With the festive spirit and reunions of families and loved ones, the Christmas holidays, for many of us, represents an opportunity to reflect on our relationships. Or perhaps one is spending Christmas alone (or wishing one was). Nevertheless, the cultural or societal expectation of being together during this time, still, serves as a stark reminder to consider these relationships, strong or frail they may be. The tradition of gift giving may include physical, tangible offerings, but also, perhaps, the gift of forgiveness. We might commit to an attitude of letting go of past wrongdoing and hurt so we can enjoy this time, without heavy heart.
This piece is not, however, a saccharine attempt to justify forgiveness just because of some arbitrary holiday in the year. As I will explore later on, the concept of forgiveness is complex and multilayered, full of contradictions and paradoxes. Forgiveness may not be as simple as it seems, nor conscious even.
What is forgiveness? What calls for forgiveness, and who calls for it? Defining and measuring forgiveness may be one of the trickiest things to do, as with many philosophical problems. In everyday conversation, and increasingly in political and legal discourse, the notion of forgiveness is carelessly thrown about, without coherence nor precision. Harry Frankfurt might call this an exercise in bullshit. The equivocation of the word may, in part, be due to the marrying of it with related terms: excuse, pardon, repentance, reconciliation, mercy… the list goes on. These terms are associated with forgiveness, even dissociable, but they are certainly not interchangeable.
Obama’s Turkey — the problem of linguistic clarity
Forgiveness involves two parties, the victim and a perpetrator, or wrongdoer (for simplicity, we assume the action was wrong as it led to suffering for the victim). First, one might confuse forgiving with excusing. But to excuse is to render an otherwise blameworthy agent as not blameworthy, i.e. not morally responsible for their action. You might, for example, excuse an actress for a mediocre performance on the stage — perhaps she was not feeling well…but this is not bad, in the moral sense. She did not do anything morally wrong. But this is not always the case with forgiving, where it is possible to forgive someone who has done something immoral and is thus morally responsible.
To condone is also not the same as forgiving. It differs from excusing in that it is a response towards blameworthy agents. Condonation is an acceptance of behaviour that is morally wrong. In colloquial terms, one might look the other way. But forgiving need not lack a disapproving element. One might forgive but still disapprove.
One might pardon an injurious act, or person. And there lies another puzzle. Do we forgive the action, or the person? And do we forgive that past entity who committed the act, or the present, changed person who stands before us, asking for forgiveness (or not). We shall come back later to this enigma. Back to pardoning. One might firstly inquire, who does the pardoning? In the past, it might’ve been royalties that grant pardon to an individual. In today’s world, the courts may pardon a criminal. And Obama might pardon a turkey.
The latter might be a bit of a meme, a peculiar tradition to outside onlookers, but it nicely illustrates a key feature of pardoning. Unlike forgiveness, pardon is granted by a third party, be it a legal or political institution. From as early as the 1870s, turkeys were sent as gifts to American Presidents during Thanksgiving; however, the tradition of pardoning turkeys began during the Reagan administration, where the first turkey was shown mercy and spared (being sent to a zoo or farm rather than to the dinner table). George Bush later officially pardoned the bird in response to animal rights activists. Since then, it has become a White House tradition for the President to grant pardon to a turkey, or two, every year.
Mercy, too, is overt and offered by a third party. One may show mercy, implying a position of authority. Authority, however, is powerless in the case of forgiveness. Forgiveness can only be granted by the victim. In the case of a woman who accrues a spine injury from a drunk driver, the courts may grant pardon to the drunk driver, but only the woman can grant forgiveness. And in the case of Obama’s turkey, the only real victim here, is the turkey. The animal rights activists may disapprove, or condemn, but they may not forgive.
You can only forgive the unforgiveable — the Paradox
What calls for forgiveness? It might make sense to make the jump — of course, one forgives the forgivable. It’s in the word, right? But to say something is forgivable, is to make a judgement about the moral status of the action — that it is not so bad after all, or rather, we understand the wrongdoing and given the circumstances, it can be forgiven. Thus…is it not the unforgivable the only thing that calls for forgiveness?
Derrida makes the point, “forgiveness forgives only the unforgivable…it can only be possible in doing the possible.” A paradox. The reverse: “forgiveness forgives only the forgivable” —renders the concept of forgiveness meaningless.
The Light at the end of the Tunnel — what’s the point?
One might wonder what the goal of forgiveness is. Perhaps it is to reconcile with the other party, and continue the relationship in an amicable way, with ‘no hard feelings’. Besides, the world would not be able to function if no one ever let go of the wrongdoings of others (of course, the reverse is also true) in favour of the larger goal of promoting pro-social relations. We are imperfect creatures, after all, and we are social creatures. What conditions allows reconciliation to take place? Some thinkers argue that the purpose of forgiveness is to restore relationships to their original status. To re-establish normality, as you will. On a geopolitical scale, forgiveness may be necessary in order for countries to reconcile and recommence friendly trade deals.
But how does this restoration of normality take place? How does one change their view of something (or someone) previously thought as so unforgiveable? As Levinas believed, “forgiveness acts upon the past, somehow repeats the event, purifying it”. Arendt shared a similar vein of forgiveness as a force that rewrites history. Derrida, on the other hand, saw this idea as the very opposite —that this purpose-driven concept of forgiveness was impure. He thought that there should be no ends of forgiveness, that it was a gift — no strings attached. He also disagreed with forgiveness being used as a tool to return a relationship to its “ex ante” status. Normality, or rather, the re-establishment of normality is not the goal.
Reconciliation may be a pro-social good, but Derrida argues that it is not necessary nor sufficient for forgiveness. One may wholeheartedly forgive, but not wish to reconcile with the offending party. One may reconcile but in their hearts, not have truly forgiven.
Tit for Tat — an exchange based view of forgiveness
What is it that justifies forgiveness? Having established that it is the victim, in most cases, that has the standing to forgive, we might ask when should one grant forgiveness? Even in popular usage, one might stubbornly announce “why should I forgive? They [wrongdoer] aren’t even sorry! Heck, they don’t even know they’re in the wrong”. That seems fair. Why should one offer the privilege of forgiveness to someone who hasn’t asked for forgiveness, nor even acknowledged the fault.
Here, the conditional view is being unmasked, its main premise being that forgiveness can only be considered on the condition that it be asked. We observe another interesting parallel — that of a religious heritage: the Abrahamic tradition of ‘asked forgiveness’. Confession, repentance, atonement, redemption, salvation…are essentially all spiritual acts which are involved in the grand scene of asking God for forgiveness. One stands before the mighty Lord and asks for forgiveness for his sins so that he might be shown mercy and allowed into the kingdom of Heaven. And to be forgiven, he must go through trials of suffering and humiliation, which include confessing and repenting for his sins. There is a whole ‘performative’ element to all of this — and it has become evident that these religious norms and practices have extended further than the realm of religion. Today, we still observe this theatrical, ritualistic performance of forgiveness in the geopolitical scene, in politics and in law.
There are countless examples of ‘asked forgiveness’ in the world — the post war apologies from the former Prime Minister of Japan, Murayama (aptly named the Murayama Statement) to the Koreans and Chinese, as well as other nations subjected to Japanese colonialisation. It played an important role in the reconciliation of the concerned countries as well as shifting the international and domestic perception of Japan. The Abrahamic language is not the main religion of these societies but we see that it has become the universal norm of law, politics, economy and diplomacy. It doesn’t matter that most societies are becoming increasingly secular— the lasting influence of Christianity, finds itself in our universal tapestry, whether we are conscious of it or not.
These contemporary examples in the political and diplomatic scene further add legitimacy to the conditional model of forgiveness. At the very least, we expect the wrongdoer to apolygise, perhaps to make a scene of it and undergo some amount of humiliation (in proportion to the wrongdoing committed). We might also add the condition that the wrongdoer must swear by some commitment to change their behaviour in future. In order to retain self-respect, one demands a number of conditions to be met in order for the forgiveness to be justified. Besides, one doesn’t want to be seen as a pushover…one doesn’t want to be treated badly and have the wrongdoer walk away scot-free. One wants to be both forgiver and punisher. One wants to both relinquish guilty conscience (“saving” the guilty person) and make sure the guilty conscience was there in the first place (“punishing” the guilty person). But where is the limit? If it is the victim that chooses the conditions, is there not the risk of being over-demanding (or under-demanding)? Where is the consistency?
We enter murky waters of linguistics again —with the confounding of forgiveness with punishment and justice. Our natural or cultural inclination towards ‘eye for an eye’ justice (another expression with biblical origins) likes to see a wrongdoer be penalised to a proportionate degree — in other words, we would like to see a wrongdoer punished and only then, will our hearts feel at rest. In the biblical stories, God is the single authority that accords this justice, punishing men and women for their sins. And it is on Judgement day that God makes the decision, based on calculations on past sins, whether to grant someone access to an afterlife in Heaven. In today’s world, the gods of Justice are the legal institutions of each country, reviewing each case and amounting appropriate justice according to the laws. Punishment and justice, thus, belong to the third party and just like pardoning and showing mercy, are associated with authority (at least, if legitimacy is concerned). Take the example of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC), a body enacting restorative justice after the end of the Apartheid in South Africa. What gave this body the ultimate justification and declared legitimacy was the United Nations, a universal, global and recognised organisation, defining Apartheid as a ‘crime against humanity’.
A Gift-giving view of Forgiveness
In an exchange-based economy, it might seem natural to see forgiveness as a commodity that can be traded, exchanged, withheld until you get a good price for it. Forgiveness that requires conditions is an exchange-based view of forgiveness — Derrida, however, did not believe that this was the only type of forgiveness that can or should be considered. One that is granted to the guilty side, even to those who nor repents nor asks forgiveness. One that concerns a private change of heart, rather than a grand theatrical scene of repentance. This no-strings attached concept of forgiveness was, to Derrida, the pure form of forgiveness. The view of forgiveness as a gift. And gifts are given expecting nothing in return. To Derrida, once one expects conditions to be met, it is not true forgiveness.
The Theories of Forgiveness
Putting the question of when one ought to forgive aside, what actually goes on in the process of forgiveness?
Now we have cast off incorrect conceptions of forgiveness and its misuse in politics and in law, the performative grand ‘scenes’ that habitually takes place…we consider more promising concepts of forgiveness.
Emotional accounts
There exists many different views, but a popular theory is one of forgiveness as a change(s) in the emotions or feelings associated with the injurious event. It is a metamorphosis in the victim’s internal state. We might add to the teleology of forgiveness one important utility — to free the victim from his own emotions. Further questions arise, however. Which emotions are we talking about here? And what are the changes made?
What comes to mind is the feeling of resentment, that hostile feeling that recurs when we recall a past event that caused us a great deal of pain and still attach feelings of moral anger, disappointment, upset to it. Again, there is disagreement and ambiguity over the definition of resentment. Is it moral anger? Moral protest? Feelings of insult?
At the most minimal, we might remove the hostile retributive feelings. This is the excess negative emotion where the victim wants to see the wrongdoer suffer (hence retributive). We might add moral anger (which is not retributive) to the list. Or we might try to get rid of all negative feelings associated with the negative event — to include sadness and disappointment. These are termed minimal, moderate, expansive emotionalism. The latter might be quite hard to achieve depending on the injury accrued and it may take a long time to achieve. Minimal and moderate emotionalism might be the most realistic. It is the hostile retributive feelings that is arguably the most dangerous and needs to be relieved most urgently as this is what gives rise to vengefulness and the desire to seek revenge.
Then there is the question of what changes are to be made. What does it mean to eliminate these negative feelings? Is it simply an abandonment of those emotions, of “letting go” like the noble Buddhist? It is also commonly said that one overcomes resentment. This implies an internal struggle, which aptly compares to the feelings we are wronged and consider forgiveness — the thought of it is discomforting, we often resist it, preferring to hold on to our moral rage instead. That is what many authors call “agent effort”, an agential struggle against resentment.
To what extent these changes be made might be our next question. Must we fully eliminate and overcome all resentment in order to forgive? What if the feeling recurs in the future — does that mean we haven’t truly forgiven? Some ideas from Butler might provide a solution to this.
Butlerian Accounts
Butler realised the possibility of relapse, overcoming resentment presently only to have it recur in the future. A revision to the emotional accounts, he suggested, was that one need not only overcome resentment but also to forswear it. That is, to make a decision, a commitment towards overcoming resentment. This is known as the renunciation model. He also understand that resentment is not inherently bad — it is natural and serves a social good. If resentment did not exist then there would be little incentive and urgency to deal with wrongdoers. The kind of resentment that Butler urges us to overcome or forswear is excessive resentment —the hostile retributive feelings that sees us be vengeful and seek revenge. This unnecessary, excessive resentment does not contribute to social good — instead for self gratification. Thus, in this utilitarian view, Butler argues for moderation of resentment, rather than a complete elimination. This depends on the baseline — the victim may start at a point of minimal resentment; they might have no excessive resentment to begin with. Thus, in Butler’s model, there does not necessarily have to be a change in emotion.
Multiple stage accounts
A consideration not touched yet is that most of us, if not all, would like to forgive whilst retaining self-respect. We fear that we forgive too easily, for example. But what does it mean to forgive too easily? Given that forgiveness is justified and appropriate and mutually beneficial, is it not a good thing for easily forgive? Perhaps, what is really meant by “forgiving too easily” is that one forgives without justification.
Thus the priority might be to regain one’s confidence in one’s self-worth when overcoming or transcending resentment. In order to do this, one might reapprove the wrongdoer’s action or character trait (a change of heart, if you will) but maintain disapproval so as not to condone that behaviour. By reapprove, I mean to accept the wrongdoer as a decent human being worthy of “renewed association” and to see them in new, more positive light.
Self forgiveness
Consider the example of a lady, whose husband was killed by someone. In this instance, the courts may enact the jailtime but who does the forgiving? Can the wife offer forgiveness on her husband’s behalf? Perhaps there may be exceptions to the who grants forgiveness in the absence of the victim’s forgiveness. But one might argue, is the wife not also the victim? But then how about the husband’s close friend — they suffered too, do they have a standing to forgive? A slippery slope indeed.
Consider an alternate series of events, whereby the husband did not pass away, he was almost killed and lives in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. He is in debilitating pain and refuses to forgive the offender. How can the offender restore himself to full moral agency in the absence of his victim’s forgiveness? How can he relieve himself of guilty conscience in order to carry on with life? One might suggest that in such cases, self forgiveness is required. Perhaps then, forgiveness does not require wrongdoer and victim to be separate agents. An injurious act may have many victims. The wrongdoer may himself be a indirect victim and grant himself forgiveness, in the absence of the direct victim’s forgiveness.
Towards a universal concept of forgiveness
With a more careful consideration of forgiveness, we might now be less tempted to recklessly throw around declarations of “I forgive you!” (we can proclaim it but not actually forgive). We might revisit the circumstances and norms around forgiveness — in common life, there might exist a theatrical, performative element. But perhaps it need not be so much of a public display, a private one might do. Even if we still don’t fully understand the concept of forgiveness, we might better understand what it is not — and realise that it is a far more complex subject than we initially thought and that it certainly warrants our thought and attention.
