we are not as in control of our emotions as we are our thoughts, then it follows that resentment is not something to which we should give an unlimited moral pass even if it is reasonable within temperate bounds (not hate-filled, without seeking revenge, for example). If there is equivocation in meaning, as seems to be occurring between philosophers and psychologists, might young students, who are introduced to the word “resentment” in a philosophically positive sense, be prone to distort its meaning, possibly equating the deeply held emotion over long periods as a moral good? We point this out so that the reader realizes that in the forgiveness education programs, resentment, as defined by psychologists, is something to be overcome and not fostered. This does not at all mean that we are to condemn the resentful, but it does mean that education should be geared to reducing and not fostering it. BRINGING ARISTOTLE AND FORGIVENESS INTO THE CLASSROOM Forgiveness education is designed as a developmental pathway for children and adolescents to begin learning at a young age what forgiveness is and how people go about forgiving. Our recommendations regarding forgiveness education include: 1.  Because it takes time to learn about forgiveness and how to forgive, forgiveness education should proceed slowly and in an atmosphere of interest and wonder rather than in a routine, demanding academic environment.

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2.  Because it can take months or even years to uncover one’s own deep angers toward others, forgiveness education needs to be consistently applied across many years for any given student.27 In other words, practice is important and so forgiveness education needs to be coordinated across the grade levels. This allows the student time to see the depth of hurt and anger present within, if this is the case for some students. Otherwise, when such deep anger is brought into adulthood, especially in contentious regions, that anger can result in continued violence across generations. 3.  We need to create curricula based on principles of developmental psychology so that younger children get a more simplified version and older children and adolescents get an increasingly more subtle and cognitively complex view of the virtue of forgiveness. 4.  We need to create curriculum guides that are easy for the children’s own classroom teacher to use. Students who have had forgiveness education from elementary school (primary grades) through the end of secondary school may more naturally appropriate forgiveness when faced with injustice. Such students may be less likely to confuse forgiveness with condonation or excusing, forgetting, or even reconciling. 5.  To develop a love of the virtues, which Aristotle sees as a sign of moral maturity, the students should be given the opportunity to try forgiving and to experience the positive outcomes that so often seem to occur. 6.  Ours is not a short-term solution and so it may prove to be unpopular with those who would prefer positive results soon after a peace initiative begins. We speculate that it could take two generations of students going through ten to twelve years of schooling in forgiveness before a community impact is realized from this effort. 7.  As more students practice forgiveness and incorporate it into their adult lives, the norms of stereotyping and prejudice against others may begin to alter toward fewer motivations toward revenge and more interest in fostering positive interactions. 8.  The quality of justice sought should shift to a more mature, wiser justice with more consistent moral outcomes than is usually the case within societies divided by factions hostile toward one another. We are not expecting a utopia in any community, but we are expecting a shift in civility and perhaps, as Aristotle says, even in friendship in some sectors of society. We present the following cautions for educators who wish to implement forgiveness instruction in classrooms. First, without forgiveness being a deliberate and deep part of education, the curricula might change minds (“I see the one who hurt me as a person of worth”) but not change hearts (developing the moral emotions of compassion and love). Helping children to foster the



Robert D. Enright and Mary Jacqueline Song 43

insight of inherent worth of all people is a starting point for developing the moral emotions, not an end point for this. Second, such curricular efforts must be consistently applied, involving an ongoing learning experience in any given academic year and across the years. Third, the understanding and practice of forgiveness need to take place over generations if such learning will impact a community, especially a community in conflict with others. Thus norms that forgiveness is important have to be placed within educational institutions if forgiveness education will continue for many years. Let us now turn to a description of one of the curricula, in this case the fourth-grade curriculum, as an example of what happens within the Belfast schools. EXAMPLE OF THE FOURTH-GRADE (PRIMARY 6 IN BELFAST) CURRICULUM The fourth-grade curriculum titled Reaching Out through Forgiveness focuses on teaching the concept of forgiveness and related concepts such as inherent worth and compassion through stories that are appropriate and appealing to children ages nine through eleven.28 This twelve-lesson curriculum has two parts. The first part introduces the children to foundational concepts: What is forgiveness? What do we mean by the term “inherent worth”? What is compassion? What is empathy? What is love? The second part introduces the children to these foundational ideas (inherent worth, compassion, empathy, and love) specifically now in the context of seeing story characters actually forgiving others. At the end of the twelve lessons, students are asked to think about how forgiveness fits into the larger communities of home, school, and other social settings. Each lesson takes about a half-hour to an hour (excluding the reading that is done, either aloud by the teacher or silently by each child) once a week for twelve weeks. Once the lessons end, the challenge is for the teacher and students to continue putting the themes of forgiveness into practice by creating a forgiving community in the classroom (with a focus on treating all others as persons of worth). As children learn about forgivenessas-love, as they consider the possibility of loving those who hurt them, they may grow as people. They may be developing and maturing in an ethical sense, which may aid them in advancing as people who can make a difference in their close relationships and in their communities as the years pass and they enter adulthood. Each lesson layout has three sections: 1) main ideas of the lesson (for example, the definition of the term “inherent worth” is presented to the teacher); 2) general objectives (for example, the task today is for students to understand

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what inherent worth of all persons is and to see this in a story); and 3) behavioral objectives (what exactly a teacher will do, such as read certain pages of a book and present specific questions about inherent worth). It also includes subsections stating all of the materials needed to teach the lesson and subsequent activity based on the lesson, procedures, discussion questions, sample answers in some cases, a follow-up activity, and evaluation. Here is one example of a lesson from the fourth-grade curriculum titled Lavish Love and Forgiving in Action: Giving the Gift. In this lesson, the students learn that forgiveness may be deepened further by extending it into action (that is, showing kindness, respect, generosity, and lavish love as concrete, behavioral expressions of forgiveness). Distinctions between forgiveness and reconciliation are presented so that children do not erroneously think that to forgive means to reenter into a potentially harmful relationship or to reexperience the trauma. The following are some examples of how a person may safely offer these gifts (kindness, respect, generosity, and lavish love): 1) refusing to cause the offender harm (not pushing, shoving, or hitting the person, not saying unkind words to the person, not talking badly about the person); 2) offering a smile, a kind word in the presence of others, or sharing a toy or game with the person in the presence of others (also examples of kindness, respect, and generosity); and 3) bearing the pain rather than throwing the pain back at the offender or onto others. Bearing the pain means that we shoulder the pain as a result of what the other did. We do not deny the pain, push it away, throw it back at the offender, or pass it along to those who are less powerful than ourselves (smaller in size, younger, weaker). Students are not required or forced to respond with the gifts of kindness, respect, generosity, and lavish love. Throughout the lesson, the students learn that as they continue the forgiveness process, they may become willing to give gifts; learn that giving gifts to one who was unfair is not easy; learn that giving these gifts often deepens forgiveness; learn that one can safely give kindness, respect, generosity, and lavish love; and that giving these gifts may provide emotional freedom. For the behavioral objectives, the students read or listen to two selected stories, participate in a class discussion, and participate in the “Giving a Gift within Forgiveness” activity. One of the materials that is used in the classroom is the children’s book titled Rising above the Storm Clouds.29 This story, using similes as the educational technique, is about a father teaching his children how it feels to forgive after the two siblings Freddy B and Ezmeralda had an argument. Franklin McLumen, the father, instead of getting angry, calmly asked the children to sit and “collect” themselves. The father began to ask his children the question, “What is it like to forgive?” The children at first were angry at each



Robert D. Enright and Mary Jacqueline Song 45

other and would not even think of the idea of forgiving each other. So the father told them what forgiveness feels like. Forgiveness is like a gift you give to others and eventually even to yourself. It is like an airplane flying above the storm clouds into the clear sunny sky, making your heart feel “quieter and sunnier.” Mr. McLumen continued with more similes until the children were ready to run and play in the meadow together. After the classroom teacher reads the story (or a summary of the story if there is insufficient time to read it entirely), the students participate in a classroom discussion and then on an activity applying what they have learned from the story and discussions. In the activity, the students think of particular ways they can give gifts of kindness, respect, generosity, and lavish love to a person who was unfair. RESULTS OF FORGIVENESS EDUCATION Our studies have shown that forgiveness education is effective in reducing anger in the children who have suffered injustices from others. The first experimental research was conducted in Belfast, Northern Ireland.30 Belfast was chosen because the region has had a contentious struggle between Irish Catholic and British Protestant residents for over four hundred years. In addition, Belfast is the most impoverished region of the United Kingdom, adding another stressor to the lives of children.31 Random assignment to either forgiveness education or a wait-list control group occurred among first-grade classrooms (Primary 3 in the United Kingdom). There were thirty-six experimental and fifty-seven control group children in the study.32 Teachers were trained by psychologists who have in-depth insight on the psychology of forgiveness. Curriculum guides were given to teachers with instructions on the meaning of forgiveness, how people forgive, and how to use the guides. The gist of the program is that forgiveness is taught through the medium of story. Through stories such as Dr. Seuss’s Horton Hears a Who, Horton Hatches the Egg, The Sneetches, and Yertle the Turtle, the children learned that conflicts arise and that we have a wide range of options on how to deal with the unfair treatment. Forgiveness instruction by the regular classroom teacher occurred for seventeen weeks for one hour per week. First, the teacher simply introduced certain concepts that underlie forgiveness (the inherent worth of all people, kindness, respect, generosity, and beneficence), followed by the children listening to stories in which the story characters display instances of forgiveness through inherent worth, kindness, respect, generosity, and

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beneficence (or their opposites of unkindness, disrespect, and stinginess) toward another story character who acted unfairly. Last, the teacher helped the children, if they were willing, to apply the five principles (inherent worth, kindness, respect, generosity and beneficence) toward forgiving a person who has hurt them. The Beck Anger Inventory for Children was administered prior to the instruction and approximately one month after the instruction ended.33 The items for the anger inventory were presented orally and individually to each student. Statistical analyses were done on the level of the child (not on the level of the entire group in the classroom) focusing on the psychological change of individuals rather than the entire group of students as a whole. Results showed that the students in the experimental group decreased statistically significantly more in anger than those in the control group. From a clinical viewpoint, the experimental participants started above the clinical cut-off for anger and went to the average range following intervention.34 Why might six year olds reduce anger when they are introduced to picture book stories of characters engaging in forgiveness? Jean Piaget’s cognitive developmental theory offers answers.35 Piaget found that children as young as age six can think in terms of causes and consequences to physically observed behavior. They can understand such cause-and-consequence thinking only regarding concrete situations, not abstract ones. This is why the teaching always involves picture books, as a way of making the abstract idea of forgiveness more observably concrete. Six year olds would struggle, for example, with the abstract task of imagining the outcome of interpersonal conflicts (such as harboring bitterness or engaging in escalated conflict or even offering forgiveness) if these situations were not actually experienced. Thus when story characters are in interpersonal conflict (a concrete situation observed in the stories) and the students see a pleasing outcome that is labeled as forgiveness, this is a first step in their learning that forgiveness has positive consequences. Next, and again from the Piagetian perspective, the students see concretely that as story characters forgive, they think this kind of specific thought: The one who hurt me has good qualities in addition to imperfections. The one who hurt me is more than the unjust behavior. As students reason this way in numerous contexts (in stories and applied concretely to their own lives), they begin to form a pattern of thought that we have previously named inherent worth.36 Inherent worth is the thought that all people have value and this value is not taken away when there are imperfect behaviors done deliberately or by accident. As the students begin to learn about inherent worth, this tends to lead to a softening of resentment toward those who act unjustly. The combination of inherent worth thinking and what the philosopher Joanna North calls the softened heart leads to the reduction in anger.37



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In the third-grade (Primary 5 in the United Kingdom) study in Belfast, six classrooms were randomly assigned to either the experimental or the control group. There were thirty-five experimental and forty-nine control group students in the study. A similar procedure was used as in the previous study. The instruction here, again delivered by the regular classroom teacher, lasted for fifteen weeks.38 Two books were included, such as The Velveteen Rabbit39 and Rising above the Storm Clouds, among others.40 The children focused first on the definition of forgiveness and on the inherent worth of all people, even those who behave badly. Distinctions between forgiveness and reconciliation were presented so that children do not erroneously think that to forgive means to reenter into a potentially harmful relationship or reexperience the trauma. The concept of unconditionality was a central part of the program: As the child sees the unconditional worth of all people, even those who act unfairly are persons who are ends in and of themselves and should be treated as such. For third grade (Primary 5 in the United Kingdom), measures of forgiveness (Enright Forgiveness Inventory for Children) and the Beck Depression Inventory for Children were included in addition to the measures of anger.41 Results showed that the experimental group decreased statistically significantly more in anger and in psychological depression and increased more in forgiving one person who has hurt the child than the students in the control group. In fact, the students who learned about forgiveness reduced their anger levels from near the “clinical level” of anger to more normal levels of anger. Central-city Milwaukee, Wisconsin, was chosen as the second site for the research because it is one of the most segregated cities in the United States and has the challenges of poverty and contention among ethnic groups.42 Three studies in Milwaukee’s central city are reported.43 First-, third-, and fifth-grade classrooms in Milwaukee were randomized to either an experimental condition in which the classroom teacher delivered the forgiveness curriculum or to a control condition in which the teacher waited one year before teaching forgiveness. In the first-grade study, ten classrooms were randomly assigned to either the experimental (N = 75 students) or control groups (N = 44 students). In third grade, ten classrooms were randomly assigned to one of the two conditions (experimental group = 36 students, control group = 42 students). In fifth grade, eight classrooms were randomly assigned to one of the two conditions (experimental group = 40, control group = 39). Using the level of the child for analysis again (not the level of the classroom, similar to the studies in Belfast), results showed that the experimental group decreased statistically significantly more in anger than the control group in first grade and fifth grade, but not in third grade. In third grade, both conditions reduced statistically significantly in anger.

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There are other experimental studies to report, such as a group counseling intervention with academically at-risk middle school students in rural Wisconsin44 and an educational program for those who are bullied and who bully others in Korea,45 but we will not describe those here. In these cases, deep anger or resentment was reduced and academic achievement was improved in the students through forgiveness education. As already described, the psychological process for reducing the anger is in concretely developing the thought of inherent worth of all people, including those who are unfair. As resentment is reduced, the students are able to focus more and for longer periods and this explains the increase in academic achievement. Given the findings here, it appears that forgiveness education is worth implementing in educational settings as it can serve as a mediator between psychological adjustment difficulties and academic performance in school. Forgiveness education focuses on three themes: 1) the introduction of sound ideas about what forgiveness is and is not, 2) creating opportunities for students’ observing story characters as they forgive, and 3) students’ practicing forgiveness. Such education has implications for positive emotional health and increased positive relationships and academic achievement. It seems that Aristotle had it right: A proper practice of moral virtue can enhance the human condition. Might students in contentious world regions, once they are adults, be able to forge a better peace than has been the case, sometimes for centuries? Might they be better able to enter into dialogue more easily with people on the other side of the conflict and have a clearer sense of the kind of justice needed than might be the case in which their minds are clouded with excessive anger and perhaps with a quest for revenge? THE CONTRIBUTION OF PHILOSOPHY TO FORGIVENESS EDUCATION AND CONFLICT REDUCTION Without a strong philosophical foundation, psychological researchers and educators may make errors in how they think about and operationalize (assess) the term “forgiveness.” For example, there are psychological scales being used for research that ask respondents whether or not they generally tend to be forgiving persons or not. The term “forgiving person” is never defined for the participant and so the answer becomes quite subjective, whatever the person filling out the scale thinks forgiveness to be at the moment. As another example of a mismatch between good philosophy and the construction of psychological scales, some researchers see forgiveness only as the absence of resentment, which calls into question whether forgiveness is even a virtue at all if it is not seen as linked to compassion or respect of the offending



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person, as an example. One might report not feeling any resentment because the respondent does not see the offending person as worthwhile or as capable of being good. This would not be a forgiving response, but instead a sign perhaps of pity or even of dismissing the humanity in the other. The construction of forgiveness education could also be distorted. We have seen, for example, educators equating forgiveness with a brief “I am sorry” by the offending person, followed by the reply “It’s okay” and then all is forgiven. If forgiveness is a struggle to get rid of resentment and to be good to those who have not been good to you, then this hardly qualifies as adequate forgiveness education. Educators first need to be philosophers and then curriculum writers of forgiveness. If the educator is not well versed in what forgiveness is, then it is possible that the more popular forgiveness education becomes, the greater may be the watering down of the curriculum in terms of time given to the learning. We say this because educational standardization implies that what is taught has to accommodate a vast array of teacher skills and motivations. What is taught will not always be by choice, as has happened with each of the research studies examined here, but may be required of teachers, again who will have varying motivations for the instruction. Our second large question is this: How can educators offer forgiveness education that is sufficiently rigorous and challenging for the students as they develop? How can teachers help those students grow in their understanding and practice of forgiveness so that they develop a love of forgiveness and the related virtues of justice, courage, wisdom, and temperance? This will not happen without strong education for the educators themselves. We see the great need for forgiveness in contentious world regions. In reflecting on forgiveness in these areas, we see at least eight reasons why people forgive: 1.  To feel better. We see this expressed in our intervention programs as participants start the process of forgiveness.46 This is important in contentious world regions because of anger reduction. Excessive anger can fuel conflict. 2.  To repair relationships.47 In contentious world regions, where too often there is enmity and mistrust, forgiveness might be a bridge to seeing the worth in others that might decrease the motivation to violence. 3.  To grow in character because forgiveness makes one a better person.48 Again, if students can grow in character and thus develop more patience with others, this could serve to reduce future confrontations. 4.  To be of help to the one who hurt me. If such an altruistic spirit could be developed in mature forgiveness, it could go a long way in establishing a peace that certain regions of the world have not known for centuries.

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5.  To show one’s children or others who are important to the forgiver that forgiveness contributes to stronger relationships and to well-being.49 This perspective would ensure that forgiveness as part of the peace process continues for generations rather than just for a few years. 6.  To help even in a little way to make a better world. In other words, a mature embracing of forgiveness might motivate people to create communities in which it is easier to get along, even with those with whom one’s own community has been in conflict.50 7.  To honor one’s religious tradition that highly values forgiving those who are not loving in return.51 While not all groups are religious, those that are may be able to make the connection between the ancient wisdom and how forgiving others fits well within that tradition, adding this important dimension to philosophical forgiveness education. 8.  To exercise goodness as an end in and of itself because forgiveness is good. In other words, as people do not strive so much for ending conflict as much as ending conflict within, this might have the paradoxical effect of bringing intercommunity peace. In summary, forgiveness as part of the peace process has rarely been tried. Perhaps now it is time to unite sound thinking in philosophy regarding what forgiveness is and why it is important with sound thinking in education, to develop age-appropriate curricula to help students know what forgiveness truly is, how to go about it, and why they are going about it. The result could change the world. NOTES 1.  Robert D. Enright et al., “Waging Peace through Forgiveness in Belfast, Northern Ireland: A Review and Proposal for Mental Health Improvement of Children,” Journal of Research in Education 13 (2003): 51–61. 2.  Sidney Simon and Leland L. Howe, Values Clarification: A Handbook of Practical Strategies for Teachers and Students (Oxford: Hart, 1972). 3.  Lawrence Kohlberg and Rochelle Mayer, “Development as the Aim of Education,” Harvard Educational Review 42 (1972): 449–96. 4. Lawrence Nucci and Darcia Narvaez, eds., Moral and Character Education (New York: Routledge, 2008). 5.  Robert D. Enright and Richard Fitzgibbons, Forgiveness Therapy (Washington, DC: APA Books, 2015), 17–19. 6.  Ibid., 87. 7.  Yves Simon, The Definition of Moral Virtue (New York: Fordham University Press, 1986), 2, 19, 47, 104.



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8.  Thomas W. Baskin and Robert D. Enright, “Intervention Studies on Forgiveness: A Meta-Analysis,” Journal of Counseling and Development (2004): 82, 79–90. 9.  Enright and Fitzgibbons, Forgiveness Therapy, 87, 95. 10. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, trans. H. Rackham, II.i. 3–4 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999), 71. 11. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, II.i. 7, 73–74. 12. Aristotle, The Athenian Constitution, Eudemian Ethics, Virtues and Vices, trans. H. Rackham, I.i. 1–2 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004), 203. 13.  A summary of these studies can be found in Robert Enright, The Forgiving Life (Washington, DC: APA Books, 2012), 28–30. 14.  Trudy Govier, Forgiveness and Revenge (London: Routledge, 2002), 95–98. 15. Michael J. Subkoviak et al., “Measuring Interpersonal Forgiveness in Late Adolescence and Middle Adulthood,” Journal of Adolescence 18 (1995): 647. 16.  See Chapter 6 in particular of Yves Simon, The Definition of Moral Virtue, 125. 17. Robert D. Enright, “Clearing Up Client Confusion Regarding the Meaning of Forgiveness: An Aristotelian/Thomistic Analysis with Counseling Implications,” Counseling and Values 59 (2014): 249–56, doi: 10.1002/j.2161–007X.2014.00055.x. 18. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, II.v.2, 87. 19.  Enright et al., “Waging Peace through Forgiveness in Belfast, Northern Ireland II: Educational Programs for Mental Health Improvement of Children,” Journal of Research in Education, 17 (2007): 63–78. 20. Ibid. 21.  Enright and Fitzgibbons, Forgiveness Therapy, 18. 22.  Alice MacLachlan, “Unreasonable Resentments,” Journal of Social Philosophy 4 (2010): 422–41. 23.  Enright and Fitzgibbons, Forgiveness Therapy, 87, 105, 137. 24.  Ibid., 17–19. 25.  MacLachlan, “Unreasonable Resentments,” 426. 26. Ibid. 27.  Enright and Fitzgibbons, Forgiveness Therapy, 233–50. 28.  Robert D. Enright, and Jeanette A. Knutson, Reaching Out through Forgiveness: A Guided Curriculum for Children, Ages 9–11 (Madison, WI: International Forgiveness Institute, 2010). 29.  Robert. D. Enright, Rising above the Storm Clouds (Washington, DC: Magination Press, an imprint of the American Psychological Association, 2004). 30.  Enright et al., “Waging Peace through Forgiveness in Belfast, Northern Ireland II,” 63–78. 31.  Ibid., 51–61. 32.  Ibid., 63–78. 33.  Judith Beck, Aaron Beck, and John Jolly, Beck Youth Inventories of Emotional & Social Impairment Manual (San Antonio, TX: Psychological Corp, 2001). 34. Ibid. 35. Jean Piaget and Bärbel Inhelder, The Psychology of the Child (New York: Basic Books, 1969). 36. Enright, The Forgiving Life, 317–21.

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37.  Enright et al., “Waging Peace through Forgiveness in Belfast, Northern Ireland II,” 63–78. 38. Ibid. 39.  Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit (New York: Doubleday, 1958). 40. Enright, Rising above the Storm Clouds. 41.  Beck et al., Beck Youth Inventories of Emotional & Social Impairment Manual. 42.  Anthony C. Holter et al., “The Forgiving Child: The Impact of Forgiveness Education on Excessive Anger for Elementary-Aged Children in Milwaukee’s Central City,” Journal of Research in Education 18 (2008): 82–93. 43. Ibid. 44.  Maria E. Gambaro et al., “Can School-Based Forgiveness Counseling Improve Conduct and Academic Achievement in Academically At-Risk Adolescents?” Journal of Research in Education 18 (2008): 16–27. 45. Jong-Hyo Park et al., “Forgiveness Intervention for Female South Korean Adolescent Aggressive Victims,” Journal of Applied Developmental Psychology 20 (2013): 393–402. 46.  Suzanne Freedman and Robert Enright, “Forgiveness as an Intervention Goal with Incest Survivors,” Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology 64, no. 5 (1996): 983–92. 47.  This reason was given by adults, who are developmentally advanced in their thinking about forgiveness, in the study by Subkoviak et al. (“Measuring Interpersonal Forgiveness in Late Adolescence and Middle Adulthood”). Point 4 below is similar in that it represents advanced cognitive development but not the highest level. 48.  Again, see Subkoviak et al., “Measuring Interpersonal Forgiveness in Late Adolescence and Middle Adulthood,” and the replication of this study in Taiwan by Tina Huang and Robert Enright, “Forgiveness and Anger-Related Emotions in Taiwan,” Psychotherapy 37 (2000), 71–79. This thinking represented the most developmentally advanced understanding of forgiveness as does point 8 below. 49. Enright, The Forgiving Life, 311–35. 50. Ibid. 51.  This kind of thinking was shown in adults at what we have called level 4 of 6 levels of cognitive complexity regarding forgiveness in the Subkoviak et al. study and replicated in Taiwan by Huang and Enright.

REFERENCES Aristotle. The Athenian Constitution; Eudemian Ethics; Virtues and Vices. Translated by H. Rackham. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004. ———. Nicomachean Ethics. Translated by H. Rackham. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999. Baskin, Thomas, and Robert Enright. “Intervention Studies on Forgiveness: A MetaAnalysis.” Journal of Counseling and Development 82 (2004): 79–90. Beck, Judith, Aaron Beck, and John Jolly. Beck Youth Inventories of Emotional & Social Impairment Manual. San Antonio, TX: Psychological Corp, 2001.



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Enright, Robert D. “Clearing Up Client Confusion Regarding the Meaning of Forgiveness: An Aristotelian/Thomistic Analysis with Counseling Implications.” Counseling and Values 59 (2014): 249–56. ———. The Forgiving Life. Washington, DC: APA Books, 2012. ———. Rising above the Storm Clouds. Washington, DC: Magination Press, an imprint of the American Psychological Association, 2004. Enright, Robert D., and Richard Fitzgibbons. Forgiveness Therapy. Washington, DC: APA Books, 2015. Enright, Robert D., Elizabeth Gassin, and Jeanette A. Knutson. “Waging Peace through Forgiveness in Belfast, Northern Ireland: A Review and Proposal for Mental Health Improvement of Children.” Journal of Research in Education 13 (2003): 51–61. Enright, Robert, and Jeanette Knutson. Reaching Out through Forgiveness: A Guided Curriculum for Children, Ages 9–11. Madison, WI: International Forgiveness Institute. Enright, Robert D., Jeanette A. Knutson Enright, Anthony C. Holter, Thomas Baskin, and Casey Knutson. “Waging Peace through Forgiveness in Belfast, Northern Ireland II: Educational Programs for Mental Health Improvement of Children.” Journal of Research in Education 17 (2007): 63–78. Freedman, Suzanne, and Robert Enright. “Forgiveness as an Intervention Goal with Incest Survivors.” Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology 64, no. 5 (1996): 983–92. Gambaro, Maria E., Robert D. Enright, Thomas A. Baskin, and John Klatt. “Can School-Based Forgiveness Counseling Improve Conduct and Academic Achievement in Academically At-Risk Adolescents?” Journal of Research in Education, 18 (2008): 16–27. Govier, Trudy. Forgiveness and Revenge. London: Routledge, 2002. Holter, Anthony C., Chad Magnuson, Casey Knutson, Jeanette A. Knutson Enright, and Robert D. Enright. “The Forgiving Child: The Impact of Forgiveness Education on Excessive Anger for Elementary-Aged Children in Milwaukee’s Central City.” Journal of Research in Education 18 (2008): 82–93. Huang, Tina, and Robert Enright. “Forgiveness and Anger-Related Emotions in Taiwan.” Psychotherapy 37 (2000): 71–79. Kohlberg, Lawrence, and Rochelle Mayer. “Development as the Aim of Education.” Harvard Educational Review 42 (1972): 449–96. MacLachlan, Alice. “Unreasonable Resentments.” Journal of Social Philosophy 41, no. 4 (2010): 422–41. Murphy, Jeffrie G., and Jean Hampton. Forgiveness and Mercy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. Nucci, Lawrence, and Darcia Narvaez, eds. Moral and Character Education. New York: Routledge, 2008. Park, Jong-Hyo, Robert D. Enright, Marilyn J. Essex, Carol Zahn-Waxler, and John S. Klatt. “Forgiveness Intervention for Female South Korean Adolescent Aggressive Victims.” Journal of Applied Developmental Psychology 20 (2013): 393–402. Piaget, Jean, and Bärbel Inhelder. The Psychology of the Child. Translated by Helen Weaver. New York: Basic Books, 1969.

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Simon, Sidney B., Leland W. Howe, and Howard Kirschenbaum. Values Clarification: A Handbook of Practical Strategies for Teachers and Students. Oxford: Hart Publishing Company, 1972. Simon, Yves. The Definition of Moral Virtue. New York: Fordham University Press, 1986. Subkoviak, Michael J., Robert D. Enright, Ching-ru Wu, Elizabeth A. Gassin, Suzanne Freedman, Leanne M. Olson, and Issioros Sarinopoulos. “Measuring Interpersonal Forgiveness in Late Adolescence and Middle Adulthood.” Journal of Adolescence 18 (1995): 641–55. Williams, Margery. The Velveteen Rabbit. New York: Doubleday, 1958.

Chapter Four

Forgiveness, Exemplars, and the Oppressed Myisha Cherry

In this chapter, I reject the appeal to exemplars of forgiveness on the part of those in positions of power in order to persuade those with less (or members of minorities that can be muscled by majorities) to forgive.1 My concern is to focus on the ways that speakers (nonvictim persuaders) use forgiveness exemplars to convince victims and not the ways in which victims use forgiveness exemplars to persuade themselves. I describe these speakers as making several rhetorical moves. I argue that in making such moves the speaker commits basic fallacies of reasoning. In using these moves, the speaker focuses on examples and not morality, does not respect the rationality of the victims, and can make victims dependent on exemplars and not their own reason. I also argue against appealing to exemplars when doing so avoids messy details and is insincere. Avoiding messy details is problematic for the following reasons. By avoiding the messy details, we rob victims of their autonomy and we do not engage them in practical reasoning. In avoiding messy details, we can also idealize forgiveness by painting a picture of forgiveness that omits the impact of the harms done and the often-difficult work required of both the offender and victim to overcome the harm. In being insincere in our use of exemplars, we do not use the exemplar as a moral example but rather as a device to get victims to fall in line with what we desire. As a result, I claim that these rhetorical moves disempower victims. EXEMPLARS AND US We admire moral exemplars. They embody the moral excellence we strive to achieve. In our philosophical discussions about certain virtues, philosophers often rely on the use of moral exemplars. Glen Pettigrove2 uses Martin Luther 55

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King Jr. and Gandhi as examples of those whom we admire for their meekness. Martha Nussbaum3 uses Nelson Mandela as an example of generosity and as an example of a nonangry revolutionary. Hannah Arendt4 notes that forgiveness is a necessary corrective for damages and she makes the bold claim that Jesus of Nazareth not only embodied forgiveness, but also invented it. The use of exemplars is not only present in philosophical texts but often used in everyday conversations concerning moral matters. A 2016 CBS news report titled “Innocent Man Ends Up Pals with Crooked Cop that Framed Him” illustrates the practice of using exemplars to persuade and inspire.5 Steve Hartman reports that in 2005, Officer Andre Collins arrested Jameel McGee in Michigan for dealing drugs. However, Officer Collins falsified the police report, and by doing so he put an innocent man behind bars. McGee did four years in prison for a crime he did not commit. Collins’s lies would eventually catch up with him and he ended up doing over a year in prison for falsifying reports, among other crimes. Years later, Collins apologized and the article reports that that was all McGee needed to hear to forgive. McGee noted that he forgave Officer Collins for both their sakes. The two now give speeches on forgiveness. The article ends by stating, “And clearly, if these two guys from the coffee shop can set aside their bitter grounds, what’s our excuse?” Although Hartman seems to have written the article to motivate and challenge people to forgive, his use of moral exemplars is problematic because he uses the fact that McGee forgave as a decisive reason for readers to forgive. By doing so, the author not only idealizes the forgiveness process, but also seeks to convince us to make moral judgments based on examples alone. This, I will argue, does not respect the autonomy of victims. The article, however, is not alone in its misuse of forgiveness exemplars. The rhetoric the article employs is very common. It is this kind of exemplar case that I will focus on in this chapter. Immanuel Kant argues that exemplars are useful for moral education, inspiration, and emulation, but he also recognizes that they are not sufficient. On my reading of Kant, following moral exemplars as our primary reason for action is problematic. By claiming that forgiveness exemplars are sufficient for practicing forgiveness, I argue, “speakers” do not use moral exemplars appropriately. Instead of inspiring those who hear their forgiveness arguments, this kind of rhetorical strategy disempowers victims. For example, Hartman omits important information that is needed for readers to fully deliberate by painting an idealized picture of forgiveness, and by doing so he avoids the messiness that is often involved when a victim is wronged and when he or she undergoes the process of forgiveness. A speaker uses moral exemplars inappropriately when he or she claims that we should forgive because Collins and McGee or Mandela and King practiced forgiveness.



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In this chapter, I argue that while moral exemplars are useful, we must be careful in our use of them. I focus on forgiveness exemplars as my paradigmatic case. I first describe forgiveness exemplars that are often used to persuade victims to forgive such as Nelson Mandela, King, and Jesus of Nazareth. I also explain how, for Kant, highlighting these figures as moral exemplars can be useful. I then explain two kinds of rhetorical strategies that are used when attempting to convince victims to forgive. Last, I explain (à la Kant) how the use of these moral exemplars do not empower but instead disempowers victims. I do not claim that we ought not use forgiveness exemplars; rather, we should be careful how and why we employ exemplars in our forgiveness arguments. By “forgiveness arguments,” I do not mean the logical enterprise that is restricted to professional philosophers. I think that everyday people articulate forgiveness arguments in the public domain (for example, in the media) as well as in the private domain (for example, in intimate conversations) when they attempt to use reasons to persuade victims to forgive. Borrowing from Kant, I also offer suggestions for the appropriate use of forgiveness exemplars. FORGIVENESS EXEMPLARS Several historical figures come to mind when we think of forgiveness. They include Nelson Mandela, Martin Luther King Jr., and Jesus of Nazareth. These figures were not only people who practiced forgiveness in private, but their public practice and teachings also helped to achieve radical change. Former South African president Nelson Mandela is a symbol of forgiveness. Decades before his presidency, he was sentenced to hard labor for life for the charge of conspiracy to overthrow the government through violence. As leader of the African National Congress (ANC), Mandela had fought to end white minority rule in apartheid South Africa. Having gone to prison as a man known to use violence, he arose as a symbol of peace. Although he was locked away for decades, Mandela is believed to have emerged from prison without bitterness. Instead of seeking revenge on whites, he believed that reconciliation was the only thing that could solve the racial divide in South Africa. Several examples of Mandela’s forgiveness have been publicly noted. Mandela invited one of his former guards to his inauguration ceremony. He invited his former jailer to the dinner that celebrated his twentieth anniversary of being released from prison. He also invited Percy Yutar, the state prosecutor who demanded Mandela get the death penalty, to a dinner. While dinners may seem insignificant, grassroots initiatives in post-apartheid South Africa such as Koinonia Southern Africa have used dining together as an opportunity

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for reconciliation. We can say that Mandela forgave jailers, lawyers, and a government that once hated and mistreated him and his fellow natives. It is believed that his public practice of forgiveness is responsible for reconciling a nation once stifled by the unfair, dehumanizing, and even deadly practices of apartheid. Martha Nussbaum argues that Mandela never spoke about forgiveness at all but framed his efforts in different terms. On her view, Mandela embodied more of an unconditional generosity than an unconditional forgiveness. She claims that Mandela did not engage in payback; instead his treatment of others shows “generosity and forgetfulness of past wrongs.”6 However, I think that Nussbaum’s reading of Mandela’s actions, as a display of generosity and not forgiveness, is in error. Mandela actually displays Butlerian forgiveness. For British moralist Joseph Butler, forgiveness is a moderation of resentment and the refusal to engage in payback.7 It entails compassion and seeing the offender as still part of humanity. Mandela displayed Butlerian forgiveness because he refused to pay back the guards who mistreated him. He had compassion for them and other whites. He still considered whites as part of the moral community despite their complicity and participation in apartheid. While Nussbaum notes that Mandela never used the word “forgiveness,”8 it seems that based on a Butlerian view of forgiveness, forgiveness is something that Mandela practiced. Another exemplar of forgiveness is Martin Luther King Jr. Dr. King was a pastor and civil rights leader. As a leader of the Southern Christian Leadership Committee, he worked with others to end segregation laws in the South. Later in his life, he would fight for the rights of the poor. Unlike Mandela, King used the word “forgiveness.” He repeatedly spoke about forgiveness in his sermons (documented in “Strength to Love” and “Radical King”). For King, to love our enemies required the capacity to forgive. Forgiveness creates an atmosphere for a new beginning. King notes that when we forgive, we forget, in the sense that the evil deed is no longer a mental block impeding a new relationship. King thought that the evil deed of an agent never expresses fully who they are.9 This leads us from hate to love for we are reminded that the offender is not beyond redemptive love. King admits that we “are tempted to become bitter and to retaliate with a corresponding hate” but that “the darkness of racial injustice will be dispelled only by the light of forgiving love.”10 King not only preached forgiveness but he practiced it. In 1956, Izola Curry stabbed King. Roy James, a lieutenant of the American Nazi Party, attacked King in 1962 at a rally in Alabama. He forgave them. Similar to Joseph Butler, King recognized that we should extend pity to the offender because in the offender hurting another, he also hurts himself. Butler states, “no one ever did a designed injury to another but at the same time he did a



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much greater injury to himself, he [should be] an object of compassion.”11 If forgiveness is the forswearing of negative emotions, King surely forswore bitterness and resentment. If, according to Macalester Bell,12 forgiveness is not only the forswearing of resentment but also of contempt (she calls this Forgiveness-C), King also practiced forgiveness by refusing to exclude Curry and James from the moral community. In eulogizing Martin Luther King Jr., Morehouse College president Benjamin Mays stated, “here was a man who believed . . . that violence is self-defeating; and that only love and forgiveness can break the vicious circle of revenge.”13 A forgiveness exemplar for Martin Luther King Jr. was Jesus of Nazareth. King often used the example of Jesus in sermons such as “Love in Action,” “Love and Forgiveness,” and “Loving Your Enemies.” The Christian Gospels depict Jesus as one who practiced forgiveness. According to the Gospels, Jesus instructed his followers to model their forgiveness on divine forgiveness. He argued that if we forgive, then the father would forgive us (Luke 6:37–38, Luke 17:35). When asked how many times we should forgive each other, Jesus replied, “seven times seventy.” Christians believe that Jesus lived and then died on the cross to be a sacrifice for the forgiveness of their sins, for it was his dying on the cross that would allow them to be forgiven and redeemed. Jesus forgave the sins of the adulterous and paralyzed (Mark 2:1–12). While dying on the cross, he did not ask God to avenge those who were crucifying and mocking him; instead Jesus asked God to forgive them “for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34). Jeffrie Murphy argues that the ignorance of offenders gives us reason to excuse them but not to forgive them. Thus Jesus’s statement would go better as “Father, excuse them for they know not what they do.”14 While Murphy and others claim that Jesus actually pardoned offenders instead of forgave offenders, I do not have space to take up this controversy here. The claim that Jesus was philosophically sloppy in his use of forgiveness does not negate the fact that there are reasons why many still read him as preaching forgiveness. There is also textual evidence that lead many to conclude that he was an exemplar of forgiveness. MORAL EXEMPLARS AND KANT These forgiveness exemplars do not just make for a good story in the practice of forgiveness. For philosophers including Kant, moral exemplars are helpful, and Kant has several things to say about what moral exemplars can do. A moral exemplar, according to Kant, is someone who lives his or her life according to the moral law. They strike down our pride, inspire respect, and are a source of encouragement. How are they able to do this? When we

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see someone as an example of the moral law, Kant notes in the Critique of Practical Reason that “[he or she] holds before me a law that strikes down my self-conceit when I compare it with my conduct, and I see observance of that law and hence its practicability proved before me in fact.”15 For Kant, moral feeling (Achtung) is caused by the moral law and it is produced when we recognize the weight of the moral law and its power to overpower our inclinations. Interestingly, humans can arouse the feeling of Achtung just as the moral law arouses it. Richard Dean writes: Given that the source of Achtung is the Categorical Imperative itself, and its power to overbalance inclinations, it is perhaps surprising that Kant maintains that humans can arouse this same feeling of Achtung. But Kant does repeatedly say this, and explains that the feature of a person that inspires Achtung is her commitment to the Categorical Imperative’s moral demands. In a famous passage from the Critique of Practical Reason (5:77–78), Kant says that “before a humble common man in whom I perceive uprightness of character in a higher degree than I am aware of in myself, my spirit bows,” because “Achtung is a tribute that we cannot refuse to pay to merit.” The source of Achtung for persons is the same as Achtung for moral law, namely, the power of morality to outweigh all of a person’s contrary inclinations. . . . Even the example of Jesus as an “ideal of moral perfection” (R 6:61) really serves only to direct our attention to an idea of possible moral perfection that “is present as model already in our own reason” (R 6:62). So, Achtung for people who provide good moral examples has the same source and serves the same purposes as Achtung for moral law itself.16

Moral exemplars strike down our pride because when we compare the conduct of exemplars to our own conduct, we are reminded of how far we may be from representing the moral law. We are humbled. However, moral exemplars also inspire respect for morality. Moral exemplars do not themselves inspire such respect, qua persons or personalities. Moral exemplars are not morality themselves; instead they show or hold before us a law. For Kant this brings about a kind of respect. “Respect is a tribute that we cannot refuse to pay to merit, whether we want to or not; we may indeed withhold it outwardly but we still cannot help feel it inwardly.”17 Our respect for moral exemplars is not an uncritical admiration; rather, it is a respect for the moral law that the exemplars represent. Moreover, the fact that they are able to live life according to the moral law serves as encouragement that we too can do the same. As Dean notes, moral exemplars “elevat[e] us by demonstrating the possibility of acting morally despite contrary inclinations.”18 For Kant, moral exemplars are useful for moral education because they humble us, point us toward the moral law, and encourage us in being moral. We are not born as autonomous agents. We must develop our rational capacities. Young children, because of their youth, have not developed their rational



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capacities fully. So exposing them to examples can help develop their ability to control their inclinations. Kant writes in the Metaphysics of Morals, “the experimental means for cultivating virtue is [a] good example on the part of the teacher and [a] cautionary example in others, since, for a still undeveloped human being, imitation is the first determination of his will to accept maxims that he afterwards makes for himself.”19 According to Kant, moral exemplars can serve as a good example as well as a cautionary example. Even when we become autonomous moral agents, the fact that we have an image-dependent understanding will require the use of exemplars. Kant believes that to think abstractly we need images. Kant’s solution is that we represent moral concepts symbolically and analogically through images.20 In the Groundwork he writes, It is admittedly a limitation of human reason . . . that we conceive of no considerable moral worth in the actions of a personal being without representing that person, or his manifestation in human guise. This is not to assert that such worth is in itself so conditioned, but merely that we must always resort to some analogy with natural beings in order to make supersensible qualities comprehensible to ourselves.21

Thus moral exemplars are images that represent to us the moral law. Without these examples, it will be difficult for us to comprehend morality. In Kant and the Ethics of Humility, Jeanine Greenberg argues that Kant thinks moral exemplars are useful because principles cannot guide our moral character. She claims that because “finite rational agents are not able to appreciate the full and perfect process of the internalization of these principles” we need examples.22 She notes, “Although finite rational agents can derive from principles some basic guides to character, experience is too large to allow me to deduce my entire moral character from the terms of these principles.” On Greenberg’s reading of Kant, “finite rational agents seeking to internalize moral principles into their characters need, then, not just a regulative ideal in the sense of a guiding principle; they need also a regulative ideal in the sense of a guiding person.”23 In other words, exemplars, unlike sole a priori principles, can show me contextual ways of putting in practice these principles. Therefore we need not just the principles but examples that model these principles. Moral exemplars are also useful for hope and inspiration. Exemplars give us hope and inspiration that what morality demands is humanly achievable.24 Kant notes, “Examples put beyond doubt the feasibility of what the law demands.”25 He also states that the example of a teacher serves as “proof of the feasibility of that which is in accordance with duty.”26 In others words, exemplars give us inspiration because they show us that morality is achievable.

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This is not to say that we can only know the moral law through examples. From a logical point of view, we cannot know or prove moral principles through these empirical examples. However, from an anthropological point of view, examples give us hope that humans can act morally.27 As Greenberg notes, “individual standard provides an image of perfection . . . and it provides an image of possibilities.”28 They point us to moral possibilities. Although it is the moral law that tells us that it is possible (ought implies can), “a mere principle to pursue self-perfection is not going to be sufficient to reveal the myriad ways and depths through which an individual person could—and should—pursue it.”29 Moral principles tell us what is possible, and in the context of forgiveness, moral examples reveal to us the variety of contexts and situations we can respond to, the variety of objects we can forgive, and the many ways in which we can put forgiveness in practice. Kant also believes that exemplars serve the purpose of emulation. Human examples give us a tangible ideal to aim for. These moral exemplars should be emulated but they should not be imitated. At first glance, emulation and imitation appear to be synonymous. However, there is a distinction for Kant. When a moral agent imitates another’s behavior, he or she is copying behavior but not thinking why he or she is a good moral example in the first place. That is why Kant states that “imitation has no place at all in matters of morality.”30 However, when we emulate, we do not emulate the person per se, but rather the ideal of reason that the person represents and makes visible to us.31 In other words, it is the moral law and not the person that we emulate. WHEN THE USE OF FORGIVENESS EXEMPLARS GOES WRONG So far I have provided a description of popular forgiveness exemplars. I have also described the ways in which these moral exemplars can aid our moral education, serve as hope and inspiration, and represent to us the moral law. It will seem thus far that using these figures as forgiveness exemplars is not problematic at all; rather, they aid in helping us to live a moral life. In what follows, I will evaluate arguments that the fact that exemplars have forgiven others or that the exemplars recommend that we should forgive is reason to forgive. I will also provide (à la Kant) reasons for why I think the use of the rhetoric disempowers victims. Although Greenberg’s focus in Kant and the Ethics of Humility is on moral affirmation of self-other comparisons, she does provide us with ways in which the use of exemplars can go wrong. She notes that moral exemplars can make us morally complacent. Instead of focusing on the first-person



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pursuit of moral development, we can rely on moral exemplars to do all the work for us. Of course, this can only happen because we imagine that they can actually do it for us and not because they actually can do the work of moral development for us. She also notes that we can look at moral exemplars with only aesthetic admiration. In this way, we only appreciate the ideal they present to us instead of doing the work of actually attending to our own character. We can also overidealize moral exemplars and this can create feelings of inferiority and superiority. Greenberg thinks, by conceiving of exemplars as superior, it can lead us to become uncritical followers instead of moral agents. I imagine that we can also feel inferior by an exemplar, and instead of being encouraged in the possibility of moral excellence, we could be so overwhelmed by the character of others in comparison to our own that we get discouraged from living a moral life. Note that Greenberg’s examples of when the use of moral exemplars can go wrong is connected more to the ways in which a moral agent uses moral exemplars and not the ways in which speakers employ moral exemplars in their moral arguments. “Nelson Mandela forgave,” “Martin Luther King Jr. practiced forgiveness,” and “What would Jesus do?” are familiar claims and rhetorical questions used when attempting to convince others—often victims of oppression—to forgive. The speaker’s strategy is to use moral exemplars to convince the victim to forgive. I think this rhetorical strategy can make two kinds of moves: 1) the authority move and 2) the “their suffering is worse than yours” move. The speaker utilizes the authority move when he or she provides as a forgiveness exemplar someone whom the victim looks to as an authority figure and as a result is inclined to follow him or her unquestioningly. By doing so, the speaker utilizes the exemplar as a model, recognizing that one is more likely to be inspired to become like those who have a certain type of authority in the moral community. While Kant believes that we could come to respect moral exemplars as representations of the moral law, the speaker’s strategy in the authority move is to convince the victim to follow the authority figure uncritically. The speaker argues that the victim should model the moral exemplar not because they necessarily represent the moral law, but because they are an authority figure. The exemplars are usually leaders of social causes such as King and Mandela. The speaker argues that forgiveness exemplars are supposed to serve as a reminder that if one is committed to the cause (for example, justice, equality, and love), one will do as the leader of the cause has done or as the leader instructs them to do: forgive. The strategy in the “their suffering is worse than yours” move is to provide a forgiveness exemplar who suffered more than the victim did. It implies that if the moral exemplar suffered more than the victim—who is assumed to have suffered less—he or she should forgive for that reason alone. The

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move is made to convince the victim not merely that it is possible to forgive, but that the victim’s circumstances warrant forgiveness by the fact that the circumstances are less extreme than the circumstances of the moral exemplar. My first set of criticisms of this kind of rhetoric focuses on argumentation and fallacious reasoning. I am not arguing that examples have no place in moral arguments. In general, examples fulfill the job of illustrating principles. They make reasons clearer. Examples make it easier to understand the general rule. For example, for the conclusion “for the good of the moral community, members of the moral community should forgive,” I may use as a premise the proposition that “forgiveness reconciles the offender and the victim.” As an example to illustrate this point, I may highlight Nelson Mandela’s efforts, challenges, and results to show how and that forgiveness can reconcile offenders and victims. The example illustrates the proposition and aids in its understanding. The example itself (“Nelson Mandela forgave”) is not a premise; rather, it is only an example that illustrates a particular premise. My main criticism of the forgiveness rhetoric explained here is that the rhetorical appeal does not make this kind of argument. Instead the forgiveness exemplar is held up to persuade the victim motivationally to act in a certain way, rather than illustrating a general principle that the victim may or may not accept as applying to his or her case. The exemplars become reasons to accept the normative claim that the victim should forgive instead of just illustrating the moral law. This is an improper use of examples in moral argumentation if we aim to avoid fallacious reasoning. The authority move is a classic appeal to authority. Appeal to authority is fallacious reasoning that claims that we should accept the truth of a conclusion simply because an authority figure said we should. We should forgive simply because Jesus said we should forgive or we should forgive because King also forgave. It takes no consideration of what the moral law requires. In certain ways, these moves contain the adage that victims should “follow their leaders” instead of follow the moral law. This kind of rhetoric does not empower victims but instead disempowers them. Instead of arguing that victims should forgive for rational reasons, it assumes that they have more reason to follow a leader than to follow their own reasoning. The move advocates an uncritical and irrational respect for authority, while Kant argues for a rational respect for authority. In the former, for Kant, we are immature. In the latter, we are mature. Kant notes in “What Is Enlightenment?” that when we have an uncritical respect for authority, it shows that we do not have the courage to use our own understanding. We lack the resolution to use our own understanding without the guidance of another. It is the dogmas of the exemplars and not our understanding of the moral principles that guide us. In doing so, the authority figures’ dogmas become the ball and chain of “our

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permanent immaturity.”32 However, when we have a rational respect for an exemplar, we follow their example because we recognize that it mirrors the moral law. Instead of inviting victims to be autonomous, these arguments invite victims to be heteronomous. I will say more later about how this rhetoric disempowers victims, but I think criticisms of student protests against racism across U.S. college campuses provide us with an example of this move. In 2016, Clemson University students protested for diversity on their campus by staging a nine-day outdoor sit-in. In an open letter criticizing students, Dr. David Woodard wrote: “The main difference between the ‘See the Stripes’ [student protestors] beliefs and Martin Luther King, Jr. is that the latter had a moral premise for his actions. . . . The only pastor to have a national holiday named after him emphasized forgiveness, not retribution. . . . Their words and actions have none of the markings of Martin Luther King, Jr.”33 The professor is suggesting that the protestors have reasons to forgive because Martin Luther King Jr. forgave. Woodard uses King as an authority figure to appeal to and he implicitly suggests that King would agree with his criticisms of the protestors. The authority move argues that the fact that exemplars forgave is reason for the victim to forgive. Instead of the following argument: P1: Forgiveness reconciles the offender to the victim (for example, Mandela post-apartheid). P2: Forgiveness aids in the psychological health of the victim (for example, civil rights activists). C: Therefore we should forgive at least for prudential reasons.

The speaker employs the authority move by arguing: P1: Jesus forgave. P2: Whatever Jesus did, we should do. C: Therefore we should forgive.

We need P2 for the argument to work. However, it is precisely this premise that causes the problem. When using the authority move, the speaker disempowers the victim by inviting him or her to ignore, dismiss, or be unaware of morality. For Kant, exemplars do not alone show that we can do it and that therefore we ought to do it. They do not prove morality is possible. It is the moral law (that is, ought) that informs us of what we can do. Empirical examples are not enough to prove a priori propositions. An overreliance on moral exemplars can lead us to commit the authority move to the point that

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exemplars become our only reason for acting and we no longer have the ability to make moral judgments. Kant refers to this idea through his use of the go-cart analogy. He notes that the overuse of examples can “weaken the effort of the understanding to gain sufficient insight into the rules in the universal and independently of the particular circumstances of experience.”34 A go-cart is like a walker. Go-carts were used to teach babies how to walk with the hope that they would eventually no longer depend on the go-cart. However, an overreliance on a go-cart could in turn weaken the baby’s ability to walk just as an overreliance on crutches could weaken an injured teenager’s ability to recover. We could eventually get so deeply invested in the authority move that none of our premises consist of rational reasons but only forgiveness exemplars. By doing so, moral exemplars become the proper criteria for morality instead of morality itself. Speakers who invite victims to give in to the authority move can disempower victims to the point that they are unable to make moral judgments absent moral examples. In addition, the appeal to authority can be insincere and not in good faith. It is possible that Woodard and others do not really know what King actually said about forgiveness. It is also possible that Woodard and others have not consulted enough resources to adequately predict what King would say about the students’ perceived lack of forgiveness. The speaker’s only use of the forgiveness exemplar is to get the victim to behave as the speaker would want him or her to. In the authority move, the speaker could use the exemplar as another way to criticize and to punish victims. The speaker can do this while also ignoring that in particular cases King might advise protestors not to forgive for decisive reasons. The “their suffering is worse than yours move” commits the fallacy of appeal to emotion. In the coffee shop employees’ case, the writer seemed to be asking, “If someone who was wrongfully imprisoned can forgive, then shouldn’t we who suffer less than four years of wrongful imprisonment follow their example?” By participating in the “their suffering is worse than yours move,” the speaker may characterize the suffering that the forgiveness exemplars underwent (for example, Mandela’s imprisonment, King’s assaults, and Jesus’s death). The speaker highlights the exemplar’s decision to forgive in spite of the pain in order to elicit emotions in victims to get them to accept the truth of the speaker’s conclusion. In both the appeal to authority and appeal to emotions, the speaker does not present arguments to victims as rational beings but rather as irrational beings who are not responsive to rational reasons but are only emotionally vulnerable. Kant is notorious for his criticism of the use of emotions as reasons for acting. Kant argues that reason should be our guide and not emotions. We should act morally because the moral law commands it, not because we feel like it. Barbara Herman35 thinks that Kant is not dismissing emotions altogether. On her view, we can have inclinations, but reason ought to be our primary motive. While I



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have previously disagreed with Kant on his dismissal of emotions, Herman helps me to see that Kant and I have more in common than I thought. Like Aristotle, I believe that emotions should be directed to the right object, at the right time, and to the right degree. I also believe in emotional cognition; I think emotions have objects and they are judgments.36 I do not see emotions detached from reason, and if they were, I would not argue for or defend them as I do. While our projects, aims, and conceptions are different, Kant and I agree that reason and emotion have or should have a relationship in morality. For this reason, any attempt at using emotion outside of the bounds of reason is something with which we both disagree. I agree with Kant that our exercise of reason is true freedom. Any use of emotions that disempower victims by inviting them to be less free should be challenged. The above rhetoric does disempower victims in this way. When anyone uses emotionally manipulative means to move us to act, we are not responding in the freedom that reason leads us to. Instead we are manipulated with the emotions of guilt, pity, or sadness. In some ways, we are no longer ends at this point but means, for our emotions are used to get us to respond in ways that the speaker desires. Once again, the speaker—with our emotions—does not assume that we are autonomous agents who are able to figure out what is the right thing to do within ourselves. Rather, they assume that we require a heteronomous source (sources outside of ourselves such as people or actions). The speaker assumes that victims are only able to understand what to do because others tell them what to do or because the exemplars have done it themselves. The speaker may also think that the victim will be better moved by emotions than by reason. Additionally, the rhetoric also assumes that victims are immature. Immaturity, for Kant, is allowing others to do the thinking for us. He defines immaturity as the “inability to use one’s understanding without the guidance of another.”37 It may be convenient to be immature so I need not make any efforts at all. If I am to think that I ought to forgive because a particular exemplar told me I should or because he or she forgave, there is little effort that I need to take to understand why forgiveness is something I should practice. Immaturity is not something we inherit because we are human or because we lack understanding. It is only self-incurred when we lack the resolution and courage to think for ourselves. By encouraging immaturity by using the above rhetoric, a speaker disempowers victims by inviting them to remain in their self-incurred immaturity instead of entering into enlightenment. My second set of criticisms of this kind of rhetoric focuses on the insufficiency of exemplars. Here I would like to go into further detail about examples and elaborate on claims I have presented earlier but only briefly discussed. For Kant, morality is an unconditional command that tells us to act lawfully, period. We discover what this “ought” is through our rational capacity. If we ought to do it, that means we can do it. I have argued that the use of King,

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Mandela, Jesus, and other forgiveness exemplars can go wrong when they are used not as examples of a premise, but when the fact that the exemplars have forgiven others becomes a reason itself. Forgiveness exemplars lack a certain kind of qualification to serve as reasons to forgive. Examples are not enough to serve as reasons themselves, for even examples must be judged to be a fitting example by morality. Kant writes, “every example of it represented to me must itself first be appraised in accordance with principles of morality, as to whether it is also worthy to serve as an original example, that is, as a model; it can by no means authoritatively provide the concept of morality.”38 If forgiveness exemplars should be judged according to a moral standard itself, then the fact that they forgave others or they recommend that we should forgive cannot be a reason to forgive. This is so because the exemplars presuppose the presence and primacy of a moral law by which they should be judged. Earlier I introduced the “follow your leader” assumption that is embedded in the authority move and the “their suffering is worse than yours” move. I will now apply that assumption in making the distinction between imitation and emulation. When a speaker makes the authority move by using only forgiveness exemplars as premises, he or she may assume two things: 1) the power of the exemplar alone to convince victims or 2) the powerlessness of the victim to follow moral laws instead of moral examples alone. In assuming that victims will “follow their leader” by accepting the authority move argument, the speaker invites victims to imitate and not emulate. Someone who imitates another looks at an exemplar’s life in order to model it. They are unaware of the reasons for doing it. On the other hand, to emulate forgiveness exemplars is to adopt their practice of forgiveness and also understand and accept the moral reasons for doing so. An empowered victim does not merely follow the leader when making moral decisions. Instead he or she follows the moral law and only takes moral exemplars to be a representation of the law as well as a source of hope and inspiration. POSSIBLE OBJECTIONS One possible objection to my argument is that the rhetoric that I speak of is not something that philosophers would engage in. My interlocutor may claim that people may talk in sloppy ways, but no one thinks this is how we should reason. Philosophers are careful with argumentation and will never use exemplars as reasons to forgive. This objection makes several assumptions. It assumes that philosophers are always more careful than ordinary people in their arguments. It does not take into account that philosophers often find themselves in unreflective movements as reactive human beings often do. In our interpersonal conversations, we are not always as careful as we should



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be. Beyond the philosophical literature, as I indicated earlier, there are media outlets that do commit these mistakes (for example, news articles and television and video web programming) and they are influential. My argument aims to convince everyone in the moral community to be careful with the use of forgiveness exemplars. Another objection may be that the speaker—in using these moves—is not intending to disempower victims but rather is intending to persuade them to stretch their moral capacities—to forgive where we might think it is impossible to forgive—rather than to pressure victims. This objection follows a Kantian framework, for if what matters for Kant is not our actions but our motives, then surely we cannot say that a speaker disempowers others when his or her only intention is to convince victims to practice forgiveness on moral grounds. I do not think this is an accurate reading of Kant. Kant thinks that we cannot always be sure what our true intentions are. He writes in Groundwork, “Though much may be done in conformity with what duty commands, still it is always doubtful whether it is really done from duty and therefore has moral worth.”39 He continues, “It is absolutely impossible . . . to make out with complete certainty [in which a moral action] rested simply on moral grounds.”40 Therefore it is possible to think that I intend to encourage others to forgive for “forgiveness’s sake,” but I could actually be intending to take their power away from coming to that decision through their own rational means. In addition, I think that our words (including our arguments) can have an effect on others despite our best intentions. For example, a racist joke that was told to be funny can still be racist—even if the speaker did not intend the joke to be racist. Likewise, a speaker could still make these rhetorical moves and in doing so disempower victims, although his or her intentions were to inspire victims to forgive. My interlocutor may also object to my argument on the basis that only a Kantian will be convinced of my argument. While I have used Kant as a resource in communicating the uses and dangers of forgiveness exemplars, one does not need to be a Kantian to accept my argument. By utilizing Kant, I have not argued that one ought to follow the universal law or that only intentions matter in morality. I have argued that anyone concerned with rationality, respect for reasons, reasonableness, and respect for victims will have reason to be convinced of my argument. CONCLUSION The specific examples I have provided in this chapter highlight the inappropriate ways in which a reporter and a critic employ exemplars. Each speaker uses different rhetorical moves and they have different motives for doing so.

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However, in the end they achieve the same result: they disempower victims. So how should we make use of forgiveness exemplars in our arguments? While I do not think making use of forgiveness exemplars is a moral sin, when we do make use of them we should do it with sincerity and great care. This includes recognizing that forgiveness exemplars can represent morality, inspire and give hope to others, be something to emulate, and can aid in moral education. While they can do all of the aforementioned, as well as illustrate and provide clarity to the premises of our forgiveness arguments, their actions and recommendations should not be taken as decisive reasons to forgive. Any use of forgiveness exemplars in this way can disempower victims and thus it is inappropriate. When those in positions of power attempt to persuade the powerless to forgive by using exemplars, we have reasons to view their arguments as extremely dubious. NOTES 1.  Sincere and warm thanks to Samuel Fleischacker, who commented on a previous draft of this chapter. Thanks also to Kathryn Norlock for many useful comments. 2.  Glen Pettigrove, “Meekness and ‘Moral’ Anger,” Ethics 122 (2012): 341. 3.  Martha Nussbaum, Anger and Forgiveness: Resentment, Generosity, and Justice (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016). 4.  Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition, second edition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998). 5.  Steve Hartman, “Innocent Man Ends Up Pals with Crooked Cop that Framed Him,” CBS News, April 15, 2016, accessed September 8, 2016, http://www.cbsnews. com/news/on-the-road-innocent-michigan-man-ends-up-working-alongside-crookedcop-that-locked-him/?ftag=YHF4eb9d17. 6. Nussbaum, Anger and Forgiveness, 235. 7.  Joseph Butler, The Works of Bishop Butler, ed. David White (New York: University of Rochester Press, 2006). 8.  Nussbaum notes in Anger and Forgiveness (10, 12) “an unsurprising but unfortunate aspect of the many memorials of Nelson Mandela—who . . . did not use that concept [forgiveness], and framed his efforts in different terms.” Here I take it that Nussbaum is not referring to Mandela’s private use but instead his public use of the term that is evident in his speeches, interviews, and books. 9.  Martin Luther King Jr., Strength to Love (Minnesota: Fortress Press, 1963), 43–52. 10.  Martin Luther King Jr., The Radical King, ed. Cornel West (Boston: Beacon Press, 2015), 62. 11. Butler, The Works of Bishop Butler, 101. 12. Macalester Bell, Hard Feelings: The Moral Psychology of Contempt (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013). 13.  Benjamin E. Mays, Born to Rebel: An Autobiography by Benjamin E. Mays (Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press, 1971).



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14.  Jeffrie Murphy and Jean Hampton, Forgiveness and Mercy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988). 15.  Immanuel Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, ed. Mary Gregor (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 5:77. 16. Richard Dean, “A Plausible Kantian Argument against Moralism,” Social Theory and Practice 38, no. 4 (2012): 590. 17. Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, 5:77. 18.  Dean, “A Plausible Kantian Argument against Moralism,” 590. 19.  Immanuel Kant, The Metaphysics of Morals, ed. Mary Gregor (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 6:479. 20.  Robert Louden, “Making the Law Visible: The Role of Examples in Kant’s Ethics,” in Kant’s Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals: A Critical Guide, ed. Jens Timmermann (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 71. 21.  Immanuel Kant, Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals, ed. Mary Gregor (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 6:64–65. 22.  Jeanine Greenberg, Kant and the Ethics of Humility (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 207. 23.  Ibid., 208. 24.  Louden, “Making the Law Visible,” 97. 25. Kant, Groundwork, 4:409. 26.  Ibid., 6:480. 27.  Louden, “Making the Law Visible,” 98–99. 28. Greenberg, Kant and the Ethics of Humility, 208. 29. Ibid. 30. Kant, Groundwork, 4:409. 31.  Louden, “Making the Law Visible,” 100. 32.  Immanuel Kant, Kant: Political Writings, ed. Hans Reiss (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 55. 33.  Zachariah Talley, “Clemson Prof to Protesters: MLK ‘Emphasized Forgiveness, Not Retribution,’” The Tiger Town Observer, April 26, 2016, accessed September 13, 2016, http://www.campusreform.org/?ID=7524. 34.  Louden, “Making the Law Visible,” 104. 35.  Barbara Herman, “On the Value of Acting from the Motive of Duty,” Philosophical Review 90, no. 3 (1981): 359–82. 36.  Martha Nussbaum, Upheavals of Thought: The Intelligence of Emotions (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001). 37. Kant, Kant: Political Writings, 54. 38.  Ibid., 21. 39. Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, 4:406. 40.  Ibid., 4:407.

REFERENCES Arendt, Hannah. The Human Condition. Second edition. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998.

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Bell, Macalester. Hard Feelings: The Moral Psychology of Contempt. New York: Oxford University Press, 2013. Butler, Joseph. The Works of Bishop Butler. Edited by David E. White. New York: University of Rochester Press, 2006. Dean, Richard. “A Plausible Kantian Argument against Moralism.” Social Theory and Practice 38, no. 4 (2012): 577–97. Greenberg, Jeanine. Kant and the Ethics of Humility. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Hartman, Steve. “Innocent Man Ends Up Pals with Crooked Cop that Framed Him.” CBS News, April 15, 2016. http://www.cbsnews.com/news/on-the-roadinnocent-michigan-man-ends-up-working-alongside-crooked-cop-that-lockedhim/?ftag=YHF4eb9d17. Herman, Barbara. “On the Value of Acting from the Motive of Duty.” Philosophical Review 90, no. 3 (1981): 359–82. Kant, Immanuel. Critique of Practical Reason. Translated and edited by Mary Gregor. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997. ———. Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals. Translated and edited by Mary Gregor. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006. ———. Kant: Political Writings. Edited by Hans Reiss. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1991. ———. The Metaphysics of Morals. Edited by Mary Gregor. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996. King, Martin Luther Jr. The Radical King. Edited by Cornel West. Boston: Beacon Press, 2015. ———. Strength to Love. Minnesota: Fortress Press, 1963. Louden, Robert. “Making the Law Visible: The Role of Examples in Kant’s Ethics.” In Kant’s Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals: A Critical Guide, edited by Jens Timmermann, 63–80. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Mays, Benjamin E. Born to Rebel: An Autobiography by Benjamin E. Mays. Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press, 1971. Murphy, Jeffrie, and Jean Hampton. Forgiveness and Mercy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. Nussbaum, Martha. Anger and Forgiveness: Resentment, Generosity, and Justice. New York: Oxford University Press, 2016. ———. Upheavals of Thought: The Intelligence of Emotions. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001. Pettigrove, Glen. “Meekness and ‘Moral’ Anger.” Ethics 122 (2012): 341–70. Talley, Zachariah. “Clemson Prof to Rrotesters: MLK ‘Emphasized Forgiveness, Not Retribution.’” The Tiger Town Observer, April 26, 2016. http://www.campusreform.org/?ID=7524.

Chapter Five

Resentment, Punitiveness, and Forgiveness Criminal Sanction and Civil Society Jonathan Jacobs

This chapter explores the significance of some moral sentiments and attitudes—namely, resentment, punitiveness, and forgiveness—in regard to criminal justice in a liberal democracy. The importance of those sentiments should be evident; resentment, punitiveness, and forgiveness figure in our lives in pervasive and morally interesting ways. Moreover, those sentiments are especially significant concerning criminal justice because of the ways institutions and practices of criminal justice reflect various prevailing sentiments. It is frequently noted that in the United States, from the 1970s to the 1990s, both major political parties sought to demonstrate their “tough on crime” credentials by supporting much-expanded criminalization, more severe sentences for a large number of newly defined types of criminal conduct, and more mandatory sentences. Though the trend seems to have peaked and crime rates have been declining in recent years, the United States has come to have the highest percentage of persons in jail or prison of any liberal democracy—in fact, of just about any country in the world. The present discussion is not confined to the United States, but mention of it is relevant because it is a striking example of the role of popular attitudes and sentiments in shaping policy. I will argue that there is a morally appropriate role for certain forms of resentment and that there are difficult moral issues concerning forgiveness, particularly in regard to criminal justice policy. For all that is in favor of forgiveness there are significant impediments to it having a general, regular, effective place in criminal justice, a setting that differs from personal relations between individuals. First, to set the context, we need to say a bit about the relevance of the overall political, social context, namely, criminal justice in a liberal democracy. 1 73

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THE IMPORTANCE OF POLITICAL/LEGAL ORDER There are several different forms of liberal democracy and the discussion does not depend on one of them in particular being regarded as normative. A constitutional monarchy and a republic could each be a liberal democracy; what matters most is whether the political/legal order of the polity permits and protects extensive individual liberties and rights. It is fair to regard the United States, the United Kingdom, France, the Netherlands, Australia, Israel, Brazil, Argentina, and Estonia, as well as numerous other countries, as liberal democracies. To be sure, some of them are ethnically, religiously, and culturally homogeneous and in that respect are not as pluralistic as some of the others. Also, liberal democracies exhibit several differences regarding the organization and powers of the institutions of government, the extent to which their economies are market economies, and so forth. But they are countries in which individuals have extensive rights, there is an important role for democratic political process, and the state does not enforce or impose some specific, comprehensive conception of how people are to live. That is crucially important because it means the political order creates and preserves the legal space for an open, diverse civil society. By “civil society” I mean all those actions, interactions, and associations people undertake voluntarily rather than in response to imperatives from the state. There are diverse ways that liberal democratic states involve themselves in the economy, require certain minimum levels of education, or support a particular religion in liberal democracies. However, typically there is considerable scope for voluntariness in economic life, religious life, cultural and leisure activity, in education and preparation for occupations, and so on.2 In clearly illiberal states, there is precious little accommodation of dissent or criticism of the government or the dominant culture. North Korea is profoundly illiberal and undemocratic, as are Qatar and Saudi Arabia. The scope of civil society in Russia is vulnerable to interference by the regime in ways that render civil society beholden to those currently holding political power. The same is true of Turkey, especially following the coup attempt of July 2016. The liberal democratic political order makes possible an open, diverse civil society, and in turn, participation in such a civil society can motivate people to want to preserve the liberal democratic political order. (Lack of civility can result in the political/legal order being perceived as less than legitimate.) People appreciate the freedom and find gratification in pursuits of their choosing. Thus the liberal order and genuinely civil society can be mutually supporting. Such things as requiring confessional adherence to a particular religion, severe limits on the press, politically motivated arrest and detention, state-controlled wages and prices and limits on acceptable profits, or other modes of state control are all forms of illiberalism that limit civil society.



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When there is genuine civil society, people’s attitudes and perspectives are crucially important because those—rather than commands from the central government—shape the civic culture. This can be especially significant with respect to criminal justice because of how prevailing attitudes can influence legislation concerning criminal conduct and approaches to sentencing, to mention just two aspects. What is criminalized, whether sentences tend toward harshness, whether judges are given much or little discretion with regard to sentencing, and others are all matters that can be impacted significantly by prevailing public attitudes and sentiments. SOME CRUCIAL MORAL SENTIMENTS We will work our way toward a discussion of forgiveness by discussing some moral sentiments and attitudes that seem to be crucial to moral life in civil society. That will provide a moral-psychological context for examining forgiveness. It can be helpful to see it in relation to certain significant moral sentiments and attitudes. Resentment is one of those especially important sentiments because of how susceptible to it people are and because of the considerable moral significance it can have. Resentment is widely regarded as a toxic sentiment, one that it is best to try to minimize and perhaps even strive to eliminate. It would almost certainly appear on many people’s lists of vices. Forgiveness is likely to have the opposite standing; it is widely regarded as highly commendable, morally salutary, and as a virtue worthy of aspiration. Some might maintain that certain horrible acts are unforgiveable or that it is possible to forgive too quickly and inappropriately. It is plausible to think that something like repentance on the part of the wrongdoer is a necessary condition for morally appropriate forgiveness.3 Still, forgiveness is widely regarded as an excellence of character and resentment as a defect. Moreover, when resentment is “nursed,” it can build in intensity and be corrupting. It can motivate disproportionate, passion-fueled vengeance. When it is not discharged in measured anger directed at the resented person, it is often unleashed on someone else, and in utterly inappropriate and unfair ways. Still, we should not simply issue the verdict “resentment—bad,” “forgiveness—good,” overlooking the complexities of each. Adam Smith and Bishop Butler argued that there is a morally proper place for resentment. In addition, Aristotle’s account of anger can be interpreted as making space for properly felt and directed resentment. Nietzsche famously explicated the pathologies of ressentiment but, as Jeffrie Murphy notes, “what Nietzsche really argues is that vindictiveness (what he calls ressentiment) will poison if repressed; and this is as much an argument in favor of expressing our vindictiveness in acts of revenge as it is an argument for the elimination of vindictiveness.”4 Smith

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is especially effective at making the case—though he does not put it precisely like this—that not all resentment is vindictive. In The Theory of Moral Sentiments Smith argued that gratitude and resentment are fundamental moral sentiments.5 Human beings are capable of acting for reasons, of having purposes and concerns, and of being motivated by a multitude of feelings and perspectives. Moreover, they can consider those feelings and attitudes, reflect on their purposes and concerns, and decide to act or refrain from acting on the basis of such reflection. Human beings are voluntary, accountable agents. They can negotiate the world and their interactions with each other on the basis of what they think good and worthwhile and on the basis of motives they regard as appropriate and commendable. It is for all of these reasons that desert is an important feature of the sphere of human action.6 Human beings can exercise their abilities as voluntary, accountable agents in ways that merit appreciation and praise—ways that merit gratitude, censure, and blame—and ways that merit resentment. Gratitude and resentment are fundamentally important as responses to the unavoidably normative aspects of human action. Each is a basic normative valence of desert. In explicating desert, Smith says, he, therefore, appears to deserve reward, who, to some person or persons, is the natural object of a gratitude which every human heart is disposed to beat time to, and thereby applaud: and he, on the other hand, appears to deserve punishment, who in the same manner is to some person or persons the natural object of a resentment which the breast of every reasonable and is ready to adopt and sympathize with.7

He wrote further: Our whole sense, in short, of the merit and good desert of such actions, of the propriety and fitness of recompensing them, and making the person who performed them rejoice in his turn, arises from the sympathetic emotions of gratitude and love, with which, when we bring home to our own breast the situation of those principally concerned, we feel ourselves naturally transported towards the man who could act with such proper and noble beneficence.8

In a sphere of nonrational processes or a sphere in which motivation is no more than causal determination, desert has no place. Smith may have overstated the significance of gratitude. But if we extend the notion to encompass such things as praise and admiration, then it and resentment do indeed seem integral to the normative contours of human relations. If we try to conceptualize what sorts of bonds, attitudes, and relations there would be between human beings without gratitude and resentment shaping and orienting mo-



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tives, judgments, and decisions, we can very quickly become disoriented. “Gratitude and resentment, therefore, are the sentiments which most immediately and directly prompt us to reward and to punish. To us, therefore, he must appear to deserve reward, who appears to be the proper and approved object of gratitude; and he to deserve punishment, who appears to be that of resentment.”9 Smith saw that resentment can be excessive, that it can become maliciously punitive. “To punish, too, is to recompense, to remunerate, though in a different manner; it is to return evil for evil that has been done.”10 There is nothing automatic about resentment having its proper object and being felt to the proper degree. Aristotle argued that passions are to be molded by habit, guidance, censure, encouragement, example, and effort into well-ordered second nature and Smith too saw that actually having apt and fit sentiments is not automatic. One learns to have them and such learning is a crucial element of moral education. Despite the differences in the details of the moral psychologies they elaborated, we can see some important affinities between Aristotle and Smith. Smith says of the virtuous person that “he is in friendship and harmony with all mankind, and looks upon his fellow-creatures with confidence and benevolent satisfaction, secure that he has rendered himself worthy of their most favorable regards.”11 Aristotle wrote, “what is lovable and choiceworthy seems to be what is good or pleasant without qualification, and what is lovable and choiceworthy to each person seems to be what is good or pleasant to himself; and both of these make one good person lovable and choiceworthy to another good person.”12 The virtuous person loves what is in fact lovable and chooses what is genuinely, and not only apparently, choiceworthy. Smith wrote, “the violator of the more sacred laws of justice” will find himself repugnant and he “becomes in some measure the object of his own hatred and abhorrence.”13 Aristotle remarked on how those with vicious characters shun themselves because they cannot approve of themselves. “These people have nothing lovable about them, and so have no friendly feelings for themselves.”14 Smith says that the unjust person who recognizes that others’ resentment and indignation is appropriate is haunted by the thought and it “fills him with terror and amazement. He dares no longer look society in the face, but imagines himself as it were rejected, and thrown out from the affections of all mankind.”15 Aristotle suggested that vicious persons seek the company of others as a way of being distracted from awareness of the defects of their own characters. In Smith’s view, the unjust person wishes for some “inhospitable desert, where he might never more behold the face of a human creature, nor read in the countenance of mankind the condemnation of his crimes. But solitude is

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still more dreadful than society. . . . The horror of solitude drives him back into society . . . loaded with shame and distracted with fear.”16 Smith wrote: Nothing is more graceful than the behavior of the man who appears to resent the greatest injuries, more from a sense that they deserve, and are the proper objects of resentment, than from feeling himself the furies of that disagreeable passion; who, like a judge, considers only the general rule, which determines what vengeance is due for each particular offence; who, in executing that rule, feels less for what himself has suffered, than for what the offender is about to suffer; who, though in wrath, remembers mercy, and is disposed to interpret the rule in the most gentle and favourable manner, and to allow all the alleviations which the most candid humanity could, consistently with good sense, admit of.17

There is a kind of dignity in resenting properly, in judging what a wrongdoer deserves on the basis of what the person has done and not just on the basis of how one has been affected by the wrongful conduct. It is not so surprising that many people resent too much or too long, but it is damaging. It erodes relations between people and it can undermine the values crucial to maintaining the civility of society. There needs to be a stable, basic agreement on certain values and principles in order for there to be a cohesive, enduring civic order in a liberal polity, but within that order there are likely to be various disagreements regarding values. Accordingly, there will be differences in what people resent. There will be some variety in what people find objectionable, obnoxious, and offensive even if there is considerable agreement on what is harmful and (seriously) wrong. It is the resentment associated with that last category that is especially important to there being a stable, enduring concern for justice. For all of the ways in which resentment can be morally problematic, consider what a society would be like in which no one felt resentment (we would probably say “indignation”) on behalf of anyone else. It would be a misrepresentation to describe that only as a society free of the vices associated with punitiveness and vengefulness. (Consider the relevance of Strawson’s discussion of vicarious attitudes and of moral solipsism in “Freedom and Resentment.”) It might be free of those but it would also lack a type of concern for the dignity of persons. Granted, if it is a society in which no one felt resentment on behalf of anyone else, its members would almost surely be different from actual human beings in other ways as well. It would be difficult to imagine just that one alteration as a standalone difference. Or I suppose we could imagine that people could criticize others for their blameworthy conduct and perhaps even reason that wrongdoers should be censured and sanctioned but without feeling and expressing resentment. Might that be a more desirable state of affairs than the actual world?

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Imagining such a state of affairs helps us to see how judgment and attitude are braided together in actual human beings. We would find it very odd—unsettling even—for people to judge conduct to be wrong, to recognize a desert basis for censure and sanction, but not feel anything like resentment toward wrongdoers. The attitudinal and the expressive aspects of our reaction to wrongdoing, when those aspects are appropriate or well-ordered, are integral to thinking the conduct wrong in a way that merits censure and sanction. For resentment to simply be out of the picture would leave a distorted picture, one in which it is as though people can correctly judge and can respond with appropriate conduct but without the discriminating sensibility that seems integral to the former and crucial to motivating the latter. Resentment and indignation can reflect a commitment to seeing the requirements of justice fulfilled; they can express the respect owed to those who are victims of wrongful harm and register the accountability of those who commit it. Smith was not arguing that because we inevitably feel resentment, we need a way to domesticate it to morality. His view was that there is a purpose to resentment and that it performs an important function in moral life and the mutual regard distinctive of civil society. Resentment, he wrote, “is the safeguard of justice and the security of innocence.” He continued: It prompts us to beat off the mischief which is attempted to be done to us, and to retaliate that which is already done; that the offender may be made to repent of his justice, and that others, through fear of the like punishment, may be terrified from being guilty of the like offence. It must be reserved therefore for these purposes, nor can the spectator ever go along with it when it is exerted for any other.18

He continued: the delight which we take in hearing that it was properly punished, the indignation which we feel when it escapes this due retaliation, our whole sense and feeling, in short, of its ill desert, of the propriety and fitness of inflicting evil upon the person who is guilty of it, and of making him grieve in his turn, arises from sympathetic indignation which naturally boils up in the breast of the spectator, whenever he thoroughly brings home to himself the case of the sufferer.19

How plausible—and how morally salutary—would it be to strive to withhold resentment and hatred toward the offender if we believe that the crime is a genuine crime, a needless, avoidable harming of another person? There is an air of affectation about such a stance. We should keep ourselves from thinking that wherever there is resentment, there is something that we would be better without. The fact that it is disagreeable is not, in itself, a reason to

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believe it is always morally problematic. The fact that it can lead us to act in morally problematic ways does not mean it is always of dubious appropriateness. Moreover, to resent someone or to have moral hatred toward someone does not always mean also regarding that person as nothing but evil, as a terrible, worthless person, or as deserving only to suffer. Not only is resentment not always toxic or morally dubious but not feeling resentment (or indignation) in many types of cases would be indicative of a moral defect. Resentment certainly can be well-placed, can reflect concern for the distinctive dignity of human beings, and can be merited just as genuinely as admiration or gratitude can be merited. (Shortly, we will consider whether forgiveness might be an equally well-placed attitude, reflecting concern for human dignity, and an attitude that would enable people to overcome resentment.) Moreover, resentment can have a role in preserving the civility of civil society. To be sure, excesses of resentment and resentment that has become malicious can do a great deal of damage to relations between people. But well-ordered resentment is indicative of a kind of respect for others that is an important dimension of civil society. It is a way in which one’s concern for others—including strangers and people with whom one has no direct relationships—is exhibited, in particular in regard to considerations of fairness. While there may be dissensus concerning numerous valuative issues, and while we might not share some of the commitments and perspectives of others, we can still recognize when they have been treated unjustly and we can have concern for that, for their standing as members of a (broadly) liberal polity. In fact, that is a respect in which resentment as expressing the concern for justice can be especially significant in the civil society of a liberal polity. Evidence of the way Smith saw the issues of resentment, desert, and justice as elements of a larger, overall conception of society is given in the numerous passages speaking of “the practice of truth, justice, and humanity.”20 He says, “and it still remains true, that the practice of truth, justice, and humanity is a certain and almost infallible method of acquiring what those virtues chiefly aim at, the confidence and love of those we live with.”21 Nature’s distribution of reward and punishment is made on a different basis than man’s interposition of his own design; the latter “pays regard to this only, and would endeavor to render the state of every virtue precisely proportioned to that degree of love and esteem, and of every vice to that degree of contempt and abhorrence, which he himself conceives for it.”22 Despite the numerous differences in their anthropologies, there is an important likeness between Smith’s view on the one hand and Aristotle (and Aquinas’s) on the other. John Casey explicates anger in a way that is congenial to both Aristotle and Smith. Casey writes:

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To be angry with someone is to be disposed to rebuke him, to remonstrate with him, demand that he apologize, have him punished. One could not satisfy one’s anger simply by causing another person to be harmed. One cares about his attitudes as well as his acts. If one’s anger cannot be appeased by apology or restitution, and if it concentrates not upon someone’s attitudes and emotions, but purely on what he has done, or even on what he is, then it has ceased to be anger and has become hatred.23

He added: So it is part of the nature of anger that one make certain demands, that one seek a certain response. The angry man claims that his feelings and attitudes be taken seriously. He makes certain claims, and considers himself justified. Anger and apology are concerned with claims, justification, recompense.24

“Anger entails reacting to someone personally, setting a value on his attitudes and intentions. It implies treating him as an agent capable of accepting or rejecting reasons for action. And that means treating him as free.”25 The resentment Smith refers to is a form of anger that is motivated by an agent acting unjustly. It is anger motivated by the agent’s ill-desert, and we can resent wrongs done to others. The anger is not confined to injustice done to oneself. While there is such a thing as blind rage or being overcome with anger to the point of irrationality, anger is a sentiment that only a rational creature can experience. This is because of the ways in which normative considerations figure in anger. It is not mindless frustration or thoughtless rage. As Casey points out, to be angry on behalf of another person involves sympathetic appreciation of the wronged person’s injury and sympathetic appreciation of the motives and aims of the person who has committed the wrong. Anger motivated by the injustice of another or by seeing someone needlessly but purposely harmed involves a conception of the object of anger as an agent and not just a thing. Moreover, when someone (with reason) is angry with us, we experience that anger as a claim that we treat the other as a person, take his attitudes seriously, enter into a world of reciprocal relations where rebuke, apology, forgiveness, are intelligible. And that must be the world of beings who can make claims, can incur and acknowledge obligations, can be wronged, can be the objects of and can reciprocate love, respect, hatred and contempt.26

Casey goes on to note that if all I feel is “dumb, subterraneous resentment” that is not proper anger and “I may be failing to regard myself as on terms of equality with the person at whom my feeling is directed.”27 There

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certainly is such resentment, and that is one of the “toxic” varieties. There is also healthy, proper resentment and it is connected with beliefs about oneself and others and with a judgment of the fitness of certain affective states and acts motivated by those beliefs and that affect. There is cognitive content to anger. Certainly the resentment Smith focused on is not “dumb, subterraneous” anger; it has to do with proper acknowledgment of the status of the parties involved—wrongdoer, victim, and the person feeling resentment—and it concerns a complex notion of what is due to each, that notion achievable through a training of the capacity for sympathy and imagination. Moreover, resentment is not a proper response to just any conduct that we find objectionable. For example, the person who fails to recompense a benefactor is guilty of impropriety, but not in a manner that elicits our resentment; “he does no positive hurt to any body.”28 This person’s conduct is objectionable, but resentment is not the appropriate response to it because Resentment would prompt us to desire, not only that he should be punished, but that he should be punished by our means, and on account of that particular injury which he had done to us. Resentment cannot be fully gratified, unless the offender is not only made to grieve in his turn, but to grieve for that particular wrong which we have suffered from him. . . . The natural gratification of this passion tends, of its own accord, to produce all the political ends of punishment; the correction of the criminal, and the example to the public.29

Supposing that there is a morally proper form of resentment, what about punitiveness? Is that always morally objectionable? The term “punitive” does seem to have a connotation of vindictiveness or revenge. However, it is a mistake to regard anything that is punitive as necessarily also vindictive. There can be punitive measures that are quite in order and thus not merely hurtful or malicious. There is a nonpejorative sense in which criminal sanction is punitive, in contrast to approaches to criminal conduct that might have quite different aims or that might be exclusively aimed at rehabilitation or restoration of relations between offender and victim. Of course, when it is unduly harsh or when the conditions in which prisoners are held are inhumane, that reflects excessive punitiveness. (It could also reflect a lack of concern, which is not the same thing as excessive punitiveness.) As Jeffrie Murphy argues, it is just a mistake to assume that punishment, even retributive punishment, is always meant to be harming, and for that reason, morally problematic. Murphy objects to Scanlon’s critique of retributivism, a critique that centrally involves the notion that the retributivist believes that the retributive infliction of pain and causing suffering is a moral good. As Murphy wrote,



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There are two serious problems with this critique of retribution: (1) It is simply not true that all retributivists must believe that the criminal wrongdoer deserves either pain or hard treatment. (2) In considering those retributivists who might consider inflicting some degree of pain as appropriate because deserved, it is not clear (at least to me) that it is always wrong to favor some degree of pain or unpleasantness for wrongdoers. Scanlon simply assumes this, gives no argument for it, and thus seems to beg some very important questions on the issue under discussion. I also find it odd that he does not discuss at all the well-known and sophisticated arguments given by those who defend retributive views—Herbert Morris, Herbert Fingarette, Michael Moore, and Jean Hampton, for example (Morris 1976, Fingarette 1977, Moore 1987 and 1997, Hampton 1991–1992).30

It is just not true that a retributivist or a just-deserts approach to the justification of punishment maintains that it is a good thing for offenders to suffer. They do maintain that ill-desert is a strong reason in favor of imposing sanction and that sanction is to be suffered in the sense of endured (a point Murphy makes clearly). But even if the view holds that a measure of pain or misery is a morally acceptable aspect of at least some punishments, it need not also insist that the sanction should harm or damage a person. Also, an approach to criminal wrongdoing can include a case for punitive sanction without malice, without taking pleasure in causing suffering, without degrading, diminishing, or injuring the person punished. In fact, current carceral practice in the United States and to some extent in the United Kingdom is morally objectionable in several respects.31 The argument here is not meant to be a defense of contemporary practice and in the United States the question of the aims and justification of punishment is very confused and does not reflect a carefully articulated, coherent approach. In addition, it is worth noting that proportionality is centrally important in a retributivist account of sanction. Retributivists are often among the most vocal opponents of the harsh sentencing practices now popular and of the wretched conditions in which many persons are held in prisons and jails. Concerns of those kinds are not an admixture of nonretributivist elements to the view; they are integral to retributivism. While resentment is “disagreeable,” as Smith put it, there is an important role for it as an aspect of sensibility integral to moral life and experience. It needs to be oriented and informed by judgment. In proper measure and directed at proper objects, resentment reflects concern for human dignity and the respect owed to persons. It can exceed its proper degree and it can be misdirected and joined with malice. In those ways resentment can be morally vicious. But that is not what it is necessarily, in its own right or as such. In learning to resent rightly we are not just domesticating a lamentable but unavoidable aspect of our sensibility any more than with anger. Each of them has a significant, positive role in moral life.

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EXCESSIVE PUNITIVENESS AND PROSPECTS FOR FORGIVENESS Given that criminal sanction in the United States is often excessively harsh, that conditions in many prisons are inhumane, and that former prisoners often face lifelong disenfranchisement and disqualifications of many kinds, it might seem that there are numerous, significant opportunities for forgiveness to have a salutary moral role. There is much regarding current criminal justice in the United States (and also the United Kingdom) that reflects strongly punitive attitudes on the part of the public and unconcern about the ways in which offenders are harmed by the sanctions imposed on them. Among the relevant factors are the following. As Joan Petersilia says, The average inmate coming home will have served a longer prison sentence than in the past, be more disconnected from family and friends, have a higher prevalence of substance abuse and mental illness, and be less educated and less employable than those in prior prison release cohorts. Each of these factors is known to predict recidivism, yet few of these needs are addressed while the inmate is in prison or on parole.32

Further, as Craig Haney observes, More recent [than the 1980s] estimates suggest that over 20% of prisoners are coerced into some form of sexual conduct while incarcerated. In a mid-1990s study, researchers reported that about 22% of male prisoners had been victimized in this way (including 13% for whom the coerced sexual activity involved intercourse) and that, once having been victimized, prisoners were targeted for an average of nine nonconsensual incidents of sexual contact.33

In general, overcrowding, brutalization, long periods of solitary confinement for many prisoners, severe limits on opportunities for deliberation or making decisions, very restrictive rules regarding interaction with persons outside prison, and various combinations of these and other features of carceral practice lead many prisoners to despair. This is not just a mood of discouragement; it is a matter of ceasing to think of oneself as an agent, purposefully self-determining, in a world with other agents. Many prisoners are affected in ways that are lasting, and not just a matter of making adjustments to the prison environment that are left behind upon release. The prison experience worsens many prisoners. It is not just that many become more skilled, more knowledgeable criminals. Perhaps the chief point is that prison is so often corrupting, demoralizing, and erodes the agential capacities of offenders. Many emerge from the experience with far fewer of the habits and attitudes needed for participating in civil society successfully.



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Though there is much wrong with current carceral practice, there is, I have suggested, a morally proper role for resentment and even for punitiveness. There are respects in which they can, when measured by sound judgment, support a concern to see that justice is done, and they are not merely or always harmful. To be sure, there are serious deficiencies of civility in numerous respects, with the result that the civility of society is diminished. The fact that so many people believe that offenders should be made miserable and that they should be excluded from many aspects of society even after completion of sentence is a significant source of incivility. The notion that punishment should continue after being formally completed is indicative of a kind of mean-spiritedness that does harm to the social world in a variety of ways in addition to being antithetical to the notion of just desert or proper proportionality. Punitiveness, resentment, demoralization, anger, humiliation, and distrust are at disturbingly high levels. For that reason it might seem that identifying and pursuing opportunities to seek and to offer forgiveness on various pathways between members of numerous groups could be a constructive priority. That could, it might be argued, be a way to restore civility and it could be a moral and civic counterweight to punitiveness and punishment. However, I will argue that the case for forgiveness is more complex than it might appear and that at the level of policy meant to bring about significant constructive change to criminal justice, it has little prospect of figuring in a positive manner. Before considering some of the distinctive features of forgiveness in the criminal justice context, we should highlight some important issues concerning forgiveness regardless of specific context. What are some of the most pronounced and important concerns regarding forgiveness? First, is it always morally good to forgive? Forgiveness might seem to be a virtue that is the “opposite” of resentment as a vice. One might “nurse” resentment into even more bitter hostility and malice, but when we forgive we forswear resentment and cease to let a past injury influence our attitude toward the person who injured us. Resentment can motivate distrust and estrangement. When we forgive we restore (or create anew) relations of respectful regard and trust. Resentment can cause us to become preoccupied with the putative sins of the person resented. Forgiveness frees us from distraction by another person’s wrongful act and suspicion of others’ motives. It would not be difficult to characterize a desirable feature of forgiveness corresponding to each morally problematic feature of resentment. However, the moral reality is less straightforward than a simple pairing of a “positive” feature of forgiveness with a “negative” feature of resentment. There is broad agreement that forgiveness has considerable merit and that forgiving in the right spirit and in the right conditions is virtuous. But there

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are considerable difficulties concerning what the right spirit is and what the right conditions are, and the difficulties are multiplied in the context of criminal justice. Among the difficulties are 1) Whether apology and repentance on the part of the wrongdoer is a condition for genuine, appropriate forgiveness (But sometimes doesn’t forgiving help motivate repentance?), 2) Whether anyone besides the victim has standing to forgive (What if the victim was killed or is disabled in a way that precludes forgiving?), 3) Though forgiving can mean the overcoming of bitter and painful resentment, it also can reflect failure to fully acknowledge the reality of the evil that was done (Focusing on forgiveness avoids dwelling on the harm caused, but it can be a way of attaching the most importance to one’s own attitudes and responses and a way of avoiding the challenge of evil one has encountered), 4) Forgiving others can be an important indicator of the ability to forgive oneself and thus the ability to overcome self-loathing and crippling guilt (But might there be things for which we should not forgive ourselves? Or at least there may be significant steps that are appropriate and difficult preliminaries to self-forgiveness). There are various respects in which the appeal of the positive features of forgiveness can either fail to disclose the complex moral reality of the situation or can distract from them. As is the case with resentment, forgiveness involves acknowledging and reacting to being wronged by another. It involves how we regard ourselves in relation to that person and to the act by which we were wronged. In neither case is the sentiment simply a matter of affect, of what is felt apart from beliefs and judgments. But it is undeniable that certain characteristic feelings have central places in both resentment and forgiveness, and coming to grips with feelings in the morally appropriate way is among the most challenging aspects of each. Jeffrie Murphy writes that we should “think of forgiveness as overcoming a variety of negative feelings that one might have toward a wrongdoer—resentment, yes, but also feelings such as anger, hatred, loathing, contempt, indifference, disappointment, or even sadness. There is no reason to think that even this list is complete.”34 Multiple feelings are involved and many of them are also feelings one can have toward oneself. Also, it is fairly clear that not being able to overcome these when felt toward ourselves can be very damaging, not only to prospects for happiness but even to our agential capacities. (In the Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals Kant says there is at least an indirect duty to pursue happiness because unhappiness can lead to corruption of our motives. If we are resentful, bitter, frustrated, alienated, and so forth, we become more susceptible to morally dubious motives.) They can become preoccupations or at least distractions in ways that distort moral perception and judgment and can motivate foci of concern that are corrupting, as when we become absorbed



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with thoughts of revenge or when we regard ourselves as despicable and undeserving of respect or self-respect. We might think that it would be best to simply not have such feelings as loathing, anger, and resentment at all. However, it is important to consider whether they are merited and whether they can be expressed in proper measure rather than focusing solely on how they feel or how they can lead to morally objectionable conduct. Anger and disappointment can certainly be merited, even in regard to ourselves. We can rightly feel a combination of anger and disappointment without also feeling self-loathing. In addition, there are terrible people who do terrible things and in some cases they deserve moral hatred, and in such a case even self-loathing may be warranted. The fact (when it is a fact) that such persons continue to think well of themselves or perhaps even regard themselves as superior is one of their most morally repulsive features. It may be that if such a person was genuinely self-respecting he or she would not take pride in how he or she has harmed and degraded others, but given that the person does take pride in it, there are grounds for merited self-loathing. If the individual ever comes to see things rightly, selfloathing would be quite in order. If such agents were to forgive themselves, it is plausible to think that should come only after a painful, remorseful reckoning, involving full acknowledgment of their viciousness. An ethnic cleanser who manages to finally see the horror of what he or she has done does not deserve to live unburdened of painful moral guilt. Suppose he or she seems genuinely remorseful and dedicates him- or herself either to a life of quiet decency or a life of visible efforts at doing good, including helping former victims. We might commend him or her for coming to a correct understanding of his or her moral criminality and, seeing how he or she has seemed to morally reorient him- or herself, some may even feel that no additional punishment is in order at this point.35 Living with him- or herself, knowing what he or she knows of him- or herself and of what he or she was capable of doing, is punishment enough, we might think. In a case in which he or she is remorseful, is it morally unfair or callous to believe that his or her moral self-correction should not extend to self-forgiveness? Does it seem clearly morally unfair or callous for his or her victims (such as are still in a position to do so) to withhold forgiveness? On the one hand, we might think, “what good is done by continuing to regard this man or woman in an unforgiving way, and what good is done by trying to persuade him or her that there is something dubious about forgiving him- or herself? Aren’t we then just causing needless, avoidable misery?” It is not clear that that is the case. Revenge and seeking to make this person as miserable as possible would be wrong, but there is something seriously morally amiss about claiming that in this situation (and perhaps in situations generally) we should always focus

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on what good can be achieved in the situation without regard to desert and the attitudes merited by people’s conduct. The question, “given the situation, what good could we bring about?” differs from the question, “in this situation, what are the morally most relevant values?” The two questions are likely to have different answers and the consequentialist approach risks failing to register morally significant values. Like Murphy, I am not sure what to say about this. He writes of such persons, “Perhaps, if they do not relish the lifetime of self-loathing they have earned, they should just kill themselves.”36 This is not some sort of dark humor. I am thinking here of persons such as Rudolf Hoess, commandant of Auschwitz, Ilse Koch, the “Beast of Buchenwald,” Stalin, Pol Pot, Ante Pavelic (Croatian fascist leader), and Charles Taylor (former president of Liberia), among many others. The world is rich with sickening examples. Whatever one thinks of the political ideologies these people claimed to be guided by, the crimes they committed were of such enormity that whatever might be supposed to be to their credit is dwarfed by those crimes.37 Moreover, in these and many other cases (from single acts of murder to the killing of millions of people—consider Joran van der Sloot, for example), it is not only that the agents in question were willing to kill, but also that so often they were willing to be horrifically cruel and depraved as well. The crimes of such persons certainly raise the question of whether there are some unforgivable acts, unforgivable even if the perpetrator repents or also does many good acts. In the Abrahamic religious traditions genuine repentance—a change such that the agent no longer has the vicious character that gave rise to the wrongs done—is possible and that helps make forgiveness possible.38 However, in Christianity at least, it seems that forgiveness between persons does not require a prior repentant transformation of the sinner. One might believe it is part of Christian love to forgive even in the absence of remorse and self-correction on the part of the wrongdoer. In fact, forgiveness may actually help bring about the latter. (Also, God’s forgiving human beings for their sins does not depend upon it being owed to them for their having first and fully repented. Given Christianity’s doctrine of fallenness, no human being merits God’s forgiveness. God does not owe it to anyone.) Even in a naturalistic anthropology, forgiveness is always, at least to some extent, a gift and not something strictly owed or required. Herbert Morris writes, “Forgiveness is, at once, a gift to the forgiven and to the forgiver. For the forgiven still another gift is required, the capacity to accept another’s forgiveness.”39 The challenges and significance of this aspect of forgiveness are sometimes overlooked. The question of when and how to accept forgiveness must be addressed. Receptivity is important as well as offer, and it is attended by various complexities.



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The person forgiven might think of him- or herself as above being forgiven.40 The person forgiven might regard being forgiven (by this individual, in this way) as condescending or patronizing. The person forgiven may find it difficult to forgive him- or herself and might give that priority; receptivity of forgiveness offered by another must (this person insists) wait upon forgiving him- or herself. An unwillingness to forgive oneself can also reflect neurotic and morally confused, self-hurting beliefs and impulses. But it is not obviously a moral mistake to reply to an offer of forgiveness by saying that I need first to forgive myself. Perhaps the offer helps motivate self-forgiveness. But even if forgiveness is a gift and not something owed, that does not mean it is independent of conditions of fittingness. FORGIVENESS AND CRIMINAL JUSTICE Are there specific issues arising for forgiveness in the context of criminal justice? One difficulty is that forgiveness is almost unavoidably between individuals; it involves a kind of particularity and a level of mutual recognition and engagement that is simply implausible at the level of policy. A widely shared disposition to forgive could enhance the civility of civil society, but there are respects in which a retrieval of civility through other means is both more pressing as matters of social reform and more practically feasible because they do not require the transformative reciprocity of person-to-person forgiveness. What is required is policy that can be applied in a general, fair, consistent manner, yet approaches aimed at encouraging the offer of forgiveness and its reception need to be highly particularized. Not only might extensive knowledge of the individuals involved be needed, in many cases it might also be necessary for the parties to meet and interact on numerous occasions, with delicate forms of personal “chemistry” being carefully cultivated. Almost certainly there would be significant disputes regarding what counts as an appropriate approach and what counts as an approach being given sufficient opportunity to succeed. If there are successes 20 percent of the time, should that be considered good enough? The record of prior rehabilitative approaches is not especially encouraging. Is the focus on forgiveness an attempt to use sanction for a morally constructive purpose or is it an attempt to transform sanction into something nonpunitive? Is it sometimes the former, sometimes the latter? When should it be which of those? These remarks are not intended as objections to forgiveness but as indicating significant pragmatic difficulties of a kind likely to be pervasive and persistent. There are conceptions of restorative justice that involve offenders and victims meeting and seeking to achieve mutual understanding in a way

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that enables them to respect each other and overcome whatever alienation and bitterness—from both “sides”—have distanced them from each other. In some cases, a restorative process, and one that does some real good with respect to civility, might occur swiftly and with genuinely constructive results. In other cases, the encounter of victim and offender might just inflame passions, deepen resentments, and aggravate the situation. Or perhaps with assistance and patient guidance some real good could come of the encounter, but that could take considerable time and be a fragile development. In any case, it is not clear that such an approach could work successfully in an institutionally regular way on a large scale. The kinds of personal relationships involved almost certainly could not be developed and sustained on the relevant scale even if the numbers of people incarcerated shrank significantly. In addition, how are we to regard offenders who find the new approaches patronizing, paternalistic, and as threats to their autonomy? If the approach is to be pursued on a discretionary basis, whose discretion should it be? These seem like the sorts of matters for which a kind of practical wisdom could be crucially important, and there surely are some persons who have the needed wisdom. But again, how are we to formulate the policy that would enable the wisdom to be deployed in the most effective way? Practical wisdom is exactly the sort of understanding that cannot be codified and transmitted as a matter of policy. To be sure, many comparably challenging questions could be asked with regard to other approaches, punitive or otherwise. It is not as though forgiveness alone encounters significant difficulties. However, it meets with certain difficulties that are especially challenging if forgiveness (and its acceptance) is aimed at as a general, policy-oriented goal. When it is genuine and when it is genuinely accepted, forgiveness involves a kind of transformation of attitude and disposition that is different in kind from the sorts of change that might be sought by a policy of rehabilitation or reformation. As noted earlier, it involves mutual recognition and an engagement between the relevant persons that are not essential to other approaches to offending. Forgiveness and its acceptance involve aspects that are personal in a way that policy cannot be. Sometimes debt forgiveness is made a matter of policy, but debt forgiveness differs from moral forgiveness, and the former is actually more like mercy or leniency. (The debtor may not be at fault for anything—just in debt and unable to repay on the terms agreed.) The relation of forgiveness to justice is different from the relations of either mercy or leniency to it. Forgiveness involves more complex forms of engagement between the parties and there are ways for it to fail or to be incomplete that do not apply to leniency or mercy.



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CONCLUSION I have argued that it is an important moral-psychological point that resentment and punitiveness are not inherently vicious and thus it is a mistake to believe we should aspire to overcome or diminish them as much as possible. As noted earlier, if we try to imagine no one feeling resentment or indignation on our behalf, that can help us see that its utter absence would not make for any sort of automatic moral improvement. Society would indeed be well served by moderation of the resentment and punitiveness that motivates (or permits) so many objectionable features of contemporary criminal justice. Yet it would still be true that resentment and even punitiveness can be felt and expressed in ways that reflect self-respect, concern for human dignity, and for the standing and interests of others. In addition, for all of the ways in which forgiveness can be virtuous, there are significant respects in which it is not the sort of process or relation between persons that can be fashioned into a general policy. Mercy or leniency could be a policy. Neither of those involves the kinds of transformation of attitudes that forgiveness involves. Indeed, mercy and leniency are features of contemporary criminal justice, to the extent that judges, parole boards, and probation officers are able to exercise discretion. (Also, in the United States governors and the president can pardon convicted persons.) Though desert figures centrally in criminal justice in its current form, there are plenty of cases in which persons are not punished to the extent that the law regards as deserved. (Moreover, what the law regards as deserved is, in many cases, excessively punitive.) If more people were more forgiving and if more people were receptive to forgiveness in the ways it can be so importantly transformative, that would surely contribute to the civility of society. It might do considerable good if the disposition was genuine and people exercised it with thought and care. But we should not expect forgiveness to figure on a significant scale in constructive reforms of criminal justice. The rules, practices, and aims of criminal justice, as well as the numbers of persons involved, make it a context in which forgiveness is not likely to flourish. In part, this has to do with the ways in which criminal justice seeks to be impartial and impersonal. Criminal justice, at least in its current general form, is not a sphere in which personal relations between offender and victim are to be established and developed as a regular aspect of doing justice. Whether that is the soundest approach to criminal justice is debatable. Any attempt to involve forgiveness on a meaningful scale would require a thoroughgoing rethinking of the principles and values of criminal justice and its proceedings. Should those be revised or should our practices be revised to be more faithful to those principles and values?

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In any case, we should not overlook the significance of the character of civil society. When the various spheres of civil society are effective as contexts in which moral education occurs, there is more potential for people to acquire the civil dispositions that can be crucial to social cohesion, mutual respect, and trust and trustworthiness. It could be that a more civil society would be less hurried about seeking solutions in arrest and imprisonment, and one in which a more widely shared informal moral education would strengthen social bonds. Perhaps the most fundamental issues are matters of civility rather than policy. Whether there would also be greater scope for forgiveness as a feature of relations between members of society needs to be seen as part of a very complicated challenge. NOTES 1.  I have addressed some of the issues in this chapter in other publications, though they are developed and brought together in a different way in the present discussion. See, in particular, “From Bad to Worse: Crime, Incarceration, and the Self-Wounding of Society,” in Justice and Penal Reform: Re-Shaping the Penal Landscape, ed. Stephen Farrall, Barry Goldson, Ian Loader, and Anita Dockley (London and New York: Routledge, 2016), and “Resentment, Punitiveness, and Forgiveness: An Exploration of the Moral Psychology of Punishment,” in Routledge Handbook of Criminal Justice Ethics, ed. Jonathan Jacobs and Jonathan Jackson (London and New York: Routledge, 2016). 2.  My use of the notion of civil society is influenced by Edward Shils’s treatment of the issue. See Edward Shils, The Virtue of Civility (Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 1997). 3.  I have discussed forgiveness in “Forgiveness and Perfection,” in Ancient Forgiveness, ed. Charles Griswold and David Konstan (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 216–36. That discussion focuses on ways in which medievals influenced by Aristotle developed views very different from his, largely on account of the implications of the theistic commitments of the medievals for moral anthropology. 4.  Jeffrie G. Murphy, Getting Even: Forgiveness and Its Limits (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003), 23. 5.  See Adam Smith, The Theory of Moral Sentiments, ed. D. D. Raphael and A. L. MacFie (Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 1982), esp. Part II, Sec. I, 67–78. 6.  In “Freedom and Resentment” some of Strawson’s central themes concerning the ways certain reactive attitudes are integral to the kinds of lives we lead and to how we conceptualize ourselves and each other are illustrated by discussion of resentment. Though “Freedom and Resentment” is not directly and primarily concerned with the moral significance of resentment and its proper place in judgment and action, much of Strawson’s analysis comports with or reinforces some of the main claims in the present discussion. 7.  Ibid., II.i.2.3, 69–70.



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8.  Ibid., II.i.5.3, 75. 9.  Ibid., II.i.1.7, 69. 10.  Ibid., II.i.1.4, 69. 11.  Ibid., II.i.2.3, 84. 12. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, trans. Terence Irwin (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing, Inc., 1999), 1157b26–29, 125. 13. Smith, TMS, II.ii.2.3, 84. 14. Aristotle, NE, 1166b18–19. 15. Smith, TMS, II.ii.2.3, 84. 16.  Ibid., 84–85. 17.  Ibid., I.ii.6.5, 172. 18.  Ibid., II.ii.1.4, 79. 19.  Ibid., II.i.5.6, 76. 20.  See III.5.7, 166–67, for example. 21.  Ibid., 167. 22.  Ibid., III.5.10, 168. 23.  John Casey, Pagan Virtue (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), 12. 24.  Ibid., 13. 25.  Ibid., 15. 26.  Ibid., 21. 27. Ibid. 28. Smith, TMS, II.ii.1.3, 79. 29.  Ibid., II.i.1.7, 69. 30.  Jeffrie G. Murphy, “Last Words on Retribution,” in Routledge Handbook of Criminal Justice Ethics, 2016. 31.  There are many empirical studies of conditions in jails and prisons and of the impact on persons held in them. One excellent recent source on the impact of incarceration is Craig Haney, Reforming Punishment: Psychological Limits to the Pains of Imprisonment (Washington, DC: American Psychological Association, 2006). 32.  Joan Petersilia, When Prisoners Come Home: Parole and Prisoner Reentry (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 53. 33. Haney, Reforming Punishment, 182–83. 34. Murphy, Getting Even, 59. 35.  It is sometimes argued that if the offender is tried and convicted long after the crimes were committed then consideration of the offender’s age and (almost inevitably failing) health are grounds for leniency. With especially horrific, large-scale crimes it is not clear why it should matter what time it is. If the offender’s mental condition is such that he or she does not understand the proceedings and has (as far as can be ascertained by experts) no clear recollection of the crimes in question that could be a plausible basis for not prosecuting with the full force of the law. But the passage of time on its own seems a dubious ground for leniency. 36. Murphy, Getting Even, 68. 37.  With regard to the political figures among those named, it is worth pointing out that their forms of political rule were not just somewhat corrupted versions of what might otherwise be acceptable approaches to political authority. They were profoundly

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immoral forms of rule that had very little recognizable as the rule of law in any meaningful sense. Also, of course, not all terrible people are political leaders and not all political leaders are criminals. I mention these individuals just for the purpose of providing notorious, indisputable examples. 38.  I have discussed the difference made to moral anthropology by theistic commitments, especially in regard to conceptions of free will and the possibility of changing mature character in Law, Reason, and Morality in Medieval Jewish Philosophy (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010) and in several articles, including “Aristotle and Maimonides on Virtue and Natural Law,” Hebraic Political Studies 2, no. 1 (2007): 46–77, and “Plasticity and Perfection: Maimonides and Aristotle on Character,” Religious Studies 33, no. 4 (1997): 443–54. See also Jonathan Jacobs, “The Nature and Justification of Repentance and Forgiveness,” in Jewish Philosophy Past and Present: Contemporary Responses to Classical Sources, ed. Daniel Frank and Aaron Segal (London and New York: Routledge, 2016). Theism has implications for epistemic matters and also with regard to volition. If, for example, God offers human beings guidance via revelation it must also be possible for human beings to be responsive to that guidance. The will must have the capability of turning (or being turned) so that it is oriented to the good. 39.  Herbert Morris, “Reply to Murphy on Forgiveness,” Criminal Justice Ethics 7, no. 2 (1988): 19. 40.  Forgiving and forgiveness are not prominent ethical topics for Plato and Aristotle. There is some discussion of conditions of pardon, excuse from blame, and considerable discussion of anger and its proper expression. However, forgiveness, when it primarily concerns an end of resentment, restoration of the forgiven person’s standing and trustworthiness, and ceasing to regard that person as morally corrupt or morally hateful, does not seem to be part of the metabolism of moral life for Plato and Aristotle in the way it is for later thinkers. Charles Griswold has argued that Aristotle’s great-souled man would regard himself as above doing the sorts of things for which one might feel the need to be forgiven, and accordingly, no one would be sufficiently “above” him as to be in a position to offer forgiveness. He would also regard himself above forgiving others; being unable to be injured by them in many of the senses most relevant to forgiveness. See Charles Griswold’s discussion in “Plato and Forgiveness,” Ancient Philosophy 27, no. 2 (2007): 269–87.

REFERENCES Aristotle. Nicomachean Ethics. Second edition. Translated by Terence Irwin. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 1999. Casey, John. Pagan Virtue. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991. Griswold, Charles. “Plato and Forgiveness.” Ancient Philosophy 27, no. 2 (2007): 269–87. Haney, Craig. Reforming Punishment: Psychological Limits to the Pains of Imprisonment. Washington, DC: American Psychological Association, 2006.



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Jacobs, Jonathan. “Forgiveness and Perfection.” In Ancient Forgiveness, edited by Charles Griswold and David Konstan, 216–36. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011. ———. “From Bad to Worse: Crime, Incarceration, and the Self-Wounding of Society.” In Justice and Penal Reform: Re-Shaping the Penal Landscape, edited by Stephen Farrall, Barry Goldson, Ian Loader, and Anita Dockley, 8–26. London and New York: Routledge, 2016. ———. “Resentment, Punitiveness, and Forgiveness: An Exploration of the Moral Psychology of Punishment.” In Routledge Handbook of Criminal Justice Ethics, edited by Jonathan Jacobs and Jonathan Jackson, 58–75. London and New York: Routledge, 2016. Liebling, Alison. “Moral and Philosophical Problems of Long-Term Imprisonment.” Studies in Christian Ethics 27, no. 3 (2014): 258–69. Morris, Herbert. “Reply to Murphy on Forgiveness.” Criminal Justice Ethics 7, no. 2 (1988): 15–19. Murphy, Jeffrie G. Getting Even: Forgiveness and Its Limits. New York: Oxford University Press, 2003. ———. “Last Words on Retribution.” In Routledge Handbook of Criminal Justice Ethics, edited by Jonathan Jacobs and Jonathan Jackson, 28–41. London and New York: Routledge, 2016. Petersilia, Joan. When Prisoners Come Home: Parole and Prisoner Reentry. New York: Oxford University Press, 2004. Shils, Edward. The Virtue of Civility. Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 1997. Smith, Adam. The Theory of Moral Sentiments. Edited by D. D. Raphael and A. L. MacFie. Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 1982. Strawson, P. F. “Freedom and Resentment.” In Free Will, edited by Gary Watson, 59–80. New York: Oxford University Press, 1982.

Chapter Six

Once More with Feeling Defending the Goodwill Account of Forgiveness David McNaughton and Eve Garrard

The claim that forgiving an unrepentant and unapologetic offender is always morally admirable has been opposed on a number of grounds. To defend that claim we have, in a number of places, developed what we hope is a plausible account—the goodwill account—in which the essence of forgiveness lies in the overcoming of hostile feelings toward the wrongdoer and their replacement by an appropriate degree of goodwill.1 Many objections to unconditional forgiveness stem from the thought that it can be too soft on the offender, in some way letting them get away with their wrongdoing or refusing to acknowledge its seriousness. These critics maintain that in many cases forgiveness should be conditional; that is, conditional on the offender making the first move by apologizing, making reparations, or whatever is needed given the gravity of the offence. Such objections, we have argued, can be largely traced to the failure to make important distinctions. First, forgiveness should not be confused with other related concepts. It is not condoning or excusing the offense nor exculpating the offender. It is wrongs that are forgiven, and if there is no wrongdoing there is nothing to forgive. Nor is it mercy or pardon, for which forgiveness is neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition. In those comparatively rare cases in which an individual is in a position to exact a penalty, forgiving the wrongdoer does not require that one also display clemency. The well-being of others, of the offender, or other considerations may require that justice be carried out. Nor does forgiveness necessarily require or entail reconciliation. Where there was a previous relationship, the forgiver ought no doubt to be willing to be reconciled with a repentant wrongdoer, barring impediments. Reluctance to reconcile would suggest lingering hostility on the part of the person who claims to forgive. However, there are many possible impediments: the forgiver may endanger him- or herself by reconciling or it may be impossible to restore the 96



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relationship to what it was before, and so on. However, a genuine willingness to be reconciled will lead the forgiver to restore as much of the relationship as is compatible with his or her well-being and that of the wrongdoer. So for example, spouses may forgive each other and yet still decide that divorce is preferable to continuing the relationship. But how they conduct themselves during and after the divorce will show whether they still have goodwill to one another. Second, there are a number of possible negative responses to wrongdoing that need to be kept apart. While forgiving requires forgoing (or at least forswearing) resentment, spite, and a lust for revenge, we have maintained that forgiveness is compatible with indignation, outrage, denunciation of the offense, resistance to continued offences, as well as a refusal to restore the previous relationship and a demand for justice and punishment. How so? Our suggestion is that the former set of responses involves an attitude of ill will toward the wrongdoer. The latter set, though obviously negative, are not hostile attitudes; they are compatible with the maintenance of goodwill toward the offender, and so with forgiveness. This is not to say that all forgiveness, conditional or unconditional, is admirable. One can forgive for bad or unsuitable reasons—out of lack of self-respect, say, or to conform to social pressures. We are not committed to saying that such acts of forgiveness are admirable. Even where there are good reasons to forgive, one can forgive for the wrong sorts of reason, and then forgiveness is not to be lauded or applauded. One striking example of the wrong sort of reasons is provided by the therapeutic model, popular among psychologists, counselors, and clergy. Here, it is often suggested, the sole reason to forgive is to rid oneself of psychological wounds and to release the “hold” that the offender still has over your life. There is nothing at all wrong with forgiving for these reasons, but nothing necessarily morally admirable about it. It may be difficult, and so success may rightly evoke admiration; the difficulties may be such that it may require morally admirable qualities to persevere, but forgiveness for therapeutic reasons is not in itself morally admirable. In short, we hold that forgiveness is not always morally admirable, but where it is so, unconditional forgiveness is equally, if not more, admirable than conditional forgiveness. Properly motivated forgiveness is a gift one can, and sometimes should, offer to an offender, a gift that it is good to offer, whether or not the offender has requested it, and even where one knows that it will be rejected. In this chapter, we shall try to say more to justify this traditional focus on the overcoming of certain feelings or emotions as central to forgiveness and then to examine in more depth just which emotions are incompatible with forgiveness. The chapter falls into four parts. First, we look at alternative accounts that understand forgiveness as paradigmatically a performative act:

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something that can be done, and thereby completed, at will. We deny this, but that puts the onus on us to explain what is going on when people make such statements as “I forgive you.” Second, many of those who take forgiveness to involve the overcoming of hostile feelings single out resentment as the primary emotion to be overcome. However, there is disagreement, not only about the nature of resentment, but also about its relation to cognate concepts, such as anger or indignation. This can produce the appearance of disagreement (or indeed of agreement) where there is none, to the confusion of all. So some conceptual cartography is required. Third, we try to get clearer about what people mean when they talk about feelings or emotions of anger, resentment, and so on. In particular, there are a number of relevant emotions for which it is possible to be in that state without feeling that one is in that state: for example, being angry without feeling angry. So what exactly is to be overcome: feeling that way or being that way? Fourth and finally, the overwhelming focus on resentment to the exclusion of other emotions or attitudes that may or may not be compatible with forgiveness comes at a cost. For there is more to forgiving than merely overcoming resentment. PERFORMATIVE THEORIES In his classic book How to Do Things with Words, J. L. Austin pointed out that, when we make certain utterances in certain contexts, we can perform acts that change the way things are simply by that very utterance. For example, by saying “I name this ship Queen Mary,” Queen Mary did indeed give the ship that name. It acquired its name at that moment and by that very act. Because there are many kinds of speech acts, let’s call these explicit performative utterances. In these standard cases, in saying those words, the speaker performs the very act that he or she says he or she is performing. Clergy baptize by, in part, saying “I baptize you,” dignitaries open fetes by declaring the fete open, and each of us can make promises by saying “I promise.” But we can often perform the act without using the declarative form of words and even without speaking. A gesture may suffice. For example, on occasion we can promise without saying “I promise,” just by a nod or a squeeze of the hand. We can call these inexplicit performatives. So how should we think of apology and forgiveness? Apologizing fits this performative model well: in saying “I apologize” or saying something else that is to be taken as an apology, I do thereby apologize. Apologies are sometimes followed by the person to whom the apology has been given saying “I forgive you” or saying or doing something equivalent. Such interchanges are commonplace, and a full account of forgiveness should explain them. The parallelism between the standard form



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of apology and forgiveness is striking, and thus a performative account of such remarks is attractive. On this view, in saying that I forgive you I do not merely report my feelings and attitudes: I thereby actually forgive you. This raises an obvious problem for the traditional picture we defend. If forgiving is overcoming hostile feelings, how can that be effected by a few words or a gesture? How are we to make sense of such interactions on our account? We could duck the issue by pointing out that we have all along claimed to be analyzing only one of several conceptions of forgiveness: we do not pretend to completeness. That answer is not merely unsatisfying but disingenuous. An account of forgiveness may not be complete, in that it does not cover all usages, without that casting doubt on the analysis. There are outlying examples of the use of the term, such as forgiving debt (where there need be no question of any wrongdoing by the debtor nations). And there are wholly metaphorical examples, such as soft ground being rather forgiving (should one fall on it) or the acoustics being rather unforgiving, in that any false note will be ruthlessly exposed. However, asking for and granting forgiveness are such central features of the practice of interpersonal forgiveness that no account can ignore them. The performative account understandably has a number of adherents. We shall look at two of them. Richard Swinburne holds that, in forgiving an offender for his or her offense, once the offender has made suitable atonement, the wronged person does two things. First, he or she accepts what has been offered as sufficient by way of atonement and second, in the act of forgiving, he or she thereby removes the offender’s objective guilt. This second aspect of his view accords well with the phenomenology: in both religious and secular contexts people describe the experience of being offered and accepting forgiveness as the removal of a burden, the lifting of a weight from the shoulders.2 However, if this phrase is not merely metaphorical, then it is hard to see how to give its cash value without the risk of appealing to metaphysical models that may make some uneasy. What exactly is objective guilt, and how is one absolved from it? After all, what is done is done; neither the victim nor anyone else can make it the case that the perpetrator is not, after all, guilty of the wrongdoing. So we leave this puzzling but suggestive proposal for another day. The other aspect of Swinburne’s theory is, however, not at all puzzling. It appeals to the model of incurring and discharging a debt to explicate forgiveness. In wronging his or her victim(s), the wrongdoer incurs a debt to his or her victim(s) that he or she must attempt to repay by suitable offerings, such as apology, repentance, reparation, and, perhaps, offering some further gift. Those to whom a debt is due can of course forgive the debt, in whole or in part. In saying “I forgive you,” the victim makes it the case that the debtor is

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freed of whatever further obligations he or she may have as a result of his or her transgression. This model of forgiveness has a long and respectable pedigree.3 The fullest, most interesting, and best defended theory of this type that we know of has been developed by Brandon Warmke. Any theory, he claims, has to explain the following Post-Forgiveness Fact (PFF): (PFF) Paradigmatic cases of forgiving alter the norms of interaction for both the victim and the wrongdoer in certain characteristic ways.4

What is it to alter the norms of forgiving, on his account? Begin with the straightforward example of promising: S, by the very act of promising, acquires obligations toward T that did not previously exist. Further, when S promises T that he or she will A, he or she accords T certain rights, such as the right to remind S of the promise, the right to demand that S keep their agreement should S appear reluctant, and the right to raise questions or complaints if S fails to deliver on the promise, and so on. Now take forgiveness of wrongdoing. In doing something wrong by A-ing in the first place, others acquire certain rights, and maybe even duties, over or toward the wrongdoer, W. They are entitled to express blame and disapprobation in certain ways; they may also have the right to ostracize W or to punish W in certain ways. Normally, the victim (V) acquires further specific rights against W, such as a right to an apology. W in turn incurs particular personal obligations to V, obligations that W must discharge to V, unless V releases W. On the debt model, when V forgives W, V resets the norms back to something akin to their position before the wrongdoing. W is now under no obligation to V to (continue to) apologize or make reparations to V, and so on. Further, V renounces his or her right to complain in various ways about W (to W or to others) with respect to that particular act of wrongdoing. As Warmke points out, one can promise or forgive inexplicitly without using the words “promise” or “forgive”; one can promise, for example, by saying such things as “you can count on me.” Indeed, no speech act need take place at all; one can forgive with a hug or a smile. Warmke does not claim that all cases of forgiving fit the norm-alteration model, but he does take it to be paradigmatic so that, to be plausible, a theory must explain PFF. He then argues at length that other accounts, and especially the one we favor, fails this test. He contends, indeed, that only a theory that acknowledges that “I forgive you” is what we earlier called an explicit performative (or declarative in his terminology) can explain the change in the interactive norms on the side of both the forgiver and the forgiven. His theory is illuminating in many ways, and we cheerfully adopt much of what he says. However, in our view, there is a central and crucial error that throws



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the analysis off course. We go on to argue that our theory, despite his criticisms, has the capacity to explain how the communicative norms get altered in forgiveness. As Austin taught us, there are many different kinds of speech act, and saying “I forgive you” may perform more than one in the same utterance (as indeed Warmke allows). Crucial to Warmke’s account, however, are two claims. The first is that this utterance (made in the appropriate context) has declarative force; that is, the power to change reality in various ways. The second is that this utterance is an explicit performative. So just as saying ‘”I promise” is to promise and saying “I name this ship Queen Mary” is to name that ship, so saying “I forgive you” is to forgive you.5 Understood as a declarative, an overt act (such as an utterance of “I forgive you”) makes it the case that one has been forgiven. Such utterances, when made in the right kinds of contexts, bring a state of affairs into existence simply in virtue of it being declared to be so. “I forgive you” would not just commit the putative forgiver to various things; it would make it so that the wrongdoer has been forgiven.6

It not only alters the norms of interaction between victim and wrongdoer, it does so in a manner that cannot be retracted by the forgiver, except under special circumstances. In normal cases, a promise once made cannot be unilaterally retracted by the promisor—he or she can try to retract it, but his or her so doing has no normative significance; he or she is still bound by it. Similarly, an act of forgiveness once made may not normally be retracted by the forgiver. They have forgiven, and that’s that. What are we to make of this account? The details of exactly who owes what to whom and what the moral norms are after the debt has been canceled by an act of forgiveness are of course very important, but we will not pursue them here. We accept that such communicative transactions go on and that they often alter what either party is permitted or required to say or do to the other. Crucial to our response is the distinction drawn earlier between an utterance’s having declarative force, that is, being such as to effect changes in normative reality, and an utterance’s being an explicit performative. We accept that “I forgive you” has declarative force: to say it is often to change the norms of interaction in the way that Warmke describes. What we reject is the claim that saying “I forgive you” is itself an explicit performative act in the way that, for example, saying “I promise” is, under suitable circumstances, to promise. To say “I forgive” is not to forgive, on our view. We also doubt Warmke’s claim that communicative forgiveness is the paradigm of forgiveness, if by that he means that forgiveness “in the heart” is somehow secondary, derivative, or parasitic on the communicative model.

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If we are right about this, then Warmke faces a parallel challenge of his own: just as we need to explain what, on our account, is going on when people pronounce forgiveness, so he needs to explain what we are doing when we forgive people with whom we could never communicate: those with whom we have lost touch or are dead. But a tu quoque is rarely fully satisfying, so let us first turn to assessing his account and second to meeting his challenge to explain, on our account, the alterations made by saying “I forgive you” to the norms governing future interactions between offender and victim.7 Here are some reasons for thinking that saying “I forgive you” is not an explicit performative. • Though some explicit performative acts can be sincere or insincere, they are not truth-apt.8 But it looks as if the statement “I forgive you” can be true or false. I can straightforwardly lie about having forgiven. The person I am addressing or a bystander, observing my ill-disguised resentment, can say “I don’t think you do.” The same response to an act of promising misfires. If I promise to get the groceries today, it would be absurd for someone to say, on the basis of my past behavior or a shifty look, “I don’t think you do.” If I promise, I promise, however insincerely. • Suppose that, although V has accepted W’s apology and has told W that he or she forgives him or her, he or she still resents his or her behavior and gets in some low digs or makes snide remarks. W could reasonably say to V: “You haven’t really forgiven me, have you?” To which V might reply: “No, I’m afraid that I haven’t. I thought I had. I have tried.” • Suppose V never brings up the offense again for a considerable period of time after saying he or she forgave W, but continues for a while to seethe about the offense. Eventually, he or she ceases to be upset or irritated and feels nothing but goodwill toward W. He or she then confides to him or her as follows: “When I told you I forgave you, I had not really done so; I said that for the sake of peace and quiet, but I still resented what you have done. I have since calmed down and now I can truly say that I do forgive you.” These remarks make little or no sense if we think of forgiving as an explicit performative. • Perhaps most strikingly, when someone asks for forgiveness, the wronged person can intelligibly say: “You don’t have to ask; I forgave you some time ago.” When someone asks “Do you promise?” the reply “I promised long before you asked me” is incomprehensible. • In the case of many explicit performatives, a speaker can bring out the declarative force of the utterance by spelling it out in detail. For example, instead of saying “I promise to A,” someone might say: “I hereby place myself under an obligation to you to A.” If Warmke’s account were correct,



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then instead of saying “I forgive you,” V might make the declaratory force explicit by saying, roughly: “I hereby release you from your personal obligations to me that result from your wrongdoing, and I hereby waive any right to demand such things from you, such as repentance, apology, reparation, etc.”9 Now consider the following example. V says to W: “Look, I’m sorry but I haven’t forgiven you. I’ll try, but I don’t know if I will succeed. However, I don’t want to talk about it, or even think about it anymore, so let’s leave it. I promise not to bring it up again, and I hereby release you from any obligation to do more by way of apologizing or making things up to me.” On Warmke’s declarative account, such an utterance is incoherent—but it clearly is not. We think that these examples are telling, though not perhaps decisive. They are not decisive in the sense that, with sufficient ingenuity and a degree of “widget fiddling” these examples could be rewritten to fit Warmke’s account. For example, he might reply that the proper response to a grudging or reluctant utterance of “I forgive you” is not “I don’t believe you do” but “I don’t think you are sincere.” Even supposing that the proponent of the declarative or explicit performative account of forgiveness can parse these and other remarks in a way that is consistent with his theory, that would give us no reason to accept it, unless there are independent grounds for holding that some such theory must be the correct one. One such ground would be that no other account explains how the norms of interaction are changed. So we turn now to examine Warmke’s claim that our view cannot explain PFF. In the course of that we will offer a brief sketch of how we might explain it. We accept that in saying “I forgive you” I change what is required or permissible for each party so that, in saying those words, I am not merely offering a report on my current emotional state. Before we look at our alternative account, it is helpful to make a couple of points. The first concerns what has to be in place in order that one or more parties can alter the norms of interaction between them. Warmke rightly stresses the fact that altering the normative landscape can occur only “against the backdrop of a shared set of social and moral norms.”10 The second concerns the difference, on our view, between forgiving and expressing forgiveness: a difference similar to one we would draw between blaming and expressing blame or believing someone to be at fault and finding fault with them. Contemporary literature on moral responsibility and blame has tended to focus on public expressions of blame. So much so that some writers take it that to blame S is to express one’s disapprobation of S’s action in characteristic ways. We find this usage potentially misleading. To blame S for A-ing is roughly to disapprove of or condemn S’s A-ing in virtue of believing that it was wrong for S to A, and that at the time

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he or she A-ed he or she was a responsible agent (in his or her right mind, not subject to extreme coercion, etc.) and that there was nothing about the situation that might have excused his or her A-ing. To have such a belief is one thing; to express that belief quite another.11 So on our view, forgiving is something you do in your heart and expressing that forgiveness is something you do to auditors—the wrongdoer or others. Third, there is nothing rare or unusual about speech acts as such. Every time someone makes an utterance, he or she performs at least one speech act, and often many.12 There is, however, something special and unusual about explicit performatives. So how are we to explain PFF? First, we might note that Warmke’s statement of PFF could be understood in one of two ways, in the light of our distinction between forgiveness and its expression, depending on whether what changes the norms is the victim’s forgiving, or their expression of that forgiveness. Our discussion will take the form of a response to Warmke’s objections. Warmke objects to the standard account of forgiveness, of which we are proponents, that it can explain neither the change in the wrongdoer norms nor the change in the victim norms. There is a clear sense in which an alteration in the victim’s feelings toward the offender that is never communicated cannot explain what the offender can reasonably be expected (in the normative sense) to do because he or she is unaware of the change. Why does Warmke think it cannot explain the change in the victim norms? He says that though such a change might explain why V no longer sees reason to do such things as demand an apology from W or take W to task about what he or she did, it cannot explain why it would now be inappropriate or wrong for V to do these things. We claim that V’s forgiveness of W, even before its expression, makes significant normative changes with respect to what either party should think or do. Recall that, for us, to forgive is to cease to resent and to replace that with an appropriate kind and degree of goodwill.13 We contend that someone who has forgiven will not only not want to demand a personal apology or believe they have reason to do so, they will also not think it morally appropriate to do so. Because they no longer resent, they no longer have sufficient personal reason to require or demand an apology. The reasons one might have to demand an apology are typically to do with satisfying one’s resentment or slaking one’s anger by humbling the offender in some way.14 Given that I no longer need the offender to beg forgiveness, it would be morally wrong for me to demand it. It would be gratuitous to inflict such unpleasantness (or worse) on someone without cause.15 Why does Warmke not appreciate this point? We suspect it is because he is focused on rights. He may maintain that the victim still has the right, in



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view of the offense, to demand various things of the offender, even after resentment has ceased. He would be within his rights to do such a thing.16 Let’s concede this for the sake of argument. It does not show that it would not be morally wrong for the victim to demand his or her rights. Take the case of promising. If you have promised me to repay a loan by a certain date but have now fallen on hard times, I still have the right, in terms of the promise, to ask for repayment, but it might well be morally wrong for me to demand it. It is not always right to enforce your rights. What of the offender? So long as the person he or she has offended has not forgiven him or her, he or she has reason, moral reason in our view, to apologize in order, as we say, to try to make things right with that person, given that he or she was the one at fault. (The offender may, of course, have other reasons to apologize; he or she may, for example, wish to placate the victim. But these kinds of reasons cannot amount to even a pro tanto moral duty to apologize.) If the person against whom the offense was committed no longer resents and has thus forgiven the offender, the offender no longer has that reason to offer an apology, for the forgiver has preemptively made things right with the offender from his or her side. That does not mean the offender has no reason to apologize; indeed, he or she may have a moral reason to do so. But the reason will not now be to try to make good the wrong he or she has done, but to acknowledge the graciousness of the offender in forgiving the offense.17 The above might suggest a quick way of accounting for what happens when I express my forgiveness, namely that I simply reveal to the offender my change of heart and thereby inform him or her that, given my present attitudes, it would be unconscionable for me to demand apology and that there is no need for him or her to apologize on my account. Have I thereby changed the interactive norms? Yes, for as Warmke allows, one can change the norms two ways: either by saying or doing something (a performative act) that directly changes the norms, even though nothing else in the circumstances has changed,18 or by changing the circumstances so that what previously fell under one norm now falls under another. For example, as Warmke suggests, I might tell my friend that I am unhappy; in the light of that revelation, plus the duty to help friends in distress, my friend may now be under an obligation to try to cheer me up. However, that does seem a bit quick. For surely when I say “I forgive you” I am not simply reporting a change in my feelings, as I might be doing when, after my friend’s therapeutic endeavors, I say “I don’t feel sad any longer.” After all, my resentment might return, and then I would have a reason to demand an apology. Warmke is surely right in claiming that, at the very least, I am offering a commitment not to demand certain things of

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you and thereby to assure you that you are under no obligation to me to do them (while not, perhaps, positively forbidding you to do them). Among the things I commit to, perhaps, is to endeavor to continue to have goodwill toward you and to struggle against any residual feelings of resentment. But commitments and assurances are akin to promises, and hence performatives of the sort that are central to Warmke’s account. In saying “I forgive you” I foreswear demanding apology, etc., and thereby release you from your personal obligation to me. So how does our account differ from Warmke’s? Simply in this: it is a mistake to think that in uttering those very words I am thereby forgiving you. My utterance does indeed have exactly the kinds of declarative force that Warmke suggests: I release you from your obligations to me and forego my right to demand you fulfill them. But that does not make that utterance an explicit performative. It does have declarative force, the changes in normative reality effected by my utterance are not identical with the content of my utterance.19 To illustrate how this works, we might compare “I forgive you” with “I love you,” said for the first time in the context of a sexual or romantic relationship. To say “I love you” in this context is not simply to report one’s feelings. It is characteristically taken to be some sort of a commitment, so that the utterer is undertaking to do certain things and thereby giving the object of his or her affections the right to expect certain things. (Just what is being pledged will depend, of course, on the culture in which the remark is made and the two people involved. One can imagine a culture in which, for example, this is a way of getting betrothed, so that very explicit expectations are at stake.) But no one (we hope) would try to analyze “I love you” as an explicit performative. The element of commitment does, however, explain why people are rightly hesitant to say either thing simply in virtue of what they currently feel. Both utterances are a form of pledge; neither is an explicit performative.20 But why, on our account, do people (sometimes) express their forgiveness by saying “I forgive you” rather than “I no longer resent your doing what you did, and I commit to not bring it up again, and to not demanding an apology, and I relieve you of any obligation to apologize etc.” “I forgive you” is, of course, shorter, but that is not the only reason, we surmise, why that form of words is sometimes employed. There are at least two things that a wrongdoer who wishes to be back on good terms with the person he or she has wronged would hope that the person he or she has wronged might be generous enough to grant. The first is some assurance that this person will not bring up the matter again as a source of complaint or a stick to beat him or her with. The other is some assurance that the wronged person’s feelings really have changed. Either without the other would give the wrongdoer less than he or she might



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want, and would want, if he or she wishes things to be put completely right. Saying “I love you” is a parallel case. The beloved wants to be told both that the lover has genuine romantic feelings for him or her and that the lover is committed to some kind of lasting relationship. “I love you” declares that you are loved while, by its form, signaling that what I have said carries assurance. It thus has declarative force, but it is not itself an explicit performative. While saying that I forgive you (like saying that I love you) is, in our view, something not to be undertaken lightly, because of the element of commitment, the forgiver does not have to wait until all resentment has faded. As has been noted, the forgiver might wish to give the assurance that they are committed not only to treating the wrongdoer with goodwill, but also to working at bringing his or her feelings into line with that forgiving attitude. Thus there can be a certain tension between the desire to reassure the wrongdoer and the awareness that to forgive fully one will have to work hard on one’s feelings, and that one can never be sure one has succeeded. This is beautifully brought out in two passages from Marilynne Robinson’s moving novel Home, which is a prolonged reflection on the parable of the Prodigal Son and the nature of forgiveness. In the first passage the father speaks first and the son second. “Now, do you forgive me for speaking to you this way?” “Yes, sir. Of course I do. I will. If you give me a little time.”21

The second passage occurs after the father’s best friend has delivered a sermon, when the son had made a special effort to attend church, which can be interpreted as critical of both father and son. Discussing the insult afterward, the son says, “I’ll forgive him. Maybe I’ve forgiven him already.”22

RESENTMENT, INDIGNATION, AND ANGER Joseph Butler is often cited as an important source for the view that to forgive is to overcome resentment. However, Butler himself does not distinguish between that emotion and indignation or anger. “Let this be called anger,23 indignation, resentment, or by whatever name anyone shall choose; the thing itself is understood, and is plainly natural.”24 Almost no one has followed Butler in equating these three, and we are no exception.25 Resentment we take to be personal; I can resent only wrongs done to me or to my group. It also, but not always, involves some degree of ill will; a desire to get one’s own back in some manner or other. Resentment is therefore something that needs

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to be overcome in forgiveness. Indignation is impersonal in that it can be aroused by any wrongdoing, irrespective of our relation to the victim. It manifests itself in a desire for justice: for the wrong to be righted, as far as that is possible, and for the wrongdoer to receive his or her just deserts.26 Indignation can of course be combined with vindictiveness, a desire for suffering to be inflicted for its own sake. No doubt it is sometimes hard to distinguish the two, but indignation, the desire for justice, is not something that has to be overcome in order for forgiveness to take place. Is anger compatible with forgiveness? Because both resentment and indignation can properly be called kinds of anger, our answer is: it depends on the kind of anger. We believe that both indignation and resentment are appropriate or proper responses to (serious) wrongdoing. Someone may object that we cannot claim both that resentment is sometimes appropriate and justified and that it needs to be overcome for forgiveness to take place and that forgiveness (when done for the right reasons) is morally admirable. For if forgiveness is morally admirable, then surely resentment, which gets in its way, is not. We respond that a response can be appropriate, in the sense of being fitting to the circumstances, without its necessarily being the best response. For us, forgiveness of serious wrongs is supererogatory rather than morally required. It is a gift given to the wrongdoer out of an abundance of grace and goodwill. It is therefore not morally wrong to continue to resent and to have no desire to overcome it. We said that much confusion is caused by there being no agreed terminology. Here is a case in point. In her recent book Anger and Forgiveness, Martha Nussbaum rejects all anger as bad. She follows Butler in holding that (settled) anger includes, conceptually, not only the idea of a serious wrong done to someone or something of significance, but also the idea that it would be a good thing if the wrongdoer suffered some bad consequences somehow.27

To our mind, she runs together indignation and resentment; she equates the desire for retributive justice with the desire for revenge. Indeed, she has no truck with retributive anger or payback (a desire to inflict suffering), nor with status reversal (a wish to lower the standing of the wrongdoer). She describes the beliefs involved in retributive anger as “false and incoherent,” deriving from “deep-rooted but misleading ideas of cosmic balance. . . . But the wrongdoer’s suffering does not bring back the person or valued item that was damaged.”28 In the second case, the desire for restoration of status may take the form of seeking to lower the wrongdoer’s status as compared with one’s own, but that, in her view, is morally dubious. On her account then, all forms of anger are from the start ruled out as unac-



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ceptable. “Its core ideas . . . are profoundly flawed: either incoherent in the first case, or normatively ugly in the second.”29 (At best, she claims, anger might serve an instrumental motivational purpose, but she claims there are usually better ways of getting fired up.) There is one borderline form of anger to which she grants grudging approval, which she calls “TransitionAnger,” “whose entire content is: ‘How outrageous. Something should be done about that.’”30 This gets closer to what we mean by indignation, but is not the same; in particular, it is exclusively a “forward-looking emotion.”31 Indignation, on our view, looks back to the offense as well as forward to what should be done about it. For Nussbaum, Transition-Anger only has a point if it is motivational. But one can be indignant about things that no one can now affect, things about which nothing can be done. We have maintained that indignation and resentment are both perfectly appropriate or fitting in the face of terrible wrongs so that anger has a proper place. They are fitting in just the way that grief at loss of someone or something dear to one is fitting. Oddly, Nussbaum thinks grief, in the realm of intimate personal relationships, is fitting or appropriate. But exactly the same arguments can be made, and have been made, against grief as she makes against what she terms anger. Grief is a painful emotion that will not bring the person or thing back and suggests a form of magical thinking. Grief, resentment, and indignation can all be appropriate reactions to the harm or loss one suffers when one is wronged.

BEING AND FEELING In the case of many emotions or attitudes it is possible to be E, or to be in E (in which E is some emotional state or attitude) without feeling E. One can be upset, annoyed, irritated, aroused, excited, proud, in love, or depressed without actually feeling any of those things.32 But these are surely all things one can, and sometimes does, feel. Of course there are some emotions one could not possess without feeling them: one cannot be beside oneself with fury without feeling furious, and one cannot be truly, madly, deeply in love without having the characteristic yearnings, pangs, and flutters. Similarly, to feel ill will is one thing; to bear ill will toward someone another. It is possible to have feelings that one does not identify with or endorse. Someone who endorses his or her feelings of ill will toward W clearly bears him or her ill will, whereas all we can say for certain of the person who wishes he or she did not have those feelings is that he or she feels ill will. But should we say of such a person that he or she still has or bears ill will toward the offender? While I have some direct control over whether I endorse my

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feeling of ill will, I usually have little or none over those feelings themselves, however hard I try not to feel hostility. If we insist that one who forgives should no longer be subject to any feelings of ill will, then the recalcitrance of these feelings seems to make forgiveness too hard to achieve. Suppose that I have taken all possible steps to overcome the hostility I feel toward you, but I still feel it nonetheless. I do not bear you ill will: I have forsworn revenge, am actively seeking your good, and treat you without rancour or hostility when we meet. On this account, however, it would seem that I still have not forgiven you, but that judgment may seem unduly harsh, especially when that failure is not through lack of trying on my part. Our intuitions pull us in two directions. On the one hand, if I refuse to endorse and am horrified by these feelings, then surely I have forgiven you. On the other hand, people sometimes say that, try as they might, they cannot get rid of residual feelings of hostility and so have not yet forgiven. We endorse the first intuition, but with modifications that acknowledge the force of the second intuition. First, we can try to defuse the objection that our view is too harsh by separating the question of whether I have forgiven from an assessment of my moral worth. The claim that I have not forgiven you if I still feel resentment would be unduly harsh if it reflected poorly on my efforts to forgive. But there need be no such implication. Forgiveness is not at our beck and call; it can elude us for years and then suddenly come when least expected. In that sense, forgiveness can be a gift to the forgiver as well as to the forgiven. If I cannot forgive I may of course fall short of an ideal, and that is a matter for regret, but regret is not blame. Second, we accept that it would be unduly harsh to deny that the victim has forgiven because, very infrequently, he or she has a short stab of resentment or anger that he or she immediately quashes. That would make the question of the victim’s forgiveness hostage to some passing and atypical feeling that might come long after he or she has been reconciled to the wrongdoer. To feel resentment (or anger or love) is not just to have occasional or passing feelings, but also to be frequently subject to them when the object of the emotion is present to our minds and to find them difficult to quell, should we wish to do so. The more frequent and intense these episodes, the more likely we are to suspect that, in fact, the person trying to forgive still holds a grudge. We have just distinguished between feeling ill will toward someone (a feeling the agent need not endorse) and having ill will toward them, which involves an inclination of the will. We suggested that the second needs to be wholly absent and the first largely so in order for the wronged person to have forgiven. Similarly, we can distinguish feeling goodwill from having goodwill. Is one or both required for forgiveness? Clearly, it would not be enough to feel goodwill if one reflectively rejected those feelings as unjustified. Forgiveness therefore requires having goodwill toward the offender. Could one have that goodwill



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yet lack any feelings of goodwill (as Kant suggests one could when he distinguishes pathological from practical love)? It seems possible and, we suggest, might not be a bar to one’s having forgiven, though perhaps this depends on whether there was a close prior relationship. Could a parent who had previously loved a child, had later become estranged from the child and resentful toward him or her, but had now forgiven him or her and currently wished him or her well really be said to have forgiven that child if he or she no longer had any feelings of goodwill toward him or her? We are not sure.33 RESENTMENT NOT THE ONLY OBSTACLE TO FORGIVENESS The retention of hostile emotions toward the wrongdoer—emotions that constitute a species of ill will—is, on our account, incompatible with forgiveness. And there are quite a lot of these: hatred, schadenfreude, malice, spite, rancor, bitterness, vengefulness, and no doubt many more. What of rage and fury? We don’t think these are by their very nature incompatible with forgiveness, for righteous anger is part of indignation and very dreadful deeds merit furious anger. However, forgiveness requires not just the absence of ill will but some minimal degree of goodwill. So some attitudes that do not involve ill will may still be incompatible with forgiveness. In particular, the arrogant may adopt an attitude of superiority toward those they regard as beneath their notice that insulates them from resenting the slights of the vulgar; they have neither ill nor goodwill toward them. But such an attitude seems incompatible with forgiveness. We will briefly look at six emotions or attitudes that are harder to categorize on our account: froideur, rankling, bitterness, loathing, contempt, and disdain. Froideur Froideur is usually defined in terms of a certain coolness or reserve. Can one maintain that attitude if one has forgiven? It seems one can. A minimal concern for the well-being of another, or even agapic love, does not require warmth and intimacy. There are many people who have never done us any wrong with whom we have no wish to be on very intimate terms, but to whom we bear minimal goodwill. It would be absurd, therefore, to make lack of reserve a condition of forgiveness. Forgiveness does not require chumminess. Rankling and Bitterness Rankling and bitterness look like hostile attitudes that need to be overcome in forgiveness. It is not immediately clear whether they involve ill will—a desire

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for the other person’s harm. We shall argue, however, that—in a manner— they do. We think that these two attitudes are very close, so we will focus on what rankles. Things can rankle where there’s no wrongdoing and hence no possibility of forgiveness. I might, for example, say that it really rankles with me that she is so much more beautiful than I am or so much cleverer. I might also, though probably metaphorically, say that I just can’t forgive her for being so beautiful and clever. So what does this mean? We suggest something along the following lines. I have hostile feelings of a rather indeterminate kind toward her because she’s so much better than I am—she has what I wish I had. This is envy. I don’t actively seek her ill, but I would be quite pleased if she lost those features that produce the rankling. These are features that benefit her, so perhaps in being pleased if she loses them I do wish her ill after all. Now turn to a small case of wrongdoing that rankles. It rankles with me that she spoke to me so disrespectfully and didn’t take my interests into account at all. I think I have forgiven her, I want her life to go well, but it still rankles a bit. I would be pleased if she came to see how wrong she was and if she was humbled by this knowledge. Not pleased because it’s good for her to know the moral truth; that is, not pleased for her sake. But pleased for my sake, that a lowering of my status has now been rectified—she has been brought low in her own eyes. That’s what would cure the rankling. So though I don’t exactly wish her ill, I do wish her something not very pleasant, for my sake not hers. Further, where the offense still rankles I will be tempted to bring up the original offense as a complaint against her: but that is a sure sign that I have not forgiven her for that offense. Loathing, Contempt, and Disdain Finally, there is a group of attitudes that express our detestation of the agent— among them loathing, contempt, and disdain.34 Are some or all of these compatible with forgiveness? None of these seems to be in itself a form of ill will; we do not necessarily want the lives of those we loathe or disdain to go worse than they are. How do they differ from each other? Of the three, disdain alone seems necessarily to require the judgment that I am better than the person I disdain. When we disdain, we look down from a superior position. Hence we cannot disdain ourselves. But we can loathe ourselves and regard ourselves with contempt. When we loathe people we just want to have nothing to do with them because we find them repellent. When we regard people with contempt we typically view them as disgracefully failing to meet some standard of behavior or attitude. Can we have forgiven someone if we still regard that person as loathsome or contemptible or view him or her with disdain?



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Disdain, if carried to an extreme, seems to undermine goodwill because it takes its object not to be worth bothering about. The disdained person is so lowly, as compared to me, that I have no reason to concern myself with his or her welfare one way or another. What of loathing and contempt? Of course, an individual may perform a loathsome act without being loathsome him- or herself if the act is out of character. But can I forgive someone I judge to have a loathsome and contemptible character? It appears that I can, for I can continue to have goodwill toward such a person. In particular, I can hope that they improve and become less loathsome. Can I forgive someone whom I think of as irredeemably loathsome? There seem to be two ways in which his loathsomeness might be irredeemable. First, we may judge that he or she is so steeped in wickedness that he or she is incapable of reformation; we simply “write him or her off” as hopeless. Or second, we may think that he or she is perpetually soiled by what he or she has done so that even if he or she were to repent and try to change, he or she would be unable to wipe away the stain. We are inclined to think that the first judgment is incompatible with forgiveness. While it may be true that some people are beyond redemption (though this is disputable), we certainly cannot know that they are. And it seems incompatible with the kind of goodwill we envisage that we should give up on them while there remains some possibility of improvement, however unlikely. We think, however, that we can forgive someone about whom we make the second kind of judgment. For it is clearly better that they reform than that they do not, and we can still regard them with goodwill and wish for their improvement even if we judge that the stain will never be removed.35 NOTES 1.  Eve Garrard and David McNaughton, “In Defence of Unconditional Forgiveness,” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society (2002–2003): 39–60; Forgiveness (Durham: Acumen Publishing, 2010); “Conditional Unconditional Forgiveness,” in The Ethics of Forgiveness, ed. Christel Fricke (New York and London: Routledge, 2011), 97–106; “Forgiveness and Forgivingness,” in Handbook of Virtue Ethics, ed. Stan van Hooft (New York and London: Routledge, 2014), 252–64. 2.  Some think of guilt as pollution, or a stain, that (at least in some cases) is removable. 3. One translation of that part of the Lord’s Prayer that deals with forgiveness reads: “Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.” See also Jesus’s parable of the unforgiving slave (Matthew 18:21–35). A number of writers on forgiveness have espoused this model, including Dana Nelkin, “Freedom and Forgiveness,” in Free Will and Moral Responsibility, ed. Ishtiyaque Haji and Justin Caouette (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Press, 2013), 165–88.

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4.  Brandon Warmke, “The Normative Significance of Forgiveness,” Australasian Journal of Philosophy 94 (2016): 690. Warmke has written fairly extensively on this area. We confine ourselves to discussing only this paper because we are interested primarily in meeting a serious challenge to our view that he raises here. 5.  Warmke says he is not “claiming that forgiveness just is an alteration of the relevant norms. Forgiveness involves much more besides” (690). He is referring to the fact that, in the most central cases of forgiveness, other things will have happened, such as appropriate changes in V’s attitude to W. Maybe, but he is committed to the view that in saying “I forgive you,” V is not only changing the norms but is thereby forgiving W. And that is what we deny. 6.  Warmke, “Normative Significance,” 698. 7.  In an unpublished paper, “Modes of Forgiveness,” that Warmke has kindly allowed us to see, he attempts to show the relations between the various different strands in the notion of forgiveness. 8.  This has, we believe, been denied. But we take it to be fairly uncontentious nonetheless. Of course, once Christopher Robin has named his inverted umbrella The Floating Bear, it is true that this is its name. And when people make performative utterances they often imply that certain things are the case, but they do not, in making the utterance, assert that they are so. So performatives can be misleading and deceitful, but so can many forms of communication that are not truth-apt. Iago misleads and deceives Othello by dropping Desdemona’s handkerchief, but he says nothing that could be true or false. People frequently say that Kant held that “lying” promises are absolutely forbidden, but that is not the most apposite way of describing the position. It is insincere promises that he forbids. 9.  Warmke allows that W may still have an obligation to V to do those things because of other norms that are in play (4). 10.  Warmke, “Normative Significance,” 690 (our italics). 11.  Some philosophers are prone to draw the distinction as one between private and public blaming. This is not, we think, a very happy way of putting things, for it seems to imply that there is but one activity that can be done in private or in public. But that is misleading. For a start, blaming someone is as involuntary as most other beliefs: I do not first judge that someone has inexcusably acted wrongly and then ask myself: Shall I blame him? There is, in our view, no gap here. Expressing blame is generally under our voluntary control and subject to all kinds of social and moral norms. So we stick to ordinary usage, which is pretty clear. One example: If I say, “I don’t blame you one bit” and then you discover later that I thought your action was inexcusably wrong but had kept my opinion to myself, you would rightly think that I was being disingenuous, at the very least. 12.  As Warmke accepts. 13.  We are here using resentment as a catch-all for varying kinds of hostile attitude. We will say more about these shortly. Similarly, we are using demanding an apology as a catch-all for all the things that the victim might reasonably demand of the offender. 14.  We are considering here only relations between adults. A parent might have reason to demand an apology from a child, not because they personally resent what



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the child has done, but in order to educate the child in the social need to be ready with an apology. And there might be cases in which it would be good for the wrongdoer to apologize. If that is the case, the forgiver could encourage it without going to the length of demanding it; it is hard not to see some trace of resentment in something so harsh as a demand. It is, however, often appropriate for third parties to make such demands: “I know he has forgiven you, but you must apologize to him nevertheless.” 15.  This last qualification is crucial—see preceding note. 16. “If overcoming resentment doesn’t relinquish certain rights to blame, why should revealing this emotional change do so?” (Warmke, “Normative Significance,” 695, our italics). 17.  Here’s an analogy. Having enjoyed the hospitality of a friend, you may feel that you owe it to him or her to take him or her out to a restaurant and pay for his or her dinner. Suppose the friend insists that there is no need and that you should certainly feel no obligation to him or her since it was his or her pleasure to have you stay. That does not mean that you no longer have any moral reason to pay. 18.  Warmke himself accepts that saying “I forgive you” may often be a behabitive act, which reveals the change in the forgiver’s feelings. What he denies is that this is sufficient to explain (all) the changes in the norms of both parties. 19.  In a number of places in the paper, Warmke says no more than that “I forgive you” has declarative force and so can make changes in normative reality. We endorse and embrace that claim. 20.  In fairness to Warmke, there may be an exception. Where the interaction is brief and slight, saying “I forgive you” or, more likely, some less formal phrase, is forgiving. If a stranger bumps into me in a crowd and says “My apologies” or “I’m sorry,” I might reply “Not at all” or “That’s okay.” We do not object if someone says that the other has apologized and I have forgiven him, though it seems more natural to say that I have accepted his apology. 21.  Marilynne Robinson, Home (New York: Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, 2009), 115. 22.  Ibid., 211. 23.  By “anger” here Butler means what he calls “settled anger,” which is always a response to a (perceived) wrong. He contrasts this with the instinctive sudden anger one might feel when hurt in some manner. This is a purely defensive reflex, which does not discriminate between unintentional and intentional harm. 24.  Joseph Butler, Fifteen Sermons and Other Writings in Ethics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), 75. 25.  We have discussed these distinctions extensively in “In Defence” and elsewhere so here state them without argument. 26. This point is stressed by Butler: “Our sense or discernment of actions as morally good or evil, implies in it a sense or discernment of them as of good or ill desert. It may be difficult to explain this perception, so as to answer all the questions which may be asked concerning it: but every one speaks of such and such actions as deserving punishment; and it is not, I suppose, pretended that they have absolutely no meaning at all to the expression” (Butler, Fifteen Sermons and Other Writings in Ethics, 136).

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27.  Martha Nussbaum, Anger and Forgiveness; Resentment, Generosity, Justice (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016). 5. 28.  Ibid., 5. 29.  Ibid., 6. 30. Ibid. 31. Ibid. 32.  We do not simply mean that feelings are episodic, whereas emotional states can often last for a long time. We mean that one can be completely unaware that one is in a particular state because one never has the feelings characteristic of that state. 33.  This section is a reworking of Eve Garrard and David McNaughton, “Forgiveness and Forgivingness,” in Handbook of Virtue Ethics, ed. Stan van Hooft (New York and London: Routledge, 2014), 255–56. 34.  We are grateful to Jeffrie Murphy for drawing our attention to the neglected attitude of loathing. 35.  We are grateful to Brandon Warmke for helpful comments on a draft.

REFERENCES Butler, Joseph. Fifteen Sermons and Other Writings on Ethics. Edited by David McNaughton. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017. Garrard, Eve, and David McNaughton. “In Defence of Unconditional Forgiveness.” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society (2002–2003): 39–60. ———. “Conditional Unconditional Forgiveness.” In The Ethics of Forgiveness, edited by Christel Fricke, 97–106. New York and London: Routledge, 2011. ———. Forgiveness. Durham: Acumen Publishing, 2010. ———. “Forgiveness and Forgivingness.” In Handbook of Virtue Ethics, edited by Stan van Hooft, 252–64. New York and London: Routledge, 2014. Nelkin, Dana. “Freedom and Forgiveness.” In Free Will and Moral Responsibility, edited by Ishtiyaque Haji and Justin Caouette, 165–88. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Press, 2013. Nussbaum, Martha. Anger and Forgiveness: Resentment, Generosity, Justice. New York: Oxford University Press, 2016. Robinson, Marilynne. Home. New York: Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, 2009. Warmke, Brandon. “The Normative Significance of Forgiveness.” Australasian Journal of Philosophy (2016): 687–703.

Chapter Seven

Forgiveness and Reconciliation Barrett Emerick

Forgiveness and reconciliation are central to moral life; after all, everyone will be wronged by others and will then face the dual decisions of whether to forgive and whether to reconcile. It is therefore important that we have a clear analysis of each, as well as a thoroughly articulated understanding of how they relate to and differ from each other. Forgiveness has received considerably more attention in the Western philosophical literature than has reconciliation. In this chapter I aim to give it the attention it deserves and develop an account of interpersonal reconciliation. On my view reconciliation is fundamentally bilateral (whereas forgiveness is fundamentally unilateral). It entails transparency and agreement between the wrongdoer and the victim as to the nature of a past wrong or set of wrongs. And it requires that moral repair be made between the two parties (which entails that both parties bear proper attitudes toward each other). In making my case, I’ll contrast reconciliation with toleration and collaboration in order to demonstrate that reconciliation also entails forgiveness (though forgiveness does not entail reconciliation). Two caveats before I begin. First, I’ll focus here just on interpersonal forgiveness and reconciliation, rather than political or social practices that obtain between groups. Second, I am not here arguing when, if ever, a victim ought to forgive or reconcile with the person who wronged him or her (though I will explore some of the reasons that might justify doing both). Instead I am just analyzing what forgiveness and reconciliation are.

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PART I: FORGIVENESS Forgiveness is both a practice and an accomplishment, both an action that you undertake and an outcome that you achieve.1 The traditional or “classic” view of forgiveness says that it is the partially active forgoing of negative emotions for moral reasons.2 I will briefly unpack that definition. Emotions First, consider the claim that forgiveness involves forgoing a moral emotion. The classic view focuses on resentment or moral anger; to forgive is (in part) to give up your anger toward someone who wronged you.3 Resentment is not merely one of the passions, arising within us without reference to any particular cause. It is born in response not to harm but to wrongful harm (which entails that the harm was committed by an agent or collection of agents rather than being caused by a naturally occurring event). In short, I feel resentment because some agent or a collection of agents treated me wrongly. Philosophers writing about anger more generally have argued4 that it is one method by which we are able to manifest and express self-respect (even if only to ourselves). When I become angry with you for wronging me, I communicate that I am a person of value who deserves to be treated well rather than badly. Furthermore, as P. F. Strawson argued,5 anger is sometimes a method by which I communicate the claim that my wrongdoer is a moral agent rather than a naturally occurring event; I might be angry that a lightning bolt burned down my house, but I am not angry with the lightning bolt in the same way that I would be angry with the arsonist who caused the same result. What that means is that feeling moral anger is also a way to manifest and express respect for a wrongdoer (though respect is not the same as admiration) insofar as I thereby recognize that they are a person who could appropriately be held to a higher moral standard. Some have argued that the classic view of forgiveness is too narrow and exclusive, as it precludes the possibility that forgiving can sometimes involve giving up other negative emotions as well. Alice MacLachlan, Uma Narayan, and Margaret Walker have all argued that the classic view is incomplete and overemphasizes anger at the expense of other moral emotions or reactive attitudes, such as fear, disappointment, contempt, or humiliation.6 I agree that we ought to revise the classic definition to be more inclusive in just this way. What’s important for my purposes, though, is that forgiveness can be accomplished by only one party. If forgiveness is about giving up negative emotions or reactive attitudes that I feel toward my wrongdoer, and if I can do that inner work independently of the efforts of others, then forgive-



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ness is fundamentally unilateral;7 it is something that I can do by myself (at least in principle, if not always in practice). And because I can feel anger or other moral emotions without others knowing it (if I do not express and communicate my hard feelings to others), I can also forgive without anyone else knowing that I have done so. Reconciliation, on the other hand, is fundamentally bilateral; it always requires both parties, or so I will argue. FORGIVENESS IS EITHER RATIONAL OR IRRATIONAL Whether you ought to forgive depends on reasons; it can either be rational or irrational to forgive. A variety of reasons can justify forgiving (as well as choosing not to forgive) in any particular case. If you commit a minor wrong and then work to repair the harm that you’ve done, you might deserve to be forgiven.8 Desert becomes less likely in cases of more serious harm, where other reasons better justify forgiveness. For instance, you might benefit yourself by forgoing hard feelings; anger can burn someone up, sadness can enervate, fear can immobilize. All of those are costly outcomes that victims of wrongdoing sometimes bear, and so giving up those feelings can be of real benefit. 9 Forgiving can also benefit compassionate others in the victim’s life who suffer with him or her. And forgiving can benefit the wrongdoer by releasing him or her from that status and opening up the space for him or her to move forward in his or her moral life.10 Some philosophers have denied that we ever bear self-regarding duties.11 Others grant that we can owe things to ourselves, but deny that the self-regarding duty to increase our own welfare can serve as an appropriate moral justification for forgiveness.12 For instance, Jeremy Watkins has argued13 that giving up anger doesn’t count as forgiveness if the motivation to do so is self-interest or concern for other third parties who are affected by your anger. Pursuing both lines of argument is beyond the scope of this chapter, and I here just take it for granted that the promotion of a person’s welfare (regardless of who they are) is always morally salient (though it might not be the most salient feature of any particular situation). If we do in fact owe it to ourselves to increase our welfare, and if holding on to hard feelings decreases our welfare (or the welfare of those that love us and care about us), then sometimes the reason we ought to forgive is not because the wrongdoer deserves it and not because it will help him or her become a better person, but because it will improve the life of the victim or those who love the victim. Each of these types of reasons can trump the others, depending on the case. And sometimes those very same types of reasons might recommend against forgiving.

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Forgiveness Is Active Finally, forgiveness is partially active; it is something that I at least partially do rather than something that simply happens to me. I recognize that I’m angry with you for a way that you wronged me and then I work to give up that anger because I think I have good reason to do so. Again, that means that forgiveness is fundamentally internal to the agent. Though we often require the help of others to do that inner work (therapists, loved ones, religious leaders, and sometimes wrongdoers themselves), on my view forgiveness cannot be reduced to ritual, nor is it a speech act or performative utterance; me saying “I forgive you” is not the same thing as me having actually forgiven you (as is made evident by times when someone has claimed to forgive you, but who you later discover still harbors deep anger toward you). Forgiveness is not essentially aimed at reconciliation with the wrongdoer; I might choose to try to forgive you because I want to reconcile with you, but I might also want to forgive you because doing so would in itself improve my life. Sometimes holding on to anger or other hard feelings can be costly, even devastating, and I might want to let go of those feelings toward you but not want to reconcile with you. That forgiveness is fundamentally about letting go of hard feelings toward one who wronged you does not mean that it is an all-or-nothing affair; instead forgiveness can come in degrees. If a victim has given up some of his or her hard feelings toward his or her wrongdoer, he or she has partially forgiven. In cases of serious wrongdoing it is often impossible to fully let go of one’s hard feelings and there is no guarantee that complete forgiveness can be achieved, but that shouldn’t obscure the fact that if I am less angry with you today than I was a year ago, I have partially forgiven you. Should “Forgiveness” Be More Inclusive? Before moving on to analyze reconciliation, it is worth noting that there are alternative definitions of forgiveness that one might have good reason to adopt. For instance, Walker has not only argued (as stated earlier) that we should understand forgiveness more inclusively to apply to other reactive attitudes than resentment, but also that forgiveness itself should be understood to mean different things in different contexts, including “restoring relationships” and “setting a wrong to rest in the past.”14 One might ask whether it makes sense to employ a restrictive definition of forgiveness rather than a more inclusive one that moves beyond the inner life of the victim and is instead based on the state of the relationship between the victim and wrongdoer. Just as we ought to be more inclusive with regard to the attitudes and emo-



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tions one might forgo in forgiving, so too should we be more inclusive with regard to the actual practice of forgiveness itself. It is important that our terms not only correspond to and cohere with philosophical intuition, but also match up with actual usage out in the world. And surely it is the case that in ordinary language we use the term “forgive” in a variety of ways; we talk of forgiving debts and mean that the debtor is released from the obligation to repay what he or she owes. Sometimes we say things like “All is forgiven” to mean not just that the victim no longer harbors hard feelings toward the wrongdoer, but that the relationship itself has been repaired and that all is well between the relevant parties. Despite that common usage, there are good reasons to hold on to a more exclusive conception of forgiveness, the most important of which is that doing so allows us to distinguish between forgiveness and reconciliation. As an illustration of the various factors that make that distinction important, I will rely on several examples from the “Not Alone” public art project.15 The “Not Alone” quilt runs the length of several city blocks. It is composed of squares made by many different contributors and features the testimony of survivors of sexual assault. As a way of illuminating what is entailed and is not entailed by the classic concept of forgiveness, I will focus on three anonymous quotes in particular. The first square says simply: I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you, Me.

Though there are different ways of interpreting the author’s meaning, when using the classic definition of forgiveness, two things come to light. The first is that it is clearly important to the particular survivor of sexual assault who authored the panel that he or she has given up hard feelings toward the person who wronged him or he. It is also clearly the case that the author’s statement does not entail that he or she would be willing, for example, to have the wrongdoer in his or her life, to normalize or restore relations with the wrongdoer, to make up with the wrongdoer, or to work toward some shared goal with the wrongdoer—all common understandings of reconciliation.16 That is not to say that the survivor of assault would not have good reason to do any or all of those things; it’s possible that he or she might. The point is that the question of whether he or she has forgiven is distinct from whether he or she has reconciled or ought to reconcile; the one tells us nothing definitive about the other because though one might have decisive reason to forgive in the classic sense, one might also have decisive reason not to reconcile. We ought to be careful not to conflate the inner work that the classic account of forgiveness entails with the outwardly observable, fundamentally

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collaborative work of restoring relationships. The reason why is that it is important that we recognize the needs of victims to be able to forgive on their own without necessarily having to rely on anyone, especially the one who wronged them. Consider another quote from the “Not Alone” quilt: Forgiveness has nothing to do with absolving a criminal of their crime. It has everything to do with relieving oneself of the burden of being a victim—letting go of the pain and transforming oneself from victim to survivor. —C. R. Strahan

This author’s use of “forgiveness” is more transparent. He or she is clearly not concerned with how the wrongdoer feels about being forgiven or what that would do for their relationship (if they continue to maintain one at all). Instead the author is concerned with lessening the pain he or she experiences and with thinking about how he or she will move forward in his or her emotional life, which is not the same thing as being concerned with how he or she will move forward in relationship with the person who wronged him or her. At the same time, that should not be taken to imply that everyone always ought to try to forgive for self-regarding reasons. Consider one final quote from the “Not Alone” quilt: We were both in eighth grade when he started to abuse me. I don’t believe that I have to forgive or forget to lead a happy, healthy life. It is over a decade since the last time I was raped, and I am still angry, and I have not forgiven him. I have no interest in forgiving him. There is nothing that he did that was justified or okay. I don’t only hold him accountable for what happened, but our society that allowed it to happen.

My aim here is not to determine precisely when anyone ought to respond one way or the other but to make the point that negative emotions are the types of things that can be desirable or not, given the particular individual’s constitution, goals, and context. Insofar as we all owe it to ourselves to care for ourselves, whether someone ought to forgo those emotions (whether they ought to forgive in the classic sense) depends in part on how doing so will affect his or her welfare. So one reason to retain the classic definition’s focus on the inner life of the one who forgives (though not its exclusive focus on anger as the sole moral emotion one gives up in forgiving) is precisely because doing so can matter enormously to actual victims of wrongdoing and because it can be of real benefit to victims to be equipped with the conceptual resources to distinguish between, on one hand, letting go of their hard feelings, and on the other, be-



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ing in relationship with the one who wronged them. I will return to this point (about the need to be able to separate from one’s wrongdoer) in the penultimate section of this chapter. PART II: RECONCILIATION As I have been arguing, forgiveness is “first and foremost an interpersonal response”17 and one that has enjoyed considerable attention in the Western philosophical literature. Reconciliation, on the other hand, has both received less attention and has been analyzed primarily as a political response between social groups (rather than a moral exchange between a particular victim and a wrongdoer). In what follows, I aim to offer an interpersonal analysis of reconciliation. At its most basic, reconciliation is taken to be about rebuilding (or building for the first time) a healthy relationship between two people in the wake of wrongdoing.18 But that definition is too thin. In order to flesh it out, consider these colloquial understandings of reconciliation (which are reflected in the literature on political reconciliation). Reconciliation is • • • •

being able to coexist and not do violence to each other;19 the normalizing of relations;20 building or rebuilding trust;21 being able to get along with each other to work toward some collective end.22

The trouble with each of these accounts of reconciliation is that they lead to problematic relations between parties that we shouldn’t think have reconciled. Have you and I reconciled if I’m simply able to be around you without doing violence to you? Or consider a relatively powerless victim who, should he or she come to have more power, would do violence to his or her wrongdoer. The mere fact that the victim doesn’t act violently toward his or her wrongdoer is surely not enough to say that they have reconciled. Someone defending this account of reconciliation might agree and modify it to say that reconciliation is not just about whether people happen not to be able to do violence to each other. The defender of the view might then make the account counterfactual and say that two people have reconciled if they wouldn’t do violence to each other even if they could. But this reply is also unsatisfactory because someone might be a member of a religious or cultural tradition that strongly encourages pacifism. I might not want to do violence to you, not because you and I have reconciled but because I am simply committed to peace.

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In that way, my choice not to do violence to you isn’t born from anything between us, but wholly from commitment elsewhere. Even though you are able to trust that I will treat you respectfully and without violence, that isn’t what we are after when we claim that two people have reconciled, but is instead the result of a general principled commitment on my part. Instead what I do in such a case is tolerate you. Because of my commitment to principle, I choose not to enact violence toward you, but we have not reconciled. Next, consider a divorced couple that continues to work together in order to raise their child. That shared goal is the only reason they engage with each other at all (if they didn’t have that shared goal, they wouldn’t be a part of each other’s lives). Indeed, they have no more reconciled than mortal enemies who would do violence to each other but who must work together to escape a dangerous situation. What we do in such a case is collaborate or work as allies, but alliances are contingent on their having a shared goal, and once that goal is accomplished (or is no longer possible), the alliance itself disappears. Toleration and collaboration resemble reconciliation but are importantly different; we often mistakenly say that two people have reconciled when really they are tolerating or collaborating with each other. That’s not to say that toleration and collaboration are bad; sometimes they are fitting within the situation. It is to say, however, that one of the things that separates reconciliation from toleration and collaboration is how the victim feels about the wrongdoer. In both toleration and collaboration the victim continues to bear hard feelings toward the wrongdoer; they have not forgiven. Reconciliation, on the other hand, requires that I give up those hard feelings (or at least some of them) toward the person who wronged me—that I forgive him or her. Otherwise, we’re still just talking about toleration or collaboration. So one reason for thinking that reconciliation entails forgiveness is that how the victim feels about the wrongdoer is one of the features that distinguishes reconciliation from other, similar practices and relational states. Returning to the list of colloquial understandings of reconciliation, you might think that what we should mean when we say that two people have reconciled is that they have normalized relations. But that also fails to capture the robust meaning of reconciliation. If I learn that my partner has been cheating on me but I decide to let it go and move on, we have not reconciled if he or she never knows that I discovered his or her wrongful act. I can forgive his or her past action—remember, forgiveness is unilateral and so can go unexpressed—but we have not reconciled. Part of what is essential to reconciliation is that the wrongdoer takes ownership for his or her action and identifies what he or she did, creating the opportunity to further deal with it. It is, in other words, bilateral; it requires change in and action by both parties and not just the victim.23 If I normalize relations with my partner for a wrong



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he or she has kept secret, we have not done any of those things; instead our situation lacks truth and transparency that reconciliation requires. What I hope this discussion to have shown is that reconciliation is bilateral and requires 1) that you and I reach adequate understanding of the wrong, 2) that we be properly oriented toward each other attitudinally and affectively, and 3) that we have repaired or are in the process of repairing morally the damage done to our relationship. Like forgiveness, reconciliation is both a practice and an accomplishment, both an action that you undertake and an outcome that you achieve. Though we might try to reconcile for some instrumental goal, reconciliation is not contingently dependent on that goal, once genuinely achieved. (You and I might realize we need to reconcile because it’s going to be very difficult and painful for us otherwise. But once we achieve genuine reconciliation, it’s not merely that collective goal that keeps us together.) All three of these points need to be unpacked. The first point is epistemic: reconciliation requires that the victim and wrongdoer understand the nature of the wrongful action, the context in which it was performed, what motivated the wrongdoer to commit the wrong, both parties’ current attitudinal and affective orientation toward each other, and, perhaps most importantly, the nature of the harms sustained by the victim. All of this requires significant communication and transparency between the two parties; it cannot be done in a vacuum or purely from a place of imagination. Instead both parties must engage with each other to share significant portions of their inner lives with regard to the wrong in question and its subsequent harms. Note that this epistemic requirement is not all or nothing. It is possible for two parties to understand enough (though they do not understand all that there is to understand) about the other’s inner lives, the nuance and extent of the effects of the wrong, or the ways in which the wrongdoer’s context played a role in his or her perpetration of the wrong. In other words, it makes sense to say that the victim and wrongdoer each know enough about the other’s experience of the wrongful act and that both the victim and wrongdoer agree that they each know enough, even though neither knows everything there is to know about what was going on for the other, for them to reconcile.24 Were we to hold them to the higher standard and say that perfect or complete understanding must be achieved, we would of course rule out the possibility of reconciliation for all nonomniscient beings. The second and third points are moral and affective or attitudinal: reconciliation requires that the wrongdoer repair his or her wrong in light of that collectively achieved understanding. That will involve not just understanding the nature of the wrong and the effects that it had on the victim, but also understanding what it is the victim wants or needs in order to be able to trust the wrongdoer and to feel as if adequate reparation has been made. If the wrongdoer tries to repair

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the wrong in a way that the victim does not want, not only is his or her effort likely to be unsuccessful, it might also be experienced as an additional violation of the victim’s will. One might think that adequate understanding of the wrong will entail that the wrongdoer would not make such a mistake. Indeed, there might be some situations in which the victim and wrongdoer must communicate explicitly about what form reparation must take, while there are others in which it does not. My point is just that if reparative efforts are not successful, such that the victim does not feel as if the wrong has been adequately addressed and does not trust the wrongdoer, then they have not yet fully reconciled. Note that this allows for the possibility that the victim might ask for much more than is actually fitting or deserved; if I break a relatively inconsequential promise to you and you demand millions of dollars in return, you ask for too much, more than what reparation requires. Even if the victim asks for more than is reasonably owed, it is still the case that he or she has not reconciled with his or her wrongdoer if he or she believes reparation has not been achieved. Though the victim doesn’t entirely determine the content of what reparation entails, if he or she believes that reparation has not been made, the two parties have not reconciled. Furthermore, adequate reparation entails appreciation for the nature of the harms and the reasonableness of the methods of redress. But not all victims will make such claims (especially those who have deeply internalized feelings of inferiority or self-hatred) and so it is important to further specify that, even independent of what the victim calls for, if the wrongdoer fails to bear the proper attitudes toward the victim, reconciliation has yet to take place. Though reconciliation does entail reparation, it does not telegraph in advance what form reparation will take in any particular context. Determining all of what it means to satisfy the reparation condition very often will require both parties to actively engage with the wrong within the confines of their particular relationship and then determine what reparation will amount to for them. Here again it is clear that reconciliation is bilateral; it requires both parties to play an active role, whereas it is possible for one to forgive without reparation having taken place. Furthermore, if either party does not bear the proper attitudes toward each other, then they have not reconciled. Part of what reparation entails is that the wrongdoer is repentant and genuinely remorseful for his or her action, that his or her wrongdoer shows him or her adequate respect, and that he or she not be inclined to repeat the action again in the future. If the wrongdoer views the victim as an appropriate target of future exploitation or abuse or as someone who is not owed respect and care, then he or she has not engaged in moral repair and they have not reconciled. And if the wrongdoer views



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the wrong or its harms as minor (or nonexistent) or if the wrongdoer resents the victim for the form that he or she claims reparations must take, then he or she has not engaged in moral repair and they have not reconciled. On the other hand, if the other conditions are satisfied but the victim continues to feel enormous amounts of anger toward the wrongdoer (if he or she has not forgiven the wrongdoer), then the two have not reconciled; reconciliation requires forgiveness. I said earlier that anger can be a form not just of self-respect, but also of respect for the wrongdoer. As Strawson argues,25 it is often the case that when I become angry with you for what you’ve done to me I recognize that you are a person, you’re a moral agent who is the appropriate target of praise or blame. But that it is often a method of demonstrating respect for another does not mean that it always is. Let’s say I’m the victim of some serious wrong. My wrongdoer and I have talked and I come to believe that he or she understands what he or she did was wrong, as well as how it harmed me. He or she has also apologized and worked to make amends in other ways that I believe are in fact sufficient forms of reparation. I might still hate the person who wronged me. I think that kind of scenario is not unusual; a victim might say, “Yes, they’ve done all they could do but I’ll be mad at them forever.” In such a situation the victim fails to be appropriately affectively oriented toward the wrongdoer; there is a mismatch between his or her beliefs about what the wrongdoer has done to make up for his or her wrong and the way that the victim feels about him or her. Or he or she might not believe that the wrongdoer genuinely understands the nature of the wrong, not because he or she hasn’t tried, but because he or she is a moral monster or reducible to his or her wrong, believing that “he’s a killer, or a liar, or a cheater” and nothing more. In that scenario, though the victim feels anger toward the wrongdoer, it is not the type of anger that demonstrates respect for the other as a person, but the type of anger that you feel about a nonagent or when a terrible event occurs. Here again the victim fails to be appropriately attitudinally oriented toward the wrongdoer because they view him or her as a thing rather than as a person. Note that I am not claiming that the victim ought to do otherwise; I said earlier that we bear strong, self-regarding duties to care for ourselves and that anger, hatred, and contempt can often be valuable methods by which a victim satisfies that duty. But genuine reconciliation (rather than toleration or collaboration) requires both parties to be appropriately oriented toward each other in light of both what was done and the moral status of both parties (the victim is a person with rights who deserves not to be treated like a thing and the wrongdoer is a person who is more than the wrongful action they committed). So if the victim continues to feel powerful negative emotions toward

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the wrongdoer—if he or she fails to forgive—then the two parties have not reconciled. Before concluding, I want to briefly explore some of the reasons that might make it the case that two people ought not reconcile. Interconnectedness and Duties of Self-Care I have argued that we ought to build our concepts so as to recognize that, though reconciliation entails forgiveness, because forgiveness is unilateral and internal to the victim and because reconciliation is bilateral and requires active participation from both parties, forgiveness does not entail reconciliation. That claim is in tension with those understandings of forgiveness that tie it closely to reconciliation, such that it cannot be broken apart. Consider, for instance, Antjie Krog’s view of both forgiveness and reconciliation that are grounded in what she calls “interconnectedness-towards-wholeness,” which understands persons to be importantly interconnected so that “one can only become who one is, or could be, through the fullness of that which is around one.”26 In short, because we are who we are via our relationships with others and we are able to grow morally in light of our past mistakes and by way of that interconnectedness, “the notions of forgiveness and reconciliation cannot be separated. The one begins, or opens up a process of becoming, while the other is the crucial next step into this becoming. . . . The deed of asking for forgiveness and forgiveness itself, needs to lead to recovery, reconciliation, and eventually to a fuller personhood.”27 Part of what’s important about understanding forgiveness as the unilateral forgoing of hard feelings is that it doesn’t entail the interconnectedness with which Krog begins her analysis. This is not a defense of atomism or liberal individualism; indeed, there is much to appreciate about Krog’s analysis. Furthermore, I am very sympathetic to the claim that people are mostly socially constructed beings and that we all become who we are always via social connection with others. However, I also recognize that though we might need others in order to become who we are or to become more full and complete people, that doesn’t mean that it is victims of wrongdoing who ought to help their wrongdoers to do so or that they are even necessarily the ones best positioned to do so.28 This is perhaps one of the places where trying to analyze forgiveness and reconciliation will lead to different results based on whether you are approaching them from the interpersonal or the political. Krog starts at the political; her concern is with how groups of people who have survived atrocity are able to be together in community. That is indeed a worthwhile question because it often is not possible in the aftermath of political violence for victims to escape or be wholly divorced29 from those who wronged them



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or from the political structures that created the opportunity for them to be wronged. But the fact that it is often not possible doesn’t mean that it is never possible, and we should avoid reaching the sweeping conclusion with regard to interpersonal reconciliation that the victim in forgiving needs or ought to reconcile with the one who wronged him or her. After all, sometimes divorce is possible, sometimes one can leave his or her wrongdoer behind and not continue to be interconnected with him or her. We can agree that we are all interconnected with others and that through that interconnectedness we might be able to become more full and complete people and deny that any particular relationship (in this case the victim and wrongdoer) is the one that ought to facilitate that growth. That conclusion is not just a metaphysical point about people and how they come to be, but a moral point about what obligations people have to each other. I said earlier that people not only have duties to promote the welfare of others, but also to promote their own welfare. One way to satisfy that duty might be to avoid interconnectedness with those who are harmful. In short, socially constructed though we may be, we are capable of choosing (at least some of the time) who to be interconnected with and we care for ourselves by exiting those relationships of interconnectedness that do not promote our welfare. CONCLUSION We can take the following from this discussion: 1. Forgiveness is fundamentally unilateral; it refers to the internal work that I do in response to your wrongful action. That’s not to say that forgiveness can always take place absent your effort as my wrongdoer; contingently, I might not be capable of doing that internal work without your having attempted to make amends or without our having worked on some collective goal together. But in that case what is still central is what is going on internally for me and it could happen without your ever knowing about it or being involved. So forgiveness does not conceptually require bilateral action, though it might require it in practice. 2. On the other hand, reconciliation is fundamentally bilateral. It is not simply normalizing relations, establishing or reestablishing trust, the ability to coexist and not do violence to each other, or to work on some collective project together. As I have shown, each of those might describe situations that we wouldn’t want to call reconciliation but instead are either instances of toleration or collaboration. 3. Reconciliation is not reducible to forgiveness. I can give up my anger for my partner’s infidelity without anyone ever knowing about it and we

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shouldn’t think that we have reconciled. Instead we would simply think that I have forgiven him or her. 4. The fact that I have reason to forgive doesn’t entail that I have reason to reconcile. For instance, I might have self-regarding reasons to forgive (to not be eaten up by anger) but other-regarding reasons to reconcile (perhaps to loved ones who deeply want me to do so). It might be appropriate for me to forgive but not reconcile in any particular case. 5. Reconciliation entails transparency, forgiveness, and the moral repair of the relationship, whereas forgiveness does not entail transparency or moral repair. 6. Toleration and collaboration do not entail transparency, forgiveness, or moral repair. 7. Both forgiveness and reconciliation are scalar practices; neither are allor-nothing affairs. If I have already let go of some of my hard feelings toward you, I have partially but not completely forgiven you. The same is true of reconciliation; because each of its component pieces (forgiveness, transparency, bearing the proper attitudes and emotions, and moral repair) might all come in degrees, so too does reconciliation itself. Perfect, complete forgiveness and reconciliation might often be impossible, but that doesn’t mean that some degree of each cannot be achieved. 8. None of this is to say that reconciliation is quick or easy. Toleration or collaboration might lead to forgiveness and collective engagement with the truth of the wrong that was perpetrated, which could then lead to reconciliation. Just as forgiveness is often active and in process—just as it makes sense to say that you are on the road to forgiving someone even though you have not fully done so—so too is it the case that reconciliation is something that might be underway. It makes sense to say that you and another are reconciling, even if you have not yet completed that process (and even if that process never reaches full, perfect completion). In this way reconciliation is born from the slow and often difficult work of moving forward with the one who wronged you. 9. We are importantly social beings and we cannot become who we are (or grow into who we could be) outside of social relation with others. However, that metaphysical fact does not necessarily secure the moral conclusion that victims ought either to reconcile with or forgive those who wronged them. Those intensely personal decisions must be made within the context in which the victim operates and in light of the contingent variables that are always at play in the nuanced and often complicated moments of moral life. NOTES 1.  I presented a version of this chapter at the 33rd International Social Philosophy Conference, sponsored by the North American Society for Social Philosophy, where



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I received invaluable feedback. I am particularly grateful to Atabak Akhlaghi, who worked as a research assistant on this project, and to Kathryn Norlock, for her generous and extremely helpful editorial insight. Finally, I am grateful to Shane Gronholz, Mavis Biss, Kayleigh Doherty, and Emily Saari for helping me to work through earlier stages of this project. 2.  Jeffrie Murphy, Forgiveness and Mercy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988). 3.  Joseph Butler, “Fifteen Sermons Preached at Rolls Chapel,” in The Works of the Right Reverend Father in God, ed. Samuel Halifax (New York: Carter, 1846); Murphy, Forgiveness and Mercy; Jeffrie Murphy, “Forgiveness and Resentment,” Midwest Studies in Philosophy, ed. Peter A. French, 7 (1982): 503–16; Howard McGary, “Forgiveness,” American Philosophical Quarterly 26 (1989): 343–51. 4.  Marilyn Frye, The Politics of Reality: Essays in Feminist Theory (New York: Crossing Press, 1983); Elizabeth V. Spelman, “Anger and Insubordination,” in Women, Knowledge and Reality: Explorations in Feminist Philosophy, ed. Ann Garry and Marilyn Pearsall (New York: Routledge, 1989); Alice MacLachlan, “Unreasonable Resentments,” Journal of Social Philosophy 41 (2010): 422–41. 5.  Peter F. Strawson, Freedom and Resentment and Other Essays (London and New York: Routledge, 1974). 6. Alice MacLachlan, “Practicing Imperfect Forgiveness,” in Feminist Ethics and Social and Political Philosophy: Theorizing the Non-Ideal, ed. Lisa Tessman (Dortrecht and New York: Springer, 2009), 190. See also Uma Narayan, “Forgiveness, Moral Reassessment, and Reconciliation,” in Explorations of Value, ed. Thomas Magnell (Amsterdam: Rodopi Press, 1997), and Margaret Urban Walker, Moral Repair: Reconstructing Moral Relations after Wrongdoing (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006). 7.  Jeremy Watkins, “Unilateral Forgiveness and the Task of Reconciliation,” Res Publica 21 (2015): 19–42; Charles Griswold, Forgiveness: A Philosophical Exploration (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007); Margaret Holmgren, “Forgiveness and the Intrinsic Value of Persons,” American Philosophical Quarterly 30, no. 4 (1993): 341–52; and Glen Pettigrove, “Unapologetic Forgiveness,” American Philosophical Quarterly 41 (2004): 187–204. 8.  Some disagree that forgiveness is justified by desert in this way. For instance, Margaret Holmgren agrees that forgiveness can be deserved but denies that forgiveness has anything to do with the wrongdoer’s reparative efforts. In virtue of the ability to separate the act from the actor, she argues that unconditional, genuine forgiveness is required of us in all cases. Holmgren, “Forgiveness and the Intrinsic Value of Persons,” 350–51. 9. Kathryn Norlock, Forgiveness from a Feminist Perspective (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2009), 58–64 and 85–90. 10.  Holmgren, “Forgiveness and the Intrinsic Value of Persons”; Trudy Govier, “Forgiveness and the Unforgiveable,” American Philosophical Quarterly 1 (1999): 59–75; Jean Harvey, “Forgiving as an Obligation of the Moral Life,” International Journal of Moral and Social Studies 8, no. 3 (2007): 211–22. 11.  Marcus Singer, “On Duties to Oneself,” Ethics 69, no. 3 (1959): 203.

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12. Murphy, Forgiveness and Mercy, 24. 13.  Watkins, “Unilateral Forgiveness and the Task of Reconciliation,” 24. 14. Walker, Moral Repair, 153. 15.  I received permission to quote passages from the Not Alone Quilt by email on May 18, 2016. 16. Narayan, “Forgiveness, Moral Reassessment, and Reconciliation”; Walker, Moral Repair; Linda Radzik and Colleen Murphy, “Reconciliation,” The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Summer 2015 Edition), ed. Edward N. Zalta, http:// plato.stanford.edu/archives/sum2015/entries/reconciliation. 17.  Watkins, “Unilateral Forgiveness and the Task of Reconciliation,” 20. 18.  Ibid., 21; Colleen Murphy, A Moral Theory of Political Reconciliation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 8; Linda Radzik, Making Amends: Atonement in Morality, Law, and Politics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 80. 19.  Watkins, “Unilateral Forgiveness and the Task of Reconciliation,” 22. 20. Danielle Poe, “On US Lynching: Remembrance, Apology, and Reconciliation,” Philosophy in the Contemporary World 14 (2007): 89. 21.  Trudy Govier and W. Verwoerd, “Trust and the Problem of National Reconciliation,” Philosophy of the Social Sciences 32 (2002): 185. 22.  Watkins, “Unilateral Forgiveness and the Task of Reconciliation,” 22. 23.  Many who write about political reconciliation understand it to be bilateral in this way; it is not something that can take place without both parties’ involvement. See, for instance, Antjie Krog, “‘This Thing Called Reconciliation . . .’: Forgiveness as Part of an Interconnectedness-Towards-Wholeness,” South African Journal of Philosophy 27 (2008): 353–66; Poe, “On US Lynching: Remembrance, Apology, and Reconciliation”; Watkins, “Unilateral Forgiveness and the Task of Reconciliation”; Colleen Murphy, “Political Reconciliation, the Rule of Law, and Genocide,” The European Legacy 12 (2007): 853–65. 24. Walker, Moral Repair, 171–73. 25. Strawson, Freedom and Resentment and Other Essays, 6. 26.  Krog, “‘This Thing Called Reconciliation . . . ,’” 355. Krog is here relying on and further unpacking the moral concept of “ubuntu.” For very helpful additional analysis of the concept, see Thaddeus Metz, “Toward an African Moral Theory,” The Journal of Political Philosophy 15 (2007): 321–41. 27.  Krog, “‘This Thing Called Reconciliation . . . ,’” 356; emphasis mine. 28.  For more on the dual values of interdependence and autonomy, see Marilyn Friedman, Autonomy, Gender, Politics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003). 29.  Govier and Verwoerd, “Trust and the Problem of National Reconciliation,” 199.

REFERENCES Butler, Joseph. Fifteen Sermons Preached at Rolls Chapel, in The Works of the Right Reverend Father in God, Joseph Butler, D.C.L., Late Bishop of Durham. Edited by Samuel Halifax. New York: Carter, 1846.



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Friedman, Marilyn. Autonomy, Gender, Politics. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. Frye, Marilyn. The Politics of Reality: Essays in Feminist Theory. New York: Crossing Press, 1983. Govier, Trudy. “Forgiveness and the Unforgiveable.” American Philosophical Quarterly 1 (1999): 59–75. Govier, Trudy, and W. Verwoerd. “Trust and the Problem of National Reconciliation.” Philosophy of the Social Sciences 32 (2002): 178–205. Griswold, Charles. Forgiveness: A Philosophical Exploration. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. Harvey, Jean. “Forgiving as an Obligation of the Moral Life.” International Journal of Moral and Social Studies 8, no. 3 (2007): 211–22. Holmgren, Margaret. “Forgiveness and the Intrinsic Value of Persons.” American Philosophical Quarterly 30, no. 4 (1993): 341–52. Krog, Antjie. “‘This Thing Called Reconciliation . . .’: Forgiveness as Part of an Interconnectedness-Towards-Wholeness.” South African Journal of Philosophy 27 (2008): 353–66. MacLachlan, Alice. “Practicing Imperfect Forgiveness.” In Feminist Ethics and Social and Political Philosophy: Theorizing the Non-Ideal, edited by Lisa Tessman, 185–204. Dortrecht and New York: Springer, 2009. ———. “Unreasonable Resentments.” Journal of Social Philosophy 41, no. 4 (2010): 422–41. McGary, Howard. “Forgiveness.” American Philosophical Quarterly 26 (1989): 343–51. Metz, Thaddeus. “Toward an African Moral Theory.” The Journal of Political Philosophy 15 (2007): 321–41. Murphy, Colleen. A Moral Theory of Political Reconciliation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. ———. “Political Reconciliation, the Rule of Law, and Genocide.” The European Legacy 12 (2007): 853–65. Murphy, Jeffrie G. “Forgiveness and Resentment.” Midwest Studies in Philosophy, edited Peter A. French, 7 (1982): 503–16. Murphy, Jeffrie G., and Jean Hampton. Forgiveness and Mercy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. Narayan, Uma. “Forgiveness, Moral Reassessment, and Reconciliation.” In Explorations of Value, edited by Thomas Magnell, 169–78. Amsterdam: Rodopi Press, 1997. Norlock, Kathryn. Forgiveness from a Feminist Perspective. Lanham MD: Lexington Books, 2009. Pettigrove, Glen. “Unapologetic Forgiveness.” American Philosophical Quarterly 41 (2004): 187–204. Poe, Danielle. “On US Lynching: Remembrance, Apology, and Reconciliation.” Philosophy in the Contemporary World 14 (2007): 88–98. Radzik, Linda. Making Amends: Atonement in Morality, Law, and Politics. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009.

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Radzik, Linda, and Colleen Murphy. “Reconciliation.” The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Summer 2015 Edition). Edited by Edward N. Zalta. http://plato. stanford.edu/archives/sum2015/entries/reconciliation. Singer, Marcus G. “On Duties to Oneself.” Ethics 69, no. 3 (1959): 202–5. Spelman, Elizabeth V. “Anger and Insubordination.” In Women, Knowledge and Reality: Explorations in Feminist Philosophy, edited by Ann Garry and Marilyn Pearsall, 263–74. New York: Routledge, 1989. ———. Repair: The Impulse to Restore in a Fragile World. Boston: Beacon Press, 2002. Strawson, P. F. Freedom and Resentment and Other Essays. London and New York: Routledge, 1974. Walker, Margaret Urban. Moral Repair: Reconstructing Moral Relations after Wrongdoing. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Watkins, Jeremy. “Unilateral Forgiveness and the Task of Reconciliation.” Res Publica 21 (2015): 19–42. Zutlevics, T. L. “Reconciliation, Responsibility, and Apology.” Public Affairs Quarterly 16 (2002): 63–75.

Chapter Eight

In Defense of Third-Party Forgiveness Alice MacLachlan

In March 2007, the popular American public radio show This American Life aired an episode that included “Redemption by Proxy,”1 the true story of three people: Sophia, a high school teacher; Robert, her former, exceedingly troubled, student; and Lilly, his best friend. Robert rebelled, and Sophia came down too hard on him, keeping him after school, punishing him daily, and barring him from school events. Robert failed to graduate, he fell into violent company, and a year later he was shot and killed. Many of his friends blamed his teacher Sophia for his downfall; his friend Lilly was among them. Sophia herself “felt bad for not reaching him, bad for having been so hard on him” even before he was shot, and had guilty dreams of being confronted by his former classmates. She held herself partly culpable for Robert’s downward trajectory. Then one day, Lilly came to Sophia’s classroom and handed her a note. She called it a “letter of appreciation” from Robert but Lilly herself had written the note, which recounted her past conversations with Robert. After he failed to graduate, the note explained, only Lilly had remained angry. Robert had experienced a change in attitude. Despite everything, he came to feel grateful because Sophia had cared enough to hold him accountable, and that gratitude provided a context in which to understand her punishment of him. Interestingly, Lilly’s motives for the note focused on her relationship to—and care for—Robert: she wanted to redeem his reputation, even posthumously, to prove that he was someone who understood his responsibilities even if he couldn’t meet them, and to express the attitudes he had not. What she had not expected was the note’s profound effect on Sophia: Sophia kept the note in her wallet from then on, feeling that it “lifted away years of guilt.” In the podcast, the relief in her voice was palpable. Many contemporary philosophers would agree that this is a moving story, but few would easily accept it as a story of forgiveness. Their objection might 135

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go something like this: however much Sophia might crave and deserve forgiveness, and however much Lilly might well have intended to offer it to her, Lilly can never forgive Sophia for something Sophia did to Robert. Robert was the victim of Sophia’s blameworthy actions, so only Robert can forgive Sophia. In the oft-quoted words of John Dryden, “forgiveness to the injured doth belong.”2 In this chapter, I will take issue with the philosophical position that many have interpreted Dryden’s line to express: namely, that only victims of wrongdoing are in a position to forgive. This chapter offers both a defense and a philosophical account of thirdparty forgiveness.3 Most people agree that there are situations in which third parties (individuals other than the victim or perpetrator of a wrong) find themselves called upon to make conciliatory gestures or to adopt and express attitudes we would ordinarily describe as forgiving were they articulated by a victim.4 Furthermore, these third-party actions can potentially fulfill some of the same moral functions as forgiveness: repairing relationships damaged by wrongdoing, releasing repentant wrongdoers from self-recrimination and guilt and thus relieving excessive suffering, and expressing values of reconciliation. They may even function to support the victim’s own healing. I argue that we make best sense of both the nature and the value of such acts if we are willing to go further and recognize them as third-party forgiveness, a variant of forgiveness that is related but not reducible to victim’s forgiveness. When we deny the conceptual possibility and potential moral value of acts of forgiveness performed by those other than the victim of wrongdoing, we subscribe to a hyperindividualized account of wrongdoing that risks overmoralizing the victim’s position and ignoring the complex, distinct roles played by third parties, including witnesses, bystanders, and secondary participants. Third-party forgiveness is not necessarily good, wise, or appropriate forgiveness, any more than all acts of victim’s forgiveness are—indeed, there are heightened moral risks and concerns associated with it. Yet these risks do not negate its possible contributions to ongoing moral repair. When we deny the possibility of third-party forgiveness, we limit our understanding of the role such forgiveness can play—for better or for worse—in complex circumstances of multiple, mutual wrongdoings and hostility. Finally, in acknowledging the possibility of third-party forgiveness, I claim, we can better and more subtly assess morally problematic instances. My defense takes the following form. First, I briefly discuss what it means for one person—any person—to forgive another. Second, I develop what it would mean to forgive as a third party by asking what—if not sheer victimization—gives one person the standing to forgive another.5 Rather than arguing for universal forgiveness, I suggest that legitimate acts of third-party forgiveness are grounded both in an appropriate external relation between the forgiver and a primary actor (victim or perpetrator) and in the would-be



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forgiver’s empathetic engagement with the appropriate perspectives. I then consider how this account holds up against standard moral and conceptual objections to third-party forgiveness, and conclude with some remarks on the relationship between third-party forgiveness and victim’s forgiveness. Throughout my discussion, I draw on two narratives: the story of Sophia, Robert, and Lilly, described earlier, and the fictional story of Eva Katchadourian and her difficult, ultimately murderous son Kevin, from Lionel Shriver’s disturbing novel We Need to Talk About Kevin.6 WHAT DO WE DO WHEN WE FORGIVE? We Need to Talk About Kevin is a harrowing exploration of the limits of forgiveness. Written as a series of letters, the novel narrates the fraught relationship between Eva Katchadourian and her son Kevin, an indecipherable and malevolent child who grows up to commit a vicious mass murder at his high school, not unlike the real-life murders that plagued Columbine and other American cities in recent decades. Throughout her correspondence, Eva agonizes over a guilty secret: she never liked her son very much, and she did not want to be a mother in the first place. They conducted a cold, often vicious, sometimes violent battle of wills throughout his childhood. While Eva is not responsible for her son’s action in a strict sense of the word, at times her self-condemnation seems extremely well placed. Not surprisingly, Eva’s letters return several times to the nature of forgiveness: as something she wants—or does not want—from the parents of her son’s victims, as something she feels unable to offer to her son, and as something she does not understand. I am not sure what “forgiving” Kevin entails. Surely, it doesn’t involve sweeping Thursday artificially under the carpet or ceasing to hold him accountable, which couldn’t be in his larger moral interests. I cannot imagine that I’m supposed to get over it, like hopping over a low stone wall; if Thursday was a barrier of some kind, it was made of razor wire. . . . I cannot pretend he didn’t do it, I cannot pretend I don’t wish he hadn’t, and if I have abandoned that felicitous parallel universe . . . the relinquishment of my private if-only derives more from a depleted imagination than any healthy reconcilement for what’s done is done. Honestly, when Carol Reeves formally “forgave” our son on CNN for murdering her boy, Jeffrey, who was already precocious enough at the classical guitar to be courted by Julliard, I had no idea what she was talking about. Had she built a box around Kevin in her head, knowing that only rage dwelled there; was our son now simply a place her mind refused to go? At best, I reasoned that she had successfully depersonalized him into a regrettable natural phenomenon that had descended on her family like a hurricane.7

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Eva is not alone here. Contemporary philosophers also struggle over the precise nature of forgiveness.8 In everyday English, to describe one person as having forgiven another might mean to say that he or she was no longer angry with him or her or that he or she had changed his or her opinion of his or her or attitude toward him or her (coming to see him or her as reformed, improved, potentially improved, or worthy of a second chance), or that he or she had accepted his or her apology, that he or she had chosen not to revenge him- or herself, that he or she initiated a reconciliation. This list is not exhaustive, only characteristic. How can philosophers make sense of these permutations?9 There are a couple of options available: one might take the examples listed above to represent a cumulative set of necessary conditions. Someone forgives when he or she manages to do all these things; that is, when he or she stops being angry and appropriately adjusts his or her perception of the wrongdoer and accepts his or her apology, and so on. This makes forgiveness very attractive, at least from the perspective of the wrongdoer, but perhaps less appealing and ultimately very difficult to achieve for most potential forgivers. An act of genuine forgiveness becomes a rare event. Or philosophers could view these instances disjunctively: to forgive is either to overcome angry feelings or to accept an apology or to stop holding the wrong against the wrongdoer, etc. Certainly, there are significant points of overlap between no longer being angry, for example, and viewing someone differently. Seeing someone as improved or reformed naturally lessens the victim’s anger toward him or her. Perhaps the very best cases of forgiveness manage to achieve all of these conditions, but each on its own represents a minimal threshold for what might count as forgiveness.10 And finally, there is a third option: one might accept all of these as examples of everyday, pre-theoretical use of the word “forgiveness” but argue that only one represents a genuinely reflective understanding of the concept. For the most part, philosophers of forgiveness have opted for the third strategy, arguing that whatever else a single act of forgiveness might entail, it necessarily involves the victim overcoming his or her resentment, moral anger, or other retributive emotions.11 I have argued elsewhere for a broad understanding of forgiveness, claiming that a philosophical account should reflect and clarify recognizable everyday forgiving practices, even if these are not uncomplicated—especially if we wish to pay due respect to the narratives, responses, and self-understandings of victims.12 A philosophical account should distill those features and functions that are central to the concept as it emerges from everyday practices and develop a rational or regulative ideal that best reflects them. If these cannot be unified into a single, universal paradigm, it is better to sit with complexity than to deny the phenomenology of moral experience. Examining practices



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of forgiveness reveals an overlapping set of personal reactions to wrongful harm, typically characterized by certain changes in attitude, perception, and behavior and perhaps by the uttering of certain phrases. These reactions presuppose some confrontation with the wrong as a wrong, and they are grounded in ethical reasons. What these different phenomena have in common are their intended function(s). They all intend a certain transformation in relation to the wrong and wrongdoer: to release the wrongdoer from his or her wrong in some way, to repair some of the damage done to all parties by the wrong—perhaps even to reconcile with him or her, reaffirming an old relationship—or simply to offer some relief from the subjective experience of guilt. Identifying acts of forgiveness by their intended function means we must pay attention to how the concept is used by those in situ.13 It is not something we can determine in advance any more than a disinterested observer can catch every gesture of love or apology, distrust or gratitude as they pass between intimates. For my present purposes, however, I am prepared to remain relatively agnostic about the precise nature of forgiveness. We have good reason to embrace the possibility of nonvictim forgiveness, I claim, whether forgiveness is conceived primarily as a change in reactive attitudes (overcoming resentment) or outlined according to a more complex account. Moreover, proponents of narrow and wide accounts of forgiveness can at least agree that forgiveness is a personal reaction to wrongful harm; it differs, for example, from official, institutional responses like pardon or amnesty. The ability to pardon or grant amnesty depends upon political or judicial authority (and the power to wield it). Forgiveness does not depend on institutional support. What then grounds or grants the ability to forgive? Philosophers have been quick to answer: victimization. The victim is the only individual whose personal connection to the harm is such that he or she is in a position to forgive it: “who suffers the harm . . . is in a position to grant or refuse” it.14 Jeffrie Murphy and Joram Haber agree that forgiveness actually belongs to the victim’s agency.15 Trudy Govier calls it “the victim’s prerogative,” Piers Benn describes an entitlement analogous to waiving one’s debts, and H. J. N. Horsbrugh argues that even the verb “to forgive” takes into account whether one has sustained a serious injury.16 Agreement on this point is so widespread, it is treated almost as a truism: victims forgive.17 Many formulations of the question of third-party forgiveness, moreover, tend to beg the question against it: to ask whether a third-party can forgive on behalf of the victim is to suggest that all forgiveness is already in some way victim’s forgiveness. As with many apparent truisms, the content of this claim warrants some conceptual unpacking. Just what does it mean to claim that only victims can forgive? If most philosophers take forgiveness to be the effort to overcome

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anger, resentment, and hostility for moral reasons, then this is surely a task that can be undertaken by others besides the primary victim of wrong.18 In my initial example, Robert’s friend Lilly struggled to overcome her anger and blame toward his teacher, Sophia, even though she was not the target of Sophia’s punishments. Similarly, it seems that Lilly came to see Sophia differently after Robert’s death, that she stopped holding Robert’s death against Sophia and that the two came to achieve some kind of reconciliation. Furthermore, her actions appear to also have had the functions I attributed to forgiveness: releasing Sophia from her guilt, repairing some—though sadly not all—of the damage done, and assisting in reconciliation. In the following section, I suspend philosophical skepticism about third-party forgiveness and ask, what would it mean to take Lilly’s actions for what they seem to be? How might we account for them as instances of third-party forgiveness? FORGIVING AS A THIRD PARTY What does it mean to forgive as a third party and not as the victim of a particular wrongdoing? I have claimed that forgiveness is a personal reaction to wrongful harm; that is, if my capacity to forgive depends upon some fact about me in particular, that fact will be some personal relationship to the wrongdoing—some reason I have to take the wrongdoing personally—and not some power or authority I possess antecedently and independently of the wrong. This is one difference between forgiveness and a restricted performative power such as a presidential pardon. President Obama’s power to issue pardons does not depend on the reasons he may have for doing so in any given case. He may be criticized for pardoning without reason or for bad reasons, but the pardon is not undone by the mere existence of bad reasons. In the case of forgiveness, whether or not I am in a position to forgive (or not forgive) any given wrong—what Glen Pettigrove refers to as the “standing to forgive”—appears to depend upon the circumstances that have drawn me into this predicament in the first place. This is partly why Claudia Card refers to forgiveness as a “moral power” held by some and not others.19 Suppose we accept that not everyone can forgive every wrong, that the capacity to forgive a given wrong is not universal but limited to those with personal connections to the act requiring forgiveness. We need not conclude that only victims can manifest an appropriately personal relationship of the kind needed. My personal connection to the wrong can be indirect; I may be drawn in and provided with reasons to take it personally, based not on my relationship to the act but my relationship to one of the primary actors. In other words, the personal quality of some connections possesses a kind of limited



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transitivity; the personal nature of my connection to V (the victim) also provides me with a (fainter) personal connection to W, the wrongdoing, which V has tremendous reason to take personally.20 Insofar as my relationship to V and V’s relationship to W are appropriately grounded (more on that shortly), my attempts to forgive or my refusals to do so are also legitimate—though whether or not they are virtuous remains an open question in need of further assessment, just as it does for individual cases of victim’s forgiveness. Third-party forgiveness rests on a personal but indirect relationship to the wrong. Indeed, this indirectness is precisely what distinguishes it from secondary or tertiary victim’s forgiveness, even though the same person may be in a position to forgive both as secondary victim and as a relevantly connected third party (such as Lilly, who is a friend to Robert and a former student of Sophia’s).21 It also explains why third-party forgiveness is not necessarily a substitute or surrogate for victim’s forgiveness. In forgiving as a third party, I do not forgive on behalf of the victim: I forgive alongside her or when she does not. Surrogate relationships aim, as much as possible, to reproduce the original; the more they approximate it, the more successful the surrogacy. But the successful third-party forgiver does not attempt to imitate or assume the victim’s role. He or she does not believe him- or herself to be the victim of wrong, and neither does he or she aim to forgive as the victim or even on behalf of the victim. Instead he or she offers his or her own forgiveness as an addition or an alternative.22 As I established earlier, if forgiveness is a personal reaction and if many acts of wrongdoing have multiple victims, then we already know that one person’s forgiveness need not be a substitute for another’s (at least in theory) long before we invoke the specter of third-party forgiveness. Decisions to forgive or to refuse forgiveness can be enacted again and again. So what sort of connection provides the “appropriate grounding” for aspiring third-party forgivers? Put differently, when can we trust in the appearance of transitivity? It is instructive first to examine acts of apparent third-party forgiveness that fail to be so grounded. After all, I was uneasy with the unsolicited tide of forgiveness that washed over the shipwreck of our family in the wake of Thursday. In addition to mail promising either to beat his brains out or to bear his babies, Kevin has received dozens of letters offering to share his pain, apologizing for society’s having failed to recognize his spiritual distress and granting him blanket moral amnesty for what he has yet to regret.23

Eva Katchadourian is right to be uncomfortable with such random acts of “blanket” forgiveness. These (possibly) well-meaning strangers have missed the central point: they have jumped past the personal and the particular in

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their “cheap . . . preening” and “conspicuous clemency.” Those who offer blanket forgiveness by e-mail do not understand the import of what Kevin did in the way that his victims did, their mothers Mary Woolford and Carol Reeves do, or even as his own mother does. The problem with “cheap” forgiveness from strangers is that it is ignorant, unthinking, and—most of all—uninvolved: “After reading a few pages from the merciful, I’d feel as if I’d just crawled from a vat of liquefied squash. I wanted to shake these people and scream, Forgive us! Do you know what he did?”24 But now consider Eva’s personal encounter with a stranger’s forgiveness earlier in the novel. She is waiting to visit her son in juvenile prison and finds herself in conversation with another mother, Loretta Greenleaf, who is also waiting: “we shared a sympathetic look, mutually marveling that kids who commit grown-up crimes still have their little-boy sweet tooth.”25 Once Loretta realizes Eva is the mother of the infamous “K. K.,” however, the tone shifts with a quick intake of breath. “I could hear the reels in her head rewinding, as she grasped frantically after everything I’d said, to which she’d only half listened.”26 There is silence and sudden, cold, even judgmental awkwardness. Loretta moves subtly away, but then the conversation continues. Eventually, she asks the familiar question: why? Eva snaps her response: “‘I expect it is my fault,’ I said defiantly. ‘I wasn’t a very good mother—cold, judgmental, selfish. Though you can’t say I haven’t paid the price.’”27 Loretta is silent, judging. And then, surprisingly, Eva is granted a reprieve. It hard to be a momma. Nobody ever pass a law say ’fore you get pregnant you gotta be perfect. I’m sure you try the best you could. You here, in this dump, on a nice Saturday afternoon? You still trying. No you take care of yourself, honey. And you don’t be talking any more a that nonsense. Loretta Greenleaf held my hand and squeezed it. My eyes sprang hot. I squeezed her hand back, so hard and so long that she must have feared I might never let go.28

Let us outline the details of this encounter. First of all, Loretta’s actions are reasonably described as forgiving: her stance toward Eva shifts from negative judgment to sudden and spontaneous comfort; her words offer Eva relief and (temporary) release from her crushing guilt, and they repair the initial solidarity the two shared. Loretta does not say “I forgive you,” but her gesture speaks volumes regarding her attitudinal and cognitive shift. Of course, Loretta’s forgiveness is not directed at Kevin and his crimes, but at Eva and her self-attributed role in making Kevin the monster most people (including Eva herself) think that he is. Loretta Greenleaf is not a victim of Kevin’s crimes or of Eva’s purported failures: not primary, secondary, or tertiary. Her only connection to both is



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the long, humiliating wait to see their children and the guilty bewilderment she and Eva share at why they are there and how they might have failed as parents. Her involvement emerges from solidarity with Eva and from personal sympathy. We are also given evidence that her forgiveness is preceded by some imaginative effort to conceive of just what is at stake, both in her “frantic” grasping and her eventual question. We see her struggle with the import of what she has just learned and her initial desire to physically separate herself. Her subsequent gesture of forgiveness does not appear cheap or pruning or resemble a “vat of liquefied squash.” It is compassionate, generous, and knowing—Loretta does not absolve Eva by dismissing her responsibility for Kevin’s behavior altogether, but she offers much-needed comfort. Can we identify the key difference between Loretta’s and Lilly’s actions and the letters from strangers? Both Loretta and Lilly knew something of the situation before they spoke. Lilly knew firsthand what Robert’s experience was, while Loretta’s experiences helped her to imagine what Eva’s might have been. In Lilly’s case, she was careful not to speak as Robert, although he represented her connection to Sophia and Sophia’s actions. In Loretta’s case, she drew on the partial identification she and Eva share without claiming Eva’s experience for her own. Lilly found herself drawn in through a relationship of care for Robert and Loretta was connected through one of identification with Eva. Yet these relationships, described externally, are not yet sufficient to ground Lilly and Loretta’s forgiveness appropriately. Some imaginative effort is involved. We can imagine someone else in the waiting room with just as many reasons to identify with Eva, but whose capacity or willingness to engage empathetically is nonexistent. This other person might say, “Don’t worry about it” or “get over it” or “it’s not your fault” automatically, in order to distance herself from Eva, to avoid rather than establish connection, and thus to alleviate her own discomfort with the encounter. In so doing, this imagined interlocutor would resemble the anonymous purveyors of blanket forgiveness via mail—as would a different student of Sophia’s, if that student was concerned only to divest Sophia of blame or to end an embarrassing emotional encounter with a teacher. Both Loretta and Lilly take time before forgiving: for Lilly, this is a matter of months, while Loretta moves away for only a moment. But that space of time is suggestive; their subsequent words indicate that they have done reflective work to get to the forgiveness they express. Insofar as they possess credit as forgivers, both have done something to earn that credit. The content of Lilly’s work is explained to us in her own words; she had to learn to see things from Robert’s perspective, to understand his side of the conversations. Loretta’s work is left to the reader’s imagination, but it is not hard to read

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into her subtle move away from Eva, the question she couldn’t avoid asking, and her warm and direct generosity to Eva’s breakdown. She goes from being unable to imagine how a creature like Kevin could be possible (“Why?”) to seeing only too well how he came to be—and perhaps how he could have come to be in her own home. This reflective work gives them insight into Sophia’s and Eva’s plights that, arguably, Sophia and Eva themselves do not possess (given their understandable guilt). We might generalize from Loretta and Lilly to describe (one) avenue to third-party forgiveness. A successful third-party forgiver is committed to the moral interests of the victim and wrongdoer, that is, to getting the decision whether to forgive “right” and, at the same time, demonstrates some deference to the victim or wrongdoer’s own understanding of those interests, even if that understanding ultimately diverges from the forgiver’s own.29 Yet this combination of commitment and deference cannot be automatic and unthinking if we are to avoid the “vat of liquefied squash” Eva warns against; some work is required, and this work is best described as imaginative sympathy. The successful third-party forgiver engages in an experience that David Velleman describes as the following: she “imagin[es] the world as experienced by him—as seen through his eyes and traveled in his shoes” if only for a moment.30 Adam Smith famously describes imaginative sympathy as taking place in two stages: first, we “enter as it were into [the other’s] body, and become in some measure the same person with him, and thence form some idea of his sensations” and then we bring these same feelings “home to ourselves,” adopting and “[making] them our own.”31 The experience of “Smithean” sympathy is not literally to feel the other’s pain; after all, we sometimes feel for another “a passion of which he himself seems to be altogether incapable; because, when we put ourselves in his case, that passion arises in our breast from the imagination, though it does not in his from the reality.”32 Rather, it is to experience pain that arises from our attempt to view the world from the other’s perspective, and our subsequent effort to bring that perspective “home”—to understand and experience it as our own. In sympathizing—at least, in the imaginative sense Velleman and Smith describe—I thus align myself both what I understand to be the other person’s interests and what I imagine to be his or her perspective.33 But I do both with the understanding that they are his or hers and not mine; I do not confuse the two. Needless to say, such imaginative exercises are fallible, to say the least, and are also asymptotic at best. The Lillys and Lorettas of the world cannot ever experience exactly what Sophia and Eva feel, let alone understand what it is to be Robert, in Lilly’s case, or Mary Woolford, in Loretta’s. To imagine otherwise is hubris, and the temptation it presents—to presume more knowledge than can really be gained from an imaginative exercise and then



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to offer forgiveness on the basis of that presumed knowledge—represents a significant moral risk.34 In Lilly’s case, the risks are minimal. From what we are told of Robert, it seems he would appreciate her efforts, whatever nuances or details she missed. But things are not so simple in the example of Loretta. After all, her empathetic connection is with Eva and not with Kevin’s victims. How then is her exercise sensitive to their needs, voices, and perspectives? To answer this, we must consider with what Loretta engages: that is, the attitudes and understandings expressed by Eva. Eva is by no means a perfectly contrite wrongdoer. She is bitter (“you can’t say I haven’t paid the price”), wary, and defiant and is still working through what it means to be the mother of Kevin. Indeed, the novel’s narrative itself functions as her bewildered and horrified confession of ambivalence. But what Loretta recognizes and finds familiar in Eva’s anger is its self-directedness. Ultimately, Eva is as unrelentingly in her self-condemnation as Mary Woolford is in her attacks on Eva—indeed, she shares Mary Woolford’s appraisal. Furthermore, Eva is all too aware of how her actions may have affected Kevin’s development, and she is consumed by her own shame and regret. When Loretta places herself imaginatively in the shoes of a wrongdoer, she engages with a wrongdoer who has already taken on the victims’ assessments and perspectives on her wrongdoing and who cycles endlessly through the subsequent guilt and self-recrimination. Loretta’s task might be significantly more challenging were she to engage imaginatively with a careless and unrepentant wrongdoer in denial about their culpability (and thus their moral interests and obligations). It is highly unlikely that exercise would end in forgiveness if, as I have stipulated, the third party is committed to the moral interests of the wrongdoer. As things stand, Loretta offers Eva relief that Eva is not prepared to grant herself. The multiple connection grounding a potential third-party forgiver to the wrong he or she would forgive is perhaps best described as moral solidarity, a term I borrow from Jean Harvey.35 Many examples of moral solidarity are found in individual intimate relationships. Family and friends of the victim and wrongdoer may be best placed to listen and to gauge appropriate reactions: one person comes to forgive another for what he or she did to a third, through the forgiver’s caring relationships to both victim and wrongdoer, and his or her empathetic reconstruction of both people’s experiences. But relations of moral solidarity may also be built through common experience. Eva meets Loretta in the waiting room of the juvenile detention center. Only Eva is mother to a so-called monster, but both of them have been externally branded as parental failures. The notion of moral solidarity is equally fruitful when applied to allegiances that are formed through shared social and

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political identifications: that is, when those involved share meaningful group identities, especially when these identities are partly responsible for their vulnerability to harm. I think here of those who face social exclusion and violence, particularly members of minority groups and those who have experienced or witnessed hate crimes. In her psychological studies of forgiveness, Sharon Lamb focuses on female survivors of sexual abuse and violence; her empirical research suggests that most often decisions to forgive or to refuse forgiveness are grounded in a sense of solidarity with others in the same situation.36 For those who are socialized to discount their own subjectivity and individual value, it may be easier to confront shared wrongs indirectly, through sympathetic identification with other victims.37 THE VALUE OF THIRD-PARTY FORGIVENESS Thus far I have outlined the features of successful instances of third-party forgiveness, emphasizing its double grounding in imaginative sympathy and transitive personal relations of identification and care. In this section, I argue that acknowledging the existence and value of third-party forgiveness leads us to subtler and more attentive assessments of the aftermath of wrong. First, third-party forgiveness is occasionally the only forgiveness left to those carrying guilt. Consider, for example, the effect of Lilly’s note on Sophia: Sophia had been carrying a terrible burden—arguably heavier than she deserved. She was plagued by doubts about her own teaching style and its effects on Robert, and this guilt even manifested itself in dreams of accusation and condemnation. She held herself responsible for his alienation and failure. Sophia had taught many other students, many who succeeded admirably and many who adore her; in feeling guilty, she wasn’t craving general affirmation of her teaching style or her moral worth. Rather, she wanted something very specific in relation to her actions toward Robert: she wanted to be forgiven for those deeds in particular, but Robert himself was dead and could no longer forgive her. In the radio interview, his friend Lilly says she is not even sure Robert would ever have written such a note, even though he held the beliefs and sentiments expressed in it. But a note from Lilly about Robert offered Sophia what it was she wanted and, it appears, what Robert would have wanted for her. It may even have allowed Sophia to forgive herself. Second, in theorizing about wrongdoing and the repair that follows it, there is a tendency to schematize the players and relationships involved: X the victim forgives Y the wrongdoer for Z the wrong committed. Such an idealization, while perhaps necessary, fails to acknowledge the important roles played by witnesses, bystanders, beneficiaries, and others who stand in



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solidarity with the primary victim—or the primary perpetrator. The roles and relationships we take on are often complicated and overlapping. If we understand forgiveness as the personal reaction appropriately grounded in moral reason that leads to a transformative release from guilt, then it is not always clear we can know from where or from whom such forgiveness will come. In the case of Robert and Sophia, it could not come from Robert because he was dead, but there are other instances in which a third party might be called upon to step in. We forgive agents for particular acts they have committed, but in many cases isolated incidents of wrongdoing take place in the context of an ongoing interpersonal relationship, which in turn takes place against a broader background of social and political power dynamics. In very few of such complex scenarios are the parties involved easily identified as “victim” or “wrongdoer” in general, but only in relation to a particular act. As a result, there are often cases in which the victim of a discrete wrong is more dangerous to the wrongdoer than vice versa. Here the role of appropriately situated third parties becomes even more important. Forgiveness has multiple functions in the aftermath of wrongdoing: I categorized these as release, relief, and repair. Forgiveness can bring peace of mind to the victim, to the wrongdoer, or both; it can reaffirm values of trust, compassion, and goodwill; and it can function as an important epistemological reassessment of our initial attitudes to moral wrongdoers. Thus forgiveness can be a good—something sought by either party, and with good reason—when further relations between them, even the minimal contact needed to communicate or instantiate forgiveness, is not a wise or a safe idea. In these instances and in others, the forgiveness of third parties may take on a comforting or supportive role. We can certainly imagine another, happier scenario for Robert in which his struggles and choices do not have the same consequences. He leaves school, hits bottom, pulls himself together, and decides to come back. In this alternate scenario, Lilly still finds herself handing Sophia a note because Robert is too shy or too afraid to do so himself. The forgiveness Sophia receives from Lilly might, in this case, be the first step to a mutual reconciliation and release from the past for all parties concerned. By ignoring the multiple roles played by forgiveness and the multiple players capable of stepping in to enact it, the philosophical literature has tended for the most part to advocate what Sharon Lamb calls “a hyper-individualized notion of personal harm.”38 Some have accepted this notion as a natural consequence of “common sense” moral individualism.39 But as Lamb notes in her empirical work on forgiveness, such an approach ignores the role of group identities and identifications in situations of trauma and harms: it mattered that Lilly was also a student of Sophia’s, that she had witnessed Sophia’s relationship to Robert and her treatment of him, that Lilly was Robert’s best friend. Lilly was impli-

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cated and engaged in the situation as a participant, if not as a victim. If we treat “hyper-individualized” paradigms as normative frameworks for evaluating more complicated moral experience, such as those of Sophia, Lilly, and Robert, we risk distorting moral reality. As Govier and Verwoerd write, “forgiveness has an implicitly communal dimension . . . the relationship between the primary victim and the wrongdoer is not the only pertinent one.”40 Accepting that forgiveness, as one potential strategy for coping with harm, is available to others beyond the primary victim of wrongdoing gives us a more accurate understanding of the relational nature of both harm and its repair. Third and finally, one of the most important reasons to recognize thirdparty forgiveness is so that we can appropriately acknowledge the weight and value of its refusal. As Card notes, “refusal to forgive is equally an exercise of power.”41 Much attention has been paid to the issue of forgiveness in situations of damaged self-respect. Murphy has argued that given the value of selfrespect, the virtues of forgiveness have been overemphasized, and the virtues of maintaining anger and resentment underappreciated.42 We are in danger of promoting forgiveness to the point of servility, he maintains. While I am less fearful than Murphy of the dangers of forgiving, here he makes a valuable point. If a serial wrongdoer is forgiven again and again by a too-willing victim, appropriately grounded third-party refusals to forgive can be important demands that the wrongdoer be held accountable, that his or her actions be taken seriously, and that moral values be respected.43 When victims are coerced into forgiveness and reconciliation by abuse and oppression, third-party refusals are a particularly significant gesture of solidarity with the victim’s actual moral interests. But if we deny that such third parties could have forgiven at all, the gesture loses much of its power. For someone’s refusal to act to be significant, it must be the case that he or she could have acted should he or she have chosen. To paraphrase Hume: in this case the need to insist on “ought not” requires we acknowledge “could have.”

ONLY VICTIMS: THE CASE AGAINST THIRD-PARTY FORGIVENESS In light of (what I take to be) the compelling case for third-party forgiveness, why do so many philosophers remain skeptical? Buried in the claim “only victims forgive” are two different arguments against third-party forgiveness: one is conceptual and the other moral. The conceptual case against third-party forgiveness stipulates that, for example, whether or not Lilly did the right thing in writing her note to Sophia, what she did simply was not forgiveness. While it is perfectly possible to sim-



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ply draw the line here (forgiveness just is what only victims do), proponents of this argument must take on the burden of explaining just what is happening if not third-party forgiveness because third parties do use words, gestures, and behaviors that are relevantly similar to victims’ forgiveness and appear to have similar moral and emotional effects. One approach is to argue that third parties are employing a figure of speech—just as we do when we declare a current or historical event to be “unforgivable” as a measure of extreme and heinous wrongdoing, without seriously entertaining the decision whether to forgive or even the thought that my forgiveness is in question, or when we describe a minor oversight as “forgivable” to emphasize its moral unimportance. Yet many third-party efforts to forgive go beyond measures of wrongfulness. Imagine, for instance, that Lilly were to say: “I tried to forgive Sophia for what she did to Robert, but I just couldn’t do it” or, as was the case, “I was astonished, after writing the note, to realize I really had forgiven Sophia for what she did to Robert.” More than a figure of speech is at stake. We can hear the effort expended in her words and recognize the disappointing conclusion in the first case and the optimism in the second. Furthermore, the figurative account seems limited to acts of verbal or articulated acts of forgiveness: it seems nonsensical to claim that I have figuratively overcome my anger or hypothetically come to see someone differently. Moreover, if all forgiveness utterances by third parties were purely figurative, there would be no sense in which some parties are in a comparatively better position to forgive than others or have better grounds for doing so. Yet it matters to the story that Lilly was a student of Sophia’s, that she was Robert’s best friend. Lilly felt called upon to forgive in a way that a less connected witness might not. Indeed, someone else who performed the very same action might have appeared presumptive or arrogant to Sophia and would thus fail to grant her the release she welcomed from Lilly. As I argued earlier, Lilly is appropriately able to offer the note because she is personally connected to the wrong in a way that others are not. But perhaps I have underplayed Lilly’s connection to the tragedy. Is Lilly able to forgive only because she is also a victim? Trudy Govier and Wilhelm Verwoerd argue that apparent cases of third-party forgiveness are actually forgiveness by secondary or tertiary victims. For example, while Kevin’s classmates and teacher were his direct targets, he also caused unthinkable distress to their parents, family, and friends (his secondary victims) and to the wider community (his tertiary victims). Eva marvels at the forgiveness offered by some parents: Honestly, when Carol Reeves formally “forgave” our son on CNN for murdering her boy, Jeffrey, who was already precocious enough at the classical guitar to be courted by Julliard, I had no idea what she was talking about.44

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Equally, Eva blankly accepts the condemnation of others like Mary Woolford, who break her eggs in the supermarket, paint her house crimson, and attack her publicly and legally.45 Both Carol Reeves and Mary Woolford are secondary victims of Kevin’s violence, even if they were not present in the gymnasium; and because they have this status, their deciding that they are entitled to decide whether to forgive can be understood without the need to invoke third-party forgiveness at all. It only requires that we acknowledge they are two of many victims. I believe it to be a serious mistake to assume that every time someone forgives, he or she does so out of a sense of victimization; that is, that we forgive only to the extent that we ourselves have been harmed and only for whatever and however we have been harmed, even if that harm comes in the form of injury to someone else we care about. This confuses the object of every third party’s concern. Indeed, part of why it is important to acknowledge third-party forgiveness as a distinct phenomenon is so we can recognize those cases in which, in forgiving, the forgiver does not focus—and does not want to focus—on his or her own, secondary distress. Consider two statements Lilly might have uttered to Sophia: “I do/do not forgive you for taking Robert from me” or “I do/do not forgive you for what you did to Robert.” The difference is not merely a matter of phrasing: Lilly spoke to Sophia about Robert’s experience of Sophia, not her own experience of Robert’s loss; the story is not about Lilly blaming and then forgiving Sophia for taking Robert away. Just as we may have genuine desires and wishes for others’ well-being—for their sakes and not for our own—so too may we take up the question of their wrongful distress and feel this personally, for their sakes and not for our own. When I engage in imaginative sympathy as Adam Smith describes it, my feeling distress for another’s sake is not reducible to my feeling his or her distress as he or she would feel it, namely, feeling the distress of someone who takes him- or herself to have been victimized. Rather, the focus of my attitude is outward on how things are for her. I am not the object of my own concern. By collapsing any experience of forgiveness into a victims’ experience, we fail to distinguish being personally affected—for someone else’s sake—from being victimized, and thus appropriate an experience that belongs to victims alone. If we have reason to be wary of any extension of the prerogative to forgive, surely we have at least as many if not more reasons to be wary of extending the title “victim.” As Kathryn Norlock notes, this approach also fails to respect the distinct moral agency of the third party properly.46 Lilly was clear in her interview and to Sophia that her own reactions had differed from Robert’s; in fact, she had learned from him. She was not forgiving Sophia for herself, but offering something to Sophia about and from Robert. In order to recognize and respect the agency of victims and of third parties properly, we



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need an account of third-party forgiveness claims that recognize our ability to respond to the distress of others deeply and personally without appropriating it as our own. At root, the most credible case against third-party forgiveness is the moral argument: third parties can, but ought not, engage in decisions to forgive. This injunction against third-party forgiveness is motivated by a desire to respect the victim’s own unique and painful relationship to the wrongdoing; it rests on an intuition that forgiveness of a wrong is one of the few powers remaining to the victim, and that its power depends on its exclusivity. I agree that it is morally important that no one else can forgive for the victim, that the power to forgive cannot be snatched away like some ethical power of attorney. But because forgiveness is a personal reaction to wrongdoing, there is no reason why several persons cannot take it upon themselves to offer or refuse forgiveness. This is uncontroversially true in situations of multiple victims, for example. Kevin Katchadourian murders seven fellow students and a teacher; the ramifications of each death spread outward through the entire community. Some parents find themselves forgiving Kevin while others do not. It is not a contradiction to say that Kevin is both forgiven and unforgiven.47 But then, just as a single wrongdoer can be both forgiven and unforgiven if his or her act had many victims, there seems to be conceptual and moral room for him or her to be both forgiven by the victim and unforgiven by relevantly connected third parties, or vice versa. The possibility of diverging attitudes to forgiveness and diverging decisions to forgive exist even without third-party forgiveness: two or more victims might hold such diverging positions. Furthermore, there may be victim-centered reasons to advocate nonvictims’ forgiveness. Third-party forgiveness is not always a rebuke to the victim. Sometimes it is in support or agreement with him or her, as appears to be the case with Robert and Lilly. Lilly’s forgiveness expresses and relates an understanding that Robert originally shared with her. In no sense is it a rebuke to Robert; she intends to defend and support him. Third parties can even reinforce a victim’s forgiveness with their own, in the face of community disapproval: if Sophia’s entire class had turned against her, a gesture by Robert’s best friend would go some way toward restoring the peace. That a third party like Lilly is able to lift the burden of guilt is also particularly relevant when the victim is no longer capable of doing so, that is, when he or she is absent, incapacitated, or dead, as Robert was. Third parties may also step in when the victim is simply unable to comprehend the magnitude of his or her victimization (through shock or trauma, for example). Lilly’s act of forgiveness emerged from her investment in Robert’s wishes.

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Respecting another person does not always entail that we comply with his or her wishes or even remain silent about them. Sometimes respect for another’s moral agency requires that we communicate when and where he or she has gone wrong and attempt to provide a better example of moral action. Discussions of forgiveness tend to overly moralize the victim’s position; while bad things do happen to good people, they also happen to bad people— or, more gently, to excessively angry, recalcitrant, or unforgiving people. Equally, while cruel and immoral people do bad things, so too do more or less good people in moments of weakness, anger, or confusion. It does not silence victims everywhere to admit that sometimes grudges are held too long and too cruelly any more than it does to acknowledge that the “victim” of one particular wrong may be, in the broader context, more perpetrator than victim. Finally, insisting on a strict victim’s prerogative to forgive would have the peculiar consequence of rendering unforgivable every infraction, however minor, against someone who is now deceased, incapacitated, or incorrigibly stubborn.48 The specific arguments against third-party forgiveness are perhaps more easily dismissed than the nagging worry behind them: fear of a blanket forgiveness that is cheap and automatic, which skips past the painful and messy business of confronting viciousness and violence, and honoring the discomforting reactions of those who have been affected by it. If nonvictims cannot replicate the visceral, gut-wrenching experience of being intentionally victimized, then they may be more likely to push for reconciliation, for the return of pleasantries and social harmony. They may try to forgive in the abstract, appealing to cheap truisms about human frailty rather than facing the stark reality of human violence, thus rendering their forgiveness morally inappropriate and even dangerous—and thus they sully the good name of (victim’s) forgiveness. And here I share the skeptic’s worry; our disagreement is over how best to address and account for this worry. I believe the solution lies in acknowledging and accounting for third-party acts, thus providing us with tools for parsing the better and the worse and for advocating better practices of third party acts and refusals. VICTIMS’ AND NONVICTIMS’ FORGIVENESS My purpose in this chapter has been to extend our understanding of forgiveness to others beside the victims of wrongdoing. I have argued that we can recognize a distinct variant of forgiveness, third-party forgiveness, which is appropriately grounded in an imaginatively engaged, caring relationship of moral solidarity. I have also argued that when we deny third-party forgive-



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ness, we misconstrue the nature of harm and wrongdoing; we overmoralize the victim’s position and overlook the complex roles played by witnesses and secondary participants. Acknowledging a role for third-party forgiveness does not guarantee that all such acts are therefore morally best any more than the victim’s having the standing needed to forgive guarantees that all acts of victim’s forgiveness are therefore the morally best option. Third parties, like victims, face the risk of forgiving too easily or too often on the one hand, and of being too unforgiving on the other. Indeed, given the imaginative work needed to enter into the victim’s standpoint, third-party forgiveness holds particular moral risks that victims’ forgiveness does not. The indirectness of the personal connection increases the imaginative distance involved and so there is more danger of cheapening the act with “blanket amnesty.” Even the most careful philosophical accounts cannot protect against all hasty or misguided forgiveness, just as they cannot guard against recalcitrant resentment and grudges held too long. Yet insofar as they are appropriately grounded and cautiously bestowed, the work of third-party decisions to forgive contribute significantly to practices of post-conflict repair.49 NOTES 1.  Ira Glass, “By Proxy,” This American Life (National Public Radio, March 9, 2007), http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/327/by-proxy. 2.  John Dryden (1631–1700), “The Conquest of Granada,” Part I.I.i, date unknown. 3.  The account put forth here expands and further develops an earlier sketch of third-party forgiveness. See Alice MacLachlan, “Forgiveness and Moral Solidarity,” in Forgiveness: Probing the Boundaries, ed. Stephen Bloch-Schulman and David White (Oxford: Inter-Disciplinary Press, 2008), 3–16. 4.  I do not address self-forgiveness by perpetrators of wrongdoing in this chapter. For rich discussion of self-forgiveness, see Robin Dillon, “Self-Forgiveness and SelfRespect,” Ethics 112 (2001): 53–83; Kathryn J. Norlock, “Why Self-Forgiveness Needs Third-Party Forgiveness,” in Forgiveness: Probing the Boundaries, ed. Stephen Bloch-Schulman and David White (Oxford: Inter-Disciplinary Press, 2008), 17–30; Kathryn Norlock, Forgiveness from a Feminist Perspective (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2009). 5.  Credit for shifting the conversation from talk of the victim’s “prerogative” to the victim’s “standing”—which strikes me as a more accurate expression—belongs to Glen Pettigrove, “The Standing to Forgive,” The Monist 92, no. 4 (2009): 583–603. 6.  Lionel Shriver, We Need To Talk About Kevin (New York: Harper Perennial, 2003). The novel was adapted for film in 2011, directed by Lynne Ramsay and starring Tilda Swinton. 7.  Ibid., 230.

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8.  Notable contemporary philosophical discussion of forgiveness include Jeffrie Murphy, Getting Even : Forgiveness and Its Limits (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003); Margaret Urban Walker, Moral Repair: Reconstructing Moral Relations after Wrongdoing (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006); Charles Griswold, Forgiveness: A Philosophical Exploration (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007); Norlock, Forgiveness from a Feminist Perspective; Glen Pettigrove, Forgiveness and Love (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012); Margaret R. Holmgren, Forgiveness and Retribution: Responding to Wrongdoing (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014); Martha Nussbaum, Anger and Forgiveness (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016). 9.  I discuss this question further in Alice MacLachlan, “Forgiveness and Mercy,” Encyclopedia of Applied Ethics (Elsevier, 2012). 10. Charles Griswold’s account of ideal or paradigmatic forgiveness, which he calls “forgiveness at its best,” takes something like this approach. See Griswold, Forgiveness. 11. For noteworthy examples of this approach, see Jeffrie Murphy and Jean Hampton, Forgiveness and Mercy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988); Margaret R. Holmgren, “Forgiveness and the Intrinsic Value of Persons,” American Philosophical Quarterly 30, no. 4 (October 1, 1993): 341–52; Pamela Hieronymi, “Articulating an Uncompromising Forgiveness,” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 62, no. 3 (2001): 529–55; Griswold, Forgiveness. 12.  I elaborate on this objection in Alice MacLachlan, “Practicing Imperfect Forgiveness,” in Feminist Ethics and Social and Political Philosophy: Theorizing the Non-Ideal, ed. Lisa Tessman (Dordrecht: Springer, 2009), 185–204. My concern with the dominant model is partly a matter of exclusion. If we only really forgive when we overcome all our resentment or moral anger, in the right circumstances and for the right reasons, then we are forced to dismiss many actual practices of forgiveness as imperfect, incomplete, false, or pseudo-forgiveness. This approach also eliminates aspects of a particular act of forgiveness that may be most important to the forgiver or forgiven. Murphy insists that “forgiveness is primarily a matter of how I feel about you (not how I treat you),” but to the recipient, how she is treated may be far more important than Murphy allows. See Murphy and Hampton, Forgiveness and Mercy, 21. Being “let back in” can be as much a matter of social gesture and ritual as it is a moment of deep emotional change. The two may not even be separable. 13.  R. J. O’Shaughnessy, “Forgiveness,” Philosophy 42 (1967): 336–52. 14.  B. Lang, “Forgiveness,” American Philosophical Quarterly 31, no. 2 (1994): 107. 15.  Murphy and Hampton, Forgiveness and Mercy; J. G. Haber, Forgiveness: A Philosophical Study (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 1991). 16.  T. Govier and W. Verwoerd, “Forgiveness: The Victim’s Prerogative,” South African Journal of Philosophy 21, no. 2 (2002): 97–111; P. Benn, “Forgiveness and Loyalty,” Philosophy 71 (1996): 369–83; H. J. N. Horsbrugh, “Forgiveness,” Canadian Journal of Philosophy 4 (1974): 269–82. 17.  There are, however, notable exceptions to this consensus. Kathryn Norlock presents a trailblazing argument against assimilating all forgiveness to victim’s forgiveness in Forgiveness from a Feminist Perspective. Glen Pettigrove and Linda



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Radzik also discuss the role of third parties in forgiving harms to others and acknowledge the role of third-party forgiveness. Pettigrove, “The Standing to Forgive”; Linda Radzik, “Moral Bystanders and the Virtue of Forgiveness,” Forgiveness in Perspective 66 (2010): 69–88. 18.  To argue that forgiveness only overcomes the reactive attitude of resentment, and then to define resentment as only that anger I experience on behalf of injuries to myself, seems to beg the question against third-party forgiveness. It is not obvious that our emotional lives remain so individualistic or so compartmentalized. See Alice MacLachlan, “Unreasonable Resentments,” Journal of Social Philosophy 41, no. 4 (2010): 422–41. 19. Claudia Card, The Atrocity Paradigm: A Theory of Evil (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 166. Card remains rather enigmatic about moral powers, referring to them as capacities and forms of address that emerge in the wake of serious harm and wrongdoing. For an extended discussion of moral powers, see Alice MacLachlan, “Moral Powers and Forgivable Evils,” in Evil, Political Violence, and Forgiveness: Essays in Honour of Claudia Card, ed. Andrea Veltman and Kathryn J. Norlock (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2009), 135–58. 20.  The notion that personal connections possess even a limited transitivity is intuitively plausible, if we consider how the projects, hobbies, loves, and family of a beloved can take on a significance to us that they wouldn’t otherwise, over time. We may become invested in them in a way that depends upon and is responsive to our personal investment in the loved one, not the hobby, project, or family. For evidence of this transitivity, we need only consult parents in attendance at their child’s school play or a romantic partner who has learned to appreciate and even love the idiosyncratic musical tastes of his or her beloved. Determining the details and especially the limits of such transitivity, however, must be put aside for my present purposes. 21. Secondary and tertiary victims are also harmed by their personal or social relationship to the primary victim. The family member of a murder victim is a secondary victim; community members whose sense of safety is threatened after an act of random violence are tertiary victims of that act. 22.  A common complaint about failed attempts at third-party forgiveness is that the aspiring third-party forgiver does behave as if he or she believes he or she is the victim; he or she makes it all about him or her. 23. Shriver, We Need To Talk About Kevin, 328. 24.  Ibid., 329. 25.  Ibid., 162. 26.  Ibid., 163. 27. Ibid. 28.  Ibid., 164. 29.  Note that the commitment is to the moral interests and not the prudential interests of the appropriately involved party. The wrongdoer has already demonstrated him- or herself to have an imperfect grasp of his or her own moral interests, and an unrepentant wrongdoer’s grasp of the situation will be very different than that of anyone who is in a position to forgive.

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30.  David Velleman, Self to Self (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 350. 31. Adam Smith, The Theory of Moral Sentiments (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976), 9. 32.  Ibid., 12. 33.  Some might wish to use “empathy” rather than sympathy here, in line with modern usage. I use “sympathy” for two reasons: first, because it reflects the language that Adam Smith employed, and I rely substantially on his philosophical description of the imaginative act involved. Second, the kind of emotional engagement I describe, moral solidarity, is framed by caring concern for the object of engagement. It thus seems appropriately sympathetic and not merely empathetic. For a useful discussion of the differences between the two, in Smith among others, and the relationship of both sympathy and empathy to care, see S. L. Darwall, “Empathy, Sympathy, Care,” Philosophical Studies 89 (1998): 261–82. 34.  This moral risk is not unique to third-party forgiveness, but attends any reliance on exercises of imaginative sympathy, or empathy. Indeed, the danger and the sheer presumption of imagining we can know how others feel have fueled notable feminist critiques of empathy. See Lorraine Code, “I Know Just How You Feel: Empathy and the Problem of Epistemic Authority,” in Rhetorical Spaces: Essays on Gendered Locations (New York: Routledge, 1995), 120–43. 35.  Harvey does not discuss moral solidarity in the context of forgiveness, but her discussion illuminates a morally valuable bond, which depends on both a commitment to the other’s interests and a willingness to engage, empathetically, with his or her experience and perspective of those interests. See Jean Harvey, “Moral Solidarity and Empathetic Understanding: The Moral Value and Scope of the Relationship,” Journal of Social Philosophy 38, no. 1 (2007): 22–37. 36.  Sharon Lamb, “Forgiveness Therapy in Gendered Contexts: What Happens to the Truth?,” in Trauma, Truth and Reconciliation, ed. Nancy Potter (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 229–56. 37.  I am prepared to extend instances of third-party forgiveness to those whose sole connection is imaginative; that is, to someone who forms a relationship to the primary victim based on his or her outrage and indignation at the victim’s plight. Glen Pettigrove describes someone whose outrage at the treatment of workers in the maquiladoras along the U.S-Mexican border leads her to become an activist and take up their cause, on behalf of “people she has never met and to whom she is connected by no more than their shared humanity.” See Pettigrove, “The Standing to Forgive,” 587. It seems possible that for some, shared humanity is enough to ground the kind of rich imaginative engagement required for moral solidarity; sadly, though, the imaginations of the rest of us are more limited. For us, such attempts may dissolve into the emotional equivalent of “liquefied squash” that Eva Katchadourian despises. I anticipate an inverse relationship between the strength of the existing external relationship and the kind of imaginative effort involved. Furthermore, given the limited nature of our imaginations, the dangers of “ungrounded” or illegitimate attempts to forgive as a third party increase as the



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closeness of the relationship decreases. We can imagine difficult or “limit” cases, in which the desire to forgive emerges from a morbid or unhealthy fascination with wrongdoing: picture a television news junkie who craves stories of depravity, cruelty, and violence simply to imaginatively “enter into” the victims’ experiences and then forgive the perpetrators. It is not clear that anything of value is accomplished here—certainly not the kind of moral repair, relief, or release from guilt we typically associate with forgiveness. Many people intuitively resist this experience as forgiveness, out of the sense that insofar as imaginative work is being done, it is not the right sort of imaginative work. A (potential) forgiver should not, one presumes, go seeking or cause occasions on which it is warranted. On the other hand, the neurotic compulsion to forgive (and the craving for wrongdoing simply to induce forgiveness) is equally problematic for the moral value of victim’s forgiveness. 38. Lamb, “Forgiveness Therapy in Gendered Contexts: What Happens to the Truth?,” 45. 39. Griswold, Forgiveness, 118. 40.  Govier and Verwoerd, “Forgiveness: The Victim’s Prerogative,” 108. 41. Card, The Atrocity Paradigm: A Theory of Evil, 213. 42. Murphy, Getting Even. 43.  It seems Shriver’s character Eva Katchadourian agrees with me here, when she remarks, “my brother Giles’ staunch incapacity to pardon us . . . is a grudge I treasure.” Shriver, We Need To Talk About Kevin, 328. 44.  Ibid., 230. 45.  Ibid., 3–6. 46. Norlock, Forgiveness from a Feminist Perspective, 115–36. 47.  Though it may be fair to say that one act of forgiveness can preempt another, making the wrongdoer’s need for forgiveness less urgent. If eleven of my twelve victims have forgiven me, my quest to obtain forgiveness from the holdout may have less urgency than it did for the first. On the other hand, the holdout victim may come to have exaggerated importance for me, if I am wracked with guilt. 48. The character of Mr. Darcy initially makes an excellent example of a too stubborn, doggedly recalcitrant victim: “‘No’—said Darcy, ‘I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding—certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others as soon as I ought, nor their offences against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful.—My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.’” See Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice (London: The Zodiac Press, 1950), 47. 49.  The arguments in this chapter have taken some time to come to fruition, and I am grateful to the many, many people who challenged and improved them in their infancy. I wish to extend my thanks especially to Steven Burns, Daniel Groll, Duncan MacIntosh, Glenn Pettigrove, Linda Radzik, Greg Scherkoske, Susanne Sreedhar, and Lisa Tessman, for their assistance—and, above all, to Kate Norlock for her editorial guidance.

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REFERENCES Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice. London: The Zodiac Press, 1950. Benn, Piers. “Forgiveness and Loyalty.” Philosophy 71 (1996): 369–83. Card, Claudia. The Atrocity Paradigm: A Theory of Evil. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Code, Lorraine. “I Know Just How You Feel: Empathy and the Problem of Epistemic Authority.” In Rhetorical Spaces: Essays on Gendered Locations. New York: Routledge, 1995, 120–43. Darwall, Stephen L. “Empathy, Sympathy, Care.” Philosophical Studies 89 (1998): 261–82. Dillon, Robin. “Self-Forgiveness and Self-Respect.” Ethics 112 (2001): 53–83. Glass, Ira. “By Proxy.” This American Life. National Public Radio, March 9, 2007. http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/327/by-proxy. Govier, Trudy, and Wilhelm Verwoerd. “Forgiveness: The Victim’s Prerogative.” South African Journal of Philosophy 21, no. 2 (2002): 97–111. Griswold, Charles. Forgiveness: A Philosophical Exploration. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. Haber, J. G. Forgiveness: A Philosophical Study. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 1991. Harvey, Jean. “Moral Solidarity and Empathetic Understanding: The Moral Value and Scope of the Relationship.” Journal of Social Philosophy 38, no. 1 (2007): 22–37. Hieronymi, Pamela. “Articulating an Uncompromising Forgiveness.” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 62, no. 3 (2001): 529–55. Holmgren, Margaret R. Forgiveness and Retribution: Responding to Wrongdoing. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014. ———. “Forgiveness and the Intrinsic Value of Persons.” American Philosophical Quarterly 30, no. 4 (October 1, 1993): 341–52. Horsbrugh, H. J. N. “Forgiveness.” Canadian Journal of Philosophy 4 (1974): 269–82. Lamb, Sharon. “Forgiveness Therapy in Gendered Contexts: What Happens to the Truth?” In Trauma, Truth and Reconciliation, edited by Nancy Potter, 229–56. New York: Oxford University Press, 2006. Lang, Berel. “Forgiveness.” American Philosophical Quarterly 31, no. 2 (1994): 105–15. MacLachlan, Alice. “Forgiveness and Mercy.” Encyclopedia of Applied Ethics. Elsevier, 2012. ———. “Forgiveness and Moral Solidarity.” In Forgiveness: Probing the Boundaries, edited by Stephen Bloch-Schulman and David White, 3–16. Oxford: InterDisciplinary Press, 2008. ———. “Moral Powers and Forgivable Evils.” In Evil, Political Violence, and Forgiveness: Essays in Honour of Claudia Card, edited by Andrea Veltman and Kathryn J. Norlock, 135–58. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2009.



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———. “Practicing Imperfect Forgiveness.” In Feminist Ethics and Social and Political Philosophy: Theorizing the Non-Ideal, edited by Lisa Tessman, 185–204. Dordrecht: Springer, 2009. ———. “Unreasonable Resentments.” Journal of Social Philosophy 41, no. 4 (2010): 422–41. Murphy, Jeffrie. Getting Even: Forgiveness and Its Limits. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. Murphy, Jeffrie, and Jean Hampton. Forgiveness and Mercy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. Norlock, Kathryn J. Forgiveness from a Feminist Perspective. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2009. ———. “Why Self-Forgiveness Needs Third-Party Forgiveness.” In Forgiveness: Probing the Boundaries, edited by Stephen Bloch-Schulman and David White, 17–30. Oxford: Inter-Disciplinary Press, 2008. Nussbaum, Martha. Anger and Forgiveness: Resentment, Generosity, Justice. New York: Oxford University Press, 2016. O’Shaughnessy, R. J. “Forgiveness.” Philosophy 42 (1967): 336–52. Pettigrove, Glen. Forgiveness and Love. New York: Oxford University Press, 2012. ———. “The Standing to Forgive.” The Monist 92, no. 4 (2009): 583–603. Radzik, Linda. “Moral Bystanders and the Virtue of Forgiveness.” Forgiveness in Perspective 66 (2010): 69–88. Shriver, Lionel. We Need To Talk About Kevin. New York: Harper Perennial, 2003. Smith, Adam. The Theory of Moral Sentiments. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976. Velleman, David. Self to Self. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Walker, Margaret Urban. Moral Repair: Reconstructing Moral Relations after Wrongdoing. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006.

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Index

acceptance, xx, 14, 90 accountability, 3, 76, 79, 122, 135, 137, 148 acknowledgment, xii, 3, 8, 81–82, 86–87, 96, 152; and apologies, 12–13, 28, 105. See also recognition admiration, 56, 60, 76, 80, 118; aesthetic, 63; moral, xvi, 55, 96–97, 108 affect, 82, 86, 125, 127 affirmation, 17, 29, 62, 139, 146–47 African National Congress (ANC), 5, 57 agency, vii, xviii–xxi, 7, 58, 62–63, 84, 87–88, 110, 112, 120, 139, 147, 150, 152; and autonomy, 60–61, 67; and responsibility, 76, 81, 86, 104, 118, 127 anger, vii, ix, xv, xix, xxi, 13, 80–87, 94n40, 98, 104, 107–8, 110–11, 118–20, 122, 129–30, 135, 140, 145, 148–49, 152, 154n12, 155n18; excessive, xiv, 40, 42, 75, 111, 127, 152; reducing, x, 45–49, 138; settled, xi, 38, 108, 115n23; Transition, 109 apartheid, 1, 5 apologies, xvi, 5, 56, 86, 96, 98–100, 102–6, 115n20, 127, 138–39, 141; beyond, 3–4; demanding, 81, 114n13–14; motivation to, xiv,

12–18, 20, 22–23, 26–30. See also repentance appropriateness, 43, 57, 76, 79, 83, 89, 101, 127; of forgiveness, x, xxi, 14, 42, 75, 86, 114n5, 115n14, 119, 130n4, 136–38, 152; of goodwill, xix, 96, 104, 156n33; inappropriate, 3–4, 56, 69–70, 75, 80, 82, 104; of resentment, xv, 73, 77, 108–9, 118, 126; for third-party forgiveness, 140–41, 143, 145, 147–50, 152–53, 155n29. See also justification; fitting Aristotle, xiv, 38–40, 42, 48, 67, 75, 77, 80, 92n3, 94n40 Arendt, Hannah, 2, 4, 56 autonomy, xv, 55–56, 60–61, 65, 67, 90, 132n28 behavior, xi, xiii, xix, 24, 39, 44, 46, 62, 66, 78, 102, 112, 139, 149, 155n22 beliefs, xvii, 82, 86, 89, 104, 108, 114n11, 127; forgiveness as, xi, xvi, xviii–xxi bitterness, 46, 56–59, 85–86, 90, 111, 145 blame, 21, 24, 30, 76, 78, 94n40, 100, 103, 110, 114n11, 115n16, 127, 135–36, 140, 143 blanket forgiveness, 141–43, 152–53 173

174

Index

Butler, Joseph, xi, 58, 75, 107–8, 115n23, 115n26 capacities, 2–3, 30, 84, 86, 101; to forgive, xiv, xvii, 58, 88, 140; moral, vii–viii, 69, 155n19; rational, 60–61, 67; for sympathy, 82, 143; verb, xviii Card, Claudia, 140, 148, 155n19 care, xvii, xx, 9, 70, 91, 119, 122, 126– 27, 129, 135, 143, 146, 150 character, 24, 38, 49, 60–63, 75, 94n38, 113; vicious, 77, 88 children, xv, xxi, 6–7, 9, 40–47, 50, 60, 111, 114n14, 124, 137, 143; childhood, xiv, 137 Christianity, 58–59, 88 coercion, 3, 84, 104, 148 collaboration, 117, 122, 124, 127, 129–30 commitment, 60, 79–80, 92n3, 94n38, 105–7, 124, 144, 155n29, 156n35; forgiveness as, viii–ix, xi, xvii–xxi community, 9, 10n14, 42–43, 50, 128, 148–49, 151, 155n21; moral, viii–xiv, 12, 14–15, 30, 58–59, 63–64, 69 compassion, 9, 14, 42–43, 48, 58–59, 119, 143, 147 compensation, 13, 76–77, 81–82 complexity, xiii, 4, 75, 82, 85–86, 88, 90, 136, 138–39, 147, 153 condemnation, 3, 41, 77, 103, 150; selfcondemnation, 137, 145–46 confrontation, xxi, 3, 16–17, 49, 135, 139, 146, 152 consequences, 46, 108, 147, 152 consequentialism, x–xi, 88 contempt, 59, 80–81, 86, 111–13, 118, 127 control, vii, 109, 114n11; self-control, 30, 61; uncontrollable, vii, 41 cost of not forgiving, 14, 30, 98, 119– 20. See also dangers of forgiveness criminal justice, xv–xvi, 73, 75, 85–86, 89, 91; criminalization, 73, 84, 87; criminals, 3, 82–83, 94n37, 122

dangers of forgiveness, xiv, 40, 69, 96, 124, 147–48, 152–53, 156n34, 156n37. See also cost of not forgiving debt, 90, 99–101, 113n3, 121, 139 depression, 39, 41, 47, 109 desert, xiv, 76–81, 83, 85, 87–88, 91, 108, 115n26, 118–19, 126–27, 131n8, 136, 146 dignity, 78, 80, 83, 91 direct/indirect forms of forgiveness, 13, 15–23, 25–29 disappointment, 86–87, 118, 149 distress, 105, 141, 149–51 duty, 3, 61, 69, 100, 105, 129; imperfect, xix, 86, 119, 127 education, 74; forgiveness, xiv, 41–45, 48–50, 115; moral, xv–xvi, 38, 56, 60, 62, 70, 77, 92. See also learning embodiment, x, xiii, 1–2, 5–9, 56, 144 emotion, ix, xiii, 14, 40, 66–67, 81, 103, 116n32, 130, 143, 154n21, 156n33; freedom, 44; moral, viii, xvi, 12–13, 15–18, 23–29, 32–33, 42–43, 118– 19, 122, 149; negative, 59, 109, 118, 127, 138, 156n37; overcoming, vii, xi–xii, xx–xxi, 1, 41, 97–99, 107, 110–11, 115n16, 154n12, 155n18; positive, 48, 76 empathy, xiii, 6–7, 14, 43, 137, 143, 145, 156n33–35 epistemology, xvii, 4, 94n38, 125, 147 evil, xvii, 2–4, 58, 77, 79–80, 86, 115n26 excusing, xi–xii, 3, 39–40, 42, 59, 94n40, 96, 104; inexcusable, 114n11 fear, 3, 5, 13, 28, 78–79, 118–19, 142, 148, 152 fitting, 68, 89, 108–9, 124, 126. See also appropriateness; justification forgetting, xi, 40, 42, 58, 122, 157n48 friendship, 1, 42, 77, 84, 105, 107, 115n17, 135, 140–41, 145–49, 151 functional: view of forgiveness, xii–xiv, xx–xxi, 30, 136, 139–40, 147; view of resentment, 79



Index 175

future, x, 13–14, 38, 49, 102, 126; forward-looking, xii, xvi, xix, 109; moving forward, 4, 119, 122, 130; self, xvii–xviii gender, x, xxiiin13, 1–2 generosity, 8, 40, 44–46, 56, 58, 106, 143–44 Goffman, Erving, 12 goodwill, 15, 96–97, 102, 104, 106–8, 110–11, 113, 147 Govier, Trudy, xii, xviii–xix, 39, 139, 148–49 Griswold, Charles, xii, 94n40, 154n10 grudge, ix, 12–14, 16–25, 27–29, 103, 109, 110, 152–53, 157n43 guilt, vii, 4, 67, 99, 113n2, 135–37, 139– 40, 143–47, 151, 156n37, 157n47; crippling, 86–87, 142; regret, 4, 110, 141, 145; contrition, 4, 145 Haber, Joram, x–xi, 139 habit, 39, 77, 84, 115n18 harm, xxi, 41, 47, 55, 78, 81–85, 87, 109, 112, 115n23, 126–27, 129, 150, 153, 155n17, 155n19, 155n21; forgiveness as reaction to wrongful harm, 118, 139–40, 146–48; recovery from, ix, 44, 47, 86, 119; remedying, 13–14, 16, 28; victims of, vii, xv, 79, 125 hate, 3, 41, 58, 77, 79–81, 86–87, 94, 111, 126–27, 146 health, x, 38, 40, 65, 82, 93, 122–23, 137; emotional, 41, 48; unhealthy, 157 heart, xvi, 6, 9, 45–46, 76, 101, 104; change of, xi, 42, 105 hope, xv, 1, 61–62, 66, 68, 70, 96, 106, 113, 125; hopelessness, xviii, 3, 113 hostility, xvi, xx, 42, 85, 96–99, 110–12, 114n13, 136, 140. See also resentment humiliation, 85, 118, 143 idealization, 110; of the concept of forgiveness, x, xii–xiii, xx, 55–56,

146, 154; of morality, vii, 60–63; regulative, 55, 61, 138 imagination, xxi, 46, 63, 77–79, 82, 91, 106, 125, 137, 143; sympathy, xvii, 144–53, 156n33–34, 156n37 indignation, vii, xvi, 15, 77–80, 91, 97–98, 107–9, 111, 156 individualism, 9, 10n14, 128, 147; hyperindividualism, 136, 147–48 inimba (umbilical cord/motherhood), xiii, 6–9 injury, xi, xiv, 40, 58–59, 78, 81–82, 85, 94n40, 136, 139, 150, 155n18 intention, 12, 15–17, 69, 81, 115n23, 136, 151–52 interconnection, 7, 9, 10n14, 128–29 internalist account of forgiveness, xi– xii, xvi–xvii, xx, 118, 120–22, 125, 128–29; unilateral account, xii, xvi, 117, 119, 124, 128–29 intimacy, 57, 109, 111, 139, 145 Jesus, 56–57, 59–60, 63–66, 68, 113n3 judgment, xvi, xx, 13, 24, 28, 56, 66–67, 77, 79, 82–83, 85–86, 92n6, 110, 112–13, 142 justice, 3, 12, 40, 48–49, 63, 77–79, 96–97; restorative, 82, 89–90, 94n40, 108; retributive, x, 82–83, 108; injustice, 39–42, 45–46, 58, 80–81. See also criminal justice justification: of forgiveness, x–xii, 97, 110, 117, 119, 122, 131; of resentment, 41, 81, 108; of punishment, 83. See also appropriateness; fitting Kant, Immanuel, xv, 56–57, 59–69, 86, 111, 114n8 King Jr., Martin Luther, 55–59, 63–67 Krog, Antjie, 128, 132n26 law, 91, 93n35, 94n37, 142; moral, 59–68 learning, xvi, 41, 43–47, 49, 77, 83, 143, 150, 150n20. See also education

176

Index

Levinas, Emmanuel, 8–9 loathing, 111–13, 116; self, 86–88 love, 9, 13, 40, 49–50, 58–59, 63, 76–77, 80–81, 109–10, 119–20, 130, 139, 155n20; lavish love, 42–45; as performative act, 106–7 MacLachlan, Alice, xii–xiii, xvii, 41, 118 malice, 77, 80, 82–83, 85, 111 Mandela, Nelson, 56–58, 63–66, 68, 70n8 maturity, 39, 42–43, 49–50, 64, 94n38; immaturity, 64–65, 67 mercy, xi, 40, 78, 90–91, 96 moral: admiration, xvi, 55, 96–97, 108; community, viii–xiv, 12, 14–15, 30, 58–59, 63–64, 69; education, xv–xvi, 38, 56, 60, 62, 70, 77, 92; emotions, viii, xvi, 12–13, 15–18, 23–29, 32–33, 42–43, 118–19, 122; feeling (Achtung), 60; inferiority, 13–14, 16–18, 23, 63; law, 59–68; life, xx, 75, 79, 83, 94n40, 117, 119, 130; rights, x, 100, 103, 127; risk, 136, 145, 148, 153, 156n34; solidarity, 142–43, 145–48, 152, 156n33, 156n35, 156n37; superiority, 14, 17, 63. See repair, moral; respect, moral moral worth, 61, 110, 146; inherent, xv, 39, 42–49; of forgiveness, xvii, xxii; self-worth, 39; worthless, 80, 113 motivation, xv, xx, 39, 41–42, 49–50, 74–76, 85, 89, 91, 109, 119, 125; to apologize, xiv, 12–18, 20, 22–23, 26–30; to forgive, xiii, 56, 64, 86, 89, 97, 151; by injustice, 79, 81–82 Murphy, Jeffrie, x–xii, 59, 75, 82–83, 86, 88, 116n34, 139, 148, 154n12 negative feeling, xii, xv–xvi, 14–15, 24, 59, 86, 97, 118, 122, 127, 142. See also resentment Not Alone public art project, 121–22 Nussbaum, Martha, 56, 58, 70n8, 108–9

obligations, xxi, 81, 100, 102–3, 105–6, 114n9, 115n17, 121, 129, 145 oppression, x, xv, 1–2, 63, 148 outrage, xvi, 97, 109, 156n37 overcoming negative feeling, vii, xi–xii, xiv, xvi, xviii, xx–xxi, 41, 55, 80, 90–91, 96–99, 107–8, 115n16, 139, 154n12, 155n18; trauma, 1; guilt, 86; hostility, 110–11, 138, 140, 149. See also Butler, Joseph; traditional view of forgiveness owing, 79, 83, 88–89, 115n17, 119, 126 pain, vii, 6, 12, 44, 66, 82–83, 86–87, 109, 125, 141, 144, 151–52; reduction, x, 122 pardon, xi, 59, 94n40, 96, 157n43; official, 91, 139–40 partial forgiveness, xvii, 39, 118, 120, 130 the passions, xi, 75, 77–78, 82, 90, 118, 144 past, xiii, 84, 135, 147; traumatic, 1–4, 9; wrongs, x, xvii, 58, 85, 102, 117, 120, 124, 128 peace, 2, 6, 38, 42, 48–50, 57, 102, 123, 147, 151 performative theory of forgiveness, xvi, xxi, 97–107, 114n8, 120, 140. See also speech act theory Pettigrove, Glen, xi, 55, 140, 153n5, 154n17, 156n37 power, xiii, xx, 1, 4, 13–15, 44, 55, 60, 69, 74, 101, 127, 139–40, 147–48, 151, 155n19; powerless, xv, 68, 70, 123 pride, 59–60, 87 punishment, 3, 66, 76–77, 79–85, 87, 91, 97, 100, 115n26, 135, 140 punitive, 73, 77–78, 82–85, 89–91 reactive attitude, xix, 68, 92n6, 118, 120, 139, 155n18. See also Strawson, P. F. recognition, 3–4, 77, 89–90, 118, 120, 122, 127–28,



Index 177

136, 141, 145, 148, 150–51. See also acknowledgment reconciliation, xvii, 1, 13–14, 17, 28–30, 57–58, 64–65, 97, 110, 117, 119–21, 123–30, 136–40, 147, 152; embodied, 2, 4; forgiveness does not require, 39–40, 42, 44, 47, 96, 148. See also Truth and Reconciliation Commission reflection, xv, xx, 76, 107, 110, 138, 143–44 relief, 135, 139, 142, 145, 147, 157n37 religion, 7, 74, 99, 120; tradition, 50, 88, 123 remorse, xiv, 3–4, 13, 28, 87–88, 126 repair: moral, 117, 126–27, 130, 136, 139–40, 146–48, 153, 157n37; relationships, ix, xiv, xx, 13, 30, 49, 119, 121, 125, 142 reparation, 96, 99–100, 103, 125–27, 131n8; recompense, 13, 76–77, 81–82 repentance, 75, 79, 86, 88, 99, 103, 113, 126, 136; unrepentant, xvi, xiin13, 96, 145, 155n29. See also apologies resentment, vii, ix, xi–xii, xiv, xix, xxi, xxiiin13, 87, 91, 92n6, 94n40, 97–98, 102, 110–111, 114n13–14, 120, 127, 154n12, 155n18, 157n48; appropriateness of, xv, 73, 77, 108–9, 118, 126; Butlerian, xi, 58, 75, 107–8, 118; excessive, 90, 153; reasonable, 41, 148; reducing, 38, 40, 46, 48–49, 59, 104–7, 138–40; Smithian, xvi, 75–86 respect, xiin13, 44–45, 48, 59, 64, 85, 92, 124, 138; disrespect, 40, 46, 112; moral, xviii, xix, 55–56, 60, 63, 69, 79–81, 83, 90, 126, 150–52; selfrespect, x–xii, 87, 91, 97, 118, 127, 148 responsibility, vii, xiii, xix, xxi, 3, 5, 8–10, 13, 19, 21, 24–25, 30, 103–4, 135, 137, 143, 146; and agency, 76, 81, 86, 104, 118, 127

retaliation, 13–15, 58, 79 retribution, 41, 65; emotions, 138; retributive justice, x, 82–83, 108 revenge, 12–25, 27–29, 31, 41–42, 48, 57, 59, 75, 82, 87, 97, 108, 110, 138. See also vengeance righteous, 3; indignation, 9, 111; selfrighteous, 1, 16–17 rights, 58, 65, 74, 104–6, 115n16; human rights abuse, xiii,1, 3–4; moral, x, 100, 103, 127 Rwandan genocide, 2, 4 sadness, 67, 86, 105, 119 sincerity, xvii, 70, 102–3; insincerity, 55, 66, 102, 114n8 Smith, Adam, xv–xvi, 75–83, 144, 150, 156n33 social bond, 13–15, 28, 92 South Africa, 1–5 speech act theory, 98, 104; forgiveness as, xi, xvi, xx, 100–1, 120; illocutions, xxi; utterances, xii, xvi, xix, 98, 101–4, 106, 114n8, 120, 149. See also performative theory of forgiveness Strawson, P. F. (Peter Frederick), 78, 92n6, 118, 127. See also reactive attitude suffering, x, 1, 3, 45, 78–80, 82–83, 108–9, 136, 139; of others, 9, 63, 66, 68, 119 sympathy, 76, 79, 81–82, 128, 142–43, 156n33–34; imaginative, xvii, 144– 53, 156n33–34, 156n37 testimony, xii, 1–3, 121 therapeutic, ix–x, xvi, 97, 105 third-party forgiveness, 140–41, 143, 145, 147–50, 152–53, 155n29 traditional view of forgiveness, xii, xvi, 97, 99, 118 transformation, xviii–xix, xxi, 4, 15, 88–91, 122, 139, 147 transitivity of forgiveness, xvii, 141, 146, 155n20

178

Index

trauma, xvii, 1–4, 9, 44, 47, 147, 151 trust, xvii, xxi, 39, 92, 94n40, 123–26, 129, 141, 147; mistrust, 49, 85, 139 Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC), ix–x, xiv, 1–5, 10n2 ubuntu (I am because we are), 7, 9, 10n14, 11n15, 132n226 unforgiving, xiii, xviii, 2, 4, 12–13, 16–18, 21–23, 25–27, 29–31, 75, 87–88, 99, 113, 149, 151–53 unthinking, xv, 68, 142, 144

victimization, xvii, 14, 84, 136, 139, 150–52 violence, 1–3, 9, 41–42, 49, 57, 59, 123–24, 128–29, 135, 137, 146, 150, 152, 155n21, 157n37 virtue, 48–49, 55, 61, 75, 80; forgiveness as, xii, xiv, xix, 38–40, 42, 48, 85, 91, 148; virtuous person, 77, 141 voluntariness, viii, 74, 76; involuntary, xvi, 114n11 vulnerability, x, xxi, 4, 66, 146

value, 4, 7, 46, 81, 118, 127, 132, 136, 146, 148, 156n35, 157n37; transgressor, 14–15 values, xvi, xxi, 38, 50, 78, 88, 91, 136, 147–48 vengeance, 3, 75, 78, 111. See also revenge vice, 59, 75–78, 80,83, 85, 87–88, 91, 137, 152, 157n48

Walker, Margaret, xii, 118, 120 Warmke, Brandon, 100–6, 114n4–5, 114n7, 114n9, 115n18–20 welfare, xvi, 39, 113, 119, 122, 129 well-being, ix, 15, 40, 50, 96–97, 111, 150 We Need to Talk About Kevin, 137–147 witnesses, vii, xi, 3, 136, 146, 149, 153 worthy of forgiveness, xviii, 14, 77, 138

Notes on Contributors

Myisha Cherry is co-editor of The Moral Psychology of Anger with Owen Flanagan (in the Moral Psychology of the Emotions series). She is completing her PhD in philosophy at the University of Illinois–Chicago, with a dissertation titled “Racialized Forgiveness.” She is a Visiting Edmonds J. Safra Center Fellow in Ethics and a Santayana Fellow in the philosophy department at Harvard University writing and researching anger and forgiveness. A former educator at the Fortune Society, an organization that supports successful reentry from prison and promotes alternatives to incarceration, and a former faculty associate in John Jay’s Institute for Criminal Justice Ethics, she also has interests in criminal justice ethics and mass incarceration. Barrett Emerick is an associate professor of philosophy at St. Mary’s College of Maryland. He writes and teaches about normative ethics, moral psychology, and social justice, focusing in particular on gender, racial, and restorative justice. His recent work focuses on the conflicting obligations to be both compassionate with others and to care for ourselves. He is also developing a co-authored paper in which he argues that racial profiling policies rely on flawed models of inductive reasoning that then work to reify the criminality they claim to police. Robert D. Enright is a professor of educational psychology at the University of Wisconsin–Madison, a licensed psychologist, and a founding board member of the International Forgiveness Institute, Inc. He has been pioneering the scientific study of forgiveness and its effects since 1985. Time magazine referred to him as “the forgiveness trailblazer.” He is the author of over 120 publications, including seven books: Exploring Forgiveness, Helping Clients 179

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Notes on Contributors

Forgive, Forgiveness Is a Choice, Rising Above the Storm Clouds (for children), The Forgiving Life, 8 Keys to Forgiveness, and Forgiveness Therapy. His colleagues and he have developed and tested a pathway to forgiveness called forgiveness therapy that has helped incest survivors, people in drug rehabilitation, in hospice, in shelters for abused women, and in cardiac units of hospitals, among others. His recent work includes developing forgiveness education programs for teachers in Belfast, Northern Ireland; Athens, Greece; Liberia, Africa; and Galilee, Israel. Eve Garrard is a moral philosopher who is currently an Honorary Research Fellow at Manchester University. Her research interests include moral theory, bioethics, and issues arising out of the concepts of evil and forgiveness. In addition to a number of papers on these topics, she is the co-editor (with Geoffrey Scarre) of Moral Philosophy and the Holocaust (2003). Eve Garrard and David McNaughton have worked together for some years on papers on various virtues and vices and have jointly co-authored Forgiveness (2014), as well as articles and chapters on forgiveness. Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela is a clinical psychologist and professor and research chair for studies in historical trauma and transformation in the faculty of arts and social sciences, Stellenbosch University in Stellenbosch, South Africa. She was previously a professor in the psychology department at the University of Cape Town and senior research professor for trauma, memory, and forgiveness at the University of the Free State. Since her work on the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC), her scholarship has focused on the development of empathy in victim-perpetrator dialogue, applying the insights from her research on forgiveness to conceptualize the components of the TRC process that led to expressions of remorse by perpetrators and forgiveness by victims and their families. Her book A Human Being Died that Night: A South African Story of Forgiveness won the Alan Paton Award in South Africa, the Christopher Award in the United States, and has been reprinted and translated into several languages. Joshua Guilfoyle is a PhD candidate at York University in Toronto, Canada, where he also earned an MA degree in social personality psychology in 2014. He has received external funding for his graduate studies from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada and the Ontario Graduate Scholarship program. In 2014, he was awarded a Think Swiss Research Scholarship from the Government of Switzerland to conduct research at the University of Zürich as a visiting research scientist. His research largely focuses on interpersonal transgressions and conflict resolution from the offender’s perspective.



Notes on Contributors 181

Jonathan Jacobs is a professor and chair of philosophy at John Jay College of Criminal Justice, and a member of the doctoral faculty of philosophy and the doctoral faculty of criminal justice at the City University of New York Graduate Center. He works in two main areas—one is at the intersection of ethics, politics, and criminal justice; and the other focuses on issues concerning moral responsibility, moral epistemology, and the role of character in moral judgment. He is the author of nine books and more than ninety articles and has received grants from the National Endowment for the Humanities, the Littauer Foundation, the Earhart Foundation, and other sources. He has been a visiting fellow or visiting professor at Clare Hall, Cambridge (Life Member), the Oxford Centre for Hebrew & Jewish Studies, the University of Edinburgh, the University of St. Andrews and the Chinese University of Hong Kong. He is currently writing Criminal Sanction and the Liberal Polity: Seeking Both Justice and Civility. His PhD is from the University of Pennsylvania, 1983. Careen Khoury is currently a research fellow at the University of Calgary in Alberta, Canada. She received her PhD from York University in 2014 and her Post-Doctorate from the University of Calgary in 2016. Her general research interests focus on how individuals think, feel, and behave following transgressions. She investigated the role of apology, right wing authoritarianism, and group membership on the forgiveness process, as well as the role of social power on individuals’ motive to forgive, seek revenge, or hold a grudge. Currently, she is interested in investigating individuals’ post-transgression responses in the context of marital and romantic relationships. She has been the recipient of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council Doctoral and Post-Doctoral Fellowships. Alice MacLachlan is an associate professor of philosophy at York University in Toronto and co-editor of Feminist Philosophy Quarterly. She writes and teaches in moral, political, and feminist philosophy, focusing on philosophical issues arising in the aftermath of conflict: the nature and limits of forgiveness, the power and value of apologies, and the role that resentment and indignation play in reconciliation and repair. She has also worked in LGBTQ philosophy on topics ranging from the ethics of coming out to the changing nature of family. Recent publications include “Fiduciary Duties and the Ethics of Public Apology” (2016), “‘Trust Me, I’m Sorry’: The Paradox of Public Apology” (2015), “Gender and the Public Apology” (2013), and “Closet Doors and Stage Lights: On the Goods of Out” (2012). Zdravko Marjanovic is an assistant professor of psychology in the department of psychology at Concordia University of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada.

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A graduate of the social and personality psychology program at York University in Toronto, Canada, his research activity is divided between three main areas of interest: testing the relation between perceived financial threat and psychological health, identifying random responders in self-report inventory data, and examining situational and trait predictors of prosocial behavior. David McNaughton is currently a professor of philosophy at Florida State University and Professor Emeritus at Keele University. He is the author of Moral Vision (1988) and co-author with Eve Garrard of Forgiveness (2014), as well as a number of papers on ethics, philosophy of religion, and the relations between the two. He has co-authored a number of papers on ethics with Piers Rawling, and they are currently writing a book on their approach to practical reasons. He has edited Butler’s Fifteen Sermons and is now editing Analogy of Religion. He was the founder and first president of the British Society for Ethical Theory and is a past president of the Florida Philosophical Association. Kathryn J. Norlock is an associate professor of philosophy and the Kenneth Mark Drain Chair in Ethics at Trent University in Peterborough, Ontario, and a co-founder and co-editor of Feminist Philosophy Quarterly. Her research and teaching focuses on ethical theory and applied ethics, especially responding to evils, as well as feminist philosophy and nonideal theory. Her publications include “The Challenges of Extreme Moral Stress” (2016), “Real (Imaginal) Relationships with the Dead” (2016), and Forgiveness from a Feminist Perspective (2009). Curtis Phills has been an assistant professor of psychology at the University of North Florida (UNF) in Jacksonville, Florida, since 2014. Prior to that he spent two years as a Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada Post-Doctoral Fellow at Western University in London, Ontario, and received his PhD from York University in Toronto, Canada, in 2012. He received the UNF President’s Commission on Diversity and Inclusion Research Award in 2015 and was awarded a William R. Jones Outstanding Mentor Award for 2016 from the Florida Education Fund. His program of research is driven by three questions: What types of biases are present in society? How are these biases related to one another? How may they be reduced? Joni Sasaki is an assistant professor in the department of psychology at York University. She completed her PhD in social psychology from the University of California at Santa Barbara in 2012 and was the 2013 recipient of the Society for Experimental Social Psychology’s Dissertation Award. In her research, she uses an integrated biological and sociocultural approach to conduct basic psy-



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chological research on multiple forms of diversity—including ethnic, religious, and biological diversity—in the areas of social cognition and social behavior. Ongoing lines of research include individual, situational, and cultural moderators of religion’s effects on social behavior, gene–environment interactions and social behavior, and culture and social cognition. Mary Jacqueline Song is a doctoral student in clinical psychology at the University of the Philippines–Diliman. She is a member of the International Forgiveness Institute, Inc., where she helps coordinate workshops on forgiveness education in various world venues. She is a member of the forgiveness research team at the University of Wisconsin–Madison, where she is helping to develop a new group forgiveness inventory, a short-form of the Enright Forgiveness Inventory, and forgiveness therapy programs in maximum-security prisons. C. Ward Struthers is a professor of psychology at York University in Toronto, Canada, where he has worked since 1996. He received his PhD from the University of Manitoba in 1995 and was a Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada Post-Doctoral Fellow at the University of California Los Angeles from 1994 until 1996. He was the recipient of the Department of Psychology Undergraduate Teaching Award in 1999 and the Faculty of Graduate Studies Teaching Award in 2010. For the past twenty years, his program of research has primarily focused on answering three questions: What intrapersonal psychological factors associated with victims of a transgression might influence their decision to seek revenge, harbor a grudge, or forgive? What interpersonal factors associated with transgressors might influence victims’ post-transgression responses? What psychological mechanisms can explain why the intrapersonal and interpersonal factors influence victims’ post-transgression responses? His research is relevant to a broad range of interpersonal relationships including romantic, familial, friendship, and co-worker. Most recently he has begun to shift his attention from victims to transgressors and the process of apologizing. Elizabeth van Monsjou is currently a graduate student in the social and personality psychology program at York University in Toronto, Canada. She received her Honors BS from the University of Toronto in 2011 and her MA from York University in 2013. Elizabeth’s research interests include interpersonal relationships and conflict resolution. Her master’s thesis examined how adult attachment styles impact victims’ responses to transgressions. For her dissertation, she is currently taking a mixed-methods approach to studying grudge holding by integrating qualitative and quantitative research techniques.

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Rebecca Young is completing her PhD in clinical psychology at York University in Toronto, Canada. She previously completed a master’s degree in social-personality psychology in which she investigated how personality styles influence the forgiveness process. Her current research interests include understanding and reducing implicit and subtle expressions of stigma toward mental illness. She has published her research in social and clinical psychology journals, presented at numerous conferences, and has worked in various clinical settings with diverse mental health populations. Upon obtaining her PhD, she hopes to work in a setting that allows her to combine both her research and clinical interests in order to continue to conduct meaningful research and provide therapy to individuals in need.