In Defence of Unconditional Forgiveness

Author(s): Eve Garrard and David McNaughton

Source: Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society , 2003, New Series, Vol. 103 (2003), pp.
39-60
Published by: Oxford University Press on behalf of The Aristotelian Society

Stable URL: [Link]

JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide
range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and
facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@[Link].

Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at
[Link]

The Aristotelian Society and Oxford University Press are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize,
preserve and extend access to Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
 III*-IN DEFENCE OF UNCONDITIONAL
FORGIVENESS

by Eve Garrard and David McNaughton

ABSTRACT In this paper, the principal objections to unconditional forgiveness

are canvassed, primarily that it fails to take wrongdoing seriously enough, an
that it displays a lack of self-respect. It is argued that these objections stem f
a mistaken understanding of what forgiveness actually involves, including th
erroneous view that forgiveness involves some degree of condoning of the
offence, and is incompatible with blaming the offender or punishing him. Two
positive reasons for endorsing unconditional forgiveness are considered: respect
for persons and human solidarity; and it is argued that the latter provides more
plausible grounds for it than the former.

We need to forgive and be forgiven, every day, every hour-unceasingly.

That is the great work of love among the fellowship of the weak that is
the human family.
Henri Nouwen

Lying in the rubble of the Enniskillen Remembrance Day

bombing, Gordon Wilson held the hand of his daughter,
Marie, as she lay beside him, dying. At that moment, he said, he
forgave the bombers. Such forgiveness is clearly not conditional
on any change of heart in the wrongdoer. Wilson did not wait
to see if the bombers would feel remorse or change their ways.
Assuming the forgiveness was genuine and that he had no
ulterior motives for expressing it, it might seem churlish not to
feel unreserved admiration for what he did. Yet a survey of the
philosophical literature reveals that many writers on this topic
think that this kind of unconditional forgiveness, at least for seri-
ous wrongs, is inappropriate or even just wrong. We should not
forgive until the wrongdoer has at least repented and apologised,
and perhaps offered reparation and evidence of reformation.'
Our aim in this paper is to defend the view that unconditional
forgiveness is morally permissible, and that there are morally

1. Among those advocating 'no forgiveness without repentance' are Kolnai, 1974;
Lang, 1994; Murphy, 1988; Novitz, 1998; Richards, 1988; Swinburne, 1989; Wilson,
1988.

*Meeting of the Aristotelian Society, held in Senate House, University of London,

on Monday, 11th November, 2002 at 4.15 p.m.

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
40 EVE GARRARD AND DAVID MCNAUGHTON

cogent reasons in its favour. While it is always admirable to for-

give (where the nature of the offence has been fully grasped), we
need not suppose that it is obligatory to do so. In many cases,
especially those involving serious wrongs, forgiveness is super-
erogatory. We shall suggest that much of the hostility to uncon-
ditional forgiveness stems from misconceptions about what is
involved in forgiveness. Or rather, since there are a number of
different models of forgiveness in various traditions, the hostility
stems from a failure to appreciate that there is conceptual space
for a coherent and defensible conception of forgiveness on which
unconditional forgiveness does not have the objectionable conse-
quences that its critics claim.'

Objections to Unconditional Forgiveness. Critics of unconditional

forgiveness hold that one can be too willing to forgive. Here are
two quotations which exemplify the main thrust of such
objections.

Can the victim forgive [the wrongdoer] without any act of atone-
ment on his part? The victim can indeed disown the act, in the
sense that he explicitly says something like 'Let us regard this as
not having happened' and then acts as though it had not happened
... Not merely is it ineffective but it is bad, in the case of serious
acts, for the victim to treat the acts as not having been done, in
the absence of some atonement at least in the form of apology
from the wrongdoer ... [Such disowning without atonement]
involves your failing to treat [the wrongdoer] seriously, to take
seriously [the] attitude towards you expressed in [the] action. Is the
disowning of a hurtful act by the victim even forgiveness when no
atonement at all has been made? I do not think that ordinary usage
is very clear here ... In view of the fact that forgiving is normally
thought of as a good thing, I suggest that a victim's disowning of
a hurtful act is only to be called forgiveness when it is in response
to at least some minimal attempt at atonement, such as an
apology.3

2. Opponents of unconditional forgiveness have not had things all their own w
recent literature. Among those who have made some of the points we wish to
ourselves are: Downie 1965; Holmgren, 1993; O'Shaughnessy, 1967.
3. Swinburne, 1989: 85-7.

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
 IN DEFENCE OF UNCONDITIONAL FORGIVENESS 41

[A] too ready tendency to forgive ... may be a sig

respect for oneself ... Not to have ... the 'reactive attitude' of
resentment when our rights are violated is to convey-emotion-
ally-either that we do not think we have rights or that we do not
take our rights very seriously. To seek restoration [of relationships]
at all cost-even at the cost of one's very human dignity-can
hardly be a virtue ... If I count morally as much as anyone else (as
surely I do), a failure to resent moral injuries done to me is a
failure to care about the moral value incarnate in my own person
... and thus a failure to care about the very rules of morality.4

Those who do not endorse unstinted admiration for Gordon

Wilson's response advance a variety of reasons. First, it can be
seen as an easy gesture, which puts those who cannot or will not
forgive in a poor light. Secondly, it might be seen as undermining
the position of those who are committed to fighting the evil of
terrorism, to rooting out and destroying evil. Thirdly, it might
be seen as a failure of loyalty to other victims.
These objections to unconditional forgiveness can, we think,
be summed up under two heads. First, it fails to take the wrong
sufficiently seriously. Second, it may show a lack of self-respect
or self-esteem-as S.J. Perelman put it: 'To err is human, to for-
give, supine.' We agree that these are serious charges to which a
satisfactory account of forgiveness must supply a rebuttal.

II

Analysing Forgiveness.

11. 1. The Three Elements. There clearly are different conceptions

of just what is involved in forgiveness, but these conceptions have
a common core. In analyses of the nature of forgiveness three
factors are frequently mentioned. First, forgiveness involves the
suspension or overcoming of hostile feelings towards the wrong-
doer. Second, it involves or fosters reconciliation and restoration
of relationships. Third, forgiveness involves, in some sense, the
removal or bracketing off of the wrong, or of the guilt created
by the wrong-the wiping clean of the slate. None of these
elements are, as yet, very clear, but enough has already been said
to explain the hostility felt to unconditional forgiveness. For,

4. Murphy, 1988: 17-18.

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
42 EVE GARRARD AND DAVID MCNAUGHTON

first, is it not perfectly proper and a sign of a virtuous character

to feel various kinds of hostility to serious wrongdoing? Second,
would we not be condoning wrongdoing by being reconciled to
its unrepentant perpetrators? Third, if we wipe the slate clean
do we not let the wrongdoer off too lightly by waiving the just
requirement for reparation from, and punishment of, the wrong-
doer? And do we not thereby fail to take seriously the wrong
which may have been done to other victims, who do not or can-
not forgive? It seems reasonable to suppose that anything that
would count as forgiveness must contain or imply some version
of these three elements. The task, therefore, of one who seeks to
defend the acceptability of unconditional forgiveness must be to
produce a coherent and plausible account that contains these
three elements in some form, while not being open to those
objections.

11.2. Overcoming Hostile Feelings. It is commonly held that one

has only forgiven if one not merely ceases to express, but also
ceases to feel, hostility to the wrongdoer. We agree.5 What pre-
cisely are these hostile feelings? Resentment and indignation or
anger are the two most frequently mentioned.
Both Jeffrie Murphy and Jean Hampton (1988) take it that the
object of resentment is the lack of respect shown to us by the
wrongdoer, and both see resentment as a way of defending one's
self-respect. This account implies that any wrong can be resented,
but that is a mistake. While indignation is always an appropriate
response to the disrespect shown in wrongdoing, only some kinds
of wrong can be resented. We can resent, as Hampton does note,
only when we are slighted. This can happen in a number of ways.
I may feel picked on or singled out for invidious treatment. My
status is being ignored while that of others is acknowledged. Or
I may fail to gain recognition from someone whose opinion I
value or care about. But if my car is stolen by someone wholly
unknown to me it would seem odd to say, without a special con-
text, that I resent it, and this is because it would be odd for me
to regard myself as being personally slighted. The unknown car
thief does not pick on me (any car would do, mine just happens

5. There may be dissenting voices. Newberry, 2001 argues that Butler held that all
that was required for forgiveness was the checking of revenge.

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
 IN DEFENCE OF UNCONDITIONAL FORGIVENESS 43

to be there), nor do I care about his view of me-I just want him
to leave my car alone.
However, resentment does play a pivotal role in many cases
of forgiveness, and the fullest and most interesting account of
resentment is given by Hampton. On her view, whether victims
resent the wrong will depend on whether it threatens their self-
respect. She distinguishes between those who are beyond or
above resentment, those who cannot resent and those who do
resent, in terms of their differing attitudes to the implied verdict
on their status revealed in the wrongdoer's disrespectful act.
Those who cannot resent are those whose self-respect is under-
mined, who take themselves to have the low status which the
wrongdoer's act implies that they have. Those who are beyond
resentment are so secure in their self-respect that nothing can
ruffle their equanimity. They may recognise the demeaning
nature of the wrongful act, and may be wounded by it, but they
are not, and do not feel themselves to be, diminished or
degraded. Those who resent, she suggests, have insecure self-
respect. While believing to some degree that they are worthy of
respect, they also fear, to some extent, that they may not have
the status they like to think they have. This makes them touchy.
Resentment, Hampton claims, is an emotion whose purpose is
the defiant reaffirmation of your rank and value in the face of
treatment calling them into question in your own mind. It can
turn into a hatred that involves the desire to vindicate one's rank,
either by triumphing over the wrongdoer and thus re-adjusting
one's relative standings (malice) or, perhaps less satisfyingly,
hoping some evil will befall him so that he joins you at the bot-
tom of the heap (spite). One can overcome resentment by
recovering one's sense of one's own worth.
We are inclined to think that Hampton has here captured, not
the essence of resentment, but one form that it might take.
Resentment need not betray an insecure self-respect, since people
whose self-respect is secure can nonetheless rightly feel them-
selves to be slighted. Where people's opinions matter to us, we
can resent not getting their praise and respect without doubting
that they are our due. We can resent the snubs or unkindnesses
of our family or friends not only when we fear they may be right
in their attitudes but even when we are sure they are wrong. The
more we want their love and esteem the more hurt we shall be if

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
44 EVE GARRARD AND DAVID MCNAUGHTON

it is not forthcoming and the more we may re

give us what we feel we deserve.
Hampton is right to claim that the forgiver must rise above
resentment. But is there a way of being beyond resentment that
is incompatible with forgiveness? On Hampton's account, having
secure self-esteem is sufficient to put one beyond resentment, and
there is nothing about secure self-esteem that is incompatible
with forgiveness. On our analysis, secure self-esteem may not be
sufficient for forgiveness, because even the secure may still resent
if the demeaning behaviour comes from those who are important
to them. One strategy for avoiding that source of resentment
would be to cease to care what others thought. One may regard
oneself as so superior to the pygmies who have had the temerity
to attack one that it is beneath one's dignity to resent their puny
insults. This seems to be the attitude of Aristotle's great-souled
man who regards those beneath him, and hence the offender,
with contempt. But contempt and forgiveness are antithetical.
Why? It might be thought that this is because contempt is a form
of ill will. But contempt is compatible with indifference, which is
neutral between good will and ill will. Rather, to hold someone
in contempt is to imply one's superiority to him, and it is this
focus which, as we shall argue, is inconsistent with forgiveness.
Is it sufficient for forgiveness that one rises above resentment,
anger, hatred, and contempt? No, for forgiveness requires some-
thing more positive-an attitude of good will (or even love)
towards the wrongdoer. There must be some concern for the wel-
fare of the wrongdoer for there to be forgiveness, because one
who forgives must be willing to do at least this much: to convey
his forgiveness, where that is possible and appropriate, and not
to spurn anything the wrongdoer may wish to do by way of
atonement. But how much concern is needed depends on the con-
text. The forgiver moves beyond resentment, but not in the man-
ner of Aristotle's great-souled man. The focus is different; it is
not on his own superiority but on the needs and concerns of
others, including the wrongdoer.
As we have seen, the forgiver must overcome not only resent-
ment, but any other hostile feelings, such as anger and hatred.
Need the forgiver cease to feel indignant? Insofar as indignation
involves anger, it too must be overcome. But there is more to
indignation than feelings of anger, there is also the concomitant

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
 IN DEFENCE OF UNCONDITIONAL FORGIVENESS 45

desire to do what one can to resist the wrong, by fig

and to bring comfort and succour to the oppressed. We shall
later argue that the forgiver can retain and act on this desire.
Following the tradition, we have talked so far of overcoming
hostile feelings, but it is not the case that hostile feelings have to
be present, and then overcome, in order for forgiveness to be
possible. No doubt forgiveness which strives against obstacles
has a heroic quality, and is particularly therapeutic for the for-
giver, but one in whom the quality of forgiveness is deeply
embedded may never feel resentment or hatred in the first place.
Effortless virtue is still virtue.6

11.3. Restoring the Relationship-Love and Reconciliation. For-

giveness is closely tied, on many accounts, with reconciliation
and the restoration of relationship. How close is that tie? For-
giveness, as a dynamic, outreaching activity, standardly seeks to
repair damage to relationships. Where possible and desirable,
that will mean fully restoring the relationship damaged by the
wrong. (This is particularly prominent, of course, in accounts
of divine forgiveness.) But full restoration is not necessary for
forgiveness. For it is not always possible, and where it is possible
it is not always required, desirable, or even permissible. There
are, we think, at least four possible kinds of case in which full
restoration of relationship is ruled out yet forgiveness can have
taken place: two of these are conceptual and two ethical. First,
of course, there must have been a relationship there in the first
place, prior to the wrong, in order for there to be an issue of
restoration. Second, the wrongdoer must still be alive for restor-
ation of relationship to be effected. Yet we can forgive the dead.
Third, it may in a variety of ways be bad for the wrongdoer that
we restore just the relationship which existed previously. And if
the forgiver is motivated by concern for the well-being of the
wrongdoer then he will not seek to harm her. Fourth, it may be
harmful or dangerous to the forgiver to restore the relationship.

6. Most writers in this field think that forgiveness is essentially first-personal. Only
those who have been injured have anything to forgive. Some, however, contend that
it is possible to forgive wrongs which did not directly affect you. On our account,
forgiveness requires the absence of both resentment and hatred. While the former is
something only the victim can feel, the latter is something anyone could feel. So our
account leaves room for forgiveness by third parties.

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
46 EVE GARRARD AND DAVID MCNAUGHTON

It is, for example, surely not required that the battered wife
return to her abusive husband in order for her to be said to have
forgiven him.7
Some deny that there are any cases in which there is no
relationship to restore.8 On their view, everyone on earth is in a
relationship in virtue of their common humanity or (perhaps)
their moral agency; this relationship can be damaged by wrong-
doing; and it can then be restored by some act of reconciliation.
We do indeed agree that this relationship exists and that it is
morally highly significant for forgiveness. However, this relation-
ship (like family relationships) is a non-voluntary one: we do not
choose to enter it, we cannot leave it, we cannot damage it and
hence it cannot be restored. What can of course be damaged,
and hence restored, is the right attitude in us to those to whom
we stand in that relationship. But that is a different matter. The
objector could try to rescue his point by saying that what the
forgiver seeks is to live in harmonious relations with his fellows.
What he seeks is conciliation, not reconciliation. But then the
objector is agreeing with us.

11.4. Wiping the Slate Clean. In forgiving, the forgiver is thought

of as wiping the slate clean. One way of conceiving of this is
that the forgiver behaves as if the wrong had never happened (as
Swinburne suggests in the passage quoted at the beginning of
this paper). And that seems to mean that once forgiveness has
taken place, all reference to the wrong must be dropped, and all
the consequences that might flow from wrongdoing are cancelled.
So conceived, it is easy to see how unconditional forgiveness can
be portrayed as letting the wrongdoer off too lightly. On the
analysis we have suggested, forgiveness does not entail these
consequences. An attitude of good will to the wrongdoer in the
face of the wrong he has done me is, we shall claim, in principle
compatible with my forthright condemnation of his wrongdoing,
the acceptance of his apologies and regrets, the payment of repar-
ation, and with the wrongdoer's punishment.

11.5. Protesting and Resisting. To forgive an unrepentant, or a

persistent, wrongdoer unconditionally does not rule out protest-
ing at his wrongdoing and, where necessary, resisting it. For to

7. Hampton, 1988 makes some of these points: 42-43, 85.

8. E.g. Lang, 1994; Roberts, 1995.

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
 IN DEFENCE OF UNCONDITIONAL FORGIVENESS 47

protest and resist are not incompatible with an attit

will and love. This is easily seen if we think of a case where a
good friend, or a loved child, is contemplating doing something
wrong to someone else. It is precisely because we love him that
we are appalled by this prospective wrongdoing, and it's entirely
compatible with a proper loving relationship that we should do
everything reasonable to dissuade him, or even, in some cases,
forcibly to prevent him. Forgiving your enemies may even be
compatible with engaging in a just war against them.

11.6. Atonement and Reparation. When I am wronged I normally

have not one but two grounds of complaint. The first is that I
have been harmed insofar as I have suffered some loss or dam-
age. But of course I can be harmed in such a manner without
being wronged. The second is that, in harming me, the per-
petrator has wronged me and thus failed to show respect.9 We
suggest that when I forgive I waive that second ground of com-
plaint, and in this we find the (limited) truth behind the notion
of wiping the slate clean. I do not hold it against the wrongdoer
that he has wronged me. What does waiving the second ground
of complaint amount to? It consists in not insisting on full atone-
ment. Swinburne distinguishes four elements in atonement:
repentance, apology, reparation and penance. (By penance,
Swinburne means doing something extra, offering some gift, to
make up for the wrong.) On our view, to forgive involves not
requiring either apology or penance. To insist on an apology is
to insist that the wrongdoer humble himself before one, and this
implies that there is still some residual resentment. Any relishing
of the wrongdoer's lowered standing in relation to the forgiver
impugns the genuineness of the forgiveness. And similar remarks
apply to insisting on penance. This does not mean, however, that
I should refuse either apology or penance if the wrongdoer still
wishes to give them despite my assurance of forgiveness. For it
may be important to the wrongdoer's peace of mind that she
apologise, and perhaps explain, and to brush that aside would
itself be evidence that one had not fully forgiven, that one's atti-
tude was more one of distancing both of us from the event rather

9. In common with many writers, we hold that wronging someone is itself a form of
harming, so there are in fact two kinds of harm in most cases: the damage the act
does to me and the disrespectful message it conveys.

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
48 EVE GARRARD AND DAVID MCNAUGHTON

than genuinely facing and forgiving the wrong done. And to ref-
use a gift would be churlish and unforgiving in the extreme. Nor,
if the forgiveness is unconditional, can I insist on repentance as
a condition of forgiveness, but I can hope for it and work for
it-not for my own satisfaction, but because it is part of wishing
the person well that I should wish her to repent. (A failure to
forgive might go with the hope that the wrongdoer does not
repent so that I can feel justified in keeping up my resentment.)
But things are quite different with reparation, in so far as it is
restitution or compensation for the harm done, leaving the wrong
to one side. If you damage my car and I forgive you do I have
to let you off paying for the repair? Of course not. It might, in
some circumstances (I am rich and you are poor) be generous of
me to let you off, but I don't have to waive my right to reparation
in order to have forgiven you. Because I have forgiven you, we
suggest, the harm has been separated from the wrong. As some-
one who has harmed me you are still in my debt; since it is not
unloving or unforgiving to insist on payment of a debt in a nor-
mal case (assuming you can afford it) it is hard to see how it
could be unloving in the case where I have forgiven you for
wronging me.

11.7. Punishment. To forgive is not necessarily to waive punish-

ment, where that is in your power, or to plead that it be reduced
or removed. That would be to confuse forgiveness with mercy.
Holding that it is right to punish someone can be quite consistent
with having an attitude of good will towards them.10

11.8. Holding It Against You. Does forgiveness require that I

somehow discount the wrong in all future dealings with the
wrongdoer, that I am never allowed to mention it again? No.
Suppose I not only forgive you for crashing my car after you
have borrowed it but, in response perhaps to your repentance,
lend you my new car. You crash it again and I forgive you again.
Am I precluded from saying 'You have crashed my car twice

10. Consistent with deterrence, restraint, restoration, and reform, at any rate. If t
retributive theory is, as its critics maintain, the simple desire for revenge disguised i
sophisticated finery, then retributive punishment may be incompatible with forgive-
ness. But there are retributive theories, such as Hampton's (Murphy and Hampton
1988, Ch. 4) that appear to evade this accusation.

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
 IN DEFENCE OF UNCONDITIONAL FORGIVENESS 49

now and I'm not going to lend it to you again

learn to drive more carefully)'? No. It would be absurd to say
that I had not really forgiven the first time because now I am
counting it in again. The reasoning is the same as in our treat-
ment of the demand for reparation. It is not qua wrong that I
am bringing up the earlier crash, but qua harm. Drawing this
distinction does suggest that to offer the fact that this is the
second time you have wronged me (or wronged me in this way)
as a reason for not forgiving you on the second occasion would
indicate that I had not really forgiven the first wrong; that I still
bear some grudge, which, when added to the second offence, has
tipped me over the edge. To forgive a wrong entails not bringing
it up when some new wrong is committed, as a further black
mark against you, a stick to beat you with. It might be, however,
that as someone concerned with the offender's welfare, the for-
giver should bring it up if, for example, the wrongdoer looks as
if they might repeat the offence and needs reminding of their
tendency to fall into that fault.

11.9. Condoning. Forgiving is not condoning, since to condone is

to overlook a wrong that should not be overlooked, to excuse
what is not excusable. A common form of condoning is failure
to register one's protest at wrongdoing in an appropriately force-
ful way. To forgive is not to overlook, nor to imply that the
wrong was not really as bad as it seems. One forgives someone
for the wrong he has done to you. Forgiveness of serious wrongs
would not be the morally admirable thing that it is unless it took
the wrong seriously. To take the wrong seriously may require the
forgiver not to treat it as if it had never happened.1"

11. Swinburne takes it that the only alternative to forgiveness which is conditional
on proper atonement is condoning the wrong.
Suppose that I have murdered your dearly loved wife; you know this, but for some
reason I am beyond the power of the law. Being a modern and charitable man,
you decide to overlook my offence (in so far as it hurt you). 'The past is the past,'
you say; 'What is the point of nursing a grievance? The party we are both going
to attend will go with more of a swing if we forget about this little incident.' But
of course that attitude of yours trivializes human life, your love for your wife, and
the importance of right action. And it involves you failing to take me seriously, to
take seriously my attitude towards you expressed in my action. (1989: 86)
As a complaint against condoning the wrong this is justified. What we hope to have
shown, however, is that unconditional forgiveness is nothing like the distasteful scen-
ario Swinburne here describes.

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
50 EVE GARRARD AND DAVID MCNAUGHTON

1.10. Hate the Sin but Love the Sinner. Nearly everyone who
writes on this topic cites Augustine's tag with approval. This dic-
tum requires us to separate our reaction to the sin from our reac-
tion to the sinner. Many have thought that we can only do this
if the sinner is in some way distanced from the sin. To go down
this road leads to the view that one can only forgive if, for
example, the sinner has repented, or if she has redeeming fea-
tures, so that her sin is not to be seen as a typical or full
expression of her personality. Jean Hampton holds that it is
legitimate to hate someone who is morally rotten. If we can't
disassociate her from her act then we can't forgive, and ought
not to try to. We can only forgive her if we come to believe in
her fundamental decency. This is how Hampton characterises the
change of heart in forgiveness:

The forgiver who previously saw the wrongdoer as someone bad

or rotten or morally indecent to some degree has a change of heart
when he 'washes away' or disregards the wrongdoer's immoral
actions or character traits in his ultimate moral judgement of her,
and comes to see her as still decent, not rotten as a person, and
someone with whom he may be able to renew a relationship. When
one has a change of heart towards one's wrongdoer, one 'reap-
proves' of her, so that one is able to consider renewing an associ-
ation with her. ... [The forgiver] revises her judgement of the
person himself-where that person is understood to be something
other than or more than the character traits of which she does not
approve. 12

Some such change of heart may indeed help someone forgive, but
we deny that it is necessary.13 We have three main objections to
Hampton's account. First, we are highly sceptical of attempts to
divide people, despite the mixed nature of their actual characters,
into those who are fundamentally decent and those who are not.
Second, her account does not explain what it is to forgive some-
one for a particular offence. In cases of mundane rather than
spectacular wrongdoing, we may well regard the wrongdoer as

12. Murphy and Hampton, 1988: 83, 85.

13. In a fascinating paper, Calhoun agrees that forgiveness does not require distanc-
ing the deed from the agent. But he sees what he dubs 'aspirational' forgiveness as
meaning that 'one stops demanding that the person be different from what she is'
(p. 95). But to suppose that this is what, for example, Gordon Wilson was doing is
to play into the hands of those who object to unconditional forgiveness.

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
 IN DEFENCE OF UNCONDITIONAL FORGIVENESS 51

fundamentally decent, and someone with whom we are happy to

associate, while it remains the case that the wrong still rankles
and we find ourselves unable to forgive that offence. Third, her
account confuses love with moral approval. It is, no doubt, easier
to love those who are decent, lovable and nice, but the tradition
to which we are appealing demands more of love than that. The
point is put crisply by C.S. Lewis:

We ought to hate [sins]. ... But [we ought] to hate them in the same
way in which we hate [these] things in ourselves: being sorry that
the man should have done such things, and hoping, if it is anyway
possible, that somehow, sometime, somewhere he can be cured and
made human again ... I admit that this means loving people who
have nothing lovable about them.'4

III

Reasons for Forgiveness. So far our argument has been defensive,

attempting to show that unconditional forgiveness is not open to
the standard criticisms. We have argued that it is compatible with
outright condemnation of the wrongdoing and a determination
to fight against it, and thus with maintaining self-respect. Since
it is (usually) supererogatory rather than obligatory, it need not
be seen as an implicit criticism of those who do not or cannot
forgive. But so far we have given no reason for adopting this
approach to wrongdoing, nor have we said anything about how
we might overcome our hostile feelings. We shall now attempt to
remedy both defects.
Before doing so, we wish to put to one side a certain kind of
reason for forgiveness, one advocated by many writers on this
topic (especially Holmgren 1993). The thought here is that a
major reason for forgiveness is that it is good for the forgiver-
it lifts the burden of hatred and resentment off her shoulders and
allows her to move on in her life. But this is an attitude-focused
reason for forgiving and we are seeking an object-focused one.
Attitude-focused reasons for action are reasons for getting one-
self into a particular psychological state, in this case the state of
having a forgiving attitude. To adopt a forgiving attitude in order
to make oneself feel better is to act on an attitude-focused reason.
Object-focused reasons reveal the way in which the relationship

14. Lewis, 1952: 105.

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
52 EVE GARRARD AND DAVID MCNAUGHTON

that actually holds between the victim and the offender makes a
forgiving response appropriate. Attitude-focused reasons do not,
and this is why we concentrate on object-focused reasons in this
paper. 15
What object-focused reasons can we find for unconditional
forgiveness? Since they must rule out any constraints, such as the
repentance of the wrongdoer, they must be considerations which
are present at the time of the offence and continue to be operative
thereafter. Two possible candidates are respect for persons, and
human solidarity.

111. 1. Respect for Persons. Respect for persons seems at first sight
very promising, since personhood is certainly present at the time
of the offence (otherwise the issue of forgiveness won't even
arise), and respect for persons, on one standard construal, is gen-
erally thought to be owed to all persons equally, regardless of
their deeds or character. However it turns out to be less accom-
modating to unconditional forgiveness than might be expected. A
strong proponent of respect for persons as the basis of conditional
forgiveness is Trudy Govier, who argues that we ought to forgive
even the most terrible of offenders (so long as they repent) since
(1) respect for their moral agency, and (2) their capacity for
rational change, give us reason to accept them back into the com-
munity of moral agents.16
But first, though forgiveness certainly involves seeing the
dreadful offender as part of the moral community, so too does
refusal to forgive. In fact, it's only those whom we regard as
members of the moral community whom we can possibly refuse
to forgive. Admittedly we don't regard them as being members
in good standing, but then how could we, given what they have
done? And secondly, why should we respect the presence of
moral agency in those who have put that capacity to so distorted
a use? We might rather regard them as being worse than the
unreasoning brutes.17 (Lilies that fester do indeed smell far worse

15. The standard example of this distinction is found in discussion of the toxin
puzzle. I can have a reason to intend to take the toxin, without thereby having a
reason to take it.
16. Govier, 1999.
17. See Garrard, forthcoming.

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
 IN DEFENCE OF UNCONDITIONAL FORGIVENESS 53

than weeds.) So respect for persons by itself doesn't seem to

provide a reason even for conditional forgiveness, let alone one
for unconditional forgiveness. It seems more plausible to regard
it as a background condition for the possibility of forgiveness or
of the refusal to forgive.
Nor does the capacity for rational change seem to provide the
kind of grounds for forgiveness that we are looking for. Govier
claims that to regard wrongdoers as permanently evil is to 'ignore
their human capacity for choice and change, which is the very
foundation of human worth and dignity' (Govier, 1999: 71). That
is, Govier is suggesting that because wrongdoers have that
capacity we should adopt towards them an attitude of respect
and good will-i.e. an attitude appropriate towards non-wrong-
doers. But if the human capacity for choice and change precludes
us from regarding anyone as permanently evil, then presumably
it precludes us from regarding anyone as permanently good
either. This is not an implausible claim, but it surely doesn't fol-
low that we should display towards the virtuous agent attitudes
appropriate to a non-virtuous agent-we don't withhold admir-
ation and respect from her just because she has the capacity for
moral change, and hence might become an evildoer. So why
should the bare capacity-the mere potential-for moral change
in a wrongdoer provide us with a reason to treat him with the
respect and good will appropriate to non-offenders-i.e. forgive
him? If he does change, for example by repenting, then perhaps
his morally improved condition gives us a reason to forgive him.
But this isn't enough to show that the potential for reaching that
improved condition, in one who chooses not to realise that
potential, generates the same reason. What it might do is give
us a conditional reason to forgive the bearer of the potential:
conditional on his realising that potential. And this is in fact
what Govier is arguing for: that everyone is forgivable so long
as they repent and reform. So even if Govier is right in claiming
that the capacity for choice and change is a reason not to regard
anyone as permanently evil, it doesn't in itself provide a reason
for unconditional forgiveness, rather than for forgiveness con-
ditional on repentance. So this approach doesn't seem to provide
the desired basis for unconditional forgiveness.

111.2. Human Solidarity. We turn now to a reason for forgiveness

which derives from a feature different from moral agency, and

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
54 EVE GARRARD AND DAVID MCNAUGHTON

which generates in turn something different from respect. Here

what is foregrounded is our shared humanity with the offenders;
the proposed reason for forgiveness is that they, like us, are mem-
bers of the human species. (This is sometimes conflated with
respect for persons, but clearly the two are different.)18 On this
account, what is focused on is the fact that the wrongdoer is,
after all, one of us; and shared membership in the human com-
munity, like shared membership of the same family, provides a
reason for forgiveness. Human solidarity is what is doing the
work here, and what it is based on is the sense of a common
predicament which we all share, and which gives us reason to be
concerned for each other.
Some very obvious objections to this proposal arise at once.
First, do we really share so much with the perpetrators of wrong-
doing? After all, they do these dreadful things, and we do not.
But appeal to the shared predicament is partly a refusal to be
certain that we really are so very different from the perpetrators.
Often it is true to say that in their circumstances we too would
have acted as they did. On the other hand, it is certainly true for
at least some of us, with respect to some terrible kinds of
offences, that we simply could not have done those things in
those circumstances. But this truth does not preclude two further
possibilities: first, that when the offences are described at some
suitably high level of generality, then it turns out that we could
indeed have acted in that general way. And, secondly, even if I
could not, as I now am, do what the offender did, nonetheless
had my early (and ongoing) circumstances been less favourable,
I might have become the kind of person who could act in this
way. One of the things at issue here is the question of moral luck,
and the way in which awareness of it can produce a sense of
commonality between the virtuous (or more frequently the conti-
nent) and the vicious. More profoundly at work is the sense that
as a group, as a species, we are morally pretty unimpressive; the
human nature which we have in common includes some very
dreadful propensities. Our predicament includes the possession
of this morally tainted nature; few of us would be inclined to say

18. See for example Holmgren, 1993: 344. It is not, on our conception, a purely
biological claim, but one about sharing a common psychology-something that we
could in principle share with other creatures.

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
 IN DEFENCE OF UNCONDITIONAL FORGIVENESS 55

that we share nothing of this dark potential, and even fewer of

us could say it truly.'9
A second problem for this proposed basis for unconditional
forgiveness, it might be argued, is that the objections which were
raised against the respect for persons account of reasons for for-
giveness can also be raised against the human solidarity account.
Why, it might be asked, should we regard possession of a ticket
of membership in the human race to be grounds for respect, and
hence forgiveness, towards those whose human nature is so dis-
torted? Two points need to be raised here: first, although the
practical reason of offenders is distorted, it is not so clear that
their human nature is-human nature is just what we humans
are like, and a great deal of human history shows that what we
are like is often very dreadful. Our shared humanity just is,
among other things, a shared capacity for perpetrating horrors.
Secondly, the appeal to common humanity as a ground for for-
giveness is not an appeal to respect. Rather it is an appeal to
human solidarity, the concern for the well-being of those who
one feels are in the same condition as oneself.
Furthermore, the common nature and predicament being
appealed to here is not simply the bare capacity for wrongdoing
present in each one of us. If that were what was at stake, then the
attempt to ground unconditional forgiveness in human solidarity
would indeed be vulnerable to some of the objections we pre-
sented above against grounding it in the bare capacity for moral
change. But what is involved in sharing the wrongdoer's nature
is more than just possessing the bare capacity to do wrong, but
rather the likelihood that there are circumstances in which we
too would have done, if not what the wrongdoer did, some simi-
larly awful deed. If the wrongdoer possesses the bare capacity
for moral change, this is a matter of there being a possible world
in which he would choose to change. However, that world may
be very distant; so distant that we can say with some confidence
that it won't become actual. But a shared nature is stronger than

19. A similar approach is advocated by Kant, who also appeals to moral luck, as
well as to the difficulty of knowing the inner springs of motivation, in recommending
an attitude of humility rather than superiority to manifest wrongdoers. In his dis-
cussion of Kant's claims, however, Murphy (Murphy and Hampton, 1988: 97-103)
mistakenly supposes that to acknowledge a large role for moral luck is to absolve
wrongdoers from responsibility for their deeds. As we have stressed, to admit our
capacity for evil is not to excuse, condone, or absolve from guilt.

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
56 EVE GARRARD AND DAVID MCNAUGHTON

this: it is a matter of there being a fairly close possible world in

which we would act in ways similar to the way the wrongdoer
did in the actual world. A being with a holy will possesses the
bare capacity to do wrong-that's what's involved in having a
will at all. But this capacity will not be realised in any but the
remotest possible worlds, and we're not inclined to say that such
a being shares our common nature on account of sharing the
possession of this bare capacity. So the argument against taking
the bare capacity for moral change as a reason for unconditional
forgiveness need not go through against taking our common
humanity as such a reason, since that is not a matter of bare
capacities.
A third possible objection to the appeal to common humanity
is that it is speciesist-it has the same structure as appeals to
shared racial or sexual characteristics, and such appeals are dis-
criminatory. However in the case of racism or sexism, what is
discriminatory is the possibility of exclusion from some benefit
of those of a disfavoured race or sex. But in the case of human
solidarity, there is no-one left over to be excluded: the only ones
remaining outside its scope are the animals, and the issue of for-
giveness doesn't arise for them at all. Of course it is possible
(though not as far as we know actual) for there to be other
rational agents whose psychology differs from ours, and as such,
were we to come into contact with them, they might become
candidates for forgiveness (or the refusal to forgive). The human
solidarity argument does not imply that we would have no reason
to forgive such offenders. It does imply that any such reason
would be different from the reason we have to forgive our fellow
humans-at least, different from the reason being canvassed
here. But there are uncontentious analogies for such differences:
the reason I have for giving substantial financial support to mem-
bers of my family is different from the reason I may have for
giving such support to other unrelated persons, but both kinds
of reason may be perfectly legitimate.
A fourth objection arises in connection with one particular
way of expressing a sense of common humanity and a common
predicament, namely the remark 'There but for the grace of God
go I.' As a reason for forgiveness, it is often found suspect-to
some, it sounds disturbingly like an excuse. But this is surely a
mistake. 'There but for the grace of God go I' amounts to the

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
 IN DEFENCE OF UNCONDITIONAL FORGIVENESS 57

claim that had I been in the offender's position, I too would have
done what he did. To suppose that it follows from this that what
the offender did isn't so very offensive is to suppose that anything
I myself do can't be so very offensive. It's enough just to articu-
late this supposition to reveal its extreme implausibility! Saying
'There but for the grace of God go I' is perfectly compatible with
saying'... and had I too done what the offender did, I too would
have been wrong, and to be blamed'. In this context, 'There but
for the grace of God go I' offers not an excuse but rather an
acknowledgement of our common moral frailty (or worse).
Frailty which is widespread or even universal is nonetheless
frailty (or worse); the comfort which acknowledgement of its per-
vasiveness may offer to the offender isn't the comfort of excuse
but of companionship-he (and we) are not alone in this con-
dition. But the condition remains a fairly dreadful one; we have
here a secular version of the sense that we are all miserable
sinners.
This account of the basis for unconditional forgiveness shows
that repentance, where it is present, can play a role other than
that of functioning as a reason. What repentance does is align
the offender with the victim. In repentance, he takes up the view
of the original offence that the victim has, and abjures his own
previous attitude to it. This attitude-alignment (see Roberts,
1995) makes it easier for the victim to see the offender as similar
to herself, as 'one of us', and hence brings into view the feature
that has been present in the situation all along, namely their com-
mon humanity. Repentance, other than, or as well as, being itself
a reason, acts so as to make more evident a separate reason: it
makes it easier to see that we're all in the same predicament, all
members of the same human family, and hence have a reason to
overcome hostility and seek each other's good.
A final argument against basing unconditional forgiveness on
human solidarity and a sense of shared moral weakness, is that
it apparently rules out the possibility of Divine unconditional
forgiveness (and even a resolutely secular thinker might not wish
this implication to be built in to the argument.) But appearances
here are misleading. The proposed basis for human forgiveness
is our relationship with our fellow-humans, morally flawed as all
of us are. Clearly God (if He exists) does not have this reason to
forgive wrongdoers. But it doesn't follow that He has no reason

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
58 EVE GARRARD AND DAVID MCNAUGHTON

for unconditional forgiveness. He does not stand in the relation-

ship of fellow-human to the offender, but He does stand in the
relationship of Creator to His creature, and it may be that that
relationship generates reasons to forgive unconditionally. (If so,
we shouldn't necessarily suppose that we will know what they
are.)
Are there any features of forgiveness which suggest that it is
apt for grounding in human solidarity? Standardly forgiveness is
supererogatory-the wrongdoer does not deserve to be forgiven
(and where he does deserve it, it ceases to be supererogatory).
But the knowledge that he does not deserve it is put to one side
in forgiveness. Unlike resentment it is not overcome, and indeed
like the wrongdoer's responsibility for the offence it must not be
denied. But a forgiver who dwelt on the wrongdoer's failure to
deserve it would be offering a very thin and etiolated version of
forgiveness, even though it might involve complete overcoming
of hostility and adoption of a well-wishing attitude. We should
not allow ourselves to think that a forgiver who dwelt on the
wrongdoer's undeservingness must be motivated by unresolved
resentment; we have far too many motives for taking an interest
in the weaknesses of others for that to be true. But constant
consciousness of how much the forgiven one doesn't deserve it
does seem to impugn the claim to have fully forgiven. The reason
for this is that forgiveness involves a kind of humility, a readiness
to see the forgiven one as not so markedly inferior to oneself.
Since this must not amount to seeing the wrongdoer as morally
in good shape, on pain of excusing his offences, it must derive
from a sense of ourselves as less than morally impressive, as
closer to the moral condition of the wrongdoer than we would
like to be.
Humility in general has had a bad press since the decline of
Christianity, and humility as an element in forgiveness has come
to seem particularly objectionable, since it supposedly involves
the victim in a less than admirable devaluation of her own status
of the importance of harms and wrongs done to her. And it cer-
tainly is important not to devalue the wrong done to any victim,
since that runs the risk of excusing the offender. But the role
being played by humility on the suggestion under consideration
here is quite different from the allegedly objectionable one: what
is being proposed is not humility in the forgiver towards her

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
 IN DEFENCE OF UNCONDITIONAL FORGIVENESS 59

standing as victim of the offence, but humility in the forgiver

towards her standing as author of other actions-not humility
qua patient, but humility qua agent. If this is right, then we have
here a feature of forgiveness which sits well with the claim that
our common (and morally frail) humanity provides us with a
reason for unconditional forgiveness. We are all in this boat
together, and our common condition gives us a reason to be for-
bearing about each other's weaknesses and indeed wickednesses,
a reason stemming from our awareness of our own.
What grounds forgiveness? On one account, that favoured by
Govier and others, the appeal is to our respect for what raises us
above the rest of creation and makes humanity noble-to our
capacity for moral agency. This is a story of fallen grandeur, of
a nobility which is admirable and potent even when low in the
dust. On our view, in contrast, the reasons for forgiveness have
their root not in what is noble and admirable about us, but in
what is weak, pitiful and degraded. This, of course, offers much
less of a feel-good factor. But it has the advantage of keeping
firmly in centre-stage the undeniable fact that we are a pretty
bad lot. We are, of course, also a good lot-but that's another
story.20

Department of Philosophy
University of Keele
Staffordshire ST5 5BG

REFERENCES

Benn, P., 1996, 'Forgiveness and Loyalty', Philosophy, 71: 369-383.

Butler, J., 1726, Fifteen Sermons (London), Sermon VIII, 'Upon Resentment'
and Sermon IX, 'Upon Forgiveness of Injuries'.
Calhoun, C., 1992, 'Changing One's Heart', Ethics, 103: 76-96.
Downie, R., 1965, 'Forgiveness', Philosophical Quarterly, 15: 128-134.
Garrard, E., (forthcoming), 'Forgiveness and the Holocaust', Ethical Theory and
Moral Practice.

20. Earlier versions of some material in this paper were given by David McNaughton
at Keele University (as an Inaugural Lecture), at a postgraduate conference at Read-
ing, at the Jowett Society, Oxford, at Leeds University, and at the Open University.
We are grateful to members of the audiences for helpful comments. We are grateful
to the following people for specific points: Nafsika Athanassoulis, Margaret Atkins,
Piers Benn, Jonathan Dancy and Brad Hooker. We are especially grateful to Andre
Gallois for several helpful discussions. Thanks also to Lee Hunt for drawing our
attention to the quotation from Henri Nouwen.

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]
60 EVE GARRARD AND DAVID MCNAUGHTON

Govier, T., 1999, 'Forgiveness and the Unforgivable', American Philosophical

Quarterly, 36: 59-75.
Holmgren, M., 1993, 'Forgiveness and the Intrinsic Value of Persons', American
Philosophical Quarterly, 30: 341-352.
Hughes, P., 1997, 'What is Involved in Forgiving?', Philosophia, 25: 33-49.
Kolnai, A., 1974, 'Forgiveness', Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, 74: 91-
106.
Lang, B., 1994, 'Forgiveness', American Philosophical Quarterly, 31: 105-117.
Lewis, C.S., 1952, Mere Christianity (London: Fontana).
McGary, H., 1989, 'Forgiveness', American Philosophical Quarterly, 26: 343-
351.
Murphy, J. and Hampton, J., 1988, Forgiveness and Mercy (New York: Cam-
bridge University Press).
Neblett, W., 1974, 'Forgiveness and Ideals', Mind, 83: 269-275.
Newberry, P., 2001, 'Joseph Butler on Forgiveness: A Presupposed Theory of
Emotion', Journal of the History of Ideas, 233-244.
Novitz, D., 1998, 'Forgiveness and Self-Respect', Philosophy and Phenomeno-
logical Research, 58: 299-315.
O'Shaughnessy, R., 1967, 'Forgiveness', Philosophy, 42: 336-352.
Swinburne, R., 1989, Responsibility and Atonement (Oxford: Clarendon Press).
Richards, N., 1988, 'Forgiveness', Ethics, 99: 77-97.
Roberts, R., 1995, 'Forgivingness', American Philosophical Quarterly, 32: 289-
306.
Wilson, J., 1988, 'Why Forgiveness Requires Repentance', Philosophy, 63: 534-
535.

This content downloaded from

[Link] on Mon, 07 Apr 2025 [Link] UTC
All use subject to [Link]