a young person, this same young person, embarking on the journey of
forgiveness, arrives, at last, at the most coveted of all earthly destinations.
Forgiveness is “a very ‘in’ topic,”21 with many defenders in both poli-
tics and philosophy. Leading political figures extol its potential benefits,
and even leaders who never spoke about forgiveness at all are lauded for
their alleged focus on forgiveness, an unsurprising but unfortunate aspect
of the many memorials of Nelson Mandela— who, as we shall see, did not
use that concept, and framed his efforts in different terms.22 A growing
philosophical literature, meanwhile, addresses the place of forgiveness
among the virtues and its potential benefits in both personal and political
relations.23 One finds dissenters, but typically in the direction of greater
interpersonal harshness, as the dissident philosophers reassert the ben-
efits of retribution and “getting even.”24 Jeffrie Murphy’s fine dissident
study, for example, repeatedly asserts the S. J. Perelman bon mot: “To err is human, to forgive, supine.”25 Nobody seems to be interested in criticizing forgiveness from the other side, so to speak— arguing, as I shall here,
that, in its classic transactional form at any rate, forgiveness exhibits a
mentality that is all too inquisitorial and disciplinary. This, however, is to get ahead of our story: first we must understand the “journey” on which
forgiveness invites us to embark.
The “road” of forgiveness begins, standardly, in terrible anger over
a wrong one has suffered at the hands of another. Through a typically
dyadic procedure involving confrontation, confession, apology, and
“working through,” the wronged person emerges triumphant, unbur-
dened from angry emotion, her claims fully acknowledged, ready to
bestow the grace of her non- anger. That is what I shall call “transactional
forgiveness,” and it is both enormously influential historically and very
common today. It is plausible to think of it as the canonical form of for-
giveness in today’s world.26
As chapter 3 will demonstrate, these procedural aspects of forgive-
ness have their origin in, and are organized by, a Judeo- Christian world-
view, especially as structured by organized religion, in which the primary
Introduction
11
moral relationship is that between an omniscient score- keeping God and
erring mortals. God keeps a record of all our errors, a kind of eternal
list, the liber scriptus that greets the dead at the last judgment.27 Then if there is enough weeping, imploring, and apologizing— typically involving considerable self- abasement— God may decide to waive the penalty
for some or all transgressions and to restore the penitent person to heav-
enly blessings. The abasement is the precondition of the elevation.28 The
relationship between one human and another is then, in a second stage,
modeled on the primary relationship, so as to incorporate its motifs of
list- keeping, confession, abasement, and indelible memory.
This constellation of sentiments and actions is, as such, absent
in ancient Greco- Roman ethics, although that tradition does contain
some valuable attitudes in the general neighborhood of forgiveness—
gentleness of temper, generosity, sympathetic understanding,29 pardon,
and, importantly, mercy in punishing— into which translators and com-
mentators sometimes inject the forgiveness journey. All these notions,
however, I shall argue, are in crucial ways distinct from the modern
notion of forgiveness, and available to one who rejects the guidance of
that notion.30
There is something remarkably unpleasant in the confessional idea
of groveling and abasement— even, I would say, when one imagines any
God whom one could revere, but certainly when one thinks about one’s
friends, family, and fellow citizens. Indeed it is very hard (as chapter 3
will show) to reconcile the emphasis on these attitudes with the idea of
unconditional love that inhabits the same tradition. And there is also
something remarkably narcissistic in the idea of a drama that revolves
around oneself, the wrong one has suffered, and the gift of atonement
one is offered. (The astonishing narcissism of the liber scriptus, where the record of the entire universe prominently contains one’s own name, is
replicated in the interpersonal realm.) In short, forgiveness of the transac-
tional sort, far from being an antidote to anger, looks like a continuation
of anger’s payback wish by another name.
the core ideas of transactional forgiveness by departing significantly
from them, and I shall find both Bishop Butler and Adam Smith valu-
able sources. (Even though Butler uses the term “forgiveness,” what he
says has less to do with the score- keeping mentality I deplore than with
sheer generosity and humanity. And Smith, interestingly, avoids the term
“forgiveness” altogether, substituting the useful Ciceronian term
“humanity.”) I shall also argue in chapter 3 that both Jewish and Christian
texts and traditions contain alternatives to transactional forgiveness,
in which generosity, love, and even humor replace the grim drama of
penance and exacted contrition. Two alternatives are salient. The first is
12
Anger and Forgiveness
unconditional forgiveness, the waiving of angry feelings by the wronged person’s own free choice, without exacting a prior penance. The second,
which I like even better, is unconditional love and generosity. I examine the biblical credentials of each and examine them as moral alternatives.
On the whole, I shall be arguing that Nietzsche’s instincts are sound
when he sees in prominent aspects of Judeo- Christian morality, includ-
ing its idea of transactional forgiveness, a displaced vindictiveness and
a concealed resentment that are pretty ungenerous and actually not so
helpful in human relations. He goes wrong, however, by not seeing the
multiplicity and complexity in these same traditions. Both Judaism and
Christianity contain all three of the attitudes I consider.
We should remain alert, then, to the fact that not everything that is
called by the name “forgiveness” has the features of transactional for-
giveness. Once the term is in general use as a virtue, writers steeped in
the Judeo- Christian tradition have a way of attaching it to whatever they
favor in that general area of life.31 Sometimes it would not even be cor-
rect to find unconditional forgiveness there: what is called “forgiveness”
is best understood as some type of unconditional generosity. Thus not
everyone who praised Nelson Mandela for “forgiveness” really meant
to associate him with transactional forgiveness, and perhaps not even
with unconditional forgiveness (which presupposes angry feelings
that are being waived). They might have used the term to describe the
type of generosity that, as I shall argue, he actually instantiated. But it
is also clear that many do endorse attitudes of transactional forgiveness
as the appropriate ones for the South African reconciliation process,
as did Desmond Tutu in th
e last chapter of his book No Future Without
Forgiveness, with its detailed discussion of contrition, apology, humility, and absolution— although Tutu carefully and accurately refrains from
imputing these notions to Mandela or indeed to the procedures of the
Truth and Reconciliation Commission.32
As I proceed through the steps in my argument, then, I first inves-
tigate the claims of anger in each realm, and then ask whether transac-
tional forgiveness, as classically defined, is the replacement we need.
I argue that the Judeo- Christian “virtue” of transactional forgiveness is
not a virtue in any of the three realms. In the personal realm, the whole
machinery of confession, apology, and forgiveness is retentive, unlov-
ing, and quite often vindictive in its own way. The offer of forgiveness,
though seemingly so attractive and gracious, all too often displays what
Bernard Williams, in a different context, called “one thought too many,”
that is, a list- keeping, inquisitorial mentality that a generous and loving
person should eschew. Bishop Butler warned of the narcissism of resent-
ment, and I shall argue that the “journey” of forgiveness all too often
gives aid and comfort to that narcissism. The personal realm at its best
Introduction
13
is characterized by a generosity that gets ahead of forgiveness and pre-
vents its procedural thoughts from taking shape. In a very real sense,
love does mean never having to say you’re sorry. The fact that this was
said in a lightweight popular novel (albeit one written by a fine classical
scholar) does not make it false.33 Apologies can sometimes be useful, but
as evidence of what a future relationship might hold, and whether such a
relationship might be fruitful.
The Middle Realm, similarly, contains a significant role for apology
as evidence that, going forward, the offending worker or boss can be
trusted; it is a useful device that smooths the way for respectful interac-
tions after a breach. But the desire to extract apologies from others as a
kind of payback or “down- ranking” haunts this realm as well, and we
should beware of it.
Although at times apology will play a valuable role in political
reconciliation, political apologies turn out to be distinct from trans-
actional forgiveness in important ways.34 Often they are signals of
trustworthiness going forward, and expressions of a set of shared val-
ues on which trust may be based. Moreover, since humiliation always
threatens to undermine reconciliation, it is sometimes important to
avoid the whole issue of apology, as the Truth and Reconciliation
Commission wisely did. The focus should be on establishing account-
ability for wrongdoing, as a crucial ingredient of building public trust,
on expressing shared values, and then on moving beyond the whole
drama of anger and forgiveness to forge attitudes that actually support
trust and reconciliation.
What values promise such support? Generosity, justice, and truth.
2
Anger
Weakness, Payback, Down- Ranking
We feel calm toward those who humble themselves before us
and do not talk back. For they seem to acknowledge that they are
our inferiors. … That our anger ceases toward those who hum-
ble themselves before us is shown even by dogs, who do not bite
people when they sit down.
— Aristotle, Rhetoric 1380a21– 25
I. Anger: The Missing Link
Anger has a twofold reputation. On the one hand, anger is taken to be a
valuable part of the moral life, essential to human relations both ethical
and political. Typical, and highly influential, is Peter Strawson’s famous
argument that the “reactive attitudes and feelings,” of which “resentment”
is a central case, play a major role in our dealings with one another and
are integrally bound up with the very idea of human freedom and respon-
sibility.1 Other philosophers have insisted on anger’s close connection to
the assertion of self- respect and to protest against injustice.2
On the other hand, the idea that anger is a central threat to
decent human interactions runs through the Western philosophi-
cal tradition— including the political thought of Aeschylus’ time,3
Socrates and Plato,4 the Greek and Roman Stoics, the eighteenth-
century philosophers Joseph Butler and Adam Smith, and numerous
more recent contributors. As Butler notes, “No other principle, or
passion, hath for its end the misery of our fellow creatures”5— and he
is therefore troubled that God has apparently implanted anger in our
human nature. The same idea of anger’s destructiveness is prominent
in non- Western traditions (Buddhism and some varieties of Hinduism
14
Anger
15
especially).6 Today the idea of anger as disease has generated a large
contemporary therapeutic literature, in which it is the apparently
inexorable grip of anger that prompts intervention (or advice for self-
help). It is because anger is felt as such a problem in the moral life
that the project of forgiveness takes on such central importance, and
forgiveness is typically defined in terms of a moderation of angry
attitudes.
Both of these contentions might be correct: anger might be a valu-
able yet dangerous tool in the moral life, prone to excess and error but
still a source of irreplaceable contributions. (So Butler thought.) On the
other hand, it is also possible that one of these contentions is far better
grounded than the other. So I shall argue here. But it is highly unlikely
that we will make progress unraveling these issues unless we first have a
clearer understanding of what anger is.
Recent philosophers, on the whole, spend little time analyzing the
emotion. Typical, and highly influential, are Strawson’s reference to a
class of “reactive attitudes and feelings” including guilt, resentment,
and indignation, all of which track the relation of another’s will to us;7
and R. Jay Wallace’s highly abstract, albeit valuable, characterization
of a class of “reactive emotions” in their relation to evaluation.8 Even in
contexts where it might seem to matter greatly what attitude is in ques-
tion, philosophers all too often follow Strawson’s lead.9 Meanwhile,
cognitive psychologists have provided rich materials for a detailed
analysis of anger’s elements,10 but since providing definitions is not
their project they typically do not arrange those materials into a philo-
sophical account.
Agreeing with most traditional philosophical definitions of anger,
I shall argue that the idea of payback or retribution— in some form, how-
ever subtle— is a conceptual part of anger. I then argue the payback idea
is normatively problematic, and anger, therefore, with it. There are two
possibilities. Either anger focuses on some significant injury, such as a
murder or a rape, or it focuses only on the significance of the wrong-
ful act for the victim’s relative status— as what Aristotle calls a “down-
ranking.” In the first case,
the idea of payback makes no sense (since
inflicting pain on the offender does not remove or constructively address
the victim’s injury). In the second, it makes all too much sense— payback
may successfully effect a reversal of positions— but only because the
values involved are distorted: relative status should not be so impor-
tant. In the process of defending these contentions, I recognize a bor-
derline species of anger that is free from these defects, and I describe,
and recommend, a transition from anger to constructive thinking about
future good.
16
Anger and Forgiveness
II. Anger: Cognitions, Feelings, Eudaimonism
Like all the major emotions, anger has a cognitive/ intentional content,
including appraisals or evaluations of several distinct types.11 Often, it
involves not simply value- laden appraisals, but also beliefs.
Furthermore, the appraisals and beliefs involved in anger are what
I call “eudaimonistic”: they are made from the point of view of the agent,
and register the agent’s own view of what matters for life, rather than some
detached or impersonal table of values. Even when anger involves issues
of principle, of justice, or even global justice, this is because the angry
person has managed to incorporate such concerns into her conception
of what matters in life. Such incorporation into the “circle of concern”12
need not precede the event that triggers the emotion: a vivid tale of woe
(such as Adam Smith’s example of the news of an earthquake in China)
can arouse compassion for people we never met and about whom we
have no antecedent concern.13 However, unless a firmer structure of con-
cern either exists already or is established, the emotion will be a will- o’-
the- wisp: a distraction closer to home makes us forget entirely about the
distant people.
The eudaimonism of the emotions is a key idea, too, in the modern
psychological literature. Thus Richard Lazarus, in his magisterial Emotion and Adaptation, one of the most influential works of experimental psychology in the late twentieth century, speaks of the major emotions as focused
on “core relational themes,” themes of importance for the person’s